Chapter Text
"You're lying," you shake your head, eyebrows furrowed tightly as you shoot Shoko an incredulous look. A humourless laugh rips out of your throat. "There's no way. Our Suguru? Why would he—he would never do that!"
Shoko reaches out to place her free hand on your trembling shoulders, the cigarette between her fingers long forgotten. You look up to meet her pained expression. "I saw him. Gojo saw him. He's gone."
Her words are cold and merciless, ripping right through your chest and pulling on the strings of your heart. The lump in the back of your throat tightens, and you find yourself unable to form a coherent sentence. You gape at her, still trying to process her words.
Defection. His parents, killed. The village, gone. Execution. A registered curse user. Execution. Execution. Execution.
The next time you see Suguru, if ever, you'd have to kill him.
You don't see Satoru for a week.
Since the failed assimilation of Amanai, he'd been sent on increasingly difficult missions back-to-back, with no break between them.
Desperate to get away from the memory of Geto that lingered in every corner of the school, you find yourself volunteering for missions more often than not, burying yourself in reports to stop the thoughts threatening to pull you in the same direction as him.
You had initially attempted to speak to Shoko about it, venting out your feelings of guilt and your own frustrations of your piling failiures. But when you looked up at her, dark bags beneath her eyes and lips pulled into a thin straight line, you realised you simply couldn't pour your grief onto someone who was already drowning.
She had her nose buried in her medical textbooks, locked in the infirmary or the morgue, dealing with the bodies of fallen comrades on a regular basis.
You stop talking, and she doesn't ask why.
Instead, you ask her about Satoru, if he came to see her since everything played out the way it did. She said she saw him by the vending machines earlier that day. He looked fine. He looked good, even. Better than someone should look after losing their best friend, is what she doesn't say, but the thought lingers in the air between you.
Sighing, you swing your legs off the counter, juggling a roll of gauze between your hands. "I should be on my way. Got a mission in Roppongi."
"Sounds boring," she stifles a yawn, waving a lazy hand. "Have fun."
You hum, dropping the roll where you found it and shutting the door gently on your way out.
Months pass in exactly the same way. You see less and less of both Satoru and Shoko. You can't even recall the last time you'd sat down and had a proper conversation with him.
When you do see him, neither of you stop to talk. Only a brief glance in the halls, maybe sharing a smile, or the odd nod, or even the rare nudge as he walks past. But no words are shared. The silence stretches between you til it becomes too awkward to fill, which is surprising because if someone told you a year ago that it would be awkward between you and Gojo Satoru of all people, you would have burst out laughing in their face.
It has you wondering that maybe you're overthinking it, and it's only awkward on your part. But you're far too busy to address it, and obviously he is too.
So it continues just like that. Quiet. Peace. Loneliness. Whatever it is, it has you signing your transfer letter to Kyoto, packing your entire life into a singular suitcase and duffel bag, earning a pat on the shoulder from Yaga who gives you a solemn smile and, quite surprisingly, tells you that you were an honour to teach and he wishes you nothing but the best.
You stand in the doorway of your dorm room for the last time, letting your eyes linger on the empty walls which were once full of posters and the empty shelf that once held your vast collection of books and CDs that were now shoved somewhere deep in your bag.
For the final time, your mind betrays you, wandering back to a time when life was easier and your only worry was making sure Satoru didn't sit on your bed with his outside clothes on or blow up your room wrestling Suguru on the floor.
With a final glance around, you walk out of the room. Unknowingly walking out of a life you never thought you'd lose.
In your haste to leave, you forget one important thing: saying goodbye.
It's not until you arrive in Kyoto and you're buried under the covers a couple days later when Shoko calls you. It rings twice before you answer.
"Where are you?" her voice calls out immediately, slightly confused and surprisingly worried.
"Oh my God, Shoko. I completely forgot," you close your eyes, groaning and running a hand down your face. "I left."
"I can see that. I'm in your empty dorm right now. Where'd you go?"
"Kyoto. Look, I'm sorry. I was just so busy with all the documents and whatnot. Then I had a mission in—"
"—Hey, it's fine," you hear her raspy chuckle followed by her footsteps and a door clicking shut. Probably just walked out of your room. (Technically, it's no longer yours.) "I'm not mad."
"Really?"
She scoffs. "Why would I be mad?"
"I don't know…"
"Nah, it's my fault too for not asking. I thought you were still on that mission in Kamakura until Gojo was asking where you were. If anyones gonna be pissed, it's him."
"What?" you sit up, shoving the blanket down to your waist.
"I said, if anyone's gonna be pissed, it's—"
"Yeah, yeah. I heard you. I'm just… why would he be pissed?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you picked up your bags and left without saying goodbye," you can practically hear her rolling her eyes, and you huff out a laugh.
"Right, yeah. Sorry. What'd he say, though?" you question, trying to mask the curiosity in your voice.
"You know, the usual. Stormed into the infirmary asking if I'd heard from you. He sounded, I don't know, worried? Probably thought you got stuck on your mission, or something," the distant sound of a lighter opening and closing can be heard in the back. "I told him to relax, and then we come and find your room stripped bare. He looked so confused, it was almost funny but I was hella confused too. He's with Yaga right now, said he was gonna ask him."
A second passes. Then another. You're stunned to silence. He was worried? About you?
Shoko calls out your name.
"Yeah, I'm here. What did he ask Yaga?"
"Probably for an update on your mission. I see now that you're fine. I would go to tell him but, I'm too lazy to get up," she admits with a yawn, and you can't help but laugh.
"Yaga probably told him, anyway. I doubt he's pissed."
"Trust me, he's pissed. It's one thing that you left, another that you didn't say goodbye, and its even worse that he's finding out from Yaga instead of you."
It's silent again for a moment. Not the awkward kind, its never awkward with Shoko, but you're unsure of what to say. Sorry? You'd already said that twice and she's not the one you should be apologising to, seeing as she doesn't seem to mind.
"I'm in your room right now."
"Oh?" you thought she'd walked out.
"Yep. On your bed," she sighs. "We always did spend the most time in your room compared to everyone else's."
We. She means all four of you. You, her, Suguru and Satoru.
"It's not mine anymore."
She hums, and her voice somehow sounds clearer when she speaks again. "It'll always be yours."
You spend the next hour talking with Shoko about nothing in particular, giggling with each other like nothing is wrong and effectively dodging the whole reason why you left in the first place.
She ends the conversation with a final yawn, telling you to not be a stranger and call her. And to expect a call from Gojo later on.
You wait.
The call never comes.
The next year passes by in a blur. Followed by another, and another. Before you know it, five years have passed.
You still talk to Shoko. Mainly because no matter how much time passes between you, when you finally pick up the phone to call her, it's almost as if no time has passed at all. You see each other occasionally. For birthdays, or just whenever you're free. But it's rare, and often last minute.
Satoru is a different story. It's been nothing but radio silence between you. When you visit Tokyo, you make sure to steer clear of him in the halls. When he's in Kyoto, you somehow never cross paths with him.
You ask Shoko about him sometimes, trusting that she'd never tell him. Most of the stories you learn about him are from others, though. Even Utahime speaks to him more than you.
At first, it hurt. More than you'd like to admit. But time really does heal all wounds, or maybe it's the distance. Maybe it'd hurt more if you were seeing his face regularly and still somehow treating each other like strangers.
Whatever it is, you eventually learn to live with the ghost of Satoru who you lost around the same time as Suguru. Both of them who are still alive, but no longer a part of your life.
It isn't until November 7th that you find yourself in Tokyo again. Shoko had called you a month ago insisting that you come out for her birthday to some fancy bar she found. It'll just be you and some old friends. You quickly found yourself clearing your schedule without a second thought.
She told you it was just a casual hangout, so you opt for a tight fitted top and dark blue jeans with stiletto heels that you no longer struggle to walk in.
When you push the double doors open, you immediately spot her in a corner booth, a half empty glass raised to her lips when she spots you. She lightens up, a small smile gracing her lips as she waves you over.
Utahime sits opposite from her, turning to greet you as you slide in right beside her.
"You're late," Shoko deadpans.
"Sorry, birthday girl. I got lost."
She rolls her eyes, but there's a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Yeah, right."
"Is this it? I thought more people were coming," you say, stretching your legs out under the table as you lay your hands in your lap.
"Nope," Shoko responds, popping the 'p' as she takes another generous sip. "Someone else is coming too."
Utahime calls the server over and orders again for the three of you, somehow knowing your exact orders. A whiskey for Shoko, a mocktail for you.
"You still don't drink?" Shoko questions as the server leaves with your orders.
"Ew, no," you gag, scrunching your nose in mock disgust. The two girls merely laugh.
"Suit yourself," she says.
Half an hour passes as you talk amongst yourselves about everything and nothing at the same time. Your stomach hurts from laughter and your cheeks ache from smiling, a feeling you rarely feel around anyone but these two women.
You're about to take another sip of your mocktail when Shoko's eyes fall on the entrance. "Look who's here," she says, nodding towards the door with folded arms.
Both you and Utahime turn your heads. Her scoff fades out into the background as your eyes zero in on the man who you literally haven't spoken to, let alone seen, since you were seventeen.
Your eyes rake shamelessly over his figure, the dark button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly, revealing his toned forearms. The top buttons are left undone. You gulp as your eyes lift to his face. His eyes are covered with rectangular glasses that are so similar yet so different to the round ones you'd last seen him in.
You meet his gaze, and you could swear his eyebrows raise slightly at the sight of you. Slowly turning back to Shoko, you glare at her, voice coming out in a sharp whisper.
"You didn't tell me he was coming."
She smirks, shrugging unapologetically. "You didn't ask."
Before you can open your mouth to speak, a shadow falls over the table.
"Ladies," he takes his place beside Shoko, right across from you. "Sorry I'm late. I got lost."
Utahime suddenly chokes on her drink, coughing furiously before she recovers and barks out a laugh. You continue glaring at Shoko who's hiding a smile behind her hand.
The infuriating part of this whole ordeal is that you can't even be mad because Shoko is right. You didn't ask who the last guest was. If you had, you would've used every excuse in the book to miss this day and make it up to the birthday girl sometime later. You would've sprinted out those fancy double doors the second you learnt he was coming.
Your snapped out of your thoughts when you see Satoru's large hand reach for a handful of Utahime's truffle fries that you'd been sharing between yourselves, waiting patiently for the final person to arrive before ordering proper meals. She smacks his hand away, but he's already stuffing his face and snickering.
He really hasn't changed.
Except for the way his shoulders are broader. And he has bigger biceps. And a sharper jawline. And—
"Ew. Cold fries," he scrunches his nose up but still swallows his bite.
"They were warm before. But somebody was a whole hour late," Utahime scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Which isn't such a bad thing. You shouldn't have come at all."
"Uh, rude," he rolls his eyes right back, calling over a waiter and ordering the most sweetest thing possible, flashing a bright smile.
Utahime and Shoko fall into a conversation again, and you try to focus on it. You really do. But as soon as the waiter leaves, Gojo's eyes fall on you. You can practically feel them drilling holes into your head, then falling down to your hands when you lift your cup to take a sip of your drink. When you finally meet his gaze as your mouth curls around the glass, his eyes are fixed on your lips before he meets your eyes.
You look away first.
You feel your body heating up, and you thank whatever deity there is above for making you wear makeup today, or else he would see your reddening cheeks.
Your mind reels as you connect the everygrowing dots.
The girls had planned this.
Both of them sitting opposite each other instead of beside each other like they usually do? Yeah. You should've seen this coming. It couldn't have been more obvious if they tried.
You honestly don't know if it'd be worse or better if Gojo sat beside you instead of opposite you. Knowing him, he'd probably turn his head still to stare at the side of your face. And on top of that you'd have to feel his body beside you too.
"Gojo, move your big legs."
He, of course, spreads them out further, turning to Shoko with a grin. "No."
She raises an eyebrow. "It's my birthday."
His face drops to a pout and he closes his legs, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. He looks far too much like his teenager self and that familiar pang in your heart returns, one that you thought had been long forgotten and healed with time.
Another half an hour passes with you dropping only a handful of words compared to all the remarks you shared when Gojo was not present. He appears to be totally unbothered by your presence, constantly throwing jabs at Utahime and laughing with Shoko.
You share a platter of tempura and beef skewers between the four of you with Gojo stuffing his mouth as if he hasn't eaten in weeks, when in reality he'd probably eaten before arriving.
You're twirling the remaining liquid in your glass when Shoko calls out your name.
"Sorry?"
Shoko chuckles dryly. "Utahime asked you a question."
Turning to her, you keep your fingers firmly around the cup, if only to have something to do with your hands. Your body heats up at the realisation that everyones eyes are on you, including the blue ones just opposite you. Especially the blue ones.
She smiles warmly at you, "I was just wondering how the solo assignments are going. You only take Grade 1's and above now, right?"
"Oh, yeah. It's nice," you muster up a smile. "I like the pressure, I guess."
"Have you been taking breaks, though?" Shoko questions with a sip of her sake. You hum. "Doesn't look like it. Looks like you haven't slept in weeks."
Squinting at her, your lips fall into a thin line at the playful jab. "That's funny coming from you. You look like you haven't slept in years."
She merely smirks, shrugging whilst Gojo huffs out a laugh beside her.
"Well, I think you should go into teaching," Utahime says enthusiastically before shooting a glare towards Gojo. "You'd be better than him."
He gasps incredulously, ever the dramatic, clutching a palm to his chest. Your eyebrows raise in surprise at the news.
"Satoru's a teacher?" the question slips out before you can stop yourself, and you groan internally at the use of his first name. You keep your eyes off of him now, turning fully to the girls.
"Yeah, the worst," Utahime mumbles.
Shoko nods in agreement. "It's crazy, right? Gojo. A teacher. It sounds wrong to even say out loud," she shivers disgustedly. "I still can't believe Yaga hired him."
He just laughs, taking absolutely zero offense at the insults thrown at him. "Stop talking about me as if I'm not here."
When you turn to look at him, his elbow is resting on the table, chin in his palm and gaze directed right at you, even as he addresses the other two. You gulp before looking back at Utahime who's currently nursing a not-so-terrifying scowl.
"He's terrible, Y/N. Seriously. His students grades are appalling. What does he even teach them, how to be disrespectful?"
"Actually, I teach them how to survive, thank you very much." his gaze drifts towards Utahime before going straight back to you.
They continue with the very one-sided argument before Gojo sticks out his tongue at Utahime who gags in disgust, telling him to shove it right back into his mouth. He sticks his tongue out further, sitting up only to snag a fry from the refilled plate.
Before you know it, you find yourself fighting off a smile. He's just so weird. In the best way possible.
Shoko and Gojo eventually fall into a conversation, names of people you don't know being mentioned that you immediately zone out of. It's your fault, but it hurts to know that they have a whole life outside of you that you know nothing about.
"So, how are your kids?" Shoko asks and he brightens up.
"They're great!…"
Your mind zones out on the rest of what he says, honing in on one word. Kids. Could it be possible? You'd never thought Satoru would have his own kids, especially not this early on, but from the things you're learning today you realise you don't really know him at all. Before you can even stop to consider that maybe Shoko is simply talking about his students, your mouth moves.
"You have kids?"
He stops talking, mouth open slightly on a word he'd been saying. He turns to you, unmoving and unspeaking for a second and you suddenly realise that you've spoken aloud. The first three words you've shared with him since you left all those years ago.
Mortification colours your face red and your stomach churns, the food you'd eaten threatening to come back out your throat at the silence when his face suddenly lights up once more.
You want to rip your tongue out.
Satoru pulls out his phone, shoving the screen in your face. "Yeah! Birthed 'em myself!"
Your eyes lock onto his lockscreen. It's an image of Gojo with two unfamiliar faces on either side of him. He's crouched down to the childrens level, a wide and booming smile on his face. One of his arms is wrapped around a young black-haired boy who's scowling at the camera, trying to pull away whilst the other is wrapped around a slightly older girl who's also beaming at the camera, throwing up an enthusiastic peace sign.
He pulls the screen back before you can look at it any further, still beaming at you.
Utahime scoffs beside you, "More like he kidnapped them."
"Don't listen to her," he waves a hand in her direction, keeping his eyes on you. "I literally pushed them out myself."
"Out of where?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"My ass, duhhh."
"EW, Gojo, we are literally trying to eat!" Utahime shrieks, gagging dramatically.
You can't help the laugh that rips out of your throat and you watch as his grin somehow widens (if that was even possible.) You don't even care that you may be feeding his overly inflated ego.
"Who are they, seriously?"
"Ah, some kids I adopted," he leans back against the leather of his seat, folding his arms across his chest. "Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro. Sound familiar?"
You nod, clearing your throat as you look away.
"Yeah, Megumi's got the Ten Shadows Technique, and his deadbeat dad sold him to the Zenin. He wouldn't come with me unless I took his sister in too. They're great kids."
You blink in surprise, the heavy weight of the Zenin name hanging in the air for a brief second before your mind fully process what he just said.
"That's… awfully kind of you."
He shrugs but you don't miss the look of pride on his face. His mouth opens to say something but he's smoothly interrupted by the woman beside him.
"What, you thought he knocked someone up?"
Utahime sputters around her drink, caught off guard again as she coughs furiously, patting a palm against her chest.
You try to stop yourself from glaring at Shoko which proves to be rather difficult. Whatever she's trying to do, it's starting to get on your nerves.
Gojo leans back and watches the exchange with a slight tilt of his head, tapping a rythm with his fingers against the table.
"Of course not," you mumble, not taking your eyes off of her.
Gojo, sensing the tension in the room, leans forward into your space, lips curved into an infuriating smirk. "You sureee?"
You glare at him and resist the urge to shove your fingers at his forehead, now that would be crossing a line. He leans back with a knowing laugh.
His laugh settles into a low, amused hum that lingers between you, but before he can push his luck any further, Utahime finally recovers, wiping her mouth with a napkin and slamming her hand onto the wood.
Shoko suddenly slams her glass against the table, pulling herself up.
"I'm going out for a smoke. You coming?" she announces, nodding towards Utahime who's already frantically standing up tall.
"Definetely," is all she says before she's stepping past you, out of your little booth.
Watching Shoko in shock as she digs around in her purse for a lighter and her pack of cigarrettes, you sit up straight, a protest sitting at the tip of your tongue. She shoots you a wink as Gojo makes room for her to step out.
Your eyes frenetically travel from Utahime to Shoko as you call out a strained "Wait" to which they both expertly ignore, slowly walking away. Time seems to slow down as you watch the space between you stretch further and further apart.
You can just about make out Utahime mumbling something about how she much she hates Shoko smoking, but that's about it. Your eyes follow them as they walk out the door, mouth agape in shock.
Turning back to Satoru, his arm has found its place along the top of the leather seat, his head tilted as he watches you with a raised brow. A lump forms in your throat at the realisation that he'd just watched you panic about being alone with him.
You find yourself praying for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Or maybe for a Special Grade curse to pop up out of nowhere and tear you apart. You'd rather that than whatever the hell this is.
A quiet, amused hum vibrates from his side of the booth, breaking the suffocating stillness before you can completely melt into the leather seat.
"You know," Satoru begins, his voice dropping into that low, smooth register stripped of all his loud antics, "if you wanted them to stay that badly, you could've just run after them."
Your jaw tightens. You force your eyes away from the double doors and finally look at him.
He hasn't moved an inch. His long arm is still stretched casually along the top of the leather booth, broad shoulders taking up half the space, his eyes tracking every subtle twitch of your expression through his glasses.
"I wasn't panicking," you lie, your voice coming out far stiffer than you intended.
Satoru’s lips curve into a slow, infuriating smirk. "Right. And you always look like you're about to jump out of your skin when your friends go for a smoke break?"
You grab your glass, taking a long, deliberate sip of your melted mocktail just to give your hands something to do. "It's late. I was just thinking about leaving, too."
He hums again, opting to not call you out on your lie.
The smirk returns to his face and you realise he's waiting for a reaction. One that you won't give him.
Silence stretches once more between you, he doesn't seem that eager to fill it and you find your knee bouncing in anticipation.
You don't know if the silence is mercy or a punishment.
Knowing him, it's probably both.