Chapter Text
Back in junior high, Yuuji's class took the opportunity to visit the local zoo. The talk of the class was the zoo's recent acquisition of a binturong. A dark-furred mammal that looked like a cross between a bear and a cat, it appeared in the margins of several students' notes in the weeks that followed. The binturong dozed in its small wooden house, only its nose peeking out. Yuuji hung back while his class moved ahead, but even with extra time there was no change. For the most part, few animals were active enough to circle their enclosure, grown accustomed to the boundaries of their life. Yuuji rather liked the look of the colorful fish in a big indoor aquarium. He would describe them afterward to Wasuke, who in turn regaled him of the mackerel with unusual coloring that he'd caught in his youth.
"How did it taste?" Yuuji asked back then.
"The flavor was weak. It must have leeched out along with the color," Wasuke replied.
At Jujutsu High, Gojo's field trips are of a more violent sort.
On his return from the trip to watch the battle against the special grade curse with the head of Mount Fuji, Yuuji is too awake to bother with sleep, excitement thrumming in his veins. From watching his teacher prove that the title of the strongest isn't an idle one, from the anticipation of sparring against Gojo himself soon, from the missions that Yuuji will undertake to expand his jujutsu skillset. He'll blow Fushiguro and Kugisaki away at the upcoming exchange event. And best of all, he won't ever be as weak as he was at the detention center again, not with Gojo as his personal trainer.
As annoyed as he's gotten with the cursed doll over the past few days, Yuuji plops it back onto his lap when he hits play on the movie. Can't get stronger without mastering cursed energy, even if the overlapped bruising on the underside of his chin from the doll's fists doesn't look like it's ever going to heal.
Before long, Gojo joins him on the couch. Yuuji catches him up on the plot of the movie, skipping past the details of the first two movies in order to focus on the third.
"Would you say I'm more of a Legolas or Aragorn type?" Gojo muses.
Yuuji casts a glance to find his teacher turned toward him instead of the TV. Yuuji mirrors him, the ring having been destroyed already anyway. "You're Gandalf. Guiding the fellowship, leading me on field trips, bearing a mysterious past that doesn't get explored much during the course of the movie. And the white hair!"
Gojo blows out a burst of air. "Legolas is far more attractive, if we're matching by hair color alone."
"Have you ever shot a bow and arrow?"
"No," Gojo says, pouting.
"There you go," Yuuji replies through a grin. "Can't lay claim to Legolas so easily. Besides, you don't have a friendship with an ax-wielding dwarf."
"Have you watched the DVD extras, too?"
"I haven't. Who watches the behind the scenes?"
"Everyone with taste," Gojo says, and he goes on to tell him about the storyboards, the choice of New Zealand as Middle Earth, the crew members who wore off their fingerprints making chainmail, and Viggo Mortensen's broken toe in The Two Towers.
Yuuji is riveted. He's always been more drawn to horror movies and anime, a manga fan all his life who likes to see the adaptations of his favorites, but Gojo's collection of 2000s movies has been growing on him. If this is what Yuuji can expect from the Lord of the Rings, then maybe he's been missing out.
"I should watch more old movies."
"Watch it," Gojo grumbles.
"I was nine months old when this movie was released," Yuuji tells him, just to watch that pained look on Gojo's face. It's hilarious.
To the side, the end credits roll without catching Yuuji's attention. The music's good. It can't compete with the man in front of him, who Yuuji's leaning in to hear over the music. There's never any competition, really; put anything next to Gojo and it's forgotten, and that was even before Yuuji saw his teacher's magnetic eyes. The conversation migrates, moves as easily as it always has with Gojo from a joke about Gandalf onward.
After a while, Gojo reaches out to tilt Yuuji's chin back, the first knuckle of his finger pressing against the bruise. "It got you good, I see."
"I'm improving," Yuuji says in return. It's the truth; he hasn't been hit by the doll nearly as often as he was that first day. Another few days and he might be able to do this in his sleep.
When Gojo brings Yuuji's chin back down, his hand doesn't leave. Yuuji's gaze meets his blindfold and he wonders if Gojo ever feels the urge to just rip it off. Yuuji does, sometimes. More so now that he’s seen what’s underneath. Instead of letting him go, Gojo draws his hand across Yuuji's jaw, the tip of a finger dragging against the lobe of his ear.
"Yuuji," Gojo says, and his tone's all different, most of the previous humor gone. There's enough left to warm his voice, to give it life amidst the rest of it.
It hits Yuuji like a punch that they're too close. That his knee rests against Gojo's thigh, migrating at some point during their conversation, the couch small but not so small that they should be touching at multiple points. A minute ago it was good—the easy conversation, the human connection. A minute ago, Yuuji hadn't realized this was on the table, let alone on the couch.
He places a hand over Gojo's, wrapping his fingers around Gojo's wrist until he feels the bone. Yuuji knows his teacher's strength. It's only because Gojo wills it that he can grip his wrist as tightly as he is now. Unbidden, the memory of how cool it was when Gojo beheaded that curse and rolled it under his foot; less cool now that it feels like his own head is under Gojo's shiny black boot. It feels rotten, all of it, nothing like the laughter just minutes ago.
There's no way to meet Gojo's gaze, so Yuuji does the next best thing and stares down his blindfold. "Knock it off. Now."
Gojo's hand grows still under his own. He draws it back. Yuuji lets go and it joins Gojo's other hand in the air, palms raised in a conciliatory gesture. "Knocked off. Right off. Don't worry about it, alright?"
"Alright," Yuuji agrees, still tense.
Gojo slowly lowers his hands to his knees like they're cowboys in an old Western, guns being holstered. "It's getting late. Tomorrow is a busy day for both of us. I have a class to teach and you have the Hobbit trilogy to watch. Can't miss it after this one."
"Right. Yeah. I heard Legolas returns in it," Yuuji manages. "Are the movies any good?"
Gojo stands, maneuvering from between the couch and the coffee table. "You'll have to find out. The dwarf king and his nephews die at the end by the way."
"Sensei," Yuuji says, and he tries to go for reproachful but fails to land.
"Good night, Yuuji," Gojo says, anyway, and he disappears.
Yuuji throws his head back against the couch, tilting his head toward the ceiling. It's the same stone up there as the walls, one built-in light that never feels bright enough. Gojo wouldn't appreciate the comparison, but it feels like Yuuji's evaded yet another special grade curse tonight, this one as unexpected as the other two. The absence of Gojo has a certain weight of its own.
"Fuck," Yuuji mutters into the empty room. "Why did he have to do that?"
There's no answer. It's not that Yuuji's oblivious to his own attraction; that much has been evident from the day he laid eyes on his teacher. He doesn't need anything explained to him on that front.
It's only that the whole thing feels like a clash of domains, the one more powerful fated to dominate, and fuck it, Yuuji doesn't want to be dominated. Gojo's earlier show of strength no longer seems as awe-inspiring. And that’s what happens here, isn’t it? Get hit on by someone who's older and more powerful—the strongest—then fool around for a while until he's pulling you into his bed and expecting you to bend over and take it. Yuuji would rather not, if it’s all the same. He hadn't taken Gojo for that type.
For all that Yuuji gets on well with Gojo, appreciates his strength and enjoys his company, for all that he finds him to be the sort of handsome that you can barely look away from, their situation doesn't get his blood fired up. Gojo's one of three people who knows that Yuuji is alive, the higher ups of jujutsu society having decided to expedite his execution. And even when it's resolved, when Yuuji can walk around campus in the sunlight, Gojo will still be standing between Yuuji and the chopping block even as he holds the sword, assigned Yuuji's executioner for one faraway day. It gets him bothered, sure, but not in a way that goes to his dick.
Yuuji's wanted plenty of people. It's easy to look at someone and see pretty features, white hair that could be so easy to tug, eyes so blue that you can drown in them. He’s never run into the concept that if his attention gets returned, he wouldn’t want to act on it. If Jennifer Lawrence steps off the red carpet—but that's not the same, not really. He's almost as starstruck by Gojo as he is by a movie star. Jennifer Lawrence won’t decide when Yuuji lives and when he dies.
It's all moot, anyway. It's done.
When he looks down on his lap, Yuuji realizes the doll hasn't twitched throughout the whole thing. I'm learning, Yuuji thinks, and squeezes it tighter before clicking the mechanism to put it fully to sleep. Maybe he’s not strong, not yet, but that won’t remain true forever.
Upstairs, he passes Gojo's room on the way to his own. The hallway lights are on, the rest of the house silent. Yuuji showers and puts himself to bed, and when he dreams it's of nothing at all.
Gojo is overly cheerful the next day, barreling through the remaining awkwardness, and Yuuji is grateful for it. He matches his teacher's energy, chatting at dinner about his choice of movies—two horror flicks from the eighties—and decides that The Hobbit is a lost cause. No need to tempt fate. Gojo's obviously some kind of Tolkien pervert.
During the fight against the special grade, Gojo taught Yuuji all about Limitless. And now it's everywhere, a layer between them during every spar, every training session, every time Yuuji hands him chopsticks at the dinner table. It's worse than the forced cheerfulness, which Yuuji can overcome, turning a conversation natural again with time.
It's weird, is all, the enforced space. It doesn't let Yuuji forget, not even for a minute, that things are different now. At first Yuuji resigns himself to getting used to it. Then he imagines months of this, years. He's going to know Gojo for a long time—up until the end. When it's time for him to go, he doesn't want it with Infinity between them.
A week later, Gojo takes him on another field trip, one where Gojo throws Yuuji against the second grade curse he sighted during the course of his own mission against a special grade.
Yuuji goes into the fight with his fists drawn. It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible, either. It’s during battle that Yuuji thinks he might be able to probe at his potential the way Gojo does with only his gaze, grasping fingers digging into cursed energy that is only his by force. It's his for as long as he's still alive, whether he gets any cool tricks alongside it or not.
When Yuuji is knocked flying back, he hits Gojo, who’s suddenly there instead of the wall.
“Easy there, don’t get too eager to crush your skull,” Gojo says, steadying him back up with a layer of air between them. Even with Infinity, his hands don’t linger for longer than to help him up.
Yuuji punches the curse a few more times about it until it doesn’t get up again, until it dissolves into nothingness.
When he returns to Gojo, who’s saying something about a good job, Yuuji lifts his hand. “High five.”
Gojo gamely slaps Infinity against his palm.
Yuuji's patience runs dry. He pokes him in the palm, close as he can get. "Gojo-sensei, it won’t happen again, right? So quit this."
Gojo huffs. It's not a particularly nice sound. "Maybe I need the reminder."
Yuuji tries on the thought. That Gojo’s such an unrepentant predator that he needs a constant reminder to not touch his student. It doesn't fit. “I think you’re just feeling weird." At Yuuji's words, Gojo’s attention sharpens; Yuuji goes on anyway. "Awry, like things got tilted a way they weren't supposed to. You knocked me off-balance, too. Get over it. I liked joking around with you. Unless that was also part of it, but I don’t think it was.”
Gojo’s hand is still hanging in the air. Yuuji taps against Infinity like a door knocker. For a moment, his gaze lingers on the lines of his teacher’s palm, the callouses, the curve of his thumb. Whatever else he does with them, Gojo has nice hands.
Gojo doesn’t make him wait overly long. “It wasn’t. I didn't say it at the time—I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable.”
Yuuji nods. "Yeah, you did." He realizes only now that he did want that apology from Gojo. Now that he's heard it, now that it's out there, it's easier. "It happens. It's not going to be awkward forever, so don't make it awkward forever."
"You should specialize in giving pep talks," Gojo says. Infinity drops; Yuuji’s pointer finger connects with the center of Gojo’s palm. "I hear you. I'll take my wounded pride elsewhere."
Yuuji rolls his eyes, unable to take the thought seriously. As though Yuuji can wound this man's pride when he's never been able to wound his body. "You've been turned down before. You have to have been."
"Very rarely."
"Maybe it's good for you," Yuuji offers. "Keeps you down to earth."
"Does that sound like me?" Gojo muses.
"Not really." Yuuji's teacher is far too strong and far too handsome to ever truly be modest. Maybe when you're the strongest, you lose sight of how the ants might feel about some things. Maybe all of humanity's little worries look small to someone who can hover in the air.
"Well, I can learn," Gojo says, a thread of seriousness to his tone. "Starting now."
When Yuuji goes in for it, Gojo gives him a proper high five this time. The next time they spar, Infinity is gone, and Gojo's blows are just as solid without it. Yuuji loses himself in his post-death adventures, in movies and spars and missions, in Junpei's death and in his own relief to still be alive. And if every so often, Yuuji is lost in Gojo instead, in the definition of his muscles when he takes his jacket off to spar and in his incredible stories of life as a jujutsu sorcerer, then it doesn't have to mean anything, really. He’s made it clear that it doesn’t.
By the time that Yuuji is reunited with Fushiguro and Kugisaki, he and Gojo have found a good rhythm again. Enough to have some nostalgia for the days of watching movies and fighting curses when Yuuji's once again fighting off assassination attempts, this time from the Kyoto school group. But this time around, it's not a hopeless battle, and he has allies old and new. And in the end, when the barrier has fallen and he looks up, he sees Gojo in the air. Hollow Purple really is as breathtaking as he thought it would be.
A few days later, Fushiguro is healed enough for all three of them to hole up in Kugisaki’s dorm room to play Smash. Yuuji and Kugisaki sprawl sideways on Kugisaki’s bed, arms hanging off the side, holding onto controllers as they argue about button-hitting technique. Fushiguro’s on a beanbag beneath them with a plate of sliced fruits and chocolate pieces that he shares with the winner of each round. Yuuji’s convinced his classmate might be as much of a sweets fiend as their teacher, but he hasn’t been able to prove it.
These days, Yuuji knows his classmates better than he once did. Knows Nobara as relentless and brash, knows Megumi as steady and fiercely protective. As the evening winds down, Kugisaki the undisputed winner, Yuuji rolls over onto his back, head hanging off the edge of the bed.
“That won’t help you win,” Kugisaki tells him.
Yuuji, having never before played a video game with other people, doesn't mention that he doesn't mind a loss. Even losing is fun with company. “Maybe it will. Maybe Sukuna has secret video game agility powers that activate when my head is upside down.”
Below him, Fushiguro snorts. He looks pretty funny from this angle, all spiky dark hair. When Yuuji tries to steal a piece of chocolate, hand not quite able to reach all the way down to the floor, Fushiguro lifts the plate up for him.
"I've got something to share," Yuuji says. He’s been meaning to say it, but it hasn't ever been the right time. Maybe it won't ever be. But for all that it's kind of private, he doesn’t want Gojo and himself to forever be the only bearers of that particular moment.
"Are we going through the sleepover checklist?" Nobara asks. She doesn't sound excited about it. “First games, then secret swapping?”
“Maybe it's just that kind of night." It feels like it. Empty bags of chips on the floor, cans of soda within reach, no injuries hounding any of them.
Fushiguro turns fully towards him, no longer angled toward the TV. "What is it?"
Beside him, Kugisaki says, "You had better not be about to declare a crush."
"Nah. Who would I develop a crush on?" Yuuji stops there until it looks like Kugisaki might punch him, then just says it. "Gojo made a pass at me a while back, when I was pretending to be dead. We were joking around. It got less jokey."
Kugisaki's tone sounds like it could manifest her technique's nails. "What did you do?"
"Told him to fuck off, more or less."
"Good," she says. "What the fuck is wrong with him?"
"Many things," Fushiguro says, carefully. His expression is a little too intense. "He stopped?"
"Yeah. Of course he did." Yuuji turns over and sits up properly to more easily look between them. "I just figured I'd ask. Has he done that with you?"
Fushiguro shakes his head.
Kugisaki's in agreement. "No. I'll ask Maki if she's heard anything from the second years or above."
"I don’t want it to—"
"I’ll leave your name out of it. Chill," Kugisaki says. "Maki knows everything. If there's something to it, she'll tell us."
"You're pretty complimentary of Maki. Are you sure you're not the one with a crush?"
"Don't forget I kicked your ass tonight. Do you need like, therapy now?"
Yuuji groans, slumping against the wall. "No. Shut up."
"What, I grew up being warned about this sort of shit, but it’s all new for you as a guy. You’re not trained to expect it." Kugisaki gives him a sympathetic look. "Men aren't as resilient, anyway."
"He didn’t molest me," Yuuji splutters.
"Yeah, well if you liked it, you wouldn’t have asked about us." Kugisaki's expression grows dark. "His dick would have a nail through it if he tried it with me."
From down below, Fushiguro says, "I would summon Mahoraga."
"Get on the bed, weirdo. We can't see you. Bring the snack plate." She shuffles over to make room for him, Yuuji following.
Fushiguro accepts the demand, taking a seat on Yuuji's other side. Yuuji is quick to grab a piece of apple, while Kugisaki goes for the chocolate.
Yuuji contemplates a walk to the vending machines for another bag of chips for a salty crunch with the sweet, but can't be bothered to get up. "What's Mahoraga?"
"It's the most powerful of my shadows."
"I've never seen it before." Not even at the detention center.
Fushiguro shrugs. He doesn't look at either of them as he says, "I've never summoned it. No one's ever been able to defeat it. It's an… end. To everything."
Yuuji shares a look with Kugisaki. Both her eyebrows are up, a comical picture when combined with the fruit she's chewing. Maybe Yuuji doesn't know his friends as well as he thought he did if Fushiguro has a suicide technique that he's never mentioned before.
"As your friends, we get to have your back to keep you from using it, right?" Yuuji bumps his shoulder against Fushiguro's. "Even against Gojo, it's probably overkill."
"He's not annoyed me enough for both of us to die over it," Fushiguro agrees. “Yet.”
Kugisaki huffs. "Got to keep your options open. I bet he's come close a few times."
"He stuck a temporary tattoo on my cheek. It didn't wear off for three weeks."
"Of what?"
"Divine dogs. One on each cheek. It was after I first mastered the technique."
Kugisaki takes another piece of chocolate with a hum. "Objectively funny. He's forgiven. Mahoraga him for something else."
When Fushiguro turns toward Yuuji with an inquiring look, Yuuji lets out a laugh. "No. I’m not encouraging you. Whatever else, I like him. I didn't want to be wrong to like him, that's all."
"You know you're allowed to dislike him," Kugisaki mutters.
With a shrug, Yuuji adjusts his seating position. The dorm room mattresses aren't all that comfortable. "I tried. I managed an hour, but it's impossible, you know? It's Gojo-sensei."
"Tell us if he bothers you again," Fushiguro says. "Immediately. I don't care if you're pretending to be dead again."
Warmth floods Yuuji's chest at Fushiguro's vehemence. "I will. It won't happen again, though." After a while, he asks, "Anything either of you want to get off your chest?"
"None of your business," Kugisaki says.
"Fushiguro?"
"I've had enough for tonight."
"Did I make it awkward?" Yuuji asks.
"Don't be daft," Fushiguro says, shoving the snack plate in Yuuji’s direction.
According to Maki, there's no rumor of Gojo with another student. The only rumors that they're able to drum up are of people Gojo's age or older. Kugisaki still spends the rest of the month glaring at Gojo. Yuuji doesn't delude himself into hoping that Gojo doesn't know why, not when Gojo sends him an over the top hangdog look about it when Kugisaki's glares get too fiery. You did it to yourself, buddy, Yuuji thinks, but he ends up distracting Kugisaki anyway from trying to set Gojo on fire with her eyeballs. Fushiguro's quieter about it, but no less impassioned.
They settle, eventually. Can't hold a grudge forever, not when the grudge goes around bribing you with dinners after missions and sweets at all times of day. Yuuji's the first to sign himself up for sushi and cake, his classmates following suit.
It's rare that Yuuji is left alone with his teacher after the conversation with his friends. Fushiguro arrives early to class, Kugisaki stays late, and dinners out always include at least one of them. Yuuji's kind of embarrassed by it, kind of warmed, kind of irritated, too. He misses spending time with Gojo without two grumpy shadows dogging his steps.
"I'm heading into town after class," Yuuji says one day, his friends busy on the other side of the classroom. "I need to restock my manga collection. Do you want to come with?"
Behind the teacher's desk, Gojo cocks his head. "Are you using me for a free ride?"
"No, that would be rude. I’m trying to get you addicted to my favorite series so that I can borrow manga from you instead of having to go to town."
"A devious plan," Gojo says, lips twitching. "Are you ready to go?"
"What, now?" Yuuji reaches for his backpack. "Yeah. I'm ready."
Gojo tilts his chair to the side to look over in his other students' direction. "Early dismissal for everyone! Don't get up to any trouble."
Without hesitation, Yuuji steps forward, feeling reality fall around him. Behind him, he hears Kugisaki's voice, but it's too late. Gojo warps them to an alley near the bookstore, startling a stray cat who hisses at the both of them. Yuuji takes them by the used bookstore first, where from his backpack he produces an older series that he's lost interest in, exchanging it for a couple Demon Slayer volumes in good condition. Gojo and his outrageously expensive shirts don't fit the store, but he gamely checks out the displays. From there, it's to the new bookstore, where Yuuji makes good use of the pay that is allotted for Jujutsu High students when they take missions. He even got backpay for the missions he took while he was considered dead. Plenty to throw around at manga!
Yuuji loses track of Gojo for a while, walking up and down the shelves of books. For a moment, he feels like he's back in Sendai again at the bookstore in walking distance from his grandfather's home, and then he catches sight of Gojo's white hair in the corner of his vision. A stack of volumes in his hands, Yuuji rejoins Gojo, who's looking down at a display table full of new releases.
Yuuji shifts his books to one hand so that he can hold out his other hand over the cover that Gojo's looking at, censoring it from view. "No, not that one. The superhero mentor pervs on his students. It'll give you bad ideas."
Gojo's hand joins his blindfold in covering his eyes, tilting his head into his hand. "Yuuji," he whines, turning toward him. "I'm not indiscriminate."
"Yeah? What's your criteria?"
"Pink hair and the ability to make me laugh.”
It probably shouldn't feel so good to hear that. Like something out of an after school special, a teacher saying that the student is special with a handy acronym on the screen for things to watch out for. The problem is that it feels good to be wanted even as much as he doesn't quite want Gojo to act on that want. It's something, knowing that the prettiest man Yuuji has ever seen wants him. Yuuji's been wanted before—sweetly, by girls with soft hands—and he's wanted them back just as sweetly. It doesn't feel sweet, the way heat travels through him when he looks at Gojo.
Yuuji lets his hand drop onto the cover. "I should stop teasing you after I accepted your apology."
Gojo's blindfold peeks out from under his hand. Yuuji wishes it were his eyes instead. "You can tease me all you want."
“Don’t tell me being told off is doing it for you,” Yuuji says, leaning against the display table.
When Gojo's hand drops from his face, even the blindfold can’t hide the fond look. And maybe that’s doing it for Yuuji. "Maybe just a little. You get that expression, you know the one. Like you might hunt me for sport if I step out of line."
"And you'd… like that," Yuuji gathers. "That's weird of you."
Gojo smiles winsomely at him. "There's no such thing as a normal jujutsu sorcerer."
That much, Yuuji will believe. "Come on, I'll show you to the series that I think you'll like."
"Not the superhero one?"
"I'm too busy to hunt you for sport, sensei. I have homework due this week."
They grab food together afterward. It feels like sneaking out, never mind that he's doing it alongside a supposed authority figure. With his bag full of manga, Yuuji takes the opportunity to regale his captive audience with a summary of each. He's still holding out some hope that Gojo will be a convert. The guy has a hidden nerdy side that the Lord of the Rings brings out. Maybe he'd be a Golden Kamuy kind of guy.
In between bites, Yuuji gives the matter some thought. While Lord of the Rings might indicate a preference, given Gojo's enthusiasm, the rest of the eclectic collection of movies doesn't. Dusty plastic covers, almost no movies more recent than 2005. "You don't watch the DVDs you own, do you?"
Across from him, Gojo's stirring a fifth sugar packet into his tea. "Not often. They’re the remains of a friend’s collection."
Yuuji doesn’t ask what happened. He knows from his own sojourn with death that jujutsu sorcerers' lives are rarely long.
Gojo see the question on his face anyway. He adds, "He had a singular outlook on life. It wasn’t compatible with being part of jujutsu society. Or any society."
"He sounds…"
"Hm?"
"He sounds like someone you’d be friends with. There being no such thing as a normal jujutsu sorcerer."
Yuuji's words chase away the odd note in Gojo's voice, leaving amusement behind. “Are you hoping to become the first normal one?”
“Nah, it’s too late for me.” He thinks then that maybe Gojo’s never even watched the movies in his collection on his own, maybe not watched them at all save for the few he spoiled. It sits weirdly in his chest, the thought a borrowed bruise. "I used to watch sketch comedy shows with my grandpa. The really old stuff."
"What was his favorite?"
"Hachijidayo Zen'inshūgō! But maybe we only watched it so much because he knew I liked it." Yuuji can't help but smile. "We had a stack of recorded VHS tapes. I kept threatening to digitize them, but he wouldn't let me. He liked the guys who performed in it, the Drifters. Always said that if I dropped out of high school, it would only be acceptable if I was doing it to join a rock and roll band that also did sketch comedy."
"A tall order," Gojo muses. "Are you any good at impressions?"
"You be the judge," Yuuji says, and he starts in on his best ones.
Yuuji's not going to be a rock and roll artist, nor part of a sketch comedy group, nor a jujutsu sorcerer with a long life, but what he can do is enjoy Gojo's laugh and indulge the kid at the table next to his who prompts an impression of his sister's favorite celebrity, the one with the stiff voice.
When Gojo warps them back to Jujutsu High grounds, he walks him back toward the first year dorms. Standing outside with sodas in hand from what must be a return from the vending machines, Fushiguro and Kugisaki look at him like he's their misbehaving child, and Yuuji can't help but grin and wave at them.
"What a good set of glares those two have," Gojo says, quietly enough that it won't be overheard. "You're well-loved."
"You think so?"
Gojo's hand stops halfway in the air. Yuuji remembers the gesture from when Gojo would pat his head sometimes, just one of the easy gestures now gone. "Yes. It's a very, very good thing. Go on now, tell them I didn't eat you up like the big bad wolf."
"How long have you been waiting to make that joke?"
"I have a whole arsenal of little red riding hood puns just waiting to be released," Gojo says, his hand lowering to tug at Yuuji's red hood instead.
Yuuji doesn't manage to get Gojo interested in more than a cursory look at manga, but he does find himself with a partner for monthly bookstore trips. Gojo will leave him in favor of the bookstore's cafe, where he orders two drinks and flips through a magazine before taking out a stack of paperwork and a tablet. It always takes Yuuji a while to join him, to pick up that second drink and lay out his selection of books. Sometimes he lets Gojo pay, sometimes not. Sometimes he looks away from his stack and doesn't notice until it's too late, until there's a receipt lying on top of the stack. Gojo's always so pleased to have gotten away with it.