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After Tsumiki's burial, Shoko threw her cigarette into the bin and headed home, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. She didn't expect anything out of the ordinary, certainly not to find Gojo Satoru, the man the entire jujutsu world believed to be dead, was pretty much safe and sound, lounging on her couch like it was just another day.
"Yo, welcome home!" he chirped, grinning at her like a kid caught sneaking snacks before dinner.
She didn't answer right away. Just kicked off her shoes and gave him a long, slow look. He was here. Alive. And he was snuggling into her with an over affectionate eagerness that made her question every decision that led her to making that binding vow months ago.
"Look at me, Shoko," he demanded.
"Twenty-four hours a day isn't enough for you?" she deadpanned, peeling herself out of his grip.
"You were gone for three hours with Megumi. Of course I got lonely."
She sighed, rubbed her temple, and mentally prepared herself for the mess that was Gojo Satoru. To understand how he survived, we need to go back to two months ago, to the moment Gojo made the decision to face Sukuna one-on-one.
***
Gojo was pissed. No, pissed didn't even begin to cover it. He was utterly, seethingly annoyed, disturbed, irritated, and just about every other word in the dictionary that meant he was ready to snap.
Not because people had made plans to use his body in case he lost to Sukuna, who cared what happened to your corpse after you died anyway? He was just so pissed because Shoko didn't object. Not even a little. Not even for show.
So, after parting ways with Yuta, he went straight to confront her... and there she was, leaning against the railing, lazily inhaling her cigarette like nothing was wrong. Looking far too unbothered for his liking.
Shoko caught the sight of him and waved half-heartedly. "Oi~"
Gojo's brows twitched. "Why didn't you object?" he demands, stepping closer.
She exhaled a slow stream of smoke, tilting her head. "Object to what?"
He folded his arms, glaring. "To the whole ‘using my body if I lose’ thing. You just said ‘ok’???"
Shoko shrugged. "What for? When you were so determined to go all out. Who am I to stop you?"
"At least pretend to care."
She chuckled, dry and humorless. "How about I promise you something instead?"
Gojo narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"I'll resurrect you if you die."
A short silence.
"I won't die."
"Precautions never hurt."
Gojo scoffed. "Can you even resurrect a dead person?"
Shoko took another drag, exhaling leisurely. "Dunno~ Never tried before."
His gaze sharpened. "You've got something up your sleeve, huh?"
"You could say that."
"...Fine."
"But," she added, flicking ash from her cigarette, "it comes with one condition."
He eyed her warily. "What's this about?"
"You have to treasure your life after you're resurrected."
Gojo blinked. Then laughed. "I always treasure my life."
She gave him a flat look. "Yeah, yeah. Just answer yes or no."
He squinted at her. "Is this a binding vow?"
"Yes or no?"
"Shoko-"
"So, it's a no," she said, turning to walk away.
"Wait, wait-ugh, seriously," he groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "I just wanna know the full conditions."
"I told you already. Treasure your life. What's so hard about that?"
Gojo watched her carefully. "You're hiding something."
Shoko didn't answer right away, just flicked the rest of her cigarette over the railing. Then she turned, her expression unreadable.
"Yes or no? My last offer," she asked again, voice quieter this time. "Think of it as your oldest friend's kindness."
Friend, Gojo thought, the word stirring in his chest in a way he doesn't like.
"...Yes. Okay. Fine." he relented, still frustrated, still suspicious, but for now, he'd let it go because Shoko never did anything without a reason. And whatever price she had set, he had a feeling he wouldn't like it, but why should it matter? He'd win anyway.
***
When Gojo Satoru opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the ceiling-cold, sterile, and familiar place. His body felt... off. Not painful, not exactly, but stitched together. His hand instinctively moved to his forehead, expecting to feel the scar that should have been there, proof that Yuta had once taken his body, as per their agreement. But there was nothing. As his fingers trailed downward, he finally felt them, stitches, running across half of his torso, a grotesque reminder of his return.
Then, he saw her.
Shoko sat at his side, leaning back against what was supposed to be his bed, but in truth, it was just a mortuary table, the same one she had worked at for years, the same one where she had probably spent countless sleepless nights. He watched as she calmly removed her sanitary gloves and pulled down her mask, exhaling softly like she had just finished another shift.
She didn't even turn her head, so sure of his presence even without looking.
"You awake?" she asked, her voice as casual as if he had simply taken a nap.
Gojo stared at her. "...Didn't I die?"
Shoko finally turned, dragging a chair to sit beside him. "You did."
Gojo sat up slowly, his body still adjusting, his mind reeling. He ran his hands along his arms, over his torso, as if confirming that he was really here, really breathing. He knew he had died. Hell, he had seen them, Suguru, Yaga, Riko... everyone who had been waiting on the other side.
So why was he here?
He barely paid attention to Shoko as she gave him a quick update on the current situation. Noticing him looking detached, Shoko paused and asked.
"Do you regret it?" her voice cut through his thoughts.
Gojo lifted his gaze to lock eyes with her, his eyes piercing into hers but Shoko didn't faze one bit. There was no hesitation in her stare, no uncertainty. Just quiet resolve.
And without warning his body moved before his mind caught up. He pulled her into his arms. A crushing embrace as if he was afraid she might slip away if he let go, one so desperate and uncharacteristic of him that Shoko actually froze for a second. She had never seen Gojo this shaken. Not since Geto.
"What did you sacrifice?"
She paused, "...Nothing, really."
"Liar."
She sighed. "What benefit would I get from lying to you of all people?"
"Shoko..." His voice was quieter now, almost pleading.
Another pause. Then, another sigh.
"I've told you before," she murmured. "Treasure your life from now on."
He didn't let go. If anything, his grip tightened, demanding her explanation. As achingly as it is for Gojo, Shoko didn't embrace him back and started to pry herself free from him. It was only then he finally loosened his hold, letting her step back. She walked away across the room, picking up a hospital gown before turning back to him.
"Put this on," she said, handing it to him. "You're completely naked under that thin morgue blanket."
Gojo blinked. Oh. Right.
"It doesn't look like you to get this emotional. I'll wait outside," she added, already heading for the door. "You should meet everyone soon."
But Gojo still hadn't spoken. He was still too caught in his thoughts, too caught in the weight of her actions. And then something inside him snapped. He wore the hospital gown as fast as he could and before Shoko could turn the doorknob, he was suddenly behind her. The door shut still, his hand pressing flat against it with a slam, trapping her between him and the only exit.
Shoko froze, her hand still hanging in the air, inches from the knob.
"...What is this?" she asked, voice even.
Gojo loomed behind her, towering and dominating, but never touched her. "You tell me."
Shoko finally turned to face him, arms-crossed, leaning to the closed door. "I don't understand what you mean."
Gojo let out a sharp breath, frustration evident. "Oh, you understand perfectly. Don't play dumb with me." His voice tense, they rarely fight but Gojo couldn't let this matter slip away just like that.
Her brows furrowed slightly. "Gojo..."
"Don't call me that," he cut in, his voice raw in a way she rarely heard for all these years she'd known him.
She hesitated. "...Satoru."
His shoulders tensed.
"You're tired," she said, softer now. "Just rest first, for me?" She reached up, caressing his cheek with a touch so gentle it nearly undid him.
His eyes dilated on how sincere her voice was to him. His resolve wavered for just a second.
But no. Not this time.
"I'm fine," he said, squeezing her hand against his cheek. "Just... tell me the full conditions of the binding vow you made to resurrect me."
Another sigh. "You won't let this go unless I do, huh?"
Silence.
She exhaled again, then finally spoke.
The price of resurrection... It was simple, really.
Shoko couldn't use Reverse Cursed Technique on herself anymore. But that wasn't all.
Gojo's resurrection had cost Shoko her remaining lifespan. Meaning that whatever years she had left, whatever time her body was supposed to last, was now split between the two of them.
Because their lives were now intertwined, if one of them died... so would the other. That was why she had told him to treasure his life. That was why Shoko had tried to quit smoking once more. Because his life was her life now. And her life was his.
Gojo stood dazed, drowning into his thoughts. His fingers still loosely held hers and refused to let go. His gaze flickered, first to the floor, then to her face, then back again, as if searching for the right words, as if trying to process the weight of what she had just revealed.
Binding vow is indeed a sacred contract, an agreement woven into the very essence of a sorcerer’s existence, demanding an equivalent exchange. But the vow Shoko made to bring him back was actually not just a simple trade of energy or technique, it was a sacrifice of life itself. By splitting her remaining lifespan in half, she tethered their fates together in a way that defied the natural order.
Before he was able to form any word, Shoko cut in.
"Don't feel burdened by it," she said, tone almost dismissive. "It was my choice. Like I said before, think of it as your oldest friend's kindness."
Her eyes were unfazed when she said it. As if half her lifetime wasn't even that much to argue over.
Gojo stared at her, speechless. Then eventually-
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you give up half of your lifespan for me?"
"Just because."
"..."
He fell silent yet again… because Shoko was such a contradictory ball.
Gojo wasn’t sure when he first noticed it. Maybe it was when she took off her sanitary gloves. Maybe it was when she studied him with those unreadable eyes. Maybe it was when she walked away to take a hospital gown for him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the moment he realized he could feel her. Not in the way he always had, not in the way familiarity and years of shared history would allow. Also not in a way like he could read her mind. No, this was different. It was deeper, rawer, like a direct line into the unspoken parts of her.
At first, he thought it was just the intensity of the situation, the shock of being resurrected after death. But then it happened again and again. A quiet ripple of emotions that weren’t his, slipping into his own like an unwelcome echo.
He also noticed something else, something Shoko herself wasn’t even aware of. She couldn’t feel him. Not the way he could feel her. Their souls were now tied, but then why the hell was he the only one who could feel the other's emotions? Gojo was smart enough to notice that this was a side-effect of the binding vow they made. A cruel twist of fate after defying natural order perhaps.
Shoko really didn’t seem to notice a damn thing. She was calm, detached even, like she hadn’t just upended his entire existence with a single choice while his own emotions were in turmoil under the weight of her emotions crashing into him.
Yes, he could feel it. The way she treasured him, in that quiet, resigned way of hers. Not that she’d ever say it.
Ieiri Shoko didn’t do sentimental confessions, didn’t do teary admissions of affection. But she had still given up half her life for him. Not out of obligation. Not out of logic. But because he was Gojo Satoru, and she, whether she liked it or not, had always chosen him.
She never said it aloud, but he knew. He knew it even before he could feel her this way. She thought of him as the last remaining thread of their past, the only one who never left. He knew she saw him as something irreplaceable, someone worth saving, no matter what it cost her. He knew that, no matter how much she pretended otherwise, she would never let herself lose him too.
He clenched his fist, nails digging into his palm as he forced himself to stay still. She couldn’t know. He wouldn’t let her know that he could feel her emotions. Because if there was one thing Gojo Satoru understood, it was that Ieiri Shoko had spent her entire life carrying these emotions alone. And for once, he was going to carry hers.
Seeing Gojo staying still deep in his thoughts, Shoko finally asked.
"So... if I may ask my hand back now?"
"No." his voice firm.
Shoko blinked. "Huh?"
"Friend? Oldest friend? As if I'd ever want to be friends with a crazy woman like you!"
"Hey, that's rude-"
He start flailing their twined hands in the air trying to make his point, "You're lazy, you have bags under your eyes, you always look tired-"
"Oi, oi, I don't need your thanks, but at least don't insult m- mmpfh-"
Shoko's protests were cut short as Gojo clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Shut up. I'm not done yet."
She blinked, utterly bewildered. Trapped between him and the door, he made sure to leave no room for her to escape but not in a way that made her suffocate.
With that, she realized she just had to endure his rant, even if it meant listening to him trample all over her dignity in the process. He looked utterly frustrated with her, while she, on the other hand, was completely baffled by his mood swings. One moment, he was clinging to her like she was the only thing anchoring him to reality, and now, he was throwing insults left and right. Was this some bizarre side-effect of being resurrected? She made a mental note to document this anomaly in her Classified Report later.
He continued to insult her, then somehow managed to praise her in the same breath. He pointed out every single one of her bad habits— her smoking and drinking addiction, her workaholic tendencies, her terrible sleep schedule, her being too laid back and deflecting almost everything with a joke or sarcasm.
"You live off nicotine and vending machine coffee as if that’s an acceptable diet-"
He kept on elaborating on how those very things had somehow always been his anchor, how she had always been his constant, how she was the only one who treated him normally and knew him better than anyone. Gojo's chest heaved from the sheer thwart he had been bottling up.
"And.. and.. your desk is a biohazard! And don't even get me started on your-"
He continued his rant to let out on how she was always unshakable and always be the calm to his storm. Gosh! Even right now! She just stood there, staring at him like he was some kind of anomaly she had to document! That only pissed him off more, so he went on how she always called him out on his own bullshit, how she always been there when everyone else was gone and never asked anything in return to the point she only gives but never takes. This time was the worst because she just nonchalantly threw half of her lifespan 'just because'? What an absolute trash that excuse was!
“You never ask me for anything!”
Shoko inner thought only said ‘I asked you out for a drink many times though?’ not that Gojo would ever hear it.
“You don’t demand my attention, you don’t expect me to be anything other than what I am. Do you have any idea how much I-”
By the time he almost done with his rant, he was breathless and muttering something Shoko couldn't quite catch.
"Your habits really piss me off yet you never fail to serve a look... huff- huff-"
Shoko waited for the next insult-praising or whatever babbling he wanted to let out. She couldn't do anything anyway, she was still trapped and his palm firm covered her mouth so she couldn't argue back.
"So... huff- huff-"
Another milliseconds of waiting, but then-
"Marry me?"
Huh?! Shoko's brain short-circuited. She failed to connect all the dots of his rant and the conclusion he drew to decide to throw her that question. Her eyes shocked and Gojo swallowed. Shoko could see a tint of pink on his cheek, barely visible, she’d definitely miss it if not because she was sandwiched this close to him between his torso and the closed door behind her.
Hesitating, he removed his palm from her mouth, ready to hear her response, but he only found her lips slightly agape with her eyes staring wide at him as if she was witnessing Sukuna waking up from his death.
Gojo panicked.
"W-Wait—wait—" He took a step back, hands in the air like he had just realized how horrible that proposal was. "That didn't come out right! That was the worst proposal a man has ever declared!"
Shoko said nothing. Too baffled by his confession.
"Shoko, please say something-!"
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she sighed.
"...Are you for real?"
Gojo let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I've never been this real in front of you until today."
And with that, he crouched down, burying his face in his hands, completely… utterly defeated.
Shoko stared at him in disbelief.
***
Back to the present, Shoko leaned against the counter, watching as Gojo sprawled lazily across the couch, reading whatever recipe in that cooking magazine. The quiet hum of the apartment felt almost surreal after everything they'd been through.
"Are you sure you don't want to meet the kids?" she asked, casually flipping through a file from work.
Gojo's fingers twitched slightly, but he didn't immediately respond. He knew exactly which ‘kids’ she was referring to, his students, the ones who had mourned him. His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally exhaled, rubbing at his temple.
"Maybe someday," he murmured. "But not now."
Shoko studied him carefully. He wasn't just avoiding them, she understood exactly those kids were fine without him now, and he wanted them to carry on life that way. She sighed, crossing her arms. "I don't want you to be isolated here, Satoru."
He cracked an eye open and smirked cheerfully. "I have you with me and I can teleport whenever, wherever. I'm the least isolated person in the world!"
She rolled her eyes but let it go. It was enough for now that he was here, alive, with her. They had found their own strange balance in this aftermath. She still worked at Jujutsu High, though she avoided the front lines— as she always did. Without the ability to heal herself, she couldn't afford reckless risks. Gojo, on the other hand, had taken himself off the board entirely, his name a whisper, his existence a secret shared only among the few who truly needed to know, Yuta was one of them, his safety net, the one entrusted to carry on his lineage, both in battle and in responsibility.
With a sigh, Shoko moved toward the fridge, ready to start making dinner. Soft clinking of the appliance filled the quiet space until, barely above a whisper, she heard, "I love you."
Her hands stilled for a moment before she turned, arching a brow at him. His expression was playful but sincere, his usual cockiness softened just enough to make her pause. Little did she know, Gojo could feel a pleasant echo bubbled up from her emotions, the warmth of her blooming fondness. 'Gotcha,' he thought.
She smiled, slow and amused. "I love me too."
And with that, Gojo groaned dramatically, flailing on the couch like a wounded animal. "Why are you like this?!" he whined, dragging a pillow over his face. "Just say it back! Once! Just once!"
Shoko chuckled, grabbing an onion from the counter. "If I say it back, you'll get bored."
"No, I won't! I'll die if you don't say it!"
"You already died once. Didn't stick. And if you die, I'll die. So don’t die yet, please. I have paperwork due tonight."
Gojo let out an exaggerated gasp. "Shoko, I can't believe you would say something so cruel to your legally bound, binding-vowed, soul-linked husband."
She snorted. "Not my husband."
"Yet." he scoffed back.
She threw an onion at him.