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Gojo hasn’t been able to relax since Toji killed him. He can’t be blamed for that, really, but it’s been weeks at this point and he’s running himself absolutely ragged trying to perfect his techniques. Sure, he figured out the main points of RCT during the fight, but fine-tuning it is a different story. He’s trying to automate it, and automate his Infinity, so that he could keep himself safe at all times while keeping his brain fresh. It’s an absolutely insane idea, and it’d be impossible for anyone but Gojo Satoru. But just because it’s possible for him doesn’t mean it’s easy, either.
He’s focusing more on automating Infinity than RCT, and it worries everyone around him. There’s precisely zero people who think it’s a good idea for him to start running his very demanding technique around the clock without being able to mend himself as he goes. Still, there’s no stopping Gojo when he’s decided he’s going to do something, as everyone knows. The only thing that can be done is let him learn things the hard way, and be there to clean up for him once that happens.
With every passing day, Gojo’s eyes change a little bit. They become more lifeless, even as they keep glowing just the same. It’s almost eerie to see, and it breaks Geto’s heart. It’s not like he’s been well since everything happened, either, but at least he isn’t pushing himself like Gojo is. He goes on his missions, and those are burdensome enough, but that’s it. He doesn’t spend all his free time working himself to the bone and burning up all his cursed energy, like a certain someone.
Geto tries to coax Gojo to rest, but it’s futile. He’s fixated on this, unable to rest until he can finally protect himself at all times and feel safe again. It’s not easy for someone who’s been an untouchable god since he was born to realize that he can be hurt. As much as it hurts Geto, Gojo isn’t capable of looking past himself right now, and it’s not even unreasonable considering the circumstances. Geto doesn’t have it in him to push Gojo as much as he probably needs to be pushed right now, either, so all that can be done is to let this play out and gather the pieces once something breaks.
***
It’s late at night when Geto hears a wail from the other side of the wall, from Gojo’s room. It’s not loud. He probably wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t awake anyways, suffering from yet another bout of insomnia. It’s honestly preferable to sleeping most of the time, with how frequently he gets nightmares, and it’s definitely good that he’s up now, since he knows for a fact Gojo wouldn’t speak a word of it to him.
Geto’s body feels a bit heavy when he gets up, exhausted even if he can’t sleep, but he wrestles himself onto his feet anyway. His thoughts feel blurry. He’d been in some kind of haze before he’d been roused by the noise, even if he wasn’t actually sleeping. None of the physical or psychological obstacles matter, though, not when his best friend is in distress.
Gojo’s door isn’t locked, even with how anxious he is. It wouldn’t help. The only thing that can actually keep him safe is his technique, and it’s failing right now. Geto can see that immediately when he walks into the room. He may not have the Six Eyes, but even he can see how Gojo’s eyes are going dull and his energy’s all off balance. He marches up to the bed. Gojo’s barely reacted to his presence, tears in his eyes, out of it.
“Satoru, I’m here, talk to me,” Geto whispers, practically pleading with the sorcerer. He takes one pale hand into one of his own, and the effect is immediate. Gojo almost crushes his hand with how hard he squeezes, staring at Geto with wide, terrified eyes. He’s barely breathing, inhales so shallow that Geto can’t see his chest move.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you,” Gojo sobs out, shaking his head minutely. He squeezes his eyes shut and throws an arm over them. Geto feels guilty. Why is an apology the first thing out of Gojo’s mouth? Where’d he go wrong for Gojo to think that that’s what he’s asking for right now, instead of understanding that he just wants to help?
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. What do you need?” Geto tries to soothe Gojo. There’s no response for a moment. Gojo tries to speak up a few times, but he can’t seem to get any words out. Geto breathes louder than he really needs to, reminding Gojo to deepen his own breaths. It works and Gojo starts instinctively mirroring Geto, like he always does.
“Just… migraine. Stay close?” Gojo barely gets out. He must’ve messed up somewhere along the way, overworked himself to the point where he couldn’t fix himself back up with RCT anymore in his exhaustion. It’s nothing new, really. Gojo used to get migraines more often before he learned better control of his techniques, but this is the first one in a while. The last one must’ve been during their first year. It must be bad, if it hurts enough for him to audibly cry about it, but this is something Geto can handle. This is so much more familiar than the anxious, distant mess he’s been watching unfold.
“Okay. I’m here,” Geto reassures him. Gojo scoots over on the bed to make space, even though the movement looks physically painful. Geto settles in next to him, taking the pained sorcerer into his arms. He uses one hand to pet the white cloud of hair, and the other to hold the mass of teenage boy close to his chest. Nothing more needs to be said, rather, it’s better if they don’t say anything else. Noise isn’t good on migraines, and Gojo needs all the sleep he can get right now.
Slowly, the quiet sobs slow down before they stop entirely. Gojo’s breathing evens out, and Geto knows he’s fast asleep. He lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, relieved to know that the other isn’t in pain anymore, at least for the moment. And now he’s holding Gojo again, too, without the barrier of Infinity between them.
It puts him at ease more than anything else in the world could. It’s not long before he falls asleep, too. For the first time in a while, Geto sleeps through the night without waking up to nightmares. Maybe there’s hope for them after all. Maybe he can still reach Gojo, even if he feels impossibly far away nowadays. It’s a lot easier to imagine them going back to how they were when they’re cuddling like this, just like they used to.