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It wasn’t unusual to see the young jujutsu sorcerers training in the courtyard, pushing themselves to the limits of their cursed techniques, doing everything they could to improve their skills and abilities. What was unusual, however, was seeing only a pair of first years, rather than the usual trio.
Satoru Gojo noticed it almost immediately as Haibara and Nanami crossed the threshold into the training grounds; their school uniforms were forgone in exchange for clothes better suited for sparring. A question immediately crossed his mind—where was Y/N?
You shouldn’t have been out dealing with a curse. If you had Gojo would have surely known about it, not to mention it was unlikely you would’ve been sent out alone. But he didn’t have much more time to think about it, much more time to ponder where on earth you could’ve gone, because a swift punch shrouded in cursed energy slammed straight into his cheek, just barely avoiding his dark glasses and eyes underneath.
Gojo groaned, his hand immediately shooting up to investigate the damage done.
“Are you even paying attention?” Shoko asked with a raised brow. A lit cigarette in one hand, the other rested on the curve of her hips.
Gojo brought his gaze back to his fellow upperclassmen, although he’d be lying if he said his focus wasn’t still partially on you. “Of course I’m paying attention,” he replied quickly, too quickly.
Geto’s violet eyes crossed the courtyard as he shook out his fist, looking curiously over at the two underclassmen. A small smirk crossed his lips as he put the pieces together—he knew Gojo best after all.
“Paying attention to the first years, maybe,” Geto said smugly.
Shoko’s gaze followed Geto’s as she took a drag of her cigarette. The smoke billowed out of her lips and disappeared into the air. “Oh, no wonder you’re distracted,” she said plainly.
“I’m not distracted,” Gojo whined. “Suguru just got got lucky with that last hit.”
“Why don’t you just ask where they are?” Shoko suggested, flicking the ash of her cigarette onto the ground. “I’m sure one of them knows.”
Gojo laughed, his cheeks turning the most delicate shade of pink. “Where who is?” he bluffed.
Both Geto and Shoko shared a knowing look, communicating with one another only in facial expressions, in the silence that fell over the three.
Typical Gojo.
***
After more light teasing from both Geto and Shoko, Gojo caved and walked over to Haibara and Nanami with only one thought—only one person—on his mind. The answer (“They weren’t feeling very well today,” Haibara had replied with his usual optimism.) led Gojo to outside your dorm door.
This wasn’t unusual.
This was a dance the two of you did often. He would come to your room in the middle of the night, plagued by nightmares or suffering from his insomnia, sometimes even just with the butterflies of youth dancing in his stomach, and knock, rousing you from sleep and beginning one of your nightly adventures.
Much like any night before, Gojo leaned against your door jamb, rapping his knuckles against your door. “Delivery for one L/N Y/N,” he said in a singsong voice.
Typically, you would answer the door within moments, your mood varied based on the sleep you were woken up from, but today was different.
Your voice was weak as you called through the door: “Go away, my head hurts.”
Gojo blinked, a hard line forming in between his brows. “Want me to play nurse, make it all better?”
He couldn’t see your face when you responded, but he could hear the frown lacing your words as you spoke.
“No, I don’t,” you said, a hardness in your voice he had only heard on days you returned battered and bruised from a mission.
Gojo couldn’t accept it. So, in true Gojo fashion, he reached out for the doorknob. Surprise colored his features when it turned out to be unlocked.
Bright light from the hallway spilled into your darkened room as Gojo pushed the door open and crossed the threshold. You had thumbtacked sheets to the walls to block the mid-afternoon daylight from coming inside. Although, it barely managed to get the job done.
“Shut the door, it’s too bright,” you whined almost immediately.
Gojo closed the door behind him but, of course, he stayed inside your room. What was he going to do? Leave you to suffer in peace?
You were curled up on your bed, practically in the fetal position, looking the most pitiful Gojo had ever seen you (without a gaping wound, of course). Your eyes were shut tight, almost painfully so; your face was ashen, the warmth missing from your usually bright features.
“Go away, Gojo.”
“If you didn’t want me here, you wouldn’t have left your door unlocked,” he said matter-of-factly, without any hesitation or shame.
He was expecting you to banter with him. It’s how the two of you always interacted, never a normal conversation, there was always some smart remark to be said from the both of you. But, it never came.
Only a haggard sigh shook your shoulders.
Gojo’s chest tightened seeing you so worn down and weak. “Hey,” he cooed, “What’s the matter? Haibara said you weren’t feeling well.”
“I have a migraine,” you whispered solemnly.
Immediately, Gojo frowned. “A migraine? That’s no good,” he said, finally lowering his voice so as not to disturb you. “Did you take something for it?”
You only nodded in response.
Slowly, he walked over to your bedside, taking note of the lukewarm (formerly cold) and damp washcloth you had tossed to your floor once your skin warmed the water within. He sat on the side of your bed, the mattress dipping and moving you ever so slightly towards him.
“What can I do to help?” he asked, softly caressing the crown of your head.
“Kill me,” you said flatly.
Gojo snorted. “That seems a little excessive for a migraine, don’t you think?” he asked, an affectionate smile on his face as he looked down at your weary form. “Yaga would never let me hear the end of it; and I can think of at least four people who would immediately kill me after the fact.”
“I’m okay with that.”
He shook his head. “That bad, huh?”
He looked down at your scrunched-up features, almost as if you were attempting to glare the migraine out of your brain.
“Relax your brows,” he told you as he caressed your forehead, his fingers almost massaging your brows into a relaxed state. He pulled his glasses off and gently slid them over your eyes. “How’s that help with the light, huh? Any better?”
You didn’t open your eyes to check, but there was an immediate release of tension in your muscles. “A little.”
“Good.” Gojo smiled. “Where do you keep your first aid kit?” he asked, almost as a courtesy, as if he didn't know the answer. He was already standing to move towards your closet where the red plastic bin with all of your first aid supplies lived on the floor with your winter jacket—that he actually ended up hanging up for you.
And it’s a good thing he already knew where it was too, since all you gave him is a vague gesture in the direction of your closet.
He didn’t take long digging through the stacks of bandages and rolls of gauze before he found the box of instant ice packs. After pulling one from the box, he popped it almost immediately, shaking it to dissipate the cold.
Then, Gojo was back by your side once more, the bed dipping as he sat by your side again; his free hand automatically moving to squeeze your hip with reassurance.
“Alright,” he told you, his voice still low as if he was worried each syllable he spoke was only adding to your pain. “This’ll be a little cold at first, but it should help. It’s one-hundred-percent Shoko Ieiri guaranteed.”
He reached out, tilting your head forward, as gently as possible, before he pulled at the collar of your sweatshirt, tucking the instant ice pack into your shirt and against the back of your neck.
You let out a quiet hiss when the cold slipped against your skin, but didn’t try to pull away from it.
“If it’s too cold we can wrap it in a towel or a shirt or something,” Gojo explained, his focus never leaving your crumpled form on the bed, his gaze searching your features for any sign of further discomfort.
You shook your head, but only slightly; you didn’t want to move too much, and even the mild movements had your head spinning in pain. “It’s fine.”
Immediately, Gojo reached out and readjusted the ice pack on your neck, fixing where it had moved from the small shake of your head.
There was a moment of hesitation then about what Gojo should do next. Did he stay? He didn't want to leave you alone like this—although, he was sure you could use the quiet, the rest. What else could he give you that hadn’t already been done? You’d taken medicine, he’d gotten you an ice pack, and there wasn’t much left to do but rest and wait out the migraine.
But, for some reason, he felt stuck here, unable to move. Unable to head for the door and leave you in peace.
That’s what you would want, right?
Yet, you hadn’t chased him away. Sure, you’ve told him to leave a few times, but with no conviction behind your words. It wasn’t unusual per se, but it felt odd nonetheless.
Finally, Gojo moved slightly, just fidgeting in place as he adjusted the way he sat at your bedside. But the words you spoke next caught him off guard nonetheless.
“Will you… stay?” you asked quietly, almost embarrassed to have said the words out loud. To have had a moment of vulnerability so unusual from your typical teasing words.
Gojo’s heart fluttered and once more his cheeks were dusted a rosy pink.
It was muscle memory to reply with sass—it was Gojo after all. But he ignored his base instincts and looked down at you with soft eyes and nothing but affection.
He hummed, watching you look up at him through his sunglasses (not that you could see through them) with a pout on your lips.
“Of course I'll stay,” Gojo said as a smile graced his lips. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”
For the first time since Gojo entered your room, he saw the tiniest of smiles on your lips. A smile easily missed if he didn’t know you so well, if the two of you didn’t spend so much time together. It lifted a small weight off of his shoulders.
Without his even asking, you scooted over in your bed, your hand patting the mattress behind you; and Gojo wasted no time as he quickly—but carefully, not wanting to jostle you too much—jumped into your bed, lining his body up perfectly with yours. His legs tangled themselves in yours immediately, his arm gently resting on your waist, pulling you as close to him as he possibly could.
You put up no fight, moving in tandem with Gojo’s adjustments, your body relaxing into his as you closed your eyes once more.
“I’ll be right here if you need anything else,” Gojo assured in a small whisper, his voice inches away from your neck if--it weren’t for the ice pack, he would’ve nestled his chin atop your shoulder.
You didn’t bother nodding this time, too comfortable in your current arrangement, the ice pack finally starting to lessen the oppressive aching in your brain.
“I’m kicking you out if you start to snore,” you warned Gojo, your voice carrying a sleepy cadence.
“Sounds fair to me,” Gojo replied with a quiet chuckle and a smile as bright as the sun. “Same rules apply to you?” he teased softly.
You yawned. “I don’t snore.”
Gojo hummed, nestling in closer. "Only one way to find out."