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Gojo was still covered in blood, his clothes tattered and torn. Shoko threatened that if he got even a drop of any sort of bodily fluid on her medical instruments, Gojo would wish Toji Fushiguro had succeeded in killing him just a few hours earlier. But her words were nothing more than white noise to Gojo’s ears, as his focus was singular: Suguru.
As he sat holding Geto’s limp hand, Gojo only wished he was able to destroy Toji for a second time. It was the least the assassin deserved for the state in which he had put Geto. Gojo had never really been one for vengeance. He never cared enough about others to fuel such a righteous fire within his soul.
At least that was how he used to be before he had fallen in love with his best friend.
Though Shoko assured Gojo that Geto was more or less healed thanks to her technique, reverse healing couldn’t mend the scars left behind on his body or wake him from his unconsciousness.
“Go shower,” Shoko said, aiming a kick at the leg of Gojo’s chair. “You’re not doing him any good by sulking here. If anything, you’re gonna scare the shit out of him when he wakes up and sees you looking like something out of a horror movie.”
Instead of responding to his friend, Gojo silently stood up and gathered Geto in his arms, focusing all his cursed energy into his teleportation technique. If he couldn’t wake Geto by sheer force of will, the least he could do was ensure that he was in a familiar and safe place when that time came.
In a blink, the bright fluorescents of the medical center were replaced with the soft glow of their shared dorm room. While possessing the Six Eyes was an honor among the jujutsu world, there were also downsides to such a gift. Though he could see all, it was all too easy for Gojo to become overstimulated by the constant barrage of cursed energy.
But not here, in their room; not in a place Suguru himself had slowly tailored to Gojo’s unspoken needs over the past three years. From a young age, Gojo was taught that his strength not only defined him, but distinguished him from all others. A man of such strength would never admit any weakness, but Geto saw the truth behind the blindfolds and bravado.
The changes to their room were always subtle, but never went unnoticed and made the days when Gojo’s temples throbbed like the steady beating of a drum more manageable. High voltage light bulbs were replaced with dimmable lamps. The flimsy school issued drapes were swapped out for blackout curtains. A lavender scent diffuser appeared on Geto’s bookshelf one day and was never without at least half a bottle of oil.
As soon as Gojo’s feet touched the worn out carpet of their room, Geto let out a quiet groan and nuzzled his head against Gojo’s chest.
“Suguru?” Gojo whispered, afraid to do so much as move a muscle. What if Geto was in pain because of his impulsive decision to teleport them far from the safety of medical care? “Can you hear me?”
Geto’s eyes blinked open, taking a few moments to focus fully. But once they did, a few silent tears fell.
“I thought you were dead.”
Gojo let out a strangled sound of relief and nodded, allowing himself to collapse onto the bed with Geto held firmly in his arms.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Gojo said, not bothering to disguise the way his voice cracked. He was done putting up barriers with Geto, be it physical or emotional; done playing a silent game of pretending both of them didn’t know exactly how the other felt. If his near death experience had taught Gojo anything, it was that even the two strongest sorcerers were human. He and Geto could bleed and die like anyone else, leaving too much unsaid.
“I thought you were dead ,” Gojo repeated as Gojo laid back, adjusting them both in such a way that allowed them to cling to one another.
“I’m not. I’m here. In the flesh.” With gentle fingers, Gojo brushed an errant tear from Geto’s cheek. “Suguru…”
“Satoru.”
No sooner had his name been uttered like a prayer in the dark than Gojo’s lips were pressed desperately against Geto’s, putting everything he had failed to say into a singular action.
It was their first kiss of many; their first night spent wrapped in each other’s arms.
Their first slice of happiness in the eye of a storm neither knew was on the horizon.