Chapter Text
“Suguru, are you alright?” Gojo asked, his tone seemingly carefree. He stood in front of Getou with an annoyingly playful demeanour, his hands tucked into the pockets of some loose jeans that probably cost more than half of Getou’s entire closet. Even when he was looking at his friend, his left shoe was scuffing against the sand scattered over the pavement, as if he couldn't stand still for a minute.
Was he alright? The question lingered in the air and Getou couldn’t quite come up with a quick answer to it. Not that he was desperate enough to share his thoughts anyway, as there were no visible changes in him that could lead Gojo to the conclusion of something being, well, not alright. To him, Gojo's question seemed like a mere courtesy, and the indifference in Gojo’s voice only confirmed it.
But of all people in the world, Getou, as his best friend, should be most aware that Gojo wasn't a man of politeness. Asking about someone’s well-being for the sake of it wasn't his cup of tea, and maybe it was one of the reasons why the higher-ups hated him. But Getou hadn’t realised the hidden worry behind the other person’s tone until the following question landed:
“Have you lost weight?” Gojo asked, and only then did Getou notice the concern in his expression, Six Eyes scanning him from head to toe. He felt his heart pacing in fear when his friend’s sudden attention scared the shit out of him.
Why on earth would Gojo ask him those questions?
He himself wasn’t ready to face the changes stirring in his blood and mind since Riko’s funeral, and Gojo was the last person he wanted to share his twisted thoughts with. How could someone born to overbalance the strengths between good and evil reflect on such matters? Geto was slowly getting used to the idea of him haunting the society for the sake of peace, but by any means necessary, he couldn’t let Gojo go down this path with him.
Gojo wasn’t like this. Likeable or not, he was like a deity sent to earth to rescue it, and turning him into a villain would be the greatest sin Getou could ever commit.
Not that he had enough morality left to come to this conclusion – he was less than worried about the strength balance being disrupted, but if he was to say what part of humanity was left in him, it would be the feelings he had for his friends. And from all his colleagues, Gojo was the one he respected the most. Therefore, he was meant to be the last person to know his motives.
So, instead of stating what exactly was not alright, he answered: “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s only heat fatigue,” trying to imitate Gojo’s negligent voice. He quickly realised it was too bad of an attempt when Gojo’s leg stopped scuffing, so he added: “I’ll be okay.”
He hoped it would end the matter. But to his bewilderment, Gojo released an odd noise, something an unsettled grandma would do if her ill grandchild told her he doesn’t want to eat chicken broth for dinner. It made Getou frown. He raised his gaze to look Gojo in the eyes, and a hint of worry was still visible behind the amusement in his blue irises.
A quiet voice at the back of Getou’s mind told him that Gojo’s joy was only a masquerade. But the problem was that Gojo was 99% cockiness, and this quirky smile he was showing at the moment was an inseparable part of his face. That was exactly why Getou wasn’t sure how serious his friend was with his questions, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the shade of worry in Gojo’s expression was only his hallucination – something akin to a lifeline his own brain was offering him not to lose his mind completely.
“I swear you’re skinnier… Did your metabolism speed up due to the temperature?” Gojo joked, leaning closer to Getou, which made his irises sparkle even brighter from behind the dark glasses almost falling off from the tip of his nose. “Won’t you denature, ah?”
This question, on the other hand, caused Getou’s smile. The mild raise of his corners, in contrast with the clear bags under his eyes, concerned Gojo even further.
“I don’t believe you,” he stated solemnly after a moment of silence. Getou’s smile faded instantly, and Gojo’s quirky smile also disappeared to be replaced with concern completely.
Holy shit. That was an expression that Getou hadn’t seen on him for a long time.
The ravenette straightened himself. With no amusement behind his words, Gojo seemed almost like a threat, and Getou didn’t like him like this. The solemn state of Gojo Satoru made Suguru’s heart ache in a way he couldn’t fully understand. It reminded him of the void he had seen in Gojo’s eyes when he stood with Riko’s corpse in his arms, surrounded by a circle of non-sorcerers applauding the death of the body he held. The mere thought of it made him feel sick.
“What is there to believe?” he asked, sounding as if he was offended.
“Nothing, that’s the problem,” Gojo said. Getou failed to notice how nervously he tried to put his hands even further in his pockets, as if they could help him find the answer he sought. “I don’t believe you, you’re not alright.”
Getou’s body stiffened when he felt an overwhelming wave of warmth taking over his lungs. It was a feeling similar to what he experienced as a younger student, when he was suddenly challenged to answer from a theoretical material he knew nothing about. Except, now he knew the answer, and this knowledge felt even more suffocating.
“What do you know…” he managed to murmur. His sight shifted from the judging irises to a broken brick under Gojo’s leg.
He could relate with it. It was exactly what he became, something broken under the weight of the strongest sorcerer in the world. Something dirty, even, with no aim other than the increasing disgust for humanity lurking at the back of his mind and slowly taking it over. It was like a tumour, which pained him when he had to taste the curses repeatedly, and which almost killed him the moment he saw Satoru questioning the sense of sorcery himself with a young girl’s corpse in his arms.
Except, for Gojo, it was a moment of hesitation. And for Getou, it was years. Years of hate he managed to disguise poorly, and which seized his mind when the joyfulness Gojo introduced to his life disappeared due to the missions they were taking on over and over. What was the sense of helping the mundane, if there was a possibility of creating a better future without them? What did it matter for him to stay on the morally brighter side?
Their colleagues were dying. Their friendship was dying. And Getou was dying, too.
However, Gojo somehow noticed it and swiftly grasped the hem of Getou’s sleeve, causing him to abruptly stand up. Suguru was sitting on a bench before, and the sudden yank made him stumble, as his head was aching even without the task of finding balance. For a moment, Satoru wanted to help him, but he found it inappropriate. Strangely enough, Getou was the only person that made him think twice about his behaviour, and something told him that steadying his irritated friend was a role that he was not suited for... Perhaps it was the guilt that he felt for not reacting faster.
“C’mon, we’re going out,” he said, pulling the ravenette in the direction of the school exit. Getou let him do this, not fully aware of what was happening around him. “I need a break, and I fucking bet you need it, too.”
Did he need it? Maybe… His body followed Gojo obediently. Although he was half-listening, half-overthinking, and couldn't possibly answer, his state didn't stop the other sorcerer from talking for the whole time, walking in whatever direction he had in mind.
Even a part of his cocky smile appeared on his face again. Gojo looked safer like that, crossed Getou's mind, as if things were normal again.
“It opened two weeks ago…” the chatter started. ”I was there before with Shoko… Actually, she was the one who told me to go there, although I was sceptical at first. It’s not my type of place, you know. It makes me feel femboyish and somehow screams of Utahime… I can imagine her spending most of her time there, like an old lady with existential crisis…” He was talking non-stop, the pace of his monologue faster than usual. Some part of Getou’s awareness noted that Gojo was nervous, but he couldn't understand why. “Anyway, Shoko told me this place is relaxing, and I think she was right. There’s this whole animal-assisted therapy thing, so let’s say it’s somehow proven to be working. I think you will like it… They also have the best lava cake I’ve ever eaten, you must try it out…”
When his twitter stopped, Getou found himself in front of a café. Above the glassy door, there were two signs, one of them with the name he heard for the first time, and the second — a cute, anime-style drawing of a tricolour cat. Perplexed, Getou peeked inside through the clear entrance, and discovered there were cats all over the place, some of them jumping on the platforms fixed to the walls, some lying content on the cushions and some resting on other customers’ lap. He turned to look at his friend only to find out he was looking at him, too, with a smile. Gojo leaned slightly and did a theatrical gesture with his hands to cover a shade of insecurity in his expression.
“Tadaa!” he said energetically. “Cats…!”
“You’re joking, right?” Getou asked, only to find out he started smiling unconsciously. The sight of his smile let Gojo relax enough to stop smiling himself, which he had been doing so widely that his cheeks hurt. Slightly moved, Getou added: “How old are you, Satoru?”
“One year older than you,” Gojo reminded, moderately offended by the question. But somehow aware what state his friend was in, he ignored the comment and opened the door to let Getou enter first. “It is still not too old for cats,” he added.
Getou sighed and silently waited for Gojo to choose a place for them. The older opted for a seat near the window, where they had a nice view of people going down the street. It wasn’t the best possible choice after all, as the sight reminded Getou of dark plans crossing his mind lately, and the solemn expression returned to his face. Gojo noticed it.
To break the silence, he explained, “The tricolour is the most famous cat here, she is the signature of the cafe. She is also the most petable.” He pointed in the direction of an animal sleeping comfortably on one of the shelves. “You can pet her first if you’re afraid,” he added, a hint of challenge in his eyes.
“Afraid?” Getou repeated, slightly annoyed. “Of what, of cats?”
“Aren’t you?” It was clearly a provocation. “Then why don’t you choose one to pet? That’s the main point of this place...”
“I don’t need to pick up strays,” Getou said, amused, and he raised one of his brows while gesturing something negligently with his hand, his movements full of grace. Gojo found himself unable to look away. “They find me themselves.”
As if to prove this statement, one of the cats approached them and jumped on Getou’s lap. Ironically, its fur was snow-white, and when Gojo eventually moved his sight from the ravenette to look at the animal, a pair of similarly blue eyes looked back at him with a clear expression of superiority. It made the sorcerer frown. His heart started beating faster.
Getou laughed aloud, “See?” His voice was hoarse. He hadn’t been laughing for some time. “It’s a pattern.”
“Pattern, my ass,” Gojo spat. He was observing how Getou’s fingers disappeared in the cat’s fur when he started petting it, the sight paining him somewhere in the back of his mind but also strangely hypnotising. When he realised he had drifted off, he looked at Getou’s face, only to find out that the other sorcerer was also examining the way his hand was covered in the white fuzz. Gojo swallowed the gulp of mixed feelings in his throat.
“Do you know that white cats with blue eyes are usually deaf?” he asked, a random trivia popping in his mind. Hearing this, a gloomy smile appeared on Getou’s lips.
“Are they?” he murmured, still averting Gojo’s gaze. It made the older shift nervously on the chair. He had an urge to stop beating about the bush and ask the other what it was that was bothering him lately, but when he was opening his mouth to speak up, the waitress approached them.
“Hello, sirs!” she started, grasping her notebook nervously. “Do you want to order?”
It wasn’t usual to have two men around her age in the cafeteria, the strange atmosphere around their table clearly making her uncomfortable. Seeing this, Gojo smiled at her reassuringly, and his Six Eyes could tell him that Getou peeked at him in the process. He blinked slowly, trying to ignore it.
“Yeah, sure,” he answered. “We’re going for two lava cakes, a latte and a…”
“Café noir,” Getou added, as if Gojo wasn’t aware after all the time they had spent together. The irritated roll of his blue eyes was inevitable.
“And café noir,” he repeated, a fake cuteness in his voice despite his annoyance welling up. When the waitress took their menus and flit behind the counter, Gojo finally crossed his eyes with the ravenette. Getou seemed slightly puzzled by his reaction, and it melted the other's heart immediately.
Despite this, he still repeated, “Café noir,” adding an excessive amount of French accent. “Café noir~,” he mocked, again, gesturing the sign of vomiting theatrically. “As if it wasn’t just a fucking black coffee.”
Getou chuckled and kicked him from under the table. Normally, it shouldn’t have landed due to the constant use of Gojo’s Infinity, but Getou’s eyes opened wider when the white haired winced in pain. The sudden hit surprised him, resulting in an abrupt jump, which - because of Gojo’s legs being so long - ended up with almost knocking down the table. Getou quickly leaned to hold it, simultaneously hugging the scared kitten on his lap, and he stayed in this position for a moment, gazing at his friend openly. He didn’t know what to say.
Gojo surpassed him in any way possible, left him behind, alone, in the state of an overwhelming fucking routine, but he still had his guard down when they were together. How could it be that he hadn’t noticed it? How could he not notice?
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Gojo declared, a soft blush appearing on his ears from the intensity of his friend’s sight. He looked to the side, putting on the resentful face of a spoiled child he was a master at making. “What are you so surprised about? Should I beat your ass to remind you how hard it is to fucking kick me?”
“You should,” left Getou’s lips instantly before he thought it through. The sincerity in his own voice scared him, as well as Gojo, who turned to look at him with a million questions in those ocean eyes of his. Under their influence, Getou straightened himself. All previous emotions left his face when he patted the cat soothingly.
Gojo sighed, knowing that questioning his friend now would lead them nowhere. So, instead, he leaned on theatrically, smiling slyly when he commented: “Dare you kick me again and you will find out.”
And Getou approved this change of events. “Is this a threat, Satoru?”
“You bet it is.” Gojo smirked, resting against the chair. His eyes moved to the direction of the waitress when his Six Eyes felt her coming back with their coffees. She laid them on the table, to which he approvingly nodded his head only, as the current position in the armchair was too pleasant for his tired muscles for him to actually reach for the drink.
“Thank you,” Getou said instead of Gojo. His nihilistic smile made the waitress run away faster than before as she mumbled some unhearable answer. Gojo tsked.
“Aren’t you ashamed, seducing a poor lady like this?” he asked. Having said this, he felt a sudden urge to do something with his hands, so he leaned for the coffee. Getou smiled, again.
“Who is seducing whom?” he asked. “I have no idea what you’re implying.”
And Gojo left his question unanswered, smiling from behind his highly masculine latte. They were sitting in silence for some time, which extended further when the lava cakes were placed in front of them, too. At first, while still petting the cat - which he found strangely relaxing - Getou was observing the childlike attitude of his friend munching on the chocolate. But when their eyes met, he dismissed the contact by looking out of the window. The sight of people walking by made him dissociate again.
“Lava cakes should be eaten while they're hot,” Gojo pointed out, noticing how Getou stopped eating after one bite. The liquid filling already left the baking and spilled on his plate, creating a shabby mess. The ravenette looked at it with a hint of disgust, to which Gojo replied: “If you don’t want it, I’m gonna eat it myself.”
“Bon appetit,” Getou replied, shoving the dessert in the direction of his friend, who didn’t even hesitate to take it and instantly started wiping the overflowing filling with cake. “How come you’ve eaten your own already?”
“I told you they are good,” Gojo complained, his mouth filled with chocolate. “You only pecked it, sure you don’t wanna try again?”
Getou seemed to truly hesitate on this offer, so Gojo forked a big chalk of it and smeared it all over the filling. Then, he extended his hand to let him taste it again. Originally, he thought Getou would take the fork from him, but it turned out that he was too engaged in petting the cat from both sides, which was why he leaned in to eat it straight from Gojo’s fork, instead. His heart started to beat faster, and for a moment, the strongest sorcerer in the world feared that Getou could hear it, too.
But he didn’t even notice the change in Gojo’s expression, frowning a bit. “It’s too sweet,” he complained.
“You’re a fucking princess,” Gojo fussed, looking into his latte to calm down. His heightened senses could pick up how bubbles of air were cracking in the layer of its frothed milk. He also heard Getou’s chuckle.
“Who do I hear it from?” the ravenette mocked, only then pondering on his friend's behaviour. But it was too late for him to connect the dots; he thought he might have offended the other with the statement. In the end, it was Gojo who was paying for all of this, so he added: “But the coffee is good.”
“Yeah,” Gojo mumbled, still seeking help in his own cup. He hoped there would be a cat to get his hands busy with, but, obviously, not even one wanted to come near him. Maybe the high amounts of cursed energy made them perceive him as a rival. Legends say cats have a demonic side, which would naturally make them more inclined to Getou and scared of the strongest sorcerer himself.
“Would you eat a cat?” Gojo asked, randomly, his train of thought faster than his communication skills.
Getou looked at him with a strange expression. He covered the ears of the kitten sitting on his lap in case it wasn’t actually deaf, and he confessed: “Only if it was well flavoured,” to which Gojo laughed aloud.
“Not too sweet, you mean?” he asked, amused. Getou smiled. Seeing Gojo like this caused a feeling of nostalgia filling up the hole which appeared in his heart lately. Gojo must have read it from his expression — the nostalgia — because his features also softened, a playful smile still on his lips when he confessed:
“I missed it.”
The silence that came after it was too hard for him to bear, so he repeated, with a more serious expression this time: “I missed it, hanging out like this… I’m-...” He hesitated, not sure if he should continue, but the question in Getou’s eyes encouraged him. “-tired… of not having you around when I fight. And overall… I’m tired.”
Getou was looking at him with a clear expression of not knowing what to say. He was tired, too, exhausted even, but he knew a perfect solution for quitting this feeling. The extermination of human race would solve all of their problems: his friend wouldn’t need to be tired, and he himself would banish experiencing the same fucking disgust he felt while eating curses over and over. It was such a simple solution, a perfect one, but he knew Gojo would argue. He knew he would hate him for trying. He sighed.
“Me too,” he answered, looking out of the window again. He would pay so fucking much for all of this people to finally stop having problems and creating curses, or for them to die altogether at once.
“Would you…” Gojo started, swirling the rest of his latte on the bottom of his cup. “like to hang out like this more often?” he asked. He still didn’t have the answer he sought from the very beginning of this meeting, which made the silence between them too heavy for him to act naturally. He was determined to dig until he could find one; determined to fight until he came back to what they had before Riko’s death.
“Do you even have time for it?” Getou asked, and it came out sharper than he wanted to. Gojo’s eyes darkened as an answer, as they both knew the higher ups loved to make him sink in missions, aware he wouldn't crack under the heavy weight of first-grade curses. He was the strongest and most efficient sorcerer, after all. Noone saw a person in him.
“I’ll find it,” he promised, his voice quiet. He quickly got lost in thought, as he was seeking for a solution himself, not knowing Getou already had one in mind. “I’ll find it…”