Chapter Text
They’d left her there, on an altar. While they cheered and applauded themselves. As if they hadn’t just murdered a fifteen-year-old girl. When Gojo walked in, they didn’t even acknowledge him – instead congratulating themselves for what they’d done. They paid little attention to him as he approached the altar, as he picked up her corpse.
It wasn’t the first body he’d seen, nor, he suspected, would it be the last. But this one felt personal. An image flashed in his mind’s eye of Riko, laughing as he chased her across a warm sand beach. The mental image clashed with what he was actually looking at. A disheveled corpse. Her body splayed, legs akimbo and one arm draped over her chest, the other arm flopped almost to the floor. Half a small hole was visible on her temple, the other side of her face tilted to the side and her hair covering her face.
He covered her body in robe he’d snatched at the entrance way, covering her body with it. He didn’t want to see her face. He wanted to keep his memories of her laughing at the beach, crying over her maid, of her splashing in the sea water. He didn’t want to wake up in a cold sweat, having dreamt of her lifeless eyes staring into his.
When he picked up her body, he found him shuddering – Riko’s body was cold, and it felt unnatural. He gathered her in his arms like a princess in a Western fairy tale and turned to go. Around him, the cult continued to cheer and applaud around him. His grief was quickly eclipsed by his rage, and if not for the body was in his arms he might have lashed out. He made his way slowly towards the exit. Corpses were heavier than living bodies, or so it seemed.
As he approached the door, Suguru came rushing in. Distress was etched in every plane of Suguru’s face; the eyes normally tilted upwards in mirth were flat. But he was alive, and Gojo felt a surge of relief, which was immediately followed by guilt because Riko wasn’t. The applause still clattered in his ears.
“You’re late, Suguru.” Gojo murmured as he drew closer. “No, I guess you got here quickly. There are several Star Religious Cult facilities in the city, after all.”
“Satoru, is that you?” Suguru flinched back as Gojo turned his gaze on him. “What happened to you?”
“I see you already saw Shoko.” Gojo hedged.
“…Yeah, she healed me.” Suguru hesitated. “I’m fine now.”
At that moment, one of Riko’s arms fell from where Gojo had draped it over her chest, revealing itself from beneath the robe. Both their eyes were drawn to the movement. Gojo knew that the skin of her hand was grey and lifeless. Glancing back at Suguru’s face, he saw his friend grit his teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“… No,” Suguru said haltingly, “My being safe doesn’t help anything here.”
“I screwed up.” Gojo replied flatly. “You’re not at fault for this.”
Silence greeted his words. It stung to say it, even if it was true. Worse still was Suguru’s inability to deny it. Being the strongest, it left you with a lot of leeway with people. But they were less forgiving of your mistakes. As much as every success was Gojo’s to claim, a failure was associated with his character and poor judgement, rather than circumstance.
“Let’s head back.” Suguru offered instead, his tone reassuring.
“Suguru, should we kill these guys?” Gojo asked, hesitatingly. “The way I feel right now, I doubt I’d feel anything about it.”
Gojo trusted Suguru more than anyone. Suguru was a better person than him; he had better judgement on right and wrong. He was the Buddhist, the one who believed in karma. If Suguru told him they should kill every cult member here, rip apart every mouth that still cheered, even now, he would do it. Damn the consequences. It would be right. It felt like it would be right. It would at least let him feel something other than the numbness that spread from his chest, seeping into his bones.
“No,” Suguru answered, “There would be no point. It looks like there are only common believers here. The masters who already know about our world have probably fled already. And unlike the bounty, they won’t be able to talk their way out of this. The organization had problems to begin with. It’ll be solved soon enough.”
“No point, huh?” Gojo said, as he began to walk past Suguru to the door. “Does their need to be any point to it?”
“It’s very important that there is.” Suguru replied. “Especially for a jujutsu sorcerer.”
Gojo felt his shoulders slump, resignation doing little to combat the hollow feeling. Still, he ignored it as they made their way back to Jujutsu High. Upon arrival, they were accosted by Shoko and another sorcerer, who encouraged them to take Riko’s body to the morgue. They left her there, and neither had the stomach to stay and witness the techniques they would perform on their body.
By that time, it was late. Gojo’s body was heavy with exhaustion, but he laid in his dorm room, unable to sleep. He should have been elated about finally being able to utilize Hollow Purple. But without the adrenaline of a fight, he just felt empty. His chest ached, and he feared if the thought too deeply despair might swallow him.
Instead of succumbing to the impulse, he crept out of his room. He slid along the hallway, cautiously opening the door. Suguru’s room was sparse as always, and impeccably neat. Completely unlike Gojo’s own room, there was very little by way of personal touches, other than a potted bamboo and incense burner on the desk. A couple of framed photographs had been hung on the wall, largely at Gojo’s insistence, of him and Suguru, of Suguru’s parents, of the three of them with Yaga-sensei. He couldn’t see them in clearly, but he knew they were there the same way he knew the inky blackness of the bed.
“Suguru,” Gojo breathed, “Are you awake?”
“Yes.” Suguru answered clearly.
“I can’t sleep.” Gojo whispered.
“Hah,” Suguru sighed, “Get in here and shut the door before someone sees.”
Gojo shut the door behind him, tiptoeing over to the bed. Suguru flapped the covers back, making room for him. Gojo crawled in beside him, resting practically nose-to-nose on the pillow. He sighed as Suguru placed the covers over them both. Suguru closed his eyes, saying nothing. The only sound was the quiet ticking of an alarm clock and their soft breaths.
“You’re too close. And you’re staring.” Suguru frowned at him, not opening his eyes.
“How can you be sure?” Gojo smirked, not that Suguru could see.
“I can tell. And stop smirking, It’s annoying. Go to sleep.” Suguru grumbled at him.
“I can’t sleep. I told you.” Gojo whispered.
“We’re not doing that. Not tonight.” Suguru opened his eyes. “I don’t care what puppy dog eyes you give me, I’m not in the mood –”
“I wasn’t –” Gojo rolled his eyes. “I don’t just come here for that.”
“You come here to be annoying, it’s just a fringe benefit.” Suguru joked, but there was no humor in his eyes.
“Is that what you think this is for me?” Gojo allowed the hurt to show in his voice, and Suguru flinched.
“I – no, I don’t.” Suguru exhaled. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”
Suguru’s hand crept up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his hair falling into his face. Suguru was often as unreadable to others as Satoru was to outsiders – but not to him. There was a heaviness weighing on them both that had nothing to do with exhaustion. Gojo didn’t know how to lift that burden, for either of them. Instead, he grabbed Suguru’s hand, pulling it away from his face. He kissed his fingertips, and Suguru’s lips twitched in response.
“I told you, not –” Suguru began.
“It won’t happen again. We’ll get stronger, and one day we’ll teach the kids at Jujutsu High. We’ll become so strong that they won’t have to fight. Because we’ll do it together. And we’ll keep all the sorcerer families in line, and they’ll answer to us.” Gojo’s words spilled out in a rush.
“You were never much interested in ideals.” Suguru’s voice was subdued.
“She changed that.” Gojo couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “You know she did, when we talked about her not being the Star Vessel –” It was Gojo’s turn to be interrupted.
Suguru pressed his lips to his in a fierce crush, his mouth insistent against Gojo’s. Suguru disentangled his fingers from Satoru’s, fingers moving to slide up his shirt. His hands were cool and steady. The first time they’d slept together, it had been awkward laughter and shaking hands. But now, Suguru swept his fingers across skin with firm grip and a certainty that came from experience and familiarity. Suguru’s lips kissed a line down his throat.
“I thought you didn’t want to?” Gojo couldn’t keep the desire from his voice when his lips were free again.
“You’re still annoying. Do you want me to stop?” Suguru asked, his long hair falling over his shoulder.
“You’re avoiding something.” Gojo insisted.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Suguru twisted on the bed, grabbing Satoru’s hands and pinned them over hiss head. “Do you want me?”
“Mmm…” Gojo exhaled; he couldn’t read Suguru’s expression. “I always want you.”
“Then stop thinking.” Suguru stated.
Gojo surrendered to him; he didn’t want to argue. They fell asleep curled around each other, and in that peace, he finally fell asleep. He awoke early the next morning, hurrying to get dressed and slip out the door.
“Where are you going?” Suguru grumbled as Satoru bent to get one last look at his sleeping face.
“Higher up gave me another mission.” Gojo debated kissing him.
“Already?” Suguru sighed, irritated. “Those old bastards don’t know when to quit.”
“You sound like me when they send me another engagement proposal.” Gojo couldn’t help the grin curled his lips.
“Ugh.” Suguru turned his head into the pillow. “Go on, then.”
“Bye.” Gojo whispered, ducking down quickly to press a kiss to his cheek, and narrowly avoiding being shoved away as Suguru pushed at the air where his chest had been a moment ago. The words I love you hovered on his lips, but he swallowed them. It was too soon, too much. Those words seemed too much an expectation. When he got back, he’d say them. Maybe.
He spent weeks after that being dragged hither and yon by the higher ups. Being dragged from one location to the next, he didn’t see much of anyone, just fighting off curses. It was exhausting, but better than being left to stew in his memories. Still, he missed Suguru. Doing this alone was annoying at best.
Months went by, and he started to feel better. There was something rewarding about exorcising curses. Suguru seemed quieter and quieter as time went on. He went out less and less, staying in his dorm more often. Anytime Gojo tried to bring this up with him, he’d withdraw or get angry at him. So, Gojo would let him go. Shoko kept telling him that he should do something, because Suguru was getting worse. He was losing weight, and she said she often found him pacing around campus. The problem was, anytime he tried to get into it, they were both pulled away. Another desperate situation, another mission. More and more often, they were being sent out on their own.
When Shoko called him, nearly a year after the Star Vessel incident, to tell him that Haibara had died, he felt his chest ache. But he couldn’t come back. He couldn’t help but his tongue against the injustice of it. Haibara was the nice one. The one who was kind, and cheerful. He deserved a life. The world was not turning out how he’d imagined it would be, even a year and a half ago. He wanted to talk to Suguru about it. But he never answered his phone, and never called.
When Yaga-sensei called him and told him that something had happened to Suguru, he’d left without a second thought. His heart was in his throat and he could barely breathe. When Yaga-sensei told him that Suguru was alive, he’d felt a flood of relief. It was quickly replaced by horror.
“He killed them, everyone in the village.” Yaga-sensei said coldly.
“That can’t be true. He wouldn’t do that.” Gojo clenched his fists.
“There’s no denying the bodies. They were devoured by curses. His curses.” Yaga-sensei watched him.
“There must be some sort of explanation…” Gojo clenched his teeth, his fists tightening further.
“There’s more. He went back to his parents’ house. He killed them, Gojo.” Yaga-sensei continued.
Gojo didn’t want to hear anymore. Wanted to scream at him to stop. Instead, he felt his eyes prickling, his vision blurring. He could feel the bite of his nails digging into his palms – felt the blood drip between his fingers to splatter on the floor.
“I’ll find him.” Gojo announced. “He has to –”
“Stay here, Gojo.” Yaga-sensei insisted. “The higher-ups have announced a death sentence for Getou Suguru.” He paused, and Gojo felt the weight of his gaze. “It shouldn’t be you.”
It was quiet for several weeks, but now he was on the move; when Shoko called and told him she’d seen him in Shibuya, he was already on the move. Suguru. He thought to himself as he made his way across Tokyo. It didn’t take long – it never did. Perks of being the strongest: you were never struck in traffic.
He glimpsed them through the crowded sidewalk, leaning against the concrete planter. Shoko smirked, her though her eyes looked a little sad. Suguru… Looked better. So much better than those nights where he’d crept into Gojo’s room after everything with Rika. The dark, heavy circles under his eyes had all but disappeared. He smiled, the same smile he’d often flashed at Gojo when the two of them had stirred up some kind of trouble, or he’d annoyed Yaga-sensei again. It was not the smile of a murderer.
Suguru Getou waved at Shoko, turning away from him. He either did not notice, or chose not to notice Shoko scanning the crowd. She caught Gojo’s eye as he chased after him, pushing through the throng of people on the busy streets.
“Suguru!” Gojo shouted. “Explain yourself, Suguru!”
Suguru Getou stopped dead in the street. The crowd of people flowed around him, like fish avoiding a shark. Gojo’s breath heaved in his chest, having to run to keep up with him. He moved in closer to Suguru, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Just before he touched him, Suguru sighed. Gojo could see the way his body tensed before he rounded to face him.
“Satoru.” His voice was soft as a caress, a soft smile on his face.
“Tell me it isn’t true.” Gojo pleaded.
“It’s true. You already know it’s true.” Suguru gave a resigned look, brushing his bangs back from his face.
“Why?” Gojo asked, unable to keep the anger from his voice.
“Those damn monkeys didn’t deserve to live.” Fury crept into Getou’s eyes, hardening his usually mirthful expression; it faded just as quickly.
“Why did you stop me, then?” Gojo insisted. “I could have killed the ones responsible –”
“You lack the convictions to spill blood like that.” Suguru avoided his eyes, as if he would see everything, even without his Six Eyes being activated.
“You said there was no point in killing them.” Gojo felt his own anger bubbling to the surface. “That’s it, you’re just going to kill all non-jujutsu sorcerers? Even your parents?”
“I can’t allow any exceptions. Even my parents.” Suguru answered. “It’s not like they’re even my family anymore.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to kill if there’s no point to it!” Gojo hissed.
“There is a point to it.” Getou paused. “A greater purpose, even.”
“There isn’t. You’re going to kill all non-sorcerers and create a world only for jujutsu sorcerers? There’s no point in it. That’s impossible and you know it!” Gojo was practically screaming at him.
“You’re so arrogant.” Suguru muttered. “You could do it, couldn’t you, Satoru? Yet you would try to convince someone that something that’s possible for you is impossible to do?”
Gojo reeled back as if he’d slapped him. This… He hadn’t expected it to go this way. He’d known that it was true, deep down – but he didn’t want to believe it. Suguru watched him, at last meeting his eyes.
“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?” Suguru mused.
“What are you trying to say?” Gojo sneered at him.
“If I were able to become you, my foolish idea would become more grounded and real, wouldn’t it?” Suguru said flatly, then shook his head slightly. “I’ve decided how I’m going to live my life. Now it’s just a matter of doing it.”
Gojo gritted his teeth, his jaw aching. He could feel his lip curling in rage and disgust – they’d had fights before, but this was not just a fight. No exchange of blows or sharp words could reconcile this. They had reached a crossroads.
“We were supposed to do everything together. We were supposed to take over Jujutsu High and piss off old those old men. We were supposed to fix things!” Gojo’s voice rasped, nearly a scream now. Suguru just looked at him, his eyes full of pity.
“I know.” Suguru shrugged.
“Why did you do this? Why did you leave me behind? I could have stopped you!” Gojo’s shoulders tensed, his hands balled into fists.
“You may be the strongest, but you couldn’t have stopped me.” Getouu sighed, resigned. He turned to go.
“Suguru!” Gojo cried.
“Satoru.” Getou replied. “That’s enough. You’re fighting the inevitable.”
Getou glanced over his shoulder at him. And between them was an ever-growing gulf – it filled with memories from the time they’d met to now. The curses they’d exorcised, the sorcerers they’d fought, the arguments they’d had. For a brief moment, Gojo was drowning the memory where he’d been brave enough to press his lips to Suguru’s. How he’d clumsily pressed his lips to his, missing part of his mouth and catching the edge of his lips, only for Suguru to gently turn his head towards him. The way he'd shakily and nervously touched his skin. The warmth of their bodies and crumpled uniforms on the floor. How it felt like freedom to just be a boy in another’s arms. In those moments, he wasn’t the strongest. He was only…
“Satoru.” Getouu broke the silence, and there was some pain on his face for a moment.
“I’ll hunt you. I’ll kill you, Suguru.” Gojo’s voice was full of despair and resignation.
“If you want to kill me, then kill me.” Getou turned away.
Gojo brought his hands up, readying himself to use Red against him. He hesitated, panting, his teeth gritting. His Six Eyes already active, but his vision blurry with the tears that threatened to fall. His hands shook as he blinked to clear his eyes, trying to keep his tears at bay.
“There would be point to that.” Suguru’s voice was barely audible, his body already lost to the crowd.
Gojo clenched his fists, the cuts in his hands from his nails aching as they pressed into the scabs. They bled once more, blood dripping onto the concrete. He felt paralyzed – but knew it was because he was unwilling to chase after Suguru Getou. Wasn’t willing yet to face having to kill his best friend.
That’s how Shoko found him. She always knew how to find him after he and Suguru had fought. She didn’t say anything – didn’t need to. Instead, she rested her hand gently on top of his head. After a few moments, she brought him back to Jujutsu High, where Yaga-sensei found him.
“Why did you go after him?” Yaga-sensei asked.
“Are you really asking me that? You already know.” Gojo said flatly.
“I don’t know anything for certain.” Yaga-sensei sighed, wearily.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Gojo snarled. “I –”
“Don’t.” Yaga-sensei interrupted, holding up a hand. “You don’t need to tell me. I’ll deal with the higher-ups. They won’t be happy.”
“Those bastards never are.” Gojo muttered.
“If anyone else said that there’d be hell to pay.” Yaga-sensei shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened.”
“I don’t need your pity.” Gojo leaned back against the step, and Yaga-sensei didn’t respond.
In the intervening months, he heard whispers of what had happened to Suguru Getou. The higher-ups were displeased at his unwillingness to bring Getou to heel, so instead they sent him on mission after mission. Alone. Alone was how he’d always been. Being the strongest – that was a lonely place. No one to depend on, everyone depending on you. Everyone relying on you. He’d just forgotten about it, temporarily.
He couldn’t let them see any weakness, any flaw in him would be a weakness in all of them. So, he showed the same face. He put on the mask of the cheerful, unserious teenager. He wore arrogance and power like a shield, irritated Yaga-sensei to no end, and needled all those powerful jujutsu sorcerer families. He let them hate him for his abilities, for his confidence, for his egotism. They’d bend to his will, one way or another. He laughed in the face of danger, and trained to become even stronger. To make sure that the world Suguru hoped to build could never happen.
But when he went to sleep at night, he would shiver in his bed, finding it cold in ways he hadn’t before. The room was too empty, too quiet. The only sighs to be heard were his own. And often when he dreamed at night, he dreamed of that day in Shibuya. He dreamed of using Red and killing Suguru. Of holding his broken, bloodied body. But the worst nights were not the nights he dreamed of killing Suguru, nor the nights where he did not sleep at all.
No, the worst nights were the nights where he dreamed of holding Suguru. Where the only angry words between them were petty squabbles. The warm embraces, the soft caress. The way that Suguru would call his name. The only one who called his name. Satoru, in the softest, gentlest voice. As if it were something tender, something fragile. On those nights he would wake with the imagined taste of Suguru in this mouth and his name on his tongue. Both things were more bitter than he could have imagined. And still he ached for those dreams like addict – knowing that high was forever out of reach.