Archive of Our Own

RCT cannot mend a broken heart

“Suguru, be my boyfriend!” said Satoru’s voice in the distance. It was all dark, or maybe all was too bright?

Gojo forced his eyes shut, chasing the voice.

“Suguru, are you my boyfriend?” asked Satoru. This time, the voice came from the room next door, it seemed.

“Well… I am, or am I not?” Gojo became too alert when he heard Suguru’s calm voice replying to Satoru’s question. “We are boys, and we are friends,” the black-haired boy replied, easily, teasing. Gojo couldn’t see any of the boys talking, or was he seeing Suguru’s back, ink-black strands falling over, sitting on the floor of the room? Was Gojo peeping through the crevice of a door left ajar?

“You know that’s not what I mean!” Exclaimed Satoru, pouting dramatically.

“Then, what do you mean, Satoru?” asked Suguru with patience, as if they had been through that same conversation several times.

“Date me,” Gojo heard himself saying, or had it been Satoru? Did he really say it?   

Gojo heard Satoru growling in frustration. A soft laughter from Suguru, and then Satoru’s irritation was tamed by slow and soft kisses that meant “I AM your boyfriend.” But Gojo couldn’t hear Suguru’s voice pronouncing the words.

Gojo frowned.

Wait.

That never happened.

Satoru never asked Suguru such questions. There was no need, was there?

Gojo groaned and forced himself awake. He had been dreaming of Suguru him, once again. He sat on his unmade bed and checked the time. He had just slept for twenty minutes or so. A drafted reply to Shoko, waiting to be sent. He was still wearing his regular clothes, he hadn’t even taken a shower, and he clearly hadn’t even planned to go to bed. He knew he still had too much energy left. He stood up, stretched and drank some water. He went to his desk and admired the beautiful chaos that it was: a pile of reports to be filled out, two or three forgotten mugs (no, wait, four, actually), another pile of whatever tests he had to grade, his agenda for the coming days, already completely crammed with pending tasks and important stuff he should not forget, another pile of paperwork he had no idea how to deal with…

He sighed. At least he had enough to keep him entertained. He sat at his desk.

A day in the life of Gojo Satoru, the Strongest sorcerer of modern times, consisted of teaching, meetings, completing reports, briefings (which were the same as meetings, truth to be told), preparing for classes, mentoring (which definitely involved meetings), business trips, and… more meetings. Oh, right, and the uncountable missions, which, let’s be honest, unless it was a Special Grade Curse, took him five minutes to complete. Was it exhausting? Yes, but he had sought it for himself. He needed to keep his mind as busy as possible; it was something compulsive. He needed to hit the hay the most tired he could be, so he could fall asleep immediately, because when he was tired up to exhaustion, he didn’t dream. If he wasn’t exhausted, if he had just enough energy left in his brain, his mind would wander, and if his mind drifted… well… he ended up like he currently was, restless and reminiscing of old times. Gojo —he had stopped seeing himself as Satoru years ago— Gojo had a complex relationship with sleep. One thing or another, sleep was a strange thing for him, terrifying as a child; a cosy, ethereal space in his youth; then, a home for his most painful memories; and now, a place he rarely dared to visit for more than a couple of hours at night. He didn’t need much of it, really, as he kept his brain fresh by continuously running his Reversed Cursed Technique through his body, a feat he mastered a decade ago and that now he barely had to pay attention to. But there were nights, such as today, that he missed going to bed to sleep just because it felt good… it used to feel good, a time for him to relax, to dream, to love and be loved. There had been a time when sleeping was a valued leisure activity. Nowadays, however, if he was not tired enough, he would have dreams. As if his brain somehow needed to use the remaining energy up and busied itself creating wild scenarios. In the best case, those scenarios would remind him of meetings, past or future, of course, at worst… well, Gojo would dream about him, and then he would awake with teary eyes —or even wet behind the ears— to an everyday life without him, and Gojo still didn’t know how to cope with that. Despite all the years that had passed, if he visited Gojo in his dreams, sometimes, Gojo would close his eyes tightly and wish he would never leave Dreamland behind. Some other times, although less and less often, Gojo would simply not feel strong enough to face the cruel world alone. He hated that feeling, so no, thank you very much. That was why, if he wasn’t tired enough, he would skip that night’s sleep; it was for the best. He had done it many times, each passing year less so. Nevertheless, he still had his strategies for not even looking at the bed and not being tempted to have a quick nap, which were basically to continue working.

All was good. He would use the time to fill in details about his last missions. He had a stack of reports to be completed by… two months ago, probably. Curses exorcised, who, when, how, comments or observations: Me. Five weeks ago. Blue. No remarks. Next. Me, four-ish weeks ago (who cares?), Blue. No remarks. Next. He drew a doodle of himself. He picked a random date from the calendar. Red. No remarks. Next. And next and next and next. All was boringly good until… “This reporting thing was even fun when the person who lost the bet had to fill them out, sometimes myself, some other...” He thought of everything being easier with a partner team. But he had a team now, right? He should leave the filling of reports to them, then. He sighed. He didn’t have a team, really, not like a group of people where everyone shares more or less the same number of responsibilities and they have equal freedom to make decisions. No. He was the leader of a group, where mostly everyone respected him and looked up to him, and, well, some were even too shy to speak to him… and he was the leader, but not really a part of it, because they placed him above everyone else —or he himself had simply assumed his corresponding position— out of reach. He was supposed to be used to that —and he was— he had trained since birth just for that, to be the Strongest and untouchable… but there had been a time when he was untouchable along with someone else.

“No. Don’t go there,” Gojo scolded himself. He had been doing so well; it had been a couple of years since he had thought of his youth (okay, maybe that was a stretch, and it had been just some months, really). He put the stack of documents aside. It was better to use that time to plan something interesting and useful for each one of his students. Gojo was used to investing time carefully considering the skills and the weaknesses of his students and how to work with them, so that they could become a better version of themselves. He observed them with attention: what mistakes they made, and when, what Cursed Tools were easier for them to handle, under which circumstances they lost control of their CE… and yet, sometimes it was too difficult for Gojo to understand what his students were struggling with or why something was difficult for them to master. Since the first day of his life, he had been surrounded by Jujutsu; even in the womb, he was sure he had absorbed some knowledge. Then, he had received non-stop training from, what the Gojo clan claimed to be, the best teachers and trainers available at the time. There had never been a day in his life when he had not learnt something about Jujutsu. Furthermore, he never struggled with learning any basic skill and, although mastering Red and Purple had been difficult, he did it at the early age of 16, the prodigy he was. As a consequence, many things came just naturally to Gojo and explaining them to someone else was no easy task for him, particularly to kids who came from non-sorcerer families, who were usually far behind in fighting skills and Jujutsu lingo. He glanced at the ceiling, looking for inspiration. In just one year, he had mastered his CT and had learnt to manipulate the most diverse set of Curses, even if he had never heard a word about sorcery before enrolling in Jujutsu High. He had also developed a very sharp strategic mind, which had rendered him almost unbeatable. Furthermore, he easily saw and pointed out Satoru’s weaknesses, Satoru’s, who supposedly had none. He had given valuable advice to Satoru and even pushed him to learn and develop complex movements. He had been the real prodigy. Gojo breathed deeply. “He would’ve been an amazing sensei.” Gojo groaned and ruffled his hair a bit too aggressively, stressed. He glared furiously at his bed, as if it had personally attacked him. He had even taught him, unintentionally, how to enjoy sleep… and he had also ruined it for life for Gojo. He stretched himself in the chair, exhaling soundly, trying to clear his mind. How come he had got to that point? He was supposed to be good at everything. Why was he so bad at sleeping?

While growing up, as Heir of the Gojo clan, Gojo Satoru, or Gojo-sama, as everyone called him, had a very strict schedule: every meal, study time, training session, and nap time was carefully designed to get the best performance possible from him. There were scarcely any leisure activities programmed, and those that were always had irremediably other not-so-well-hidden purposes, for Gojo-sama should always strive to gain experience or knowledge that could come in useful to him in the many future duties as clan leader.  He grew up like that, following strict timetables, planned activities one after the other. No park escapades, lazy pizza nights, or impromptu visits from friends. He wasn’t even allowed to take a snooze after lunch or at midafternoon, if it was not in the program.

Conscious relationship with sleep started rough for Satoru. When the Six Eyes started to seriously work, Satoru had suffered from a period of night terrors; sudden, intense fear invaded him a couple of hours after having fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember if there were just regular nightmares or real, Cursed Spirits invading his sleep, but for a while, sleep time was the worst time of the day. For weeks, or maybe months, he refused to go to bed, causing him to fall asleep unexpectedly in random places. If it happened in the evening, when his activities were over, his carers would carry him to his room to let him have some sleep, but if it happened during the day, in the middle of his programmed activities, they would wake him, so he didn’t interrupt his learning or training. At night, when he woke crying or screaming, there was no one to reassure him, to soothe his fears. One of his carers would take some warm milk sweetened with honey, but would not stay in the room, as it was not allowed. The child who would one day become the Strongest had to learn how to deal with his own fears by himself. During daytime, a part of his training sessions was dedicated to teaching him breathing techniques for relaxation, but it was his own responsibility to know how and when to use them. He didn’t remember how long he suffered these sleep terrors, but he recollected searching for some comfort before falling asleep again and not being able to find it.

Even when the night terrors passed, sleep was not a reward. Due to the Six Eyes, even during his sleep, he was aware of most things happening around, sometimes not even very close to his room and, therefore, he rarely had a good rest. At least he didn’t wake in the middle of the night completely terrified anymore, but that didn’t seem to bring him any peace. The intensity of the strength of the Six Eyes made him too alert to relax. During long months, even years, he dedicated himself to understanding how the Six Eyes worked when he slept. Training. Training. Training. All he received was haphazard information that made no sense and only kept him aware of the surroundings, preventing him from getting a good night’s rest. He knew that, for his own sake, he needed to shut stimuli from interfering in his sleep, otherwise he would never know respite. The best would be to be able to discern which stimuli were worth paying attention to and which ones should he automatically discard, in order to give his brain a break. Would he ever be able to learn how to process all that information? Endless training. He was only six or seven years old.

He couldn’t pinpoint when he had realised that he was living in a golden cage, but he had the feeling that all his life he had spent wanting to break free. The Gojo Estate, with all its rooms, annexes, forbidden warehouses, and beautiful gardens with ponds, was enormous and labyrinthic for a six-year-old, too empty for a lonely ten-year-old, too lacking in adventures for a curious and energetic fourteen-year-old and Satoru hated it. He hated that he couldn’t even see the limits of the grounds from the buildings he spent most of his time, he couldn’t stand the silence, the lack of a replying voice whenever he wanted to talk. Sometimes he even despised the birds, the fish, and the squirrels, they were allowed to come and go as they pleased, unlike him. The training sessions and the study time, always taught by boring teachers; the curated daily menus, all well balanced and full of adult food. Nothing surprised him; he loathed all of it. He also didn’t know how or when, but the thought of a free life slowly crept into his brain: one day, he would go wherever he pleased, eat whatever he craved, and take a nap whenever he felt like it. Ice-cream for breakfast at 3 pm after a 14-hour nap: granted. One day, no one would be able to stop him, to say that it was out of schedule, that it was not included in the program. That sole thought kept him going. One day.

From almanacks, old photo albums, and overheard conversations, Satoru learnt that Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School was not only the headquarters for most of the active sorcerers, but also an educational and training institution. Yes, for many it was obvious, it was in the name, but for Gojo-sama, who had never experienced institutionalised education, who had always been private-tutored, who had been taught that only the most important sorcerers of the clan were worth talking to, that was big news. To find out that there was a place where young sorcerers learnt how to control their techniques and improve them, under the guidance of mentors, blew Satoru’s mind. Other young sorcerers from other clans, probably some minor Zen’in and Kamo included, with techniques that he had only read about but never seen working in real life, would attend. Sorcerers his age, not stale codgers like his tutors or the clan leader. He had made up his mind; he was going to enrol. As a young sorcerer, it was his right to attend; there was no reason he would not be allowed to register. That same day, he informed his main tutor of his decision to enrol at Tokyo Jujutsu High as soon as he was eligible.

“That will not be necessary, Gojo-sama. You are already having a thorough training. I assure you, no one outside the Gojo Clan can train you better,” they had objected.

But Satoru had not made a request to enrol at the school; he had stated his determination to attend Jujutsu High, and there was no room for denying him so.   

A few days later, the clan leader tried to convince him that only skilled and learned Gojo sorcerers could guide him properly through the inherited techniques. Satoru almost laughed at this. He saw this line of reasoning for what it was: another way to try to control him. He had learnt some ‘secret aspects of the inherited techniques’ out of sheer curiosity and from his own small experiments. He was a genius; undoubtedly, he could even manage alone. But the point was not to do it alone; the point was to meet young and smart sorcerers with different perspectives. Then, the clan head argued that attending Jujutsu High was pointless for someone like Gojo-sama; if he wanted, he would be named Special Grade before even enrolling; it was a matter of pulling the right strings, and he could consider it done. As if a label mattered to Satoru. He knew that it was just a matter of time to be recognised as a Special Grade; nevertheless, he was aware that he was not ready. He and the clan leader argued and quarrelled, they almost fought against each other, but at his thirteen years old, he was powerful enough to intimidate even the clan leader. Thus, a condition was established: Gojo Satoru must undergo the genpuku ceremony before being able to enrol in Jujutsu High. Just another attempt to try to manipulate him, or at least to make him seem very supportive of his own clan (though in reality he couldn’t care less), and to make him officially eligible for adult responsibilities within the clan. Satoru sneered. He had been handling such responsibilities since he could remember, and they wanted to make a show of it now, how brilliant, he thought sarcastically. But if that was the requisite, he would agree on that, if that meant that he could attend the school and perhaps pretend to live a regular sorcerer’s life, at least for a while. And so, when the right time came, Satoru was registered as a student at Jujutsu High. Moreover, to have the full experience, he insisted on moving to the student dorms, even if the clan had insisted in him keeping some dignity and at least having a private room at one of the numerous buildings the Gojo Clan had at the school. Satoru was sure that at school, the air was fresher and the colours were brighter and, simply, life was better than at Gojo Estate, even if he had only spent a couple of hours on campus. He felt lighter and happier there.

Perhaps it was the change in the environment or perhaps the sudden freedom Satoru experienced, but his sleep improved as soon as he started at Jujutsu High. One night, just like that, he discovered dreaming. He could not remember what that first dream was about, and every time he tried to remember, the words to describe it escaped him right before he could grasp them. Some vague images remained in his mind, but whenever he tried to focus them to analyse them, they blurred and disappeared. It was frustrating. He couldn’t wait for it to happen again.

Little by little, Satoru got used to the new life in Jujutsu High. The courses, some boring and some others more interesting; the training sessions, which happened to be more appealing because he had an interesting opponent to learn from, not just the sensei in turn; the missions under the supervision of Yaga-sensei, who let them fight some minor curses according to their skill levels; and his classmates, Shoko and Geto. However, Satoru couldn’t say much about them in the first weeks, as he was usually late for the classes, and he didn’t get many chances to talk to them. Shoko Ieiri, a short girl with brown hair, soft hazelnut eyes and a mole under her right eye, came from an old clan, respected enough in Jujutsu society due to their various healing techniques. Satoru had met the head of her clan a couple of times, but he knew about her only after enrolling in Jujutsu High. Satoru was aware that she knew who he was —because every sorcerer knew who Gojo-sama was— but that was the first time that it made him somewhat uncomfortable, as if her knowing of Satoru’s strength and power was unwelcome. So, he avoided talking to her, not that she seemed very interested in chatting with him, anyway. His other classmate, Geto Suguru, was a tall, slim guy with longish hair that he tied up in a neat bun and bangs that kept falling over his left eye. Whenever Satoru saw Geto’s bangs dangling over his face, he was irremediably tempted to bat at the dark strands, like a cat playing with a string toy. He never would, of course, but sometimes it was too distracting. Geto came from a family of non-sorcerers, and that was all Satoru knew about him. However, Satoru found him inexplicably obnoxious. Geto was always so prim and polite that adults seemed to adore him. Satoru was sure that even the fussiest Gojo clan member would approve of Geto’s manners, unlike Satoru’s. That’s why, perhaps during the first days of school, Satoru didn’t even want to get close to him. Satoru was sure Geto was one to follow the rules: always quiet when he should be, his keigo was polished, his presence was smooth and elegant, and he always gave the right answers during class. Eww. He didn’t need that in his life, thank you. After the first week or so, Satoru noted how Geto and Shoko were starting to get along with each other, and, somehow, he felt left behind, but just a little. He sulked because he was not interested in being friends with them, but… why was it so hard for him to talk to them? Maybe it was the fact that he had never had the opportunity to be around kids his age, and he inexplicably felt too awkward.

The first dream that Satoru remembered having was so… mundane. It was he, strolling around the school grounds, when he found his classmates, who were not his real classmates, Geto or Shoko, but other Gojo clan members. They said that they were running late to class and that they all should hurry up, or Yaga-sensei would have them cleaning the gym after class. Satoru didn’t care about being on time and let them hurry, while he stayed behind, admiring the greenery. That was all about, no crazy landscape changes or imaginary animals or frenetic persecutions of fights, how disappointing! However, he realised one thing: when he dreamt, he could completely forget about the world that surrounded him. It was not that the Six Eyes were deactivated; rather, they focused on whatever was happening in the dream, and somehow it felt like relief. For a regular sorcerer, he thought, that was not a problem, as they didn’t perceive the flow of CE in incredible detail, but with the Six Eyes, even during his sleep, he couldn’t forget about what was going on around him, except when he dreamt; now he knew. There would come a time when Satoru would master the Six Eyes to such an extent that, dreaming or not, he would not be bothered by external stimuli during his sleep, but for a while, dreaming was a haven where he could forget about the external world.

Not long passed before Geto and Satoru were allowed to go on missions without Yaga-sensei’s direct supervision, after all, Satoru was already a Grade 1-soon-to-be-Special Grade sorcerer, and he had broad experience fighting Curses. Moreover, Geto was well-trained in Martial Arts, and, during training sessions and supervised missions, he had demonstrated to be very skilled at overtaking Cursed Spirits. Sometimes, Shoko was also to accompany them, in case emergency support was needed, but most of the time she didn’t, and Satoru found himself spending long hours with Geto, either being driven around Tokyo or in public transport. At the beginning, the shared space felt uncomfortably silent and awkward. Satoru didn’t know how to behave around people who were not at his service, and the only way he knew to relate to other people was through superiority and power, that was how he was educated. Some of the servants at the Gojo Estate, wouldn’t even dare to look at him, and although that was uncomfortable for Satoru, he was used to it. However, something in Geto’s demeanour told Satoru that Geto was not going to tolerate not being treated with dignity, and Satoru was lost on how to treat him, so in order to avoid uncomfortable interactions, inexplicably, he preferred to keep shut. There was something about Geto that made Satoru feel a bit too self-conscious. Training together was one thing, the presence of Yaga-sensei and the turns they took between the three of them, Satoru, Geto and Shoko, to spar, made the interactions polite, and even easy-going, sometimes, but they were never friendly. Satoru had observed how Geto and Shoko behaved around each other; they got to class and left the classroom together. They used to whisper things to each other in the middle of a class and laugh silently. They seem to be good friends. And truly, they were never mean to Satoru. Whenever they met him, they greeted him politely, but after that, interactions were stiff, and nobody knew what to say after ‘Hi’, apparently. Satoru wanted to be part of that group, but he didn’t know how.

One evening, Satoru and Geto were being driven back to the school after a mission, not a difficult one, but one that had taken more energy than expected, with swarms of minor curses, one after the other. Both were tired and hungry, but they were stuck in a traffic jam. Satoru couldn’t wait to get some dinner, go to his room, take a bath and go to bed. His eyelids were feeling heavy with tiredness. He had used Blue too many times, and that had depleted his stamina. The warmth in the interior of the car, the hum of the surrounding cars, and the calm CE he sensed from Geto and their driver lulled him. He tried to fight it. It would be so embarrassing to fall asleep then and there, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He nodded off intensely a couple of times, and every single time, he pretended it hadn’t happened, shaking his head as if to chase away the drowsiness invading him. He stole a glance at Geto to check if he had noticed, but he seemed too busy ignoring him, looking through the car’s window; he had his earphones on. Maybe then, if Satoru closed his eyes for a couple of minutes the ride would seem shorter… but he didn’t want to be seen sleeping, he shouldn’t, he must not, he had been trained since a short age not to give into sleep unprotected… but a power nap had never hurt anyone… he nodded off again and when he lifted his head, he saw Geto’s arm extended toward him, holding his school jacket, nicely bundled. Satoru looked at him, embarrassed, but he was only met with what seemed to be a small smile.

“You’ll get your neck hurt. Use this to lean more comfortably in the window,” said Geto, kindly.

“I… umm… thank you, Geto,” said Satoru in a small and sleepy voice, taking the bundle, immediately adjusting it close to the window.

“Just don’t drool over it,” added the black-haired boy, and his smile turned mischievous.

“I don’t drool,” replied Satoru, too tired to be offended.

“What you say? We all drool”

“You’ll see,” said Satoru, huffing and closing his eyes. He heard Geto’s chuckle in the distance.

Just before arriving at the school, Satoru woke up slowly, to the smell of the woods nearby and something else, warm, smooth, and grounding, though lost in sleep, he couldn’t exactly say what else. Suddenly, he remembered the last words he said before falling asleep, and immediately, he checked the bundle he had used as a pillow for traces of drool. Fortunately, nothing. He didn’t drool, of course. He gave the bundle back to his classmate.

“See, no drool,” Satoru said smugly, trying to hide a yawn. Geto just laughed lightly.

“Sure,” replied Geto, unaffected, checking his jacket. “But what about the snoring?”

“Huh?” exclaimed Satoru, scandalised. Geto smiled triumphantly.

While they were walking from the parking lot to the buildings, Geto casually offered to join him and Shoko for dinner. “Nothing too complicated, just instant ramen, probably.”

“Instant ramen sounds like the right thing to have after a mission!” said Satoru, nodding enthusiastically. Geto chuckled, perhaps finding Satoru’s enthusiasm a bit childish, though he didn’t complain. The dinner had been just like Geto had said, nothing too complicated, only a warm meal to fill their bellies and a shared table to give them chance to unwind. That night, Satoru had the most restful sleep he remembered. He dreamt of the curses he and Geto had exorcised earlier that evening, but not in a frightening way. He was having fun, jumping from side to side, even from place to place, from the Gojo Estate, where he had spent his childhood, to the woods surrounding the school, to the most random places in Tokyo, creating distractions and hitting curses with punches reinforced with Blue. He remembered laughing, enjoying the thrill of the fight. And suddenly, all black, a calming darkness and silence. He was lost in an unknown yet familiar fragrance, warm, smooth, and grounding. He woke up breathing deeply, trying to catch the smell, but it was out of reach, buried in the depths of his dream.

The simple dinner that they had shared after that exhausting mission was the icebreaker Satoru needed to start to feel comfortable enough around Shoko, and eventually, with Geto. That dinner unlocked something between the three of them, and Satoru, little by little, became a part of their friendship, like a complex missing piece that Shoko and Geto hadn’t realised they needed, but once found and understood, it fitted the three teenagers nicely together. Satoru brought endless laughter and banter to Shoko and Geto’s generally quieter relationship. Satoru liked Shoko the moment she greeted him, so cool and laid-back. Satoru made her laugh easily and, with time, Satoru realised she was as mischievous as he was (or even worse). They shared the experience of being part of an old family of sorcerers, and even though she never mentioned his family, or he himself, as something, someone special, there was an understanding between them of how things in Jujutsu society worked. She treated him plainly as Satoru, and he found this new and refreshing, and he found himself easily adoring her. Had Satoru known that Shoko would be like that, perhaps he would’ve tried to talk to her earlier. With Geto, however, it was different. Even though Geto was the one to invite him to join them for dinner, it took some time for Satoru to erase the first impression he had of him. Geto was, indeed, all of what Satoru had seen during the first days: respectful, quiet, and prim, but he was also much more. It took a while for Geto to be more open with Satoru, as if Geto was taking his time to decide what was the best way to deal with Satoru, or how it was better to approach him. When it finally happened, Satoru realised that Geto was a bit of a bastard, but unlike him, he knew when to show his true colours. Looking back, Gojo realised that young Suguru was probably just making his best to fit into a society completely new to him. It should have been scary and complicated to navigate all by himself a society as complex as Jujutsu’s, where the ‘right’ lineage gave you a good position and power.

As weeks passed, Satoru found himself more comfortable around Shoko and Geto, but also with himself. He realised that after years of strict tutors and a lack of kids his age to interact with, he had created a quiet and serious persona to carry out his daily activities and to deal with the clan’s duties, but now he was discovering that that persona was not him. After years of having his real self hidden in the back, he was tired of it. The school, with its more or less loose rules, its not-so-tight schedule, was letting him awake as the menace he was supposed to be. Satoru was energetic and loud and funny… and he actually hated his short hair, so he would let it grow a bit more, and perhaps he was too much touch starved that he wished to compensate, and now he wanted to hug everyone and poke at their cheeks and basically invade everyone’s personal space at the minor inconvenience. Then, Satoru realised that even if Shoko and Geto complained sometimes, they stayed with him and laughed at his jokes and, yeah, sometimes at him, but they always included him in the plans and now it was unthinkable for him to make plans without considering them. Whenever Satoru gave a proper thought to it, something in his heart would flutter, expand, and warm him from the inside; he would feel fortunate and… happy. For the first time, Satoru felt at home, and it was not the Gojo Estate, not even the school grounds; it was those two, Shoko and Geto.

At the same time, Satoru noticed the swift and substantial improvement that Geto was making thanks to the efforts put into his training: getting physically stronger, improving his control over his CE, and learning how to control the Cursed Spirits he had gained in battle. Satoru found himself inspired by Geto’s hard work, natural talent, and intelligence; nothing that any other sorcerer he had ever met had accomplished, and Satoru could say that he had met the most brilliant sorcerers of this era. Consequently, Satoru dedicated more energy to training, and he spent more time reading and learning the fundamentals of Jujutsu with more hunger than he had ever felt. His former tutors wouldn’t believe their eyes. Who would have thought that all that Gojo-sama needed was a bit of competition? Gojo laughed at this thought. Back then, he was not motivated by competition, or not completely; a big component was also the compulsive, silly need to impress him, though he didn’t acknowledge this until much later. Training with Geto taught him many valuable lessons. For instance, he learnt how to breathe to enhance his stamina (something his previous trainers had surely mentioned, but Satoru had never taken seriously). He also learnt to better assess his self-confidence; used to being untouchable, he often became reckless and let his guard down, a tendency that Geto was quick to notice and exploit. Most importantly, Satoru learnt how to take naps, although it took him a while. After a life of carefully controlled sleeping schedules and endless fight training, it was only natural that Satoru were also used to fighting back sleep. The time when he had fallen asleep in the school car had been embarrassing and uncomfortable for him, just because he had been raised with the idea that naps taken outside a protected space were either only for small children or that they were a potential risk for his safety. Thus, the following missions he had been more careful with his energy so no to deplete it and, therefore, being able to be awake the whole drive home. But after spending a while with Geto, he noticed how easily Geto would fall asleep, unabashedly. He never fought when his eyelids felt heavy. He would find a comfortable position, close his eyes, and let sleep come. Satoru wanted so badly to learn how to do that; it just looked so comfortable. From time to time, Satoru would get to the gym for their sparring session and would find Geto enjoying a short nap on one of the benches. The first time it happened, Satoru got close to the bench to see if Geto was really sleeping or if he was just resting his eyes. It took Geto five whole minutes to sense Satoru’s presence. He pried one eye open and mumbled something about giving him a minute. Gojo would love to lie and say that, after that, whenever he caught him sleeping, he would let him be and never, ever disturb his sleep —because if you love someone you let them sleep— or that he even took some time to admire how beautiful he was, but the truth was that Satoru would be a real nuisance, and he would wake him up just for the mischievous pleasure of doing so. How much he had enjoyed sleeping! Satoru had just wanted that for himself too, after a life of controlled schedules, he wanted to find joy in sleeping, not to see it as another activity to be crossed out from the to-do list… or maybe he just wanted to cuddle next to him, and he didn’t know how to name that longing. Experience after experience, Satoru would slowly learn to let go of deeply ingrained schedules and would master how to let sleep visit him, no matter the time or the place.

Occasionally, when missions were close enough to the school or when there were no drivers available, they would take public transport instead of being driven to the spots. Train, underground, city bus… they hopped from one to another to get to their destinations. For Satoru, who had been spared from the pain of using such means of transportation as a kid, it was a whole new world, and he enjoyed it so much: the coming and going of people in all directions and the variety of people moving around the city depending on the time of the day, early in the morning the salarymen and the students, later, the people grocery shopping to get lunch ready, then, the old people who preferred the rush hour to pass to venture out of their homes. He looked attentively at people on the trains, reading, messaging, playing on their phones, sleeping, all quiet, but the moment they left the stations, they transformed: they met their friends or their families; they called home or the office, or perhaps their partners; some rushed to take the next bus; or some would queue in the closest coffee shop and order take-away. Satoru saw all of this in awe, as if he were watching the most enormous fish tank, colourful fish schools going back and forth, manta rays floating without rush, all of them sporadically covered by the shadow of a gigantic whale shark. Gradually, following Shoko’s and Geto’s examples, he too learnt how to navigate the vast tank that was Tokyo. Gojo longed for the days when he and his friends would innocently rush from one place to another, their only concern being that they would catch the last scheduled train. These days, he hardly ever took the train. Yet every time he did, he would glance at the seat beside him and find either a stranger or, if he was fortunate enough, a young familiar face, any of his students. However, when bad luck struck, the seat would remain empty, reminding him again that he was not there, that he hadn’t sat next to Gojo in a long time, that the last time Gojo put his head on his shoulder to take a short nap until they reached their stop had been over a decade ago. How had Satoru acquired that habit? He couldn’t remember. How had he crossed that seemingly innocent line? Sometimes, Gojo wished he hadn’t; most of the times he wished he’d done it earlier. How had he never complained about it? Gojo would always be grateful that he hadn’t. His mind kept this precious memory of a late-night ride on a train after a difficult mission, both exhausted, hungry and more beaten than any of them dared to admit after a fight with an awful Grade 2 Curse, that had taken longer to defeat than planned. Suguru nudged his shoulder and probably said something about them arriving at their stop. But Satoru didn’t want to open his eyes; he had been snuggly hidden in the crook of Suguru’s neck, surrounded by that familiarly warm and grounding scent. Then, Satoru would hear his name being called from afar. “Satoru,” muttered in the lowest way by the gentlest voice he had ever heard. Had Satoru already told him to call him by his name by that time, or had his name slipped inadvertently through his lips? After all that time, it was difficult to recall clearly. In Gojo’s mind, that was registered as the first time he had been called Satoru, but then again, maybe it was only a dream… or a faulty memory. Another nudge, Satoru groaned, refusing to wake up. A resigned sigh. By the time Satoru managed to open his eyes, their stop was three stations behind. Ugh. He was all rage because Suguru had not woken him up on time. Now, they had to go back, and that would cost them more energy and time. Loud, noisy, non-stop complaining. “Gojo,” said Suguru, impossibly calm, or too tired to argue, when Satoru stopped to take a breath. As soon as Satoru turned his head to face him, Suguru flicked a finger on his forehead, and that did the trick. “Stop complaining and let’s solve this.” Message conveyed only because Satoru was too tired to have Infinity on. Of course, Suguru made him pay for the taxi AND the dinner. Oh, those were the good old times. Now, Gojo would give all his salary to even have the chance to pay for late-night taxis and dinners.

After that, Satoru was more comfortable taking naps after missions. He didn’t understand very much why, perhaps it was the change in the quality of food, from premium-quality ingredients used at the Gojo Estate to the most delightful instant meals he and his friends had shared, but lacking the nutrients to maintain his high-energy-demanding body, as one of the members of the clan had suggested. Or maybe the fulfilment of too many hard missions for a 15-year-old boy. It had to do with Geto, Satoru was certain, because if he was travelling alone, he could never fall asleep, as exhausted as he may be.

Then, it became an unspoken agreement; whenever Satoru and Suguru were sitting together, they would lean into each other, bearing each other’s fatigue. At first, it was only after hard missions that they would indulge in falling asleep, either in public transport or in the school’s car.  Between classes, Shoko also used to join their resting ritual, though she rarely slept, and she preferred to have a cigarette. The three of them used to sit on the floor, waiting for Yaga-sensei to arrive. Once they all took their corresponding places, Suguru in the middle, with Shoko and Satoru on each side, he would take his MP3 out, offer Satoru one of the earbuds and let him choose a song while he offered to light Shoko’s cigarette with the lighter he used to carry ‘just in case’. After that, Suguru would complain about the song Satoru had chosen, because it was too cheesy, too commercial or just because, and he would pick another song. More often than not, Yaga would be late, and they would have some time to take a short nap. Bliss.

Gradually, the resting ritual grew and transformed. It took the form of dinners, movie nights and spontaneous pyjama parties, usually in Satoru’s room just because he had the largest TV screen. Laughter, music, movies, board and video games, that was happiness. However, there would invariably come a time when Shoko would crave a late-night or early-morning cigarette and use this as a reason to leave. She would ask Suguru if he was leaving with her, and he would. Satoru hated that moment. He wished his friends would stay. He even said it was okay if she smoked in his room, that there was no need to leave for that (he even bought an ashtray!) But she would argue that she liked having some fresh air, especially in the cold months, and Suguru would always leave with her. Once they left, Satoru would sulk because she had ruined the fun, not because Suguru had left with her, of course not. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop his brain from producing the wildest and funniest dreams those nights. Then, Satoru would always wake up refreshed and in a good mood. Gojo chuckled fondly. Oh, to be fifteen again and naïve enough to try to gaslight himself! Don’t blame him, he had never had friends before, much less a crush on someone, how was he supposed to know the difference?

There were sleepless nights back then, of course, and not all of them were fun ones. The memory of the evening when Suguru had to absorb the very first Semi-Grade 1 Curse came to Gojo’s mind. Suguru’s technique consisted of controlling Cursed Spirits that he had defeated in battle. For Suguru to be able to manipulate the Curses, he had to turn them into a black orb and then swallow it. Over the course of battles, Satoru had seen him defeat many Curses, but Suguru always waited until he was in his room alone to consume them. Often, he let a couple of days go by before ingesting them. He would never ever let Satoru or Shoko be near him on any of those evenings. As with many things, Satoru didn’t pay much attention at first, but as they spent more and more time together, he realised Suguru would not have dinner on the evenings that he had to swallow a Curse, sometimes he would skip breakfast the following day, too. Also, Satoru was aware that, in general, Suguru’s CE was not the same as other sorcerers’; it felt different, a mixture of Suguru’s own CE and a trace of the energy of every one of the Cursed Spirits Suguru had defeated and absorbed. He couldn’t find words to describe how the Six Eyes perceived it. It had a particular scent to it, which was the closest way to put it into words, as crazy as smelling with the Eyes as it may seem. Especially the hours after Suguru ingested a Curse, Satoru could sense Suguru’s CE more restless and aggressive, as if a battle was happening within Suguru. Satoru had never wondered if it made Suguru feel uncomfortable or ill, or… or if it hurt, but that evening, just by the perception of his friend’s CE, Satoru knew that Suguru was having a rough time. A pang of worry hit Satoru as he had never felt before. He thought of going to Suguru’s room, but doubt stopped him because Suguru had never let them be with him during those nights. But, then again, this was not just another one of those nights. Satoru had never felt Suguru’s CE so unstable. He didn’t know what to do.

[me, 00:24]: Shoko, u awake?

[Shoko, 00:26]: No

[me, 00:26]: Funny. can ur CT help Suguru if he’s struggling after consuming a Curse? have u tried?

[Shoko, 00:29]: Sorry, can’t help him. He’s not actually hurt or sick. It’s like a fight he must go through by himself. Is he alright? r u with him?

[me, 00:30]: Not with him, just wondering

[Shoko, 00:32]: maybe go and see if he needs something? if ur worried

[me, 00:32]: u coming too?

[Shoko, 00:33]: Don’t think Suguru would appreciate too many people in his room. Lmk if u guys need sth

That was all that Satoru needed to ignore doubt and go to Suguru’s room.  The closer he got to his friend’s room, the more intense the feeling of two CEs clashing with each other was. He knocked at the door and felt Suguru’s CE shifting, tensing, but that lasted two seconds, at most, and then it felt fierce and corrosive again. No answer, so Satoru knocked again, and he felt the same change in Suguru’s CE. This time the shift lasted a bit more, five seconds, perhaps. Still, no one opened the door. Satoru stood there, waiting, feeling the weight of the bucket he had taken from one of the pantries and the plastic bag with candies and the ginger lemon marmelade he had taken with him after Shoko’s advice. Maybe he should go back to his room. If Suguru wanted to be alone, he should respect that, but his feet were anchored to the door threshold. Then, his friends’ CE felt even more aggressive than before. Satoru then remembered the loneliness, the hollow in his chest whenever he woke up after a night terror, and no one was there for him. He didn’t need protection back then, not from his nightmares, at least. He didn’t need protection, but he craved warmth, and he found none. He could be better than that. He sighed and tried the handle, and it gave way softly; it was not locked. The room was dark, but he could see a line of light under the bathroom door.

“It’s me. Satoru,” he announced himself, loud enough for Suguru to hear him in the bathroom. No reply from his friend. He removed his shoes and placed them neatly, pointing towards the door. He could show some good manners, sporadically.

He left the bag and the bucket on Suguru’s desk and went directly to the bathroom. He knocked on the door and waited, though he knew his friend was not going to answer. He knocked again, just as a warning, and opened the door. Suguru was kneeling in front of the toilet bowl and hugging it for dear life. Satoru saw his head, hair all dishevelled, slowly shaking from one side to another, as if telling him that he shouldn’t be there, without turning to see him.

“Yo,” Satoru said very softly and cautiously stepped into the bathroom, almost expecting Suguru to tell him to go away. Now that he was standing right there, he didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, Suguru began to gag violently and leaned further over the toilet’s bowl. Satoru saw his hair falling across his face, and without hesitation, he approached Suguru, brushed the strands of hair away from his face, and gently held them while Suguru struggled, throwing up bile and foam. After a couple of minutes, the gags stopped, but Suguru was still breathing with difficulty. He cleaned the spit around his mouth with the back of his hand and finally looked at Satoru, gaze harsh and disapproving, eyes reddened and teary because of the effort he had just undergone. He released Suguru’s hair when no more gags were coming. He felt strands of black silky hair slipping smoothly through his fingers.

“I imagined that the first time I would see you throwing up would be due to alcohol, after celebrating your Special Grade appointment, really,” said Satoru lightly, to ease the tension. It did the trick. Suguru’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders and back eased, and his CE settled, although just a tiny bit.

“What are you saying? I’m not even Grade 1,” complained Suguru with a hoarse voice, still sitting on the floor, raking his fingers through his hair and tying it in a messy bun.

“But soon you will be, and then you’ll be Special Grade. Mark my words,” said Satoru and offered his hand to Suguru to help him stand up. “I think you’ll be more comfortable in your bed. I brought a bucket, just in case,” he informed. Suguru looked at him, hesitant, but after a couple of seconds, he took his hand. Satoru felt Suguru’s cold and clammy hand. When Suguru stood up, and Satoru could look at him more closely, he realised that his face was gaunt and grey. He had never seen his friend sick or unwell.

“I brought some candies and some ginger lemon marmalade to make some tea. Shall I put the kettle on?” asked Satoru, smiling warmly.

Suguru frowned slightly, as if trying to figure Satoru out. “Some tea would be good. I’ll be with you in a sec,” he replied, pointing at the basin.

While the kettle boiled up, and without Suguru to distract him, Satoru was lost in thought. It was usual for both of them to be injured during fights. He had witnessed Suguru take some tough blows and get bruised, scraped, or cut. Suguru rarely complained; he even let Satoru be treated first by Shoko, even if Satoru had barely suffered any harm. But this was different; this was Suguru being ill due to his own technique. Satoru’s stomach dropped a bit. For him, his CT was fun, sometimes too capricious to be tamed, some other times too complex for him to grasp the underlying mechanisms behind it, but always fun (well, except when his brain was flooded with too much information). It could hurt him if he did something wrong, but it was not inherently harming for himself. Did Suguru always go through that, or maybe this was because it was the first time ingesting a Semi-grade 1? How would it be, then, when consuming a Special Grade? Suguru’s presence took his attention back. Suguru was sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees, head in one of his hands and his inquiring gaze on Satoru, asking without words what he was doing there.

“I was worried.” That’s probably what Satoru would’ve said had he understood his own feelings, but he did not. Instead, he chose to ignore the lingering question and busied himself preparing the tea. After a couple of minutes, he handed Suguru a steaming mug with the clumsiness of someone too accustomed to being served.

“I sensed unusual CE activity and thought that maybe I could help with something,” offered Satoru as an explanation, as Suguru blew softly on his tea to cool it down a little before trying it.

“How did you know it was unusual CE activity? You sense all the CE around you all the time?” asked Suguru, intrigued. For all the time they spent together, they really never discussed the intricacies of their techniques.

“Well, yeah?” answered Satoru, surprised by the question. “Don’t you?” There were things that Satoru assumed everyone did, but he was slowly understanding that it was only him.

Suguru shook his head slowly. “Nope. I mean, if it’s someone with a strong presence, like you, of course, I feel it, but not all the time. Sometimes, I even have to make the effort.”

“It’s not that I can deactivate it at will, though. I am used to it, and I have learnt to ignore whatever gets habitual, so it doesn’t bother me much,” said Satoru, without giving it much thought.

Suguru hummed. “It must be exhausting, being hyperaware of your surroundings all the time. Do the sunglasses help?”

Satoru took his hand to the sunglasses he was wearing —past midnight—. He was so used to them that he hardly noticed them. Why was Suguru wondering about Satoru’s struggles when he himself was feeling ill? He took the sunglasses off.

Satoru saw that Suguru was now sitting more comfortably on his bed, with his back against the headboard; he had his eyes closed and was smelling the tea. Suguru sipped from the mug and made a face, but smiled anyway. “Of course, it’s more honey than anything else.”

Satoru was about to argue and complain, but Suguru’s soft voice interrupted again.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

Satoru didn’t know that someone’s voice could make his heart skip a beat. Well, perhaps the Cursed Speech users could, but Satoru suspected that what he had just felt was way beyond Jujutsu. He turned to reach for some of the candies he had brought, just an excuse to hide his pink, flushed cheeks.

They chatted for a while after that, Satoru doing his best to keep his friend’s mind away from his own discomfort. Slowly, Suguru fell into a troubled slumber. Satoru was aware of Suguru’s CE getting agitated again and again, in waves of raging foreign CE trying to take over him, until he puked again, forehead and neck all covered in a film of cold sweat after the effort.

Pour fresh water.

“Is it always like this?”

Chat lightly, maybe.

“Not really, only if I absorb too many orbs at once, just because they taste very bad.”

Prepare more tea.

“…Or if the Curse is too mad, I guess”

Keep Suguru distracted by talking about whatever.

“A Curse, mad?”

Discussing Curses is not ‘whatever’.

“They don’t want their Cursed Technique extracted.”

Keep an eye on Suguru’s CE.

“But that can only happen with Semi-Grade 1 and above, right?”

“Will it be worse, the higher the Grade?” was a question left unasked.

That’s how the night went, a tough one, but they made it through it. Suguru’s CE was back to almost normal. To Satoru, it felt like an achievement. He didn’t know it, but he had been brave enough to improvise kindness, even though he had never learnt how to tend someone out of affection. Past six, Suguru fell asleep, curled up in his bed. Satoru, who was still keeping watch, sighed. He was now feeling wrecked and, as much as he fought against it, he fell asleep, curled up beside Suguru, lulled by the same grounding smell that now he invariably related to sleep, sweet and woody.

Gojo thought about that night; he hadn’t done anything special, really. It had been the first time that he had taken care of someone, like, in a tender way. Before that, he didn’t even know he had it in him to be soft and gentle. Only him had the ability to bring out that side of him. No one else had taught Satoru goodness before. He never had his mother say to be kind to other kids, or teachers tell him to share his lunch, or cousins to exchange toys with. Usually, he didn’t allow to be taken care of; in fact, he totally avoided it, hid away from it, almost as if he didn’t feel deserving of it, even though he was the first to offer it, always. It was in the small gestures that Satoru had learnt from him, always carrying a lighter for Shoko, and Satoru’s favourite candies or a spare pair of sunglasses, always, everything ‘just in case’. Satoru heard once Shoko mock him, telling him he was like an old, stubborn grandma, all caring and never accepting her weaknesses. And although so many years had gone by, Gojo still carried the generosity that he had learnt with him, nicely tucked in his heart, ready to be handed out whenever it was needed. He now gave it almost naturally to his students, to Megumi and Tsumiki, to Shoko, Yaga and Nanami. He didn’t tend to people the same way as he did, of course. Gojo’s care was rawer, unfiltered, and sometimes clumsy, but always, always genuine. And still, there was always a portion, the softest, the kindest, that had no recipient now, useless, worthless. Perhaps if Satoru had been better at taking care of him… perhaps if he had let himself be taken care of…

Not all the sleepless nights had been Satoru’s, though. There was also that awful night after they almost failed a mission, or rather, the night after a mission they weren’t able to finish properly. A pang of pain in his heart, after all those years, considering that maybe the cracks started forming back then, microscopic, impossible to see even with the Six Eyes.

A Special Grade Cursed Spirit, against the most powerful duo in the Jujutsu Society, the two strongest Grade 1 sorcerers. It shouldn’t have been that difficult, it shouldn’t, but it was a nightmare, literally. An enormous, vicious thing with no definite shape, it changed from one monstrous form to another with no apparent pattern. The Spirit was born and fed from the fear that nightmares caused. It lured people in despair into its lair and kept them captive by giving them pleasant dreams at first, only to cause them horrifying nightmares afterwards. When people were too weakened, then it would give them more beautiful dreams, which thereafter would transform into the worst visions; a never-ending cycle of fantastic illusions followed by wicked and violent dreams, nourishing the Spirit. The boys tried everything in their arsenal, but with people offering themselves to the Spirit, the Spirit’s CE seemed inexhaustible. Suguru and Satoru fought past exhaustion. The Spirit had lost strength and speed; it had shrunk, for sure, nevertheless, they seemed unable to defeat it properly. Satoru looked at Suguru, trying to appraise how much more they could afford to keep on fighting. Suguru was breathing with difficulty, his punches were less powerful than at the beginning, and it was harder for him to summon Curses. Then… It happened so fast… Satoru was in the middle of thinking that it would be best to retreat when Suguru’s gaze met his. Less than a second passed by, and Suguru’s eyes widened in warning. Satoru had been so focused on attacking that he had neglected his defence. He heard the blow coming. He focused both on Infinity and reinforcing his body with CE, so neither of them worked properly; he should have prioritised one over the other, whichever one, but not both. He fell.

“Suguru’s going to scold me so bad for this”, was his last coherent thought, while he saw his friend running toward him. He lost consciousness.

Satoru felt himself being carried. Time passed, or maybe it didn’t. Then, he heard Shoko’s voice. That was reassuring. He wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt too heavy; he tried to speak, but he couldn’t form a thought in his mind. He tried to call Suguru, but his lips were tightly closed. He gave up and slept. The room had that familiar, sweet, and grounding scent. He dreamt of his hand being held, a thumb rubbing his knuckles, as if trying to keep his hand warm, and if he gently squeezed the hand holding his, the rubbing would stop, but his hand would remain being held. In his dream, it was Suguru’s hand holding his.

Satoru was used to having people at his service. When he was a small child, before Infinity worked properly, when he got sick like any little child, someone would call the doctor, and the doctor would visit, check him, and give him some medicine. If a longer treatment was needed, a servant would carry a tray with a glass of water or milk and the prescribed medicines at the right time of the day or night. They would wait for him to take the medicine and then take the tray back to wherever the medicine trays came from, and they would leave him alone to sleep or rest if the doctor recommended, or to study or train if he was not that sick. There was someone in charge of checking on his health, his diet, and his physical well-being. He had at his disposal only the best doctors, nurses and maids. Nonetheless, Satoru never had anyone watching over him while asleep to hold his hand, to tuck him to keep him warm, to brush his hair from his forehead to make him feel more comfortable, or anyone who affectionately cared about him. Satoru —Gojo-sama— had always been tended with respect and a sense of duty. That was how Satoru was raised, and it was lonely. While growing up, he often wondered if everyone felt like that, but never occurred to him that it could be any different, because anyway, one day he would grow to be the Strongest and wouldn’t even get sick or injured because Infinity would keep him safe so… so when he opened his eyes and he saw Suguru sitting in an armchair beside his bed, lost in reading, he thought it was still a dream.

“Suguru?” Satoru asked with a raspy little voice.

Suguru looked at him, smiling, relieved. Satoru’s heart fluttered violently in his chest; perhaps he was not fully recovered, after all.

“What… What are you doing here?” Satoru wanted to know, because someone who cared enough to sit with him was not a known concept for him.

Suguru’s cheeks flushed, and he looked to the side, as if looking for the right words. “Umm…”

“Weren’t you hurt?” asked Satoru, when he realised that maybe the last question was a bit harsh.

Suguru shook his head slowly. “Shoko already took care of that. Don’t worry, Satoru.”

“Sorry for overlooking my defence,” offered the white-haired boy, remembering his mistake.

Suguru looked at him with the gentlest gaze Satoru had ever felt upon him. “It happens; we were too tired by then. We’ll have to work on that when you feel better, though,” replied Suguru, reassuringly. And Satoru only nodded, too tired to think about that.

“What happened to the Spirit?”

Suguru’s smile fell, slowly. “I… I couldn’t finish it,” he declared in a whisper, ashamed.

“But… the people? Did someone…?” Satoru wanted to know, not because he cared much about them, but because he knew Suguru worried about them.

Suguru shook his head, denying. The Spirit had fled, and most of the people trapped in the infinite cycle got after it, like ants following food. Suguru saw them walking away. He wanted to go after them, try to save them, but he also needed to get help for Satoru. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I… I couldn’t save anyone,” he said, looking away. Maybe Satoru saw tears slowly trailing down his cheeks. Maybe Suguru dried them with his hand as discreetly as he could, without looking at Satoru.

“It’s… It’s okay, Suguru. It will appear again, and we’ll be strong enough then,” assured Satoru, who had enough energy again to feel a bit mad; no Curse or Spirit had survived him.

“It’s not that…  What if what they want is only to be consumed by that Spirit? What if the lives they lead are bad enough to trade them for dreams and nightmares? What if the people just don’t want to be saved?”

His words echoed in Gojo’s ears, and Gojo laughed sadly at this irony. It wasn’t fair.

Suguru trained even harder, tirelessly, after that mission. Satoru observed in awe the dedication that Suguru poured into physical training and learning. Suguru’s focus and strength inspired Satoru to go beyond his own limits. They became The Strongest together, and Satoru felt that there was no Curse he could not defeat if he was with Suguru. Satoru forgot about the loneliness he had grown up with, which was somehow ingrained in his skin and greeted him every time he looked in the mirror. Satoru had found his one and only friend. Partner. Love.

Just a couple of years ago, numerous people who had been declared “Missing” appeared all of a sudden, all of them related to Nightmare Cursed Spirit, and the Spirit seemed to have disappeared, Yaga had informed Gojo. It was still marked as “Pending” in the files, though, because there was no evidence of it being exorcised. Gojo knew better. It was a Special Grade Cursed Spirit. It hadn’t been him, so… Suguru Geto had finally got his… their revenge, after all those years.

“Hope the Thing had given him the worst vomit ever,” Gojo said one evening, trying to sound full of spite, when he had discussed the matter with Shoko. She scoffed, no… She laughed in his face, because she knew. She knew that Gojo wished he had been there to take care of him that night.

There had been happy sleepless nights, too, more than Gojo can now remember. But one that Gojo kept safe in his memory was when he had been promoted to Grade 1.

Satoru and Shoko planned a small surprise dinner, and Shoko had sneaked in some beers. Contrary to what Satoru had expected, Suguru did not end up vomiting. In fact, he didn’t get drunk, perhaps a bit tipsy, but that was all. Satoru, on the other hand, had a can of beer, and that was hell for him and for his friends. He felt the euphoria and was all chatty and having so much fun before losing control of Infinity. At the beginning, it was more like an intermittent thing, Infinity turning on and off erratically, and after a while, the intensity also started varying.

Gojo now saw the danger in that, but back in the day, it was fun to experience it.

Satoru and Suguru started clowning around; Suguru, throwing inoffensive things at Satoru just to see if they would hit him. Satoru was mad laughing, because of the alcohol and because of the fun. He was running away from Suguru’s missiles, and he got out of the room. They ran through the grounds, Satoru trying to control Ininitiy’s intensity, often throwing Suguru into the air. They laughed until their bellies ached; their laughter could be heard all over the school grounds. Shoko stayed in the room, or maybe she followed them to be part of the fun, Gojo couldn’t recall. Satoru walked into the pond of one of the beautiful gardens of the school. Suguru was closing the distance between them, flying over the stingray Curse, chasing Satoru. Unexpectedly, Infinity’s intensity increased tremendously, expelling all the water from the pond, and then Infinity was off again. Tears of laughter, Satoru could barely breathe, and it was amazing. Suguru, hovering on the stingray Curse, was now floating close to him, offering him a hand to lift him, but Satoru was faster and pulled Suguru towards him, making him slip from the Curse and fall beside him, still laughing.

“Stop it, Suguru. I’m gonna pee myself,” exclaimed Satoru, grabbing Suguru’s arm, trying to breathe.

“Ughh, you’re so gross. Nooo! Stay away from me!!” cried Suguru, still laughing.

They were so close that when Infinity activated again without warning, it also contained Suguru in it. The water was falling now in a fine drizzle, just a light silver rain unable to touch them. They breathed in deeply, laugh receding. Satoru stared at Suguru for a couple of seconds, his eyes crinkling in half-moons, the lost sound of his laughter reaching the deepest corners of his heart. Satoru’s breath faltered; he felt his heart skipping a beat, or maybe it was learning a new beating rhythm. Suguru was handsome. Suguru was beautiful. Suguru cracked his eyes open, just to see, to admire the artificial rain Satoru had unintentionally created just for them and caught Satoru staring. His expression changed, in a way Satoru couldn’t decipher; he was not serious, not uncomfortable; he had the smart look that he made when he understood something, but this time, awfully softer. That was not sorcery; it was pure magic. Satoru’s mouth went dry. And just like that, Infinity deactivated again, and all the water remaining in the air dropped at once, as if someone had thrown tens of buckets of cold water at them. Suguru was suddenly enraged, complaining about the cold water and their soaked clothes, but Satoru just couldn’t care less. For a stupid fleeting moment, Satoru wondered what it would feel like to silence Suguru with a kiss. Instead, he prodded Suguru’s cheek with his finger, which only made him madder, of course.

“C’mon, Suguru! Don’t be a killjoy!” said Satoru with a wide grin.

Suguru was trying very hard to keep the angry mask on; a smile was escaping him.

“Let’s go and get changed,” replied Suguru, beckoning with his head to the dorms. 

The pond was shallow, so they just walked to the edge. The soaking had sobered them up, and Satoru seemed back in control of Infinity once again. Although they were supposed to go to the dorms, they sat by the side of the pond, next to each other, so close their hips and thighs touched.

“That was fun!” exclaimed Satoru,

“You’re banned from alcohol,” replied Suguru, shaking his head, smiling.

“Congratulations, Geto Suguru, newly appointed Grade 1 sorcerer,” said Satoru, almost solemnly.

Suguru’s expression changed to surprise, and he smiled openly, proud of his achievement.

Satoru looked at Suguru, who was completely dishevelled, soaked, and happy. Satoru wished he could snap a picture of that moment and keep that image always close to his heart. Suguru turned and looked at him intently. Time, or the world, stopped, or maybe Satoru had lost control over Infinity again and unconsciously isolated both of them in a bubble of silence. Satoru’s gaze went from Suguru’s violet eyes to his lips, red and plump, and back to his eyes, as if asking for permission. Satoru leaned, Suguru didn’t move, perhaps he even leaned in, also. Satoru didn’t know because he had closed his eyes.

“I should’ve known it was you two. You are grounded,” said Yaga’s potent voice from afar, and Satoru crumpled his eyes, regretting, and then, the spell was broken. Fuck.

Gojo sometimes thought he could see the ghosts of those teenage boys running around the school grounds, getting into countless shenanigans, chasing one another, but never catching up. He had thought of moving out from the headquarters, more than once, several times, actually. There was always an excuse not to do it, though, which basically always came to how busy he was to do so. It was not that he was still too attached and couldn’t let go, absolutely not. At least he had moved rooms. Baby steps, right? The fact that his room or his room had never been assigned to another student had nothing to do with Gojo, probably, maybe. He was being ridiculous, he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to have someone else to occupy those rooms. He had cleaned them himself through uncountable sleepless nights. Slowly, one drawer at a time, finding in the ignored corners hidden mementoes of those fun, endless nights, pictures that did not let him forget. Weirdly enough, he remembered a lot more of the calm, quiet nights spent only with him, like Satoru’s birthday in 2005. The single birthday that Satoru could say was a really happy one.

It was a cold but sunny day, very dry. Satoru wished it snowed, but it was unlikely so early in December in Tokyo. Still, when he got out of his room, he looked hopefully to the sky, searching for snow clouds, practically his only wish for his birthday. In the clan, birthday celebrations were a display of power and skill, so they felt more like a burden than a party, and Satoru hated them, as many other things back then. 2005 was the first year that Satoru would have a real birthday celebration, and he was buzzing with excitement. For Shoko’s birthday, a month before, they had gone bowling, and after that, they had spent the evening crazy singing at a karaoke. Utahime had joined them, much to Satoru’s dislike, but it had been Shoko’s birthday and not his, so Suguru tried to keep him under control, as much as that could be done. It had been so much fun! Now it was Satoru’s turn to have a day to do whatever he liked, and he was lucky enough to spend it with Shoko and Suguru.

Satoru’s birthday was on a weekday that year, so Suguru had asked Yaga-sensei politely to have the day off, and their teacher had agreed without much questioning. The winter break was coming, they were up to date on their subjects, and he could also use a day off.

After having the sweetest pancakes for breakfast (Satoru’s craving, of course), they went to Satoru’s favourite arcade centre in Shinjuku. They had machines from the 80s and the 90s, with a broad collection that included the classic Pac-Man and the very first Metal Slug game. Satoru and Suguru spent what Shoko felt like hours in the Capcom’s Street Fighter II arcade machines, so she went to the pinball machines. And after that, Suguru and Shoko bet the dinner on a dance-off on a DDR machine. Satoru was mesmerised, looking at Suguru’s precise and quick movements, at his focused gaze on the screen, at how his shirt sat at his shoulders and arms when he grabbed the bar behind the DDR machine. Satoru wanted to record Suguru’s uncontrollable laugh when “Paranoia’s” pace got too fast for Shoko and him to keep up. Shoko was not easy to beat, but Suguru’s coordination and quick reflexes, honed through training, made him the winner. Poor Shoko, she had to pay for the dinner of two hungry teenage boys and herself. Satoru wanted to have only desserts and sweets, but both Shoko and Suguru complained and forced him to have some real food, or something like that; they had burgers.

When they got back in school, they shared a strawberry shortcake, decorated with the corresponding sixteen candles. Despite all his efforts, Satoru couldn’t blow them all off in one go, and his friends laughed at his failed attempt (not that they had provoked it by making Satoru laugh). Shoko and Suguru burnt a CD with tunes they enjoyed listening to the most during their evenings. It was a blend of their different tastes in music in just one playlist, which they hoped Satoru would listen to whenever they were not together and he missed them. They burnt three copies, one for each. They all had their own MP3 player, but having a physical copy of a curated playlist with such care seemed to make it more meaningful. Shoko had written the names of the song on the back cover with her crisp handwriting. Suguru had drawn a different cover for each CD, according to the tastes of the owner. Satoru’s had Agumon, Shoko’s Jiji, the cat from Kiki’s delivery service. They went to Satoru’s room to listen to it while they played Mario Kart on Satoru’s Wii, to close the day. After a while, Shoko got bored —how come you don’t get tired of playing video games? — and craved for a cigarette. Satoru’s heart sank; it was the cue for the day to be over. Shoko asked Suguru if he was joining her, but Suguru, for the first time, chose to stay, to Satoru’s delight. Shoko wished Satoru a happy birthday once more, and Satoru, the cuddly one he was, lounged for her to hug her tightly, thanking her for the day and the dinner. She smiled sincerely, enjoying the warmth of his tight grip. Then, she took her coat and left. While Shoko and Satoru were saying their good nights, Suguru changed the CD and went back to the floor to choose another game. Satoru sat next to him, and they kept on playing for a while, chatting idly. The CD they were listening to ended, and the room was left in silence, only interrupted by the sounds of them handling the controls. Their game finished, and Satoru put down his controller and admitted that even he got tired of playing video games. They were sitting next to each other, cross-legged, their knees touching, Suguru to his left.

“We can finally rest, then,” said Suguru, putting his controller down too, but not making any attempt to stand up.

“Hey, Suguru,” called Satoru in a small voice, and his friend turned to look at him, warmly. “Thanks for today… it was… I won’t forget this birthday.” Satoru never talked about the days in the Gojo Estate, or his upbringing, or his childhood, but right then and there, he felt like saying how special the day had been for him, even with the clumsiest words he could muster.  He blushed, and, trying to hide his face, he leaned his head on Suguru’s shoulder. He felt Suguru’s breathing, calm and soothing.

“We’re glad you had fun, Shoko and I,” replied Suguru, leaning his head on Satoru’s. “Let’s plan something nice for next year.”

“Can we go to Hokkaido? I want to see some snow on my birthday,” said Satoru, thinking about how, in the morning, he wished to have some that day.

Suguru nodded, slowly. “We should go to Hokkaido, then,” replied Suguru in a low voice, something akin to a promise.

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, silent. Then it hit Satoru that the familiar, grounding, sweet, and slightly smoky scent that had been chasing him for the last few months was Suguru’s scent, a combination of his perfume, his CE, and his body scent. Sitting this close to his friend, Satoru’s own bergamot scent mixed with Suguru’s resulted in a comforting fragrance; it smelt like peace and a familiar place, somewhere to always come back, the white-haired boy thought. Satoru wanted to breathe it and commit it to memory. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he wished the moment would last forever. He looked at Suguru’s hands, resting on his lap, and he wanted so desperately to grab one of them, maybe play with his palm or entwine their fingers together, but he wasn’t sure if maybe that would be too much. He didn’t want Suguru to leave, not today, not ever.

“Satoru…” said Suguru in a whisper, and Satoru felt as if his voice was scratching his nape, softly and comforting.

“Mmm?” hummed Satoru without moving, afraid and sad to acknowledge that the day was coming to an end. Suguru remained silent. After a couple of seconds of Suguru not saying anything, Satoru forced himself to lift his head to look at him. When he lifted his gaze, he found Suguru’s eyes, beautifully purple. Suguru placed his left hand on his jaw and leaned slowly to kiss him, giving him time to back off, if he wanted. But Satoru didn’t back off; he closed his eyes and leaned in to close the gap. It was a soft, hesitant kiss. Satoru felt Suguru’s breath faltering, nervous. Suguru tasted so sweet, and Satoru knew Suguru was his favourite flavour from then on. It was Satoru’s first kiss, and it was perfect, a foot-popping kiss, undoubtedly. They broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together, a grounding sensation. They sighed, as if thankful for the kiss to have finally happened. They smiled, relieved. Satoru lifted his hand to cup Suguru’s jaw. And kissed him again, this time more eagerly, with more confidence. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, relishing in the new sensations and flavours, until they got a bit too tired.

“Happy birthday, Satoru,” wished Suguru, mouth to mouth, between kisses.

Satoru stopped the kisses and just stared at Suguru for a moment. He carefully tucked Suguru’s bangs behind his left ear, not like a mischievous kitten playing with a string toy as he had imagined before, but as an affectionate sign, to let his eyes admire and bask in the beautiful sight that Suguru was. The bangs fell back over Suguru’s eye only a second later. Satoru smiled until his face hurt. It was the best birthday of his life.  

“I should leave,” said Suguru, standing up, finally. Satoru pouted dramatically.

“Don’t. Stay, please,” asked Satoru, still sitting on the floor, tugging at one of Suguru’s hands.

Suguru’s eyes widened a bit in surprise, and he blushed, but he stayed. It was easy and natural, as if it was always meant to happen like that.

Outside, it started to snow, but Satoru didn’t notice; he was too busy opening the gift of the first love, of the time of kisses before going to bed, of cuddling with Suguru until sleep won the fight, of sandalwood and bergamot scents weaving their dreams together. But just like snow in Tokyo, it wasn’t meant to last. Not enough nights they could’ve spent together to cherish their company, even if they had had a whole lifetime waiting for them.

Then, Fushiguro Toji happened. They lost Riko despite all the efforts, and Suguru started slipping away from Satoru. The last quiet night they spent together was right before being assigned the task of escorting Riko, and they didn’t even know that it was it.

Now, Gojo cannot even remember what they did, what they shared for dinner, or whether Shoko was there. Were Nanami and Haibara there too? He wouldn’t be able to tell. A completely unremarkable evening, there were no pictures of it, not even silly ones with any of them doing something stupid just for fun. An evening lost to time. At least Gojo did remember the last time he pulled an all-nighter along with Suguru, almost for fun, kind of a test, kind of a challenge, all for duty’s sake, back in Okinawa. Satoru didn’t even stop to consider that something could go wrong in that mission; how could it? Suguru was with him, and they were The Strongest together. Gojo remembered how Suguru was worried that Satoru had had his technique fully running longer than usual, even when he himself was hyperaware and on guard, with Curses roaming around without rest. Gojo could never forget Suguru’s praise words when everything seemed to have ended, just to doom it all.

They couldn’t sleep for a couple of nights after they retrieved Riko’s body. Satoru was too high on limitless power. He couldn’t even properly process then that he had been on the brink of losing his humanity. In that eerie crossroads, Suguru had given him some direction, like a star guiding him in an unlit path. In a sense, Suguru had saved him. Satoru never thanked him, and then and again Gojo wondered if he should have. Suguru spent the nights bent over the toilet bowl, nauseated by the image of Riko being shot in the head, disgusted by all the people applauding Riko’s death. Satoru was not there with him, he was too numb, too emotionally detached to care.

Gojo felt the well-known lump in his throat that he felt every time he thought about that event, about how, even if he had been nauseated by the followers of the Star Religious Group, he had prevented Satoru from killing them. Maybe under a weak reasoning, but anyway, that decision had kept Satoru on the side of the light… and yet… he… If only Satoru had been able to see the problem back then… Six Eyes and all, yet he had been blind.

The nights that followed were even worse. Without any lingering adrenaline from the fight, they were suddenly too aware of their shame, regrets, wounded pride, and mostly, of their broken hearts. They weren’t given time to mourn, and so, they hid their shattered hearts from each other; they hid them even from themselves. There was already another mission to be taken care of, and then another one, and another one. Their kisses changed, hungrier but also more bitter. Violent biting kisses, as if they were testing how much more pain they could endure, unaware that pain had already found root in their inner debris. Their caresses changed, too: rougher, burning touch as if to test that love was real before it went extinct, as if they were now afraid to be too soft, or perhaps because they were still too hurt.

A thunderstorm warning, and they didn’t look for shelter.

Then, it was a waste of time and resources to have two Special Grade sorcerers to do missions together; it was better to have them do their own solo missions. If there was anyone strong enough to do so, it was them; only in exceptional circumstances would they be paired to fight as a team again. They weren’t even able to coordinate training sessions together anymore. Solo mission after solo mission. Satoru could not depend on Suguru as part of his team anymore. He was hyperaware of his weaknesses, and he worked intensely to minimise them. After a while, he was able to keep Infinity running practically non-stop. He mastered RCT to heal himself and to keep his brain energised and clear. He was now able to activate multiple Reds and Blues, even simultaneously. He became The Strongest, alone. It was not like the stimulating training that Suguru had started just months ago, which had even inspired Satoru. No. Satoru had achieved that new, extraordinary level all by himself. However, there was no sense of pride like the one he had felt back in the Gojo Estate when he learnt stuff without the guidance of his tutors. This time, there was just a deep sense of isolation; he felt even lonelier than when he trained at the Gojo Estate. There was a price to be paid to be The Strongest, and he didn’t even questioned himself if he was willing to pay the price it costed, he just gave what he owed. Lonely night after lonely night. Satoru found himself unable to sleep a wink, and if he did, he only had nightmares, so he preferred to stay awake. And Satoru could only think of Suguru at night. Had he been sleeping well, or was he like Satoru, spending too long awake? Had he been absorbing way too many Curses lately? He thought of Suguru consuming more and more powerful Curses in the last months. He had noted Suguru not eating well, and Satoru was not there to share a dinner with him. Was Suguru okay? Satoru felt ill every time he thought about it; his chest hurt, and he found it difficult to breathe. Was Suguru alright? Satoru couldn’t sleep. Two young boys so in love, forced to spend their time chasing after Curses, fighting evil spirits, while their own spirits were being crushed. It hurt like hell. After each solo mission, Satoru felt like there was more of Gojo and less of himself…

Gojo saw it clearly now. Back then, he had perceived him slipping further and further away, out of his reach, while the shadow of Geto was gradually getting a sharper, more distinct shape.

… Traces of them vanishing with each passing day. Satoru would spend days without even touching his bed.

They didn’t get to go to Hokkaido for his seventeenth birthday. Satoru was sent on a mission, or the mood wasn’t right, or Suguru was away, or whatever, it didn’t matter. They didn’t go to Hokkaido. A broken promise, a snow sculpture made too long ago and left out to melt, forgotten. Gojo had never spent a birthday in Hokkaido, and he never would.

Perhaps it was Riko’s death, or perhaps it was something else. Curses got more vicious, more brutal. Nanami and Haibara had noted it; Mei Mei and Utahime were also aware. The energy in the universe felt unbalanced. Despite the efforts of all sorcerers, there were more Curses to exorcise, as if someone had opened a Pandora’s box, or maybe more than one. Unusually strong Curses appeared more and more often, many times their dangerousness was misjudged, and that’s how they lost Haibara, too. Satoru had been away, busy with yet another mission. The Higher-ups didn’t tell him Haibara was dead; they just told him to take care of Nanami and Haibara’s mission, too. He learnt from Suguru about Haibara on his way to the destination. Satoru couldn’t explain why, but he had hoped to meet Suguru at the destination, so that they could finish that mission together, but Suguru wasn’t there. When Satoru came back to the school, he found Suguru, Shoko, and Nanami, devastated, in deep, mournful silence. There were not enough words to express their loss, their grief. Satoru was just numb from exhaustion. For the first time in weeks, he could spend the night cuddled with Suguru, trying to find and provide solace at the same time, but something had fundamentally changed; Satoru wasn’t able to put a finger on what it was. Perhaps it was the lack of soothing caresses that Suguru used to lull him with, or the fact that Suguru’s natural warmth seemed exhausted, his inner light, dwindling, dimming. None of them could sleep at all that night, or the night that followed.

The weeks that followed Haibara’s death were all blurred in Gojo’s mind, all days and nights filled with anger and grief and sadness when he had enough space to feel them, when he was not out on a mission.

The few nights that Satoru spent on campus, he spent them with Suguru, but instead of finding relief and peace, they felt heavy and ominous. Satoru could see how Curse Manipulation had charged a cruel toll on Suguru’s physical and mental well-being. He had lost weight, he couldn’t sleep, and kisses, hugs and comforting touch stopped. He said he tasted bad, that he smelt bad. Too many Curses exorcised and consumed in a short time, he said.

And thoughts too dark to be shared, Gojo had realised years after that.

Satoru didn’t know how to reach out. He called Suguru’s name, but he didn’t answer, as if he was too far away and couldn’t hear him; his hand searched for Suguru’s, only to find none to grab. He felt powerless.

And then...

And then...

And then it was over.

One evening, Suguru didn’t come back from a mission. That was probably the worst of all sleepless nights Satoru —or even Gojo— had ever had. At the beginning, everyone, except Satoru, thought Suguru had failed the mission. Satoru wouldn’t believe Suguru had failed until his body was found. Then, the facts. The reality was worse than any nightmare Satoru could have ever imagined; it had been Suguru himself the one to wipe out the village.

Denial.

“Huh?”

Anger.

Satoru clenched Suguru’s uniform jacket’s button so hard in his fist until his palm bled. Forget about Infinity.

Bargaining.

Was Satoru’s love not comforting enough? Satoru wished his love had been enough.

Depression.

Satoru spent whole nights tossing and turning in bed, unable to keep his eyes closed. The bed felt too wide and too narrow at the same time, too cold.

Denial and depression. Depression and bargaining. Bargaining and Anger. Anger and denial.

If Infinity prevented dangers from reaching him, how had his heart been ripped out? If he had mastered RCT to such a level, why wasn’t the wound healing? If he was The Strongest, why was he so hurt?

Denial, anger, bargaining. Bargaining, depression, anger. Anger, denial, depression.

Infinity made him untouchable. RCT could physically heal his body.

Infinity was to keep him isolated, and RCT could not mend a broken heart, Satoru learnt.

Some things were better left unknown.

Denialangerbargainingdepressiondepressionangerbargainingdenialbargainingangerdepresiondenialdepressionangerdenialdepressionbargainingangerangerdepressionbargainingangerdenialdprsnbrgngngrdnlbrgngngrdnldprsnbrgngngrdnldprsnngrbrgngngdnlngrdnlbrgngngdprsndprsnng

Acceptance.

Satoru dried his eyes and stopped searching for Suguru’s warmth. Loneliness settled inside. Satoru couldn’t understand the meaning of dawn anymore. Sun, twinkling stars, or full moon, it was all the same, he now lived in a twilight all the time, under the same useless and unchanging light. He started skipping sleep at night and compensated with RCT.

Satoru stopped chasing lost dreams; instead, he started working towards goals.

Satoru became Gojo.

Or depression?

In 2007, Satoru couldn’t ask Suguru to stay; he had forgotten the words, he had forgotten how to pronounce “Don’t leave. Stay, please”. Gojo wished it had been as easy as just asking for it and being granted a wish. He didn’t ask because he knew it was useless. Satoru knew Suguru had already made up his mind, and he made his choice.

Now, Gojo wore his absence like a second skin, a necklace he had hung around his neck many years ago, and he had forgotten to take it off. Perhaps he thought he was good at hiding it, maybe his blindfold didn’t let him see properly, perhaps he couldn’t care less. What if everyone knew that he missed him? It was true. What if everybody saw how lonely he was? He was lonesome, indeed.

His alarm rang. Time to get ready for another day. He looked angrily at his bed. He sighed. The times when sleeping was bliss were long gone. There was no use in thinking about them; he rarely allowed himself to do it. There was so much to work towards: there was a system that must be challenged, there were young sorcerers to be educated and trained. There was a world to be changed, one student at a time.

He glared at his bed once more and decided to stop sulking; enough was enough.

After having everything ready to start the day, he locked the door and left the room full of memories behind. He would have ice cream for breakfast, just because.

He was having the last spoonful of strawberry ice cream when a flash thought sprouted in his mind. He tried to ignore it, but it was too late.   

Would he, perhaps, wonder where Gojo slept nowadays?

He hopes he does so, because Satoru does want to know where Suguru sleeps at night.