Work Text:
Help.
Four letters. One word. One syllable.
It’s easy.
And yet, the word just…doesn’t come.
It drops from his lips in a sigh, quiet enough to be nothing more than a faint breath, turning into a white mist where it mixes with the cool winter air.
It’s typed out and left unsent amidst the wave of group chat notifications filling his inbox.
It’s thought, in the moments between moments, when he’s blessedly alone with his darkest thoughts -- the world quiet for the first time since he was ten and standing above not quite a whole body.
But the word just…stays. Thought, typed, whispered but never passed to another.
Yuta smiled faintly, weakly, as he watched the goings on from his position on the stone steps, elbows digging into his thighs, chin pressed against his hands. It was…peaceful.
His time in Africa had been long, lonely, exhausting, but he sometimes found himself missing it – the ability to wake each day, having a strict schedule and nobody but Miguel (and very occasionally Gojo-sensei) to talk to.
It was an adjustment.
He’d spent eight months getting used to cold empty hotel rooms at best and ramshackle huts at worst; comfortable quiet between lessons and practice and fights; finding peace in what had once been loneliness.
And then suddenly he had been in a train station, blood on his skin and in his eyes and in his mouth, blisters forming on his palms from his death grip on his katana, pure relief in his heart at the realisation that him taking an earlier flight had ensured he would not arrive in the aftermath of tragedy. His ears had ached with the dull sounds of battle and screaming and hysterics, and his eyes were blurry with blood and tears and cold rage, but he had carried on as always.
He had grabbed Megumi by the scruff of his neck and swung him towards the crater holding their sensei – their family -- trusting him to do what he could, while Yuta did what he must. Yuta made sure that Gojo-sensei would not have to kill his best friend again.
And then all of a sudden it had all been okay.
So yes, it was an adjustment.
He jumped slightly at a yelp from Itadori, who seemed to be being strangled by Kugisaki, the sound yanking him back to the present and leaving him reeling.
Rubbing his eyes -- blurry with tears, not blood or dust or gore – he let out a quiet sigh.
He was distracted from his brooding by a blur of a dark blue uniform as someone sat beside him.
“Megumi-Kun.”
“Okkotsu-senpai,” Megumi greeted mildly.
Yuta laughed lightly. “You can call me Yuta, you know.”
The boy’s lips twitched into what Yuta considered a smile. It was…a sad expression on the younger teenager, but it wasn't at all unfamiliar. “I know.”
Yuta watched him watch his teammates wrestling, an odd expression on his pale face; one that Yuta recognised, empathised with. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Finding a new normal.”
Megumi hummed quietly.
"Sometimes I wonder if this will be the last time I'm able to start over."
Neither of them talked for a long time.
Megumi broke the silence finally. “Do you remember when Gojo brought you to meet me?”
Yuta nodded. “I thought you were going to eviscerate him.”
The younger boy sniffed. “The thought did cross my mind at the time.”
“Why do you ask?”
“We were talking earlier.” Megumi grimaced, almost like he was regretting talking in the first place. “He mentioned -”
“That I was living in his dorm?” Yuta continued drily when he paused and trailed off. His lips curved upwards, though there wasn't much to smile about.
“How-”
Yuta laughed lightly, barely a breath of air. He didn’t feel particularly amused. “I had a feeling.”
“He said to talk to you.”
“You’re curious?”
“No.” He spat the word as if it brutally offended him. “I just-”
Yuta laughed, feeling a fond sort of dark humour in it. “It’s fine, really. I do appreciate Gojo-sensei’s discretion, though.”
Megumi looked at him, silent. He could almost see the questions brimming in his eyes.
“I tried to kill myself.” He shrugged shallowly, as if the action didn’t still haunt his every step. As if his best friend didn't sometimes look at him like it was the final time. As if the boy beside him didn’t stiffen and suck in a breath, his usually inpenetrable stoicism cracking. “He didn’t…he supervised me for a while until things got better.”
“And they did?” Megumi asked carefully, green eyes sharp.
“They did.” Yuta smiled faintly at the younger boy, giving him a small nod of confirmation. “Not straight away, but I’m doing better now. Gojo-sensei did a lot for me at the time.”
“And you’d tell him if they didn’t?” Megumi pressed, eyes narrowing and lips pursing. “Or one of us?”
He blinked, confused but nodded, suspicious. “I would. Why do you ask?”
“Gojo seemed concerned.”
Yuta smiled, he knew that not to be the truth – or at least the whole truth. “He has no need to worry.”
“And if I worry?” Ah, there it was. Yuta wasn’t naive enough to think Megumi had suddenly become much more perceptive than ever before.
“Who was it?”
Megumi frowned.
“Maki or Panda?” Toge? He almost laughed at the thought; never Toge. He enjoyed talking about that time less than Yuta did. “There must be a reason you were talking to Gojo about this.”
“Neither.”
“Maki, then.” Yuta rolled his eyes. “Tell her to stop meddling. Everything is good. Great.”
“My first ever mission was supervised by you.”
Yuta hummed, finding the change of subject mildly alarming. “In Miyako, right? I’d just learned to drive. Gojo-sensei was terrified the whole time. He called, uh, every two hours.”
He remembered driving for hours in silence, Megumi's music quiet through the speakers, a bag full of sugary snacks on the backseat.
“That would’ve been-”
“Six months after my attempt.” Yuta rubbed at a mark on his sleeve, looking out at the grounds before them. Toge had wrangled Panda into building snowmen; Yuta thought he recognised his own likeness in one of the taller figures. “Yeah.”
Megumi opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped at the last minute.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Say what you’re thinking. I won’t be offended.”
There was a long moment of silence. Neither of them looked at one another. “Was that the only time?”
He grimaced, looking down, shame reddening his face and burning the backs of his eyes. “Between me, you and Toge? No.”
“What happened?”
Yuta rolled up his sleeves, baring his wrists to the teenager. They weren’t…he wasn’t proud of them. Years worth of scars criss-crossed across pale skin - some narrow and pearly, others thick and darker than the surrounding skin. All were overpowered by the thick hypertrophic scars stretching upwards from wrist to the hollow of his elbow, the one on his right arm slightly less uniform.
Megumi stared in abject disgust, Yuta assumed, at the marks.
“The worst thing I’ve ever done.” He sighed and began to explain.
-
Toge glared down at him, violet eyes almost luminous in the dim light. His lips parted as he spoke a full sentence for the first time since Yuta had met him. “I will never forgive you for this, Yuta.”
Yuta sobbed weakly, tears burning the skin beneath his eyes. “I know.”
“Heal yourself.”
Yuta stiffened, trying to force back the cursed energy as it seeped beneath his skin. His fingers were cold and trembling. “No! Toge, please!”
Toge pressed harder on his wrists, hands slippery. “Heal yourself, Yuta!”
He let out a cry as he stopped pushing back his RCT, slumping back as he felt the energy within him beginning to stitch muscle back together, blood slowly coagulating on scarred skin. “Toge-”
“Don’t speak.”
Yuta gagged as his voice cut off, eyes wide as he looked at the boy crouched above him. Toge’s eyes were glassy and his lip trembled, but he didn’t pull his curse back.
-
Megumi blinked, horrified, as Yuta stopped talking, pulling his sleeves back down. “When was that?”
Yuta grimaced. “I’d just received the news that I was being sent abroad to study. It was bad timing, really - my medication had just been changed so I was already a little unstable. A lot of things went wrong at once, and…I just didn’t see another way out.”
“What happened after?”
He sighed. “Once the wounds healed, Toge helped me clean up. He stayed in my dorm for days. Everyone thought we were making the most of the time we had left, but…he was furious. I’ve never seen him so angry – that’s expected, of course. He didn’t let me out of his sight, and he made an’ brought me food, but…he wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t even look at me. After that, he avoided me for the next month. Or perhaps I avoided him? Either way, we didn’t speak until I was about to get into the car.”
-
Yuta could barely hold back his tears as he placed his bag on the back seat, strapping it in place. It was more full than ever – not surprising, of course, with Gojo-sensei’s propensity for souvenirs and Toge’s love for shopping. Yuta’s stomach lurched at the thought of his friend’s – or former friend’s – name. His wrists burned in phantom pain.
Turning around once more, he looked between his classmates and teacher.
Maki rolled her eyes. “Fine. C’mere.”
He fell into her strong arms, pretending not to notice the way her breathing hitched and her grip tightened.
“Get stronger, Okkotsu,” she murmured. “If I can still beat you when you get back, I’m taking your katana.”
Yuta laughed as he pulled back, looking up at her. He hoped he would grow a little while he was gone, too. “If I can’t beat you by the time I’m back, you can have whatever you want.”
Panda swung him around like a ragdoll, his grip tight but comforting. “Try to message us, will you, Yuta?”
He smiled fondly as he was set back on firm ground. “I’ll do my best. I checked the timezones and-”
“And you can get all that arranged later,” Gojo cut in, clapping a hand on his shoulder. They had already said their goodbyes the morning before when he had gone to say goodbye to Megumi-kun. “You’re gonna miss your flight, Yuta-Kun~”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Maki asked, a glint in her eye that made Yuta suspicious.
Gojo grimaced. “Unfortunately. If you remember, our little Yuta has an execution order over his head. We just need to…keep our heads down a little longer.”
There was the sound of a scoff from Toge’s direction and Yuta winced, looking down. His hands flexed over the strap of his katana.
“Er, right. I guess I’ll see you all soon?” Yuta stepped back, shooting Toge a small glance and looking away quickly.
There was a sigh. “Yuta.” His voice was hoarse.
He turned back. “Toge-kun?”
The younger boy frowned but lurched forward, wrapping his arms around him. His hair tickled Yuta’s forehead, gel making it slightly more coarse than usual.
Yuta hugged him back, arms wrapping tightly around his best friend. Toge smelled like mint and grass and something mildly chemical. He smelled like home.
“I’m so sorry,” Yuta whispered against his cheek, more of a breath of air than an audible collection of words. “I’m so sorry, Toge.”
Toge only gripped him harder, shaking his head. “Okaka, Yuta. Okaka.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You did the right thing, and I’m so grateful.” He sniffed, tears finally overflowing. “Text me? We should talk about it. If-if you want?”
Toge nodded slightly. “Salmon.”
There was a sigh. “Okay, boys, break it up. You really have to get going, Yuta.”
Gojo at least had the grace to look apologetic about it.
Yuta nodded and sniffed, pulling back reluctantly. He met Toge’s eyes and found them red-rimmed and bright. “I’ll see you really soon, okay?”
Toge smiled weakly, medical mask hanging from one ear. He raised his hands. “Call me as soon as you land.”
-
“We talked it out, of course. But…” Yuta frowned. “I’ll always regret putting him in that position, and I know he will never feel right about having to use his cursed speech on me.”
“Gojo doesn’t know?”
Yuta shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. At least, he’s never mentioned it to me. And…I knew if he found out, it’d be the last straw.”
“Last straw?”
“The first time was a fluke. Gojo-sensei knew, somehow, that I was going to do it. He swapped out my pills, so it was never going to work. This was different, you know? It’s a lot easier to swallow a few tablets than it is to slice through skin.”
Yuta shrugged. “Either way, I’m doing much better now. I’ve got a lot of people around me. People who care. I haven’t been in that headspace in a long time.”
It wasn’t a new thing. It wasn’t even a secret -- not really -- or at least it hadn’t been.
Gojo-sensei had been the first to know; had knelt in front of Yuta as he perched on the side of his bath, bandaging up wounds when he was too weak for his RCT to take action.
Toge and Maki and Panda had followed not long after, never being told explicitly, but able to tell from the way Gojo banned Yuta from the weapons shed and stole his razors on overnight missions.
So, it wasn’t a secret. Yuta just didn’t tell anyone when it started again. Didn’t think he needed to.
Because it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t dangerous, really. He had his RCT, and the anatomical knowledge to know where was safe and where wasn’t.
He didn’t want to die – not anymore – most of the time; he took his meds; he ate enough; he got as much sleep as possible when one was in his career path. He just didn’t stop hurting himself.
He didn’t think he ever would.
Sometimes he allowed himself to imagine the future; one where he was old and grey and wrinkled, and happy with friends and perhaps a family, and bandages on his arms. That future didn’t scare him half as much as the one where his arms were bare.
The therapist he had entertained for a month – online sessions grabbed between missions in airport corners – told him that he was scared of being happy; scared of allowing himself to let go. She told him that he was holding onto a bad coping strategy because he didn’t want to accept that all of the damage he had done to himself - both physically and emotionally - had been all for naught. He had, uncharacteristically, cussed her out and hung up. The next day, he had sent a very heartfelt and embarrassed apology, but he had never gone back.
He didn’t know why he did it; he had never liked pain, hated the sting and burn when he showered and the itch as it healed, but enjoyed the immediate zap of hurt. He liked watching the blood pool and the wounds healing, and despite himself he didn’t really mind the scars he left. But he knew he could get that satisfaction somewhere else; a sorcerer’s life came with its very many injuries. He didn’t know why – he just did.
It didn’t take much. A bad day had him sitting on the toilet lid, cold blade pressed against clammy skin. A good day did, too. The numb days were probably the worst; they had him seeking out high grade curses and returning to the hotel bloody, pushing back his RCT as much as was possible, putting on a sorry expression as Miguel lectured him.
A shadow moved over his face, ruining Yuta’s midafternoon doze.
Gojo grinned at him, glasses glinting in the sunlight. It suited him, cautious happiness. “Good morning, Yuta-kun~”
Yuta smiled back at him, squinting against the early March sun’s brightness. “Morning, Sensei.”
“You okay?” He asked casually. Gojo didn’t do casual, which was Yuta’s first warning.
He hummed, closing his eyes. “I am. Things are much better lately.”
“And you’d come to me if not?”
“Gojo-sensei?” Yuta’s brows furrowed as he sat up, attention piqued.
Gojo tucked his hands in his pockets. “Just checking.”
“You sure?” Yuta tilted his head. “Odd question to ask all of a sudden.”
“I know things have been hard lately. So much pressure on such young shoulders.” He flung himself down next to Yuta, close enough that their arms brushed and one of his gangly legs kicked Yuta's knee hard enough to bruise. “You know I worry.”
“I know. You don't have to, though." He pulled at the grass by his feet, plucking it from the ground and watching it drift lazily back down.
“I still will.”
“Should I be concerned?” He asked wryly. “First Megumi-kun. Now you?”
Gojo laughed, bending over to ruffle his hair roughly, longer than ever. “No. The kid asked me about you. He looks up to you a lot, you know?”
“Really?”
He hummed in affirmation. “Didn’t stop talking about you for weeks after he met you. Was constantly asking me about your training and missions. Don’t tell him I told you that, eh?”
Yuta grinned. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“What do you want?” Gojo’s eyes narrowed. Yuta didn’t often - or ever - ask for anything, so to do so was abjectly suspicious.
He frowned in thought, hand raising to stroke his chin. “A night off for us third years? And access to your card for a meal out.”
“Sure,” Gojo said without argument.
They shook hands. Yuta still planned on spilling the beans to Megumi – after an expensive meal.
“Yutaaa?”
Yuta grimaced. “Everything’s okay, Rika.”
He breathed steadily, pushing her back, wrapping his cursed energy around himself like a cloak, tight and confined.
It was his birthday. Eighteen. He was older than he’d ever thought he would be. Every day he was older than he thought he’d live.
And yet he was sitting on his shower floor with a blade in his hand for the thousandth time.
He was older than Rika would ever be.
He paused. “Actually, Rika?”
His monstrous first love hummed.
“Can you get Toge, please? Tell him not to worry, though, okay?”
There was a pause. “Rika is glad Yuta is asking for help.” The voice seemed...warm.
Yuta sniffed. “‘M not asking for help.”
Rika disappeared. Her light, disbelieving, laugh echoed around the empty room.
Despite being told not to worry, Toge was a whirlwind as he sprinted into the bathroom, slamming the dorm door behind him despite the late hour. “Yuta?!”
Yuta sighed as his best friend collapsed on his knees in front of him, skidding a couple of inches on the tiled floor. “Toge, it’s okay.”
“Okaka.” Toge didn't seem to share his opinion.
“I’m not…I’m not doing anything stupid.” He paused. “But I think I need a bit of help.”
Toge raised his hands. “Then give me the blade.”
Yuta gave a small nod. “Pass me some toilet paper so I don’t cut you?”
There was a quiet sigh of relief as a wad of paper was tossed at him.
Blade out of sight, Yuta found his shoulders relaxing and chest loosening. “Thank you.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“I wasn’t…I wasn’t going to do what you think.”
“I know.”
“Thank you for trusting me.”
Toge smiled, his eyes sad.
“It helps, I guess.” Yuta frowned down at his bare wrists, feeling like he had to explain himself. Wanting to explain himself. One finger traced the artery going down his arm and the scar directly above it. “I don’t know how to explain it…I just- it’s like releasing pressure so that it doesn’t overflow.”
“And how else do you release pressure?”
Yuta’s frown twisted upwards. “Spending time with friends? Training with Maki, watching dumb reels with you and Panda. Not being alone.”
“Is that not enough?” Yuta flinched at the words despite knowing them not to be accusatory.
“Most of the time it is. Sometimes, though, it’s like there’s this fogginess in my brain and there’s no other way.”
“What helps about it?”
“The pain, I guess. It’s different from training or missions. I guess seeing it, too? Like, the hurt inside is visible to me?” His voice raised in question at the end.
Toge frowned, thinking.
He didn’t speak for a long time. Not as Yuta pushed himself off the shower floor and allowed himself to be pulled into the bedroom and tucked under a mountain of blankets. Not as he grabbed Yuta’s laptop and typed in the password (230205) that he had guessed within three attempts the first time he used it.
“Shake.” He had rolled his eyes. “Our birthdays? You’re sweet, Yuta.”
He didn’t speak as he pulled up Youtube and pressed play on the last video they had been watching.
Yuta finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I know…I know it must have been worrying after, you know, last time. But I promise I have no intention of doing that again. I’m happy. I finally understand that I have things to live for.”
Toge looked up at him from where he was leaning against his shoulder, hair tickling Yuta’s throat. “It’s not okay, but I understand. I’m glad you called.”
He paused for a moment as laughter sounded through the tinny speakers. “I have an idea.”
“Hm?”
Toge pulled away, standing up. He held up both hands. “Mentaiko.”
He pointed at an imaginary watch on his wrist and held up two fingers.
“Right,” Yuta whispered. “I’ll wait here?”
Toge, despite his gestures, was gone for less than a minute. He returned with a tote bag that seemed to be ready to burst at the seams.
Yuta laughed as he tipped his bounty onto the bed; an odd assortment of materials. “What’s this?”
His best friend didn’t speak, simply thrusting his arm into the mountain and pulling out a handful of elastic bands, each a different vibrant colour; Yuta wasn't sure where he had gotten them from. He separated each by colour into a little pile and waved at the collection, a questioning look on his face.
“Choose one?” Yuta asked hesitantly.
Toge grinned, nodding vigorously.
He pointed at a rich purple band, still utterly confused. “Um, I still don’t understand.”
Toge grabbed his left wrist with a gentle hand, slipping the band over his hand. When it was settled, he tucked a finger under it, pulled lightly, and let it snap.
“Ow!” Yuta frowned at him, hurt, before realisation hit. “Oh. Oh.”
The blonde grinned nervously, his curse marks flaring slightly with the fluctuations of his anxiety. He gave a thumbs up, tilting it until it pointed downwards, questioning.
Yuta gave a small, exploratory snap of the band, feeling pressure release from his bones with the small sting. He reached forward and twisted Toge’s hand until the thumb pointed up. “Thank you, Toge, you’re a genius.”
Toge smiled, grabbing another band from the pile - blue - and slipped it onto his own wrist. “To understand.” He explained simply.
“So, what’s everything else?” Yuta asked in lieu of allowing the fond tears gathering in his eyes from escaping.
He watched as Toge grabbed at a sharpie with one hand and his wrist with another, utterly confused.
Toge’s finger gently traced along the biggest scar on Yuta’s wrist, raising goosebumps in its path. Yuta watched the other boy’s face, noting the tender look; this was Toge’s own doing. This was the result of Toge using his power to keep Yuta alive when it was the last thing he wanted.
Yuta twisted his arm slightly, tangling their fingers for a mere moment.
Toge pulled back after a second with a quick squeeze. He removed the lid with his teeth and pressed the pen against Yuta’s wrist, touch gentle as he traced some sort of abstract pattern.
“Oh,” Yuta whispered as his friend drew on his skin. “Toge-kun…”
Toge looked up at him, eyes sparkling in the dim light emanating from the lamp on his nightstand. He smiled faintly before looking back down, fully immersed in his self-proclaimed job.
Yuta remained silent, watching as lines and swirls became images. A somewhat blobby panda was traced just above his elbow, followed by a katana that Yuta recognised immediately, and various other little doodles. There was a small beat of hesitation before Toge sketched his own cursed mark onto the inside of Yuta’s wrist, right where his longest scar began.
“How did you know exactly what to do?” He broke the silence
Toge looked down, capping the marker. “Researched. Was just waiting for you to reach out.”
At that, Yuta broke, leaning to the side and latching onto his best friend, holding him tighter than he had since he returned from Africa. Tears overflowed, sobs wracking his body as Toge hugged him back, hands hot and comforting as they held him tight enough that he knew he would be bruised tomorrow.
“You already knew?”
“Salmon.” Toge’s breath was hot against his throat.
When Yuta woke, he was still wrapped around Toge, the younger teen’s head tucked under his chin, their legs tangled together. He smelled like vanilla and warmth.
He paused for a moment, letting it drag out for as long as he could before gently shaking Toge’s shoulder.
Before the other boy could wake, however, there was a hurried knocking at his door.
“Yuta!”
“Oh no,” he whispered to himself, shaking Toge a little more roughly.
“Okkotsu, wake up!”
He groaned. “I’m awake, Maki.”
“Then come out here!”
Toge finally woke, rubbing his eyes. “Takana?”
“Maki,” Yuta murmured.
Toge groaned.
“Okkotsu, I swear-"
“You can come in,” Yuta called, slightly louder than his usual volume, forcing Toge from his fabric cocoon. “We’re decent.”
His door was flung open as his friend barged in, stopping right on the threshold to stare at them.
“We?” She asked slyly.
Toge scowled at her.
Yuta shrugged. “Bit of a bad night. Toge kept me company.”
Her expression softened slightly, brows raising as she glanced between the two of them, at the mess of random objects at the floor and towards the open bathroom door. “You good?”
He smiled and nodded. “I am. What has you awake so early?”
Maki stared at him like he was dumb. It wasn’t too different to her usual expression when looking at him. She looked at Toge. “Inumaki, make sure he comes down to breakfast in the next five minutes.”
Yuta stared as she turned and left before looking at Toge. “Huh?”
Toge laughed quietly, the sound fond, as he rolled out of bed. The glass of water on his bedside trembled and Yuta grinned fondly. “Happy birthday, Yuta.”
“Oh,” he whispered, breath halting.
He was eighteen.
Rika had been gone for eight years today.
He looked down, at sharpie drawings on both of his arms – Toge had apparently not stopped when he fell asleep – at a purple band on his left wrist, at a pair of sweatpants that he knew he had never bought.
He smiled. “Breakfast?”
The kitchen was full as they entered, despite the early hour.
Yuta looked between his fellow students and the fully set table before sighing and sitting down between Megumi and Toge. He forced a tired grin and accepted the well-meaning ‘happy birthday’s, allowing Toge to fill both of their plates and accepting a glass of orange juice.
He had never been wanted before. His presence had never been so simply accepted, if not requested, before. It had been hard, at first, to accept, but he was slowly getting there.
“Party tonight.” Maki grinned at him over the table. “Birthday boy finds the alcohol.”
Yuta grimaced. “Do I have to?”
“Yep!” She crossed her arms. “It was Panda’s turn last time, remember? Poor thing’s on his last chance with Yaga.”
Panda nodded along sagely. While there were many interesting and unusual benefits to being the principal’s favourite, they did not extend to being caught stealing from his stash.
He sighed but gave a small nod of confirmation. Oh, how he loved his friends.