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Cursed energy hung heavy in the air, unmasked and raw, bleeding into the atmosphere and suffocating the occupants of a small apartment. Like ink, it clung to every surface and permeated the very fibers, staining everything it touched.
Yaga hadn't seen him this bad in a while.
There, sat on the sofa, was the source, thick fumes spreading from shaking shoulders and white knuckles. Bandages encasing bruised ribs, bandaids holding together open wounds, bruises blossoming on pale skin. Blindfold resting on the coffee table.
Perhaps he should announce himself… but with Gojo, there was no point.
“You just gonna linger? You should know that doesn’t work on me.. you stink.”
“Alright, you caught me.”
And so, he braved the sight of his former students face, finally moving from the front door to sit beside the man.
He looked worse than he imagined.
Crystallized eyes shone brighter with the red rims and tears, blues and blacks even clearer on such pale skin… Gojo looked the one thing he could never be.
Defeated.
“What happened to infinity? I haven’t seen you this beat up since…” since geto.
“ Used it for too long, decided to drop it at the wrong moment.” His voice was so.. empty. Broken. Exhausted. Yaga would have cringed if not for the man right beside him.
The shell that accompanied him was not Gojo, it didn’t even compare to the obnoxious, loud and energetic kid he knew. This thin and shivering frame should not belong to such a man, the strongest man, the strongest kid. But he knew this day would come, the day his shoulders cracked under the weight they carried; it wasn’t easy being the elders weapon, and the lack of emotion in the embodiment of carefree held testament to that.
“How long? The mission should have been easy for you.” Yaga had sent him there himself, the elders had demanded Gojo pick up more, fight more, do more. Yaga had been furious, how dare they suggest that he did nothing? He couldn’t count the amount of times the younger had come stumbling into his office with a stack of reports, casually mentioning the six back-to-back missions he’d been on. So, yes, Yaga had picked this one himself. Because if the elders wanted numbers, if they wanted to see the infamous Gojo Satorou had completed seven missions in a day, they didn’t need to know the rank of the curses.
“Easy? Two special grades and a grade one? All working with a curse user? Real fucking easy for round seven.” He didn’t even sound angry, he just sounded tired. So tired.
Yaga froze. “I-“
“So yeah, I dropped infinity on the last round. It was either that or decimate the entire school. Sue me”
“You could have died-“ he was cut off by a laugh, bitter and hateful.
“And?”
—
Clamping down on cursed energy had never been so hard, it was like trying to keep blood flowing from an open wound, he couldn’t quite cover all the cracks.
The mission hadn’t been hard, but it hadn’t been easy, either. On any other day, he would have barely broken a sweat, let alone a rib, but he was so tired, so drained, infinity was too hard to keep up. And the curses were… smart. But they were weak, their strength paled in comparison to his. That didn’t stop them from getting hits in, throwing him into a support beam and slicing open his hip- they were smart, but Gojo was tired and quite frankly, pissed off.
Summoning his domain and ending them in the blink of an eye had been easy once he’d gathered the energy to do it.
But now, here he was. With cursed energy flooding his apartment and his old teacher looking at him with such… pity. Gojo hated that look, he despised pity, most of all from someone like Yaga. Perhaps what he’d said had worried the old man, or maybe it was the bandages and the tears… maybe it was the phone call, shaky voice accompanying a “don’t make me do another.. not today..”
Yeah, so maybe he worried him just a little, and maybe his present condition was downright pitiful, but that didn’t mean he should be pitied.
He was a weapon, a sword to be wielded to the darkness of their world.
You don’t pity a broken blade, so why should anyone pity him?
“When was the last time you slept?”
Gojo had to pause for that one, counting in his head.
“…Tuesday.”
“It’s Friday.”
“Mhm.”
“Christ-“ Gojo sighed, looked down at his trembling fingers and sighed again. He just wanted to sleep, he hadn’t anticipated the older would come storming up to his door, banging against the wood like a bat out of hell.
“Careful, old man. You’re starting to sound like you’re worried.” He said with a smirk, finally lifting his head from the floor to glance at Yaga.
“I am worried. Why can’t you just take a break? Take a day off! Sleep in! I don’t give a fuck what you do- but god, stop running yourself into the ground.”
Gojo paused, frowning. “Easier said than done, the second I get into bed they’ll be calling me again.” The atmosphere was too tense for his liking, so he added; “besides, I’ll just get bored with a day off!”
“Do you not have any hobbies?”
Ah. It didn’t work. The air seemed to grow even heavier. “…not really. Apart from sleeping and training…”
It was Yaga’s turn to pause, to swallow hard and look away. “You’re telling me there’s nothing you do on a day off? Play games? Bake? Didn’t you used to draw?” Used to. Back when Geto used to lay in his bed and Gojo sat at his desk, sketching his sleeping face.
He gave that hobby up once the sting of a knife in his back grew too painful.
In reality, he’d never had the time to develop a hobby. Between the claws of his clan and their training, and the grip of the elders, he was never given the chance.
He’d grown up with only a few hours spared to sleep, his days packed with training and studying. Even as a child, he was worked to the bone. Gojo would wake, find himself dragged to his teacher, and his day would end with a small meal and a few hours left to sleep. And repeat.
It was only once he’d gotten to the school that his schedule had freed up, even with Yaga’s demands and missions, he’d had more time.
If he remembers correctly, he used the few days off to sleep.
And then, of course, he’d woken to find two kids thrust into his care.
And any hope for a break had shattered.
He didn’t mind- not really. Raising them has been harder than he’ll ever tell, so much harder. If you ask him, he’d say it was the easiest thing in the world, that he hadn’t raised them, just dropped off food every few days.
The only one that knows is Megumi, and Gojo would prefer for it stay that way.
He was just a kid, a kid with the responsibility to care for two abandoned children. Of course it had been hard. They were both so different, Tsuki and Megumi, like night and day.
Gojo spent most of his days worrying if he was doing this whole ‘parenting’ thing right. If he was making them happy, making them feel safe and loved and wanted. ‘ How am I supposed to give them a childhood if I didn’t have one of my own?’ He’d thought, the mentality plaguing his thoughts and following him like a cloud.
In the end, he’d simply decided to do everything his parents didn’t do.
If they were sick, he’d tuck them back into bed and call in their absence. If they were tired, he’d tell them to take a nap on the couch. If they were sad, he’d do whatever he could to cheer them up.
With Tsumiki, he’d spend nights with her tucked into his side, covers pulled to her chin as he read her stories. He’d teach her new recipes, take her grocery shopping and remind her, as often as he could, that she was a good big sister, and she was loved.
For Megumi, he’d calm terrified screams of nightmares with a hand through black hair, murmuring words of comfort until the boy fell back asleep. He’d guide hand gestures until fluffy puppies were sitting in his lap, licking away at his hand. He’d remind him, as often as he could, that Gojo wouldn’t abandon him like everyone else, and he is worthy of love.
So, as he’d grown up, the kids had grown with him, their days incorporated into his routine. Whether it was stumbling back from a mission, overstimulated and exhausted, hands shaking as he made them a meal before flopping on the couch. Sometimes it was taking them shopping for new clothes and toys, putting up Christmas decorations, teaching the basics of self defense.
Every day off was spent with them.
So, no, Gojo did not have hobbies, he didn’t have days off or a break. Because that was that last thing anyone expected of him.
“Guess I haven’t had the time…” the words were uttered quietly, but they hung heavy in the air nonetheless.
His energy was getting easier to mask, easier to draw and contain. The silence was deafening, Yaga looked… sad.
He hated that look.
Gojo opened his mouth, about to let whatever words first came to mind fly out to change the subject, though Yaga beat him to it. “It must be too bright in here for you without the blindfold, I’ll go turn the lights off.”
The couch shifted, and soon the click of a light switch filled the room, and then darkness. The sigh of relief was instinctual, his eyes burned and ached, a mixture of the tears and the light. He wasn’t even sure why he’d cried, and so hard too. It was like a dam broke as he’d wrapped his ribs, loneliness encasing him, all consuming.
“Thanks.”
“I’m ordering you pizza, and then you’re sleeping. No missions for a few days.” There was no room for arguments in those words, so the younger simply nodded.
“I need to check on the kids-“
“No. Your kids are fine. Their mission went well… judging by the lengthy bill from that sushi place they love.” Gojo chuckled at that, he’d taught them that trick.
(“Uh… sensei.. that’s not your card.”
“Nope! It’s Yaga’s! Seen as they like us to risk our lives, the least they could do is buy us dinner!”)
The air was clearer now, more breathable, the energy now writhing beneath Gojo’s skin. It had been a long few days, he wasn’t sure how many missions he’d done… gods, he was exhausted.
“Mind if I take a nap? Promise not to rob me?” A tired smile accompanied tired words, the corners of his lips just managing to peak upwards. His eyes were already slipping closed, no longer red rimmed and teary.
He felt a hand in his hair, carefully threading through the messy white strands.
“Get some rest, kid.”
And so, he laid against the couch, curled up slightly with his face pressed against the back.
Sleep took hold almost instantly, the last thing Gojo felt was the material of a blanket laid over his shoulders.