Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the pocket of existence Kenjaku has locked him, Suguru mostly dreams. Sometimes, he sees things through his own stolen eyes. Sometimes, he hears people talk through his own stolen ears. He doesn’t think anything of it. 

Souls are solid, mostly invisible and hard to grasp, but tangible still. He would know, he’s swallowed the energy they create enough times. They are just as part of a body as a body is part of a soul. Both of them breakable in tinier pieces. When he died, most of Suguru's soul was reclaimed by the spiritual world - the universe, as Satoru would call it. But some bits tend to linger where they are used to being. The law of attraction, of familiarity, of love, whatever. At that moment he is just one small fragment of himself.

He dreams of his old school. His middle school. He’s sitting behind his desk, and he knows he’s got an exam to do. He’s trying to form the letters, but his attention keeps slipping to the tree leaves, moving in the gentle wind. The sky is gray. He wonders if it’s going to rain later, and if someone will bring him an umbrella. 

But who would bring him an umbrella ? He wonders to himself. That thought distracts him entirely from what he’s supposed to be doing, the words he managed to make disappear. He sighs. Now he has to start over. He moves his hand to the upper left corner of the page, to write his name.

SU

“Hey Satoru.” 

That is not his name. He shakes his head, trying to concentrate. The teacher will get mad at him if he hands his paper blank again.

GU

“It’s been a while.”

RU

“MY SOUL KNOWS OTHERWISE.”

The pen falls on the floor as he lets it go to press his hands on his ears. He looks around the room, trying to find who just screamed. But there are no students behind the other desks. Maybe they left without him. 

He looks at the window again, but this time instead of trees, there is a man. He has white hair and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. Blue like the sky became the moon and swallowed the sun. He’s beautiful, and Geto leaves his chair to stand in front of the window, closer to him, even though he knows he can’t go outside. 

There is a smear of blood on his face. Suguru hopes it’s not his own. 

“Good night, Gojo Satoru.”

His name is Satoru. Geto mouths it silently, Sa-to-ru and the way his lips form the word, the way his tongue moves to make the sound, it feels familiar. 

“Maybe for me.” It’s the voice that screamed earlier. This time, he recognizes it, and he presses his ear on the cold glass.

“But it’s time for you to wake up already.”

But how ? He wants to ask. He can barely write his own name. 

“How long will you keep letting it have its way with you, Suguru ?” 

Another fragment of him, lower in the body, does something, reacts. But it doesn’t last long before it also goes back to sleep. 

And then Satoru disappears.

Suguru isn’t able to determine who he was to him, but he still hits the glass with his small hands. “No, no come back, come back.” He begs as blood starts dripping on his forearms. The window doesn’t budge, no matter what he does.

He sees the playground. A scary man looks up at him. He points at him and laughs. He’s mocking him.

Geto goes back to his chair, and cries in the crook of his own arms. When he lifts his head to wipe his snot, he notices that this time the paper isn’t blank. 

In big red letters, the handwriting isn’t his own yet, but it will be someday, “USE YOUR SPIRITUAL ENERGY. USE THE PEN.”

Spiritual energy. He doesn’t know what it means. But his pen is on the floor where he dropped it, and he bends to take it. 

He goes back to the window, and the man is still there. He’s not laughing this time, he’s watching him intently.

He uses the pen to write on the glass.

SU

The man’s face twists into rage, teeth growing like a shark, and he runs inside the building. Suguru knows that if he manages to reach the classroom, this time his sleep will be final.

GU

It’s so hard to form the letters, he’s so weak, so easily distracted, so tired. But he keeps trying.

RU

The glass explodes. 

Suguru  spent most of his life training to hold his soul together, to not let it be swallowed by all the other things he stored in his body. 

Kenjaku should have known better than to use him. 

Still, how he managed to find the threads of himself in the fabric of infinity and everything, and pull. He doesn't know. 

All he knows is that he's supposed to be dead. But instead, the fragments of his soul have somewhat returned to familiar flesh, every neuronal pathway reforming and burning those of his impostor in their wake. And instead of swallowing soul energy, he regurgitated his own. 

When he is able to think, his first thought goes to the one that called him.

He opens his eyes, and finds that he is literally holding Satoru in his hands. The eyes on the prison realm artifact half-closed already, the box no longer impossible to lift.  His body feels sluggish and wrong. Every cell holding him together has just changed owner and the new manager isn’t used to possession. Blood pools down his brow and into his eyes from his now very human brain. When he tilts his head to look at the box, he feels his upper skull drift forward. 

He squeezes the box for reassurance, and that’s all he can do to not throw up on the spot. 

He digs his fingers into its corners, trying desperately to open it. But his hands have no strength and his spiritual energy is fading fast. “HELP,” he calls, hoping Nanami or Utahime are close enough to hear him. 

Instead, Mimiko and Nanako emerge from the shadows. “Geto-sama ?” They call timidly. He could cry in relief, and maybe he does, who's to say with all the blood dripping down his chin.

“Yes it's me, it's..” The rest of his sentence is muffled as Nanako pulls him into her arms. She sobs once, then pulls away and asks “what should we do ?” 

He gives her the box “hide it, we need to leave.”

“The cursed spirits won't let us,” Mimiko reminds him. She's already got a needle in a hand, merging his skull back together in a few seconds with her powers.

“I know.” He pulls the cursed roll from his sleeve. 

Kenjaku's own abilities consist of deals. Deals with intelligent curses and sorcerers more precisely. Geto doesn't have any ways of borrowing's his capabilities, but there must be some of that freak soul energy left in his body for now. 

He places a hand on the names of the imposter's accomplices and, in a satisfying twist of fate, burns them all to ashes. 

Since they haven’t betrayed him, this would have cursed Kenjaku’s soul. If he hadn’t destroyed it already.

“Okay, they should be gone.” He smiles reassuringly at the girls, hoping his teeth aren't as stained with blood as they taste. 

They help him to the ground floor, where he invokes his bird. The ride home feels like an eternity. He's trying to regain his spiritual powers as fast as possible while his body still feels like a puppet, moving around in disjointed, uncoordinated movements.

When they finally land on the terrace, he asks Nanako to give him the box. Luckily the white of the eyes are still visible, indicating the prisoner hasn't been subdued by it yet.

He doesn't know what “subdued” means exactly in Kenjaku's head but he is about to make sure this shitty box will never get to do that again, to anyone. 

This time, when he digs his spiritual energy into it, it opens.

Satoru Gojo appears on his knees, held by strings of red that go through him. He looks up at him and his expression goes from fear, to agony, to hatred. “You..” 

“Satoru,” he tries, but doesn’t know what to say. What is he but another villain in the man’s life ?

Something else makes his way into the face. Hope ? He seems to fight it, lowering his head, pulling and pulling on his binds as a delirious scream is torn from his throat. 

As they snap, he falls forward. 

Suguru throws himself to the ground to catch him. He tries to hold him up, but he realizes that the sorcerer’s head has fallen lax on his shoulder, his legs bending under him. He lies him down carefully.

He puts his head on the man's chest and catches a regular heartbeat. “He's alive.” The relief that floods through him is pure ecstasy. “He's…” 

He passes out, head pressed into the familiar smell.

20 hours later

He remembers getting this place with the cult’s money. He must have been, what, eighteen ? He bought it small so he wouldn’t need to hire domestics. The girls needed the certainty that it was just them to sleep. He chose it away from any sorcerer hot-spot but close enough to civilization that they have a mall that sells trendy clothes and cute desserts close by. The house itself is cozy, every surface made of dark wood that they’ve warmed up with pastel colored rugs. The room where Satoru sleeps used to be a playroom. The walls are covered in stickers and old drawings he never cared to paint over. The toys have long been put in the attic. Now there’s just two Ikea's bookcases filled mostly with children’s books, and a bed. 

He looks too innocent when he’s unconscious, his white hair catching the sunlight like a halo around his head.  Suguru hasn't tied him up. It only takes a few days for muscles and joints to be affected by complete stillness, and Satoru can’t afford to be weak, now or ever. 

He asked Mimiko to bind him with her magic shackles instead, pink ropes that will tether his spiritual energy and force him to stay in this part of the house. 

“Why do you want him here ?” She asks as she finishes rearranging Gojo’s arms so they’re under the blanket.

“I have something to tell him, something he should know before he goes back to that school.” 

She approaches him where he stands further away from the man, and goes back to holding his hand. She has been doing that a lot since he came back. It's nostalgic, reminds him of when she was small and held his index finger in her shaky palm. 

Mimiko sighs, “won't the others come rescue him ?” 

“I doubt it. Not for a while.” There was too much confusion when he'd killed the imposter’s accomplices. According to the last information he got, they've just finished getting rid the transformed humans and are now doing a whole lot of damage control.

“It will hold him for a week, maybe, but once his energy goes back to normal levels, I won’t be able to keep him restrained,” she explains.

“It’s more than enough, he’ll probably recover faster than that,” he squeezes her hand. 

Unaware that his captor has changed, Satoru sleeps. But behind his eyelids the inhuman pupils are restless, like he’s still searching for the next enemy, for the next battle.

“Can you wrap his head with some bandages ?” He asks the girl.

“Like yours ?” She points to where his skull is covered in thick layers of gaze.

“No, just his eyes. With something soft, if you can. It should help him rest better.” 

Mimiko nods. Satoru suddenly tenses, his heels digging into the mattress as he murmurs, “fight, fight, fight,” like a mantra. He seems distressed, but none of them dare to touch him. They're not the people he's trying to reach, trying to protect. 

She frowns at the lying shape, “is it really okay that we stole him ?” 

Suguru sighs, “not really, no.” 

Chapter Text

“Dogs ?” He sips on his tea.

“Yeah two of them,” Yulo sounds bored, but as long as Geto pays he’ll give him every information he could need, “they’ve been trying to track Gojo for the past ten hours non-stop. There are a bunch of kids running with each of them. Way too many kids”

“I see. Let me know if they get in trouble.”

He hangs up and puts his mug in the dishwasher, wondering if the wanted man is awake yet. 

As he approaches the room, he hears Nanako’s voice resonate in the hallway. “..You don’t know what they did to us in that village, you don’t know what I did to protect my sister. A whole year ! And we almost didn’t get him back. What kind of justice is that ?”

He walks in, takes in the sight of Satoru awake and silent and Nanako, pointing an accusing finger at him. 

She’s taking what happened with more indignation and bitterness than her sister, something he can relate to. He puts a hand on her head. “Nanako, I understand, you're angry. But it's not his fault.”

She looks up at him, moves away from his hand. “He killed you !” 

“Please.” He’s explained already, told her that a monster you love is still a monster, and he’s done monstrous things. Most of which he doesn't even regret.

He smiles gently at her and her anger crumbles, her shoulders dropping.

“Fine.” She glances at the -still unmoving- sorcerer, and stamps out of the room.

Suguru has to gather his courage before he looks at the man.

Satoru sits in his bed, staring at him like he’s a curse. No, Gojo would never be this scared in front of a curse. He can see a ring of white around the blue irises, the eyes unblinking. Suguru wonders if it hurts him, to stare this hard with eyes that are already all-seeing.

“You’re awake,” he tries for something neutral, flat truth that won’t unsettle the other further than he seems to be.

“You’re alive.” Well, count on Satoru to jump straight to the point.

He’s glad he’s dressed in normal clothes, baggy sweatpants and a hoodie. It allows him to lean on the doorway in a way that passes for natural instead of having to come closer to the sorcerer. “Yeah. I would tell you how, but I’m not sure myself.”

He’s almost tempted to ask Satoru to blink, just because it makes his own eyes feel dry in empathy. The man looks briefly down at his lap, then they’re back to  him. “What happened to my students ?”

“No casualties amongst sorcerers.” He can’t say as much for the civilians that were slaughtered. “They’re safe.”

“Oh.” Satoru draws in a painful sounding breath, then shows him his wrists wrapped in pink rope. “I’m your prisoner then, I assume ?”

Suguru has to look away when the face twists into acceptance. He’s never seen Satoru accept defeat before, doesn’t want to admit he just made him. “It’s only for a few days, until you recover. There’s something you need to know, before you go back.”

“I need to be tied up to hear it ?”

“Satoru.” The man inhales sharply like his own name is a curse in Suguru’s mouth. Maybe it is, it could have cost him his life when used by the imposter. “I took you here, you’ve been unconscious for two days. If I wanted to do something to you, I would have put real cursed shackles on you or gouged out your eyes. I just want to talk.”

A tremor goes through the man’s body, reminding him of how fragile he’d been when he pulled him out of the prison realm, bloody and exhausted, and Geto wonders if he’ll be able to handle what he’s about to tell him. 

“If I had left you there and let the school take you, you could have been killed.” There is no easy way to say it. “I know which higher up was working with the imposter, and she would have had the power and means to do it discreetly at that moment.”

“Oh no, an attempt on my life,” Satoru says drily, the sarcasm too familiar, “I’m glad I’m already sitting.” 

“When I was,” he swallows, “when it was controlling me, I was still able to register what was happening, sometimes - not always. But I distinctly remember the brain planning this with the Gojo matriarch.”

 Satoru blinks slowly and starts sitting in a more upright position, gathering his hand on his lap, as if the tilte had brought back old habits. “My mother.”

“I don’t expect you to believe this. I’m sure you have ways to investigate, when you’ve fully recovered.” He pinches his lips together, silencing himself.

Gojo - the patriarch, the head of the very clan that wants him dead - smiles at Suguru, a smile he’s never seen on his childhood friend’s face, the kind of smile a child can not bear. “No, I believe you.” He says, and Geto’s heart feels like overcooked rice in his chest.

“They’ve been growing desperate lately. I thought they would wait a few years, until they’re sure they can’t obtain a child from me at least.” He shakes his head, “an alliance with S-ranks curses though, I guess I should be honored.”

Suguru doesn’t know what to say. He killed his own parents, it’s not like he’s spooked by some family bloodbath, but Satoru is practically a God in their world.

But then, don’t humans always love to kill their God ?

“So how long are you going to keep me here ?” He asks, and leans back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling, looking like a real hospital patient for once.

“Those binds will last another four days. I’ll have to check your vitals but - I’m sure you’ll be recovered by then.”

“Probably.” Satoru turns to his side, and Suguru takes that as his cue to let him be.

As he steps back though, he remembers something important.

“Your students have been looking for you..” 

Satoru sits so fast, for a split instant Suguru thinks he’s going to attack, shackles be damned.

“Really ? Who ?” He asks eagerly, hands clutching at his blanket like Suguru’s just thrown him a lifeline in the ocean.

He remembers Gojo as someone confident, someone easy to love and popular. But his mother wants him dead while his ex- best friend has locked him up. It's not his best year.

“Like, all of them probably ? They’re in two groups with dogs, trying to track your scent around Tokyo. I was thinking I should maybe call Shoko, tell her to let them know that you’re alright, before they become a target ?”

Satoru nods in agreement. “Yes, Shoko can be trusted with that.”

There is relief in finding there are still words that make sense to the both of them. “Great. I’ll call her then.” 

“Are you coming back ?” Gojo asks, almost too fast to be understood.

Like Suguru would leave him with no social interactions in this room. Right after he’s been locked with ‘skeletons and regrets’ if the imposter was correct, in a place where time stretches like rubber. Because of him. “I’ll check on you every day.” He assures. “I’ll send the girls to bring you food and a change of clothes in a moment. The bathroom is the first door to the right.” Not that he could go anywhere else if he tries. “Call if you need anything, the house isn’t big, we’ll hear you.” 

He waits for a reply, but that seems to have settled something in Satoru because he lies down and closes his eyes. 

Geto shuts the door and pulls his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah ?” The voice is familiar, the tone is too. He almost expects her to say ‘No I didn't take notes, do your own homework dumbass.’ Her old greeting. 

“Shoko, hey, it’s me.” 

There is a moment of silence on the other side then “wow.” 

“Yeah.”

“Guess I still won’t be allowed to dissect you then.” She deadpans.

Well, that’s ominous. “Guess not.”

“Pity. What do you want, Geto ?” 

He wonders if there is a good way to word this. Lots of hard conversations today, for a brain that he just remade himself. “Satoru is with me. He’s fine, he’ll be back by the end of the week.” 

“Wow.” Did he just hear her chuckle ? “Okay.” 

“Can you tell something to his students, so that they stop trying to find him ? They won't by the way, we're not in Tokyo and I flew him there, there is no scent to follow.” 

“Hmm.” She mumbles. “How are his vitals ?”

“I checked everything. He's fine, the stasis in the prison realm has drained him of his powers but it's slowly improving. I gave him some antibiotics just in case but he hasn't developed a fever.” He explains. 

“Great, you've done your research.” There is humor in her voice, it seems like Suguru will never escape her mocking tone. “I'll tell his students he's on a mission somewhere.” 

“Thanks.” He sighs in relief. “I won't hurt him.” He assures. 

“I know.” She does laugh a little this time, then she hangs up on him.

Chapter Text

He falls asleep at 5pm and still barely wakes up for breakfast. 

“It's normal,” Mimiko argues, “you were a zombie. Now you're not. It's a big difference.”

“Wiser words have never been spoken,” Nanako jokes from where she's doing her makeup, sitting on the kitchen counter. 

Mimiko sips on her milk, then asks him over the bowl , very seriously. “Am I wise ?” 

“Definitely.” He assures, “did you bring breakfast to Satoru already ?” 

“No." She extends her legs to put her heels on his knees. "I don't know what he likes to eat in the morning.”

Suguru mulls it over. They used to have the standard Japanese breakfast back in school, rice, eggs and nato. But he has no idea what the man would eat now. 

He realizes, probably the same, since he works at the school. It's still as strange to imagine him still going there everyday, eating without him, existing in a classroom without him. 

“I bet he eats old man food and that's why his hair is white,” Nanako comments.

“Hey, don't be mean,” he reminds her.

She raises a half-drawn eyebrow at him. “Is this about yesterday ?”

He sighs, and mentally prepares for the argument. For all that he once expected everyone to bow to him, the girls are not his 'subjects', far from it. “I think it wasn't fair, what you said.”

“It was true though.” She folds her pocket mirror with an audible SNAP for emphasis. “He did kill you, even though he doesn't know what even happened at the village. Why you did all this. For people like us, for him.” 

“He didn't kill me because of that disagreement.” He reminds her, “he killed me because I attacked his students. He cares a lot about them. If someone attacked you two, whatever their reasons, I’d murder them too.” 

“Oh don’t get mad at me” Nanako grunts, putting the crayon down so she can cross her arms in her best pouting stance. “I already apologized, I even brought him a crepe last night.”

“You..” He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s really lucky Satoru would never hurt a kid, because the girls have apparently decided to walk all over him. He can't imagine Nanako apologizing without a good dose of sarcasm. “Be careful all right ? He can be dangerous if he wants to be.” 

“I wasn't trying to be mean.” She jumps off the counter, “I just wanted him to understand that there are two sides to the story. And yes, you attacked those little sorcerers, but none of them died and you did.” She takes her stuff and disappears into her bedroom.

“So.” Mimiko prompts after a moment. “What should we cook for breakfast ?” 

He ends up making a rice omelet. Mimiko proposes pancakes but that seems a bit too cheerful for a prisoner. He doesn’t want Satoru to think he’s mocking him.

The man is reading by the window when he walks in. His hair is still slightly wet and he's wearing Suguru's clothes, which are a bit short at the ankle and wrists. His stare isn't less intense when it lands on him, like Satoru is still not sure if he's real or not. 

“Uhm. Good morning.” Suguru tries, “I brought your breakfast.” He puts the tray on the bed and goes back to the doorframe. 

Satoru closes the book he's reading, and Geto recognizes the cover, Rapunzel. He wonders what the sorcerer thinks of it.  He watches as the man stands up, the pink shackles even brighter on his pale skin now that he's wearing white. He sits cross legged on the bed and after a careful analysis, tries the food. Suguru knows it's creepy, but he can't look away. There is something about watching Satoru read or eat that makes his soul feel at home. If he stops thinking, he can almost believe they are back in high school, spending every minute of their days together. 

“Did you cook it ?” Gojo asks after a few bites. 

Suguru swallows. “Yeah. Is it bad ?” 

“It's sugary,” he says slowly.

“I thought you liked your food sweet.” 

“I do.” Satoru stares intently under white eyelashes as he chews. 

Geto wonders if he thought he would have forgotten. The idea is laughable, he spent three years of his life either buying sweets for him or carrying them around. He was twenty-one and still finding gummy worms in the pockets of a winter coat, half-melted in the fabric. 

“How do you feel ?” He asks, changing the subject.

The man shrugs, “tired. But better. My energy level has improved by about 20%.” 

“Good.” Not that the math gives him much, but if Satoru is making calculations that must mean he indeed feels better. Suguru pulls at his own hair, hesitating. “I - uh, I'll let you eat then.” 

“Ask your question.” Satoru prompts, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth. 

He jolts, and now he feels fifteen again, realizing that while he struggled to understand basic math in a middle of nowhere school for going nowhere kids, Satoru had learned how to speak chinese and german. "What ?"

"You're doing that thing with your hair when you want to ask me something." Satoru points to his own hair with his spoon.

He did use to ask him lots of questions, didn't he. At least when he was new to the sorcerer's world, and Gojo had all the answers, and he had to be his friend but also a kind of teacher already.

“I was wondering what you're planning to do, once you're out. About the traitor," he admits.

“You mean my mother.” Another bite, and he's chewing pensively as if the subject isn't sensitive and awful to bring up at breakfast. “Depends if I can find any evidence. I'm guessing if everyone is alive that means the cursed spirits have all been banished.” Suguru nods. “Then it will be hard to prove. But now that I expect it, I'll make sure her next attempt goes viral.” 

The idea that Satoru will have to keep pretending like they don't hate him just because they can't control him makes him sick. “Maybe I can dig into Kenjaku's memories, find something.” Although any previous attempts have given him nothing more than a headache, the dead bastard being over a thousand years old. 

“Kenja- who ?” Satoru asks, setting the tray aside on the floor as he goes back to the window. 

“Ah. The one who took over my body. That was his name.” 

Satoru freezes in his steps. “No. You're not reclaiming any memories from that thing. No memories no - nothing.” 

His voice would have turned the whole block into ice if he had been a cursed speech user. Suguru doesn't remember Gojo ordering him to do anything before, but they tended to agree on most things when they were kids.

He can tell they won't this time, because once again the sorcerer's world is clawing his best members into pieces and Satoru's only answer is - I'll argue with them and let them use me as both a tool and a punching bag - Yay.

“So wait and do nothing, that's your answer ?” He asks, anger dripping into his voice.

“You got a better idea ?” Satoru provokes.

“I could kill her.” 

“My mother ?” His expression goes blank. “Was yours not enough ?”

Suguru laughs. Not because he finds it funny, but because he’s trained himself for a long time to smile and laugh at anything that bothers him. Once he got sick of crying in the shower. 

“You realize I had to save you this time right ?” He points to himself. “Me. The madman, psychopath, murderer, whatever you precious school calls me. But how many people will die when you’re not here to save them ? You’d let them sacrifice you, but that’s not honorable, you know.” 

Satoru rolls his eyes, “fine, kill them all, that'll fix everything. You know, once the murder is done, you still need to bury the body, and then deal with the distrust, the chaos and the fear.” 

He smiles bitterly. “Fear, Suguru. It creates curses, not a functioning system. You would know if you'd tried improving things instead of destroying them.” 

Suguru hands close into fists. He'd been the calmer one last time, but he'd been arguing against a child. Satoru might still have a sweet tooth but he's not a highschooler testing authority anymore. “Sorry, I forgot I'm talking to the head of the clan Gojo-Sama. Please, do tell me how you improved the system, since I left.”

Satoru turns away at that, and Geto doesn't know how to stop himself. 

“It doesn't change shit that you're the teacher. I would never send them to this school, my daugh.. the girls I've raised.” He corrects himself. “But you find the kids for them. You know how they will be treated and you accept it, deep down, you're okay with it.”

Satoru still doesn't reply. Suguru twists the knife “Megumi..”

He turns around in a flurry of limbs. “I’m worried sick about him. Of course I am.” Satoru thunders, angry in a way Suguru hadn’t seen him since their talk on that sidewalk all those years ago. “About all of my students. But so what ? I should kill other people’s kids to make them safe ? I should make myself the enemy until my name gives my students nightmares ? No, all I can do is make sure there’s more of them and that they’re ready to pull their weight when I’m gone.”

Suguru does understand to some level. It’s obvious that the reason why there are so few exorcists in Japan is because their higher-ups couldn’t control them like they do if there were plenty. One Gojo Satoru rebels against the system, that’s madness. A thousand of them do, it’s called a revolution. 

Satoru is out of breath after that speech, his face pale, still. 

Suguru can accept the argument, but he hates the selflessness “they'll kill you one day.” He screams back. Because that's the only thing that matters, isn't it ? That Gojo Satoru will be murdered not by a curse, but ultimately by his own kind. Whether it be because they throw him under the bus to minimize casualties again, or because they decide he's not worth the additional lives saved.

“It’s called the lesser evil, Suguru. We’re adults now, you should know that things aren’t black and white.” He wipes sweat from his forehead, sitting back on the bed. 

It's ridiculous, how much Suguru wants to keep this conversation going, wants to convince him but knows he never will. He was wiser on that point in his youth, but then he didn't know what Satoru's absence would taste like in his mouth, worse than any curse. He didn't know how much his existence revolved around the man until he'd left, like the earth escaping the gravity of the sun, thinking it will be free.

“I don't remember any of the bastards I killed. But you, you’ll remember all the students you couldn’t save.” It's just pain they throw at each other at this point, a senseless battle. 

Satoru blinks slowly, taking his time to register his words. When his eyes go back into focus, Suguru already knows he will regret pushing him like this. “You only remember what you want to remember, Suguru.” He stares him down. “I told you I loved you that day, do you remember that ?”

He does remember. The way Satoru had crouched down to his eye level. How he'd said it like confessing a murder, when he was the innocent one the whole way through. 

And despite the pain and the regrets, Suguru had felt true joy at that moment. For ten years, he'd thought the man hated him for what he did.

He had wondered, last year of high school. But Suguru would reconsider his whole personality every time someone joked about his earrings. The idea of hinting he was gay for his best friend was a big bite of social suicide. Plus Gojo wasn't just popular, he was a sort of prince, a deity, in a way Suguru couldn't wrap his head around. (Tried to imitate to no avail, he'd just been a priest to Satoru's churh and nothing more.)

But he still wanted him, in the darkness of his bedroom at night, a wall and so much more than a wall separating them, with every inch of his body curved in shame. He wanted him.

With the confirmation that Satoru loved him back, Suguru had known that he didn't have to regret becoming a sorcerer anymore. Even if that path had led him to this sorrowful destiny, because it was the one that allowed him to meet Satoru. 

But he hadn't said that, right ? Instead, he'd joked “at least curse me a little at the end.” Like he pitied Satoru's love. 

Because yes, Satoru loved him. But surely not in that burning, obsessive frenzy that had made the man the glue of his soul. 

At the very end, he's been too scared to admit it to himself. For that, he deserved to be killed by his hand. Yes, he was a coward. He was weak.

Never, even when he was 100% convinced that he would succeed, did he think his success would be deserved. He was just a consumer. He absorbed curses, absorbed Riko’s death and the unfairness of the world, and threw it up into something ugly and deadly. Then he tried to convince himself he could find some use  for that vomit, that he could still be useful, that it was not all for nothing. 

But mostly, he'd absorbed Satoru, didn't he ? That was where most of the shame came from. He used to be capable of handling things. But once Satoru had drifted from him, becoming so strong he didn't need his help anymore. Once Suguru had started going on missions by himself…

He had to come to the realization that when Satoru was alone, he was still the greatest. And when Suguru was alone, he was no one. He looked to his side, where his strength, his humor, his kindness and his will to live was, and realized that they were gone.

So he did hate him a little, too. 

“Your love is a fucking curse. I wish I could be free of it.” He spits, and he doesn't stay to see how Satoru reacts.

As he closes the door with more force than necessary, he realizes that Mimiko is right to his left, in the hallway. 

“I heard screaming.” She explains, and it's clear she's heard everything. Her lips are pressed in an embarrassed line. She takes his wrist where his pulse is racing. “You should lie down.” 

“I'm fine.” He stumbles down the hallway, past her. “Please don't follow me.” 

He finds his room and curls in the corner of it, pressing his knees on his chest. 

He resists the urge to bash his head against the wall. His flesh still feels like plastic wrap. Like he is filled with sparkling water and one more shake might send his skull to the roof. As he digs his nails into his exposed forearms, he wonders if it's a fight or a mutilation. He isn't sure. 

If he could have Satoru's touch on him, would that tell him where he stops and where he begins ? 

He knows the answer to that. Just the force of his gaze soothes him. If he could feel his weight, if he could be pressed until there is no space between them, his cells would finally yield. Maybe if he begs. How did he not beg, all those years ?

But he can't do that. His friend deserves better. Suguru deserves death, but the sentence has been canceled. Until Gojo is free, that is.

Chapter Text

Nanako shakes him awake before dawn. He rubs his eyes, as she sits on his bed. She’s still in her pajamas and clutching her water bottle the same way her sister does her plushie. “What is it ? Nightmare ?” He asks.

“I was wondering,” she curls a finger in his hair, “you’re not gonna lead the new world anymore right ? Or kill the non-sorcerers ?” 

He coughs in surprise, although he should have expected her to ask one day, “no,” he admits, “I don’t want to do anything that would put you and Mimiko into more danger than I already have.” Even if the world is still dangerous, for people like them. Still, the lesser evil. “I’m sor..”

“So does that mean we can call you dad ?”

He feels his eyes widen. 

“Since you’re no longer our leader. Does that mean we can call you dad, instead of Geto-sama ?” She clarifies, and switches to playing with the hems of her digimon crop top. 

His soul shakes a little, as if still split into a million fragments. “Sure.”

“Okay.” She stands up confidently, walking to the door. “Good night dad.”

“Good.. It’s five a.m, are you just going to bed now ?”

“Good night dad.” She shuts the door. 

He waits until the sun has set to knock, and he still barely has the courage to. “Can I come in ?” He asks.

“I’m the prisoner here, don’t ask me.” Comes the reply. 

The lights are off and Satoru is tangled in his sheet, an arm over his eyes that he moves sluggishly to look at him. “I was wondering if you'd come back.” 

“I was busy today.” It's a lie and they both know it. “Were you sleeping ?” 

“No.” He seems almost unreal in the dim light cast by the lampost outside. “Just resting my eyes.” 

“Do they hurt ?” Suguru's hands twitch with the need to touch, but he stays near the door.

“No. Tired.” 

They would be, he’s been using them non-stop since he woke up. Suguru doesn’t understand why Satoru won’t let them rest, insists on watching him even though he already told him that he doesn’t want to fight.

Seems he won't be getting full sentences today, but then again at least he's being spoken to. “Mimiko will take the shackles off tomorrow,” he tells him.

Satoru's eyes are two blue stars in the darkness, he wonders if he'll ever dream of something else once he's gone “she says your spiritual energy is almost back to normal, she won't be able to contain it.” 

“Ah.” The man sits upright, tousling his hair with something like nerves. “When are you letting me go ?” He asks.

“Tomorrow.” 

Satoru sighs, a long, heavy sigh. “Okay. So I guess I should ask you to avoid any illegal activities in the future ?” 

“Any illegal activities ? You weren't so strict before.” He points out, because he'd done a lot of illegal things with Satoru once. Smoking, stealing, a bit of government threat. 

“Right. I mean not the kind I would care about,” he amends.

Suguru leans forward, eager for the sound of his voice. It would be impossible to capture him a second time. But if he’s allowed to live, he might watch from the darkness, making sure the clans never get their hands on him when he's defenseless. “I don't want to be your enemy,” he admits. “But I'm scared I will be.” 

Satoru watches, ethereal features open and neutral, with a hint of softness still. He used to be someone who would do the talking for you, but now it seems he's learned how to draw words from him.

“I don’t even know how long I’ll be myself.” Suguru admits. “I don’t even know who I am. Swallowing those curses changed me, Satoru. Even before my body was stolen. I'm not sure how much of it is me in there.” Who is he after all ? What draws the contours of his soul but blood and mistakes ?

“Let me see.” Satoru stands up, comes closer, barefoot on the wooden floor. He breaches the space that Suguru has put between them both, to feel less shitty that he's imprisoned him like an obsessed stalker. 

Suguru inhales a sharp breath, but doesn't dare to move.

It still feels the same when they stand close, like he's found gravity. He flinches when the hand goes near his face. He's not frightened but twitchy, nervous. 

He avoids the other's gaze once, twice, three times, and is still drawn back to it like a moth. There must be a power that he's unaware of in those eyes.

“Can I ?” Satoru asks. And his voice is low, almost raw. In Suguru's heart, he knows it's the last time the man tries to touch him. Satoru will take in the reality of his return, then he'll bury his love from him.

“Yes. Please.” Suguru is surprised by the way his own voice sounds higher, almost pleading, a little helpless. 

Satoru's hand pulls on his bandage to reveal the angry red line where the flesh is still healing. 

The press of fingers there is careful, probing at the bones, the scar that has built into a ring of additional flesh, swollen and sensitive. He starts above his nose, then above his brows, all the way to his airline.

It should feel strange. The last time those hands were on him, it was to kill. He should be scared, instead of fighting the urge to lean into the touch. He knows his face is reddening, that Gojo can see it even in the dim light. He's always talking shit but his body is honest.

Then in an instant the strongest sorcerer wraps a hand around his jaw. He tilts his head to the sides to see all of it, the damage the other did to him. It’s not threatening but it could be. Suguru hasn’t had a body for a year. He still loses his balance when he showers, sometimes. If they fought with just strength Gojo would break him easily.

The eyes on him are fully inhuman now, he imagines being stared at by an angel must feel a bit like this - the biblical kind of angel. The ones that are too big and complex to be understood by mankind, raw power and wrath and love all at once.

“It's you.” Satoru announces with a certainty that dictates reality rather than follows it. “You're all you right now, nothing else.” 

He hears the whimper that escapes him. He hadn't been scared until now, but the prospect of the choices that awaits him, the freedom, fills him with both relief and fear.

Satoru lets go of him, hands falling to his sides. “It doesn't make you happy.” 

“I'm glad.” He misses the hands now that they're gone. Sort of wishes Satoru had kept moving him to his will a while longer. “It wasn't good, when I wasn't alone in there.” He tries not to let his shoulders rise around his head, tucking him in something smaller. “But it’s a lot.” 

“Do you know what you’re going to do now ?” There is a gentleness in Satoru's voice that calls for late night talks in the dorms, a warm head on his shoulder where no one could see them. The distant sound of the Spice Girls album Shoko plays on repeat in her bedroom. How the strongest's ears reddened when he asked Suguru to draw patterns on his back ‘to guess what it is’ a game Suguru had taught him knowingly. Listening for the expected itching of his breath when he dragged a nail on ribs or spine, where no one else was allowed to breach infinity. They used to be young.

He might as well get it over with now, he thinks. “I want to stay alive, a little longer.”

“A little longer ?” Satoru repeats.

“Listen, what I mean is.. I need to make sure the girls can take care of themselves. I've already alienated them from the whole world. Everyone thinks I'm dead anyway, and I don't intend to prove them wrong. I just need a few more years, to make sure they’re okay..”

“I’m not going to kill you, Suguru.” Gojo steps back, putting some distance between them.

“Really ?”

“Do you..” He takes a deep breath. Then another. “Do you think I want to ?”

“No, but..” He doesn't get to elaborate.

“You do.” Gojo sounds like he's got no air left in him. “You think I would do it, because I'm just a tool, aren't I ?” 

Satoru raises a hand again to put it over his heart, where he'd pierced him a year ago. A merciful death. Pure dread overtakes his features, images flashing in his mind that seems to put him on the edge of a breakdown. 

“It was so great the first time.” He whispers. “Just peachy. Confessing to you and then, dragging your body to the nearest beach - I know how much you love them.” 

Satoru laughs, a little hysterical, a little crying too. “Digging the ground, laying you in it. Covering you with sand, watching the man I love disappear a second time..”

“Satoru.” 

The hand fists on his shirt. “Fuck Suguru, you killed people, you attacked my students.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too.” He wipes at his blue eyes in a motion violent enough to rip skin, “I must have been a terrible friend that you couldn’t talk to me. That you couldn’t trust me.”

“I..” 

“No.” Satoru waves his hands and steps back again, like asking for mercy, something that shouldn't be possible in this universe. “This conversation is over.” He's shaking all over, wrapping his own arms around himself as if he could physically fall apart if Suguru says another word. “Please. Leave. Fuck, my love really is a curse isn't it ? It’s the one thing I can’t make walls around.”

Mimiko finds Geto hidden in his bathroom, a few hours later, when the sun has risen.  “I brought him some tissues with his food. And another blanket.” She announces to where he is curled up under the sink.

“That's kind of you. Did he say anything ?” he asks.

“He said ‘thank you’.” She pats his head softly. “I don’t think he’s mad at you anymore.”

She sits next to him to rest her head on his chest, and he puts an arm around her small frame. She smells like hair conditioner, the one that belongs to her sister. “You should tell him that you love him too,” she adds. 

“That wouldn’t be kind,” he tries to explain.

“Yes it would. People need love.” She shakes her head. “He looks lonely. It must have been lonely in that little box.”

Her sad face as she says the words break his heart, she would know. He squeezes her tight, and wonders if he will ever bear to leave them alone in a world he didn’t build with his own hands for them. 

Chapter Text

Mimiko releases the shackles with a movement of her arms that Geto recognizes from that magical girls anime she made him watch. “Thank you.”

She pats Satoru’s hair “bye bye mister. You have pretty eyes.”

Satoru can't fight the smile, his mouth twitching, “thanks, you make pretty shackles.”

She nods, doesn’t get the joke and leaves the room.

She hasn’t called him ‘dad’ yet, but then Mimiko doesn’t ever call him anything, she just sort of hovers near his elbow until he notices her and deciphers what she needs. 

He gives Satoru the bag containing his clothes, phone, wallet and keys. “I can drive you to the train station,” he offers. 

“You really know how to treat your prisoners,” Satoru comments. “I'll just teleport, otherwise they might find your place.” 

He makes a hand gesture like, ‘go ahead I'll follow you’, and Gojo realizes he wasn't exactly conscious when he was brought in, he doesn't know the way out. 

He walks him through the hallway, and then through the living room and its small kitchen. The dishwasher is on, the crumbs and splashes of milk from breakfast are still on the table, and their shoes are lined up near the door. He didn't think Satoru would ever see this place, and it reminds him that he's the one who brought him here. To his home, where his daughters live. He must really look stupid right now. 

They step onto the porch, the rain is pouring outside. He almost offers an umbrella, and then feels even stupider. As soon as Satoru has passed the door, he grabs his elbow. 

Gojo jumps at the touch, pushes it away.

“Can I tell you something, before you go ?” Suguru asks.

Satoru narrows his eyes with a humorless smile. “Yes Suguru, you can tell me something.” 

“I.. Ugh..” He's never trust anyone with his weakness. But this is what second chances are for, probably. If he doesn't tell Satoru now, and the man dies being stupidly heroic, Suguru fears his own soul will turn on him. He might never be able to properly explain why he's like this, why his brand of insanity makes him terrified of being fixed. But everything starts somewhere. 

He smiles back, but this one is genuine. “The first time I saw a curse, I was eight years old.” He tells him. 

He watches the pavement where rain bounces back in droplets, “My mother told me it was a nightmare. When it kept happening, and I kept crying about it, they took me to the doctor and put me on a bunch of meds.” 

His smile drops slowly as he forces the story out, “I was so high I can't remember most of my childhood. I had to go to a special needs school. I still saw curses there, but I could barely sit in class without falling asleep. I had no friends.” 

He feels himself flush bright red and doesn't dare to meet Satoru's eyes. “Once, I was playing with a small cursed spirit. I thought it was my imaginary friend or something. A level four. And I must have broken it, because it dropped into a ball of spiritual energy.” 

“What I said to you and Shoko, about knowing instinctively that I could eat them. It was a lie. I was so fucking high that I regularly ate stuff like paper or grass. I ate it without thinking.” 

“It gave me powers, and that's when the school found me. I was thirteen. They told my parents and I was able to stop taking meds. And then, well you know that part. I made my first friends, two years later.” 

He remembers the still round face of a kid with blue eyes and white hair, leaning over to whisper in his ear, “the bell will ring in five minutes. Let's go buy a snack. Vending machine's downstairs.” How he'd thought maybe, maybemaybemaybe.

Satoru knew everything. How to vanquish any curse, how to play basketball, how to tie shoelaces with a knot instead of tucking them in like he'd been told to do. He didn't mind explaining, correcting him with a joke and a grin. He, who was taught how to excel, to be the best, a genius. He didn't even notice Suguru was below average at being a teenager. 

“The village where I found Nanako and Mimiko was close to mine, as you know. I took them there, to my parent's house. Just to get kids clothes, food and have them see a doctor before I hid them. We weren't close, but I thought..” He chokes a little, lowers his head until his chin touches his chest. “I thought they would understand. But they tried to call the cops.” 

He's a dad himself now, he thinks he's earned some of the anger in his voice. “They never apologized for drugging me, they never said they were proud of me for saving people. I know it's not that bad but..” He squeezes his eyes shut. He hates it, that he wasn't able to let it go. Satoru would have, but Suguru is always so angry, so fucking angry. He still keeps talking.

“I thought I was fine with it. But that night, I realized that I was only wanted when I was silent and harmless. That they were fine with me protecting the lives of people like them, but the expectation that I would be loved in exchange was a fantasy.” 

He shouldn't have been surprised. Was he ever a child in their eyes ? Or just a thing that sleeps all day and barely reacts when you call its name. A hole, that eats anything it finds trying to fill itself, trying to become human. 

“They told me I was worse than a curse. Easy to say when you can't see them. I thought, you know what ? Why don't I give you a curse then, see if you'll swallow it.” 

His hands are shaking in his pockets and he still refuses to look at Satoru. He knows the man is still there, though, listening. 

“The reason why I tell you all this is, because without you, I would have never even tried to be good. The idea of being a hero with you has built me as a person. Before you, I was weak. And after you, I was even weaker. I just hated the idea that curses could affect me, that anything could affect. I convinced myself that the way I turned out was a conscious decision. I should have chosen your influence over theirs. What I mean is..” 

He forces himself to open his eyes, to make eye contact for this part. He doesn't expect the moisture caught on white lashes, the way Satoru is leaning towards him. Suguru smiles, “Thank you so much, for all of it. I'll try to be worthy of the time you gave me. I’ll be hiding from now on. But if you ever need help. If you need someone on your side. Or.. even if you just want to talk. Call me. I'll do anything.”

Satoru licks his lips, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Say it, Suguru.” He demands.

And he did promise to do anything, didn't he. “I love you.” it doesn't look kind, the way the words seem to pierce Satoru like a stab wound. 

The man takes two steps and presses him on his own door, hands tight where they catch his hair, face close enough that Suguru has to look up. “Say it again,” he orders.

He feels frozen, down to his very bones. “I love you.” 

Satoru kisses him, brief and forceful, teeth catching on skin like a bite, like he doesn't believe it will be accepted. “Again.” 

Suguru once believed he could fix the world, it's true. Going from nothing to one of the strongest had gone to his head. But now he knows. You only get a few years, to grasp with broken fingers at everything you can, and then turn around and hope the kids will do better.

He çan't help the tears that go down his cheeks. He'd refused to cry in front of his friend in his past life, but time has made him concave with the hugs he never asked for. “Satoru.” The name is so sweet in his mouth. An inhale around it like catching his breath, sweeter than any confessions. The name is already a confession to him. Always was. “I love you.”

He watches as every muscle in the man's body seems to relax imperceptibly, like he just swallowed a curse that has been weighing on Satoru for way too long. “You do.” He agrees, against his lips, bitter and victorious. “You came back for me.” 

“I did.” Suguru admits, “I  found my soul, because none of it could bear the idea of you gone.” He'll never tell him about the things the imposter had planned to do if Gojo hadn't recognized it wasn't him in there. The mockery, the taunting. His twisted mind literally pulled Suguru back from oblivion. 

Slowly, he takes the hands out of his pockets to bring Satoru's head closer again, whimpering a sob in his mouth, the taste of him making him dizzy with want. 

He opens his mouth, demanding, and they're not kids anymore, the other man gets it. Satoru pushes his tongue in his there, invading. It's not soft, it's not even good, it's just curating to Suguru's need to finally have him in. To consume him.

Satoru pulls back first, their mouths parting with a wet sound. “I do need to check on Megumi and Tsumiki, and my students. Deal with the aftermath.” 

Suguru can only try to breathe, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Of course, I'll be there when you got time.” 

Soft fingers come to hold his face, a thumb wiping his cheek. “Suguru.” 

“Hm ?” 

“Drugged or not, you were a good child. From day one, when I tried to belittle you and Shoko with my clan and powers and you told me I'm probably inbred.” 

Satoru laughs. Suguru knees go weak. He'd missed that stupid laugh. “Yeah that makes me feel better.” He murmurs.

“You made me feel better.” The other says, “I realized I was just a brat and that I was gonna have to find better comebacks to your insults to impress you.” He shakes his head. “I just wished you'd understand - this was never about humanity as a blurry, absurd concept. It was about giving kids the opportunity to experience what we did. About seeing ourselves in all of them, being eternal. Whether weak or strong, I'll find you through another vessel, that's why I want to save everyone.”

He lets go of his face, steps back. and then presses him against the door once more, inhaling deeply in his neck, grabbing his sides. He bites at the skin there, teeth sharp with the promise that he wouldn't mind re-breaking him a bit if that meant he got to keep the pieces.

Fuck, they are more the same than Suguru thought.

“I’ll come back soon,” Satoru whispers in his ear.

Suguru’s brain doesn’t go that fast, so when the man disappears, he’s still catching his breath, arms half raised in front of him, stumbling against the door.

It takes him a while to go back inside.