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Gojo Satoru had always been a rule-breaker, so when the higher-ups told him to cut contact with Geto Suguru, he was destined to ignore them.
He knew Geto wouldn’t pick up the phone. He knew that Geto didn’t want to speak to him, not after the fight, but he called anyway. He’d text and call until the voicemail beep.
He’d leave voicemails every day, trying his hardest to keep the tone he always used with Geto in high school. He didn’t really care if Geto changed his number, and he never got a response telling him that he wasn’t calling Geto anymore, so he just kept calling. He hated to admit it, but he really did miss him. There was always that little bit of hope in the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, he’d hear Geto’s voice on the other end of the line.
Eventually, it had been so long that Gojo began to forget the softness of Geto’s voice when he spoke to him. He could no longer mimic the way his voice would rise and fall with his words, the slight rasp that would sneak into his voice when he said Gojo’s name. He was stuck in a cycle of insanity, begging someone in the cosmos to let Geto find it in himself to pick up the phone, just to say a single word.
He finds himself late one night, the shoebox of photos and letters and gifts emptied around him on the floor. Years of memories that had been shoved away and hidden for almost ten years, all because Gojo couldn’t find it in himself to throw it away, but he couldn’t look at any of it all the same. He holds his phone in shaking palms, biting his bottom lip as he calls the number he could dial blind. It rings, and rings again, and again, and again. Gojo can still hear the faint ringing as rests his hands on his knees as he looks down at the calling screen. Of course he didn’t pick up.
“Satoru..?”
If he hadn’t been listening so intently, wishing for someone, anyone, to pick up the phone, he wouldn’t have heard him. His voice was just as gentle as ever, but there was the smallest hint of hesitation weaved in with the fondness when he said Gojo’s name. And god, he melted.
Gojo had gone over what he would do if the day ever came when Geto picked up the phone. The hundreds of hours coming up with scenarios and scripts seemed to disappear. All he could do was sit and stare down at his phone, opening and closing his mouth over and over, unable to say anything at all.
“…Satoru..?”
His voice was even more hesitant this time, it shook a little as he seemed to stumble over his name. Gojo scrambled to hold his phone to his ear. He clapped his hand over his mouth as he choked on a quiet sob, trying to fight all of the words he had wanted to say over the past ten years out of his mouth. All he could do was sit there, hold the phone to his ear, and sob, and Geto had noticed. His voice wavered on the other end of the line. Wobbling ever so slightly that only Gojo himself would notice it.
“Hey… Satoru… hey..”
Gojo swallowed a sob to choke out something, anything at all.
“…Suguru…?..”
Geto chuckled on the other end of the line. It was so familiar, but at the same time so foreign. It had been ten years since he had heard the silky voice that was now on the other end of the line.
“Satoru I want to ta-”
“It’s been ten years..”
Gojo cuts him off, taking a deep breath to calm his shaking voice. He runs a still-shaking hand through his white hair, stopping to thumb at his undercut uncomfortably, trying to compose the words caught in his throat. He frowns to himself, the awkward silence on the other end of the line scaring him, so much so that he blurts out the first thing he can think of.
“You should come back.”
There’s a warm chuckle through the phone, god, he missed that.
“How drunk are you Satoru?”
“I’m not drunk Suguru, you should know that’s not how that works..”
Another chuckle, Gojo was going to lose his mind. He missed the warm almost-summer days sitting on a picnic blanket. He missed getting sent on missions and bothering Shoko and playing basketball and getting scolded and all of it. He missed all of it, everything they had done together he missed and it hit him like waves crashing against a cliffside.
“Suguru, you could-”
“I have a life now, I have my girls and-"
“I can strike a deal with the higher-ups you could teac-”
“I’m declaring war tomorrow.”
Gojo froze, the waves draining away one final time before a tsunami. Everything was quiet, he felt sick to his stomach, the world was spinning while he remained stagnant. The voice that he had been waiting for what felt like ten centuries to hear now betraying the comfort it had once brought him.
“...what?”
“I wanted to warn you.. I’m coming to Jujutsu High tomorrow to declare war on Jujutsu Society..”
“How drunk are you?”
Everything came rushing back, anything and everything Gojo had been feeling before turning to anger.
“Satoru I’m not-”
“Are you fucking insane? You’ve ignored me for ten years! I’ve blown off the higher-ups and let you do as you please, and this is what I get?”
“Satoru please..”
Tears prick the corners of Gojo’s eyes, his hands shake and his voice shakes more.
“The first time I hear from you in ten years is this?”
He sucks in a breath and puffs out his cheeks, clenching his jaw to bite back sobs that he doesn’t want Geto to hear.
“Satoru… It’s my purpose. I know you don’t understand, I don’t expect you to anymore.”
Geto’s voice quivers, taking in his own shaky breath before continuing in Gojo’s silence.
“You deserved to know. I’m not sorry, but I wanted to tell you.”
Silence takes over the line. Gojo bites back his anger to just sit on the line, listening to the faint sounds of Geto’s shaky breathing on the other end.
“...Satoru?”
The uncertainty in Geto’s voice is unfamiliar, Gojo being used to hearing his name like it was made to be said by the other. He lets out a shaky breath, unable to think of anything to say. Geto’s voice hesitant and careful,
“I love you.”
Gojo’s mouth goes dry, the line goes dead. For the second time in five minutes, Satoru Gojo has stopped spinning with the rest of the world. He presses the heels of his palms to his watering eyes and his phone falls to the floor.
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Gojo knew that Geto had been serious about declaring war, but a selfish part of him hoped that it had all been a dream. His heart sank when he got out of bed to step on an old photograph, still in his clothes from the night before, eyes puffy. He couldn’t escape the feeling of dread that followed him until he felt the cursed energy around him shift. Geto had always been one to stick to his word. He couldn’t escape from the higher-up’s demands anymore, so after Rika had severely wounded Geto, Gojo was sent like a hunting dog after him.
Gojo found Geto propped against a wall, not far from Jujutsu High. Blood streaked across his face and body, a pathway drawn on the wall from where he had dragged himself. He’s smiling at him, he knows that he is going to die by Gojo’s hand and is smiling up at him.
“You finally made it Satoru.”
How is he smiling? Gojo crouches down, tugging off his bandages to be equal with his one and only. He’s asking about his family and trust and laughing and Gojo can’t think straight. He asks him for his last words and Geto never changes, rambling on about non-sorcerers and their incompetence.
“Suguru.”
The suddenness of Gojo’s voice halts him, he turns a confused glance to him.
“I love you.”
Geto chuckles, and Gojo’s frown deepens.
“You should at least curse me at the end.”
Gojo reaches out a hand, being more gentle than he has ever been. He touches his palm to the center of Geto’s chest and activates his technique, slowly feeling the life ebb away from Geto’s body. All the while, Geto keeps that stupid smile on his face.
Gojo leans his head down, touching his forehead to Geto’s as he finally feels the other let go, accepting what has come for him. Silent tears fall onto the folds of the dark blue gojo-kesa Geto is wearing.
Gojo shifts and sits against the wall, tucking Geto’s body against his side, allowing himself to be selfish for a moment because not even the world’s greatest sorcerer can escape grief.
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The next day, Gojo goes to the apartment Geto had lived in, holding in gentle hands a shoebox of memories. He hesitates before knocking on the door and taking a step back. The two girls inside are quick to answer, Nanako in front, Mimiko peeking out over her shoulder, both frowning.
“I want you to have this.”
Gojo offers the two the shoebox, biting back the lump he can feel forming in his throat as he hands his memories over to Geto’s girls.
They open the box in the doorway with gentle hands, thumbing through pictures and letters, all of which had been scattered on Gojo’s floor two nights ago. They scan every detail in the box, not wanting to miss a single detail of their father figure. Gojo shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking.
“Mr. Gojo? We can’t take this..”
Mimiko speaks up, meeting Gojo’s eyes through his round sunglasses.
“These are your memories of Master Geto, not ours.”
Gojo nods slowly as Nanako carefully closes the shoebox again, offering it back to him with careful hands. Gojo takes his youth back, staring at the box as the two girls close the door again. Gojo is left on the breezy walkway to hold his shoebox of memories.