Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Getou Suguru is a certified expert in curses —he swallows the damn monstrosities for God’s sake, what other qualifier do you need?—, so he can truthfully and wholeheartedly tell you one thing:

Being the strongest is the greatest curse of them all.

It isn’t tangible, no. It doesn’t have to be tangible to be such a pain; in fact, its intangibility is part of what makes it so horrible. It is the crushing burden of expectation, the unspoken weight of having to be another’s salvation.

It is so very tiring.

Power is fun and all. Many people covet it. But as the old maxim goes: power always comes with a price.

And Getou Suguru, strongest sorcerer of the modern age, can testify to that.

Especially when it’s fucking 6 AM in the morning and he’s on his Rainbow Dragon, flying to a remote area in who-the-fuck-knows-where, sent by Mr. What’s-His-Face Higher-Up. He’s tired and salty and itching to get this over with so he can go back to the utter emptiness that he calls home and sleep.

The mission given to him was rather obscure. An unknown-level curse has seemingly popped up out of nowhere in an abandoned village. It hadn’t caused any harm yet, but one of the Windows who found it had reported that it emitted enough cursed energy to be classified a special grade, and so it should be taken out immediately before it starts acting up.

Due to all the unknowns of the situation, the higher-ups had decided to send their strongest combatant right off the bat.

What a pain.

It was approximately eight in the morning by the time Suguru reached the village. It was overrun by nature, but he could still see that it was a very traditional place, with toriis and small shrines set up around the area.

And— wow, Suguru could feel it. The Window’s report was right, this was definitely cursed energy befitting of a special grade.

Suguru followed the source to what seemed to be the main shrine of the village. Unlike the other, smaller shrines, this one was much more grand and surprisingly well-kept, almost as if someone had been taking care of it.

There was a small river next to the shrine, and there, sitting on a fallen tree over the river, was the Curse emitting all the cursed energy. They sat there, swinging their legs to-and-fro like a child. They wore traditional Japanese sandals and a blue kimono decorated by dragonflies.

Even from far away, Suguru could tell that this Curse was breathtaking. Their skin was porcelain pale, but seemed almost tan when compared to the moonlight-purity of their white hair. The utter brightness of their figure seemed to make the air around them glow. But what really caught Suguru’s attention were their eyes.

Seemingly sensing his presence, the Curse stood up and connected gazes with Suguru. It was as if the oceans and sky and heaven all merged into one, amalgamating to form azure divinity.

It wasn’t unheard of for Curses to take on human form. In fact, more powerful curses had a tendency to take on more distinguishably human forms these past few centuries, even becoming more commonly capable of human speech, almost as if they were evolving with the times as well. If anything, this cemented the fact that this Curse wasn’t something they could just let walk around.

With that thought in mind, Suguru charged into battle.

It was perhaps the hardest battle he’d ever fought in… well— ever. In fact, despite his best efforts, Suguru could actually feel himself falling short. He was constantly pushed onto the defensive, and he’d lost track of how many Curses he’d had to sacrifice as shields. In his defense, he’d managed to score a couple glances here and there.

The battle raged on for what was probably hours, but felt like days. It was all Suguru could do to breathe and stay alive. His storage of Curses rapidly dwindled from the thousands to the hundreds to then tens.

Even then, in the rush of adrenaline brought from such a stimulating battle, Suguru grinned. The Curse grinned back. Despite the life or death stakes at hand, it seemed as if they were both enjoying the rush of blood brought on by a worthy opponent.

However, Suguru could see that he was approaching his limit.

It was on his last curse, the Rainbow Dragon, that Suguru thought it was over. He’s surprised he even managed to last this long, all things considered.

Suguru just barely leaped out of the way of a fatal strike. The Curse veered around and lunged to deliver another blow, and Suguru prepared himself for it when—

In a stroke of luck, the Curse was stopped by an invisible force. Some sort of —hell, he didn’t know— barrier halted the Curse… then repelled them a good forty feet backward, straight into the river they’d been sitting above before.

They didn’t get back up.

Wary, Suguru jumped down into the river, uncaring of the way it soaked his pants, and stalked up to the seemingly unconscious cursed, Rainbow Dragon coiled menacingly nearby. They didn’t twitch.

Suguru beckoned with his palm, and to his fascination, the aura of the Curse was sucked and swirled into an orb in his palm. It was the same celestial blue as the Curse’s eyes. Still shocked with all the events and the absolute bull-heckery of whatever the fuck happened, Suguru sat down on a moss-covered rock, attempting to catch his breath.

Once he was done with his internal crisis, Suguru stood back up and looked at the orb in his hand. He was tired and beaten to hell and back, but he had lost all but one of his curses, so naturally, he had to build his stock back up, starting with this insanely powerful one.

The mere thought made him sick. Based on his experiences, usually, the more powerful the Curse, the more putrid the taste. With how powerful this Curse was, Suguru really thinks he might die if he swallows this.

But if there was anything that fight had taught him, it was that being the strongest sorcerer isn’t enough. He had to get stronger. Become stronger than the strongest. And absorbing this Curse, which would have taken his life if not for the intervention of Lady Luck, was the best way to start.

Deep breaths, he reminded himself, steeling his will for the absolute shit-show about to go down his throat. He opened his mouth and held the orb to it, his hands unsteady with either blood loss, anticipatory nausea, fear, or, fuck, maybe all of the above.

Get it over with and go home.

With that thought, Suguru shoves it in.

“What the heck are you doing?” A voice says to his right, sounding in equal parts shocked and disgusted.

Ah, it talks, was the last peaceful thought Suguru had before all the ramifications of that thought hit him like a semi-truck.

Suguru almost gets whiplash with the speed in which he turns to the voice.

It was the curse. The one that should be in his throat.

Suguru choked on the orb, except there is no more orb to choke on. It had dissipated into nothing, which— what the fuck, what the fuck. That had never happened before. That shouldn’t have happened. None of this should be happening. What is going on?

“Wh—” Suguru breathes out, tries again. “How are you out?”

The Curse, except it doesn’t feel like a Curse now anymore, what the fuck again, tilts head in confusion. Que the awkward silence and staring.

“What do you mean, ‘how are you out?’” The Curse-whatever-something says. “Wasn’t I out and about, beating the shit out of you not even a minute ago?”

The something looks up at the sky, contemplating. “At least I think it’s been a minute.”

“I thought I defeated you,” Suguru says, still lost and so confused. “I used my technique and turned you into an orb and—”

“Hah!” The something guffawed. “Defeat me? As if anyone could! You only got the upper-hand because I forgot about the barrier for a moment and accidentally crossed the boundary!”

Mhm, yuh-huh, yeah, Suguru was not following.

What he did know, was that the something was still up and about, and even if it wasn’t a Curse, it had proved that it had the capacity to harm, so it was Suguru’s duty to expunge it. If he even could.

The something eyed Suguru as he readied himself into a battle stance. They glanced him up and down, judgingly saying, “You really up for round two already?”

“It is my duty as a sorcerer to exorcize you, Curse,” Suguru states, even as he feels a trickle of blood flow down his forehead and into his eye. Dammit.

At that, the something pauses, an expression of shock taking over its face. “Wait, huh? That’s why you were trying to kill me? You think I’m a Curse? Seriously?”

At that, Suguru faltered. This situation had gone from disorientating to confusing to downright farcical, something straight out of the wackiest of hallucinations. Yes, the something had felt like a Curse at first, but ever since it manifested in front of him after it should’ve been absorbed, it no longer felt like a Curse. In fact… if Suguru didn’t know any better, he’d say it felt like a sorcerer.

“Well then, what are you?”

“A sorcerer, no duh,” The self-proclaimed sorcerer says, as if it were stating an obvious fact, such as ‘the sky is blue,’ or ‘the grass is green,’ or perhaps ‘you’re a fucking idiot.’

Suguru is seriously leaning into the third one. He’s getting serious judgmental vibes here.

“Okay, okay,” Suguru wills himself to remain calm and fucking steady. He should’ve taken Shoko up on that smoke offer before he left, abstinence be fucking damned. “If you really are a sorcerer, why were you… I don’t know, out in the middle of a deserted mountain village? As far as I know, nobody’s been here in centuries. ”

And judging from the state of the head shrine when compared to the wreckage of the rest of the village, you’ve made yourself a fucking home here.

“Hm…” The “sorcerer” ruminates. “Actually, good question! I! Don’t! Know!”

Suguru groans.

“I have no recollection of how I got here… actually, where even is here?”

Suguru pulls out his trusty partner, Google Maps, ignoring the puzzled look the “sorcerer” shoots at him when he sees his phone. He lists the location to his current headache… and watches as their eyes get blown wide in shock once again.

“You said this place was deserted for centuries, right?” The “sorcerer” asks, and without waiting for Suguru’s response, blubbers, “That’s not possible! This was such a populated place not even a few decades ago! What even happened?!”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. It seems he’d underestimated the sheer amount of delusion this “sorcerer” was suffering from. It didn’t matter. Fucking hallucinations aside, he just needed confirmation on what the hell to do with this nuisance. They were literally battling to the death before, how did everything get so skewed? Suguru thinks he’d rather Lady Luck never had interfered with their deathmatch at this point.

“Listen,” Suguru says, putting on his customer service face. “I’m not exactly sure what happened, or what you’re talking about, but I’m still trying to figure out if you’re an actual sorcerer. Do you have any way to prove you are one?”

The “sorcerer” stares at him, amused, and mumbles, “So you really don’t know me, huh?”

Then, they grin. “Well, after telling you my name, you’re sure to believe me!”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, feeling like the epitome of the “press X for doubt” meme one of his students had introduced him to.

“My name’s Satoru Gojo! How’s that for a sorcerer?”

Jaw? On the floor. Head? In the clouds— no, fucking heaven. Brain? Blown up. Soul? Ascended. Reason and logic? Absolutely fucked off, nope, nonexistent.

This just can’t be happening. It can’t be true.

Suguru thought this situation was hallucination-worthy? Try belonging in the realms of the impossible, even to imagine.

Because that name belongs to the past.

Because Gojo Satoru was thought dead centuries ago.

The Gojo clan is one of the three major clans of Jujutsu sorcery, having existed all the way back to when Jujutsu first became a thing.

However, in the Heian era, something unexplainable happened.

In the great battle between the King of Curses and the greatest sorcerers of the Jujutsu Golden Age, Satoru Gojo, the then head of the Gojo clan, strongest sorcerer at the time, and wielder of both the hereditary and famed Six Eyes and Limitless Technique, fell in battle. Nobody really knew what happened to him, but everyone assumed he’d been killed by the King of Curses.

Usually, with the death of one Six Eyes came the birth of another, eventually. However, in the thousand years since, no child in the Gojo clan ever inherited the Six Eyes ever again.

This whole situation is insane, and what’s even more insane is that Suguru’s starting to see the logic in this time-travel or whatever’s-going-on bullshit. How else can you describe the absence of another Six Eyes in a thousand years?

No, no, Suguru attempts to straighten himself. He hasn’t lost enough brain cells to fall to such stupidity.

“This has been a nice chat and all,” Suguru breathes through his sinuses, “but I’d like for you to stop messing around and tell me the truth for once.”

At that, the prideful bravado falls from the maybe-sorcerer’s face. It looks so genuine that Suguru almost believes his bullshit. Almost.

“Huh, I would’ve thought you’d have recognized that at least. Seriously, how do you not know? What era were you born in?” The maybe-sorcerer jokes. Then freezes. He looks around at their surroundings, appearing to think to himself. Then he looks up at Suguru, surprisingly serious, and asks, “What’s the time period?”

Suguru thinks they’re both starting to come to terms with reality. “It’s… 2018.”

Jaw? On the floor. Head? In the clouds— no, fucking heaven. Brain? Blown up. Soul? Ascended. Reason and logic? Absolutely fucked off, nope, nonexistent. Except, refreshingly, this time it’s not Suguru that’s going through the 5 Stages of Disbelief on repeat.

“Holy shit…” Gojo —Suguru thinks he’s come to terms with it— says. “No, seriously, holy shit.”

Suguru sighs. “Holy shit, indeed.”

“So…” Suguru says very conversationally. “What’ve you been up to these past thousand years?”

Gojo sends a deadpan look at him. Suguru raises his hands in mock defense. Gojo sighs. “Honestly, I wasn’t very sentient the last thousand years. I’ve had drifting moments of consciousness, and I know I was lucid for some prolonged periods of time, but it’s so long ago that I forget. Mustn’t’ve been important, anyways. The last thing I clearly remembered was being surrounded by fire and destruction. It was an absolute mess! You should’ve seen it.”

Fire and destruction? Suguru thinks back to the hundreds of reports on property damage from the Heian era, the countless accounts of death and other tragedies, and the paintings that depict the King of Curses surrounded by hellfire. Yeah, that tracks.

“What even happened to you?” Suguru asks, curiosity winning over. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Very good question, Getou!” Gojo says, making use of the name he’d told him a few minutes ago. “The answer? I don’t know!”

It seems this man knew nothing. How frustrating. They shared that boat, at least.

“I was fighting Mr. Rabid Hellhound, aka the self-proclaimed King of Curses, and totally kicking his ass, by the way… and then nothing,” Gojo recounts with obvious bias. “Then, when I woke up, I was here. I remember I wandered around a bit, but when I got too far from the shrine… as you previously saw, I was blasted back by some sort of barrier. So I guess for a thousand years I just kinda drifted along here. Not that I was very aware of myself. In fact, I only became more sentient while I was fighting you. Why did you fight me, again? That was very rude, going in for the kill like that.”

“Well, I thought you were a Curse, and it’s my literal job to exorcize them… so yeah.”

“How the hell did you mistake me for a Curse?” Gojo pouts petulantly.

“Before I activated my technique on you, you sure as hell felt like a Curse,” Suguru defends himself indignantly.

“Mmm, I believe you,” Gojo declares. “That’s probably because I was sealed into a cursed object of some sorts, causing my energy to be overlapped by the cursed energy of whatever was used to entrap me.”

“Then what was up with that barrier thing? Why’s it there?”

Gojo frowns for the first time since they met, which is admittedly not that long ago, but Suguru still doesn’t like that expression marring Gojo’s unfairly pretty face.

“My best guess is that whoever sealed me must’ve made a binding vow to place the condition that I was allowed to roam so long as I didn’t cross a certain distance…” Gojo’s eyes brighten at that. He skips off towards the forest in a random fit of energy.

“Hey!” Suguru shouts, getting onto his feet to pursue him. Don’t you dare la-dee-da waltz out on me!

Gojo comes to a stop and beams back at Suguru. For a quick second, the only thing Suguru can do is marvel at the sorcerer's sheer beauty before he snaps himself out of it.

Gojo pumps his fist up in childish victory. “I was right! I can go outside the boundaries now!”

“What changed?”

Gojo fully turns back to Suguru. “You said your cursed technique allows you to absorb and control Curses, no? I think when you tried to absorb me, you lifted the seal that was placed on me by proxy, and then couldn’t absorb me because I no longer qualified as a curse. How convenient!”

How convenient, indeed, Suguru thinks with an impending sense of dread, that I accidentally released the world’s greatest menace.

Gojo runs over to Suguru and grabs his arm. Before Suguru can pull away, a bout of nausea that’s for once not caused by his technique overtakes him. In a flash, they are inside the shrine instead of at the river beside it. Suguru slaps a hand over his mouth, repeating to himself that he’s had worse.

“Whoops,” he hears Gojo say to the side no-so-apologetically as he unhelpfully rubs Suguru’s back, which in fact makes everything feel worse. “I forgot that this happens to people when it’s their first time.”

Once Suguru finally gets his revolting stomach under control, he straightens up. “What are we even here for?”

“I’m just trying to find what I was sealed into,” Gojo responds as he inspects the shrine.

Suguru takes this moment to analyze the shrine he had previously ignored in favor of the white-haired sorcerer beside him. He wasn’t expecting much from a deserted place, but what he found shocked him. Along the walls were scores of tally marks, keeping track of… something. It was almost eerie, the way they seemed to have been messily scratched onto the walls. All four walls of the main room of the shrine were covered top to bottom in the etchings.

“What are all these tally marks for?” Suguru found himself asking aloud.

“Eh,” Gojo bounded towards him, eyeing the marks himself. “I don’t know. They were already here when I first woke up.”

Suguru stares at the walls just a little longer, a bit unsettled, then abandons it in favor of checking the other ornaments lying around.

No later than two minutes, Gojo finds the desired object. It is an unassuming small red cube, out of place in a shrine but not overtly suspicious.

Gojo takes it into his hand, and when Suguru turns to him, he sees a complicated expression on his face. It disappears before he can question it.

“Well, this is the thing! So small… hard to believe it held such a powerful sorcerer such as myself for so long!” Gojo nods and pockets the cube into his obi.

“Uh huh,” Suguru shakes his head, then stumbles.

Ah, he’d forgotten that he’d just come out of a battle to the death and sported quite a few severe injuries from it. He supports himself with one arm on the wall and breathes in deeply. He has to contact Shoko and get back as soon as possible.

“Hey, uh… you don’t look too good,” Gojo says, and when Suguru looks up at him, he seems to sustain no injury, not that he’d gotten injured much in the first place, what with his weird ability to deflect any and all attacks. But Suguru could’ve sworn he’d got in one good blow in there somewhere. Maybe the damage just didn’t stick after Suguru failed to absorb him? “Do you want me to—”

“I have to get back to my apartment,” Suguru decides.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Gojo whines. “Leaving so soon? What’s poor ol’ me going to do?”

“You’re coming with me,” Suguru says, stupidly, probably because he’s most likely concussed and isn’t thinking clearly —or at least that’s what he’ll say if anyone asks. To be truthful, he didn’t know where he was going with this, but frankly, this whole situation was absurd and there wasn’t much of another choice. Unless he wanted a special grade menace who was supposedly a member of one of the oldest clans of jujutsu sorcery to roam free unchecked. So sure! Let’s bring the ancient, absurdly-powerful should-be dead sorcerer back home with him so he can sleep on his growing mountain of problems and headaches and leave it for tomorrow-Suguru to handle! Yup, great decision making skills he’s got there.

Gojo perks up. “Yay! How far do you live?”

“Far, we’re going to need at least 2 hours to get there by flight—”

“Why don’t I just teleport us?” Gojo offers.

Suguru offers him the stink-eye. He did not want a repeat of that experience.

Gojo sheepishly backs off. “Hey, the side-effects usually wear off by the second… or third time?”

Suguru sighs. He’s tired and he wants to get home and have Shoko treat his injuries as soon as possible because he doesn’t want to deal with Gojo while light-headed, so he’ll just have to take his chances. “Y’know what? Fine, whatever.”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be such a grouch!” Gojo cheers. “But, I’m going to need you to tell me where your… erm, apartment is.”

Suguru pulls out his phone, texts Shoko a quick message telling her to get to his apartment, and pulls up his address to show Gojo. He turns his phone screen to Gojo.

“Um, what is this glowing contraption?” Gojo says inspecting said contraption suspiciously. “Why are there words and pictures on it?”

Right, Suguru forgot he was dealing with someone from the fucking Heian era. The absurdity of everything comes crashing back down on Suguru’s frankly exhausted head. “It’s a phone,” Suguru explains tiredly. “I’ll tell you more about it later. The string of words and numbers at the bottom is my address.”

Gojo stares at it. Then blinks. Then repeat. “I was talking about spatial coordinates, you know…”

Suguru blinks. Then scowls. He brings his phone back to him, then after a bit of fiddling, pushes it right back into Gojo’s insufferably pretty face. “There, happy?”

“Very,” Gojo affirms, probably referring to his irritation more than anything else.

Gojo grabs Suguru’s shoulder, and knowing it’s for the sake of teleportation, Suguru lets him. Gojo looks at the shrine, says a quick goodbye, and then they are gone.

Chapter Text

The moment he felt the floor beneath his feet again, he stumbled against a wall and groaned, holding his revolting stomach. It wasn’t as bad as the first time, but it wasn’t significantly better either.

“Looks like it's the third time’s the charm,” Suguru heard Gojo mutter beside him. He has the strong urge to hobble over to him and vomit on his shoes, but he has enough dignity to not act on that desire, if not for Gojo’s sandals’ sake, then for his own self-image.

Besides, it seems as if Gojo had a sense of self-preservation, considering how he was standing six feet away from Suguru as if he had the virus.

A minute or two passed before Suguru’s stomach finally settled down. He sighed and got up from his position leaning against the wall. During this time, Gojo had been very rudely rummaging through his things, flicking the lights, fiddling with the sink, ogling and messing around with the trinkets around the apartment. Suguru didn’t really blame him though, since the man came from an era where all these appliances were nonexistent.

Flick-flick-flick-flick—

“God, will you stop with the lights—”

“You must’ve finished your mission awfully fast if you’re back so soon—” Shoko barges into his room before pausing, taking in the unfamiliar guest. “...who is this?”

Flick-flick-flick-flick, Gojo still fiddles with the light switch, bathing the three of them in light then darkness repeatedly, even as Shoko and him engage in an impressive staring contest. Shoko wins, obviously.

Suguru’s eye twitches. The continuous contrast of lighting does not mix well with the headache he’s currently nursing.

Shoko never knocks before entering uninvited, knowing that she’s welcome anytime. It’s something Suguru is usually fond of. …When there isn’t a probably, maybe, most-likely state secret in his living room.

“This is…” Suguru starts, then pauses. He clearly didn’t think this out, did he? Calling Shoko to his apartment and then bringing his “secret” along like it was some meet and greet, what did he think was going to happen?

“I’m Gojo Satoru!” The idiot finishes his sentence cheerfully, flicking the light switch one last time before bounding over to the middle of the living room.

It’s rare that Shoko shows such blatant shock on her face. Suguru could count the number of occasions it’s happened on one hand. Well, two now, if you include this one. The shock turns into disbelief.

“Gojo… Satoru…” Shoko repeats, testing the name on her tongue. “You can’t be serious,” she turns to Suguru accusingly. “Suguru, he’s just kidding, right?”

Suguru shakes his head. “I wish.”

Shoko’s eyes furrow. She evidently still doesn’t believe it. Suguru doesn’t blame her. He’s still half-doubtful himself. “Don’t tell me you’re in on this prank too. I expected better from you, Suguru. If you’re going to prank me, at least make it believable. This is just absurd.”

Oh, how Suguru wishes this living headache was just a bad joke. “I want this to be fake just as much as you, Shoko, but believe me when I say this is real. Look.”

In a sudden movement, Suguru hurls a knife at Gojo. It stops before the area between his eyes, centimeters away. Gojo blinks calmly at it and raises his hand, letting the knife clatter to the floor, and smiles, saying, “You’ll have to do better than that, Getou-kun.”

Shoko blinks. Suguru sighs.

“Limitless,” Shoko says, almost in awe at seeing the famed technique that had been thought to be lost to time. She looks at Gojo’s face, really scrutinizing it.

“C’mon, don’t stare at me like that,” Gojo flutters his absurdly long eyelashes at her. “You’re making me blush.”

Shoko scrunches her nose in disgust. “You also have Six Eyes, huh? I guess I should’ve known they weren’t contacts with the way they glow like LED lights.”

“Hey!” Gojo shouts indignantly.

“Huh,” she sighs. “What do ya know? Weird shit happens everyday in jujutsu society, I guess. Weird sorcerer superpowers bullshit, even weirder and grotesque mass-murdering monsters born from aftermaths of breakups, piles of cadavers in the morgue, and apparently time-travel necromancy as well.”

She’s going through the 5 Stages of Disbelief, Suguru can tell. She’s just much better at maintaining her resting bitch face.

“It wasn’t time travel!” Gojo chirps. “I was just sealed in a cube for a thousand years, big difference there.”

“Yeah… right,” Shoko says with a carefully blank face, as if she can’t even be bothered to emote shock anymore. She turns to Suguru. “What matters right now is that we find out what the fuck we’re going to do with him. I assume you have a plan?”

She looks at Suguru. Raises her eyebrow when he averts his gaze. There is pure disappointment in her eyes, Suguru knows, and he’s not going to look at it. If he doesn’t see it, it doesn’t exist. Object permanence is a nonexistent concept, effective immediately.

“Listen, operating on a concussion right now, and I called you over so I can regain my ability to think clearly, which I’d like back right this very moment,” Suguru says. “Let’s talk about the nitty-gritty details when I don’t feel like barfing on you two, okay?”

That gets them moving quickly.

Gojo goes back to wandering his apartment, thankfully not messing with the lights anymore, and Shoko makes quick work of his injuries. Much more refreshed, Suguru breathes out a sigh of relief.

“So…” Shoko says, breaking the calm because of course it couldn’t last more than a minute at a time. “What are we going to do with Gojo? Actually, first I’d like an explanation on what the fuck’s going on, five page essay and all that.”

Suguru shoots her a nasty glare, which she returns to a much greater effect, and sighs. “It’s exactly as the man himself says. He got sealed in a cursed object for a good thousand years and I accidentally unsealed him when I tried to absorb him, thinking he was a Curse, which failed because he obviously isn’t one like the reports told me.” Suguru groans. “I could’ve just skipped the deathmatch part if I’d known he wasn’t a Curse.”

Shoko looks him up and down, likely reminiscing on the battered state his body had just been in. “That didn’t turn out too well for you, huh, strongest sorcerer?”

Suguru’s face sours. “That’s usually what happens when you fight someone with the strength of a god. ”

Shoko laughs. “Alright, salty. But seriously, what are we going to do with him? We can’t just lock him up in your apartment forever.”

Suguru is very tempted to do just that, actually. The world doesn’t deserve to be reintroduced to the absolute menace Gojo has proven himself to be in the short minutes Suguru’s gotten to know him.

“Should we send him back to the Gojo estate?” Shoko wonders aloud. “I’m sure they’d be ecstatic with the reappearance of a Six Eyes and Limitless user with how looked down upon they’d been the past few centuries for the absence of it.”

“I will kill you if you send me to them,” a cheerful voice intones.

Suguru and Shoko both whip their heads around to see Gojo back in the living room, skillfully twirling the knife Suguru had thrown at him in his hands with a small smile, as if he hadn’t just threatened murder.

“...Okay,” Shoko says, taking it in stride. Suguru likes that about her. You could become a mass-murderer and she’d wouldn’t make a fuss as long as you remembered to hand her a smoke. “I guess that’s out of the water then. Any other suggestions?”

Silence.

“Well,” Gojo starts, “since Suguru was the one who brought me here, I opt that he take responsibility for me!”

Suguru wanted to snap at Gojo to go back to his little shrine, but he knew he couldn’t in good conscience let such a powerful sorcerer and important historical figure go unchecked. It wasn’t as if he’d stay at the shrine anyways, what with his newfound freedom. But he was already a sleep deprived zombie who was forcefully engaged to his work and subsisted solely off of coffee and tea; he didn’t have the time nor means nor energy nor shits to give to take care of a manchild who found himself in the wrong century.

“As far as I can see, the best option would be to go to the Gojo estate,” Suguru rubbed his eyes, feeling older than even the millenia-old sorcerer in his living room. “They’ll be able to help you far better than anyone else.”

“I do plan to make good on my threat if you follow through with that, Getou-kun,” Gojo says gleefully with a sinister undertone. “It’s been a millenia and I have no doubt that those idiot pieces of shit haven’t changed in the least with the times passed. I’m not touching any of the clans with a ten-mile rod.”

Wow, seems like someone has bad blood with the clans.

Suguru looks at Shoko helplessly, imploring for her great and oh-so insightful wisdom. Shoko seems to be contemplating, chin in her hand.

“I’ve decided,” Shoko starts, and Suguru’s eyes brighten with hope. See? This is why Shoko is—

“—that this is not my problem. I’m not playing janitor for your fuck-ups at 7 in the morning, so good luck with this.”

She’s out of the door before he can even say anything.

He takes it all back. Shoko is no longer his bestie and he will no longer be sneaking cigarettes for her. In fact, she’d made it to the top three spots on his hit list, right under the “jujutsu society’s higher-ups” and “Satoru Gojo”.

“Huh, I guess she agrees with my sentiment,” Gojo watches her leave then turns to Suguru with a cheeky grin on his face that Suguru has the urge to slap off. “I guess I’ll be staying with you for the unforeseeable future?”

Suguru sighs for what might be the thousandth time in a day. He’d better watch it or else he’d turn into Nanami.

It is still morning when Suguru makes a call to Ijichi to politically and politely inform him that he was taking a vacation and that he could tell the higher-ups and have them shove it up their ass if they had any complaints before hanging up abruptly, ignoring the 27 incoming calls that proceeded after. Dick move? Yes, absolutely. Giving a flying fuck? No, but debateable, only because he felt bad for Ijichi.

After his emotionally-draining 30-second call, he turned to the ancient relic in his kitchen and said, “We’re going shopping.”

Gojo tilted his head, quite reminiscent of a cat. “What is shopping?”

Suguru stares at him. He stares back.

Suguru slaps his forehead with all the mental anguish of a man forced to babysit someone more than 40 times his age but with the customary knowledge of a toddler.

“We’re going to get you some clothes and other necessities,” Suguru elaborates, putting it into elementary terms. If Gojo’s going to stay here, then he’d need his own daily appliances because Suguru sure as hell wasn’t going to share his shirt or toothbrush with him.

“Ah, ok,” Gojo says, nodding.

Suguru nods back and returns to the living room of his apartmentment. He rummages around his apartment until he finds what he was looking for. He goes back to Gojo, who had wandered into the living room as well.

“Put down Infinity,” Suguru orders.

“What? Wanna take another shot with that knife of yours?” Gojo jokes.

Suguru rolls his eyes. “No, I’m just going to put something on you.”

“Go ahead,” Gojo offers. “As long as it doesn’t register as a threat, Infinity will automatically let up.”

Training his technique to self-automate and identify threats? That’s really impressive, not that Suguru’s going to say that. He gets the feeling that Gojo’s ego is already big enough without the extra preening. Instead, he walks up to Gojo and puts the sunglasses that he’d found onto his face.

He steps back and inspects the person in front of him. Frankly, he looked ridiculous, in a traditional kimono with tacky summer-beach shades on him. It still did nothing to distract from his almost unreal beauty, even if it did obscure his eyes a bit.

“What’s this for?” Gojo asks as he adjusts the glasses onto his face more comfortably.

“Those are sunglasses,” Suguru says. “They’re to cover your eyes because they fucking glow and are too distinctive. If you don’t want to go back to the Gojo clan, it’d be better if no one recognized you before you acclimate to modern society.”

Suguru hopes that’ll happen soon. He can’t wait to dump Gojo out of his home at the soonest possible chance.

“Oh, alright,” Gojo blinks and shrugs before excitedly skipping to the front door. “Now, are we going or not? I wanna see what this ‘shopping’ is like!”

“Suguruuuu,” Gojo says, decidedly not excited anymore as they round the third aisle of the sixth store they’ve been to. “Can we go back to the apartment now?”

Suguru rolls his eyes. They were mostly done with shopping, having bought most of the necessary items already. Gojo was carrying all the bags, of course. Suguru was just looking to buy a new shirt for himself because they were already out, so why not just do so while they were at it?

All in all, shopping wasn’t a complete disaster as Suguru had thought it’d be. The only complications they ran into were the weird looks Gojo got for wearing a kimono out in public in the 21st century and that one time Gojo had almost walked out of the first store they went to without paying for anything, having assumed it was a fucking charity or something.

Shopping would be going even better if he didn’t have the manchild nipping at his heels and complaining every other second, though. Having gotten tired of walking around with no aim for a devastating total of five minutes, Gojo had taken to annoying the shit out of Suguru to compel him to leave.

“Patience, Satoru,” Suguru says, the unfamiliar name sticking to his tongue even as he expelled it. They’d agreed that he should call him by his first name to avoid recognition by his well-known last name. However, Gojo had only agreed on the condition that he got to called Suguru by his given name as well.

“But I’m so boreedddd!” Gojo whined, drawing out the syllables in what must be his attempt at being extra annoying. It was working.

Suguru’s eye twitched. “Gods, can you be quiet for a few minutes? I’ll buy you a cookie or ice cream, just— shut up for a bit.”

“What’s ice cream?”

Suguru stops. He’d offered to buy Gojo a snack to shut him up because such tactics often worked on children, and he certainly acted enough like one for Suguru to take his chances on this method of bribery. It’s just… bribery doesn’t tend to work when the subject didn't even know what they were being bribed with.

Gojo had asked the question with the same oblivious incomprehension that he’d had as he’d watched Suguru swipe his credit card or fork over cash. It was kind of sad, actually, how he’d never had the treat that even Suguru, who didn’t fancy sweets much, had enjoyed during his childhood.

“Behave, and find out,” Suguru snipped back.

Gojo remained blissfully quiet for the rest of the shopping trip, probably out of curiosity. It seems that apparently someone could be bribed even without knowing what they were being bribed with.

Ten minutes later had them sitting their asses on the bench, Suguru scrolling on his phone and Gojo licking contently at his newly obtained vanilla ice cream, enamored with the blob of white sugar cream.

Gojo had been uncharacteristically still at the ice cream store, staring at the menu, overwhelmed with the amount of flavors to choose from. So in the end, Suguru just got him the simplest one. He seemed satisfied with it, so that was a win in his book.

Once Gojo was done polishing off his ice cream, surprisingly not getting a brain freeze even though he ate it in bites like a psychopath, Suguru got up, indicating their long-awaited return to his apartment. He looked at Gojo expectantly when he didn’t get up, but Gojo wasn’t looking at him.

Instead, he was looking at the cafe a few buildings down, or more specifically, the advertisements displaying a rip-off sale for mochi. Gojo turns towards him with his best impression of puppy-dog eyes, which was surprisingly effective, even through the buffer of highly ridiculous sunglasses.

“...No,” Suguru says, end of the discussion.

Gojo’s lips wobble, and Suguru thinks tiredly, there’s no way.

However, there is apparently a yes way, because lo and behold, 28-year-old Getou Suguru watches as 1000+ year-old ancient powerful sorcerer Gojo Satoru begins throwing a little hissy fit, whining “but Suguruuuu!” and wailing loudly over fucking mochi.

Suguru’s neck crawls with the heat of embarrassment, both second and first hand, as the man’s obnoxious temper tantrum draws the attention of passerby.

“And that, honey, is an example of what boyfriend material is not,” He hears from a mother-daughter pair as they ogle and walk by.

Suguru’s eye twitches. He groans. He gives in.

Another ten minutes later and Suguru and Gojo are walking out of the cafe, Suguru grouchy and slouched, and Gojo victoriously chewing on his newly acquired mochi, satisfactory noises escaping his mouth.

It has been a long day without sleep, and Suguru is ready to crash into bed at 8 P.M. and sleep off his exhaustion and Gojo-induced migraines, wake up hopefully never, and if so, open his eyes to see that all this sorcerer from a thousand years ago bullshit was just a very vivid nightmare. Highly unlikely, but let a man dream, literally.

However, it seems like the nightmare is not over, because Suguru finds himself with yet another issue.

“So!” Gojo skips into his bedroom uninvited. Suguru swore he locked the door, but he supposes it doesn’t matter when one can simply teleport and violate all the rules of privacy, especially considering Suguru is fresh out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his hips to protect his modesty. “Where are you sleeping?”

The absurdity of the question is almost enough to shock Suguru out of his pissed-off state. “How about you get out while I change?”

“Nuh-uh!” Gojo says petulantly, stalking forward and plopping himself onto the bed. He’s dressed in a baggy navy blue shirt and white shorts for pajamas. The modern style looks nice on his annoyingly model-worthy body, large on him and obscuring his masculinity. With the effeminacy of his facial features, one could almost mistake him for a girl if they didn’t pay attention. “This is my room!”

“Says who?” Suguru rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“Me!” Gojo proudly points to his chest with his thumbs. “And what I say goes! Besides, this is the only bedroom, so where else am I going to sleep?”

“Uh, the couch?” Suguru says, deadpan. No way in hell was he going to let himself get kicked out of his own room in his own apartment. And certainly not when he’s still half-naked.

Gojo blinks, like the thought hadn’t even crossed him. It most likely hadn’t, the damned spoiled brat. He frowns, “I’m not getting on that thing.”

“Well, this is my house, so I’m not—”

Gojo’s lips wobble, and Suguru wants to commit murder. He can already hear the whining and wailing and pleading and fucking annoying—

“God damnit, okay! You can take the bed. Just shut up,” Suguru snaps, despite the fact that Gojo hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.

Gojo smiles brightly up at him, and Suguru would think it pretty if he wasn’t so busy being pissed. Regardless, he can feel himself flush, and thanks God that he just showered so it wouldn’t be evident. But then that thought reminds him of his current lack of clothing and he scowls.

“But first, get out so I can change,” Suguru growls out.

Gojo tips his head to the side slyly. “I don’t mind seeing.” He winks.

Suguru’s eye twitches, and Gojo must see the murder spelt in his eyes because he relents. He doesn’t exit the room like Suguru wished he would, but he turns over and pulls the blanket over his face.

Suguru makes quick work of changing and exits the room swiftly. He lays down on his lumpy couch, cursing himself for not splurging on the soft, luxurious one and for being such a minimalist. But it’s not like he even uses his apartment much, with how he seems to live on the school campus, and he definitely couldn’t have predicted the current events, absurd as they were.

Vacation was supposed to be relaxing, but it’s proving to be twice as stressful as his work, and that’s saying something considering he has two full-time jobs for God’s sake.

Suguru closes his eyes and hopes that when he wakes up, it won’t be to Gojo’s face.

Chapter Text

In a classic demonstration of how much the world likes to shit on him, Gojo’s face is exactly what Suguru wakes up to, literally.

Gojo’s face is shoved a mere centimeter from his own; any closer and he might just be up Suguru’s nostril. From this distance, Suguru can clearly see the way Gojo’s breath-taking eyes faintly glow, the shifting of the fractals of glimmering blue converging and diverging in a mesmerizing pattern. He can see the flutter of his eyelashes, even through the tacky sunglasses he had opted to continue to wear for some reason. The contours of his face are impeccable, all high cheekbones, sharp jawline, perfect symmetry and plump, soft skin.

And don’t even get Suguru started on his lips—

Ah, the things morning haze does to a person’s line of logical thinking.

“...What are you doing,” Suguru croaks out, voice deep with sleep. He moves to get up, but immediately stops when that action brings him impossibly closer to Gojo.

“I got bored,” Gojo offers.

Suguru shoots him a nasty glare. Gojo shifts back, and following his movement, Suguru takes the opportunity to sit up, lamenting when he feels his back prickle with soreness from sleeping on the lumpy couch. “Seriously? And you woke me up for that?”

Gojo smiles, and Suguru notices belatedly that he’s still straddling his lap. “There’s never a boring moment with you.”

It’s miffing to know that that’s probably only because Gojo delights in his annoyance.

They continue to stare at each other.

He’s still so close. Suguru almost wants to… wants to—

Suguru can’t take this shit anymore. “Get off me,” he hisses irritably.

“Oh, right,” Gojo says, as if he hadn’t noticed that he was still sitting on top of Suguru. “Yeah, okay.”

Gojo gets off and Suguru can finally get up. He stretches his numb limbs and sore back before he beelines straight for the coffee maker, one of the only appliances he’d bothered to buy for his pitifully empty kitchen. Gojo watches in fascination as the coffee maker works its magic, still not used to the magic of modern technology.

“So,” Gojo starts conversationally, “what are we doing today?”

“I’m going back to Jujutsu Tech, where I actually have a life as a teacher,” Suguru says sharply. “And you’re going to stay here until I get back.”

“No can do!” Gojo chirps.

Never let it be said that he didn’t try.

As it turns out, the higher-ups at Jujutsu Tech couldn’t even wait a full day for his vacation to be over, so his break had to be cut short so he could return to being their lapdog. The only silver lining is that he hadn’t been assigned any missions yet, so he just needed to show up, give his report on the mission he’d just taken yesterday, teach his class, then come back and crash and ignore all voicemails telling him to fly to Africa to exorcize some puny curse that “only he can exorcize.”

Teaching was perhaps the only thing he found tolerable in his life. He actually enjoyed it. It made him feel like he was doing something to improve the next generation of sorcerers and preventing them from being major fuck-ups like the higher-ups. Like seriously, were they all born with a stick up their ass or did their mothers shove it there?

If it weren’t for teaching and getting to experience the pride and joy that comes with seeing his students smile and improve, Suguru thinks he might’ve gone ballistic and murdered a village or something. He was actually really close to that point, once upon a time in the long, distant past.

“I’m not bringing you to the school,” Suguru says, returning to the matter at hand. He can’t imagine the reaction he’d get if the higher-ups found out that he was hiding what practically amounts to an ancient artifact —or atomic bomb, depending on how you look at it— from them. They wouldn’t stop hounding his ass for years. And that’s not even talking about all the other complications. If Gojo really wanted to stay away from the Gojo clan, then it’d be in his best interests to stay hidden. But of course he can’t, because he’s bored.

Which, Suguru can understand, how 1000 years of isolation could make someone bored, but understanding really doesn’t make anything much less fucking frustrating.

Not for the first time, Suguru wonders why he even brought this nuisance home with him. It was hardly his best decision. He blames it on the concussion.

“Why not?” Gojo whines. It would seem as if his default tone is a whine with how often he does it.

“We don’t want anyone to know of your existence. Trust me, this is beneficial to both of us,” Suguru says.

“It’s been a thousand years!” Gojo cries out. “No one will recognize me!”

Suguru turns, coffee in hand and dead expression on his face, and looks Gojo up and down, cataloging his objectively eyebrow-raising silvery-white hair and undeniably unforgettable blue eyes. He shines so bright he literally makes the air around him glow in his presence. That’s not even talking about how his eyes seem to actually glow. Gojo blinks, suddenly sheepish.

“Well, I can just cover up my eyes. Nobody will recognise me without the eyes,” Gojo reasons. “Do you have a blindfold for me?”

No, Suguru does not happen to just have a blindfold laying around his apartment. If he had, that would’ve raised some questions. Despite what some people —cough, Shoko— might say, he is not a kinky motherfucker. “You’re sticking with the sunglasses for now,” Suguru says simply.

Gojo immediately perks up. “So you’ll let me go?”

Maybe it’s a bit pathetic how quickly he caved in, but Suguru really doesn’t want to deal with Gojo’s whining so early in the morning. Besides, it should be fine. Jujutsu Tech’s teaching style is basically free-style. Hell, Suguru isn’t even there to actually teach half of the time because of how many missions he takes each day. Nobody would do much more than raise an eyebrow if he brought in some random stranger.

“Yes,” Suguru sighs, and immediately cuts Gojo off when the other opens his mouth, “but we’re going to set some ground rules first.”

Gojo pouts, and Suguru refuses to acknowledge that the first thought that zips through his traitorous mind is: cute .

“First things first, absolutely do not, under any circumstances, reveal that you are a Gojo. I’m saying this for your own benefit, so don’t even try to fight it,” Suguru says.

“Of course!” Gojo exclaims. “I’m not an idiot!”

“Debatable,” Suguru mutters under his breath. Louder, he says, “Second, you are to stay by my side at all times unless expressly given permission to do otherwise. Got it? ”

“Got it…” Gojo agrees reluctantly.

“That’s… all that I’ve got for now,” Suguru says. “But you have to follow them or else you’ll be sent straight back to the apartment, where you’ll stay. And I won’t hesitate to add new rules if you come up with new absurdities that require them.”

It goes without saying that all of this hinges on the impossibility that he is actually capable of properly executing the punishment, but it was more about the sentiment anyway.

”M'kay!” Gojo smiles. “Let’s go!”

He hops onto Suguru’s back, and before he can chide him about personal space —a concept he already should know about, especially considering his Infinity—, they’re already at Jujutsu Tech.

“Wuh—” Suguru starts, still a bit disorientated from the rapid change of scenery and literal shifting of the dimension of space. But, true to Gojo’s previous words, the third time really was the charm. His stomach still felt a little unsettled, but it didn’t leave him feeling like he wanted to regurgitate his digestive system like the last two times did, which was already a major improvement. “How did you know where Jujutsu Tech is?”

Gojo pats his back and then steps away from him. “Jujutsu Tech was around during my time, so I just teleported to where I remembered it was.”

Gojo brings a hand above his eyes and peers at the school. “Wah, it hasn’t really changed that much on the outside!”

A really weird thought comes to Suguru’s mind. “Did you used to attend?”

It was weird to think that the millenia-old sorcerer might’ve been walking the same grounds as Suguru long ago. “Nope!” Gojo replied cheerfully. “I was home-schooled by the Gojo Clan, though I did visit this place a few times.”

Suguru nods thoughtfully. “Well, let’s go.”

“Good morning,” Suguru greets the second-year students as he passes by the training grounds.

“Shake,” Inumaki greets back as Panda waves enthusiastically.

“Good morning, Getou-sensei!” Yuuta greets with a smile on his face, pausing for a second to turn and wave at him. Taking advantage of his distraction, Maki sweeps him off his feet with a well-placed kick. Yuuta tumbles to the floor bottom-first, hissing in pain. By the time he looks up, Maki already has her naginata pointed between his eyes.

“Never take your eyes off the battle,” Maki huffs at him, twirling her weapon into a more relaxed position, before turning to nod at Getou in acknowledgement. Then, she narrows her eyes. “Who’s that?”

“I’m—!” Gojo starts, but then abruptly stops as he remembers that they’d agreed to not give out his last name. Therein lies the conundrum, as he doesn’t really know how to feel about strangers calling him his given name. “Uh…”

Suguru sighs. “He’s a companion. Another sorcerer working alongside Jujutsu Tech. I was just showing him around.”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, that, uh huh, mhm!” Gojo affirms. Suguru wants to facepalm. Could he be any more obvious?

Maki raised an eyebrow.

Yuuta took the opportunity to attempt a counterattack. Emphasis on attempt. Maki judo flipped the poor boy before he could even charge. He landed onto the ground with a thud and groaned.

“Ah, Maki-san, you're too good at this,” Yuuta wheezed.

Suguru winced in sympathy. Yuuta may be a powerful special grade, but hardly many people could hope to compare to Maki when it came to close combat. However, all the students were distracted, so Suguru took this chance to take Gojo by the hand and walk away before further questions could be asked.

“I knew you’d wanna hold hands!” Gojo exclaimed with an overabundance of cheer. “No one can ever resist me for long.”

Suguru makes a disgusted noise —that’s only half-forced— and yanks his hand away. Gojo pouts but doesn’t retaliate.

They walk the halls for a few minutes, Gojo talking his ear off about how he dreamed of a land with mochi mountains and ice cream trees, before they finally reach the door to the higher-up’s chambers. It’s disgustingly grandiose and unnecessarily ostentatious. A perfect reflection of the people behind them.

Suguru turns towards Gojo. “You stay here. I’m going inside to give my report on your case.”

“Wouldn’t it be beneficial if I listened so I’d know our cover story?” Gojo blinked at him.

“I can just reiterate the bullshit I spouted later. What’s more important is keeping your existence underwraps. Until you can function in modern society without assistance, it’d be best if no one knows you exist,” Suguru reasons. “Now stay. If you’re not by this door when I get out, you’re never leaving the apartment again.”

Gojo nods obediently, a suspicious smile plastered onto his face.

Suguru squints at him, but ultimately sighs and opens the door, trading one hell for another.

“Getou-kun has arrived,” Asshole #Whatever announces.

“Yes, I am here, as per your request,” Suguru says sarcastically, rolling his eyes, knowing they can’t see it behind those pretentious shoji screens of theirs.

“Your unexcused leave is an unpardonable offense. Such disrespect is not to be tolerated in Jujutsu society, especially when pertaining to its strongest,” Asshole #FuckYourself snobbishly monologues. “You are supposed to be the paradigm, the guide of the youth. Exercising rebellious behavior will encourage it among the impressionable young sorcerers. You must—”

Blah, blah, blah, yeah, Suguru has already turned on his auto-tune-bullshit-out function. What a great thing to possess. Now if only he can train it to auto-activate when he hears Gojo’s voice as well…

“...Now then, you may present your report,” yet another capital-A Asshole says as Suguru tunes back into the conversation.

Alright, bullshit-blocking, off. Bullshit-spouting, on.

“The Curse was definitely special-grade, no doubt about it,” Suguru says. “In the hours we fought, it managed to completely eviscerate all my stored Curses bar the Rainbow Dragon.”

At that, he heard a few sharp inhales. He already knew the question that was coming next. These cowards, so predictable.

“I exorcized it,” Suguru states with faked finality. “Sadly, it was too volatile for me to absorb, and in the heat of the moment, I completely destroyed it.”

“What a waste of an opportunity,” Asshole #GodIJustWantToLeave mutters with derision. “Had you absorbed it, we could’ve gained a valuable weapon in our arsenal. We expect better from you next time, Getou-kun.”

Suguru rolls his eyes again. “Of course, almighty lords of jujutsu.”

“It would do you better to show some more respect to your elders,” Asshole #LiterallyIDon’tCare scowls.

Suguru has several smart remarks he’d like to say in response to that, but he holds his tongue, if only so he could get out of here sooner.

“As penance for your transgression yesterday, you’ll be assigned 3 more missions everyday for a month,” Asshole #WhatDidYouJustSay?! said. “This is also for your own benefit, as you have lost the majority of your Curse reserves. It’ll help you build it back up. We expect you to get started now. Dismissed.”

What the fuck. These hobble-snobs must be joking. He already has missions back to back every single day. They want to add more? And then they have the gall to tell him it’s for his own good? He chokes those disgusting orbs down everyday, and with each one, he’s just that much closer to committing homicide.

Is that what they want? Do they want him to go crazy? Kill them? Kill everyone?

“With all due respect,” Suguru says, a frigid smile on his face and no respect to be seen, “my schedule is already full with the constant influx of missions and my job as a teacher. I’m afraid I can’t possibly take on anymore.”

“Is that so,” Asshole #KillYourself says. “In that case, we’ll just have to revoke your teaching license. That should free up your free time, no? In fact, you’ll have enough free time for another several missions—”

“...revoke your teaching license…”

They’re going to revoke his teaching license? They’re going to take away his ability to teach? Take him away from his kids? They’re going take away the one thing that keeps him sane in this fucked-up society?

Oh gods, they really are asking to die. They want to die. They want him to kill them.

“This arrangement is agreeable, no? In that case, we’ll…” Asshole #I’mGoingToKillYouI’mGoingToKillYouI’mGoingToKillYou continues, as blind to the way Rainbow Dragon’s portal slowly manifests underneath Suguru’s hand as Suguru is deaf to his words.

Rainbow Dragon is all that’s left of his previously vast collection of Curses, but it’s enough. It’s all he needs for this. They won’t even see it coming.

One curled claw emerges from the inky void, sharp enough to shred through several people in mere seconds.

“We’ll send the new schedule to you by—”

There’s a low growl, but Suguru can’t tell is it’s coming from him or his—

“Hey, hold your horses! Suguru has better things to do than play servant for you peasants,” An annoyingly familiar voice comes from behind him.

Rainbow Dragon’s portal closes abruptly, and Suguru jumps a bit, startled and knocked out of his murderous trance. Was I about to…?

“How dare you speak like that to your superiors!” One of the elders screeches. “Who are you to barge in here unannounced?!”

“Hmm… how about: Nunya business?” Gojo smiles up at them.

Suguru stares at Gojo in bafflement. He thinks the elders are doing the same if the shocked silence says anything. The white-haired man’s eyes hold a certain luminance to them in the darkness of the room, even through the thick layer of his borrowed shades. His silvery strands also seem to gleam almost imperceptibly.

It’s a bit bizarre, this situation. Certainly not a contender to how he first met Gojo, but still up there. He imagines it from the elders’ perspectives.

Random dude wearing tacky sunglasses barges into a dim room and mouths them off, giving them the equivalent of: “get off your high horses, fuckers.”

Yeah. Bizarre.

“You—!” Suguru can imagine that the elders are red in the face with anger and indignation now. It’s a funny mental image. Tension he hadn’t noticed lurking in his shoulders starts to drain out. “Insolent brat! You will be punished for that!”

“You really think you have the power to do that?” Gojo tilts his head in mock amusement. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Getou!” One of the elders exclaimed. “Restrain this fool immediately!”

Suguru turns to meet Gojo’s eyes. Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, challenge apparent in his gaze, even hidden behind shades as they were. Suguru rolls his eyes, this time in fond exasperation rather than irritation.

“My apologies, but I cannot in good conscience do that to the guest I invited over here,” Suguru says, no apology present in his voice. He’s never the polite person he claims to be to the higher-ups.

“That’s right!” Gojo pettishly stuck his tongue out at the elders, who likely couldn’t even see it. They could definitely hear the disrespect though.

“Then it would do you well to teach your charge some proper manners and discipline , Getou-kun,” The elder snaps.

“He’s untamable,” Suguru snorts, and Gojo squawks in offense.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m not some dog you can domesticate—” Gojo starts his complaint.

“Enough! ” Another higher-up shouts, his voice echoing in the empty chambers. “Getou, you will tell your guest to vacate the campus immediately. Then you will bid your students goodbye and accept your new schedule right after.”

Suguru feels himself bristle. He opens his mouth to retort—

“Well, now that’s just unreasonable,” Gojo says off-handedly. “From what I’ve seen, you guys are severely short-staffed when it comes to teachers, and Suguru-kun seems very capable! To cut him off the job— oh, what a tragedy that would be!”

The elders are quiet for a moment.

“Besides, Suguru went through all the appropriate avenues to earn his teaching rights,” Gojo says to drive the point further in. “It would be an obvious abuse of power to absolve him of that right, would it not?”

“We acknowledge your point, but Getou-kun still needs to face his punishment. Therefore, we benevolently offer the compromise that he will be suspended from teaching for only a month.”

“Oh? Punishment?” Gojo cocks his head to the side. “Is that for taking an unexcused leave of absence? Sorry, that one’s my fault. I just moved in from a rural area and needed Suguru to help get used to the city life.”

Suguru stares at Gojo. Why was he going so far to stand up for him?

“Unfortunately, the punishment still—” the elder starts, but Gojo cuts him off with an obnoxious “bzzzt!”

“‘Unfortunately’ nothing! If it’ll help you senile old brains stop being so prissy, I’ll take on the punishment missions!”

“How can we expect you to carry out your missions successfully?” An elder challenges.

“I’m a pretty capable sorcerer, for your information,” Gojo snarks back. Suguru wants to laugh. ‘Pretty capable’ was an understatement. “Besides, when have you guys ever cared whether someone was capable of a mission or not? Awww, don’t tell me I’m already growing on you old farts!”

Suguru can feel the elders recoil at Gojo’s words.

“Fine,” one of the elders said after a long moment of silence. “We will acquiesce to your proposition. For a month starting tomorrow, you will be assigned 3 missions a day. Dismissed.”

And that was a signal for “fuck off” if Suguru’s ever heard one. He gladly takes the opportunity to screw off. He speed walks towards the door, grabbing and dragging Gojo by the elbow when he passes by.

Once outside, he slams the door shut and leans on it, breathing deeply. The reality of the events flooded into him like a dam had been broken.

Oh god, he really was about to lose his cool there. He had almost slaughtered the elders. He really would’ve done it if it weren’t for Gojo…

Gojo. Right.

“What were you thinking, barging in there?!” Suguru turns to Gojo, aiming a glare at his stupidly pretty face.

“Gee, I save you at my own expense, and this is the thanks I get?” Gojo says sarcastically.

“I—” Suguru takes a deep breath, holds it in, exhales. “Thank you. But seriously, why did you come in? I thought I told you explicitly to stay outside.”

“Your cursed energy started to fray, and then it suddenly spiked, like you were going to attack. I thought it’d be best if I stepped in before you could do something you’d probably regret later on.”

“Oh…” Suguru doesn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he should’ve thought about how Gojo’s Six Eyes could see him about to commit murder before doing anything impulsive. “Okay.”

Gojo rolls his eyes and turns away, beginning to walk back to the school’s entrance.

“Wait,” Suguru calls out. “Why did you cover for me?”

At that, Gojo turns back to him. The angle and lighting makes it so that Suguru can’t see his eyes, but he can see his smile perfectly fine. It is soft. It is sad, understanding —maybe a bit lonely.

“I know… what it’s like. To have the world rely on you. To have to stand tall and with your back straight, even as you shoulder countless burdens. Even as they place countless more on. I guess I just understand— how it feels… to be the strongest.”

“Oh,” Suguru says, because what else can he say in response to being seen ? “Oh.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t remember much,” is what he’d told Suguru back then, when they were still coming to terms with the surreality of their reality. He had lied.

The truth is: he remembers too much.

He remembers it all.

Day 1, he is confused.

He wakes up in an empty shrine, disoriented and wondering how he ended up here. He wakes up lost and alone, with only the sounds of rushing water and rustling leaves to accompany him.

Then he remembers. He recalls a stinging betrayal, an unfamiliar face, then nothing.

He remembers why he is here. How he got here.

He sits up from the cold stone table he was laid out on, like an offering to appease the gods that seem to perpetually laugh at him from unreachable skies.

He turns, and there, in the corner of the room, is a small cube, cadet blue as opposed to the stark red he last remembered seeing it as.

He laughs, loud and hysterical.

He laughs and laughs and laughs until there are tears in the corners of his eyes. But they do not fall. They never do.

They do not disgrace him the same way he always ends up disgracing himself.

Day 2, he is curious.

He recognizes this place, he realizes, as he looks around. It was a small religious village that he had once visited in what feels like eons ago. It is nothing like he remembers. It is devastated and in shambles, likely from the fire and carnage that the recent calamity had wrought.

He notices something else.

There is a dome-shaped barrier made of pure cursed energy around him, his Six Eyes informs him. The cursed energy is very weird and intricate, to the point where even he struggles to understand it.

He walks himself to the edge of the cursed energy barrier, and bracing himself, places his palm onto it—

Day 3, he awakens.

He’s more wary of the barrier, taking care to avoid touching it, but he still studiously analyzes it, using Six Eyes to methodically pick apart the many, many layers of intertwining cursed energy signatures.

He studies his surroundings as well. He watches as the water from the river inside the barrier melds seamlessly with the water from the outside. He feels the wind blow past the wall invisible to all but him, and he thinks.

He shoots a Hollow Purple at the barrier, hoping it’ll eviscerate it, but instead —like he unfortunately expected—, it bypasses it, wreaking destruction on the outside. He laments that he cannot do the same.

He stays up that night, to watch the moon’s ascent, and then its following descent, bathing in the light of the sky’s glowing globes. The cursed energy in the air shifts, and there is something familiar about its pattern.

Day 4, he officially makes his first escape attempt.

He compresses the space between himself and the space outside the barrier, dividing and folding it until it becomes so small that movement is instantaneous—

It does not work.

Day 5, he wakes up once more.

He gets out of the river he was blasted into, not a drop dripping from his form thanks to the separation Infinity offers.

He eyes the barrier again. He runs calculations through his brain and settles on one of them.

He opens his palm and calls upon Blue. Using Six Eyes, he directs a small orb of Blue to absorb the layers of cursed energy that make up the barrier. Slowly, carefully, the cursed energy trickles into the voracious orb of swirling azure, and—

A burst of pain stabs through him. He gasps and stumbles, releasing his technique. His eyes hurt and his body burns. When he brings his hands up to rub his eyes, they come back bloody. He sits on the floor there, breathing for a bit.

When he looks back up, there is not even a dent in the barrier.

Day 6, he starts counting.

Using a stray, ragged slab of stone, he carves six lines onto the wall of the shrine.

He stands back and he wonders. How many more will he add?

Day 7, when he wakes up, it is to a sense of deja vu.

The air around him feels familiar. The cursed energy around him is familiar.

He adds a tally mark to the wall, then he stays awake the whole day, watching the energy flow in slow patterns.

Day 8, he cracks the code.

The cursed energy in the air moves in the exact same pattern everyday, all its movements in a 24-hour period mirrored by the next day.

Time is linear all around the world, but in his little dome, it is cyclical. It is stuck in a 24-hour loop, and along with it, he is as well.

He comes to realize that this means he won’t die no matter how much time passes on the outside. He is unsure how to feel about that.

He adds another tally.

Day 9, he experiments with his theory.

When he wakes up, he adds a tally to the wall and then goes outside and blasts a tree.

Then he waits.

Day 10, a new day begins.

Come the start of a new day, the tree does not reset, and the cursed energy affected by its removal adjusts. Everything else stays the same.

His situation seems more complicated than expected. He appears to exist in a separate plane of existence that is unaffected by the passage of time outside. However, any changes made in the interior are not reset but adjusted to, meaning time runs in less of a loop and more of a cycle.

That explains why the tally marks he makes don’t disappear each day.

It also ruins a few of his escape plans.

He sighs and adds a tally.

Day 11, he tries a different method of escape.

Moving through space in a linear fashion is a no-go, he figures, so he tries another way of teleportation.

His usual teleportation is the wrinkling of space, diminishing the area between him and his destination to an infinitesimal distance, allowing instantaneous movement. However, that requires linear progression throughout the distance, which is blocked by the barrier.

That’s where his second teleportation technique comes in. To activate this method, he needs to draw cursed energy symbols in a circular form. Then, he places his target inside and activates the makeshift-rune to create a wormhole that teleports the target within the circle. He’s only ever used it so he could teleport others without having to teleport himself along with them.

Wormholes cut through spacetime, the tunnel it creates existing on a whole different dimension of reality than the existing one. It should be able to bypass the barrier, especially seeing as how water, wind, and his techniques are able to get past it.

He waves his index and middle finger at the ground, imbuing his cursed energy as symbols encircling him.

Then, he clasps his hands together and teleports—

It does not work.

He trudges back to the shrine and carelessly scratches a mark onto the wall.

Day 12, he thinks.

He ruminates on his failed escape attempts.

His wormhole attempt must’ve failed because his little domain existed on not only a separate dimension of time, but also a separate plane of space. It makes no sense though, how the water and wind can connect with the elements outside the barrier. It makes no sense, how his techniques can exit the barrier, but he can’t.

He paces back and forth, just thinking about it. Eventually, he finds himself back where it all started, the shrine. And in it, the Prison Realm.

He stares at it. He thinks he can feel it stare back.

He walks up to it and picks it up. Tosses it up and down in his hand, then tosses it at a wall.

It clatters to the floor pathetically.

He blinks. Picks it back up and brings it outside. He readies Hollow Purple. He fires.

Nothing happens. He sinks to the floor. He should’ve guessed that the cursed object would be protected by its Binding Vow.

He brings Prison Realm back to the shrine and tosses it somewhere in the corner.

He adds another tally mark.

Day 13, he thinks some more.

He spends the whole day staring at the barrier, giving himself migraines trying to pick apart the overlapping cursed energy. He inspects it down to the very last atom and gathers his thoughts.

It’s a multi-layered barrier. Each layer serves a specialized purpose, separating his pocket-dimension from reality’s flow of space and time.

He had thought long and hard about this, and he’d come to the conclusion that another Binding Vow was added to the Prison Realm. One that fundamentally changed its purpose. The Prison Realm he had heard of worked nothing like what he was experiencing right now.

His best guess is that in exchange for the creation of an inescapable pocket-dimension that manifests itself outside of the cube, the Prison Realm will only be able to hold Gojo Satoru.

It’s a bit confusing why anyone would change the Prison Realm with a Binding Vow that ensures it serves its literal purpose by giving up its adaptability. He assumes that they ran into some complications while trying to capture him and had to adjust. He wouldn’t be surprised. He was kind of notorious for throwing wrenches in evil’s plans.

It’s a bit disheartening though, to think about how Prison Realm was altered by the highest order of the world’s mysterious ways for the sole intent of trapping him. Preserving him.

He doesn’t even know if it’s possible to find any loopholes in a Binding Vow. Especially for one tailored specifically for him.

The possibility that he’ll never escape lies heavy in the front of his mind.

He adds another tally mark.

Day 14, he finds himself… bored.

It’s hardly the biggest thing he should be worrying about, but there’s nothing to do, and playing with the river water only staves off boredom for so long. He doesn’t need to eat nor sleep, so the days pass by very uneventfully, aside his multitude of failed escape attempts.

He tries to think up new escape methods, but none are feasible and they only get increasingly more and more fantastical.

He kicks at the water beneath his feet and watches the ripples. He wonders if he could somehow merge himself with the water and flow his way to freedom. He snorts. Like that’ll ever happen.

The day passes by with him staring at his rippling reflection, wondering why he looks so tired when he doesn’t need sleep.

He adds another tally mark.

Day 15, he is lonely.

He’s always been lonely, ever since birth.

It was an inevitable side effect of being the strongest. Of wielding Six Eyes and Limitless.

He’s come to accept loneliness as his companion.

He’s learnt to accept the loneliness of cold nights spent solitary in a room with no lights. Meals eaten by himself at a chabudai with one lone zabuton. Being spoken to but never speaking. Wanting to touch but never touching. Of experiencing the fullness of loving and then the desolation of being left.

He knows all kinds of loneliness.

He doesn’t know this one.

Day 16, he starts hearing things.

There are whispers in his ears. Murmured words he sometimes can’t make sense of and sometimes can.

The mutters tickle his ears, making the skin of his neck prickle with apprehension. They feel like the staticky caress of howling wind on a cold winter night in a dark, locked room.

The ones that he can make out are different. Some are insignificant. Just little pieces of conversations he’s taken part of or even just heard in passing. Others are loud and all-encompassing, filling his ear with screeching memories of ghosts long gone. Those ones make him long for the chill of the quiet murmurs.

Voices familiar and unfamiliar screech and whisper and shout and taunt…

And he wonders if he’s already going insane.

He adds another tally mark.

Day 20, he starts seeing things too.

He doesn’t need sleep, but he has nothing else to do, so he forces naps sporadically, whenever he feels like it.

When he wakes up, he sees a shadowy figure. It walks leisurely around the shrine, and he stares at it dazedly. He briefly wonders if he’s still dreaming.

He pinches himself to make sure.

The shadow is still there. It opens its gaping void of a mouth, and unintelligible whispering noises tumble out.

Oh, alright. So he’s having a full-on psychotic breakdown, complete with hallucinations and all.

That’s funny.

The day passes by, and the shadow stays and strays, ambling and rambling aimlessly.

He adds another tally mark.

Day 24, the hallucinations continue.

There are more hallucinations. Sometimes they take on the form of faceless shadows and sometimes they take the form of people from the past. Sometimes they morph between both, or maybe manifest as amorphous, undefined blobs.

He strolls around the parts of the forest he can reach, walking the same path that he’s already walked hundreds of times before. Circles and circles he walks and walks until it turns night.

…

He adds another tally mark.

Day 37, he falls further.

The hallucinations started speaking more clearly a few days ago. They still sometimes mutter incoherently, but he can hear them more often than not now.

They tell him things like—

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?”

“We’re family now.”

“I promise you forever, for infinity.”

He wishes they’d shut up. Why won’t they shut up?

Day 62.

“Why couldn’t you save me?” The familiar voice asks.

He grabs at his white locks of hair and pulls, rips.

Day 87.

He has seen much blood and death over the span of his life, first in real life, and then later, when they revisit him in his dreams.

He does not dream in his new reality.

He does not need to dream to be able to see the carnage.

In the background, they scream. Their bones are crushed, blood —red, purple— sprays everywhere, cartilage litters the crimson-stained floor.

He just closes his eyes, covers his ears, and breathes.

Day 103.

They keep talking and talking and talking.

Day 164.

They won’t stop begging and begging and begging and begging.

Day 225.

They continue screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming.

Day 300.

They susurrate and shriek and wail and moan and laugh and cry and—

They don’t stop.

Day 400.

Rivulets of blood stream down his porcelain skin and pool beneath his fingernails, congealing into rusty red crusts in his nail beds. Reverse Cursed Technique heals them back up so the cycle can start once again.

Cut. Blood. Heal.

Cut. Blood. Heal.

Cut. Blood. Heal. Cut. Blood. Heal. Cut. Blood. Heal. Cut. Blood. Heal. It. Cut. Blood. Heal. Cut. Blood. Heal. Cut. Blood. Heal. Cut. Hurts. Blood. Heal. Cut. Blood. Heal. Cut Blood. Heal. Cut Blood Heal. Cut. Blood Heal Cut. Blood Heal. Cut Blood Stop. Heal Cut Blood Heal Cut Blood Heal Cut Blood Heal CutBloodHealCutBloodHealIt.CutBloodHealCutBloodHealCutBloodHeal—

Day 659.

He’s laughing.

He doesn’t know why.

There’s nothing to laugh at.

He’s laughing and he doesn’t know why.

He’s laughing and he can’t. Stop.

Day 999

“This is all your fault, you know?” He says.

“I know,” he says.

“You should’ve seen the signs. Paid more attention to them,” he says.

“I know,” he says.

Day 2012.

Some of the trees outside the barrier have started withering.

The ones inside stay the same as when he’d first awoken.

He does not think about what this means.

Day 3000.

He scratches his three thousandth tally mark onto the wall. He sits back and counts the tallies for what must be the three thousandth time.

He always counts three thousand.

He’d once heard that insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

Is this insanity?

Is he insane?

Day 3650.

It’s been a decade.

He’s run out of space for tallies.

Day ???

He’s lost track of the days. He’s lost track of himself.

All he knows is that he’s tired.

Day ???

He has pondered many times, while staring at the walls, the sky, the trees, the ground, his reflection in the water: should I just... die?

It’s a funny thought.

He’s lived this long because no one is able to kill him, and yet here he is, planning to kill himself.

He thinks and thinks and thinks.

He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to die. He doesn’t want to die.

Day ???

He’s practiced his techniques to perfection in his ample spare time, but he hasn’t opened his domain expansion in a while.

He thinks about it. A domain in a domain.

It’s a bit funny, he decides.

He opens his domain.

In here, reality is but an abstract concept. Reality is but a compilation of fleeting moments. Time is in stasis, space under his control.

He may still be stuck in a domain, but at least this one is his.

It is peaceful, he finds.

There are no voices here. No ghosts to haunt him. No shadows to taunt him.

He walks. He wanders.

He closes his eyes. He rests.

When he comes to, he wakes up in a void.

The void vanishes and the world settles around him as he stabilizes himself from his deep slumber. The trees rustle, the wind blows, and the river rushes, as if to greet him, bid him welcome.

The sun is up and shining, glancing the river water with harsh beams of reflective light.

He walks to a tree that he had knocked over the river in… who knows how long ago and plops onto it, enjoying the ambience around him.

Then, for the first time in years, decades, centuries, he feels it. The presence of another person. He opens his eyes and turns his head to lock gazes with them.

The person has long tresses of ebony black hair pulled into a half-down, half-up style and onyx black eyes like a black hole, sucking him in.

He wonders, is this a hallucination?

The stranger charges at him, inky portals of black manifesting in the space around him, Curses emerging from them.

He thinks: This is one weird hallucination I’m having.

He charges into battle with a vigor he had thought he’d forgotten. Waves and waves of Curses flood him, and he eviscerates every single one of them. He lets down Infinity at some point, just so he can feel the pain.

He’s not sure what’s reality or dream or hallucination anymore, but he hasn’t fought nor felt like this in ages, and he’s not willing to stop until the very last moment.

He smiles and laughs. It is maniacal. It is feral. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.

In this moment, he forgets everything. Everything but the battle, the adrenaline rushes through his veins. He forgets everything but the fight, including the—

The barrier.

He lunges after the hallucination, and just a little too late, he remembers the—

When he awakens, everything feels different. Everything feels new.

The cursed energy around him is different. It hasn’t been different in years. Wait— That can only mean…

A cursory glance to the side confirms it. The barrier is gone. The barrier is gone.

He’s free.

…

What happened?

He turns around, determined to find out what happened, and then comes face to face with the hallucination… who’s currently gagging on something? What?

“What the heck are you doing?”

He learns a lot of things in the ensuing conversation.

Like how, first things first, his hallucination —Suguru Getou, they’d said was their name— was decidedly not a hallucination. Which— wow. He hadn’t spoken to anyone who actually existed in forever.

But that’s only the tip of the iceberg of baffling epiphanies.

Second, he learns that the sorcerer was trying to kill him, which, yeah, was kind of apparent in their battle, but what was new was that he thought he was a curse. And that was a revelation on its own, because who didn’t recognize him?

Surely his name would help jog his memory. He opens his mouth to say it—

…What was his name? Gojo… S-s…

Usually he has almost perfect memory; has it really been that long?

What was it? Who am I?

Gojo… Suboru? No. Wrong. Saito? No. Wrong. Sato…

“Wow, you really like sweet stuff, huh, Satoru?”

Satoru. Yes. That’s it. Satoru Gojo.

“My name is Satoru Gojo!”

Suguru looks shocked. The kind of jaw-dropping, "are you shitting me" kind of shock. And then that brings them to the third and most shocking epiphany.

It’s been a thousand years. It’s been a thousand years.

He knows it's been a long time, but... a thousand.

Something inside him feels empty.

Satoru lies a lot to his fellow interlocutor.

He lies about what he knows, what he remembers, what he feels. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to know, remember, or feel. Nobody needs to know what he knew, remembered, and felt. It’s in the past now. It should stay there.

He’s free now. He’s over it.

“You promised family, forever.”

Satoru frowns. He’s over it.

Pushing the thoughts out of his mind, Satoru perks up. He skips to where the barrier once was; not even residuals remain. He tentatively waves his hand through the air, half-expecting to be blasted away. Nothing happens.

He truly is free.

The small part of him that had gotten too used to the company of hallucinations had kind of wondered if this were just some cruel delusion. It wouldn’t be the first time. But no, he’s here, standing on the other side of a now-nonexistent barrier, with a real person just behind him.

The wonder of it all belatedly hits him. He’s a free man now!

He turns back to Suguru and smiles. It is more than just a showing of teeth. It is not a feral, borderline insane grin. It is all soft curves, genuine joy.

Suguru stops and stares at him, as if entranced by something. He feels warm. He owes this person his life. No, his very sense of being.

Satoru learned a lot about the sorcerer throughout their conversation. Apparently, he’s also a Special Grade Sorcerer. One of only three in the modern age.

And Suguru’s cursed technique is so cool! Curse Manipulation, he’d called it. It was fascinating. Satoru has never seen or heard anything like it. Truly one of a kind. The requirements were a bit… gross, but that aside, it was a technique truly worthy of a Special Grade.

Suguru told him about his technique, and Satoru formulated his own theories. He theorized that Suguru accidentally lifted the cursed object’s barrier when he tried to absorb Satoru.

He told Suguru his theory. He seemed exasperated for some reason.

Satoru paid it no mind, he was already thinking about other things. Did Suguru’s technique work only because Satoru registered as a curse, or is it always able to absorb the effects of cursed objects? If this wasn’t just a special case, then Suguru’s cursed technique just greatly rose in importance.

Ah, speaking of cursed objects… Prison Realm.

Satoru grabs onto Suguru, and before he can instinctually shove him off, Satoru teleports them into the shrine. He hears a gurgle, and when he looks back at his forced companion, he looks a bit nauseous.

Ah, right. He’d forgotten that traveling from one point of space to another so quickly could make the second party feel… mushy inside.

Once Suguru’s stomach settles, they start searching the shrine, Satoru looking for the Prison Realm, and Suguru looking at the… the tally marks.

“What are all these tally marks for?”

“Eh, I don’t know. They were already here when I first woke up,” Satoru lies. Again.

Don’t look at them anymore.

Satoru turns away and goes back to his search. He remembers that he’d carelessly tossed the Prison Realm in here somewhere…

Ah, there it is!

It’s gone back to its original red shade, instead of the grayish-blue color Satoru last recalls seeing it in. He feels weird, being free, yet holding his prison of 1000-something years in the palm of his hands.

He pockets it into his obi and teleports Suguru and himself to Suguru’s apartment with the aid of the magic device Suguru calls a “phone”.

Chapter Text

It is upon entering that Satoru realizes that this “apartment” Suguru speaks of is a home. And it’s quite a ways away from his area of imprisonment, leading him to wonder how Suguru even found him.

He explores the area and is astonished to see the number of appliances that he doesn’t recognize. A few of them glow when he touches them, just like that “phone” of Suguru’s. It’s completely different from what he remembers. It makes Satoru feel a bit estranged from the environment.

He wonders why he’s even here, why he insisted on following Suguru. He doesn’t even know him. He’s tantamount to a complete stranger, but when Satoru thinks about him leaving, being all alone in that desolate shrine once again, his chest seizes in panic and discomfort. It’s illogical and unreasonable.

Eh, it’s probably just his subconscious recognizing that he needs someone to help reintroduce him to society when he’d been stranded for so long.

But what’s even more weird than his attachment is Suguru’s willingness to bring him home with him.

Satoru glances at Suguru’s head, which is still lazily oozing blood.

Yeah, probably the work of a concussion.

Minutes later, a woman with middle-length brown hair and eye bags darker than Suguru’s bursts in, and they have this awkward moment of having to re-explain Satoru’s situation. She —Shoko, Suguru mentions her name— takes everything pretty well in Satoru’s opinion.

She and Suguru sit on the couch and chat while Satoru continues exploring the small but astounding apartment. Everything is fine and dandy until:

“Should we send him back to the Gojo estate?”

Satoru freezes.

Of course they still exist in the modern age, because they’re like leeches, clinging on so tightly to their undying pride and dead ideals. If they’re still around, then it’s highly likely that the other main clans are still up and kicking as well. Satoru bets they haven’t changed a bit, still just as conservative and bastardly as they’d been when he was last free. Like hell is he going back to his clan.

He says as much to Suguru and his companion —very politely, may he add. It was nothing a little death threat couldn’t fix. A polite death threat, though, said with a sweet smile and all.

They acquiesce relatively easily, and so are brought back to the dilemma of where they should keep him. Satoru doesn’t want to go anywhere. He doesn’t understand anything; nothing’s familiar. Only Suguru.

He might have only been here for not even a full ten minutes, but he can’t bear the thought of being kicked out. So he declares that he should stay here, with Suguru.

Suguru objects —what remains of Satoru’s conscience does admittedly feel a bit bad for constantly inconveniencing the obviously overworked sorcerer—, but with Shoko’s help —or lack of help, more specifically—, he manages to seal the deal. And so Suguru gains a roommate and Satoru gains a residence.

Success for Satoru!

It is at Suguru’s behest that they partake in the modern phenomena called “shopping” later on in the day. Suguru takes him out to get modern clothes and necessities, dragging him through populated places and into buildings he calls “stores”.

Everything is so overwhelming. The streets are overcrowded, and Satoru has to amp up the output of Reverse Cursed Technique to keep up with the increased overflow of input from Six Eyes.

The stores are chock-full with almost everything Satoru can think of and plenty more, and it’s all out in the open, defenseless against thieves.

Satoru doesn’t get the modern world. He doesn’t get the system of currency they coined “money”. Why don’t they just trade items? Why are they instead exchanging valuable cloth and food for green pieces of paper? And what is that card that Suguru keeps swiping through the “cash register”?

A 1000 years has changed a lot of things, Satoru has learned. He doesn’t feel very happy about it.

At least, that’s until he found out about the world of sweets.

Suguru introduced him to this never heard of before food product called “ice cream”. Satoru didn’t know how to feel about it before. It was cold, he could tell from the chill it emitted. It looked vaguely like mash, but more defined.

Reluctantly, Satoru took his first bite. It wasn’t really mushy, not like he’d expected. And it slid on his tongue, spreading the sweet taste.

It was… good.

Really good.

Delighted and no longer apprehensive, Satoru took bigger chomps of it, chewing thoughtfully and savoring the taste, ignoring Suguru’s mutter of “what a psychopath”. Each bite numbed his mouth more and more with the cold, but it didn’t bother Satoru at all.

He doesn’t know how he lived before without ice cream.

He demands to know why no one invented this during the Heian era.

It is moments later when Suguru motions for them to get back to the apartment, but Satoru is too busy staring at a poster that advertises another interesting-looking food product called “mochi”. It looks appetizing, and Satoru gets the feeling that it’d be sweet.

He turns to Suguru with his best impression of puppy-dog eyes. They had always worked before. And true to trend, although it took a bit of whining, Satoru went back to the apartment satisfied with having gotten a taste of the sweet treat that was mochi.

Maybe the modern world wasn’t so bad afterall.

Satoru didn’t really take Suguru as the teacher type, but seeing him interact with those kids earlier had kind of changed his mind. Suguru may seem like a stoic, closed-off bad-boy on the outside, but Satoru has a knack for noticing things, and he saw the fond way he looked at his students.

It’s like he thinks of his students as his kids. It’s kind of heartwarming.

Suguru stops in front of a large, pretentious-looking double-door. So this is where the current head honchos of jujutsu sorcery reside? Satoru takes in the cursed energy flowing from within the room. He wrinkles his nose. It reeks of old men and pompous pride. Just like the people from the main clans and the previous high elders Satoru had met. Disgusting.

Suguru warns him to stay where he is, and Satoru smiles and nods obediently, thinking it’s kind of cute, how Suguru thinks he can threaten him into compliance. Suguru squints at him, likely catching on to his line of thinking, but either lets it slide or decides he’s too tired to deal with it, because he disappears behind the big doors soon after.

Satoru blinks at the doors for a few seconds, totally-guileless smile still on his face before he smooths it out into a more neutral expression.

Like hell is he just going to stand still like a good boy.

No, he has someone to meet.

No one ever cared about Satoru beyond being a prized possession when he was younger, and Satoru never cared about anyone else other than himself either.

That changed after the first day he went to Jujutsu Tech.

He was told to check out the place by one of the Gojo Clan’s elders, and he complied, curious about the so-called “foundation of Jujutsu society”. There was a really old sorcerer there, he’d heard, who preached about the value and morals of jujutsu sorcerers.

Ugh, he hated moral arguments.

The strong are strong, and the weak are weak; there are no obligations they owe each other.

The classrooms were all empty, not a soul in sight. That was to be expected, considering how late it was already. Satoru had gotten distracted going Curse-hunting on the way over. No biggie, he could just spend the night here. It’d cause his father to bust a vein, and he giggles just thinking about it.

“What are you doing here this late for?”

Satoru does not jolt, because his Six Eyes has long ago spotted the other person. “Are you Master Tengen, perhaps?”

Satoru swings around to look at his companion. He blinks. The person in front of him was not what he was expecting for a centuries-old sorcerer. She was rather short —most people were, compared to him, even at his young age— and had messy yet somehow elegant hair falling around her shoulders.

Hm, eternal youth? Satoru’s Six Eyes appraised her. No, more like… factory reset?

“Yes, I am. Why have you come here?” Tengen says amiably.

“I just wanted to see what all the fuss about you was for,” Satoru says, grinning cockily at the petite girl who was probably ten times his age.

“Mh, are you satisfied with what you see?”

“Hardly anything to see,” Satoru replies haughtily.

Instead of getting angry or red in the face like all the clan members would have had Satoru said that to them, Tengen laughs instead. It is clear and melodic, not just a strained pretense and absent of any presence of offense or irritation. Satoru blinks.

“You’re right. Why don’t you sit in for one of my lessons tomorrow then? If you’re so curious,” Tengen says, walking down the hallway. Satoru follows her, and they find themselves in a quaint little room.

“Bleh,” Satoru sticks his tongue out. “I don’t wanna sit in a room and listen to old people lecture about an obligation to do things for the greater good. So boring.”

“The world is full of unbalanced power dynamics, if only for the sole sake of equilibrium. For every strength, there must exist a weakness, and vice versa. You must know this best, considering you are rumored to be this era’s strongest sorcerer, no?” Tengen says, pouring tea into two cups. The tea is already made and still hot and steaming. The teacups were already set… as if she knew someone would be coming.

Satoru thinks about it. It’s said that his mere existence tipped the scales of balance in the world, elevating it to greater heights. Curses have reportedly gotten stronger since his birth.

“Humans can only be so strong as an individual. Their true strength lies in humanity’s collective power as a whole. They cover each other's weaknesses and bolster each other’s strengths. Protecting the weak isn’t just an obligation or duty, but an impellation. Because, just think about it, without your strength, who are you?” Tengen slides the tea cup to Satoru, and he looks into the reflection, pondering her question.

He had never thought about who he was, beyond his power. He’s never had to. But now, he finds himself wondering, and he can’t find the answer. He has been Satoru Gojo, strongest sorcerer, pride of the Gojo clan, perfect murder machine, etc. for so long that he doesn’t really know who Satoru Gojo is behind the appellations.

“And without their weakness, who are they?” Tengen continues. “Behind it all, we are ultimately the same, and as we protect each other, we will come to stand together, united and stronger for it.”

Tengen takes a sip of her tea, and Satoru robotically copies her motion.

“Even you, strongest sorcerer, must learn to rely on another in order to survive a world such as this one,” Tengen says calmly.

Satoru bristles. “I don’t need to rely on somebody else. I don’t need anyone.”

When has he ever, even on the verge of tears in the quiet of his room, whimpering because his eyes burn. When has he needed help, even when he forgoes sleep for days and days on end to practice keeping Infinity up? When did he ever call for help, when bleeding and sporting a concussion, yet still alert for yet another assassination attempt?

No, he has never asked for help. He has never needed it. And he doesn’t plan on starting now.

“Maybe you don’t need it,” Tengen placates, eyeing him with a look of something in her eyes, “but you want it. I can see it in your eyes, your posture. You’re lonely, aren’t you?”

Yes, the inner child inside Satoru that never got to grow, or just even be, wails. Yes, he’s lonely. Yes, he wants someone, anyone, to understand him, or at least be there for him when he collapses from 40 missions back to back in a day. When he’s fighting off the fifth assassination attempt in two weeks, still recovering from his brutal private training sessions. He wants someone to hold him when there are tears stuck in his eyes, head pounding with migraines; to turn off the lights for him, pat his back, tell him “it’s okay to cry”.

Instead, Satoru says, “I’m alone, yes, but I’m not lonely.”

Tengen’s eyes soften. “Ah, youth. So stubborn.”

Satoru pouts and harrumphs.

Tengen sighs and chuckles. “Ah, yes, yes, okay, enough of that.”

They finish their tea in silence. When Satoru stands up to leave, Tengen calls out. “You may not be lonely, young one, but this poor old soul has lived hundreds of years without any real company. Mind taking a bit of pity on her and coming back for tea sometime?”

Satoru’s heart jumps, but he pushes it down. He smirks back at her and replies, “Well, if you’re that desperate, I suppose I could make some time.”

“It’s been a while since we had tea, no?”

She’d probably sensed him the moment he appeared inside her barriers, just like how Satoru could sense her the moment he appeared inside. He knew old age didn’t really matter to a being such as Tengen, but he was still hesitant to believe that she was still here even after a thousand years.

But she’s still here. However, she has changed.

Not so much she has changed, but her appearance has changed. Tengen still possesses that air of ageless wisdom, but her body has morphed into one beyond that of a human’s.

Tengen is still humanoid, retaining a human’s bipedal nature and a mostly humanoid structure. Her face, however, has come to represent a Curse more, the head being cylindrical and boasting of four eyes instead of a human’s normal two.

“What happened to you?” Satoru says, rather rudely, because of course his first words of reunion after 1000 years is.

Tengen laughs good-naturedly. “You still haven’t changed at all, haven’t you? As for your inquiry… Well, it seems history has a way of repeating itself.”

Satoru immediately catches her drift. “Ah… it happened. Again?”

Tengen nods. “Yes. My vessel was eliminated before it could reach me. The first time wasn’t your fault, just as this time was no fault of theirs.”

Satoru just stares and nods blankly.

Tengen sighs. “Well, we still have a long while before I get unstable enough to pose a threat. Hopefully we can find a solution like we did so long ago. But for now, it’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen you, and I think I’m content enough to just catch up.”

Satoru sits down when Tengen prompts him to. Tengen pours him a cup of tea, and he nurses it on his lap, staring at his reflection in the translucent brown liquid. It reminds him of older, simpler times.

It’s been a thousand years of isolation for him, and upon observing the barrenness of the Tombs of the Star Corridor, he wonders how isolating it must’ve been for Tengen.

“It really has been a long time,” Satoru says, taking a sip of the steaming tea. “Since the last time we shared tea together, I mean.”

Tengen smiles at him from over their own teacup. It’s not the same face, but it’s the same smile. It’s something familiar, in this new world of unfamiliar things, and Satoru clings to it. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened since the last time I saw you?”

Satoru’s conversation with Tengen is cut short when the Eye he keeps trained on Suguru alerts him to an abnormal flare in his Cursed Energy. He immediately knew something had happened, and Suguru was about to lose it.

So he teleports to where Suguru is having a merry chat with not-so merry company and deescalates the situation before it can come to a head. Even when it comes with the cost of having to be an active member of jujutsu society again.

Eh, he can deal with it.

Satoru is not by any means altruistic, but he’s glad that he can shoulder some of the weight that Suguru, this era’s strongest, has to carry, the way he wished someone would do for him. Satoru’s eyes can see a lot of things, but he doesn’t need Six Eyes to see the way Suguru’s shoulders slump beneath all those burdens he carries, and as someone who understands, he’s going to do his best to alleviate it just a little bit.

When he tells Suguru this, he gives him an awed stare, as if Satoru had hung the stars and moon for him. No one had looked at him like that in a very long time. No one since…

“Getou-sensei!”

Satoru and Suguru turn their heads to see a lively trio of three making their way to them. At the back is a moody boy with spiky urchin hair who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, from the way he shies into his collar. Next to him is a girl with shoulder-length light brown hair, who looks like she’s teasing fun at the black haired boy.

In the lead is the one who presumably called out to Suguru. A pink-haired boy who—

No, Satoru freezes.

Suguru turns to them. “Back from your mission already?”

“It was just a couple lowly Grade 2s,” The sole girl of the group remarks.

“Who is this?” The black haired boy asks, staring at Satoru. Satoru is too busy staring at the pink-haired boy to notice.

“Ah, this is Satoru, a new friend of mine,” Suguru introduces. “Satoru, this is Fushiguro Megumi, a sorcerer from the Zenin clan.”

“This one is Kugisaki Nobara, a countryside sorcerer who moved to Tokyo,” Suguru says, pointing towards the girl. “And the last one is—”

“Itadori Yuuji!” The boy, Itadori, cuts in.

They look so alike, Satoru thinks, and his heart tremors at the thought. They even feel alike, too, in some obscure way. Itadori’s cursed energy… it’s not like his, but it… seems to bear his mark, somehow.

Satoru surges forward, grabbing Itadori by the shoulders and looking deep into his hazel eyes from behind his borrowed sunglasses. “Say,” Satoru says, an unsure smile on his face. “Do you happen to have a connection to Ryoumen Sukuna?”

Itadori blinks at him a couple times. Then, he breaks out into a sheepish smile. “Ah, I guess you’ve heard already?”

And then: “I’m Sukuna’s vessel!”

Pandemonium breaks loose in his head.

He’d thought— he’d thought—!

He wasn’t exactly sure what happened beyond his sealing. He wasn’t sure what became of Sukuna. Logically, he knew the Curse could easily live for another thousand years, but when he’d emerged from the Prison Realm, well— everything looked fine! There was no hellfire, the world wasn’t ruined, and he didn’t wake up in the arms of a four-armed demon anytime during his millennia of imprisonment, so he’d thought that Sukuna had somehow died or was gone somehow. For good.

But instead, he’d been stuck in some teenager’s body this whole time. Which shouldn’t even be possible, by the way.

Then, things get worse.

One of the slits underneath the boy’s eyes, that Satoru had originally assumed were just scars or markings as a result of his cursed technique, opened up to reveal one piercing, red eye.

It makes contact with Satoru’s, and even behind the shield of both Infinity and the dark sunglasses, Satoru still feels like someone had just stabbed him. Satoru abruptly lets go of Itadori’s shoulders and stumbles back. Both of their eyes are wide in shock and disbelief, but while Satoru is stuck feeling like a deer in headlights, Sukuna recovers much quicker.

Satoru watches as the Curse manifests a mouth on the side of Itadori’s cheek and purrs, “Satoru.”

Pandemonium breaks out around them.

Chapter Text

Satoru is young, and he’s filled with potential, filled with power.

Edging on the age of 14, his skin is still unbearably soft and cheeks still round with youth, but his sorcery and skills are sharp and honed, a veritable weapon in its own right. A weapon that others are eager to use.

And put him to use they did.

He was given a mission to take down a curse user. Ryoumen Sukuna was his name. From the information he was given, this Sukuna person was determined to be chaos incarnate, causing mass destruction wherever he went and slaughtering anyone who dared to stand in his way. Not many survived an encounter with him, and those who did stated with absolute certainty that he was a ruthless, cold-hearted man who thrived on thrill and breathed for blood and battle. An adrenaline junkie, but with no morals and no ambition beyond his own hedonistic needs.

So, an asshole, Satoru clocked him as.

Sukuna was untamable and uncontrollable, and considering his strength as well as the many sorcerers he’s already slaughtered, the clan leaders had all unanimously decided that Satoru was the only one fit for the job.

And so they sent him out to where Sukuna was last seen.

It wasn’t very hard to track Sukuna down, even without the help of his Six Eyes. The curse user left a trail of devastation wherever he went, so blatantly unrepentant and easy to follow. Almost as if he were daring anyone to give chase, to challenge him.

Satoru was all too willing to rise up to that challenge.

In the end, he found Sukuna sitting on a large boulder in the middle of a clearing, out in the forest. He sat on top of it, relaxed and regal like a king on a throne, looking down at him, smirk on his face, like he’d been waiting.

“Took you long enough, Six Eyes.”

Satoru’s eye twitched a bit, not that Sukuna could see underneath the bandages that covered his eyes. “Ah, my apologies. I should’ve made you wait longer.”

That garnered him a satisfying eye twitch from Sukuna in turn.

“Well, no matter,” Satoru continued. “We both know what I’m here for, so let’s not keep each other waiting any longer, shall we?”

At that, Sukuna’s mouth curled into a predatory grin. Satoru felt his stretch into a mirror reflection of it.

Sukuna hopped off the giant boulder he was perched on, stalking towards Satoru. Infinity hummed reassuringly above his skin as Satoru settled into combat position. Sukuna chuckled, and with a flick of his fingers, the boulder behind him was sliced into what must’ve been hundreds of pieces. Chunks of rock rained down from where the boulder just sat a second ago, and Sukuna cocked his head, a dark gleam in his blood-red eyes.

It was meant to be intimidating, but it only served to get Satoru excited. It’s been years since he last put more than the bare minimum effort in battle, and he yearned for a proper opponent. It seems today he would get one.

“Is that all you can do?” Satoru taunted the almighty, feared curse user Sukuna.

“Far from it,” Sukuna sneered. “Just how much do you think you can take?”

“Everything,” Satoru smiled. And then he issued his challenge. “So give me everything you’ve got.”

“Was never going to settle for anything less,” Sukuna accepted.

They fought for days, it felt like. Satoru hurled Blue after Blue at the curse user, who at times dodged swiftly, and at others lost a few limbs. They always grew back in an awing display of reverse cursed technique, proof of his experience and prowess. Sukuna slashed at Satoru relentlessly with his own cursed technique, all deflected by the impenetrable shield of Infinity.

However, as time continued to pass, Satoru could feel himself tiring. He lacked the boon of refreshment that RCT brought, and his Infinity required constant use of his Six Eyes, which his body could not infinitely sustain.

Lethargy caused him to miscalculate, and he found himself pinned to the floor, face to face with Sukuna face, marred with the blood of healed injuries.

Satoru could’ve reactivated Infinity and flung him off right now, even through the migraine pounding in his head. But he didn’t. And so Sukuna could’ve activated Dismantle right now, ending what is probably the biggest threat to his life. But he didn’t.

There was something about this tension-charged moment that kept them from killing, and continued the staring.

“Not bad, Six Eyes,” Sukuna grinned, a slasher smile stretching his lips and barring his predatory teeth. “You’re the best one yet.”

And that’s when Satoru felt it, the latent killing intent. A split second before the slash, Satoru activated Blue. It pulsed to life, deep inside Sukuna’s chest, crumbling his internal organs and flinging him far away from Satoru.

In return, he felt dismantle cut through his stomach, much weakened from the killing blow it would’ve been had Satoru not caught Sukuna by surprise. It was still deeper than just a flesh wound, and blood poured incessantly from it. Satoru clenched his teeth and bore through the pain.

Satoru did not know enough about RCT to discern whether Sukuna would survive such a blow or not, but he didn’t dally to find out. He could feel himself succumbing to the combined effects of blood loss and overusing Six Eyes. He was strong, not suicidal. He knew he couldn’t continue fighting any longer, so instead of confirming the kill, he teleported as far as he could and collapsed into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, he was drenched in his own blood, but alive and not that much worse for the wear. He tore off his eye-bandages and wrapped them around his torso to staunch the now-sluggish bleeding of his stomach wound, unminding of the way his headache increased without the barrier.

It was a painful journey, but he made his way back to the Gojo estate not too far from where he’d teleported to. There, after all the clamor and confusion of seeing the Gojo Heir soaked in his own blood, he received treatment from a healing cursed technique.

The next day, he was told that Sukuna was still out and about, causing mayhem. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t bring himself to be too disappointed by the news.

Maybe Suguru should’ve given Satoru a warning. It’s not everyday that you have a reunion with someone you’d brawled to the death with over a thousand years ago. Suguru had kind of just conveniently forgotten that Satoru and Sukuna were mortal enemies and one of his students just so happened to be housing said mortal enemy.

Maybe if he’d given Satoru a heads up it wouldn’t have come to this.

For a short, blessed second, there is only silence. Suguru knows better than to assume its anything but the calm before the storm.

He’s unfortunately proven right, as soon enough, chaos breaks forth.

“Gross! Is that a talking mouth on your face?!” Kugisaki shrieks.

Itadori slaps his hands on top of the cheek where the mouth had manifested, but the mouth just manifests again on top of the hand, grinning. Itadori, not having learned his lesson, slaps his other hand on top of it, which preludes the world’s most bizarre game of whack-a-mole, except the whacker is a teenage boy —not unusual, if one discounts certain eccentricities of said boy— and the mole is a thousand year old homicidal curse stuck in the teenager’s body —definitely not normal.

It all culminates when Sukuna, the blasted beast that he is, bites Itadori after yet another attempt to subdue him through self-slapping. Itadori screeches, and Kugisaki tsks before stepping in what was probably a benevolent attempt to ameliorate the situation, but really just ends up aggravating it even further. Or maybe it was all purposeful; you never know with that one.

“Stop, you’re doing this all wrong,” Kugisaki says, stalking up to Itadori ominously with her hammer in one hand. “Stay still… let me handle it.”

Itadori slowly turns to Kugisaki with his hand still on one of his cheeks, dread clear on his face when he catches sight of his soon-to-be murder weapon. “Haha… No thanks, Kugisaki. No, really, I've got this … please.”

Satoru has been still and silent this whole time. It’s a bit concerning for someone who likes to take up so much space with their voice, but not entirely surprising, considering the situation.

Fushiguro is impassive. Suguru doesn’t know where he gets his bullshit-tolerance from, but he desperately needs it.

Suguru sighs and wrangles Itadori and Kugisaki back into something that resembles order. Sukuna still has a self-satisfied smirk from where he’s situated back on Itadori’s cheek, re-manifesting an eye above it to stare at Satoru.

Before anyone could say anything, Fushiguro finally speaks. “How does Sukuna know your name?” He asks seriously, turning to Satoru, who still looks like he’s going through PTSD flashbacks.

Satoru doesn’t answer, so Suguru picks up the slack.

“He probably heard it through Itadori when I was introducing you guys,” Suguru reasons, although that clearly doesn’t explain the way Satoru reacted to it.

The expression on Fushiguro’s face tells just what he thinks about his pitiful explanation.

“Oh no,” this time the voice comes from Sukuna, who continues on, ignoring Itadori’s ensuing “shut up”. “We definitely know each other. On a personal level, isn’t that right, Six Eyes?”

At that, all three of the first years startle, and Satoru snaps back to attention.

“What’s Six Eyes?” Yuuji asks, to which Kugisaki just shrugs.

“Six Eyes…” Fushiguro whispers. Being a clan kid, it’s no wonder he’s the first to piece things together. Mask of apathy finally broken, he points at Satoru. “That’s not possible though…”

Satoru’s lips purse. “I guess it was pretty rude of me to not fully introduce myself. My name is Satoru Gojo, haha, tada!”

“I am literally so confused,” Itadori whispers very conspicuously. “What is Six Eyes, and what does it have to do with Satoru Gojo?”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Fushiguro stares at Satoru like he’d just told him he was his father. “A thousand years ago!”

“Well, surprise, surprise! I’m not,” Satoru says sheepishly, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

Fushiguro just looks down at his feet and mutters to himself in disbelief.

Satoru turns a viscous glare at Sukuna. “Why’d you have to call me Six Eyes?! You blew my cover!”

Sukuna snorts vindictively. “Well, your cover sucked anyways. And how was I supposed to know you didn’t want them to know?”

“Well— because!” Satoru stammered. “You… you know—!”

“What the hell is going on,” Kugisaki said.

Suguru agreed. What in the hell is going on, indeed? He’d expected much more fighting in the thousand years coming reunion, not bickering.

“Sensei,” Itadori says, looking bewildered. “What is happening? Who is Gojo?”

“I… guess I owe you guys an explanation,” Suguru relents. At this point, he can’t just get away with saying Satoru is an out-of-city friend of his.

“So… you’re actually an age-old sorcerer who’s fought against Sukuna before?” Itadori said, eyes practically bursting with stars. Kugisaki looked just as enamored from where she sat next to him. Fushiguro has gone back to his usual resting bitch face now that the excitement has worn off.

“Yup! And I’ve also beaten his ass many times before,” Satoru says smugly, sneaking a victorious grin at Sukuna.

“And I’ve beaten yours plenty too,” Sukuna drawls, then a downright heinous grin appears. “Especially in—”

“Shut. UP!” Satoru screeches in a very undignified manner, lunging at poor Itadori to cover Sukuna’s mouth. His ears are pink as he grits out, “Not. Another. Word.”

Sukuna holds Satoru’s glare, then slowly, while still staring him in the eye, he licks his hand, what the hell.

Both Itadori and Satoru yelp, the latter launching himself backward in a reverse-motion of when he’d launched himself forward to silence Sukuna. He cradles his saliva-stained hand to his chest like it’s injured and stares at Sukuna incredulously.

“Ew, ew, ew,” Kugisaki chants, disgusted.

Itadori seems to be in a catatonic state, looking at his hands as if he’s afraid they’ll be licked next. Even Fushiguro spares a few surprised blinks at the scene.

Suguru is just so confused. Sukuna and Satoru definitely don’t act like two people who’ve tried to murder each other before. More like… old friends, actually. Yeah, he’s definitely having a conversation with Satoru about their peculiar relationship when they get back home.

“You did not just…” Satoru narrows his eyes at Sukuna.

“Oh, I did,” Sukuna chortles. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Satoru says, which surprises Suguru. He’d expected him to leap at Sukuna, Itadori be damned, because such maturity is not usual, coming from him—

“Because unfortunately, you’re stuck in a kid’s body. Pathetic,” Satoru continues.

Ah, of course. Well, there’s the Satoru he knows.

At that, Sukuna’s eye narrows as well. “No less pathetic than being stuck in a box for the past thousand years.”

“Says the one who’s been stuck in some finger not even that long ago,” Itadori mutters.

Satoru blinks. Then howls in laughter. “Oh god, fingers?! That’s what that damn corpse desecrator stuffed you into?! How did you even agree to that? Wait— don’t tell me you of all people were forced into it? The almighty King of Curses—! T-that’s— oh god, I can’t breathe—!”

 “Oh, you’re just so eager to fight, aren’t you?” Sukuna snarls, eyes glinting.

“You sure you wanna? You’re so weak right now, I wouldn’t want to break you,” Satoru responds, crazed mania visible in his eyes even behind the sunglasses.

Well, that’s more like what Suguru had been expecting from the reunion, not that he’s happy about it. They look blood-thirsty, but with the added something of… excitement? Suguru wonders if these two were born crazy, or if the years of solitude had gotten to their heads or something. Maybe both. “Okay, that’s enough. Satoru, we’re going home.”

Satoru continues his glaring contest with Sukuna, who honest to God licks his lips. They look like they’re eye-fucking. Which— no, just no.

Suguru grabs Satoru by the ear and drags him as he begins to walk away. Immediately, like a switch has been flipped, Satoru starts squirming and whining. Suguru pays him no heed.

Once they’ve made a certain distance and Satoru has stopped wiggling around and dragging his feet, he turns back to the three students, meeting each of them eye to eye. “What we talked about here stays a secret, okay?”

His eyes linger on Fushiguro’s especially. As a Zenin clan kid, it was especially imperative that he didn’t run back home and spill everything, lest Satoru make good on his promise of homicide.

Itadori and Kugisaki nod dazedly —probably still reeling from the big reveals and turn of events—, which isn’t exactly promising, but probably the best he’ll get from them. Fushiguro nods much more seriously.

So much for nobody recognizing Satoru and keeping his identity a secret.

Suguru turns away from them and continues the march away, asking Satoru to teleport them once they get past a certain distance.

“Okay,” Suguru starts, crossing his arms at Satoru the moment they arrive in his humble apartment, stomach surprisingly not unsettled from the teleportation. He’d probably gotten used to it by now. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Satoru asks innocently, plopping down onto the sofa, hugging a cushion to his chest.

“Whatever was going on between you and Sukuna,” Suguru hissed. “You told me you guys were enemies!”

“We are,” Satoru blinks slowly.

“Well, whatever that was is not typical enemy behavior!”

“Oh,” Satoru simply says. “I guess I forgot to mention the part where we were lovers at one point.”

Suguru’s brain crashes. Brain rebooting. Unsuccessful. Software needs a minimum five updates to comprehend such bull-shittery.

Satoru looks up at him cautiously when he doesn’t respond for too long. “Yeah, you know that enemies to lovers to enemies again trope? That’s kinda our relationship in a nutshell.”

“How do you even know that?” Suguru says hoarsely. As far as he knows, tropes didn’t exist all the way back in the Heian era.

“Oh, the trope? I did some intel-gathering on that computer of yours last night,” Satoru shrugged nonchalantly. “You really shouldn’t leave your passwords on a post-it note behind the monitor.”

It’s been one day. How did he go from not knowing “phone” to knowing “monitor”? Did he even sleep last night? If he knows what enemies to lovers is, then what the hell is in my search history right now?!

“Really handy, technology these days,” Satoru smiles.

“Breach of personal privacy aside,” Suguru breathes heavily. Satoru can not possibly be good for his blood pressure, “let’s get back to when you said you and Sukuna were lovers?”

Satoru blinks at him. “I don’t know what else you want me to say about it. We were together centuries ago, and now we’re not.”

Suguru pinches his nose. “Do you still love him?”

Satoru looks at him weird. It’s a pretty unwarranted question, aside from the fact that it’s absolutely valid. If he truly does still hold feelings for the mass-murderer, they’re gonna have problems. Jujutsu society does not need two insanely powerful people colluding to destroy the world or anything.

“What part of ‘lover to enemies again’ do you not understand?” Satoru raises an eyebrow at Suguru. “We broke it off …pretty badly. I don’t think we’re ever going to be like that again.”

“That doesn’t necessarily answer the question,” Suguru says, noting how Satoru sounded almost wistful.

“Fine, be a cranky old man who needs all the nitty-gritties,” Satoru says grumpily. “No, I don’t love him anymore. There, happy?”

Satoru had turned his face away from Suguru, so Suguru only had his voice to rely on for any signs of a lie. His voice was steady…

And, well… considering the last time Sukuna and Satoru saw each other, they were supposedly trying to kill one another, Suguru guesses he can believe it. “Yes. Very much so.”

A moment of awkward silence. “So…” Suguru starts. “What made you guys break—”

“Aaaand let’s not talk about my love life,” Satoru perks up, clapping his two hands together. “Instead, how about we talk about what I saw on your search history last night?”

Suguru sweats as flashbacks of ‘how to kill old men and get away with it’ and ‘how to properly overthrow a government system with minimal mayhem’,  as well as other things like ‘can you commit suicide by drinking enough coffee’ creep into his mind.

Chapter Text

“Suicidal aspirations aside…”

“So we’re just going to completely brush aside how you stalked my search history?”

“I completely support your anarchical ambitions!” Satoru finishes.

“It’s not about anarchy,” Suguru frowns. “It’s about changing the system.”

Satoru tilts his head at him in curiosity. “Oh? Do tell what that entails.”

“Modern jujutsu society is rotten; I’m sure it’s been that way for a long time now. The higher ups don’t give a shit about youth and the people in general. Their positions are just some sick power play to them. They only care about the hierarchy and obsolete, outdated ideals that couldn’t possibly hold in the modern age.

“They’ll send unprepared sorcerers, children, to fight against curses far above their grade. And when they encounter any unknowns that could threaten their power, they order immediate execution.

“In the ageless battle of attrition, curses will always prevail. All we sorcerers can do is our best, but even that will never be enough, especially when we’re all being mowed off before reaching our full potential.”

Satoru is smiling at him. It’s soft, introspective. He pulls his gaze from the window he’d been staring out of to meet Suguru’s gaze, and having taken off his sunglasses somewhere in the interim of Suguru’s tirade, he’s hit with the full force of the swirling skies and turbulent oceans. “And what do you plan to do about it? Kill them?”

“No. Even if I want to,” Suguru admits. “Peace at the cost of violence is no peace at all. If I create a future born of blood, I’m no better than the very people I condemn. But that’s why I’m a teacher. I’ll work to change the system slowly, from the inside. I’ll train the students and make sure they’re strong enough to stand against this world of suffering.

“Then when the time finally comes, they’ll be ready to take on the sorcerer society’s mantle and forge a better future for all the coming generations.”

Satoru rises gracefully from where he’d been sitting on the couch’s armrest to give him a standing ovation. “Wonderfully said, Suguru!”

He moseys up to Suguru and says, “Let me help you.”

“Huh?”

It’s a bit baffling to know that there’s someone out there from a thousand years ago who’d gone against Sukuna and survived. Getou-sensei had told Yuuji that all the sorcerers who’d faced Sukuna had died futilely, even after banding together and giving it their all.

It’s even more baffling to know that said person is the long-lost wielder of the Six Eyes and Limitless technique from the Gojo clan. Once Getou-sensei had left, dragging Gojo away by the ear, Yuuji and Kugisaki had tag-teamed Fushiguro to hound information about Gojo out of him, since he seemed to be privy to certain things that they weren’t.

After much badgering, Fushiguro had caved and given them an impromptu history lesson on the three great sorcerer families, especially the Gojo clan. He’d talked about how each clan had signature techniques they passed down the bloodline. Six Eyes was especially revered because it was an extremely powerful and rare trait that only appeared every 500 years in the Gojo bloodline. It was made extra special by the fact that only one Six Eye sorcerer could exist at a time.

According to legend, Gojo Satoru was the last one to wield Six Eyes. After he’d “died”, no other Six Eye sorcerer emerged, which made sense considering they just found out that he was stuck in the Prison Realm all these years. And now he was out and about, and probably no one aside from the three and Getou-sensei knew about it; not even the big three clans.

“Why are we keeping this a secret from the Gojo clan?” Yuuji asks Fushiguro. “I get the others. It’d probably cause a huge commotion if it’s out that a long-dead sorcerer was suddenly resurrected, but Gojo-san belongs to the Gojo clan, doesn’t he?”

Fushiguro had also mentioned that the Gojo clan had been waning in social standing and political power over the last thousand years due to the absence of their most treasured technique. Apparently, Limitless, their other hereditary technique, wasn’t nearly as powerful without the Six Eyes, so it wasn’t enough to carry on the prestige of the clan’s past. Yuuji is sure they’d be ecstatic to reunite with their fellow clan member, even with the time gap.

Fushiguro’s expression goes dark. “I have a guess as to why Gojo wouldn’t want to be discovered.”

Yuuji and Kugisaki exchange concerned glances at the sudden shift in tone. However, Fushiguro quickly goes back to his usual reticent self, and when they try to pry, he shuts them down swiftly and mercilessly, so they have to content themselves with unanswered questions.

Well, Kugisaki does. Yuuji, on the other hand, has someone who claims to have known Gojo “personally” stuck in his head.

Sukuna, Yuuji tries to summon the Curse from wherever he disappeared to once Getou-sensei had taken Gojo and left. Sukuna?

What do you want, brat, comes Sukuna’s rude response.

You know a lot about Gojo-san, right?

The most, Sukuna says, sounding almost proud about it, which Yuuji doesn’t really understand, but whatever.

Why doesn’t he want to be known as a Gojo?

There is silence from the other side for a while. Just when Yuuji was about to call out to Sukuna again, Sukuna answers. That’s none of your business, brat.

It seems Sukuna does know why, but just refuses to tell him. Why is he keeping secrets for someone who’s supposedly his mortal enemy?

Usually Yuuji would let the topic go —it isn’t worth arguing with the temperamental ticking time bomb—, but he’s really interested in this whole strange situation, so he pushes, prodding at Sukuna’s pride in a way he knows will yield results, whether that be an explosive or satisfactory one.

So you don’t know? I thought you said you know him best? I guess a thousand years changed that.

What did you just say, you fucking brat?! Of course I know him better than anyone!

Again, Yuuji really doesn’t understand why knowing Gojo is a point of pride and contention for Sukuna.

I know that he hates bitter and sour foods, can’t handle anything spicy but will eat it anyway just to prove himself, and absolutely adores sweet things. He has a big soft spot for kids and is a pathetic sucker for physical contact, but always denies himself of it. He’s shit at taking care of himself and likes overworking to distract himself. He hates being vulnerable and loves the thrill of a good battle. He’s gets really pouty when he’s sleepy and—

These are not things that any sane person would know about their archenemy, Yuuji realizes. He’s about to ask “why do you know all this” when…

—and I know exactly how he likes it under the sheets, Sukuna finishes smugly.

…

What?! Yuuji’s brain frantically connects the specific synapses required to comprehend that particular statement. You don’t mean what I think you mean, right?

No, no, Sukuna says, and Yuuji mentally sighs in relief. It’s exactly like that.

His just-settled nerves start fraying again. …Aren’t you guys supposed to be mortal enemies?

Sukuna sends the mental approximation of a snort. Yes, I bet that’s what he told you guys.

He gives no further elaboration. Exactly why does he think that?

We had a minor conflict of opinions in the past.

Minor? Yuuji feels like there’s a huge gap in personal perspective between these two. He’s not exactly sure if Sukuna and Gojo were a thing before Sukuna started mass-murdering people, but if not, then all the homicide probably would’ve been a point of contention for Gojo, especially since he was a sorcerer who’s job is to protect people.

Question time is over, brat.

But—!

He liked it when I pinned him down, leaving him unable to move. Sometimes, he would even let me use his bandages to tie him up. We experimented with a lot of positions, but his favorite was—

Yuuji’s cheeks rapidly turn into the same color as his hair, and he resolutely directs his mind to some place that’s not Sukuna ranting about his and Gojo’s sex life. He doesn’t ever need to know that kind of stuff about them, nor does he want to.

It’s been a while since Yuuji had seen Gojo, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to see him again.

It’s not through any fault of the sorcerer’s, though. Yuuji doesn’t have anything against him personally, really. He actually thinks he’s really cool!

But… he doubts he’ll ever be able to look him straight in the eye without recalling anything about his sex life. Which he knows way too much about. Once he found out just how much of a prude Yuuji was, Sukuna frequently harassed Yuuji with accounts of their coital affairs at especially inopportune times.

He’s pretty sure Kugisaki thinks he has some sort of crush on her with how many times he’s gone red in the face when in her and Fushiguro’s presence.

In fact, Sukuna is still talking about it as Yuuji sits squished between Kugisaki and Fushiguro as Ijichi drives them to the detention center where their next mission is taking place. Yuuji just does his best not to make eye contact with Kugisaki or Fushiguro where he can feel them staring at him, futilely trying to tune out Sukuna’s ranting.

“Are you… okay?” Fushiguro asks awkwardly, once the silence and shifting have become too much to bear.

Yuuji turns to reassure him, and Sukuna takes the opportunity to say the most dirty, lewd thing Yuuji has ever heard from anyone. So instead of reassurance, Yuuji just ends up staring at Fushiguro with his mouth agape and his cheeks tomato-colored.

Fushiguro repositions himself uncomfortably, and for some reason, Kugisaki snorts, “I knew it.”

“I—” Yuuji berates himself and composes himself. “I’m f-fine.”

Fushiguro just nods and then turns to look out the window, where raindrops race against each other to reach the bottom first.

“You’re pretty bad at this, aren’t you?” Kugisaki whispers against his ear.

Yuuji turns scarlet again as he recalls the many times Sukuna had done that too during his… activities with Gojo. Oh God, he’s never gonna be the same again, is he? Funny how the reality of it all just hits him fully now and not after he’d swallowed Sukuna’s moldy finger or even when he’d received his execution sentence.

“What do you mean?” Yuuji asks, pitifully attempting to reign in his blush.

Kugisaki just rolls her eyes at him and mutters, “Boys.”

God, Yuuji is embarrassed to hell and back. He laments his tarnished image as Sukuna cackles in the back of his head.

He doesn’t think the day can get any worse.

“Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong” are the wise words said by Murphy.

Murphy’s law is something that Satoru whole-heartedly agrees with, because frankly, his life has been quite shit from start to present, and he’d rather blame it on fate than himself. And honestly, it’s not like the world is doing anything to disprove his doubts.

Case in point, right now.

He’d just finished his three penance missions and was going to treat himself to some sweets for his hard work with the allowance Suguru handed him. Truth be told, the missions were a piece of cake for him, and didn’t even take much time, so technically he shouldn’t be treating himself to an actual piece of cake to reward himself for something so simple. But he justifies it with the reasoning that he has missions in the first place because he took the punishment for Suguru, so he’s rewarding himself for his good behavior… nevermind the fact that he was actually the reason why Suguru was going to be punished in the first place. Details, details!

Just as he reaches the front of the waiting line for the bakery, his phone —that Suguru had bought him a few days ago— starts ringing.

He smiles apologetically at the register lady and turns to pull out his phone, missing the way she swoons at him. Upon seeing the name Getou Suguru, who almost never texts or calls him, Satoru scrambles to answer, fumbling with the unfamiliar mechanics a bit before finally accepting the call.

“Suguru~! Why’re you calling? Missed my voice, hm? I knew you liked me!” Satoru exclaimed.

“What the hell are you on about,” comes the response. For some reason, it sounds a bit strained, but that can be easily off-written with the way Suguru always seems to be stressed around him. Satoru rolls his eyes. Always such a tsundere, that one. Satoru’s actually not sure if he used that term correctly, so he decides not to relay this thought to Suguru. And good thing, because the next thing Suguru says is: “I need your help, please.”

Ah, it’s serious. Suguru never says please or thank you to Satoru.

“The kids are in danger. Kugisaki called me, but I’m on a mission out of the country, so I can’t get there in time. You have to go, hurry.”

“Calm down,” Satoru responds, the tease and whine vanquished from his voice. “Send me the coordinates, I’ll handle it.”

He can hear Suguru breath heavily. A few seconds later, a location appears in his private messages with Suguru. It’s the only text he’d sent in the last four days, the interim being filled with expressive texts littered with emojis and kaomojis from Satoru that Suguru had only reluctantly deigned to react to —and with the thumbs down one too, that bastard.

Satoru hangs up on Suguru, gives the cake in the display one last longing look, then rushes away to the alley just beside the bakery. He focuses one of his Six Eyes on the coordinates sent to him and collapses space around him.

Rain appears to pause mid-motion around him as the drops fail to reach him through his barrier of Infinity. He’s in front of what looks to be a detention center. No one in sight. There are residuals of an exorcized special grade in the detention center, as well as the residuals of the three first years.

Satoru frowns. Why are first years being sent to exorcize a special grade? It’s the equivalent of a suicide mission.

Satoru extends his Six Eyes further, and— there. Two familiar cursed energy signatures. The Zenin clan kid and… Itadori. But not Itadori.

Sukuna.

That’s not even the worst part. Itadori… he…

Something went very wrong here indeed.

Using Six Eyes to track Fushiguro, who appears to be locked in combat with Sukuna, Satoru folds the fabric of reality to his will and warps.

He ends up in the air, right before Fushiguro, who seems to have been flung mid-air. Satoru catches the boy, his Six Eyes already appraising him. He seems to have been through quite a heavy beating, bloody and bruised as he is.

“Huh—” The boy immediately struggles in his grip. Satoru teleports them down to the ground before Sukuna can catch up to them, buying them some time before he finds them.

“Fushiguro, calm down. It’s me!”

At that, Fushiguro turns around in his hold to look at him. “Gojo…? What are you doing here?”

Satoru grins. “Kugisaki called for help.”

The relief isn’t very apparent in his face, but it shows in the way his frazzled cursed energy calms down a bit. But then it flares into a frenzy once again. “Gojo… Itadori… he— Sukuna—”

“I know,” Satoru says somberly. He’s known the moment since he caught wind of Itadori’s presence. He was missing his heart, which Satoru could locate with his Six Eyes at this very moment.

“I tried to force him to heal Itadori, but he’s too strong,” Fushiguro’s head is facing the floor. “I don’t know what… to do.”

“Run,” Satoru says.

“What,” Fushiguro says flatly, head snapping up to meet him, cursed energy conveying the incredulity that his face doesn’t show.

“You heard me. You’re too young and inexperienced for this. Frankly, you shouldn’t have even received such a high-ranking mission in the first place in my opinion. Leave and let me handle this,” Satoru explains. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve fought Sukuna many times before and lived to tell the tale.”

Fushiguro still doesn’t look convinced. “But what about Itadori? His heart is still hostage.”

Satoru sighs. He brings his hand to cup Fushiguro’s face. Like a current, he twines his cursed energy over Fushiguro’s, reaching the spots where he sustained injury. The injuries rapidly regenerate under the flow of RCT. Fushiguro’s eyes widen as he feels them fade.

“Don’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles,” Satoru pinches Fushiguro’s cheek, amused at how he doesn’t even react, still in shock. “I’ll just beat Sukuna’s ass and heal Yuuji myself. Now scram.”

Right as he finishes his sentence, the wall beside them explodes. Satoru extends Infinity to cover Fushiguro, shielding him from the debris. He pushes Fushiguro, sending him the signal to run. With one last look at Satoru, Fushiguro nods and flees the scene.

“Satoru,” Sukuna says, almost reverently, bringing shivers to his spine. “It’s been so long since we sparred.”

“Stop with your games, Sukuna,” Satoru rolled his eyes, watching as Sukuna emerged from the dust rather dramatically. That’s his thunder, stop stealing it! “Release Itadori and return to whatever hidey-hole you crawled out of.”

Sukuna chuckled lowly. “You always did love to run your mouth.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Satoru said as he stretched his arms out. It’s been a long, long time, but this was still routine. “How do you want to do this?”

“As much as I hate limitations, I don’t want this to end too quickly. At my current strength, you have an obvious advantage, so let's do this purely physical.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when the great Sukuna sank so low as to use caveats to cheat the game,” Satoru taunts. New age, same game. “Then again, I never thought you’d let yourself be stuffed into your own fingers too, but look where we are.”

Surprisingly, Sukuna ignores his taunts. That’s rare. It seems a thousand years does change a man. “Like I’ve stated, I don’t want this to end so quickly. Can’t be helped that I missed you.”

Satoru’s stretching paused, as did his heartbeat. “...I’m afraid I can’t say the same. Let’s just get this started, shall we?”

Before Sukuna can respond, Satoru launches himself at him.

Even weakened as he is, Sukuna’s combat skills have not atrophied throughout the ages. He still ducks and dodges and deflects masterfully, and returns hits skillfully. It helps that Itadori is abnormally strong, even without the aid of any cursed energy.

Satoru knows he should hurry and wrap this up, for Itadori’s sake. But he can’t help it. Despite what he’d said, he really does miss Sukuna. He misses this —the sparring, the quips. He wants to prolong it, make it last just a little bit longer. He doesn’t want to want it, but he does. And he hates that.

The frustration fuels his punches, making them come faster and harder then he means them to. Sukuna’s in control right now, but Satoru hasn’t forgotten who this body really belongs to. He doesn’t want to cause any unnecessary harm, even if he'll heal it all anyways. It just feels wrong.

But uncaring of the force, Sukuna just laughs and takes it in stride, because that’s what he’s always done. He was always able to match Satoru. The only one who could.

And it hurts to see them now, because even though they weren't fighting to the death this time, this spar is anything but friendly. The gaping, bloody hole on Sukuna’s chest proves that. Itadori’s heart lying some distance away, abandoned on the grass, proves that.

And despite the familiar tattoos and the uncannily similar face and stature that makes Sukuna look like, well, Sukuna, this is not his body. He lives at the expense of another. Of a kid. And there’s nothing more that Satoru hates than that.

Satoru uses his arm to parry a swinging fist and then delivers a roundhouse kick while Sukuna is still adjusting to his motion. Now that he’s off-balance, Satoru winds himself around him and brings him to the muddy floor, back-first.

“You know how much I hate the exploitation of children,” Satoru hisses as he pins Sukuna down. “I really thought you couldn’t possibly betray me any more, but here we are.”

“I never betrayed you,” Sukuna says, lifting one of his hands to cup Satoru’s cheek.

Satoru slaps it away before even Infinity could rebuff it and slams it to the floor. “It’s hard for me to believe that, I hope you know. Especially when you go around trying to murder a child.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “It’s not personal,” at Satoru’s disbelieving gaze, he adds, “...at least not this time.”

Satoru’s gaze turns suspicious. “You need him to die for something,” the realization hits him hard.

“Of course you’d figure it out,” Sukuna says, and he almost seemed annoyed by it.

Satoru’s brain ran through the possibilities. “A binding vow,” he settled on. But why?

And then he felt it. Shit.

“Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine.”

Dozens of slashes cut through his skin before he could pull up his simple domain. In a complete reversal of the first time they ever fought, this time, Sukuna was the one who got a drop on him and escaped in the aftermath. As he healed himself with RCT, Satoru used Six Eyes to locate where he went.

Though Sukuna was no teleporter, he was insanely fast. His speed made it appear as though he teleports, unable to be followed by the untrained eye. And even with only three fingers, he’d probably already ran far away by now. Satoru has to find him, and quickly, because if he truly was planning what Satoru was thinking, then he was going to force a switch.

There. But it wasn’t really Sukuna’s cursed energy anymore. Satoru’s stomach filled with dread.

Satoru teleported to where Itadori stood. He stood on shaky legs, and when he saw Satoru, he smiled and said, “Tell Fushiguro I’m sorry.”

Then he collapsed.

Satoru scrambled to catch Itadori. He forced his RCT onto him frantically, pooling it into the gap in his chest, but it was useless. Somewhere in his Innate Domain, Sukuna had already set his plan into motion.

Oh no, Satoru thinks, the weight of what he’d just done pressing against him. No, no, no, no, no.

He cradles Itadori to his chest. He’s dead. But only temporarily, Satoru knows. He wonders if it’d be better if he stayed that way. Whatever binding vow Sukuna had made inside there has just sealed the fate of the future, and with his inactivity, Satoru had stolen the hope out of it as well.

“Do you still love him?” Is what Suguru had asked him.

“No.” Satoru had told himself. Had told him. Had lied. Again.

Back then, he’d thought that the lie wouldn’t hurt. He’d known that Suguru had only asked because he was concerned any remaining feelings between them would jeopardize jujutsu society. And seeing as Satoru would rather self-destruct than turn on his ideals, he’d figured that it didn’t matter if he said he still loved Sukuna or not, because whether he did or didn’t, that wouldn’t change the fact that he’d never endanger the people of the present for a mere specter of the past.

But he did.

He’d never had to turn on society to mess anything up. He only had to do nothing. And trapped by his longing and lingering love, he’d done exactly that. He'd really only had to love to lose the battle.

He’d always been strong enough to fend off any external enemies. He’d never been strong enough to save him from himself. His feelings.

Not for the first time, Satoru thinks: Love truly is the greatest curse of them all.

Satoru picks Itadori up in a bridal carry, just like he’d done with someone else before. Once upon a time, a millennia ago, he’d witnessed the world crush the innocence of youth. He’d promised himself that from then on, he’d protect it. Now, he’d just gone ahead and destroyed it himself.

Chapter Text

Suguru is seething with rage, and he doesn’t know where to direct it.

At first, his target was Satoru. He’d said he’d “handle it”, and Suguru had trusted him. But then when he came back, it was to the news that Itadori had died. Itadori was 15, and he had a bright future ahead of him, despite the fact that a demon lived in his body.

He was about to give a piece of his mind to Satoru, but when he saw him, all that anger had just evaporated. Satoru looked… horrible, to put it lightly.

Physically, he appeared unblemished. There was no blood, no bruises to be found. His hair was tousled a bit, but it was always a bit unruly, and he still looked as effortlessly elegant and put together as he’s been since they first met.

But he was quiet, and that was already enough of a cause for concern. He stared at Itadori’s body the way a mother would stare at a body belonging to their son. It was a hollow stare, as if he was pondering what the meaning of life was when he’d already lost everything. Suguru knew, looking into those eyes, that he didn’t have to say anything. Satoru already blamed himself.

And then the rage turned inwards. He felt angry that he’d been angry at Satoru. It wasn’t really his fault. He was an outsider in all this, still figuring things out, and with no real obligation to care. But he had still made an effort to save Itadori, even if it was to no avail.

Instead, Suguru should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have blindly accepted the mission that took him out of the country, suspiciously coinciding with his own student’s mission schedule. He should’ve known better than to believe his word alone would dissuade the higher ups from targeting Itadori.

And that’s when the rage flowed to where most of his hate usually went: the higher ups. It was their fault that the first years had been “misassigned” to a special grade curse. They had been scheming this all along, waiting for an opportunity to get him out of the picture so they could get rid of Itadori. It’s their fault that Itadori’d been forced to make a deal with the devil to save his friend’s life.

And then at last, the rage landed on its final offender. Sukuna. The reason Itadori had to be dragged into this world of suffering and hardship in the first place. The reason he was so mercilessly taken out of it too.

In the end, Suguru was just angry with the world right now, and he knew that. And he wanted the world to know it too. He wanted to unleash his rage somewhere, on something.

“I wonder…” Suguru clenched his fists. “Should I just kill all the higher ups right here and now?”

He shouldn’t, he knew that, logically. He’d spent many years of his life planning for a peaceful transition into a new era of sorcery. If he killed them now, it’d all be for nothing, and he’d become no better than them.

Shoko looked at him with something akin to pity as she slipped on her gloves. She was just about to peel skin away with her scalpel when Satoru finally spoke.

“Don’t.”

Both Suguru and Shoko turned to him quizzically.

Satoru was still staring at Itadori with that haunted look of his. “He’ll wake up soon.”

Shoko and Suguru share a look. Denial was common, but he hadn’t expected it from such an experienced sorcerer as Satoru. Most people in the sorcery profession already knew denial was futile and only more painful for themselves. As people whose job is to kill everyday, you learn the lesson that death is final very quickly.

Satoru looks up at them, looking no less dead but also more determined. “I know he’ll come back…”

As if following some fucked up script, Itadori takes that moment to literally rise from the dead. Once again, Shoko and Suguru share a look, but with a very different emotion coloring their faces this time. “Oh,” Itadori says, a bit too nonchalant for the situation at hand. “I’m completely naked!”

“...but that doesn’t make anything better,” he almost doesn’t hear Satoru finish dejectedly.

Normally, he’d question Satoru on what he meant by that, but at the moment, he’s too busy being flabbergasted by Itadori’s miraculous revival and overwhelmingly relieved to have Itadori back with them, alive and well. But that really begs the question… how?

“Itadori… do you remember anything from before you woke up?” Suguru questioned, trying not to question the recent sequence of events too much. Ever since he’d met Satoru, his life had just become one incomprehensible catastrophe after another.

“Uhm… I remember dying… then talking to Sukuna in his innate domain,” Itadori said, visibly wracking his memories for more. “I’m not sure what about, though. Everything right before and after is all fuzzy.”

Satoru purses his lips. “He made a binding vow with you. Your life… in exchange for something to his own benefit.”

Itadori frowns. “Oh. Well… that’s not good.”

Satoru laughs, and Suguru immediately notices how off it is. “No. Indeed it isn’t, at all.”

Suguru frowns. Satoru is acting off. In fact, how did he even know that Itadori would come back from the dead in the first place? Was it his Six Eyes?

Satoru rises from where he’d been seated. He approaches Itadori with a smile. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” he offers a hand to high-five.

Itadori completes the gesture enthusiastically. “It’s good to be back!”

Suguru thinks Satoru’s smile falters for a split second, but it’s back to normal before Suguru can really confirm it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Itadori smiles comfortingly at Satoru. “It’s okay, Gojo-san. I know you tried your best. Sukuna was just sly enough to get away with it. But I’m back now, so everything’s fine!”

There’s a dark look in Satoru’s eyes now that Suguru knows for sure he’s not imagining. He can’t help but feel like Itadori’s words did anything but comfort Satoru.

They had left Itadori to go change and were currently walking the empty halls of Jujutsu High.

It brings back memories for Satoru, from a thousand or so years ago, back when he’d first met Tengen. He looks at Suguru and Shoko from the corner of his eyes, wondering what kind of memories it brings them, as former students of this school.

“What are you going to do with Itadori now?” Shoko asks Suguru, lifting her cigarette from her lips to exhale a cloud of smoke. Satoru’s nose scrunches at the pungent smell. “Do you plan on announcing his return?”

“No,” Suguru says. “The higher ups have proven plenty just how willing they are to get rid of him. As Itadori is now, he won’t be able to protect himself, and evidently, I can’t always be there to protect him. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but can you keep him as deceased for now?”

Shoko hums. “What do you plan on doing with him?”

“I’m going to train him personally, so that when he makes his comeback during the sister school event, he won’t be so easily put down,” Suguru replies, voice determined and gaze steely with resolve.

“So you'll keep him with you? What’ll you do with Satoru though? Itadori can’t know about him yet, especially considering…” Shoko made a wild gesture in the air, as if that could explain the sheer absurdity of Satoru’s situation and his life now, “his situation with Sukuna.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Satoru exclaimed. “The first years already know. I’m still salty about how none of you seemed to deem it important to inform me that my archnemesis was still alive and trapped in one of your student’s bodies, by the way.”

“ I’m still salty about how you didn’t deem it important to let me know that you were involved with said archnemesis,” Suguru fired back with a sarcastic drawl.

“Oh ho?” Shoko raised a brow, amused, as she brought the cigarette back to her lips.

“Gee, shout it to the world, why don’t ya?” Satoru huffed at Suguru. Before he could respond, Satoru continued. “But moving on, there’s really no need to worry, as I won’t even be interacting with the Itadori kid.”

Shoko raised a brow again, this time quizzically. Satoru didn’t elaborate, so Shoko turned to Suguru.

Suguru sighed. “He’s planning to return to the Gojo clan.”

Shoko turned a deadpan stare at Satoru. “Weren’t you threatening us with a very sharp and pointy knife not so long ago to keep you secret just so you wouldn’t have to return to them?”

“That's exactly what I said,” Suguru commented.

“Ehehe~!” Satoru just smiled at the both of them innocently. “Well, there’s been a change of plans you see!”

“Let me help you.”

“Huh?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Let me help you. With your plans of political domination. Duh?”

“Wha—” Suguru starts. “And just how are you planning to do that? Last I checked, you don’t even exist in this world in any official capacity.”

Satoru shot him a sly grin. “Then I’ll make it so that I do.”

“And how so?” Suguru stated dryly. “You gonna hack into the government database? Perhaps bribe one of the higher ups with mochi?”

“Hmm… that could work,” Satoru seemed to contemplate it seriously.

Honestly, this man , Suguru thinks with no small amount of exasperation.

“But no. I’m gonna announce my existence to the Gojo clan.”

“What,” Suguru says flatly.

Satoru just continues smiling at him. He smiles way too much , Suguru thinks offhandedly.

“Wasn’t the whole point of our arrangement to avoid this happening?” Suguru points out.

“Mh, yes,” Satoru affirms. “But you see, I also happen to think that jujutsu society is utter shit. It’s needed a glow-up since yesterday, and it’s better late than never! Not to mention, our ideals just so happen to align. I think I can handle the Gojo clan for a while for the sake of never having to deal with them once we change everything.”

“You seem awfully confident about this,” Suguru observes. “You do know that change occurs slowly, right? You might have to stay with the Gojos for years onwards.”

“Awww~ Suguru-kun is trying to tell me he’s going to miss me, huh? So adorable,” Satoru coos, laughing when Suguru scowls at him. “Fear not! I can see that you’ve already got deep roots in Jujutsu High. That’s a good start, but not enough. Now that’s where I come in. The Big Three Sorcerer Families are intricately involved with the sorcerer schools, higher ups, and everything that’s wrong with jujutsu society. As someone who wields the greatly coveted Gojo clan techniques, I’m almost guaranteed a high position in the Gojo clan the moment I reveal myself. I can use that and my irresistible charm to gain clout over the other clans. With both of us working from the inside on opposite ends of the spectrum, we’ll bring about change in no time! So, what d'ya say, partner?”

Suguru thinks about it. It’s… a pretty sound plan, putting aside how well Satoru’s “irresistible charm” will actually work. Satoru is right. He is practically guaranteed to be administered clan head when he returns to his roots. And as a clan head, it’d be so much easier for him to not only maintain the Gojo clan, but also keep the Zenin and Kamo clans in check.

Suguru looks at Satoru, who is eagerly awaiting his response, staring at him earnestly.

He’s serious about this, Suguru notes. Satoru wasn’t kidding when he threatened to kill Suguru and Shoko if they sent him back to his clan, Suguru could tell. But he was willing to go back there willingly, for the sake of this ambition. Suguru can respect that. Admire it, even, his resolve.

And… it’d be nice to have someone with the same aspirations as him. Someone to work beside and share visions, plans, dreams, and hopes with.

Suguru grumbles, “You better do your part properly… partner.”

The smile Satoru sends him is positively blinding.

“So that’s what you’ve been scheming,” Shoko says aloud, and Satoru marvels at how the cigarette stays firmly planted in her mouth. Is it attached to her tongue? There’s no way it could stay like that if it weren’t.

“Yup! Pretty genius, am I right?” Satoru puffs his chest out in pride.

“Sure,” Shoko glibs. “But in the end, it all comes down to how well you can execute the plan.”

“Pah,” Satoru brushes off the concern. “No problemo! Suguru and I are professional executioners, right, Suguru?”

Suguru blinks at him, not entirely sure if the wording was intentional or not. But, just in case it wasn’t already made clear… “No killing anybody, Satoru. That’s the whole point of this plan.”

Satoru blinks back. “Not even a wittle bwit?”

“No,” Suguru repeats, end of discussion.

Satoru wilts like a puppy being denied head pats. “Fine…”

Shoko oscillated between looking at both of them with an amused expression.

In a rare sequence of events, Suguru was left with the day off. Itadori was busy with his movie marathon and the other first years were busy training for the Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event along with the second years.

Now, Suguru was completely content to just crash in his bed, but he can’t exactly do that for two reasons. Both of those reasons have something to do with the same person. Who? Take a guess.

Yeah, Satoru.

Ever since his arrival to Suguru’s apartment, he’s practically named himself King of the Bed, sprawling over it pretty much every second he was in the apartment. He’d even hissed at Suguru once when he’d tried to take a nap on it when Satoru finally left to go to the bathroom, like a cat who’s never learned to share its toys.

It doesn’t really matter though, seeing as how Satoru will be moving out soon.

…It’s a weird thought, actually.

Although the apartment was, by all legal means, his, Suguru never considered it home. He had spent most of his nights in an empty spare room at Jujutsu Tech. Home was a place of relaxation and comfort, and Suguru practically lived and breathed jujutsu, where those two concepts were alien. He’s never really had a home… in the more psychological sense at least.

But ever since Satoru had crashed into his life with all the grace of an elephant on its hind legs, the apartment had slowly but surely started feeling like one.

Accessories that Satoru had nagged him to buy on their rare outings littered the place sporadically, bringing to mind simple but pleasant memories every time they caught his eye. There were actually kitchen appliances that weren't the coffee maker in the kitchen now, and Suguru actually used them on occasion too, shocker. There were even potted plants on the balcony connected to the bedroom, although they’d wilted under Satoru’s negligent care.

It feels like a safe space for once and not just an empty shell he uses to serve as an address on his government profile. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he doesn’t want that feeling to end. He’s not sure this floaty, domestic feeling will hold once Satoru goes, even if he’ll leave all the physical evidence of his presence behind.

And that brings Suguru to his second reason why he can’t just sleep on his off-day. Satoru had decided that he wouldn’t bring anything with him to the Gojo estate, so there was no need to pack. Without anything to occupy himself with, Satoru had naturally turned to Suguru, bugging him until he agreed to take him out.

Though Satoru was abnormally quick in adapting to contemporary society, he never seemed less awed by the sight that Tokyo made.

“The buildings and skyscrapers and just everything in general are all so majestic!” Satoru had told him once, bouncing in excitement as his eyes flitted to the many shops and stores surrounding them on all sides in an extravagant display of capitalism.

And just like all previous times they went on an outing, Satoru was busy launching himself into rants and raves. And like Suguru had recently started doing, he just fondly listened and shook his head and rolled his eyes at the appropriate moments. For some reason, all the rambling had stopped being as annoying as he used to find them and had become more endearing instead. It was probably some sort of adaptive survival method to survive the sheer amount of drivel that emerges from Satoru’s mouth on a day-to-day basis.

“Suguru, look!” Satoru shook his shoulder and pointed enthusiastically at a flyer posted on a billboard.

Suguru squinted at the poster. It was advertising a sale on tickets at the aquarium… for couples.

“It’s 20% off!” Satoru shook Suguru’s shoulder again, and Suguru just let him. “That’s such a steal!”

Satoru wouldn’t know a good bargain if it slapped him in the face, but this time it actually was a pretty decent deal.

“The aquarium is a while away,” Suguru points out.

Satoru pouts. “You know that’s not an issue while I’m around.”

Of course, how could Suguru ever forget Satoru’s bullshit broken teleportation powers?

“So, you wanna go?” Suguru asks.

Satoru nods so hard Suguru is afraid his head will detach. “Yup! Mhm, yeah!”

He looked so animated, like an excitable puppy. Suguru could just imagine a swishing tail behind Satoru’s back, ears flopping happily. Suguru finds it hard to ever say no to Satoru. Is this the “ irresistible charm” he was talking about? If so, then jujutsu society’s future was in good hands if even someone like Suguru could fall for it …unless the clan heads are all Nanami-types. Suguru’s pretty sure Nanami would still look as annoyed as the day he was born even if he saw a dog get run over in front of him.

“Alright,” Suguru relents. “Let’s go somewhere secluded, then you can teleport us there.”

Satoru didn’t waste a second. In less than half of a minute, they were in line for the aquarium when it should’ve taken them a few hours from where they’d teleported from in Tokyo.

Due to it being the middle of a workday, the line was fairly short and they only had to wait about 15 minutes. When they reached the ticket booth, Satoru shoved his face against the dividing window, startling the lady inside, and said, “Tickets please! The 20% off ones, thanks! My boyfriend and I are on an anniversary date!”

Suguru’s brain stalled as he comprehended that last sentence. Not noticing, or perhaps just uncaring of his predicament, Satoru used Suguru’s card to pay and then hauled him off to the entrance. Once they got in, Suguru turned on him and hissed, “ Boyfriend?! ”

Satoru stopped dragging him to tilt his head at him and blink slowly. “Yeah. For the sale, remember? The flyer? 20% off for couples?”

The flyer… right. Right. Somehow, Suguru hadn’t connected the dots between the sale and their arrival here, what an idiot he was. Suguru took a deep breath to calm himself.

Satoru studied him as he did so, and when Suguru opened his eyes, he wore a smug smirk on his face. “Awww, is Suguru-kun blushing? Were you hoping it was true?”

That only caused the flush on his face to spread, whether out of irritation or embarrassment, Suguru himself doesn’t know. “You wish,” Suguru spat out, rather weakly.

Satoru laughed goodheartedly, then he grabbed Suguru’s hand in his and pointed dramatically at one of the structures in the aquarium. “Come on! I wanna see the sea otters, Suguru!”

Suguru doesn’t know how long they spent at the aquarium, but he does know that he’s actually enjoying this experience, contrary to what he thought when Satoru had bullied him into getting out of the house. Suguru didn’t tend to hang out with social people, finding their incessant talking tiring and meaningless. And while Satoru was the walking epitome of everything he wanted to avoid in an extrovert, Suguru found himself drawn towards him rather than repulsed.

It was a strange contradiction, but Suguru shrugged it off, because friendship works in strange ways.

And that’s what they are, right? Friends? Suguru hadn’t made one in several years, only lost them. First Haibara, then Nanami. He’s always had Shoko, but they were both so busy drowning in their own struggles and duties that it was hard to spend quality time with each other.

But now there’s Satoru. Suguru had almost forgotten how nice companionship felt, after so long of being the lone champion of jujutsu society. It’s… quite delightful.

“Suguru! Look! That sea slug looks like you!”

“Hmm… I’m going to name that one ‘Suguru Jr.’”

“Do you think the staff would mind if I took a dip?”

“No fairrr! I wanted to pet the sharks!”

Suguru smiles.

“What’cha smiling like an idiot for?” He hears Satoru’s voice up ahead. They’re currently exploring the aquarium tunnel, playing “I Spy” and other stupid games and challenges in a rather childish attempt to one-up the other. “Finally admit that I counted more white fish than you?”

Suguru turns his head from where he’d been searching for an ugly fish to liken Satoru to. His mouth tingles with the weight of a quip on his tongue, but it dies in his throat when his eyes finally find Satoru’s.

His sunglasses —a proper, circular one as dark as night and as expensive as jewels that Satoru had begged him to get a few weeks ago to replace the tacky beach sunglasses— hang on the collar of his shirt, exposing his heavenly eyes. The prismatic light from the glass and water of the aquarium tunnel casts its glow on Satoru’s figure, tingeing him cerulean and really bringing out the beauty of his blue, blue eyes.

In this moment, Satoru is blinding, breathtaking.

He always is. Always so very pretty and perfectly pristine. But something about this moment makes it so much more obvious. Cast in pearlescent shadow and luminescent light, colorful fish and coral acting as his backdrop, Suguru feels like Satoru is an awarding-winning painting and he’s naught but a spectator marveling at its allure.

There is no one else here but them, secluded from the rest of the world in their little tunnel, staring into each other's eyes. Time had slowed for them; even the fish seemed to move slowly as if they wade through jello and not water.

Then Satoru blinks, clasping his hands behind his back, and says, “Hey? You still there? Helloooo? Earth to Suguru?”

Just like that, time resumes its steady tempo and the strange moment is gone; the world waiting for them resumes at full speed, leaving Suguru disorientated by the shift of equilibrium that seemingly only he felt. Suguru notices his mouth is agape, and he quickly clears his throat. “Ah, yeah, I’m still here. It’s nothing. I just thought I saw something really ugly.”

Satoru’s face screws up. “You couldn’t possibly be talking about little old me, right?”

As if.

“No, it was one of the fish behind you,” Suguru responds, still a bit dazed. At Satoru’s self-satisfied look though, he adds, “But I do see some resemblance.”

At that, the look is wiped off his face and replaced with whining. What a baby.

There is still the stark reminder lingering in his subconscious telling him that tomorrow, Satoru will be leaving for the Gojo estate, and so this will probably be the last time Suguru sees Satoru in a while. But for now, Suguru just basks in this warm feeling spreading throughout his chest.

Something catches Satoru’s eyes, and in a very Satoru-like manner, he points at it and chases.

And Suguru follows.