Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

September 27th, 2018 - 00:17

For the third time in his life, Gojo Satoru didn’t know what to say.

It was a sight seldom seen, Gojo shocked or disheartened to such a degree that the comically (read: annoyingly) witty sorcerer couldn’t find words to lash out in comeback, but here he was for the third time in his life, words failing him and hands white knuckling the armrests on his chair.

His expression was unreadable, eyes covered by his signature silk black blindfold and lips pressed thin and taut. His students wouldn’t know how to read him, save for one—the notion made his toes curl and threaten his neutral look. His colleagues, the ones who’d known him since his teenage years, would certainly know better. Maybe that’s why when the news was first broken to him with such vagueness that could leave the world’s most renowned thinkers scratching their heads, Nanami stood back, almost in a corner, and Yaga looked uncharacteristically solemn. 

And Shoko…

Well, Shoko was working on part of the problem, needle and thread in hand and surgical mask adorned tightly over her nose and mouth. “Needs more work than my reversed technique can offer,” she’d said quickly, grasping rushedly for sharp tools that would leave squeamish people on the ground. “This is medical, painfully medical. I need you out now !”  

So that left Gojo in the waiting room, arms crossed sternly over his chest as he utilized Six Eyes to glance at his coworkers’—dare he say friends’ —faces. They both looked on at the white haired man with so much trepidation, that it almost made Gojo sick. The silence they’d plummeted into what felt like hours ago almost more so.

So he bit back his nausea, wrangled what words were floating around his brain to his tongue, and broke the coffin-like quietness.

“Read me the report.”

Both his former peer and teacher visibly stiffened, surprised that the safety of silence had been shattered.

Nanami swallowed. “Gojo, it-”

“I want to hear it, and I want to hear it now ,” Gojo demanded, leaving no room for argument. “So help me, Tengen, Nanami, I’ll pry those papers from your hands, if I must.”

Stillness ensued briefly before Nanami slowly shook his head. “That’ll be unnecessary,” he conceded, the papers crinkling between his fingers as he raised them to his face.

“On September 26th, 2018, second year Inumaki Toge, semi-grade one, and first year Fushiguro Megumi, second grade, were assigned to a grade two curse residing in the Arashiyama forest in Kyoto. Time of departure was 09:32. Time of rearrival was 22:13. Exorcism of the curse failed, and the mission was terminated due to an emergency. Statuses are as follows:

Inumaki Toge: Suffering from severe throat lacerations, broken left arm, three 

broken ribs, concussion, and severe head laceration.

Status: Critical condition.

Fushiguro Megumi: Nowhere on scene, but from the remains of the assignment it is not thought he left unscathed. Kidnapping is suspected.

Status: Missing.”

Gojo’s mouth felt dry like he’d been eating sand by the spoonfuls. 

He swallowed. “A grade two,” he struggled, “would not inflict such damage to sorcerers like them, especially not when paired together.”

Nanami nodded and crossed his leg. “The grade is suspected to have been underestimated.”

“Underestimated,” Gojo scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “These miscalculations seem to be growing more and more abundant.”

Yaga bristled slightly in his seat at that. “Gojo, things like this happen-”

“Way too often,” Gojo gritted out between tightly clenched teeth. “We have a grading scale for a reason: to keep our sorcerers safe. Tell me what good that does us if the higher ups keep fucking this up. Our students could have died,” he gave pause. “One could be dead. We don’t even know where the hell he is, and this all could have been avoided if the higher ups did their damn jobs!”

Careless tyrants is what the whole lot of them were, and Gojo would love nothing more than to send all of the useless bastards to an early grave, but the consequences that would be bestowed upon him and his precious students would be much too high for him to do so much more as consider and daydream about his wishes. However, this… this only added fuel to a dangerous fire that Gojo was becoming significantly less and less concerned about if he got burned from or not. 

Yaga tapped his fingers against the armrest of his own chair in an attempt to look irritated, but Gojo knew better. Yaga was nervous. “It’s common for sorcerers, students or not, to turn up missing, hurt, or dead.” Blunt, cold, too terribly true. “As much as this agonizes all of us, it’s no different than any other time.”

“That’s complete bullshit, and you know it!” Gojo slammed his fist against his seat, standing abruptly. A loud screeching noise emitted from his chair as it scooted away from the force of Gojo’s outburst. “This only happened because the higher ups were too lazy to do their research and calculate the true nature and grade of the curse they wanted us to assign to the students! Had it been a grade two like they’d claimed, Inumaki and Megumi would be fine ! They would have returned to campus with minimal injuries and a completed assignment! But no ! No, Inumaki’s in critical condition, and Megumi is missing! All because the higher ups don’t care about what happens to their underlings!” Gojo’s chest heaved with enraged, ragged breaths. He was close to seeing metaphorical red, anger and anxiety building so quickly within his body, only for it to seem to be dismissed by his own boss. 

Gojo suddenly wished he’d never gotten Megumi involved with sorcery, his impressive technique be damned. 

Nanami looked between the two men, face stoic as typical, but eyes heavy in a way Gojo hadn’t seen in years.

Not since…

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have to agree with Gojo on this one,” Nanami said quietly, surprising both men. “This is a devastation that could have easily been avoided had the correct information been given out, to begin with. Of course, injuries and death are unavoidable within the field of sorcery, but this is an exception on the account it was a mistake caused by someone in power.”

Gojo said nothing, merely basking in the feeling of validation before allowing the dread of the entire situation to crash over him once more. 

Yaga took a deep breath through his nose. “Alright, so this is an unacceptable happenstance. I agree, but Gojo, I swear if you attempt anything-”

“Oh believe me,” Gojo cut him off with an airy laugh, “as much as I’d love to kill each and every higher up that looks down on us with snottiness, they are not my biggest concern as of now.”

And the two didn’t need a vocalization of what was because they already knew. The kid Gojo had sacrificed so much to raise was suddenly gone to God knows where, and they’d be daft if they thought it was something Gojo would simply let be.

Not that they’d intended to in the first place because Megumi, affections aside, was a student, and students came first, but Gojo’s history with the kid added more leverage.

The infirmary door slid open, and the sound of flat shoes clicking against the tiles stepped out. Shoko looked at all of them, dark circles on her eyes glistening too brightly against her pale, almost sickly, skin. She dropped the surgical mask from her face, slid the door shut once more, then proceeded to procure a box of cigarettes from her pocket. “He’s stable,” she confirmed, grabbing a cigarette from the pack and allowing it to loosely dangle from her lips as she moved to light the stick, “for now. He isn’t awake, yet, and I’m unsure when or if he’ll awake. He’s exhibiting symptoms of comatose.”

Gojo wanted to bash his head against a wall.

Yaga rubbed his hands across his face in tired exasperation. “What curse could have taken them out like this?”

Gojo cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe the curse with the patchwork face? The one Nanami encountered?”

“No,” Shoko said firmly. She took a long drag on her cigarette before blowing the smoke out. “It couldn’t have been. With how extensive Inumaki’s injuries are, had it been the patchwork bastard, he’d have been transfigured.”

Nanami nodded his agreement, his own experiences with the curse going unvocalized. “Shoko’s right. It’s physically impossible for Inumaki and Fushiguro to have come in contact with the patchwork curse. Had they, Inumaki’s case would’ve been much direr.”

Gojo threw exasperated hands in the air, leaning restlessly back in his seat. “Ok, so that leaves us with what lead, exactly? Did the higher ups leave any sort of information about the curse aside from the disappearances that happened in the area? Any indication of what the curse’s technique was or anything ?”

Yaga thumbed through paper, one of the reports, Gojo guessed, eyes skimming through a maze of words upon words. After a minute or so, however, Yaga sighed and shook his head. “Nothing of that nature is expressed.”

“Fucking hell,” Gojo groaned roughly, irritation bleeding too clearly into his voice. He’d never been one to enjoy the higher ups, nor the system of hierarchy that was left in the jujutsu world, but this only inflamed that hatred to a severe degree, one that left Gojo so enraged that he could burn down cities without so much as batting an eye. “So you’re telling me we have no leads whatsoever?”

Yaga shifted in his seat, placing his stapled set of papers on his lap. “Unfortunately. However, we have the location. Considering the mission was left incomplete, there’s bound to be residuals left over.”

“You can’t be too certain of how strong those will be, though,” Shoko said, leaning against the wall that separated the waiting room from the infirmary. “The failed mission took place several hours ago. If the curse was sentient like we believe it is, it might know how to cover its tracks.”

“Well, we have to do something !” Gojo exclaimed, rising from his seat and running a stressed hand through disheveled hair that was pristine mere hours ago. Ever since word came in that Megumi hadn’t made it back from the mission, though, all Gojo could do was run hands that would otherwise turn shaky through his hair as anxiety wormed its way into his being like a fatal disease. “Whether we have a strong lead or not, we can’t just sit here.” 

Yaga tapped nervous fingers against the armrest of his chair, face otherwise non-expressant like typical. Had Gojo not known the principal for well over a decade, he wouldn’t think the man was capable of such feelings of anxiousness, but his mannerisms were enough to prove otherwise. “We can’t run into this recklessly. Curses don’t kidnap for the hell of it. There’s got to be something else at play.”

Gojo looked at Yaga incredulously, a laugh breaking through his throat and a hand moving to rub itself against a blindfolded eye socket. “Yaga, I don’t care if the world is in jeopardy. One of our students has been kidnapped, and I’ll be damned if we don’t start doing something about it tonight .”

One of our students. It rolled so easily off of his tongue that way, and while he’d do just about anything for his beloved pupils, Megumi was more than just a student. He was someone who’d constantly attempt to kick Gojo in the shin, even when he knew infinity was in place (and he was the only person Gojo would let kick him). He was someone Gojo associated with grueling hours of first grade homework that he was certain was too advanced for seven-year-olds and Sunday morning breakfasts. Megumi was someone who always insisted he didn’t need Gojo but never failed to stop by his bedroom during the wee hours of night after a bad dream. He was someone Gojo witnessed grow up and aided in the process along with one other person they’d both lost roughly a year ago.

Megumi was one out of two kids Gojo held guardianship over, and Gojo had already lost one. He wasn’t about to lose the other. 

Shoko rolled her eyes and made a move to smack Gojo against the back of his head, but as expected, her hand bounced off of infinity. “Lighten up, Satoru,” she tried to console, but there was a tightness to her voice that Gojo—and only Gojo—could detect, “we weren’t going to sit here all night and play board games. We’re going out tonight, and we’re looking wherever we can for the brat.”

Yaga sent slightly narrowed eyes Shoko’s way. “Shoko, we can’t just-”

Shoko bent towards Yaga, effectively shutting him up with a puff of disgusting smoke blown in his face. “We can do whatever the hell we think is best,” she finished for him, flicking the ashes from her cigarette onto the tiled floor. “The higher ups have failed us too many times, and we don’t have enough time to consult them about what they think is best. After all, they’d probably tell us to let the matter go. One life isn’t important to them.”

And unfortunately for Gojo, that one life was everything to him, whether he wanted to admit it or not. 

Yaga wafted the smoke away from his face as Shoko carried on, shaded eyes directing themselves back towards Gojo. Gojo didn’t like the way the older man’s eyes felt on his body, calculating and analytical, searching for something that may or may not be there. The fact that Gojo wasn’t aware of just what the man was searching for either didn’t calm his nerves at all. But at the same time, Gojo didn’t care. Because no matter what Yaga said, he’d be leaving campus immediately. Within the hour, he supposed. 

Eventually, Yaga sighed, leaning the side of his head against his fist. “This is personal to you, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Gojo scoffed, slightly angry that Yaga had to ask . “Something’s got my kid, Yaga,” he said quietly. “Tell me how that isn’t supposed to be personal.”

Yaga remained silent because how could he say it wasn’t personal? Any attempt would practically be a dare that Gojo would know how to refute instantaneously. 

“Alright,” Yaga relented, with a wave of his hand, “a search will begin tonight and not a moment later.”

Gojo let out a breathy laugh that almost sounded like nothing more than a loud exhale. “I wasn’t asking permission. Regardless, I was going to leave.”

“I’m well aware of that, Satoru.”

Nanami stood from his own seat, a hand moving to adjust the glasses on his face. “I’ll accompany you,” he said stagnantly. “Though it’s likely it wasn’t the patchwork curse they encountered, we can’t say for certain the curse isn’t involved whatsoever. I believe it would be beneficial for you to have someone who’s at least slightly knowledgeable firsthand with what we may be up against.”

Gojo couldn’t help the slightest hint of a smirk that ghosted across his lips, the first upward twitch he’d experienced since the shit show of a night began. “Nanamin, you care? That’s so unlike you.”

The faintest dusting of red permeated across Nanami’s cheeks. “I’m not doing this for you,” he clarified, but that was highly questionable, “I’m doing this for Fushiguro.”

Shoko took a final inhale from her cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping it out under a soft click of her flats. “I’m going, too,” she announced.
At that, Yaga’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. With Inumaki in his current state?”

Shoko rolled her eyes, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “He’ll be fine. As I said, he’s stable, and…unfortunately, he isn’t showing signs of waking up anytime soon. Besides, if we do find the kid, he might need my technique quickly. Who knows what could have happened to him with how long he’s been gone.”

The sentence made Gojo feel nauseous. 

Yaga shook his head, standing from his seat as well. “I still don’t think-”

“I think you forget I helped raise the brat, too,” she said, voice harsh in a way Gojo hadn’t heard in what might have been years. Maybe not since Gojo had to forcefully tear his way out of his heartbroken induced funk that was all the fault of a single curse user with long, inky hair who could kill Gojo with his presence alone. She pointed a finger at Gojo that was borderline accusatory at Gojo. “Whenever that asshole wasn’t around, I watched the kids. I’m going, too, whether you like it or not.”

Gojo smirked, almost in a look that told Yaga, yeah, she’s on my side , all before the comment about him sunk in. “Wait, hey .”

“Ieri coming with us means more coverage,” Nanami interjected, not allowing Gojo to get further two sense in. “More coverage means we just might find Fushiguro sooner.”

Gojo appreciated the optimism the blonde gave, something that was so seldom heard from the ex-salaryman, but he highly doubted his claim to be accurate. His Six Eyes should be beneficial, make no mistake, but Megumi could literally be anywhere . They’d wasted enough time, to Gojo’s chagrin, but the fact that they were dealing with curses—sorcery—added a whole other complexity to the situation that left Gojo’s outlook terribly and unnervingly bleak, a thought process the peppy and bubbly sorcerer wasn’t exactly used to. 

Still, it was either take the silver lining where he could find it, or drown in his own doubt. 

“Right, so then Yaga stays here with the students,” Gojo settled.

At that, Nanami’s eyes widened. “Wait, the students. Should we inform them?”

Gojo worried his bottom lip at that. He wasn’t sure whether their knowledge would be beneficial or a hindrance. Sure, while having more hands on deck might allow for greater coverage, Gojo had seen Nobara while in a state of hysteria (Itadori’s initial death had been a harrowing experience for her and Megumi, causing Gojo to see behaviors from both he’d much rather never see again.). And he wasn’t quite sure how Itadori would react. For the several days following the incident with Junpei, Itadori was apathetic at best. Gojo was lucky enough that Nanami dealt with the brunt of that emotionally taxing situation, but he’d much rather ensure he kept emotional distress as far away from his students as possible. 

So for now, he shook his head. “If…” Gojo gulped around his words, hoping the emotion that weighed them down would slither down into his stomach where he could lock it away, “if the situation doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, we’ll inform them then. As for now, I want this to stay between us. Who knows what chaos could ensue should the higher ups or any other major clan find out that the holder of the Ten Shadows Technique has been kidnapped.”

But they won’t find out, no one else will ever find out because Gojo isn’t resting, isn’t coming back home until he has Megumi in tow, and he’s willing to sacrifice everything he has, everything he is, to guarantee the teen is alive when Gojo brings him back to campus. 

Shoko cocked an eyebrow at her former peer. “Don’t you think they’ll be suspicious once they realize Megumi hasn’t returned from his mission? It’s not as though it was a secret he was going to be gone in the first place.”

Gojo shrugged. “I adore my students, but Itadori can be denser than a rock at times, and Nobara’s attention can be quickly dissuaded with money for shopping trips.”

Nanami crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “That’s a pretty harsh accusation.”

Gojo scoffed. “Tell me I’m wrong. You’ve mentored Itadori more than enough times to have formed your own opinion around him.”

Nanami’s silence was enough of an answer. 

Yaga hummed uncomfortably. “Alright, so we’re not telling the students.”

“Until stated otherwise,” Gojo clarified. “If, and only if nothing comes of our searches, we will notify the students immediately. I’ll rope the students from Kyoto into this as well if I have to.”

He really hoped he wouldn’t have to because the only reason he’d have to is if they didn’t find Megumi soon. 

“We won’t let it get that far,” Shoko said with another roll of her eyes, but Gojo could tell there was something in her voice that was meant to be comforting. “We’ll find your kid. Let’s just get a move on now. The sooner we get to the scene, the higher chance residuals can still be detected.”

Gojo nodded his agreement before shifting his gaze to Nanami. “I’ve warped with you before, right?”

Nanami seemed to turn a shade paler at that. “...I don’t believe so.”

Gojo hummed and clapped his hands. “Welp, guess there’s gotta be a first time for everything! I’m not wasting any more time by taking a bus or having Ijichi drive us.” Both options would take too long in comparison to the instantaneous nature of warping. 

“I’ll be sure to watch over Inumaki and the other students,” Yaga said unnecessarily. Gojo already knew he would. “If Inumaki’s condition changes at all, I’ll call immediately, and I expect you to be here as soon as possible after the fact.”

Shoko sighed and waved a dismissive hand. “I shouldn’t have snuffed out my cigarette already,” she muttered under her breath. “Of course, I’d come back. Just because I’m leaving to help another student doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten or don’t care about Inumaki’s status.”

Yaga’s lips pressed tightly together. “I wasn’t implying that.” 

Gojo groaned with an impatience that went unmatched by anything he’d felt before, throwing his hands up dramatically. “We’re wasting time!”

“We’re going, we’re going!” Shoko said, glancing towards Nanami as Gojo pressed firm hands against their shoulders. “It’s easier if you close your eyes for the first time,” she instructed. “Otherwise, you’ll feel nauseous.”

“Believe me, I’m already at that point,” he partially joked.

Before Yaga could get another word out that would delay the search any further, Gojo manifested a wave of cursed energy abruptly wrapped itself around the three sorcerers, enveloping them in a wave of nothing and flashing brightly, leaving nothing but residuals in its wake. 

Thunder rolled, lightning crashed, and a whistling wind mixed in with a rain that developed from a drizzle into something much harsher. 

A storm was brewing outside, and Gojo wasn’t a believer in coincidence. 

Chapter Text

September 29th, 2018 - 02:01

There was nothing.

An inky vast void of nothingness, and he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for it or if it boded for worse things to come his way. 

He wasn’t sure of anything . 

Where he was, how he got there, what time it was…it was all lost to something he wasn’t sure existed. He couldn’t feel anything, no outside stimulus that made him want to recoil with pain or melt into a warmth that was comforting and familiar. There was simply…nothing. 

And that was strange because there was typically always something. He was no stranger to unconsciousness, but this felt different. He couldn’t say it was an uncomfortable sensation because there was nothing to feel, but it left him puzzled in the endless abyss that was his unconscious. 

How did he get here? And where even was here?

He found, but only if he thought long and hard about it, that he could vaguely remember yelling, loud and frantic that left a harsh buzzing to course through his ears and seep mind numbingly into his brain. He could remember a sensation of feeling drained yet invigorated all at the same time until exhaustion took him captive, knees that were already scraped and bloody falling to meet pavement—or was it dirt? More yelling, borderline screaming, rushed through the air, sharp and deadly in ways he couldn’t even fabricate but was happening anyway. He was tired, oh so tired, and there was little he could do to keep himself from succumbing to an inevitable slumber. Sickening cracks and squishes reverberated through his ears as though he was listening to them from the furthest position in a long and echoey tunnel, distant and dreamlike. 

And then he knew nothing. Knew nothing but the dark he was met with now. 

He should feel pain, shouldn’t he? It felt like he should. Like there should be a certain ache to his ribs and throb to his skull that hadn’t yet made itself known. Then again, he supposed he should stop questioning good things. 

His eyes felt heavy still, eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly as he tried to open his orbs to gaze at the world around him, but they ultimately stayed shut. It felt like he was trying to open a heavy vault that he didn’t have access to. So he saved his energy, stopped trying to move in ways his body wouldn’t yet allow, and let himself slip back into thought.

What had happened before the yelling? Before the buzzing sensation and the stinging in his knees and head? 

It was difficult and took more energy than he would’ve liked, but he eventually remembered the school, remembered a man with brown hair—Yaga?—giving him and someone else instructions for an assignment. Something about a curse in some forest, nothing out of the ordinary, but nothing coming through with intense clarity. No nature of the curse, no intel of its possible technique, just a location, a curse grade, and two students who were well enough qualified to take the mission on. He remembered a long drive there filled with near silence. Ijichi wasn’t the most talkative individual unless prompted…so his partner must’ve been…Inumaki, yes, that was it. He remembered the making of a veil, feeling a chill that he’d never before experienced as he and Inumaki made their way towards the scene, and a cursed energy that was disgustingly tangible. 

Which, of course, he’d grown up surrounded by intense cursed energy, so intense he’d never felt—and would never feel—any other energy that could rival, so he was a borderline expert at detecting cursed energy and judging the grade.

What he’d felt was no grade two. It was severe…something much worse.

Yet…it was oddly familiar at the same time. Familiar in a way that was warm and soothing yet simultaneously cold and alarming.

Inumaki must’ve noticed his off mood because he could remember the faintest, “Takana?” being uttered out of concern. 

That’s where his recollection gets fuzzier, blurring and merging into an obscure mess of endless walking and a grueling fight that felt much too long yet terribly brief all at once.

Yelling, screaming, buzzing, blood, crunches, squishes, black. 

And here he was. He didn’t remember everything, perhaps enough, but what he could gather in his vulnerable state was that wherever he was probably wasn’t safe. He was likely in a state of danger reminiscent of someone locked in a burning building with no way out.

And right, he would be. 

He tried again, exerting so much force that it felt as though he was manifesting Chimera Shadow Garden all over again, but this time he was merely attempting to open his eyes. 

He won out this time, emerald eyes feeling like anvils tied to flimsy ropes as they opened to the outside world. Much to his dismay, however, his surroundings resembled the dreary scape that he’d witnessed in his unconscious state. 

Darkness. He was surrounded by darkness. It wouldn’t take long, though, to realize that there was another sensation he could make out. A lightweight pressure overtop his eyes and encircled all the way to the back of his head in a seemingly never ending loop.

A blindfold. He was blindfolded. And unluckily—or maybe not—for him, he was only raised by Gojo, not born into the hellish and abusive clan. Six Eyes was beyond him, not something he could inherit from any other clan. The blindfold blocked out any and all light from his surroundings, leaving him practically at square one. 

But now that he was awake, he was acutely aware of a flashing pain that was making itself known through his skull, throbbing and blinding in harsh ways that would’ve put him on the ground if he wasn’t already seated on it. Or, at least he assumed he was seated on the ground. A quick test of stretching a leg out to the side as far as he could muster proved that, yes, wherever he was, he wasn’t confined to a small space. His back was pressed up against a cool surface, of what he assumed to be a wall, given its vastness. As another harsh pain sent his head reeling, he moved a hand to cradle it in hopes to alleviate the tension.

…

…

…

Or at least he tried to. Moving the appendage only served to cause a loud and ugly clinking sound to echo throughout the room and for his head to meet with something sharp and cold. He recoiled from whatever encompassed his hand, grunting in discomfort. He gazed uselessly at where his arm was, squinting behind the blindfold in hopes that the action would give him answers. 

It served to do nothing, but honestly, when had life ever gone in his favor? 

He groaned lowly, letting his head fall back against the wall, wondering what on Earth he could honestly do now. He was bound, that much he could gather. His legs were still free, which was a shocking feat, but he figured it wouldn’t do him any good. With the way his head was throbbing, even if he could stand, he’d be useless on his feet, swaying from side to side. He probably had a concussion, or at least that’s what it felt like. He’s had plenty, not only considering his line of schooling but throughout childhood as well. Gojo always was a mother hen when it came to…

When it came to…

Shit, Gojo . 

“Hm. Do my eyes deceive me, or are you awake?”

Megumi wasn’t the worst liar around, he honestly could if he wanted to, but he wasn’t sure what would benefit him more in this situation. 

“Ah, no need to fake it. I know you’re awake.”

So it didn’t matter then. 

“Where am I?” Megumi cringed at the way his voice sounded, crackly with disuse and rough after screaming during the mission that was…hours…days ago? How much time passed?

The voice chuckled lightly, airily. A sweet tenor voice that Megumi could hardly think had any sort of pleasant intentions. “Wouldn’t you want to know?” the voice crooned in a tone that was too sweet for its context. “Hm, you’re funny when you sleep, y’know? You kind of curl up in on yourself, knees pressed flush to your chest as if you’re trying to make yourself smaller. Reminds me of a child.”

Taunting. So this was how this person—curse? He couldn’t tell—was going to be. While Megumi was notorious for his short fuse, he was well acquainted with accepting taunts as they came. “You were watching me sleep?” Even though he wouldn’t call his state of unconsciousness that.

“There was nothing else to do.” Megumi could envision whatever entity was before him shrugging. “We’re not exactly home, and I was given specific instructions to not ‘have fun’ with you. Studying you was the next best thing, unfortunately, and it wasn’t even all that great.”

Megumi cringed. The last thing he wanted to be was any sort of entertainment to whatever was keeping him captive. “How long was I out?”

The being hummed. “Two…no, three days? Time starts to blur when you’re not allowed outside, but I think it’s been three days.”

That alarmed Megumi. It had already been three days since he was taken? Three days of unconsciousness, three days since the mission, and three days of Gojo and the school not finding him?

Wait…him and-

“Inumaki!” Megumi suddenly cried out, head moving every which way as though the action would let him see around the room, but of course, his vision stayed shrouded in black. “Inumaki! Is he here? What did you guys do with him?”

The creature snorted, and Megumi could hear a set of footsteps get closer to him. “Relax. Or don’t. If you’re talking about that white haired boy that was with you, he’s not here. We didn’t take him. In fact, we left him there in the forest.” Megumi could feel the being lean in close to him, breath uncomfortably hot against his skin. “If he was rescued or left for dead, I’m not sure. But doesn’t that make the situation all the more exhilarating?” 

Megumi felt like he was going to be sick. 

The silence Megumi provided made the being sigh, the exhale smacking Megumi straight in the face. He flinched back. “I forgot,” the voice said, a rustling sound emitting from him as though he was combing his fingers through hair, “you humans are disgustingly dependent on others. Really, it’s kind of hindering, don’t you think?”

You humans . Whatever Megumi was speaking with couldn’t be human then. Megumi’s already uneasy stomach dropped at the fact. If this was a curse, it was exceedingly intelligent. He’d never met one before that was capable of human speech. For this one to speak so fluently was off putting. 

He was in danger. Fatal danger. 

The curse laughed. “Or maybe it’s rather funny! Just think, placing you in isolation for a few days would do more harm to you than almost anything else. You’d be insane before you knew it. Perhaps I should conduct an experiment on that.”

Megumi didn’t know what to do, and he certainly didn’t like what the curse was insinuating. They’d never gone over a list of steps to follow if you were kidnapped by a curse in school because that was never an option. When battling curses, it was typically a battle to the death, be that the curse’s or your own. This curse could speak, was very clearly sentient and intelligent, and had the power to hold hostages. 

Megumi didn’t know what to do.

So he did what felt right, forcefully extended his right leg in front of him until his foot made harsh contact with something tangible. The exertion caused the curse to fly back, Megumi could tell by the sound of flesh hitting pavement. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Megumi could hear the curse moving on the ground, repositioning so that he was standing. He heard another laugh, more breathy than the last. “Didn’t plan to,” he said. “In fact, I have direct orders not to. Seems you’re valuable, but I can’t see why.”

Neither could Megumi. What value did he hold? Sure, he had the Ten Shadows Technique, but his utilization of it wasn’t even full. He didn’t yet have all ten of his shikigami. His captivity served little purpose, especially if he was to be bound like this for the unforeseeable future. He couldn’t even feel his cursed energy like this. It felt suppressed, like trying to squeeze water out of a tightly sealed bottle. Almost like…

A lump formed in his throat.

“Talismans?” He asked quietly, willing his voice to not sound as nervous as he felt. His tone was so quiet that he wasn’t sure if the curse had heard him. 

But more laughter filled Megumi’s ears, and he knew for a fact that the curse did hear him. “If nothing else, you do seem intelligent. I’m sure the orchestrator will be pleased with that, but he probably already knew.”

Megumi’s breath hitched, but he swallowed quickly to not let the curse catch his labored breathing. Right . The curse mentioned something about being instructed to not touch him or ‘have any fun with him,’ whatever that meant—Megumi was certain he didn’t want to know. This curse wasn’t all there was to this puzzle. There was more, perhaps something terrifyingly larger than what he was currently being faced with. 

But that was ok. Sure, it had been three days already, but Megumi had something on his side that could—that would —overpower any curse that could possibly throw itself at him. It was a trump card that he couldn’t keep on a collar and leash, but he didn’t have to. Throughout his early years of childhood, Megumi learned the hard way that even when he didn’t desire Gojo Satoru in his life, the strongest sorcerer would always be there.

He just had to give him time. Gojo would show up sooner or later.

Megumi just hoped it was the former. 

“What the hell do you guys want with me?” Megumi growled, teeth baring like a dog that’s been backed into a corner. He’d have summoned his demon dogs by now if only he could feel his cursed energy—if it wasn’t suppressed by what felt like wraps upon wraps of talismans. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the curse tutted, walking towards Megumi again with heavy footsteps echoing tantalizingly against the flooring. “If such information is to be disclosed, it won’t be by me. As much as I’d love to tell you and watch you writhe in despair, I’m afraid that I’m not allowed such luxuries.”

Megumi cocked an eyebrow in question despite it not being visible. “Then who is?”

“All in good time,” the curse said without elaboration. “I must commend you, though, for someone who’s been kidnapped with absolutely no clue as to why you seem awfully calm.”

On the contrary, Megumi was losing his shit. 

He stayed silent to the claim, lips pursing uncomfortably, but hopefully not too tightly to the point they began to turn white. If the curse genuinely thought Megumi didn’t fear him, the teen wanted to keep it that way. Exhibiting fear would only serve to grow the curse’s ego, if not his cursed energy. Most curses were born from hate, despair, or fear, and Megumi wasn’t about to give this one anything to feed off of. If he was smart, he would cease contact with this curse altogether. He didn’t want to speak with it, to begin with, didn’t want to give it leverage to hurt him or his friends.

But he was tired, hurt, and beyond petrified. Communicating was the only way he was going to find out anything about his situation. 

For the time being, however, no more words were exchanged between the two. The silence wasn’t comfortable; it was beyond tense, perhaps worse than the first time Gojo was called to his middle after he’d gotten into a fight with another kid. However, Megumi was positive that the tense sensation was only felt by him. The curse was probably having a ball of sorts, waiting for Megumi to say something, to ask something that he’d only deny an answer to, with a smug ass look on his face that Megumi wanted to pound into oblivion just like he did to all of those kids in school.

But he wasn’t in middle school anymore, and Gojo wasn’t here yet to clean up his mess. 

He wondered about the sorcerer, wondered how he was handling the situation—effortlessly, Megumi figured. After all, Gojo was the strongest. Locating someone whose cursed energy was suppressed into nothingness would take time.

Then again, Megumi sometimes forgot just how painfully human Gojo could be. 

He wondered how Inumaki was doing, too. He didn’t remember too much from the mission, just enough to know that he and Inumaki got their asses kicked. The extent of the cursed speech user’s injuries was beyond the ravenette, but he hoped it wasn’t anything too severe and that backup got to him as quickly as possible. 

A loud sigh reverberated through the room. “You’re no fun when you’re quiet.”

Megumi held back a snort. “Am I supposed to be entertaining for you?”

“Well, it’s not the priority of the mission, but it’s definitely appreciated.”

Megumi wanted to spit in the creature's face and grind the heel of his shoe into its face. Forget cursed energy and cursed techniques; this was something he wanted to finish off personally. 

He’d only been awake for how long? And he was already more pissed off at this entity than he was at Gojo when he tried to make him sit on Santa’s lap as a child for a Christmas photo (Gojo had ultimately succeeded, but even to this day, the teen doesn’t allow Gojo to see it as a victory. Not with the bruises that decorated the adult’s shins after the fact).

“You’re a sick fuck,” Megumi settled on, not having much else to offer the curse who saw him purely as a toy as opposed to something alive.

Not that curses had ever been known to have morals—or sentience for that matter—but Megumi’s hands were bound and all he could do was lash at the being with words. It’s not genuinely effective, Megumi knows that, but it makes him feel slightly better like he isn’t just sitting there like a lamb set for slaughter and is fighting back. 

“I can’t get sick. Not like you, anyway. But I think our sentimentalities over my personality contrast significantly. It’s alright, though. Your thought process is bound to a set of nonrealistic and, quite frankly, idiotic morals that mean nothing in the end. Perhaps one day, you can forget that nonsense and see things in their truest light. Morals mean nothing. If you let the ideas of what’s ‘good’ and what’s ‘bad’ rule your life, you’ll never feel fulfilled.”

Megumi could hear the smirk in the curse’s voice, fueling his enraged desires to break free and exorcise the bastard. 

He could hear footsteps, ones that sounded further away coming closer, and at first, Megumi thought nothing of it—just the vile curse attempting to make his way back towards Megumi. He’d kick him again if need be, over and over again. Anything to keep the distance.

“I’d be correct in saying he’s awake?”

Megumi sucked in a sharp breath, one that he hoped wasn’t too audible.

That wasn’t the same voice that he’d just spent the worst part of maybe half an hour speaking with.

A brief giggle resounded. “Correct. Awake and coherent.”

“Perfect. So there wasn’t a serious head injury. I thought I might have to punish my curse for that.” 

Megumi couldn’t comment on the severity of his head injury. The only thing he knew was that it hurt like hell and that he might have a concussion. Everything else was in details he didn’t have access to. 

The curse hummed. “Not that I’ve noticed. He seems well enough. Has enough bite in him to insult me, anyway. He’s feisty. Y’sure know how to pick them.”

A tenor laugh. “I’m afraid fate is the one that chose this. Not me. But I agree, it couldn’t have chosen a better person.”

Megumi knows that voice. He knows it like he knows the taste of that one warm tea Tsumiki used to drink all the time and he tried only once —on the tip of his tongue but not coming to the forefront of his mind. It’s a voice he’s heard before, and for a moment he can’t decipher if it was only in passing or if he’s come in contact with this individual before.

He hardly believed it to be the former. 

The curse groaned. “He does have the tendency to fall into these silent spells, however. Those are pretty frustrating.”

“He isn’t here for your entertainment. I already let you play with more than your fair share of humans.”

“I know,” the curse whined, extenuating the ‘o,’ “but his cursed energy level was so high when we brought him here! He’d be the perfect playmate!”

The other voice hummed. “Perhaps some experimentation may be acceptable, given you run it by me first. For now, we need him intact.”

And Megumi wanted to throw up because he had a list—a short one, but a list nonetheless—of people that voice could possibly belong to. He didn’t like more than half of the individuals it could be, all for their own reasons, and all for differing levels of hatred. 

The new voice that fluttered about with the one Megumi’s grown acquainted with talked as if he and the curse were old buddies from college. His voice was soft, borderline soothing in a way that reminded Megumi of the way honey would slowly drip from a spoon into a warm beverage on a cold winter day. It was light and airy, to the point that it was almost reminiscent of birdsong. It was sweet, innocent, and if Megumi could forget his current predicament—and that this newcomer was likely the cause of it—it was borderline comforting. 

But first and foremost, it’s familiar, and Megumi was growing anxious and pissed because he couldn’t remember where from. He’s met so many people within the short span of his fifteen-year life, a sizable portion of which were already dead and gone, lost to the hell that was Jujutsu Sorcery. He doesn’t know how, doesn’t know where to categorize this voice. 

If he could just catch a glimpse of his face…

“You’re right,” the familiar voice mused, sounding closer now, “he does have the tendency to be on the quiet side.”

“Once you get him riled up enough, he’ll sing like a canary.”

“In that case, I suppose not much has changed.”

Not much has changed? If Megumi had any doubts that he knew this person, that phrase extinguished them. 

He sucked on his teeth so harshly that drawing blood was becoming a possibility. He let his tongue draw itself over the front of his top set of teeth as he waited for someone, anyone , to follow up the familiar voice’s claim with anything.

But instead of idle chatter, like the two had been supplying whilst Megumi lost himself to thought, only silence permeated the room that Megumi was still blind to. So he swallowed, bit the inside of his cheek, and spoke.

“Who are you?”

He didn’t expect an answer, not with the way the curse had spoken to him just minutes ago as though he was nothing more than a piece of gum stuck to someone’s shoe. But life was full of surprises, and Megumi was getting hit with way too many at once.

“You don’t recognize me?”

If Megumi could see him he would. 

More footsteps padded towards Megumi, but only one set that he could detect. A soft touch planted itself against Megumi’s cheek, and the teen flinched at first, burying his sorcerer instincts to immediately fight the threat off because being compliant with someone he knows might do him more benefits than being disobedient and aggressive. So he let the fingertips that were featherlight in touch and delicate in traces roam his face in a way that Megumi couldn’t ignore was familiar. It was so familiar, in fact, that the ravenette could almost picture himself back in his old apartment before he’d moved on campus, barely tall enough to reach Gojo’s knee. The touch is there, within those walls, within the memory of Megumi’s skin, but it’s as clear as a camera out of focus, and Megumi can only make out blurry portions of what this might be.

The fingers drew themselves under the blindfold, allowing the slightest of slivers of light into Megumi’s weakened and dazed green orbs. They lingered like that for a moment, maybe letting the teen’s eyes adjust before the fabric was fully removed from Megumi’s face, and he’s able to take in his surroundings for the first time.

He blinked, eyes adjusting.

And then he noticed someone in front of him, the person the familiar voice undeniably belonged to with arms outstretched as if he was ready to give Megumi a hug but made no motion to do so.

“Remember me?”

Megumi’s blood turned to ice.

Chapter Text

September 27th, 2018 - 01:07

Shoko was right. 

While caught off guard, even with the brief warning of Gojo’s hand falling over his shoulder—his touch warm and odd in a way Nanami’s only experienced maybe two other times in his entire life—Nanami forgot to shut his eyes as the warping effect wrapped around the three of them.

In short, the experience was disorienting, like an experimental teen trying just the right dosage of something illicit but not deadly. He felt cold yet hot all at the same time; he could hear nothing but everything; he could see nothing but saw everything in between space and time. It felt weightless like he was levitating, and speedy like he was in a racecar. 

Even if he had the opportunity to screw his eyes shut while they broke the laws of physics, essentially blinking themselves into existence in an entirely different area, Nanami highly doubted it would have done him any good.

He felt nauseous. Terribly so, to the point where the moment his feet hit solid ground again, he hunched over, hands gripping tightly at his knees as he dry heaved into the grass. 

After a couple of nausea filled retches that ultimately lead him nowhere, he felt a hand lighter than Gojo’s own patting him on the back. “Let it out, big guy,” Shoko’s tired voice reached his ears. “Now that your warp virginity’s been stolen, the next times will be easier. Warping back might still be a bitch, yeah, but it won’t be anywhere near as bad as what you’re experiencing now.”

Fuck, he still had to warp back home . 

Nanami only groaned in response, taking in a deep breath and swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand to catch any stray strands of saliva that dangled disgustingly. Shoko cocked an eyebrow at him when he finally stood upright.

“Y’good?”

If feeling as though his insides were being squeezed until they were nothing more than an unsavory pulp meant good, then yeah, Nanami was the definition of good. “Peachy,” he deadpanned. 

Uncaring for sarcasm directed towards her—as typical—Shoko waved him off, directing her attention back towards someone who was in a much more desperate need of supervision but would never admit it. Nanami followed suit, his own brown gaze falling upon Gojo who seemed to be oblivious to the entire interaction Nanami and Shoko just had, blindfolded eyes scanning the sea of trees.

Nanami could hardly think they’d warped directly to the scene of the mission. Exact coordinates hadn’t been expressed in the report, and the throng of trees was vast. It would take days, maybe even weeks to locate anyone, much less just a scene, without much of a lead to go off of. That is if you weren’t Gojo Satoru, of which Nanami was not, but thankfully for him, said sorcerer was on his team.

The search would take maybe two hours tops, granted residuals were left behind. 

Between the three, it was silent, not a word said as Gojo quietly stared out into the infinites of the forest. After a minute or so passed, however, Shoko pursed her lips. “See anything?”

Nanami expected Gojo to wait a moment more before snapping an arm in a certain direction, pointer finger extended and a hearty laugh ripping through his throat as he declared “It’s that way. The residuals are so strong that this will practically be a cinch,” because that’s just how Gojo is and how he operates; how he’s allowed to operate given his status as strongest. 

But he didn’t do that. There was no fanfare as Gojo caught immediate sight of exactly where they needed to go. There was no sudden hoorah as Gojo picked up the faintest sense of Megumi’s cursed energy, still residing in the forest and just further away from the initial scene, so his presence was missed when Inumaki was collected. There was no laughter, ease of tension, or any sign that would tell Nanami everything was alright. 

Nanami was wondering if everything was going to be alright. 

Slowly, disbelievingly, Gojo shook his head, fingers interlacing themselves around his blindfold. “Nothing. I can’t make out where the mission took place.” He pulled the blindfold off of his eyes, the fabric dangling from around his neck. “You two stay here. I’m going to try to see if getting a higher look will help at all.”

It was almost easy to forget just how powerful Gojo was. Most days he was so annoyingly human, pestering Nanami in any and all ways possible as if he was nothing more than the human he appeared to be. Nanami would always be reminded that Gojo was more than human, superhuman , every time he’d try to smack Gojo upside the head for his irritating antics. And he was reminded in that instance that Gojo was more than he appeared as the white haired sorcerer levitated off of the ground and floated through the air until he looked like nothing more than an ant amongst a cloud laden sky. 

Rain poured heavily over the forest, knocking into the leaves on the trees and running down them until they inevitably landed on the heads of the two remaining sorcerers. Nanami’s typically slicked back hair grew messy, stuck to his forehead almost as though he’d just gotten out of the shower. He could smell the scent of a stronger storm brewing, a familiar aroma of rain mixed in with wet dirt and pavement. It reminded him of his younger years when he’d splash around in puddles, messing up his sneakers and jeans just as his mother told him not to.

Nanami briefly considered that Gojo was having similar flashbacks, only it was Megumi and Tsumiki who were taking Nanami’s place, and Gojo Nanami’s mother’s. 

“This bites,” Shoko said, a heavy sigh passing through her lips.

Nanami glanced towards the brunette, taking in her appearance that was akin to Nanami’s own. Her hair was splayed messily across her face, some strands sticking to her cheeks while the higher fringe clung to her forehead. Droplets dripped unrelentingly down her face and over her hair, and Nanami would almost argue that the dampness served to make her look younger, almost as though she was a teen again. But her eyes still shone with tiredness no amount of sleep could cure. 

“Which part?” Nanami quipped in a halfhearted attempt at a joke. “Fushiguro’s predicament, or the rain?”

Shoko’s eyes widened briefly before her lips quirked up into a smirk. “I didn’t know Nanami Kento, ex-stockbroker turned back to sorcerer, could formulate jokes.”

Neither did Nanami, but apparently he could read a room enough to try whenever it felt appropriate.

“But I meant the former. I couldn’t care less about the rain.”

He figured as much. 

“I’d argue going missing is worse than being pronounced dead on scene,” she continued one hand ghosting over her pocket in a clear debate over whether or not she should light another cigarette. “At least then, your fate is known, and your body’s been recovered. Y’know, to give your family and friends closure. But if you’re missing? Nothing’s known. You don’t know whether to keep looking or lose hope. The odds you find someone at all are terribly slim, let alone find them alive .”

Nanami gulped inaudibly around hope he was trying to cling to. “Don’t tell Gojo that,” he muttered.

“Please,” Shoko said with an eyeroll, her hand falling away from her pocket as she must’ve decided burning a cigarette now wasn’t worth it in the rain that was growing steadily harder, “as if I’d tell him something like that, and as if I’d give in to those horrendously bleak statistics without a fight. We’re finding that kid one way or another, and I know that we’re all going to do our damndest to make sure that he’s alive when we do.”

Honestly, finding him any way other than alive didn’t seem like an option. Not with the way Gojo was scanning the forest like a hawk, body scouring over the vast amount of trees. Gojo wasn’t one to give up his wants easily. Even when Geto Suguru murdered villages filled with innocent civilians, Gojo did everything within his power to get the fugitive to stay, even if it meant life behind bars. Nanami had seen firsthand the heartbreaking and harrowing attempts on Gojo’s part to keep the second most powerful sorcerer in his life, to the extent of almost wrapping desperate hands around ankles that would only kick the powerful sorcerer away, if only feet didn’t bounce off of a still skillfully equipped Limitless. 

It was a love that could no longer be, but Gojo was selfish and never let go of anything easily. 

He wouldn’t let Megumi go, not without being pried away while kicking and screaming, and even then, Gojo would Hollow Purple anyone who got in his way.

Which gave Nanami every reason to stay on Gojo’s side of the search—not that he could envision himself on anyone else’s. Shoko had a point when she’d told Yaga that she, too, helped raise Megumi, especially when Gojo was absent—higher ups cared not about the fact Gojo had two mouths to feed, bodies to look after, and minds to grow. He was called upon weekly—or so it felt—by the higher ups to take on jobs that were “only suitable for the Six Eyes wielder.” And while Nanami couldn’t deny that the missions Gojo was sent on were ones only he could finish off, he highly doubted that Gojo wouldn’t have benefitted from having backup. Regardless, in Gojo’s absence, it wasn’t unlikely that Shoko would be called upon to watch the children, nor was it out of pocket for Nanami to be requested when Shoko couldn’t, even when he wasn’t part of the sorcery world anymore. 

Nanami never considered himself to be the parental type. He was stoic and calculating, often giving his attention more to his work and numbers than other human beings. However, the Fushiguro children had to do little to worm their way into Nanami’s so-called cold heart. He enjoyed their company about as much as they conveyed they enjoyed his. He watched them learn and grow into the individuals they were today.

So Nanami would be lying if he said he didn’t share at least a little of Gojo’s fear and concern.

“Oi, Nanami!” 

Nanami’s head sharply turned back towards Shoko, a weak hum passing through his lips in inquiry. 

“I’ve been saying your name for like the last minute. Where’d your mind go?”

To a possible Hell that he hoped with every fiber in his being Megumi didn’t have to share with Yu.

Nanami’s eyes trailed down to his colleague’s pocket with an intention he hadn’t indulged in since high school. “Are you willing to spare a cigarette?”

Shoko let out a hearty laugh, feigning brushing away tears. “That was a good one, Nanami! You sure know how to lighten a dark situation!” But he didn’t stir, didn’t smile or laugh like Shoko was continuing on. He simply continued to stare at her pocket with an unnerving expectancy, one that wasn’t lost on the brunette. She staggered, laughter catching in her throat abruptly as her eyes widened in shock. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Nanami said nothing, allowing his expression to do the talking.

Her hands fumbled for her pack dumbly. “I haven’t seen you light one since…” her voice trailed off, clearly wondering if it was alright to bring the situation up at a time like this.

At that, Nanami laughed breathily, but really it sounded more like a noisy sigh than laughter. “Since Haibara, I know.”

At the mention of her deceased peer, Shoko shut up and merely pulled out the stick, passing it to the blonde. “Put it up to your lips, and I’ll light it,” she offered.

Nanami did just that.

The smoke was familiar as it was foreign, curling soothingly yet irritatingly in his lungs just as it had that one or two times he’d done it in high school. For a stupidly brief moment, Nanami could pretend that he was a teenager again and that Yu was standing next to him, telling him everything was alright and that there was nothing to fear. Nanami was always careful, though, never one to give in to illusions and deceptions. He didn’t let himself linger in the fantasy for too long, quickly jolting himself to the disgruntling present. 

“Didn’t realize I was that bad of an influence,” Shoko joked. “We’ve been alone for what…five minutes? And you’re already smoking.”

Nanami snorted. “Just don’t tell the students, or they might actually believe I condone it.”

Shoko could offer him nothing more than a laugh, brown eyes directing themselves back to the sky as they eagerly awaited Gojo’s rearrival. 

It took maybe ten minutes—Nanami didn’t check his phone for genuine analytics—but eventually, Gojo came back, hair plastered to his head in a way that reminded Nanami of how his hair was styled in his teenage years. His blindfold hung uselessly around his neck, having absorbed too much rain during Gojo’s time elevated in the air. Nanami didn’t think it would serve much purpose any longer. It would probably slip off of Gojo’s skin any time he’d attempt to put it on.

“I think I found it,” Gojo said breathlessly as if the minimal amount of energy he’d exerted was already too much. “That or there was already a part of the forest that was considerably messed up. But I’m going to bank on the idea that that’s not the case, and this was where Inumaki and Megumi were.”

Nanami idly flicked his cigarette, watching the ash diminish into nothing as it fell into a puddle that was beginning to pool at his feet. “Is it far?”

The action earned him an incredulous look from his colleague. “Since when do you smoke?”

Nanami gave the sorcerer a look that said ‘Now’s not the time to mull over my life decisions.’

Gojo seemed to read that loud and clear.

“It’s not that far,” he said, running a hand through flaccid hair that only flopped pitifully onto his forehead. “Warping there would take care of any time restraints.”

Nanami visibly greened at the suggestion.

“But it wouldn’t take long to levitate you two there, either.”

Nanami suppressed the urge to kiss the ground for there being a second, less nauseating, option. 

Shoko cocked an eyebrow Gojo’s way. “Hold up, Mr. Hotshot. Are you going to be able to hold both Nanami and me while you levitate?”

Gojo placed a hand over his heart, sucking in a dramatic gasp in feign offense. “You dare doubt my abilities, Shoko? After all we’ve been through.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and moved to wack Gojo’s head, her hand bouncing off of Limitless. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. I just work with corpses so often that I’d rather not become one prematurely.”

Nanami couldn’t help but agree with Shoko’s logic, but he placed a bit more faith in Gojo—maybe against his better judgment, or maybe aligning with it. 

Gojo waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on. We’re already going to be wasting a couple minutes just levitating there. I’d rather not waste anymore.”

Nanami nodded, taking one last drag on his cigarette before tossing the stubbed tube of nicotine infused tobacco into the puddle under his feet. 

Feeling Limitless wrap around him as Gojo hooked an arm around his waist was a cold experience. Literally. The air around Nanami grew frigid as he levitated into the air with Gojo and Shoko, little to no strength being exerted from the white haired man as Limitless did most of the job of holding him and Shoko up. It was slightly unnerving, watching the ground grow smaller and smaller as his feet had seemingly nothing to place themselves on, yet still felt pressure underneath, almost as though there was an invisible ball encircling and holding all three of them. 

The sensation didn’t make Nanami want to spew as warping had. 

The levitation was short lived, the trio soon finding their way back on solid ground as Gojo brought them to the mission site.

And Gojo had been right. The area was in utter disarray. 

Some trees looked to be eviscerated, ash brushing away on remaining trunks that held little to no leaves. Grass was burnt in several areas, leaving nothing but brown, muddied dirt in its wake. Branches littered the ground like landmines as the sole remainders of trees that had once stood tall for maybe hundreds of years. Burns stretched and wrapped around the land as though they’d been on fire just an hour or so ago, only to be extinguished by the rainfall Nanami was certain had grown harsher in their short span of being in the forest. 

Even more disturbingly, there were two plots considerably far from each other, dirt drug up into piles, leaving indents that clearly once held bodies.

Nanami could visibly see Gojo’s impossibly pale skin manage to turn a shade lighter. If it wasn’t for the pink flush across Gojo’s cheeks from the slightly chilly rain, he’d look exactly like a set of hospital sheets.

Shoko whistled at the sight, offering no more two sense than that. They were all envisioning a battle taking place that was much too violent for illy paired students, phantom pains ravaging their bodies in all too familiar ways. Nanami watched Gojo’s Adam's apple bob with emotion, eyes unreadable and hands too steady for what they were seeing.

And maybe worst of all? The reading of cursed energy was criminally low. For as much damage that was done, the area should’ve been oozing with residuals. The lack thereof could be attributed to the time that dwindled helplessly like sand running through an hourglass, and the rain that pelted down unforgivingly, drenching and eroding residuals that could have been of significant use.

But even so, there was too much damage for several hours and rain to dissipate all of the potential traces.

Whatever this was had intelligence and knew how to cover its tracks. 

“I don’t feel much here, Satoru,” Shoko admitted, voice low. “Are you sure this is it?”

Gojo kicked a stone. “It has to be,” he said. “Nothing else is capable of this much destruction unless the Kyoto school had a mission here that went undocumented.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Plus…this scene is still fresh. They had to have been here. Megumi must have…” His voice trailed off as a certain tightness wormed its way into his voice that made Nanami’s own chest constrict. 

“Easy there, big guy,” Shoko consoled before Nanami had the chance to accuse the wetness on Gojo’s face to be more than rain—not that he would have, though. “We’ll have a look around. There’s gotta be something .”

Nanami hoped for Gojo’s sake—and Megumi’s—that Shoko was right.

Gojo cleared his throat, gathered his bearings, and set his eyes on high alert.

Nanami pointed towards the body indents with an arm that felt as though it was weighed down by lead. “If anywhere has residuals, they’d probably be strongest there. Especially if either Inumaki or Fushiguro laid there for a considerable amount of time.”

So that’s where they looked first. Granted, the time spent there was relatively minimal, although still having been rather extensive in terms of wasting no more time than required but ensuring no rock was left unturned in the dirt indents. Nothing was found, at least nothing of significance. Whatever might have lingered from the boys’ unconscious states in shallow dirt beds was washed away, and Nanami wasn’t sure if it was from the rain and time…or something else. He wanted to believe it was the former, but the latter unfortunately made more sense. 

The three of them moved on quickly when it was clear the indent sites held nothing for them. They all meandered around the mission plot that was beginning to feel more and more like a crime scene with every second that ticked by where nothing was discovered. Nanami was up to his elbows in dirt and shattered wood pieces as he searched for something, anything , that might hold a residual that would allow the three to identify the curse responsible for the emotional and physical havoc it wreaked on the students and faculty of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech, but it was all amounting, painfully, to nothing. Seconds were melting into minutes, minutes into hours, and Nanami could feel an anxiety unmatched curl in his chest and settle deeply into his stomach.

He couldn’t imagine how Gojo must be feeling.

…Wait, yes he could.

The only thing more painful than coming up empty handed from every place of search was watching Gojo do the same thing. The sorcerer’s eyes, which were more often than not clad behind some sort of fabric or sunglasses, were wide, borderline frantic. Gojo was doing his best—which was actually pretty damn good, if Nanami was honest—at seemingly remaining calm, cool, and collected, but the physical symptoms of panic were unmistakable. Gojo’s hands, which started out steady, were growing tremulous. His breathing was growing more erratic every time Nanami walked past him, heaving and sometimes choking, but not loud enough to be noticeable by a stranger. And, worst of all, the rims of Gojo’s pristine and perfect eyes were growing pink at the rims. Nothing yet to cause alarm, again, Gojo was the strongest and made it abundantly clear whenever he walked into a room, but Nanami couldn’t help the concern that wanted to crawl out of his throat and make itself known as words. Gojo’s eyes didn’t get like that anymore. Not since he was a teen and trying to control Six Eyes took more energy. The fact that they were starting to become discolored at all proved just how much energy Gojo was putting in to scan the area for any and all signs of cursed energy, even if it was microscopic.

 “Find anything?” Nanami asked with a little more hope than he actually had.

Shoko shook her head, cold, pruned hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket.

“Not a thing,” she said bleakly. “It doesn’t make sense. Things don’t just…I don’t know, vanish out of thin air after causing so much destruction. It doesn’t make sense.”

Nanami agreed, but little things dealing with curses ever made sense.

“No curse could be that intelligent. They wouldn’t know how to cover their tracks, Hell, most of them don’t even know how to speak . There’s gotta be something else.”

Nanami snorted. “If you have any other plausible theories, by all means, be my guest. But I know what I’ve encountered, and we can’t forget that one volcanic curse Gojo said he came in contact with. Some curses are capable of human thought processes and speech. It’s just emotion where they fall short of merging into what we are.”

Shoko was silent, standing before Nanami with dirt splotches staining her white jacket and hair still splayed messily and wetly across her face. She muttered a curse under her breath, reaching her abused hands out from her jacket pocket to instead search for her pants pocket. “This is nuts,” she said, procuring a cigarette. 

Nanami hummed. “An understatement.”

“Yeah, well, my vocabulary isn’t that extensive, I’m tired, terrified, and ready to punch every higher up that’s ever existed, past, present, and future. Nuts is the best I got.”

He said nothing in response. Instead, he moved to check his phone that sat in his pocket, grimacing when the screen flashed back at him a disgusting time of 03:57 . They’d been in the same spot for almost three hours without a second location to go to. This was all they had. There was no other mission site where there was the potential for more clues. Their only shot was here.

And they were all coming up empty handed. 

“Ok, there’s gotta be something we’re missing, right?” Gojo thought aloud to the two. “ Something has to be here. There can’t just be nothing. The mission wasn’t that long ago.”

Shoko shook her head slowly, exhaling a puff of smoke. “We’ve checked everywhere within this plot,” she said, flicking cigarette ash. “Maybe there’s something from the trail where backup brought Inumaki back?”

Gojo shook his head. “That wouldn’t make sense,” he said tightly. “How would a path that was walked over once hold any sort of residual?”

“I don’t know. Do you have a better idea? Because I’m stumped, and I want to help, but I don’t know what other options I can offer you. This place is bone dry in cursed energy, and we don’t have much else to go off of.”

Gojo was silent, which was an alarm in and of itself. Nanami rarely knew Gojo to be quiet and only associated the phenomenon with intense thinking and conflicting emotions, both dangerous mixtures for the powerful sorcerer. 

A flash of lightning illuminated their surroundings, a crack of thunder resounding throughout the forest not long after in nature’s own game of chase. Shoko and Gojo debated the next course of action in spurts that Nanami vaguely remembered, not really following along with what was being said. He had no ideas to give, no alternatives that would be beneficial. He was caught up in his mind, thoughts strong and overpowering in ways they hadn’t been in a long time. 

Shoko and Gojo’s voices became background noise, filling his ears with an incessant ringing that made his visual senses hone in in an unfamiliar, almost as though he was spacing out, yet had full awareness of the world around him. He was acutely aware of the way his feet sunk into the water logged dirt, shoes likely ruined without chance of repair. It was cold out, the autumn air mixing unforgivingly in with the rain that showed no signs of relenting, even almost three hours after the search initially began.

Nanami wondered if Megumi was cold, if he was outside and was just somewhere among the trees that the three hadn’t noticed yet. He wondered if his clothes were tattered or dirty, feeling crusty and uncomfortable against skin that should be home and wrapped tightly within blankets, perhaps with a cup of tea in hand. He wondered if he was scared, internally begging to be found, or if he was holding out well on his own, fighting his kidnapper back with everything he had—if he had much left.

Nanami wondered if Megumi was alive , breathing with a steady heartbeat ticking along in his chest.

His silence must’ve gone unnoticed because Shoko and Gojo’s voices were elevating, nearly shouting, perhaps out of frustration and fear over what to do next. Nanami couldn’t tell, couldn’t bring his mind to clock back in and focus on what was being said. Instead, his gaze continued to fixate on the ground, eyes scanning the mud that left little life in its wake, grass having long since been drowned out. Among it all, however, a single flower—perhaps too small to be considered a flower. Possibly a weed—continued to thrive, roots somehow keeping it anchored into the over saturated dirt it resided in. It was a pretty little thing, too, with purple petals and an elongated yellow stigma in the center. It was sweet, something a child would pick up and eagerly offer their parents. It was…it was…

It…

Nanami squinted his eyes, to further analyze the small sign of life before they flew wide open once more. Quickly, he bent over and picked the flower, too enamored and hopeful to think about bringing the roots up with it. The action was abrupt, so much so that the chatter in his ears ceased, and, among other things, he could feel two sets of eyes on him.

“Oi, what’s wrong, Nanami?”

Nanami swallowed instead of spoke, too afraid to be incorrect or to let what he thought he had go.

“You’re scaring me, man,” he could hear Gojo’s voice. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

Residuals .

They were faint, just barely there. It would’ve been easy to overlook them, to mistake them for literally anything other than cursed energy, but they were there, and it was something because it wasn’t just from Megumi or Inumaki’s cursed energy. No, every instructor at the high school had their students’ cursed energy patterns locked in an important vault of memory, and this was nothing like their students’.

But…

It was…familiar. Familiar in a way Nanami hadn’t recognized for a long while. Which was odd because most people he knew within sorcery had very memorable patterns that Nanami could pick out from kilometers away. For this to be so familiar without an immediate face coming to mind was unnerving. It had to have been years for Nanami to have last witnessed this sort of cursed energy for him to not recognize it. Perhaps even a…decade. 

Nanami inhaled sharply.

“Dude, seriously, what’s up?” Shoko asked, taking a step closer towards the blonde. 

Nanami shook his head in disbelief, fist tightening around the flower. He licked his lips and looked at Gojo in apprehension. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Gojo furrowed his eyebrows and made his way toward Nanami. “Believe what?”

Nanami offered Gojo the flower wordlessly, watching his colleague’s face carefully, waiting for the moment of realization to settle in. It took a moment, Gojo first looking at the flower in confusion before transfiguring into something similar to nausea. Gojo’s breath hitched, shaky and uneven breaths following. He didn’t move to touch the flower. Instead, his hands hovered over it as though it would burn him, should he try to get closer. 

Gojo shook his head. “That can’t be right.”

Shoko looked at them confusedly. “What can’t be right?”

But Gojo didn’t answer her. He looked Nanami in the eyes, a gulp running uncomfortably down his throat and eyes narrowing into something that looked like anger. “Look, I don’t know how you did this, or what disgusting joke you’re trying to pull, but-”

“You think I could manage something like this?” Nanami sharply butted in, shutting Gojo’s suspicions down quickly. “How could I? I’ve been with you two all night, and you know for a fact that I would never make light of a situation where Fushiguro’s life is at stake.”

Gojo pursed his lips, cheeks discoloring. “But I killed him.”

Which was precisely why Nanami was just as puzzled and horrified as Gojo was.

Gojo took a deep breath and looked to the ground instead. “I’m going to be sick,” he announced as a mutter, turning on his heel and fast-walking a considerable distance away from Shoko and him, but not so far as to not be visible to his coworkers. Nanami watched helplessly as Gojo knelt down on the muddied ground, pants already ruined from hours of strenuous searching, and began to retch. 

“Yo, what the fuck am I missing out on?” Shoko asked pointedly, grabbing Nanami roughly by the shoulders and catching a glimpse at the plant in his hand.

All it took was that one look for her to understand exactly what they were dealing with.

“That’s impossible,” she insisted, a roll of thunder beating overhead that briefly drowned out the sound of Gojo gagging in the distance.

“Nothing is impossible when it deals with curses,” Nanami said, an ill feeling washing over himself as well. 

Shoko shook her head. “He’s dead . Gojo killed him.”

“You never received the body.”

Shoko pursed her lips. “Are you insinuating Gojo’s been lying all this time?”

“That is not what I’m implying,” Nanami said pointedly, watching as Gojo slowly stood and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “What I’m saying is that I think we’re at battle with something we don’t fully understand and won’t fully understand until we find… him and Fushiguro.”

“That begs another question,” Shoko said quietly to protect Gojo’s ears that were reapproaching them, “what does he want with Megumi?”

Nanami didn’t have an answer for that, nor was he about to question Gojo, who very much still looked as though he could vomit again at the drop of a hat, over the matter. 

What he did know, however, was that the nausea associated with warping back to the campus could never compete with the ill feeling that was brought on by their discovery and just what fate Megumi could be facing.

Chapter Text

September 29th, 2018 - 03:22

“Suguru?”

Megumi couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t fathom that in front of him stood the man who single handedly made Gojo break down in ways Megumi had attempted over and over again in his youth, only to fail each and every time.

Once Megumi finally saw the downfall of his caregiver, however, he never wished to witness anything like it ever again.

The man smiled wide, borderline friendly, nearly perfect white teeth peeking behind pale lips. “So you do remember me!”

How could Megumi forget? He’d personally known the curse user before he was classified as a curse user for all of maybe three months. He could remember with distinct clarity their first time meeting. Megumi hadn’t been completely warmed up to Gojo—it hadn’t been long since Gojo had officially taken on the role of ‘legal guardian’— but he was close enough to the insufferable man to stand stiffly by his side, eyes analyzing over the newcomer with a suspicion Gojo must have been too familiar with. He didn’t clasp a hand around Gojo’s pant leg in anxiousness, but he was definitely wary of the man’s presence.

Geto seemed to be of the same status in regards to Megumi, eyeing him with an incredulous and hesitant look. He spoke to Gojo, a sentence Megumi didn’t remember word for word, but one that he vaguely thought aligned with, “Are you kidding me?”

Gojo had laughed and said, “Nope! He’s ours for the training!”

Geto hadn’t liked that answer. He’d pulled Gojo away from small ears where their words couldn’t be made out, but their volume and tone reverberated through the apartment uncomfortably. Geto had been horrendously opposed to Gojo taking Megumi and Tsumiki into his care for reasons Megumi didn’t understand, but Gojo stood steadfast in his decision, something Megumi sometimes wondered if the sorcerer regretted. 

Once it became clear to Geto that Gojo wasn’t going to rotate Megumi and his sister into someone else’s care, the ravenette did his best to accept it, even going as far as to try and bond with both of them. Megumi remembered bedtime stories that were vivid in detail, ones that could put movies to shame. He remembered careful hands cupping his face when he’d fall and scrape his knee and the pain was too unbearable to deal with without shedding a couple tears. He remembered nimble and skilled fingers carding through Tsumiki’s hair, creating fun and beautiful styles that Gojo always failed to do, and he remembered the long haired ravenette allowing her to do the same to him (though it was never as good as his styles, he’d sport whatever hairstyle Tsumiki gave him for the rest of the day with a bright smile on his face). 

Geto had warmed up to them quicker than Megumi would’ve expected from their first interaction, and the same could be said for the teen as well. From the moment he’d first landed his eyes on Geto’s face, he couldn’t help but be distrustful and skeptical, waiting for some kind of catch like he had with Gojo.

But there wasn’t any. And Megumi, small, young, and neglected Megumi who didn’t know the feeling of a warm and meaningful hug wrapping around his small body, clung to the notion that Geto and Gojo spent their time around him and Tsumiki in a no strings attached deal, bound by no constraints. He grew fond of Geto, even if he’d never state it out loud. It was always implied, asking Gojo if his best friend—who was much too friendly, Tsumiki would snicker—would be coming over for dinner, or by squeezing Geto’s hand a little tighter each time they crossed the street.

But of course, nothing that was good ever stayed in Megumi’s life, always cruelly snatched away just as he began to feel happy—began to feel normal . 

The day Geto left was one that Megumi would always remember with crystal clarity. He and Tsumiki had been stashed away in their apartment, Gojo not yet having arrived from school himself, which was odd. He was usually always out before they were, picking them up from class even when Megumi would insist he didn’t need Gojo’s assistance to walk home. Tsumiki and Megumi gave Gojo the benefit of the doubt because sudden missions being assigned to Gojo weren’t uncommon. After all, he was the most powerful sorcerer.

What was uncommon was that Gojo didn’t send Geto—or any of his other friends—in his place. 

But they didn’t do anything about it, merely sat in their rooms and worked on schoolwork. But once the clock ticked over into the later hours of the afternoon, they congregated in Tsumiki’s room, playing with toys Gojo got them within his first week of caring for them.

The front door had opened with a slam just as the clock struck 17:22—Megumi had been watching it carefully. Tsumiki and he had been startled, jumping in their seats on the floor. More loud crashes followed in a dangerous cacophony that made the two wonder if they were being robbed. There were loud crashes of glass and sounds of splintering wood. 

“If it was a robber, they wouldn’t be breaking things. They’d just be taking things,” Tsumiki had reasoned, and Megumi agreed. So they crept out into the hall and peeked around the corner to see what all of the commotion was about and who was causing it.

Megumi remembered his little stomach dropping at the sight of Gojo crumpled on the floor, head stuck between his knees and hands laid uselessly at either of his sides, knuckles bloodied and glistening with the tiniest shards of glass. The living room had been a disaster area, the coffee table split in two in the center of the living room, the bookshelf in the corner toppled over, a couple mugs that must have been left out from that morning’s rush shattered against the floor among other disastrous messes. 

Tsumiki dared to step out and tiptoe around the battlefield of destroyed objects to talk to their caregiver, but Megumi could only stand frozen in his place and swallow thickly. Gojo was the most easygoing person he’d ever met, perhaps even to a fault. At the time, he couldn’t imagine whatever could have transpired to make the sorcerer snap like that. 

But Megumi knew now, with a beyond heavy heart, that at the time, Gojo was still a kid . Megumi and Tsumiki only ever referred to him as an adult because he had several meters on both of them, and he did his best to feed them edible meals. But really, Gojo had only been a child forced to deal with adult situations. 

When Tsumiki placed a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, Megumi watched him jump with alarm. He claimed that he didn’t know they’d be home already, but Megumi wanted to call bullshit. It was well into the afternoon, why wouldn’t they be home?

Perhaps he’d lost track of time with everything that had gone on.

There was no in depth explanation; Megumi now attributed that to Gojo wanting to keep his and Tsumiki’s idea of Geto clean and pretty with rose tinted lies. Geto simply stopped coming over, and Megumi couldn’t bring himself to ask why he’d stopped visiting. 

All he knew was that anytime Yaga or Shoko mentioned the sorcerer who’d once been so gentle and kind to Megumi and his sister, normalcy and happiness seeping off of his touch and words and infecting their brains, Gojo wouldn’t smile warmly like he used to. His cheeks wouldn’t dust pink anymore and his pupils wouldn’t dilate in that unmistakable way Megumi caught every single time. Instead, he’d scowl and turn away, or his eyes would turn red at the corners, a salty and wet substance pricking at them in what looked to be a painful way. 

Megumi wasn’t misinformed, not anymore. As he grew older, it was difficult to not find out about Geto’s plethora of crimes. He’d first heard about them in passing when he was visiting Tokyo Jujutsu Tech’s campus. Yaga was on the phone with what Megumi assumed to be the higher ups, discussing events that recently occurred and their possible ties to Geto. 

Megumi felt nauseous and angry.

The following night, he did ask Gojo about Geto and if what he heard was correct; with thinly pressed lips and blindfolded eyes, Gojo spoke tightly. “Yes, they’re true. Geto’s no longer a sorcerer, but a fugitive curse user. If you have any questions about him, I’ll answer them.” 

Megumi decided with disgust that he had none and never asked about him again.

The last time Geto’s name sat on Megumi’s tongue was the same night Gojo stumbled into their home on the morning of Christmas—close to 02:00. He’d been coated in blood that was crusting over his pale skin, and Megumi knew it wasn’t his because nobody could hurt Gojo physically except Gojo himself. His blindfold had hung uselessly around his neck, exposing bloodshot eyes that made their typical iridescent blue color dull significantly. He’d clearly been overwhelmed and overworked, exhausted in ways sleep could help but never cure.

He’d collapsed on their couch without a single word, and Megumi knew . He knew because The Night Parade of 100 Demons was something they’d been expecting and was something Gojo forbade Megumi from participating in, despite Megumi’s protests that he could be useful. He knew because Geto Suguru was the one orchestrating it, the one who wanted to wreak havoc on the schools and—subsequently—the entirety of normie humanity. 

Megumi knew what the battle would come to, maybe before Gojo had—accepted it while Gojo stayed in denial—but that didn’t stop the throb that grew in his heart. 

Geto Suguru was an outlaw. A criminal without a moral compass, a fact Megumi knew Gojo blamed himself for. He was a murderer, a manipulator, and the person who made Gojo break in more ways than one the fastest.

But above everything else, Geto Suguru was dead . Gojo killed him that fateful Christmas Eve in blood that was much too warm with feelings that were much too high. Gojo admitted to it as he held Megumi in a tight, unrestrained grip—one of the few times Megumi ever let the sorcerer hug him. 

So how was he…

“You were so small then, I wasn’t sure you’d remember!” Geto carried on, clapping his hands with joy. “Barely up to my knee!”

This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. As much as Megumi wanted to sit there and let Geto talk to him sweetly like he had all those years ago, maybe tell him one of those riveting stories again for the sake of old times, he couldn’t let sweet illusions take control. For one, the man who stood before him was one of the main reasons Gojo was so out of touch with his emotions. He was the reason why Gojo could be happy one minute and devastated the next, having taken emotional stability out the door with him as he strode away from his once kind self in exchange for someone diabolical. He caused Gojo many sleepless nights filled with agony that no one could remedy, not even Tsumiki who would try to curb Gojo’s funk with puppy dog eyes and promises of tea parties. Geto hurt Gojo in ways Megumi has only tried with no success. For that, Megumi could never forgive him.

Secondly, Geto was dead . 

Megumi bit his lip as Geto rambled on about nothing and everything. Megumi didn’t catch everything, only bits here and there detailing what Geto had been up to these past few years and asking Megumi the same question. He’d fill in the teen’s silence with more chatter because Megumi obviously wasn’t going to give the curse user what he wanted. Not after he left and took everything he wanted with him. 

He shook his head slowly, voice sounding as though it didn’t belong to him, distant and empty. “Geto’s dead.”

The mindless rambling stopped and silence took its place. Megumi didn’t look at him directly, but he could feel purple eyes boring into his body. “No,” the voice—Megumi couldn’t call it Geto because there’s no way it could be Geto—laughed airily, “I’m not. I’m right here, see?”

Sight meant nothing. Megumi wasn’t sure how whatever was before him managed to make himself look exactly like Geto, but he knew it couldn’t be the real thing. Not anymore. Not ever again. “Gojo killed him.”

“And you saw this?”

“No, Gojo told me.”

“Gojo is capable of lying.”

“Not to me.”

The person hummed deeply. “Is that so? How do you explain that little fiasco with your one peer, hm? Itadori Yuuji?”

Megumi inhaled sharply, making direct eye contact with whoever this imposter Geto was. How did he know about that? The only people who should’ve known about that were the school faculty. Megumi didn’t want to give the ravenette the satisfaction of being right for something he shouldn’t even know about, but he felt the need to prove a point, that Gojo wouldn’t lie to him about something like this. “That was completely different.”

Geto’s body smiled. “Is it, though?”

It had to be because the only other option was that Gojo could lie to Megumi about anything, and the teen wasn’t sure he wanted to believe that. Wasn’t sure he could believe that. The tears Gojo shed and the way he grappled at Megumi like the teen would disappear along with the love of his life and his other kid when he told Megumi about Geto’s fate were too genuine. If Gojo was lying, he deserved an award, but Megumi knew Gojo wasn’t that good of an actor. 

So he nodded. “It is.”

Geto’s imposter hummed, sizing Megumi up before shrugging. “What you think I am doesn’t matter in the grand scheme, I suppose.”

Megumi cocked an eyebrow. “So you admit to not being Suguru?”

“I admit nothing. I’m merely stating that my state of existence isn’t of importance to you. We already have you, and I don’t care enough to make you believe one thing over the other.”

It wasn’t a matter of belief, it was a matter of fact . This being claiming to be Suguru wasn’t the ex-sorcerer. However, Megumi had to admit, everything from the hairstyle to the clothes, down to the atrocious socks with sandals screamed ‘Suguru,’ with red flags waved high and alarms blaring. Shocked as Megumi was, this was something the teen could handle. However, if Gojo saw whatever this being was?

Megumi swallowed.

He didn’t want to think about the damage that could inflict.

“What do you want me for?” Megumi asked, voice tight with anxiety he was trying to portray as anger. He shifted, the chains restraining his wrists jingling with the movement. “Why did you take me and leave Inumaki for dead?”

Geto’s head tilted, a broad smile coming across his face. “I don’t know what you were doing, Mahito, but he sure is talkative with me.”

The curse Geto was speaking with huffed, folding arms over his chest. Diverting his attention from Geto’s look-a-like, Megumi finally studied the being next to the adult. He stood a little under Geto, but Megumi figured the curse would have at least a little bit of height over himself, should he stand. He looked childish, cheeks puffed with frustration and slightly hunched in on himself from the prospect of being ignored by Megumi. He was humanoid, unnervingly so. Most curses Megumi witnessed were the furthest thing from human, typically contorted and discolored gruesomely. However, there was something about the curse that stuck out to Megumi like a sore thumb, something that made Megumi feel green.

Patchwork was done across the curse’s flesh as though someone had torn his limbs from his body before crudely sewing them back on. 

This was the curse Nanami had so much trouble exorcizing. 

“The reason for us needing you is quite simple,” Geto’s voice said, smile still ever present on his lips. “You’re leverage.”

Megumi scoffed. “Against what?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Geto laughed, walking closer towards Megumi and leaning down, so close Megumi could feel the adult’s breath on his face. “We want this world to be a perfect paradise for curses. Sorcerers and those who are powerless have no place in that equation. We want Earth to be a place for freedom and relaxation for all curses to enjoy, with nothing left to exorcize them.” He placed a daunting and forceful finger under Megumi’s chin, directing an emerald gaze into a demented amethyst one. “It’s a target that’s impossible with Six Eyes around. He’d terminate the goal in milliseconds. So…we need him out of the picture, understand?”

Megumi wasn’t fazed by that. Ever since Gojo breathed in the world’s impure air for the first time, a bounty was placed upon him. He’d dodged and avoided more attempted assassinations than Megumi would be willing to count. It was difficult to find someone who didn’t want Gojo dead. “Ok?” Megumi said with an inquisitive tone. “Newsflash, Gojo’s untouchable, so good luck with that, but I still don’t see how I’m incorporated?”

Geto’s finger curled a little harsher under Megumi’s chin, nail digging jarringly into soft skin. “You’re incorporated because, regardless of how powerful he is, Gojo Satoru is still human . It doesn’t matter if he’s untouchable, or if he can eviscerate something with the flick of a hand; his human qualities are still there. Whether or not he attempts to suppress and snuff them does him no favors. They will always be there. The human nature is something encoded into human beings from day one, and it’s incredibly arduous to try and drain out on one’s own. You saw how he acted when his ‘one and only’ walked out, not to mention how he reacted when that other child of his was pronounced comatose.”

Megumi’s blood iced over and clogged his veins. His breathing ceased and eyes widened as the being’s words played on repeat in his mind. Tsumiki’s state of being was only known by him, Gojo, and local sorcerers, with the exception of a couple foreign ones that were brought over in hopes of curing her. Aside from that, her case was under strict confidentiality, courtesy of Gojo’s own wishes. Even the second years didn’t know about Tsumiki’s state of being, and Gojo was a relatively open book when it came to his students.

Megumi gritted his teeth, cold anger coursing through his even colder body. “How the hell do you know about-”

Geto’s body only smiled and let out a breathy, satisfied laugh that made Megumi want to punch him, kill him, and vomit at the same time. 

If there was ever a shadow of a doubt that what stood before Megumi wasn’t Geto, that was the final nail in the coffin. No matter what tirade Geto went on long ago, no matter what he thought, no matter what he wanted , he never would’ve hurt Tsumiki. Megumi saw how the ravenette looked at her, once upon a time, with adoring eyes and soft smiles. Tsumiki had grown to be a princess who had Geto wrapped around her finger. He’d never hurt her, whether she was considered a ‘normie,’ or not. 

“Fuck you!” Megumi growled out, teeth snapping as though he, himself, was one of his divine dogs. “I’ll kill you when I get out of here, I promise it!”

Geto’s body chuckled, eyes closing in feign delight. “I love a challenge. Not that I think you’d be a particular one, but…I’ve never been one to turn down a short lived duel.” He released his grip on Megumi’s face, the teen shaking his head to relieve some of the tension the forced position brought. “Anyways, if losing two of the most valuable individuals in his life took him down as many pegs as it did with the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything about it, imagine what would happen to him if we took away the last thing he cared about wholeheartedly without disclosing your whereabouts, giving him the idea that he can do something about it.” Geto’s body stood, towering over Megumi menacingly. “Your status is currently unknown. No one knows if you’re dead or alive, and Gojo isn’t one to give up easily. He’s going to search for you and search for you, even if that means he finds nothing but your body in the end. At least then, that would still bring him some closure.”

The patchwork curse—Mahito, Megumi thought he heard Geto’s voice call it—ran up next to the adult, hopping excitedly and pushing his hands on the cursed adult’s shoulder. “It’ll be plenty of fun to watch that sniveling and arrogant sorcerer be driven mad with the unknown!” He laughed. 

Megumi shook his head in denial. There was no way their plan would work. Sure, Gojo was persistent, but he wouldn’t put everything on the back burner just to find Megumi. “You’re wrong,” he said, but his voice wavered with something akin to disbelief. “Gojo’s a million things, but if you honestly think he wouldn’t know something was up from my disappearance, you’re wrong. He’s not going to jeopardize himself for one student. The world needs him, but the world doesn’t need me.”

“That might be true, but Gojo needs you,” the adult countered with a devilish smirk. “You’re much more to him than just a student. You’re his son, and if you think a parent’s love isn’t one of the strongest motivations in life, then you’re not as bright as I thought.”

Megumi swallowed and shifted, arms feeling sore from the heavy weight of the chains and talismans. “He’s not my dad. I wouldn’t know the first thing about a parent’s love, and neither would he.”

Geto’s head cocked itself to the side as a puppy’s would. “I’ll agree, Gojo has never known parental love or guidance; his upbringing was much too focused on how he would be the strongest and how he must act like it, but I disagree that he doesn’t show it. After all, how many people did he call in to take a look at that precious sister of yours after she fell cursed?”

Hundreds . Hundreds of different sorcerers with varying techniques, and not one had an answer. Megumi had witnessed Gojo yell at a sorcerer who said he had no answer for them, words cold and harsh with grief and apprehension that Megumi was certain his guardian didn’t want him to witness. That’s why Megumi never brought it up. He let the image of what he saw remain a secret between him and the wall that shrouded him. 

“Gojo was more of a father to you than your biological one was,” the adult continued. “If you think he’s going to stop now, you’re wrong. He’ll bleed himself dry trying to find you.”

Megumi sucked on his teeth. “Ok. So Gojo’s going to try to find me. But how’s he going to know where to look? You’ve blocked my cursed energy,” he rattled his covered hands for good measure, “and he doesn’t know that you exist,” the terminology was a bit generous. “Besides, when he does find out who did this and where I am, you and anyone else by association will be obliterated.”

Mahito giggled and rocked on his heels. “Time can heal all wounds, but it can also sap the hope and energy out of someone as well.”

“You’re quite right,” the adult agreed with a nod. “Which is precisely why at a later date we will contact him, sort of like a ransom. If we contact him now, he’d be filled with more rage and determination than anything. We’ll wait a month. Diminish his hope. Break him a little. Let him go crazy trying to find you and let his hope drain. By the time we let him know we have you, he’ll be so desperate to get you back that he’ll do just about anything I ask.” He chuckled and reached into his robe. “But once I have him where I want him, we won’t need anything else. This will do everything for me.”

Megumi sucked in a sharp breath at the object Geto procured from his robe, heart sinking to his stomach.

The Prison Realm.

Megumi had only heard of it during lectures and other forms of training; he’d never seen it up close. He didn’t know everything about it, couldn’t tell someone just how it ticked, but he knew enough to realize Gojo was doomed if he met up with Geto’s imposter. All of humanity would be doomed if Gojo was trapped and the curses could execute their plan. 

Megumi shook his head and scowled, yanking at the chains that held him back. “It won’t come to that! He’s not going to come to you no matter what you do! He’s not that stupid!”

Geto chuckled again, and Megumi realized he was beginning to loathe the noise. “See, I believe the plan is flawless . What did one ‘great’ sorcerer say? There’s no curse more twisted than love.”

It was weird to hear someone insinuate that Gojo loves him. Their relationship was complicated at best, Megumi too walled off for his own good, and Gojo trying too hard to make the teen feel as normal as possible. They’d only exchanged the heavily sentimental phrase less than a handful of times—at least once that Megumi could definitely recount (the day Tsumiki was cursed)—and from the outside looking in, it could be very well misconceived that Megumi hated the white haired man with a passion.

Which, he didn’t, but others didn’t need to know that. 

“How long did you plan on waiting?” Mahito asked.

“I was thinking I’d reach out anonymously on October 31st. A little over the threshold of a month, but it should be long enough to break his spirits down. If not, I have no issue with waiting longer. But I don’t expect him to last long. Gojo is a man known for power, not patience.”

Megumi felt a million emotions at once. He was so incredibly enraged over this whole plan, from the sheer fact that this entity believed Gojo would come looking for him when he had an entire world to protect, but Megumi was even more anxious that Gojo would do just that. That he’d drop every single responsibility he burdened in order to find the kid who used to deny the adult simple nights and easy bonding. He was terrified because what if Gojo came to find him, but what if Gojo didn’t? Everything felt so incredibly lose-lose, and it took everything in the ravenette to not scream his frustrations towards his cemented sky. What if his friends got involved? What would happen to them? What might happen to the world?

He could only hope that Gojo was smarter than he thought and would keep his nose where it mattered.

Where Megumi wasn’t involved.

“In any case, we’ve chatted for much too long,” Geto’s imposter stated, moving away from Megumi and towards a staircase on the far end of the bleak, cement room. “I have important matters to attend to. Until then, enjoy your time down here. After all, you’ve spent your life around someone who doesn’t understand what it means to keep their mouth shut. Perhaps you’ll enjoy the peace and quiet.”

No part of Megumi’s life had ever been quiet before; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it now. 

Watching the ravenette man walk away sent a new dread coursing through Megumi’s veins, one he hadn’t expected. He was helpless, so terribly and utterly useless in aiding support for the cause of greater good, and the notion was grating at his nerves with such intensity his heart began to race. Here he was, a damsel in distress, waiting for someone to come and clean the mess up for him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t use cursed energy like he’d grown accustomed to over the years. He was just a human and nothing more. A powerless human backed up into a corner without knowing what chance they had at rescue. 

Watching Geto walk away, so sure of himself, so optimistic about his plans, and leaving Megumi all alone to brood in his thoughts was dissatisfying in ways Megumi couldn’t list.

He couldn’t just sit there and do nothing .

So he watched as the two began to ascend the stairs, barely making it a quarter of the way up before he threw caution to the wind and tried to reach the one person who might be able to help him through this mess.

“You need to wake up!” He called to someone he wasn’t sure could hear him. Regardless, Geto and Mahito stopped in their tracks on the stairs. “You’ve gotta come back! You know you wouldn’t want this. Not for Gojo, even if he is annoying, not for Tsumiki, and not for me. We were so happy at one point, so why are you letting whatever he is do this? How are you going to let yourself get used like that, Suguru?” 

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe it was Megumi’s imagination, but he swore he witnessed Geto’s body jolt and twitch its head to the side, a hand clasping tightly over his throat. Mahito seemed taken aback, looking on at the adult with wide eyes and a mouth hung open in surprise. A flitter of hope moved through Megumi’s chest at the prospect of having Suguru back and present because if Suguru was here, he’d let Megumi go.

But his hope diminished as quickly as it kindled, a hearty laugh breaking through the otherwise coffin-like silence. “No way!” He laughed, looking quickly at Mahito behind him. “This is a first for me!”

A first for what, he didn’t elaborate. He only continued up the stairs, chatting with Mahito in a volume Megumi couldn’t decipher.

The lights switched off, and Megumi was plunged into a darkness that only closing his eyes could rival. 

He growled, letting his head fall back with a loud thunk against the cold wall behind him. He had no idea if his mindless idea did any benefits for himself, but he had to slip into a mindset that Itadori was more capable of than he was.

Positivity.

If he drowned himself in his typically pessimistic thoughts, he might die before fate got to decide his hell for him. 

He was tired. Apparently, being unconscious for nearly three days due to injury wasn’t nearly as restful as he thought it should be, for his body ached of an exhaustion that would’ve made him collapse if he could stand.

So he drifted, with nothing else he could do and nothing he could see. But before he fell asleep, he couldn’t stop a sentence that Geto said from ringing unforgivingly in his ears.

“We’ll wait a month. Diminish his hope. Break him a little.”

Megumi wondered who would break first.

Gojo or him. 

Chapter Text

September 30th, 2018 - 17:47

Campus life had grown odd.

Actually, he needed to rephrase that because campus life was always odd, such is life when a school focuses heavily on beings that normal people couldn’t see—beings that he couldn’t see just months ago. 

Campus life was odder than usual . Yes, that sounded better.

For the past three days, this one being the fourth, the school had been rather…quiet. Not to say quiet was bad because it wasn’t—even though he, himself, could barely stand in sheer silence for longer than two minutes—it just wasn’t normal for the school he’d grown to love during his short enrollment. 

Usually, someone was always doing something, whether that was Maki kicking one of her fellow second years’ asses, Nobara going on and on about the latest fashion trend and how she can’t believe how certain celebs go to photoshoots sporting the clothing they do, or Gojo simply looking for someone to annoy, that someone typically being an already irritated Nanami or an exceptionally moody Megumi.

Speaking of, another reason why campus life had been so odd was that he hadn’t seen Megumi for the past three days, going on four. Sure, Megumi was always one to savor silence when it was given and protect privacy as though it was a precious gem that would ensure he was set for life should he choose to sell it, but there’d been absolutely no traces of the teen being on campus whatsoever. Which, of course, was weird . Tokyo Jujutsu Tech was a boarding school, and as far as Yuuji knew, the ravenette teen didn’t have any family members outside of the school besides his sister, and she wasn’t exactly up and ready for the count. 

It was as though Megumi had vanished out of thin air, leaving nothing but his tidy and all too empty dorm room behind, a husk of its former self. Because yeah, the room on its own was beyond boring with nothing adorning the white walls and no fuzzy rugs decorating the floor to provide a comfier place to rest standing feet, but that’s why Megumi’s presence in it mattered so much. Megumi brought the room to life and made it his own. Without him, there was no one to lay ungracefully over the bed in positions Yuuji swore had to be uncomfortable with a book in hand, reading its contents with such enrapture that he wouldn’t notice if anyone entered his room. Even if it was a book he’d already read before, Megumi always gave the paper stories his undivided attention. There was no one to scatter pages upon pages of notes and homework on a far too clean desk as he studied for upcoming exams and quizzes. There was no one to live in it and make it a home.

And so it no longer was. 

And while Megumi was always on the more pessimistic side of thinking, it was nice having someone Yuuji could consider a friend next door. Because no matter how often Megumi insisted that Yuuji’s presence was unwelcomed or how annoyed Yuuji made him due to his Gojo likeness, the ravenette always let him in, always listened to him ramble, and always made the space judgment free.

It was stupid because it had only been a couple days, but Yuuji missed that already. 

What was also odd, yet set a pit of concern in Yuuji’s stomach that was gnawing at the sensitive lining and becoming more and more impossible to ignore, was that Toge had gone with him. Inumaki Toge, second year with a power that Yuuji could only witness in an awe like trance because damn was it impressive to be able to take out virtually anything you wanted with just a flick of your tongue. And yes, they’d explained to Yuuji that it wasn’t that simple, but still, the prospect was way too badass for Yuuji to dismiss. Digressions aside, in the midst of Megumi being gone, so was Toge. Both had disappeared without so much as an explanation from their teachers or principal, and Yuuji didn’t understand why.

Where were Megumi and Toge? Why weren’t they on campus, laughing with their friends and learning how to kick curse ass? 

Yuuji remembered there being an assigned mission for the two, one that took place in Kyoto just a few days prior, but that should’ve been complete by now. Both Megumi and Toge were well seasoned sorcerers with impressive grades and techniques. There was no reason for a mission that Yuuji could’ve sworn was supposed to be simple to take nearly four days time. But he tried to let his feelings and anxieties fizzle out before they could consume him because, if something had happened to either of the two or if something was seriously up, the remaining students would have been told.

Right? 

At the very least, it seemed like a breach of safety to keep everyone else in the dark if there was a potential threat looming overhead. Yuuji knew firsthand that Gojo was never the type to place someone in more danger than they had to be, let alone a whole group of kids who looked up to him in more ways than one, whether they wanted to admit so or not. But then again, Yuuji supposed he was walking proof that Gojo had the ability to keep secrets whenever he desired. 

But that was another thing. Gojo. 

Their sensei, usually so calm and knowledgeable, so childish even when presented with peril, was out of character. Or at the very least, he was out of character when Yuuji came in contact with him. He was seldom seen on campus anymore, off to Tengen knew where, and the students were given lackluster answers by Yaga that just didn’t add up. 

“Missions have been piling up,” Yaga had said the first day Gojo was absent from the classroom—as was Megumi. “The higher ups need them done immediately and have decided that Gojo was the best candidate. Nothing new.”

No, maybe not, but it was strange that it was so sudden, and anytime Yuuji did catch a glimpse of their teacher, he seemed years more exhausted than the last time, blindfold be damned. Missions that were assigned to Gojo were planned, allowing plenty of time to be announced to his students and nearby schools and teachers so they could plan around his absence accordingly, especially in the event something went wrong.

From what Yuuji had witnessed, Gojo was growing irritable, which he’d once thought was virtually impossible. Gojo was the very source and supplier of irritation himself. Towards students, he’d always seemed patient and forgiving in ways Yuuji couldn’t fathom most adults being. Suddenly, he’d snap at the littlest things, primarily when being spoken to by Yaga, Shoko, or any other individual who wasn’t a student. His fingers tapped irregular rhythms into the sides of his pants, and his hair was growing steadily into an ill managed mess. The cursed energy radiating off of him was fuming and volatile, almost to such a degree that Yuuji would feel nauseous in his short lived presence.

There was definitely something wrong, but Yuuji couldn’t tell just who the problem began with.

Megumi and Toge as a group, or Gojo as an individual. 

“Hey, dumbass!” A sharp voice broke Yuuji out of his drowning thoughts, something soft hitting his head soon following. “I can hear you thinking from over here. Shut up.”

He rubbed at his head, despite the object that was thrown not having been heavy—an orange slice, he’d discovered. “Stop wasting food.”

“I wouldn’t if your mood wasn’t ruining my appetite,” Nobara said, her lips curling disdainfully. “You’re usually such an upbeat person that it’s sickening. Don’t tell me you’re switching mindsets now.”

Their classes—if they could be called that—were wrapped up prematurely after Yaga received a phone call that he said was urgent. With no more lectures to listen to, no assigned spars, and procrastination reigning violently through their bodies, the two had settled on having snacks in the dorm’s provided kitchen. Yuuji’s own snack looked up at him mournfully, forgotten, as his stomach flipped in on itself from confusion and concern. 

“It’s nothing like that,” he said, furrowed eyes staring at the snack he held no desire for.

“Better not be,” Nobara said before popping an orange slice into her mouth. “This place has been so weird lately, and we definitely don’t need you adding onto it.”

Yuuji couldn’t help but agree that any additions of abnormality were sorely unwelcome.

She smirked. “Besides, you never think this much. I’d hate to think about the trouble we could get into if you start now.”

Yuuji took a moment to process her statement before indignation wrote itself across his face. “Hey!”

Her laughter that followed was desperately needed, and Yuuji relished in it for as long as he could, the sound warm with normalcy that had been stripped away for only four days. 

Only four days.

It sounded like nothing, no more than a few specs of sand in an hourglass, but it felt like the hourglass had been tilted time and time again upon his head, flipping and twisting until every single spec of sand buried him, just to turn over and begin again. 

He sighed and tapped his fingers against the table. “Is this how you guys felt when I was gone?” 

Nobara’s chewing ceased, eyes trained sharply on Yuuji’s being. “Not exactly,” she said after a beat of silence. “With you, we knew you were dead.” Yuuji winced at her deadpan expression. “Or we thought so, anyway. At the time, it was definite. There was proof; we saw your body. We knew what happened, end of story. With Fushiguro and Inumaki, we don’t.”

Yuuji poked at his own orange slices, moving them lazily around his plate. “So you’re not buying Yaga’s explanations either?”

“Long distance mission. They could be gone for an undisclosed period of time, depending on how effectively they work together. Our guesses are a week, but who could know for sure?”

Nobara snorted. “As if they could even be called that. They sound like half-assed excuses at best, and you know I hate liars.”

Nobara had been exceptionally wary around Gojo once Yuuji’s life had been announced not deceased. A sense of mistrust that hadn’t waned without plenty of bribery and apologies quickly built up. Regaining the brunette’s trust was no easy feat.

“So what do you think is going on?”

The brunette shrugged as she inspected an orange slice. “Who’s to say? There’s no telling when those weirdos are involved.”

Yuuji nodded his agreement. Their teachers could be unpredictable—namely Gojo. There were an infinite set of illogical ideologies that would be more likely than something cogent. 

He leaned back in his seat, chin tilted towards the ceiling with an unexplainable exhaustion coursing through his young bones. 

Maybe he was overthinking all of this, something he wasn’t accustomed to. With a mind that was usually filled with simplistic thoughts, it was overwhelming to be choking on his own concern. He wanted to think rationally—if something was wrong, surely Gojo would’ve told them—but Gojo was so flawlessly irrational that every feasible idea Yuuj could think of felt impossible. 

“You’re doing it again. Shut up.”

Yuuji blinked, taking in a deep breath. “Aren’t you worried?”

A beat of silence. “Do you want the truth or what’ll make you feel better?”

“You hate liars.”

“I do.”

“Truth then.”

Nobara sighed and scooted her chair away from the table, chair legs scraping harshly against the floor. “Yeah, I’m concerned,” she admitted, moving to place her plate in the sink. “The last time one of my peers was gone for this long, I thought he was dead. And while nothing of the like has been reported to us about Fushiguro and Inumaki, I can’t help but dread their fates.”

Nothing has been reported . 

Yuuji’s case had left little room for any alternative explanations that didn’t involve death, so of course, his case had been reported quickly. There’d been no reports for their peers, at least nothing had been disclosed to the first and second years that wasn’t a long distance mission. 

So everything had to be fine, right ? 

Yuuji groaned, still looking up at the ceiling. “This whole thing seems so messed up.”

“It might be,” Nobara conceded, appearing by the table once again, “or we could be reading too much into this. Maybe they got sent away on a long term mission at the last minute? It probably wouldn’t be the most outlandish explanation, I guess. Weirder things have happened around here.”

“Nah, hold onto your suspicion,” another voice broke through. Yuuji craned his neck to look behind him at the kitchen’s entrance. “Personally, I don’t care what any of the faculty members have been feeding us, nor how much I respect each one of them individualistically. I’ve known all of them long enough to detect when each of them are lying, and it’s worlds easier to figure out when they’re in on something together . They’re hiding the truth, and that’s just a fact.”

Maki leaned heavily against the entryway’s door frame, arms crossed stiffly over her chest and lips pressed thinly in a frown. Dark eyebrows were furrowed deeply on her forehead, painting a picture perfect representation of someone who wasn’t buying a word of propaganda being fed to them. 

Yuuji furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, when did you get here?”

“Not that long ago,” Maki dismissed with a wave of her hand. “But I had a feeling I knew where you two were going. It’s only natural that you always go to the kitchen after classes, it just so happened you were carting Kugisaki with you. Seriously, I don’t know where you store the abundance of snacks you eat, but I’ve gotta say it’s pretty impressive.”

Yuuji wasn’t sure if he should feel complimented or offended, so he kept his mouth shut. 

“But on top of that,” she continued, “I’ve noticed you both don’t seem…exactly yourselves. Which I don’t blame you for; things around here have been strange, so I thought I’d try to talk with you both because we’re all being left in the dark about something.”

It was difficult to act normally when everyone else was acting with tightly wound strings around their wrists without a clear puppetmaster maintaining the ends. It would’ve been different if Gojo was normal, still teaching their classes and cracking terrible jokes while annoying Nanami so deeply that the latter’s irritation was audible even from rooms away, but that’s not how things were. A certain unexplainable tenseness pulsated through the halls of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech, and despite their best(?) efforts, the faculty did little to ease the tension. It only made sense that the teachers would drag their students down to their level of apprehension. 

Gojo was irritable and frantic. Yaga was stoic with a new unwillingness to talk for long. Shoko was spaced out most days she was on campus. Nanami was nervous, even when speaking just with Yuuji. The teen couldn’t even ask his mentor what the time was without the usually well put together man’s shoulders tensing uncharacteristically and replying with a taut voice and curt words. 

So yeah, Yuuji, eccentric and bubbly Yuuji, diminished himself to a quieter nature, but what else could be expected? It wouldn’t seem right to continue on like nothing had changed when, truthfully, everything had changed. 

Nobara looked on at their upperclassman with an open mouth, eyes wide with shock and adoration. Someone had to be completely blind to not recognize the brunette had a severe admiration for the second year, and Yuuji would be lying if he said he didn’t see why. Maki was impressive, the pure definition of valorous. She set a standard that most strove to accomplish themselves. A perfect balance of intelligence, charisma, athleticism, and “Fuck you,” energy. 

“You really think so?” Nobara asked.

Maki scoffed. “I know so. Nothing adds up. It’s all an equation that leads to nowhere, and as unpredictable as this school can be, there’s almost always an explanation for why something happens. For what’s been going on, nothing’s clear. The only possible option is that they’re up to something, and I think Toge and Fushiguro are involved somehow.”

Yuuji cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, twisting in his seat to give Maki better attention. “How so?”

Maki slid a hand into her pocket, procuring her cell phone. “Every excuse that we’ve been given about the weird atmosphere revolves around missions, right? Gojo’s been swamped with missions from the higher ups; Inumaki and Fushiguro are doing a long distance mission.”

Yuuji nodded. “Right,” he and Nobara said simultaneously. 

Maki unlocked her phone, eyes somewhat softening as she scrolled through. “Toge and I have known each other for a long time. Before we were even enrolled here, we were friends, both outcasts within our clans. Toge found peace here because Gojo, despite his idiocy, wasn’t cruel enough to force Toge to wear talismans over his mouth. Gojo wasn’t terrified of him, didn’t make him feel like he was anything less than human, and definitely didn’t force him into silence. I found peace here because Gojo never underestimated me and has only encouraged me to grow stronger. Toge and I have been friends for several years now, and this whole situation is screaming with red flags.”

Nobara placed her hands on the table and leaned across it. “How so?”

Maki shrugged and slid her phone over the table, screen bright with text bubbles and a profile picture with a familiar face. 

“Toge always texts me on missions and about missions,” she said. “He tells me as soon as they’re assigned to him, as soon as he arrives, sometimes in between, but always when they’re complete. If he was assigned a long distance mission, I would know about it. But look,” she emphasized to the phone that neither Yuuji nor Nobara moved to touch, “he hasn’t indicated anything about a long distance assignment. In fact, the last assignment he was on, the 26th, I never received a message that the mission was finished.”

Yuuji and Nobara looked at each other, eyes meeting with the same inquisition and curiosity before Nobara picked it up and Yuuji ran to her side to examine the messages with her, knocking his chair over in the process.

-September 26th-

From Rice Boy:

The drive is soooo boring. (12:53)

Fushiguro’s so quiet, and it’s not like I can say much. (12:53)

From Me:

Quit being a baby. (12:53)

It’s not like you’re not used to silence. (12:54)

Sometimes, I think that boyfriend of yours can be quieter than you. (12:54)

From Rice Boy:

That’s because he’s too terrified of upsetting someone. (12:55)

He’s a living breathing panic attack. (12:55)

Buuuuut…he’s gotten better since his time with Miguel. (12:55)

From Me:

That’s good. (12:55)

It’d be difficult to be quieter than your boyfriend who can only speak in onigiri ingredients. (12:56)

Ordering dinner must be fun with you two. (12:56)

From Rice Boy:

(◔_◔) (12:56)

Gonna ignore that. (12:57)

Anywaaaayyyyy, we’re coming up on Kyoto now. (12:57)

Given this is a grade two curse, we’ll probably be two hours at most. Not including travel time to get back. ｡ﾟヽ(ﾟ´Д｀)ﾉﾟ｡ (12:57)

From Me:

Again. Baby. (12:58)

Seriously, though, let me know once you guys get there and when you’re done. (12:59)

From Rice Boy:

Yes, mom. (12:59)

Heeeeyyyyyy, we made it. (13:21)

Forest is denser than Panda’s fur. So many trees. It’d be easy for someone to get lost. (13:21)

Thankfully, I have impeccable routing skills. I would never lead an underclassman astray. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ (13:22)

This’ll be easy, peazy! We’ll be home before we know it! (13:22)

From Me:

Yo, status update? (17:02)

Anything? (17:57)

Need backup? Thought you said it’d be easy? (18:19)

Toge? (19:21)

Dude, where are you? (21:33)

-September 27th-

Can’t find any teachers. Do you know why? (00:58)

This isn’t funny. Text me back now. (01:15)

Outgoing call - (01:30)

Outgoing call - (01:32)

Pick up, you coward. (01:32)

The remaining texts were of a similar fashion, Maki threatening Toge if he didn’t answer her soon all with the same result.

Silence.

“He always answers,” Maki reiterated, tone sounding softer than it had before. “The only way he wouldn’t answer is if he was in trouble. Even during missions when contact with other students is forbidden, he finds ways around it to report back to me. This isn’t like him. This is wrong.”

Yuuji leaned crossed arms on the table. “So what do you think’s going on?” He asked. “Sure, that more than likely proves that the school’s hiding something from us, but it doesn’t put us any closer to figuring out what .”

Maki sighed and removed her glasses, rubbing at the lenses with the end of her skirt. “That’s where I’m stuck,” she admitted. “We could be dealing with an infinite number of possibilities, and unfortunately, I don’t know which ones to start with. Not without any concrete proof.”

“You don’t think they’d relent if we all went up to them and asked about Fushiguro and Inumaki? It’d be a little more difficult to lie to all of us in a group rather than when we’re alone,” Yuuji said.

Maki shook her head. “Not likely. Remember, Gojo had us all fooled when you were presumed dead. It wouldn’t matter if one of us went or if the four of us went. When Gojo wants to keep a secret, his lips are sealed, and it usually isn’t difficult for Yaga to follow suit.”

Nobara hummed, tracing meaningless shapes on the table. “What if we presented them with evidence?” She offered. “Present them with something that would prove we know something’s up. They couldn’t try to dance around it after that.”

Maki nodded along, a small smile gracing her lips. “That might work. It’s just a matter of finding evidence. If there is any.”

Yuuji picked up Maki’s phone and handed it back to the upperclassman. “What if we show them your messages with Inumaki? If what you said is true about him always messaging you about his missions, this seems pretty irrefutable.” 

“It’s not concrete, though,” Maki denied. “Gojo would find a way around it, make up some bullshit excuse about service being spotty in the area they sent Toge and Fushiguro.”

“So we’ll just have to find something concrete,” Nobara said, standing up straight with a smirk on her face. “With as spontaneous as Gojo is, there’s no way he hasn’t left something out where it shouldn’t be. I mean, have you seen his office? It looks like that guy doesn’t know the definition of organization.”

Maki clicked her tongue and pushed herself off of the doorframe. “You might be onto something there,” she said. “It would make sense for there to be something in Gojo’s office that might shed some light on what’s going on, and it’s not as if he’s on campus much anymore. We could probably infiltrate it with little to no problems.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t then,” Nobara said, a certain spark in her eye that Yuuji was certain was there from the praise she received from their upperclassman. “If it’s the best course of action, I say we get to it!”

Maki smiled, a warm something peeking behind her lips that Yuuji found familiar. “Hold on. We still have to be careful. If Gojo finds out we plan on getting into his office, we’re all going to be in trouble.”

Yuuji snorted. “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that. It’s not like Gojo’s ever here anymore, and even when he is, he seems too distracted to notice if something’s amiss like that. How likely would it be that he’d notice something weird when he’s currently the source of weirdness itself?”

Maki gave him a deadpan expression. “And that’s the mentality that’s going to get you caught,” she said, giving the teen a firm flick to the head. “Just because Gojo’s hardly here anymore doesn’t mean other teachers aren’t here either. Yaga’s been on campus during the entire debacle, only leaving classrooms and dismissing classes when he has a phone call. He never physically leaves the school. And trust me, he’s one of the last people you want to be caught by.”

Yuuji rubbed at his forehead, eyes crossing as he attempted to look at the afflicted area. “So we go at night when he isn’t patrolling the halls. Surely, no one’s guarding Gojo’s office. Once we determine the area is clear, there shouldn’t be many problems getting in there.”

Maki hummed, a look of consideration flashing in her eyes. “You’ve got a point.”

“So it’s settled!” Nobara said excitedly, determination burning bright in her eyes and across her cheeks (or perhaps the pale skin was tinted pink for another reason). “Tonight, we get into Gojo’s office, look for evidence, then blast it in his face once we find something that proves Inumaki and Fushiguro’s whereabouts don’t align with the excuses they’ve been giving us!”

Sure, it seemed easy enough, and likely would be easy, but what next? What if they found out that Gojo, Yaga, Shoko, and Nanami all had been lying about where their peers were? What if the truth was more undesirable than the sorry excuses their teachers had been supplying them with? What if Toge and Megumi were in danger or worse? What if there was nothing Yuuji and the others could do to help? There were so many what if scenarios that Yuuji wasn’t sure they’d all properly taken into account, but there was no way he was backing out now, whether the truth was something he wanted to hear or not. 

Megumi and Toge were out there somewhere, perhaps fine, but not assuredly so. If Yuuji could ensure his friends’ safety, he would within a heartbeat.

Maki’s phone pinged, causing three sets of eyes to dart toward the device with a hopeful expectancy. The hope was shattered, however, once Maki let out a deep sigh. “Tomorrow,” she corrected. “We’ll have to do it tomorrow. Panda just told me Yaga has assignments for us tonight.”

Nobara and Yuuji both groaned, the brunette physically deflating from the news. “This late?”

“Could be later. It’s happened before,” Maki said as she moved towards the kitchen’s exit. “C’mon. It’s best to not leave Panda waiting. He’ll raise all sorts of hell if we don’t meet up with him in the next few minutes.”

Nobara quickly followed behind Maki while Yuuji quickly moved to dispose of the leftover orange slices he hadn’t touched (which were surprisingly many). “He can be so whiny,” Nobara complained.

An airy ‘tch’ passed through Maki’s teeth. “You’re telling me. I swear, I’m surrounded by babies in my grade. The biggest one is definitely a tie between Panda and Okkotsu.”

Yuuji quickly made it back to his classmates before they got too far without him, tailing them as Maki led the way toward the sparring grounds. She and Nobara held conversations about their classmates that Yuuji decided he didn’t care enough to listen to in depth, adding a bit of two sense in every now and again once something they said piqued his interest. 

It was difficult to act normal when everything around them was anything but, and Yuuji didn’t see a need to act like it was.

Which perhaps explained why he didn’t question who the unfamiliar looking boy was on Maki’s phone, profile picture placed just above another series of texts.

Chapter Text

October 1st, 2018 - 23:47

“It’s weird seeing you here. I wasn’t expecting you.”

No one expected to see Gojo on campus much anymore. He was seldom seen, more often than not out searching for the still missing Megumi. Nanami accompanied him frequently, but not to the point where the blonde was never seen by the students. He was still around, doing his best—which admittedly wasn’t great—to ease the growing concerns of their students; he told them lies that made his nose crinkle, as well as Shoko’s, both knowing the truth but not knowing how to come out and say it…not willing to without Gojo’s blatant permission.

The sorcerer in question shrugged, piercing blue eyes clad with his dark blindfold, but Shoko didn’t need the piece of fabric off to tell that Gojo was dreadfully exhausted. “I wanted to check up on Inumaki,” he said, shoving pale, calloused hands deeply into his pockets. “I haven’t heard any reports from you.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to report,” Shoko stated with dead neutrality she’d perfected through her training and career as designated nurse for sorry sorcerers that barely stand a chance. She adjusted the bottom of her latex glove, pulling at it with a loud smack . “His condition hasn’t changed much. Besides his lacerations beginning to heal, he hasn’t shown any sign of waking up.”

He was lying on a mimic hospital bed across the room, deeper into the infirmary compared to where she and Gojo stood at the entrance. She’d been moving to leave the room, feeling suffocated by the prospect that there was nothing more she could do for the student and the need for a smoke break because of said revelation, but of course, that was the moment Gojo walked in, looking too tired for his own good and properly denied of any mandatory sustenance a human body required. It was Shoko’s job to be able to tell when things weren’t proper with someone, and Gojo was practically one giant red flag of an alarming amount of problems.

Gojo’s lips pursed, covered gaze wandering towards the still boy. “Can I see him?”

Shoko cocked her head to the side. “No reason you can’t.”

That was all the confirmation Gojo needed, apparently, for he stormed right past the brunette and further into the infirmary. A part of Shoko wanted to leave him alone with his student, wanted to leave the stuffy prison she’d created for herself when she agreed to attend Jujutsu Tech, all because she had a rare technique that was crucial for the survival of all sorcerers alike.

But the other part took one look at Gojo’s pathetic existence, noted the way his step faltered as he grew closer and closer toward the injured boy that neither could help further, and decided that leaving him to his own devices wouldn’t be a smart idea on her part. 

She bit back a sigh and grappled for her cigarette pack, taking a lone stick out and placing it between her lips to satiate her smoking need for the time being. She’d light it later, once Gojo was out and she could leave because she’d damn herself before she smoked around Inumaki’s healing body. She made her way towards the pair, flats clicking loudly against the tiled flooring. As she grew nearer, the heart monitor Inumaki was hooked up to grew louder, a steady beat that served as her only anxiety reliever. 

The teen, if he didn’t have nearly thirty wires projecting from every which way, feeding into bulky and ugly machines, looked as though he was sleeping. White hair was splayed in every which way on a white pillow that only served to make his already pale skin look worse for wear. Lavender eyes were fluttered shut with long lashes dusting at flushed cheeks, zero colors that would otherwise prove his certificate of livelihood painting his face. It had only been five days since he was brought to her infirmary, unresponsive and corpse-like, but his face was already beginning to hollow out from a lack of nutrients that wasn’t fed to him through a tube. His chest rose and fell steadily, but Shoko was too nervous to remove the cannula that sat uncomfortably at the entrance of his nostrils. A sense of guilt was beginning to fester in her stomach as she noticed a light sheen forming within his hair, grease from days of immobility finally beginning to build up. 

His recovery was complex. His broken bones and open wounds were healing just fine; his mind, however, was not. 

Shoko watched as Gojo’s lips curled disdainfully, top teeth peeking out to gnaw silently on his bottom lip. Perhaps allowing him to see Inumaki had been a mistake. She was certain Gojo blamed himself for Megumi’s disappearance; adding Inumaki’s predicament to the mix certainly couldn’t be doing his mental state wonders. 

“There’s been nothing?” He asked.

Shoko shook her head. “Nothing,” she restated around her cigarette. “I mean, he hasn’t been getting worse, so that’s always a plus, but…he hasn’t necessarily been improving.”

He lay there, vegetative. Like he’d already been claimed by a certain someone who loomed around each and every corner, shrouded in an inky black cloak with a scythe in hand. It was only for the heart monitor and gentle motions of his chest that Shoko knew better. 

“Is there anyone we can call?” Gojo asked, eyes still glued to his student.

“Not anyone who’ll be of help,” Shoko said, tearing her gaze away from Inumaki. She didn’t want to look at someone she couldn’t help more. “You could call the most renowned of sorcerers if you really wanted to, but I don’t think there’s anything they could tell you that I haven’t already.”

Gojo shook his head, staring a moment longer at the teen before he violently turned away, running a stressed hand through unkempt hair. “ Fuck ,”  he hissed. 

Her thoughts exactly. 

Not only was treating someone who had an unknown outlook difficult, but keeping his status a secret from the rest of the students was draining. Not that the students came to see her too often, but she’d caught saddened and confused gazes from students in bypassing. She’d heard whispers of scandal and fears of the worst from disturbed first and second year mouths as they walked to their respective classes, having already found out that asking teachers questions they desperately wanted answers to led them nowhere. Cursed energy was always sensible, always warm and taut like a rope being pulled on either sides. Should it be strong enough, Shoko found that it could be damn near suffocating.

No cursed energy she’d ever felt before compared to the tenseness that was held in the students of Jujutsu Tech.

Which brought her to another point: just how long were they going to keep the remaining students in the dark? And for how long could they be successful with such a task? Their students were by no means stupid—were some gullible and naive, sure, but not dumb—and were growing suspicious of the indefinite answers they were being provided with about their peers’ disappearances. Mix their suspicion in with their insatiable nosiness and all it created was a concoction for destruction on the part of the teachers. It was illogical to think they could keep this secret for long, Shoko knew that, but Gojo seemed to be digging himself further and further down into a pit of denial that was rapidly growing to be treacherous.

Shoko was all for people ingesting hard to swallow pills, but she wasn’t too keen on force feeding them.

But she was also painstakingly aware that Gojo was never one to do things easily. Dumbass never heard of the K.I.S.S. method. 

She crossed her arms and bit her lip. “The kids are growing suspicious.”

Gojo threw his head back with a groan. “Tell me something new. Something I don’t know.”

Shoko scowled. Of course, he’d be so flippant about this. Seriousness never was his style. “We’re going to have to tell the students the truth soon.”

Gojo shook his head immediately. “Not an option,” he said quickly. “The more people that get involved, the more complex the case will be.”

“Or the more coverage you’ll have,” Shoko refuted. “Satoru, not that we’re not all willing to look for the kid because you know I’d die before I gave up on searching for him, but our current procedure isn’t…efficient. You’re out at all possible hours of the day and night while Nanami and I search at least twice a day without any leads aside from the one residual Nanami found. Yaga stays back at the campus at all times. There are three people actively searching for Fushiguro with minimalistic clues. If we tell the students, we could have more help.”

“Or,” Gojo interjected, looking directly at Shoko, “we get the kids involved and the higher ups find out about it. What then? Shoko, what would they say about the case if they found out?”

Shoko knew exactly what. They’d take one look at the file, notice Inumaki was left behind while Fushiguro was kidnapped, and would determine the entire situation to be dangerous; a setup or something of the like. One student’s life was nothing to them, not when something larger could be at play.

They’d order any and all searches to be terminated immediately. Any attempts to continue would be treated as betrayal, considering the order would’ve gone into effect on ‘behalf of the security of sorcerers’ . Violations could be subject to punishments fit for treason. 

That’s exactly what would happen, and the entirety of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech knew it.

Shoko understood Gojo’s anxiety should word get out about Fushiguro being missing, she really did because she feared the same thing, but she could also acknowledge that Gojo couldn’t go on living like this, carrying the brunt of the responsibility and heartbreak. She trusted the students with this. They all understood when situations were heavy and required delicate care. This was something she believed they’d keep under lock and key, so long as they were permitted to help. And if they did, it would leave more room for Gojo to take care of himself. Not that he would on his own, but should the window of opportunity come about, she could force the idiot to eat something and rest. 

So she swallowed and went for the kill. “Satoru, when’s the last time you slept?”

Even behind a blindfold, Shoko could feel him blink owlishly at her. “What?”

“You heard me. When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t see how that’s impor-”

“Of course, you don’t!” Shoko sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course, you don’t see the importance of self care even in times of crisis! Dammit, Satoru, I want to find Megumi, too, to a crippling degree, but you’re going to be useless if you’re a fucking dead man walking!”

It was weird referring to the most powerful sorcerer alive as being potentially useless, but there was truth in it, and she could see it in Gojo’s ever paling skin. 

The sorcerer in question fell silent, lips pressed thin and expression unreadable. For a moment, a painfully long moment, Shoko feared that he’d call the end of their conversation there and walk out without so much as hearing her concerns. She feared he’d turn the coldest of shoulders to her and refuse to confide in her anymore if all he was going to get was chastised for it. She feared that, in the worst case scenario where Fushiguro wasn’t found or came up dead, she’d not only lose a kid who was damn near close to being her own but her only remaining best friend as well. 

Her hand itched for the lonely lighter in her pocket, but she remained steady and refused to light the cigarette in front of Inumaki.

Thankfully for her, Gojo didn’t walk out. He didn’t turn his back to her, nor did he speak in a way that told Shoko he was no longer going to come to her with his problems. Instead, he sighed deeply and sunk lowly into a chair that neighbored Inumaki’s bedside, leaning a heavy head into the palm of his hand. 

“I visited the apartment earlier.”

That caught Shoko’s attention. There was only one apartment Gojo could be referring to because the place he separately resided in was referred to as home, though Shoko highly doubted he thought of it as that. The apartment meant the nice apartment that Gojo had rented for himself and the Fushiguro children once they first fell into his possession and he’d deemed the old hovel they’d lived in unlivable. Even after Fushiguro transferred to Jujutsu Tech and began living there full time, Gojo continued to pay the rent for their home, should they ever decide they need it or if the desire to get away from campus grew too loud. Shoko knew that desire came around more often than either Gojo or Fushiguro would admit, but she could recount more than one instance of her searching campus for Gojo, only to be notified by Yaga that he and Fushiguro had gone to the apartment for the weekend. It was seldom that one visited their old place of residence without the other, so the fact that Gojo went there without Fushiguro was more heartwrenching than Shoko was willing to admit.

“Did you?” She asked cautiously, almost as though she was tiptoeing around broken shards of glass with her bare feet. 

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t think it’d be very beneficial to the search, but…I don’t know. I thought I just needed to be somewhere that always felt safe.” His hand moved to cover his face, and Shoko knew the last time she’d seen her friend look this pitiful was when his one and only walked loudly out of Jujutsu society. “But I got there, and…it was just so quiet .”

Shoko hummed. “Megumi never was one to be rambunctious.”

“No, but even though he was quiet, I wasn’t. I’d always do whatever I could to get a rise out of him, to make him talk to me or yell at me because I was annoying him. He wasn’t there to do that, though, and everything was just…quiet.”

Gojo was sensitive to almost anything and everything that had to do with his senses. Sight was, obviously, the sense most under fire, but his Six Eyes detected much more than simple sights. Everything was elevated to a nauseating degree that Shoko didn’t understand and never would understand. But she knew that sounds were another factor that could always irritate Gojo’s Six Eyes. Exceptionally blaring sounds were always tiresome and uncomfortable for the sorcerer, but the same was true for the compliment. Silence, purely excruciating silence, could have similar detriments to the sorcerer, leaving him overstimulated in ways that only he could understand. Shoko assumed that that was why he always rambled on about anything he could think of, but she also couldn’t discredit the fact that Gojo did love to hear himself talk. 

“That place was never quiet. Not when the kids were kids , not when Suguru walked out, not even when Tsumiki was cursed. There was always noise of some kind, but now…”

His voice trailed off, and Shoko swore she could hear a newfound shakiness interweaving through the sorcerer’s words. She bit her lip and refrained from commenting on it.

“God, do you know how hard it is walking past his room without him in it ?” He continued, hands squeezing tightly at the chair’s armrests. “Everything’s just how he left it, but he’s not there, and Tsumiki’s not there, and I’m-”

Alone .

He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. Shoko knew. He’d never admit it out loud, he was too proud for that, but once Geto left, those children were his new sense of purpose. To have both ripped away so cruelly hollowed Gojo out unnervingly quickly.

Shoko placed a firm hand on Gojo’s shoulder, surprised by the lack of Limitless. “Don’t finish that,” she interjected. “Don’t sit there and do that to yourself because you’re not alone. This whole situation is shit and it hurts, but dammit, Satoru, you still have Nanami, Yaga, and me by your side. And we’re not leaving your side at anything. You’ve carried the whole world for so long. Let us help you carry this.”

Gojo said nothing, and Shoko didn’t expect him to. Not with the way his blindfold was suspiciously dampening around his eyes. So she gave his shoulder a tight squeeze and moved towards a neighboring cabinet.

“Wine or tequila?”

“I’m not drinking. I’m not staying.”

“Nanami’s out searching, yes?”

“Yes, but-”

“You’ve been looking nonstop for five days, Satoru,” she interrupted, rummaging through the cabinet. “Let Nanami take care of it for tonight. It’s time for you to take a break and take care of yourself so you’re fresh for tomorrow.”

Gojo paused. “Your idea of self care is alcohol ?”

Shoko shrugged as she placed a bottle of tequila on the counter. “Never said my coping mechanisms were healthy.” They never had been, she knew Gojo knew that between their long drinking and smoking nights in high school. She began to pour a couple shots. 

“I don’t drink,” Gojo reminded her.

“Not enough,” Shoko agreed, returning back to him with shots in hand, an expectant look in her eyes.

Gojo snorted. “This is peer pressure.”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Please, you’re almost thirty. You lost the privilege to deem something as peer pressure years ago.”

“Hey!” Gojo yelled out indignantly. “I resent that!”

Shoko merely bumped him with her hip and offered the shot. “Quit being a baby and drink it.”

He gave her a distasteful look but took the drink regardless, peering down at the liquid with disgust. “I don’t know how you drink this stuff like it’s water.”

Shoko blew a couple of strands of hair out of her face before downing the liquid, wincing slightly at the burn. “It’s called trauma.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Nothing we do is healthy.”

Gojo tilted his head in a you’ve got a point manner before tipping his own shot back. Shoko watched with amusement as Gojo’s face twisted in disgust, gagging from the burning taste. “I really don’t know how you manage to drink that stuff,” he managed in between coughs. 

Shoko shrugged, moving to pour herself another shot.

Silence befell them, but it wasn’t as comfortable as Shoko would’ve liked. Alcohol or not, she could tell that her friend was tense, throwing saddened looks toward the laid up teen. She sighed soundlessly, setting the bottle of tequila to the side and staring noncommittally down at her shot.

“Y’know…Okkotsu’s going to get involved, right?”

Gojo looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Okkotsu Yuuta,” she said, eyes moving towards Inumaki’s steady heart monitor. It moved up and down methodically…predictably. “Once he realizes something’s up, especially with Inumaki, he’ll turn Hell over to find out what. And Rika isn’t too kind to the sources of his stress.” Which was exactly what they’d be. “You can try to keep this secret from the students for as long as you want, but the moment Okkotsu gets involved, you’re fucked.”

They’d all witnessed what Okkotsu was capable of, what he was willing to do for those he cared about. For someone such as Inumaki, those capabilities would increase tenfold, and it wouldn’t be long before Okkotsu would realize that not all was well on campus. He kept in tight contact with his friends and peers, texting daily when face calls weren’t options, so it was only a matter of time before the ravenette inserted himself into the matter. 

“It’s cheesy to say,” Shoko continued, “but love makes people do crazy things. He’s already shown us that.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” Gojo shut her down with a wave of his hand. “Especially not when we’re dealing with Suguru in some way.”

Shoko shrugged. “It’s the truth.” She sat her shot glass down, deciding against downing a second one, and leaned against the countertop. “Okkotsu’s going to go nuts if we don’t come clean soon.”

“We can’t, though,” Gojo hissed, rising abruptly from his chair. “I understand their concern, really, I do , but I’m not risking Megumi because of curiosity.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Shoko quickly clarified, drawing her arms tightly across her chest. “You’re failing to realize that we can say something to the students without the higher ups getting involved.”

“It’s highly unlikely that if we tell the students that the higher ups won’t find out,” Gojo said sharply. “That’s why I kept Itadori under wraps for so long. If the students found out it could’ve put him in jeopardy of the higher ups finding out. I’ll be damned if I don’t do the same for Megumi.”

“Satoru, you can’t keep going on like this!” Shoko said, eyes narrowed. “The students can’t keep going on like this, either! This is obviously eating away at you, and-”

“How wouldn’t it?” Gojo shouted, voice sounding strained again, as though his throat was attempting to close up. “Shoko, it won’t matter if there are three of us looking for him or eight of us! Yeah, I’m stressed! I’m so fucking anxious I want to throw up! Something’s got my kid, and that something is somehow linked to my one and only, the person I killed almost a year ago! I’m confused, tired, paranoid, and terrified, and the amount of help I have won’t change that!” He threw his shot glass against the tiled ground, glass shards ricocheting in every which way upon impact. Gojo glared at Shoko as he breathed heavily from his rant, eyes burning and damp, and it took everything in her to not run over to him and yank his blindfold down. “I’m getting Megumi back. Whether the higher ups try to interfere or not.”

Shoko nodded slowly, choosing her words carefully to avoid another outburst. “And we’re going to help you,” she tried to console, “whether the higher ups try to interfere or not.”

Gojo studied the shards of glass on the floor. They must’ve been more interesting than looking Shoko in the eye. “You can’t follow me on a path like that. You’d be executed.”

Shoko snorted. “As if you’d let them, and you seem to forget that I’m not just the school’s technical nurse. You underestimate all of us and our abilities to defend ourselves.”

Gojo shot Shoko with a deadpan expression. “Against higher ups?”

“You’d be surprised,” she said, fiddling with the cigarette box in her pocket. “I’m willing and capable of doing more things than you realize. Like housing your depressed ass for almost a half hour.”

Gojo shook his head, still looking at the floor. “Shut up.”

Another stretch of silence fell on their shoulders, and Shoko found that she was finally reaching her limit. Between the dreary conversation, the grating sound of Inumaki’s heart monitor, and her less than stable friend’s presence, Shoko was in desperate need of stepping out, as she’d intended on doing just moments before Gojo’s arrival. She pushed herself off the counter and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’m going outside,” she declared, making a move toward the infirmary’s entrance. “If you want to stay behind, that’s fine, but I can’t stay in there any longer.”

She heard footsteps follow after her. “That’s fine,” he said stiffly. “I was going to leave once I cleaned up the glass, anyway.” 

Shoko froze, glancing back at her friend. She didn’t want him to leave. Not after the way he’d been pushing himself in ways that would leave normal people dead. She wanted to make him stay longer, maybe get him to drink so much he finally fell asleep, just so he would sleep. She’d go searching for Fushiguro in his place if that’s what it took to get him to take care of himself, but she knew firsthand that Gojo was stubborn, and he would insist on pushing himself as far as he possibly could until Fushiguro was found. 

Still, if she could find any way to distract him for a little while longer, she might feel slightly better. “Step out and have a smoke with me first?”

Gojo scoffed, but Shoko could tell by the way the corners of his lips tugged upwards that it was good naturedly. “Alcohol and cigarettes? You truly are a bad influence.”

She smirked at him, taking her pack out of her pocket and showing it to him. “Some things never change.”

He stared at the pack for a moment before nodding his agreement, following her to the entrance. “We’ll have to make it quick, though,” he said lowly. “I’ve already been here for longer than I intended.”

She was surprised that he came by at all. 

Just as they moved to open the door, however, it opened on its own accord, showing faces that made Shoko’s stomach drop and Gojo pale. 

“Gojo-sensei,” one of them said, “you have some explaining to do.”

Chapter Text

September 25th, 2018 - 18:03

From ♡Toge♡:

Excuse me. (18:03)

I haven’t received any messages all day. (18:03)

On behalf of all of Jujutsu Sorcery and the Boyfriend Association™, it is hereby rule 27 that your execution must be sought out. (18:03)

I apologize that it must come to this, but surely you understand. (18:04)

Your compliance is appreciated, and someone is already on their way to dispose of you. (18:04)

Your effort was valiant, but not enough. (18:04)

From Me:

How uncouth of me. (18:17)

It is to you that I wish to sincerely apologize with utmost urgency. (18:17)

I understand my misdeeds shant be erased merely by written words and that my life must be the ultimate sacrifice. One of as high a status as you does not deserve someone as deplorable as me. (18:18)

It is with my deepest apologies and regrets that I humbly accept the fate that must be bestowed on me. May whoever has the ability to treat you better than I could find you and keep you within their good graces. (18:18)

From ♡Toge♡:

It’s no fun when you just accept it (－‸ლ) (18:20)

Fight back. Demand a second chance. Tell me you don’t need me. Don’t just take it. (18:20)

Or y’know what, do. (18:20)

I’d get major clout for having the wielder of the Queen of Curses groveling for forgiveness at my feet. (18:20)

From Me:

I don’t even know what to say to that lol. (18:22)

Did you write your last essay for Gojo with rhetoric like that? (18:22)

From ♡Toge♡:

No comment. (18:23)

From Me:

You wrote it the night before, noted. (18:23)

From ♡Toge♡:

Sssshhhhh, no need to expose me like that. (18:23)

From Me:

Psh, you’re impossible. (18:24)

Wait, shouldn’t you be asleep? Isn’t it late over there? (18:24)

From ♡Toge♡:

Early, technically. (18:24)

From Me:

Togeeeeeee, you need to sleep. You’re already not a morning person. (18:25)

If you don’t sleep soon, you’re going to be scarier than Maki when you wake up. (18:25)

And that’s like…really scary. (18:25)

From ♡Toge♡:

I’ll be fine lol (18:26)

It’s not like I’ll blow the roof off of campus. (18:26)

Besides…I wanted to talk to you. (18:28)

I might’ve been a little nervous that you hadn’t texted me and wanted to make sure you’re alright. (18:28)

Not that I don’t think you can hold your own because I know you can. (18:28)

I just. (18:29)  

Idk. (18:29)

From Me:

It’s ok, I get it! :) (18:30)

I meant to text you sooner, I did, we were just swamped with field training today. (18:30)

Sorry to make you worry. I didn’t mean to. (18:30)

From ♡Toge♡:

Don’t apologize! Training and your safety are important! (18:31)

Speaking of…how’s it going? (18:31)

From Me: 

Really well! (18:34)

Miguel is an amazing mentor! He really knows how to push my limits. (18:34)

Within reason ofc (18:35)

He never tosses me to the wolves before he thinks I’m ready, but he definitely doesn’t baby me either. (18:35)

I’ve been getting much stronger! And I have better control of Rika now as well! (18:35)

Also…completely off topic from actual training, but he’s introduced me to soooo many different foods. (18:36)

You’d love them, I’m sure. (18:36)

And!! There’s so many different flowers I’ve seen! They’re all really beautiful. You’d love them. (18:37)

I asked Miguel if I could bring some back for you, but he said they’d die in Japan. And I don’t want to give you flowers that are just going to die. (18:37)

…and I’m rambling aren’t I? (18:38)

From ♡Toge♡:

Yes, but keep going. I like hearing you talk about things that make you excited. (18:38)

From Me: 

You can’t even hear me lol. We’re not on call. (18:38)

Unless…? (18:39)

From ♡Toge♡:

As much as I’d love to, I’ve gotta be somewhat responsible. (18:39)

I have a mission with Fushiguro tomorrow, and I know if I get on call with you now, I won’t sleep at all. (18:39)

From Me:

Omg seriously, why are you still awake?? (18:39)

You need to go to sleep. (18:40)

Isn’t it like…one in the morning over there? (18:40)

From ♡Toge♡:

Minor details. (18:40)

Like I said, I wanted to talk to you. (18:40)

I miss you. (18:40)

From Me:

I miss you, too. (18:41)

But you’ve gotta take care of yourself. (18:41)

From ♡Toge♡:

Hmm. Hypocrite. (18:41)

You would do the same if roles were reversed. (18:41)

From Me:

And you’d say the same as me if roles were reversed. (18:42)

From ♡Toge♡:

Touché. (18:43)

But I still wanna talk to you. (18:43)

I really do miss you. We haven’t called in a while. Haven’t seen you in so long. (18:43)

When are you coming back again? (18:44)

From Me:

I think the week before Halloween. (18:44)

Miguel said something about me doing really well. He thinks I deserve to be home in time for the Halloween festivals so I can have fun. (18:44)

From ♡Toge♡:

Ugggh. A whole ‘nother month?? (18:44)

That doesn’t seem remotely fair. (18:44)

From Me:

I’ll be there before you know it. (18:45)

And we can talk about anything and everything for as long as we want. (18:45)

From ♡Toge♡:

Until you have to go back. (18:46)

From Me:

But we won’t think about that. We’ll be too busy focusing on the moment. Living in it. (18:46)

From ♡Toge♡:

Hmm. (18:47)

I don’t wanna go to sleep yet. (18:47)

From Me:

We could call. I’ll talk about anything you want to know about, and you can listen until you fall asleep. (18:47)

I’ll hang up once you do. (18:47)

Incoming Call: ♡Toge♡ - 18:48

Call Ended - 21:03

From Me:

Goodnight, Toge ♡ (21:04)

September 26th, 2018 - 05:18

From ♡Toge♡:

[needycat.jpeg] (05:18)

It’s you :> (05:18)

From Me:

Mmhm (05:18)

Says the one who stayed up till one in the morning because I didn’t text them all day. (05:18)

From ♡Toge♡:

Damn…I think I liked you better when you were scared of your own shadow… (05:19)

From Me:

Please (◔_◔) (05:19)

You like at least a little bit of a fight. (05:19)

From ♡Toge♡:

I do ♡ (05:20)

Btw, not that I’m complaining because I like getting to talk to you, but isn’t it like…super early your time? (05:20)

From Me:

Yeah, it is. Miguel wanted to get ahead on the day to train. (05:20)

I also might’ve wanted to see you off for your mission… (05:20)

From ♡Toge♡:

You’re too sweet sometimes, you know that? (05:21)

From Me:

As if you wouldn’t do the same. (05:21)

Where’s your mission at, anyway? (05:21)

From ♡Toge♡:

In the Arashiyama forest in Kyoto. (05:22)

From Me:

Hm. Odd. Why didn’t they have any students from Kyoto take it on? (05:22)

From ♡Toge♡:

Apparently, my technique is perfect for the curse. (05:22)

From Me:

When isn’t your technique perfect for a mission? (05:22)

From ♡Toge♡:

Shut uuuuup. (05:23)

Plus, they said it would be good training for Fushiguro so (05:23)

From Me:

Oh? How is Fushiguro, btw? Haven’t talked to him in a while. (05:23)

From ♡Toge♡:

He’s fine, I think. Hasn’t acted otherwise. (05:23)

Though…he did have a mission recently with the other first years that might be connected to his sister in some way. He was a little messed up after that. (05:24)

But aside from that, fine. He even managed to use domain expansion for the first time! (05:24)

From Me:

Impressive! (05:24)

Bet Gojo was proud. (05:24)

From ♡Toge♡:

Not that he’d admit that lol. (05:25)

He’ll do well with this mission, I’m sure. He’s pretty strong. (05:25)

From Me:

Plus, he has an amazing mentor with him. (05:25)

From ♡Toge♡:

Okaka. (05:25)

From Me:

Wh- (05:26)

From ♡Toge♡:

Sujiko. (05:26)

From Me:

Hey! Don’t onigiri me. (05:26)

Just because you can’t take a compliment doesn’t mean I should be punished like this. (05:26)

From ♡Toge♡:

Takana. (05:26)

From Me:

Togeeeeeeeee ╥ ﹏ ╥ (05:27)

From ♡Toge♡:

Fine fine, I’ll stop lol. (05:27)

From Me:

How long’s your mission supposed to last? (05:35)

From ♡Toge♡:

Mission alone, maybe two hours at most. But the drive is kind of lengthy, so I wouldn’t expect to be free until later tonight. (05:36)

Why? (05:36)

From Me:

Depending on if I get my field training done early, maybe we could call later on? (05:36)

Y’know, so we can actually converse instead of you just lying there being lulled to sleep. (05:36)

From ♡Toge♡:

I’m sure I’ll be back at campus by a reasonable time. (05:37)

Yeah, I’d love to call later tonight. ( ^◡^) (05:37)

You better have stayed brushed up on your sign language skills because my voice might be spent lol. (05:37)

From Me:

Lol we’ll be fine. (05:37)

Hey, I’ve got to go for now, Miguel’s calling for me, but keep me updated? (05:38)

From ♡Toge♡:

Always do. (05:38)

Stay safe ♡ (05:38)

From Me:

You, too. ♡ (05:39)

From ♡Toge♡:

We made it here. (06:20)

[cameraimage.jpeg] (06:20)

It’s really pretty here. Dense as hell, though. There’s trees everywhere. (06:20)

But ig that should be expected…since it’s a forest lol (06:21)

There’s lots of hiking trails. We should come here together sometime. I think we’d both like it. (06:21)

It would be easy to forget about sorcery here. It’s so serene. We could be surrounded by nature and just be us. (06:21)

[cameraimage.jpeg] (06:25)

[cameraimage.jpeg] (06:27)

[cameraimage.jpeg] (06:28)

[cameraimage.jpeg] (06:30)

Ijichi’s getting irked that I keep taking selfies lol. (06:30)

But maybe next time I’m here it can be both of us in those pictures and not just me. (06:30)

Getting ready to go in. I’ll try to keep you in the loop. ♡ (06:31)

From Me:

Aw, you’re right, it does look pretty! I’m more than down to go there sometime. (09:01)

It’d be a perfect little date spot. (09:01)

I mean, if you’d want to go there as a date. It wouldn’t have to be ofc. (09:02)

But anyway (09:02)

How’re things going? All been good? (09:02)

[cameraimage.jpeg] (09:33)

Miguel said these are African Violets. Their color reminds me of your eyes. (09:33)

I’d love to bring us some back for you to plant, but idk how well they’d survive in Japan. (09:34)

I’d still make a bouquet for you if I knew they’d survive the flight. (09:34)

I miss seeing your eyes. (09:34)

They’re really beautiful. (09:35)

But then again, what about you isn’t? (09:35)

I miss you a lot. More than I think I can say. (09:35)

Hope all is well. ♡ (09:40)

From ♡Toge♡:

. ..

. . .

.. .

Read (10:00)

From Me:

The mission going well? (13:12)

I know you’re in a forest so service must be spotty. (13:12)

Just lmk when you’re done, ok? (^__^) (13:13)

Ok…I’m a little concerned now. (16:58)

You ok? (16:58)

It says you read my message a while ago, but I know that might’ve been a fluke because of service. (16:58)

I know it’s late, so maybe you’re asleep? If you forgot that’s ok! Your mission was probably really strenuous. (16:59)

I haven’t gotten a message from Gojo saying anything went wrong, so I’m gonna guess you’re just tired and forgot. (16:59)

Which is ok!!!! I want you to take care of yourself! (16:59)

Just text me when you can, ok? (16:59)

I love you. (17:00)

September 27th, 2018 - 00:53

From Me:

[cameraimage.jpeg] (00:53)

Can’t really sleep, so I thought I’d stargaze a bit. (00:53)

Wish you were with me. (00:54)

Ok, now I’m worried. (08:18)

Are you ok? Did something go wrong during the mission? (08:18)

If something happened, you know I’ll get back to campus for you in no time flat. (08:19)

I can pull strings. (08:19)

Toge, I’m really freaking out. (12:07)

Please, get back to me? (12:07)

GC: Second Years

From Maki:

Have any of you heard from Toge? (15:02)

From Panda:

Not in a minute. (15:02)

Haven’t even seen him on campus. (15:02)

Has Gojo said anything? (15:02)

From Me:

Wait, Toge isn’t on campus?? (15:03)

Panda:

I mean, I haven’t seen him here. Not since yesterday. (15:03)

I know he had a mission with Fushiguro in Kyoto. I saw him off, but I haven’t seen him since. (15:04)

Have any of you messaged him? (15:04)

From Maki:

I’ve been trying since yesterday, but I haven’t gotten anything from him. Last he messaged me, it was 13:22 yesterday. (15:04)

  From Me:

I haven’t gotten anything from him since about that time, too. (15:05)

It said he read one of my messages at 10:00 my time, but he hasn’t read anything since. (15:05)

At first, I thought it was just because service was bad in the area, but if you guys haven’t heard from him or seen him either… (15:06)

From Maki:

Not a word. (15:06)

From Panda: 

To make matters worse, I haven’t seen Fushiguro, either. (15:06)

I don’t think the other first years have, either. They sound really confused. (15:06)

From Maki:

Well, wouldn’t you be, too? They’ve already had that one death debacle with Itadori. Why wouldn’t they be uptight about a potential other one? (15:07)

From Me:

Death??????? (15:07)

From Panda:

Ok, wait, let’s not try to jump to conclusions. Let’s keep our heads about us. Nothing’s going to get better if we panic. (15:07)

By we, I mean you, Yuuta. (15:07)

From Me:

I think I have a right to be concerned when my boyfriend’s been missing for nearly 24 hours. (15:08)

From Panda:

Didn’t say you didn’t. (15:08)

I just know if anyone’s going to panic, it’s going to be you. So we need to think about this logically before we go off the deep end. (15:08)

Could there have been an extension of the mission? It was in Kyoto, after all, and if the mission was taking longer to execute, isn’t it possible that the overseers would extend the length of it? (15:10)

From Maki:

Unlikely. (15:10)

Toge’s efficient, and so are the teachers. If it was taking this long, backup would’ve been called by now, and as far as I can tell, it hasn’t been. (15:10)

From Me:

But if something was seriously wrong, wouldn’t we be notified? (15:11)

From Maki:

You’d think. (15:11)

There was a whole fiasco with one of the new first years, Itadori. Supposedly, he’d died during a mission but resurrected in the morgue because of Sukuna. Gojo kept that secret for a while. (15:11)

If Gojo wants this to be a secret, he’s going to keep it a secret. But I’m not taking bullshit excuses for an answer. Something’s not right, and I want to know what it is. (15:12)

From Me:

Should I come back to campus?? (15:12)

Panda:

Not yet, let’s not be hasty. (15:12)

There might be something we’re missing to this. (15:12)

From Maki:

I don’t think so. But we probably shouldn’t rush into anything. (15:13)

We’ll keep you updated on anything we figure out. In the meantime, stay available and be ready in case of a worst case scenario. (15:13)

From Panda:

And update us if you get anything. Whether that’s a text back from Toge or anything from Gojo. (15:13)

From Me:

Will do. (15:14)

From Panda:

And try not to freak out. Maki’s already doing that enough for all three of us. (15:14)

From Maki: 

Shut up. (15:14)

September 30th, 2018 - 11:23

GC: Second Years

From Maki:

We’re searching Gojo’s office tonight. First years included. (11:23)

Nothing he’s told us is consistent or makes sense. Yaga hasn’t been much help, and neither has Shoko or Nanami. We’re taking matters into our own hands. (11:23)

Gojo can pull all these tricks with the first years, whatever, but he’s not pulling this fucking bullshit with us. (11:23)

From Me:

What’s he been telling you guys? I haven’t gotten any word from anyone. (11:24)

From Panda:

Impromptu long distance mission. Top secret. They’re not allowed to contact anyone outside of the mission. (11:24)

From Maki:

Which isn’t true and all of us know it. (11:24)

I’m sick of waiting around when something could be seriously wrong. (11:24)

Toge wouldn’t sit still if it was me. So I’m not sitting still for him. (11:24)

From Me:

Agreed. (11:25)

From Panda:

We’ll keep you in the loop of anything we find. We’ll have to sneak into his office later, which shouldn’t be an issue. Gojo hardly comes to campus anymore. (11:25)

From Maki:

All the more reason to be suspicious. (11:25)

From Panda:

Be ready to get a flight home if we find anything crazy. If things turn out bad, chances are we’re going to need you on our side. (11:26)

From Me:

I’ll do anything for Toge. (11:26)

I’ll have my phone on me all day. Don’t be afraid to reach out to me if and when you need to. (11:26)

That’s when he got the call. 

Six hours later as he sat at dinner with Miguel, his phone flashed, a picture of Maki illuminating his screen. His familiar ringtone wafted out and made him jump significantly, anxiety coursing heavily through his veins. He’d been waiting in silent anticipation all day for any kind of word on how their search went, and Yuuta logically knew that if they found nothing of concern, Maki and Panda would’ve just texted in the group chat. There would’ve been no need for a call.

Yet, here he was.

Miguel shot him a questioning look, but all Yuuta could do was offer him a nervous smile and a shaky, “There’s an important matter. Please, excuse me.” 

Thankfully for the teen, Miguel had never been one to meddle in his private life, so he simply tipped his glass of water at Yuuta in acceptance before taking a generous sip. 

Yuuta slipped out into the hall of the hotel they’d been staying at, breathing growing labored as he attempted to shove the panic down into his mostly empty stomach, but ultimately failed. Shaky fingers moved to accept the call.

He couldn’t get a single word in before Maki beat him to it.

“It’s worse than we thought,” her voice rang through, uncharacteristically taut. “We’re going to need you here immediately. I don’t know what the hell we’re dealing with, but if the report’s anything to go by, it’s gotta be bad. I don’t know why Gojo would try to cover this up. This feels so wrong, it makes me feel sick. I don’t g-”

“H-Hey,” Yuuta interjected, walking further away from the hotel room and down the stretch of the hallway, “y-you’re not making much sense. Start somewhere else. What did you f-find?”

Maki paused, and Yuuta could only imagine her lips pursing in thought and apprehension that she so rarely exhibited. “We found the report from Toge and Fushiguro’s mission,” she admitted, sending a jolt through Yuuta’s already thumping heart.

“And…what does it say?” He gulped.

Maki sighed through the receiver. “The mission was never completed. It was terminated due to an emergency. Toge’s hurt bad. Like… really bad. The report says he suffered severe lacerations in multiple areas and several different broken bones. None of us have seen him and since Gojo lied about his whereabouts I don’t know where he is. Obviously, he’s been recovered by the school, but I don’t know where they’re housing him. He could be walled off in the infirmary, but who knows if he was put in a hospital or an infirmary closer in Kyoto.”

Yuuta’s stomach dropped.

Toge was severely wounded? That didn’t feel possible. Next to Yuuta, Toge was the next highest ranked student at Jujutsu Tech. He knew his way around a curse and knew exactly what he could deal with. His hold on his technique was awe inspiring, the same exact reason why Yuuta painstakingly worked to try and perfect it himself, though he knew he could never wield it like Toge could. But Toge was down and out for the count, and Yuuta wasn’t there. 

If Yuuta had been there…

No…no, he couldn’t think like that anymore. Not everything was his fault. He was learning that now.

But still…

Toge would’ve denied the mission if he knew he couldn’t handle it, or he’d at least request more backup than one first year student, no matter how impressive their technique. He’d never been one to be reckless, not with something that required crucial diligence. Not when he had Yuuta to come back to. 

The ranking of the curse…perhaps it had been underestimated. Yuuta had seen it before, and he knew the occurrence was more likely than he was willing to admit. 

“Yuuta, you still with me?”

Yuuta jumped slightly, thoughts subsiding for Maki’s voice to come through. “Y-Yeah, I’m here,” he said. “A-And Gojo never said anything about this?”

“Not a word,” Maki said.

Yuuta said nothing as he leaned against the wall, taking in a deep breath to calm rampant running thoughts. “That doesn’t make any sense,” Yuuta said slowly, irritation beginning to blend into his words. “This is…that’s bad , but why would it warrant secrecy? It doesn’t make sense. If anything, we should’ve been told so we could support Toge through healing. Why keep it secret?”

A beat of silence passed.

“That’s…not all there is.”

Yuuta’s heart sank. “Th-That’s not?”

“No, there’s something else, and I think that that’s contributing to Gojo’s silence along with his absence on campus.”

Yuuta swallowed. “That sounds bad.”

“It is.”

When Yuuta gave no further indication of speaking, Maki continued. “Remember, this mission was for both Toge and Fushiguro. The mission failed. Both Toge and Fushiguro haven’t been seen since the mission was assigned.”

“So what happened to Fushiguro?” Yuuta asked, grip on his phone growing stronger. 

“That’s the thing. No one knows. When help arrived on scene, Toge was the only one there. Fushiguro was gone.”

Breathing felt difficult. His heart was hammering in his ears and the room was spinning. He wasn’t sure if he was leaning on the wall to relax or if it was the only thing supporting his weight. “So what does-”

“There were signs of struggle,” Maki clarified. “Whatever happened, he didn’t go willingly. Every sign left behind showed that he fought back. The details the report gives are…disturbing, to say the least. They believe Fushiguro was kidnapped.” 

Yuuta sucked in a sharp breath, one that he was certain was audible through the door that separated the hallway he stood in from the random hotel room he stood in front of. The hand holding his phone began to slowly tremble, almost as though the weight of it was too much to bear, but Yuuta’s sword was much heavier than his phone, and he wielded that with ease. “That’s…That’s unheard of. A curse kidnapping? Curses kill or devour, they don’t kidnap.”

“Which is exactly why I think the school is trying to keep this a secret,” Maki said. “Because why would a curse want to kidnap Fushiguro? What does a curse have to gain from that? What can a curse gain from that? It would be much simpler to believe that Fushiguro was killed in some way if Toge was missing alongside him, but he isn’t. Fushiguro is the only one who hasn’t been found in one way or the other, and that forest was scaled from edge to edge. I think there’s something else at play here. I don’t know what just yet, but there’s something . And whatever it is, it’s bad.”

Yuuta agreed. This entire situation had terrible written all over it.

“So where do we go from here?” Yuuta asked. 

“Get here,” Maki said urgently. “Get on the soonest plane you can from where you are to Tokyo. I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up because if everyone else on campus knows, Ijichi and Nitta are probably on board, too. We can’t afford to not have you on our side. You’re much too valuable, and Gojo can’t keep his bullshit up if you’re there, too.” 

And if they show the report they found to him. Such concrete evidence would be difficult to dispute, and the students weren’t stupid. 

“Right,” Yuuta said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll leave tonight if I’m able.”

“Good,” her voice softened to a certain degree Yuuta had never heard before. Concern for her manifested tightly in his chest. “We need you.”

He pursed his lips, grip on the phone tightening slightly. “Hey,” he said gently, eyes fixated on the opposite wall of the hallway, “...are you doing ok? I know you and Toge are close. This can’t have been easy on you, so…how are you doing?”

Silence passed through the line, tense and extended. Maki cleared her throat, and Yuuta felt something in him slightly crack. “Idiot,” she said roughly, as though she was trying to cover something up, “I’m fine. Just get here so we can find Toge and question Gojo about his dumbassery.”

He faltered for a moment, briefly cursing at himself. He should’ve expected that. It didn’t matter how close any of them were to her, Maki wasn’t one to give up her feelings so easily, keeping them locked behind a heavily guarded safe, with very few ever getting to hold the key. 

“I’ll be there,” he repeated. 

“We’ll be expecting you,” Maki said. “See you then.”

“See you,” Yuuta said before the line went dead, screen dissolving from Maki’s profile picture to Yuuta’s lock screen.

A picture of him and Toge on a recreational day, hair drenched with rain and lips drawn in smiles with the blonde riding on top of Yuuta’s back. 

Yuuta remembered that day with distinct clarity, as his extended training was later announced the following week. Panda took that picture, and Maki demanded he send it to her as blackmail. Yuuta denied her such power by making it his lock screen wallpaper. 

The four of them hadn’t been together in what felt like ages. If Yuuta didn’t know any better, he’d have claimed that it had been years since he was last home, but alas, he knew in truth that it had only been several months.

In retrospect, it was several months too long.

And now…he’d only be going back because of a travesty. He wouldn’t be greeted by smiling faces and a party that would last until the hours turned early and the moon was high, nor would there be ecstatic catching up from everyone. No, he’d be going home to uncover a scandal, to figure out just where the boy he loved dearly was and why his whereabouts and status were kept secret. He’d be accusing his mentor, the one person who gave him a chance when everything else in life felt inescapably hopeless, of being a liar. 

Yuuta felt overwhelmed and distraught, angry and anxious tears burning at the back of his eyes as he tried to process all of the bits of information Maki gave him. 

He shook his head and swiped at his nose with his thumb and index finger. He’d have plenty of time to brood and contemplate on the plane ride home. For now, he had to figure out how to get home. 

He supposed being the prodigy of the most powerful sorcerer had its perks. Not many dared to question his demands or wants—not that he expressed them often. 

October 2nd, 2018 - 00:00

Getting arrangements set so that Yuuta could go back to campus was easy, almost criminally so. 

He was on a plane within hours after a couple phone calls, strings pulled with Yuuta as the puppet master. It certainly felt odd to go from the helpless boy he’d been just months ago to one of the most powerful sorcerers within jujutsu society.

But right now, he couldn’t say it was unwanted.

Maki set up a non sorcerer affiliated driver, an old friend of Kugisaki’s—one of the first years Yuuta had yet to meet—to pick Yuuta up from the airport and drop him off just outside of the campus gates with the idea that the school was a private religious one.

Stepping off of the plane and out into the Tokyo airport felt liberating in a way Yuuta hadn’t expected. Even though the hours were ticking closer and closer towards midnight, the airport was exceptionally crowded, people packed in almost shoulder to shoulder as Yuuta tried to maneuver himself to the exit. It was familiar. Comforting, in an odd way.

Perhaps, the only comforting aspect about his entire trip. 

He was grateful that Kugisaki’s friend was rather unsociable, asking no more than how Yuuta’s flight went and extra clarifications on how to get to the campus. Otherwise, the ride was silent, giving Yuuta a couple moments more to think over just what he was about to do alongside his peers.

His presence would be a shock. Gojo might be angry at the fact Yuuta left his training without so much as a warning or consultation, but Yuuta couldn’t help but scoff at the thought.

After all, Gojo had no right to be angry at his pupils. Not now. They were the ones who were allowed to be angry.

And Yuuta was, extremely so. He was also incredibly terrified, heart thumping so harshly against his chest that it reverbed and thrummed into the caverns of his ears. He feared for Toge’s safety and injuries, wondering where the blonde was stashed away and if he was doing alright. He feared for Fushiguro who was supposedly missing.

The entire situation was nauseating at best, and Yuuta couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with the whirlwind of negative information. 

Maki and Panda greeted Yuuta at the front gates, Maki offering Kugisaki’s friend an amount of yen that Yuuta didn’t overhear before the driver took off without giving anyone else much thought. 

Yuuta wanted the reunion to be joyous and filled with games of catch up, but it was tense, instead. Filled with silence that no one knew exactly how to break and discomfort that was so tangible, Yuuta thought he might be able to cut through it with his sword. It was never like Maki or Panda to be so silent, that was more so Yuuta and Toge’s area, yet here they were, surrounded in such quiet that they’d be able to hear a pin drop. 

Thankfully, it didn’t stay like that the entire trek toward the school.

“So,” Panda eventually voiced, probably sick of the quiet, “how was your flight?”

Yuuta locked a hand tightly around his suitcase, the other hand gripping at the sheath that held his sword. “It was fine.”

“I wouldn’t expect there to be much comfort on a ride that was so last minute,” Panda laughed.

Yuuta returned the laugh, but his was much more halfhearted. “It wasn’t, really. But even if I’d booked a flight in first class, I doubt I’d have found it relaxing.”

Back to the topic at hand, back to the same deafening silence, since Maki had nothing she wanted to contribute. 

The first years were waiting in front of the school, a slightly irritated brunette standing with crossed arms over her chest and a boy with light pinkish hair that Yuuta couldn’t tell whether it was natural or dyed sat hunched on the front steps, hands folded with a slightly pensive look on his face. The second year’s arrival, however, spurred their attention towards them.

“‘Bout time,” the brunette crooned. “I thought you’d all gotten lost.”

Panda rolled his eyes. “Well, y’know, it isn’t exactly a short walk down and back. You were welcome to do it yourself.”

The remark seemed to make the brunette jolt, her gaze falling to the cobblestoned ground. “Psh, as if.”

“Then you have nothing to complain about,” Panda said.

“That’s not our main concern right now, either,” Maki said tersely. “We need to get going.”

“Woah, no introductions or anything, first?” The pink haired boy whined. “We’ve never met this guy before. At least let us talk to him.”

Maki shot a deadpanned look towards the first year that even made Yuuta want to cower back. “You’ve heard plenty about him already.”

“But we’ve never met him before!” The boy argued, abruptly standing from his position and darting towards Yuuta with such speed that Yuuta could hardly process it as it happened. He grabbed at Yuuta’s hand, the ravenette fighting the urge to wrangle it back, and shook it rapidly, smiling way too broad for the situation they were in. “Hi!” He said cheerily. “I’m Itadori Yuuji! First year! I’m still learning about curses and all this ‘sorcery’ stuff, but I hear you’ve done a lot! I hope we can work together! I think we’d make a good team!”

Yuuta wanted to melt. He didn’t even know this kid. How could he be so certain that Yuuta and him would work well together? Still, to not be rude, Yuuta gulped his concerns down and tried to smile back. “O-Okkotsu Yuuta.” He thought he’d curbed that stuttering problem by now. “Second year. Nice to meet you. I don’t know much about you, yet, but anyone who’s a friend of Maki and Panda is a friend of mine.”

With the way Maki was glaring at all of them, perhaps the word ‘friend’ was pushing it, but she hadn’t murdered the sunshiney boy, yet, so that was promising. 

A harsh fist came down on Itadori’s head, causing the boy to yelp and quickly retract his hand from Yuuta’s. “That’s enough,” the brunette said. “Curb your celeb crush so we can get this show on the road.” She looked back at Yuuta with an unenthused look in her eye, hand remaining still at her side. “Kugisaki Nobara,” she said. “First year, and unbelievably furious that you ruined my trip with how well you performed last year at the sister school exchange event. I’ll never forgive you for that.”

Yuuta gulped, moving both hands to grip the sheath of his sword. “Nice to meet you, too, then.”

“Don’t mind her,” Panda dismissed. “She’s basically a watered down version of Maki.”

“Hey!” Kugisaki yelled in indignation.

“Anyway,” Maki interjected before the argument could go further, “need I remind you that we currently have two peers who have unknown whereabouts and a dumbass teacher who didn’t come clean to us? Let’s keep our priorities straight.” She looked towards Kugisaki. “Did you two find out where Gojo is?”

When spoken to by Maki, Kugisaki straightened up immediately, almost as though she was a soldier. “We did,” she said quickly, without the snark she spoke to Yuuta with. “Nanami’s off campus right now, so we didn’t get the chance to ask him, but we ended up passing the infirmary and overheard Shoko talking to someone. It sounded like Gojo.”

Itadori huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “And I had to keep Kugisaki from barging in and starting an interrogation of her own.”

Kugisaki turned sharply towards her fellow first year, teeth gritting in a snarl. 

“Knock it off. I don’t have time for what could have beens,” Maki said as she started to head toward the infirmary. “We need to be quick. Gojo’s easily elusive, and I’m not missing what could be one of our only windows of opportunity to confront him.”

Slowly, the rest moved to follow her, Panda and Yuuta following more closely than the first years. Yuuta leaned in close to Panda. “Are they always like that?”

“The first years?” Panda asked for clarification, earning a short nod from Yuuta. “Most times, yeah. But I feel as though they’re a bit more irritable as of late, with Fushiguro being gone. Kugisaki acted similarly when Itadori was presumed dead. You’ll get to see their more mellow sides once we get this whole thing sorted out.”

Yuuta sure as hell hoped so. 

As they neared the infirmary, Yuuta could hear it—Gojo and Shoko, voices raised probably higher than either of them wanted to be in a heated argument of some sort. Yuuta had few personal interactions with Shoko, just enough to understand that the woman wasn’t one to mess with. She was laidback at best, cigarette almost always laid lazily between her lips and a flask always in her pocket. To his knowledge, she and Gojo had been best friends, once upon a time, if they weren’t anymore. Their personalities fit almost perfectly, both chill and understanding to an almost traitorous degree, with Gojo being more on the immature side.

To hear either of them yelling—especially at each other—was off putting. 

But once they were directly in front of the door, whatever conflict the two were having must’ve been dissolved, or, at the very least, settled for the time being, for their voices grew quieter…almost playful. 

The reprieve didn’t last long, however, as Maki made quick work of the door, thoroughly busting through with the other students just behind her.

“Gojo-sensei,” she borderline shouted, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”

All eyes were on them (which were only four, if Gojo’s six eyes weren’t counted, but still, it felt like a lot more). Both Shoko and Gojo looked shocked beyond compare, and Yuuta couldn’t tell if it was from the intrusion or from his presence.

Whatever it was, and however anxious Yuuta felt, he decided he wasn’t going to stand in the background. That’s not what he was taught to do throughout the months he’d been training. He was going to stand front and center, right next to Maki.

After all, Toge was on the line. 

“Okkotsu,” Gojo said slowly, almost despondently, “you’re supposed to be in Africa. I don’t believe you were supposed to come back for another couple of weeks.”

Yuuta couldn’t help but glare at the man he looked up to. “Yeah, well, there was a certain emergency on campus that I couldn’t ignore.” He gripped his sword. “I thought backup might be in order.”

“Backup,” Gojo chuckled, trying to keep the air light, “I have no idea what you’re-”

“Can it!” Maki yelled, thoroughly silencing the adult. “Enough playing dumb. We know something’s up. Something’s been up for the past couple of days, and we want you to tell us what.”

They had evidence. They knew the basics of what was up, but Yuuta saw what Maki was doing. She was trying to get the man to come clean on his own, a last chance at redemption before he foiled all trust he had with his students.

Too bad he didn’t take the olive branch.

“Nothing’s up,” he maintained, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets. “If this is in regards to Inumaki and Fushiguro like we’ve told you before, there was a last minute long dista-”

Kugisaki fumbled with her pocket, procuring a paper and presenting it to Gojo in a way that made the man pale. “That’s not true.”

“There’s no long distance mission,” Panda carried on, looking squarely at their teacher, “and you haven’t been taking up extra missions either. You’ve all been lying to us.”

Gojo buried himself slightly in the high collar of his uniform, lips just barely peeking out from behind the fabric. His expression was unreadable, something that made Yuuta’s anxiety continue to spike. However, Yuuta couldn’t help but guess that Gojo wasn’t feeling angry at his students for uncovering something he didn’t want them to, nor for barging in on his and Shoko’s conversation.

No, he seemed almost…shattered.

“If you have that, then there’s nothing more you need me to tell you,” Gojo said slowly. 

“Bullshit!” Maki exploded. “There’s so much more to this that we don’t understand, and clearly you do ! Our friends are involved, so we have a right to know what’s going on! If not for them, for our own safety! You withholding that information is selfish or ignorant, or maybe even both. So fess up before we make you!”

“Maki,” Panda warned.

“What she means, Gojo-sensei,” Yuuta tried in a calmer tone, “is that whatever’s going on…no matter how difficult it might be, keeping us in the dark is only going to be more dangerous. If something happened that has kept you of all people silent, it’s gotta be bad. Us being in the dark puts us at greater risk of getting hurt like Inumaki and Fushiguro did. Tell us what’s going on. Let us help.”

Gojo took in a deep breath and ran a stressed hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. “You have no idea what you kids are asking for.”

Yuuta narrowed his eyes, fingers moving to grip instinctively at the ring around his neck. “Whatever it is, I’m willing to put everything on the line if it means keeping those I care about safe.”

Gojo chuckled airily, hand leaving his hair and resting in the air. “Y’know, you remind me a lot of myself sometimes.”

Yuuta cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Gojo answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I hate it.”

Kugisaki rolled her eyes. “As if we care about your likes and dislikes.”

“Gojo-sensei,” Yuuta began, taking a step deeper into the infirmary, “I just want to know where Toge is.”

Itadori joined Yuuta’s side, eyes as determined as the ravenette’s. It was strange seeing the first year like that, even though Yuuta didn’t know him that well. His short introduction from earlier was enough, sealing the deal on Yuuta’s perception of Itadori’s personality—happy-go-lucky, kind, perhaps a bit airy…not at all suited for the hell of sorcery. 

“And where’s Fushiguro?”

Itadori’s question seemed to make something in Gojo snap, his lips turning down in an uncharacteristic scowl. “If I knew that, don’t you think he’d be here ?” He bit, venom interlaced dangerously within his words. It was enough to make all of the students take at least one step back from shock, but Yuuta would be damned before he backed down completely. 

“Gojo, what’s going on?” Yuuta asked again. 

Even with his blindfold on, Yuuta could feel Gojo’s glare on him, cold and hard, like an abandoned stone pathway or bathroom tiles. It was seldom seen, Gojo growing angry and bitter, and it was even rarer for him to show such emotions to his precious students. But apparently, this was all something that ran deeply within Gojo’s veins, a certain weakness that the sorcerer hadn’t known was there, but in truth, had been there the whole time. 

“Fine,” Gojo relented. “You want to know?”

“Gojo,” Shoko said uneasily next to him, unlit cigarette hung loosely between her lips, “be careful with how-”

“No,” Gojo said tightly, not sparing the reverse curse technique user a glance. “If they want to know so badly, I’m gonna tell them, and I’m not going to leave anything out.”

“That’s what we’ve wanted the whole time,” Maki pointed out blatantly. 

Gojo smiled, but it wasn’t out of happiness. There was an underlying anger there, one that Yuuta felt uncomfortably familiar with. “Good. ‘Cause that’s what you’re getting. You might wanna pull up a seat.” He pointed towards the back of the infirmary that was slightly shrouded from view. “Answer number one, and one of the only solid answers out of tonight I’ll be able to give you: Inumaki is back there.”

And Yuuta’s blood froze right then and there, clogging his veins impossibly tight to the point where he thought he might die then and there.

He hadn’t been able to see Toge from where they were standing, the boy hidden behind Gojo and Shoko’s bodies, but even if they weren’t standing there, Yuuta wouldn’t have immediately noticed his presence. He was hard to see, laid up under white sheets that almost perfectly matched his unnatural looking skin tone. But once Gojo pointed him out, he was the only thing Yuuta could see.

The ravenette wasted no time, pushing past both of the mentors and bounding his way quickly toward the boy he’d lost contact with just a few days ago. He skidded to a stop at Toge’s bedside, heart shattering as he studied the boy. 

If Toge wasn’t hooked up to the heart monitor, Yuuta would’ve thought with horrifying certainty that the teen was dead. Toge had always been on the pale side, but his coloring looked corpse like at this point. Wires that Yuuta didn’t know the function of jutted out of the small boy in every which way, hooked up to an impossible amount of machines that Yuuta couldn’t even begin to recognize. 

He shook his head in disbelief, mouth shapeshifting as if to speak, but no words escaped his throat, clogged and dispelled from an ever growing lump. Shaky hands outstretched themselves as though he was going to touch the sleeping teen, only to hover with uncertainty. Tears burned at the back of Yuuta’s eyes, begging to be released.

And with a blink, they were. 

“What the hell happened?” Yuuta asked, voice small from shock.

“You read the report, didn’t you?” Gojo asked, callous and cold. “You oughta know.”

“Now’s not the fucking time!” Yuuta bit, whirling around and making watery ocean eyes meet with blindfolded ice ones. “You’re pissed that we found you out, I get that, but why didn’t you just tell us ?” He swallowed, glancing briefly to the side and wondering when Maki had positioned herself on the opposite side of Toge’s bed. “What’s going on that’s so important that you couldn’t trust us with this ?” 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you guys.”

“Then what is it?” Maki asked angrily, voice tight with unshed tears.

She always had been stronger than Yuuta when emotions were involved. 

Gojo shook his head and leaned against the wall. “Look, I really wanted to tell you, kids, I really did-”

“So why didn’t you?” Kugisaki interjected, still standing at the entrance with Panda and Itadori.

Gojo sighed. “I’ll explain if you stop interrupting me.” 

For the first time that night, silence fell over the infirmary. 

The students listened with bated breath as Gojo told the truth, about how the mission somehow went awry and left them with Toge in his unresponsive state…and Fushiguro missing . He explained everything, the extended searches, the minimal residuals, Geto …everything came to light, not a question Gojo knew the answer to left unanswered. 

The more and more their mentor explained, the more and more disheartened Yuuta felt.

Geto…Geto…Geto was dead . Yuuta had left him injured beyond repair and Gojo arrived to finish the job off. There was no way the curse user was still alive. And, of course, that was something Gojo couldn’t explain. All the faculty members knew was that somehow, some way, Geto was involved with Toge’s injuries and Fushiguro’s disappearance. Both boys were in danger, and every adult on campus was doing what they could to find out more information on what exactly transpired during the mission on the 26th.

And so far, nothing had come up.

Their biggest finding was Geto’s residuals on that flower Nanami found, and that was the extent of their knowledge. Nothing else came up, and no further evidence was found.

Fushiguro was gone, and all they could do was search until there was nowhere else to look. 

“Wh-What do you mean there’s no more information?” Itadori suddenly exclaimed, wet marks lining his cheeks. “There’s gotta be something . He can’t just be gone, he-” 

Panda placed a reassuring hand on the spiraling teen’s shoulder in solidarity, effectively silencing Itadori.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Gojo insisted quietly. “I didn’t leave a single thing out. I know what we all know, and that isn’t much.” He pushed himself off the wall, moving closer to the remaining three students at the entrance. 

“I don’t get why you didn’t tell us sooner,” Kugisaki grumbled. “We could’ve helped.”

“Which is exactly what I told him,” Shoko said. “But I also understand why he felt like he couldn’t tell you all what’s going on.”

“Which is…” Panda asked, eyebrow cocked in inquisition. 

“Think about it,” Shoko prompted, taking her cigarette out of her mouth and rolling it between her fingers, “when Itadori was kept hidden, why exactly was that?” 

They all looked puzzled momentarily, thinking Shoko’s question over before Itadori’s face lit up with realization. “Higher ups! Right?”

“Precisely.” Shoko jutted her cigarette toward the teen. “Had the higher ups found out you regenerated yourself from death because of Sukuna, who knows what kind of hell they’d reign on us. Same goes with Fushiguro’s case. If the higher ups find out Fushiguro’s been kidnapped, much less with Geto’s involvement, they’ll demand all searches be disbanded in the name of security. We can’t have that.”

“Wait,” Kugisaki said, eyes narrowed, “you really think the higher ups wouldn’t let us continue searching for Fushiguro?”

Gojo shrugged. “It’s not a matter of thinking. It’s a matter of fact. If the higher ups find out Megumi’s been kidnapped, that’s it. They’ll deem the situation too dangerous to further investigate and demand we butt out, even if that means Megumi’s never recovered.” Gojo’s lips disappeared within his collar again. “And I’m going to do everything within and out of my power to ensure it doesn’t come to that. Not finding Megumi isn’t an option. Hence why I kept this all secret from you.”

Yuuta listened intently to Gojo, running careful fingers through Toge’s pale blonde hair. He twirled the soft strands, taking solace in their familiar feeling, but his stomach still sunk to his feet over the entire ordeal. “You really didn’t think you could trust us with this?” He asked. “We wouldn’t have told the higher ups a word. We won’t tell the higher ups.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you guys, Okkotsu,” Gojo said, tone softening slightly, almost as though he was trying to coax the teenagers. It was strange to hear on Gojo’s voice…something so parental . “It’s that this isn’t something I’m willing to take many risks over. Megumi is-” his voice cut off, as though he remembered something and felt like he couldn’t continue his thought.

“Megumi is what?” Itadori pushed.

Shoko rolled her eyes and attempted to pat Gojo’s shoulder, only for her hand to bounce off of Infinity. “Megumi’s Gojo’s kid.”

The collective shock that radiated through the room was almost laughable, jaws dropping from almost every corner.

“He’s what ?” Maki asked sharply.

“You two don’t even… look alike ,” Yuuta said.

Kugisaki sighed heavily, pinching her nose. “Fushiguro really never tells us anything.”

Itadori looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “You’d think this would’ve come up in conversation before. Especially when Fushiguro brought up his sister.”

“Guys,” Gojo interjected irritatedly, “he’s not my biological kid. I took him in when he was younger. The story’s long, and quite frankly irrelevant to the task at hand. Yeah, Megumi’s my kid, which is why it’s been so important to me that this remains on the down low.” He glared at Shoko. “There. Happy now?”

Shoko merely smirked, placing her cigarette back in between her lips. “Happy’s a strong word. Satisfied feels more appropriate.”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Maki groaned lowly, her own fingers messing with Toge’s limp ones, pushing and prodding at them with hopes that he’d push back, Yuuta assumed. “I want to be angry with you, and make no mistake, I’m still pretty pissed,” the bite in her tone fell, “but you’re making it really fucking difficult to keep the anger burning.”

Gojo chuckled breathily, adjusting the back of his blindfold. “Specialty of mine. Pissing people off but managing to fan the flames away.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the infirmary, the only sound permeating the room being the steady beeping of Toge’s heart monitor. The air was heavy, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. Yuuta was getting sick of this tense feeling. It seemed to be following him over the course of the past couple of days, ever since Maki and Panda announced that Toge hadn’t been seen on campus.

He wanted the tenseness to dissipate like an early morning fog as the hours of noon began to creep closer, but he had a feeling that it was just the beginning. 

He probably wouldn’t be able to breathe clearly for a while.

“Can we help you search for Fushiugro, sensei?” Itadori eventually asked, eyes pulled wide and looking up at Gojo as though the teacher was some sort of god. 

At first, Gojo was silent, lips pursed into a tight line. Yuuta was certain the sorcerer was going to say no and go on a spiel about how dangerous the students’ involvement in the case could be, both for themselves and for the sake of the higher ups not finding out.

But Shoko stepped in before Gojo could get a word out. 

“C’mon, Satoru,” she coaxed in too sweet of a voice, “let the kids help. More coverage means a higher chance of finding Megumi faster. Besides, you’re not the only one suffering here. Look.” She gestured towards the students who all looked ragged in one way or another, hair splayed in every which way or eyes lined with dark circles that could put Nanami’s to shame. “They’re miserable. They want to help, too. Megumi’s close to other people, as well.”

Gojo seemed to consider that, taking in a deep breath and sighing longly. He gave each student a glance, looking them over as though he was evaluating what Shoko told him. After a moment, however, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “As long as you all promise to keep this top secret…I suppose I can permit you all to help find Megumi.”

Kugisaki feigned locking her lips and throwing the key away. “Our lips are sealed.”

Gojo gave a weak smile, lips trembling slightly at the corners, something only Yuuta noticed. “Good.” He sighed and stretched tall, arms reaching overhead before falling limply at his sides. “On topic, I was just about to leave to search for Fushiguro, and I’d rather not delay myself further.”

“Let us come with you,” Panda offered earnestly. “It’ll be good to get more coverage.”

Gojo walked toward the door, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “As much as I agree with you, I’m afraid that I’d rather have your guys’ help after you’ve all properly rested, and I know you’ve all been rather restless these past couple of days.”

Kugisaki blew a strand of hair out of her face, eyes narrowed. “ Tch , as if we’d be able to rest better after hearing all of this.”

Gojo shrugged. “You wanted answers. I merely gave you all what you wanted.”

Itadori quickly jumped in front of Gojo, hands folded tightly in front of himself as if he was begging. His eyes were wide and bottom lip was jutted out in a clearly practiced puppy face. “Please, Gojo-sensei,” he pleaded, voice suspiciously shaky, “let us come look for Fushiguro. We really want to help. Fushiguro would do the same if it was one of us. Please…I don’t want to let him down.”

Gojo looked at Itadori with shock, as though he was noticing something that no one else could—and he very well might’ve been, due to Six Eyes. Gojo’s demeanor softened, and Yuuta swore an air of understanding emitted from Gojo’s features. “If it means that much to you, I suppose I could let you scout with me. But there will be very strict rules to follow. Understand?”

Itadori nodded eagerly, a smile breaking across his face.

“What about the rest of us?” Kugisaki asked, hands falling on her hips.

Gojo hummed. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too fair to permit one student to help and not let the others, so…if you’d like to search tonight, the offer is there, but don’t feel obligated, and be aware of your own needs first.”

Kugisaki nodded along, thinking over Gojo’s words before turning on her heel and exiting the infirmary. “Fuck it,” she said, “I’m going.”

Gojo glanced back at Yuuta and Maki. “Alright, I’ve got two students so far. Either of my second years going?” 

Panda raised a lazy hand. “I’ll go.”

Yuuta looked at Maki in anticipation, watching as her eyes darted between their teacher and Toge’s still form. She looked conflicted as she weighed her options. She gave Toge’s hand a gentle squeeze before moving from his bed and towards the exit. “I’ll go, too,” she announced. “Otherwise, I’ll just be sitting here. Wouldn’t be good for me.”

Itadori smiled at her, hand raised for a high five. “Great! Four out of five so far!”

Maki rolled her eyes and dismissed the high five. “Don’t push it.”

“Yuuta?” Gojo asked with expectancy. “What do you want to do?”

If Yuuta was honest, he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around going out tonight. Not after the whirlwind of information that Gojo thrust at them so suddenly. Between Yuuta’s long flight, Toge’s health, Fushiguro’s kidnapping, and the resurgence of Geto, Yuuta felt so helplessly overwhelmed.

He just wanted to be with Toge.

He continued to card careful fingers through Toge’s hair, watching as the teen took in steady and slow breaths. “I…I think I want to stay behind tonight. I want to stay with Toge.”

Shoko reached into her pocket, taking her cigarette pack out and grabbing the lighter from within it. “That’s alright with me. I was going to step out for a smoke, but I’ll be here all night. I don’t mind you taking time with Inumaki. Take all the time you need.”

Gojo nodded as Panda and Maki exited the infirmary, an unclear conversation beginning between Kugisaki and Maki. “So it’s settled.”

“Yep,” Shoko agreed, “now get out of my infirmary so I can smoke.”

Gojo snorted. “Please, as if I’d like to enable you.”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “As if you haven’t for the past decade.”

“That’s because you off of nicotine is an absolute nightmare,” Gojo shuddered. 

Their banter continued like that as they exited, Itadori trailing behind them, leaving Yuuta alone with nothing but the noise of the medical machines to keep him company.

He sighed and pulled up a chair next to Toge’s bed, taking a seat in it and grabbing a tight hold around the cursed speech user’s hand. With the privacy they finally had, Yuuta allowed the tears he’d been holding back to finally fall, wet and acidic trails being left in their wake. He brought Toge’s hand, warm from being underneath the blanket, up to his lips, kissing the soft skin lightly. 

He knew he told himself that he couldn’t blame himself for Toge’s state of being. Not everything was his fault. But being there, seeing Toge so vulnerable and injured was making it more and more difficult for Yuuta to believe that this wasn’t his fault in some way .

He kissed Toge’s hand again, allowing his lips to linger a moment longer. 

He shook his head in disbelief, hoping it would wake him from whatever nightmare he had to be in. But sadly, there was nothing to wake up from because this was real life, and there was nothing he could do about that.

He figured this was what Gojo must feel like with Megumi gone since the first year was technically Gojo’s kid. This strong sense of hopelessness and grief for someone who wasn’t dead, yet.

Well, with Megumi’s case, Yuuta supposed that couldn’t be said for certain. 

Tears began to fall faster, the weight of everything finally falling on Yuuta’s shoulders, and all he had to keep himself from crumbling under the pressure was Toge’s hand, limp and unmoving, but grounding nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuta eventually choked out, a sob breaking his words off. “I’m so… so sorry.”

He hoped with everything in him that Toge could hear him.

But Toge couldn’t. No…unneeded apologies fell on deaf, despondent ears.

Chapter Text

October 7th, 2018 - 19:03

Megumi knew hunger.

He knew hunger like a childhood best friend, one that would follow him and hold his hand with a grip so tight it made it seem as though he’d lose it if he let go. 

But he’d never lost her. No. She remained in his life for much longer than Megumi would like to remember, digging harsh claws into the pit of his stomach and tearing away at his sensitive intestines bit by bit, further ensuring her stay, and further implementing herself into Megumi’s life. She was inescapable, a constant. 

A friend.

She wasn’t, really, and if she was, she was a toxic one at best, not even leaving once Megumi had digested scraps of food he and Tsumiki found in the school’s trashcans at the end of the day.

But, hey, that was more than what could be said for his dad. As far as Megumi was concerned, hunger was a far greater friend than his father ever had been. She stayed when he left. Perhaps he was to blame for her appearance in the first place, but in any case, she was familiar when Megumi could barely remember his own father’s face. 

She’d disappeared, slowly but surely, once Gojo appeared in Tsumiki and his lives. Instead of trash gathered bread crusts and half eaten, rotting apples, Gojo brought with him comforting udon dishes, a plethora of onigiri recipes, and odd yet tasty international foods in mass quantity. Adjusting to the bounty Gojo offered them wasn’t easy, and Megumi, young and starved Megumi, would often eat himself sick, impulses to keep eating even after his stomach pleaded that it was full winning over in his food depleted mind because according to it, each and every meal Gojo provided them with could be his last. 

That mindset was difficult to break, especially with Gojo’s limited knowledge of children and child psychology, but sure enough, Megumi’s relationship with food was restored, and hunger was someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

So when she began to creep back up on him in his time of captivity, whispering sweet words of longing and rearrival, Megumi knew what to expect. 

It was nothing new, which was something he reminded himself every time his stomach panged and yearned for food Gojo always worked to make sure was on the table. He’d been through worse, far worse, and a couple of days without food wasn’t going to break him.

No matter how often he told himself that, however, his stomach cried and moaned in blatant protest, calling Megumi a liar and demanding he supply it with sustenance he didn’t have access to. 

But that was ok because the pain he was experiencing now was nothing like the pain he’d experienced as a child. 

Not yet, anyway.

He didn’t know what day it was, nor did he know the time. All he knew was darkness in the confines of the concrete room where windows were nonexistent. No clock was offered his way and the few times the curses or Geto’s imposter interacted with him gave no indication of just how long he’d been held captive. It could’ve been only two days since he first spoke to that one curse and Geto’s lookalike, or it could’ve been a month. Time felt distorted and altered in his current state of being.

He wondered if the school was looking for him.

He wondered if everyone was ok.

He felt sore and grimy, a byproduct of sitting in one position for an extended period, injured no less. Not greatly, but still. There was a throb in his head that shouldn’t normally be there, yet every waking moment he’d experienced thus far was prevalent, making itself known in nauseating waves. He yearned to be home where he had access to medication, medical attention, and dammit, showers . It definitely shouldn’t be one of his main concerns, and honestly, it wasn’t, but he craved the feeling of warm water hitting against his skin soothingly and comfortingly, sending all tension in his muscles running. 

The grimy sensation was yet another feeling that catapulted Megumi back to his memories of a life before Gojo and a life where his only guardians were himself and Tsumiki. When food was never on a table they didn’t have and their concept of a shower was rinsing their faces and arms off in the school sinks.

He hated those memories with a passion. Each and every one was laced with a misery that was practically unmatched by any other experience he’d gone through. His situation was a critical low that he hadn’t been fully aware of at his young age, but now that he was a teenager and had the mental capacity to reflect, he looked upon those days with scorn and disgust.

He remembered Gojo stepping into Megumi and Tsumiki’s apartment for the first time. He’d been confused, at first, something Megumi now attributed to Gojo’s physically spoiled lifestyle. The teenager couldn’t comprehend how two kids that barely reached his knee could live in such squalor. 

He’d quickly taken them home, a place where food was abundant, water ran clear from every faucet, and heat circulated comfortably through each room.

Megumi didn’t cry that night because he finally felt satisfied after years of neglect, nor did he cry because he finally got a taste of what normalcy felt like. No, he’d cried because Tsumiki cried for all those reasons, and seeing her genuinely happy wasn’t something Megumi ever expected to witness. 

Looking back, it must’ve been funny trying to watch Gojo console two blubbering children, but at the time it was emotionally distressing on all ends.

He let his pulsating head fall heavily against the cold wall.

He wondered how Gojo was holding up.

A harsh pang in his abdomen jolted him out of his thoughts, slamming him roughly back into reality. 

His stomach groaned with angry demands, and his bones screamed for him to move so they can crack and snap back into their rightful spots. His wrists felt raw, tugging at the heavy talisman clad shackles. His clothes, tattered as they were, clung to his skin from dried sweat and blood. He was uncomfortable, so dreadfully uncomfortable, for a magnitude of reasons, each with their own sense of severity. 

His stomach growled, low and loud, sending an unnerving vibration through his entire being.

Perhaps that was the discomfort he should focus on first and foremost. Not that there was much he could do about it because no matter what he did, he couldn’t move further than five centimeters from his shackled spot. His range in mobility was holistically restrained, and it didn’t matter how much strength or cursed energy he attempted to output to the chains that bound him. Cursed energy was muffled and smothered by talismans that burned his skin each and every time he tried to utilize a different aspect of his technique, and his extent of brute force wasn’t enough to undo the metal chains. 

He could feel the rawness from his endless attempts at breaking free on his hands, and he feared the moment the talismans were finally expelled and the restraints were loosened. He didn’t want to see what could be a horrendous sight of marred or dangling burnt flesh. Or perhaps the extent of the injuries wasn’t truly that severe. But if the stinging sensation that ran up and down his hands agonizingly were anything to go by, the burns were that severe, which was…mildly concerning, if Megumi didn’t allow himself the time to think about it, and he tried not to. His entire cursed technique required the usage of his hands, and if he wasn’t able to use them anymore after this entire ordeal, then…

He should just stop thinking about it for now. Or at the very least stop struggling like he has been and have more faith that Gojo would turn up sooner rather than later, staff and students in tow as they made easy work of the curses that had him held captive.

He gritted his teeth, eyes clenching shut as he bit back the urge to scream with frustration and anguish—both mental and physical. He tried to not let the ideas of “If Tsumiki was here, things would be so much easier,” or “Tsumiki would know what to do. She always knew what to do in stressful situations,” get to him too much for the sole reason that they did nothing but serve him more pain than what it was worth. Tsumiki was still cursed, fallen prey to something no one, not even Gojo, had answers to.

The fact, the sheer thought , that whatever curse inhabited Geto’s body had intel on whatever was happening to Tsumiki made Megumi’s blood boil in ways unimaginable. Yet, there he had to sit, useless and trapped like some sort of damsel in distress. 

It made him feel sick, being this helpless. 

“Oh? Are you still alive down here?”

Megumi briefly thought about keeping quiet to perhaps give the illusion he’d keeled over, but the curse didn’t give him the time before filling the silence with more words. 

“Who am I kidding? The boss wouldn’t let you die so easily, so of course, you’re still alive!”

Light steps made their way down the rickety looking staircase, followed by the abrupt flicking of a light switch. Megumi flinched back violently, clenching his eyes shut as light was something they weren’t used to anymore. Not often, and never in long increments of time. As if he truly was someone who lived underground. 

Once he’d gathered his bearings and could peek out behind lidded eyes, albeit slowly as his eyes continued to adjust, Megumi was met once again with the growingly familiar patchwork face of Mahito who was smiling widely, the tip of his tongue peeking out just so behind pale lips. 

Megumi made it a mission not to get to know any of his captors on a personal level as it would serve him no purpose in doing so, but if there was anything he had learned, it was that Mahito was painfully childish. Almost to a fault. He perceived most things as games and held little value in things that gave him no benefit. While curses weren’t exactly the most selfless beings on Earth—save for Rika—it was impossible to miss the fact that Mahito couldn’t be very old in his existence. He took leaps and bounds with knowledge that was spurted his way, and he was beyond experimental—Megumi had seen a couple of his soul experiments firsthand, something he wished he could forget. Should the stitching of his skin dissolve and fade so that he looked more human, Megumi wouldn’t waste time in guessing Mahito was his age. But curses didn’t age like humans. They simply existed and came to be. Megumi thought Mahito’s age to be less than a year, perhaps half. 

“Mm,” Mahito hummed, squatting next to Megumi, resting his chin on the divet between his index finger and thumb. “You look kinda pale.”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “I wonder why,” he snarked, his usual bite holding just that much more edge. 

Mahito shrugged and took a seat. “Enlighten me.”

Megumi gave a deadpan stare. “Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, I know you have some injuries, considering how you were obtained and all,” Megumi hated how Mahito spoke of the kidnapping as though he was simply talking about the weather, “but we’ve already established that whatever you have isn’t serious. You shouldn’t be that pale just from being tossed around like a ragdoll.”

Megumi scoffed and leaned his head against the wall. “The concept of food ring a bell?”

As if he’d been caught in unexpected headlights, Mahito’s expression fell wide, a hand smacking itself against his forehead. “Ah, man! I knew I was forgetting something! I was told to keep you fed. I forgot you humans need to eat.”

Ah, Megumi supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised to find that food was something the curse forgot about, as it wasn’t something he needed to survive, but it still irked Megumi that Mahito seemed so nonchalant. And he intended on showing his annoyance. “ Clearly .”

Mahito shrugged. “Hey, don’t get mad at me! I’m used to terminating and experimenting on humans, not keeping them alive.” He smirked at Megumi in a way that sent a chill up the ravenette’s spine. “Though make no mistake, I’ve tried to change arrangements so you could end up as another memento in my pocket. You’d be a fine specimen for experimentation if you’re as powerful as Geto said.”

Right now, Megumi wasn’t sure if he could live up to any expectations that were laid out for him. He was young, yet, and terribly far from having a full grasp over his technique, but he knew that the moment he had full capability over his technique, there would be many individuals he’d wish to eradicate. 

All starting with the patchwork curse and the disgusting Geto lookalike. 

A stern hand made itself known under Megumi’s chin, forcing emerald eyes up to gaze into heterochromia grey and blue ones. Megumi struggled in the hold, trying his damndest to get the curse to release his grip on his cheeks, all to no avail. The curse simply smiled sadistically at him, squeezing his face tighter and tighter, to the point Megumi thought some of his teeth might come loose. 

“Don’t forget your place, human,” Mahito cooed condescendingly. “Right now, all I’d have to do is activate my technique, and you’d be done for. Your snark and complaints hold no weight here. You’re nothing. Understood?”

As if Megumi hadn’t heard that before.

Suddenly patchwork skin and heterochromia eyes shifted into smooth pale skin and dark hair that resembled his own. True facial definition was impossible to make out, but the voice was clear and definite—a voice Megumi hadn’t heard since he was maybe six. 

“You’re nothing,” the voice snarled with something akin to pure hatred; something Megumi was an acquaintance with in his youth. “You’re dead weight at my feet, not worth the money or effort. Absolutely worthless, boy.”

Yeah, he’d heard those words before, but not since Gojo had taken him in. 

If words were physical, that simple sentence uttered by Mahito would’ve registered like a slap, resounding harshly against concrete walls. Megumi was stunned as if that were the case, but it was all mental. Mahito just continued to smile sinisterly at him, completely oblivious to Megumi’s inner turmoil before releasing his chin roughly and tossing it back against the wall. “Stay put,” he said mockingly as he moved back towards the staircase. “I’ll be back with something edible. Can’t promise it’ll taste good, but you’re probably past such desires, aren’t you?”

Megumi couldn’t respond. He was too busy trying to get that voice out of his head. 

The stairs creaked, signifying Mahito’s ascent while Megumi tried to curb his inner dialogue and memories, something he was growing accustomed to being accompanied by. 

He seldom thought of his father, and he hardly believed the man deserved such a title. He’d left Megumi and Tsumiki for dead years, a whole decade, perhaps, before they were old enough to be on their own. Megumi couldn’t care less where the man had ended up; after all, he’d been the source of Tsumiki’s woes as a child.

But even so, now that Mahito brought those words to light, he couldn’t get the drilling and jarring words out of his mind.

“You’re nothing.”

“Useless.”

“You’re to be seen and not heard.”

“What’re you cryin’ for?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Megumi yelled, no words shaping his sudden anger and anguish, just unbridled sound that came directly from a smoldering fire in the pit of his stomach he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring. 

He didn’t care where that man was. He could be dead, and Megumi wouldn’t think twice about it. He just hoped that wherever he was, he was suffering as much as he made Tsumiki and him suffer. 

“Behave down there!” Mahito called from the top of the stairs.

“Fuck you!” Megumi snarled, teeth gritting as he yanked fruitlessly against the shackles. “Fuck you, and fuck everyone else involved in this!” He tugged, pulled, and wrenched at the chains binding him to the wall, completely disregarding the growing throb and burning sensation that coursed through his surely marred hands, desperate to break free. “Let me out! Let me out! Goddammit, let me out !”

Mahito poked his head down from the door, quirking an unimpressed eyebrow up at Megumi’s pathetic display. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he advised.

“Yeah? Well, you’re not me!” Megumi growled, jerking harder at the shackles. He poured cursed energy into the shackles, hoping it would weaken them, all to no avail. The talismans grew aggravated, sending pulsating, burning pain through Megumi’s hands. He cried out in agony but didn’t relent. “I want out of here!”

Mahito rolled his eyes. “So dramatic. Look, you can get out of here once Geto gets what he wants, alright? Once Gojo’s in that prison realm you can go back home free and continue your little tantrums there. Until then, save your aggressions for someone who cares.” With that, the curse disappeared from the doorway once more, presumably finding something for Megumi to eat.

The ravenette gave a couple more tugs at the chains for good measure, ignoring the loosening feeling around his hands and hot pain that coursed through his flesh that felt as though it was melting before he finally gave up, panting and willing himself to not let agonized tears fall. He curled his sore knees up to his chest, burying his face in them as his teeth grit painfully together, eyes scrunched tightly shut.

He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life. Not even when he was six and living alone with his sister. Even at that point, they could fend somewhat decently for themselves. Now, he truly was some sort of damsel in distress. And god, did he hate that feeling. Gojo had never raised him to be that. He’d taught Megumi from a young age to always look for something he could do because not every situation was likely as hopeless as it felt. There always had to be something . 

“Alright, I don’t know much about food, but I think this counts for something.”

Bingo .

Mahito returned in front of Megumi with a heaping bowl of… something . White brothy cream with floating particles of oddities was presented to the teen as though it was Mahito’s finest work of art. The curse looked on at him with a childlike expectant smile, almost as though he’d proudly made his parents breakfast in bed. A spoon sat inside the bowl, awaiting usage, but Megumi couldn’t help but feel his stomach turn at the sight. 

“What…” he gulped. “What is that ?” 

Mahito shrugged. “If it has a name, I don’t know it. But I know it’s edible and you haven’t eaten in well over a week. You’ve gotta be ready to accept anything by now.”

The way he said that made Megumi’s heart rate spike.

There was something wrong with whatever was in Mahito’s hands, Megumi was certain of it. The curse had slipped something a little extra in just to make the dish all the more disturbing, and Megumi wasn’t having any of it.

He’d decided that long before the curse stepped down with the bowl in his hands.

“No thanks.”

Mahito’s eyes widened slightly, smile still prevalent on his lips. For a moment, he looked almost shocked, as though he wasn’t expecting Megumi to be so neglectful of his own needs. “Hm…I find it hard to believe your appetite isn’t ravenous.”

“Clearly you don’t know hunger then.”

“Ah,” Mahito laughed, “right, you humans and your hierarchical economic system. Fascinating and sickening in all of the best of ways.”

Megumi saw nothing hilarious or fantastic about it. 

“I find it hard to believe Six Eyes ever let you go hungry,” Mahito said, placing the bowl on the ground.

He didn’t. Not once in the time under his care had Gojo ever let Megumi or Tsumiki go hungry. He’d always made sure they knew where food was and encouraged them to have snacks whenever they felt the slightest twinge of hunger. Megumi forgot about his childhood best friend once Gojo was there. 

But he’d never forget about her permanently, and he knew how to deal with her. 

“I’m used to it,” he said uncaringly. “I don’t want any food you have to offer.”

At that, Mahito smirked, eyes growing lidded with a knowing gaze. “That would mean starvation. You may understand hunger, and you may be used to it, but that doesn’t discredit your need for food. After so many days, you’ll die without it.”

Which would eliminate their leverage against Gojo and mean that the sorcerer would remain safe. 

“If that’s what it takes to keep that out of my body,” he gestured towards the disgusting looking bowl with a nod of his head, “then so be it.”

Mahito clasped his hands over where a human’s heart would be. “Oh, you wound me! So rude, you are! I wish Geto would’ve warned me!”

And Megumi wished Mahito would stop referring to that imposter as Geto . 

Mahito pouted. “I worked so hard on that, too. Just for you! So ungrateful.”

A curse wouldn’t know gratitude if it bit them in the ass.

“But,” Mahito drug out the vowel, “you know Geto won’t let you get away with that. You’ve gotta eat so, y’know, you stay alive . You could eat now willingly or do it the hard way, which would be much more entertaining for me, but much more unpleasant for you.”

Megumi narrowed his eyes, digging the heels of his feet into his shoes as much as possible. “I’m not hungry.”

Mahito hummed. “You’re lying, but whatever. It’s your funeral. Or…not really funeral , but I suppose discomfort. I promise whatever means Geto tries to use on you will be much less desirable than me being nice.”

If Megumi was being forced into this hell without any proper say in anything he does, he’d make it his personal mission to make things as difficult as possible for his captors. 

“I’ll pass the message on,” Mahito said nonchalantly, standing with the bowl in hand. “But I’ll give you one last chance ‘cause I’m nice.” He smirked. “Hungry?”

Megumi growled. “ Die .”

Mahito giggled like a child on their birthday. “Oo, feisty! Good thing you’re not that other kid who was at that mission with you, or else I might have something to worry about!”

Megumi yelled in anger, jostling the chains as though he was trying to lunge at the curse, but he knew he wouldn’t get far. “Fuck you!” Mahito could say a lot of things and Megumi wouldn’t think twice about them, but insulting Inumaki when Megumi didn’t even know how the other teen was doing? When he didn’t know if the other teen was alive ? Megumi wouldn’t stand for it.

“Your vocabulary isn’t that extensive,” Mahito mused, moving back towards the stairs. “In the short interactions we’ve had today, you’ve used that phrase a total of four times, with some leniency on the exact phrasing. For someone who doesn’t talk much, you should really learn to say more.”

Megumi bit back the urge to repeat the phrase. 

Mahito ascended the stairs. “Geto will be down in a bit. Have fun with that ride.”

If it meant showing that Megumi had no intentions of rolling over like a helpless puppy without some semblance of a fight, he would. 

Mahito left the light on, a shock to Megumi and his dark-accustomed eyes, but it was a welcomed change. After living in darkness for however long he’d been held captive, it was nice  to be able to see two meters in front of himself. Even so, no amount of light shed on his surroundings was enough to ease the anxious pit that was growing in his stomach. 

He’d remembered his talk with Gojo that transpired not that long ago—a couple weeks at the least, a month at most—while the older sorcerer trained Megumi one on one. Words and concerns over Megumi’s self-sacrificial behavior bounced wildly in his mind, the memory of Gojo attempting to instill a sense of greed into the ravenette’s soul that naturally wasn’t there plaguing him. Megumi still found it difficult to think of himself first as opposed to his team as a whole. He was willing to do anything for his peers at the school and, whether he was willing to admit it or not, Gojo. 

It was with cyanide laced thoughts that Megumi realized it wasn’t him the curses wanted, but Gojo. They’d told him that from the get-go, so the revelation shouldn’t have been all that hard hitting, yet here he was, spacing out on a cement floor as he was harshly reminded over and over again that, should the curses reign successful, Gojo was going to be trapped in the prison realm once everything was said and done. 

Megumi refused to let that happen, should he have any say in what was transpiring. Even if that meant denying himself basic needs, he would do whatever he could to ensure the safety of his teacher, and, dare he say, family . Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was stupid, but he supposed, at the end of the day, he was doing what Gojo had instructed him to do: be greedier .

Megumi wanted nothing more than to keep his loved ones safe, and he’d die if that’s what it took. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was left down there alone with his thoughts; it could’ve been minutes, or it could’ve been hours—time was liquidized here, obsolete as a social construct that no longer applied to Megumi because he was no longer social. Regardless of how long he sat alone, eventually, the stairs creaked with new weight, and sock clad feet adorned with sandals stepped their way down into the room. 

“Not hungry, I hear?” Geto’s voice crooned in a way Megumi would’ve considered comforting as a child.

Now, it was just sickening.

“Not for anything you’re serving,” Megumi said roughly as Geto’s lookalike stepped fully into the room, the same bowl Mahito had been wielding earlier in hand. 

“ Tsk, tsk, tsk . You can say all you want, Fushiguro, but your body is much smarter than your mouth is.” He bent dangerously close to Megumi, wafting the disgusting contents of the bowl toward the teen’s nose. Megumi crinkled his face and pressed his back as hard against the wall as he could, as though he was trying to get away, but it served little purpose. 

And, even worse, despite his mental clear disgust for the repulsive dish, his stomach once again roared with hunger, pleading that Megumi put whatever food the curse had into it. 

The curse smiled. “See? So ravenous, and yet you deny yourself food. Can’t use that ‘I’m not hungry,’ lie now, can you?”

“I don’t care what my body says,” Megumi said through gritted teeth. “My body knows one thing, and that’s survive. But I’m not my body, and I know that I would never want anything any of you prepare.”

Geto’s body erupted into a fit of laughter, the tall man bending at the waist over his knees. “Careful with that mindset,” he said in between laughing fits. “That’s a surefire way to get yourself killed. Maybe you haven’t gotten to such a degree here, yet, but eventually, you will fall into such a deep pit of hunger that I could place one of Mahito’s experiments at your feet and you’d be practically groveling to feast on it.”

Megumi crinkled his nose in disgust, his stomach lurching at the mere idea. “You’re sick.”

The curse shrugged. “No more than you typical humans are.” He looked at Megumi in silence for a moment, eyes trailing over the teen as though he was analyzing him before a breathy chuckle passed between the curse’s lips. “Though I must admit, if I believe I know what this little ‘hunger strike,’ is for, then your strength and will are truly astounding.”

That sentence sent Megumi’s heart racing. Hunger strike? He couldn’t possibly have figured Megumi out so quickly. Not that it was some grandiose plan because it wasn’t, Megumi just didn’t like the fact that something so inhumane could already draw conclusions about the teen’s behavior. He sucked on his teeth nervously. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Geto’s eyes rolled. “Sure. Of course, you don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Megumi asked with narrowed eyes.

“You don’t have to play dumb with me, y’know,” the curse said, setting the bowl on the floor and crouching down to Megumi’s seated height. “I’ve been around for much longer than you have. Hell, I put your good ol’ sensei Six Eyes to shame as well as far as age is concerned. You think I’ve never seen someone starve themselves to keep their loved ones safe? Please. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book.”

Megumi licked cracked lips and cocked an eyebrow. “Starvation?”

The curse waved a dismissive hand. “The means aren’t necessarily important, but yes, self-sacrifice is nothing new, and I’ve seen it my own fair share of times.” He smiled condescendingly. “And it seems to be something you’re well acquainted with as well.”

Megumi bit back the urge to throw a string of insults at the curse. While Mahito was someone he didn’t have to worry about necessarily, whatever was mimicking Geto had much more power and authority. If he wanted, Megumi could be eviscerated with the snap of Geto’s fingers. 

“While it’s quite admirable,” Geto’s lookalike continued, “it’s something I can’t allow. I’m afraid you’re much too valuable for the plan. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. And I promise you won’t like the hard way.”

Megumi would go out on a limb to say he wouldn’t like any way, but he figured snide remarks weren’t exactly appropriate at the moment. 

Though he had to admit, the curse sounding so authoritative over something as simple as food was almost laughable. The tone in his voice was so similar to Geto’s when the ex-sorcerer attempted almost fruitlessly to get Gojo to eat anything that wasn’t considered sweets. The being before him wasn’t Geto, not by a long shot, but everything down from the appearance to the voice screamed Geto Suguru in ways that made Megumi feel uncomfortable. If Megumi focused on anything that wasn’t his surroundings, he could almost convince himself that he was still a small child, just getting used to Gojo’s presence in his life, and whatever space Geto took up with it. He could envision Geto’s gentle eyes and caring hold. He could feel Geto’s mother-hennish words and tone wrap around him. He could pretend he was safe.

The curse’s face scrunched up, irked. “What are you smiling at?”

Was he? Megumi hadn’t noticed the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile. “Just remembered something,” he told the truth. “Before he defected, Geto was a serious worrywart. I mean, he had his work cut out for him, considering he hung out with Gojo constantly, but he’d always threaten Gojo in a similar way you did with me when it came to shoving food that was healthy down Gojo’s throat.”

The curse’s face contorted into shock, mouth formed in an ‘o’ . “Is that so?” He asked after a moment of silence.

Megumi nodded, a wave of nostalgia rushing over him. “Yeah. I swear Geto would have been an excellent mother. At least, he played the role for me and Gojo well for the few months I knew him. It was kind of funny, I guess. Maybe more so…perfect? The way Gojo and Geto seemed to complement each other. While Gojo was brash, unknowledgeable, and lenient, Geto was cautious, educated, and a bit more uptight. They were a perfect balance together.” He dug the toe of his shoe into the ground as he continued to reminisce. “Geto left a lot behind when he defected. I still see remnants of him in Gojo. When I first met him, Gojo was inpatient, as most teenagers are, but now…I don’t know. I’d have to push an endless assortment of buttons, and even then I’m not sure he’d lose his temper with me. He doesn’t have much patience for people such as the higher ups, but his students and me? He has more than he’s willing to admit, I can tell.”

Megumi jolted slightly once he realized what he’d done: spilled the entirety of his guts out on the shoes of the enemy. There was no particularly important information the curse could’ve gained from Megumi’s nostalgia spew, but still. Megumi’s heart constricted tightly at the prospect that he’d shared precious memories with someone who was trying to bring harm to him and his family.

However, a quick glance up had Megumi locking his emerald gaze onto an amethyst one, wide eyed and shocked beyond comprehension. 

Megumi shifted uncomfortably, the curse’s surprise eating at his nerves.

Geto’s body unexpectedly lurched, sending large hands to suddenly knobbly knees as the large frame shuddered in a way that reminded Megumi of someone who was about to vomit. Megumi backed himself against the wall as much as possible, trying to get as far away from the curse as possible, all to little avail. The body of the ex-sorcerer shook and his mouth sputtered, and Megumi didn’t know what to think until watery purple eyes looked at him again, dazed and desperate.

“Megumi?”

The teen sucked in a sharp breath. 

The way his name was uttered was unlike any other way the curse had done so. It was said in a way that jumped Megumi’s brain back to all of the sleepovers and movie nights he shared with his sister, Gojo, and Geto, back when everything in Megumi’s life was suddenly starting to be ok and normal. Back when he had all of the people he considered family. Back when he had Tsumiki, Gojo, and Geto.

Geto, Geto, Geto .

“S…Suguru?” Megumi asked as though he was experimentally dipping his toes into a pool. 

Fingers were on his face faster than Megumi could process it, calloused skin never having felt softer and more comforting than at that moment. Geto’s eyes held something that made Megumi want to cry like he was a small child again that could be held in the ex-sorcerer’s arms as he lectured Gojo on why it was a stupid idea to let six-year-olds walk on the counter. There was something so tender about the way Geto held his face like it was a priceless relic, yet something alarming about the way Geto’s eyes scaled up and down Megumi’s face as though he was inspecting the teen carefully.

“You’re not hurt?” Geto asked quickly, and it was at that moment Megumi knew something had happened. Geto was somehow Geto again. “You’re alright?”

“I’m…I…” How was he supposed to respond? He was hungry, cold, and his head still throbbed every time he moved. He wanted nothing more than to go home, to feel warm and safe again, but he wasn’t sure if that was something he’d ever have the luxury of feeling again. How could he even think to answer Geto’s question that was, in hindsight, simple? 

Megumi swallowed around a suffocating lump, eyes pleading. “You have to get me out of here,” he begged. “I…I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to let me out, please . I won’t tell anyone you’re here or that you’re alive if you just let me go home.”

Geto’s eyes looked horrified with every word Megumi uttered, their softness the teen once knew flooding back and replacing the cold gaze Megumi had grown accustomed to during his stay. The adult gulped, still cradling, Megumi’s face. “I’m not supposed to be alive.”

“But you are ,” Megumi said hurriedly, worried that their time was fleeting. “You are somehow because of that…that curse, and you need to let me go now before something happens and you can’t release me.” He wasn’t sure when tears began to leak from his eyes, but Geto’s thumbs gingerly wiped them away regardless. The man was still a convict, due execution if ever found alive as payment for all of the lives he took, but Megumi couldn’t help but feel, for the first time in what felt like far too long, safe. He felt like a traitor for it, to Jujutsu society, normal society, and even Gojo, but the way Geto wiped away every tear like he was a child again was unfairly comforting. “Get the talismans off my hands. Unchain me. Please, just let me go. I want to go home, back to my friends, Tsumiki, and Gojo.”

Saying the white haired sorcerer’s name might’ve been akin to lighting a fatal fuse given how things were left between the two of them, but Megumi didn’t care. The Geto he knew cared about Gojo, no matter what happened.

And with the way Geto inhaled sharply, Megumi felt safe in saying he was right.

“I can get you out, kid,” he said quickly. “I will get you out. Hold still. Show me the talismans.” 

Megumi wasted no time in maneuvering as much as he could, showing the talismans to the ex-sorcerer.

Geto hissed through his teeth at the sight. “What did you do ?” 

“I thought I could break through them if I put enough cursed energy into them,” he admitted sheepishly.

“If you’re Gojo , maybe,” Geto said in that mother-hen tone Megumi remembered. “I’ll be surprised if your hands don’t get infected.”

So it was as bad as it felt.

“I can barely tell what’s talisman and what’s flesh. You can’t fight talismans with cursed energy, that only aggravates them. Seriously, Megumi, that’s completely and idiotically ridiculous. You could’ve-”

His voice cut off abruptly, along with any other lectures he might’ve had. Megumi chanced a glance back, horrified to see Geto’s own hand gripping tightly at his chin, the other hand grabbing his wrist. 

“Geto?” Megumi asked quietly.

The adult only answered by jerking to the side, head turning sharply with his hand as his body shook and convulsed several times, almost as though Geto was fighting himself. Megumi shifted and moved back against the wall, wondering if Geto was still with him or if he was gone again, lost to whatever curse had taken hold.

“S-Suguru?” He tried again, cringing and holding his breath as he waited for some sort of sign from the body that had tortured him and comforted him all within days that blended together. 

When the movements ceased and Geto’s head snapped back to look at Megumi, the teen knew he’d lost the battle. The softness of Geto’s eyes had iced over again, like a lake in the winter time, all comfort and safety Megumi had been basking in just seconds ago long gone. He couldn’t help the next set of tears that rolled silently down his cheeks as anxiety rose high in his chest. His one ticket out had faded away, and Megumi was unsure if or when he’d ever get another opportunity for escape.

Slowly, Geto’s body stood straight, shoulders rolling back and neck cracking so loudly, Megumi figured it should’ve broke. His lips were pressed thinly, and he looked down at the ravenette with scorn. 

Megumi had never felt so small in his entire life. 

The curse wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, lips turning into a scowl. “I’ve had just about enough of you,” he growled. “I’ve gone through too much and planned far too extensively to let someone as inferior as you derail my plans. You want to play the hard way? Fine, we’ll play the hard way.”

Megumi watched in terror as an unknown curse began to assimilate next to Geto’s body, one that the ex-sorcerer harbored, no doubt. The grotesque thing towered over Geto’s imposter, inhumanly thin and gangly. Perhaps what disturbed Megumi the most was its lack of eyes and a mouth. 

“I planned on breaking Six Eyes down to make him bend to my will and give me what I want. You’re the perfect bait for that,” Pseudo-Geto repeated himself from days prior. “But what the hell? Why not break you both?”

With the gesture of a hand, the new curse launched itself at Megumi, restrained only by the demands of the curse that lived inside Geto’s body.

Megumi’s screams reverberated piercingly throughout the complex, but no one was around to hear them.

Chapter Text

August 17th, 2007 - 19:05

Gojo Satoru never wanted kids.

He’d seen, he’d first handedly witnessed , just what kind of pain adults could inflict on small, unsuspecting children. Children were frail, vulnerable to an embarrassing degree as their sense of self-care was naturally deprived, a deep-seated instinctual dependence coursing uselessly through their bodies. They expected their parents to meet their needs—something that shouldn’t be farfetched.

Yet, Gojo remembered himself at that vulnerable and optimistic stage of life, seeking out approval and love where he could find it. If he was lucky, he’d be able to locate one of his favorite servants in the Gojo estate—one that was lenient and insisted that children should be children—and talk in run-on sentences about all of his training accomplishments that day. If he was exceptionally lucky, they’d offer him a smile as he spoke and ruffle his hair as they gave meaningful compliments. Those days were good, even if his parents refused to parent him themselves (more inclined to utilize his tiny body as an unholy war weapon), young Gojo took solace in knowing he could find what he assumed was happiness in unconventional places.

Gojo learned early on that isolation was the most effective torture technique. 

Because maybe when he disobeyed, his father would yell just a bit too loud, purposefully sending Gojo into a blind fit of sensory overload, and maybe when he took one cookie too many from the aptly hidden cookie jar, his mother would yank him by the hair and demand he make another batch on his own— “Miracles aren’t supposed to be burdens.” Those hurt, terribly so, but they were manageable.

He’d been tossed in undisclosed rooms for training flubs and disobedience, rough hands shoving him as though he was no more than an object and uncaring of how or where he fell, only for the door to slam shut, deadbolts clicking as they locked. And at first, Gojo wouldn’t think much of it because he knew the ending would be the same—someone would open the door, let him out, and the day would carry on like typical.

Only…it hadn’t.

In his mind, two days drug out for two years as unfamiliar hunger panged unforgivingly in his stomach. Frantically, he’d begun to wonder if he’d been forgotten about, or…if he’d finally tested the last ounce of luck he had and his parents had decided to finally end him. After all, what good was a powerful trump card if the wielder of said power wasn’t willing to bend to the will of everyone else? He’d thrown tiny fists against unmoving doors and walls, fruitlessly hoping he’d either be able to dislodge the locks or, at the very least, alert someone of his presence. When neither of those methods worked, he screamed, loud and piercing, impossible to not hear. Even so, no one helped him. No one opened the door or tried to console the clearly distressed child. Gojo could feel others’ presence with Six Eyes—as weak as it was at that age—and he could sense the proximity of others, tantalizing and reminding him that he was needlessly alone.

He was let out two days later. His father found him crumpled on the floor, knees drawn to his chest as he dryly sobbed into his clothes, tears having run out approximately twelve hours prior. His father didn’t move to comfort him. He simply stood in the doorway, arms crossed, as he demanded Gojo stop his insolent blubbering and get up. 

Normally, Gojo would’ve maintained defiance, perhaps going as far as telling his father to buzz off. However, the prospect of him shutting and locking that door once more was too terrifying to risk, so he picked himself up, taking a brief moment to rub at his face with his sleeves, and plodded helplessly and obediently to his father’s side.

Adults held an unfair amount of power over children, and that power was often irrefutable. History’s shown time and time again that when someone harbors intense power, the authority is not used in moderation nor good, but rather abuse. So of course, parents wouldn’t be an exception, and in Gojo’s case, they definitely weren’t. 

So Gojo never wanted kids; he never wanted to be a parent, too afraid that he’d end up just like his own parents and release yet another emotionally unstable being into the world, rinse and repeat. 

So of course, of course , the school would ask Gojo to take in the very children he made orphans. He’d refused outrightly, at first, spitting venomous obscenities and laughing with mockery before he was ultimately tossed out of the office with his sole objective being to find the brats.

He found Megumi first; the little snot had been walking home after what Gojo assumed was school. He’d be the first to admit that he was rather blunt and callous when it came to speaking with the kid, but at the time he didn’t care. He hadn’t even wanted to find the Fushiguro children, and the fact that Megumi was practically a spitting image of Toji definitely didn’t help. He’d genuinely gagged. 

Gojo didn’t know the first thing about children. He never saw a need to educate himself because, again, he’d long since decided that he didn’t want kids. So he didn’t know how to respond to Megumi’s shunning behavior and Tsumiki’s overly sweet and trusting disposition. He supposed he should’ve been angry and frustrated with Megumi and relieved and happy with Tsumiki, but really, he just felt overwhelmed. Because now he had two kids staring at him, looking to him for support, and God , their apartment was below inadequate, and even his dumbass could tell they were starved and in desperate need of hygenical attention. He didn’t want to be too involved in their lives, but dammit, he couldn’t leave them there.

If he did, he’d have been no better than…

He’d taken them back to his dorm at the school, Tsumiki more than eager to hold Gojo’s hand as they crossed streets while Megumi made it a point to stay at arm’s length. Their temperaments were drastically different, and it was a muttered comment about that under Gojo’s breath that led to Tsumiki laughing and explaining they weren’t related by blood.

The difficulties only grew from there. Offering food and showers led to crying, and all Gojo could do was stand there dumbly and try—fruitlessly—to convince them to stop. Then came Megumi’s relationship with food, which entailed the kid trying to shovel down as much food as possible into his hunger wracked stomach, only making himself sick as his tiny stomach failed to expand for the unfamiliar surplus of food. The first time, Gojo wrote it off as nothing, completely disregarding the event, but then it continued to happen over and over again, and by the third day, Tsumiki was crying and choking on violent sobs of worry, so much so that Gojo caved and assumed a doctor’s appointment was in order.

Malnourishment, dehydration, weak stomach, poor immune system, the list of diagnoses went on and on, and Gojo’s head spun with every word the doctor spoke. Meal plans were created, schedules were thought out, rules, rules, rules , and routine. The doctor told him it was crucial he implement everything immediately.

Gojo did. It wasn’t easy because Megumi was a little brat whose sole purpose of existing seemed to be to defy those who held authority over him, but eventually, he stopped being an asshole enough to actually do what Gojo told him to do, only after realizing he was genuinely trying to help the boy feel better. 

It was a battle, one that Gojo often called Shoko for help on, but they eventually reigned victorious.

And it was only one battle of many to come. 

Coming out to Suguru as being the legal guardians for the very children of the man they’d murdered—although Gojo would always maintain that Toji was after them first—was extraordinarily difficult. Namely, because each time Gojo even tried to mention Toji in Suguru’s presence, the dark haired man’s eyes would take on a pained sheen before looking away and asking Gojo to stop talking about someone who was no longer of importance to them. Suguru had nightmares of that day, Gojo knew he did. If the dark circles accumulating underneath Suguru’s eyes were anything to go by.

Not to mention the late night trips to Gojo’s room, insisting they have an impromptu sleepover as if three in the morning was a good time to decide such. Gojo never said anything and always complied with Suguru’s wants, considering the ravenette had Gojo wound tightly around his finger—not that the white haired sorcerer would admit that—but he wasn’t daft enough to believe that Suguru’s desire for said sleepovers was simply “impromptu.”

The walls of their dorms were much too thin.

So Gojo couldn’t necessarily warn Suguru about his upgraded status to legal guardian, nor was it something easy to hide. Sure, once Gojo had gifted the children a new apartment—one with running water, working air conditioning, and a fridge and pantry that were restocked weekly—it grew easier to keep out of sight and out of mind for everyone else on campus, but it was still taking its toll on Gojo. Stress levels aside, his time on campus grew significantly less, which was a red flag in and of itself. Because where else did the wielder of Six Eyes have to be? Their lives outside of sorcery were very limited, considering sorcery was all they knew—or at the very least, it was all Gojo ever knew. So suspicions grew high as to where the sorcerer was spending all of this time he barely had off of campus. 

Geto never had been one to beat around the bush, so he asked Gojo upfront about his whereabouts. And at first, Gojo tried to laugh it off, claiming he had a surplus of missions that were being dropped upon him, courtesy of those bastard higher ups.

Geto was smart, though, something that would always be Gojo’s downfall. His bullshit excuses didn’t suffice.

So Gojo, as unsubtle as he was, took Geto to the exact location he’d been spending all of his time at—the newly purchased Fushiguro apartment. 

The kids hadn’t thought much of Geto’s appearance at first, or, at least Megumi hadn’t. Tsumiki was quick to run to Gojo’s side and flash the ravenette one of her award winning smiles. Eventually, Megumi plodded his way towards his sister and Gojo, standing stiffly at the white haired man’s side as he glared up at Geto who looked comedically as though he’d been slapped across the face. 

“So, y’see,” Gojo had laughed not at all nervously , “the school kinda sorta told me I needed to look after the kids because Megs here has the Ten Shadows Technique which could be extremely beneficial in the long run if we have him for training as opposed to the Zenins. And look at the adorable things! It wasn’t as though I could just let them starve and freeze to death!” On the contrary, Gojo probably very easily could’ve let them starve and freeze to death if he hadn’t been ordered by the higher ups to take them under his unstable wing, but he wasn’t about to admit that in front of the kids when Tsumiki looked at him with so much awe and Megumi was finally starting to trust him. Plus, Gojo was hoping their child cuteness would be enough to turn the scarily sour face of Geto’s into something more compassionate and understanding.

He’d clearly failed that attempt.

“Are you kidding me?” Geto asked in that tone that shook Gojo to his core.

But he’d be damned if he showed weakness in front of the kids, let alone the very man he was trying to make this ok with, so he merely swallowed and smiled widely. “Nope! He’s ours for the training!” 

Geto hadn’t liked that answer. 

Gojo had been ruthlessly tugged into another room, sliding door slammed shut as Geto went on an endless tirade about how ridiculous the entire endeavor was. 

“He looks just like him !” Geto had seethed, practically frothing at the mouth in a way Gojo wasn’t used to. “You’re telling me you want to raise the children of the man who tried to murder—wait, no— did murder you? Have you officially lost your mind?”

Gojo was under the strict belief that someone couldn’t lose something they never had, and he told Geto just as much. 

The younger teen had attempted to run a hand through his done up hair but only succeeded in ruffling it up. His nostrils flared with anger and his purple eyes reflected a fire Gojo hadn’t seen since their fight with Toji. “This is a horrible mistake,” he’d carried on. “I don’t care how someone raises that kid; you don’t look that much like your father and not turn out like him. Satoru, be sensible!”

“It doesn’t matter whether I want to look after them or not!” Gojo eventually bit back, becoming about as frazzled as Geto was. “In fact, I didn’t want to, but the higher ups didn’t give me a choice! And you’ve never seemed too keen on me finishing them all off to get what I want.”

“The one time I would’ve probably made an exception for you to do just that!” Geto angrily laughed, smacking a hand against his forehead. “This is dangerous and idiotic and-”

“Suguru, they’re kids !” Gojo hissed, gesturing emphatically towards the closed door. “They’re not going to do shit ! From what I can tell, they didn’t even like Toji! I don’t…I don’t even think…” He breathed in heavily, shoulders heaving with emotions he’d never felt before and couldn’t express. He pinched at his nose. “I think I’m the first adult that’s shown them kindness in a long time.”

For a second, Gojo thought he had Geto, for the ravenette’s features softened slightly at that, as though he was realizing the exact gravity of the children’s situation. But of course, he was stubborn. “You’re not an adult,” he gently reminded Gojo. 

Gojo bitterly laughed at that. “I’ve been an adult since I was born.”

It was a sad truth, one Gojo knew Geto couldn’t argue with. The ravenette stood across from Gojo with arms folded tightly over his chest and a stoic look in his eye. If it wasn’t for a nearby clock on the wall, Gojo would’ve genuinely thought all of time stopped with how still Geto stood and how tangible the tenseness in the room was, but no. Time marched on, and eventually, it left Geto sighing.

“I can’t support this,” he concluded. “I won’t support this.”

And something about those words broke Gojo’s heart in a way he had never thought possible, but he wasn’t taught to show weakness. Miracles aren’t weak . So he swallowed around the lump in his throat and spoke to keep the sound of his shattering heart from being too audible. “I wasn’t looking for your support.”

Gojo swore he could hear the same shattering emit from Geto’s heart, but the ravenette didn’t let it show either. He nodded. “Good, because you won’t get it.”

That’s where the argument had been left, Geto moving passed Gojo to officially leave the apartment, and abandon the sorcerer with the two children Geto never wanted to see again.

And Gojo thought that that was it. Whatever Geto and him had was over, and Gojo was doomed to live the single father life for the rest of eternity. He should’ve known better. No one good for him stays in his life for long.

Then a week went by and Geto showed up at the apartment’s door once again, this time unprompted by Gojo.

The shit eating grin that spread wide across Gojo’s lips was irritating at best.

Gojo wasn’t sure—and never would be sure—of just what spurred Geto’s change in heart. Perhaps it was just the fact that the ravenette missed Gojo’s eccentric and annoying company and was willing to get over his dislike of the children to be with him. Or maybe Shoko had talked some sense into him and carefully explained that two children who were traumatized by the very man Geto was afraid they’d grow to be like likely would never want anything to do with said man again, and therefore, his fears were unlikely. 

Whatever it was, Gojo was beyond grateful for it. 

It took time adjusting to a new member of the unit—family didn’t seem appropriate yet—but Gojo would grow to be obscenely jealous over how quickly Megumi seemed to acclimate to the younger teen, even allowing Geto to hold and carry him way before Gojo would ever be allowed to. Tsumiki would smile and reassure Gojo that Megumi had always been finicky like that, but it didn’t make the sting lessen at all. 

It was weird witnessing Geto grow from someone who was once so against Gojo taking in kids to someone who was so taken with said kids. Mistrustful glances and passing conversations of how it wasn’t too late to send the children off somewhere else diminished quickly into weekend movie nights, making dinner together, and (Gojo’s favorite) brushing and styling Tsumiki’s hair. It was all pleasantly domestic in a way Gojo never expected to happen to him, as most sorcerers didn’t live past thirty. But not only that, Gojo figured someone like him, who hadn’t the slightest idea of how to be parental and care for a child (or love at all), would never be able to have a family, his idea of just what a family is shattered years ago. 

Yet, in those moments, Gojo realized that he’d acquired the very thing he never expected to gain.

No, Gojo Satoru never wanted kids, but within those moments, he couldn’t help but think that maybe having children wasn’t so bad. 

December 20th, 2008 - 00:59

Megumi had always been far more mature than Gojo thought was legal. And, of course, he knew just why Megumi acted as adult-like as he did, but still, it didn’t make Gojo anymore ok with the fact. 

Megumi was six (well, almost six) and already had a bleak outlook on life. In the psychology courses Shoko forced Gojo to take, Gojo learned with a heavy heart that Megumi had learned early on that, should he show his needs to an adult, they won’t be met. If he voices that he’s hungry, he’s learned a parent won’t feed him; if he’s sick, he’s learned a parent won’t take him to the doctor or hold him in his feverish haze as he sweat the illness out, humming sweet lullabies in his ear to try and make the pain more bearable. He’d simply be left to fend for himself in a big and terrifying world that was unsafe. 

So it made sense, it made perfect sense , that when Megumi began to experience vivid and nauseating nightmares, he’d much rather clamp a trembling hand over his mouth and sob his fears away than seek out Gojo’s reassurance. 

But at that time, Gojo shared Megumi’s experience of long nights filled with tossing and turning and all too colorful replays of traumatic experiences in his life…because Geto wasn’t there anymore, therapy was something Gojo would fight that he didn’t need, and his one and only support system was gone . Geto, his main confidant, his best friend, his one and only had defected and took Gojo’s heart with him once he left, murdering it and obliterating it to bits, much like he had that village. Shoko turned nearly despondent after that, walling herself off with more corpses than lives and treating alcohol and cigarettes as though they were life-saving medication. 

So who was Gojo to not follow in unhealthy habits and coping mechanisms? 

It was a freak coincidence that Gojo had not only chosen to sleep over at the Fushiguro apartment that night but was also in a disturbing and strenuous battle with his own nightmares.

Long ravenette hair coated in innocent crimson haunted him every time he closed his eyes, so he’d decided for that night that he simply wouldn’t . Sleep was off the table because if he had to stare into amethyst eyes that he once knew so well as though they were completely foreign, he just might not make it. So he opted to walk about the apartment, socked feet occasionally slipping and sliding against the pristine hardwood floors, but he was never alarmed when it happened. No, he let himself imagine he was six again, running recklessly through a slippery hallway, dancing and pretending to be a ballet dancer, or maybe even a figure skater.

It did little to curb the heaviness that grew in his heart, but it was something , and he’d be damned if he let anyone take that away from him. 

He made a point to keep the kids’ doors cracked open. They never expressed a need for such an action, so Gojo figured it had to do something with his affinity for keeping doors ajar when someone was alone in a room. 

He never wanted them to feel like he had in those locked rooms. 

It was an accident when he peeked precariously into both of the kids’ rooms, and found Megumi sitting upright in his bed, hand clasped tightly over his little mouth as though he was about to throw up, and thick tears streaming down his pale cheeks. His shoulders heaved with sobs Gojo couldn’t hear, but each time they shook, Gojo felt his heart constrict a little tighter. 

The sorcerer had pursed his lips together, briefly wondering if he should interfere and ask Megumi what happened. He figured that’s what he should do, as that’s what most parents would do if they ever saw their child in distress. Even with the voice in the back of his head reminding him that he wasn’t technically a parent, nor was Megumi his kid, he pushed down every doubt he had had in his mind and nudged Megumi’s door open. 

He watched Megumi tense as the door creaked open, shaky shoulders ceasing in their ministries, and eyes widening, but not moving to look at the sorcerer. 

Gojo didn’t even know what to say. Emotions had never been something he was good at dealing with, let alone the emotions of a small child. “Rough night, Megs?”

Bad choice of words, bad choice of words .

Megumi sniffled, long and wet, a telltale sign that his face was an absolute mess, even if Gojo couldn’t fully see him because of how he was turned on his bed and the dimness of the room. “Go away,” Megumi said, and Gojo knew the child intended on sounding much sterner than he did, voice muffled behind his hand and wavery and cracking on almost every syllable. 

Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets, not yet moving further into the room. “Ah…sorry, no can do, buddy. I don’t think it’s proper etiquette for me to leave a crying child to deal with his own problems. Not when you’re five.”

Megumi sniffed again. “ Six .” It almost came out like a whisper, but Gojo could hear the force he wanted to put behind it. 

“Not for another two days,” Gojo reminded him. “Stop trying to rush your age. These are supposed to be the best years of your life.”

And yet here he was, orphaned and being raised by a buffoon like Gojo who couldn’t even comfort a crying child at one in the morning. Some best years. 

“Whatever, sh-shut up,” Megumi ground out, still muffled behind his hand. “Just go .”

“Still no can do,” Gojo sighed. “Not until you talk to me. What happened?”

Megumi was silent and still for a moment, so much so that Gojo thought about waving a hand in front of the child’s face before Megumi quickly shook his head, grip on his mouth growing tighter. “ Nothing ,” he practically hissed, but his hand absorbed the venom. “N-Nothing happened. Leave me a-alone. I’m f-fine.”

“You’re not,” Gojo insisted gently. “I’m not leaving until I find out what’s wrong so I can fix it. Try again.”

At that, Megumi’s eyes screwed tightly shut, his sobs resuming and picking up at an alarming rate. He was breaking down, and all Gojo could do was sit there and tense up stupidly because he had no idea what to do. This child who was usually stoic, closed off, and so cold it sent chills up Gojo’s spine was breaking down right in front of the sorcerer’s eyes. 

Gojo wasn’t good with emotions. Geto was a perfect example. 

“Just leave ,” Megumi insisted between earth shattering sobs, his breath picking up in a way that sounded like he was hyperventilating. “He… he always l-left so why can’t you ? He didn’t c-care so why do you ? L-Leave me alone! Sh-Shut up, shut up, shut up, shutupshutupshutupshutup!” His words grew incoherent with too quick breaths and drowning sobs. He choked and gagged and bawled, all the while trying to yell at Gojo to just leave him alone because if he didn’t care enough to help Megumi, why should Gojo ?

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out just who Megumi was talking about, and once it dawned on Gojo just what was happening, he found himself rushing to Megumi’s bedside in an instant, kneeling down on the ground to get eye level with the trembling child.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, Megs, Megs , I need you to look at me, alright?” He pleaded, eyes soft and frantic in a way he wasn’t sure they’d ever been before because he didn’t do soft and he sure as hell didn’t panic.

Yet, here he was, going soft and panicking over a child. 

Megumi only shook his head harder, shut his eyes tighter, and choked and gagged more and more on his own sobs, almost to the point where Gojo feared he was going to throw up. “No! No, go away, go away, go away!” 

Not knowing what else to do, and heart thumping way too loud in his chest and ears, Gojo reached forward, large hands encompassing smaller ones. He thought Megumi would fight the action, and attempt to wrangle his hands free from Gojo’s grasp, but he didn’t. If anything, Gojo would almost dare to say he melted at the gentle touch. Gojo ran his thumbs over the top of Megumi’s hands. “Megumi, please look at me?”

And at that point, the child shocked Gojo because emerald eyes rimmed with deep red peeked open and peered into piercing blues, wild and frantic with fear Gojo only wished he could curb. 

“We’ll talk all you want in a minute,” Gojo consoled, “but right now I need you to breathe. Can you breathe with me, Megs?” The kid had tears and snot intermingling unsavorly across his face, and his erratic breathing only further served to make Gojo fear that the kid was going to cry himself sick. 

Megumi shook his head again. “I…I-I-I-”

“Shh,” Gojo shushed softly, thumbing circles on Megumi’s hands. “Breathing first. Talking second. Alright? Follow my lead. We’ve got this.”

And got this they did. It took maybe five minutes and a lot of techniques Gojo learned in his forced psychology classes, but eventually, Megumi’s breathing evened out, and all they were left with was exhausted tears. Gojo wasn’t aware that his heart could ever feel as heavy as it did at that moment, not over someone who wasn’t Geto, but his heart absolutely throbbed with each and every tear that rolled down Megumi’s cheek. 

“Good. Good, you did good, buddy,” Gojo praised softly, flashing a smile that he hoped looked normal. “Now…can you tell me what that was about?”

Because God , if he could prevent that from ever happening again, he’d love to institute how right away. 

But Megumi, resigned and scared Megumi, shook his head slowly, lips drawn shut and nose still sniveling. 

“Ok,” Gojo said slowly, wondering if he’d have enough patience for this conversation, or if he’d snap under pressure. “Can I…could I maybe guess what this was about?”

And at that, Megumi paused, eyes widening and breath catching in his throat so quickly Gojo was worried they’d have to go threw several more breathing exercises again. But after a moment, Megumi’s head nodded.

Gojo was never one for games, much less guessing games, but from the way Megumi spoke before, he could only assume the breakdown was brought on by one thing. “Did this have anything to do with your dad?”

Megumi’s response was an immediate nod.

Gojo figured as much. There weren’t many other ‘he’s’ in Megumi’s life to place the anxiety on. Gojo took a deep breath and gave Megumi’s hands a squeeze. “That’s ok.” The fact that Megumi’s own father was the source of the child’s nightmares was most certainly not ok, but Gojo figured it wasn’t the time to bring that up. “I still get nightmares of my parents, too. They’re not fun, are they?”

Megumi sniffed, tried to wipe his eyes on his clothed shoulders, then shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, miserably. They sat in brief silence, Gojo unsure of how to follow the attack up and Megumi still getting his bearings back. But after a moment, the ravenette blinked reddened, owlish eyes at the sorcerer, and spoke. “You get nightmares about your parents?”

Gojo gulped dryly. Too many to count, he thought forlornly. There were many nights Gojo awoke to the lingering feelings of tugging on his hair and cold tiles on his knees. Unkind eyes would stare down at him and cutting words were lashed upon him like a whip. He’d been in Megumi’s position more times than he’d wish to count, and each time he had to face it alone.

He nodded with a sad smile on his lips. “Yep,” he released one of Megumi’s hands to stroke at sleep tousled hair, “I sure do.”

“Why?”

Gojo hummed. “Well…why do you get nightmares about your dad?”

Megumi’s face soured, eyes wrinkling at the corners and mouth scrunching small. He didn’t say anything, but Gojo could hear a plethora of stories from Megumi’s look alone. It was clear that whatever the child had been through, he didn’t want to talk about it. “Same reasons?” Megumi asked, assuming Gojo could guess on his own.

Gojo shrugged. “To some extent. Same principle, anyway.”

Megumi nodded slowly, rubbing at his eye with his free hand. “Is that why you’re up now?”

God, Gojo wished that’s why he was up. Instead, his parents were replaced by someone who once knew Gojo so intimately, he thought it a crime. He hated the color purple now because every time he fell asleep, he saw amethyst orbs he once knew filled with unfamiliar venomous flames that always reflected horrific crimes that left hundreds dead. Sometimes he’d wake up and vomit because he could still feel the lingering touch of soft lips against his own. He’d scratch at his skin till beads of crimson shone through because he could still feel butterfly touches coursing through his body in ways that made his heart race with desire all over again. He still longed, yearned, and prayed to beings he didn’t necessarily believe in for Geto to come back to his senses and come back to Gojo . It was selfish, it was crazy, it was impossible . 

And Gojo hated himself for it, but, try as he might, there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

“Yes,” he swallowed around the lie. The truth, in his opinion, was much worse, but Megumi didn’t need to hear that.

Megumi breathed out a small ‘Oh,’ sniffing afterward in a way that sounded as though he’d cry again should Gojo say the wrong thing. 

Gojo spared a glance toward the small alarm clock on Megumi’s bedside table, a red 01:32 flashing brightly at him. He knew it’d be a while before he got back to sleep— if he went back to sleep—and from the look on Megumi’s tear stained face, the ravenette seemed to be in the same boat. So the sorcerer sighed, flashed a smile that he hoped looked more upbeat, and ran his hand fuller through Megumi’s mop. “How’s about we make some hot chocolate?”

Megumi cocked an eyebrow. “It’s one in the morning,” he pointed out.

Gojo shrugged. “Everything tastes better this late. And I’m not going to bed anytime soon. If you want to try to fall back asleep without a movie and hot chocolate, that’s completely up to you, but I’m going to make myself a mug of liquidized chocolate and put on Kiki’s Delivery Service .”

Megumi pondered the sorcerer’s offer, gnawing at his bottom lip. “...Can we make it with milk?”

Gojo smiled brightly—genuinely. “Any way you want!”

Megumi huffed out little cheeks in an attempt to look aggravated, but the small glimmer in his eye spoke novels that he couldn’t. “Fine.”

Gojo couldn’t help the unbridled sense of accomplishment that circulated through his chest. He stood from the ground, stretching and cracking his back with a loud groan, receiving a cocky comment of “Old,” from Megumi. Gojo had every sense to correct Megumi that he’d only recently turned nineteen when the child shocked all breath from Gojo’s lungs.

Small, shaky, and unsure arms outstretched themselves in a silent asking to be carried, something the child very rarely did.

 Gojo’s heart hammered in his chest, reverberating loudly in his throat and ears because finally , Megumi was really starting to trust him and not see him as some douchebag who unceremoniously and crudely walked into his life. He was finally seeking for his needs to be met and was talking to Gojo amicably about sensitive subjects…almost as if they were…

… Oh.

Gojo bit back a joke about Megumi finally seeing him as a guardian. Although it would’ve been nice to hide behind, considering emotions weren’t Gojo’s thing, he didn’t want Megumi to revert back to his typical stand-offish self.

Gojo swallowed before snaking equally shaky arms around Megumi and lifting him effortlessly with the same gentleness and care Gojo wished he’d received when he was a child. He had to take a moment when unruly black hair nuzzled itself softly into the crook of his neck, scared that if he so much as breathed, he’d hurt the child in his arms. Megumi reminded him that he was stupid when he tugged at Gojo’s sleeve.

“C’mon,” he whined, a little more like himself. “You said we could make hot chocolate.”

So he had. He must’ve stood motionless for too long. “We’re going, we’re going,” Gojo laughed, finally beginning the trek toward the kitchen.

“Not fast enough,” Megumi huffed.

Gojo rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Relax. According to you, my old bones aren’t what they used to be, so cut a guy some slack.”

Gojo made surprisingly easy work of heating up milk and mixing hot chocolate packets with a kid situated on his hip. Megumi didn’t whine to be put down, in fact, he only seemed to grab a tighter hold on Gojo when he thought he was going to be let go. 

While they waited for the milk to finish heating up, Gojo absentmindedly rubbed soothing circles onto Megumi’s back. “Y’know,” Gojo said carefully after a stretched moment of silence, “if you’re ever struggling like that again…you can come get me. Whether I'm awake or not. Those types of dreams can be scary; you don’t have to deal with them on your own.”

Megumi was quiet. He was quiet all the way through Gojo pouring the hot chocolate into mugs, and he was quiet all the way through Gojo setting up the movie and even settling themselves comfortably on the couch. It wasn’t until they were twenty minutes into the movie that Megumi, situated on Gojo’s lap, head pressed against the sorcerer’s chest, squeezed Gojo’s shirt between his fingers, and spoke.

“Thank you.”

It was quiet, barely above a whisper. If Gojo wasn’t listening, he wouldn’t have caught it. But he was listening, and he did hear it. 

His grip around the boy tightened ever so slightly, eyes not moving from the colorful animations of Kiki’s Delivery Service as he responded. “Any time.”

If they fell asleep like that on the couch, neither of them mentioned it in the morning or spoke of it ever again. But there was one thing they wondered that neither would know the answer to.

Neither of them remembered Gojo putting a blanket over them while the movie played on.

Perhaps that was something the only other person in the Fushiguro apartment at the time knew about.

October 14th, 2018 - 01:01

He thought it’d be easier the second time, especially now since his students were helping towards the cause, but no. It was just as painful visiting their apartment the second time since Megumi went missing as it was the first.

The hallways and rooms ran dark, thick, inky tendrils of shadows stretching from every end of the apartment in ways that reminded Gojo of Megumi’s technique, only for his heart to fall flat as he remembered Megumi wasn’t there. Everything was unnervingly silent, just as it had been before, and peering into both Megumi and Tsumiki’s untouched rooms left Gojo feeling heavier than he’d expected. It had been fourteen days since Gojo had last seen the kid he’d practically raised—a whole two weeks. Gojo never claimed to be sane and probably never would, but the last two weeks proved to be maddening for him. 

He’d known loneliness, had grown it like a fragile plant, and nurtured it until his friends and the Fushiguro children came around. 

Now that both of his kids were gone, that plant was beginning to take root in his heart once more. Which, sure, maybe that wasn’t fair to his friends and pupils who were doing everything in their power to help bring Megumi back home, but he didn’t think anyone faulted him for being as downtrodden as he was. Because not only was Megumi missing, but Tsumiki’s state of being was continuously stagnant, and, to top it all off, he now had Inumaki to worry about who was in a similar state as Tsumiki. 

He wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, he’d never be ready to give up, but he couldn’t deny the persistent exhaustion that tugged at his bones with every step he took and the pain in his muscles that rippled across his body with every move he made. He was a beautifully sculpted image of someone who needed a break but couldn’t afford to take one because a moment’s break was all the more delay to finding his kid. 

He pinched wearily at the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply as his mind grew more and more convoluted. Optimism never had been a specialty of his, and stars above, if Itadori’s wasn’t a blessing in disguise, but he really wished he could generate his own without having to steal it from a kid. 

He moved deeper throughout the apartment, deliberately averting his eyes from Tsumiki’s room so he wouldn’t have to witness her laid up in the curse sealed room. She was a constant reminder of his failure to protect her before, but now she served as a reminder that he failed to protect both of his kids. 

What he’d give to get them back.

It’d grown exceedingly harder as the weeks marched on without a sign of Megumi or even Geto—at least then, Gojo would have something to go off of. He felt like he was at a stalemate with the way things were progressing—or rather the lack of progression, to be precise. It was growing tiringly arduous doing the same routine of search in the morning and search in the evening, all without reward. He couldn’t even recount the last time he ate, let alone slept, schedule too preoccupied with bringing Megumi home alive . 

Some job he was doing.

He scowled, suppressing the urge to bash his head against the hallway wall. He was supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer, the one who changed the world as they knew it with his birth. It was a notion—a mantra—that was drilled into his mind perhaps even before he could comprehend human language over and over again. For the longest time, he wore that title like a badge of honor, especially as a child when he was unaware of the weight such a title held. But what good was he if he couldn’t keep his own kid safe? Was he really the strongest?

He leaned a heavy head against the wall as his covered eyes lingered towards Megumi’s room, door left ajar, the contents tantalizingly peeking through. Titles didn’t matter if he didn’t have those he cared about around to protect. 

A heavy set of footsteps resounded through the apartment, followed by the gentle shutting of the front door. If Gojo didn’t have Six Eyes, he’d be concerned about an unwanted intruder, but he could pick up the cursed energy from meters away. 

“Shoko said I could find you here,” Nanami’s voice rang from the living room, not yet moving to meet Gojo in the hallway. 

Gojo kept his head leaned against the wall, not quite ready to look away from the room he’d played countless rounds of pretend in and chased monstrous nightmares away from. “That was a bold statement,” he eventually said. “I could’ve been anywhere. Japan’s full of places I haven’t looked at yet, and I’m not afraid to search each and everyone.”

“Unlikely tonight,” Nanami said, voice sounding closer, but Gojo didn’t have the heart to look behind himself. “She said you were quiet all day. The only place you could’ve ended up tonight was here.”

Gojo blinked, laughing halfheartedly. “You both are too cocky.”

“As if you aren’t the very source of arrogance itself,” Nanami retorted. “Besides, you’re not as unreadable as you seem to think, Satoru.”

“Satoru?” Gojo laughed fuller. “First names now?”

Nanami was silent for a moment, and Gojo had half a mind to consider sparing the blonde a glance, but he decided he couldn’t look away from Megumi’s bedroom. Not yet. As though if he kept his eyes on the space, Megumi would eventually waltz out, eyebrow cocked in annoyance as he asked why Gojo was standing outside of his room like a weirdo. 

“We’ve known each other for how long, now?” Nanami asked. “If you can’t bother to say my secondary name correctly, I think I’m allowed to use your given name.”

“Sure, sure. Fair point, I guess,” Gojo conceded, pushing himself off the wall and turning to face Nanami, deciding that staring at Megumi’s empty bedroom would be more damaging than anything. “What are you doing here, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be chaperoning Itadori and Kugisaki’s search?” 

Nanami shrugged, adjusting his glasses. “Nothing came of it. We searched the entire premises from top to bottom. There was no sense in keeping them out any later.”

Gojo nodded his agreement. “True, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here . While I’m never one to complain about you gracing me with your presence, you tend to be rather stingy about it.”

Nanami rolled his eyes, an unmistakable look of please written clearly across his face. “You say that as though our daily meetings at the campus aren’t enough.”

Gojo hummed. “I’d argue that they’re not.”

“Right, well, I’m not here to argue about that,” Nanami dismissed, running a hair through disheveled hair that thirteen hour old hair gel failed to keep intact. Now that Gojo was fully looking at the blonde and not just utilizing Six Eyes, he could finally get a good look at his fellow sorcerer. The typically well put together man seemed unkempt in a completely foreign way. He wasn’t falling apart at the seams, not like Gojo was in every aspect of his life, but the underside of Nanami’s eyes looked a little darker than typical, and his clothes weren’t scrupulously tucked and ironed in that way Gojo had grown accustomed to. Gojo couldn’t keep track of everyone’s mental status—he could barely keep track of his own—but Nanami was definitely beginning to look a little worse for wear. “To be quite frank, you look like shit.”

Gojo sputtered like a fish out of water for a moment. “Nanamin, you cut a man’s ego down sizes! I’ll have you know that no matter the situation, crisis or not, I always look positively radiant! Other men grow envious of-”

“Gojo, I’m trying to be serious here. Meet me halfway.”

And that made Gojo freeze because despite the very essence of Nanami’s behavior being rooted in seriousness, seldom did it show in a form of concern for Gojo. It was typically brought out by Gojo’s immature ideas and impulsive behaviors, usually entailing a scolding that could rival that of a parent. But now? Gojo could practically feel the consternation radiating off of Nanami as though it was cursed energy.

So Gojo pressed his lips thinly and spared his lungs the breath of a lie. “Do you want me to tell you I’m ok? Do you honestly expect me to look put together right now?”

“I don’t,” Nanami answered honestly, “but you should be taking care of yourself. You look like a zombie. When’s the last time you ate?”

Gojo willed his stomach to not growl in betraying confession.

“You’re going to end up killing yourself at this rate,” Nanami continued on, arms crossing over his chest. “You’re strong, Satoru, but you’re not invincible. Tell me, what good will it do if you push yourself too far and we do end up finding Megumi, only for you to be gone ?”

It was a low blow, and Gojo could tell Nanami knew it. Gojo could envision a bruised Megumi returning home, eyes scanning every hallway and room of both campus and the apartment, only to be told that the sorcerer—who was unlikely to be killed by anyone but himself—was gone. It was a vision he didn’t like, one that was rooted in guilt and shame. 

“Fuck you,” he said without any bite. 

Nanami tried to maintain passiveness. “You can’t keep going on like this.”

“Tell me how else I’m supposed to go on,” Gojo said, but his voice didn’t feel like his own. “If not searching manically, how else? Kento, he’s my kid. If I’m not looking, I’m not being productive or helpful.”

Nanami’s eyes lingered on a framed picture that held two small Fushiguro kids in Gojo’s arms, Megumi looking irritated while Tsumiki smiled widely. “Taking care of yourself will make you more useful if you’re looking for productiveness. But you also have to consider that Megumi wouldn’t want you to work yourself into your grave.”

No, probably not, but Megumi wasn’t there, and Gojo’s rational thinking was severely inhibited. “He can scold me if he wants once he’s here,” Gojo responded. “For now, I don’t plan on stopping my searches. In fact, I have another spot I want to check tonight.”

“Have you not been listening to a damn word I’ve said?” Nanami hissed, taking a careful yet agitated two steps closer to Gojo. “I’m not asking you to stop looking for Megumi! What kind of fool do you take me for? He’s important to me, too, and I’ve been worried sick about him! I can only imagine what it’s like for you, but dammit, Satoru, you’re going to exhaust yourself, and once we get more information on the situation or get thrown into battle, you’re going to be useless on your feet! Be sensible and accept the help we’re giving you!”

“I’ve accepted enough help!” Gojo shot back, voice finally rising and anger beginning to seep through his veins. “I’ve allowed the kids to help despite being adamantly against it, I’ve approved Shoko for off campus missions, hell, I’ve even asked Ijichi to check a couple areas. I’ll be damned if I sit back for even a second while I have others out looking for my kid!”

Nanami’s frown deepened, falling onto a borderline scowl. “You’re going to regret your actions someday, Satoru.”

“I already regret many,” Gojo dismissed. “What’s one more?”

Nanami didn’t have anything to say that, and Gojo wasn’t sure if he felt satisfied or guilty by the silence that followed. He only looked on at the blonde’s unchanging face, blue eyes challenging in a way he wished they weren’t. Eventually, Nanami sighed and glanced toward Megumi’s room.

“It really is quiet here, now, isn’t it?”

Gojo groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t fucking remind me. I was about to head out anyway. Like I said, I have a new spot to check.”

Nanami cocked an eyebrow at that. “Where?”

Gojo shrugged. “Wanna go?”

Nanami glanced at his wrist before glaring at his colleague. “It’s one-thirty in the morning,” he challenged.

“If this turns into another lecture, I’ll not only leave without you, but I won’t tell you where I’m going, either.”

“Fine, fine,” Nanami raised his hands in surrender. “Be stubborn. I’ll go with you, but only to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “On second thought, I don’t think I want you to go with me.”

Nanami smirked. “Too late, you already put the offer on the table. There’s no retracting.”

“ Au contraire mon frère , there’s always time to retract.”

“Not when it deals with a sleep and food deprived you . Someone has to keep you in check.”

Gojo gasped in feign dramatics. “The lack of faith you have in me is absolutely appalling , Nanamin!”

“Cry me a river,” Nanami said with the faintest hint of a smile, a refreshing sight after the heaviness that befell the room just minutes ago. “Seriously, though. Where did you have in mind?”

Gojo lulled his head against the wall again, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “You up for warping?”

The way Nanami’s face visibly greened at the suggestion was laughable, and laugh Gojo did. “Must we?”

Gojo hummed. “It would be optimal. Any other form of transportation would take time that we don’t have.”

The war within Nanami’s head was short-lived, but Gojo enjoyed the front row seat regardless. Nanami sighed, deep and heavy, before extending his arm towards the older sorcerer. “If you insist,” he grumbled, and Gojo laughed once more. 

“Remember, it’s easier if you close your eyes,” Gojo reminded him.

Nanami scoffed. “Hardly. I think you and Shoko simply like to ill prepare me for something that will never get easier, regardless of what I do.”

Gojo nodded his head to the side, placing a firm hand on Nanami’s shoulder. “Perhaps. Messing with you is one of my favorite pastimes.”

Gojo gave little warning as his cursed energy wrapped around the two of them, instantaneously transferring their bodies from the dreary and desolate Fushiguro apartment to a place Gojo hadn’t visited in over ten years. Once their feet landed on solid ground, Nanami took in deep, heaving breaths next to Gojo, but he was nowhere near the gagging mess he was the first time he warped with the Six Eyes sorcerer. “See?” Gojo mused, patting a good natured hand against Nanami’s back. “You’re getting better at it!”

Nanami shook his head in disdain. “I believe…that we…have significantly different definitions of ‘getting better’ at something,” Nanami said slowly between heaving breaths, steadying himself, and getting used to being whole, on the ground, and real . Gojo didn’t blame him. The first time he’d warped had been a bitch as well. It definitely took some getting used to. “Where are we?”

Gojo looked out over the horizon, eyes darkening at the question as he took in the sights…or the sights of what remained. “If you looked up, you’d know.”

So Nanami did, still breathing heavily, and possibly on the cusp of either passing out or retching, but the moment his eyes scanned the area, his breath caught in his throat. “Satoru…why here?”

“Why not here?” Gojo challenged, voice low. Everything was just as decimated and depressing as they’d left it all those years ago, something to be left, forgotten by time as the only ones who were left to remember its presence had much bigger things to occupy their time with than to mourn those they never knew. The very village Geto had all but obliterated as his first and damning step towards his own distorted goals sat before the two sorcerers, begging for mercy to be bestowed upon it and for them to finally knock over the barely standing buildings that were left behind. Just looking at it made Gojo feel nauseous, but not nearly to the same degree it had when murder was still fresh and it reeked of curses. “This is where Geto began. This is where Geto ended hundreds of lives. Why not take the very essence of my life here?”

Nanami’s eyes briefly wandered back over to Gojo. “You don’t think Megumi’s here, do you?”

Gojo laughed, slapping a hand against his forehead. “I’m about as certain he’s here as I was for every other place we’ve looked.” He ran his hand languidly through his already disheveled hair. “I have no clue. But it’s worth a shot.”

Nanami hummed lowly as they made their way deeper into the remains of the village. “A rather dreary shot.”

A couple hours there would do nothing to Gojo’s mentality. He was, quite possibly, already at his lowest—and if he wasn’t there yet, he was well on his way. He’d rather stay in the very place his one and only took hundreds of lives than stay overnight in the abandoned apartment he once dared to call home. 

“Keep your eyes out for anything, and I mean anything ,” Gojo said. “Cursed energy, personal belongings, hell, even footprints. Whether or not they belong to Geto or Megumi. Geto has quite the team of curses on his side, so almost any sign could mean something.”

Or it could mean nothing. It could mean a curse passed by or was born there solely from the trauma that was inflicted upon the poor, unsuspecting town. But Gojo wasn’t about to overlook specifics that could mean the difference between finding and not finding his kid.

So they searched. They searched the old and decrepit town in every place they could. Dilapidated buildings were scoured, ponds were swum through and examined, and holes with dirt covering them were dug through, all in hopes that a sign of Megumi would be found. Not a corner went uncombed, nor was anything left unchecked. They searched and searched till their hands began to turn raw and the moon began to set, the stars beginning to disappear as the earliest rays of sun began to peek through, signaling the wee hours of 05:00-06:00 were upon them. 

And Gojo’s chest ached as he held back the urge to destroy everything that was left in sight. It would be easy to eviscerate the remains of the town along with his frustrations as he began to feel this search—like all of the others—was for naught. But he suppressed the urges for nobody’s benefit aside from maintaining what dignity he had left. He wanted to maintain hope, and he wanted to be optimistic so badly, but he was growing more and more tired as the days dragged on, and he was left with nothing more than a gaping hole in his heart where his kid should be. Every turn they came to led them nowhere, just useless dead ends that Gojo wished he could force into outlets, but he knew nothing would come of it.

He couldn’t force evidence.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled to no one in particular as he walked the nearly demolished cobblestone streets that he’d already scaled so many times that night. He’d spent every night since the 27th looking for Megumi, and the only development they had was the lingering cursed energy Nanami found on a flower that was barely a quarter the size of Gojo’s entire palm. They were getting nothing, and each minute that passed was a minute that could’ve meant either life or death for his kid. 

He grit his teeth together in miserable frustration, willing himself to not allow tears to fall down his face. The last thing he needed to do right now was cry. He needed to search, and search, and search, and search . Because if he wasn’t searching, what was he doing ? It wasn’t fair that anytime he went to town he had to see small kids holding their parents’ hand while his kid was gone, probably cold, alone, and hurt if not-

Gojo’s breath hitched at the thought of pale skin growing ghost-like, emerald eyes frozen open with death as the irises slowly lost their vibrance and turned milky. Limbs stiff and hard from the ceasing of blood flow and lips chapped and pale from the lack of oxygen. His chest stagnant, so very still because he wasn’t breathing because he was gone because he was dead because Gojo failed him . 

Gojo didn’t surge forward, even though his stomach fought to lose lunch that he didn’t have. He stood there, numb and frozen as his brain scarred itself with that horrendous and possible image. 

This wasn’t fair . 

“Satoru!” Nanami’s voice broke Gojo from his trance, eyes falling on spectacled ones. “Have you found anything?” The blonde asked as he ran his way towards his colleague. 

Gojo shook his head. “Not a thing.”

“Well, I think I have!”

Even though he was already looking at his blonde colleague, Gojo felt as though his head snapped, world going dizzy with hope. He met Nanami halfway, running to meet him. “What? What did you find?” He asked quickly.

Nanami took in deep breaths, probably to recover from his run and from the adrenaline of maybe putting a dent in their case that felt way too cold. “I…I don’t want you to freak out,” Nanami said slowly, cautiously, as if he was talking to an injured animal he was trying to rescue. “This could mean a lot of things. I can’t say it doesn’t mean anything because obviously, it does , I just-”

“Nanami, less talking, and just show me,” Gojo interjected, borderline begging his friend to show him his findings.

So Nanami swallowed, thick and nervous, Gojo could tell, before procuring something out of his pants pocket and handing it to Gojo.

The white haired man’s stomach dropped.

His own kid’s face stared back at him, passive as ever, from a picture taken at the beginning of the school year, grade stamped slightly over the left hand corner of the small picture. Tiny details about him, such as his birthday, student number, and such tantalizingly glared at Gojo, as though to say ‘he’s right here, but not really.’

Megumi’s student ID. Nanami had found Megumi’s student ID . And there on it, just the faintest traces of cursed energy lingering on its surface. But it wasn’t the easily irritated teen’s cursed energy that barely clung to the piece of plastic, no. It was…

“He’s been here,” Gojo ground out between teeth he hadn’t realized were clenched. “ Both of them have been here. Megumi’s ID wouldn’t just be…he’d never come here, and…Geto’s cursed energy, there’s…there’s no reason why his cursed energy should be on Megumi’s ID unless he has him. They’ve both been here, but they’re not here. Geto has my kid, Nanami, he has my fucking kid-”

“We knew that already, Satoru,” Nanami butted in, eyes slanted in concern and thought. “Or at the very least it was our main running theory. That’s not surprising. You need to breathe. We need to keep our heads about us if-”

“Oh, don’t fucking start trying to be a psychologist, Kento!” Gojo snarled, eyes barely peeking out from a sweat laced blindfold that began to slump away from Gojo’s eyes. “Don’t tell me to breathe; don’t tell me to calm down! You have no idea what this is like! You don’t understand what I’m going thr-”

“Is that a game you really want to play right now?” Nanami challenged, glare behind his glasses dark and dangerous in a way Gojo hadn’t seen since Haibara. “Because that’s the most unfair bullshit I’ve heard you spew since this whole thing began. Satoru, you have people bending over backwards to help you look for Megumi, and all you do is try to push them away because you think you can do everything by yourself. You’ve always been like that but now’s really not the time. I might not have been as present in their lives as you were, but dammit, I helped raise those kids, and if you don’t think this hasn’t affected me, too, you’re more selfish than I thought.”

And that was the fourth time in Gojo Satoru’s life where he didn’t know what to say. So he stayed silent; something he wasn’t used to. 

“If you think I don’t stop and stare a little longer at the missing children posters at grocery stores because I can’t stop but wonder what Megumi’s face would look like up there as well, you’re wrong. There’s not a moment that goes by where I don’t wonder where he is or how he is, and I can’t help but think how unfair it is that we can’t get further help from other sorcerers because we can’t get the higher ups involved, and we can’t get the police involved because they’re not equipped to deal with this. We’re alone, but we’re alone together unless idiots like you continue to try and divide us.”

Gojo’s stomach twisted more and more as Nanami carried on, nausea and guilt plaguing him the more he realized how right Nanami was. Gojo never had been one to own up to moments where he was wrong, so all he could think to do was nod in resignation, hoping Nanami would get the message. 

Thankfully, he seemed to. 

“Alright…so, we’ve found Megumi’s ID, which means he’s been here, recently or not. We’re working with about a three week window in which he could’ve been here. Judging the strength of the residuals on the ID, I’m going to bank that it has to be on the later side since they’re so weak.”

“Not necessarily, though!” Gojo pointed out. “The residuals you found at the mission site weren’t necessarily strong, and at that point, they would’ve been only several hours old.”

Nanami hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. “True. So I suppose that leaves us with no particular time frame.”

Which had to be one of the most disheartening things to hear. “I guess so. Are we sure we’ve checked everywhere?”

Nanami nodded. “Positive. There aren't many places to check, anyway. Most of the town is rubble.”

Gojo looked away, instead moving his half uncovered gaze towards the early sunrise of morning. Sunrises were supposed to be akin to that of beginnings, but Gojo still felt as lost as he had just hours before when he was back at the Fushiguro apartment. 

“I don’t want to rule this place out,” Nanami continued, countering Gojo’s daze and looking down at the cracked fragments of the ground, “because it’s definite that he’s been here, and he could still be here by some strange means, but we’ve searched every searchable place we could. If you want my opinion, I say we bring the students, Shoko, and maybe Ijichi here to do a more thorough search, maybe hit points we didn’t or couldn’t, just to make sure we don’t rule out a feasible place.”

Gojo stared at Nanami. “You expect me to leave? Now that we finally have another piece of evidence you want me to go?”

Nanami moved to place a firm hand on Gojo’s shoulder, only to be blocked by Infinity. He retracted his hand, putting it firmly at his side. “Think of it like this: I find it odd that so far everything has been covered up so well. Not a trace has been left behind aside from that one piece of cursed energy that seems much too conveniently placed, and now this ? Make no mistake, Satoru, I don’t want to leave, either, but finding his ID like this feels…odd.”

Gojo quirked an eyebrow. “Like a setup?”

“If I went out on a limb, yes.”

Gojo pursed his lips. When several moments of silence passed without him responding, Nanami sighed. “Just…listen to me for once. Not as your colleague, dammit, but as your friend . As someone who wants to help. It’ll be safer for everyone if we get more hands on deck for this search. If nothing comes of it…that’s fine. We’ll move on to other possible theories. But if we do find something, there’s no telling just how dangerous it could be. More people will mean better results, I promise.”

And who would Gojo be to deny something so blatantly clear? He bit back the urge to argue, doing his best to accept that Nanami was right, and nodded. “Ok. We’ll return with others.”

Maybe it was a trick of the rising light, but Gojo swore he saw Nanami smile. “Good. Then let’s return to campus now. I’m sure Shoko will be interested in what we’ve found.”

That she would. With no evidence having come in, Shoko was just about as high strung as Gojo was, pacing the infirmary floors and smoking like a chimney. Her stagnant patient wasn’t helping her anxiety, either, Gojo was sure. 

Gojo placed a hand on Nanami’s shoulder, and within an instant—where Nanami wasn’t warned, mind you—they were nothing before reforming as something back at campus. 

And if Six Eyes failed to detect a certain smiling patchwork curse that stood just outside the borderline of the village that once stood, well, Gojo was none the wiser.