Chapter Text
In the beginning, there was only darkness. Then, a swirl of memories arose from it, wrapped in sunlight and an early morning breeze, coated in familiar laughter, a remnant of a longing forever lost.
Gojo Satoru, awoken by its golden glow, opened his Eyes and looked right into it.
***
He blinked, trying to chase the blinding sun away, hand reaching up into his hair, seeking to pull his blindfold over his eyes. There was nothing there, though – his fingers caught on a few strands of hair uselessly, and then, on their way down, bumped into the frames of a long forgotten shape. They held on and drove the glasses upwards, covering his eyes, and only then could he start assessing his surroundings.
He was lying on the ground, grass tickling his neck. The sharp sunlight belonged to a morning. It was calm. That, in itself, wasn’t really out of the ordinary. Or, it wouldn’t have been, in normal circumstances – only, just a moment ago, he was trapped inside the Prison Realm, working at it from the inside, trying to find a way out.
And find it he did, apparently, taking his current situation into account. It was just that, looking down on himself, he couldn’t help but notice that poor excuse of a uniform, the disappearance of which upon graduation he had celebrated every day after waking up. The glasses, too – those particular ones were long gone.
The whole situation was certainly unprecedented. Upon closer inspection, he even felt younger, his body not as worn out, like time itself reversed for him when he tried to break out of his glorified jail cell. But Infinity still fizzled along his skin, a familiar point in the confusion, and everything else within him was intact too, so – well, it could have been worse.
It could have been better, too, though. He might have escaped the Prison Realm, but he wound up in a time that wasn’t even close to the events he was supposed to be partaking in – and he didn’t think there was any way to go back. He had, briefly, entertained the thought of a swap, his high school self, trapped in his older body, being unsealed by his students, but imagining the chaos that’d ensue brought upon him a headache.
“Quit lazing around, will you,” Shoko snorted from somewhere above him, her foot nudging the space near his side. “I know you probably just got back, but you really need to go report on your mission before passing out on the lawn.”
It was only the sight of her, so young, still smiling, unburdened, that violently kicked him into the reality he was facing. He sat up, blinking.
“I’m going, I’m going,” he replied, mind racing. Where exactly – or, rather, when exactly was he? It felt too real to be anything else but, and that created a whole lot of other problems he wasn’t sure he wanted to face.
“Geto got back yesterday evening,” Shoko added, shooting him a downwards glance. From his perspective, with the sun behind her, he couldn’t make out her expression fully. “He’s probably still sleeping the mission off, though.”
Then, it hit him. The school uniform, the glasses, and the – because if Suguru was here, then that meant – he was thrown back into a time where he still…
He tried to keep track of his expression, but probably failed, so he got to his feet to eliminate any chance of questions he didn’t have any answers to, patting Shoko on the shoulder while passing her. “Thanks, I’ll make sure to check on him after.”
Only after rounding the nearest corner did he stop, feeling a tremor that rarely showed itself, these days. Suguru was here, too, and he didn’t run off yet, he didn’t leave, he was here, not turning his back on him on a crowded street, telling him to kill him, those ten years didn’t happen, and he was alive, alive and well, he was here, just a hand’s reach away, he wasn’t bleeding, leaning against a wall, he was here, sleeping, he wasn’t letting him just, without the slightest resistance – because there was no other choice, but was there? – kill him, because the memories of sleepless nights that followed, the aching pain, a constant in his life ever since that day, finally receded a little, because he was there, and there was a chance, another chance, to turn it all around, to get him to stay.
He took a deep breath.
Suguru had told him, then, to at least curse him at the very end, as if he hadn’t loved him for years at that point, as if the fact that his love couldn’t find a conclusion other than that bloody end wasn’t already the final work of a curse he had cast upon them the moment he realized why was it that his heartbeat stuttered when he was near, the finishing touches of a misery he had willingly walked into.
But if he was here, again, at the moment where it all began, instead of where it had already been long gone, he could make it right. He had spent days wondering what he could have done differently – the thought was sometimes so insistent it had almost swallowed him whole.
With his youthful ignorance cast aside in favor of this new mind, a mind that already lived through the mistakes, preventing the landslide of suffering was almost imaginable.
He’d start with finding out what today’s date was.
***
“I take it your mission was successful?” Yaga asked, completely unfazed by his sudden intrusion.
“Sure,” Gojo said, choosing to omit the fact that he remembered positively nothing of the whole ordeal. He should be excused, though – in his memory, that was over ten years back. “As always.”
He saw the deep breath that usually brought news of a new mission, and decided to be faster. “Well, I was thinking that my next mission should be with Suguru.”
That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Most people are inclined to believe you’re both capable enough to handle your respective tasks alone.”
Gojo huffed. They were – they were too strong for their own good, it seemed, because that separation had slowly ruined everything.
“Maybe, but have you considered,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “that when I’m all alone, I get sad, and then I might want to leave jujutsu society forever?”
Yaga coughed, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “I think the higher-ups did not consider that.”
“I think they should.”
“I’ll send you on this mission together, then,” Yaga said, shuffling the papers on his desk. “We need Geto here too, if I am to brief you on this next task.”
It had been an impulse to demand a mission together, an impulse the reason of which hung on the wall behind him, the markings unmistakable no matter how many times he turned to inspect them again. The date was – to simply put it, things were too far gone. Almost everything leading to Suguru’s departure had already happened, save that fateful village. The only thing Gojo could come up with at that point was attaching himself to his hip and never letting go.
And when the door opened, eyes meeting eyes, an electric shock, the world stopped.
The sight of him hit him like a truck, the intensity of the feeling that took over him unexpected – as if this new body wasn’t yet used to the state of constantly missing Suguru, missing him so long and so hard it became more muscle memory than anything else, the years together etched into his eyelids permanently, playing every time he closed his eyes, making him unable to dream of anything else if he’d ever choose to.
“Satoru,” Suguru greeted him softly, and he almost came undone right there, just at the sound of his voice, his soul reaching out, because everything finally felt so right.
“I’ll be quick,” said Yaga, effectively breaking the charm Gojo was put under.
He pulled himself together, turning to listen. He could feel Suguru’s somewhat confused, slightly concerned gaze on the side of his head, and shot him a quick smile, wrestling his breathing under control.
It was laughable, how the sight of Suguru’s forehead made his lips pull downwards uncontrollably.
“Is there a problem?” asked Suguru, leaning on the back of his chair, and, well, maybe it was just wishful thinking, but...
“No problems,” Yaga assured. “Just a mission.”
Gojo used the moment of diverted attention to look closely. He seemed composed, listening with his head tilted, one strand of hair resting against his cheek, eyes calm. He couldn’t get enough of the sight, but – he also couldn’t help but notice that, even though Suguru was thinner than he should, the bags under his eyes prominent, he didn’t look nearly as rough as he remembered him being during that last period of time they spent together. It wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him, of that he was certain – he had Suguru memorized.
Surely not. Surely that wasn't it. If Suguru was also thrown back in time, somehow, no matter how absurd it sounded, he would have looked way more disgusted upon laying his eyes on Gojo.
“So, is everything clear?” asked Yaga, gaze expectant.
Gojo nodded as if it was. He didn’t have the slightest idea what was even said – he saw Suguru nodding along and hoped he paid more attention.
It was after they left the classroom that he realized that Suguru was walking right next to him, and that he was actually there, and that he was breathing, and that he was – the way he smiled, it was almost the same as when he sat in that alley, propped up against the wall – but Gojo didn’t remember much from that moment, he didn’t want to remember, aside from the simplest of sensations that there was a lot of blood and that he felt miserably sad.
“You should rest,” said Suguru, stopping to turn to him. “You look a bit out of it.”
“I'm fine,” replied Gojo, a reflex he lost control of a long time ago. “I heard you got back yesterday. How was it?”
What he meant to ask was, did it push you one step closer to the edge I won’t be able to pull you away from?
“It wasn’t very difficult,” murmured Suguru. “That’s why I’m surprised we’re going on this one together. I thought they separated us for good.”
Gojo tried to find a note of anything in his voice, but it was painfully neutral.
“Working together is good for morale,” he announced, and mustered the courage to gently tap Suguru’s arm, teasing.
“The suffering truly is never ending,” sighed Suguru exaggeratedly, holding the bridge of his nose between his fingers, lips parting in a smile. “I know you weren’t listening to anything Yaga said.”
“I never do,” replied Gojo, truthfully. “That’s why I need you.”
Suguru snorted. “I’ll explain on the way.”
He could – would – get used to it, and probably in the blink of an eye, too, because coming back to Suguru was like coming back home, the setting familiar no matter how many years had passed. But right now, when the sight of him was still so very new, he found it hard to even say anything to him in fear that the illusion would disperse, nothing more than a vivid dream, and he’d be left alone, again.
The exorcising that ensued was less about getting rid of the curses, which were big, slimy and stretched unnaturally wide, and more about minimizing the collateral damage, pulling his punches just enough to hurt them, but not send them flying into a building. The destruction the full extent of his true power brought had so often felt like a burden more than anything else. His missions were mostly dull, one move after the other, always holding back, especially if he wasn’t alone, always keep close to me, always don’t get in the way, always stay back, I’ll handle it.
He was knocked out of his train of thought when half the curses in front of him were sucked into the air, the swirling smoke forming floating spheres.
Gojo turned around only to be met with Suguru’s mockingly raised eyebrow.
“Getting lazy?” Suguru touched his forehead with the back of his hand, tone theatrically dramatic. “Was taking me along a ploy to sit around and do nothing? Satoru, I am wounded. I thought that was my job.”
Gojo bit back an unexpected smile, suddenly feeling warm all over. Yes, this was it. The loss of this had shaken him up the most. And now, he had it back.
“Don’t tell me you’re planning to eat all of that,” he said, pushing the thoughts that fluttered around him like butterflies aside. “I’d have bought you a snack if I knew you were that hungry.”
“They’re not really that strong,” Suguru said, pulling the spheres closer. “But they could be useful. I like that they’re so stretchy. They’d make a good shield.”
Gojo felt his brow knit together as he watched, unconsciously noting every little twitch, the way the skin around Suguru’s eyes got tighter, the way his fingers shook slightly, the displeased twist of his mouth, the way his eyes darkened, the way…
Suguru choked on the last one, bending, hand flying to his mouth. Gojo found himself at his side instantly, without any notion of when he had crossed the distance.
“You…”
“I’m alright, it happens sometimes,” Suguru muttered, his breaths coming short and a little uneven. “It’s fine.”
He went to straighten himself, and Gojo moved towards him, and then Suguru leaned close, instead, arm against arm, and immediately, Infinity welcomed him in. It seemed to startle him, though, the touch, as if he had made the move expecting to bump into the invisible barrier, not fall right through it.
“Something wrong?” Gojo asked, and he couldn’t pretend that his surprise wasn’t genuine.
“No, of course not,” Suguru muttered. He did not make any move to put distance between them, and perhaps it was just because the nausea got to him, but Gojo couldn’t help but commit the warmth of that touch to memory anyway. “I’m just surprised. You haven’t been letting anyone in, lately.”
He could make out the memories from that time, although he had been mostly away, back then, on missions – but, yes, that was true, even when he was back home, Toji had shaken him up enough to constantly be on his guard. He didn’t think it had been all that noticeable, the shift. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had he been thinking, back then, to be able to not let Suguru in. As it was, there wasn’t any way he could imagine keeping him out.
“I got scared,” he admitted, truthfully.
“I take it you’re not scared anymore?” Suguru asked, and it was probably meant to be teasing, but it fell somewhat flat, too heavy, too hoarse, too tired.
Gojo tilted his head towards him, Suguru’s weight on his shoulder steadying the fluttering under his ribs. “It’s just you, after all.”
“Just me,” Suguru agreed, and there was something there, but Gojo didn’t want to think about it for too long.
Having him so close was almost unbelievable, as if he had wished himself into a delicate dream, an illusion that would shatter given the slightest movement, a breath out of line. The lonely nights after Suguru were still so deeply engraved into his being, that stinging, aching pain never fading, that he felt detached from this reality – a reality not too good to be true, perhaps, but too good to be his.
The simplest of truths was that he had missed him, so much he sometimes thought he’d break under the weight of it, his thoughts never straying from the feeling, missed him to the point of pretending not to, lest he be consumed by a grief bigger than the world itself. The wound Suguru had left behind had never even begun to heal, his chest bleeding with his absence after every beat.
He deluded himself into thinking that the pain wasn’t that strong after everyone had told him that there was no other choice but to let him go, but to forget him, but to cut all the ties, but to stand opposite of him, but to kill him. And he had been so lost without his guiding light that he convinced himself to believe it.
It was easier that way, to focus on his duty, on his purpose. A weapon was a weapon, after all, no matter if it had a heart.
It was all so foolish, looking back. He was foolish, too, drowning himself in that old sadness, as if Suguru wasn’t right next to him.
“Feeling better?” he asked, stealing a glance at him.
“Told you, it always passes quickly,” Suguru replied, and if he was upright, he would have probably shaken his head at him, the gesture being a silent scolding of, why do you never listen. “They just taste awful, and my body doesn’t like me swallowing them. I’ll get used to it, eventually.”
Always so factual, marveled Gojo, even in the face of this.
“Next time, I’ll get you something sweet to kill the taste,” he said, filing the thought away to remember it later.
“Sweet?” Suguru looked surprised by the statement.
“You always ask others to bring sweets as a souvenir, so…” he trailed off, wondering if his memory was failing him. It had been quite some time, but he had been fairly certain that Suguru always asked for sweets, convinced he was right because he had made a habit of stealing half from him later.
“Do I?” Gojo could feel the smile through his sleeve. “Well, bring more, so that I can share with you.”
“I’m not the one that has to eat curses.”
“You’ll eat most of the candy anyway, better to be prepared.”
“So mean,” he muttered, conceding victory, and instead soaking up the moment so that he could come back to it a thousand times in the future.
The days passed in a blur, painted with a brush made of sunlight, filled with their missions, and the bleeding wounds carved inside of him seemed to finally begin closing, aided by a familiar presence at his side, for which he had been looking over his shoulder for half his life, only to always find it no longer present.
He saw, once, while passing by, Shoko laughing, a cigarette in her hand, Suguru leaning towards her with an easy smile, eyes closed, standing under a tree, and the sudden pain of their youth suddenly hit him. The burden they all carried only got heavier throughout all the years, and ultimately, not only he and Suguru were separated by it. It had divided them so completely he had almost forgotten the golden hours of that shared happiness.
And now, the day had come that could very well divide them again.
Had he done enough to keep him?
He couldn’t bear the thought of their history repeating, that vicious cycle pulling them in again, years of loneliness, years of regret, years of wondering, replaying every day, every word, the knowledge that he could have done more like a weight on his shoulders that got heavier with each passing day.
And he still couldn’t bring himself to think about Shibuya, even though it had sometimes felt as if it was burning him from the inside out.
And when Yaga said to him, yes, he’s coming with you, wasn’t that obvious by now, Gojo had to take a moment after, to collect himself, to fully realize that, for some reason, the village was assigned to Nanami, and Suguru was going to be at his side for the entire day.
Would that be enough to keep him?
Would he wake up tomorrow, heartbeat unsteady, wondering if he had only delayed what sometimes, when the fact that his only redeeming quality of being strong didn’t matter at all with Suguru hit him particularly hard, felt inevitable?
He could see him, face deep in thought, and bathed in the sunlight he looked serenely calm, hair like a dark, glistening halo around him, and it in itself felt like some kind of punishment, to be faced with that view and be rendered unable to do anything about it, watching as if from behind a window that denied him passage to the other side of it. He was never one to dance around his words, but he could not find a simple sentence to accurately catalogue the sight, a truthful way to hide it away so that he could marvel at it later.
“If you keep scrunching your nose, eventually it’ll stay that way forever,” he called to him, a smile already all over his face.