Chapter Text

2008

“‘Toru.” Grubby hands reach for the leg of his pants and Gojo feels Infinity waver.

He hesitates. Let’s the barrier drop.

Yuuji’s is the only touch Gojo has felt in months. He squats down so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the way his heart shakes at the warm press of those little fingers.

“What is it, Yuuji? Have something to say to me?” Gojo is all smiles when he lowers his voice, leans into Yuuji’s space, shields his mouth with his hand like they’re sharing a secret. “Or did you just want to be cloooose?”

“Well yeah. Always.” Yuuji blinks up at him, matter of fact. Gojo fists his hands in the front of his sweater to resist the urge to shove those big gold eyes away.

“Ahh Yuuji!” he cries, dramatic and intentionally outrageous. “You’re making me blush!”

The child eyes him very seriously. There’s a tiny crease between his tiny brows. Gojo smooths it away with a fingertip, tries not to imagine snuffing out Yuuji’s life with the same gesture. It would be so, so easy. He could cast off this final chain his father has trapped him with and his future would finally be his own.

Sticky fingers on his face pull him away from his half-formed thoughts. Yuuji puffs up his cheeks, squeezes his eyes closed, hauls back his hands, and slaps both sides of Gojo’s face with a resounding little smack!

“Hey, hey!” Gojo yells, falling back onto his ass in shock. “What the f-”

“That’s what I do when I blush!” Yuuji shouts right back. “I was helping!”

“What’s helpful about hitting me!”

“You’re not blushing anymore!”

“I wasn’t in the first place, you brat!”

“Then don’t lie!” Yuuji’s little chest is heaving and his face is red and Gojo…laughs. For real. He laughs and laughs and laughs, leaning back on his hands, head dropped and throat bared and body shaking with his mirth. Any violent intent slips through his fingers like sand.

“You’re right, you’re right. Sorry,” Gojo gasps when he can draw in enough air. “Lying is bad. Ahh I just can’t help it though, Yuuji. You’re so cuuuute!”

Yuuji crosses his arms and huffs, all ruffled kitten indignation. Gojo wants to scoop him into his arms and cuddle him in his lap.

“Mommy says,” Yuuji starts, and Gojo follows the sudden subject change with the ease of experience, “that you’re gonna be my husband someday. Like Daddy was for her.”

“Your mom’s gone, kid. She’s been gone for a long time,” Gojo says. The cruelty is absent, reflexive. Yuuji’s face scrunches up like he wants to argue but it smooths out again quickly. Ease of experience.

“Well?” he asks. Gojo considers him.

Yuuji is a vessel, made intentionally incomplete. He’s empty; meant to be filled up and dumped out at the whims of others. His bad moods come and go like clouds in the sky, blown away before they can ever build into storms. He’s simple. Probably a little bit dumb.

For Yuuji, Gojo thinks it’s a kindness. It’s easier for a tool if it doesn’t fight the hand that wields it. For the man meant to marry him, Gojo isn’t sure how to feel about it; if he should be thankful for how malleable Yuuji is or frustrated by a partner that will never match him.

At the very least, it’s easy to keep Yuuji happy.

“It’s true,” Gojo sings. He gives in to the urge to pull the child into his arms. Yuuji is a warm weight and he goes easily, thin limbs scrunched up between them. “I am going to be your husband someday.”

“Oh.” Gojo waits while Yuuji processes this information. He’s comfortable in Gojo’s hold, unaware of the resentment that digs curving claws inside of Gojo’s ribs. There’s a bandage on his knee, stark and blue. Gojo smooths down its peeling edge with his thumb and puts his arm back around Yuuji to cradle him close. “That’s okay, I guess. Wanna watch a movie?”

Hours later, tucked safely into the circle of Gojo’s arms, he lifts his head and blinks fuzzily up at him. “‘Toru?” he slurs, all heavy-limbed exhaustion and so cute Gojo’s heart wiggles in his chest.

“Yes, Yuuji?” he hums, voice hushed in deference to the way the moment feels faded around the edges, fragile. Special. The light from the television casts red-gold over Yuuji’s round little face, moving patterns of brightness and shadow that make him squint and rub his fists into his eyes.

“I won’t leave you like Mommy left Daddy. Promise. You don’t gotta worry, okay?”

Gojo’s breath catches. He closes his eyes; has to deliberately ease the tension from muscles suddenly wound tight under his skin. Something in him quivers and he wants to crush it, needs to kill the part of himself that can be so moved by the promise of a child. He can never be the strongest while he’s so pathetic.

He can’t think of a response. Knows better than to say that Yuuji can’t leave him; that he doesn’t and never has had and never will have a choice. Can’t say that he wishes Yuuji would leave him, and never come back, and never go to anyone else either. Won’t say that he would prefer it if Yuuji had never been born.

Clever Gojo, heartless Gojo, untouchable Gojo, but he’s never once lied to Yuuji.

In the end, it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t say anything. Yuuji is already asleep.

2004

Satoru is two weeks from leaving for Tokyo Jujutsu High when he receives the summons to his father’s study. His parents are waiting when he slouches in, along with a small group of the Gojo clan leaders.

Satoru tosses his head haughtily, makes theatrics out of his disdain under the gazes that have been following him covetously, possessively, since the day he’d cracked open the glittering blue eyes of the Gojo Family’s greatest treasure.

His father’s eyes are blue as well, but dark and dull. Limited. His mouth is a tight line.  “Satoru,” he says, and it’s slow and heavy like a death sentence. Some instinct shivers warningly down Satoru’s spine ahead of his father’s next words. “A betrothal has been arranged for you.”

The world comes to a shattered halt. Satoru’s ears ring in the sudden silence. His heart slams against his ribcage, blood pounding in painful time.

Satoru reaches up with fingers that tremble and slides his dark new glasses first down his nose, then all the way off, suddenly feeling blinded without the full analytic ability of his Six Eyes. His father is still talking, as if he hasn’t just upended Satoru’s entire life.

“-meet with them when we’re done here.”

Words come a beat too late. “An arranged marriage? Isn’t that a little archaic?” Satoru cuts his gaze around the room; can’t enjoy the way the clan leaders shiver, just barely, under the weight of his regard. The knowledge of his power feels hollow in the wake of his father’s declaration. “I think I’m qualified to make these kinds of decisions for myself.”

His father frowns. His disapproval is clear in the lines around his mouth and weighing under his eyes. Satoru violently crushes the urge to flinch. He’s gotten stronger, is stronger every day. One day he’ll be so strong his father won’t be able to touch him. 

That strength feels a long way off, now. He can feel these new chains tightening around him like a noose.

It’s Satoru’s mother that answers him. She’s a dull woman, obsequious and in awe of him in equal parts. Her life has been defined entirely by Satoru’s birth, her body the vessel for the renewal of the Six Eyes. She’s prideful and vain, always eager to claim his victories as her own but never lifting a finger in his aid. “An offer was made. We’ve arranged a match that will change the future of the jujutsu world and cement our clan’s position in it forever.” There’s a zealous gleam in her dark eyes that Satoru has only ever seen after his own displays of rapidly growing power.

“The Itadori clan has given birth to a vessel,” one of the elders adds. The words mean nothing to Satoru but the man’s fellow windbags break out into excited chatter.

“We never imagined it was possible.”

“The vessel is the legacy of the Kamo Family. We’re fortunate they haven’t pressed their claim.”

“The experiments alone-”

“They should be struck from the list of candidates-”

“Barbaric-”

Satoru’s father holds up a long-fingered hand. Silvery rings glint in the room’s low light. “Whatever was done, the ends in this case justify any and all means. Do you understand, Satoru?”

“I don’t understand anything,” Satoru says. His voice is controlled again, even and cold. “A vessel? If you wanted me to marry a pot I’d be more willing. How old is this brat? I didn’t think you’d encourage cradle robbing but if that’s the case…”

A new voice rises over Satoru’s. At the back of the room, his paternal aunt sits in her usual place, watching him with the same dull eyes she shares with her brother. Satoru is grudgingly respectful of the woman’s sharp mind and cold intellect despite her imperfect mastery of Limitless. He falls silent while she speaks.

“One hundred and fifty years ago a member of the Kamo Family was expelled from jujutsu society for…” she pauses, red mouth pursing, “tasteless experiments. Using his clan’s Blood Manipulation, he sought to create a hybrid creature with both cursed and human energy.

“After his death, all records of his work were believed to be destroyed but a short time after her child was born the wife of Itadori Jin claimed to be the scion of Kamo’s experiments.”

Satoru scoffs. “And you believed her? If you buy that blatant lie I have a dozen others to sell you.”

“Of course not,” his mother snaps. Her skin and hair are the same snowy white she’d gifted to Satoru but her temper is always burning like a flame, flaring up at the slightest provocation. “That woman is a clanless nobody and the Itadori family-”

“Is small but respected.” His aunt’s voice is sharp. “Take care how you speak of Satoru’s future spouse.”

The word ‘spouse’ lands on Satoru with all the kindness of a sledgehammer. Hairline fractures scatter across the surface of his future, fragmenting every dream he’d made for himself. They’re so casual about it, tying his life to that of an infant.

“While the mother’s story remains impossible to verify, the child’s status as a vessel was confirmed by multiple experts at an investigational hearing last month,” one of the windbags in the back cuts in before Gojo’s aunt and mother can begin their verbal eviscerations of one another.

His aunt breaks her staring match with his mother to meet his eyes. She’s one of the few still brave enough to hold his gaze. “A vessel has no cursed energy of its own, but it is not a mundane human. They are the perfect medium for incarnations. Think of them as living bodies for a curse to wear.”

“The Itadori babe isn’t the first vessel, but it is the first one recorded in several hundred years,” windbag number one explains. His voice is hushed, almost reverent, the same tone used to speak of Satoru’s Six Eyes.

“And the first to be deliberately created. As a result the child is…” his aunt trails off. Her graceful face wears uncertainty poorly, unaccustomed to the fit.

It is Satoru’s father that finishes her statement. “Perfect.”

Satoru stares at his father. With his eyes uncovered he can see the movement of the man’s blood through his veins, the still miasma of his cursed energy. He can see every flaw in aging skin, every blemish and wrinkle. He can certainly see his father’s absolute conviction.

The head of the Gojo Clan doesn’t hand out praise. He only makes observations of fact.

Something bitter curls on the back of Satoru’s tongue. His lips flatten, refuse to grimace. “A handy tool, I’ll admit, but marriage? To me?” His father’s gaze doesn’t waver. It is again his aunt who answers him.

“There can never be more than one person alive with the Six Eyes technique. This is the restriction heaven has placed upon our bloodline. Your children will not inherit your abilities and until you are dead no other member of the Gojo Family will be born with the gift.

“Itadori Yuuji, however, is not under the purview of heaven. He’s outside of the natural order. The nature and cursed energies within him are perfectly balanced, and the two forces have rendered each other null. You’ll confirm it with the Six Eyes of course, but I’ve seen him myself, along with Kamo’s surviving notes, provided by his mother to back her claim. Any children he bears will be free from the rules and restrictions of heaven.” Her eyes sharpen as she delivers the final blow. “Kamo’s intention was to guarantee the transferal of a bloodline’s techniques.”

Satoru’s mouth drops open, eyes wide, while his mind spins through the possibilities spreading suddenly out before him. It’s an unattractive look but he can’t find it in himself to care. “That sounds…”

Impossible. Unnatural. The kind of flaunting of the rules that will lead to the utter ruin of everyone involved.

“Ends and means, Satoru,” his father reminds him gravely. “What are you willing to sacrifice for your ambitions?”

2004

“So are we ignoring the elephant stumbling through the building?”

Satoru and his father are making their way through the main family’s compound on the Gojo estate. His father walks beside him, a half step ahead, always, and ignores the excited whispers of the staff. Guests are unheard of in the main family’s home but they’re here now. And with a child.

Satoru would find the gossip irresistibly juicy himself if it weren’t for his starring role in it.

His father does not acknowledge him. He is accompanying Satoru only because Itadori Jin had refused to put his final signature on their betrothal agreement before meeting his son’s intended.

Ah, there it is again.

“Itadori Yuuji is a boy.” Satoru can’t keep the bite out of his words. He’s frustrated and he’s angry. He can feel his life slipping through his fingertips, his fractured dreams gritty and chafing like sand.

“Itadori stated his preference for male pronouns,” his father says. He turns a corner and suddenly the doors to the family’s private tea room are looming at the end of the hallway. “The child is intersex.”

“Of course,” Satoru says sardonically. Disdain drips from his words. “Why would Kamo have wasted time playing god if his plans could be foiled by something as mundane as incompatible anatomy.”

They’re just outside now. The paper screen is thin and Satoru is, as always, bright and loud and impossible to ignore. Perhaps if Itadori thinks him disrespectful he will call the entire arrangement off.

As if. There’s no finer catch in this world. He’s strong and one day he will be the strongest. Binding their nobody child to him will elevate the Itadori family beyond its wildest ambitions.

The other Sorcerer Families would sacrifice everything they possess to get their hands on a child guaranteed to pass on their precious techniques and none of it would ever measure up to the value of Gojo Satoru.

Satoru curls his hand around the wooden frame of the door and slides it back. His glasses are over his eyes again and upon first glance, he thinks there are only two other people in the room.

But. No. That’s not right. There is a woman - sharp asymmetrical bob, sharp eyes, slash of a scar across her forehead - and in that woman’s arms is a child. The energy in his tiny body is faint, residual, a perfect match to the two adults framing him. It isn’t his own at all.

Satoru steps into the room. His fingers curve over the frame of his glasses as he slides them down his nose. The man says something. It might be directed at Satoru, or at his father who enters behind him, but it isn’t important. Satoru doesn’t care about this man.

Nobody in the room, the world, matters but Satoru and the baby. The vessel. Yuuji.

He looks. Well. Like a baby. Satoru isn’t experienced with them. But Yuuji is cute enough: chubby cheeks, a tuft of dark hair, big brown eyes. They’re the color of honey, maybe. Something sweet. He’s sucking contentedly on his little fist and staring at Satoru as if transfixed.

He doesn’t blink and he doesn’t look away.

“Clever boy,” Satoru murmurs, voice low. “You already know who is the most important, hmm?”

“Satoru.” That’s his father.

Satoru sighs, makes a show of his boredom. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Yuuji when he says, “Itadori-san. Welcome to our home.”

Itadori Jin clears his throat. Satoru watches Yuuji watch him. When he pokes his tongue out the baby smiles a wide, gummy smile around his hand. His giggle is more of a wet gurgle and his fist is shiny with spit. Satoru decides he doesn’t care for babies.

He pretends he doesn’t coo when Yuuji waves at him, little pink face lit up with simple joy.

“Gojo-san.” The woman turns her body as she speaks, finally breaks Satoru’s eye contact with Yuuji by putting herself between them. “If we accept this betrothal -” Satoru raises his eyebrows at the word ‘if’, incredulous, “-then I need to know you’ll keep Yuuji safe. There will be powerful figures plotting against him, and no end to those who would use him for their own gain.”

“Oh?” Intriguing, despite himself. Having seen Yuuji with his Six Eyes, Satoru knows that the child is everything he’s been promised to be. Even if Satoru doesn’t want him, it would be a grave misstep to allow him to be used by anyone else. “You think the Gojo Family would arrange an agreement from the kindness of our hearts?”

Yuuji’s mother scoffs. “I know what you want. You’re not even grown into your inheritance, yet your mere existence tips the balance of power in our world. A second set of Six Eyes would have us all under your heel.”

Satoru smiles. It’s true, after all.

“Yuuji will be safe. No other will touch him. You have my word.”

2006

“You’re acting like a child.” Satoru’s aunt is calm, unruffled in the face of his petulant behavior.

He is. He doesn’t care. He’s tired of making the trip out to Sendai every week. Tired of babysitting. Tired of the way he can’t forget his future is all bound up in a child.

Tired of the way his friends won’t quit reminding him, when he staggers back to the dorm early and trailing perfume, that he’s betrothed.

“I guess that’s what happens when you’re forced to spend so much time with one!” It’s Saturday evening and he’d known all week that procrastination would bite him in the ass but there’s finally no work to be done tonight and he wants to go out. He’s sixteen and powerful. He’s beautiful and the world is at his feet.

He’s sixteen and chained to a three year old.

“The agreement between our families is that you will visit with Yuuji for at least one hour once a week.”

“That clause was added to the contract by a woman who disappeared years ago! What does it matter? I’m sure Itadori Jin would prefer it if I never got near his home again.”

“Hard to imagine, with your sparkling personality,” his aunt says dryly. She purses her lips and considers him over the top of her computer screen. Her eyes make Satoru think of corpses, flat and faded, color leached out. There’s a cruel intellect to them that resonates though. A warning to tread carefully. “Fine. I will speak to Itadori-san on your behalf.”

The ‘but’ is poised on the tip of her tongue but excitement curls in Satoru’s gut anyway. His heart trips over, speeds up. He’s holding his breath.

“Before I do, you will get Yuuji’s permission, face to face. Look him in the eye and tell him how inconvenient it is for you to visit him.”

Satoru laughs. He actually laughs out loud. “Is that all?” he asks, gleeful. “I thought you would ask for something serious!”

She doesn’t speak, just watches him silently until he regains his composure. Then she turns back to the work spread across her desk.

Satoru accepts the dismissal and leaves before she can put real caveats on her agreement to help him.

2006

Yuuji agrees. Immediately. He doesn’t even hesitate, once Satoru finishes speaking.

Satoru phrased the request more kindly, perhaps, than his aunt did but he’s surprised all the same.

And then Yuuji starts to tremble. Red spreads across his cheeks in ugly blotches and he scrunches his nose and squeezes his eyes shut and his mouth twists into something wounded.

Satoru doesn’t need Six Eyes to see that Yuuji is hurt. He doesn’t even need two.

“Why would you agree if it’s so awful to you?”

Yuuji’s entire face screws up with the effort of holding back his tears. He fails. A single droplet beads, swells fat and heavy, drips. It slides down his cheek, glittering in Satoru’s sight like a diamond, a hundred thousand fractals catching the light.

More follow.

Yuuji shakes his head stubbornly and Satoru gives into the ache in the hollow place in his chest and pulls the child into him. Buries his fingers in fluffy blond hair and winces at the wet cling of his shirt where Yuuji soaks it in tears. There are no fragments of Infinity between them.

“Crybaby,” Satoru says. It comes out gentle without his intent. “You could have said no.”

Another headshake. A choked off gasp. Yuuji’s entire body is shaking but the sobs are softening.

When he can speak, Yuuji tells him, “I want you to be happy.”

The words shouldn’t make Satoru’s world tilt on its axis.

But it is the first time, the only time, anyone has ever said them to him. Yuuji’s little fingers clutch at his shirt and Satoru realizes that oh. He’s the one shaking now.

He knows, has known, that Yuuji likes him. Just genuinely likes him, for himself. For his company. He doesn't mind that sometimes Satoru is mean, or distant. He gets annoyed with him but he never asks Satoru to leave, is always thrilled when he arrives no matter how foul the teen’s mood.

Yuuji doesn’t want anything from him but himself. Doesn’t ask for or expect anything more. He is unique in this. Everyone in the entire world wants something from Gojo Satoru.

Even Shoko and Suguru. Especially his family.

Satoru pets Yuuji’s hair. It’s meant to ground himself as much as it’s meant to calm the child. He feels Yuuji tuck his fist into his mouth in a self-soothing gesture he hasn’t grown out of.

Satoru is cynical, knows this world and what to expect from it. Tells himself that Yuuji is very young. That he doesn’t want anything from Satoru now because he doesn’t understand exactly what Satoru can give him. One day that will go away. One day he will look at Satoru and see power and influence.

Some part of him doubts though. Hopes. Yuuji is warm in his arms. He’s a child. He’s the only person to ever put Satoru’s happiness before his own; at the expense of his own.

Is selflessness part of being a vessel? Is that just Yuuji?

Does it matter if there’s any difference between the two?

Satoru doesn’t call his aunt. Tries not to dwell on how clearly she’d seen him, Limited eyes and all.

2007

Satoru’s phone is ringing. Again. His aunt has called him twice and his mother four times and Satoru knows, alright? He knows it’s after seven on a Friday night and he hasn’t been to see Yuuji. He’s running out of time to uphold the visitation clause of his betrothal contract but he thinks he’s earned a break.

He’s a student and a powerful jujutsu sorcerer in a society that is perpetually understaffed. He has jobs to do almost more often than he has classes and if he has free time he has real friends to spend it with.

Best friends. People his own age, who talk about things more interesting than superheroes and what kinds of curses Satoru destroyed this week.

“Ahh, but you could stand to talk more about me,” he announces into the air.

Suguru eyes him over the top of his magazine. Considers asking; visibly decides not to. “You should answer that,” he says instead. His eyes flick towards Satoru’s phone.

Satoru sighs, drapes an arm over his eyes like his head aches. “They just want me to go see the brat. It’s fine. I’ll swing by tomorrow for my community service and then meet you and Shoko for lunch.” His lips part around an excited gasp. “We could try that new bakery!”

“You’re the only one pretending you won’t be there with him all day.” Suguru idly turns a page, doesn’t bother to look up at Satoru. “If anyone’s doing community service it’s poor Yuuji. The gods only know what kind of psychological damage he’s suffering from long term exposure to you in his formative years.”

Satoru slumps back in his chair, wounded. He puts his hand over his heart, works his way up to a dramatic fit. Opens his mouth.

His phone rattles across the table with the force of an incoming call. His father’s name is stark across the screen.

2007

Itadori Jin is dead, murdered in an attempt to kidnap his son.

The guards the Gojo Clan kept on the family’s home arrived in time to save Yuuji, of course, but his father had already suffered a fatal blow.

“Where is Yuuji now?” Satoru asks. He stirs more sugar into his tea, feels the grit of it on his tongue when he drinks. His father sips his own with calm disinterest, the two of them sitting together in his office and discussing the orphaning of Itadori Yuuji like the weather.

“Your aunt and cousin are retrieving him.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow behind the curtain of his hair. “And his grandfather?”

“Per the betrothal contract, with the death of his remaining parent Yuuji’s protection and wellbeing have become our responsibility. His grandfather is old and it’s now proven that there are those in the world that would kill to obtain Yuuji, even at the risk of angering our family. He will live here, in the Gojo compound, where he can be kept safe.”

Satoru has met Itadori Wasuke. There’s no way the irritable old man will just accept that decision but-

“Clever,” he concedes quietly. The betrothal contract is a binding vow between their families. There will be nothing anyone can do to stop them from taking Yuuji.

His father inclines his head, accepting the compliment. “He will be here soon. Stay to meet with him. It will fulfill your requirements for the week,” here his father frowns and Satoru blinks behind his glasses, surprised that the older man keeps track of his visits, “and he has some fondness for you. His life is turning upside down. Help to guide him in this new direction.”

“Make sure he quietly falls in line, you mean?” Satoru finishes his tea and stands, waves a hand. “Yes, fine. Sure. It’s not as if I want to see him upset.”

Yuuji is in his aunt’s arms when she steps out of the sleek black family car. There’s a joke on the tip of Satoru’s tongue that she’s finally discovering her maternal instincts but it dies, stillborn, at the sight of Yuuji.

He isn’t crying, hasn’t been, his eyes big and empty in his colorless face. Satoru wonders distantly if his aunt is so unfamiliar with children that she mistook a corpse for a boy but then Yuuji catches sight of him.

Satoru lunges forward, arms outstretched just as Yuuji throws himself at him with a choked off cry. Satoru’s aunt is completely unprepared for the boy’s kicking and squirming and he falls. Satoru is there to catch him.

He curls his hands around Yuuji’s sides and hauls him into his chest, wrapping him up tightly in his arms and tucking the child’s head under his chin just in time for Yuuji to break.

Yuuji cries. Great, shuddering, broken sobs that wrack his tiny frame in a way that hurts and Satoru just holds him tighter, imagines Yuuji sinking in to the shell of his ribs where he can stay, shielded from the world and its pains, alongside Satoru’s trembling heart.

The wavering edges of incomplete Infinity wrap around them without any thought, Satoru enveloping Yuuji in his protection while the child wails his misery and fear into the tender skin of his throat. Being powerful can’t help with this, can’t hold together the ruined fragments of Yuuji’s childhood, but he can’t stop himself from trying.

Yuuji chokes and gasps around what Satoru eventually recognizes as his name, and he ignores his aunt quietly watching them in favor of pressing his lips into Yuuji’s fluffy blond hair.

“It’s okay now, Yuuji.” The feel of snot and tears on his skin makes him cringe. “You’re going to come stay with the Gojo family. It’s the safest place in the entire world.”

“My dad,” Yuuji manages eventually. His hands are fisted in the high collar of Satoru’s uniform, his tiny legs squeezing Satoru’s sides. Satoru stays quiet, stroking his back, feeling the rise and fall of delicate bones under fragile skin.

He doesn’t know what to say, never knows what to say to Yuuji, who doesn’t flinch away from Satoru’s sharpness or his cruel tongue but deserves neither. He just rocks them both, humming quietly low in his throat as Yuuji slowly cries himself out.

“Let’s find you a room, okay? You can have your pick of any of them.” Satoru’s aunt makes a sound like she’s going to protest the declaration and Satoru spins around, Yuuji in his arms, to march them back towards the main house. Yuuji giggles at the whirling motion, quiet and weak, and the fist around Satoru’s heart eases its grip just a little. “It’s going to be okay now.”

It’s true that being one of the strongest can’t fix everything. It doesn’t matter; he’ll figure it out. There’s nothing Satoru can’t do.

2007

Geto Suguru is gone.

Gojo is truly the strongest.

Chapter Text

2007

“‘Toru, here.” 

Satoru absently catches Yuuji’s thin wrist before he can shove the offered chocolate bar in his face; obediently takes a bite. He scrolls on his phone while he chews until the weight of eyes on him becomes impossible to ignore.

“Can I help you?” he asks Suguru, one brow raised. Beside him, Yuuji finishes the candy and gets up to throw away the wrapping like the well mannered child he is.

The door snicks closed before Suguru asks, "Is it weird for you?"

“What, the chocolate? A little cheap maybe but it’s good enough.” He dips his face back down to his phone and wills Suguru to take the hint.

There’s not a merciful bone in Suguru’s body. “You know. You guys are like brothers but you’re going to have to marry him someday. Isn’t that weird?”

Satoru bristles, abruptly irritated and surprised by his own reaction. “We’re not brothers. I don’t think of Yuuji as a brother.” It feels important, somehow, that Suguru understand. There’s something ugly stirring in his belly, territorial.

Suguru just blinks at him, brows arched. “Okay then. Not a brother.” He’s quiet for a moment. Satoru wonders what’s taking Yuuji so long. “Then do you see him as a- as your spouse?” The words are slow, cautious. Satoru feels his cheeks heat at the implication.

“No! Of course not, he’s like two. Keep your disgusting thoughts to yourself and far away from Yuuji, Suguru! You perv.”

Suguru holds up his hands. The twist of his mouth is apologetic but his narrow eyes have sharpened. “Then how do you see him?” he presses. “Like a burden? Like a chain? A duty - not that you’ve ever cared about what you’re expected to do, actually. And you don’t treat him like those things.”

Satoru opens his mouth and then stalls. What can he say about Yuuji? That he’s as much a part of Satoru now as his Six Eyes? That Satoru can’t imagine a future with or without him? That if anyone tried to take the boy from him he’d destroy everyone they cared about and anyone they hated so they could feel that complete emptiness, that total loss, before he killed them as well?

Suguru sits with his arms crossed, his phone nowhere in sight, giving Satoru the full weight of his attention. There's no pressure to answer before he’s ready. Satoru knows there’s no one in the world that understands him like Suguru. It gives him the courage he needs to give voice to the truth.

“Mine,” he says finally, as Yuuji trips into the room again, blaring Nintendo clutched in scrubbed-clean hands. “I see him as mine.”

2008

There are people in the hallway. Gojo doesn’t care, but they’re loud, and between him and the vending machine. He hasn’t eaten in days, and a voice in his head that sounds like Yuuji is insisting he needs a chocolate bar.

No. Wait. It is Yuuji’s voice but it’s not in Gojo’s head.

“I didn’t ask why you’re here, I said you can’t be here. It isn’t safe for a child.” Gojo rounds the corner to find Nanami Kento, arms crossed over his chest and disapproving stare firmly in place. Situation normal.

Yuuji, though. He shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Gojo wonders if his last threads of sanity have truly snapped.

“Sorry!” Yuuji shouts, bowing rapidly but with a little jut to his chin that tells Gojo that he’s prepared to be a little shit if necessary. “I understand! Once I find Satoru I will leave!”

Someone has attempted to tame Yuuji’s hair but the product combed into it is slowly losing the battle against the pure chaos of cow-licks that cover his head. He’s wearing the winter iteration of his private school uniform, the jacket neatly buttoned but the tails of his shirt poking out the bottom. His left shoe is untied.

Gojo is not imagining things: Yuuji is somehow at Jujutsu High.

Nanami reaches out as if to grab him, likely to steer him towards Yaga-sensei or another member of the staff, and Gojo bristles.

“Yuuji-kun!” he calls, stepping into the room as if he’s only just arriving.

Yuuji whips around towards him so quickly he loses his balance and Nanami does touch him now, catching him by the shoulder to steady him. There's a burning in Gojo’s gut.

He bullies his way between them, using his height and build as a wall to keep Nanami from Yuuji, wraps his fingers around his underclassman’s wrist to pull the offending hand from Yuuji’s shoulder.

Nanami huffs at him, calls him childish under his breath. Yuuji stares up at him in utter delight.

“‘Toru!” he shouts, smile so big it scrunches up the corners of his gleaming eyes. He doesn’t hesitate to crowd even further into Gojo’s space. “Auntie said you weren’t feelin’ up to visiting the house so I came to visit you instead!”

“So I see,” Gojo says quietly, and his voice catches around the fist in his throat. He puts a hand in Yuuji’s hair and motions with the other for Nanami to leave already.

Yuuji is clutching his backpack to his chest and he holds it up so Gojo can see that it’s full of an assortment of colorful wrappers - cheap convenience store candy. The fist in his throat moves down to his heart.

“Ah! Bye Nanamin!” Yuuji leans around Gojo’s shoulder to wave when the other teen makes to leave and almost loses his grip on the pack. Gojo steadies him with one hand and looks over his shoulder, dips his head to meet Nanami’s eyes over the rims of his glasses.

“Bye Na-na-min,” he echoes, drawing the name out and adding the extra consonant at the end with relish. Nanami’s mouth is open to correct Yuuji but he closes it and sighs, deeply.

“Goodbye Yuuji-kun, Gojo-senpai. In the future, please do not move around the campus without an escort. It is dangerous.”

He turns his back on Yuuji’s call of ‘I won’t Nanamin!’ and leaves them alone. Finally.

“Yuujiiii.” Gojo turns back to the child. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, energetic as usual. “How did you get here, hmmm?”

Yuuji flushes so quickly Gojo’s mildly surprised he doesn’t pass out. His eyes dart away from Gojo’s, then back to look up at him through the fan of his lashes. His lower lip pokes out, trembles.

“Auntie said I could come see you.”

Gojo hums, doesn’t bother to hide his delight. “And did she say you could come today?” Yuuji wilts further into himself, head slumping under Gojo’s hand. Bingo.

Gojo takes the candy-filled backpack from him when it almost spills again. It’s stuffed full of a variety of sweets of every flavor, the kinds of things Gojo would choose for himself. The kinds of things a child left unsupervised in a convenience store would pick.

“She was busy today and I didn’t wanna wait anymore,” Yuuji admits quietly. Sweet boy that he is, he can’t let a lie sit for long, even a half one. Gojo steers Yuuji around with the hand on top of his head and he tells the story while he’s guided towards Gojo’s room:

A store attendant that had tried to call his parents. A train pass purchased with ‘emergency’ money. A kind lady with a knitted cap that had let Yuuji sit next to her for the long ride through Tokyo and out to the stop nearest the school. Finally, the trek out to the campus itself.

It is astounding Yuuji is standing in front of him. It is a miracle they aren’t all out searching for a missing child, that Yuuji hadn’t mixed the train stops up, or gotten turned around in the streets. How did he even know how public transport worked?

Sorcerers and curse users alike have killed and died trying to get their hands on Yuuji but he’d made it all the way to the outskirts of Tokyo entirely alone. Gojo would have to have words with the people assigned to his protection detail.

For now though, he directs Yuuji to sit on his bed and dumps the candy between them. He’s actually hungry, he realizes as Yuuji eagerly passes him different pieces to try, promising he got all of Gojo’s favorites. He hasn’t eaten much since. Well.

Since.

He unwraps a chocolate bar, bites it in half and chews messily. Yuuji giggles at him, face flushed with his simple happiness, and Gojo leans forward to plant a smacking kiss on his cheek in response, smearing the sticky mess. Yuuji laughs outright at that, the sound bright.

He’s been avoiding Yuuji, his easy joy and his affection. They’re things Gojo shouldn’t be allowed to have. But Yuuji is here, Yuuji sought him out on his own, fearlessly. He should be angry at Gojo for leaving him for months, for insisting on the amendment to their betrothal contract so that he doesn’t have to see him, but if he is, he isn’t showing it.

He just offers Gojo himself, the same as he always has. And Gojo is the strongest but he’s also selfish. The most selfish. He can’t find it in himself to turn Yuuji away again.

He waits to text his aunt. She can stew in her own failures while they enjoy their snacks.

2010

Gojo has barely stepped out of the car when Yuuji bounds up to him. Wide brown eyes shine with excitement.

“‘Toru you’re here! Can I try somethin’?”

“Did you miss me that much?” Gojo asks and laughs at Yuuji’s eager nod. He taps a finger against his chin, pretends to think about it, can’t fight his giggle when Yuuji huffs at him. “Okay!”

Yuuji’s answering grin is huge. One of his front teeth is missing, but there’s a white flash of bone already peeking through the pink of his gums. He eyes the staggering difference between their heights for a moment and his smile tips sideways towards a frown.

“You have to get closer!”

Gojo considers asking more questions, drawing things out just to tease, but he’s genuinely curious now. Obedient, he squats down until he has to look up, just a little, at Yuuji.

He has half a moment to appreciate the irony of their positions - the strongest sorcerer in the world at the feet of a child - before Yuuji is grabbing his face between both small hands and darting forward to push his puckered lips against the curve of Gojo’s smile.

The loud smack of their mouths is almost deafening. Yuuji leans back as quickly as he’d come, beaming down at Gojo, and Gojo is abruptly, acutely aware of the driver and the family’s guards watching their exchange.

He resists the urge to lick at his lips. Even past the shock, the kiss didn’t do anything for him. Yuuji is like, two. He’s not that kind of pervert.

Which begs the question: “Where did you learn to do that?”

Yuuji’s smile dims a little. “I saw some people doin’ it in the corner of the courtyard. The one with the bendy tree? They said it was called ‘kissing’ and that it’s only for people who are gonna be married and we’re gonna be married so I thought we were supposed to!”

Gojo’s mind is temporarily derailed. He tries to imagine anyone in the clan being happily married enough to bother kissing at all, much less in public, and draws a blank. He almost asks for names but there’s something much more pressing to address.

“They were absolutely right, Yuuji!” Yuuji straightens up at Gojo’s sudden enthusiasm. “Kissing is only for people who are or will be married! You must absolutely, never ever, under any circumstances EVER!” a quickly drawn breath, “Ever ever kiss anyone but me. Nobody. Ever.”

Yuuji’s nodding before he finishes speaking. “I understand, ‘Toru!"

Gojo pushes his glasses up into his hair and meets Yuuji’s eyes with his bare gaze. “I mean it, Yuuji. All your kisses are just for me.”

Another nod, more solemn. He recognizes that Gojo is serious about this. Gojo smiles, satisfied. “But for now, no kisses at all. We’ll have to save that for when you’re older.”

Eyebrows furrowed, Yuuji asks, “So it’s like the murder movie?”

Gojo blinks up at him. “Come again?”

“The movie with the masked guy and the chainsaw. Auntie said I had to wait 'til I was older to watch.”

His paternal aunt is still insisting she isn't the person raising Yuuji. The denial becomes more laughable every week.

Surely there’s nothing in any slasher flick that’s more frightening than the curses Yuuji can sometimes see? Well. Gojo will take the out he’s being offered. “Yes. Exactly like that. Until you’re in high school at the earliest.”

It’s extremely unlikely that Yuuji will remember this conversation by then, but if he does Gojo has no problems dumping that moral quandary on his future self.

Yuuji’s face falls but he nods. “I understand,” he says again, subdued. His little shoulders are slumped and even his hair seems to droop.

Gojo feels a little unhappy about it himself, and it’s true he isn’t a pervert but he’s not a saint either.

“Buuuut,” he drawls, and Yuuji perks up immediately. He watches Gojo expectantly and Gojo grins like he’s presenting Yuuji with the greatest gift ever. “Cheek kisses are okay!” he declares.

Yuuji’s sudden excitement is blinding. Gojo drops his glasses back over his eyes out of reflex.

“Oh! Can I then?” he asks. He gives a full body wiggle, fingers knotted together, obediently resisting the urge to reach out until he has permission.

Gojo stands to his full height, scoops Yuuji into his arms in the same fluid movement, and spins him around until he squeals with laughter. Yuuji is still giggling when Gojo tells him, “Yuuji you little fiend! Already greedy, hm?”

Yuuji just nods. How utterly shameless. Gojo adores him.

“Well alright then!” He tilts his head obligingly and Yuuji leans in, planting another smacking kiss on his cheek. Yuuji’s mouth is uncomfortably wet but he’s adjusted to the messes that come with children, or at least this one in particular: all he feels is a warm squeeze of affection in his chest.

“Now remember,” he reminds Yuuji, the boy still held against him. “Kisses are only for me, got it?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Now let’s go get some ice cream before dinner!” Yuuji cheers.

2012

Yuuji and Megumi would get along well, if Gojo allowed them to meet.

He knows that Yuuji is lonely, isolated in the Gojo Family’s estate without other children his age and only permitted to attend a small private school.

Megumi just has his sister. He's a cranky kid but Yuuji would get past his defenses easily, generous with his smiles and his joy.

A better person would arrange for them to spend time together. Gojo doesn’t have any desire to be a better person.

Yuuji is his, and only his. He’s been Gojo’s his entire life and will continue to be until the day he dies. Gojo is under no obligation to share him and so he doesn’t.

2013

“...and with the spear gone forever, our Brave Hero was finally invincible! Nothing would ever be able to touch him again.” Gojo finishes his story with relish, still buzzing with the thrill of his victory. Yuuji claps.

They’re sitting in the center of a giant pile of cushions in the family’s living room, swaddled in blankets against the cold, Yuuji curled into the circle of Infinity and Gojo’s arms. He can feel the child’s steady heartbeat against his chest; a comforting, reassuring rhythm.

The television is on but muted and Yuuji’s Nintendo is jingling some soothing song in his lap but he hasn’t so much as glanced at it since Gojo began speaking, transfixed as he’s always been by Gojo’s mere presence. It’s an old model anyway. Gojo had pulled out his phone to order an upgrade the moment he’d spotted it.

“What kind of stories are you telling Yuuji-kun now? He doesn’t need you frightening him before bedtime.” Gojo’s aunt steps into the room, arms crossed and brow arched. Yuuji startles. “And what have you done to my living room?”

“I made it more comfortable. When I get my own place I’m getting a couch. Move into this century, please.”

“I wasn’t scared!” Yuuji interjects before Gojo can draw his aunt into another argument about traditional decor. “The Brave Hero Gojo-sama always wins.”

“The Brave Hero Gojo-sama," she repeats, as flat and dry as a desert. Gojo cuddles Yuuji closer when he nods rapidly, beaming with pride.

“Yeah! And now he’s invincible so I never have to worry again.”

Gojo’s aunt opens her mouth but closes it after a moment. Her corpse-eyes meet Gojo’s and he smirks. Will she argue and risk shaking Yuuji’s faith in him?

Evidently not. Instead she moves her hands to her hips. “And does the brave hero know what time it is?” When Yuuji wilts she points down the hall towards his bedroom. “Go. And brush your teeth. I see that candy wrapper.”

It takes some doing for Yuuji to free himself from Gojo’s arms and Gojo doesn’t move to help while he struggles with the heavy pile of blankets, content to watch the way his aunt’s mouth tightens as the seconds tick past. When he finally wrestles himself loose Yuuji grins sheepishly at her and hurries from the room.

“My, so maternal,” Gojo simpers once the boy is gone. She scowls at him.

“Someone had to step up and make sure he sleeps and makes it to school.”

The admission catches him off-guard, after years of her steadfastly denying her role of caretaker. Her smile turns shark-like when his mouth drops open.

Yuuji reappears before Gojo can regain his footing.

“I almost forgot!” He hustles across the room and bends down to press a kiss over Gojo’s cheekbone. The gesture is easy, comfortable. A cool gust of mint washes across Gojo’s skin. “Goodnite Satoru! I’ll see you soon!” He’s gone again a moment later, energetic as ever.

Gojo traces his fingertips over his cheek, savors the memory of Yuuji’s affection and the warm glow it leaves nestled in his ribs.

“He’s a good kid.” His aunt’s voice is low in the silent room.

“Hard to imagine you’ve raised him, hm?”

“It is,” she agrees. A moment, and then a quiet admission:  “He’s soft. I don’t want him to lose it. Be strong enough that he doesn’t have to, Satoru.”

“I am.” A promise.

2014

Gojo’s father dies.

It’s not the shock it should be, but there’s always been the sense that the man was only holding his son’s place at the head of the family. The Six Eyes doesn’t bow to anyone.

Gojo himself doesn’t feel any particular way about it. Maybe a little relieved that the man can’t try to give him orders anymore. Maybe a little resentful at all the new responsibilities he expects to be dropped upon his shoulders.

He takes the term off from his university and returns to the main house, working with his aunt to oversee the transition of power.

They agree that she will continue to manage the household responsibilities and the businesses their family runs. Gojo will be required to represent their clan amongst the other Sorcerer Families. It’s nothing new: as the strongest sorcerer alive he’s been attending the jujutsu society’s meetings since he finished high school.

As it turns out, his father had been the head of their family in name only for the better part of a decade. It’s strange to think about how powerless the man had been by the end, given how powerless he's always made Gojo feel as a child.

The biggest change is that for the first time since the betrothal contract was signed, Gojo has a say in his part in it. With Yuuji’s parents dead, there is nobody left to stop Gojo if he decides to dissolve the agreement.

Gojo can finally be free, if he wishes. It’s everything he’s dreamed of since his father had chained him to a child a decade ago.

And as for Yuuji, well. Old man Itadori is probably still kicking somewhere. And Gojo isn’t completely heartless. He’ll make sure they have money, that Yuuji is healthy and cared for.

Yuuji, who is far more upset about Gojo’s father passing than Gojo expected.

“I didn’t realize you knew him that well.” Yuuji only shakes his head. Tears tremble on his lashes. Gojo draws the boy into his lap, wraps his arms around him, brushes a kiss through soft hair.

“He was your dad,” Yuuji says eventually.

Gojo chuckles. “Yes. Mine, not yours. Of the two of us, you’re not the one who should be feeling sad.”

Little fingers clench in his shirt, over his heart. “It hurts, doesn’t it? I don’t want you to hurt, ‘Toru.” Yuuji’s lower lip wobbles. There’s suddenly an ache beneath Gojo’s ribs.

“I’m not hurting, Yuuji,” he promises. He turns the boy so that he can meet his eyes. There are no dark lenses between them. “It’s the truth.” He tries on a smile, aiming for reassuring.

Yuuji’s little brows squinch together on his forehead and his eyes rove over Gojo’s face, searching for any hint of a lie. “You’re not? But I remember when my dad died. It was really painful.”

“It’s different,” Gojo says, and then flicks the child’s forehead. “How could you remember that anyway? You were like two.”

The lines of confusion smooth out when Yuuji rubs at the spot. “I wasn’t! Do you even know how old I am?” Gojo screws his face up, pretends he has to think about it. Yuuji giggles. “Hey!"

A pause.  “But, well. I guess I don’t remember much. Being scared. Being sad. Then you were there and promising it was going to be okay.” He leans forward to tuck his head back under Gojo’s chin, wraps short arms around Gojo’s neck. “It still hurts sometimes, but you were right. It was okay.”

He repeats, “You were there.”

Gojo strokes a hand down Yuuji’s back and remembers how fragile the bones had felt that day Yuuji had come to live with his family. They’re bigger now, a little sturdier.

“I’m always here,” he says quietly. Yuuji hugs him even tighter. His sigh is a warm wash of breath over the delicate skin of Gojo’s throat.

“I'm here, too. It’s okay if you're sad.”

He doesn’t know how to explain to Yuuji that he really isn’t hurt by his father’s passing. He’s not sure that he should. Instead he lets himself be comforted clumsily, earnestly. He hides his smile in fluffy blond hair when the child begins to squirm, too full of energy to sit still for long.

In the quiet, Gojo’s mind drifts to where it's been lingering since the moment he learned about his father’s death.

“Yuuji.” He gently tugs the child back so Gojo can see his face when he asks, “Are you happy here?”

“Here right now?” Yuuji asks. Honey eyes blink at him, confused.

“Generally. Living here with all these stuffy old weaklings.”

When it clicks, what Gojo is asking, Yuuji’s face goes shifty almost immediately despite his obvious attempts to hide it. Gojo’s lips tug down. “I’m uh. Yeah! I’m really grateful I can stay here. The Gojo Family was very generous to take me in.” It sounds rehearsed. Something dark blinks open in Gojo's gut, stirs in warning.

“Who told you to say that?”

“Nobody!” Yuuji insists immediately, cheeks flushing. He meets Gojo’s eyes. His face is open and honest. “I mean uh, plenty of people have told me that before but it’s the truth. I know how lucky I am.”

“They’re the lucky ones,” Gojo tells him. Yuuji’s discomfort is obvious; he lets the line of questioning drop.

Sweet Yuuji is too kind to want others to get in trouble. He’ll consult with his aunt later. Nobody will speak down to Yuuji ever again if Gojo has his way, and he’ll make sure that he does.

“But you’re happy?” he presses instead.

“Yeah.” Yuuji smiles at him. “Especially since you visit more now. And Auntie is the best after you.” He hugs Gojo’s neck again. “She says I can join a club when middle school starts! I can’t wait.”

“How exciting!” Gojo says, letting Yuuji steer the conversation to all the clubs he wants to try. He’s expecting the sports Yuuji lists, but the music and art focused clubs are a surprise.

“I want to meet a bunch of different people,” he explains, grinning at the idea. His face falls a bit. “I don’t think the elders want me to though. I heard Auntie arguing on the phone about it. They think I should be here all the time.”

Gojo scoffs. He tips his chin back haughtily, puffs up his chest. “Luckily they don’t get a say,” he announces. “I’m the Gojo Clan Head now and I say you can join every club in the school if you want.”

Yuuji’s eyes are wide. “But that’s impossible!”

“Oh? Says who? Who is trying to keep my Yuuji out of clubs?”

Yuuji’s laughter is loud and light, his earlier upset forgotten. “Nobody! There’s just not enough time! There’s no way!”

“Oh so Time thinks it can tell you what to do? Doesn’t it know I’m invincible? Even Time can’t beat me. I’ll kick its ass!”

He tickles Yuuji’s sides when the boy keeps snickering at him. “`Toru stop! Stop!” he cries, squirming.

“Nobody can stop me!” he says, and only lets up when tears bead up again at the corners of Yuuji’s eyes. “And nobody can stop you either,” he tells him more seriously as Yuuji gasps for air. “You’re gonna be my husband. The whole world will bend to your will. I’ll make sure of it.”

It’s the first time Gojo has acknowledged what he will do for Yuuji, how far he’ll go. There’s an unending list of people in the world who would give everything to have that kind of promise from Gojo Satoru. Yuuji just grins at him, impish.

“I think Auntie could probably stop us both." Gojo pinches his side.

“You think my aunt is stronger than me?”

“No way! Nobody is stronger than you! But she’s definitely scarier.”

Gojo pokes his lower lip out. Combined with his uncovered eyes, it’s one of his most devastating expressions. It’s also wasted on Yuuji, who just giggles at him again.

Gojo sighs and takes the loss. Yuuji’s probably right about that one anyway.

2014

Gojo doesn’t touch the betrothal contract.

“Those creaky old geezers would start harassing me the second I was single,” he tells Shoko. She hums to show she’s absolutely not listening to him but Gojo lets it slide. He’s feeling magnanimous. And also like he needs to justify himself. He doesn’t like feeling that way but if anyone will be too unconcerned to judge him, it’s Shoko.

“But if I stay betrothed to Yuuji, nobody says a word to me about heirs or alliances. It’s brilliant, really. And Yuuji’s like two so I don’t have to worry about the subject coming up with him for a long time.”

Shoko doesn’t look up from the textbook she’s pouring over. Medical school seems like a real drag. “And will any of this help you pass your exams?” she asks around the pen in her mouth.

Gojo waves a hand. “As if I need to study. Besides, Yaga should be falling over himself to have me teaching at the school, not insisting I need a certification. As if even one sorcerer student cares about math.”

“We still have to be functioning adults,” Shoko says, finally leaning back in her chair to look at him. “If Yaga hadn’t taught us advanced sciences I wouldn’t have made it into medical school and then who would heal you idiots when you got yourselves damaged?”

Gojo tips his nose into the air. “I haven’t been touched in years. Besides, your technique handles all that.” He folds his hands behind his head and tilts his chair onto its back legs.

“My technique can only take me so far. The more I know about anatomy the more I can control it, the less energy I expend, and the more effectively I can treat whatever ailment someone picks up.” She sighs, sounding exhausted.

Shoko always sounds exhausted. Her scars parallel Gojo’s but she wears them differently, a stone around her neck, her ankles, her heart.

“And look at Nanami Kento,” she continues. “A regular old salaryman. Jujutsu High is a real school, just with some strange extracurriculars.”

“Nanamin will be back,” Gojo tells her. He drops his chair to the floor, pushes his hand through his hair. “Yes, fine. I get your point.” He bends back over the papers spread out in front of him, grudgingly attempts to get back to work.

He pulls his phone out. Sends a text. Flips his pen between his fingers.

His phone rattles over the tabletop. Shoko’s sigh threatens to bring the walls down around them.

“Satoru.”

“Shoko there’s no need to yell at me! Poor Yuuji just misses me so much! It’s so hard on him, with me so far away all the time.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow. Since she’s a true friend, she doesn’t point out that he texted Yuuji first. Instead she stands, pats at her pockets. “I’m going to go smoke. When I get back we’re going to turn off our phones.”

It’s an order, not a suggestion, but Gojo’s distracted by the picture of a fluffy white cat Yuuji has sent him. It’s captioned ‘look!!! its u!’ He waves her out of the room. He has a bigger concern at the moment.

‘Yuuji~~! Don’t replace me with that furry demon!! ⊙﹏⊙’

2015

There’s foreign cursed energy thrumming around the edges of the family’s ancestral wards. It’s faint and Gojo almost ignores it but Yuuji laughs as his character on-screen is shot out of the sky and Gojo can almost see that laughter hanging in the air around him, crystalline. So easily shattered.

He stands and Yuuji looks up at him, smile still lighting his eyes gold.

“I’ll be right back, Yuuji-kun!” Gojo announces with a broad grin. He pats the child’s hair and Yuuji tilts his head into the touch.

“Okay, I’ll miss you!” he says easily. His eyes widen and he drops the console control, leaning over the cluttered table in front of him. He ignores the warning screen blaring at him - DEFEATED - and grabs at his can of Heaven’s Cola. “Can you get me a refill?”

“For you, Yuuji, I would bring down the moon.” Gojo gallantly accepts the can, fingers brushing warm against Yuuji’s, and disappears with a wink.

There’s a stranger, kneeling just outside the stone walls that border the estate. Long slivers of cursed energy pry against the edges of ancient wards. He doesn’t notice when Gojo appears over his shoulder.

“You won’t get in that way,” Gojo offers, casual. He tilts his wrist, feels the shift of liquid in the bottom of Yuuji’s discarded drink. “These barriers have been around as long as the Gojo family. Maybe longer.”

The stranger jerks forward, away from him, and spins up to his feet with admirable agility. His cursed energy stays level, his control perfect. He doesn’t stop his subtle assault on the wards.

“Who are you?” he demands. He draws a weapon; a short, wide blade. Moonlight gleams along sharpened edges.

Gojo doesn’t look up at him. There’s a smudge on the can he’s holding, over the hole in the top. He rubs his thumb around its edges, chapstick smeared across aluminum in an impression of Yuuji’s mouth.

A familiar greed claws up from his gut, an instinct to keep the can and its tiny part of Yuuji for himself. Ridiculous. He lifts it to his mouth instead, fits his lips over Yuuji’s. Swallows what's been left for him in one deep draw. The carbonation tingles all the way down his throat and settles, sparking, in his belly.

“Who are you?” the stranger asks again, impatient. Gojo tightens his grip until the can crumples in his hand, an easy give.

“How rude. Acting as if I’m the trespasser in my family home.” It’s easy to spot the moment that hits, when the man does the math and realizes who is standing in front of him. A member of the Gojo clan plus covered eyes adds up to You’ve Fucked Up Badly in the jujutsu world. Gojo bares his teeth in his most dangerous grin. “Are you here for Yuuji?”

“I’m not!” The stranger is immediately terrified, the tip of his weapon visibly trembling in the air. Gojo is disappointed. It takes a lot of nerve to act against the Gojo Family but here the man is, ready to quit at the first obstacle. To be fair, Gojo Satoru is the equivalent of preparing to jump a standard hurdle on the track and being presented instead with a mountain. Still, he’d hoped for better. “I don’t know a Yuuji. I’m not here to hurt anyone!”

Gojo tucks his free hand into the pocket of his sweats and leans back, considering. “I can tell you mean that,” he says, and the other sorcerer’s shoulders relax just the littlest bit. “I think it would be so funny to let you carry on and see what kind of havoc you can wreak on those old windbags.” He throws his head back and laughs his most obnoxious laugh and the stranger’s lips pull up, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should join in too.

He’s desperate, trying to play along, trying to appease the predator in front of him. He thinks if he can avoid offending Gojo he may be allowed to leave, to live.

It’s unlucky for him, but that’s not the message Gojo intends to send to the jujutsu world and everyone in it. He has a much graver warning in mind.

Laughter trails off into a sigh and Gojo shakes his head. He pushes his glasses up into his hair and the stranger shudders so violently at the sight of his naked eyes that his cursed energy, carefully controlled from the moment Gojo had first noticed his presence, flares up around him. There’s a deep well of it; he’s a very powerful and skilled sorcerer, and Gojo almost regrets what he has to do but - “Unfortunately, your presence here is a threat to Yuuji. He’s having such a nice night. I can’t just let you ruin it.”

Crushed metal bites into his hand and what comes next is easy for him.

2016

“I have to pull Yuuji out of baseball club.”

Gojo lifts his phone away from his ear to stare at it. His aunt’s name blinks back up at him, seconds ticking upwards on the screen. “What?” he asks. “Yuuji loves baseball club.”

It had been a close competition between baseball and broadcasting club but in the end the team sport had appealed to Yuuji’s desire to form closer friendships. Gojo has been coping with Yuuji’s fledgling new relationships very well. Very maturely. With absolutely no jealousy or discomfort.

“He does,” his aunt agrees. “But they called me yesterday. Yuuji threw a pitch that was clocked at 170 kilometers per hour.”

“So Yuuji is incredibly talented! What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong is that the national record is only 160 kilometers per hour, Satoru. He’s thirteen.”

Gojo winces. Puberty has been hitting Yuuji like a freight train and his physical development has been, well. There’s no kinder word than unnatural. His body had begun to pack on muscle beneath the baby fat within weeks of beginning his club’s physical conditioning regimen and his strength and agility already rival that of a much older man.

As perfectly demonstrated by Yuuji’s record-shattering pitch.

Jujutsu sorcerers typically possess physical abilities that far exceed their mundane counterparts but Gojo suspects Yuuji will prove exceptional even among their numbers.

He swallows around the tightness in his throat. Pulling Yuuji off the team is the right call - more attention is the last thing they want for him - but Yuuji will be crushed. He’d been so excited to spread his wings a little and branch out, to make new friends. His game schedule is hanging in Gojo’s apartment and he hasn’t missed a single one.

“Have you told him yet?”

“No. I wanted to warn you first. Yuuji will be upset.”

Gojo will have to cancel his plans for the evening.

“Satoru.” His aunt’s voice interrupts Gojo’s mental rescheduling.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“We need to talk about Yuuji attending Jujutsu High School.”

Gojo leans back in his seat with a heavy exhale. He waves the server away when she approaches with a fresh drink. “Isn’t that the opposite of what we agreed for him?”

His aunt’s voice is calm, level. “Yuuji isn’t happy at a standard school. He’s separate from his peers despite his best efforts. That is only going to get worse as he ages, not better. At Jujutsu High he’ll be around others who know our world and how it works. We won’t have to concern ourselves with hiding his… prodigious… physical abilities.”

Gojo takes a long drink of his tea and winces. Cold. Should have gotten that new cup after all.

“The bare minimum requirement for a sorcerer is the ability to see curses. Yuuji can’t do that half the time.”

“Yuuji absorbs the cursed energy of those around him. It stands to reason that frequent exposure to that energy by, for example, attending daily classes with other sorcerers and sharing a dormitory with them, would keep Yuuji ‘charged up’. There are also other means of augmenting his vision.”

“And combat? Do you think Yuuji will just stare the curses into submission? Throw baseballs at them?”

“Nanami-san believes that with proper training-” Gojo sits up so fast his elbow lands on his plate, tipping it over. Daifuku roll across the floral print tabletop.

“What, Nanamin? What does he have to do with this?”

“As it turns out, he lives near Yuuji’s school. They met recently and he has been bringing Yuuji home a few times a week. He’s a delightful young man.”

Gojo sticks his tongue out. “Gross. Don’t talk about Nanamin that way ever again. Are you eighty?"

“As I was saying,” his aunt continues, voice sharper, “Nanami-san believes that with training Yuuji could learn how to channel the cursed energy he absorbs into attacking. He would have no inherited technique but-”

“A technique is not necessarily required,” Gojo finishes, mind leaping ahead. “I see. I’ll speak to Yuuji about it.”

He’ll have to reschedule with Mei Mei rather than outright cancel their dinner tonight. With a low-powered technique like hers, she’ll have had plenty of experience channeling raw cursed energy into physical attacks.

"I want to assess what he can do for myself. A delight Nanamin may be but he’s not the one about to pass the certification to teach the bright young sorcerers of tomorrow.”

“I’ll defer to your superior judgment then. Dinner will be at seven. Don’t be late.”

2016

Yuuji’s disappointment over his removal from the baseball club lingers, uncharacteristic and heavy, a stormcloud that can’t fully dissipate before it swells back up with rain. Gojo has been waiting for him to bounce back but the summer has dragged on into autumn and Yuuji only seems more and more withdrawn as the weeks pass.

He watches Yuuji in silence for a long minute. The teen is staring out the open door into the main courtyard, watching the birds roosting in the warped maple tree in the center. Stray cursed energy had bent the tree in on itself long before Gojo’s birth, but it continues to grow, strong and healthy.

It’s also ugly as sin but Gojo has long since scrapped his plans to replace it with something more aesthetically pleasing. If it happens to burn down in a lightning strike that’s beyond his control but until then, Yuuji’s favorite hideous tree will continue to shed its discolored leaves all over.

It’s unsettling, seeing Yuuji so discouraged. Gojo swans into the room with a loud call of Yuuji’s name and amber eyes lighten immediately in a smile. Yuuji leans into Gojo’s side without hesitation when he drops down next to him and Infinity curls around him a split second before Gojo’s arm does, easy and natural.

“'Toru! Did you get your results?”

“Passed with perfect marks! I hope you didn’t doubt me Yuuji! My heart couldn’t handle it.”

“Never,” Yuuji promises, grinning when Gojo brandishes his phone. On the screen is the confirmation they’ve all been waiting for - Gojo passed the high school teacher certification exams. “I knew you’d do it!” he shouts, and leaps to his feet to pump his fist in the air. “You’re gonna teach for real! Officially! You’re the greatest!”

Gojo laughs and grabs Yuuji’s hands to spin him around. “I am the greatest! And the strongest! And I’m going to be the best sensei ever!”

“The best ever!” Yuuji agrees. His eyes are sparkling, his face flushed with joy. Gojo’s heart slams too hard against the cage of his ribs. He can’t resist scooping Yuuji into his arms and lifting him up and Yuuji goes easily, beaming down at him.

They dance around the room like that, wrapped up in each other and their laughter and Gojo’s victory. There’d never been any doubt that Gojo would become a teacher, once he'd decided to, but Yuuji’s excitement and joy lights an answering spark in Gojo’s heart. He’s never felt this kind of uncomplicated happiness. He decides he has no interest in ever celebrating another success without Yuuji.

When they wind down, Yuuji’s still smiling. Gojo drapes himself over the plush leather couch and tugs the teen to sit against his side.

“What’s next?” Yuuji asks him, a little breathless. Gojo stretches his arm across the back of the cushions behind Yuuji’s head and props his feet up on the center table.

“I’ll finish this school year as a probationary teacher to get a feel for things and next year I’ll take on the first year class as my very first round of students! I hope they’re ready!”

Yuuji's smile is wide and toothy. He leans further into Gojo’s side. “They’re really lucky! They get to learn from the best sensei in the whole world. They’re gonna love you.”

It’s the perfect opening. “Yuuji-kun! I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Your students?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He sits up a little. Yuuji follows his lead, perfectly attuned to him. “Have you ever thought about attending Jujutsu High?”

He can see Yuuji mentally buffering and waits as patiently as he can.

“I - uh. Me? But I’m not a sorcerer so I don’t. Uh. I mean, right? I don’t have cursed energy. Do I?” Gojo has to laugh at Yuuji’s confusion. He’s ruffles Yuuji’s hair while the teen blinks at him, still trying to catch up.

“You don’t have any of your own, no, but you always seem to have plenty stored up just from being around me and Auntie.” And Nanami, but that’s a tender point for Gojo. Just the idea of Nanami spending so much time with Yuuji makes him feel strangely restless. “Is that something you can control?”

Yuuji thinks about it, forehead scrunched up. The boy isn’t an idiot but he does have his strengths and critical thinking isn’t necessarily one of them. Gojo finger combs his hair while he waits. It’s getting darker as he ages, blond dirtying into brown.

“I uh. Actually I think I remember my mom trying to get me to learn that?”

“Oh? It’s been a long time since you mentioned your mother. I’m surprised you can remember that far back; you haven’t seen her since you were like two.” Yuuji shoves at his shoulder.

“You still think I’m two years old,” he grumbles, but his lips tilt upwards. “But I think. I mean, I’ve done it before? I can feel your cursed energy. I think I just have to kind of tug at it like a rope toy and it’ll come.”

Gojo nods and pulls his glasses off with a flourish. “Give it a shot then Yuuji-kun!”

“What, now?”

“No time like the present!”

“Alright.” He squeezes his eyes closed. Thick lashes fan across his cheeks in graceful arcs, momentarily distracting in the full force of Gojo’s uncovered sight. Yuuji exhales slowly, a surprising, practiced gesture, and then lights up to Gojo’s Six Eyes.

Yuuji is always, to some extent, carrying Gojo’s cursed energy. It makes some deep instinct in Gojo rumble in animal satisfaction when he sees it, his own distinct power burning low in Yuuji’s chest and curling out to envelop him from his feet to the ends of his hair. It gleams in every fingertip, marks the places Yuuji touches with Gojo’s residue.

Now every part of Yuuji is alight. Gojo’s power blazes in his sight, surging like a flame with little control or direction. He doesn’t feel the draw on his own reserves, Yuuji’s untrained body wouldn’t be able to handle the amount of Gojo’s raw cursed energy it would take to be noticeable, but compared to just moments ago, Yuuji is almost unrecognizable.

Gojo claps excitedly and Yuuji beams at him, his borrowed cursed energy guttering at his purely positive feelings. No matter. If Yuuji can draw on it at will then he can be trained to control it.

“You did it!” he cheers. “How does it feel?”

Yuuji’s smile dims a little and the cursed energy flares again in response. “It feels kind of bad. Not your energy! I just mean. I don’t know. Like a bad mood. Like I’m unhappy but I don’t know why.”

“Ah,” Gojo says, tugging Yuuji into himself again and pressing his lips briefly into soft hair. He smirks, satisfied, as the blaze dies down again immediately. “Cursed energy is fueled by negative emotions. If you take a lot it's only natural you’ll feel that way.”

“Oh,” Yuuji says. He’s quiet while he processes, nose wrinkled. “Well, I like how yours feels anyway. It’s comforting.”

Gojo strokes a hand down Yuuji’s back and hums. “Can you tell the difference if it’s mine and not, say, Auntie’s?” he asks.

“Yeah! Auntie feels like, uh. A day of testing? Like I’m exhausted and my brain is jelly and I barely scraped together a passing grade even though everyone expected a perfect score. But also kind of satisfied ‘cause I got through it all at the end of the day and I’ll be able to keep moving forward.”

“That’s surprisingly poetic, Yuuji,” Gojo teases, lips tugging into a leer. “And far more revealing about our beloved aunt’s state of mind than she’d like, I think.”

Yuuji flushes. “Please don’t tell her I told you that!” He claps his hands together in supplication. “I don’t even know what I’m saying! That's just what it feels like! It’s probably nothing like how she really is!”

Gojo puts his finger to his chin and makes a show of considering Yuuji’s request. “I guess I could keep it between us…”

“Name your price,” Yuuji begs. Clever boy.

“Alright then. You have to tell me,” he says slowly, “how my energy feels to you! In the same detail! Or maybe even more, if you really want to buy my silence.  I might slip up otherwise.”

The hope on Yuuji’s face shatters. His uncontrolled cursed energy sparks like a match to tinder. “I can’t!”

“What? What do you mean you can’t? Are you embarrassed?”

“No! I mean yes, it’s a little embarrassing now but I just don’t know how. You don’t feel like anything else!”

Gojo had been working his way towards feeling affronted but. He doesn’t hate the sound of that, that there’s nothing else like him. It’s certainly true.

He taps at Yuuji’s forehead with two fingertips and then hooks them under Yuuji’s chin to make sure the boy meets his eyes. “Think about it, Yuuji. I’ll keep what you said about Auntie private but you’re going to owe me! I won’t wait forever so you’d better figure it out.”

Yuuji nods rapidly, grateful for the reprieve. “I will!” he promises. “Just as soon as I can find all the words.”

“It’s good though, right? You said I feel best.” He’s not insecure. Gojo Satoru doesn’t do insecure.

“Yeah!” Yuuji agrees. “Comfortable and safe! Satoru is the best, always. I like him the most.”

2017

Gojo’s precious first year students are all brilliant, driven children with admirable ambitions in life. They are focused, intense, and committed. They are far more concerned with curses than coursework.

Grading their English essays is agony; a unique circle of hell university could never have prepared him for. His eyes burn, his head throbs. Some part of Gojo, tiny and malnourished, thinks he might owe Yaga-sensei an apology.

Yuuji’s voice, speakerphone-echoey, is the only thing keeping Gojo going, dragging the brittle remains of his will to live along with mundane stories of middle school life. A lull in the steady stream leaves room for Gojo to respond, and he’s been following just closely enough to know to laugh.

Yuuji huffs at him. “You weren’t listening, were you?” His voice is still cheerful, unoffended. “If grading essays is so bad, why do you keep assigning them?”

“I never learn from mistakes, Yuuji. That would require admitting that I make them.”

“And you never make mistakes,” Yuuji agrees. He only sounds a little like he’s teasing. Mostly he sounds like he means it. Gojo smiles and leans back in his chair, rubbing at his covered eyes. Some of the tension in his neck eases.

“You said it, not me!” It’s quiet for a moment. Comfortable. Gojo doesn’t feel the need to fill the silences he shares with Yuuji. He always has Yuuji's full attention.

“Hey, Satoru?” His full name catches Gojo’s interest. He straightens in his seat, hums low in his throat to show he’s listening. “I’ve been thinking about dyeing my hair.”

“Oh? You should! Self expression is important.”

“You’ve been reading those teenage development books again, huh?”

He winks, trusts Yuuji to know even if he can't see him. “You’re going to be my precious student next year, Yuuji. You deserve the best sensei I can be!”

Yuuji’s broad smile is in his voice when he says, “I can’t wait!”

“Did you have a color in mind?" Gojo bends back over his essays, pen in hand. Pauses when Yuuji hesitates.

“Are you really sure I should though? Is it a good idea?”

“Good idea? You’re a teenager. It’s hair. There’s nothing you could do to it that would be anything more than a short-lived inconvenience. Except maybe shave a bald stripe down the middle. Don’t do that Yuuji, I’d have to take the rest off with it, even it out.”

It gets the laugh he’s aiming for but Yuuji still sounds unsure. “I just think Gojo-san will be mad, you know?”

There are several Gojo-san’s Yuuji could be referring to. He doesn’t have to ask for clarification.

“Who cares what she’ll think about it?”

“She’s your mom. I don't wanna disappoint her.”

Gojo makes a noise of pure derision. “The only thing that old hag ever did was carry a baby around for a few months and then lay there and scream until it popped out.”

He’s expecting Yuuji to chastise him, scandalized but amused despite himself. Instead there’s a moment of silence, uncomfortable silence, and then Yuuji says in the smallest voice Gojo has heard from him in years:

“Isn’t having a baby hard? It’s scary, right?”

Something in their conversation has shifted. They’re suddenly skirting the edges of a topic they’ve never come near before and Gojo is off-balance, afraid to step the wrong way, for something to fall and shatter against the unforgiving face of this thing they don’t acknowledge.

“It’s not something you have to worry about,” he tries. He aims for flippant, misses. They don’t talk about this.

Apparently, he never forwarded that memo to Yuuji. “I'll have to worry about it soon, right?”

“Soon? You’re like twelve.” Gojo’s heart squeezes and his throat feels tight and Yuuji just keeps pushing.

“I’m fourteen. And I’m -” His voice cracks. He swallows. “I could, now. Technically.”

Gojo didn’t know. He wonders, with a hysterical sort of gratitude, if his aunt had kept the information from him intentionally.

“It’s what I’m for, isn’t it? A vessel for children with the Six Eyes,” Yuuji finishes, so quiet Gojo has to lean over his phone to catch every terrible word.

He has a sudden vision, crystal clear and visceral: Yuuji, surrounded by towering children with glittering blue eyes and all of Gojo’s greed. They glare at him, and when he tries to touch Yuuji’s beaming face his fingers can’t make contact. The children have placed Infinity between them, and no matter how Gojo struggles he’ll never reach Yuuji again.

“Has my mother been filling your head with this bullshit?” Gojo asks. Even to his own ears his voice is too high, too sharp. He takes a breath, steadies his panic. Regains his footing.

He won’t allow anyone to take Yuuji from him. Certainly not his own children. If a child inheriting his Six Eyes means giving that child the power to threaten his place at Yuuji’s side then it’s time to reassess his willingness to sire them. Food for future thought. For now Yuuji needs him.

“Don’t be in such a rush to replace me, Yuuji-kun. You’ll break my heart!” Yuuji makes a wet noise and Gojo stands, picks up his phone and gathers his coat. “I need your attention all to myself. I don’t want to share you even a little bit.” It gets him a weak laugh and between one heartbeat and the next Gojo is in Yuuji’s bedroom.

He disconnects the call and pockets his phone while Yuuji gapes at him. The teen is seated on the edge of his bed, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants. He’s warm and soft, eyes wet and cheeks flushed.

Something hot and long forgotten flashes in Gojo’s belly and settles lower. He doesn’t miss the way Yuuji’s eyes track down from crisp white bandages to the pink curve of his mouth.

“You’re still surprised even though you’ve seen me teleport a hundred times. How cute, Yuuji!” Yuuji responds to his teasing beautifully, cheeks pinking up further. Gojo’s smile is all satisfaction. He far prefers this flush to the upset red from before.

“Well, it’s amazing,” Yuuji says defensively. It clicks, finally, that Gojo is suddenly within reach and Yuuji lunges forward, winding his arms around Gojo’s waist and tucking his face into his chest. Gojo wonders if Yuuji can hear his heart pick up beneath his ear, the way it batters at its cage of bone to reach out to him.

“I missed you. I’m so glad you’re here.” A concession and a promise, whispered into the fabric of Gojo’s sweater.

Gojo has been keeping close to the school, keeping a protective eye on Okkotsu Yuuta, and he’s allowed himself to lose track of the long weeks as they’ve blurred together. With a wash of unfamiliar shame, he realizes how long it’s been since he’s made time to see Yuuji in person. Unacceptable.

He weaves his fingers into Yuuji’s hair and holds him to his chest, allows the hammer of his heart to speak for him.

After a long moment, Yuuji exhales, tension draining away. When he shifts to look up at him Gojo lets him, hand sliding down to cradle the back of his head. Yuuji’s eyes are bright and gold, warm. As guileless as they’d been peering at Gojo from across his father’s tea room, that very first time.

Gojo allows himself to lean down, to press his lips briefly to the soft skin of Yuuji’s forehead, and then he straightens and tugs at the boy’s hair. “Let’s do something with this, shall we?”

He takes Yuuji to central Tokyo because he can, because there’s only one salon he allows to touch his hair or Yuuji’s. The attendants don’t balk at the late hour once they realize exactly who is sweeping into their showroom, just direct him to the dyes best suited for what Yuuji has in mind.

“How about purple?” Yuuji holds up a box for Gojo’s inspection. Gojo hums.

“I don’t think it suits you.” Yuuji blinks at him, a hint of a frown around his brow.

“Eh? But isn’t purple your favorite?”

The suggestion that Yuuji would mark himself, connect himself to Gojo in a visible way, makes the banked heat in Gojo’s belly roar to life. He’s thankful his eyes are covered so Yuuji won’t see the way he can’t help but eye him, imagine him painted in Gojo’s color like a claiming flag. A warning for others to stay away.

“People associate me with blue, you know.” Gojo tilts his head, knows Yuuji will recognize the playful wink. He pulls an appropriate box off the shelf.

“Neither of us like blue that much though.” It’s dismissive. No one understands Gojo like Yuuji does.

There’s a long moment where Gojo is going to give in, to agree that Yuuji should get the purple, to buy enough of the expensive little cartons to keep Yuuji dressed in his favorite color for a decade, but. He doesn’t need this tie, not when Yuuji had been the one to bind himself up and offer Gojo the lead.

He takes both boxes and discards them in the waiting attendant’s arms.

“Which color would you prefer, Yuuji? Just for yourself. Don’t think about anyone else.”

Yuuji hesitates. His cheeks flush that fetching shade of pink again.

2017

As it turns out, there is one thing in this life that Gojo Satoru is not automatically the best at and that one thing is bleaching hair. No matter, he proves himself excellent with a pair of electric clippers.

He isn’t prepared for how much he likes the end result.

The longer hair on top, messy as ever, is dyed a soft, sweet pink. It suits Yuuji perfectly.

It’s the unexpected addition of darker, buzzed hair beneath the pink that transforms Yuuji’s face, accents the arch of cheekbones where adult features are slowly being carved from lingering baby fat. Gojo’s heart gives the briefest flutter of anticipation. The face of his future husband lurks there, just beneath the surface, peeking through the child Yuuji is steadily growing out of.

It won’t be long before Yuuji steps into adulthood but he isn’t there yet. As eager as Gojo is, he won’t rush him. He won’t let anyone take youth from young people, even himself.

For now, Gojo tucks Yuuji into bed; he promises to visit on the weekend. He’ll bring Yuuta along if that’s the price of getting away from the school - if Rika-chan chooses to threaten Yuuji, Gojo will kill them both. He waits until Yuuji’s breath evens into sleep before leaving.

Gojo unwinds the bandages covering his eyes as he crosses to the far side of the family estate. He doesn’t replace them with his glasses, and when his mother opens her door she can’t hide the way she flinches at the bared weapon glittering at her from the dark.

“Satoru,” she says, and to her credit her voice doesn’t waver. She doesn’t ask why he’s here, just steps back to allow him entry to her home.

Her appearance is immaculate in defiance of the late hour. Dressed in an elegant robe, white hair piled neatly atop her head, Gojo’s mother is still every inch the spouse of a clan leader, even years after her husband’s death. Cold, aloof, poised. She is everything that Yuuji is not, for all that they are expected to fill the same role.

Gojo tucks his hands into his pockets. His posture is relaxed, but no one would mistake his demeanor for casual. “I don’t like having to look at you so I’ll make this brief: never speak to Yuuji again.”

Perfectly sculpted brows rise over sharp, dark eyes. “You should be grateful that I’m willing to advise Yuuji. You and my sister-in-law certainly haven’t done anything to prepare him for what his position entails.” She crosses the room, gestures at a teapot with one slim hand. “Come. Sit.”

“I’m not staying.” His mother hums.

“No. You want to bully me for upsetting your vessel, then walk away and pretend that if you don’t acknowledge what the child is for that you can keep him happy and ignorant forever.” Her lip curls into the faintest hint of a sneer. “You’re being selfish as always, Satoru. You’re leading him on, letting him believe that his wants and his choices matter. If you continue to shield him from the truth, eventually even your sweet Yuuji will learn to resent you when reality comes calling.”

“Yuuji’s choices are-”

“Trivial. When it’s time for you to produce heirs do you think he’ll have a say in it? Do you think he’ll tell you, if that’s not something he wants? And do you truly think you’ll listen to him if so? You’re childish and cruel but you’re not a fool. Another Six Eyes is worth far more than Yuuji or his happiness.”

In his pockets, Satoru’s hands curl into fists. His anger is violent, volatile. Only his mother can bring this out of him; her blows always land too close to the truth. She watches him reign in his temper, satisfaction curling her mouth. She knows she’s struck home.

Gojo inhales slowly. His earlier revelation comes back to him. Consideration sharpens into decision, a path forward. He’s been the head of the Gojo Family for years now, but he’s continued to drag around the chains the elders have conspired to trap him with. No more.

“You’re working with old information, Mother. I don’t intend to have an heir.”

Cracks spider across her cold facade. “What?”

Gojo’s lips pull into a slow, unkind smile. “Anyone who thinks I need a second set of Six Eyes to achieve my ambitions hasn’t been paying attention. Do you think I haven’t torn down the jujutsu world yet because I can’t? You should be thanking me for my incredible restraint.”

He tilts his head and his mother flinches as his hair falls away from his eyes. Her brittle mask of control is chipping off, leaving only the fearful, pathetic creature he’s always known was lurking underneath.

“You can’t-” she tries, and Gojo laughs, cutting and cruel.

“I can do whatever I want. Who is going to stop me? You? The clan? Those disgusting old geezers, trying to manipulate us all with their weak, shriveled hands?”

Gojo steps forward and his mother backs away from him. Her heel catches on her robes. She trips and he lets her fall. Squats down so she can’t avoid eye contact when he continues.

“I’ll say it one more time. Never speak to Yuuji again. In fact, if anyone speaks to Yuuji about having children I’ll kill them. Do you understand?”

There are no remaining signs of the elegant woman who had greeted him at the door. In a matter of minutes, Gojo has stripped his mother of her confidence, her dignity, her arrogance.

Maybe it shouldn't feel as good as it does, but Gojo has always reveled in his own power.

"Where did you get this soft heart from?"

The whispered question catches him off-guard. What about this display has been soft?

“Yuuji,” he says finally. “If any part of me is soft, it’s only because of him. It’s only for him. I wouldn't test it, if I were you. You'll find that it isn't a weakness.” Satisfied his message has been received, Gojo stands and leaves. His mother cowers on the floor in his wake.

2017

Taking a life is a violent act, always. It can never be gentle. 

For Suguru, Gojo tries anyway.

He wonders if it made a difference, in the end.

2018

Gojo rings in the new year crunching through snow in the mountains north of Tokyo. It’s not really his scene; he prefers his creature comforts, prefers the parties and the attention that comes with them, but the city feels haunted for him now. He needs to be alone, to adjust to a world without Suguru in it.

It’s emptier. Even in absence Suguru had taken up more than his share of Gojo’s life, his thoughts. He’d always been so much - larger than life in a way that had irritated and enthralled Gojo since they were children. He has to learn to live around the great gaping spaces Suguru has left in him.

“Ah! Was that a fox?” Yuuji’s breath curls like an exclamation point in the frigid air. Gojo doesn’t turn his head but he catches a flash of tawny fur as the creature vanishes between twisted tree roots that glitter with frost.

“It sure was,” he confirms. Yuuji’s eyes are wide, his cheeks pink from the chill and his excitement. Gojo hooks his arm around the teen’s shoulders and pulls him into his side and the warm circle of Infinity. Yuuji hasn’t given any indication that the cold bothers him but Gojo jumps at the excuse to keep him close.

“Maybe it’s a sign. I think it’s gonna be a good year, ‘Toru.”

“You think so? I’ll make sure it is, then.”

Yuuji looks up at him, smile so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. His faith in Gojo, unshakeable as ever, shines from him like a light. “We’ll make it a good year together,” he promises.

Gojo tugs the brim of Yuuji’s hat down over his sparkling eyes, cover for the way that easy declaration makes his heart trip over itself, and sets off through the snow again. Yuuji just laughs at him. He’s still grinning when he catches back up with Gojo’s long stride.

They continue to hike as night falls around them.  Gojo isn’t ready to return to the reality that’s waiting for him and Yuuji doesn’t mention the creeping dark, just follows him gamely as their path winds through the snowy wood.

“It kind of feels like we’re the only people on earth, huh?” Yuuji says eventually, his voice low in the quiet. The world around them is frozen and still, trees stripped bare and coated in crystals of ice that gleam in cold moonlight.

Gojo hums, thoughtful. Wistful. “I wouldn’t mind a world like that.”

Yuuji catches his hand, laces their fingers together. “Sometimes I think I wouldn’t either,” he admits, so quiet Gojo almost misses it. “Not that I want anyone to die but-”

“I understand.” Gojo brings Yuuji’s hand to his lips, presses a kiss to the warm wool shielding Yuuji’s skin.

Yuuji freezes suddenly, muscles tensing under Gojo’s fingers, and Gojo pauses. “Yuuji?”

“I figured it out!” Yuuji’s eyes are wide with revelation, his mouth hanging open and breath foggy in the cold.

“Figured what out?”

“What you feel like!” He flushes. “Your cursed energy, I mean.” He gestures at the glowing blanket of snow and the stars above them. “It feels like this.”

Gojo takes in the clearing they’re in, the moonlight in Yuuji’s eyes. “I’m not sure I understand, Yuuji-kun.”

Yuuji shakes his head, brow furrowed. “I mean that it’s cold, like this.” He raises his free hand, stares between his spread fingers at the glittering stars above them. “Endless. Isolated.” He turns back to Gojo and lifts their clasped hands, holds them against his chest. Gojo can feel Yuuji’s heartbeat against the backs of his fingers, slow and strong. “But you’re here, and I’m warm, and I’m not lonely at all.”

He steps closer to Gojo, who stands frozen, staring down at Yuuji through the bandages wrapped tight over his eyes. He’s so close, his knuckles pressed against Gojo’s sternum. Gojo imagines he can feel the heat of Yuuji’s hand through the layers of their clothes, the warm mist of his breath washing over his parted lips. His eyes are huge and gold in the pale light.

“I like your cursed energy the best; it’s my favorite feeling in the world. ‘Cause where it is, you are, and where you are, I’m home.”

Under Yuuji’s hand, behind its shield of bone where it should be safe, Gojo’s heart cracks open. He swallows against the ache that floods up from the wound but it builds behind his eyes, hot and vulnerable. He’s shaking, knows Yuuji can feel it. He’s still so close, entirely in Gojo’s space; he’s made a home for himself inside the barrier of Infinity, where Gojo will never be able to cast him out.

He’s everything; all Gojo has never let himself admit that he's wanted.

He’s admitting to it now. The force of it feels as if it will drive him to his knees.

“Yuuji,” he whispers, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“Yeah?”

“Can I try something?”

Recognition lights Yuuji’s face and Gojo watches his throat bob as he swallows, doesn’t miss the way his eyes dilate in response to the request, black swallowing the sweet ring of gold. It’s obvious he knows what he’s consenting to when he licks at his lips and nods. “Okay.”

Gojo cups Yuuji’s face in his free hand. He is so, so careful. Some part of him is convinced that if he moves too quickly, too firmly, Yuuji will fall to pieces, as fragile as the flakes of snow glinting on the ends of his hair. Yuuji closes his eyes at Gojo’s touch, dark lashes resting on delicate skin. He’s trembling.

“Yuuji,” Gojo whispers, and they’re so close now that his lower lip brushes over Yuuji’s as it shapes his name. He catches Yuuji’s exhale on his tongue.

The hand not clasped with Gojo’s fists in his sweater and Yuuji’s body pushes forward until they’re standing flush together. It’s all the permission Gojo needs to close the infinite, infinitesimal distance between their mouths and kiss him.

Gojo Satoru is the strongest being alive. He has destroyed ancient and terrible curses with a curl of his fingers, has lain at the feet of death and overcome his own limitations to strike down the Sorcerer Killer himself. There is nothing in the world that can stop him.

With Yuuji in his hands, against him, kissing him, he has never felt more powerful. He has never felt more vulnerable.

The chaste press of Yuuji’s lips has undone him.

He moves his mouth slowly over Yuuji’s, savoring the heat of him, greedily drinking in the way he shudders under Gojo’s hand when Gojo catches Yuuji’s lower lip between his own, all gentle pressure as they slowly learn this new way they fit together.

“‘Toru,” he sighs when Gojo finally draws away, and Gojo can’t stop himself from surging forward to capture Yuuji’s mouth again. Yuuji’s lips are clumsy, but hot and earnest, and when Gojo slowly drags his mouth over Yuuji’s, Yuuji mimics him, gasping at the sparks the press of their lips sends dancing down his spine.

Gojo’s hand cups at the curve of Yuuji’s jaw, the tips of his fingers tucking under the edge of his hat to rub through the hair underneath. The soft bristles tickle his sensitive fingertips, sensation sparkling over his skin, and Yuuji makes a soft sound in his throat that has Gojo pulling away again, mouth open around a gasp of his own.

Yuuji’s lashes flutter over his cheeks and catch against Gojo’s. His lips are pink and shining from Gojo’s mouth and when he licks at his own lips Gojo can taste Yuuji there. Yuuji shivers against him, tracking the flash of Gojo’s tongue with dark eyes.

Gojo rests his forehead on Yuuji’s, their breaths mingling while their heartbeats slow. Yuuji stays quiet, lost in his own thoughts while Gojo tries to gather himself, to seam together the edges where Yuuji has gently torn him apart.

"I was worried you were gonna make me wait longer for that," Yuuji confesses. His mouth brushes the bow of Gojo’s lip when he speaks but there’s no intent behind the touch, just warm affection. Just Yuuji reveling in this new intimacy.

Gojo's laugh is husky, a little rueful. "I probably should have," he admits. He can feel Yuuji’s answering smile. The sensation is new, wonderful. Part of Gojo wants to only ever experience Yuuji’s smile against his mouth for the rest of his life. The rest of him is too fond of the sight of that warm curl of lips to give it up. He has to brace himself against the realization that he can have both, that Yuuji will give him both.

Yuuji is his. Yuuji wants to be his.

Gojo pulls his fingers out from under Yuuji’s hat, makes sure that Yuuji’s ears are still tucked away safe and warm. “We should head back,” he says softly. Yuuji’s answering smile gleams in the moonlight.

It’s as natural as breathing, to tip his chin forward and catch Yuuji’s mouth one more time.

They won’t go any further for now. Yuuji isn’t ready, and after the way Yuuji’s innocent kisses have torn through every defense Gojo has ever built around himself, he doesn’t think that he’s ready either. It’s alright. There’s time. Gojo will make sure that they have all the time that they need.

Chapter Text

2004

“You don’t have to be so careful with him, you know.” Satoru flicks his eyes up behind the curtain of his hair, meets the Itadori woman’s mocking gaze.

His upper lip curls into a sneer. His answer is on the tip of his tongue but Yuuji lunges forward, reaching for the fluttering wings of a butterfly, and Satoru follows before he can think. His hand is broader than Yuuji’s back. He tries not to remember the wet crunch of a curse’s skull beneath the fingers now cradling bird-bone ribs around a spun-glass heart.

“Yuuji is soft but he’s not fragile. It will take more power than you have now to destroy him.”

The woman’s laugh is the slick bite of a whetstone over steel. Her smile is a sharpened edge. He doesn’t like her, doesn’t trust her. The glint of her teeth is almost as cruel as the grinning scar over her eyes.

Satoru doesn’t know anything about motherhood softness or a parent’s protective instinct but he knows that what he sees on her face is neither. He watches her watch him and his grip tightens around Yuuji, instinctively pulls the child against his belly where he’s learning to create Infinity around the places he’s most vulnerable.

He wonders what it would take to separate Yuuji from his mother. He wonders why he cares.

Yuuji breaks the tension with characteristic aplomb and a short, loud "Tou!" that Itadori Jin insists is a cry for his father. Satoru knows the truth: Yuuji's first word is an attempt at his name. Chubby fingers tangle in the too-long drape of Satoru’s hair and pull.

“Aah Yuuji, you menace! I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second!” He sits up, resettles the toddler in his lap. “Need me all to yourself? Greedy child.” Yuuji laughs, delighted by Satoru’s delight.

A half a day ago, Satoru’s hands had broken bone. Now they untangle hair from tiny fingers, stroke carefully over palms barely wider than the pad of his thumb, give Yuuji's arm a playful little shake. Yuuji giggles, so easy to please.

“You’re starting the domestic abuse early, Yuuji-kun,” Satoru tells him. Yuuji grabs his glasses in response, laughs when Satoru makes an affronted noise.

The crinkle of cheap plastic pops the little bubble around the two of them and Yuuji whips around to look at his mother with a wide gold stare of delight meant only for Satoru.

“Do you want a sweetie, Yuu-chan?” Her smile is patronizing, insulting; pleasure found at Yuuji’s expense. The child obediently pulls away from Satoru, the fingers of his freed hand grasping for the treat.

“You’d better get stronger, Six Eyes," She says, candy held just out of the reach of grasping little fingers. "Someone is going to take our precious Yuuji from you someday.”

The butterfly alights on the brushed steel tabletop between them, eyes blinking out from fleshy wings. A wisp of a curse, hardly worth noticing. Satoru shreds it with a vicious lance of energy. Yuuji’s mother laughs at him.

April

“Are you nervous, Yuuji-kun?”

Yuuji turns away from the green countryside blurring past the car window to smile up at Gojo. His new glasses slip down his nose and Gojo nudges them gently back into place, admiring the way they frame warm brown eyes.

“Nah, not really. Maybe a little bit. Do you think my classmates will like me? I'm excited to meet them!”

Ah. That. Gojo tries to hide his frown at the reminder but from the way Yuuji snorts and pushes at the corner of his mouth with his fingertip, he isn’t successful.

“Don’t be like that ‘Toru. You know you’re my favorite. That’s not gonna change.” Pink lips curl, suddenly sly. “I mean, unless Fushiguro is really, really awesome. I've always wanted a dog-”

“Yuuji!” Gojo gasps, scandalized. He shoves Yuuji’s head down with a hand in his hair, can’t help the smile tugging at his mouth. Yuuji’s happiness is easy, contagious. “Menace.”

Yuuji is still grinning when he takes Gojo’s hand and leans into his side. His weight is warm and familiar. Gojo brushes a kiss through soft pink hair, squeezes the fingers laced with his own.

It’s silent then, the sound of the car’s engine a steady hum between them.

Gojo watches Yuuji through his blindfold. The boy is quiet again, his thumb rubbing over Gojo’s in idle patterns, his gaze far away. It’s not like him to be self-conscious, to worry about what anyone thinks of him, but it's clear to Gojo how much this is weighing on Yuuji's mind.

Gojo is greedy. He covets Yuuji’s smiles, his laughter, his easy affection. He doesn’t want to share him; not his good moods or his bratty ones, his occasional flare ups of boiling temper or his dauntless, brazen confidence.

But Yuuji wants, so badly, to make friends his own age, and even Gojo can’t bring himself to ruin the high school experience that’s so pivotal to being young.

“Megumi-kun is a cranky kid and he’s easily annoyed,” he starts and Yuuji looks up at him. His nose wrinkles, confused, but the expression softens into understanding as Gojo continues. “He’s one of those typical broody types so he’s going to pretend that he’s angry all the time and act like he can’t stand to be around you. Don’t fall for it. He’s very dependable, and he has a good heart. The second years-”

He's interrupted when the car begins to slow as the road curves gently into the campus of Jujutsu High School. Yuuji’s attention is caught by the scenery, admiring the aged statues and manicured walkways as if he hadn’t spent his entire life living in the much grander Gojo Family estate.

“You’ve been here before,” Gojo points out, amused. Yuuji doesn’t look away as the car comes to a stop.

“It’s different!” The moment the brake is in place Yuuji is throwing the door open and clambering out, feet crunching over loose gravel. He takes a few steps and then turns slowly in place, taking everything in with wide eyes. “I can’t believe I’m finally here. I've been dreaming about this!”

Gojo follows at a more sedate pace, caught up in the memory of seeing Yuuji at the school for the first time, the shock of it. It had been a turning point for him, a flash of warmth and color in the darkness Suguru had left behind. Something to follow, to grab with both hands and drag himself back into the light.

He'd never quite learned how to let go.

A clatter breaks the moment. The manager that had driven them in is standing next to the car, Yuuji’s things scattered around his feet.

“Ah, Gojo-san. Please, forgive me. I-”

“Ijichi-san, right? Did you try to carry all of that yourself? Here, let me help.” Yuuji is quick to stack the fallen boxes and lift them into his arms in a tottering tower. There’s no sign of strain on his face when he turns to beam at the sweating manager. “I’ve got these,” he says. “Sorry, could you grab the case?”

Ijichi bows deeply and obediently reaches for the rolling suitcase waiting beside the car. Gojo snatches the handle out of his hands.

“We’ve got it from here! Feel free to go away.” His smile is all teeth and the younger man trembles, a rabbit in the presence of a predator.

“Th-thank you, Gojo-san, Itadori-kun.” He bows again. “I will leave it to you, then.”

“Good!” Gojo swipes the top box from Yuuji’s stack and marches off towards the bridge to the main campus, suitcase rattling over the gravel behind him.

He hears Yuuji thank Ijichi again, sees how the man flusters, immediately charmed by him, and then Yuuji’s at Gojo’s side again, entirely unencumbered by the weight in his arms.

"This place is bigger than I remember," he says when they pass the track. "Isn't there only like ten students?"

"Most sorcerers use it as a home base," Gojo tells him absently. He can't resist peeking into the box under his arm. It’s heavy with paperback books sporting colorful covers. "Is this all of your manga?"

"Nah, just my favorites. Hey, do you think Fushiguro is into it?"

Gojo snorts. "I don't think Fushiguro is into anything. He has the spirit of an eighty year old man. It's scary! Very scary!"

"One of us has to be an adult," a new voice chimes in, practically dripping with disdain. "And you aren't stepping up."

"Megumi-kun!!" Gojo releases his grip on the suitcase, steps towards the newcomer with his free arm thrown wide. Megumi backs away from him.

The sight of that scowling young face makes Gojo’s heart give a little squeeze of happiness. It's been a few weeks since he'd dropped by to check on him and he's surprised by how much he missed the moody teen.

"Hi!" Yuuji's face pops around his stack of boxes to hit Megumi with the full force of his brightest smile. Megumi blinks at him, dazzled. "You're Fushiguro Megumi? I'm Itadori!"

"I know who you are.” The words are short, irritable; overcompensation for the way Yuuji had momentarily thrown him off-guard.

Yuuji is unphased by his new classmate’s brusqueness. “You’re already moved in? D'you think you can show me to the dorms? Satoru thinks I haven’t noticed that he’s been letting me lead us around, even though I have no idea where to go.”

“But wandering is the best way to learn, Yuuji-kun!” Gojo turns on the full force of pout, slumps when neither of them appears moved. Megumi makes a disgusted noise and waves a hand at Yuuji.

“Come on. The dorms are this way.” He turns to go, hands in his pockets, and Yuuji is quick to catch up to him. Gojo tucks his smile into the collar of his jacket when, after a few steps, Megumi reaches out to take a box from Yuuji’s arms.

May

Gojo is bored.

It’s not something he’s used to, the restless sensation of having nothing to do. His time is in high demand, his schedule hectic and almost unmanageable between his duties as a teacher and the endless requests to deal with curses too powerful for lesser sorcerers. On the rare occasions he’s found himself at loose ends, he’s gone straight to Yuuji.

He opens his phone, thumbs open his text history. No new messages in over an hour.

Good. That’s good. There’s a big assignment due next week and Yuuji had mentioned plans to work on it with Megumi. He’s probably doing that now.

Gojo tosses his phone aside, drops his head back over the arm of his couch. He’s a grown man and he can entertain himself.

He snatches up his television remote, tabs through streaming services until he finds a movie that catches his eye. Yuuji'd wanted to see it in theaters but Gojo had been too busy; they had run out of time. He can watch it now and spoil all the good parts when Yuuji comes over to watch it with him later. Smirking, Gojo mashes the play button and kicks his feet up.

The beginning credits roll past and Gojo’s phone remains stubbornly silent. Gojo pauses the movie to flip it screen-up, just in case he didn't hear a notification over the noise of the movie’s opening track. His own face beams up at him, cheek smooshed against Yuuji’s to fit in the frame.

“What are you so smug about,” Gojo mutters to his past self, rolling to his feet and stomping to the kitchen.

He feels keyed up, agitated. There’s an itch under his skin that won’t settle. Yuuji’s breakfast dishes, washed and left out to dry, are still sitting by the sink and when he throws open the fridge door a pack of Heaven’s Cola is waiting for him, cans shining in the artificial light. He glares at them through his blindfold. He doesn’t even like the stuff.

Oh, fuck it. He’s never been in the habit of denying himself the things he wants. He sees no reason to start now.

Between one breath and the next Gojo is in Yuuji’s dorm room. He strikes a pose, arms thrown wide. “Surprise!”

Yuuji dives from his spot on the floor towards the edge of his bed with a shout, peeking over the top a moment later when nothing attacks him.

Seated at Yuuji’s desk, Megumi glowers in an attempt to disguise how badly Gojo’s unexpected appearance had startled him. “Go away.”

Yuuji is already clambering over his mattress, eyes shining with excitement. “‘Toru! You’re here!” He throws himself across the room, arms spread for a hug, and Gojo’s heart picks up in anticipation.

Megumi’s hand snags the back of Yuuji’s (Gojo’s) hoodie and brings him to a halt with a strangled hrk!

“Hold it. We’re not done studying.”

Yuuji wilts, dangling in Megumi’s grasp like a scolded puppy. “But Fushiguro…”

Gojo throws a hand over his covered eyes, wails like something dying. “I’m so bored! I need Yuuji to keep me company!”

“Which of us is his sensei? Never mind. Go entertain yourself. Itadori needs all the help he can get!”

“Ah, sorry, Fushiguro,” Yuuji mumbles. He holds his palms up in supplication. “I think you might just be wasting your time. I really don’t get it.”

Megumi’s eye twitches and Gojo hides his grin. Riling the cranky teen is endless fun, for all that it’s the easiest thing in the world to do, but the insistent itch to get Yuuji alone hasn’t let up and he doesn’t want to waste too much time here. He takes a stealthy step closer as Megumi dumps Yuuji into a pitiful pile at his feet.

“That’s a sign you should be trying harder, not goofing off.”

“But Satoru’s bored! That’s a fate worse than death for him.” Yuuji doesn’t get off his knees, just claps his hands together and fixes Megumi with his most pleading expression. It is earth-shatteringly effective but Megumi holds strong. Is he even human?

Gojo goes for the direct approach: he lunges for Yuuji, arms outstretched. Megumi swears and makes to grab Yuuji again. He bounces off Infinity as Gojo gets a handful of soft cotton and then they're landing in his living room, Yuuji held under his arm.

“Whoa,” Yuuji mumbles. Gojo sets him on his feet and helps him straighten up. He brushes his fingers through pink hair, smooths his thumb over Yuuji’s temple. Teleportation makes him dizzy, sometimes. Yuuji smiles up at him, eyes a little hazy before he blinks himself back into focus. “Hi!” 

“Hello Yuuji! The Brave Hero Gojo-sama could sense you needed saving and rushed to your rescue!”

Yuuji scrubs a hand through his hair, sheepish. “Yeah. I really don’t understand algebra no matter how hard I try.”

Gojo hums, makes a note to tutor Yuuji later. He doesn’t like the downturn of Yuuji’s mouth, the discouragement that shades the edges of his words. He just needs a different teaching style to help him grasp the concepts and he'll be fine. Gojo has been doing his research. He has full confidence in his abilities as a teacher.

“Hey, do you think Fushiguro will be angry that I bailed?”

“I wouldn’t worry, Megumi-kun is always angry.”

“Ah, actually ‘Toru, I think that might just be when he’s talking to you.” Yuuji laughs, troubled thoughts quickly forgotten. “He’s actually a pretty cool guy.”

“Yuuji!” Gojo whines. “So mean to me! My personality is flawless and people are lucky to be around me.” He slides his hands down Yuuji’s arms to pull him closer, drops them to curl over his hips. Yuuji goes easily, grinning up at him.

“Your personality is definitely your best trait,” he agrees, and he only sounds a little bit like he’s joking.

Gojo has to lean down to kiss his smile, pressing their mouths together, sweet and warm. Yuuji's arms curl around his neck and he sighs into their kiss. He isn't wearing his glasses; his long lashes tickle Gojo’s skin as his eyes fall closed.

Gojo licks along the parted seam of Yuuji’s mouth, sucks gently at the bow of his upper lip and revels in the shivery moan it earns him.

He finally has all of Yuuji’s attention and it feels incredible, right. He gets caught up in it, the movement of their mouths and the way it makes him feel. The weight of Yuuji’s body against his own soothes that terrible, nagging itch beneath his skin.

The kiss lingers, Gojo pulling back only to press gently forward again, unable to resist the closeness he’s been craving.

When he parts from Yuuji a second time, Yuuji is the one to follow, fingers sliding over the shaved hair at the back of Gojo’s head to tuck under his blindfold. Gojo bites gently at the swell of his lip in response, coaxing a gasp from his boy that sends sparks down his spine.

Yuuji presses closer, his body flush against Gojo’s, and Gojo finally pulls himself away, putting space between their mouths before he becomes entirely lost in what they're doing. They're still standing in the middle of his living room and bending down so far for too long makes his neck ache.

Yuuji pouts up at him. His lips are pink and wet from Gojo’s tongue, his eyes dark from just a few traded kisses. If Yuuji unmasked him now, he knows his own gaze would reflect the same hunger back down at him. His heart thumps heavy against its shield of bone. This close, there’s no way Yuuji can’t feel it.

“I missed you today,” Yuuji says, throaty and low.

“Oh?” Gojo asks, pretends he can't hear the husk in his own voice. He grins, impish, and teases, “What could you possibly have missed? I was with you all day!”

Yuuji, without an ounce of shame, tells him, “I missed the taste of your mouth. I’ve been imagining it for hours.”

What can Gojo do in response to that but give Yuuji exactly what he’s asking for?

Concerns for his neck immediately forgotten, Gojo surges forward, one hand coming up to cup the back of Yuuji’s head, fingers in shorn hair. He tilts his head back, holds him in place to catch his lips, to lick into the burning heat of his mouth.

Yuuji makes a low, needy noise. When his fingers tug lightly at the blindfold in a pointed request Gojo relinquishes his other hand's hold on Yuuji’s hip to tear the silk from his eyes himself.

Yuuji is the one to pull away this time, teeth tugging gently at Gojo’s lip when he leans back enough to meet his bare gaze. He shivers under the weight of Gojo’s regard and Gojo drinks him in greedily, admiring every detail now exposed to him in perfect, staggering clarity.

The sensory input from his Six Eyes has only gotten more intense as he’s grown older, stronger. Like this, with Yuuji, he barely notices.

His entire world is Yuuji: The heated flush under his skin, every individual strand of his hair, the fractals of color in his gold-honey-amber eyes. Gojo’s cursed energy is blinding, burning in Yuuji’s heart, consuming every part of him. He can see the blood pooling beneath his lips as they swell from the tender pressure of Gojo’s mouth and it makes him ache with want.

“Satoru,” Yuuji says, and Gojo sweeps him up, carries him across the room as Yuuji bends down to kiss him again. His arms are still around Gojo’s neck, holding Gojo close to him with barely contained strength, and a bolt of arousal races up Gojo’s spine, escapes into Yuuji’s mouth as a rough groan.

He settles Yuuji on the back of the couch and strokes his tongue over the one that curls alongside his own, skims his hands up thick thighs in the same motion, enjoying the twitch of heavy muscle under his palms. They part for him, make a place for him against Yuuji’s body, and the heat of him melts the last functioning bit of Gojo’s brain.

Yuuji drops his head back to gasp when Gojo rolls his hips into the cradle of his thighs, slow, experimental. The drag of their bodies sends sensation zinging over Gojo’s skin, has liquid fire pooling low in his belly. He dips down to mouth at Yuuji’s throat, flicks his tongue out to taste the sweat shining there.

They’ve been here before, but never further. Yuuji is young and Gojo has been cautious, not just for Yuuji’s sake but for his own. Every new intimacy has torn him along old seams until it feels as if there’s no part of himself left that is wholly his.

There is a piece of him that knows that when they finally, fully, join there will be nothing of Gojo Satoru that Yuuji hasn’t remade, reshaped around himself. There is a piece of him, scarred and still seventeen, that is afraid to so completely belong to someone else.

But in this moment, with Yuuji panting under his mouth, shivering under his hands, rubbing against him with little hitches of his hips, Gojo feels brave.

He kisses up Yuuji’s neck, pauses to suck at a spot that makes Yuuji grab at his shoulders and pull him closer.

“Yuuji,” he whispers, hot against his ear, and Yuuji shudders and hooks a leg around Gojo’s waist. Gojo loses his words, overwhelmed for a moment by the delicious friction. Yuuji’s body is a searing heat all along the front of him. He’s more than willing to burn.

“‘Toru, I want,” Yuuji starts, voice a whine, and then rolls his hips again, caught up in chasing the sensation of Gojo, hard and wanting between his legs.

“Yeah,” Gojo agrees, mindless. “Anything. Everything.”

The hands on Yuuji’s hips creep up beneath his hoodie, tentative touches against smooth, warm skin. The muscles in Yuuji’s belly jump under his fingers and Yuuji lets go of Gojo’s shoulder to brace himself against the back of the couch.

“Satoru, let’s-”

An explosion of light and sound startles them so badly Yuuji falls backwards with a shout. Gojo can’t catch him before he bounces off the plush leather cushions to land in a heap on the floor in front of the couch.

They both stare at one another for a long moment, stunned. Gaping, Yuuji turns his head to look at the blaring television screen.

“Wait,” he says, and Gojo sees the trainwreck coming in slow motion but he can’t do anything to stop it. “Is this…Hey! I wanted to watch this movie together!” He turns accusing eyes on Gojo, and the heat in them is very different from a half minute before. “You were going to spoil it!”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Gojo tries, but Yuuji is already getting to his feet and reaching for the remote that had fallen with him. “I thought we could watch it tonight!” He backs towards the kitchen, hands raised. He's not running, this is only a strategic retreat. “I’ll go make popcorn!”

Yuuji huffs and settles on the couch, presses the button to rewind the movie. “Uh huh.” He doesn’t look convinced but as Gojo turns to leave he adds, “I hid some of those sour candies you like so you wouldn't eat them before movie night. They’re in the fruit bowl if you wanna grab ‘em.”

Gojo's breath catches. It's such a small gesture but it makes his chest feel tight and full with more affection than he knows what to do with, a sweet ache only Yuuji can inflict on him. He looks back at him, heart thumping heavy in its cage of bone.

Yuuji is turned to face him, the television screen casting stark light across his handsome young features. The flush over his cheeks is still a faint hint of pink and his mouth is kiss-bruised and red. Gojo’s uncovered eyes can make out the mark he’d left low on Yuuji’s neck, the dark shape of his mouth lingering on vulnerable skin.

Gojo is drawn back to him like a bee to sweet honey. He bends to press a long kiss to Yuuji’s hair. “You’re my favorite,” he whispers there, hidden like a confession. Yuuji’s soft smile follows him out of the room.

In the kitchen, Gojo wills his body to calm down. He feels greedy, frustrated, too-full of affection and wanting. He has to remind himself that there isn't any reason to hurry his relationship with Yuuji.

Yuuji is his. A universal constant, a law that isn't going to change. It’s enough right now for them to be with one another, to be close. They have their entire lives for the rest.

June

“There’s nothing here.”

“Huh?” Gojo asks, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. He thumbs through the shirts on the rack in front of him, tugs out one that catches his attention and holds it up, trying to imagine the drape of the fabric over Yuuji’s broad chest.

“The shed is empty,” Megumi says, voice sharp with frustration.

“For real? That’s hilarious!” Gojo laughs his most obnoxious laugh just to irritate his student and discards the shirt. “No going home until it’s recovered, okay?”

“I’m gonna punch you.” Gojo disconnects the call, still grinning.

It’s strange that the talisman he’d sent his students to retrieve would be moved; the strength of the constraints put on powerful cursed objects should keep any non-sorcerers from messing with them. Still, he isn’t overly concerned.

Megumi is well trained and intelligent and Yuuji is rapidly growing into a powerhouse. His physical strength and agility are only increasing as the weeks pass and his control over cursed energy is improving at a speed that impresses even Gojo. The pair of them haven’t had many missions together but they make a good team. He has every faith in their abilities.

And if they spend a few hours searching for the missing item, well, that just gives Gojo more time to enjoy the sights.

The day passes quickly. Gojo hasn’t been out to Sendai in years and he flits around the markets and malls, gleefully spending money on any shiny thing that catches his eye. By the time his phone lights up again with Megumi’s name his arms are laden with bags full of impulse buys and souvenirs and his belly is full of specialty snacks.

“Megumi-kun! Perfect timing, I was starting to get bored! Did you find our lost finger?”

“Sensei,” Megumi begins, and there's an edge to his tone that sends a frisson of foreboding down Gojo’s spine. “Something is weird with Itadori.”

Gojo accepts a paper to-go bag from the Kikusuian Shop’s vendor before pacing away from the bustling stall and its noise. “You’ll have to be a little more specific, Megumi-kun! Yuuji’s always a little bit weird.”

“We found the cursed object but someone unsealed it before we got to it. It drew a bunch of curses to itself and we got rid of them but Yuuji hasn’t said anything since then. He’s just staring at the finger. I can’t get him to respond-”

Gojo opens the location app linking his phone to his student’s before he can finish speaking. A second later he’s standing on the roof of a local high school, shoving his shopping bags at Megumi. 

The teen takes them without protest and he looks tense, maybe a little afraid. A cut weeps bright blood down his forehead and dark bruises bloom across his jaw and throat. The rooftop is scarred from battle, rubble strewn between deep gouges in the concrete.

The finger’s presence is oppressive. Even in pieces, sealed away for millenia, Ryomen Sukuna’s cursed energy is an entity of its own, malevolent and cruel. It sends a thrill down Gojo’s spine, the threat of it. He swallows back a distant sort of regret that he’ll never get the chance to test his might against the King of Curses in his prime.

At the epicenter of the destruction, framed by the shining lights of the city sprawling out behind him, is Yuuji.

He hadn't looked up at Gojo’s arrival, doesn’t acknowledge when Gojo approaches him now. It’s wrong. Yuuji is incapable of seeing anything else when Gojo is around; that’s the way it’s always been, the way it should be. He’s never once ignored him.

“Yuuji-kun.” There’s no response. Yuuji’s face is blank and distant, his eyes far away, fixed on something obscured even to Gojo’s Six Eyes. Energy, stolen from the curses he’d exorcised, drips off of him like viscid tar. It gleams in the hollows of him, shining oil-slick sick and clinging.

Sukuna’s finger rests at Yuuji’s feet, floating in a puddle of ichor from the curse Yuuji destroyed. There’s something off about it, the energy stored inside less dormant than it should be, and as Gojo watches, Yuuji’s body curls downwards, one hand reaching out as if to touch.

“Yuuji,” Gojo says, sharper now. He catches Yuuji by the shoulder, tugs him back flush against his own chest, drapes himself over his smaller body until Yuuji has to brace himself against Gojo’s weight or drop them both. Infinity warps around Yuuji, caging him in, a protective barrier against the finger’s vile energy.

Yuuji comes back to himself with a jerk Gojo can feel. “‘Toru?” he slurs, “Wha'?”

“Back with me?” Gojo asks against Yuuji’s ear. Yuuji tries to turn his head to look at him and Gojo straightens, takes a half step back so that he can meet Yuuji’s glassy eyes. “You gave Megumi-kun quite the scare, Yuuji. He called me in hysterics, begging me to come to the rescue!”

Behind him, Megumi mumbles something threatening. Gojo ignores him, intent on the way Yuuji nods absently before giving his head an abrupt shake. He finally seems more aware, much more present when he asks, “The curses - is Fushiguro okay?”

“He’s fine,” Gojo answers for him. He claps his hand to his chest, over his heart. “It’s me you should be worried about, Yuuji-kun. My poor heart is broken! Has something finally stolen your attention away from me? Will you leave me for a nasty old finger?”

“No! No way. There’s nothing more important than you, ‘Toru. It’s just….” Yuuji trails off, drawn again to Sukuna’s finger. He squats down near it, tilts his head as if listening. “It’s whispering to me,” he explains. “It wants me to pick it up. There’s someone in it, I think?”

Vessels are humans born with the ability to contain curses. They're a topic Gojo has researched thoroughly, given his personal stake in their natures and uses, and Yuuji’s words set off an alarm bell in his head. He's seen them repeated, time and again, in recorded first person accounts that stretch back centuries.

A suspicion takes root in his mind.

It has never been a secret that Yuuji is not just a vessel, but one tailor-made to achieve a specific purpose. Is it possible that they've been wrong about the nature of that purpose all these years?

It wouldn’t have been difficult for Kamo Noritoshi to disguise the actual goal behind his experiments, to conceal his true intentions behind the irresistible allure of a body guaranteed to pass on inheritable cursed techniques.

Yuuji’s eyes are hazy again. He reaches for the finger with a hand that trembles.

For one terrible, endless moment, Gojo is tempted to let him take it. He's curious. He wants to see what will happen.

Was this Kamo’s end game all along? To bring Ryomen Sukuna back into the world?

Is that possible?

Megumi makes a noise of alarm and Gojo snaps into motion, snatching Yuuji’s wrist and pulling him to his feet, into the circle of Gojo’s arms. He lifts him, cradles him against his chest, and ignores the hurt little sound Yuuji makes when he realizes that he’d lost himself again.

“Megumi-kun, I'll leave the cleanup and the transportation of the finger back to Tokyo to you. You can drop off my packages in Yuuji’s dorm room.”

It’s a testament to Megumi’s concern that he doesn’t argue at the unreasonable request, just steps back to give Gojo room to teleport Yuuji far, far away from the rooftop and Sukuna’s creeping influence. 

June

It takes a long time for him to coax Yuuji into resting, once they're safe in Gojo’s home. When he finally does, he sleeps in fits and starts, wakes up screaming again and again, clings to Gojo with hands that shake.

Gojo has never felt so helpless in his life as he does now, faced with Yuuji’s hurt and terror. Something acidic burns in his gut. He refuses to name it guilt.

The room lightens with the coming dawn and Yuuji jerks himself awake again with a horrible retching sound, grabbing at his throat like he’s choking on a memory. Gojo reaches his limit.

He wraps his arms tight around Yuuji and rolls to his back, taking his boy with him. Yuuji tucks his face into Gojo’s neck and allows his heavy, trembling limbs to be arranged until he’s draped over Gojo’s body.

Settled and comfortable, Gojo tugs the blankets up over both of them and smooths a hand through soft pink hair, hushing Yuuji gently.

“I’m going to help you sleep,” he says, and doesn’t wait for Yuuji to agree before pressing the tips of two fingers to his feverish forehead. A curl of cursed energy, and Yuuji goes limp in the cradle of Gojo’s body, too deeply unconscious for even dreams to reach him.

Gojo has never seen Yuuji this distraught, not even as a child. He’s been around curses all of his life, has drawn on their cursed energy many times to fuel his attacks on the occasions when what he had stored wasn’t enough. The worst side effects Gojo had noticed were lingering irritability or brief depressive episodes when the negative emotions that had spawned the curses overwhelmed him.

The suspicion in Gojo’s mind has blossomed into certainty. It lurks in the corners of his thoughts, teeth glinting like a warning. The vessel of Ryomen Sukuna will be harder to protect than Itadori Yuuji, future spouse of Gojo Satoru.

Protecting Yuuji from his very nature will be even harder. A vessel is made to be filled.

Gojo holds Yuuji tighter, counts the slow rhythm of his breaths and the steady thump of his heart, while the sun creeps in through his bedroom window and spills across Yuuji’s exhausted face in arcs of gold.

Eventually, sleep comes. In his dreams, Gojo cracks open the shell of his ribs to cage Yuuji inside, nestled between his lungs where Gojo’s heart had once lived, before Yuuji had taken it as his own.

In his dreams, Yuuji lives there, where Gojo can keep him safe, where he’s out of reach of the world and its cruel intentions.

In his dreams, there’s no way to separate them, and any who try are condemned to the cold, hollow void of infinity.

June

“I’ve located the copies of Kamo’s records. They were stored with the rest of the documentation from the Itadori estate.”

“Excellent work,” Gojo tells his aunt.

Across the street, Yuuji chats with Megumi, laughing in the warm summer sunshine. Any traces of the upset caused by Sukuna’s finger are long gone, and as Gojo watches he throws his head back to laugh, motioning around himself with both arms. His cheeks have a healthy flush and in his hand a popsicle melts, drips sticky and wet over the backs of his knuckles. Megumi shoves at him, glowering. Gojo can just make out the smile hidden at the corner of the stoic teen’s mouth.

“Satoru.” His aunt’s voice in his ear draws Gojo’s attention back to their conversation. “If Yuuji is what you think he is, he is in more danger than we realized. The society elders have been desperate for a reason to take him from you since before the betrothal contract was drawn up. If they catch wind of this -”

“They won’t.” Gojo tips his head back, basks in the afternoon sun. “You’re going to destroy those notes and forget that we ever had this conversation.”

There’s a long pause. Finally, his aunt asks him, “And if that isn’t enough?”

“Then I’ll deal with it. Yuuji is mine. If anyone forgets that, I have no problems reminding them.” His smile is all teeth. He would almost prefer for someone to make a move against Yuuji. It’s been several long years since he’s had the opportunity to make an example of some fool who needed a demonstration of exactly what makes Gojo the strongest.

“You can’t kill everyone that looks at Yuuji in a way you don’t like,” his aunt begins, but a flash of ginger hair catches Gojo’s attention and he straightens from his slouch against the outside of a vendor’s stall.

“Got to go! Don’t forget to burn those notes! Bye-bye!” He pockets his phone and hurries across the street just in time for Megumi and Yuuji to catch sight of their new classmate shouting down a fleeing talent scout.

“Kind of embarrassing,” Yuuji mutters without any hint of self-awareness. He laps at the shiny trails left on his skin by his melted popsicle, unconcerned, while Megumi grumbles at him in response.

Gojo calls out to his newest student to distract himself from the flash of that pink little tongue. Yuuji will be the death of him.

Kugisaki Nobara introduces herself haughtily, clearly unimpressed as she eyes her new teammates. Gojo grins to himself. She’s certainly going to shake up their dynamic; if nothing else, things will never be boring.

Yuuji steps cautiously forward. “I’m Itadori Yuuji!” he says, pointing at himself. “I grew up outside of Tokyo.” Megumi doesn’t even try to hide his disinterest as he mumbles his own name.

Nobara sighs. “Sheesh! I’m so unluck-” She freezes, then practically warps into Yuuji’s personal space.

"What is this?” she shrieks, grabbing at his red hood, tugging his arms out to inspect the seams of his jacket. “Is this designer? How do you have a designer school uniform? And these shoes cost more than I made in six months at my part time job! How does some country hick dress nicer than I do?”

Yuuji blinks down at his bright red shoes, confused. “Uhm, I don’t know? ‘Toru picks everything out, I just wear whatever he gives me.”

“‘Gah! Why does a plain looking nobody like you have a sugar daddy when I’m left to dress myself! Life is so unfair! Give me your glasses at least. They’d look so much better on me!”

She swipes for Yuuji’s face and he ducks, looking alarmed. “What do you mean? My dad is dead!” he shouts, arms up to shield himself as Nobara yanks at his hair.

Megumi stands away from the group, face buried in his phone. It’s clear as day he’s hoping the passerby won't associate him with the two now bickering over Yuuji’s uniform jacket.

“We finally have all three of you together!” Gojo announces grandly, stepping up between them and separating the squabbling teens with a hand on each shoulder. “What do you say to a tour of Tokyo?”

The identical gleaming expressions fixed on him make him grin. Megumi glares suspiciously at Gojo while Yuuji wraps his arms around Gojo’s waist and Nobara waves her hands, shouting out sites she wants to visit.

The abandoned building he takes them to isn’t on her list of destinations, but hey, it’s still Tokyo, right?

July

“What?”

“Nanamin!” Gojo gasps, “Is that any way to answer the phone?”

A low huff of air. “I don’t want you to think you’re welcome to call me. What are you bothering me for? I’m off the clock.”

Gojo slumps back against the couch and, in the lonely privacy of his own home, rubs tiredly at covered eyes. “So cruel! And when I called to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity! You’ll regret missing this chance!”

His tone is unweighted by worry, too bright to carry the shadow of his concern: a perfect delivery. He’s mentally patting himself on the back when -

“No.” The line disconnects.

Gojo stares blankly at his phone. Taps the screen. Waits out the ringing. Strikes fast and hard when Nanami picks up again. “I need you to keep an eye on Yuuji.”

There’s a long pause, silent and heavy, but the call doesn’t end. “Itadori?”

The thrill of victory is immediately tempered by the hot, possessive rake of jealousy in his throat but he swallows the feeling down.

“The geezers are sending me overseas, some job nobody else can do. I did try to convince them I needed to stay here but, ah, the demands of being the strongest!” He laughs.

“Get to the part relevant to Itadori.”

“My, Nanamin, so eager! But you’ve noticed it, right? Things have been strange since December.” Since Suguru. The familiar grief is a fist in his throat. His tongue is bitter with the sting of so much feeling. “Curses are different. More direct. And there’s a tension between the Clans and the higher-ups that wasn’t there before.”

This is the closest any of them have come to directly acknowledging the shifted balance in their world out loud. Nanami stays silent.

“I’m not comfortable leaving Yuuji in the care of the higher-ups’ lackeys but if I send him home…”

“Itadori would be crushed.”

“Exactly! But that’s not the only reason I’m asking! I think you could help Yuuji refine pairing his physical attacks with cursed energy. He’s experiencing a delay between his punches and the influx of energy. Controlling it comes so naturally to me that it’s difficult for me to explain in a way he can understand. Besides, I’m not the current record holder for consecutive uses of Black Flash.”

He trails off, falsely modest. Gojo doesn’t use Black Flash because he doesn’t need to. Still, he’d come prepared to butter Nanami up, to set his pride aside for Yuuji’s sake. He has a suspicion, now, that Nanami doesn’t need the extra coaxing.

How much time had the two been spending together when Gojo wasn’t looking?

The thought burns. He pulls the phone away from his face, decides he’d rather take Yuuji overseas with him than leave him alone with Nanami, but a low voice cuts him off.

“You trust me with him?”

It should be an easy question to answer. Out of everyone - Yaga, Shoko, Mei Mei - he’d chosen his upright junior without a second thought.

Nanami believes in what jujutsu sorcerers do. He chose to return to the fold of his own volition out of a desire to help people. Yuuji knows Nanami and trusts him. More importantly, Nanami knows Yuuji: how precious he is, how brightly he shines.

The yes catches on Gojo’s teeth with a scrape like metal and he bites at his lip, fingers fisting in his own hair.

Because he does trust Nanami with Yuuji. He does. The answer is yes no matter how the beast in his gut rails against it. Denying it now will get him nowhere.

“I trust you to keep him safe.”

“Send me your itinerary.”

Gojo sits in silence after they end the call. It had been much easier than he’d planned for, securing Nanami’s protection for Yuuji, but it doesn’t feel like the victory that it is. He feels a little sick with the idea of the two of them alone, a familiar restlessness. He doesn’t want Nanami anywhere near sweet, trusting Yuuji but.

If it’s to keep Yuuji safe, to keep Yuuji his, then Gojo will pay any price.

July

The hallways only seem to grow longer as Gojo hurries down them, heart beating double time in his chest. It’s an effort not to break into a run.

He’d received the call that Yuuji had been taken to Shoko for treatment only seconds after his plane had touched down on Japanese soil and every minute it had taken him to make it back to the school had been a slow grate over raw nerves.

Ijichi is waiting outside the infirmary and he bows deeply, visibly trembling, the moment he catches sight of Gojo. “Gojo-san, forgive me. Please. I knew the order wasn’t right but I-”

Gojo doesn’t spare the man even a glance, just steps around his shaking form to slam open the infirmary door.

He sees Megumi first, his dark head bent over one of the cots near the window. The teen sits back in his chair as Gojo freezes at the threshold, passes a grease-stained pizza box to Nobara, seated on the other side of the bed. Between them is Yuuji, tired and too-pale but whole and smiling.

The tension in Gojo releases with a snap that leaves him slumping against the door jamb for support. Nanami pushes up from his seat at the foot of Yuuji’s bed and crosses the room to join him, mouth pursed.

“Gojo,” he begins, and Gojo is shocked by the sudden, visceral desire to draw back his fist and slam it into Nanami’s stoic face.

“The kid is fine,” Shoko cuts in. Her eyes are on Gojo, calculating. He hadn't even noticed her standing just inside the doorway.

“I healed the bone and restored any ruined tissues. He’s on the good drugs, because the process hurt like a bitch, but a day or so of rest and he’ll be sprinting through the hallways and punching through walls like nothing happened.”

When Gojo forces himself to nod at her she pats at the front of her coat, pulls out a box of cigarettes. She brushes past him on her way out of the room and her shoulder presses against his side for just a moment, a show of warmth and support, there and gone again.

Gojo clenches his fists in his pockets, fills his lungs and empties them slowly to give himself time to regain his composure.

Yuuji is fine, he’s safe. He’s sitting only meters away and he's picking olives off of a slice of pizza and his nose is scrunched up in disgust and he’s going to be alright. Nanami had saved him from the death he’d been led to like a lost lamb to the slaughter.

“What happened?” he asks, and his voice is light, cheerful, but there's no ignoring the threat lurking just under the surface of his words. “When I left Yuuji with you he was in shiny, mint condition.”

Nanami crosses his arms with a deep sigh, exhaustion evident in every line in his body. It’s well after ten, far past the threshold for overtime.

“An apparition of potential special grade appeared in the sky over the Eishu Juvenile Detention Center earlier today.”  The words are flat, rote, but his eyes are dark when he says, “The situation was deemed an emergency and society elders made the decision to send the first years to handle it.”

Rage boils up in Gojo, volcanic, so hot and sudden that, for a moment, he’s blinded with it. He forces himself to breathe, to reforge his anger into something cold and sharp, something he can use to cut down those who had tried to move against his students while his back was turned.

Maybe he’s been too patient all these years. Maybe it’s time to just kill them all, those foul talking corpses that dared to pretend they controlled jujutsu society and the sorcerers that lived in it. It would be easy. Almost effortless. Anyone who wanted to protest could choose: fall in line or be dealt with in the same fashion.

Nanami watches him with sharp, knowing eyes. “Ijichi-san knew that you had asked me to keep an eye on Itadori and he called me from the site. If he hadn’t, we would be having a very different conversation. The spirit produced by the cursed womb was created by one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers.”

He describes the apparition’s abilities and its incomplete domain, the curses he and the students had encountered inside. His description of finding Yuuji facing off with the finger bearer, his leg mangled beyond recognition, is brief and to the point. “He didn’t know I was coming. He stayed behind so Megumi could find Nobara and escape to safety.”

“I see,” Gojo says softly. And then, for the first time in his life, he bends at the waist and bows in gratitude. “You saved Yuuji’s life today. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Nanami tells him when he stands again, but something in his grave face has softened. “Itadori is a child. It is our responsibility as adults to keep him safe.”

The reminder of Yuuji’s youth doesn't sound like the rebuke it usually is. They stand together for a moment, quiet. Gojo’s skin itches, a nagging need to go and check on Yuuji himself, to see with the full might of his Six Eyes that Yuuji is really safe and whole.

Nanami surprises him by speaking again, his voice low.

“Two of Sukuna’s fingers appearing in less than a month can’t be a coincidence.”

Gojo considers Nanami, watches the younger man watch him for a long moment. He’d already decided that Nanami could be trusted with Yuuji’s life, and the events of today proved that his trust is well placed.

“I have some suspicions about that,” he admits very quietly, decision made. Nanami nods.

“I have some of my own. Itadori’s sleep was restless while you were away. He says he hears Sukuna calling to him in his dreams.”

“What were you doing around Yuuji while he was sleeping!” Gojo whispers, scandalized. Nanami sighs at him, exasperated by Gojo’s everything.

“You made it clear you don’t trust the school’s faculty with him. I temporarily moved into the empty room next to his so I would be available if trouble came up.”

Ah. That’s…acceptable, Gojo decides. He doesn’t like it, but he can’t fault Nanami for his dedication to Yuuji’s safety. “Did anyone else overhear?”

“Maybe Fushiguro. Nobody else.” Gojo nods, relieved. Then he perks up, grinning too-wide at Nanami in a quiet threat.

“Let’s keep it that way, okay? Yuuji would be embarrassed if everyone knew he has such bad dreams!”

Nanami pushes his fingers through his hair and doesn’t argue. Instead he says, abrupt as ever, “Whatever the situation is, you’re back from your trip and I’m off the clock. I will be leaving first."

He doesn’t wait for Gojo’s acknowledgement before he disappears out the door, sliding it closed behind him with a soft click.

Yuuji’s face lights up like the sun when he catches sight of Gojo approaching his bed.

“Satoru!” he calls excitedly. “You came back!” His smile is a little lopsided, the pain drugs in his system wrecking his fine motor control, but his cheeks manage a rosy flush, his joy bringing a hint of color to his pallid face.

Megumi whips around to face Gojo and for a split second his expression is one of stark relief. It hits Gojo, then, that just hours ago he had been trapped in a cursed domain, outmatched and forced to make the decision to leave Yuuji to die.

Gojo’s heart gives a painful squeeze. Despite his serious demeanor and stoic attitude, Megumi is still very young. These kinds of decisions shouldn't be placed on his shoulders so early. Yuuji’s death would have been a festering wound buried too deeply to ever fully heal, a scar he would carry for the rest of his life.

It might still be, even with Yuuji alive and well beside him.

Gojo puts his hand on the teen’s head, ruffles his hair as he passes. Megumi’s shoulders slump under the touch, the release of tension visible.

Nobara is less excited by Gojo’s return. “How come you never call him sensei?” she asks Yuuji around a mouthful of pizza. He turns to her with a frown, a heavy furrow of confusion appearing between his brows.

“Yeah, Yuuji,” Gojo says, and takes Nanami’s vacated chair at the foot of Yuuji’s bed. He wraps his hand around Yuuji’s ankle over the blankets, lets the touch ground him. Yuuji is warm and whole beneath the fabric, Shoko’s work as thorough and flawless as any Gojo has ever seen from her. “Why don’t you call me sensei?”

“Should I?” Yuuji asks. His voice is slow and sleepy, but when he turns to look at Gojo something playful curls around the corner of his mouth. His shining eyes meet Gojo’s gaze through the blindfold, each syllable shaped with deliberate care when he says, “Gojo-sensei.”

Gojo is not prepared for the immediate, burning heat that surges through him upon hearing that name from Yuuji’s mouth. Megumi makes a disgusted noise and Gojo realizes, gobsmacked, that his cheeks are hot. He’s actually blushing.

“On second thought, maybe you shouldn't,” he says, and has to swallow against the husk in his voice.

Yuuji, the menace, is smiling sweetly at him again. His innocent act would be flawless if his ears weren’t flushed pink. Gojo is utterly enamored with him.

Nobara gapes at him. “Pervert!” she shouts, finger stabbing the air in Gojo’s direction. “What was that!”

“What was what?” Gojo asks, feigning ignorance. “We tried the title out, we didn’t like it.”

“I think you liked it too much!” she insists, voice nearing a screech. “What the fuck!”

“It’s just weird to call him sensei,” Yuuji tries to explain. “He’s always been Satoru to me.”

“Satoru,” she mumbles to herself. “Wait, he’s the ‘Toru you’re always going on about?”

Yuuji blinks at her, mouth open. “Uh, yeah. I thought you knew.”

“Your teacher is buying you clothes and taking you on dates? Do you even realize how weird and creepy that is? Oh my God, you stay the nights at his house sometimes!”

“Why is it weird? We were betrothed way before he became my sensei.”

Nobara’s eyes nearly bug out of her head, her jaw hanging open. Gojo can see her brain attempting to compute this new information and throwing up error signs and warnings faster than she can close them out. She tries to speak, visibly fails to find the words.

Yuuji scratches the side of his head, looking a little like the conversation has gotten too complicated for his drug-addled mind to keep up with.

With the cat dragged fully out of the bag and unleashed, screaming, between them, Gojo doesn’t bother to reign in the urge to stroke his palm down Yuuji’s calf. He can see with his Six Eyes that Yuuji is healthy and whole but some instinct insists he needs to confirm visual information with physical touch. Yuuji relaxes at the contact, slumping back against the pillows keeping him upright with a weary sigh.

“Did you know about this?” Nobara asks Megumi, pointing accusingly at him. Megumi shrugs. “And you don’t think it’s weird?”

“Clans are doing that kind of shit all the time. It’s not that weird.”

“He’s old enough to be Itadori’s dad! It’s fucked up!”

Gojo makes an affronted noise but Yuuji is dozing off under his hand and he can’t be bothered to turn his attention to the bickering teens on either side of them.

He almost lost Yuuji today. The reality of that is settling, cold as the arctic, in his very bones.

“I said it wasn’t that weird, not that I don’t think it’s fucked up,” Megumi argues. “There’s not really anything to do about it.”

Nobara crosses her arms with a huff. Gojo can feel her distrustful eyes on him. “I’ll be watching you, creep,” she tells him. “You’d better not be doing anything disgusting with Yuuji. He’s literally a baby.”

“What I do with Yuuji is between the two of us,” Gojo says. He hooks a thumb in his blindfold, tugs it up to fix one glittering blue eye on Nobara. She doesn’t react to the outright threat and Gojo realizes she’s never seen what his eyes can do.

Perhaps a demonstration is in order, and soon.

For now, he keeps his voice light, conversational, and turns to make sure Megumi knows that he’s included in the warning when he tells them, “Yuuji and I have been betrothed since he was an infant. That isn’t going to change. The only thing your harsh judgements are gonna accomplish is upsetting him, you know? None of us wants that.”

Megumi nods slowly and stares resolutely out the window. Nobara grumbles to herself, but when Gojo doesn’t look away from her she finally slumps in her seat, resigned. “Fine. But I mean it. You’d better treat him well.”

He smiles at her, all teeth. It’s good that Yuuji has such a bold, if misguided, protector but he doesn’t need to be warned away from Gojo. Nobara is a precious student but Gojo will not allow her to interfere in his relationship with Yuuji. He won't allow anyone to.

Grimly, he turns his mind back to the orders that had almost condemned Yuuji to death.

Something will have to be done.

July

The unregistered special grade, “Mt. Fuji-Head”, knows who and what Yuuji is.

If Gojo has any lingering doubts that someone behind the scenes has been pulling strings, that Yuuji’s birth as a vessel and the sudden influx of Sukuna’s fingers are connected and intentional, they burn to ash when that single brown eye widens in a flash of recognition at Yuuji’s arrival.

Gojo can’t see the entire picture, not yet, but he can’t deny the thrill of excitement he feels as the pieces fall into place. Things are starting to become interesting.

July

Gojo hides his disgust behind bared teeth when he drops onto the low couch across from Principal Gakuganji. The man’s sagging, spotted skin and coarse hair are revolting, of course, but it's his high and mighty attitude, the way he clings aggressively to tradition even in the face of an unstoppable tide of change, that really makes Gojo feel sick.

The withered husk of a man sits in front of him and speaks about youth and respect, his gnarled hands folded over the top of his cane. Gojo’s smile is all bite.

“I'm here about Itadori Yuuji,” he tells him. “A conservative leader like you has to be involved in the decision to send him to face a special grade curse.”

“That vessel should have been disposed of the day the Itadori family stepped forward with their claim. Something so unnatural shouldn’t have been permitted to exist.” Gakuganji sneers, one eye glinting in the dark hollow of his face. “The Gojo Family allowed its greed to interfere in good judgment, and now the vessel of Sukuna is ripe and ready for the taking.”

It isn’t a surprise that the higher-ups have caught on to what is going on under their noses, but it’s sooner than Gojo had hoped for. He had intended to gather more allies before the elders began to move against him. Where had they gotten their information from?

Regardless, the timeline is irrelevant. They won’t be allowed to harm Yuuji.

“That’s a harsh accusation,” he says lightly. He leans forward in his seat, meets the old man’s stare head on. His anger is a living thing inside of him. “How do you intend to prove it? Will you feed him a finger to see what happens?”

Gakuganji says nothing. Gojo laughs. “No, I guess not. I almost forgot that you’re all cowards! You’ll execute Yuuji in secret and call yourselves heroes for it.”

“There’s nothing heroic about doing one’s duty,” Gakuganji tells him. He's self-righteous. Arrogant. For a brief moment, Gojo lets himself imagine killing him here and now. The elder would be a twisted corpse on the floor before the girl lingering by the doorway would even be able to react.

The world would be better for it.

Instead, Gojo sighs, like Gakuganji is the one being childish and Gojo is long-suffering and responsible. He can see the way the implication grates over the old man’s nerves. “Last night, we were attacked by two unknown special grade curses,” he tells him, switching tracks.

Gakuganji doesn’t stumble over the topic change. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Save it,” Gojo says. He goes on to gleefully describe the increasing strength of their enemies, the power of the next generation of sorcerers. “If you think I’m the only one who’s gonna question your authority you’re gonna be in for a world of hurt, old man!”

Warning delivered, Gojo jumps up to leave. He pauses halfway out the door. “Oh, I should let you know! If you make plans to harm Yuuji again, I won’t be so understanding about it, okay? Principal Yaga should be here in about two hours or so. See ya!”

Gojo smiles to himself as he steps out into the summer sunshine. He can’t wait to see it, a world without all of these conservative old men calling the shots. He won’t have to wait much longer.

September

“Maki-senpai!” Yuuji yells, kneeling in the grass at the girl’s feet. Even through his glasses the shine in his eyes is visible. “Please teach me to use that staff!”

Maki scowls down at him, flustered by the attention and snappish with it. “You have unlimited cursed energy. Why would you need to learn to use cursed tools?”

“Because you’re so awesome! I want to be like you!” Yuuji tells her. He’s entirely unbothered by the bruise darkening across his jaw, courtesy of the ruthless strike that had sent him to his knees. “I’ve been practicing with Satoru for months and I can still barely land a hit on you.”

“Training with cursed tools won’t change the fact that you’re not as strong as me, idiot,” Maki says, but she can’t disguise the heat blooming across her cheeks.

“He’s right, though!” Nobara chimes in. Her pretty blush is entirely at odds with the way she stands over Megumi’s prone body, foot between his shoulder blades to keep him pinned down. “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.” She grinds her shoe into Megumi’s spine until he groans out an agreement.

“Shake,” Toge adds cheerfully.

“Isn’t it nice to see everyone getting along and having fun?” Gojo asks Nanami when he joins him at the edge of the training field. There’s blood on the younger man’s shirt. His cursed energy is almost entirely depleted.

“It is,” Nanami agrees. “Children should be allowed to enjoy their youth.” He eyes the popsicle Gojo is holding and frowns. “They should also know when to grow up.”

“In a cheerful mood as always, hm?” He drags his tongue over the treat suggestively just for the way Nanami’s face twitches in disgust.

“Speaking of children.” Nanami’s face darkens. “I encountered a talking, unregistered special grade curse. He lured me to him from a crime scene. He wanted to test his power against a jujutsu sorcerer, like a kid with a new toy.”

The report that follows is succinct and to the point. Out in the field, Yuuji hollers when Maki lays him out again. Panda laughs.

“That makes three now,” Gojo says when Nanami finishes. “There’s no way these appearances aren’t connected. And since at least one of them knows who Yuuji is, it’s almost impossible that the curses aren’t linked to the appearance of Sukuna’s fingers.”

Nanami adjusts his glasses. His voice is very grave when he says, “I barely survived that encounter, Gojo. The Patchface curse’s technique was a perfect counter to my own. This situation is becoming serious.”

“That’s true, Nanamin!” Gojo strikes a thinking pose, fingers on his chin. “What do you propose we do about it?”

It’s quiet for a long time. Finally, Nanami sighs, shoulders slumping the slightest bit in defeat.

“I don’t know. We could attempt to track the Patchwork curse if it survived but I don’t forsee a second battle going any better for me. And if it’s working with others we could be caught unaware and overwhelmed.”

“Correct! Very good Nanamin-kun. You get a gold star,” Gojo tells him in his most obnoxious teacher voice. Nanami’s eye twitches. “We need more information. For now the best we can do is gather allies and be prepared to counter any movements made against us.”

“And keep a close eye on Itadori-kun,” Nanami says quietly. The two of them turn back to the training field in time to see Yuuji brace his foot on Maki’s polearm and flip himself over her to kick out at her exposed back. Maki whirls to counter the strike, but it’s a close call. Yuuji knows it, too. He cheers, jumping up to pump his fist in the air after she takes him out with a blow to the head. “The curses aren’t the only threat.”

“He’ll be ready,” Gojo says confidently. “And so will we.”

September

“You know, I’m pretty sure Yuuji had never been in an infirmary in his life before I started leaving him in your care,” Gojo says, only days later.

Nanami doesn’t look up at him. His face is swollen, one of his hands a mangled mess. He hasn’t changed out of his bloodied clothes. It’s obvious that the younger man went through hell today. Gojo has no mercy to show him.

“He never even had a cold growing up. Very healthy, all the doctors said. Very strong.” Nanami reaches out towards Yuuji’s sleeping form and Gojo’s hand flashes out before he can even think, snatches Nanami’s wrist from the air. Bones grind in his grip. “But here he is, unconscious in a hospital bed. Again.”

“It’s part of being a jujutsu sorcerer.” And then, quietly, “He saved my life.”

“A bit of a reversal, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Nanami’s voice is gravel rough and broken. He swallows, closes his eyes. “It was my job to protect him. I failed this time. Yuuji risked his life to save mine.”

In the bed, Yuuji is fast asleep. He’s wrapped in bandages, though Shoko had worked miracles to restore the damage dealt to him by the special grade curse. Gojo releases Nanami to take Yuuji’s hand in his own, strokes gentle fingertips over the places where spines had pierced him all the way through.

“I sensed one of Sukuna’s fingers in the area when we arrived. I sent Yuuji to investigate the building while I looked for it on my own. The Patchface curse found him while we were separated,” Nanami explains.

“When I reached him, I discovered that Yuuji’s raw curse-powered attacks were able to deal damage to it where mine couldn’t. We paired our strikes and for a while, it seemed like we would be able to win. I became overconfident.”

Gojo hums to show that he’s listening. He combs his fingers through Yuuji’s pink hair, rubs his thumb tenderly over a bruise that lingers just beneath his hairline. Yuuji sighs in his sleep. His breath brushes, warm, over the sensitive skin of Gojo’s wrist. Gojo has never regretted his inability to heal others before now.

“At the edge of death, the curse had some kind of epiphany. I could see the moment it understood how to expand its domain. It trapped me. I was in the palm of its hand.” There’s a calm kind of acceptance in Nanami’s voice when he says, "I was going to die."

Yuuji’s fingers curl weakly in Gojo’s hold, like even unconscious he’s fighting against that outcome.

“Yuuji risked his life. He broke into the domain from the outside and the Patchface curse immediately called off its attack. If it hadn't," Nanami swallows. Doesn't continue that line of thought. "It was angry about stopping, like it had an order it didn’t agree with. It said that Yuuji was like them, that he should join them in building a new world for curses. And then it fled.”

“They want him alive then.” Gojo bends down, strokes his lips over Yuuji’s forehead. Nanami watches him with tired eyes, jaw tight, but doesn’t otherwise react. Gojo pouts. It’s no fun if he can’t get an indignant response from the uptight man. He sighs and straightens again. “It makes sense. A broken vessel won’t hold anything.”

Nanami frowns; maybe at Gojo’s callous words, maybe at the puzzle in front of them. Probably at both. “The curse made no attempts to get Yuuji away from me.”

“They won’t have to, will they? If they can awaken Sukuna, I imagine he’ll be much more willing to join them than my stubborn Yuuji.”

“You think they’ll keep throwing fingers at him until he finally succumbs.”

“Why not? There’s still a dozen of them floating around and time is on their side. Short of killing him, there's no real way to keep Yuuji entirely out of their reach.”

“Have you given any thought to it?” Nanami asks quietly. “What you’ll do if they succeed?”

Gojo seats himself on Yuuji’s bed. He bends over him again, strokes his fingers over Yuuji’s forehead, traces the slope of his nose and the shape of his lips. This is Gojo’s favorite face in the world, the only one, of billions, that matters.

Yuuji is the only thing that matters.

“No,” he says finally. “It isn’t going to happen. Noone, not even Ryomen Sukuna himself, will take Yuuji from me. I’ll destroy anyone that tries.”

Nanami says nothing. There’s nothing to be said.

September

Gojo wakes to the rattle of his phone on his nightstand, Nobara’s face glaring out at him from the screen. He blinks blearily at it, unsure if he’s still dreaming. Has Nobara ever called him before? Caught up in his confusion, he misses the call.

His phone is silent for the space of a breath before vibrating violently again. This time, Gojo picks up.

“Are you dying?”

“Is that any way to answer the phone?” Nobara asks him, sniffing in disdain. “Rude ass.”

“You’re the one calling me at this awful hour,” Gojo reminds her. Not his snappiest response but he was asleep for less than an hour and his brain is struggling to come back online.

Nobara huffs. “Is Yuuji with you? He didn’t mention that he was staying the night at your place. But when I stopped by his room to get the face cream I forgot before he could use it all - again! - he was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Well, the face cream isn’t. Looks like he knew better than to touch it for once in his life. But yeah, Yuuji isn’t here.”

Gojo is already sitting up in bed, reaching for his discarded sweatpants. “Is he with Megumi-kun?”

“Don’t you think that’s the first place I checked?” Nobara snaps.

Gojo doesn’t have time for her attitude. He drops his phone long enough to tug on a shirt and then opens his texting app, checking for any messages from Yuuji. There’s nothing but the goodnight text he’d sent hours ago, a little ‘read’ indicator next to the string of emojis Gojo had sent in response.

“I’ll come check it out,” Gojo tells her. “For now, go back to your room. It’s hard enough keeping up with one wandering student, we don’t want to lose a second one!” He hangs up on her indignant reply.

He isn’t overly concerned: there aren’t many places Yuuji could go at this hour and the higher-ups haven’t grown bold enough to attack him outright while Gojo is in the area, but he teleports himself directly to the school rather than wait on a car. Typically, a Yuuji wandering around sleepless isn’t a happy Yuuji. It’s not Gojo’s preferred state of affairs.

His complete lack of cursed energy makes Yuuji difficult to track, the problem compounded by the fresh residues from Megumi and Nobara outside of his door.

Gojo strides down the halls he once snuck through as a teen. It feels strange, somber, like the ghost of the child he’d been is keeping pace at his heels. The last time he’d been in the hallways at this hour, Shoko had been at his side, Suguru following close behind.

The first spark of worry comes when Gojo clears the entire dorm and the classrooms with no sign of Yuuji. He paces around the outside of the campus, trying to narrow down the places Yuuji might go.

He checks the armory - nothing, and he doesn’t look too closely at his relief when he finds the shed empty - and is just taking to the sky to search the area with his Six Eyes when he senses the faintest whisper of energy along the barrier that protects the school warehouse.

It’s strange to him, that Tengen cares to notice anything happening in the endless world around him, much less that he would feel the need to interfere in it.

Gojo follows the ripple of intent. He isn’t expecting the cold wash of fear he feels upon realizing that he’s being led to the sealed room housing nine of Sukuna’s fingers.

Gojo runs.

Yuuji isn’t moving when Gojo finds him. He’s standing, palms against Tengen’s barrier, jaw slack and eyes empty. Sleep walking.

Gojo does a quick sweep, checking for witnesses. It is imperative that none of the higher-ups’ lackeys see Yuuji like this, vulnerable to the fingers’ influence. 

Sukuna’s energy is too well suppressed by wards and constraints for Gojo to feel it, even standing only a few steps outside of the barrier. It seems impossible that the fingers would have the power to draw Yuuji from his bed all the way across the campus but here he stands. A shiver races down Gojo’s spine.

“Yuuji,” he says. Yuuji doesn’t react to Gojo’s hand on his shoulder but he allows himself to be turned without a struggle, tips his head instinctively into Gojo’s palm when he cups his pallid face. “Yuuji, it’s time to wake up. You’ve been walking around outside without your shoes.”

It's an inane, pointless observation, but it’s true. Yuuji’s bare feet look small, strangely vulnerable against the polished wood walkway.

"Yuuji,” he says with a little more urgency. He gives him a little shake and Yuuji’s head lolls forward with the motion, rests against Gojo’s chest. “I don’t like this game very much, Yuu-chan. You’re not paying attention to me.”

The fear that had gripped him earlier returns with a vengeance, irrational but overwhelming. His heart hammers in his chest and his fingers tighten on Yuuji’s shoulders until he knows that they’ll bruise, ten dark points of contact on Yuuji’s skin, and still he doesn’t wake.

Is Yuuji already gone? Was he taken somehow, snatched away while Gojo slept in his bed, ignorant to the danger?

It should be impossible, but another firm shake doesn’t bring Yuuji back to him. His heart lodges itself in his throat. Gojo’s never encountered another sleep walker but surely they shouldn’t be this hard to rouse.

He must make some sort of noise, or else Yuuji, always in tune with Gojo’s needs, senses his distress, because he gives a little jerk under Gojo’s hands.

"Sa’ru? You ’right?” Yuuji's voice is thick, barely coherent. He has never sounded sweeter. Clumsy hands reach up for Gojo’s face, pat at his cheeks and forehead like they’re checking for injury.

He's awake. Gojo lets out a laugh thick with feelings he refuses to acknowledge and slumps to rest his forehead on the top of Yuuji’s head. Yuuji's hands tangle in his hair, still heavy with sleep.

“I’m fine,” he says into Yuuji’s hair. “Let’s get you into my bed, hm?” He tries for teasing but misses, lands somewhere between raw relief and affection.

“Kay,” Yuuji agrees, then pauses as awareness finally sets in. “Where are we? Why- Sukuna. He’s here, isn’t he?”

Gojo pulls away to look at Yuuji’s face. He looks exhausted now, hunted. There are circles under his dark eyes, deep like bruises. How long has this been going on?

“You shouldn’t be able to sense that, Yuuji-kun.”

“I can hear him. All of the time, whispering at me. He’s louder now than he was before.”

Gojo should have predicted this. Nearly half of Sukuna is stored on the campus now. Even in pieces and lacking the conscious thoughts of an incarnation, Ryomen Sukuna’s malevolent intent reshapes the world around it.

“Okay,” he says, and lifts Yuuji into his arms. “We’ll go far away then, and talk without any creepy fingers whispering secrets in your ears.”

Gojo takes Yuuji straight to his own bedroom, well away from the school. He settles him gently on his bed, still unmade from his hasty departure, then kneels to inspect Yuuji’s bare feet for injury. There’s a cut across the heel of one, bleeding sluggishly, and he leaves the room for a moment, returns with his first aid kit.

“How long has this been going on?” Gojo asks while he works to clean and dress the wound. When the answer is slow to come he says, "Yuuji," gently chiding.

Yuuji’s face twists into the expression he wears when he knows Gojo isn’t going to like what he has to say, lower lip trembling just a little, lashes lowered over shifty gold eyes. “Since the first finger.”

Gojo hums. “In June?”

“Yeah. But it was only once or twice back then! Lately it’s happening more.”

“Since the fight with Patchface?” Yuuji nods then hisses at the sting of antiseptic in his wound.

The timeline makes sense. Sukuna may not be intact but his power is compounding on itself as fingers are slowly added. They hadn’t told Yuuji about the one Nanami had recovered before their encounter with the special grade but evidently some sort of threshold was reached with the addition of the ninth finger.

Gojo cradles Yuuji’s heel in one hand, smoothes an adhesive bandage over the small cut with careful fingers. He doesn’t let go when he looks up into Yuuji’s eyes, holds his gaze when he says, “You should have told me, Yuuji.”

The gentle rebuke makes Yuuji flush, and his voice is small with shame when he tells Gojo, “I wanted to but I was scared. The fingers weren’t affecting anyone else much, and definitely not as badly as me! I thought it might be because I’m weaker than the others. I was afraid you’d send me back home.”

Gojo presses a kiss to the inside of Yuuji’s knee, strokes his thumb up the arch of his foot. “I will never send you away, Yuuji.” He gathers his discarded medical supplies and stands. Yuuji watches him, and the uncertainty on his face stings like pinprick claws in Gojo's heart.

“There’s no reason for you to worry about your place at my side, Yuuji. I want to be with you as much as you want to be with me.”

He realizes as he's speaking that he’s never told Yuuji before what he means to him.

Gojo had always assumed that Yuuji didn’t need to be told, that he knew Gojo's feelings the same way he knows that the sky is blue, that fire burns, that winter will always melt into spring. Immutable fact, fundamental laws he can build his life around.

Now, in the dark privacy of his bedroom, Gojo tries to give shape to the words to tell Yuuji how precious he is, how important. They sit, stillborn, on his tongue.

Yuuji doesn’t notice his struggle. Instead he flops back onto the mattress, wiggles up until he can claim his favorite pillow. The moment for Gojo to speak slips quietly away from him.

“Then I’ll stay,” Yuuji says, easy. “I don’t really know what to do about the sleep walking though. Sukuna doesn’t ever shut up.”

Gojo pulls off his shirt and climbs into the bed, rearranges the blankets until he can settle with his head on Yuuji’s stomach. Fingers thread immediately through his loose hair and scratch at his scalp. The tension unwinds from Gojo’s back and shoulders so quickly he feels dizzy with it, a Pavlovian reaction to the familiar touch.

"What does he say?"

“He laughs, mostly. Rages sometimes. He’s not awake, y’know?” Yuuji yawns. “He dreams of fire and blood, a thousand thousand sacrifices at his feet.” A snort. “His ego is almost as big as yours.”

Gojo pinches Yuuji’s side, turns his head to hide his smile in the warm skin of his belly. “Nobody’s ego is as big as mine.” The vibration of Yuuji’s laughter ripples, singing like a plucked harp string, down to Gojo’s heart. He presses a kiss to the smooth skin under his mouth and feels more than hears Yuuji’s contented sigh.

It’s quiet for a long time. Gojo finds himself dozing, warm and comfortable. Yuuji is safe against him, body pinned under his weight so that he won’t be able to leave without waking Gojo first.

“Satoru,” Yuuji says and Gojo hums, lingering right on the brink of sleep. “I’m not going to leave you. I promised that a long time ago.”

Gojo drifts away before he can muster a response. He doesn’t dream.

September

The Kyoto students are up to something.

It isn’t a surprise; Gojo would have been disappointed if Gakuganji hadn’t attempted to use the Goodwill Event as a cover to try to rid himself of Sukuna’s vessel. He only wishes he’d been the one to come up with the idea of buying off Mei Mei. He can think of several uses for the conveniently timed ‘animal interferences' between the sorcerer and her crows.

Gojo isn’t worried that Gakuganji’s plan will succeed. His own students have largely abandoned their hunt for curses and instead have closed ranks around Yuuji, working in pairs to protect him. They're more than able to hold their own against Utahime’s kids.

Even the glimpse he gets of Yuuji facing off against Todo Aoi isn’t much cause for concern. Yuuji is resourceful, fast, and strong.  He is also, perhaps more importantly than any of those things, unbelievably stubborn. He’ll find a way to get past Todo.

And then a curtain falls over the entire area.

Excitement zips down Gojo's spine and burns in his blood, buzzes along the endings of his nerves. His smile stretches wide, bares all of his teeth.

The curses are finally making a move.

The barrier is elegant in its simplicity, a neat and concise contract:

The curtain will be unbreakable.

The curtain will keep out only Gojo Satoru.

It won’t do much more than slow him down but that’s impressive in its own right. When was the last time anything gave him pause?

He laughs, exhilarated, when the presence of the flower-faced special grade he’d met in July confirms that the strange, talking curses are behind this attack.

The presence of human curse users working alongside the spirits is unexpected, but the development is only interesting for being unprecedented; there are no more special grade curse users left to threaten him.

While he works to dismantle the curtain he keeps a careful eye on his students beyond it. He can’t spot Yuuji, his field of view hampered by how low he is to the ground, and he loses sight of Megumi and Maki when they lead the special grade off towards the river.

He trusts them to work together, to be able to hold out against the curse until he can get to them.

Gojo peels back layers of the curtain in an attempt to manipulate the contract keeping him out and finesse his way past it. It holds strong, too short and specific to allow for loopholes.

When the children return, injured but conscious, Panda is with them. The special grade doesn’t follow. Gojo has complete faith in his students but after his face off with Mt. Fuji-Head he knows that the curse wouldn’t have been so easily dispatched. They must have encountered Yuuji and Todo further in the forest. 

He prods carefully at the barrier. The curtain ripples, reacting to his cursed energy no matter how much or little he uses to manipulate it, an ever-changing puzzle that Gojo can't help but find intriguing.

Suddenly gnarled wood spears up from the ground and ascends rapidly into the air behind the curtain, twisting and curving in on itself, slashing at the sky with wickedly sharp branches.

Gojo can see Yuuji, leaping desperately from branch to branch as he’s raised ever higher above the school. He disappears and reappears, flickering from place to place as Todo activates his cursed technique, aiming to attack the special grade at the epicenter of the maelstrom.

And then, without warning, the wood vanishes. Yuuji falls.

Gojo abruptly loses patience with the curtain. He doesn’t remember why he was interested in it to begin with.

Cursed energy gathers at the tip of his finger when he brings Infinity into reality. He continues to channel power into the technique, forcing an impossible space between air particles, between molecules, between atoms, that grows and grows until the very laws of physics push back against him. Matter rushes inwards to fill the negative space he’s created, warping around the tiny globe of Blue until he’s left with a localized black hole, hovering at the tip of his finger.

The barrier curtain shreds like so much tissue paper at the point of contact.

Gojo doesn’t wait around to watch the rest of it fall away, heads instead for where Yuuji has disappeared below the tree line. He drags his blindfold down, observes the entire forest from his new vantage point far above the battlefield.

He can see Utahime and a strange man he doesn't recognize, Gakuganji battling the curse user that created the barrier to keep Gojo out, and Yuuji, safe on the ground but facing off again against the special grade.  There’s no question of where he will go first.

Flower-guy has its arms thrown wide, gathering massive amounts of cursed energy to itself. Gojo recognizes the epiphany that Nanami had described in Patchface, the moment of understanding that would lead to domain expansion.

The curse stops abruptly when it notices Gojo's presence, instead prepares to flee the way it did when they met before.

“Satoru!” Yuuji calls up to him. He’s standing too close to the special grade, it’s going to get away if Gojo can’t attack it and Gojo is still too far to engage it physically.

He bites back his frustration, opens his mouth to call down to Yuuji to get out of the way! when he feels it: a faint, familiar tug on his cursed energy. He can see it filling Yuuji, lighting him up from the inside.

Gojo doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop to wonder if what he’s about to do is even possible.

He activates his own cursed energy within Yuuji at the same moment Red and Blue merge from the crossed tips of his fingers, tears Infinity into reality around his beloved even as Hollow Purple rips a great swathe of the forest from existence.

The special grade curse is annihilated instantly, unable to shield itself against the raw destruction of Gojo's technique despite its strength.

Gojo drops to the ground, pulse pounding in his ears, waving away clouds of dust as he rushes to find Yuuji in the path of destruction wrought by Hollow Purple.

Yuuji finds him first. He darts out of the trees lining the forest’s new trench and throws his arms around Gojo’s neck.

Gojo catches him, lifts him up, spins him around. His heart is hammering in his chest in exhilaration. He’s never had the room to unleash such a massive wave of Hollow Purple before and he feels euphoric, exulting in his own unbridled power. 

He’s the strongest, unstoppable. He could tear this world apart if he wanted, could bring it to its knees. It wouldn’t even be a challenge.

Yuuji fists both hands in Gojo’s loose hair and bends down towards him. Gojo is already tilting his head back to meet Yuuji’s mouth with his own in a kiss that burns through him with an intensity that rivals his cursed technique.

His tongue sweeps across Yuuji’s lower lip and Yuuji opens for him, accepts the hot curl of Gojo’s tongue in his mouth, and this is what Gojo’s power is for: to keep Yuuji safe, to keep Yuuji his, to keep Yuuji held tight against him, kissing him as if nothing else matters because it doesn’t. Yuuji is everything.

When they part, Yuuji presses their foreheads together, gasping against Gojo’s mouth because he can’t bear to pull away from him far enough to draw a full breath. “Knew that would work,” he says smugly.

“What would you have done if it didn’t?” Gojo asks him.

Behind him he can hear Todo approach. He hadn’t even thought to confirm that the other student was safely out of range before he’d unleashed his attack. Luckily for everyone involved, it seems like he was.

“It’s not like it would have been my problem,” Yuuji says. Gojo blinks at him for a moment, and then throws his head back and laughs.

“That’s true!” he agrees. “It would have become everyone else’s problem very fast though.”

“Nah,” Yuuji tells him. He combs his fingers carefully through Gojo’s hair. Gojo’s heartrate slows, winding down from the high of his own display of strength. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me. You’d never hurt me.”

“No,” Gojo agrees. He kisses Yuuji again, a quick little brush of lips that satisfies the ever present need to touch. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you either.”

A glance at Todo confirms that his message has been received. Whatever order the Kyoto students were given, it ends now.

The consequences of threatening Yuuji are scarred into the earth itself for everyone to see.

September

All nine of Sukuna’s fingers have been stolen from the school vault; an ominous indication of the curses' plan.

Yuuji is better rested than he's been in months.

October

“And then she says, ‘Let’s play a game of chicken, shall we?’ and stabs her own arm!” Yuuji pauses to shove a chunk of steak into his mouth, finishes around the bite, “She’s absolutely insane. That was the coolest thing ever.”

Gojo pouts at him and he grins, swallows. “Except for you, obviously. Nothing is cooler than Satoru.” His smile is impish, his eyes sparkling with mischief, but Gojo can tell that he means it.

Yuuji finishes his story, punching the air to illustrate his own moves, excitedly mimicking bringing a hammer down every time Nobara activates Resonance. He glosses over the agony of the blood technique as if Gojo can’t read between the lines, can’t see the florid red blotches still climbing up his neck and curving through the line of his jaw.

Instead he details the perfect focus of Black Flash, the thrill of creating and executing a plan with Nobara without ever speaking a word.

It’s been a long time since Gojo was able to rely on another person in the field but he remembers the rush of it, the feeling of being perfectly connected, absolutely in sync. His students are growing up so quickly. Yuuji is growing so quickly.

Yuuji falls silent when he reaches the end of the battle. His expression drops into something uncharacteristically somber.

“What’s up?” Gojo asks. “I already know this story ends with you winning. My hero!”

“Yeah,” Yuuji says. He pushes his food around on his plate, bites his lip. Gojo can see his brain working overtime. He waits patiently.

"It’s just. They weren’t curses, at least not all the way. The older one, with the wasp wings, he cried when we killed his brother.”

“Ah,” Gojo says gently. He leans on the tabletop, rests his head on his hand. “You don’t regret it, though.”

“No. Letting him live meant letting Kugisaki die. It was an easy choice to make. But I did have to make a choice, and I chose to kill someone. That’s all.”

Gojo hums quietly. He reaches across the table to lay his hand over Yuuji’s, curled into a fist next to his plate. The bowstring tension eases almost instantly, Yuuji softening under his touch so that Gojo can lace their fingers together.

“Being jujutsu sorcerers means that sometimes, we’re faced with those hard decisions. Being strong means making them.”

Yuuji looks up at him, brown eyes gleaming with a fragile sort of hope. He needs Gojo to guide him here, to tell him that he did the right thing. Gojo can’t bring back the lives Yuuji had to end, can’t save him from being forced to kill more in the future, but he can give him this.

“You’re strong Yuuji. You made a choice when you needed to, and it was the right one. I’m proud of you.”

He isn’t prepared for the wetness that beads almost immediately along the line of Yuuji’s lashes. The younger man’s cheeks flush with heat and he swallows, lip quivering. He rubs at his eyes beneath his glasses and forces out a shaky laugh. “Sorry! I don’t know what's wrong,” he says. His voice is thick.

Gojo tightens his fingers around Yuuji’s, doesn’t know what to say. He’s told Yuuji that he’s proud of him before, hasn’t he?

He can think of a dozen, a hundred times that he's felt it, that warm swelling in his chest, but the more Gojo strains to remember the more it becomes clear that he’s never told Yuuji directly.

He's beginning to notice it, the way all of the things left unsaid have been piling up between them for years, a barrier building higher and higher. He’s slowly starting to make out the shape of it now, the staggering breadth of it.

He doesn’t know where to begin to tear it down, to reach out to Yuuji, who sits patiently across the distance and waits for him, hand outstretched.

The physical distance between them is abruptly too much. He throws himself across the table, squeezes into the booth next to Yuuji who laughs again, lighter, but scooches over to make room.

Gojo digs his phone out of his pocket, swipes open the camera app and holds it up. “Let’s take a selfie to celebrate your victory, Yuuji!”

Yuuji’s smile is still a little shaky in the first few frames, but it blooms into a full grin when Gojo plants a smacking kiss against his cheek and snaps a picture.

“Send that one to me!” he insists, and Gojo takes three more in quick succession to capture the way he laughs.

“Wait, wait, let’s take a silly one to send to the others!” Gojo says.

“Fushiguro called us gross last time.” Despite the protest Yuuji obediently scrunches up his face and pokes out his tongue. Gojo crams in close to him so he can bring the camera closer. Yuuji’s glasses are crooked, his eyes shining.

Gojo forgets to look into the camera in the first picture they take like that. On his phone screen, his head is tilted towards Yuuji’s like a flower towards the sun, his lips parted. He saves it before he takes another, cheesing properly this time.

Their server returns then, looking less than impressed with their antics. “Would you like a dessert?” she asks and passes Yuuji the menu before disappearing with their discarded dinner dishes.

Yuuji nudges him. “You should go back to your seat before we get kicked out without our cake. Again.”

Gojo sighs dramatically but returns to his side of the table. His phone dings and he glances down at the string of puke emojis from Nobara.

Smirking, he swipes back to his camera, intending to send one of the pictures of them kissing just to spite her, but he stops, thumb hovering over the video option.

He doesn’t question the impulse, just turns his phone towards Yuuji and presses Record. Onscreen, Yuuji is pouring over the dessert menu with all the gravitas of a life or death decision.

“...liked the chocolate last time,” he’s muttering to himself, eyes tracking slowly over the laminated pages. "But oh! ‘Toru this has strawb-”

Yuuji looks up and the camera captures the moment he recognizes the way Gojo is holding his phone. His eyes open wider behind his glasses, brows climbing, before a slow smile spreads across his face with all the warm vibrancy of a new dawn. “Are you filming me?”

“Yes!” Gojo announces, unashamed. Yuuji laughs and the camera captures every piece of it, the flush to his cheeks, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the flash of white teeth. He ends the recording there, one perfect moment preserved forever.

“Why the video?” Yuuji asks him when he puts his phone away.

“Get the strawberry,” Gojo says, and then, “So I’ll have something of you to take with me next time those geezers send me out of the country.”

Yuuji’s brows furrow a little at the reminder. “Is that gonna be soon?”

“Nah. They’re keeping me nearby after that mess with the Goodwill Event. We didn’t actually catch the baddies behind it y’know.”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuji says. He frowns, hooks his foot around Gojo’s ankle under the tabletop as if to keep Gojo close to him. Gojo almost claps his hands at how cute Yuuji still is. “It sucks the curses got away but I'm happy you're sticking around. I don’t like being away from you.”

“Distance is nothing, Yuuji. A meaningless number. Nothing can keep me away from you. I promise.”

He means it. He thinks about all of the things he still needs to say to Yuuji, all the words he needs to find.

Communication has never been his strong suit but Gojo Satoru is good at everything if he tries. He’ll find a way to close this space he’s allowed to come between them; all it will take is time.

October

Beneath the veil, hundreds of civilians cry out his name in fear and confusion.

What can Gojo do but go to them?

Chapter Text

Yuuji

Yuuji dreams in fire and blood.

In the cold light of day it sounds dramatic, like something from one of Satoru’s movies, exaggerated and fake. At night, all he knows is the agony of it.

‘You belong to me.’ The voice is harsh, torn jagged by a madness that terrifies Yuuji. ‘You belong to me,’ whispered into his ear, against his cheek, into the too-vulnerable skin of his belly.

Hands, too many hands, grab at him, hold him in place, tear at his face with dark, overgrown claws. His blood boils where it spills over blistered skin.

He wants to scream at the pain of it, to gasp for air because he can’t breathe for the pressure on his chest and the hands around his throat. Instead he keeps his mouth stubbornly shut, defiant. Sharp nails shred his lips into ribbons, pry at his teeth. Bone shatters beneath unbearable strength.

His dreams always end the same no matter how much he struggles, how hard he fights. Yuuji's jaw is wrenched open and the fingers shove themselves inside, curling over his tongue, forcing their way down his throat. His resistance breaks then but the screams can’t come, no space for them left as the fire that surrounds him pours into his gaping mouth. He chokes, thrashes against the hands that hold him. The voice laughs.

‘You have always belonged to me.’

A dark, evil presence fills him, a terrible hunger that shoves the parts that are Yuuji back and back until he can’t find himself, can’t muster the strength or the will to do more than watch through his own eyes as hands that are no longer his hands tear the world apart.

‘This is what you are for.’

Sukuna’s voice follows him into the waking world, whispering, laughing, cajoling; a cruel mantra on repeat. Come to me. Come to me. This is what you are for.

Yuuji has become a master of ignoring the ceaseless rasp of the King of Curses. He drowns him out with Kugisaki’s friendly bullying or Fushiguro’s snide remarks and kind eyes. He seeks out Nanamin with schoolwork questions or pesters his senpais into sparring with him.

It’s best when Satoru is around. When Yuuji is with Satoru everything else - curses, Sukuna, the entire world - ceases to exist. Satoru is a brilliant star and Yuuji has always been caught in his orbit, helpless against his gravity. It’s not something he wants to ever change. Satoru is everything.

The truth is, Yuuji has always known that he’s something less than human.

In his earliest memories, his mother looks down at him and with a smiling mouth, a smiling scar, never smiling eyes, tells him that he has a purpose. She tells him that he is the result of a millennia of planning, that Yuuji’s existence will change the world.

He remembers Satoru, speaking to a boy with a face lost to time, and the disinterest in his voice when he says, “We're only keeping him around to pop out six-eyed babies.”

After that came the Gojo Clan elders; Satoru’s father, all cold edges, and his mother, elegant and cutting. It’s been repeated, reiterated to him, over and over. Yuuji is a tool. He was made to be used.

And Yuuji… he never cared. It didn’t matter to him what the Gojo Family wanted him for so long as they kept him. He would fit himself into whatever shape anyone asked him to and he'd be happy to do it if it meant he would be allowed to stay close to Satoru.

Yuuji is not that child anymore.

When Kugisaki looks at him, when Fushiguro reaches out to touch him, they’re seeing their friend. When Nanamin brings him lunch it isn’t to keep the vessel alive and in working order, it’s to share a meal with someone special to him. Satoru has long since announced that he has no plans to have children, ever, six-eyed or otherwise. That hasn't changed the way he treats Yuuji. If anything, they're closer than they've ever been.

Maybe it’s true that he’s a vessel to be filled. Maybe he was created to be used, a tool to make babies or hold Sukuna or bring about the end of the world. Of all the lessons that Yuuji has learned since coming to Tokyo Jujutsu High, the most important is this:

Before anything else, Yuuji is a person. He has a mind of his own. He has a heart. He is capable of making decisions and taking responsibility for the consequences. If he is a vessel, only he has the right to choose what he will hold.

Yuuji chooses to fill himself with love. Love for his friends, for himself. And most of all, above any and everything else, love for Satoru.

So when Mei Mei tries to lead him out of the cemetery, away from the Shibuya district and the trap that’s been laid there, Yuuji doesn’t have to think about it before he opens his mouth and says, “I’m going to Satoru.”

Mei Mei watches him with one sharp, gleaming eye. “Gojo Satoru doesn’t need our help, kid. The civilians at the Meiji-Jingumae Station will die if we don’t save them.”

In another life, Yuuji might have been a hero, the kind of person that could leave Satoru to fight his battles alone if it meant saving helpless strangers.

This is not that life. He can’t leave Satoru behind.

“I’m going to him," he repeats calmly.  He turns to look at the older sorcerer over his shoulder, dips his head to meet her gaze above the frame of his glasses. “Call the others for backup if you need it.”

Neither Mei Mei nor her brother try to stop him.

Every sense is on high alert as Yuuji approaches the entrance to the underground and passes unimpeded through the curtain cloaking the area. The moment he steps inside the barrier he knows that something is very wrong. Cursed energy is thick in the air, oppressive and powerful. There are special grade curses here, more than he knows how to count, but beneath the acrid smog of their energies lurks something else.

Something familiar, a haze of memory from a childhood he’s mostly forgotten.

There is someone here that shouldn't be, that doesn’t belong in this time, in this place that is overrun with the cursed and the dying.

Urgency beats in Yuuji’s blood. He can almost feel time being torn from him as he shoulders his way past packs of terrified people, crying and trampling each other in a desperate bid to get free. There is no room for gentleness as he shoves his way through the crowds; skin splits and bones break under his strength but he can’t spare the time to look back. At the edge of his awareness the brilliant, burning beacon of Satoru’s cursed energy is growing steadily nearer.

That strange, familiar energy is closer still, moving towards Satoru faster than Yuuji can keep up. He can’t stop himself from screaming a warning even though he’s still too far, even though there’s no way Satoru can hear him yet.

Sukuna’s fingers are in the tunnels, somewhere. He’s barely aware of them and their endless demanding. They don’t matter. Every instinct Yuuji possesses is screaming at him louder than the King of Curses ever has. Find Satoru. Save him. Satoru is in danger.

As he nears the bottom level he’s able to feel the special grade curses, their energies a dark miasma that Yuuji reaches out and seizes, rips into himself. He fills that deep, empty place in himself with the vicious maelstrom of their hatred and rage until he aches to tear his own skin open to let it all bleed out. The pain of it is overwhelming.

But whatever its source, however it makes him feel, all of those negative emotions are power and when Yuuji kicks off the wall, senses narrowed down to the glittering, endless void of Satoru, the stolen cursed energy launches him over the sea of screaming humans and carries him faster and further than he's ever been able to move.

He staggers when Satoru’s energy surges, a cold, mind-melting glimpse of eternity that Yuuji has only felt once before. Infinite Void.

It lasts less than a moment, one, two of Yuuji’s hammering heartbeats, and then Satoru’s domain folds back into itself. He can feel him moving just ahead, striking out again and again.

Yuuji pushes himself harder, pours everything that he has, everything that he is, into his legs, and runs. Whatever this is, whatever is going to happen, it’s going to happen now. That ominous energy is on top of Satoru. There’s no stopping it.

The veil around the station platform itself doesn’t try to keep him out; Yuuji is too full of curses to trigger the contract that would prevent a sorcerer from entering.

Inside of the barrier is chaos. Mutated humans and people stand, stunned and helpless, as Gojo cuts the curses down. Rivers of blood and gore pour over broken concrete and paint the station walls.

Yuuji barely notices. His entire being is centered not on Satoru, but the innocuous looking box sitting on the ground behind him. Something about it is deeply wrong, a yawning void in his senses. Every instinct demands that he get Satoru far away from it, and now.

Satoru’s back is to Yuuji. He throws himself at him, trusting that Infinity will let him pass, and shoves at his broad shoulders. Satoru stumbles forward a half-step, away from the box.

It’s enough. The ground cracks beneath Yuuji’s feet when he places himself between his most precious person and that dark, threatening object.

“Yuuji?” Satoru breathes, whipping around to face him. His face is confused, like he wasn’t expecting Yuuji to come to him. As if Yuuji could ever be anywhere else.

Yuuji wants to push Satoru further back. He wants to grab him and carry him far away from this place. There’s no time though, even if he thought Satoru would allow it. Instead he spreads his arms, trying to make enough of a wall of his own body to shield him from whatever is coming.

In the split second of stillness between them his heart slams against its cage, fast and violent, desperate to break free from his chest and go to Satoru.

“Gate open.”

Everything stops.

There’s a man with them, standing off to the side, the source of the cursed energy Yuuji both knows and doesn’t. He’s saying something Yuuji can’t make out. He thinks maybe he recognizes his face, but it’s a distant, far away thought. This man doesn’t matter.

The only thing that does matter is Satoru, staring at Yuuji with a shock that fragments slowly into horror. The void behind him is a maw. There’s something, blood hot and moving, on his skin.

Yuuji swallows. He hadn’t been thinking about anything beyond getting to Satoru, beyond saving him from whatever fate was waiting for him, down in this station, deep below the earth. Now that he's here he can’t regret it but he can admit to himself that he’s scared. He’s so, so scared.

“Yuuji,” Satoru says again and Yuuji wants to reach out for him but he can’t move. Whatever was in that box, it’s wrapped tight around him now, trapping his stolen cursed energy under his skin.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, but he knows that Satoru needs him. If this is the end, Yuuji can’t leave the man who means the most to him with nothing.

His lips tremble when he tries to smile. He thinks he may be crying. The curses in his head are screaming at him, violent and loud, too much negative energy inside of him with nowhere to go.

“Sorry,” he says, and the word breaks in the middle but his voice doesn't waver. For all of his fear, Yuuji would take Satoru’s place a hundred thousand times. That complete conviction gives him the strength to continue. “I love you.”

It’s Yuuji’s first time to say it. It will be his only time. He crumbles under the weight of that realization. The box’s fleshy maw is the only thing keeping him upright, now. He can feel it, preparing to swallow him whole.

"No! Stay, please!"

Satoru has looked at Yuuji a thousand different ways but never with this raw terror, this grief. His eyes, so impossibly beautiful, Yuuji’s favorite in all the world, gleam with tears. Satoru reaches out to him and Yuuji closes his eyes. He wants this to be the last thing he sees.

Satoru’s glittering gaze, his hand outstretched, his lips shaping Yuuji’s name.

“Gate close.”