Chapter Text
Something’s sending shockwaves of indescribable pain throughout Satoru Gojo’s entire body, but the worst of it stems right from his face right in between the crooks where his eyes lay.
First, it burns…then it’s gone. It’s pitch black. Second, there’s voices…but they sound distant and somewhat muffled.
“GOJO!! GOJO-SENSEI!!”
“Itadori, move away from here.”
“Why can’t it stop? Why hasn’t the bleeding stopped?! He can heal himself, can’t he?!”
“He doesn’t have any cursed energy left for RCT—EVERYONE OUT! I need to concentrate!”
As soon as the conversations occur and are audible to Gojo, they vanish…and he’s already forgotten.
Ah, well.
Gojo feels himself blink, and when he opens his eyes he’s in a public setting, sitting in a chair. White strands of hair fall over his forehead, and though his vision seems the same (in comparison to the blindfold he wears— it’s nothing out of the ordinary) he can sense the setting, yet heavy, feeling of round sunglasses placed upon his nose. Gojo glances downward, his legs crossed and his posture slumped down in said chair.
The uniform he’s wearing is a shade of navy blue and not the dark purple he’s put on for so many years now.
Dazed, Gojo gapes at the scenery, eyes glazing over the millions of seats that lay out before him in what he can now tell—is an airport. The tiles are glossy, reflecting the light from the ceiling and glass windows. The quiet chattering of many conversations happening at once fills the room. There’s some people who have many empty seats next to them, some who are sitting with close ones and laughing and some who are choosing to stand instead.
Gojo’s situation is an odd one, because instead of being left with rows of empty seats like the people in front or all around him, he’s left with only a single other seat by his right side. The man stretches back further while placing his hands behind his head, elbows hanging in the air and letting himself slide further down the seat ever so slightly. He scans the empty seat again, following a deep exhale and heavy sigh.
Just as Gojo’s about to shut his eyes one final time, he hears a voice.
“Satoru!”
Gojo snaps his head to the right without a second thought, his ears and eyes immediately recognizing the person who’s jogging towards him at a steady, but rapid pace.
Gauges, big puffy black pants and a bun that’s tied carefully, yet tight at the top of his head. Geto’s bangs look as stupid as ever, flopping back and forth in front of his own eyes in time with the motions of his jogging.
Gojo’s always wondered why he even kept that one singular strand of hair out, ever since the two met.
The black-haired man tosses a hand up as he gets closer, eyes closing while he smiles. He’s in his school uniform too, Gojo takes it into account; mentally jotting it on a list he’s just barely started.
Every sensible thought flies out of Gojo’s body as Geto gets closer, now hovering right above the sorcerer. His heart thumps at an embarrassingly rapid pace as he suddenly forgets how to use his words. He hopes Suguru isn’t able to notice any of this.
‘Perfect, thank you, body.’ Gojo sarcastically thinks to himself.
After a couple of seconds of stillness, Gojo finds his voice. “…Suguru?” It’s all he can think of.
“What’re you doing here? Your flight isn’t here…or now.” Geto stuffs his hands into his uniform pockets, leaning forward in a relaxed pose.
Gojo snorts as he comes to the realization of what exactly is going on, throwing his head back a bit in frivolous amusement. “Oh damn! I must be dying…! Well, that sucks. I’ll be stuck here with you for the rest of eternity!”
When Gojo leans forward a bit, bringing his head back up, he rests his arms on the sides of the chair he sits in. He’s now able to catch a glance at Geto’s face…which is clearly annoyed by his friend’s comment.
“Who’s keeping you, huh?” Suguru replies back, expression remaining the same.
Great question. “…Well, why should I be here then?” Satoru’s bright blue eyes meet Geto’s soft brown ones.
“I don’t know.” Geto answers honestly. He looks at the empty right seat beside Satoru and lets his gaze meet Gojo’s on his own accord, as if silently asking if it was fine.
Of course it is. It’s ridiculous he even felt the need to ask.
Well, Suguru has always just been like that, Gojo thinks to himself…unless he’s somehow being nicer just because Gojo’s on his deathbed. He’s not exactly sure if that’s any better.
Geto drops his weight beside Gojo and lets the pale lanky hands that were lingering behind him move to his shoulder and rest with ease. It’s out of habit, the way they’re able to be so genuinely close to each other without a second thought.
“…Have you considered that, maybe you want to be here?” Suguru finally says after a moment of silence, returning to the conversation.
Huh.
Now, Gojo hasn’t been here for very long, but that was definitely something he did not consider.
It takes him a moment to process the sentence, his hand on Suguru’s shoulder twitching and shifting while he thinks. Geto raises his own hand to place it on Satoru’s and gently through his fingers, interlocking the two. Gojo’s face flush up, feeling the heat leave very obvious marks on his cheeks.
Gojo’s eyes analyze Suguru’s face when he’s not looking, the heat remaining while he realizes that the corner of his lips are tugging up ever so slightly. As soon as Geto turns his head to take his turn to do the same, Gojo quickly looks away. The two rest in silence for a moment longer, soaking in the bliss that neither have felt in so, so long.
“…Probably thinking that I was dying…” The grasp on Suguru’s hand tightens a bit. Geto’s giving him his full undivided attention even though Gojo’s still looking away. “…I think…the only place I wanted to be was next to you.”
Geto lets the sentiment sit in place, waiting to see if it was the end of the sentence, but as he opens his mouth to respond, Gojo continues.
“I…missed you, Suguru. Since you left, I've felt like the loneliest person on Earth. Though…it’s not like I'm a stranger to that feeling, of course. All my life there’s been a gulf between me and other people…even if they adored me.”
Silence.
“…But that doesn’t mean that I was going to purposely lose just to get here.” Instead of looking away from the conversation, Gojo’s now staring out at the airport lobby, watching the other people bustle about. “There’s so much to do…The kids probably have gotten completely outta hand while their beloved teacher’s on a makeshift vacation…Oh, and Shoko will kill me if I die…” Gojo gently removes his hand from Suguru’s to lean back and support his head again, sighing deeply and staring upward. “…It’s complicated…”
Geto has been following him the whole time, his attention never wavering once. He smiles softly, looking downwards. “I understand.” He says.
Though, if Geto knows this…and he understands it just fine…he can’t comprehend why there’s such a heavy, aching feeling burning a hole into his chest.
Perhaps, because for a moment, even if it was a small one, they were together and happy again. But as all good things come, they must go as well.
“…Satoru, remember what I said when I left?”
Gojo flings his head forward and sighs again, as if he hasn’t had the sentence replaying in his head for years, over and over, like a record stuck on repeat. The singular sentence that’s haunted his every waking thought. It feels cruel to have to say it out loud.
“Am I the strongest because I’m Gojo Satoru or am I Gojo Satoru because I’m the strongest?” The words stick to his tongue like a foul taste in his mouth. The urge to roll his eyes is incredibly strong. “This is bullsh—”
“And what if I sincerely want to hear your answer?”
Gojo can sense Geto’s gaze back on him again, but he refuses to meet it this time. “…I would say…” A pause. “…I…don’t know…”
“Heh, well…” Suguru hoists himself off the seat, dusting his pants off. “You should definitely wake up, in that case. I’ll be waiting for your answer the next time you’re here.”
Gojo pulls his leg up onto the seat, his right hand that once laid on Geto, now digging into the upholstery. It hurts to hear it more from the person he wants to be with most in this world, he decides.
“This is your homework, Satoru. I’m sorry, my friend. Facing reality will be painful…probably more so than you think.”
Gojo blinks rapidly with confusion and as a poor attempt to get rid of the stinging feeling in his eyes.
He can’t believe that on his own deathbed that Geto Suguru, his one and only, would give him homework—Actually…it did sound quite like him, but—
In the midst of his own thoughts, they’re shattered whilst Geto starts to wander away from Gojo. He’s heading towards a fuzzy group of people in the distance that Gojo only recognizes as outlines…though, he has a pretty good guess who they all might be.
Gojo attempts to stand up to follow after him, but finds himself glued to the seat. Painfully and hopelessly, Gojo sticks out his arm—his right one. “SUGURU! Wait!”
He hears a voice in his head. ‘If you’d like to become someone new, go North. If you’d like to return to who you once were—Go South.’
“Go North.” Is the last thing Gojo sees Geto Suguru mouth whilst he looks back at the white-haired man with glossy eyes. He’s stopped in his steps to give him one final piece of advice.
The world that Gojo saw before him starts to fall through into a pitch black bottomless pit. The tiles leave one by one, chairs and signs get sucked in, and eventually, too, Gojo is left with no choice but to be swallowed up by the twilight.
Darkness.
It’s dark. And hard to breathe, actually. The piercing feeling that used to only be in the man’s eyes can be felt slowly spreading all along across his body, throbbing and irritating.
“SUGURU!” Gojo feels himself shout, his voice rattling his own throat while he gasps wildly.
It feels similar to the feeling of holding a breath underwater for a really long time and finally making it back to the surface.
Everything’s still covered in blackness. Gojo quickly shifts his weight to the right and goes tumbling off of the metal table he was laying on moments ago. The man lands on the floor with a loud: ‘THUD’ and the cool sensation of cement flooring sticks to his face and arms.
Instead of a torn up black t-shirt with ripped up white pants and his flats he wore just hours ago, he’s now set up with a clean white-t-shirt, black sweats and white socks. He can feel bandages slipping off of his face as he pushes himself upwards off the ground, palms flat.
Gojo hangs in the curled position he holds himself in. Head dangling down and bandages further sliding off his eyes and head. “Something isn’t right.” He hears his voice say…and somewhat more shaky than he wants to admit.
His heart pounds while his ears ring, Gojo’s brain suddenly conjures a possibility that he most certainly does not want to admit even if it’s made itself painstakingly obvious.
“Why…can’t I…” His voice drifts off, sensing the bandages further slip off of his eyes but not actually seeing the act of it. “I—I can’t see anything—”
All the air that Gojo has managed to grasp is suddenly gone and he’s met with the sensation of forgetting how to breathe. He feels his body shaking, fingertips trembling while he sits up and brings a hand to his face. Gojo can’t see. He really can’t see a thing. Not his hand in front of his own face. Not the bandages draping off his ear lobes that hit the floor or even the fact that Shoko Ieri is right in front of him.
Her freezing cold hand is placed on top of his, squatting to reach his height on the floor. Gojo flinches, frantically looking around out of habit. His head comes to an abrupt stop when he realizes it’s doing nothing.
He takes a deep breath. Slow and shaky.
It’s embarrassing now that he knows someone else is witnessing a very rare moment of brief weakness—He’s not even sure if he’s let anyone see him cry, maybe other than Suguru.
“It’s me.” Ieri’s voice comes directly from in front of him.
Her presence gives a warm feeling Gojo can’t exactly describe at the moment…despite her freezing cold hands and the sickening stench of smoke coming from her mouth and all over her body.
Gojo’s nose crinkles at the smell of it. “…You’re smoking again?”
“Yeah, well, who’s fault do you think that is, huh?” Shoko snarkily replies back, though with some sort of odd softness to it.
He pauses. “Is it not yours…?”
The cold hand that held his own for just a second is now gone with the sound of fabric rustling and heels clicking on the ground. “You know? You just ruined the moment. And here I was feeling a little sorry for you.”
“W—Wait hold on, I—I can’t—” Gojo’s voice stammers before he can gain composure. It was easy to slip back into his old self with an old friend, but now he’s lost sight of her.
It’s silent.
There’s a small breeze of air in front of Gojo and while the stench of smoke comes rolling back, Gojo slides away. He drags himself across the floor with his head pointed upwards, staring directly straight at Shoko, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched in response to whatever just happened.
“Why didn’t you smack my hand away or something? It’s unlike you.” Ieri states, squatting down to his height again.
“…You mean just earlier?”
“No. Not that—Well, yeah that was a little surprising, actually but I mean just now…” As Shoko is talking it feels like her words are drifting away, lost in thought.
Gojo sucks in a tight breath.
He’s quiet, his brain foggy and his body full of pins and needles. His brain, in particular, is the thing that’s throbbing the most. It hurts to even be trying to remember what happened earlier—Nonetheless whatever happened in his dream…if you can even call it a dream…is all unclear and messy to him.
“I don’t….I don’t know.” His words feel like deja vu, as if he’s said them just earlier, though he has no recollection of it.
“Your eyes look bizarre, by the way.”
He was pretty sure he’d lost them, at this point. “…They do?”
“…You mean to tell me that you’re not doing it on purpose?”
“Doing WHAT on purpose?” Gojo finds himself snapping and leaving too much attitude on his tongue.
While trying to keep the pain in his brain to a minimum, thinking about anything for too long is not doing it any favors. On top of all of that, he can’t see a fucking thing.
It’s particularly hard to figure out exactly what you look like when nobody’s told you. He’s really hoping it’s some side effect to whatever Shoko probably did to him while he was unconscious.
Shoko purses her lips, thinking. “Huh.” Is all she says.
“Can you just—PLEASE spell it out for me because I can’t afford to let my brain matter get all over the fucking floor, or something!”
“They’re black, Gojo. I thought maybe you had, for some absurd reason, some cursed energy left to spare even though I can’t feel a thing—Wait, can you not either?”
Gojo’s speechless.
It’s one thing to come to a conclusion just by speculation, especially as someone who can’t even physically see anything…but to hear someone with two perfectly good eyes confirm that this theory he had particularly feared…is real. Very, real. Is a whole other matter.
That likely means that no matter what Shoko did to his body to patch it up—This is not a side effect of her doing. Her healing has never had side effects in the first place, so why would it start now?
Gojo Satoru is a special case. There’s never been anyone like him. Surely with a bit of rest and self-care, things could go back to normal. At least, that’s what he tells himself.
Interrupting his thoughts, there’s the sound of a steady knock on the door. Shoko sighs, muttering something about how Gojo’s fan club is already going to start piling into the room. The cold hand that was placed over his own earlier, now grabs ahold of it again and gently tugs, initiating the movement of standing up.
Gojo follows and allows himself to be guided without very much rebuttal. It wasn’t exactly comfortable on the ground, anyhow.
Each step he takes with nothing but pure darkness, the one thing that remains constant is the pinch of pain that pangs through his feet, to his legs, torso, arms, leading up to his head and finally, letting his brain take the last hit.
Ieri’s legs stop moving after a small distanced walk across the room. Her hand lands on Gojo’s arm, giving him goosebumps, quietly grumbling.
He really doesn’t understand how they can possibly be so cold all the time.
Easing down on a bench in the room, Gojo plops down, forgetting to take off some of the force in his actions while being freshly out of battle. He winces in response, Shoko blinking, watching with a weird mix of slight amusement and concern.
Shoko treads toward the door while another steady knock is in the process. Satoru hears distinct conversation happening from the far end of wherever he’s been placed but his brain isn’t registering any of it. His head goes back to feeling fuzzy—His ears start to ring again, too.
He’s reminded of what Shoko had said moments ago. That his eyes—The gift, yet curse that has been placed on him from the moment he was born—Are now black. There was no time to elaborate further, but he’d get to it sooner than later.
Before Gojo can dwell too much on it, he’s thrown into a tight hug. The man gasps, catching a breath of air and sucking in the blast of pain hitting him at once. Gojo doesn’t say anything about it, at first. Then, there’s sounds of sobbing by his ear. He can feel warm and fresh tears hitting his t-shirt.
Gojo blinks, stunned. After a moment, he slowly raises a hand on the person’s back, feeling the uniform as it hits his palm.
It’s not the ordinary black or navy blue texture. This one is puffier—softer.
“Gojo-sensei!!” The voice sobs into his shoulder.
Satoru carefully gives the uniform a pat on the back. He sucks in another breath, then lays out his guess on the table. “…Yuta? That you..?”
The boy lets go after Ieri raises a hand, a silent yet understood notion. “I’m…I’m just so glad you’re alive!”
Gojo huffs, a noise between an odd laugh and breath of relief as the pain subsides slightly.
“Yeah, well…I told you I didn’t plan on losing, right? What sorta sensei would I be if I didn’t win?” It feels more of a statement than a question.
Yuta’s tears don’t stop. “I’m so glad… I’m just so glad.” He hugs Gojo again, this time noticeably softer while his grip remains firm.
Shoko watches from a distance, arms folded with her weight placed on one leg as the other crosses just over it. She’s leaning against the wall, a small smile placed upon her lips.
Satoru places his hand on his student’s back again. Unintentionally, and unnoticeable to himself, his fingers dig a little into Yuta’s uniform fabric.
For a moment all of the pain he’s been feeling since he awoke is washed over with an intense feeling of relief and…oddly, thankfulness.
Spoiler alert, things absolutely did not go back to normal as Gojo hoped.
Satoru spends a day or so in Shoko’s, what Gojo likes to refer to as, her laboratory. After being under close observation and making sure that there certainly was nothing else she could do to fix…whatever Gojo has going on—He’s granted permission to be hauled into a spare bedroom in the boys’ dormitory.
It’s something Gojo is not particularly thrilled about, given that everything from the moment he’s woken up from his very long nap has been nothing but short of embarrassing.
He’s Gojo Satoru—Wielder of the Six Eyes, Head of the Gojo Clan, and owner of the title: Most Powerful Sorcerer on the planet! There’s absolutely no reason he should be trapped in a dormitory room with supervision.
Yuji was the first one to volunteer to keep him company.
It makes sense.
He lives two doors down from the room Gojo is currently staying in, with Megumi’s bedroom being smack in the middle.
The pink-haired boy has made Gojo’s temporary room his own as well—Bringing in a futon, pillow, a mini-stack of manga and a handheld video game console. He lays everything in the corner of the room, making sure to take up as little space as possible.
Originally, Yuji had jumped at the offer without a second thought because he felt terrible about—Well, everything. Thinking that he can at least keep his sensei company in times of such loneliness was the least thing he could do.
But, now, on day 2 of sharing the room together—Yuji’s particularly glad that this leaves very little space for him to be alone, too.
He can tell Gojo gets a bit frustrated at the situation here and there, but never at Yuji. It’s always when it’s something minuscule.
When his hand goes to reach for the glass of water by the bedside and instead it crashes to the floor (Yuji quickly cleaned it up and tried again to leave it as a glass cup before silently switching it to a plastic one), when he flips the covers and places his feet on the floor to use the restroom but instead realizes he’ll need help even getting there or when he can’t even get any use out of his smartphone other than when someone calls him (which…is not often).
Yuji tries not to let the guilt swallow him whole.
It’s painful for him to witness, but he knows deep down that it’s even worse for Gojo-sensei. It stops him from further thinking about everything else that’s happened except for Gojo.
He makes conversation when he can, describing the newest manga he’s taken hold of or the stage on the video game he’s picked up—Really, just anything to keep them both distracted.
“Gojo-sensei, it’s time for your meds.” Yuji says, hoisting himself up from his futon in the corner.
The man sighs in response, aware it was coming sooner than later but still annoyed by the new routine of his. Three times a day, morning, noon and night, he’s been ordered to keep this up for at least a week while his body recovers.
Satoru holds out his hand, awaiting the pill to drop into the middle of it. He feels the light weight of it sink into his palm. He then leans over and waves his hand around in the air, searching for the water cup by the bed-stand with Yuji on high alert to make sure it doesn’t hit the floorboards—Even though it’s just plastic.
Luckily, finding it, Gojo takes it in his grasp and downs the pill with way too much water, letting it drip down from his chin and sink into the white t-shirt he’s wearing. He searches for the table to place the cup back down on and finds the cup touching the very end of it. He slides it slowly towards what’s hopefully the middle of the table and leans back afterwards.
“Uhm, so I was thinking maybe for lunch I could make those meatballs I made during training, once? It’s been a while…and I thought you might enjoy it.”
“Meatballs, huh…” Gojo’s hands are behind his head, his void-black irises staring into the ceiling.
Yuji fidgets with his blue gym shorts, nearly pinching himself in the process. “Is that okay?”
“Never said it wasn’t. Those things are delicious.”
In times like these, Itadori desperately wants to explode into an apology. He knows it’s not him, it’s just the situation.
He can’t possibly imagine how it feels from knowing everything and anything to suddenly being dropped at square one again. He knows better than anyone else how exhausting it is to keep up a facade—To not let anyone really see what you are, outside of what you show.
Yuji’s mentally played out the scenario multiple times in his head in hopes that one day it would finally comfort him. He has no clue why he’s holding back from apologizing, whether it’s because it's not particularly his fault and he knows it—Or just because it’s hard to get it out of his mouth.
Either way, the urge to bow down and repeatedly say: ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry Gojo-sensei. It’s all my fault! You don’t have to keep talking to me. I’ll understand.’ never goes away. His heart races every time he thinks about it.
He shakes his own head in response to his thoughts and is thankful Gojo can’t see him, for once.
Sidenote: Is that a terrible thing to be grateful for? It probably is. He should stop thinking about that.
‘For now, it’s best that Sensei heals first. I can apologize all I want afterwards but for now, I have to be here. Nobody else can be here but me.’ Yuji thinks to himself, overwriting the intense apology scene in his brain.
“Okay. I’ll be back, then. Is there anything else I can get for you while I’m outta the room?”
Gojo’s head drifts downwards, almost directly staring right at Itadori. It’s sort of scary looking, even though it’s nothing he can control. Yuji knows this.
“…Nah.”
Yuji waits to see if he’ll change his mind…but he doesn’t.
Itadori nods out of habit, walking to the door, then freezing, realizing that Gojo absolutely did not see his head motion. “O-oh! Yes! Sensei!” He quickly adds, hand on the doorknob.
Satoru’s head turns to stare at Yuji, a quizzical look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched…but he shrugs and moves his direction back to facing forward like before.
Itadori lets out a sigh of relief as he exits the room, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it afterwards.
“Kelp.” A voice rings out around the corner, causing Itadori to flinch and stand upwards, slowly walking into the common room.
Inumaki Toge is there, Okkotsu Yuta at his side. They looked like they were playing some sort of board game. Though…neither of them seem very engrossed by whatever it is.
Were they just waiting for Yuji to leave the room?
“O-oh! Hey, Inumaki-senpai, Okkotsu-senpai. What’re you guys doing?”
“Eh, nothing really.” Yuta replies, a hand in his pocket. “How’s sensei?”
“He’s…um…well…” Itadori trails off, eyes meeting the floorboards.
Yuta blinks and bites his lip, nodding slowly. “…Got it. Well…do you think he’d mind a visitor or two?” He puts his other arm around Toge, who says: “Salmon.”
“I don’t think so…? He doesn’t seem to mind me around so much. Though…I can imagine he probably gets sick of me.” Yuji rubs the back of his neck. “I’m getting lunch for us, so the eye on him would be nice for a bit, I think.”
“…Okay.” Okkotsu says, eyes quickly analyzing Itadori. “Y’know. You look tired. It’s not all on you, so let us know if we can help out, okay?”
‘It is. Because it’s my fault.’
He doesn’t say that, of course. “…Sure.”
“You should join us for training sometime. I think missions are going to start back up soon. Getting a handle on things now before anything can spiral out again.”
“Salmon, salmon.”
Itadori smiles a bit. “Maybe I will.”
“Great. Well, see ya, then. We’ll make sure sensei isn’t getting into mischief while you’re out.” Yuta waves the hand out of his pocket while Inumaki follows in his other arm. Itadori’s glad someone other than him is trying to make light on the rather gloomy situation.
Yuji watches them stride down the hall to the door on the end of it, opening it and disappearing inside.
He stands in the quiet atmosphere, shoving his hands in his maroon hoodie pockets, eyes and head gazing downward. His stomach rumbles, reminding him why he left the room in the first place.
Shuffling on the wooden floorboards, Yuji’s socks create a bit of momentum. He slides with them, letting it carry him along for the ride. It’s not exactly that he’s trying to cheer himself up—But more so a habit that he’s made routine whenever he gets the chance. Almost, ritual, really.
Floorboards were made to be slid on, and that is not up for debate.
Anyhow, he’s heard before that it’s hard to be upset on a full stomach, so maybe he wouldn’t have to be stuck with the pit in his stomach for much longer.
It’s quiet.
Much too quiet for his liking.
He reaches the dormitory kitchen area, opening the fridge and sticking his nose inside. The cool air breezes past his face while Itadori reaches in and grabs the necessary ingredients he needs.
After collecting it all in one place, he gets to work, pushing up his sleeves. In the midst of everything—He pauses, contemplating the quantity and measurements he’s grown to know.
It serves two, at best, but with a little tweaking and basic math, Yuji can make extra for Choso.
It’s a nice idea in hindsight…the only issue being that Yuji struggles even with basic math.
He decides to guesstimate.
The great thing about cooking, or even baking is that while it requires some degree of math, all it takes is a recipe and taste testing. Guesstimating has never steered him in the wrong direction, so surely he must be doing something right.
Kneading the ingredients into the meat and continuing the process of his task, he’s left with his thoughts some more.
He thinks about the aforementioned Choso, who he’s actually not sure exactly where he is or where he’s been staying at all for that matter. Maybe the next time Itadori sees him, he’ll offer his spare room he’s not using for the time being.
He thinks about everything that happened in the past couple days. Gojo fighting Sukuna. Kenjaku—His mother, still being on the loose.
It was a poor hole in their plan (that they originally didn't intend to leave unpatched but after the events of the “Biggest Sorcerer Showdown of the Century”, they decided it was best to hold off) but it’s much less of a threat than Sukuna so they had confidence in being able to get it back under control.
He thinks about Megumi Fushiguro and the empty room that lies in the hallway that should be occupied by him—But instead he’s laid in a Hospital bed with no sign of waking up any time soon.
His breathing is steady, at least. It’s what he’s heard.
Ideally, Yuji would love to visit Megumi every day and talk to him even if he doesn't respond…but if it’s true that Kenjaku is still a huge sore in the side—He might not have the time to.
Maybe later today he’d swing by if it was alright with Gojo-sensei. He feels terrible that the man can’t even accompany him, but Yuji decides that he’ll make sure it’s the first thing they do when he’s feeling better again…if he wants to.
Itadori sniffles, raising his arm up to his eyes and swiping them roughly while his hands remain covered in the flavorful meat concoction.
When did he start crying? He can’t remember his eyes stinging or even feeling hot tears roll down his cheeks before he noticed moments ago.
The boy throws his head back, staring up at the ceiling. The vision of the lights above him start to blur until he can no longer make out the shapes and instead it looks like bright sparkling dots.
He knows he’s cooking and that he can’t afford to get his tears all over the bowl because the food isn’t just for him.
Nonetheless this doesn’t stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes, dripping down his cheeks and hitting his hoodie. At least staring upward keeps it away from the bowl.
Yuji bites his lip to prevent any unnecessary noise and lets out shaky breaths in between every couple of quiet sobs, sniffling up the snot that’s starting to drip out of his nose.
Itadori flips his head back down, his vision still blurry from the water in his eyes. The boy rapidly rubs his eyes once more then treads to the sink where he quickly washes off his hands. After blowing his nose and frustratingly crying a bit more, Yuji sniffles and gets back to work.
After all, he can’t let his sensei know he’s been crying.