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The Star Plasma Vessel mission inherently changed something between them. It upset their balance in a way similar to how Gojo upset the balance of the world the day he was born. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but to Gojo, they were just as important as him being the first born with both Six Eyes and Limitless in centuries.
Their first day back felt kind of normal, or… as normal as it could go after everything. Shoko looked over Gojo when he was back, running her finger over the barely visible marks on his body, left over from the fight. “They’ll be gone in a week tops.” She assured him, her voice monotone, but her eyes were warm, soft, and concerned.
He could only hum in response, dragging himself off the bed in the infirmary and making his way back to his room. He had almost reached his room when he saw Geto lingering by his door, and paused. The sound of his shoes against the wooden panels caught Geto’s attention, and he looked up, eyes slightly widening.
“Satoru.” It was a relieved exhale, slightly shaky and Gojo could see Geto’s hands balled up into fists by his sides.
“Suguru.” Gojo returned with a hoarse whisper. “I –“
“Are you – what.. what happened?” Geto murmured, an undertone of urgency in his voice as he approached, his hands reaching out to cup Gojo’s face delicately, and Infinity went down almost instantly the second Gojo saw his hands reach out. “He said he…” there was a sharp inhale, “He said he killed you.”
“Not quite.” Gojo’s eyes flickered shut, and he leaned into the warm touch against his palms, savouring it. “Not… quite…”
“Satoru.” Geto sighed, wrapping Gojo in a hug tighter than any he’d ever given before, one hand cupping the back of his head and his head tucked into the crook of Gojo’s neck, lips pressed to his pulse point. “As long as you’re okay.”
“I’m not hurt.”
They spent the night together in Gojo’s room, somehow fitting themselves into his narrow bed, arms tight around each other and Geto’s head resting right above Gojo’s heart, his fingers latched onto Gojo’s shirt. Gojo slept then, for the first time in what felt like forever. He slept soundly, not waking up until his alarm rang the next morning, and they dragged themselves out of bed.
The change wasn’t obvious at first. Or perhaps it was, and Gojo didn’t notice. If that were the case, he’d never forgive himself for that. It also didn’t happen immediately, lulling Gojo into a false sense of security, making him think everything was okay. How could everything be okay after what they had been through, after he had been so close to death, saved only by the miraculous discovery of his reversed cursed technique?
The changes began subtly, with Gojo dedicating himself into his training wholly, determined to become as strong as he could and then go even further, because he would be damned if he let something like what happened to Amanai happen again to anyone. Determined to never let himself come so close to death ever again.
And so, he trained. He trained until he could barely keep himself standing at the end of the day, when the sun had long since set and the stars twinkled in the sky above him. He held up Infinity for longer and longer periods, pretending to ignore the chill that seemed to wrack his body permanently these days. His only reprieve was when he could sleep side by side with Geto, warmed by the other boy tucked against his chest, the only one he would let Infinity down for.
A year after that cursed mission, he got to a point where he could simultaneously have the protective barrier of Infinity raised all of the time, ands sustain his reversed cursed technique, preventing himself from frying his brain.
After that, the changes became much more obvious. He found he was being sent on more solo missions, and while it pleased him to be recognised as the strongest sorcerer, he’d grown comfortable with him and Geto being the strongest. Together.
“We’re the strongest.”
That was what they had always said.
But they weren’t together much nowadays, and the chill permeating his bones felt permanent and unending. He was forced to spend his nights alone on these missions, getting in a measly few hours of sleep before he shot upright in his bed, Infinity still active, and a hand on his throat above where he had been stabbed a year ago.
Of course, he wouldn’t forget something like that. Of course, he would have nightmares. When he was with Geto, the other man kept the night terrors away. But he didn’t have Geto right now. He was completely alone, and the nightmares had no mercy.
They were horrible. He was welcomed to the sight of Fushiguro Toji every time, that disgusting worm wrapped around his body, handing him that damned blade that he thrust into Gojo’s throat, filling his mouth with the warm, metallic taste of blood. He choked on it in the dream, just like he did in real life, and he felt the burning as the blade dragged down from his throat to his chest before sliding out and stabbing into his leg.
In and out, in and out, in and out, in a seemingly unending pattern. Blood spurted everywhere once the blade was finally removed from him for the final time, leaving the crimson liquid to drip sluggishly down his uniform. He remembered falling backwards, he remembered how much it hurt and the way everything went black. At that point, the only thing on his mind was his reversed cursed technique.
And it was at that point that he always woke up.
He knew he hadn’t been able to spend time with Geto due to his newfound responsibility with the solo missions and the sheer amount of training he had done as of late. But, there was truly nothing he could do about it.
“Suguru, did you lose weight?” The words came out soft and concerned as Gojo dragged his eyes over Geto’s figure, taking in how his uniform fell slightly looser and his cheeks looked a little thinner when compared to how he’d seen him last. His hair was also messier than the Curse Manipulator liked it too, lopsided in its bun.
“It’s just summer stress. I’m fine.”
So Gojo dropped it. If Geto said he was fine, then he was fine. He would tell Gojo if something was wrong, wouldn’t he? He trusted Gojo, didn’t he?
Then Haibara died.
And it felt like a wall had been slammed down between them.
They stopped sleeping in the same bed, Gojo’s nightmares felt nonstop, and as a result, his anxiety and paranoia rose. He never let Infinity down. He used to in the presence of Shoko and Geto, perhaps the two people he felt the most like himself around, the two he trusted the most. After the Star Plasma Vessel Mission, it was only let down in Geto’s presence, but now… now that he never saw Geto, he never let the barrier down.
He was always cold. He slept with his arms wrapped around himself, trying to replicate Geto’s hold on him mere weeks ago. He contemplated sliding a knife down his chest to bring some warmth back, make him feel something, but he dismissed the thought no sooner than it had appeared. That was a horrible idea. He shouldn’t do that.
Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but he was surprised the air wasn’t visible in front of him when he breathed alone in his room. It was so cold. He had tried it once, letting Infinity down when he was alone in the safety of his room.
It was the worst idea.
The second it was down, the coldness wrapped around his body disappeared, and he felt the wind brush against his skin, he felt the rough texture of the bedsheets on his fingertips. Gojo had always felt everything, but Infinity was like a safety net for him, and now he had let it down his eyes were darting to every corner of the room, breath picking up, and his heart rate increasing in anticipation of someone, or something appearing to slice his throat open once more and decorate his room in a shower of crimson, painting the walls with his blood.
Infinity went back up seconds after he let it down. Never again, he thought.
Then, it happened.
Geto went on a mission. Alone.
5 days after the person-in-charge (Geto Suguru, 3rd year of the college) arrived at XX Village, the corpses of 112 of its inhabitants were found. All were thought to be victims of the cursed spirit. However, analysis of the remains determined they were killed by Geto Suguru’s cursed spirit manipulation.
Geto Suguru is on the run. Under Article 9 of the Regulations of Jujutsu, he is now to be executed on sight as a curse user.
Executed on sight. Executed. On sight.
“Huh?” Gojo blinked. His heartbeat felt like it was roaring in his ears, and his hand were clammy, his shirt collar tight against his throat.
“Don’t make me repeat myself. Suguru massacred the village he went to, and now he’s on the run.” Yaga replied.
Their conversation was a brief one and by the end of it, Gojo found himself stumbling his way to Geto’s room, fumbling with the doorknob and sliding down the door when he was inside. He pulled his knees up to his chest and undid the first button of his shirt, clamping his arms around his knees and dropping his forehead against them, heaving breaths and shuddering sobs wracking his body.
Why, Suguru, why? Why had he killed them? Why hadn’t he told Gojo if he was feeling off, if he was feeling like doing something so… so unlike him? When had they stopped telling each other everything? When did he lose the trust he so treasured with his person? When did he stop being his person? When? When did it all go so fucking wrong?
He fell asleep on the floor of Geto’s bedroom that night, plagued with nightmares flashing between Toji slicing his throat in half and Geto’s cold sneer, fully dismissive towards him, turning his back to him, walking somewhere Gojo could not follow.
The phone call from Shoko was just as unexpected as it was unpleasant. It felt like a wave of freezing cold over his already cold body. He felt like he was in sub-zero temperatures.
“I met Geto. In Shinjuku.”
Getting to Shinjuku felt like a blur of sounds and movement and sights, and before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of the crowd, eyes looking only for one person, his person. Although, he wasn’t sure either of them could call each other theirs anymore.
Geto looked different, and Gojo’s heart ached. His hair was down, and it reminded Gojo of nights spent alone in the privacy of their rooms, his fingers trailing down the inky black locks, twirling strands around his fingers. Geto’s eyes looked lifeless, lacking the spark he’d gotten so used to seeing in them. It looked and felt like the Geto he knew, but Gojo refused to believe it was Geto.
“Explain yourself, Suguru.” Gojo managed to get out through a heavy tongue, weighed down by unsaid words and hidden declarations
“Didn’t you hear from Shoko?” And if Geto’s appearance wasn’t enough of a shock, then his voice certainly did it. it lacked every emotion it used to have. It was empty, monotone, and so unlike Geto that Gojo almost stepped back in shock. “There’s not much else to it.”
“So you’ll just kill everyone who’s not a sorcerer!? Even your own parents!?” Gojo had always been the more emotional of the two, and it was all coming out now in wide-eyed desperation and burning in the corner of his eyes, tears threatening to drip their way down his flushed cheeks.
“I can’t go around making exceptions for my parents, right? And those people aren’t my only family?”
And what about me? Am I your family? Gojo ached to yell out, but he feared the answer might break him more than anything Geto had done thus far. “That’s not what I’m asking. I thought you were against killing if there was no meaning to it!?”
“Ah, but there’s a meaning. A significance, too. There’s even a purpose to it.”
“No, there isn’t!” Gojo insisted. “You wanna make a world of sorcerers by killing every non-sorcerer? No fucking way that’s gonna work! Trying dumb stuff that you know doesn’t work is as meaningless as it gets!”
“That’s pretty arrogant.”
“What?” Gojo’s voice softened.
“It’s possible for you, right? Satoru. If it’s possible for you, can you really go around telling people it’s impossible? Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru, or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”
“The hell are you saying?” Gojo’s voice rose once more, distressed, taking a step forward, fueled by pure desperation. Please, Suguru, please.
“If I could become you… then even this foolish ideal would be perfectly plausible, don’t you think? I’ve decided how I want to live. So, I’ll just do what I can for the sake of it.”
Gojo felt like he was watching himself from behind bars in his own mind, watching as he lifted his hand with his palm up, and his middle finger curled inwards towards his thumb, the rest of his fingers pointed at Geto.
“Kill me if you want. There’s meaning to that too.”
And he was gone, disappearing into the throngs of people in the street, and Gojo was left with his hand raised and a trail of tears trickling down his face. His hand curled into a fist, and he brought it to his mouth, muffling a sob.
“Why did you not chase him?” Yaga asked later.
“Are you really asking me that?”
He went back to Geto’s room again after that. Sat with his knees up on the floor under the window, right by the bed.
“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru, or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”
“If I could become you… then even this foolish ideal would be perfectly plausible, don’t you think?”
Had he done this? Had he been the kick starter to this change that boiled up in Geto? Was it because he asked to kill the people at the Star Religious group? Was it because he didn’t kill them? Was it because he led Geto to believe he had died? Or was it because he couldn’t help him save Amanai?
What had he done? What could he have done to prevent this? Why did it happen? Why to him?
The cold had never been so chilling than right now, and it was all he could do to wrap his arms around himself, tuck his head against his knees and pretend that the arms around him were Geto’s and that there was a familiar weight resting atop his chest, and black hair tickling his neck.
Tears trailed down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. He’d never felt so alone.