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Trees crouched under wind, leaves fell ever so silently until night-time. Air-raid alarms never ceased. Each year went quickly, children and adults alike became consumed by fear. Governments constantly sought after plans to cure their imperative underlying issues. In September of 1939, Operation Pied Piper began. “Please say your final farewells. We shall be departing shortly!” Clamouring commotion could be heard throughout cold train carriages.
Few parents that were present all started to leave, tearfully joyous. Bittersweet. Train carriages started to move along tracks slowly, delaying its own leave, “Farewell London.” The conductor's voice appeared awfully soft, tired. They exited the station, on schedule, for rural England. Despite the cold evening, sunlight spilled in, golden, and soft. Illuminating worn out floorboards, these carriages were notably never going to travel such paths again anytime soon.
Hours passed, children cried themselves to sleep whilst others stared out the window, hopeful. Strikingly, those who had an appetite started shovelling rations down without another thought. Despite each caregiver and parent alike spending their rations differently, the usual packed lunch during relocation could consist of anything to: Jam, meat paste and cheese sandwiches on white or brown bread, hard-boiled eggs. To pieces of fruit, slices of fruitcake or plain sponge cake, biscuits accompanying a beverage, flask of tea, milk, or diluted squash.
The hum of tracks filled empty silence, in one corner someone with white hair, bright blue eyes and a bruised apple reflecting his body, sat, coat slightly too big hung loosely over his ridged shoulders. Gojo felt cold metal capture his sense of smell. All these carriages smelled of cold metal, damp wool and reluctant children, and relocating. Across from him, someone around his age untied a cloth bundle. Black long hair accompanying dark eyes and three perfectly skewered coloured sweets wrapped in fraying bamboo leaf.
Something Gojo hadn't seen in years. Dango. Still glossy. Still soft. Geto looked at them, disgust evident. He caught Gojo's eyes lingering for just a second too long. Gojo averted his gaze quickly, but not fast enough, “Want them?" Geto said, voice shallow, focused.
"What...?" Gojo blinked, holding back shock. No one would ever give up their Dango. Especially not a stranger. Would they? His thoughts were quick, subtly chaotic. He eyed enviously, already planning how to decline.
"I get travel sickness if I eat sweet things," the boy added. No one ever listened, but Gojo analysed every word, movement, and expression plastered across the others’ face. "I wouldn't want them to go to waste." A clear lie. He didn't question it, reaching for the Dango happily.
He took them slowly as if they might disappear if he moved too fast. Without another word, Gojo bit into the Dango. Despite not being able to sense the real reason behind these gestures, he savoured every flavour. The soy sweet glaze remained thick and comforting. "Thank you," He exclaimed earnestly as if Geto had given him a prized possession.
Geto didn't respond, instead nodded and changed his outlook from Gojo to the plaguing sunset, soon they'd all be enveloped in darkness. Sweet tastes resided within Gojo's mouth. He felt full, fully empty. Imaging home, an empty house filled with shouting, neglect, and abuse. Event sweetest nothingness couldn’t placate his thought’s. Night time consumed the children aboard collectively, putting them into drowsy slumbers.
All except two were easily succumbing to sleep. White hair waved to welcoming, wind, Gojo mindlessly stared out their carriage window, encapsulated by his own thoughts. Their window appeared ajar, enough space for someone to jump out. “Hm?” Geto stirred awake, trying to make out the scene in front of him. Cold air instantly brushed against his face, he saw more clearly, Gojo's hands gripped their window. Gojo readied himself, bracing for impact.
“What... are... you doing?” Geto grabbed Gojo by his waist, pulling him back, landing back first against uncomfortable train seats, Geto winced, “Hey? Gojo remained unresponsive. In somewhat of a trance, Geto replayed the scene repeatedly. Impatiently waiting for Gojo to come to his senses, Gojo wore his brightest smile just he began to fall. However Geto had cushioned Gojo’s obscure actions which almost had him precariously leaning off the edge of life.
Falling from heights, they didn't deserve. Geto let Gojo lay atop him, listening to his heartbeat, Gojo traced mindlessly. Enrapt Geto didn't move, monitoring one another’s composure. “Oh...” He spoke up, feverishly, hands touching the air around Gojo, “You’ve... got something on you.” Light eyes met heartfelt dark ones.
“Oh really?” Gojo's eyes pursued amusement, “Mind getting them off?” Geto slightly paused. Weighing his options. He scanned the blue eyed, white haired attentively. He was a Jujutsu Sorcerer. He had to be. Of some sort. Any sort. Surely.
“Curses.” The voice came soft, hesitant, Gojo's eyes became alight with joy. Fragmented joy. “You... are a Jujutsu Sorcerer..” Geto stated aloud as if trying to convince himself, “For how long hav-” The fellow Jujutsu Sorcerer faced his question being cut short.
“Since I was born.” Gojo continued, ”Limitless Technique, Six Eyes.” He smirked looking up, “Ring any bells?” Geto abstained from media in any form, media generally ruined people inside and out. In an ideal world the media wouldn't ruin others. But here and now, it ruined everything in its waking presence.
Leeching off souls, similarly as curses did so, the printing press favoured every systematic inequality, constantly spreading misinformation rather than persuading the public to support Jujutsu Sorcerers. “Did curses disappear because of you?” Gojo somewhat shook his head laughing to himself, struggling, contemplating on what truths should be left unsaid.
“No...” He experienced waves of disappointment that Geto read easily,” I just... scared them away. Nothing has been solved as such. They're just scared of me.” Voice cracking, Geto instinctively played with his hair. “Do you ever think about what life would be like without.. being a Jujutsu Sorcerer?”
Geto stopped playing with brightly coloured hair,” I guess.” The question felt almost personal, direct even. A self reflection of what could've been. A reflection of normative society. Abnormality never welcomed change. Alienation would only occur more frequently. Jujutsu Sorcerers had a reputation etched into society’s minds as scum. Forever.
“I see.” Geto looked down at him. Brightly coloured eyes followed dark skies. Yet dark eyes followed him. Geto followed Gojo's interest solely. Mesmerised entirely. “Should the notion ever catch your fancy, know I'm willing to run away…” They lapsed into silence. In fact, there was no need for constant conversation. Eventually the pitter-patter of fleeting rain blanketed the two comfortably as they drifted asleep once more.