Chapter Text
The first thought that Suguru had upon meeting Satoru Gojo was that he was beautiful. Ethereal, even. The kind of pretty that comes without even trying, all soft lips and long white lashes. The kind of stunning that’s impossible to deny, messy platinum hair and a piercing gaze that is enough to pin those with even the strongest of wills beneath the weight of his knowing, judgmental stare.
The second, more prominent, and honestly much more pressing thought that Suguru had when he first met Satoru Gojo was that he was fucking annoying.
Suguru stands by that secondary statement more than ever now. Left to deal with him alone in a suffocatingly small classroom, his patience wearing thin and a headache beginning to bloom between his temples.
“The fuck do you mean you ‘don’t need’ my help?”
Suguru can feel the way that his eye twitches ever so slightly. The tone that the boy across from him has taken sounds almost . . . accusatory. Chock-full of disbelief, as though he simply couldn’t fathom a world in which someone wouldn’t feel the need to fall to their knees and grovel for his attention. Like the fact that Suguru would dare insinuate that he doesn’t is an act of personal offense to him. It’s infuriating.
Suguru can’t help but wish to knock his ego down a peg.
“I mean exactly that,” he says, voice kept even and a trained, polite smile never leaving his face. “I don’t need your help. If you don’t want to be here then leave. It’s as simple as that.”
Apparently, this ultimatum isn’t what Gojo wanted to hear. The white haired boy stares at the curse manipulator from behind his rounded shades, inclining forward as if to inspect him more closely. Even with his eyes obscured, Suguru can still feel the all-too-seeing eyes piercing through him like icicles. Determined not to lose whatever pissing match the boy seems intent on playing, Suguru stares right back.
After a few tense and honestly nauseating seconds, he leans back.
“This isn’t about me wanting to be here, smart ass,” Gojo bites out as he shifts his weight from one hip to the other, grumbling a little as he shoves his hands into his pants pockets. “Here I am, graciously offering you my guidance, and you think you’re in any position to brush me off like that? Like, seriously?”
Suguru can’t help but raise a brow. “Are you aware of how ridiculous you sound? Or were you dropped on your head as an infant?”
There’s a fleeting moment where Suguru finds it written all over his companion’s face just how difficult he’s finding it not to give the comment any attention. Thin white brows furrow and twitch, his lips bowing downward in a heavy frown, tension in the air nearly electric. Exhilarating, even. Yet the feeling dissipates just as quickly as it came, and Suguru finds himself a bit disappointed at its loss.
Oh well. It may be only a little victory, but it is a victory still nonetheless, even as Gojo sighs.
“Look. I know this business is all new to you, so maybe you simply aren’t aware of the shit you’re about to get yourself into,”— Suguru’s fingers twitch once more at the mere implications of those words— “but big city curses are no joke. Not like those small fries you encountered out in the middle of nowhere.”
Suguru bristles slightly at that last part. This twerp doesn’t know him at all. He has no right to make assumptions about what Suguru’s life was like, or the sorts of things he’s had to encounter for as far back as his memory can reach.
Dark eyes slice right back into chilly blues as if trying to shatter the stupid sunglasses barring their connection. Suddenly, Satoru has managed to go from being merely annoying to incredibly punchable. Suguru thinks of his family, of quiet mornings waking up to the sun dispersing through gossamer curtains and the smell of eggs sizzling in a well-worn skillet. He thinks of scraped knees and dirt under fingernails, the smell of early Spring blooms. To him, this isn’t just nowhere. It may not have been perfect, and at times, it may have felt even less than so . . . but it had been Suguru’s everywhere — and his everywhere makes him no less anything than this snotty airhead pouting back at him.
“Then prove it,” Suguru says then, flat and pointed. He can actually see the pause that the other sorcerer takes, the senseless fidgeting that he’s been exhibiting ever since Yaga-sensei had physically sat him down at the table finally coming to a halt.
“Huh?”
“I said prove it,” Suguru repeats, and admittedly, it’s with a bit more confidence this time. It oozes from his tone with no remorse, honey-thick and determined, because he’s already made up his mind. He’s going to teach this brat exactly what some ‘kid from the middle of nowhere’ can do. “You think I can’t handle being a jujutsu sorcerer? Then prove it.”
There is silence for a moment. A brief respite in which Suguru thinks he might have gotten an edge on the conversation once again. Then Satoru is kicking back into motion again, the sound of his laughter echoing through the empty room enough for Suguru’s expression to finally darken into a full scowl.
It isn’t until Satoru finally seems calm down that he speaks, Suguru’s frown deepening as he pretends to wipe a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Wow, for a second there you almost got me! I actually thought that you might have been dumb enough to want to fight me!”
Suguru doesn’t bother honoring his antics with a response. Instead, he simply stares at him, an unspoken challenge in the dim vortex of his purple eyes.
Another beat of silence passes. The weight of it hangs heavy around them, like the oppressive murk of an oncoming storm, that same electricity returning to the air just waiting for the chance to form into a bolt and strike.
Satoru allows his glasses to slide down the bridge of his nose as he leans forward, light brows raising and mouth dropping open in what appears to be disbelief as they finally make true eye contact for the first time during the whole exchange. “You are joking, right?”
It may take some effort, but purple eyes remain level as Satoru’s own glow right back at them. Once again, even through the boiling anger and clenching fists, Suguru can’t help the intruding thoughts that wish to admire the sight.
They’re so deep and, well — Limitless. Suguru is much too modest to consider himself anything close to that of an artist, but he’s always been known to have observed the colors and forms of the world with a doting eye. He knows the color blue. He knows the fathoms of the ocean and the airiness of the atmosphere. The glittering charisma of sapphires. The azure plumage of chittering birds. He knows blue.
Yet Satoru’s blue is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It’s startling. It’s both breathtaking and also maddening.
Why did the most beautiful hue in the world have to be painted on the biggest jackass it had to offer?
“I’m not.”
The quiet that follows seems to stretch all too long between them. For a fraction of this time, Suguru catches something unidentifiable pass through the pools of Satoru’s eyes, and then they are obscured once more as the taller boy tilts his head back to shelter the offending things behind his lenses.
“Well, if that’s really how it is,” Satoru starts through a smirk, “then I’d be happy to mop you around a bit if it’ll make you feel most welcome.”
Suguru can’t help but roll his eyes. A momentary crack in his mask of indifference, though he’s quick to correct it, instead giving a smile much too soft considering the circumstances.
“Very well then. Let the better man win.” He says, ignoring the scoff Satoru gives in favor of standing. He can feel Satoru watching him as he makes his way to the door. Then he hears the way his long limbs scramble to stand as well, inelegant in their haste, the heavy steps that follow giving away his stumble.
“Wait, you mean like — now?” He asks incredulously, shoving his way in between Suguru and the door. “I mean, I get it, you’re eager to get your ass beat, but come on man. It’s late. I’m starving. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Suguru doesn’t have to glance at the clock to know that he’s right. It had already been later in the afternoon when Yaga-sensei had told them both to be there, during their lunch period. Regardless of how his own stomach felt rather indifferent to the idea of eating, knowing the slim pickings of meals that await him back in his own dorm, they would both have to eat eventually.
“Fine,” he sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck, “tomorrow then, before lunch. We can do it during the break in our class time. No techniques, no cursed energy.”
“Deal,” Satoru says, fast enough that Suguru would bet actual money on the fact that he’d stopped listening the second that Suguru had said the word ‘lunch’, but nonetheless, it sounds . . . genuine. Pleased, even. It causes a twinge of something in Suguru’s chest that he can’t quite place, and he averts his gaze as he pushes past the taller man to walk out the door.
“Right. Deal.”
—
Suguru had thought that would be the end of it. That they’d go their separate ways, trudge their way through the rest of the days’ classes, and try not to let word their plans somehow reach its way back to Yaga-sensei before he could give them both an earful about the ‘irresponsibility of fighting so senselessly’ or something like that. Simple. Easy as that.
Apparently, that had been nothing more than wishful thinking on his part.
Despite the pair having agreed to meet again the following day for their melee, Suguru has found getting rid of Satoru between now and then a surprisingly. . . difficult task. Painfully so. The white-haired boy had trailed him when he’d went to collect his lunch, like some lost puppy begging for scraps, and proceeded to invite himself to enjoy his own with the curse manipulator. As if they hadn’t just both spent the better half of an hour trying to goad eachother into snapping first.
Honestly, doesn’t this guy have anything better to do than to drive me mad?
After about another dreadful hour straight of Satoru rambling on about some video game that he’d obtained recently, Suguru begins weighing the circumstance on whether allowing one of his curses to consume the other boy would get him in too much trouble to be worth the five seconds of reprieve it would give. Though tempting, he doesn’t act on the idea.
The hours stretch on and the sun begins its lazy dip towards the horizon, energy waning in a way Suguru can relate to all too well. After a long day of being followed in and out of class by a certain blue-eyed leech, the curse manipulator is all but dashing back toward the safety of his dorm room. His antagonist couldn’t follow him there.
The promise of safety and solitude washes over him like heavy sheets of rain on a hot summer afternoon, cooling off his brain and loosening exhausted muscles. His hand is hovering over the door handle to his sanctuary when cruel and unusual punishment is delivered to him in the form of a question from behind.
“Heyyyy, Geto! Whatcha doing for dinner?”
Scratch consuming him with a curse — I’m going to kill him myself.
Suguru closes his eyes, counting to five before putting on his best attempt at a neutral face and turning to face Gojo. The other boy is playing idly with the knob to his door, right next to Suguru’s own, but his attention is directed toward his neighbor. Though the pair are indoors, and the sunlight is not nearly as present in the fading hours of the day, Satoru’s eyes are still hidden behind his shades. Suguru wouldn’t have taken note of this on literally any other person, but the biased part of his brain wants to find any little thing to fault Gojo for. The logical part of his brain supplies that it could likely be for medical reasons. The emotional part instead decides that it makes him look dumb.
“None of your business,” he deadpans. He’d spent too much of his day ‘entertaining’ his overgrown child of a classmate already. He certainly wasn’t going to let him steal away any more of his precious time. . .
. . . no matter how pathetically sad it may be when the other boy’s expression seems to fall at his rejection. A subtle shift. One so minuscule that someone who wasn’t already watching would have easily overlooked it, a momentary crack in a facade that Suguru hadn’t even begun to become aware of until this very second, right here and right now.
Just as quickly as it appears, the emotion is gone again. Like catching the faintest glimpse of scales before they disappear back into icy depths, a hint of something more lying just beneath the surface, the ripples dissipating until the water falls still. Satoru laughs, his lips curving right back into that dangerously sharp grin of his, and any semblance of disappointment or hurt or even sadness is gone once more.
Instead, Gojo leans forward, just enough for a flash of blue to dawn over the edge of his shades, an almost mocking lilt to his voice, “Aw, come on now, Geto. Don’t be like that! It was just a question! Unless you’re embarrassed about the fact that you’re just planning to reheat some soba alone in your room again, then by all means . . .”
Suguru tries his best to ignore the way his ears burn at the last bit. So what if that had been his plan for the night? It was a perfectly good plan!
“What does it even matter to you?” Suguru counters, trying not to let his irritation read too clearly in his tone. As much as Suguru may like to consider himself to be a patient man, he can feel that patience fading by the second, thin as a fraying thread.
Gojo has proven to be quite the quick learner when he wants to be — it’s truly unfortunate that the subject he seems most interested in currently is which of Suguru’s buttons would be most annoying to press.
Suguru’s words have the opposite effect as intended. Gojo’s eyes seem to spark with the apparent reminder that he had, in fact, been the one to start all of this. He straightens, pushing his shades back up with a grin.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out with me instead.”
Suguru nearly chokes. “What?”
“Are you deaf or something? Flyhead stuck in your ear? I said I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner with me.” Gojo repeats. Casually. Easily. As though it’s just that simple. As though he hadn’t just left Suguru feeling more confused than he has felt in actual years — and that’s honestly saying something, considering he’d only been scouted by the school a few months back.
“Why would I do that?” Suguru asks then, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it may sound this time, really. He’s just a bit. . . perplexed, he supposes would be the closest word to describe it. Perplexed and honestly a little bit relieved.
At least this means that Gojo hadn’t meant to antagonize him. He was just horrible at social interaction. Who would have guessed?
Thankfully, Gojo chooses not to comment on his choice of wording. Instead, he simply shrugs. Suguru can almost swear that he sees a slight dusting of pink brightening the other boy’s ears and cheeks as he turns his head away and towards the door, though it’s quite possible that he’s just imagining things. After all, Suguru’s still isn’t convinced that this whole interaction hasn’t just been a delirium-driven fever dream of his own.
“Beats spending another night on your own, wouldn’t it?” He says, the stray hand that isn’t still lingering on his door handle reaching up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Besides, it’s not like it will just be me there. Shoko’s coming too — think of it as our, like, ‘welcome to Jujutsu High dinner’ or whatever. Or don’t. I really don’t care either way.”
Suguru can’t help the audible breath that he gives as soon as Gojo finishes speaking. How relieving. That makes much more sense. After all, they are the only three first years of their class. It would be in all of their best interest to try and at least have some form of familiarity with one another.
“Well, if that’s the case, then of course I’ll come,” Suguru hums, feeling as though a great weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. “Just give me some time to get ready and I’d be glad to join the two of you.”
“Wait, you will?” Gojo asks, much too quickly, and Suguru notes with a sense of vague amusement that he sounds almost . . . Surprised. It’s a slip up that he seems to catch onto immediately, quickly masking it with a cough before correcting with a much more collected, “I mean, I figured you would, so I already told Shoko to be ready in about fifteen or so. Which means she’ll probably be out smoking in about ten. That sound long enough for you?”
Some part of Suguru can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the limited amount of time. The latter half of him can’t bring himself to care enough to comment.
“I’ll make it work,” he sighs instead, turning away to finally open his door. “See you in twenty, Gojo.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru can see the other boy frown before opening his mouth to try and respond. He lets the door click shut behind him before he can get out a single word.
—
“I mean, like, seriously, can you believe the nerves on this guy? What an asshole, right?”
Satoru is not pacing. Of course he isn’t. Why would he be? It would be unbefitting of the world’s strongest sorcerer to be so easily swayed by the attitude of one stupid guy that he would begin to pace. Much less one stupid guy who hasn’t even received a proper grade ranking yet — a stupid guy with stupid shitty bangs, and a stupid shitty personality, and a stupid shitty smile, and . . . and . . .
Where was he going with this again? Oh, right. Satoru is not pacing. He is, however, walking back and forth. Purposefully. With his hands shoved into his pockets and a scowl on his face. Fifteen minutes after the time that the three young sorcerers had all agreed to meet at.
What an asshole!
“To be fair, you did sorta spring this whole thing on the poor guy,” comes the low drawl of a response that Satoru had been expecting from between the long drag of what has to be her second cigarette now. Satoru can’t help but turn to gape towards where Shoko is watching him in what could be best described as light bemusement, sputtering over his words momentarily at her blatant betrayal.
“I gave him plenty of time!” He argues once he manages to regain his composure, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation before he shortens the distance between them, leaning back against the school barrier’s gate with a groan. “Besides, it’s not like he had to say yes! That was his choice.”
Shoko merely snorts, holding in another smoke-filled breath for a few horribly disgusting seconds — really, Satoru doesn’t get how she could stand such a distasteful hobby, even if just for the taste — before turning away from him to let it out, shrugging. “You didn’t even tell me that we were going until after you had already asked him. Considering you only gave me ten minutes, I’d say it’s pretty safe to assume that you didn’t give him much longer than that either.”
Satoru opens his mouth to snark back, to tell her just how wrong she is . . . and then promptly closes it again when he realizes he doesn’t actually have a good response. Crossing his arms, he scoffs, purposefully choosing not to acknowledge Shoko’s laugh as she flicks her cig to the side and steps over to crush out the embers.
“That’s not the point anyway,” he starts again after not even three seconds, unable to shake his own agitation, even as Shoko groans, “The point is that he’s late, and I can’t believe that we’re stuck here waiting on such a stupid—“
“Gojo.”
“— self-absorbed —“
“Gojo.”
“ — annoying fucking asshole —“
“Forget it.”
“ — who doesn’t even —“
Fuck.
Satoru registers the presence behind them just a second too late. The hand that lands against the barrier of his infinity causes his whole body to go rigid with an instinctual unease, a wave of shame washing over him at the realization of his own mistake.
Had he really been so caught up in his thoughts that he couldn’t even sense the cursed energy of the very same asshole he’d been bad mouthing coming up behind him?
Ugh. How annoying.
Now that he knows he’s there, Satoru does not even need to turn to be able to see the Cheshire grin spread across Geto’s face as clear as the day. The pleasant, cheery tone of his voice brings a stark contrast to the sudden tension that thickens the air.
“Who doesn't even. . . Well? What was it that you had been planning to say?”
That rush of shame quickly turns to anger, and Satoru turns to glare over his shades at him, lip curled. Geto, meanwhile, appears almost completely unbothered. In fact, Satoru would almost deem his expression as amused.
Smug bastard.
“Go on. I’m quite curious to know your thoughts, oh gracious ‘strongest sorcerer.”
“Fuck you,” Satoru says, and to his own bewilderment, Geto just laughs. A surprisingly genuine, easy sound as he shakes his head and pulls away, as if he hadn’t just so casually gotten all up in his personal space in the first place. As if Satoru can’t still sense the remnants of his cursed energy lingering between them. “What the hell took you so long? I told you we’d be ready in fifteen minutes!”
“Yes, yes — and I told you I’d see you in twenty,” Geto says, waving his hand before turning to Shoko and extending a hand, effectively brushing Satoru off and leaving him to gape. “Shoko, wasn’t it? I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to meet properly outside of class yet.”
“Hey,” Satoru seethes, teeth grit as he attempts to shove himself back in between the two of his classmates once more. “I wasn’t done talking to you yet! It’s been way more than twenty minutes!”
Geto doesn’t flinch, though his smile does seem to grow a tad bit more taut. “Is he always this annoying?”
Satoru thinks he is going to kill him.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Shoko says, accepting his handshake before straightening with a shrug of her shoulders and a stretch. “You get used to it with time, but it never quite stops.”
On second thought, Satoru is going to kill her too. It wouldn’t even be hard. Just one teensy little millisecond of Blue and it would all be over.
“You both are the worst,” he groans. “Like, actually the worst. 0/10.”
Tilting his head, Geto’s gaze slides over to him in an almost curious manner. “Ah, speaking of a 0/10. . . aren’t you supposed to be some sort of prodigy?” He asks, contemplative, as if the thought just occurred to him. “Special eyes or something like that, wasn’t it? If that’s the case, then why was it so easy to sneak up on you just now? Are you sure you are feeling alright?”
Satoru can see Shoko bring up a hand to stifle her laugh out of the corner of his eye, which gives the slightest of twitches. Dick.
“You didn’t sneak up on me. I just didn’t care that you were there.” Satoru deflects easily, raising his chin in defiance. Yeah. That’s what must have happened. He must have registered Geto’s cursed energy and subconsciously known it wouldn’t have been able to pose a threat to him even if he tried. That has to be it. “Now, if you’re both done acting like a couple of dumbasses, can we get going already? I’m starving.”
He doesn’t wait for either of them to reply. Instead, Satoru turns on his heels and starts walking, completely ignoring the heavy weight of their stares settling upon his back. After all, it’s only a few moments later that he’s rewarded with the sound of their footsteps following suit, an easy grin spreading across his lips in triumph.
Good. Let them fall in line behind him, just as they all do.
This new kid will learn — no one turns down the chance to spend time with the Satoru Gojo. He’ll show him just how thankful he should have been for the chance to learn from the very best. And then? After that? After everything has been all said and done?
Well, that’s simple.
Then he’s going to beat his motherfucking ass.