Chapter Text
Well, I could never betray your love
You had me, heart and soul
You might never have known it, girl
But I was all yours
– Setting Sun, Lord Huron
Neon strobe lights pulsed over Satoru’s skin and throbbed behind his eyes as he downed his seventh shot in the hour.
Even though it wasn’t his first time or even fifth time drinking, he still felt stupefied by how drunk he felt. The environment of the bar didn’t help, he supposed. The culmination of the lights, buzz of chatter and raucous laughs, and the bass in the DJ’s music assaulted him all at once, but Satoru couldn’t find it in himself to care. He wasn’t working. He wasn’t exorcising curses. Here, he was just a very inebriated, charismatic boy who charmed his way into the bar without a fake.
And had managed to charm a couple of fans, apparently. He felt a touch on his forearm and turned, coming face-to-face with the girls who’d been following him around since he arrived. They both had bleached hair, but one was tall, the other short. One constantly smiled and the other didn’t, even when Satoru tried to flirt the pants off her. (This did in fact sting his ego. Slightly.) He then saw her making out with a girl against the wall, so that soothed it.
“We’re going to Velfarre!” the taller one shouted, her words barely reaching Satoru’s ears. “Come with us!”
Shoko loved Velfarre. She’d dragged Satoru and Suguru there multiple times, drawing her long brown hair into a sleek ponytail before disappearing onto the dance floor while Satoru and Suguru nursed their drinks at the bar and fended off hapless girls attempting to steal their dignity. More than once, Shoko would run back and clasp onto one of their arms, telling the newest starstruck boy who’d trailed after her that she was taken. She just came for the dancing, she always said once the unfortunate suitor left in disappointment.
And maybe if it were a different night, Satoru would entertain the idea of following these girls to the club. The liquor warmed the blood in his veins, and he briefly considered ordering another round to convince himself to go.
He glanced back at the tall girl to respond, and at that moment, she offered a shy smile that flashed her perfectly spaced teeth.
She’d been beaming all night, but for whatever reason, his stomach twisted. Satoru Gojo, the most powerful sorcerer in the world, suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to vomit.
Instead, he pasted on his best shit-eating grin. “Sorry to disappoint, ladies, but I’ve got work tomorrow.” He leaned down, smelling the completely wrong, sharp floral scent of her perfume, and kissed her cheek. She giggled and returned one of her own; Satoru felt the waxy residue of her deep red lipstick on his cheekbone and knew there were matching marks all over his neck and chest from the alcove she’d dragged him into earlier.
His stomach lurched again, a warning sign that it was time to leave—and fast. He raised a hand in farewell and then began to push through the ground, shoes squelching against the gin-splattered floor.
Outside, Satoru gulped in big breaths of the cool air. The street around him tilted. Fuck, he was drunk. Spectacularly. He couldn’t wait to fill Suguru in tomorrow. Especially because Suguru had refused to come today, waving him off and providing an obviously fake “Got plans”.
Satoru staggered towards the nearest pay phone. With much difficulty, he fished through his pockets for a couple quarters and deposited them. Sure, he dropped a couple and had to scrounge about on the ground, but he smirked with pride when he finally got the phone ready to dial.
He punched in the number he knew like the back of his hand, and waited.
On the fifth ring, Satoru heard the sound he’d been hoping for.
“You better have a damn good reason to be calling me at two in the morning,” you snapped, but you didn’t sound angry. In fact, quite the opposite. Almost amused. And kind of breathless.
Satoru held the phone closer to his ear, a wave of satisfaction flooding through him. “C’mon, sweet pea, admit it! You stayed up just waiting for me!”
“It may be hard to believe, Satoru, but not everything I do revolves around you.”
“Well, cuddle muffin, today it does!” He paused for dramatic effect. “I’m drunk as fuck and I need you to pick me up.”
“Goddamnit, Toru!”
The world spun around him unpleasantly, and he gripped the phone tighter, as if he’d drop it. Which, knowing him, he probably would. “I’m outside the Roppongi shot bar,” Satoru offered, trying to be helpful.
“The Roppongi shot bar?! That’s what you do on your night off?” Rustling noises came through the receiver, which he imagined was you getting dressed to come get him. You muttered something incomprehensible, which could’ve ranged anywhere from “I’m not a fucking babysitter” to “Curse the gods for putting me in the same country as Satoru Gojo”. “What happened to your cell phone?”
“Um, it died.” A guilty pause. He stumbled against the plastic wing-panel to the left of him before righting himself. “Like four hours ago.”
“Either way, I knew it would be you calling,” you said. “I can almost sense when you’re doing something stupid.”
Satoru grinned like a fool. “Aw, sweetie, one might think we’re telepathically connected soulmates.”
“Toru, you fucking idiot, that sense is always on, because you’re always doing something stupid. And quit with the weird nicknames. I’ll be there in thirty.”
A click, and the receiver droned.
His stomach roiled, and Satoru Gojo, the most powerful sorcerer in the world, promptly bent over and vomited all over the ground.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Forty-five minutes later, a black sedan peeled up to the curb as Satoru sat boneless against the wall of the 24-hour dumpling restaurant next to the pay phone. He tried to straighten himself at its arrival, but he was too drunk and tired to care.
The passenger door opened, and black platform sneakers hit the ground. The sight of them sent a thrill through Satoru, and he couldn’t stop the smile from breaking over his face when you emerged from behind the door.
You didn’t return it, however, instead choosing to march over to him and begin spitting profanities. Colorful, creative profanities that would send his mother into a dead faint.
“Anyways,” you huffed, out of breath from your rant, “let’s get you home.” You reached for his wrists, but he grabbed your hands instead, intertwining your fingers and pulling himself up. Although slightly unsteady, Satoru brightened with pride when he was able to sling an arm over your shoulders without much difficulty.
“You’re my hero, honey-bunny,” he said, nuzzling into the hair at your neck. This close, your perfume filled his nose, a pleasant and subtle soap scent. And…bergamot? Weird.
“Hey! What did I say about the nicknames?” But this time, you were joking, voice light and teasing as you started to guide him towards the car.
Satoru pulled his head back and took the time to look at you. In the dim street lights, shadows covered you, and his blurred vision didn’t help either. But he saw the silver gleam of your piercings—the small hoops up your ear, the studs on either side of your nose, and the curved barbell through the eyebrow you had quirked as you stared back at him questioningly.
“Did you comb your hair today?”
All that did was earn him a well-deserved slap on the head. He rubbed at the ache as you opened the backseat door and ushered him in. Without much grace, he collapsed immediately into the fetal position.
It didn’t last long when he noticed the driver’s black topknot.
Satoru jolted up in his seat just as you also got in and closed the door. “Suguru?”
“I’ll also accept ‘savior’ or even ‘getaway driver’,” his friend quipped back, smiling at him through the rearview mirror.
“What in the name of Yaga’s fucked-up undercut are you doing here?”
“I was available,” Suguru replied at the same time you asked, “What’s wrong with Yaga’s undercut?”
A worm of doubt crept through Satoru’s mind. Suguru hated staying up late—claimed it messed with his “circadian rhythm”. There would be no reason for him to be awake.
Suguru, without taking his eyes off the road, reached back and patted Satoru’s leg consolingly. Or rather, patted his Infinity. “There, there, buddy. I know that drinking yourself into a stupor is hard work.”
But Satoru stilled at the waft of air that Suguru’s arm brought. Bergamot.
“Also, Toru,” you said, turning around to face him, “those lipstick marks all over your face and neck? Totally cliche.”
“Totally,” Suguru echoed.
Despite how his stomach sank further by the minute, Satoru adopted the most aggravating, smug expression he could. “What is there to say? The ladies love me. Maybe a little too much, if you catch my drift.”
You snorted. “What drift? I didn’t hear a drift.”
“You jealous?”
A scoff. “Jealous of a girl getting to chew on your neck? Pass.”
Satoru’s head pounded as Suguru took another turn. His words still managed to come out sultry. “Oh, please. Women would line up simply to stare at my neck, let alone be graced with the opportunity to put their mouth on it.”
“Don’t make me regret picking you up, Satoru Gojo.”
He suddenly experienced a weird desperation to know why Suguru had come to pick him up along with you. “So, Suguru, what plans were so important you couldn’t party with me?”
If he’d been any drunker, he might’ve missed the glance you and Suguru shared. And oh, that made him burn.
“Chores, errands,” Suguru said casually.
But after a year of Suguru’s constant presence, Satoru knew when he was lying. He could read him like a book. Although he wasn’t too sure he’d like the contents of this one if he cracked the spine open. So instead of opening a can of worms that would surely wriggle in his stomach and keep him from sleeping all night, Satoru decided to settle for simply not saying anything and rather stewed in silence.
Up in front, you and Suguru traded whispers, but Satoru’s hearing was so muffled it was indiscernible. He watched the movement of your face almost in fascination, how your brow wrinkled and then smoothed out, how your lips curved around each word you said.
He couldn’t take it anymore. “So does anyone want to explain why Suguru is driving without a license?”
“First of all,” you said, “his current criminal activity is the least of my worries. You’re hammered in the backseat. Underage, mind you. If Suguru has to drive illegally to get you home without accidentally exploding something or activating your technique, so be it.”
“What’s the ‘second of all’?” Satoru blurted out, to which you let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Second of all,” you continued, “which somewhat relates to the first of all, you’re absolutely capernoited right now.”
Satoru blinked. “Cape-what?”
You giggled. “Capernoited. It means peevish, tipsy, or slightly intoxicated. All of which fit you right now.”
“Another word to add to my vocabulary, I guess! All thanks to Dictionary over here. And anyways, that’s a total lie! I’m dead sober.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Toru.”
The sound of you saying his name sent a shiver down his spine. Not just because he’s drunk, and not because he can smell your coconut shampoo. Because he knows the truth.
Satoru Gojo, the most powerful sorcerer in the world, was an amazing liar. Especially to his friends.
By the time Suguru finally pulled up at the base of the mountain leading to Jujutsu High, Satoru was grumpy and ready to go to bed. But first, Suguru and you dragged him up the stone stairs, and then through the courtyard to the dormitory. Suguru left to put away the car, and it was just you and him, staggering down the hallway to his room.
You leaned against the door, arms folded, as he changed, stripping out of his clothes in favor of some pajama pants. Normally, Satoru would tease you for watching him practically undress, but there’s nothing sexual about the tiredness on your face.
He sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes hurt, but Satoru still looked up at you.
Every since you met him, you’d been enamored with his eyes. Satoru wasn’t even being arrogant; he could tell from the way you always held eye contact, the wonder in your own as you stared at him. Tonight was no different. You casted him a small smile, as if telling him it was okay that he’d woken you up to drag him back home.
Satoru flushed with shame. “I’m sorry…for being so capernoited tonight.”
That earned him a small laugh. You pushed yourself off the door and walked towards him. With every step, his heart beat faster. The bed dipped underneath you as you sat next to him.
God, he was drunk. He almost lost in a battle of wills against his more primal self, who wanted to reach out and touch you. Gently, at first, and then rougher, until you were moaning underneath him—
Holy shit, he needed to calm down.
“It’s not a big deal, Toru,” you murmured, brushing a stray piece of his hair away from his forehead. He’d turned his Infinity off as soon as you reached his room. It was always off for you. “It’s just not like you. I was worried.”
“Listen, not to break up the sentimental moment or anything, but I’m Satoru Gojo. I don’t need people to be worried about me. Well…maybe.”
“Friends worry. And you’re my best friend. You and Suguru.”
Ouch.
“Ach, woman! Your words wound me!” He slapped a hand over his heart as if he’d been shot. “If only my charms worked as well on you as they did on that bouncer.”
For a moment, you stared at him, astonished. And then you broke out into a peal of laughter. Not the polite chuckle or giggles from earlier, but your real laugh. The one that sounded like it tore its way out of your throat by force. A somewhat ugly laugh, certainly not a pretty one. Satoru’s favorite laugh to hear.
And as your mouth opened, he caught a flash of the tiny gap between your two front teeth. The one that even three years of braces couldn’t fix, no matter how much you bitched about it.
As you continued laughing, Satoru simply gazed at you, awestruck. By the time you composed yourself, he was smiling too.
“What?” you said.
At first, he only said your name. A pause, and then— “I am madly in love with you.”
Something flared briefly in your eyes, but it was gone just as fast, replaced by that cool amusement you’d had over the phone when he called. The untouchable exterior Satoru hated. “Oh, Toru, you really can’t help but flirt with any woman that crosses your path.”
You stood to leave, and he felt the loss of your warmth next to him as a blow.
Just as you reached the door, he spoke again, desperate to make you stay.
“Since you’re so smart with your fancy words, princess…what’s the word for when someone keeps playing a game they know they’re going to lose?”
Your expression wavered, ever so slightly, so miniscule that Satoru might’ve imagined it. “Masochism, Satoru,” you said, and then you disappeared into the hallway, leaving him alone, drunk, and heartsick in his bed.