Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

After his defeat in Shinjuku, Gojo Satoru woke up abruptly: he found himself standing on an escalator moving upward. At the top, a vast spacious hall awaited him — rows of seats, an electronic board displaying arriving and departing flights, and wide windows stretching across the entire wall, overlooking the runway.

For a moment, back when he was still lying there in Tokyo, his mouth filling faster and faster with blood, he thought he saw a silhouette in front of him. A smile. Black hair with bangs.

But then the mirage vanished, and in its place were the escalator, the hall, and the roar of airplanes. There wasn't a single soul around.

No matter how little he believed in life after death, apparently it did exist after all. Was he surprised? After all the time he had spent in a world inhabited by curses — and having to stand at the end against the strongest of them? No, he wasn't surprised. There was hardly anything left that could surprise him anymore.

Gojo glanced down at his body for a brief moment and noticed he was wearing his school uniform — one he hadn't worn in eleven years. Silently, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking forward. His gaze was fixed on the panoramic windows, where another plane was preparing for takeoff. The turbines roared, wind rose and began to sway the distant trees, the landing gear wheels spun faster, and the iron bird, making its turn, started gaining speed.

Gojo's steps never faltered for even a second.

He couldn't say for sure how long he had been walking forward, but the hall never seemed to end, and everything around him remained the same: rows of seats, electronic boards here and there, endless open space stretching ahead. Only the planes kept taking off and landing in their steady rhythm.

Gojo was beginning to get used to the state of things here. The constant noise faded into the background, and the emptiness around him wasn't even frightening. If he thought about it a little longer, he might even find peace here — wasn't that why he had ended up in this place? The concept of loneliness wasn't foreign to him, and yet…

The boy stopped abruptly.

The echo of his footsteps, which had risen toward the high ceiling, died along with it.

So what, that's it? This is what's waiting for him for the nearest fucking eternity? Life in an airport and reflections on eternity? Standing still, he tried to reach some kind of logical conclusion, to understand why he was here. And just maybe, why he was here alone. Because if this was the afterlife, then where were the others? Where were those who must had come here first? Where were at least some familiar faces?

Where's Amanai? Where's Kuroi?

He turned around and began walking in the opposite direction, still not taking his hands out of his pockets. Only now did he notice he wasn't wearing his blindfold or his glasses. For the first time, nothing around him caused irritation or pain, no matter the noise or the brightness of this other world. Heaven. Hell. Whatever the fuck it was.

His steps quickened slightly, though he still tried to remain calm. Or at least pretend to be, for whoever might be watching.

Where's Haibara?

His steps grew heavier, as if he were walking barefoot through sand. Nothing held him back; the floor was smooth and gleaming, as if an airport worker had just passed over the tiles, clearing away dust and dirt — and yet each step became heavier and heavier.

Where's Nanami? Where's Yaga?

He started walking faster now, trying to return to the escalator that had brought him into this hall. Outside the windows, the roar of turbines rose louder than before. Gojo stopped and turned his head to the right. Two planes crossed paths in the air: one, completely white, descending toward the runway, while the other, entirely black, lifted into the sky.

Where's... Suguru?

The thought made his heart clench unpleasantly, and perhaps that was the only thing that had surprised Gojo Satoru in this incomprehensible place for all this uncountable time. Not the so-called afterlife he had ended up in, not the empty airport, not the planes living their own lives — but this. This… feeling.

Longing. Sadness. Desire.

He turned away from the windows and looked ahead, back toward where he had come from. In the distance, there was no escalator in sight, though he could still hear the mechanical steps moving. His hands jerked inside his pockets, then slowly curled into fists.

"Why so gloomy, Gojo Satoru?"

The boy spun sharply at the sound of a man's voice. There, in one of the rows, occupying a single seat, sat the very man the voice belonged to. He was dressed in a strict black suit that, by Gojo's standards, was from a fairly expensive brand; polished black dress shoes on his feet, their toes slightly darkened. His black hair was neatly styled into a haircut Satoru would never allow himself — if only because he actually has a taste. The man looked him up and down with empty brown eyes.

He had thin brows, slightly rounded cheeks, full lips. When the light from the windows struck him at the right angle, Gojo was certain he could see faint lines of scars across his clean face, like old burn marks — yet the moment the sun slipped away, the man's face looked ordinary again. He looked human. He spoke like a human. And still, even without sensing cursed energy in this world, Gojo knew for a fact that he wasn't one.

The non-human crossed one leg over the other and began adjusting the cufflinks on their sleeves, focusing on them and finally looking away from Satoru. It didn't make it any easier for him, of course, but Gojo appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" the non-human continued, now fixing the cufflink on the other wrist; their left foot kept swaying over the other, the toe tilting left and right. "Strange. Back when you were alive, it was damn near impossible to shut you up. Guess death does that to a person—"

"Go fuck yourself!"

Gojo's voice rang bright and loud in the stillness of the empty airport. The non-human's leg froze mid-motion, their hands suspended in a perfect pause, as if someone had pressed a magic button and halted their entire being. Satoru probably could have reacted differently, but in that moment he simply couldn't tolerate being spoken to like that.

Maybe when he was alive — from certain people, sure. From the higher-ups he couldn't give a shit about, who constantly went on about how unruly he was, how much he demanded. In the end, their opinion had never meant a damn thing to him.

From Maki, when she got tired of his antics and just told him to shut up. From Shoko, who would light her third cigarette in a row in the middle of one of his endless rants about whatever, despite the fact that smoking wasn't allowed in the morgue, and only then tell him his voice was making her ears bleed.

From Suguru, back then, all those years ago, when he playfully punched him on the shoulder for yet another piece of nonsense and told him to shut up with a smile. But not seriously. Never seriously.

Hearing this from a non-human in a non-life in this clearly non-airport, as if they knew him better than he knew himself, was simply unbearable. 

Meanwhile, the non-human started moving again. This time, they adjusted the collars of their white shirts without ties, unbuttoned all the buttons on their black jacket, leaned back in their chairs, and looked at Gojo once again. He felt an unpleasant sensation creeping down his spine from those empty brown eyes.

A crooked, one-sided smile touched the non-human's lips.

"Oh dear," they drawled, their voice clearly tinged with amusement, "is that really how you speak to your guardian angel?"

Gojo had to physically restrain himself from slapping himself across the face. Because… a guardian angel?! Did he hear everything right? 

That was his guardian angel? That ill-mannered, sharp-tongued, sarcastic, no-sense-of-style parody of a human — his guardian angel? This had to be some kind of joke.

This non-human couldn't be telling the truth. And how the hell would they know anything about him anyway? Anyone could spout that kind of bullshit without a shred of proof — so what now, Satoru was supposed to believe them? No. Of course not. There had to be another explanation. This was a joke. A stupid, tasteless, some-kind-of-the-afterlife joke.

"Guardian angel my ass," Gojo snapped. He looked the non-human up and down once more, that gaze which used to send shivers down people's spines — now nothing more than just cold stare of blue eyes. "And where the hell was my so-called guardian angel when Sukuna sliced me in half, huh?"

His voice sounded mockingly whiny, overly offended, though in truth he wasn't worried about his own death. He was worried about the people he had unintentionally left behind, and the mess he'd left for them to clean up. A world that still needed changing. His students, who were supposed to live their best lives.

The non-human — or angel — clicked their tongue and raised a brow at him. "After all these years of watching you, I've gotten used to your antics, you know? Besides, don't tell me I've never helped you."

Gojo took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. And sure, he could name a few moments that might've qualified as acts of God, but… "I think that was just my luck."

He still didn't know what to call the being in front of him inside his own head. "Non-human" fit, but it was a mouthful. "Guardian angel" — a nice title the non-human had assigned themselves, but far too much credit for someone he was seeing for the first time and whose words absolutely deserved skepticism. Just "Angel" then?

"Too much luck for one person, if you ask me," the creature replied calmly, not breaking eye contact.

Gojo lingered in front of the Angel for a few seconds, then took the seat opposite them, unwilling to look away. God, he'd give anything to have the Six Eyes back. And Infinity. And Limitless. Not that he needed them to be strong — that philosophical question he'd been left with in the middle of the street by that fucking KFC, he'd resolved long ago — but it would be nice to have at least Infinity. Sure, it had often acted as a physical barrier between him and the world, but right now he would've loved to feel his cursed energy flowing around him. It was a rather strange feeling, but once he was without it, he realised how much he missed it.

Satoru crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side. "Oh? And what exactly was that help? Not letting Megumi's Divine Dogs knock me on my ass in the morning? Making sure I didn't trip over a curb? Ensuring I always step on the last stair in my own house?"

The Angel across from him threw their head back and laughed loudly. The sound of their amusement echoed through the empty hall, bouncing off the walls and ceiling. When they finally composed themselves, their laughter fading into quiet chuckles, the Angel wiped the corners of their eyes with a snow-white handkerchief pulled from one of their inner pockets, then with a soft exhale fixed their brown eyes on him again.

"Hm, I'm not even sure," they began quietly, tucking the cloth back into their pocket. "If I were some guardian angel of a random Yuzuki from Sapporo — then sure, maybe all that, plus keeping him from getting hit by a car once every five years. But you're The Gojo Satoru. The threats are greater, and the scale is a hell of a lot more serious."

Gojo shook his head and let out a quiet scoff, shifting his gaze from the figure across from him to the window. The planes kept taking off and landing, landing and taking off again. A little farther out, as if preparing to board, stood the same white plane he had noticed earlier. As his eyes moved across the hall, he spotted a boarding gate that hadn't been there before. Outside the window, a stairway vehicle was pulling up to the aircraft.

Gojo's pale brows furrowed slightly.

"Does the name Fushiguro Toji ring a bell?"

Gojo's gaze — bright, searing — snapped to the Angel. The smile was still there, only now wider, sharper. Their eyes were narrowed, head tilted slightly to the side and forward, like they were about to spill some unbelievable secret. Or maybe they'd just decided to fuck with him. Gojo was about ninety percent sure it was the latter.

"Oh, of course it does," the Angel went on, not slowing down. "The Zenin clan's laughingstock, yada-yada-yada, tried to kill you and so on and so forth."

They fell silent abruptly — and with them, the entire non-airport went quiet. The excavator's constant background rumble vanished, even though it had never been visible. The planes outside the windows went silent. When Gojo glanced over, he noticed the runway was completely empty.

The wind had stopped.

The white plane was gone.

"Except he didn't just try," the Angel continued, voice flat. When Satoru looked back at them, they weren't smiling anymore. Their face was controlled, blank; brown eyes heavy with something — power, maybe, or a burden — though Gojo couldn't quite grasp what. Their leg was no longer crossed. The non-human's entire posture had changed: back straight, thin brows slightly drawn together, hands folded with elbows resting on the armrests. "He killed you, Gojo Satoru. And you died."

Gojo knew that. Of course he did. He… died when he was seventeen. And in that stress — no, fatal — situation, his body had finally figured out how to use Reverse Cursed Technique, and he came back from the dead. Then he killed Fushiguro Toji, who had already killed Kuroi, Amanai, and nearly finished off Suguru.

He still remembered what his friend's body had looked like. The bloody 'X' carved into his chest that used to visit him in nightmares. The way, when he first returned to Suguru, he thought his body felt too cold — that maybe he'd been too late, that maybe Suguru was already dea—

Gojo clenched his teeth.

"Your heart stopped. You bled out," the Angel went on, oblivious to the emotions boiling inside him — not so much from their words as from his own memories. "His little trick of clouding your Six Eyes worked, and he got you. And after that, your corpse was swarmed by blowflies already trying to lay their eggs in your wounds."

The Angel rose from their seat and adjusted a jacket that didn't need adjusting. They opened and closed the cufflinks on their left hand, then their right — fussing over already perfect details, as if not just stretching time but giving Gojo space to fully absorb the weight of their words.

There was no need. Gojo understood perfectly.

The Angel rolled their shoulders and took one step forward. Then another. And another. Until they stood in front of Satoru, nearly looming over him. Despite everything — their words and his internal war — Gojo lifted his head.

"You died, Gojo Satoru," they repeated, with final emphasis. Those brown eyes pinned him in place. Not a single muscle in the Angel's face was tense, yet Satoru could feel their anger. He didn't need the Six Eyes for that. Two were enough. "His blade, which should have pierced your heart with the first blow, as you knocked down Infinity, missed by only a few inches. Still calling that dumb luck?"

Mockery was clear in their voice, but they pressed on without giving Gojo a chance to respond.

"But however you spin it, in the end, you died anyway, no matter how hard I tried. At seventeen, you closed your eyes forever in that world — only to open them here."

The last sentence made him physically stagger back. One corner of the Angel's mouth curled up at his reaction. "Oh, yes. You don't recognize this place? Strange. Last time you were here, you spent three months of our time. In the human world, only a few minutes passed — but you managed to raise hell while you were here."

The non-human stepped away from him, though not far, still staring straight into his eyes. Eventually, their smile faded again.

"The dead cannot be resurrected," they said seriously. Their voices were cold, but not unkind. Just a statement of fact. "The dead are not allowed to be resurrected. It's taboo. And it's almost the only rule of the afterlife for all guardian angels."

They let out a heavy breath and tipped their head back, looking up at the high ceiling — which, as Gojo followed their gaze, didn't even have a physical end. There was only void. A dark emptiness not even the lamps hanging in midair could illuminate.

"Three months. Quite a while, huh?" The Angel still wasn't looking at him, and Satoru didn't know whether to be relieved or unsettled by that. Their words refused to settle in his head. Three months? And he remembered none of it?

"You weren't supposed to remember," the Angel cut into his thoughts, and a physical shiver ran down Satoru's spine. "This place doesn't physically exist. It's the afterlife. But more importantly — you weren't supposed to go back." Slender fingers rose to their temple and tapped it a few times. "You're not allowed to resurrect the dead, remember?"

Their hollow laugh — so different from before — rolled through the overly quiet non-airport. The silence started ringing in his ears every time the Angel fell quiet.

"But you wouldn't shut up, Gojo," the Angel's head finally lowered from the ceiling, brown eyes finding Satoru sitting alone among a row of empty chairs. "You kept yapping and yapping about how you couldn't die. Said you had to go back. You even tried to bribe one of the archangels — claimed you had enough money in your estate to buy the entire afterlife and a chunk of Hell on top of it. That was pretty damn entertaining to watch. All the souls here at the time were snickering. Their guardian angels thought you were hilarious. That went on for, what, two weeks or so. And then you started talking about that boy. Suguru Geto."

Gojo felt his heart clench again. A shaky breath left him, and with the horror blooming inside his body, he kept listening. Only distantly did he register his hands beginning to tremble, his throat tightening with something else entirely.

"You demanded to go back to save him. Asked for an audience ‘with our boss upstairs' to negotiate. You said you were even willing to die after that, to come back here and stay, as long as you could save that boy. The other guardian angels just shrugged. I personally told you it was impossible, even under those conditions. At first, you insisted anyway. Then you asked. Then you started begging. And honestly, I could've laughed at the fact that The Gojo Satoru was begging for something — if not for one detail."

Satoru felt his head pulse with endless information, as if he still had the Six Eyes, as if his technique were still accessible and he'd once again overused it. Except he had died. Again. And now he had no techniques, his heart shouldn't even be beating in his chest — and yet he still felt the same pain he'd carried all these years whenever he heard Suguru's name.

"You weren't begging for yourself. You were begging for that boy — Suguru Geto."

His hands weren't supposed to tremble, but he saw them shaking in front of him anyway, and he clenched them into fists to make it less obvious.

He didn't need air anymore, and yet he felt as though it had nearly left his lungs entirely, each second making it harder and harder to draw a breath.

He didn't have the Six Eyes, but he still had his two — and they still filled with tears at the sound of one single name spoken aloud.

"You begged," the Angel said decisively, and Satoru had to close his eyes against the flood of emotion. "At first just with words. Two more weeks later, when you realized words weren't working, you got on your knees. In front of me. And in front of Suguru Geto's guardian angel personally. How you managed to find him among all the others is still a mystery to me."

They fell silent for a moment, as if slipping back into that memory. Gojo couldn't see their eyes, but he felt the weight of their gaze on him.

"You shouted that you had to be there. That you'd do anything we said. And two months later, when that didn't work either, you dropped to your knees, pressed your forehead to the ground, and cried for us to let you save the one you love so damn much."

The tears that had been brimming in his eyes finally spilled, carving wet trails down porcelain-white skin. Azure eyes lifted again to meet the Angel's brown ones, still staring straight into his soul. And this time, Gojo could say with absolute certainty it wasn't a metaphor. There was no pity in those brown eyes — but there was regret. And Satoru could tell it was only the tip of the iceberg.

Sound exploded back into the non-airport so suddenly that Gojo physically flinched. It was as if someone had turned off the television at night before going to bed, which had been playing a film at full volume, and then turned it on again the next quiet Saturday morning, completely forgetting about it. The turbines outside roared to life again, flights resumed. Somewhere in the distance, the unreachable excavator growled once more.

It felt like a breath of fresh air and, at the same time, like drowning in deep water.

What he saw next could've passed for a dream. Or something unreal. At least more unreal than everything that had been happening since he woke up in this non-airport. And since Gojo was still staring straight at his guardian angel, he watched it unfold in real time.

There was a fluttering sound, like someone had let birds loose inside the terminal. A breeze came out of nowhere. And then he saw it — a wing appearing behind the Angel's back. White. Massive. Two heads taller than him, and its lower edge brushing the floor. The left wing stood tall and proud, feathers rustling as if caught in wind, stretching outward — if Gojo had to guess, about two meters wide. It was gorgeous. Majestic. Blindingly white, like the first snow on a freezing winter morning.

And… single.

Gojo swallowed hard.

No matter how long he stared, the second wing never appeared. The left one fluttered again and folded back with a soft rustle.

"Surprise," the Angel said flatly, looking at him. Their face was still unreadable, and Gojo now knew better than to look at the face — he watched the eyes instead. But this time they gave nothing away. At least there was no fury in them, and he decided to count that as a small win. "'Happy second birthday, Gojo,' I said when I sent you back. 'Don't waste your chance,' I whispered before saying goodbye forever to my ability to return to Heaven."

The wing twitched faintly behind them.

"You, of course, messed it up spectacularly," the Angel laughed quietly, and Gojo was surprised to hear that this time the laugh — the emotion — was genuine. "But at least you saved him. For better or worse, not my call. And now you're here again, with your regret over Suguru Geto written all over you. You feel sorry for the students you left behind, the friends you couldn't save — yes, obviously. But your biggest regret? That you never truly saved him. That you confessed on the brink of death to the person you'd wanted to confess to a million times while alive. Ever since the first time you ended up here."

Silence fell.

Gojo sat perfectly still, trying to gather everything and crush it into something whole. His eyes burned from the sudden tears that had already dried, his temples throbbing the way they usually did before a brutal headache — not the kind you fix with ibuprofen, but the kind that turns into a full-blown migraine for hours. Maybe all day.

Strangely enough, it wasn't hard to accept that this had really happened.

All of it had happened. And if he pushed his brain just a little harder, he was sure he'd find the memories of this place. Of their last (first?) meeting, now that the Angel had told him about it. He doubted there would be anything pleasant waiting there. But even hearing the summary of those three months, he sure knew one thing: he wouldn't be ashamed of a single day he'd spent begging.

Yes, the Angel was right. The sky should probably split in half — Gojo Satoru doesn't beg. But if he does, it's only for Suguru Geto.

He wasn't surprised by his younger self. Even now, give him the chance, and he would beg again and again. Just for the opportunity to save the one person he failed — not because he couldn't, but because that person didn't want to be saved.

And wasn't that a beautiful ethical question? Should you save someone who doesn't want to be saved?

Gojo is selfish.

So the answer was obvious as hell.

If he had the chance to be by Suguru's side again, he'd take it with open arms. In the afterlife, in this non-airport of this non-life. In Hell, in Heaven — anywhere. His soul wasn't salvageable anymore — neither was Suguru's — that much was certain. So if he had to go to Hell for Suguru Geto, he'd gladly do it. Even if he technically had a seat reserved elsewhere.

Though, honestly, doubtful. He wasn't a saint and never pretended to be. In their trio of idiots, Suguru had always been the one preaching about justice. And even he'd strayed from that path a long time ago. If Suguru couldn't be called righteous — at least in his youth — then Satoru sure as hell couldn't either. The only truly good thing in his life had been his students.

And Megumi.

The corner of Satoru's mouth twitched at the thought of his… son? He didn't know if he had the right to call him that. Or whether Megumi had ever seen him as a father. After Toji, titles like that probably weren't something you threw around lightly. So after his death, he'd likely remained just a guardian. Just Gojo.

At least in case of his death — which, as Satoru had come to realize, apparently wasn't a one-time event — he'd long since transferred all his assets to Megumi. A neat little coming-of-age present.

Gojo slowly lowered his head into his hands and took a deep breath, even though he didn't need one here. Thoughts spun relentlessly in his mind, and he decided to voice at least one of them.

"So I'm stuck here now? Forever?"

"Hm."

That was neither a yes nor a no. Just an acknowledgment of the question — to which Angel seems unwilling to respond at this time. So if Satoru was reading this right, he was in for one hell of an eternity. Sure, he'd once imagined some distant life after jujutsu — no curses, peace and quiet — but this? This wasn't what he had in mind.

Note to future self — thoughts have tendecy to manifest.

He didn't know how much time passed after that. Only that the runway filled again with the roar of turbines. Counting by sound alone, Gojo tallied eight planes.

Eight. Tilt it sideways and it becomes the infinity sign. Exactly how long he'd have to rot in this godforsaken pla—

"How much longer are you going to sulk?" the Angel asked. From the sound of it, they hadn't moved an inch. Gojo still had his head in his hands, refusing to look at this new world.

"Until I accept I'm stuck here till the end of time."

"Ah," the Angel said shortly. There was a flutter of feathers. "So I've got about fifteen minutes. I'll grab a coffee then — don't miss me!"

Gojo barely processed the sentence before he heard the single wing unfurl, felt a gust against his cheeks — and when he looked up, the Angel was gone.

Fantastic. Great talk. Now he gets to spend eternity alone.

He tipped his head back toward the ceiling, trying to pierce the darkness above. It stayed darkness. No exit. No edge. Just endless void.

Instead of wandering aimlessly or trying to track down wherever the Angel had vanished to, Gojo stood and walked to the panoramic windows overlooking the runway.

It stretched infinitely in both directions, yet planes kept landing and taking off within view. He no longer saw the black plane from earlier, nor anything like it. These were ordinary aircraft — pink stripes, blue, purple, green, red. Bright. Unmarked. Identical in their cheerfulness.

He slowly turned his head to the right.

Except for this one.

The pure white plane that had landed earlier was still there. Closer now. A boarding staircase stood beside it, orange beacons flashing intermittently. The fuselage door was open — that definitely hadn't been the case before. Gojo glanced back inside the non-airport and saw the boarding gate was still closed.

"What's got your attention?"

The quiet but sudden voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. He almost grabbed at his heart — which technically he didn't have. And if he did, it wasn't beating. He didn't hear the rustling of wings behind him—or rather, a wing. The Angel had a talent for appearing out of nowhere, and judging by that crooked one-sided smirk, they enjoyed the reaction.

Against his better judgment, Gojo decided to answer. Partly because he was bored — not even a full day had passed, and eternity was a long damn time. And partly because he was curious. That was the only plane just sitting there.

"Why isn't it taking off?" Gojo asked, jerking his chin toward it. Then his eyes landed back on the Angel, and he scoffed when he saw the steaming paper cup in their hand. "Seriously? Where the hell did you even get coffee?"

The angel shrugged one shoulder, the one without a wing behind it. "This is the afterlife, not Hell. Of course there's coffee." Their tone was mildly irritated, one brow arched like Gojo had just asked the dumbest question imaginable.

They stepped forward to stand beside him, both looking toward the white plane. The Angel didn't answer right away, just blew on the drink and took loud, obnoxious sips from the paper cup. Their wing fluttered once. Twice. As if reacting to emotion — its own or the Angel's — then settled. They puffed out their lips, and for the first time, Gojo saw something almost childlike on their face.

He used to pout like that too. Most often it was back then, during his school years. After he left his clan's estate, after he first transferred to Jujutsu Tech. When he met Shoko and started playing the fool to get something or just to complain.

When he'd been with Suguru, pretending to sulk when the other boy couldn't give him attention because he was buried in mission reports.

His chest tightened again, a sharp, fleeting ache.

The Angel's eyes snapped to him at lightning speed — like they knew exactly what he was thinking.

At this point, Gojo was fairly convinced the non-human in front of him could read minds. Or, if they truly were his guardian angel like they'd claimed, maybe they just knew him that well. After all, they'd been with him his entire life. It was strange, unsettling, looking at them — because even now he could see fragments of himself in the Angel. Like staring into a mirror. A warped one, reflecting some boy who was his complete opposite — yet still unmistakably him. The pout alone was proof enough.

"It's yours."

The Angel's voice turned quiet. Their brown eyes studied Gojo's reaction like they were trying to catalogue every flicker of emotion, every twitch of muscle in his face. At first, Satoru didn't understand what they meant. And when he did, the Angel had already turned their back to him, still loudly slurping their coffee as they took a few steps away.

"What?!" he shouted, following after them, a crease forming between his brows. "What the hell do you mean, mine?"

The Angel walked at an unhurried pace to the end of the row and sat in the last seat, stretching their left wing out into the aisle.

"It's your plane. And you'll need to board it."

If this were a real airport, with real people, that wing would've been blocking the path. Businessmen in a rush — phone in one hand, suitcase in the other — would've circled around it, shaking their heads in irritation. Distracted passengers would've tripped over the feathers; some would've kept their footing and cursed, others would've gone sprawling across the tiles. Kids would've tugged at their mothers' sleeves, pointing, begging to touch the soft-looking plumage. The boldest ones probably would've asked the Angel for a feather as a souvenir.

But this wasn't a real airport. It was a non-airport. And in front of Gojo sat a non-human. There were no people here at all. Just his soul — and an Angel who had casually dropped this bombshell and then sat down to sip cappuccino like it was just another Tuesday.

Gojo Satoru hadn't managed to kill the King of Curses, but strangling one lousy guardian angel? That he could probably do — even without his techniques. Although, no, he didn't want to waste his physical strength on him. It would be better if Angel choked on that damn cappuccino.

He put real effort into not storming over, grabbing them by the collar of their perfectly pressed shirt, and shaking them senseless. Instead, he took a slow breath in, slow breath out, then walked over and took the seat opposite them.

Blue eyes met brown again. He could've sworn he saw the Angel hide a smile behind their cup.

He waited until they finished the coffee. Afterward, they lightly snapped the fingers of their right hand — and the cup in their left simply vanished. From that same inner pocket, they pulled out the white handkerchief again and leisurely dabbed their lips. Once it was folded neatly and tucked away, elbows resting on the armrests, the Angel finally spoke.

"It's empty here, isn't it?"

Gojo frowned. That had been his first impression. He didn't know much, and to be honest, he still doesn't understand, but according to Angel himself, when he first came here at the age of seventeen, there were many souls here. Other guardian angels. Now the place looked eerily abandoned, aside from the constant hum of the unseen escalator, the movement of planes outside, and the flicker of changing schedules on the electronic board.

"That's because this is, how shall I put it… hmm… punishment," the Angel said, their brown eyes steady, emotionless. "Yours. Because you failed to keep your vow to save the one you love — the vow you made at seventeen, kneeling before me with your forehead against the floor."

Gojo dropped his gaze. Partly from shame and partly because he had nothing to say to that.

But the next words made him look up again.

"And mine. Because I broke a taboo when I let you go back." The Angel glanced toward the white plane, its right wing beacon blinking faintly. "And not just sent you back," they added almost dreamily, a shadow of a smile on their face. "I even helped you find the missing piece to understanding Reverse Cursed Technique."

That admission made Gojo sink deeper into the chair.

So he hadn't just failed Suguru. He'd failed his guardian angel too — even if unintentionally, in both cases.

"Souls reincarnate. Not all of them. But they do," the Angel continued calmly, still staring out the window like whatever they saw there helped them keep that steady tone instead of telling Gojo to go fuck himself like he had told Angel earlier at the beginning of their conversation. Maybe that kind of composure only comes with millennia of experience as a guardian angel.

Or with twenty-nine years as Gojo Satoru's.

"That's how this world works. You die, you arrive in Purgatory and based on your deeds, it's decided what becomes of your soul. Heaven, Hell or Limbo. The last one is worse than Heaven — but far better than Hell. I won't explain how Heaven and Hell function, that should be obvious. And I don't have much time anyway."

Gojo's frown deepened. What the hell did that mean — no time? Where exactly were they rushing to, when eternity stretched ahead and they were the only two passengers in this non-airport?

But the Angel kept speaking — either knowing exactly what he wanted to ask, or sensing his curiosity would waste whatever precious time they had.

"In Limbo, souls can remain forever, reliving the happiest moments of their past life. Or they reincarnate. In the latter case еhose souls choose to forget their previous life and board a plane into a new one. When I say ‘choose,' I mean they don't actually have a choice. If you want to leave this place and begin again, you must forget."

Gojo felt his throat go dry as realization finally clicked.

"There's a plane waiting for me."

He'd never heard his own voice sound so uncertain. So stripped of the bravado he usually wore like a second skin.

"Yes. There's a plane waiting for you," the Angel replied, meeting his gaze.

"And I have to forget everything…"

It wasn't quite a question. The Angel didn't answer it.

"But why?" he snapped. "You said other souls can stay in Limbo and relive their happiest moments. So why the hell do I have to get on that plane?!"

"Because you scewed up," the Angel replied calmly, decisively, in sharp contrast to Gojo's raised voice. They shook their head slowly and tipped it back, looking away from him. Their right hand lifted in a lazy gesture. "Technically, we scewed up. You and I. I sent you back when I wasn't supposed to. And after that, you scewed up — despite everything you swore back then."

Their left wing spread across the floor again, lifted slightly. Gojo could've sworn it waved at him.

"And I already told you — there are no other souls here," they said, lowering the wing. "So this isn't truly Limbo. Just a parody of it. You don't get a choice. Just a one-way ticket." The Angel gave a brief nod toward the window, where the white plane's wing was still visible.

Gojo blinked rapidly, brows still drawn tight. The revelation hit like a freight train. He needed time to process this.

"So I'm supposed to..." he began after a short pause, his voice unsteady again, "what? Throw away everything I know? Erase twenty-nine years of my life just to be reborn as some clueless infant in a world where no one knows me?"

The corners of Angel's lips twitched upwards. "Yes, how terrible is a world that does not know the great Gojo Satoru."

"To hell with it!" he exclaimed, not wanting to hear anything more about the strongest, the chosen one, or the honoured one.

Are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru?
Or are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest?

He felt that in a moment his skull would split in two from how this phrase and everything else related to his birth and strength and responsibility and all the other crap he had been fed his entire life began to cloud his mind.

"You know that's not what I mean! You bragged about how well you know me, that you've been watching me, so where did that come from, huh? You know I don't give a shit that some world out there doesn't know about me. There are billions of galaxies in the universe with thousands of worlds, what difference does it make that no one will know me anywhere except where I remember myself?"

Gojo took a deep breath and realised that his hands were shaking again. It was almost funny that Limbo, where souls were supposed to calmly accept their fate and move on, after a few hours here (at least, it felt like hours, after all, the Angels said that time moves differently here) had made him feel more emotions than he had probably felt since his own student years. Although, if the Angels were right, and this was only a parody of the original Limbo in some sense, then it was probably not surprising. After all, the so-called peace here is not real, only an illusion. Like the illusion of choice.

"But that's the thing, I remember," the boy almost whispered, looking at his guardian angel. He noticed that there was a faint smile on their face, and their eyes were smiling too. He saw that the corner of the wing, which lay quietly on the floor, twitched, and all the other feathers seemed to catch the movement like a wave. "I remember my students. All their mistakes and successes, all their failures and wins. I remember their smiles and joy. I remember Shoko, her bad habits and even worse humour. I remember angry Utahime, and gloomy Yaga; pissed off Nanamin and smily Haibara. I remember my Megumi. I remember Riko and Kuroi and trip-slesh-mission to Okinawa and everyting in-between."

He took a short breath and added more quietly, "I remember Geto Suguru." The boy could feel tears welling up in his eyes again. "Yes, there were many bad things, and terrible things, and things that broke my heart. But I remember it. And now you're telling me I have to forget it all?"

The angels looked at him with an expression that Gojo couldn't quite figure out. He didn't know if what he saw in their eyes was curiosity, disbelief, or the look of those who were proud of him. Maybe it was a mixture of everything. Maybe it was none of the above.

"For the sake of some new life, I have to give up my old one?" He was already whispering, but Gojo was sure that the Angel could still hear him. "Are you telling me to forget? To forget them all? To forget... Suguru?"

A single tear rolled down his right eye, and he caught himself thinking once again that this was probably the most he had cried since Geto had left him in the middle of Shinjuku. When he had to kill him with his own hands in an abandoned dark alley.

Suguru's last sincere smile appeared before his eyes.

"Do you want me to beg again?"

He looked at him with his blue eyes, which held the sky within them; the world in them still seemed a little blurred through the wall of tears. He waited for some movement from the Angel, their laughter, and this time not the empty kind, or completely sincere, as before. He was sure that he was about to hear Angel laugh maliciously or with disgust, because once the most powerful sorcerer, Gojo Satoru himself, was shedding tears in front of him and was only a second away from falling at his feet in tears and begging.

"Please..." his voice was a quiet echo amid the roar of planes outside and the movement of the excavator somewhere behind him, "please don't make me forget Suguru."

The world swam even more before his eyes. The uninvited tears were, of course, a surprise to him as well, but if it had worked last time, perhaps it would work now. Gojo would try anything if it would ultimately bring him what he wanted.

"I can kneel again, bow my head to the floor again, if necessary," he said more confidently, though still quietly. "I don't want to get on that plane. I don't want to forget any of my students, or friends, or Megumi. I don't want to forget Suguru. Please..."

Music began to play somewhere in the empty hall. Gojo began to look around, searching for possible speakers, but although the sound continued, there was nothing around him. Finally, three final notes rang out.

Attention passenger Satoru Gojo, boarding for your flight will begin in twenty minutes. Please check your baggage and boarding documents, as well as your identification documents. Please arrive at gate number one in advance. I repeat, passenger Satoru Gojo, boarding for your flight...

All the air suddenly left his lungs. Satoru looked at the Angel, who were staring somewhere above and to the side, also listening to the announcement; once again, their faces wore expressions that were difficult to read. As soon as the woman's voice faded and the non-airport returned to its usual mode, the Angel rose from their seat, brushed dust off their trousers that wasn't there, put their hands in their trouser pockets, but remained standing in place.

The creature tilted their head to the right and raised one eyebrow. If this was a sign for Gojo to get off his ass and finally go board his flight, he deliberately ignored it, leaned back in his chair, and continued to stare at Angel with a defiant look in his eyes.

The corners of their mouth twitched into a half-smile.

"After the person whom the guardian angel cares for dies, we also have a choice," the non-human decided to break the silence again. The conversation continued from the point that only the Angel knew about. "Either become another person's guardian angel or be reborn. Because, in fact, I am now the same soul as you. And all souls have three paths, remember? But I cannot be reborn. There is no place for me in Heaven because of what I did when you were seventeen, and Hell will not take me because, after all, I was your guardian angel — that counts for something. So... I'm stuck."

They took a few steps towards Gojo until they stopped at some distance away from him. Their brown eyes looked down at him once again.

"Get up," they said, waiting for a reaction from the boy. However, a second passed, and none followed. Gojo felt the tension in his jaws from clenching them so tightly; his hands firmly gripped the armrests. If he could, he would have clung to the chair even tighter so that the Angel couldn't move him at all. The creature raised one eyebrow with amusement, to which Gojo only snorted in dissatisfaction.

"I said," the creature took a step back, "get up."

They snapped their fingers, and suddenly, Gojo was standing on his feet, looking Angel in the brown eyes that were level with his. Clenching his fists, he tried his best not to punch Angel in his empty face. Or not to cry.

They endured a tense pause, after which Angel turned and began walking towards the only gate in the non-airport, which was already waiting for Gojo to board. They walked in complete silence for some time, and it seemed to Gojo that the road ahead stretched for thousands of miles, because no matter how many steps they took, the gate still remained far away. In fact, they weren't even getting closer to it — the gate remained a fixed point in the distance, although under normal circumstances it would have taken them about seven minutes to reach it. However, of course, nothing about this place was normal.

In general, the whole situation seemed strange and incomprehensible to Gojo, because he didn't even know how to perceive Angel as a whole. Yes, of course, he introduced himself as his guardian angel, gave a series of proofs and reminded him of his journey, if you could call it that, to this place before. And Gojo had no reason not to believe Angel, even though deep down he wanted to wring his neck during the short time they had met.

But even though Angel helped him return from the dead at seventeen, it was more likely because Gojo managed to piss off his guardian angel so fucking much — even in the afterlife — rather than out of the goodness of their heart

And although he could not consider the creature walking a few steps ahead of him an enemy, he could not call him a friend either. Gojo could not shake the feeling that something was wrong here. The angel was clearly in no hurry to put him on a plane, even though they had power in this place that Gojo could only dream of right now. They conjure coffee out of thin air (because Satoru really doubts that there is a Starbucks suddenly lurking around the corner), they have power over his body, or rather, his soul. Even with all his stubbornness, Gojo cannot do anything against the heavenly power of this creature.

So, it's a little strange when, with a snap of their slender fingers, they can make Gojo sit in economy class on a plane waiting for him on the runway and listen to an imaginary flight attendant who, after giving a safety briefing, is supposed to ask whether to serve him chicken or fish on his, without exaggeration, flight of a lifetime, yet they refrain from doing so.

The thought that all this is not just for nothing is still spinning in Gojo's head when the Angels finally begin to speak.

"A new world awaits you," they began, "a new reality. New people, new emotions, new places. After all, souls are scattered around the world quite randomly, so it's no surprise if your new life takes you to some New Guinea. It would be interesting to watch you there."

Their voice fell silent, but not for long. The empty hall still echoed with their footsteps, and Satoru still kept his distance, staying behind the non-human. He did not try to get closer or walk alongside them, because he had the impression that he would not be able to get close to the Angel, since they had deliberately forced him to follow them. Gojo, however, was sizing up the figure in front of him and constantly looking at the single white wing that the Angel carried behind him, lonely but proud.

"What would you like to change in your life, Gojo Satoru?" the Angel suddenly asked quietly, just as Satoru thought the boarding gate was getting closer. The boy felt a lump in his throat as he tried to understand the hidden meaning behind the simple question.

Gojo was silent for a few seconds. He looked at the figure in front of him, at their wing and broad shoulders, at their long legs and arms tucked into the pockets of their suit. If the cursed energy still existed around them, he would have tried to read it too, to understand from the slightest movement where this conversation was leading and whether it was leading anywhere at all. Or maybe they would just talk his ears off while they walked to the counter.

Why is the road actually so long?

Is there any point to this conversation?

What if there is, and this is his chance? A chance for what exactly?

If not, then what's the point?

What's the point, what's the point, whatsthepointwhatsthepointwhatsthepoint— 

"I would definitely change one thing," he said quietly, with a single name in mind, because for some reason it seemed important to him that they speak in this tone. So as not to jinx it (although he is definitely not superstitious), or so that no one would hear them. Whoever might be listening.

The angel in front of him snorted and raised one hand to his face, covering it. "Yeah, I've heard something like that before. And then for the next twelve years, I watched you fail to keep that promise."

Gojo bit his bottom lip; after all, he had no trump card to play against that. He lowered his head. Not out of shame for his answer, never for that, but because the landing stand was indeed getting closer. And perhaps partly because, as the Angel had pointed out earlier, he had indeed screwed up. Fucked up royally, to put it better. Because that was the one thing he truly wanted to change, and as bitter as it felt, he'd only had one shot, and he fucked it up back then, twelve years ago.

"But you would still try?" Angel suddenly looked back over his shoulder at him, and Gojo met his gaze for the first time since they started walking. It wasn't the first time the boy had thought about this whole mind-reading thing. "Even though it would be almost impossible? Without knowing if he was really out there, if he wanted it, if he would accept it — accept you — would you still try?"

Gojo swallowed hard and continued to stare at Angel as if they were talking nonsense. And in part, that was true. They sounded like they were talking about some abstract things, without specifics, just common phrases. A story about another chance? It sounded like an empty fairy tale before someone would say, 'well, it's nice to dream, but unfortunately...'

However, the gaze across from him kept him tense. The Angel had left a lot unsaid, and Satoru really wanted to know how to get them to continue the thought they had started. It seemed that the best strategy was to look confused and remain silent (not that he really understood much from the last few hours he had spent with the Angel) — because the non-human continued even more quietly:

"If you had the chance to start a completely new life — and I mean a completely new life: no curses, no jujutsu, no problems except which milk to buy and whether the bread at the nearest bakery is fresh today." The Angel did not take their eyes off him, but they slowed down and stood next to Satoru; now they walked side by side, keeping pace with each other. "A normal school, university, job. No teleportation, just trips on the subway and in cars. No superpowers or Eyes. No Infinity, no Limitless. No Red, Blue, or Purple. No title of the strongest—"

"I'm not the strongest," Gojo interrupted the creature. That had long since ceased to be true, at least not entirely. They were the strongest, not just him alone. That title meant nothing to him — it had long since ceased to matter, so he had nothing to lose. The only thing that mattered to him now and always was—

"Suguru," said the Angel, and Gojo could hear the sharp intake of air he took echoing through the spacious room. The dark eyes nearby studied him with interest, then finally looked ahead. The non-human's face was calm again, except for the tension in his jaw. Gojo felt shivers run through his body once more; he felt so uncomfortable that he thought he was about to throw up. "Suguru Geto's soul has been reborn and now lives in that world."

Gojo didn't know whether to cry with relief that Suguru would be in the new world, or with the realization that he had been reborn and therefore remembered nothing of his previous life. The conflicting emotions couldn't find their place; Gojo's fists clenched, his breathing became uneven. All his stubbornness seemed to evaporate, and he was left with only one thought:

What the hell is there for him to cling to now?

Yes, of course, he could still stand his ground and shout that he didn't want to forget. Because he really didn't. But his resistance to this was a normal reaction to rebirth, when he would have to lose all his memories of his old life. All he could think about was that he would be alone in this new world. And at that moment, those memories could have warmed him in their own way, he could have clung to them like the last thread connecting him to the old world, to everything dear that he had left behind (if he had been given the opportunity, of course), no matter how pathetic it sounded.

But now he had been told that Suguru was there.

He was there, in the new world. His soul and body were not tainted by curses or murders; his mental health was fine (or so Satoru hoped). He was there. He was alive, and he was... alive, and it was Suguru. And even though Satoru still calls him "his" Suguru somewhere deep in his heart, how fair is that to the Suguru who has already been reborn? Who knows nothing about jujutsu, about curses? Who knows nothing about him?

Is it right now to resist rebirth with the loss of all memories, when the only person dear to him and already in that world doesn't even know who he is?

"Hmm, that's a philosophical question," Angel continued as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just invaded his privacy, raising his hand to his face and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Should you save someone who doesn't want to be saved? Should you remember someone who has forgotten you?"

"I would really appreciate it if you stopped reading my thoughts," Gojo muttered, narrowing his eyes.

"And I would really appreciate it if you didn't jump ahead of yourself and just let me finish, but it is what it is," he shrugged.

"Then finish, for fuck's sake. How long can you keep harping on the same thing?"

"Are you in a hurry?" smiled Angel. They simply waved their hands at Gojo's murderous glare, still not slowing down. Their expressions suddenly became serious, and their brown eyes darted quickly in Gojo's direction and then forward again, as if hesitating. When they spoke, all the joy disappeared from their voice, and the words that left their mouth made Gojo stop. "I want to make a binding vow with you."

When the Angel sensed that Gojo was no longer walking beside them, they stopped and turned to face the boy. Gojo's posture was tense, and his gaze was confused. Those certainly weren't the words Gojo expected to hear in the afterlife, that's for damn sure, but his ears definitely weren't playing tricks on him. With his last ounce of strength, he forced his legs to move. First one forward, then the other, until he caught up with the Angel, and they began to move together again. Something told him that he couldn't stop now.

"Binding vow," he repeated, as if the walls around him hadn't done so enough times already.

"Yes," Angel replied briefly, before falling silent again.

"And what do I have to lose?" Gojo asked, trying to understand the essence of the promise. He didn't know what was at stake, but if it had anything to do with Suguru, he would most likely accept the terms, whatever they might be.

Angel just chuckled quietly, and there was indeed something cheerful in their voice. "Who told you that you have something to lose?"

"That's how vows work in jujutsu world."

"We're not in the jujutsu world."

Yes, he hadn't really thought about that.

"Okay, then what? Will I become homeless? Will I lose one arm? Both arms? Will I go blind?"

"I just said we're not talking about loss," Angel continued with the same expression on his face. "I don't need your arms, eyes, or any other body parts."

Gojo narrowed his eyes. It all sounded very appealing, of course, but something was clearly missing. To be honest, everything was missing. He didn't understand the condition itself, what he would get from this promise, or the rules, if there were any. Meanwhile, the boarding gate was getting closer. Gojo could see how, as if by magic, the tape that was supposed to separate people from the aisle disappeared and access was open. He swallowed nervously.

"Your greatest flaw, Gojo, is your overconfidence. But it's also one of your finest traits. For the most part, overconfidence is what kept you going these last twelve years — that, and overpriced desserts from countless cafes. So, you'll have to rely on that overconfidence once again if you want to enter this new world on your own terms and by my rules."

This time, the non-airport fell silent not because the Angels stopped talking, but because Gojo's ears felt as if they had been stuffed with cotton wool. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but a tiny flicker of hope — one he hadn't felt in a very long time — was taking root in his heart, growing stronger and stronger with every passing second.

"I will leave you your memories," said Angel, and their voice was so quiet that Gojo could only hear them because he was standing next to them. The Angel's wing fluttered and jerked sharply, which Satoru almost didn't notice because he was so focused on the words he wanted to hear so badly. "You will end up in Tokyo. In normal Tokyo, where Suguru Geto also exists and jujutsu does not, but your memories will stay with you."

Satoru took one ragged breath, then another. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and finally released his lower lip, which he had bitten during the Angel's last words. From constant biting, it was now slightly swollen and sensitive. He furrowed his brow and asked, even though he knew Angel could read his thoughts anyway:

"And what am I supposed to do?"

Because it was logical, after all. No matter what Angel told him, binding vows worked very simply, and if they weren't talking about some kind of loss, as Gojo had first thought, then in this case it was something that was required of him — some kind of service. They would leave him his memories, return him to Tokyo, and although it would be new, Suguru would be there. A new Tokyo, a new Suguru, but he was ready to work with that. All his previous questions about whether it was worth keeping his memories if Suguru wouldn't remember him suddenly disappeared on their own.

They leave him his priceless memory, so he will make the most of it. At the very least, he knows that Suguru is out there somewhere, so all he has to do is find him, and then...

His train of thought was interrupted by laughter. Satoru turned his head to the left and continued to stare at Angel's smiling face. "See, I don't even need to say anything."

Gojo frowned but remained silent. He even tried not to think anything until those brown eyes found him again.

"You need to find Geto Suguru and make him remember you." Satoru's eyes widened in surprise, and his eyebrows made the crease between them even bigger than it was before. The Angel nodded briefly. "Those are my conditions."

Attention passenger Satoru Gojo, boarding for your flight will close in fifteen minutes. Please check your baggage and boarding documents, as well as your documents—

"What's in it for you?" The words burst out of him before he had time to think about them. When he finally realized what he had asked, Gojo decided not to back down from his question. The Angel would find out about it one way or another. "You're leaving me with memories, allowing me to live in Tokyo again, to meet Suguru again. Your terms sound like they're only to my advantage. You're almost a deity, and you—"

"And as I said, I'm stuck here," the non-human interrupted him. "You are my highest stake, the one that didn't pay off last time and condemned me to stay here, with no chance of reincarnation, Heaven, or Hell. You could say I have nothing left to lose," they said, shrugging with both shoulders. "But that's far from the truth. When the choice is between staying here forever in solitude or trying to prolong my existence as a guardian angel — or even reincarnating afterward — through you, I will gladly put you on the line again."

Gojo lowered his eyes, mindlessly counting the tiles under his feet.

I repeat, passenger Satoru Gojo, boarding for flight will close—

"So I'm just a pawn?" He smiled grimly at the floor, kicking an invisible pebble under his feet. The same as in the world of jujutsu, he didn't finish, but he didn't need to. The Angel already knew everything.

"No. You are a human who also has a choice. You can tell me to fuck off a second time," they wore a grim smile themselves, "and forget about this vow. Yes, you won't have any memories in that case, but you won't even know it. A new life will welcome you with open arms, even if it's a new Tokyo. Maybe you'll live a good life, maybe you won't. I won't know, because as soon as you reject my offer, you will forget everything: your former life, this airport, me, and this conversation. And I will simply vanish, because the last and only soul that was ever bound to me was yours — and it won't be the same anymore."

The Angel stopped, and Gojo stopped with them. When he looked up from the floor, he saw that they were standing right in front of the check-in counter at the first gate. Satoru felt the Angel's wing flutter again; something unpleasant tightened in his heart.

"Or we can make a binding vow, and you have a unique chance to save four souls instead of one," they shrugged and looked at Satoru again. This time, Gojo could see a glimmer of hope in their eyes. "I get that the offer might be pretty shitty, but the choice is still yours."

Gojo's first thought was that the math didn't add up in terms of the number of souls involved, but he quickly dismissed it as unnecessary and, ultimately, not very important. Gojo understood perfectly well that he didn't have much time, but he still had questions that he hadn't gotten answers to. Fearing that at any moment he would find himself on a plane with no choice at all, he decided to get them after all.

"How much time will I have?" was the first thing that came to his mind.

"Twenty-nine years," the Angel replied calmly.

"What?!"

"You've lived a long life in the world of jujutsu, so I think the number of years you spent in your past life is a fair amount of time. Besides, no one is going to hand Suguru Geto to you on a silver platter. It's your job to find him, and Tokyo is a big city."

"Something's clearly wrong here," Gojo muttered. "But you're not going to tell me, are you?" Blue eyes met brown ones that only smiled quietly at him. When Angel didn't say a word for a few seconds, Gojo whispered a curse. "You know, when I talk to you, I feel like I'm playing chess. I don't like it."

Angel chuckled quietly. "Not chess, more like Minesweeper."

They decided not to explain further. Gojo didn't like that either.

"Fine, whatever... Then what if I don't find him in those twenty-nine years? Or what if I find him, but he doesn't remember me?"

"You'll die," Angel continued calmly, causing Gojo to flinch slightly. "You'll have twenty-nine years starting on December 7th. If you don't fulfill the terms of the vow by December 24th of your twenty-ninth year, you'll die. And then you'll die again. And again. And again. You will end up in Limbo, dying every single day, over and over, for all eternity."

"Limbo? Like a time loop?"

"No, Gojo," Angel said sarcastically, "Limbo like the dance, where you have to bend under a stick."

If you disregard that remark, it was all rather grim. Satoru felt the tension in his shoulders and clenched jaw. He could still see the duel with Sukuna, his last moments before life left his body. He was sure that if he concentrated hard enough, he could taste the iron flavor of blood in his mouth, which had filled his senses uncontrollably until he died; the coldness in his limbs from the hemorrhage; the numbness in his brain.

For a moment, he allowed himself to think about his possible death. Not as recent as at the hands of Sukuna, of course; after all, his possible defeat would only be in twenty-nine years, but still. He tried to imagine what it might be like. What would defeat bring him this time? Would it be on par with the King of Curses? Or would something miserable await him in the ordinary world because he might fail the person he loves for the second time?

Would he be hit by a car? Would a balcony fall on him? Would a toaster accidentally fall into the bathtub while he was basking in the fragrant foam?

It's strange to think about a new death when the traces of the old one have not yet faded from his skin, but he can't help himself.

He glanced at the Angel, who looked at him as always: without a smile, without judgment, without pity. They stood there, their lone wing fluttering behind them. Satoru mentally went over the terms once more.

A new life, a new Tokyo, no curses. Twenty-nine years, old memories, and a mission to find Suguru Geto and make him remember. In case of success, a (possible) reunion with the only person he had ever loved; in case of failure—a broken heart, Angel's disappointment in him as a human, the condemnation of that very Angel to never reincarnate, and for Gojo—an eternity of torture with no chance of saving his soul. Well, sounds like a pretty good deal.

"I'm in."

His answer was short but confident. It can't be that hard in the end if he knows right away what he's looking for.

Right?

Across from him, Angel closed their eyes and gave a brief nod, as if they weren't surprised by his decision at all. And perhaps, they truly weren't. After all, they could read minds, and Gojo had already thought before that he would take any chance if it included a possibility of getting Suguru back. A chance of being doomed to eternal despair and death was, of course, a downside, but... oh well. 

Suddenly, the whistle of a blade cut through the air, and Satoru watched in horror as Angel's only wing fell behind them with a heavy thud. A thick, crimson blood followed, pouring onto the floor. It flooded the polished tiles, Angel's black leather shoes, and their formal trousers. It washed over the white feathers that would never again flutter in the wind or from a shrug of the shoulders. The magnificent white wing, which once spanned nearly two meters, now lay motionless on the floor behind Angel, turning redder and redder by the second, soaking it up like a sponge.

Angel's face hardly changed: their eyes remained closed, though their brows were slightly furrowed, as if from a relatively unpleasant sensation. Only the tension in their jaw betrayed the true, barely contained pain. And if Gojo had to guess — it was more than just physical.

For a few tense seconds, nothing happened, and then the guardian angel opened their eyes again and measured Gojo with a long look

"Don't make me regret this a second time," they spoke in a low, raspy voice.

There had been few moments in Gojo's life that left him speechless, and he could say with certainty that this was one of the most shocking and disturbing things he had ever witnessed. He wanted to scream, to protest, to ask what the fuck was going on. But all he could do was blink at Angel once, then again. By the third time he opened his eyes, he was in a vacant, snow-white airplane cabin, his seatbelt already fastened — and all his attempts to unbuckle it were futile.

His fingers clawed at the metal latch over and over, but to no avail. It was as if he had been shoved back into the Prison Realm. "Fuck…"

He scanned the cabin with a frantic gaze, peering out the window as the plane began to taxi and move, accelerating with every passing second. The last thing he managed to see was a figure in the window, one hand raised in a farewell; the blood-stained wing still lay at their feet.

The turbines roared.

"Fuck!"

The first gate dissolved before his eyes.

In the silence of the airport, he could hear only his heavy breathing and the blood still flowing from his wound onto the floor in viscous clots. It was strange, Angel thought, not for the first time, how much he had lost his strength compared to twelve years ago. He carefully raised his trembling hand to his left shoulder blade, where a wing had been just seconds ago, and pressed down on it.

A sharp pain shot through his body, and he hissed quietly, drawing air through his teeth. He felt warm blood running through his fingers, dripping down his sleeve and soaking his white shirt. Angel took a step back and turned away, leaving the wing behind. He didn't want to look at what would never be a part of him again.

Overall, he had almost gotten used to it. A sad smile touched his lips. Gojo's face was always the same.

"Idiot..." he whispered, stepping forward on weak legs, away from the wing, feeling his shoes leave bloody footprints behind him. He didn't know if he was talking about himself or Gojo.

His hand was still pressed firmly against his shoulder blade, trying with the last of his strength to stop the bleeding.

He managed to take another step or two when his knees began to tremble and his legs gave out. He was ready to meet the hard floor, but instead, strong arms that locked around him from the front kept him from falling. Angel only partially felt the pain from the unexpected contact where the wing had once been.

"Damn it, can't you stop the bleeding?"

The voice in his ear was deep, filled with concern. Angel allowed himself to close his eyes and lean his head back, knowing he would find a strong shoulder there.

"I thought I'd have more strength for this, but as you can see..." he whispered, turning his head to the right. His nose caught a familiar scent: something salty, floral, and fresh, like the smell of the morning after the rain. A sudden laugh escaped Angel's lips. "At least I didn't fall flat on my face in front of him, like someone in front of their charges."

Even with his eyes closed, he could tell the other man's cheeks were flushing with a deep crimson — a blush he loved so much to see on the other's fair skin.

"Shut the hell up, Haruo!" his friend snapped. "You're bleeding out and still found the strength to talk shit to me! At least Suguru is way more pleasant than your Gojo."

Angel clicked his tongue. "They're two sides of the same coin. Geto can be an asshole too; he's just better at hiding it."

He tried to find his footing, but he still didn't have the strength. Of course, the position he found himself in — in the arms of another guy, surrounded by the pleasant scent that had been his trademark even in life — wasn't exactly a bad thing. However, feeling his consciousness about to slip away from the constant blood loss was shitty, to say the least.

He felt the other man take a deep breath, clearly ready to argue why the soul he looked after was miles better than Satoru Gojo, but Haruo wasn't about to listen to that for the thousandth time. They'd had this argument countless times, and in this state, he certainly wasn't going to continue it.

"Hey, Toshiki," he rasped, cutting the other guy off before he could even speak. "So, are you going to help me stop the bleeding, or are you going to keep arguing with me until I pass out?"

He heard the other man swear. Suddenly, the world around them began to shift, and he noticed they were in a movie theater with a completely empty hall. Haruo didn't even have to think twice about why they were here; after all, this was the next stage of their plan — to watch.

He sat in the chair Toshiki led him to and looked up at the other guy. In the color of his eyes, he reminded him of Gojo, but when he first told him that all those years ago, Toshiki's face twisted in disgust. He didn't speak to him for a week, probably — after all, he didn't want to be associated in any way with the most tactless, rude, spoiled, and unprincipled person on planet Earth — his words, not Haruo's. But Gojo was more than all that, and Toshiki knew it; he just loved to brag about his charge.

Needless to say, the bragging stopped after Suguru Geto left jujutsu and headed a cult. After that, Haruo made it his mission to ensure Toshiki would never live it down.

"Careful!" he hissed as the other's hand replaced his own on the wound and dropped sharply onto his shoulder blade. The other angel didn't react, simply bringing his other hand to the wound and getting to work.

The dark-haired boy felt the wound begin to close slowly through their combined efforts. It was quite pathetic to realize how two of the once most esteemed guardian angels of the strongest sorcerers were now almost stripped of their powers and literally on the verge of vanishing. The only thing keeping them in this pseudo-Limbo and preventing them from disappearing was the souls of their charges.

It was truly ironic. Before, the lives of Gojo and Geto were in the hands of their guardian angels, but now — it was the other way around. How they had managed to convince both of them to return to the world with memories of their past lives was a mystery to him. While he was almost a hundred percent certain that Gojo would choose to remember and find the other, he had his doubts about Geto.

And it's no wonder. Why remember the murders? Why remember the deaths of friends? Every person has their regrets and insecurities, but Suguru Geto had enough for a small country. He had spent almost a year in Limbo, merely watching other souls and, from time to time, the outside world. He said something about wanting to make sure his girls were taking care of themselves. Though more than once, Haruo had caught him watching Gojo.

And then Shibuya happened.

Geto was watching Gojo at the exact moment he saw his own corpse. How Gojo was sealed. How the two girls he looked after were killed. After that, it was as if something inside him snapped. He stopped looking into the human world, stopped talking to other souls, and barely paid any attention to the guardian angels.

Even then, Haruo was certain he would choose to forget. But the day of the battle with Sukuna came, and Angel knew Gojo would lose. He could feel it in the tension of his wing, in the prickling of his fingers. Haruo should have stayed composed, but instead — he was restless.

Suguru noticed and, it seemed, put two and two together.

Anoter thing was -- Toshiki had made peace with their fate.

Perhaps he had accepted it back when their charges were seventeen and they both ended up in this place. Perhaps, when Haruo had brought Gojo back to life, only for Suguru Geto's soul to appear in Limbo a few minutes later, and Toshiki had to do the same with a heavy sigh. Perhaps when their actions backfired, and instead of the happy ending they had planned to see, they watched as two souls, bound by something more than just friendship, drifted away from each other; when Suguru Geto lost his way.

Or perhaps when, eleven years later, Geto finally returned to Limbo for good, and only one path was open to him — to forget everything and be reincarnated. But Geto stayed in this state for a whole year, watching, and every day Haruo saw more clearly that Toshiki was prepared for the day it would finally happen.

Toshiki was ready to disappear. Not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. And just the thought of him being gone… Haruo couldn't let that happen. They had always been together: in life and after death. They had died tragically on the same day — something with the fire, he seemed to recall, though he couldn't be sure anymore. But he knew he couldn't let him disappear forever this time. If Suguru Geto were to be reincarnated, Toshiki would die.

In the depths of his despair, a plan quickly took shape in his mind. It wasn't perfect — never perfect; in life, Toshiki had always been the one responsible for the smart ideas — but it was their only shot. To sacrifice a part of himself one last time, just to let them keep their memories. It was all they could do with what remained of their power after they had brought them both back to life for the first time at seventeen. This way, they would prolong their existence and gain a chance at either reincarnation or, at the very least, a chance to remain their guardian angels. But if the plan failed…

He didn't want to think about the consequences of failure.

Haruo shared his plan with Toshiki, and surprisingly, he agreed. He had expected more resistance, a fierce protest, a speech from his friend about how he had long since made up his mind and would accept his fate with dignity. But there was none of that. He didn't know why, nor did he know what Toshiki had said to Suguru Geto afterward to make him agree to the vow. He had watched as Toshiki cut off his own wing, saw the barely contained emotion on Suguru Geto's face, and watched the angel lose consciousness.

It was a good thing the soul managed to vanish in time, so Haruo could get to his friend as quickly as possible. Back then, he had stopped the bleeding, brought Toshiki to his senses, and spent an endless amount of time with him, fearing he might disappear at any moment. Perhaps something had gone wrong; perhaps the vow hadn't worked.

But his worst fears remained just that — fears.

Later, he tried to find out the details of their vow, to which Toshiki just laughed and said that talking about it would kill him. Part of that was true, of course. But he hinted that Suguru Geto hadn't entered the new world with his memories fully intact. They were there, certainly, but they had to be unlocked — that was a condition set by Geto himself. He wanted to live a normal life before remembering everything that had haunted him in his previous one.

Haruo thinks it makes sense, but it led him to what was likely the only visible loophole in his plan: Suguru Geto had to remember. How Gojo was supposed to achieve that, and whether he'd be up to the task — that was what they were about to find out.

Beside him, Toshiki let out a heavy sigh and slumped lifelessly into the seat. The lights in the theater suddenly went out, and the first images of the new world flickered onto the screen: almost like a regular movie session, only without the intros, ads, or teasers. And, saddest of all, without the popcorn.

Haruo felt that his wound had completely healed. The absence of a single wing, which had been with him for the last twelve years, weighed on him from all sides. He turned his gaze to Toshiki's exhausted face, and a soft smile settled on his own. After all, he thought, it was a small price to pay if, in the end, they got the chance to be reincarnated. Together. He cleared his throat loudly, catching his friend's attention.

"I think you should go to Geto, too," he said quietly. From the speakers, the sounds of nature and the cries of children began to drift in.

"What, nothing interesting is going to happen?" Toshiki asked with a half-smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled cutely when he smiled like that. Haruo felt a warmth spreading through his chest.

"Not until the fifteenth birthday, for sure," Haruo replied just as playfully, offering no further explanation. Toshiki simply rolled his eyes and slowly rose from his seat, heading toward the exit of the hall.

He probably thought Haruo was messing with him, but it was the truth. When he said Gojo would have twenty-nine years to find Suguru Geto, he wasn't technically lying. And yet…

It was dangerous to gift a toddler the consciousness and memories of another life right from the start, so he played it safe. Did it cut down the years available for the search? Of course, but it was better than having some toddler go insane and seeing this whole plan end before it even began.

Toshiki paused by the exit and turned back toward Haruo. It was nearly impossible to catch his deep blue eyes in the darkness, yet Haruo knew they were fixed on him, brimming with barely contained emotion. The wings Haruo had grown so accustomed to over all their time as guardian angels were gone from Toshiki's back; now, it was as if he were alive again, and they had simply come for a movie. A bright frame lit up the hall, and for a fleeting second, Haruo saw the healed burns appear on Toshiki's face beneath all the magic — only for them to vanish under the layer of glamour a moment later.

"See you?"

It was more of a timid question than a confident statement, and it made Haruo's heart skip a beat. He would do everything in his power to see him again, to bring him happiness, to return the smile to his face and the chance to be reincarnated. He would do everything possible to be together again.

"Of course," he replied softly.

The door closed behind Toshiki almost soundlessly, and with a heavy heart, Haruo shifted his gaze back to the vast, bright screen. Satoru Gojo was opening his celestial eyes in the new world for the very first time.

You are our last hope, Satoru.