Chapter Text
The Tokyo sky was stained a deep violet, dappled with threads of gold and crimson. To anyone else, it was simply the end of a hot day; to Satoru Gojo, it was the perfect backdrop for his victory. He had been sent to a rural area to exorcise a special grade curse that, according to the higher-ups, required a massive tactical deployment.
Satoru had wiped it off the map in less than ten minutes.
He walked along the stone paths of Tokyo Jujutsu High with a lightness that bordered on a dance. His steps made no sound, suspended an infinitesimal fraction above the ground thanks to his Infinity technique. He carried a bag of sweets in one hand and his blindfold in the other. He had allowed himself the luxury of taking it off early; he wanted the first thing his eyes saw upon his return to be not the flow of cursed energy through the fabric, but the face of the only person who made him feel like something more than a metaphysical concept.
Suguru.
Just thinking of his name brought a genuine smile to his face-one that wasn't for the cameras or to intimidate enemies. It was the smile of Satoru, the boy; not Gojo, the weapon.
«He’s going to scold me for coming back so soon» Satoru thought, letting out a small chuckle. «He’ll say I’m a show-off, even though we both know all he wants is to have me in his arms» A faint blush dusted Satoru’s cheeks.
He stopped in front of the main building with a slight, playful sway of his hips. He knew Suguru was there; he could sense his unmistakable cursed energy from miles away, and he was obviously in Principal Yaga’s office. Probably discussing the details of the next mission or arguing about the students' training.
Satoru climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing. For someone like Satoru Gojo, it was incredible to realize that even as time passed and years burned away, Suguru Geto would always be the only man in his life who held such power over him.
Satoru sighed sweetly as the cool evening air filtered through the open windows, bringing with it the scent of pine trees. Approaching the large, carved wooden door of Yaga’s office, Satoru paused for a second to fix his white hair, which had been tousled by the wind from his own high-speed travel. He wanted to be perfect.
Was it perhaps vanity? Maybe, but Satoru didn't care. The only thing that mattered was looking as handsome and attractive as possible for his beloved.
Satoru let out a tiny, almost silent laugh as he prepared to kick the door open and burst in with a loud shout and a practical joke to startle Yaga and draw a smile from Suguru. His foot was inches away from the fine, well-kept wood of the door, but before he could make his spectacular entrance with the widest smile he’d had in weeks, Suguru’s voice drifted through.
It was a different voice. Normally, Suguru’s voice was his anchor-a calm, deep melody that managed to soothe him even when he felt the world around him was hell-bent on crushing him. But now, it sounded tense. Loaded with a raw, almost violent emotion. Satoru froze. An irrational insecurity-the kind he always hid behind his arrogance-began to slide down his spine.
—...He’s unbearable — Suguru was saying, his voice tight.
Satoru slowly lowered his raised leg. He couldn't help but hold his breath, sharpening his hearing even further. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop; Suguru had made sure to drill that into his thick skull.
But he couldn't help it.
How could he not listen when it was his Sugu speaking, sounding so different from his usual calm and sweet self?
Satoru desperately wished he had listened to his lover's words for once in his damn life.
— Satoru is just a weapon... That’s all he will ever be-
Satoru stopped listening. He felt his world implode around him, leaving nothing but a deafening ringing buzzing in his ears.
His smile didn't disappear immediately; it stayed there, etched by inertia, turning into a grotesque mask. His hand, still holding the bag of sweets, trembled slightly. The sugar that had once seemed like a promise of happiness now made his stomach churn.
A weapon.
Not his partner. Not his best friend. Not the love of his life.
Just a weapon.
Satoru had always known the world saw him that way. To the elders of the Gojo clan, he was an asset. To the higher-ups, he was an insurance policy. To curses, he was death incarnate. But he had always deluded himself into believing that, within the walls of the apartment he shared with Suguru-and especially in Suguru Geto’s arms-he was Satoru.
Just Satoru.
The deafening pain he felt as his heart broke was stronger and more devastating than when he had learned, at the tender age of eight, that his parents had been executed months after his birth because they had dared to try to keep him away from the clutches of his clan’s council and the jujutsu authorities.
Silent, heavy tears slid down his cheeks, falling onto the cold wooden floor.
Satoru felt like he couldn't breathe. A deep, agonizing void was opening up where his heart should be.
He knew he was becoming irrational as he wished he could die right then and there. To him, it was better to be dead than to discover that the person he loved most-the person he thought he knew better than anyone-had just reduced his entire existence, his fears, his tastes, and his loneliness, to a simple technical function.
The sound of footsteps heading toward the door finally made him react.
With a small but powerful shudder, Satoru vanished from the spot without making the slightest sound.
He wished he had the courage to walk in and demand answers. But he couldn't. He couldn't do it if it meant looking Suguru in the eye and discovering that everything they had lived through had been nothing but a fucking farce.
Satoru reappeared on the ledge of the tallest building in Shinjuku.
The wind whipped his face violently, tossing his white hair and chilling the tears he only now realized had begun to flow without his permission.
No longer able to bear the weight of his own body, Satoru collapsed onto the cold concrete of the rooftop. With an urgency bordering on desperation, he curled into himself, hugging his knees. The bag of sweets rolled across the floor, scattering colorful mochi that now looked like worthless stones.
— A weapon... — he whispered. His own voice sounded strange to him. Broken
The man who could repel any physical attack, who could manipulate space and time, had no defense against the cruel words of the person he had loved most. And now, the "Strongest" was up there, surrounded by the bright lights of the city, feeling smaller than a speck of dust.
He allowed himself to cry. It was a silent weep at first, just the shaking of his shoulders under his dark jacket. But then came the real pain-the kind that burns. A heartbreaking sob escaped his throat, lost in the roar of the wind and the distant traffic.
In that moment, Satoru Gojo understood the true curse of his eyes. He could see everything. He could see the future, the flow of energy, the atoms in the air. But he had never been able to see what was truly in the heart of the only person he would have given his life for.
And what was even worse was that, despite everything, Satoru still loved Suguru with total depth and devotion.
It was pathetic. Completely and irreparably pathetic.
Still sobbing, still weeping and mourning his miserable life, Satoru reached a conclusion. If he was just a weapon, then perhaps the world was right. Perhaps weapons didn't need love. They only needed a purpose.
That night, atop the building, the strongest sorcerer in the world learned that Infinity is useless when the attack comes from someone you had already let in.