Work Text:
Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
And save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers
-- Slipping Through My Fingers, ABBA --
The dining room was filled with the aroma of miso soup and teriyaki salmon, a comforting backdrop to the usual symphony of sounds that accompanied the Gojo family dinners—the clinking of chopsticks, Gojo’s boisterous laughter, and Shoko’s dry wit cutting through his often-outlandish pronouncements.
“So, I ran into Utahime at the market today. She said you’ve been ‘terrorizing’ the new recruits with your… unconventional training methods.”
“Terrorizing is such a strong word, Shoko. I prefer to think of it as… character building.” Gojo, his mouth full of rice, let out a muffled chuckle.
“Character building that involves dangling them upside down from the highest tower in Shibuya?”
“It builds resilience. And a healthy fear of heights.”
Hikaru, sandwiched between his parents at the dining table, was, as usual, only half-listening to their conversation. At the age of ten, between his rigorous academic schedule (he was currently tackling advanced calculus and ancient Sumerian texts, just for fun), his mandatory cursed technique training (Gojo insisted on “quality bonding time” disguised as sparring sessions that usually ended with Hikaru sprawled on the floor, wondering how his father managed to be both ridiculously powerful and incredibly annoying), and navigating the delicate social dynamics of the Gojo clan (a skill he’d mastered with unnerving ease), this kid barely had time to breathe.
Dinner, however, was sacred. It was the one time of day when their family gathered around the table, sharing a meal and engaging in the kind of chaotic banter that made their home feel… well, like home.
Tonight, however, was different.
A strange pressure built behind his eyes, a warmth spreading across the bridge of his nose. He felt a drop of something warm and slightly metallic tickle his upper lip.
He knew instantly what it was. A nosebleed.
Not wanting to interrupt his parents’ conversation or draw attention to his sudden ailment, Hikaru reacted instinctively. He reached for his bowl of miso soup, lifting it to his lips as if to take a sip. As he did so, the nosebleed intensified, a steady stream of blood trickling into the savory broth.
Undeterred, and perhaps driven by a decade of Gojo clan conditioning that prioritized decorum above all else, he did the only thing his ten-year-old brain could process in that moment of panic.
He drank the soup.
All of it.
Blood, miso, and all.
He then grabbed a napkin, dabbing at his mouth with exaggerated care, effectively masking the crimson stain spreading across the white cloth.
“I… uh… I need to go,” he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by the napkin. “I have… homework.”
The boy pushed back his chair and practically sprinted out of the dining room, leaving his parents to stare after him in bewildered silence.
"Hicchi, wait—" Shoko started to rise from her seat.
Gojo, however, placed a calming hand on her arm. “Let him go, Shoko. I’ll check on him.”
Then he calmly finished his soup and was now stacking it on top of Hikaru’s empty (and suspiciously blood-tinged) bowl.
“I’ll be right back,” he said after placing the bowls in the sink and then followed his son upstairs.
He knew his son. He knew the pressures an heir faced and he knew that Hikaru needed his father, not his mother’s gentle concern, at this particular moment.
Gojo found him in the bathroom, hunched over the sink, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood with a wad of tissue. His sudden appearance in the doorway startled Hikaru, causing him to jump and drop it.
“Having a bit of a bloody good time, are we?” Gojo quipped, his voice laced with amusement, though his eyes held a hint of concern. He tossed Hikaru a small bottle of clotting medicine, but the boy fumbled the catch, the bottle bouncing off his forehead with a dull thud. Gojo chuckled, retrieving the bottle and pressing it into Hikaru’s hand. He then expertly rolled a piece of tissue and inserted it into Hikaru’s nostril, tilting the boy’s head back.
"Hold that."
He led Hikaru to his bed, sitting beside him as he observed his son’s face. The childhood chubbiness had long since disappeared, replaced by the sharp angles of adolescence, his jawline becoming more defined with each passing day. Despite the blindfold covering his eyes, Gojo could see the resemblance, the echoes of his own features in Hikaru's face - the high cheekbones, the thin brow, the stubborn set of his jaw. He’d inherited Shoko’s warm brown hair and her pretty downturned eyes, a softening touch to his otherwise Gojo-esque features.
He was growing up fast, his childhood slipping away with each passing day, a bittersweet realization that tugged at Gojo's heart. His son was on the cusp of manhood, a journey fraught with challenges and responsibilities that Gojo knew he couldn't shield him from entirely.
“Now, tell me, what’s got your nose bleeding like a stuck pig?”
Hikaru, still clutching the small bottle of medication, avoided his father’s gaze, his shoulders hunched as if carrying a weight far heavier than his ten years.
"Are you tired? Why don't you tell us what's bothering you? We’ll always be there for you."
“I just… I don’t know what to say,” Hikaru's gaze fixed on the bottle of medicine in his hands. “I don’t want to worry you. I don’t want you to think I’m weak.”
" Weak? You? You're anything but weak. But even the strongest among us need to lean on someone sometimes. Trust me, I know." Gojo’s smile faded. "When I was young, it was a lot of pressure. The expectations, the traditions… it was suffocating. I used to run away. Disappear for days, sometimes weeks, just to escape it all."
“Then… why did you come back?”
"Because… where else would I go? The estate, the clan,… it was all I knew. There was no other choice. But you… you're different."
“Different how?” Hikaru asked, confused.
“You have something that all those clan leaders, past and present, never had. You have a family. A real one.”
"I... I don't understand."
“I gave you a choice. A choice I never had. I gave you a home to return to, a family who loves you unconditionally.” Gojo reached out, ruffling Hikaru’s hair affectionately. “You can always choose to walk away. To give up, to say ‘screw it all,’ and come back to us. We’ll always be here, ready to catch you when you fall. That's our promise to you."
He began to pace the room, his voice rising that startled Hikaru. “Look at Naoya from Zen'in. Passed down like a prized stallion, the ‘strongest’ of Naobito’s children. Did Naobito love him? Truly love him? No. He saw him as a tool to be honed and wielded for the benefit of the clan. He wanted Megumi to inherit the clan leadership. He never cared about Naoya's feelings.”
“And Kamo Noritoshi,” he continued, “born a concubine’s son, forced to watch his mother suffer, despised, and eventually expelled from the Kamo clan. He couldn't even live with his mother, his inherited CT tying him to that wretched family.”
"I don't know that."
"When you were born, tiny and screaming and covered in… well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty… I thought to myself, ‘No matter what, no matter how handicapped, how defective, how utterly Gojo-like this kid turns out to be, I’m going to love him with all my heart.’”
“That is the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever heard.” Hikaru was stunned.
"Okay, bad phrasing." Gojo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, searching for the right words to explain the complex emotions that had overwhelmed him the moment he'd held his son for the first time.
“How do I put this… Have you ever heard of Geto Suguru?”
"The former special-class sorcerer who became a curse user?"
"That's the one," Gojo confirmed, a shadow passing over his features. "Did you know he was a friend of mine? Of Mom's, too?"
“Really?”
“He and I were the strongest sorcerer duo. Together with Shoko, we were a team—a trio. We did everything together.”
“So… what happened? How did he become like that?”
“It’s a long story. But… we failed. On a crucial mission. We failed to protect someone we were supposed to protect. I ended up being far stronger than him. We started to receive solo missions, I could not keep track of his thoughts anymore. He started to question things. The value of human life, the role of sorcerers… It all became too much for him. And then… he snapped. Killed an entire village. Crossed the line. There was no coming back from that.”
“What about Mom? Was she… upset?”
“Mom's resilient. She acted like nothing happened. But I knew she blamed herself, too. We all did.” A muscle twitching in his jaw. "She even met him after he became a wanted criminal."
Hikaru’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in disbelief, momentarily forgetting to tilt his head back. “Wait,” he sputtered, a fresh wave of blood trickling down his nose. “What did you say? Mom met him? After he… after he went rogue? How could you let her? Alone with a psychopath?”
Gojo gently, but firmly, pushed Hikaru’s head back into the correct position, a sigh escaping his lips. “He wasn’t a psychopath, Hikaru. Just… misguided. His moral compass… let’s just say it was pointing in a very different direction.”
“Misguided ?! He slaughtered an entire village! And you’re worried about his moral compass? What’s wrong with you? What about Mom? Her safety wasn't as important?” Hikaru, indignant, swatted Gojo’s hand away.
Gojo's patience wearing thin, pressed Hikaru’s head back with a firmness that brooked no argument. “Hicchi, calm down. And keep your head back. I'm trying to explain.”
Hikaru's body was tense but still.
“Suguru, at that point,” Gojo continued, “believed that non-sorcerers were… less than human. Monkeys, he called them. Killing them, to him, was no different than hunting animals. And Mom is a sorcerer. He wouldn’t have harmed her. Not unless she tried to capture or kill him.”
“She’s not foolish, Hicchi,” Gojo said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “She called me. Immediately.”
“So, you swooped in, saved the damsel in distress, an epic battle ensued, good triumphed over evil, the end?”
“Not quite. My first question was… why didn’t she capture him herself?” Gojo’s smile widened.
“You… you tried to get her killed? This isn't the hero-saving-the-beauty scene I was expecting.”
“No, no, nothing like that. She called me because she knew I was the only one who could handle Suguru. And besides, Mom hates being underestimated more than anything. You have to understand that about her. Mom's not some fragile porcelain doll. She’s strong, resourceful, and she always knows how to handle herself. Trust her. Trust me." Gojo reassured him. “And, knowing Shoko, she probably had a scalpel hidden somewhere, just in case things got… messy.”
“I see. What happened next?”
“I confronted him. We argued. Gods, how furious I was. I was about to kill him, right then and there. But I couldn’t. Not then. Not with all those civilians nearby. He was still my best friend, he was the only family I knew back then, and… well, collateral damage isn’t exactly my style. So, I let him go.” A wry smile touched his lips, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “It was a mistake. One I’ve regretted ever since. In the end… I was the one who finished him off. Years later.”
“I was devastated. My best friend, my first family is gone. Just like that. It… it broke something inside me.” Gojo's voice hardening, the memory a raw wound that refused to heal. “I swore, after that, that I would never let anyone I cared about slip through my fingers again. That’s why, when I held you for the first time, I didn’t care about your power, your potential. I just cared that you were alive, that you were mine.”
“But… why are you telling me all this?” Hikaru asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to end up like him. If you keep your thoughts, your feelings, bottled up inside, hidden away for too long, you’ll go astray. Like Suguru. Do you know who the first people Suguru killed were when he returned to Tokyo, after massacring that village?”
Hikaru shook his head.
“His parents,” Gojo said, the words hanging heavy in the silence.
“Why?”
“He killed them because… they were non-sorcerers. They were no longer a priority to him, their lives meaningless in his twisted worldview. To him, only sorcerers had human rights.” Gojo continued. “Hicchi, your thoughts, your feelings… I can’t control them. If one day, you choose to go down that path… ”
“Will you end me?” Hikaru whispered, the question a terrifying echo of his own deepest fears.
“Never,” Gojo’s grip tightened. “I would never hurt you. Not even if you become the worst kind of monster imaginable. I’d sooner… I'd sooner let you kill me. And your mother.”
“But you’re far stronger than me. You could easily...” The child's sapphire blue eyes widened in horror.
“I know, but I’m not just a sorcerer. I’m a father. And I will not choose between my child and the world. Losing Suguru… destroyed your mother and me. It tore us apart and took us years to rebuild. I can’t… I won’t lose you too.”
His gaze softened, his hand squeezing Hikaru's shoulder. "Don't become someone we don't recognize. Stay with us. Stay you."
“No, Dad,” Tears welled up in Hikaru’s eyes, his throat tightening. “I could never become something like that.”
"If you choose to become a monster, Hikaru," he said, his words a stark warning and a plea all at once, "you have to decide that you will show mercy to no one. Not even your own parents. So, if you still care about us, even a little… then don’t. Don't ever put us in that position. Don’t ever make us choose.” Gojo's blue orbs were gentle as he looked at the kid, as if he wasn't a tall 10-year-old boy, but just a toddler learning to walk and still needed the dad's support. Because we will always choose you, our baby. Always.
“Dad, I only want to be like you. You have many things on your plate but you’re still healthy as a horse. Unlike me, broke down just because of some lessons.”
"Know what, kiddo? Don’t ever think of yourself as weak. You’ve already accomplished something I could never manage.”
“What’s that?”
“You saved your mother,” Gojo grinned.
“Saved her? From what?” The boy blinked, his earlier anxieties momentarily forgotten.
“From herself,” Gojo explained, his voice softening. “I tried everything to get her to quit smoking and drinking. Mom’s stubborn as a mule, you know. Lectures, bribes, threats… nothing worked. Until you.”
“What’s so special about that?”
“It has a meaning. Especially for someone who witnesses death almost every day. When Mom was just sixteen, they called her in for an autopsy. It was… the upper half of a close junior. Someone we both cared about. Imagine that, son. Sixteen years old, and that’s your introduction to the world of jujutsu.”
“From then on, it was just… bodies. Death. Brought to her doorstep, day after day. People broken, dying, dead. She drowned herself in cigarettes and alcohol. It was a defense mechanism, I think. A way to cope.” Gojo continued.
“But… she still has to do that now, right?” Hikaru asked, his voice barely a whisper. "I mean, she's the only doctor at Tokyo Jujutsu High, someone has to do it."
“Not like that, no,” Gojo said, shaking his head. “Not anymore. She still heals, of course. Patches us up, puts us back together. But it’s different now. Do you understand? To live in that world, surrounded by death, and then… to suddenly feel life growing inside you. You were that miracle, Hicchi. You changed her. You changed us.”
The boy fell silent and clutched his father tightly. His soft brown hair brushed against Gojo's chin, reminding him of Shoko.
"With Mom and Dad by my side… I won’t go astray. But… I’m not sure what I’ll do if you’re not there. So please, stay by my side. For a long, long time.”
“We won't be able to stay by your side forever. That's just… the way things are. But we’re working on it. In fact, I’m thinking of giving you a little brother or sister.”
"Really?" Hikaru’s eyes widened in surprise. “Does Mom agree?”
“It’s actually her idea.”
“She wants another child?”
“She does. So… what do you think? Little brother? Little sister?”
“Whatever you and Mom want,” he finally said, his voice carefully neutral. “I’ll… I’ll be happy either way.”
Gojo, however, wasn’t satisfied with his son’s diplomatic answer.
“Come on, son, I want to hear your wishes. You have your own thoughts, your own desires. Don’t just parrot what you think we want to hear.”
"Then… a sister. A baby sister. She’d be so cute."
“Of course she would be. Our genes are top-notch, after all.” He clapped Hikaru on the shoulder, his usual playful demeanor returning. “Alright, kiddo. Now, come downstairs and eat before Mom sends out a search party. I bought some truly exceptional desserts today, and I’m not sharing them with anyone who’s hiding in their room having an existential crisis.”
“Okay, Dad. But… can you do me a favor?”
“Anything for my favorite progeny.”
“Uhm… I don’t want Mom to know about this conversation,” Hikaru mumbled.
Gojo burst out laughing. The last time he saw that expression was when his son was five years old, wetting the bed in his sleep and crying himself hoarse from embarrassment.
“Consider it our little secret. A man-to-man conversation. But if you don’t come downstairs soon, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep my mouth shut. Mom got a sixth sense for these things, you know.”
“Fine,” he said, pushing past his father and heading towards the door. “You go down first. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Gojo reached the bottom of the stairs, only to be met by Shoko, her brow furrowed with worry, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.
“Satoru, what were you two doing up there for so long? I was starting to worry.”
“Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Shoko. It's just some homework, your man has it handled. Besides,” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a quick hug, “you wouldn’t want me to interrupt his genius at work, would you?”
As if on cue, Hikaru appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression a little sheepish but his eyes noticeably brighter than before.
Shoko instantly disengaged from Gojo’s embrace, rushed forward to hug the kid, her hands running through his hair as she peppered him with questions.
“Hicchi, are you alright? You seemed upset. Is it the homework? Are you feeling sick? You looked a little pale earlier.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Just a little… overwhelmed with homework. But Dad helped me sort it out.”
Shoko, still slightly suspicious, held him at arm’s length, her gaze searching his face. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Alright then. Come sit down. I’ll get you some dessert.”
Gojo’s ears perked up at the mention of dessert. He’d specifically chosen Hikaru’s favorite mochi and a decadent chocolate cake he’d bribed a pastry chef to create (“Extra chocolate, extra frosting, and absolutely no healthy substitutions! ” he’d insisted). He eagerly awaited his share of the sugary spoils.
Shoko returned with a plate piled high with an assortment of colorful pastries, each one more decadent than the last. She placed the plate in front of Hikaru, whose eyes widened in delight.
“Thanks, Mom!” he exclaimed, grabbing a cream-filled pastry and taking a large bite, his face lighting up with pure, unadulterated joy.
Gojo watched his son devour the desserts with a satisfied smile. It warmed his heart to see Hikaru happy, his earlier anxieties forgotten in the simple pleasure of sugary treats. It wasn’t until Hikaru was halfway through his dessert feast that Gojo realized something was amiss.
Shoko hadn’t brought him any.
“Uh, Shoko, where’s my dessert?”
“I gave it all to Hicchi. You’re watching your sugar intake, remember? Doctor’s orders. Besides, it won't kill you to skip a meal once in a while. You're practically buzzing with cursed energy anyway.” Shoko, who was clearing the dinner dishes, shrugged.
Gojo pouted, casting a dejected glance at Hikaru, who was now strategically eyeing the remaining slice of cake. He opened his mouth to ask his son for a small share, a single bite of that decadent chocolate cake, but before he could utter a word, Hikaru slyly scooped up the remaining dessert and stuffed it all into his mouth, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk hoarding nuts for winter. He winked at his father, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.
Gojo stared at his son, then at his wife, who was now smiling, and finally, at the empty dessert plate. He’d been outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and out-desserted by his own son. He sighed, shaking his head. He supposed he could live without dessert. After all, witnessing the child’s happiness, his return to his usual cheerful self, was a sweetness far more satisfying than any sugary treat. And besides, he knew exactly how he’d get his revenge. Tomorrow morning, Hikaru’s training session will be… intense. Very intense.