Chapter Text
"He's gotta get the check-up, or he gets benched until we can have a clearer idea of what exactly happened."
"Benched?" Getou repeated, eyebrows raised. Sorcerers didn't get benched unless an organ or another was literally hanging out, and even in that scenario they were taped back together just enough they can be thrown back out to the field. Satoru especially didn't get benched. The equivalent of a whole team? They were severely understaffed as it was.
"Can't have that happen while he's out on the field," Yaga nodded grimly, "the kid just completely shut down. Total power off. Sure it was only five seconds, but what if next time it's longer than that?"
Getou looked to the side, thoughtful. He couldn't tell if he should be concerned, or if everyone was just blowing this out of proportions. Being banned from missions was a serious measure, though. And sure, even if it happened on school grounds and in the middle of a fight with another sorcerer, Satoru losing his powers for five seconds with no determinate cause was problematic, Getou could recognize that on a rational level.
It was just, emotionally speaking… being who he was, it felt a bit wasteful to be worried over Satoru.
"So?" Getou asked, keeping this opinion to himself as it sounded particularly cold-hearted, even to him. "He already told you he wasn't gonna do the medical exam, right? Why did you call me here?"
"I was thinking that you could talk to him. He needs to be seen by a medic."
"Well, even so. I can't tell him what to do."
"Gojo," Yaga sighed, "...he does what you say."
Getou blinked, face scrunching in doubt. Did he? "Does he?"
"He definitely listens to you," Yaga nodded, more assured this time, like an affirmation of truth. They had very different images of Satoru, huh. "It's really important. You have to convince him."
Getou slipped his hands in the pockets of his pants, half-shrugging. "I guess I can try, but I don't want to get your hopes up. Satoru's got a bad personality."
Yaga looked satisfied with his lukewarm answer, like Getou's attempt was already equaling success. He waved him off eagerly. Getou sighed and turned to leave. Where was this confidence coming from? Sure he had a little pull with Satoru, with things like dinner and where to go for fun, that was all. But it was equivalent—for example, Satoru decided what manga they read next. That kinda stuff. They didn't butt in about serious things. What a hassle.
Getou went back to his dorm room. He found Satoru where he left him: on his back on the bed, holding his copy of Shonen Jump with both hands over his head. At the speed he was flipping through it, he was looking at the pictures more than reading, which meant he'd already gone through it once.
Massaging a crick in his neck, Getou reclaimed his part of the bed—diagonally, which meant he had to go over Satoru's legs. The bed springs creaked under his weight. He cracked open the window an inch before he sat back down, making sure the curtains stayed drawn.
"What'd he want?"
"Me to convince you to get checked out today."
A pause. Getou could practically smell the incredulity.
"You're kidding ," Satoru groaned. "What the hell, why'd he call you? Like you're my nanny or something?"
"Well, it's not like I didn't get something out of it," Getou mused, and pointed at his own eye. "I knew there was no way you let him land that. You lost your cursed energy?"
The curiosity had been killing him. There was no word invented yet for the level of shock that'd gripped Getou when Satoru first showed up with one cheekbone bruised. When Satoru told him it was Kimura—first-year, new recruit, weak-energy Kimura Yasu—who'd put that on him, Suguru had been so convinced this was a joke that he'd rubbed Satoru's face trying to wipe the bruise off. But then Satoru had winced, batting his hand away and mumbling something about letting the newbie have a little win for confidence, also fuck off.
Satoru looked at him sullenly. "I didn't lose it," he huffed, and flattened the soda can in his hands into a thin disc, "if I lost it, I'd be dead. I just lagged for a sec, so what? I'm human, too, you know! I do a lot. Credit is important!"
"What happened then, if you didn't lose it?"
Satoru grimaced and didn't speak for a moment.
"I lost it," he grumbled. "Seriously, isn't there something like professor-student confidentiality? I'm never telling that old man anything again."
"So you did lose it," Getou hummed.
"Just for five seconds! It was weird. I was pro'lly just hungover."
"You can't get hangovers from too much grape juice."
"Why not? It's the base for all the wines, right?"
"You're not freaked out?" Getou asked.
Satoru shrugged. "It hurt," he said petulantly. "I don't like pain, so I'm not gonna let it happen again."
"It doesn't seem like something you can control, though. You don't even know what it was."
"Uh, I know it was annoying, so it's never happening again."
Getou's mind was already flipping through different theories of what could have happened, but they all hit an impossibility when he placed Satoru at the receiving end. Cancellation, nullification, extinguishment—those were things that happened to other people, not him. He didn't feel anything? More than that, he allowed it?
"Satoru," he said, "you should do the check-up."
Satoru buried his nose in the magazine. "Don't wanna. I'm not fighting Kimura anymore anyway. We made up, Sunday we're seeing Digimon."
Getou rolled his eyes, and reached out to pat Satoru's ankle with a hand. "I don't really care about your schoolyard hazing, but if it happens again while we're on mission, I mean, that affects me. You'd be such a burden. Would you consider my feelings? I don't want to be thinking about this in the middle of a fight."
Satoru looked at him chidingly. "Stop saying mean things in a gentle voice! I don't know how to feel!"
Getou shoved him away with his foot. "Go get checked out."
With a groan Satoru rose into a sitting position, the magazine falling into his lap. His hair was a mess. He stared at Getou blankly for a bit. "You think I should for real?"
Getou tilted his head, considering the question. He wasn't worried, personally, but… "What did it feel like?" he asked in return. "Sensei described it as a shutdown."
"Emmm…" Satoru titled his head so far left his body tipped sideways, "yeah, I guess that's it. You know when a game lags, and you press the button over and over but your avatar just keeps standing there? It was kinda like that. Or maybe like a wave that washed over me, like woosh, woosh… or like a bathtub being drained out super fast?"
"Well, which one is it?"
Satoru crossed his arms, giving it some thought. "The tub thing," he decided. "Maybe the wave?" He's so useless, Getou thought, almost in wonder. "Whatever it was, it totally drowned out my mojo. Honestly, I thought there was a special-grade around."
"On school grounds?" Getou said, skeptical.
"I dunno, maybe."
"That no one sensed? And did no other damage?"
"Hmmmmm…" Satoru dragged out, reluctant to concede.
"Do you remember anything else? Something you may have seen or sensed before it happened. Any kind of energy? Or a weird feeling."
Satoru stared at him owlishly. His eyes were so empty, just no brain at all behind there, Getou wondered if he should worry about him sometimes.
"I was hard. Does that count?"
"...You were hard," Getou repeated, blankly. His eyes flicked down.
"Haha, where are you looking? I'm not hard right now. Kimura was sexy," Satoru shrugged, completely brazen about it, "all riled up like that and stuff. It's just a reaction, reaction! But then I got punched in the face."
Getou frowned. Huh. This was… not a good feeling he was having, right now. "So," Getou pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the prickle of a headache, "your theory so far, for the complete if temporary loss of your powers, something which is unprecedented—your theory so far is either that it was a special-grade no one saw and no one felt, or you were too horny."
"Maybe more the special-grade…" Satoru rubbed at the side of his face, "I've been more turned on in fights before, and it didn't do anything like that."
"Honestly… What kind of perv are you?"
"Hey, I didn't like being punched, okay?" Satoru protested, like that was in any way a convincing argument. "It really hurt!"
"I think you should get checked out," was Suguru's final opinion. "It's a little hard for me to believe that it's external."
"That's right! External. It's definitely external," Satoru insisted, swinging his legs around to stand up and reaching for the sunglasses he'd discarded on the bed. "But fine, I'll go. Man, what a pain."
"There, there," Getou said absently as he picked up the Shonen Jump magazine. "Can you get some more cup noodles on the way back? I'm running out."
Satoru hobbled over one foot, trying to get both his shoes on at the same time, still complaining, "I don't want 'em probing and prodding me, 's gross. I guess I can tell them to get my height while I'm there though."
"Cup noodles!" Suguru repeated right before he shut the door, knowing Satoru tended to only remember the last words spoken.
Once he was gone, Getou flipped through the manga strips, before realizing he couldn't see shit in this dark and heaved himself up to pull open the curtains. Sunlight bathed his room.
Satoru didn't come back. Or he must have come back at some point and then left again, given the grocery bag full of cup noodles and junk dangling from the doorknob. Getou had accidentally fallen asleep in a patch of warmth like a lizard. To be honest, it was pretty relaxing. Getou was coming out the other end of a summer cold — more vicious than its winter counterpart — so he welcomed the rest; it was so rare for it to be uninterrupted. As it was, he stirred awake on his own a couple of hours later, when it was dark out, and wandered out in search of food.
He was craving hotpot, and given the fact that it was around ten, and the school was suspiciously empty, he had the unpleasant feeling that everyone else also did.
He walked to the usual place, sandals slapping the back of his feet, and sure enough the group was there, occupying two outdoor tables pushed together under the beat-up awning. He'd only been expecting Satoru and Shoko, but to his surprise Utahime and Mei Mei were also there. Getou made his way towards them, pleasantly surprised to see the relaxed tone of the day continue well into this evening: the warm breeze. Everyone's animated chatter over the sizzling of meat on wok. The tangy smells of garlic and turmeric.
"Hey, it's Suguru!"
Suguru reached to tie his hair up with two lazy twists as he sat down, not wanting the fumes to linger on it.
"Hey yourself."
"Come eat, come eat!" Satoru beckoned him over. He had been looking bored while Getou was approaching, but had brightened up after spotting him. "Kimura just left, but he treated us!"
Fucking Kimura.
"Shoko's so nice too, she said she'll treat me tomorrow."
"I feel bad looking at his face," Shoko explained through a half-full mouth. She reminded him of a hamster.
"It is quite the sight, isn't it?" Mei Mei purred. She sat across from Satoru, and had her fingers crossed beneath her chin as she stared at him. Her chopsticks laid by her elbow, untouched. Next to her, Utahime was muttering under her breath, chin propped up on one hand as she turned over a piece of beef.
Getou smiled and sat down next to Satoru, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and an empty plate. "What are we talking about?"
"Girl stuff, thank god you're here."
"We were talking about you ," Utahime pointed out, looking disgusted.
"In a girly way!" Satoru shot back. "At least bring up how hot I am with this bruise. Everyone said nothing's off with me, so why do we gotta keep talking about this?"
"They didn't find anything at the check-up, then?" Getou said, taking advantage of Satoru's heated speech to steal his bowl of rice. He'd wanted to ask but didn't know if Satoru would have liked to discuss it in front of everyone.
"Yep! All clean, totally external," Satoru, who let him take it, nodded dismissively. He was done eating, and was nursing a bottle of lychee ramune. He shot a sideways look at Getou, and waited until Getou noticed and looked back to smugly announce, "I grew a centimeter."
Hm. "Congratulations," Getou said evenly, trying not to show how much this bothered him.
"You guys mind if I smoke? Getou, you have a light?"
"Come on, the meat's gonna be all stinked up. Suguru's still eating."
"Is no one else bothered that we still don't know what it was that took Gojo's cursed energy away?"
"Oh my god, see what I'm talking about? You're such a girl, Utahime."
"Shut up! Mei-san agrees! Right Mei-san?"
"It's weird," Getou agreed, and placatingly patted Satoru's shoulder at the betrayed look he received. "But it's our day off. It's fine to let others worry about it."
"But no one is," Mei Mei pointed out calmly, "in case you haven't noticed. In fact there is such an insistent disinterest around this incident that I find it highly suspicious. Gojo Satoru loses his cursed energy for five seconds, for no discernable reason, and the only action undertaken was a health check-up."
"It's no big deal," Satoru muttered around the rim of his bottle.
"Is that why you're here?" Getou asked.
Mei Mei smiled. "I smell a secret," she said simply. "Moreover, a high-profile secret. That, " she grinned, "is priceless."
Getou felt his brows furrow. "High-profile?"
Well, he supposed belatedly, everything to do with Gojo Satoru was high-profile.
"Notice that there is no formal investigation opened. Everyone was kicking up a fuss until Gojo got checked out, and suddenly it's case closed despite inconclusive results. It's like nothing happened at all. Still waters yet again."
"Nothing being wrong with Gojo means that there's something around that can take cursed energy away. That," Utahime said, pointing at Satoru, " is the big deal. No one cares about you or your little bruise!"
"Hey, I care about Gojo. He's funny."
"Shoko…" Satoru sniffled, touched. He gripped Getou's arm without looking at him, "dude, give her the lighter. Give her the pack."
"Don't feel bad for him just because he looks like that," Utahime sighed, though less harshly. Getou didn't miss the unsure look she threw at Shoko.
Shoko, who kept frowning at Satoru with a disturbed expression. "I wish you'd let me heal you so I don't have to keep seeing it. Getou, tell him to let me."
"Why does everyone think Suguru can tell me what to do?" Satoru huffed, offended as Getou smiled around his chopsticks. "I'm going to do it myself. Just watch. Why does it bother you anyway? It's my face."
"It's just weird. I can't be the only one who feels like this. I mean," Shoko looked around, "Gojo's face is bruised. That's not scary to anyone else?"
"It's terrifying," Mei Mei purred.
The silence that followed was lined with an ominous quality. The meat sizzled. Getou turned to look at his friend. He wanted to see his bruises freshly, from Shoko's perspective, but then he got distracted by what he actually saw.
Satoru sipped his ramune quietly, head propped up against his knuckles. Getou couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was that gave him away, his silence, his fingers drumming against the table, his restless leg beneath it, but the sum of it added up, and Getou had the unpleasant sense that Satoru was freaked out.
Getou kept eating until he was full, which was another ten to fifteen minutes. By the time he'd gotten the table cleared and a drink of his own as well as a bowl of fruit, Mei Mei had left, looking strangely satisfied given the lack of intel this group had offered her, and Utahime had followed Shoko out to her sidewalk smoke.
Once the two of them were alone Satoru switched to the spot across from Getou, sideways on the chair and an elbow propped on the back of it. "So I've been thinking," he said casually, "I want you to punch me in the face."
"Ha?"
"I'm not used to pain," Satoru explained, looking annoyed that he had to. "I can't have that. I mean, I've been kicked around and all, but never in the face. I didn't know it was that different. It felt like my jaw was on fire, and everything was buzzing, I couldn't even think straight. I was so worried I'd get ugly."
"Wait, seriously?" Getou frowned, ignoring that last part. "Never?"
Satoru looked at him like he was stupid. "Why would I let someone punch my face? It's my face."
…huh. Come to think of it, he'd never punched Satoru in the face before. He couldn't recall a single hit above the neck, even in close combat training. Not one that landed, anyway.
"Wow. You took it well then," Getou commented, somewhat impressed. "Considering."
It was just a passing thought expressed, but Satoru suddenly gained an anxious air, leaning forward over the table. "You think so? How did it look? Did you think I was cool?"
Amused, Getou took the time to chew the grape he put in his mouth. Haha, cute. He must've felt embarrassed. It was important to be humbled once in a while.
"I wasn't there," Getou reminded him, "but I heard you walked it off. That's pretty cool for a first time."
"Damn right I walked it off, the fuck? Kimura's the one who fell over actually. He feels pretty bad about it. Keeps giving me juice everytime I see him so I hope he feels bad forever." Fucking Kimura. "Anyway, whatever, I need you to punch me a bunch of times until I get used to it. You down or not?"
"Sure," Getou nodded, tilting forward his bowl in invitation. Sounded like a fun time. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes!" Satoru took a fistful of grapes and ate them all at once, eager, "It's not gonna be a fight, so we can just do it in my room. Sugumon can keep a secret, right?"
This was strangely sweet, Getou thought. "Of course."
"Awesome," Satoru sighed in relief, leaning back against his chair and throwing his head back to look at the sky. Like this had been weighing heavy on him and he could finally rest now that he handed it over to Getou. "You're so awesome, Suguru. Everyone's annoying except you. I mean I guess Shoko's chill too… Gimme more grapes."
He was wearing a short sleeved shirt with the collar hanging loose, so like this his neck was completely exposed, all strong sinewy lines and muscles. Getou stared at him for a moment, thoughtfully. He didn't look at Satoru's bruises and feel fear, just a low-simmering annoyance that he wasn't the one to put them on him. For all he thought very lowly of Satoru's shitty personality, Getou still often thought of him as invincible. He kept making this mistake, over and over.
"Hey, Satoru."
Satoru made a noise, inclining his head in an attitude of listening.
"Have you given some thought about what Mei Mei and Utahime were talking about?" he asked, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "Does it scare you?"
"Scare me?" Satoru repeated dumbly, bewildered. "You mean Mojo Jojo?"
"Is that what you're calling the special grade?"
"Yeah. Get it? 'Cuz it stole my mojo. No, you get it right?"
"What about the Jojo part?"
"Dunno. It rhymes. "
Getou nodded. Made sense. "So? Are you?"
"What, scared?" Satoru lifted his sunglasses so Getou could see exactly what he thought of that. "Hello? I'm Gojo Satoru, you know."
"Were you still Gojo Satoru in those five seconds?"
Satoru opened his mouth as if to answer, but then no words came out. And because his eyes were bare, Getou could see it clearly: the bafflement filling them, followed by uncertainty. Clouds gathering in a blue sky. His brows furrowed. He didn't know what to say.
"It's alright if you don't have an answer," Getou added softly. He felt bad. It was a pretty loaded question, and he didn't like Satoru looking so lost.
"Suguru," Satoru slid his sunglasses back over his eyes, exasperated, "you're so intense. You need to be chill like me. I can teach you if you want, maybe you'll even get popular."
"I'm plenty popular," Getou said, unbothered. His mind was still chewing on the topic, refusing to let it go until he felt out its contours. He… actually wanted to know what Satoru thought, and he knew if he pushed a little, Satoru would tell him. He took out his pack of cigarettes, clicked his tongue seeing that he was down to his last. He needed to buy some more. "It's been a while. Did Shoko and Utahime leave?"
"Yep. Took your lighter, too. Deserved."
"Ah, well." He tore a tiny gash across the air, and a spirit floated out of it—a ball of mass with neither eyes nor mouth, only two rows of teeth. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, where it squirmed and squirmed and breathed fire into the tip of his cigarette.
"For me," Getou said slowly, thinking about it as he spoke, "I think of my cursed energy as something separate. There's a before and an after I consume a curse, and while they execute my will, I never thought of them as an extension of me, or my body. But it's different for you, isn't it?"
Gojo was his power, tendon and muscle and bone and constant, thrumming energy. To have been stripped from it so suddenly must have been scary.
"Yes, I see it now," Getou said, more confident in his assessment the longer Satoru stared at him. He found himself enjoying exploring this, and he knew it must have shown on his face. "Tell me—"
"Ugggggh."
"What would you do if you lost your energy permanently? Assuming you survive."
"No, I'm not doing your philosophical shit. It's so pointless! We'll be here forever. I'm yawning."
"Come on, it's summer. Humor me."
"I'm sleeping," Satoru stubbornly went limp in his chair, "I'm asleep."
"Satoruuu," Getou was smiling. He playfully trapped Satoru's ankle between his calves under the table, "Talk to me. It doesn't hurt to think through things once in a while instead of forgetting them once they're over. Really, no wonder you're so immature."
"Immature your mom," Satoru waved a hand at him blindly, dismissive, "You can talk if you want, can't promise I'll listen. I ate too much beef. But I'll try to make out the vowels."
Getou sighed showfully, shaking his head. The absence of an answer was an answer in and of itself, really. Satoru wasn't at all equipped to conceptualize himself outside his abilities. He quite literally could not picture it.
"Is it a pointless exercise when the threat is very real?" he opted to ask. "Something is around."
"There's nothing around. I would have seen Mojo Jojo."
"Oh? What got you, then?"
Satoru was predictable. He always wanted the last word. Faced with a question he had no answer to, he'd circle back to the one he could answer. "I wouldn't survive it," he said grouchily. Haha. "You can't survive that. And if I did, I'd probably become curse food. It's just how it goes, right? I just hope something really badass takes me out. Like Ryomen Sukuna. …That'd be baller. What about you? What would you do without all your little minions?"
"Well," Getou mused, considering the hypothetical, "I'm a fighter, so I'll probably fight until my last breath. If I can't summon my curses, I still have my fists. And if my arms are cut off, then I'll kick with my legs and if those are gone too, I'll use my teeth."
Satoru radiated skepticism. "You're telling me you wouldn't wanna die if you were weak?"
"I don't think you grasp what wanting to die really is," Getou said cheerfully. "And you know what else? I think you're full of shit. It's hard to picture you rolling over—you like to live too much. You're a fighter, too."
"I froze though," Satoru mumbled without looking at him, head turned towards the street.
"I know," Getou said, with bubbling affection.
Satoru blinked at him. "...Yeah?"
With an arched eyebrow, like Satoru was being dense, Getou pointed at his own eye. "You're too good at close combat to let that land. I'm leagues better than Kimura, and I never could do that no matter how distracted I got you. Figured something else must have caught you off guard."
"It was lame," Satoru muttered, lips jutting into a pout. Ah—there it was, hm? "It was so lame. I wanna die."
"No you don't," Getou laughed, ashing his cigarette right onto the table. "So you froze, so what? You're not dead yet, so it's just about not freezing again when it counts, that's all. It's like you said, that's just how it goes."
Satoru went quiet, and Getou had the sense that he was being stared at quite insistently, almost swallowed up. The cigarette hissed between his fingers as Getou inhaled a long puff, and the next second Satoru exhaled a short breath, shaking his head, almost incredulous. "Man."
"Hm? What is it?"
"It's just like, wow. Your mouth."
Getou blinked, surprised. "My mouth?"
"Yeah. You talk, you say blablabla, and then I feel better. It's crazy! You should make a job out of that."
"Out of talking?" Getou laughed. "At any rate, I'm glad you're feeling better. Does that mean you'll let Shoko heal that bruise?"
"Ehhh? But I thought you said it sexes me up!"
"I know for a fact I never said those words."
"But you think it," Satoru insisted. He lifted his bangs out the way, which was a useless gesture as the bruise was lower, a splotch of purple spidering out his sunglasses and spilling onto his cheekbone. "It gives me a little edge, no? Like no one called me cute for a while."
"You're cute." Getou nodded his chin a little impatiently, "Get it healed. You're not gonna figure out positive energy anytime soon. It's fine."
He fucking hated looking at it.
"Geez, you're so demanding! It's my face, you know, why do I feel like I keep saying that?" His tone was plaintive, but Satoru was smiling a little, "But alright, I guess, if it makes you shut up."
Getou shrugged. "Whatever." He does what you say, Yaga had said, which was now echoing around his head.
He popped another grape in his mouth. Cool.