Work Text:
♡
Between a laundromat and a convenience store stood a narrow, damp alleyway. Standing at its opening, you spotted a dumpster on the left and a thick cluster of wadded-up newspapers stuffed clumped underneath it. On the right was a couple of dark, oil-like puddles.
The alleyway ended in a brick wall, which was inconvenient for you. It allowed no other exit if a curse trailed you. You were not able to defend yourself.
Because you were injured. You were injured badly.
Blood soaked the collar of your uniform, seeping from your lips. It left your chin wet and uncomfortably warm. You had pushed yourself too much, shredding your throat. You needed a short rest somewhere that you might not be found if another curse appeared.
It was unlikely. But you were much too weak to take risks.
So you sank onto the wet ground, your palms scraping the ground. You fended off sleep, as much as you could, battling the droop of your eyelids and the heavy weight of your own skull as it dipped forward of its own accord.
You had put up a good fight, at least.
♡
Three things told you that time had passed. Firstly, the passage was flooded in an odd swell of neon lights from the stores on the main street, meaning night had fallen and you had missed it.
Then there was the fact that the blood on your skin had dried, like crusted paint flaking and falling away.
Finally, there was Gojo Satoru who crouched in front of you and incessantly flicked your forehead to wake you up.
It worked.
"There you are, Bunny!"
Dazed, you roused yourself enough to sit upright. You had slumped over at some point, and your uniform was soiled, soaking up some of the water of a puddle beside you.
Gojo chirped, "So, how bad was it?"
Glaring at him, you clenched your fist and held it against your chest briefly before you cut across the space between you.
Gojo understood what this movement meant: terrible.
He tipped back his head and laughed. "Well, if you had waited for me -..."
You surged forward, pressing your hand over his mouth. You shook your head and tapped two fingers against your sternum.
Gojo understood that, too: strength, ability.
Even if he was not a cursed speech-user like you were, Gojo sometimes preferred to sign back to you.
He placed the heel of his right palm against his forehead and ground it twice: stubborn.
You saw him smile even if your eyesight was still fuzzed, worsened by the bleach of neon lights.
You shook your head at him and continued to communicate with your hands.
I can handle myself.
His eyes were hidden. But you sensed his stare boring into yours.
Eventually, he said, "I know."
Hunger bubbled in your stomach. You patted it twice, staring at him imploringly.
One word, signed in letters: ramen.
His smile became devilish.
"Do you know what Shoko would do to me if she were to find out I didn't bring you to her right away?"
With ease, he followed the flurried movement of your hands: She would kill you.
"Right," he agreed. "She would kill me."
So either she kills you, or I kill you. Pick your poison.
Gojo's smile dropped.
"Bunny! You're always so cruel to me!"
Cheesecake for dessert.
"Cruel and demanding. Are you paying for all this ramen and cheesecake?"
Although your legs were still shaky, you pushed yourself off the ground. A throb made itself known within your ribcage. You had been thrown around by the curse you faced like a ragdoll. You had also used cursed speech so much that your throat was swollen and tight. It caused a horrid pain to resonate through you each time you swallowed.
You staggered forward two steps.
Gojo watched, wincing.
"How about I bring you to Shoko first and then we eat?"
You fixed Gojo with a glare.
He held his hands in surrender, shrinking back meekly.
"Or not, or not!"
I told you. Ramen. Cheesecake. I don't care about anything else.
"Not even me?"
You bared your teeth like a rabid dog.
He bowed deeply. "I understand. I live only to serve my beloved little Bunny. Whatever she wants. We can share a slice -..."
Another hardened glare forced Gojo to reconsider.
"Or she can eat the entire cake for herself and I will sit quietly in front of her until she finishes," he squeaked, a sudden beat of sweat blossoming on his forehead.
Better. Hurry up.
Gojo fell into place beside you. He slid his hands into his pockets, his gait as loose and easy as his shoulders.
You rubbed the blood from your face. It was oddly cathartic to scratch it off.
The street had grown more crowded since you first hid in the passage.
Like two fish, you both slipped back into the glittering shoal of strangers.
You nudged his arm to draw his attention to you. How long did it take you?
He cocked his head. "To find you? Not long. I followed the trail of blood from the hospital. Saw the curse, by the way. Whole lot of teeth on that thing."
I noticed. Did Masamichi send you?
"No."
Then what made you search for me?
Gojo scrubbed the back of his neck. "Well, you were taking a long time -..."
The shoal continued as you screeched to a halt, your eyes pinning him in place.
What are you implying?
Gojo paled, throwing up his hands once again.
"Wait, you didn't let me finish! You were taking a long time because you - you fell unconscious," he blurted out. "That's why. No other reason!"
You narrowed your eyes, nostrils flaring.
"Really, Bunny," he continued, dancing from one foot to the other, "it would have taken other sorcerers a lot longer to finish off that curse, especially on their own. Not my little Bun-Bun. Only you could do it!"
Quit calling me that. And you really think I'm the only one who could've handled that curse?
Gojo offered a sheepish grin.
"Well, I mean, I could have done it. It would have taken me four seconds to finish off that curse. What? Why are you making that face? Don't believe me? That stings. Do you own a stopwatch? I lost mine a long time ago. If I buy another one, I'm gonna carry it everywhere just so I can prove it to you. Hold on. On second thought, I might be too fast for a stopwatch to count."
Gojo paused and scratched his cheek.
"Where was I going with this anyway?"
Closing the gap between the pair of you, you stared up at Gojo. You had your suspicions about what had made him search for you.
He was almost always cloaked in his technique, so that no-one could touch him.
But you dared reach out to poke his chest, testing him.
The fabric of his uniform was soft to the touch.
And you knew he had dropped his barrier for you. He was letting you touch him.
You signed one word: worried?
For once, Gojo stood bare and exposed in front of you. He looked down at you.
"Yeah," he admitted softly. "Worried."
It warmed you to hear it. You softened considerably, studying his crop of white hair, and his pale cheeks. He could be honest and serious, when he wanted to be.
Since you had met him, he teased and followed you around.
He had gifted you a nickname, even if it was one that you had rejected.
He had conjured up an entire language for you, even if you had refused to learn any of his made-up letters and signs for months on end, at first.
Just about everything with Gojo came with an 'even if '.
You remembered how happy he had been when you first signed back to him.
It had been a simple message: get lost.
But you were glad he had not listened to you.
Because Gojo was the only person on this planet who could understand you, sign language or not.
Surprising you, he asked, "Do you worry about me?"
You shrugged. You left him unanswered, directing the conversation to a far more inane subject, one you had already explored, so that it seemed safe to you.
I was kidding earlier. We can share a slice of cheesecake.
His whole body became stiff. You recognised it. You waited for it.
It came suddenly: he darted forward, wrapping his arms around you, hoisting you off the ground. He swung you around. He grazed his lips against your cheek, which burned horribly with a blush at how openly doting Gojo Satoru could be.
"You honour me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "When death comes for me, I will remember this moment between us as the single greatest moment of my life."
You rolled your eyes. He was still holding you, so you could not sign.
But you could kick him, at least while his technique had been temporarily dropped.
You hit his shin. He lowered you, entirely unbothered by the impact.
You smoothed down your uniform.
Gojo took it upon himself to assist you. He darted around, fast as a hummingbird, and checked your collar. He dropped to his knees to ensure your laces were securely tied. He appeared behind you in a flash to brush unseen dirt from your shoulders.
So it made your own efforts useless, and you stopped, letting him fuss over you. You chose your battles with Gojo.
Dramatic.
"Who? Me?"
You rolled your eyes for a second time as he pretended to reel in pain.
Despite yourself, though, your lips twitched.
Because you had not suffered enough for one night, Gojo had spotted this spasm and latched onto it immediately.
"Was that a smile? Did I make my little Bun-Bun smile?"
Your head darted from side to side.
No. And I hate that nickname. I told you not to use it.
"You don't really hate it. It makes your heart beat faster. Here, let me listen."
Gojo dove forward to press his ear against your chest. You quickly swatted him away, a small huff of air slipping out. You pushed at his arms, holding up a finger in warning.
It only amused Gojo even more.
"Smile, Bun-Bun," he teased. "Come on. Just a little."
No.
"Fine, fine. No big deal. I'll see it in my dreams, like I do every night. Cuddling the plushie that you got me for my birthday. It still smells like you."
A fresh blush stained your cheeks. Knock it off, you signed. Or I'll make you.
Gojo grinned. "I like it when you boss me around, you know."
Turning on your heel, you stalked off. He chased, even as you limped away, wiping blood from your cheek.
Because Gojo always chased you.
And you would never tell him, whether by sign or by speech, how much you feared the day that he might stop.
♡
Steam curled from the bowl of ramen in front of you. You slurped, uncaring of how rude it sounded to the other customers around you.
You were tired and sore and bitterly hungry.
On the other side of the booth, Gojo ignored his own ramen and drew a heart in the condensation on the window. He sketched your initials under his own in the middle of this heart, giggling, a little dash of pink on his cheeks.
It was endearing. It was horribly and painfully endearing.
He asked, "How do you feel?"
Fine.
"Not tired? Not sore? Not still hungry?"
Fine, you signed again. How do you feel? Are you hungry?
"Oh, Bun," he cooed, "are you concerned about me?"
No. I'm hoping you'll say no, so I can eat your bowl.
He huffed, shoving the bowl across the table for you to take. You scoffed it down.
"Shoko will heal you," he noted, almost to himself. "You'll sleep for hours. It'll be so nice."
You paused, raising an eyebrow at him. Nice?
"I can cuddle you," he said simply. "For hours and hours and hours…"
Red blotches spread over your cheeks, rolling to your throat, far worse than a blush. You lowered your chopsticks long enough to answer him.
I'll use your plushie. I can cuddle that instead.
"Or we could cuddle the plushie together," he said dreamily. "Right between us."
You made a face.
"I understand, Bunny. You don't want to share me."
Now you could not control it. So painfully endearing.
A smile broke out across your face, causing a cut on your lip to split and bleed again.
"So pretty," he said, his voice sing-song and warm. "Even when you're bleeding."
Gojo offered his napkin. It was a cheap material, stiff like cardboard, but it soaked the little swell of blood. It gave your lips more colour than they had had all night.
Gojo ordered a slice of cheesecake. He prepared two spoons, set lovingly on a napkin. He was practically bouncing in his seat when it arrived to your table.
Before you could cut off a chunk for yourself, he took up his own spoon and did it for you, holding it out for you to eat.
You hesitated.
It was an act that seemed intimate. It acknowledged, in all its simplicity, what you could not.
The world outside was smudged, shaded neon-green, setting your initials alight in the cloud of condensation.
It would rain again, soon. The air was damp and crackling in anticipation of it.
Strangers passed. They were mere amorphous shapes blotted behind the glass. So many people, so many lives, separated from your own.
Gojo held the spoon closer. He still had that wonderful rosiness to his skin, like a blush of his own would not leave him.
It suited him. Most things suited him.
You leaned forward and swallowed the cheesecake that he offered. Its base was soft, buttered enough that the crumbs fell apart and melted on your tongue.
He took back his spoon and scooped up another chunk for himself.
He prompted, "Well? Best cheesecake you ever had?"
I like it, you replied. But maybe we should try a few other places before we decide.
His spoon stilled. "Really?"
Really.
He dropped the spoon. It clattered noisily onto his plate. Some customers jolted at the sound. But Gojo was too busy clasping his hands together, held to his cheek.
"Now this is the single greatest moment of my life," he breathed out. "You would spend more time with me?"
You act like you're not always following me around like a lost puppy. We're almost always together.
"You've grown attached to this puppy. Admit it. I'm yours."
You struggled against a wave of embarrassment at his openness, like always.
Shut up. Don't make me regret being nice for once.
"For once," he repeated with a scoff. "You're always nice. You're downright gentle."
You huffed, glancing away.
"I'll find a map," he told you. "And mark every restaurant that sells cheesecake in a five-mile radius from this place. We can take it strategically. Block by block."
Gojo continued to ramble. You indulged yourself in another bite of the cheesecake. It was sickeningly sweet. You could have eaten ten more more slices before it even registered with you.
You watched him eat between his long-winded speeches, half-listening.
At one point, you found yourself sitting like a statue, locked in one position while you considered whether Gojo was humouring you, passing time because he had nothing better to do. You could be insecure, sometimes. You wanted to question him.
But you always chickened out.
It was better to protect yourself - to protect your heart. He flirted and joked with everybody.
Was he simply doing the same thing with you?
He noticed that you were distracted. "What? Do I have something on my face?"
Yes, you lied. Lots of crumbs.
Gojo smacked wildly at his face. "Did I get it all?"
No, you lied. You're still covered in crumbs.
Gojo let out a groan, snatching up a napkin to rub his cheeks vigorously. It made you fight off another smile. You had become soft like melted ice-cream, blurred around your edges. You supposed it was all the blows that you had taken, catching up with you as you sat with Gojo in this booth.
Danger was like that. It never quite struck you in the moment, like when you were fighting a curse. But it gripped you firmly in the aftermath. When you were lying in bed, or patching up your wounds, it sank its teeth into the flesh of your legs or chewed on your hip to remind you that you had almost died.
That there was another life in which you had lost against a curse, and Gojo would have been sitting on his own.
It made everything surreal.
He pulled away the napkin. He stuck his face close to yours. "How about now?"
You had almost forgotten that he was talking about the imagined crumbs. His proximity made the wires in your brain spark and fizzle.
All gone.
"Your nose is bleeding," Gojo said suddenly.
You touched your cupid's bow; your fingertip showed a pinkish smudge.
"We're leaving," Gojo said. "You need to see Shoko."
He stood. You remained seated. You motioned toward the cheesecake.
Two more bites.
Blood dripped onto the table in little droplets. You dabbed a napkin around, and ate the cheesecake, too.
Gojo was antsy. He started to tell you a story. You heard pieces of it. Your right eardrum was ringing. It had begun to ring only in the last few moments.
He was right. You needed to see Shoko.
Death had been watching you through the window for a long time, and not just that night either. It saw all the same neon-lit letters over stores that you did, too; it breathed the rich scent of grilled meat wafting through the thin winding streets that you walked with Gojo once you had paid your bill and left.
Death left you at an intersection. It turned left. You continued straight. Another night where your paths did not cross; where Death did not seek you out like Gojo had.
Gojo linked his arm with yours somewhere along the line.
It might have been because he was so touchy.
It might also have been because your legs had begun to wobble.
So when you stumbled, he held you up. He was always looking for an excuse to hoist you into his arms. You had yet to give it to him. You walked, even if you were slow.
When you reached the high school, you tugged on his arm to make him stop.
You wove a symphony of letters and symbols to him with your hands, an entire orchestra in tune together: thank you for finding me.
He reached out and wiped the blood from your nose, smearing it across your cheek.
It stained his thumb. He pressed it to his tongue to lick it away.
"Always, Bunny."
♡
Shoko had patched you up and left you to sleep.
Your room was dry and dark. You heard Gojo in the hall. You listened to his voice seep through the wall as he chatted to Shoko. He sounded light, airy. She was bland and even-toned.
Gojo opened the door.
Light spilled inside before the darkness soaked it up again. He crossed the room to crouch at your bedside. One little bump against your face caused your eyes to flit open fully, straining to make out the sight in front of you.
He was holding his little plushie. It was shaped like a bear. He made its ears wag. He made it jump around the bed in front of you as he spoke in a silly voice.
"Mr. Gojo says you want to keep him all to yourself. But I want to cuddle with you both tonight. Can you find it in your heart to share him with me after all?"
You flopped your face against a pillow. You were trying not to roll your eyes like you had many times already.
'So painfully endearing,' you thought to yourself again. 'He is so painfully endearing.'
You struggled to stuff down the swell of affection for him that it caused, and that scared you more than any curse ever could.
Gojo scraped the bear against your hair. In that silly voice, he added, "Please?"
It struck a strangely pleading note, taking you by surprise.
You lifted your head, turning to face him.
Moonlight was pouring, silver-liquid, through the window in your room. He had removed his blindfold. His eyes were wide and cool, shining a shade of blue you might have called cold had it belonged to anyone other than him.
Reluctantly, you pulled out your hands from the warmth of the blanket to sign.
Still worried?
He smiled. It was weak. It was brief. It told you everything.
So you peeled back the edge of your blanket.
Gojo jumped forward immediately, crashing beside you.
He tucked the bear between your bodies. Its fur was smooth. Its button-nose was cold and left an imprint against your arm. You were turned on your side, still facing him. He rested on his back, keeping his hands clasped on his chest as he peered up at your ceiling.
You thought about asking him what he wanted. You thought about asking him what he got out of this whole thing, whatever it was, because you could not name it. You thought about asking him a lot of things.
Your hands remained motionless.
♡
Sometime in the night, you woke up and saw he was fast asleep, his mouth parted to let out soft breaths. The bear had moved like it was sentient. It was tucked against his collarbone.
His body was turned in his sleep toward yours. His eyelids flickered in a dream, in which you were smiling at him, or so he always liked to tell you.
The blanket had slipped. It left him exposed to the cold.
You pulled it up, tucking it around him. He mumbled.
You didn't catch what he said.
It looked like he was more comfortable, though.
And you decided all those questions didn't matter anyway. They never had.
You signed to him, knowing he would not see it: Of course I worry about you too, idiot.
Gojo released another breathy sigh. He shifted.
"I know, Bun," he murmured. "I know."
♡