Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time it happened, Satoru was prepared to crash face first to his bed.

Outside, the rain fell in drizzles. Soft pitter-patters thudded with the roof as a thunder rumbled, muffled, somewhere far above the inked clouds. Lampposts across the sliding doors radiated a dim, tender orange that clashed against the stark white of Satoru's hair. His room was by no means cold, not when Satoru was fresh out of the hot shower, water droplets falling like crystal from his bangs. It'd only take some rubs with the towel to amend it, and his hair was now all fluffed up like his blanket.

A quick once-over of his hair on the mirror beside his wardrobe satisfied him, and Satoru hung his towel back behind the bathroom's door before he merrily made his way to his bed. Here I come, sleep!

He was one second away from squishing his pillow under his face when his phone suddenly rang on the nightstand.

Satoru halted mid-step.

In a flash, his phone now laid flat on his palm, flipped open to show the brightly lit screen that Satoru had to squint his eyes at; he might've set it to the lowest brightness possible, but his Six Eyes continued to prove itself as a nuisance to him outside sorcery matters. On or not, his senses were far sharper than of normal human's, and it was really tiring at most times.

The screen showed an unknown number, still of Japanese calling code. Huh, curious.

Look, Satoru knew he was famous—thanks to the obvious reasons—but he was strictly against giving his number to strangers. His family also ensured that his number remained hidden to avoid unnecessary attention on his part. It wasn't for Satoru's sake, oh no, it was all about keeping the image of Gojou Clan. For once, Satoru let them be. He couldn't imagine having to accept many phonecalls from the higher-ups everyday, he'd vomit to his phone first.

Now, the chances that this was merely someone dialing the wrong number sounded more likely than his initial thoughts. People called wrong numbers all the time; one incorrect number could result in an entirely different person, and Satoru's number wasn't excluded from the possibilities.

Hmm, he was in a good mood today, so he might as well entertain himself before sleep. It could be a funny story to tell to Suguru and Shouko tomorrow! 

Satoru accepted the call, and tilted his head to his phone. "Hello? Gojou Satoru here."

There was a hitched breath from the other side. It made Satoru arch a brow.

"Se- Sensei...?"

The noise that came out from his mouth next could only be described as an incredulous choke. "Hah! Me, a teacher? I think you got the wrong number here, man."

For a split second, Satoru heard a heavy howl of wind, a creak of iron suffering under a great force until its structure bent. The teen (at least, Satoru was sure he was a teen. Around his age, maybe?) let silence took over the white statics of the call before—

Beep!

Satoru blinked. Once, twice, then brought his phone away from his ear.

The line was already dead.

Puzzled, Satoru immediately checked the history of his calls to see if he could trace back the number to the teen. When Gojou Satoru was curious, he'd let that curiosity drive him even to the corner of Japan.

His last call was to Suguru, three hours ago. 

The teen's number was nowhere to be seen.

The second time it happened, Satoru's feet made minute splashes on water puddles as he meandered mindlessly around school.

Suguru had a solo mission this afternoon, and Shouko was in the school infirmary to heal another injured sorcerer. Having nothing else to do, Satoru decided he'd search his own entertainment between damp foliage and scattered remnants of last night rain. Nearing winter, even the sun was soft in the eyes—especially his—and perhaps Satoru could take off his shades to relish it for a moment. Of course, he wouldn't stare at the sun directly, that was basically a death wish.

Stopping before the vending machine, Satoru's phone rang just as the canned soda clattered at the bottom of the machine.

Distracted with opening his drink, Satoru didn't get to properly look at the screen as he answered the call and squeezed his phone between his ear and shoulder in favour to hold his soda. "Hello? Gojou Satoru here."

Another hitched breath.

"So it's real..."

That voice! Such a voice of sorrow, like a heart just another beat shy from dying! It scratched at the nosy part in Satoru's brain, the one hidden after last night sleep buried it to the back of his mind. 

"It's you!" Satoru exclaimed, unconsciously pulling a wide smile across his face. It always delighted him when his object of curiosity came to him on its own, sparing him of the work and chase. "Who are you and why didn't your number show up in my history after you called me, huh?"

"Well..." The teen on other side heaved a hollow chuckle. His breath hit Satoru's ear with more statics. "Considering the circumstances, I guess that makes sense..."

"What circumstances? And don't change the topic! Answer my questions first, who are you, what kind of phone you're using if your number didn't show up in my history, and why did you call me sensei?"

His last question seemed to catch the teen off guard on the other side, then there was a quick slap of skin—was he facepalming? "Sensei's right, I really run my mouth easily..."

"Are you still referring to me or what?" Satoru pointed a finger to himself, because he'd definitely remember it if he were a teacher once. Yaga-sensei would probably begin praying to Gods to save their school if it was the case. Maybe Suguru and Shouko would bail out in a heartbeat, and Satoru would've to fare for himself in Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. Nope, that sounded depressing.

"It's just a slip of tongue! Don't mind it!"

"... You're also bad at lying, you know, and I can hear it even through the shitty signal."

He whined in defeat. Satoru let out a giggle despite himself. 

"Can sen– Gojou-san teach me how to properly lie, then? Can Gojou-san teach me how to properly hide my emotions, then?"

And immediately, Satoru's grinning lips twisted into a scowl. He hated it when others blatantly addressed him with his family name, but hearing it from this somber teen just added to the acidic hatred. He hated how he said his family name like he was forced, like any other name would be the breaking point to the vulnerability in his request. Like on his tongue, Gojou-san was no more than a stranger.

"Satoru."

"H- Huh?"

"Don't you "Gojou-san" me. Call me Satoru."

"But it's inappropriate! You're older than me!"

"Oh yeah? How old are you, even?"

Satoru could practically hear the gears turning in his brain as he racked his mind for an answer, and he snorted. Come on, how could one forget their own age? 

"I'm a first-year in Jujutsu Tech... At least, I used to be," he finally said, his voice trailing off with no small amount of sadness. It laid thick between his words, but Satoru zeroed on into the most obvious fact stated.

"Ah, so that's why you know my name. You're a jujutsu sorcerer too, and you're a first-year just like I am. Are you from Kyoto? Surely I'd recognize your voice if we met everyday in the school grounds."

At that, he made a wounded noise. It tugged at Satoru's chest until it hurt him to just breathe. Why was that? "I'd prefer if Gojou-san never met me at all."

Satoru's nose scrunched. There was someone who didn't want to meet the Gojou Satoru? This one was something else! And he used Gojou-san again! Tch. "And why was that, o' mysterious student?"

Again, silence reigned their call.

"I have to go, Gojou-san. I'm sorry."

And again, he cut off their line.

Somehow, Satoru had a hunch that his apology extended to something else beyond their call. Who was he, really?

When Satoru chugged his soda, it had lost its freezing cold. The reason why he still finished it to the last drop was because he couldn't get the teen out of his head, and when he glanced at his soda minutes later, it was already empty.

He called again, just after homeroom ended.

"Satoru? What's wrong?" In front of him, Suguru inclined his head over his shoulder to glance at Satoru. Shouko had also stopped amid her track, a spent lollipop stick dangling from her lips (Satoru wouldn't allow cigarette smoke near him, nope!), looking at Satoru with a questioning hum.

"Ah, it's nothing," Satoru mumbled as he looked at his ringing phone, the number of the mysterious student staring back at him like it demanded his full attention. "You guys can go first, I need to answer this."

Satoru pivoted on his heel before he could hear an agreement from Suguru, then he plastered his phone to his ear after he pressed the answer button. "Satoru here." He didn't bother anymore with the hello, he knew neither of them would need it.

"Gojou-san," the said mysterious student greeted back, ever so gloomy even though he was the one who reached out first. Who was he and who was Satoru to him? These were the questions that jostled in Satoru's head like plastic balls above water tub. He had a hunch it wouldn't easy to pick up one ball and carve out an answer from its surface.

"You know, if you continue to call me with that tone everyday, I might think that you're a fan who's been hurt by me before."

Unexpectedly, a cough exploded into their line—a cough that Satoru easily recognized as a ruse to mask a laughter. It was almost ridiculous of how the mere noise of it quirked a grin on Satoru's face. "I am a fan of you, Gojou-san, but don't worry, you've never hurt me, not before nor later."

The sheer confidence he had in his claim had Satoru's heart skipping, then starting again, louder than the scrunch of autumn leaves under his shoes ever could. 

It was the same confidence one had when they said that the sky was blue.

It was the same confidence Satoru had when he said that he was the strongest.

It was too much of confidence to say about Satoru when they had never even met.

Or had they?

"Yeah? How can you be so sure? Are you positive that we've never met before? I think I'd remember meeting someone with such boldness to say that kind of stuffs."

And then this first-year did the unexpected.

He laughed, and it sounded so bright, so genuine that it made Satoru wonder if he ever heard true sincerity before him. "Yes, I'm one hundred percent sure, Gojou-san. And as for have we met or not before... I'll leave it to you to figure it out."

And as always, he hung up first, this time without hesitation or another sorry.

Satoru found out that he liked it better.

One night, Satoru beat the first-year's meek greeting with an accusation of his own. "When you think about it, it's unfair that you know my name but I don't know yours."

Another slap of skin. The other student was facepalming again, but Satoru could hear from his breath that he was snickering. "Gojou-san, if you want to have my name, you can just say it right away."

"Nah, it's more fun this way, don't you think?"

"I guess..."

"So, what's your name, mysterious student?"

There was a repeated tap against the floor. From the sharp sound alone, Satoru could conclude that his kouhai hadn't trimmed his nail. "Gojou-san can call me Tora."

Satoru really couldn't hide a loud snort at that. "Even I can tell that it's not a real name."

"It's better if Gojou-san don't know me."

Satoru had to bite his tongue from calling the student—Tora, his mind supplied. Remember this wounded tiger who always calls you—a hypocrite. If he didn't want Satoru to know about him, then he shouldn't call Satoru in the first place. Satoru knew desperation when he heard one, but what kind of despair that plagued him that it might as well split his heart into two just to call Satoru?

"Then I won't use it if you keep calling me Gojou-san."

There was a denial at the tip of Tora's tongue—Satoru knew there was one, but unfortunately for him, he was faster. "Nope, I don't want to hear any protest from you. Call me Satoru, then I'll call you Tora."

Again, a wounded noise at the back of the student's throat, and Satoru's fingers twitched. He wanted to draw out each of his sorrow until what was left was the free laughter from the previous call. He couldn't stop thinking that Tora was hurting himself everytime he called Satoru, either as a tether of reality or an escape from it.

"Satoru-san."

Satoru's eyes comically widened, both eyebrows shooting up.

"Satoru-san."

Oh God.

"Satoru-san...? Are you okay?"

For the first time, Satoru hung up first.

He threw his phone to the nightstand, and spent the rest of his night tossing around his bed, wondering why did his heart felt like failing in his ribcage from that alone.

Satoru was the one who told Tora to use his first name, and Tora did it per his wishes! So why was Satoru backing away like a coward? Yes, Suguru and Shouko also called him "Satoru", and so did Yaga-sensei, then why was Tora any different from them?

(Perhaps it was from the way Tora said the name with more familiarity, like he had broken down the first layer of walls that protected his heart and allowed himself this chance. Compared to Gojou-san, perhaps Satoru-san came out the closest to the "sensei" he liked to slip out sometimes.

It made Satoru even more curious)

Yaga-sensei called in sick today. Instead of leaving the class like Suguru and Shouko did, Satoru chose to laze around, both legs pulled up to his desk. They nearly fell off the edge when Tora called again, though. Thank God for Satoru's quick reflexes. 

"Hey, if you're really a student in Jujutsu Tech, tell me the name of your teacher."

"I can't."

Wow, that was fast. Satoru honestly thought Tora would go silent for a while as he was prone to do upon difficult questions. "Why? Are you bound by a pact that makes you unable to say the name of your teacher? Is your teacher really that cruel to you?"

"Sensei is never cruel," Tora said, his voice an offensive bite. Satoru had to resist whistling at that. How lucky it was to have a student who wouldn't have any qualms to raise their hackles at moment's notice just to defend your stead. "It's just... Satoru-san wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Well, your number always disappears from my history after our calls, and even though I've remembered it now, I've tried tracing it back and found nothing. Like, nothing at all. I think I'd believe you if you said you're from an alternate universe or something of sorts."

This time, there was a heavy thud, and Satoru gaped. Did– Did Tora just bump his head against a wall? And was that a crack that he heard? A crack of concrete and not skull? How the hell— "So Satoru-san would believe me if I say I'm from the future?"

Satoru blinked.

Well.

That'd explain some stuffs, and Satoru told him exactly that amongst other things, "I mean, I've read a manga where the main character is able to call someone in the past since their number stays the same. Calls from the future doesn't sound like complete bullshit if you count the world we live in."

"Sen- Satoru-san believes me just like that?" There it was: another close slip to the honorific he first called Satoru with. The dots were beginning to connect themselves in Satoru's mind. "You don't even know me."

"But you know me—at least, future me, don't you? And he's your teacher, am I correct?"

Tora sighed aloud. His easy succumb didn't really bode well in Satoru. "How can Satoru-san accept that so easily, and even draw your own conclusion about it?"

Because he wouldn't be Gojou Satoru without some wits. The struggle to not say that was real, but Satoru had a better comeback in his arsenal prepared. "You know what they say. When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Oh God." That sigh quickly turned into a helpless laugh, and for Satoru, it was more than enough. "Satoru-san, I can't believe you memorized it word by word!"

"It's a good quote. Worth memorizing!"

"But you doesn't even like mystery novels!"

Now was the moment of truth. "Then, if you're really from the future, Tora-kun, tell me my preference for genres."

There was a prolonged hum from the student, before his answer came with an air of confidence. "Action, romcom, and thriller. Especially B-rated thriller, because you always like the exaggerated effects."

Holy shit, he was telling the truth. Suguru and Shouko might know of his default movie preference, but narrowing it to this exact detail? It was something Satoru had never told a single soul, and Tora even got the reason right on point!

"Yeah, you leave me no room for doubt here, so let me ask you another question, o' mysterious student from the future."

"What is it?"

"There's sakuramochi, black forest, tiramisu, and mitarashi dango in the kitchen. Which one should I eat first—"

"No."

Satoru shoved his phone away from his ear, glaring at it like it had blotched his family name. "What do you mean no?! If you know future me, then you should help me choosing the best sweets for me!"

Another sigh. Something in it told Satoru this wasn't his first time handling this specific mood of Satoru's. "No, Satoru-san, you shouldn't eat sweets before dinner. It's not good for you. Save it after dinner."

"... Is future me that greedy for sweets? You sound like you've said that hundred of times."

"Yep. I practically rehearsed it everyday."

Oh, Satoru liked that hint of jest in Tora's tone—how alive the colour of his voice was when he laced it with humour. Adorable. Could he hear more? Could he hear more of Tora's prove of life outside his fleshed sorrow? 

Before Satoru could say another word, there was a shatter of glass from the other side, and someone was screaming, their heavy footsteps approaching Tora. The scream sounded more of a name than a noise of terror, and Satoru froze.

The line was dead right after, but Satoru's ears had grasped the mentioned name and held it like one would to a slipping dream.

Yuuji.

The scream called for "Yuuji" before Tora ended their call without preamble.

"Yuuji," Satoru tested the name on his tongue—rolled the syllables, let it echo between the cold air of the class. "Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji."

Yuuji.

The mysterious student from the future, the student who was ridiculed with so much sadness before his calls with Satoru reintroduced him to the simplicities of joking around with someone he knew, the student whose teacher was future Satoru, the student who could pick apart present Satoru like it was an ingrained habit for him.

"Yuuji," Satoru said again, this time with a huff that soon melted into a smile.

It was the first thing Satoru said when Tora—Yuuji called him in the next afternoon.

"Your name is Yuuji, isn't it?"

His gasp gave away the confirmation easily. "H- How did you— I never tell—"

"I heard someone screaming your name yesterday, just before you ended the call. Your surprise is just another prove for me."

When Yuuji sighed, it was shaky, statics bristling over the tiny speaker. Another thud rang, Satoru recognizing it as knees hitting the floor. The sound gripped at his chest, and Satoru distantly wondered if snapping each thread of Yuuji's sadness was worth the empty husk of a teen he'd be left with.

"Please don't use that name."

"Why can't I? Yuuji is not a bad name."

"My name is the worst," Yuuji said, and in this moment he was an old glass—ready to shatter at any given time, unable to reflect any more beauty of the world, hanging onto whatever foundation he stood on because he had nowhere else to depend on. "Sen- Satoru-san shouldn't say my name again. My name doesn't deserve to be said by you."

Slowly, a new puzzle piece introduced itself into the expanse of Satoru's mind. As reluctant as he was to inspect it, Satoru still couldn't help but ask,

"When you said you used to be a student of Jujutsu Tech, were you kicked out of school? Are you a curse user, Yuuji?"

There was a sob, albeit a little muffled. 

"Yes."

Lies. Satoru had never heard such a pathetic lie before.

"You're a bad liar," Satoru spat, despite a small part of him was yelling at him to treat this wounded tiger with gentle hands and not cruelty. "I'm sure future me had also told you that. If you were really a curse user, you wouldn't bother to call me at all. Heck, I don't know what kind of sick play fate is doing by connecting our calls, but I'm sure that it won't be doing this to someone of evil heart."

On other side, Yuuji continued to cry in silence. Satoru stayed with him the whole time without any more words exchanged.

Only their breath remained, a rhythm that fell steadier than Satoru's current heartbeat after his outburst. When Satoru inhaled, Yuuji exhaled a choked sob. When Satoru exhaled, Yuuji drew a sharp, trembling breath.

It made Satoru want to curse his future self. How dare of him to leave Yuuji alone when he was clearly hurting? Surely his future self wasn't that much of an asshole as a teacher to leave his student in misery like this?

"Yuuji," Satoru finally spoke again when he heard the sobs had receded into tiny hiccups. In contrast to his tense fists, Satoru's voice was barely above a whisper. "Tell me about future me. Your voice is ugly when you're bawling your eyes out."

"T- That'd be cheating. What if w- we messed up the future?"

"You think I'm the type to care about that?"

"... Sensei wouldn't."

"Exactly, so I won't too. Tell me."

And so Yuuji did, and Satoru listened to him until the sun dipped into the horizon and stars dotted the sky like a shower of sugar.

There was, too, sweetness in Yuuji's voice as he talked about Gojou Satoru—his teacher—like he was Yuuji's anchor, Yuuji's compass. 

It made Satoru's chest tighten, somehow.

A shrill ringtone stirred Satoru awake from his sleep, dreams of falling sakura petals and carefree laughter drowning under floods of blood. He was no stranger to nightmares, though he ought to bid his thanks to whoever calling him to drag him out of it this time.

Not bothering to open his eyes, Satoru located his phone on the nightstand and flipped it open. "Yuuujiii," he drawled, voice raspy. No sane person dared to call him in this ungodly hour but Gojou Satoru's recent fixation. "What time is it."

"I'm sorry," Yuuji hastily said, as if he'd rot if he didn't apologize to Satoru once in a while. "I'm sorry, sensei. I forgot it's late—" 

Satoru figured he didn't have enough energy to correct Yuuji. Perhaps tonight (or rather this morning) he could be Yuuji's esteemed teacher whom he always searched in between Satoru's breath.

"Shush, if you call me just to say sorry, go to a temple instead." He rolled to his belly and placed his phone beside his head on the pillow. Like this, he could pretend to have Yuuji in person although he had no reference to embody him into his reality. Having Yuuji's voice was better than nothing, though. "So why do you call? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Just... nightmares."

Ah, nightmare buddies. Satoru could make do with it.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"No, I don't want to bother sen— Satoru-san. I just... want to hear your voice again."

Maybe it was the fog of sleep that loosened his tongue. Maybe it was the night biting at his toes that made him ache for warmth. Or maybe it was Yuuji's brittle hope that pushed these words out of Satoru's mouth:

"Then call me anytime, Yuuji. I'll be here."

The call went silent. Satoru peeled an eye open to see that no, Yuuji hadn't cut the line.

"Thank you, Satoru-san. Thank you so much."

"Mmm," Satoru eloquently said in response. Yuuji's thanks stirred the very much needed warmth under his skin. "Anything else you want to talk about? Let's talk until one of us falls asleep again."

"Like... like a sleep call?"

Satoru's cheek went incredulously hot at that. Was his heater finally working? "You can say it like that... But don't get your head too high in the clouds first! I just don't want hearing you all sad and sulky in the morning!"

There was a short breath of a chuckle. "Okay, Satoru-san, thank you for listening to me."

"Hmph, "thank you" does sound better than your pitiful "sorry". So, should you talk first or you want me to give you a topic?"

"Well... What does Satoru-san have in mind?"

You.

Thankfully, Satoru bit his tongue in time before such traitorous thinking could be spoken aloud.

In the end, Satoru chose a topic about himself ("Ah, I should've expected that." "Ha? What do you mean, Yuuji?" "Nothing!"), and Yuuji went into another tangent about the Gojou Satoru who was the strongest, who was the tallest, who had the sweetest tooth.

But there was something in the way Yuuji talked about his teacher, like a sense of adoration that softened his breath and his words, like a sense of affection carefully sewn. Yuuji's voice was the lightest, most sincere, when he talked about his teacher, as if the weight accumulating on his shoulders had been rendered non-existent.

Satoru didn't want to assume.

But he was bound to, at some point.

From their calls, Satoru could say that Yuuji was close to future him. Like, really close.

It took some coaxing, but eventually Satoru was able to draw more stories about future him as a teacher. Yuuji was smart enough to omit the details of the future—he'd have to give him points for that—but he wasn't smart enough to mask the explicit awe in his voice whenever he described that Gojou Satoru—both as a teacher and as his own person.

Satoru felt like tuning in to a schoolgirl's gushing about her crush during those calls, because what else he could interpret, when Yuuji spoke of that Gojou Satoru with such admiration, such fondness and such trust? He had observed this before, but Yuuji sounded more of himself when he was talking about someone else—Gojou Satoru.

Gone were those lumps of sorrow clogging Yuuji's throat, in their place was a breezy chuckle as Yuuji recalled this one time where he had to run circling his teacher's living room because he was chased by that Gojou Satoru, having to forbid his sweets because it was ten minutes short to dinner. 

It sounded awfully domestic.

Satoru was aware it was awfully domestic.

As Yuuji's voice continued to wash over him, Satoru closed his eyes and tried to sketch the aforementioned event in his mind.

He pictured Yuuji to be around his shoulders, because he knew his height was simply unbelievable. The other student was clad in splashes of monochrome—devoid of smiling face, devoid of hair colour, devoid of vivid eyes, yet Satoru knew this was unmistakably Yuuji. Someone, whose face nor smile he had no imagination of, ran around a plush sofa and a dining table with a pack of sweets cradled close to his chest. His laughter echoed within the walls, a sound most warm that even the winter would melt for. 

Gojou Satoru wouldn't be far behind him. Satoru pictured future him to be slightly taller, having to grow some additional inches, and bore the most handsome face known to humanity. This Gojou Satoru, too, was laughing with Yuuji as he chased his student, gangly arms stretched forward to mimic a grabby gesture, his voice a playful lilt as he called for the thief of his sweets.

Yuuji, future him would singsong, his grin positively radiant like a comet drawing gold on black, glittered sky.

Yuuji, give me back my sweets! It's my lifeblood! Future him would fake a whine and cry crocodile tears (because according to Yuuji, he loved to exaggerate), though only an idiot would fall for such an act.

Yuuji was still talking on the phone, but his voice was distant—underwater, or high above the sky? Satoru thought it wasn't both, because right now he was an imaginary spectator to Yuuji's and that Gojou Satoru's palpable happiness in the living room.

"Sensei relented after I promised him that I'd give him back his sweets after dinner, though. I was relieved, because I still had to cook and I couldn't possibly leave the stove on while I was being chased, could I? Sensei just was as silly as that."

Satoru leant back to his headboard, and draped an arm over his eyes. On his palm, his phone kept on singing Yuuji's sweet voice, unburned by sorrow or regrets. Satoru didn't have the heart to stop him.

Even if he wanted to.

Even if he wanted to scream at Yuuji to stop talking about his Gojou-sensei when he already had Satoru here.

Even if he wanted to be Yuuji's Satoru-san during each call.

Fuck, I'm hopeless, Satoru thought to himself, just as Yuuji finished his story with another prayer thrown to their connection.

"I miss those times... I wish I can go back."

I wish you can go back to those times where you don't have to recall your happy memories with your tears barely held at bay.

Satoru didn't say any of that.

Instead, he said this: "The future sounds awful as heck, but don't lose hope, Yuuji. I'm sure future me is doing his best to come back to you, wherever he is. Make sure to kick his ass when he comes back, he deserves at least that for making you sad."

And finally, this giggle Yuuji let out was because of Satoru—this Satoru—and not because of that Gojou Satoru, Yuuji's absent teacher. "Yeah, I think I'll do exactly that when he comes back. Thank you for always listening to me, Satoru-san."

Anything for you.

Satoru bit the inside of his cheek.

He relented.

"Of course, Yuuji. Anything for you."

For the second time, Satoru hung up first.

His pillow later became a silent witness and a victim to his gibberish noises, muffled solely by its soft fluff. Safe to say, Satoru didn't get enough sleep that night.

Satoru knew to what to expect whenever his phone tore him away from his dreamscape.

Groggy and half-sober as he might be, Satoru would never fail to snatch the shrilling device from the nightstand and press the answer button. His eyes, too, would remain closed unless a situation called for his sight. Speaking with Yuuji on phone, however, would only require his hearing.

"Satoru hereee..." His voice trailed off to a long yawn, uncaring of how wide his mouth parted to accommodate the sound. "What's wrong, Yuuji? Another nightmare?"

"Mm," the other student mumbled, followed by a weak sniff. Perhaps Satoru should let his eyes open tonight—the image of Yuuji, as intangible as he was, curling to himself had reigned over the darkness in his eyes. "So many people died, Satoru-san... A- And their blood was on me. It was all my fault—"

"It's not," Satoru said, more awake this time. "Yuuji would never kill people. You wouldn't."

"But I did." Yuuji didn't scream, didn't yell, didn't thrash since it'd surely be audible through the call, but his confession was so, so quiet and honest that Satoru immediately sat upright, both eyes open, staring at his phone with nothing but disbelief written all over his face.

"You didn't." Satoru held his tongue from adding a "did you?" afterwards. He didn't want to believe the student who went to a silly chase with future him over sweets was capable to kill people—at least, willingly. If Yuuji did kill, then it'd either be forced or left with no other choice.

His Six Eyes might never know, but his heart knew that Yuuji wouldn't kill in cold blood.

"I did," Yuuji said again—lost, hollow, grieving. "I did, Satoru-san. I killed so, so many people. I did." He was now a broken record, and Satoru longed to soothe the jumbled melodies, to kiss away the tears tainting the disk and to hold it close as it played another song. The fact that he couldn't seized the very air around him with a dangerous ooze of cursed energy. "I don't care if it was his doings, in the end it was my hands that brought their deaths! It's my fault! I shouldn't have lived when they're all dead!"

"Yuuji." Satoru had yet to get the full image, but right know he was driven by his own knowledge—Yuuji would never kill in cold blood. This would be Satoru's compass for tonight, as future him was to Yuuji. "Yuuji, listen, it's not your fault. It's his." Whoever he was, he was using Yuuji for his own deeds, and Satoru's chest heaved with rage.

"You don't know that!" Yuuji snapped, and behind his screams and sobs, Satoru heard a concrete crumble. "You weren't there! You weren't there when he took over me and killed so many! You weren't there when he used Domain Expansion and destroyed half of the city! You weren't there, because if you were, you'd see that it was me who did it all! It was me who killed them!!"

"But it was also you who grieved for them!!"

Yuuji's breath stuttered, his sniffles disturbed by statics. While Satoru's own was ragged, his knuckles white from where he grasped the sheets until they tore.

"You grieved for them, didn't you?! You cried, you screamed, you regretted, everything for them! I don't know what the fuck is happening in the future, but I can tell that it's not you who's in fault here! You were used, manipulated, or whatever method he did to you to make your body abide to his doings, but it wasn't you! If you still feel guilty, then fine! Go ahead! But don't you dare wallow further in your sorrow until you lost yourself! Live, Yuuji! Live! Save more people until it equals the lost lives! That's what we do, isn't it?! Saving people?! So live, Yuuji! You can't save anyone if you're dead!"

There was a smear to Satoru's sight too. His bedside lamp emitted a blurry orange, and his white blanket looked like a wet cotton on his lap. His nerves were strung tight, Six Eyes alert from his outburst like it was responding to a threat for his heart. Perhaps if Satoru exploded then melted right now, he wouldn't even notice any difference.

Outside, downpour knocked on the twin glass doors, rattling and trembling.

Somewhere in the far, awful future, where Yuuji cried with his hand cupping his mouth, it was raining too. Did the sky recognize Yuuji's grief and wail along with him?

"Yuuji," Satoru tried again, when his breath had eased and his fist slackened. "Sensei doesn't blame you. I know he won't."

"R- Really?" Yuuji asked between sobs, his voice almost lost to the rain on the other side. "H- How do you know...?"

"Of course I know." And Satoru curled a grin, hoping Yuuji would be able to see it through the confidence in his voice. "Your Gojou-sensei is me, after all."

"You are," Yuuji agreed, more to himself than Satoru. "Satoru-san is Gojou-sensei, and Gojou-sensei is Satoru-san."

"And Yuuji is Yuuji. That's all."

"That's all," Yuuji repeated, softer, a contrast to his broken replays. "I- I'm sorry, Satoru-san, I didn't mean to make you yell like that, even if I really need to hear that..."

"Idiot." Satoru huffed, fonder that he intended, and allowed himself to fall back to his bed, muscles going limp. Oh God, what a night. Or morning, whatever. "Did future me ever tell you that you have a thick head?"

"Perhaps... He usually said I'm persistent."

"Ehh, same thing."

"No, it's not."

"It is. Persistent is stubbornness, though in a good way. In summary, you're stubborn, which can be rephrased as thick headed."

"Sensei taught jujutsu, not linguistics."

"Well, maybe I can be your Japanese teacher too. Who knows what will the future have in stock for me, right?"

Yuuji sighed, and whilst it remained shaky from his cries, it was no longer laced with self-hatred. "Yeah, who knows, right?"

You do. You know about the future. About me, yourself, us. About whatever the secret thing that's going on between us. You know.

Satoru kept these all to himself. That was enough a pouring of his heart for today.

"Hey, Yuuji."

"Yes, Satoru-san?"

"Is your teacher special?"

"Huh? Of course Gojou-sensei is special. I mean, he's a Special Grade Sorcerer—"

"That's not it, idiot." Satoru pinched the skin between his furrowing brows, ignoring his boiling cheeks. What was Satoru actually thinking, blurting out a question like that out of nowhere? Maybe he was the idiot one here. "Is your teacher special to you? In all senses of the world?"

"Ah."

Silence fell like a rock on Satoru's head, and his fingers twitched when he realized that it had been so long since the last they let nothing spoken between their line. Yuuji had got more open, and Satoru had...

Well, had been flabbergasted wouldn't be the right word when he was practically learning what kind of person (and teacher) he would become. But it came close enough.

"Yes, Gojou-sensei is very special to me."

That was it. Satoru had his assumptions confirmed. It didn't make it hurt less, though.

"Then what about me?"

Yuuji made another curious noise. Satoru blushed even more when he imagined this faceless, eyeless figure tilting his head cutely in confusion. Get ahold of yourself, Satoru!

"What about Satoru-san?"

"I mean..." Satoru clenched his fist until he could feel his nails dug into his palm, leaving crescents on otherwise unblemished skin. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to urge him forward. Much like a mental push from his brain that told him to say it, you coward. "Where does Satoru-san stand, if your Gojou-sensei is special to you?"

"O- Oh." Yuuji stumbled, his puff of breath no longer surprising when it shot off the phone's speaker. "Didn't you say it yourself yesterday? You're Gojou-sensei too, then Satoru-san also is special to me. Gojou Satoru is Gojou Satoru, right? Satoru-san is my special, because it's you, in the end."

Because it's me, in the end.

Satoru released a very, very long breath, his forehead planted to the rim of his desk. If the wood turned into a goo from the heat of his cheeks alone, he wouldn't care at all. How could he think of anything else, when Yuuji's words circled his head like a lullaby?

Satoru-san is my special.

"You're my special too, Yuuji."

When Satoru lifted his head, the line was already dead.

It was the last call he received from Yuuji.

Gojou-sensei once told Yuuji this:

"Call me anytime, Yuuji. Sensei will be there."

The blanket Chousou gave him couldn't provide enough warmth for an autumn's end. Evening slithered past Yuuji's clothes, crawling over dry flecks of blood and sweat over fouled skin, and Yuuji shrunk further into himself, head hung low until it touched the railings under his hand.

He knew he shouldn't be up here. Out in plain sight, he'd be an easy target for curses and curse users alike. But Yuuji yearned for fresh air only tall buildings in the middle of night could grant. The once bustling, livid Shibuya was now deafeningly silent, and Yuuji had no rights to still be breathing atop of it.

But Yuuji refused to die before Gojou-sensei was released. No matter what, even if the lives he had stolen were dragging him to Hell from below his feet, he'd charge forward until he could get to his teacher again.

He mustn't die before Gojou-sensei was saved, but...

Yuuji gripped the cracked, dimly lit phone—not his, his was destroyed somewhere along his fight with Mahito—on his hand, his bottom lip trembling from another fruitless effort to bottle his tears. 

But God, he missed Gojou-sensei so much.

Thumb sliding on the grimy screen, Yuuji punched in Gojou-sensei's number that he had remembered by heart, then brought the phone to his ear. I'll go back inside, he promised himself, but after I hear Gojou-sensei's voice again. Please, just let me have this, even if I don't deserve it—

The line went through with a small beep.

"Hello? Gojou Satoru here."

Yuuji's eyes widened, his breath caught.

How could this be? Shouldn't the call go to voicemail? Was there even a signal in Prison Realm? And why did Gojou-sensei sound so calm, so cheerful? Yuuji was lost, and he could only muster the strength to call for his teacher, as he always did. "Se- Sensei...?"

There was this loud noise someone only made when they were surprised but humoured at the same time, and then—

"Hah! Me, a teacher? I think you got the wrong number here, man."

Unconsciously, Yuuji's grip tightened on the iron railings until it bent with a shrill creak.

That's not Gojou-sensei.

Yuuji cut off the call before he could do something stupid, like maybe chucking the phone to the air, or more preferably himself.

What's happening...?