Chapter Text
Suguru had always considered himself a patient person. Perhaps even a little more than just patient. After all, he had spent his entire life training himself to be exactly that.
He grew up in a small, isolated village on the fringes of society, where he was forced to learn, through gritted teeth, how to endure the constant whispers about him and his family. About his mental health.
In a small town, everyone knew everyone. His parents were respectable adults who worked themselves to the bone, followed every social rule to the letter, and, to all appearances, were perfectly normal people. Suguru, unfortunately, had not been blessed with that same normalcy.
He spent his entire childhood listening to the neighbors point fingers at him for it.
“Geto Suguru, first year. Yeah, poor parents… seems their only son has been off in the head since he was little. The kid sees things that aren’t there. They’ve had to switch schools three times because he scares the other children.”
At first, Suguru would react. Even though he knew that, deep down, what they said wasn’t entirely a lie, one time he threw himself at an upperclassman just because he heard him say that maybe his mother was crazy too. He got suspended and grounded for two whole months.
Even though it confused him deeply, Suguru learned to endure. To bite his tongue when necessary. To not defend himself.
Over time, that attitude helped him become more sociable. His classmates were still intimidated by his strength and, at heart, still thought he was a bit crazy, but once they noticed his new passivity, they slowly started including him in their group.
Little by little, Suguru became eerily normal.
So yes. One could say Suguru considered himself a very, very patient person.
At least until Masamichi Yaga found him and brought him to Jujutsu High.
Until he met Gojo Satoru.
“This seems excessive,” the aforementioned muttered, still trembling. “Masamichi, we were just having fun. Suguru, tell him.”
What a fucking headache, Suguru thought. And the idiot already felt entitled to call him by his first name. Suguru didn’t even bother looking at him. His arms burned from the hours they’d spent holding up that ridiculous, oversized fake moai statue Yaga had dragged out from who-knows-where. The thing weighed a ton, and Yaga had had the nerve to seal it with a thin layer of cursed energy so they couldn’t use their techniques.
Yaga didn’t spare them a second glance. He had only stopped by to check on their punishment and was already walking away, clearly eager to go do whatever he did after class. Suguru suspected it wasn’t much—the poor man didn’t seem to have any friends. He liked to imagine him watching some trashy soap opera alone in his room, just for the private pleasure of mocking him in his head. In Suguru’s opinion, the punishment was completely ridiculous. Though he’d rather die than admit that Gojo had a point.
“It’s Yaga-sensei to you,” Yaga replied calmly, not even turning around fully. “And no, it’s not excessive. Next time you two decide to trash the library over a stupid fight, maybe you’ll think twice.”
“Yaga-sensei, sorry to be the one to say it,” Suguru couldn’t help spitting through gritted teeth, “but Gojo is incapable of thinking for himself.”
“Excuse me? I think all the time!” Satoru complained, almost shouting. “I’m thinking this is inhumane torture and that Suguru is a liar! Take it back or I’m dropping this right now!”
“If you dare drop it, you’ll be carrying it alone for the rest of the day while Suguru supervises you up close,” Yaga sentenced immediately, his dark eyes pinning Gojo like two needles.
Suguru wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead by rubbing his shoulder against his uniform sleeve, silently hoping Gojo would do exactly that.
“Wow! So now there’s favoritism,” Gojo shot back, because apparently he didn’t know when to shut up. “Unbelievable! They never mentioned this when my clan decided to enroll me here.”
“Maybe you should resign from this school,” Suguru suggested, delighted by the idea. “Doesn’t seem like you’re very appreciated around here.”
Gojo turned to look at him, stunned, his stupidly beautiful blue eyes wide.
“Wait, really? Suguru, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re actually kind of smart.”
“Excuse me?”
“As appealing as the idea sounds, Satoru cannot resign from this school,” Yaga interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, clearly growing bored of the conversation. “Unfortunately, we’re the only jujutsu school in Japan.”
An uncomfortable silence followed, broken only by the strained breathing of both students. Suguru’s hands and legs were starting to cramp from the weight of the moai. He had only been at this school for two weeks, so it made sense, he supposed, that he still hadn’t built up much physical endurance. Especially when the time he should have been using for training and studying was instead wasted on absurd punishments caused by the idiot heir of the Gojo clan.
Said idiot decided right then that it was a brilliant idea to shift one of his legs, causing the massive structure they were holding to tilt dangerously to one side. They both ended up crushed beneath it on the ground.
They could hear Yaga walking away, his voice resigned:
“What a shame. I guess you’ll have to start counting from zero again.”
Suguru spat out one of his long strands of hair that had gotten caught in his mouth and shot Gojo a venomous glare. The other boy didn’t have the decency to look even slightly ashamed.
He stood up, brushed off his loose pants, and, accepting his cruel fate, the black-haired boy asked:
“Have you ever considered looking for schools abroad?”
It hadn’t always been like this.
At the beginning, Suguru had tried to be professional. Almost friendly, even. After spending his whole life pretending to be someone he wasn’t, pleasing people and hiding that essential part of himself that disgusted others, he could finally breathe. He could show himself as he truly was. Maybe, for once, even make real friends. Genuine ones. Not out of convenience, not with that sick feeling in his chest telling him that everyone knew just how repulsive he was.
But he never imagined his classmate would turn out to be such an unbearable creature. Suguru couldn’t find a better word to describe him. It wasn’t that he wanted to be cruel, but Gojo Satoru was… special. And not in a good way. Not the 'there’s something special about you' kind of special, but the 'he’s… special' kind, the tone that promises trouble.
The day they met, Gojo gave him a long, piercing look. By that, Suguru means he stared at him intently, as if waiting for him to spill all his darkest secrets. He had felt intimidated by the white-haired boy, but only because he was, well, weird. And very, very beautiful. He didn’t mean it romantically; he was simply stating a fact. The sky is blue, the sun is bright, Satoru Gojo is beautiful.
That brief moment of intimidation vanished instantly, because right after staring at him for several long minutes, Gojo said:
“Wait…” He looked stunned, took a step back, raised his hands and exclaimed, “You’re not a girl!”
Ieri Shoko, their only other classmate (something that still felt weird to Suguru, only having two classmates), stepped forward and gave him a quick once-over, tilting her head slightly.
“Same thing happened to me,” she said by way of greeting.
“I’m not a girl,” Suguru had answered, feeling stupid, because he thought he somehow needed to clarify it.
That wasn’t even the worst part of their first conversation. No, the worst came right after:
“Sorry, but I don’t like guys. Although… maybe if I squint…”
“Excuse me,” Suguru interrupted immediately, completely lost. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Shoko didn’t seem nearly as fazed by Gojo’s comment. She was too busy lighting a cigarette, paying them almost no attention.
Gojo’s companion, a nervous-looking young man dressed in expensive white robes, quickly and clumsily stepped between them, clearing his throat with an irritating sound.
“I apologize for the confusion,” he said, addressing the horrified expression on Suguru’s face. Then, with what looked like immense exhaustion, he turned to the white-haired boy and added calmly, “Gojo-sama, these are your classmates. We’re about to enter the grounds of Jujutsu High.”
Gojo seemed to snap out of his daze, eyes widening as he exclaimed:
“Shit, that was today?”
“Gojo-sama, yes, it is. This is not…” The young attendant gave Suguru and Shoko a nervous smile. “This is not another one of your arranged marriage meetings.”
“Oh,” Gojo sighed in relief and then flashed Suguru an amused grin. “Good news, huh? I wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to kiss you. Not that I have anything against that stuff. I’m very open-minded, but my clan is looking for an heir, you know?”
Shoko, beside him, started coughing violently, choking on her cigarette smoke.
Surprisingly, Suguru didn’t escalate it into a fight. As he had pointed out earlier, he was capable of enduring much worse. Gojo Satoru was not going to be the one to break him after he had spent so many years perfecting his carefully cultivated, rock-solid tolerance. He wasn’t fragile. He had endured being called a freak to his face. He wasn’t going to lose his mind now just because someone had mistaken him for a potential fiancé. Whatever. Suguru was still learning the rules of this new world, and despite himself, he felt disappointed that such conservative practices as arranged marriages still existed. Even if it made sense for the sake of cursed techniques and bloodlines, it still sounded like a ridiculous excuse.
Much to his own annoyance, he even felt a flicker of pity for the boy. He was going to live a sad, loveless life, a puppet following orders forever.
Still, it bothered him that Gojo hadn’t apologized for the misunderstanding himself. Sure, his servant or attendant or whatever had done it for him, but that didn’t count. Gojo should have known better, right?
“Excuse me,” Suguru said slowly, ignoring the boy’s joke. He sounded angry no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His jaw was clenched. “I didn’t quite catch your name. You are…?”
Satoru waved his hand dismissively.
“You don’t have to apologize,” the bastard replied. “I was told one of you only recently entered the jujutsu world. That must be you. Makes sense you wouldn’t know me then.”
Suguru just stared at him in silence.
“…Gojo Satoru,” the boy finally muttered, raising his hand as if to stop him. “No, no need to bow.”
Suguru, who had already started to extend his own hand, pulled it back immediately and, with fierce determination, said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice:
“I wasn’t going to, but thanks anyway.”
“Oh, don’t mention it.”
Fuck, he was unbearable. Suguru was going to have to deal with this for the rest of the school year.
Shoko, who until then hadn’t seemed interested in adding anything else, approached them with lazy movements. Suguru had observed her in the minutes before Gojo arrived. She was a very reserved girl, with a serious gaze that felt intimidating despite her small, petite frame. Under that gaze, Suguru felt even smaller than she was. Her eyes were sharp, like a cat’s; her movements smooth and slow, but confident. The kind of person you’d look at twice if you passed her on the street. She also smoked like a chimney: in the short time they’d been there, she had already finished two cigarettes by herself. Suguru made a mental note to ask her for one later. With Gojo on his team, he was definitely going to need a lot to stay calm.
“Heir of the Gojo clan, bearer of the Six Eyes,” she drawled in a laconic tone. “Wow. I really pictured you differently.”
Suguru couldn’t help himself. In his defense, he was starting to feel left behind; he knew absolutely nothing about the supposedly important backgrounds of his classmates.
“Bearer of the Six Eyes?”
He didn’t ask about the Gojo clan, obviously he could spot a rich kid from a mile away. Being the heir of a clan had been the easiest part to understand about Gojo. He was rich, spoiled, and rude. That much had been obvious the second he opened his stupid mouth.
“Mmm,” Shoko nodded. “A very powerful technique. There can only be one living person in the Gojo clan who possesses it at a time. That’s why he acts like the world owes him something.”
“What? Hey! I don’t act like—!” Gojo paused to actually think about it for a second. Then he broke into a smug grin. “Well, actually, the world does owe me something, don't ya think?”
Shoko rolled her eyes. Suguru, who hadn’t eaten lunch and had had high expectations for his first day in what was supposed to be his new life (only to watch them get crushed under the giant foot of an irritating brat with pretty eyes) decided he’d had enough information about the Gojo clan for one day. He turned around and started climbing the seemingly endless stairs toward the jujutsu school.
Maybe the world does owe you something, Suguru thought at the end of that day, already knowing he’d have to convince himself of this for the rest of the school year. But the truth is, Gojo Satoru… I don’t owe you anything.