Archive of Our Own ^beta

When they were much younger their parents painted angels in their rooms. Light, curly hair, white cloaked with fair complexions. "To protect you," mom had told them, before the village people killed both their parents in their sleep. Before the village people locked Nanako and Mimiko in a cage.

Not long after, they met that man. Black hair, olive skin. Nothing, they note, like the kind etched into their bedroom walls. Those harbingers of misfortune sported the strangest of names: Gabriel, Uriel, Zerachiel. Their savior's was much easier to commit to memory. He didn't wear much white, either. He preferred overtly large robes, deeply purple with green tints.

His name was Geto Suguru.

If only more angels were like him.

─────

The precursor to chaos is a modicum of peace.

It is quiet, like his out of tune humming when he rises from their sheets. Flowing, like the water he tempers for his early-morning soak. Loving, like the brush of his knuckles against sleep-ridden cheeks on his way out of their home.

But chaos is nurturing in much the same way. In its unpredictability and its shape. In its familiarity and unassuming devotion. In its beauty, soft white and blue.

The first time he came, under the yellow glow of evening light, Nanako and Mimiko had been sitting at the table.

"What do you want to do tonight?" Mimiko signs. Nanako taps her pointer finger to her chin, tilting her head to show she was thinking very veeeery hard about how to answer. Then, gesticulating wildly, she signs back.

"Let's murder some more monkeys!"

Throwing her an unamused look that just as quickly dissolves into a grin, Mimiko points to their kitchen clock; the time reads 7:32. "No way."

They'd just recently finished eating dinner; the residual scent of steamed rice and hamburg steak wafting through the air, meshing with the bottled soap Geto-sama generously lathered onto stubborn, mucky plates in an attempt to wipe them clean. Nanako would know how hard he was scrubbing better than anyone else; she could hear the sponge grinding into ceramic grains from all the way in her seat.

On a typical evening, family dinner was set sharp at 6:15 pm. Geto would run the girls a bath half an hour later, and the three of them would spend the rest of the evening before bedtime playing house or watching TV.

Today, their schedule happened in reverse; the twins accompanied Geto on a family recruitment trip, and, having been surrounded by so many monkeys, pleaded with him to run the bath early. Ever the giver, Geto ruffled their hair and twisted the faucet on with a gentle smile. They submerged themselves in pink-tinted bubbles, thanking their father as their heads went down, strawberry-scented body wash clinging to their skin when they came back up.

It wasn't often that their household entertained guests—not after a hazy, heated bath, a yummy, sleep-inducing meal—and certainly not after the sun began descending beneath the hills.

Because at 6:15 pm sharp, their lamplights would flick on. The blinds to their home would click shut, and all business would be done. Their father made it a point not to open the door once work hours were finished; their time outside the temple, tucked away inside this modest, mid-rise apartment complex that belonged to a retired curse user, was reserved for their family and their family alone.

Sated, drowsy, and thrown off by the change in pace, however, perhaps he'd forgotten his own rule. So when the doorbell buzzes through the living room and Geto-sama wipes soap suds onto his pants to answer, Nanako can't help but wonder why he allows it. And when he opens the door, his body going rigid with his first breath, Nanako can't help but wonder why he allows that, too.

She had only seen a glimpse of him, a wild bob of white hair and a sliver of bright blue through the crack between the hinges, before her father slammed it shut and backed away from the foyer.

"Geto-sama..?"

"Let's run you two a bath," he tells them, jaw tightening when the doorbell titter invades their ears once more. A curse is at the foyer in an instant, holding their entrance shut and fastening each lock like its existence was defined by every resolute click.

It's 7:36. Their routine already happened in reverse. "But we just-"

Before she can finish her sentence, Mimiko grabs her hand and squeezes once. Wooden chair legs squeak against the ground.

The doorbell rings again. Twice, this time.

"..swear....to Go..!!" Another ring.

"Come on girls," Geto-sama mumbles. Mimiko nods obediently, and all Nanako can do is scamper along by the heels. His still soap-studded hands laying flat on their shoulders. Tender, loving pushes move them forward, away from the kitchen, even further from the hallway. Tremors rise where their father touches. A little confusing, because Nanako doesn't think it's that cold.

Water gushes out from the tub spout. The twins wait by the sink.

His grace feels..different. Unsettling. Surrounded by the white tiles, whitened walls of their bathroom, Geto-sama glows translucently pale.

"You can get in now."

They take two baths that night, and Geto-sama takes one after them. He stays in there for a long time.

"Are you going to sleep with us?" Nanako tugs at his cotton sleeve, somewhat damp from water droplets dripping from his hair.

"Yes, of course," Geto-sama replies. Whoever was outside had long given up on using their doorbell. Nanako hears the stranger's fist pounding against the doorframe.

"...uguru!!!"

I think someone is asking for you, Nanako wants to tell him. But when she looks up at her father's face, features twisted, cheeks ruddy, she realizes that more than anyone, Geto-sama must already know.

That night, she dreams of high pitched buzzing. And like a curse, it manifests as a real ring the next evening. Geto-sama ushers them into the room without a word.

The day after, it rings again.

Then again.

And again.

Five times in a row. Same trill, same ring, and that same crestfallen expression clouding Geto-sama's face imperceptible. He never makes a move to open the door, and the evening always ends with their family of three snuggled under fleece covers. Geto-sama wraps his arms around their shoulders, but Nanako notices that for every day he doesn't answer, his fingers grow more frigid. She pretends to close her eyes. Only then does their hero heave a deep, mournful sigh.

Who is that? she wants to ask. Why are they making you act so funny?

Nanako finds it hard to sleep like this. Geto-sama keeps tossing and turning in bed.

─────

For a few weeks after that, no other incidents occur. The twins play with plushies and dolls, pad their stubby legs against oaken floors and nylon rugs. Geto-sama returns to normal too, Mimiko tells her, as if he hadn't been on the verge of crying whenever he woke early the next day. Nanako thinks Mimiko is seeing things; Geto-sama never cries.

Then, one night, long after he's tucked them into bed, the ding chimes once more.

Ringggg!

Nanako peeks an eye open just in time to catch Geto-sama's shoulders go rigid.

Ringggg!!! Riiiinngggg!!!

"UUUUGUUU," someone calls, though the sounds blur together. "SUUUUGUUUUU-"

In the next second, Geto-sama is stalking out of the bedroom as quietly as possible. His footsteps don't sound nearly as considerate once he's in the living room; Nanako hears each one loud and clear over their covers. He seems angry. Nanako is too, but something tells her they're upset for different reasons.

She's been wanting to ask who kept bothering them since the second time their evening was interrupted; it was Mimiko who told her they'd better leave the topic alone. Nanako waves a tiny hand over her sister's face now to test her lucidity. She stirs. She doesn't open her eyes.

"Why can't I ask who he is?" her hands vent her frustrations for her.

Mimiko frowns. "It's hurting him."

Nanako slides toward the edge of the bed. Briefly, she imagines Mimiko shaking her head in disapproval. The image fades as fast as it comes. Nanako kicks her blankets away.

Patting around the walls, tiptoeing towards the exit. Slowly, so slowly one could hear the dead bolt slip from its place in the strike plate, she twists the knob open and guides the bedroom door closed. Each step she takes by the wall carefully calculated to avoid making sounds. She doesn't want to make her presence known; something about spying on Geto-sama feels wrong, but her curiosity drowns the guilt before she can reflect on it. Near the end of the hallway, she presses her back against the wall. Though she does her best to take quick peeks around the corner, she can't make out Geto-sama's shape in the living room. He must be by the kitchen. Or maybe—

"What do you want?"

Cold. His voice, usually sweet, melodic, like a leaf fluttering to the ground mid-autumn, is hardened and cold.

"Suguru"—Nanako's eyes widen. How dare this stranger call him that? Her shadow shuffles closer to the living room. 'Suguru?' Who— "you finally— hic! —answered."

"Have you been drinking?" comes Geto-sama's next words. "You smell awful."

"Can't help...it." The floorboards creak. "I just—" There's a soft thud. "I just mi—"

"Don't finish that sentence." Geto-sama takes a shaky breath. "Go home."

When she hears the draft stopper scratch their floor, Nanako prepares to return to their room. But then a hard palm slams against the wooden surface, and Nanako knows whoever was outside had propped it open, perhaps with more force than intended. She tilts her head into the light and finds at once that she's right. Though her father's stature covers most of the keeled over stranger, she swears she spots that same shade of blue.

"Sto..p," the stranger slurs, "don't do thaaaat."

"You need to leave. You can't be here."

"Don't...wanna."

Geto-sama sounds desperate. "Satoru, please. "

Satoru..?

"Su..."

Muffled thumps and a hard crash, covered only by a familiar person's gasp.

"Satoru!"

Leave. Leave now! Nanako fights back a scream.

Yet, despite her and her savior's frustration, despite her father's curtness, she still hears their main door creak open, still hears shuffling and two out of sync breaths filling the gaps in the room.

It wasn't often that their household entertained guests.

She wonders why this one is an exception.

When she wakes the next day, there are no traces of that man anywhere. She and Mimiko are just starting to grasp Jujutsu Sorcery, Geto-sama is teaching them about residuals, but she detects none by the door nor on the furniture in their home. Was he a non-sorcerer? Impossible. Geto-sama would never entertain them here.

Perhaps, then, Geto-sama shooed this Satoru away after she'd retreated to bed. Perhaps she imagined everything and Geto-sama never even let him in.

As she rubs at her eyes to rid them of the last traces of sleep, however, she finds a familiar head of black, inky hair pooling over one of their couch cushions. His snoring face, turned away from the bedroom hallway and towards the other seat on their sofa. There's a blanket draped over his frame—one neither she nor a sleeping Mimiko could ever reach on a shelf too tall—and it dawns on her that understanding how the night concluded may be a task too tall for her as well.

Their father doesn't mention his presence to them. Not when he leaves to organize cult activities, not when he returns after a long day of working towards their shared dream.

"What did you say his name was again?"

Nanako frowns. Hides her hand behind her other palm. "S-a-t-o-r-u."

Shifting in her seat, a strange expression crosses Mimiko's face. At last, she brings her hands together with elegance scarily close to their father's and signs, "it's pretty."

Nanako doesn't sign anything back in response.

(Secretly, though, she thinks she agrees).

─────

That man, "Satoru," as she comes to find out, is as persistent as he is annoying.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

"You let me in." His voice is deceptive and candy sweet. In it lies the promise of stormy days to come, each word punctuated and dripping with feeling so intense it makes Nanako shiver.

"Have you reported where I'm hiding?"

"You took care of me when I was drunk."

"Your case managers shouldn't surround me here—the kids are sleeping."

"Tell me it wasn't a dream."

"How many more sorcerers are coming? What grade are they?"

"Why did you do that?"

Geto-sama's breath hitches. Nanako wonders if he's having trouble getting oxygen into his lungs.

"I was only taking precautions. You"—his voice drops—"You wouldn't understand."

"Precautions," the other man says, slowly. "Suguru, your excuses are too flimsy."

"Are you going to continue mouthing off outside my home? It's bad manners to disturb the neighbors."

That seems to stun Satoru into sudden, deafening silence. Ducking behind the wall, Nanako clutches her knees closer to her chest.

"Let me in, then."

The door creaks.

She hears the homely squish of their couch. A click of a lock shut, and the gentle ticks of their kitchen clock filling in the gaps between tense hushes.

“You have a nice place.”

“Stop.”

“No, seriously, it is.”

“Stop talking.”

The man clicks his tongue. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Aren't you going to offer me any refreshments?"

“Stop pretending this is normal. I'm not in the mood to joke around."

"Harsh. First, you nag at me, then you refuse to offer me something to drink? Everything about you is worse than before—even the shitty parts."

“Just..hurry up and talk.”

“Well, now I'm getting mixed signals. Do you want me to talk or do you want me to stop? You’ve got terrible hospitality.”

"Cut the shit. You’ve got five minutes before I—" he tempers off. That’s odd. Geto-sama is never so easy to rile up, and he never hesitates to clamp down on his threats.

...Right? 

"Five minutes?"

“I could go shorter if you’d like.”

A breathless chuckle. "Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far, so no, I’m good. I’ll take the five. Gladly.”

“It’s just like you to come in with absolutely nothing to show for a plan.”

"Ah-ah, Suguru. They’re my five minutes, not yours. Wait your turn.” Heat prickles up the back of Nanako’s neck. Satoru takes a deep breath.

“So how are you?”

Nanako stirs.

“…What?”

“How are you doing? It’s been a while.”

“This is what you’re choosing to waste your time on?”

“It isn’t a waste.” Then, “How have you been?”

Geto-sama coughs. "Fine.”

“Great, because I’m not,” he cheerfully replies. “At first, I thought I was hallucinating. I haven't seen you in ohh how many years now, and—and I wasn't sure how much you'd changed. Do you still like zaru soba? Do you still wear your hair up like you used to? What's with the ugly ass robes?"

Geto-sama makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Get to the point, Satoru."

"I don't think I've changed that much. I still love sweets, if you were wondering. Guess you weren't. But I don't drink anymore—in case you didn't know that. And when I did, when we were still—" his throat gives. Geto-sama doesn't comment on it, and the white haired man regains his footing. "The point is, I wasn't in my right mind. I didn't know where to go. I wasn't sober enough to teleport back, call a cab, or ask for help."

"So you came to a murderer's home?"

"I came to you. ” Some more rustling. "And you let me."

Nanako traces the dips in her knee bone, a frown already settling over her face. She doesn't know who of the two them exhales first. "Don't do that again. I could have killed you."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"If you hadn't left of your own volition, I would have done it. You shouldn't trust me."

"Who said I did?" A pause. "No, you wouldn't."

"What makes you so confident?"

"Simple," he says matter-of-factly. "I know you. I learned from back then. Four years is a lot of time to figure out you were lying. 'Summer heat' my ass. Wish I knew earlier.”

"I don't believe you."

"I knew you’d say that. The secret"—their couch groans, and Nanako can only imagine Satoru moving closer, invading their father's precious personal space—"is in your eyes. When you lie, you look to your right.”

"You're out of your mind."

Satoru huffs. "Now answer me seriously. How are you?”

"My kids and I are on Jujutsu Tech's hit list. I see no point in answering to you. For all I know, you could be transmitting this conversation to the higher ups as we speak."

Pronounced sounds from the clock. A heavy tick. A harder hitting tock.

"Nothing to say, hm? I guess I hit it on the mark."

The other man mutters something inaudible under his breath. "You're wrong. Nobody from Jujutsu Tech is nearby."

"Then you've come to kill me yourself." Nanako's blood goes cold. "How long have you been tracking my location?"

"Nobody is coming to hurt you. Nobody knows I'm here. And if you really thought you or your children were in danger, you wouldn't have opened the door in the first place."

Tick.

"Right?"

"I-"

"Looks like I know you better than you thought."

Tock.

Getou-sama sighs in defeat." What do you want, Satoru?"

The couch squeaks once more. Heavy handed fingertips drum against the seats. "To talk to you."

"Have we not already? This is the second time I’m humoring your request.”

"What, was Shinjuku the first? You barely let me say a word."

"I didn't think there was any point to furthering our conversation. Our philosophies didn't align and we went our separate ways."

"Stop trying to confuse me with your self-righteous bullshit. God, you're still such an asshole."

"Let me put it simply, then. Do you even know how many people I've killed?"

It throws him off guard. It must. "I...I don't care."

Geto-sama takes advantage of his hesitation. Chuckles lowly, crackling and thin as ice. "Liar."

Nanako's ears burn.

"If you leave now, I won't tip the school you were here."

"You wouldn't do that."

"I doubt you'd want to risk it. Your students will take the fall if this information were to leak."

"I never told you I was a teacher.”

Geto-sama clears his throat. "I heard when I was abroad.”

“I only got authorized a few months ago.”

“Then I heard a few months ago.”

“Suguru, you’ve been back for almost a year.” How did he—

Their father’s voice comes out quickly. “I didn't know Jujutsu regulations allowed instructors to fraternize with criminals. Is trying your luck customary for you?"

"I'm trying to talk to my best friend who just fucking admitted he still cares enough to keep tabs on me. When are you going to drop the cold guy act?"

"I don't understand what you need!" Geto-sama almost screams. If Nanako slinks around the corner now, she may be fast enough to grab a knife in the kitchen. She could slit his throat. Stab his stomach. Anything to stop that Satoru from agitating him any more. She twitches forward—

" Suguru "—his pleading punches the air out of Nanako's stomach—"I don't need anything. Just keep things how they are. Like this. Like now."

Dripping bloodlust sags against her bones. She doesn't understand what it is, but somehow, the way he says his name and Geto-sama's sleepless sighs feel exactly the same. Nanako's limbs go heavy.

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Then kill me. Kill me, Suguru. You're the only one who could."

Getou-sama's shadow shoots up from his seat. "You're crazy."

"You can't do it right?" Her father's lack of a response is plenty telling. "I knew it."

"You're out of your mind. Why are you doing this?"

"Leave your door open for me, Suguru—"

"How did you find me here?" His voice breaks on that final note. "Why did you come back?"

"—for old times' sake."

Like this, a promised five minutes turns into much, much more.

─────

Satoru becomes a secret fourth member of their family. Mimiko and Nanako are left to theorize why.

"Were they classmates?" Mimiko suggests. "Maybe friends?"

"He's a teacher. They talked about jujutsu." Her fingers droop at her next thought; the signing comes out sloppy. " It feels...stronger."

"What does?"

Nanako kneads at her chest before replying, "I don't know."

Against her better judgment, Mimiko begins joining in on Nanako's schemes. With her added support, they're able to sneak out of the room with more ease. Able to double team popping their heads out from the hall undetected.

Mimiko suggests capturing Satoru's face on Nanako's phone camera. It'd be more concrete than trying to burn the image of him into their heads with small peeks. They practice how to angle it while Geto-sama is out. "Can you see the couch?"

"Move more to the right. Won't they see my phone?"

"Not as long as I don't hold it out like this."

And when they really see him for the first time, a cerulean sea hidden beneath black shades, a stunning side profile and silvery mess of hair, Nanako's heart drops.

"Angel," her sister signs. Nanako is too focused on Geto-sama's own expression to look at her hand. The two are hardly visible; the camera doesn't show much Mimiko can't already see from the opposite wall, but it's enough to engrave into them their father's softened eyes.

It's through Satoru that the twins meet the Geto Suguru that existed before them.

"You know that time we hid all of Yaga's lecture notes in the women's bathroom?"

A boisterous laugh echoes through the walls. Satoru hushes him, holding back giggles of his own. "Why do you still remember that?"

"'Cuz I had to hold up five buckets of water by myself afterwards, asshole."

"I had an image to uphold."

"Yeah, yeah screw that."

And it's uncouth of everyone involved, really, to even picture Geto-sama doing all the things Satoru babbles on about, but their father's laugh is always a confirmation, and Geto-sama's own stories and recollections only add to the mix.

They learn the extent of his tenacity (or is it stubbornness?) from Satoru, too.

"You know we can't do this forever."

"Can't you give all of this up? I'll find you a place in another region. Send you money, clothing, food, anything you need."

Getou-sama breaths are even. "I've already gotten this far."

"The world you want is a pipe dream. Fighting destruction with more destruction is senseless."

"No, Satoru," he tells him, "it has meaning."

On the other side of the wall, Satoru teaches them what they didn't already know. About a younger Geto Suguru's tendency to sneak out of Jujutsu Tech with his best friend, of their antics and cocky reputations, and the searing hurt that comes when they can't see eye to eye. None of their deeper conversations lead to any breakthroughs, only reinforces Geto-sama's perfect world, and draws the girls further and further into his light.

Still, it becomes procedure for their father, letting Satoru into their home long past their false retreat to bed. It becomes a bad habit for the twins, too, who stay up late to catch wisps of their father's conversations.

"Do your kids know that I visit?"

"They're always in bed before you arrive."

"I see their cursed energy through the wall, though."

"That's because the bedroom is just across."

They know Geto-sama is no fool, and that, at this point, he's become aware of their tendency to spy on him. So long as he doesn't see them, and so long as they don't mention it, however, their family seems intent on living in this fabricated bubble of peace.

"Will you ever introduce me to them?"

"It'd make things more complicated."

"I can't believe you became a dad."

Geto-sama laughs, and it's full of warmth. "Satoru, you did, too."

The girls are growing up; their three bodies no longer comfortably fit on the same bed, so Geto-sama sleeps on the couch. They'll get a new apartment once he's finished traveling for recruitment, he assures them. His inability to make good on his promise right away doesn't concern them; both Nanako and Mimiko know he isn't the type to go back on his word.

He doesn't run them baths anymore, either, unless they ask. Geto-sama says he doesn't want to control the way they live.

Instead, late dusk, he'll slip out of the house in clothes too tidy to be taking out the trash. He'll come home at the crack of dawn with flowing hair sticking to his face, flushed red cheeks, clothes crumpled and crooked at certain spots. Sometimes he smells like oaky drinks and smokiness. More often than not, he smells like the earth and its stars, like shining youth and uncovered memories.

He reads to them now. Dozens of books about adventures and justice. When their techniques begin to develop, he switches to literature on philosophy. About eventualities and colors and textiles and art. His smile is gentle when he recites words from book pages, but they pale in comparison to the ones they see when Satoru shows for his visits.

"What in the world possessed you to bring alcohol into my home?" he asks during one, cloudless night.

"A celebration, Suuuuguru! You're such a"–he burps–"wet blankeeet."

"Hey—Don't pass out on the floor again!"

The added risk of inebriety only makes them more jovial. So the alcohol is incorporated into their routine as well, and they drink and they chat and they laugh and they smile. Geto-sama's mood inflates and inflates until even the ghost of his joy peeks through his eyes the next day. It filters into everything—the meals he makes, the laughs he exhales. It’s in his clumsy signing, when he scrunches up his nose and asks Nanako to repeat “one more time, really” and she ends up signing for the rest of the evening. It’s in his features, how his lips turn up when he catches sight of the color blue anywhere in their apartment. Sometimes, they even find it when he’s unconscious, when the dream state fever pitch runs too high and his only relief is muttering Satoru’s name.

There's no defining moment when the atmosphere between the two men shifts; Mimiko describes it as a natural transition from trepidation to comfort to burning hot honesty. Regardless, it's raw and overwhelming. It's the first time their father’s cracks are so visible they bleed.

"You should go home. I'll call for a cab."

"Can...teleport out, dumbass."

"Don't even try it.”

“You’re so bossy,” he slurs, “boooo!”

Geto-sama snickers. "Fine, go if you want. See if I care when you don’t come back.”

"D'awwwww, Suguruuu," he sings, "are you— hic! –worrrried about me?" His head thunks to the floor. Nanako and Mimiko exchange unamused looks.

"This guy is a mess," Nanako deadpans.

"Geto-sama seems like he's enjoying it."

True to her word, their father's laugh tinkles like bells through the living room. "Get up . What did I tell you about passing out on my floor?"

"Come 'ere..."

An amused chuckle. "It's cold."

"Join meeee!!"

"Not a chance."

Three minutes later, Geto is face to face beside him. "Alright, alright, I give." He laughs again, in disbelief more than anything. "Happy?"

For a moment, neither of them speak. Satoru inhales. "Yeah." When their father still doesn't respond, he whispers, "I missed this so bad."

There it is again. That thing Nanako can't place. That sunset-hot warmth.

"You visit almost every day."

"That's not what I was talking abooutt."

“ Pfft. What are you missing then?"

Nanako thinks he turns his head to face him. “Take a guess.”

"..Idiot."

"Can you see them better than me?”

"Kind of."

“Are you staying in Japan?”

“I don’t think so. There are still some matters I need to settle abroad.“

"Use my phone!"

"I don't want to."

“Can I do it for you?”

“You don’t mean that. Being an accomplice to a curse user isn't befitting of the strongest.”

“They aren’t looking this way. It’s perfect.”

Mimiko tilts the phone away from her. “ Why do you wanna see?”

“The strongest— hic —used to belong to both of us.”

“It suits you better.”

"Why not?"

"I don't think we should be here."

“I didn’t want it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I wish we were still the strongest.”

“I know.”

"Give me my phone."

"Let's go back to our room, Nanako."

"No!"

"Suguru?”

“Hm?”

“Did you ever miss me?"

"I..."

“Because I missed you.  Every day.”

“..I see.”

Nanako lunges for the device across from her—

"I used to have the biggest crush on you, you know."

Both girls still.

"What?”

"When we were kids, I mean. Crush doesn’t really describe it, though. I'm pretty sure that it was-”

"Wait. Hold on. Are you playing a prank on me?"

Satoru stops. "...Nah."

"You’re going to regret this in the morning,” and Nanako’s own eyes blow out like saucers because Geto-sama’s tone is wavering, and it sounds almost like he’s nervous.

"No way. I've been wanting to let you know."

"You were always so annoying. You nagged me all the time, and over the— hic! —dumbest things." Satoru sighs fondly. "I mean, who the hell cares about my speech, or how much I sleep, or the way I did my hair?"

"You’ve only ever done your hair once. I helped you every other time.”

"Exactly!" Satoru giggles maniacally. "I would act like you were a bother, but I really liked it." His voice softens. "I liked that you cared about me."

"So when you left, I didn't know what to do next. Felt like I was lost."

He inhales. "I looked for you everywhere, Suguru. In Japan, overseas. When I found out you came back, I didn't realize how badly I missed you until I was at your door."

"Satoru," he stutters.

"Why do you think I did all of that, anyway? I thought maybe I was just being a little bitch. Maybe I still am."

"Satoru." He sounds like he's begging.

"God, how long did it take me to figure it out?"

"Satoru, don't-"

"And when I did, everything made perfect sense." Satoru blows out hot air, "I would have hated not being able to save you no matter how I felt–honest. But Suguru," he murmurs, "I think I-"

He sits up. "You need to get some rest."

"...Huh?"

The twins see their father's shadow grow taller from their spots behind the wall. Satoru mimics the motion. "Where are you going?"

"I'll grab you some water."

"Was I the only one?"

Glass cups clink in their kitchen drawers. "Don't drink any more of that. Put the bottle on the table."

"Why’d you walk away? You always do."

"Satoru, you need to go home."

"What's wrong? Why are you–" Satoru's shadow tries and fails to follow Geto-sama's own. He's rooted in place, right where the twins can see him. "I thought you felt the same way."

There's the sound of a clipped inhale from the kitchen. "You're wrong."

"I am? It's just that sometimes, I'd catch you staring at me-"

"It's your imagination. I didn't—I mean," he stumbles through his words, any traces of his elegance nowhere to be found, "I never thought about it," their father finally responds. "Sorry. You were my best friend. That's...That's all it was."

Mimiko turns her head away from Nanako's face. She's gnawing on her thumb.

"So you never reciprocated how I felt?" Satoru asks. "Ever?"

"You were my best friend," he repeats, cautious, "that's all I thought it was."

"But I loved you." Nanako's throat feels hollow. The words settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Brotherhood can easily be mistaken for love."

"I never saw you as just my family."

Geto-sama doesn't respond to that. Weighted glass slides along the counter. "Drink this."

Satoru's shadow doesn't disappear from the twins' line of sight. "It doesn't matter whether you loved me back or not," Satoru assures him, like he's unaffected by the thought of rejection, like it was just a fact of the world that he loved Geto Suguru and nobody could convince him otherwise. "It doesn't change that I loved you. I don't think anything will."

"Stop using those words so lightly."

"I'm not," he insists, "I mean it."

"I honestly don't see how you could."

"I loved you," Satoru repeats.

"We were children."

"That doesn't mean I couldn’t feel it."

"It’s impossible!” he slams his fist onto the counter. An echoing boom infiltrates his ears. “Why the hell would you...You loved me?”

How odd yet again. Nanako thought love was supposed to be a good thing.

“Is that why you showed up? That's why you risked your life? Because you loved me? For Christ's sake, Satoru, why—" Another heavy inhale. "What if I’d actually wanted to hurt you? What if I was luring you into a trap?”

“You didn’t.”

“And if I did? What would you have done then?” The warmth from before dissipates while the stinging ache remains. “Why couldn't you just let me go quietly? Why did you have to tell me now?"

"Why are you getting so upset?"

"Because you weren't supposed to feel anything! ”

Mimiko bites down hard enough to draw blood.

"Why is he angry?"

Her eyes are wobbly as they scan Nanako's face. "Not angry. Scared."

The concept is so foreign she can't wrap her head around it. The one who saved them, fearing for someone's life as if it were his dream's own.

At the same time Mimiko signs to her, Satoru's voice pitches up. "What do you mean I wasn't supposed to? What the fuck are you trying to say?" Nanako's pulse quickens. She reaches out for Mimiko, tucking her into her side. Drops of blood ooze out of her teeth shaped wound. "God, I can't understand you at all! Tell me, Suguru, what else was I supposed to do?  Ignore it until it went away? Pretend I didn't give a shit? You taught me everything I know! You're telling me I wasn't supposed to feel anything? We were partners. We're best friends!"

Nanako risks a glance at them, subtlety nowhere to be found. They're too focused on glaring holes into one another by the foyer to notice locks of her hair peeking out from the corner.

"Satoru, I think you should go."

"Oh, great, run away again. You've always been good at that, haven't you?"

"It's no good for you to conflate your personal feelings with your goals."

"Is that why it was so easy for you to leave me behind?"

"That's-" Geto opens and closes his mouth. His companion scoffs.

"I'm sorry not everyone is as detached and principled as you," Satoru spits. "But hey, anything so long as it has meaning, right? Abandon your life so you can overinflate your sense of purpose, right?"

He doesn’t defend himself.

"I thought maybe this time, things might be different. That you'd think twice before pushing me away."

"Stop it. You're drunk and acting stupid. Drink water–here. When you wake up in the morning, you won’t remember any of this, and I promise everything will be okay.”

Satoru chuckles darkly. “For you maybe, things will be okay. While I’ve been living like shit, for you, everything has been okay.”

“Satoru, that isn’t-“

"You've gone and made new allies, started a family, founded some religious cult. All this time you've been living while I've been walking around dead. But according to you, everything is okay, because fuck any of the stuff we went through together, right? Fuck it all as long as you win, is that it?"

"That isn't what I'm trying to say."

"I don't know what I was expecting. You’re right—I really was being stupid." His back tenses by the doorway. "I can’t believe you called me arrogant.”

"Listen, Satoru, don’t-"

With a flick of his hand, their apartment door shatters clean. 

It's almost too easy for him to disappear.

──

The memories of that last night replay over and over in the twins’ mind.

"Listen, Satoru, don’t-"

Splintered wood explodes.

He clenches his fist. "...teleport." A tired sigh. "Please."

The clock ticks somberly above him.

Geto-sama stares, back turned to the hall, at the spot where he just vanished.

Bores holes into the empty space.

"God damnit," he whispers. It isn't a very nice word.

Neither of the twins choose to call out to him.

He doesn’t try to move.

It takes a long time, several hundred ticks and tocks, before Geto-sama manages to speak again. And when he does—

“I loved you, too.”

Oh.

"I loved you," he repeats again, shoulders sloping in defeat. "I love you." His head falls forward.

Nanako inches back behind the wall.

Oh.

Geto-sama was lying.

Geto-sama was lying to that man.

And even though Nanako doesn't get why he did, her throat goes dry, her chest constricts. Mimiko's lip trembles, and Nanako feels something wiggling in her heart.

Satoru doesn't visit come next nightfall. He doesn't visit the day after, either.

Two days stretch into four. Those four days stretch into five more.

"Geto-sama, you aren't sleeping yet?" Mimiko asks. It's almost midnight when they leave their room to get water. The door has been repaired. He glances in its direction before giving her a weak smile and shaking his head.

"Are you waiting for somet— ow! " Mimiko retracts the hand behind Nanako's back. His eyes flick away from theirs.

"Just sorting business for tomorrow. Head to bed soon, alright?"

He's looking intently at the bottom right corner. It's another thing they learned from Satoru, Nanako supposes, that Geto-sama does so when he lies.

 ─────

His daily rituals don't change just because Satoru is no longer around.

He wakes up, indulges in an early morning soak, and makes the girls breakfast. He leaves the apartment, climbs onto his winged cursed spirit, and makes for the satellite temple. He negotiates contracts, services curse collecting monkeys, and humors consultations. He and Manami discuss potential family members, he conferences with Larue, and plans ways to let potential members meet the girls.

All in all, nothing about his life changes.

Sure, it's a little less loud. A little less funny. He doesn't do much reminiscing anymore, and his daughters throw him odd looks whenever he's home. But none of those things matter, because all in all, nothing changes.

It just nags at his brain sometimes, the things Satoru accused him of. Not caring about him? It being easy to "walk away"? He stares bitterly at the sleeve of his gojo-kesa, at the worn blue pillows he uses instead of his fancier zabuton.

Sure. Right. Like that idiot would know a thing about people's feelings.

So he goes through the motions like he did before Satoru barged into his life a second time. He knew their minutes were limited; he'd warned him of that fact much earlier on. But for things to end just as badly as that day—no, worse—

Suguru jolts out of his head with the thud of the temple gate.

His next client is some politician’s mistress. She was suffering frequent stomach aches despite coughing up millions in herbal medications, and Suguru could only assume a cursed spirit was behind her malady. He looks up in fake concern and comes eye to eye with dull splashes of navy. Hm. They could be pretty if they were brighter, or if they were anything like Satoru’s shade of blue. Suguru heaves out a broken laugh. Next to him, Manami’s eyebrows lift in confusion.

“What’s funny, Geto-sama?”

“Nothing. Tell me, what is your name?” he asks.

Suguru left the world of false herohood a long time ago, after everything he thought he knew shattered black, white, and gray; Gone was the perspective of someone who saw human wrath and still chose to protect it. Gone was his tumultuous youth and the few things he liked about it.

He stopped dreaming of the sky the day he departed from Jujutsu Tech, and punched down any and every lingering thought of him that happened to bubble up. Like any other fleeting emotion, longing lessened over time.

So why was it back again, stronger and more fervent than ever before?

It had been muscle memory, really, to blame for him answering the door the very first night. After three years by Satoru’s side, of course he could detect the surge of cursed energy emanating from his body, regardless of whether his techniques were activated or not. He just…forgot himself, for a short while.

The next time, cheeks reddened by sake and glossy lips babbling to the world, Suguru let him in out of concern. He’d told Satoru as much. “Precaution,” he’d said, as if “precaution” hadn’t meant that he was worried he might slump over or freeze to death outside.

Time and time again, his brain told him he was making a mistake. Time and time again, he opened his family’s hideout to his executioner. Because blocking his rationality was muscle memory, too. How could it not be, when Satoru always looked at him with those eyes, when he settled in like a puzzle piece, fitting perfectly where he belonged?

Suguru spent the last four years chasing victory, doing everything he needed to realize his ambition. But now he was here again, back at square one, still desperately, unbearably in love with the only person who could make loving worth it. He hadn’t seen him in four years; how was it possible that in that time, his feelings had yet to cool?

It’s too late for him to stop his preparations. It’s too late to wish for a happy eternity. And if he lets Satoru too close, it would be too late to change the course of their clashing fates.

His unspoken fears ball and bubble up inside of him. Like the curses he ingests when he’s doing business, they flood in sickening, thick, and impossibly cruel. 

Then catharsis comes at last—weeks after the switch flips—in the form of knuckles rapping against white wood.

Suguru practically flies off the couch and into the foyer. He smooths his clothes down first. Runs his fingers through his hair before reaching for the knob. "Satoru. You're back." Nerves tingling beneath his skin, he backs away just enough to give the man space to waltz in. He doesn't move.

"I guess I am, huh?"

Swallowing down the rocks lodged in his throat, he opens the door wider. "It's cold outside." Bullshit. Satoru's infinity is immune to temperature differences. "You can come in."

"Hey, Suguru," Satoru mumbles, ignoring him, "be honest with me. Did you really think I was that drunk?"

"We can talk about it inside."

"I thought you didn't trust me around you and the girls. Aren't you afraid I've summoned the school?"

His heart squeezes. "Satoru. I'm telling you to come in."

"Really?" he deadpans. "Why?"

Patience snapping, Suguru pulls Satoru into the apartment and slams the door shut. Cool radiates off of Satoru's skin, meshing with the heat of his own. He stares bullets into their enjoined hands. Why was Infinity off? He brings Satoru's hands to his mouth and blows into them. “You'll freeze." He rubs their hands together, the same way he always did with his girls. Satoru stares bullets into his skull.

"You used to love me, too, didn't you?"

The friction ceases.

"Satoru"–his mouth feels dry–"We've already talked about this."

"I know," Satoru mumbles. "But for some reason, I just don't think I can believe it. You loved me, right?"

His thumb caresses Suguru's knuckles. Suguru represses an aching shiver. "You said it didn’t matter whether I did.”

"It doesn't." He flinches but doesn't move away from Suguru's touch. “Why did you go, Suguru? Why did you leave? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“I found something to believe in.”

”I would have followed you anywhere.”

”It was better for me to bear it alone.”

“But what about all the things we said we would do?” his voice shakes. “What about me?”

The back of his eyes burn with pressure. Don’t speak. Don’t speak—

“It wasn’t easy.”

Too late.

”It was never easy.”

When it comes to Satoru, his brain is always a step too late.

Something akin to shock and clarity flashes through darkened, aqua eyes. His best friend’s grip tightens around his fingers. “You loved me.”

Instinctively, his eyes gravitate to the side.

”You loved me.”

A beat. "I wouldn't have hung around you for so long if I hated you."

"Don't play dumb—you know that's not what I meant."

"I don't know how else you would've meant it."

"You're lying again."

"I'm just looking at the counter. I haven’t cleaned it yet."

"Lie."

"I don't know what you want to hear from me."

"Lie."

"...The past is the past. We're older now."

Satoru doesn't accuse him again. Somehow, he does him one better. "Why didn't you tell me how you felt?"

Suguru blinks. Heat rises up his stomach, searing through his chest, traveling up his lungs. He fears what will happen if he looks him in the eye. "I didn't think I had to."

Stray drops of water collide with their metal sink. "But what if you did?"

Don't ask me that. Please. "You're acting as if something would have changed."

Satoru draws a shaky breath. "Because something would."

"Sato-"

"You said the past is the past," he interrupts, and Suguru's world is spinning, "but what about how you feel right now? How do you feel right now?"

His answer is wobbly at best. "I already told you I can't go back. You don't know what you're saying."

Satoru laces their hands together, bringing his trembling fingers to his heart. It thumps erratically against the lines in his palm.

"But I know what I'm feeling." He takes a breath. "I haven't been this nervous in years." He admits it so plainly, as if he's bearing his soul.

Suguru tries to pull away. "Satoru, don't do this."

"I should have told you back then."

"We moved past that."

"Can you feel how hard my heart is pounding?"

"It's too late."

"You've always been the one for me."

"I—"

His best friend's smile makes butterflies flutter in his stomach. "I never got over you."

"I'm not the same person I was back then."

"You act like I would care.”

"Don't you know what you're implying?"

"I love you, Suguru."

Suguru’s heart jumps.

“Are you positive you‘ve never loved me?” Their eyes meet. Satoru’s sparkle in the light.

It’s not that simple, he wants to tell him. His vision blurs with tears. "Satoru, I can't."

He nods in understanding, as if he can see how his emotions warp, shiver, and stir inside him. As if he can read Suguru's mind, the one torn between his lofty ideals and the pull of quiet peace. As if he knows Suguru because he loves him, as if he knows with a confidence of his own that Suguru loves him too. "Then let me."

Catharsis comes like a wave. It's white at the crest, bright and blue at the trough. It's powerful and sweeping, it destroys as large as it grows.

It comes crashing like Satoru's lips on his, spreading heat where their mouths touch. It's powerful and dizzying, aching with a want long stifled, pressing forward to engulf him whole. And goodness is catharsis is beautiful, it's chaotic yet paradoxically safe, fire hot and only outwardly cold.

He doesn't tell him he loves him. He doesn't think Satoru needs to know.

Since forever isn't an option, he chooses to let fate swirl and flow.

─────

"Geto-sama, who's Gojo Satoru anyway? He's super strong right?"

Suguru's hand freezes mid-page flip, the other tightening white around his favorite book's cover. Then, as if nothing happened, he completes the action, exhaling softly out of his nose. 

"Hm...He was my best friend. But we fought and it's been like this ever since."

It's a solemn answer, one he thinks his daughters would have gladly accepted, if only they hadn't already known the shape of his face under the yellow lights of their old home.

" Just your best friend?" Nanako asks, intent on an answer. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the same ones Satoru took between his teeth when they celebrated three years since they reunited. Suguru closes his book. He looks at his two growing girls and sighs fondly, defeated.

"No."