Chapter Text
Gojo’s gaze pierced past the colors of the stained-glass window. The sun poured through, casting brightness against his dark clothes. This space was one of the few places he could see beyond the church gate. The hills rolled in the distance with tiny sheep painted on the grass like small cotton balls. The sun shone there, not here. It tried its best to reach through, spilling into the various cracks of this old foundation. Though overall, it felt bleak. Gojo watched the world from the third-floor window. He remained in the rainbow of colors, eyes unfocused and tired. Work had begun feeling so isolating for a while now. There was a clear separation between him and the people who came begging for their miracles.
Demons were real, sure, but people didn’t know the extent of it. Humans often gave them too much credit. Demons rarely found people interesting enough to torture. Humans did enough of torturing themselves. As a priest, Gojo was constantly bombarded with people asking for prayer, people begging for healing that had nothing to do with demonic influence. There was nothing he could do about physical illness. Gojo was not a god. He didn’t even believe in god. He was merely someone who had power over demons. This was his gift and curse. But people didn’t understand that. They expected him to walk on water. He had to hide who he was, he had to play house with them, closing his eyes and pretending he was talking with some great deity in front of them.
Demons didn’t care about religion. They just loved chaos.
Gojo had seen enough of that in one lifetime. The duty of witnessing chaos while also craving it. It set him apart from the average human. They didn’t know how much the faces of those horrid creatures stayed in his mind. They didn’t know about the sounds those beasts made or the things they said that kept him up at night. They never would. This loneliness was Gojo’s cross to bear alone.
He yawned, stretching his jaw down until it cracked. An odd omen. Gojo lifted a hand to rub his cheek when a pink blur caught his eye. Down below in the church courtyard, a young man made his way to the stone steps. He kept turning his head behind him as if he knew something was chasing him. Gojo continued to watch him from above, studying his squirrely movements with interest. The sun seemed to set as he moved further into the shadow of the church.
This was a new face. Gojo knew everyone in their town, but not him. His pink hair was an uncommon sight. Gojo stayed still, listening to the main door being pushed open. The bell above started to ring back and forth as the thick doors thundered back together. The entrance hall echoed with a shaky voice. Gojo was compelled to move. He hurried down the stairs, curious. When he came down the last few steps and saw the man already staring up at him with pleading eyes, Gojo knew this stranger was different. In the honeyed color of his stare, he saw terror. He saw himself.
“I need help, Father,” his voice was pleasant and young. Gojo swallowed as he walked closer to him. In a split second, he could see it, the demon trapped inside of this man. It pulsed like a second heartbeat. Small spirits were clinging to him from the outside. They stayed on the edge of his aura, like burnt, sticky residue. Gojo lifted a finger, pointing at the spirits and sending them away. He watched as the dark swirls began to dissipate. Though the one sleeping within stayed. Shaky hands came up and wrapped around Gojo’s outstretched arm. The young man took in a deep inhale.
“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. Even with a devil still inside him, it seemed the man could breathe a little easier. The beast within the stranger showed itself for a moment, four red eyes blinked at Gojo unbothered, but no less cruel. This thing was the darkest spirit Gojo had ever encountered. He placed a hand against the stranger's chest and willed it to be silent. And then came the long exhale of air from the stranger. His breath shuddered at the end. Neither of them broke eye contact.
Gojo brought him into his office and they became acquainted fast. The stranger’s name was Yuuji, a traveler from a faraway town. On his eighteen birthday a particularly dark and intrusive spirit attached itself to him and since then, he had become a beacon for smaller demons. This had been going on for years now, without any sign of relief. Yuuji had heard about Gojo’s abilities and came all this way for nothing more than rumors and a small amount of hope.
But Yuuji looked at him with such unfiltered softness that it made Gojo feel afraid. No one looked at him like that before. Emotions long murder by his own will threatened to resurface. Gojo sat back, laying against the harsh work chair. The wood cracked under his movements. Yuuji sat across from him, leaning on the desk more than in his seat. With his arms crossed in front of him, Gojo saw the dark tan lines so apparent from the soft, pale color of skin that lay underneath his sleeves. He blinked his gaze away from that distraction onto Yuuji’s face. There were dark circles underneath his pretty eyes. Dark lashes lazily beat as he looked absently around the office.
“He’s quiet now,” Yuuji said, fighting off a yawn.
“He?”
“Sukuna, the demon,” Yuuji answered back. Gojo tilted his head slightly enough to acknowledge what Yuuji said. The demon had a name then, and not only that but Yuuji knew it. Names were power and rarely given out. It seemed odd that this demon shared something so personal. Gojo leaned back even further, tilting the chair back onto two legs. He hummed aloud, unable to help it.
“He’s never quiet, but, ” Yuuji continued. “I think your presence bothers him.”
“Good,” Gojo replied. And he meant it too. Demons were such nasty business. There were many times he had wished for a different occupation, a world where he wasn’t needed so much. Though, when Gojo watched Yuuji’s eyes close and his breathing grow easy, he was glad to witness it. Yuuji had fallen asleep in front of him. Gojo let the chair fall back onto its four legs, sitting upright before leaning close to the sleeping man in front of him. The stained-glass window in his office was less opulent than the one on the third floor, but somehow, the pink hue of light that touched Yuuji’s sleeping face seemed more lovely. Soft snores filled the space. Gojo reached out to place a finger against his forehead and sure enough, he could see the demon, Sukuna, pushed back into a corner. His energy was raised, and the dark lines of it were spiked up like a frightened cat.
Gojo couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips. As much as he hated his role, there was always something thrilling about having this power over the nightmares that plagued innocent people. He tried to will Sukuna away, but the darn thing wouldn’t budge. Gojo snapped his fingers commanding it to move, and yet, Sukuna remained like a stubborn plague. In the soft glow of colorful light, Yuuji’s lids fluttered daring to open. Gojo held his breath. Despite the circumstances, Gojo leaned even closer. When Yuuji’s eyes remained closed, Gojo felt bold enough to brush the pink strands of hair out of his face.
It was the first time a demon remained after Gojo tried to cast him away. He tried not to let it bother him too much, the peace that Yuuji felt while dreaming seeped into the room. Gojo didn’t have the heart to try his exorcism again for fear of waking him. Instead, he watched, unable to pull his gaze away from something utterly sweet.
A pattern formed so quickly and before either of them knew it, Gojo and Yuuji had become close. Sukuna only seemed to quiet when Gojo was near. Any other unfortunate time they were apart, the demon would threaten and growl. Yuuji found a job nearby, helping out at an inn during the day, but returning to the church in the evening. Yuuji always came to him, willing and eager to catch those sweet moments of tranquility that Gojo gave him. Each night the man would fall asleep in Gojo’s study, as he tended to his priestly paperwork. The candlelight burned between them, and perhaps something more.
This continued for months. This pattern of excitement slowly morphed into comforting normalcy.
Gojo felt like a fraud more and more. Despite his attempts of casting the damn spirit away, Sukuna refused to budge. He’d never felt so powerless in his life. If there was anyone he wanted to help it was Yuuji, but Yuuji never looked at him with anything other than adoration. It burned somehow. Not physically but–
Each evening when Yuuji ran up the church steps, the stress of the day evident on his brow, Gojo felt shame. His gut churned with it. If anyone in the world deserved to be tormented in this way, Yuuji would be last on the list. Sukuna had embedded his claws so deeply into the fabric of Yuuji’s spirit, it seemed that they were morphing into one. In the back of his mind, something told him that it was becoming more permanent. The thought sickened Gojo, but he had to play it off like everything would be fine.
Gojo hardly slept. He dusted off old books he dared not look at before. He spent the nights when Yuuji slept close by, reading and searching for a cure. There was no easy antidote, no answer that leaped off the page.
And in the first moments when Yuuji came to him, excited and awake the world seemed to pause. The touches started to linger, the subtle looks of want were reflected in Yuuji’s own eyes. Gojo dared not push it too much.
Priests weren’t allowed much, not good ones anyway. Gojo had a calling, and yet, despite everything, he was helpless to help the person he wanted most. Even when dealing with other work, his mind was so full of other things he started to lack focus. Other workers in the church started to take notice. He was having trouble banishing little spirits, when prior he’d had no problem. It became a build-up, a pressure that bubbled inside him. He felt desperate to help Yuuji, to hold Yuuji, to be inside Yuuji.
He would halt those thoughts, hesitating to turn the page in another old book as Yuuji slept beside him. Gojo always allowed himself another look, studying the lines of Yuuji’s sleeping face. The candlelight flickered as if shaking its head ‘no’. Good priests did their job and stayed focused. This was his calling, his lot in life, but–
Gojo never claimed to be a good priest anyway.
It rained heavily one evening. The water pelted against the glass, the sound both calming and frightening. It came down as if the heavens were angry. Gojo opened the main door as Yuuji ran up the stone steps. The sight had played a hundred times now, but the added water pressed Yuuji’s clothes so tight against his body, it had Gojo distracted.
“It’s really coming down,” Yuuji said, breath coming out in huffs. “Sorry about the mess.”
A puddle started to form underneath where Yuuji stood. No one else was around. The church was empty, the halls isolating and cold. Gojo watched as Yuuji pushed the wet strands of hair out of his face. Yuuji looked up at him, his eyes half closed from the joy he felt at being near Gojo. Something inside him snapped. Any control that was programmed into him melted away the second Yuuji smiled.
Gojo lunged. He pressed his mouth to Yuuji’s, hungry and desperate. Yuuji didn’t seem surprised. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Gojo’s neck as he was lifted and shoved against the back of the church door. Gojo pressed as close as he could get, the outline of their bodies desperate to merge with each other. They broke for air, but their mouths came back together as if magnetized by some powerful force.
They kissed as the thunder started to rumble outside. Gojo halted in his kissing, listening to the warning the sky gave, but when Yuuji pulled his face close again, everything else was forgotten.
Bells being carried down the hallway made both of them jump, but Gojo refused to put Yuuji down. He scurried off, carrying Yuuji in his arms back to his office. The door slammed shut behind him.
Gojo sat Yuuji down on the desk, taking an arm and shoving all the books he’d been studying off to make room.
Gojo watched as Yuuji slept soundly in his bed. His skin was still bare, the sheet only covering the lower half of his body. The paleness of his skin had been marked by Gojo’s hungry mouth. His eyes trailed the line of his marks with pride. He thought the purple of the bruises sucked into his skin was like art. His mouth water at the sight alone.
Gojo had been living so small until now. He had lived contained and quiet like a housepet. His calling weighed down on him, the priesthood he swore to merely a burden. He wondered what it would be like to be free. To run away, far from any town he knew, and live a loud life with Yuuji at his side. He pictured them having a cottage away from the pressures and demands of others. Yuuji would dance and sing in the kitchen as Gojo kept him from cooking. His hands would never stray far from Yuuji’s form.
Gojo thought of that life and then let it die. He felt his heart crumble away like paper catching fire.
Life wasn’t like that, and he was destined to be something else. If Gojo tried to go against it, terrible things would happen. He made a vow to himself as the sun started to peak up over the hills in the distance. Gojo would help Yuuji, no matter the cost. He knew though, after what he planned to do, that he would never be the same.
Gojo wouldn’t be able to stay here and pretend any longer.
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