The Strongest with the Weakest Heart

“So, let me get this straight.” Geto turned fully toward him. “You’ve been fighting curses for four years—”

“Nine years,” Gojo corrected.

“Nine years,” Geto repeated automatically. Then he stopped abruptly. “Wait. What?”

“You said you started taking missions when you were eleven!”

“Yeah?” Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Solo missions. The ones where I didn’t have to drag a guardian around with me. I’d been going on regular missions since I was eight. And even before that, I started exorcising little curses during training when I was six.”

Geto stared at him.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. Before they let me go alone, missions were pain in the ass. I used to be really short, so they still had to put me in a child car-seat. Most Assistant Managers cars didn’t have them built in, so we usually took the train instead. And let me tell you, most missions took ages to finish just because of the traffic—”

・・・・・

Gojo is forced on a mission to socialize with his classmate.
The experience seems to by mind-blowing for both of them
(Not necessary in a good way)

── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ──

Whumptober Day No. 8
Hidden scar | Non-Fatel drowning | Self-surgery

Notes:

Hiii!! Sorry for posting this so late ;-;
I fell asleep yesterday, and still haven't finished editing, so there might be some mistakes. Nontheless, enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Gojo hated Geto.

No, that wasn’t the correct word.

Gojo despised him.

Yep. That was more accurate.

The only other first-year at Jujutsu High who was also sent on combat missions—and a fucking asshole.

“Are we there yet?” Gojo whined, throwing his head back dramatically as he trudged through the forest.

Geto gave him an unimpressed side-eye and kept walking.

“How the hell am I supposed to know? You’re the one with too many eyes. Look around!”

“That’s not how the technique works—” Gojo stopped himself, sighing dramatically. “You know what? Don’t bother. I asked because you’re the one with a map!”

“We’re in the middle of a forest. The map is absolutely useless.” Geto rolled his eyes, lifting the paper slightly as if it might somehow become more helpful. “Do you feel the curse?”

“Well, no—”

“There’s your answer.”

Fucking asshole.

Gojo sped up, deliberately lengthening his stride, weaving between the trees faster and faster until the distance between them grew.

“Gojo.”

Gojo ignored him.

“Gojo.”

Nope.

Talking with that… weirdo, was beneath him.

“Would you stop walking so damn fast?”

“No.”

Geto sighed and increased his pace, eventually catching up with him. He grabbed the back of Gojo’s sleeve, yanking him to a stop.

“What's your problem?”

“You're walking away from me.”

“Yes.”

“We're supposed to be working together.”

“No, you’re supposed to be working together.” Gojo glanced down at the hand gripping his sleeve. “I’m supposed to find the curse.”

Geto stared at him.

“You do realize we're on the same mission, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

Geto's eye twitched.

He released Gojo's sleeve.

Gojo immediately started walking again.

“Unbelievable,” Geto muttered, following after him.

Stupid Yaga.

Thinking he was so smart, sending the two of them on a mission in the middle of nowhere so they could “get along better.”

Geto was stupid, from a non-sorcerer family and with a technique that made him stink.

Gojo would never—absolutely never-ever—talk to the boy of his own free will.

Just because they were both first-years and semi-special grades didn’t mean they automatically had to get along.

Gojo exchanged a few words with Shoko here and there, and that was enough for him.

He didn’t need allies.

They’d only bring him down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Geto called after him, quickening his pace. “We’re looking for a dangerous curse with over thirty victims—”

“Oh my God, shut up. Literally nobody cares.”

Gojo groaned and threw his head back, nearly walking straight into a tree.

Geto grabbed the back of his uniform and yanked him backward just before his forehead collided with the trunk.

Gojo blinked.

The tree stood inches from his face.

“…I saw that.”

“Sure you did.”

“I was testing you.”

“Of course.”

Gojo turned around and glared at him.

Geto only smiled.

That fucking self-centered idiot though he’d believe him, huh?!

Well, Gojo was an expert at reading the room, and he knew that Geto was a piece of shit who was only trying to make Gojo look like an idiot.

He really thought he was so much better than Gojo?

What a fucking loser.

“Don't look so offended.” Geto raised an eyebrow, sighing.

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Gojo clicked his tongue and started walking again.

“Hey!” Geto huffed, clearly irritated now. “Look. I know you don’t like listening to me, but I’m just saying, the curse is dangerous and you probably shouldn’t be—”

“It’s Grade One.” Gojo rolled his eyes. “Grade. One.”

He fought these when he was ten.

And he did it alone.

He didn’t need some curse boy dragging him down.

“We’re both semi-special grades. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Geto frowned, his grip tightening around the map.

Gojo pulled a small bag of sugar candies from his pocket, popped one into his mouth, and continued walking as if they were discussing the weather.

“This was just a stupid attempt from Yaga to get us together. We’ll be done here in no time and back at Jujutsu High for dinner.” Gojo suddenly perked up. “Oh! I could make a quick stop at that new mochi shop on the way back.”

“Did you even read the mission brief?” Geto asked, squinting at him. “We’re supposed to send out reports as soon as we finish.”

“The higher-ups are a bunch of senile stuck-ups.” Gojo shrugged, unwrapping another candy. “You don’t actually need to listen to them.”

“That’s very disrespectful, Gojo, and—”

Gojo loudly crouched a candy in his mouth, grinning.

“What? Would you like one?” Gojo offered.

Geto pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No!”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “I wouldn’t give it to you anyway.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that? I can’t believe the higher ups even bother with you. I mean, aren’t you—”

“I’m going ahead.”

Gojo couldn’t listen to him anymore.

Sometimes he forgot that Geto knew about Jujutsu society for a few months and he couldn’t automatically expect of him to have knowledge like him.

But hearing him praise the higher ups made his stomach turn.

He could kiss their ass for all he cared, but not in front of him..

“Looking for the curse. The sooner we finish, the sooner we get back.”

Geto looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he simply sighed and let Gojo walk ahead.

Gojo wandered through the trees for a few moments in silence, eventually popping a sugar candy into his mouth.

He wanted to be back at Jujutsu High.

This mission was stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

A sudden wave of cursed energy rolled through him.

Damn.

Gojo’s steps slowed.

Then he sped up again, squinting as he moved deeper into the forest. The barely visible trail disappeared behind him, branches scraping against his uniform as he pushed through them.

Something was wrong.

His instincts were screaming at him to turn around.

Well.

Gojo wasn’t exactly well known for listening to his instincts.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of what seemed like dozens of smaller curses. They scattered the moment they noticed him, scrambling between the trees in an attempt to escape.

Gojo grinned.

“Oh, come on.”

He raised one hand.

Small flashes of Blue tore through the forest, catching the curses one after another and exorcising them mercilessly. Gojo barely broke stride as he continued forward, brushing his glasses back into place afterward.

But the cursed energy he had felt deep in his bones still hadn’t disappeared.

Which only meant—

“You asshole!”

Gojo’s eyes snapped toward Geto, who was standing several meters behind him.

Geto looked furious.

“You exorcised my curse!”

“Well…” Gojo pushed his glasses up his nose. “How the hell was I supposed to know?!”

“I told you!”

Geto marched toward him, the map crumpled slightly in one hand.

“I showed you the curse and told you, ‘This curse will give us directions to where we need to look. Please don’t exorcise it.’ What part of that did you not understand?”

Gojo stared at him.

“…It shouldn’t be so weak, then.”

“Gojo!”

“What?”

Geto dragged both hands down his face.

“Great. Fantastic. I hope you realize that we don’t have any directions now.”

He looked around the endless forest.

“We’re lost. Congratulations.”

“We still have the map,” Gojo pointed out.

Geto slowly turned his head toward him.

“The map is two decades old.”

Gojo blinked.

“And this part of the forest isn’t even on it anymore. The signal is shit, and my curse was the only thing showing us where to go.”

He stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Gojo’s chest.

“Fucking fantastic. You fuck up like always. You’ve got a real talent for that.”

Gojo frowned.

He opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden roar tore through the air.

Both boys froze.

Something shifted between the trees.

Then an enormous yellow eye appeared in the darkness. A massive pupil narrowed as it focused on them.

Neither boy moved.

“…Gojo?” Geto whispered hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

The creature shifted again, branches snapping beneath its weight.

“What the hell is that?”

“That?”

Gojo’s grin slowly spread across his face.

“That’s our curse.”

Geto’s head tilted slightly toward him, though he still refused to take his eyes off the creature.

“Why didn’t you mention it earlier?!”

“I wanted to. But someone” he sent Geto a mean stare. “Distracted me and I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

Geto’s eye twitched.

“Are you fucking stupid or something?” he whisper-shouted.

“You were the one yelling at me!” Gojo hissed back. “I panicked!”

At the sound of their voices, the creature finally lifted its head.

Oh wow.

It was… beautiful.

It looked like a massive white dragon.

The huge amount of cursed energy that the curse shone with made him smile.

Its jaws opened.

The roar that followed shook the trees around them.

Holy shit that was awesome.

“We have to run!” Geto yelled.

He grabbed Gojo by the wrist and immediately started dragging him backward.

“What?! No!”

Gojo grinned at him almost manically.

“We have to fight!”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

Geto dragged him sideways just as the curse tore a tree from the ground and hurled it toward them. The trunk crashed through the space where they had been standing seconds earlier.

“This is not the time to compare egos!”

“I never ran from a mission!”

“This is not our mission!” Geto snapped immediately. “It’s obviously a Special Grade! You have to know that!”

Another tree cracked.

Geto shoved Gojo down just as a branch swept overhead.

“Our curse probably got eaten by it!” Geto shouted. “We have to run!”

Gojo stared at the dragon.

His grin widened.

“No.”

Geto stared at him.

“…No?”

Gojo suddenly ripped his wrist free.

“Gojo!”

A second tree came crashing down between them.

Both boys jumped in opposite directions, landing hard on the forest floor.

Gojo pushed himself upright, brushing dirt from his uniform.

Then he smiled.

Instead of backing away, he raised his hand.

Cursed energy gathered around his palm.

“Gojo, don't—”

“Blue.”

The air warped.

The ground beneath his feet cracked.

Then Gojo launched himself straight toward the dragon.

“GOJO!”

Geto stared in disbelief for half a second.

“You absolute fucking idiot!”

Geto cursed loudly.

Then, without a second of hesitation, tightened his grip around the map, stuffed it into his uniform, and ran after him.

Because, apparently, dying alone was somehow worse than dying with Gojo.

“If we die, I’m killing you!”

Gojo laughed.

The dragon's head snapped toward him.

Its enormous jaws opened.

Gojo twisted sideways just as a blast of cursed energy tore through the trees. The force sent branches flying past his head. He barely registered them before Blue pulled him forward again, dragging his body through the air.

“Too slow!”

He appeared directly in front of the dragon's face.

The thing's yellow eye widened.

Gojo grinned.

“Got you.”

His fist slammed into its jaw.

The impact cracked through the forest.

The dragon's head whipped sideways, its enormous body stumbling backward. Several trees snapped beneath its weight.

Gojo landed lightly on his feet.

He looked at his hand.

“Huh.”

That had actually hurt.

Reinforcing his body with cursed energy and Infinity didn’t seem to do the trick.

The dragon recovered almost immediately.

“Okay,” Gojo muttered, his grin widening. “You're fun.”

A curse surged forward.

Gojo disappeared.

The dragon's claws tore through empty air.

He reappeared above its head, twisting in midair before driving his heel down.

The curse crashed into the ground.

Gojo landed on its back and immediately released another Blue.

The space around his hand distorted as the dragon was dragged violently toward the center of the technique. Its claws gouged trenches into the earth as it resisted.

“Come on.”

Gojo pushed harder.

The ground beneath them fractured.

The dragon roared.

Then something slammed into its side.

A mass of cursed energy erupted against its ribs.

Gojo glanced sideways.

Geto stood several meters away, one hand raised, another curse beside him.

“Don't hog the fight,” Geto gave him a look that almost resembled a smile. “You’re being greedy.”

Gojo blinked.

“I'm not hogging it.”

“You’ve been attacking it by yourself.”

“You're slowing me down.”

“I've been trying to keep you from getting killed!”

“That's basically the same thing.”

Geto's eye twitched.

“You are unbelievable.”

The dragon suddenly swung its tail.

Both boys jumped.

The tail smashed through the trees between them, making the remaining birds and small animals scatter away.

Gojo landed on a branch and Geto landed on the ground below.

They looked at each other.

“Left!” Geto shouted.

Gojo moved right.

“Your other left!”

“Oh.”

The dragon lunged.

Gojo grabbed the edge of its jaw and used Blue to pull himself away just as its teeth snapped shut.

Geto's curse attacked from behind.

The dragon turned, revealing a small opening right under his jawline.

“Now!”

Geto's curse struck.

Gojo fired Blue.

The two attacks collided with the dragon at almost the exact same moment.

The curse screamed, its body being thrown backward.

Gojo landed and immediately turned toward Geto.

“I admit,” Gojo coughed into his hand. “I might be a little too harsh on your pets–”

“You mean curses?”

“Minor detail,” Gojo waved him off. “But they’re actually not that awful in a fight.”

Geto stared at him with an unbelievingly shocked look in his eyes. His face scrunched ina grimace.

“If you’re trying to compliment me, you’re doing a shit job.”

Gojo rolled his eyes.

“And you nearly pulled my curse into your technique. Don’t think I didn’t saw that!”

Gojo loudly groaned, protesting.

“But I didn't.”

“That isn't the point!”

The dragon rose, as if tired of their bickering. Its body trembled.

Both boys turned to it.

There was no way, no fucking way—

The wounds began closing.

Yikes.

Gojo’s grin disappeared.

The torn flesh pulled back together with uncomfortable snaps and crounches. The broken scales reformed, falling to the ground with the dragon’s painful scream, and new forming instead.

The damage they’d inflicted was disappearing right before their eyes.

Geto’s expression hardened.

“It’s… regenerating.”

“Yup.”

“That wasn’t in the report.”

Oh right.

Geto actually liked the higher ups.

Gojo’s lingering amusement faded as the memory struck him. “Get used to it.”

His eyes turned cold and hard. “Since your beloved higher ups have a bad habit of fucking up grading and information giving.”

Geto frowned.

“...I think our curse was killed by this.”

“I don’t care what you think.” Gojo glanced over his shoulder at his clueless, naive classmate. “I’m just giving you a suggestion as a sorcerer to sorcerer to trust your guts and not the government.”

And if he doesn’t take Gojo seriously…

Well, then let’s say his chances of survival to the end of the semester were slim.

Geto looked like he wanted to fight, but changed his mind at the last moment.

The dragon charged.

He moved.

So did Geto.

Gojo went high.

Geto went low.

Their attacks landed almost simultaneously.

The dragon staggered.

Gojo twisted through the air and gathered cursed energy in his palm.

He could do this.

He knew he could.

His body already knew the rhythm of a fight like this.

Move.

Observe.

Predict.

Strike.

The dragon swung.

Gojo slipped beneath the claw.

Blue.

The curse was dragged forward.

Gojo accelerated.

His fist connected with its chest.

The dragon screamed.

Another Blue.

Another strike.

Another.

The curse crashed through three trees before finally hitting the ground.

Gojo landed in front of it.

It wasn't getting back up.

He could feel it.

Its cursed energy had dropped sharply.

There.

Gojo raised his hand.

“Geto, move.”

“What?”

“MOVE!”

Geto looked toward him.

Then toward the dragon.

Then back toward Gojo.

“What are you—”

Gojo released the attack.

Blue exploded outward.

The forest shook.

The dragon was dragged violently toward him, trees splintering around its body as the technique ripped through the clearing.

Gojo smiled.

He had it.

He—

“GOJO!”

He heard Geto scream.

Gojo's eyes snapped toward him.

Geto was standing beneath a cluster of broken trees.

One of the dragon's earlier attacks had brought half the forest down around him.

A massive section of rock and earth was collapsing directly above him.

Gojo's stomach dropped.

Shit.

He had the dragon just where he wanted. If Geto could just wait a few moments, after he’s done, he’d survive.

Right?

“Fuck!”

Gojo changed direction.

Blue snapped toward Geto instead, cursed energy flaring around his hand as he shot across the clearing. Above them, the unstable earth gave way with a deafening crack. Rocks and broken branches came tumbling down, tearing through the trees as the ground shuddered beneath their feet.

Gojo reached Geto a split second before the debris hit. He wrapped an arm around his waist, yanked him away from the falling rocks, and twisted his own body to shield him. They crashed into the ground together, Gojo taking the brunt of the impact as he curled over Geto and tightened his grip around him.

The world disappeared beneath a deafening roar. Earth and splintered wood slammed down around them, sending a wave of dust across the clearing. Something struck Gojo's shoulder, followed by another brutal impact against his back. He gritted his teeth and hunched lower over Geto, protecting his head as another chunk of earth crashed down beside them.

For several seconds, there was nothing but darkness, the taste of dirt, and the muffled rumble of debris settling around them.

Then, finally, silence.

Gojo coughed, dragging in a lungful of dust-choked air. His entire body ached, but nothing felt broken. Probably.

“...You alive?”

Geto groaned beneath him. “Unfortunately.”

“Good.”

Gojo pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, wincing as a sharp pain flared across his shoulder. A fallen tree lay beside them, its thick trunk partially buried beneath rocks and tangled branches. He scrambled to his feet, then grabbed Geto by the arm and hauled him upright.

“Come on.” He tugged him toward the remains of the massive tree. “Let's get out of here before the rest of the fucking forest decides to fall on us.”

They stumbled behind the trunk, coughing through the lingering dust. Gojo leaned against the rough bark, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He'd barely managed to straighten up when Geto shoved him away.

“What the hell was that?”

Gojo blinked at him. “What?”

“You abandoning the mission! What else?”

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

“You could've finished this stupid mission, and we'd be done!” Geto threw his arms out in disbelief. “I didn't ask for your help!”

Gojo's eyebrows shot up. He stared at Geto for a beat, genuinely baffled, before his expression twisted into an incredulous scowl.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Next time, I'll just let the giant fucking tree crush you.” His voice sharpened with every word. “Yaga sent me here to look after you so you don't die. How do you think he's going to react if I leave you buried under half a fucking forest, huh?”

Geto stared at him as though he'd just grown a second head.

“Oh, and by the way, you're welcome.” Gojo pushed away from the tree and brushed dirt off his uniform with several irritated swipes. “Asshole.”

Geto groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “I had it,” he muttered into his palms. “I was just summoning a curse that would've lifted it off me. I didn't need your help!”

Gojo paused halfway through brushing a clump of dirt from his sleeve.

“...What?”

“Yeah!” Geto dropped his hands and glared at him. “I told you about my curses. Were you not listening?”

Gojo opened his mouth to protest. There was absolutely no way he'd missed something that important. He was an excellent listener. When he felt like it.

Before he could defend himself, Geto waved a hand dismissively.

“Who am I kidding? Of course you weren't.”

“Hey—”

Geto stepped closer, gesturing furiously toward the clearing where the last of the dust still hung between the trees. “You need to stop underestimating me! Just because I'm new to this doesn't mean I'm incapable. We're both graded the same, for fuck's sake!”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Gojo's mouth curled into a mocking smile. “Is me making sure you aren't dead bothering you?”

“YES!” Geto shouted.

His voice echoed through the trees. He took a sharp breath, visibly trying to get himself under control, but the irritation had already taken hold.

“We could've been on our way home right now,” he continued, more quietly but no less furiously. “Instead, we're still here, wasting time because you decided to play the fucking hero!”

Gojo scoffed and folded his arms across his chest.

“You know, you're pretty ungrateful.”

“You're an idiot!”

“And you're alive because I'm an idiot.”

“I just told you, I could've—”

“Yada, yada, yada. I don't care.”

Geto's mouth fell open. For a moment, he looked genuinely speechless, which Gojo privately considered a personal achievement.

“...You are the most infuriating person I've ever met.”

Gojo tilted his head, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Thank you.”

“That wasn't a compliment!”

“I choose to take it as one.”

Geto made a strangled noise and threw his hands up. “I swear, when we get out of here, I will kill you—”

The forest went silent.

Both boys froze.

The sudden absence of sound was almost worse than the crash had been. Even the distant rustling of leaves seemed to have stopped. Gojo's smile faded as he slowly turned his head toward the clearing.

Through the drifting dust, two enormous yellow eyes stared back at them.

The dragon stood among the wreckage, its long neck arched over the fallen trees. Its scales gleamed through the haze, and its pupils narrowed as it fixed its attention on the two boys. The ground beneath its claws cracked under its weight.

Gojo stared at it.

“...Oops.”

Geto's face fell.

“Oh, shit.”

The dragon roared.

The fallen tree behind them exploded as its claws tore through the trunk, sending splinters flying in every direction. Gojo lunged forward, grabbed Geto by the shoulder, and threw him sideways just as the massive talons ripped through the space where they'd been standing.

They hit the ground hard and rolled apart. Gojo scrambled onto one knee, throwing an arm over his head as a shower of wood chips rained down around him.

“See?” Geto yelled, scrambling to his feet. “This is your fault!”

“Now isn't the time!”

“You were the one who started yelling!”

“You were yelling too!”

“You started it!”

The dragon swung its tail.

Gojo dropped low, the massive appendage whipping over his head with enough force to send a gust of wind through his hair. Geto, unfortunately, wasn't quite fast enough. The edge of the tail caught him across the side and sent him tumbling through the dirt.

“Geto!”

Gojo thrust out his hand. Blue flared to life, distorting the air as the dragon was violently pulled sideways. Its claws gouged deep trenches into the earth as it fought against the force, giving Geto just enough time to roll onto his stomach and push himself upright.

He shook his head, spitting dirt from his mouth.

“I'm fine!”

“Good!”

“Stop worrying about me!”

“I'm not!”

“You literally just yelled my name!”

“Because you looked stupid!”

Geto stared at him in disbelief. “I hate you!”

“Get in line!”

Geto snapped his hand forward, summoning another curse. The creature surged out of the swirling cursed energy and lunged at the dragon's exposed flank, its jaws snapping shut around a section of scales. Gojo moved at the same time, rushing in from the opposite side and driving a blow into the dragon's head.

For a moment, their timing was perfect.

The dragon staggered between them, its roar shaking the branches overhead.

Then it twisted with a speed neither of them expected.

Its claws swept across Gojo's side. Pain flashed through him as the impact caught him off guard and flung him backward. He hit the ground, skidded through the dirt, and rolled onto his shoulder before coming to a stop against a tree.

“Gojo!”

He sucked in a breath and pushed himself upright, one hand pressed briefly against his side. It hurt like hell, but nothing felt seriously damaged. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Still annoying, though.

“I'm fine!” he shouted before Geto could ask.

“I didn't ask!”

“Sounded like you were about to!”

“Shut up and get moving!”

Gojo grinned despite himself, then straightened as the dragon turned toward him. Its huge head lowered, yellow eyes locking onto him while its claws scraped through the earth. Cursed energy churned beneath its scales, and the muscles along its neck bunched as it prepared to charge.

“Come on,” Gojo muttered, raising one hand.

The dragon lunged.

Gojo held his ground, watching it close the distance. Its jaws opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and the ground trembled beneath its pounding feet.

One second.

Two.

Then a curse slammed into the dragon from behind.

The creature lurched forward, its jaws snapping shut inches from Gojo's face. He slipped sideways, barely avoiding its teeth, and glanced over his shoulder to see Geto directing his curse with a sharp movement of his hand.

Gojo flashed him a grin.

“Nice one.”

“Don't sound so surprised!”

“I wasn't.”

“You sounded surprised!”

“Fight now, argue later!”

“Finally, something smart!”

Gojo laughed and launched himself back into the fight.

This time, neither of them got in the other's way.

Geto sent his curses darting in from different angles, forcing the dragon to turn its head and divide its attention. Whenever it lunged for one of them, the other struck from its blind spot. Gojo used Blue to wrench the creature off balance, dragging its enormous body away from Geto just as another curse clamped onto its hind leg. Geto took advantage of the opening, sending a second curse snapping at its throat.

The dragon thrashed, shaking off the smaller spirits and sweeping its tail through the clearing. Gojo leaped over the blow, twisting in midair before landing on a fallen trunk. Geto ducked beneath the same attack, his hair whipping across his face as the tail smashed into the tree behind him.

“Left!” Geto shouted.

Gojo moved without questioning him, throwing himself aside as the dragon's claws tore through the spot he'd occupied a heartbeat earlier.

“Got it!”

“Stop sounding so happy!”

“Can't help it! You're finally useful!”

“I'm going to shove you into its mouth!”

“Save the flirting for later!”

“THAT IS NOT—”

The dragon roared over them, cutting Geto off. Gojo laughed, then darted forward as Geto's curses forced the creature to raise its head. A burst of Blue pulled the dragon's upper body sideways, exposing the vulnerable stretch beneath its jaw. Geto seized the opportunity, sending a curse straight into the opening.

The dragon recoiled with a furious shriek.

For a few glorious seconds, they almost looked like they'd been fighting together for years. Geto anticipated Gojo's movements; Gojo adjusted to Geto's attacks. They didn't need to agree on anything to recognize an opening when the other created one. Their movements fell into a rhythm, clumsy around the edges but effective enough to keep the dragon on the defensive.

Then the dragon caught Gojo.

Its front claw swept forward and struck him squarely in the chest.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. His feet left the ground, and the world flipped violently around him as he was hurled backward. Trees blurred past in streaks of green and brown. He tried to twist in the air, to find his footing, to grab onto something—anything—but there was nothing within reach.

He hit a branch hard enough to snap it, bounced off the trunk behind it, and kept flying.

Then the ground vanished beneath him.

Gojo's eyes widened as the river rushed up to meet him.

“Oh.”

The water swallowed him whole.

The impact was brutal. Freezing water closed over his head, stealing what little air remained in his lungs. For a moment, his body seized against the shock, and the world became a blur of bubbles and fractured light. He sank beneath the surface, his jacket dragging heavily around him as the current caught at his limbs.

Above him, the river's surface shimmered like a distant sheet of glass.

He could hear something—or thought he could. A shout, muffled by the water and the pounding in his ears.

“GOJO!”

Geto.

Gojo tried to move.

His arms felt impossibly heavy. He kicked, but his legs barely responded, and the pain spreading across his chest made it difficult to draw a proper breath. He tried again, forcing his hands to work, willing his body to turn toward the light.

Move.

He knew he could move.

He was Satoru Gojo. He was the strongest. He wasn't going to drown in some stupid river after surviving a stupid dragon and spending an entire morning arguing with an even stupider curse user.

Move, damn it.

His fingers twitched, but the surface remained far above him. The current rolled him sideways, and the light fractured into wavering ribbons that blurred every time he tried to focus on them.

Geto's going to be pissed.

The thought was so absurd that, for one fleeting moment, Gojo almost laughed. He could already imagine the look on Geto's face, the furious shouting, the inevitable lecture about how Gojo never listened to anyone and how this was somehow, inexplicably, all his fault.

He wanted to tell him to shut up.

He wanted to tell him that he was fine.

But his limbs wouldn't cooperate, and his lungs were burning, and the cold was seeping deeper into him with every passing second.

The light above him dimmed.

Gojo's eyelids grew heavy as the current carried him farther from the surface. He made one last, feeble attempt to reach upward, his fingers brushing through empty water.

Then the darkness pulled him deeper.

And Gojo stopped fighting it.

Geto watched Gojo disappear beneath the river.

For one stupid second, he simply stood there.

The water churned where Gojo had fallen, white foam breaking against the rocks before the current swept it downstream. There was no flash of Blue, no familiar white head emerging from the water, no obnoxious voice yelling about how he had totally meant to do that.

Nothing.

“Gojo?”

The dragon roared.

Geto barely had time to turn before a massive claw came swinging toward him.

“SHIT!”

He threw himself sideways.

The claws tore through the ground where he had been standing, sending dirt and broken branches flying. Geto rolled across the forest floor, hit a tree root, and scrambled back to his feet.

Right.

The giant fucking dragon.

He still had a giant fucking dragon to deal with.

“Fine!” he shouted, more to himself than anything else. “Fine. I'll deal with you first!”

He raised his hand.

The curses remaining at his disposal surged forward, attacking from different directions. One clamped its jaws around the dragon's hind leg while another lunged for its throat. A third swept through the air, forcing the creature to turn its head away from Geto.

It was working.

Sort of.

Geto darted between the trees, directing his curses with quick movements of his hands. He was tired, his uniform was torn, and his ribs hurt every time he breathed too deeply, but he could still fight. He had to.

The dragon's tail swept through the clearing.

Geto ducked behind a boulder.

The impact shattered it.

Fragments of stone struck his shoulder and cheek. He hissed, stumbling back, and immediately sent another curse toward the creature's exposed side.

It struck.

The dragon screamed, staggering several steps.

“That's it!” Geto yelled. “Keep standing still, you oversized lizard!”

The creature's yellow eyes snapped toward him.

“…Right. Maybe don't insult it.”

The dragon reared up.

Cursed energy gathered around its open jaws.

Geto's stomach dropped.

He threw himself behind the remains of a fallen tree just as the blast tore through the clearing. The force lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the earth. For a few seconds, his ears rang so loudly that he couldn't hear anything else.

When he finally pushed himself up, coughing dust from his lungs, the clearing looked like a disaster zone.

Trees lay broken across the ground. The boulder he'd been hiding behind had been reduced to rubble, and several of his curses had already been exorcised.

The dragon was still standing.

Of course it was.

Geto wiped the blood trickling from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Are you kidding me?”

The creature's wounds were already beginning to close.

He had seen curses regenerate before, but this was ridiculous. Every attack seemed to buy him only a few seconds before the damage disappeared.

He needed Gojo.

The thought came so naturally that Geto almost hated himself for it.

Gojo would have figured something out by now. He would have been grinning like an idiot, throwing himself at the dragon again and again until something worked. He would probably have come up with a ridiculously reckless plan, called Geto boring for questioning it, and then somehow pulled it off.

But Gojo was in the river.

And Geto had no idea whether he was even alive.

The dragon lunged.

Geto barely dodged in time. Its claws caught the edge of his uniform, tearing the fabric and leaving a stinging line across his side.

“Fuck!”

He stumbled away, summoning another curse.

It was smaller than the others, and its movements were sluggish. Geto could feel how much cursed energy he had already spent. The fight was draining him faster than he could compensate for.

The curse lunged at the dragon.

The dragon opened its jaws and swallowed it whole.

Geto stared.

“…You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The dragon's gaze shifted toward him.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then the creature turned.

It crashed through the trees, moving deeper into the forest with startling speed. Branches snapped beneath its weight, and the ground trembled with each heavy footfall.

Geto stood there, breathing hard.

He waited for it to turn back.

It didn't.

The last of its cursed energy faded into the distance.

It was leaving.

The realization took a few seconds to settle in.

The dragon had escaped.

He had lost most of his curses, sustained several injuries, and accomplished absolutely nothing.

And Gojo—

Geto spun toward the river.

“Gojo!”

He ran.

Branches whipped against his face as he forced his way through the undergrowth. He nearly slipped on the muddy bank, caught himself against a tree, and looked frantically across the rushing water.

Nothing.

“Gojo!”

The river was wide and fast, its surface broken by rocks and the occasional fallen branch. The current rushed downstream, disappearing around a bend where the trees grew thick along the banks.

Geto's heart began to pound.

He's Gojo Satoru.

He repeated it to himself as though it were an answer.

He's the strongest. He can handle himself.

Gojo could dodge attacks that would have killed other sorcerers. He could manipulate space itself. He had spent the entire afternoon acting as if nothing in the world could touch him.

He couldn't possibly have drowned in a river.

Could he?

Geto stared at the water.

“Gojo, you fucking idiot,” he whispered.

Then he jumped in.

The cold hit him like a physical blow.

His breath caught in his throat, and the current immediately dragged at his legs. Geto forced himself beneath the surface, blinking against the water as he searched the riverbed.

He couldn't see anything.

He kicked harder, moving around a cluster of rocks.

Nothing.

His lungs began to burn.

He surfaced, dragged in a breath, and pushed wet hair out of his eyes.

“GOJO!”

The river answered with rushing water.

Geto took another breath and went under.

He searched farther downstream, feeling blindly around the rocks and submerged branches. His fingers caught on something—fabric.

He grabbed it.

For one terrible second, the current pulled against him so hard that he thought he might lose his grip.

Then he saw white hair drifting beneath the surface.

Gojo.

Geto's heart lurched.

He seized Gojo's uniform and hauled him toward the surface, kicking with everything he had. The current fought him the entire way, pulling them sideways and forcing them against the rocks, but he refused to let go.

When they finally broke through the surface, Geto gasped.

“Gojo! Gojo, you absolute—”

Gojo's head lolled against his shoulder.

His eyes were closed.

He wasn't moving.

Geto's words died in his throat.

“Gojo?”

He shook him.

Nothing.

“Hey. Hey, stop fucking around.”

Gojo's face was frighteningly pale beneath his wet hair. His lips had lost their color, and water streamed from his clothes as Geto struggled to keep both of them above the surface.

“Gojo!”

No response.

Geto tightened his grip around him and fought his way toward the bank. His arms were trembling by the time his feet finally found the riverbed, and he practically dragged Gojo through the shallows before collapsing onto the muddy ground beside him.

For several seconds, he could only breathe.

Then he looked at Gojo.

“Okay.”

His voice sounded strange.

Too quiet.

“Okay, come on. Get up.”

He grabbed Gojo's shoulder and shook him again.

“Gojo. We're done. The dragon's gone. You can stop pretending to be dead now.”

Nothing.

Geto pressed two fingers against Gojo's neck.

There.

A pulse.

Faint, but there.

Relief surged through him so suddenly that his hands almost gave out.

“Okay. Okay, good.”

Gojo still wasn't breathing.

Geto stared at him.

His mind seemed to stop working.

He knew what to do. He had received first-aid training. He'd seen injured sorcerers before. He knew how to recognize when someone needed help.

But it was Gojo.

It was the obnoxious bastard who had spent the entire mission annoying him, stealing his map, and charging at a Special Grade like he was invincible.

It was the idiot who had abandoned a chance to finish the curse because Geto had been about to get crushed.

And now he was lying on the riverbank, completely still.

“Come on,” Geto whispered.

He tilted Gojo's head back, checked his airway, and began CPR, forcing himself to concentrate on the task rather than the frightening stillness of Gojo's body.

“Come on, Satoru.”

The name slipped out before he could stop it.

He froze for half a heartbeat.

Then he continued.

“Don't you dare do this. You hear me? You don't get to drag me into this stupid mission, nearly get me killed, and then die on me.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

He swallowed hard and kept going.

“You still owe me a map. You owe me an apology. And you owe me about a hundred fucking mochi for having to deal with you.”

He pressed down again, counting under his breath.

“Come on.”

Nothing.

“Come on!”

He gave rescue breaths and resumed compressions, his wet hands shaking with exhaustion. The river rushed behind him, indifferent to everything happening on its bank.

Geto had never hated silence so much.

“Please.”

The word barely made it past his lips.

He kept going.

He didn't know how long it took.

It felt like hours.

Then Gojo's body jerked.

Water spilled from his mouth as he coughed violently, his chest convulsing with the effort of drawing breath. Geto immediately turned him onto his side, supporting him while he choked and gasped.

“That's it,” Geto said, his voice suddenly unsteady. “That's it. Breathe.”

Gojo coughed again.

He sucked in a ragged breath, then another, each one sounding painfully thin.

Geto stayed beside him, one hand braced against his shoulder.

“Easy. Don't try to get up.”

Gojo's eyes remained shut.

His breathing was shallow, but it was there.

He was breathing.

Geto bowed his head.

For a moment, he couldn't do anything except sit in the mud and listen to it.

Then he laughed once.

It wasn't a particularly pleasant sound.

“You absolute fucking asshole.”

Gojo didn't answer.

Geto looked down at him, the laugh dying almost immediately.

“Don't do that again.”

The words came out quieter than he'd intended.

“Seriously.”

Gojo remained unconscious.

Geto sat back on his heels and dragged a trembling hand over his face.

He was going to kill him.

He was absolutely, definitely going to kill him.

Just as soon as Gojo woke up.

The temperature dropped as the light faded.

Geto hadn't noticed at first. He'd been too busy checking Gojo's breathing, trying to determine the extent of his injuries, and searching his own pockets for a phone that had, predictably, stopped working after their swim.

By the time he realized how cold he was, his teeth were chattering.

Gojo was worse.

His clothes were soaked through, his hair clung to his forehead, and he hadn't stirred since the coughing fit. There was a nasty bruise spreading along his ribs, and blood had dried near his temple. Geto couldn't tell whether the head injury was serious, which was an unpleasant thought he kept trying to shove away.

He needed to get them warm.

He also needed to get Gojo somewhere safe, find help, and report the escaped Special Grade.

Preferably without dying of hypothermia in the process.

“Brilliant,” Geto muttered. “Absolutely brilliant.”

He looked toward the forest.

The dragon was gone, but he didn't know how far away it had gone or whether it might return. He couldn't risk carrying Gojo too far while he was unconscious, especially with his own injuries.

So he found a sheltered spot beneath a rocky outcrop, away from the riverbank, and carefully dragged Gojo beneath it.

Gojo's head lolled against his arm.

“Sorry,” Geto muttered automatically, adjusting his grip so he wouldn't jostle him too much. “You're heavy.”

He paused.

“Actually, no, you're not. You're just being difficult.”

Gojo didn't respond.

Geto hated that.

He gathered fallen branches from beneath the trees, searching for dry wood under the thicker roots and rocky overhang. Most of it was damp, but he managed to find enough relatively dry twigs and bark to start a small fire.

His first attempt failed.

His second attempt failed, too.

Geto stared at the pathetic curl of smoke rising from the kindling.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He tried again.

This time, a tiny flame caught.

Geto crouched beside it, carefully feeding it thin twigs until it grew into a modest fire. The warmth was weak, but it was better than nothing.

He dragged Gojo closer, keeping him away from the flames while trying to shelter him from the wind. He found a relatively dry section of his own uniform and used it to wipe water from Gojo's face, then settled beside him, rubbing his own hands together for warmth.

He should have been thinking about the mission.

About the escaped curse.

About how he was going to explain to Yaga that they had somehow managed to lose their target, destroy half a forest, and nearly drown one of the strongest sorcerers of their generation.

Instead, he kept looking at Gojo's chest.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Every breath was a small, infuriating reassurance.

Geto pulled his knees toward his chest and stared into the fire.

“You know,” he said after a while, “if you die, I'm telling everyone you cried.”

The flames crackled.

Gojo remained still.

“And I'm telling them you begged me to save you.”

Nothing.

“And that you said I'm your best friend.”

Geto glanced at him.

“Actually, no. That one's too embarrassing. Nobody would believe it.”

He waited.

For a stupid comment.

For a sleepy groan.

For Gojo to crack one eye open and tell him he was being dramatic.

Anything.

The silence stretched.

Geto looked back at the fire.

“I'm not thanking you, by the way.”

His fingers curled against his knees.

“You made the wrong call. You could've finished the curse. You should've finished the curse.”

He swallowed.

“But…”

The word caught.

Geto pressed his lips together, annoyed at himself.

“But you didn't have to save me.”

He stared at the flames until his eyes began to sting.

“You didn't have to do that.”

Gojo didn't move.

Geto exhaled shakily and leaned back against the rock.

He was still angry.

He was angry that Gojo had been reckless. Angry that he'd thrown himself into a fight neither of them understood. Angry that he'd had to drag him out of a river while wondering whether he was already too late.

And he was angry that, when he'd seen Gojo lying motionless on the riverbed, the only thought in his head had been please don't die.

It was humiliating.

They'd known each other for barely any time at all. Gojo was an arrogant, irritating, infuriating show-off who seemed to think that being the strongest meant he didn't have to consider the consequences of anything.

Geto didn't even like him.

He was pretty sure he didn't.

He looked over at Gojo again.

His hair had begun to dry in uneven white strands, and his glasses lay somewhere at the bottom of the river. Without his usual grin, his face looked strangely young.

Just a boy.

A boy who had nearly gotten himself killed.

A boy who had saved Geto without a second thought.

Geto pulled his knees closer to his chest and turned back to the fire.

“Wake up, you idiot,” he muttered.

The flames flickered in the gathering darkness.

“I still have to kill you.”

Gojo felt as though he were floating in a warm puddle, swimming through the darkness.

It was nice.

A little cold, perhaps, but for the first time in years, he felt completely relaxed. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to do, and absolutely no one demanding anything from him.

“...ojo?”

Hm…

What an annoying voice.

“Hey, my voice isn’t annoying! Is that really what you say to someone who saved you?”

Saved him?

The thought was hilarious.

He didn’t need to be saved. He was the strongest. A god, practically.

First, he heard the fire crackling. Then came a tired exhale.

His eyelids fluttered open. A small fire flickered in the darkness, casting dancing shadows across the rocks surrounding him. For a moment, he stared at the flames, struggling to remember why he was lying on the ground in the middle of a forest.

Then he noticed the guy sitting opposite him.

Black hair. Their uniform trousers. Bare shoulders. An expression of profound disappointment.

Fucking Geto.

Half-naked Geto.

The memories came rushing back, and the cold realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.

“Why the hell are you naked—” Gojo stopped, squinting at him. “Nevermind, where are we?”

Geto scoffed, leaning forward to poke at the fire with a stick. “Nice to know you’re not dead. We’re in the forest.”

“Still?” Gojo pushed himself up onto his elbows, then immediately regretted it when a dull ache spread through his chest. He ignored it. “We had the dragon!”

Geto shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, about that.” He nudged a burning twig back into the fire. “It flew off.”

“It what?” Gojo sat up so quickly that his head spun. “You just let it fly off?! How could you be so irresponsible?!”

Geto stared at him, his mouth falling open.

“What was I supposed to do? Just let you drown?”

“Yes!”

For a moment, Geto simply blinked at him, as though he were waiting for Gojo to burst out laughing and admit he was joking.

Gojo didn't.

“You're unbelievable,” Geto muttered, turning back toward the fire. “So it’s okay for you to sacrifice the mission to save me, but not okay for me to do the same for you?”

“Obviously!” Gojo groaned, his frustration spiking. “Unlike you, I’m basically immortal. I have years of experience and I always bounce back. Compromising the mission was stupid and unnecessary.”

Geto opened his mouth to protest, but Gojo didn’t let him.

“We had a mission,” he continued, gesturing wildly despite the ache in his arms. “A mission we have to finish! Now your beloved higher-ups and my clan are going to see that we didn't complete it on time, and they'll be pissed, and—”

He abruptly stopped.

Something had occurred to him.

“What time is it?”

The higher-ups were expecting a report by six, which meant theoretically two hours since the last time he was conscious.

If that time had passed, the Gojo clan would be made aware and they’d start a search for him. Which meant not only a load of embarrassment and long lecture, but also at least twice as many missions for the next month as a reminder not to make the same mistake again.

Geto shrugged. “No idea.”

Gojo stared at him.

“Great. Fantastic. We're in the middle of nowhere, with an unfinished mission, and we don't even know what time it is.” He looked around at the dark forest before turning back to Geto. “Do you at least have any idea where we are?”

“No!” Geto threw the stick into the fire a little harder than necessary. Sparks jumped into the air. “And can you stop acting like this is my fault? I had to save your ass, which meant throwing myself into the river—”

Gojo opened his mouth.

“—which means our phones are dead, the map is gone, and everything else we had is probably at the bottom of the fucking river!”

“You shouldn't have jumped in after me—”

“So you could drown?” Geto snapped, twisting around to face him. “Why can't you even swim? Everybody knows how to swim!”

“I know how to swim!”

“Then why were you sinking like a fucking rock?!”

“I was unconscious!” Gojo yelled with a mocked laugh. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten that unconscious people are famously good at swimming! I’ll make sure to let you know next time.”

“There will be no next time,” Geto growled. “You need to seriously reconsider your priorities. Because if you keep putting finishing the mission above your life, you’ll be dead before you turn thirty.”

Actually, the average life-span of a sorcerer was twenty-five, but who was counting, right?

“I might not be there the next time you do something so stupid!” Geto continued. “You could have died, don’t you get it? Died.”

Gojo opened his mouth.

And then closed it.

“So…” he blinked, his cheeks warming. “You were worried about me?”

Geto went still.

Then he looked at Gojo with an expression so flat it could have been carved into stone.

“I was worried about being responsible for the death of the Six Eyes.”

Ouch.

Well, at least that sounded believable.

Gojo pressed a hand to his chest.

“Wow. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“We're not.”

“You’re basically in love with me.”

“Wha—EW. Absolutely not,” Geto crossed his arms, grimacing. “Not even in your dreams.”

“What about nightmares?”

Gojo barked out laughing at the horrified look his classmate sent him.

Geto looked as though he was seriously considering throwing him back into the river.

Then a sudden realization struck Gojo.

“Wait.”

He began frantically patting his pockets, leaning forward and checking the sides of his trousers. He searched one pocket, then another, before finally digging out his old Nokia.

It was soaked.

Water dripped from the casing onto his fingers.

He ignored the wetness, and pressed the power button.

To no-ones surprised, the phone stayed dead.

“Come on,” he muttered, shaking it as if that would somehow help. “Come on, you piece of shit.”

Geto watched him with growing disbelief.

“Are you seriously trying to turn it on?”

“Shut up. I'm concentrating.”

Gojo pressed the button again, just for a good measure.

When the screen remained black, he put the phone on the ground.

“What are you–” Geto wanted to ask but yelped, as Gojo slammed against a nearby rock.

The casing cracked apart.

He crouched to pick up the pieces, rummaging through them until he found a tiny component with a small, now-useless light.

He held it up between two fingers.

“The tracker is dead.”

Geto frowned.

“The what?”

“A tracker?” Gojo raised an eyebrow. “My clan made me carry one around. Makes sense that you don’t have one.”

Geto stared at him, as if thinking how exactly was he supposed to respond to that.

“Why would you need to carry around a tracker?”

“Situations like what?”

Gojo gestured vaguely at the forest, the fire, and his soaked uniform. “Getting lost. Drowning. Being stranded in the middle of nowhere with an idiot.”

“I'm going to throw you into that river.”

“See what I mean?” Gojo huffed. “Idiot.”

Geto dragged a hand down his face.

Gojo turned the broken component over between his fingers.

“Just kidding. It's mostly for potential kidnappings. They can't exactly let the Six Eyes die, can they? It's been ages since someone as special as me was born.” He grinned, tossing the broken tracker onto the ground. “Though I'm pretty sure they installed it mostly because they wanted to know where I was at all times.”

Geto stared at him for a long moment.

“...That's creepy.”

Gojo shrugged. “Welcome to the Gojo clan.”

A sudden wave of cold ran through him as he shivered.

His teeth clicked together, and he instinctively drew his arms across his chest. Only then did he notice just how thoroughly soaked he was. His uniform clung to his skin, heavy and miserable, and the damp fabric seemed to suck what little warmth he had left straight out of him.

Geto glanced at him.

“You should probably take off your shirt.”

Gojo immediately looked up.

“No way! I can't undress in front of you!”

Geto raised an eyebrow.

“Then freeze to death. Be my guest.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your uniform is soaked in freezing water. You're not going to get any warmer sitting next to the fire unless you take it off and let it dry.” Geto gestured toward Gojo's chest with the stick. “I tried to take it off for you earlier, but your Infinity wouldn't let me.”

Gojo blinked.

Then he drew himself up indignantly.

“As it should! You don't undress unconscious people, dude!”

“I was literally trying to save your life!”

“There's a thing called personal space!”

“You weren't breathing!”

“That's not an excuse!”

Geto stared at him.

Gojo stared back.

The fire crackled between them.

Finally, Geto let out a long, exhausted sigh and tossed the stick aside.

“Fine. Keep your stupid shirt on. See if I care.”

He turned away, folding his arms over his bare chest.

Gojo watched him for a moment.

Then another shiver ran through him, much worse than the first.

“...Okay, fine.”

He began unbuttoning his uniform, grumbling under his breath.

As much as it pained him to admit it, Geto was right.

Keeping his heavy, waterlogged clothes on wasn't going to make him any warmer, and he'd rather feel embarrassed than freeze to death in the middle of nowhere.

What a pathetic way to go.

Died of hypothermia because he was too embarrassed to take off his shirt.

He could practically hear the higher-ups laughing at his funeral.

Besides, Geto was half-naked too.

They were on the same side.

Probably.

“Don't look,” Gojo muttered, shrugging out of his wet jacket.

Geto slowly turned his head.

“I wasn't looking.”

“You were absolutely looking.”

“I was checking whether you were still alive.”

“By staring at my chest?”

“Trust me, Gojo.” Geto’s gaze flicked away. “Your chest is the least interesting thing about you.”

Gojo gasped, pressing a hand dramatically against his own chest. “So, you do like other things about me! Considering my beautiful skin, I’d say you must be talking about my charming personality. Do you have a crush on me?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Gojo stuck his tongue out at him and draped his soaked uniform beside the fire.

Then he settled closer to the warmth, wrapping his arms around himself and trying very hard not to shiver.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The fire popped softly. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called from the trees.

Gojo glanced sideways at Geto.

The other boy sat with his knees drawn up, staring into the flames. Without his usual irritated scowl, he looked almost peaceful. Almost.

Every so often, Geto’s gaze drifted back to Gojo’s bare torso. He would look away the moment he realized Gojo had caught him, only to glance back again a few seconds later.

It would have been almost flattering if Gojo hadn’t noticed the confusion and worry twisting Geto’s features.

What the hell was he thinking about?

“If you wanna say something, just say it.” Gojo sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

He was tired, cold, and really not in the mood to spend the entire night guessing what was going on inside Geto’s head.

“What? No, it’s nothing.” Geto turned back toward the fire.

He went quiet for a moment, his brows knitting together. Then he shook his head, as if trying to convince himself to drop the subject.

“Nope. Nothing.”

Gojo rolled his eyes.

“Spit it out.”

Geto hesitated before letting his gaze travel over Gojo’s torso again. This time, he didn’t immediately look away. His eyes lingered on the scars scattered across Gojo’s skin, particularly the ones on his arm and stomach.

Oh.

Right.

He’d never taken his shirt off in front of Geto before.

“What, jealous?” Gojo snickered, leaning back on his hands. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your own set soon enough. That’s the beauty of being a sorcerer.”

Geto frowned, the confusion still lingering on his face.

“Yeah, I guess, but…” His gaze moved from the scars to Gojo’s eyes. “Don’t you have Infinity? How did you get hurt?”

Gojo rolled his eyes and let his head fall back with an exaggerated sigh.

“I might have Infinity, but I haven’t mastered it yet. I can’t sustain it indefinitely because it eats up a lot of energy. I’m getting better at controlling it obviously, but there have still been times when I haven’t been able to activate it quickly enough.”

He shrugged, trying to make the explanation sound as casual as possible.

“Accidents happen.”

Really, it was a little embarrassing.

But wasn’t this common knowledge? Even if Geto came from a non-sorcerer family, surely he understood that Gojo wasn’t invincible. He was a genius, yes, but even geniuses had to train. His technique wasn’t going to master itself.

“...Oh.”

Something shifted in his expression, as though a thought had finally occurred to him. For once, he seemed to be looking at Gojo and seeing someone his own age rather than some ridiculously powerful weapon the higher-ups had built and pointed at their enemies.

Gojo opened his mouth to make a joke, but Geto spoke first.

“But there are so many.” The words were quiet, almost lost beneath the crackling fire.

A chill ran through Gojo that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.

“Did they hurt?”

Geto looked at him with those big, fucking eyes, daring to look interested. Like he actually cared.

Like the asshole he was, he was looking at Gojo as though he wanted to understand him.

Gojo scowled.

“Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

“Right,” Geto muttered, looking back at the scars. “They just look pretty painful.”

Well, wasn’t that just wonderful?

“Look, I don’t need your judgment.” Gojo frowned and reached for his shirt, which he’d left beside him. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll cover up. No need to be an asshole about it—”

“What?” Geto straightened, his expression shifting from concern to bafflement. “That’s not what I was thinking about. At all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” Geto dragged a hand down his face before rubbing the back of his neck. “It just came as a shock, you know? You’re always acting like you’re invincible. I know sorcerers usually end up with way worse scars, but we’re first-years. We’re fifteen. I guess I just… wasn’t thinking about it.”

Gojo slowly lowered the shirt into his lap.

For once, he didn’t have a clever response ready.

“Sure. Whatever, I guess.” He picked at a loose thread on the fabric, avoiding Geto’s eyes. “You can ask questions. I don’t care. Just don’t stare at me like a kicked puppy. It’s infantilizing.”

“Sorry,” Geto said, and this time, he sounded like he meant it.

He shifted his position, resting one arm across his raised knee. His gaze wandered back to the scar on Gojo’s chest, but he made an effort to meet Gojo’s eyes before speaking.

“So… how’d you get that one?”

Gojo blinked.

“Oh. That one.”

A nervous laugh slipped out of him. He scratched the back of his head, suddenly finding the fire very interesting.

“When I was on a solo mission, I accidentally turned off my Infinity and let the curse get a hit in.”

He ruffled his hair, trying to brush the memory aside as though it were nothing worth mentioning.

“It wasn’t as bad as it looks,” he added, glancing down at the scar. It looked actually fucking ugly now that he was staring at it. Ew. “But I was alone and had to stitch it up myself. I knew jack-shit about first aid, so I experimented a little until I could get proper medical help. And, well, obviously it didn’t heal very well.”

Geto’s expression tightened.

“You operated on yourself?”

Gojo glanced at him.

“If you want to call it that.”

“That sounds pretty fucking risky.” Geto leaned forward, his hands dropping to his knees. “You should’ve called me or Shoko.”

Gojo stared at him.

What the hell was Geto yapping about?

He opened his mouth to respond, but then, slowly, the meaning of his words sank in.

Oh.

Oh.

A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face.

“Geto,” he said carefully.

“What?”

“You haven’t seen many scars, have you?”

Geto frowned. “No? But I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“How long have we known each other?” Gojo asked instead.

God, this was embarrassing.

For Geto.

Gojo was enjoying every second of it.

“Since the start of the school year,” Geto answered after a moment. “So, three months? Give or take.”

“Okay, okay.” Gojo nodded, lifting a finger as though he were about to deliver a very important lecture. “And how long do you think it takes for a scar to heal completely?”

Geto opened his mouth, then stopped.

His eyes widened slightly as the realization dawned on him. A faint flush spread across his cheeks, and he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

It was kind of nice, seeing him embarrassed for a change.

“Sorry,” Geto muttered with a awkward laugh. “So, the scar’s from a mission before Jujutsu High? You were taking missions in middle school?”

“Geto.” Gojo pressed his lips together, desperately trying to hold back his laughter. “Honey. Sweetie pie. You innocent soul.”

“Get to the point.” Geto rolled his eyes, though his ears were still red.

“I never went to middle school.”

Geto stared at him, confused.

Gojo finally burst out laughing. “Clan kids don’t go to regular schools. I literally had to fight with my clan just to get the chance to attend Jujutsu High.”

Geto’s eyebrows shot up.

“What?”

“Yeah!” Gojo leaned back, grinning at his reaction. “You should’ve seen the arguments. They acted like I was asking to run away and join the circus.”

He laughed a little harder, but Geto didn’t join him.

Instead, Geto continued staring at him, his expression growing increasingly troubled.

“And this scar is years old,” Gojo continued, waving a hand dismissively. “I got it when I was, like, twelve. Maybe thirteen.”

Geto’s mouth fell open.

“How long have you been an active sorcerer?” he asked, sounding genuinely stunned.

“I guess it depends on what you mean by active. I was allowed to go on solo missions when I turned eleven.”

“You’ve been an active sorcerer since you were eleven?”

“Well, technically—”

“That’s insane!”

“Not really.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Geto turned fully toward him, gesturing with one hand as he tried to piece the information together. “You’ve been fighting curses for four years—”

“Nine years,” Gojo corrected.

“Nine years,” Geto repeated automatically. Then he stopped so abruptly that his mouth remained half-open. “Wait. What?”

He twisted toward Gojo so abruptly that his knee nearly knocked into the stick beside the fire.

“You said you started taking missions when you were eleven!”

“Yeah?” Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Solo missions. The ones where I didn’t have to drag a guardian around with me. I’d been going on regular missions since I was eight. And even before that, I started exorcising little curses during training when I was six.”

Geto stared at him.

Gojo took his silence as an invitation to continue.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. Before they let me go alone, missions were pain in the ass. I used to be really short, so they still had to put me in a child car-seat. Most Assistant Managers cars didn’t have them built in, so we usually took the train instead. And let me tell you, most missions took ages to finish just because of the traffic—”

“Gojo, slow down.” Geto held up a hand, looking increasingly horrified. “You— That’s— That’s insane!”

Gojo’s smile faded a little.

“It’s normal in the clans,” he shrugged, then hesitated. “Or… I don’t know. I think it is, at least.”

“But you were so young—”

“I was a miracle born after centuries of waiting,” Gojo interrupted, his tone suddenly sharper.

He leaned back, bracing himself on his hands and tipping his face toward the dark canopy overhead. The firelight flickered across his features, making his smile look strange and hollow.

“It might seem dumb to someone from a non-sorcerer family, but it’s a big deal in the clans. When someone with my techniques and potential is born, it’s only natural that the higher-ups want to use them as soon as possible.” He turned his head toward Geto, his smile returning with a bitter little twist. “When else are they going to get the chance?”

Geto stared at him in utter disbelief.

Then, slowly, a wicked smile spread across Gojo’s lips.

“What?” he asked. “You still thought the higher-ups actually cared about us?”

His voice was light, almost playful, but there was something ugly underneath it.

“They don’t give a fuck, Geto. They breed sorcerers for their techniques, then sent them out to die with them. We’re nothing more than disposable weapons to those assholes.”

The words hung between them.

Geto didn’t laugh or argue. He simply watched Gojo for a moment before his gaze dropped to the scar on Gojo’s arm.

“Is that how you got the one on your arm?” he asked quietly.

Gojo’s smile vanished.

Right.

That scar.

His biggest scar. His biggest shame.

It was thick and ugly, stretching across his arm in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Gojo never wore short sleeves around anyone if he could help it. He hated the way it looked. Hated what it reminded him of.

His weakness.

He lowered his eyes, his fingers curling against the fabric in his lap.

“Nah,” He forced out a shrug, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to dismissive. “My old man got jealous of all the attention I was getting and tried to get rid of me.”

Geto went completely still.

“Get rid of you?” His voice cracked with disbelief. “Gojo, are you telling me your dad tried to kill you?”

He looked so confused that Gojo almost laughed.

Why was he so angry?

“Yeah.” Gojo shrugged, forcing a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t even know he was my dad. I got separated from my parents after I was born because of my techniques. Had no idea who they were until my fifth birthday, when Dad grabbed a knife and tried to slit my throat—”

He spoke as casually as if he were describing a particularly boring afternoon.

Geto’s face had gone pale.

Gojo noticed, but kept talking, not quite sure what else to do with the sudden silence.

“—and I wasn’t expecting it, so I didn’t react fast enough to use Infinity. I just threw up my arm to block the knife.”

Gojo lifted his injured arm and examined the scar as though he were discussing someone else’s body.

“It’s a little embarrassing, so I don’t talk about it much. But, to be fair, I was a pretty annoying kid. So I can kinda understand why he wanted to do that…”

“Gojo!”

Geto’s shout made him flinch.

“What?”

“That’s insane!” Geto’s hands curled into fists against his knees. He leaned forward, his voice rising with every word. “How can you just talk about it like that? Your own parent tried to murder you! How—How are you even okay?”

Gojo blinked at him.

This wasn’t going the way he’d expected.

He’d anticipated a joke, maybe a snide comment about his family being as awful as he was. He’d even been prepared for Geto to tell him he was being dramatic.

He hadn’t expected… whatever this was.

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s dead,” Gojo offered hesitantly.

Geto’s expression somehow grew worse.

Gojo shifted, suddenly uncertain what to do with his hands. He picked at the edge of his shirt, then let it fall back into his lap.

“Both him and Mom were executed for treason,” Gojo continued, suddenly uncertain how to approach the subject. He lifted his hands and made air quotes around the next word. “I was given the honor of doing it, too. To deliver ‘justice,’ or whatever.”

The flames crackled between them.

“But it didn’t really do anything besides freak me out, I guess.” He scratched his cheek, searching for something else to say. “I never liked the smell of blood, and executing curse users was pretty gross, so—”

“What?!”

Gojo stopped.

Geto looked furious.

Not annoyed. Not irritated. Not even the usual simmering anger Gojo had grown accustomed to provoking.

Just angry for him.

“That’s…” Geto opened his mouth, then closed it again. He dragged both hands over his face, his shoulders rising and falling with a sharp breath. “That’s so wrong. Who approved that?”

“The higher-ups, obviously.” Gojo raised an eyebrow. “What? Why are you so surprised?”

Geto opened his mouth, then closed it again.

For a moment, he seemed unable to find words. He looked away, staring at the ground beside the fire as though he needed somewhere else to direct his anger.

“I…” He let out a slow breath. “That’s fucked up.”

All the amusement had drained from his voice.

Gojo shifted uncomfortably.

Perhaps bringing up his parents had been a bad idea.

“It’s cool,” he said, shrugging. “It was a long time ago. Helped me grow up.”

Geto’s head snapped back up.

Gojo immediately regretted saying it.

The concern in his eyes made Gojo want to punch him.

Gojo could handle anger. He could handle disgust. He could even handle people thinking he was a spoiled, arrogant brat.

But pity?

He hated pity.

“I know Shoko told me you were a clan kid,” he murmured, almost as though he were talking to himself. “She told me to cut you some slack, and I didn’t get it. I thought she was just making excuses for you.”

Gojo’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh, so you’ve been talking about me behind my back?”

“Gojo, shut up. I’m trying to think.”

“Multitasking must be hard for you.”

“Would you just—”

Geto cut himself off, letting out a frustrated breath. He turned away, staring into the fire again, but his eyes weren’t really seeing the flames. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped near his cheek.

“But what the fuck?” he continued, his voice quieter now. “How—How is any of that even allowed? How could they make you do those things? You were a kid.”

His voice trailed off.

Geto looked away again, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. For once, he had no sarcastic remark ready. No insult to throw at Gojo. No clever way to turn the conversation around.

He just looked angry.

And horrified.

And, worst of all, like he felt sorry for him.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of jujutsu society, Suguru. The pay sucks, the working conditions are terrible, and the management is actively trying to kill you.”

A careless grin spread across Gojo’s face, making Geto frown even harder.

Gojo almost felt like laughing.

Because since when did Geto give a fuck?

Both Shoko and Geto had been telling him the higher-ups were assholes for months. He’d heard their complaints, their criticisms, their endless speeches about how rotten the jujutsu world was.

And now, suddenly, Geto was looking at him like he’d discovered the most unexpected plot twist ever.

If the only reason Geto could look at him with anything other than hatred was because of his history, then how dared he act so surprised?

Gojo raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me you’re going to start crying. I’m not dead yet.”

Geto’s expression hardened.

“I’m not going to cry, you insufferable little shit.”

“There he is.” Gojo grinned wider. “I was worried you’d been replaced by a reasonable person.”

“Trust me, I’m worried about that too.”

“Good.” Gojo let out a sigh of relief. “I’d hate to lose the only person at this school who makes me look charming by comparison.”

“You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“And you’re avoiding the subject.”

Geto stopped.

For a moment, Gojo thought he’d finally managed to annoy him into silence. Then Geto turned back toward him, his hands braced against his knees.

“Fine,” he said. “You want to know what I think?”

“Not particularly, but I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gojo blinked.

The words were so unexpected that he actually forgot to smirk.

Geto swallowed, visibly irritated with himself for having to say it at all. He looked down at his hands, then forced himself to meet Gojo’s eyes.

“I’m sorry for being a judgmental asshole.”

Gojo stared at him.

Then he snorted.

“Oh, wow. Should I write this down? Is this a historical event? Suguru Geto admits he’s wrong about something.”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“Too late,” a huge grin spread across his face. “I’m going to tell everyone. Shoko will never believe me.”

“Gojo.”

“What? I’m touched.” He dramatically gripped his heart. “Truly. I might even cry.”

“Then I’m gonna give you something to cry about.”

“There’s the friendship I’ve always dreamed of.”

Geto’s mouth twitched, but the almost-smile disappeared quickly.

“I mean it,” he said, more seriously. “I’ve been treating you like you’re an arrogant, reckless bastard who thinks he can do whatever he wants because nobody can stop him.”

Gojo tilted his head.

“And?”

“And I still think you’re an arrogant, reckless bastard who thinks he can do whatever he wants because nobody can stop him.”

“Wow. You’re really good at apologizing.”

“But I was wrong about some things.”

Gojo’s grin softened, though he tried to hide it by picking the dirt behind his nails.

“Such as?”

“Such as thinking you’ve had everything handed to you just because you’re a Gojo.”

The words landed more heavily than Geto seemed to expect.

Gojo’s fingers stilled.

For a brief moment, the firelight caught the uncomfortable expression that flickered across his face. Then he shrugged, forcing his familiar grin back into place.

“Well, I have had plenty of things handed to me. Money, expensive clothes, a whole collection of people who think I’m the second coming of a god.” He waved a hand. “You know. The usual.”

Geto gave him a flat look. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re half naked with me in a cave.”

“Against my better judgment.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Gojo smiled.

“It absolutely is.”

Silence settled between them again, but this time it felt different. Less brittle. Geto turned back toward the fire, rubbing his palms together to warm them.

Gojo watched him for a moment.

He still didn’t understand why Geto was so angry. The higher-ups had always been like that. His clan had always been like that. People had always expected things from him that he hadn’t been old enough to understand, let alone refuse.

It was just how things worked.

It wasn’t worth getting worked up over.

And yet Geto was sitting there looking as though he wanted to march straight into the higher-ups’ headquarters and set the entire place on fire.

The thought was so ridiculous that Gojo almost laughed again.

Almost.

“You know,” he said eventually, “you’re taking this awfully personally for someone who spent the last three months acting like he wanted to strangle me.”

Geto’s shoulders stiffened.

“I can dislike you and still think what happened to you was fucked up.”

Gojo fell quiet.

Geto turned his head, meeting his gaze directly.

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, Gojo. You can be an obnoxious asshole and still have been treated horribly. One doesn’t cancel out the other.”

For once, Gojo had absolutely nothing to say.

It was an annoying feeling.

He hated it.

So, naturally, he ruined the moment.

“Wow. That was almost nice, did you rehearse it in front of a mirror? You sounded kinda like that old turtle in Kung Fu Panda.”

Geto closed his eyes.

“...I sound like a what now?”

“The old turtle,” Gojo blinked, as it was the most obvious thing ever. “The new movie? It’s airing in cinema right now. I swear, you’re so uneducated.”

Geto stared at him, as if rethinking what life decisions led him to this exact moment.

“Why do I even bother?” He finally let out a long, dragged sigh.

“Because deep down, you adore me.” Gojo lunged at him with a wide grin.

Geto froze for a split of a second, but immediately relaxed.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if they were doing this for ages.

“Because deep down, I’m an idiot.” Geto sighed, much to Gojo’s amusement.

“Same thing.”

Geto sighed, leaning his head back against the rock behind him. “Look, I’m not saying we have to become friends overnight.”

“Good,” Gojo huffed. “I have standards.”

“Clearly, since you’ve been avoiding them your entire life.”

Gojo kicked him lightly in the shin.

Geto kicked him back.

“Asshole.”

“Brat.”

“Can you be serious for five seconds?” Geto pinched his nose.

“Can you go five seconds without being insufferable?” Gojo rolled his eyes, throwing himself of Geto.

“See?” Geto groaned. “This is why I hate you.”

“Funny. I was totally about to say the same thing.”

They glared at each other across the fire.

Then Geto exhaled through his nose and held out a hand.

“Well, what I wanted to say,” he exhaled. “Can we start again?”

Gojo blinked, not sure how to react.

“I would like to…” Geto gulped as if phzsically forcing the words out. “Get to know you.” He grimaced.

Gojo barked out laughing.

Geto shoved him with an elbow, his ears burning red.

“Whatever. Truce?” He offered his hand.

Gojo stared at it.

The gesture was so simple that, for a second, he wondered if Geto was making fun of him.

“What, are we signing a peace treaty?” he asked. “Should I get a pen? Maybe a witness? I’m pretty sure Shoko would love to officiate.”

“Gojo.”

“Right, right. Sorry. This is a solemn occasion.”

Geto started to pull his hand back.

Gojo caught it before he could.

“Wait.”

Geto paused.

Gojo looked down at their joined hands. Geto’s palm was cold, his fingers roughened from the fight, and there was a small scrape across one knuckle that Gojo hadn’t noticed before.

For once, Gojo didn’t have a joke ready.

He wasn’t sure he trusted Geto. Not completely. Three months of mutual insults and near-constant arguments weren’t going to disappear because of one conversation beside a fire.

And Geto probably still thought he was an unbearable idiot.

Fair enough.

But Geto had been furious about what had happened to him without looking at him like he was weak. He hadn’t tried to comfort him with some stupid speech about how everything would be all right. He hadn’t told him to forgive his family, or to be grateful, or to stop making jokes about things that hurt.

He’d simply been angry that it had happened at all.

Gojo wasn’t sure what to do with that.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He shook Geto’s hand.

“Truce,” he agreed.

Geto’s fingers tightened around his briefly before they let go.

“Great.”

“Wonderful.”

“Fantastic.”

“Life-changing.”

They released each other.

Then Gojo narrowed his eyes.

“But just so we’re clear, you’re still a piece of shit.”

Geto scoffed. “And you’re still a snotty brat.”

“Good.” Gojo rolled his eyes. “I’d hate for you to start getting sentimental.”

“Don’t worry, you’re making it very difficult.” Geto deadpan stared at him. “Very. Difficult.”

“Alright, you don’t have to exaggerate that, I get it. You love me.”

“I’m going to throw you back into the river.”

“See? You’re already threatening me with quality time.”

Geto dragged a hand down his face.

“You need therapy.”

Gojo considered that for a moment, then nodded solemnly.

“I don’t want to lose my spark.”

Geto stared at him.

Then he laughed.

Not the short, unwilling huff he’d let slip earlier. An actual laugh, sudden and unguarded, that made him duck his head as though he couldn’t believe Gojo had managed to get it out of him.

Gojo blinked.

Then he grinned so widely that his cheeks began to ache.

“Oh, you’re done for.”

Geto’s laughter stopped.

“What?”

“I made you laugh to my joke. Like, actually, not at me but my super funny jokes. You know what that means?”

“Do I want to know–”

“We’re besties now. You’re welcome.”

Geto stared at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“We are absolutely not best friends.”

“We absolutely are.” Gojo grinned. “And after this dumb mission, we’ll start our BFF journey by going to the cinema and watching Kung Fu Panda.”

Geto opened his mouth to argue.

Then he paused.

“...Sure.” He huffed, making Gojo’s eye glimmer with victory.

Gojo gaze flicked toward the river, hidden somewhere beyond the trees. For a moment, the humor faded from his face, and Gojo remembered the cold water closing over his head. The darkness. The strange, weightless quiet before everything disappeared.

He remembered none of what Geto had done to pull him out.

He only knew what Geto had told him.

“You know,” Gojo said, a little more quietly, “thanks for saving me, or whatever.”

Geto smiled, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

“No problem,” he said. “I mean, you were pretty heavy—”

Gojo threw a few bricks in his face as Geto laughed.

“Of course, no need the thank me. You saved me first,” he hummed. “Besides, if you died, I’d have to explain to Yaga how I managed to lose the strongest idiot in the school on our first mission together. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Gojo stared at him for a second.

Then he laughed, the sound escaping before he could stop it.

“Wow. You really do care about me.”

“I care about my own survival.”

“Of course you do, bestie.”

“Call me that again and I’m taking back the truce.”

“Bestie.”

“Gojo.”

“Suguruuuu.”

Geto lunged at him.

Gojo yelped, scrambling backward on his hands as Geto grabbed for his shoulder. He nearly knocked over the stick holding his uniform away from the fire, caught himself at the last second, and kicked out at Geto’s shin.

“Watch the clothes, you maniac!”

“Then stop being annoying!”

Geto shoved him away, and Gojo toppled sideways onto the rocky ground, laughing.

“Fuck you,” Geto muttered, sitting back down.

“Love you too.”

“I take it back. I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Gojo pushed himself upright and settled beside the fire again, leaving a comfortable stretch of space between them. His body still ached, his head felt heavy, and every shiver reminded him that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere with a Special Grade curse still roaming around somewhere in the forest.

Their mission was still a disaster.

They were still cold, exhausted, and lost.

And Geto was still a judgmental asshole.

But when Gojo glanced sideways, Geto was no longer looking at him like he was a problem to be solved or a rival to be defeated. He was simply sitting there, staring into the fire, occasionally muttering insults whenever Gojo made a particularly stupid noise.

It was… nice.

Annoyingly nice.

Gojo rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward the warmth.

“So,” he said, “does this mean you’ll stop glaring at me every time I breathe?”

“No.”

“Every other time?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Wow. Such generosity.”

“I’m a generous person.”

“You’re a horrible person.”

“And you’re still here.”

Gojo smiled to himself.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”

Geto glanced at him, just briefly, and gave a small, crooked smile of his own.

It wasn’t forgiveness for every insult, or an agreement that they would suddenly understand each other. It didn’t erase their differences, or make Gojo any less reckless or Geto any less stubborn.

It was just a truce.

A handshake.

A decision to try.

For the first time since they’d met, Gojo looked at Suguru Geto and thought that maybe having him around wouldn’t be so bad.

Then, way-too-fucking-confident Geto ruined it by saying, “You’re drooling.”

Gojo whipped his head around. “I am not!”

“Must be a side effect of the near-death experience.”

“I will end you.”

“Get in line.”

Gojo threw a twig at him.

Geto caught it and tossed it straight back.

Gojo ducked, cackling, and the two of them dissolved into another round of increasingly ridiculous insults, their voices carrying into the dark forest.

Neither of them mentioned the truce again.

They didn’t need to.

By the time the fire had burned low and exhaustion finally began to win, they had moved closer to the same patch of warmth. Geto kept an eye on Gojo’s breathing, pretending he was simply making sure the idiot didn’t choke on his own tongue. Gojo noticed and, for once, didn’t tease him about it.

He only nudged Geto’s shoulder with his own.

“Hey, Suguru?”

Geto looked at him suspiciously. “What?”

“Don’t die tomorrow.”

Geto blinked, caught off guard.

Then he scoffed.

“Try not to die first, Satoru.”

Gojo grinned at the use of his first name.

Nobody ever called him that.

A warm unusual feeling spread through his chest, as a dumb catchy smile settled on his lips.

“Deal.”

By the time the sun rose, they were already on their way.

Gojo had complained about being awake before seven, about his stiff neck, about the fact that Geto had apparently spent half the night elbowing him in the ribs, and about the general injustice of having to walk anywhere when he could technically be carried.

Geto had responded by threatening to leave him behind.

“You wouldn’t,” Gojo had said, grinning.

“Try me.”

And, somehow, they’d made it through breakfast—or what Gojo insisted on calling breakfast, which was half a crushed energy bar and some water from Geto’s bottle—without actually strangling each other.

Progress.

The forest was quieter in the morning. Mist clung between the trees, and sunlight filtered through the canopy in pale gold strips. Their clothes were still a little damp, their muscles ached, and neither of them was particularly interested in discussing how close they’d come to dying the night before.

Then Geto stopped.

Gojo took another two steps before realizing he was alone. “What?”

Geto raised a hand, silencing him. His eyes were fixed on the trees ahead.

There was a low rumble somewhere in the distance. A shudder passed through the ground, followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood.

Gojo’s grin returned.

“Well,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Look who decided to stop running.”

The dragon emerged through the trees, its enormous body winding between the trunks. Its scales were cracked from the previous fight, and one of its eyes was clouded over, but the curse’s wounds were already knitting themselves back together. It let out a roar that sent birds scattering from the branches.

Geto sighed. “You know, I was kind of hoping it would be dead.”

“Really?” Gojo raised an eyebrow. “You’d think a Special Grade would just go off and kill itself?”

“Geez, I know. No need to rub it in.”

“Well, that’s what friends are for Su-gu-boo.”

Geto managed to send him one slightly disturbed look, before the dragon lunged at them.

They moved together this time.

Gojo shot forward, drawing its attention while Geto swept around its flank. The curse’s jaws snapped shut where Gojo had been a heartbeat earlier, and he laughed as he slipped past them, driving a strike into the side of its skull. The impact sent the dragon crashing into a cluster of trees.

“Hey, Suguru!” he called. “How’s that for teamwork?”

“You’re literally just hitting it!”

“And you’re literally just complaining!”

Geto summoned two curses, sending them darting toward the dragon’s eyes. It twisted to snap at them, exposing the softer underside of its neck. Geto saw the opening and shouted, “Now!”

Gojo was already moving.

Blue flared in his hand. The air warped around the dragon as he dragged it off balance, then drove a concentrated burst of cursed energy into its chest. The creature shrieked. Its massive body slammed into the earth hard enough to shake leaves from the trees, and cracks spread across its scales.

For a moment, it looked finished.

Gojo lifted his hand, cursed energy gathering for the final blow.

Then he glanced over his shoulder.

Geto stood a short distance away, watching him with one eyebrow raised.

You killed my curse, the least you could do is leave me a Special Grade to replace it with.

The words from their argument the night before came back to him, along with the memory of Geto hauling him out of the river, refusing to let him die even when the situation had turned hopeless.

Gojo clicked his tongue.

“Right. Your turn, bestie.”

He lowered his hand.

Geto blinked. “Did you just call me—”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one making it weird!”

“Are you going to absorb the giant dragon or do you want to stand there talking about your feelings?”

Geto gave him a look that promised future violence, then turned toward the wounded curse.

The dragon struggled to lift its head. Geto stepped closer, summoned the technique that allowed him to absorb cursed spirits, and opened his mouth.

The curse’s enormous body shuddered.

Its form began to unravel, dark energy peeling away from its scales and spiraling toward Geto. The dragon roared one final time before collapsing into a stream of cursed energy that Geto swallowed down.

Silence fell over the forest.

Geto stood still for a moment, his expression twisting with the familiar, awful taste of the curse.

Gojo watched him. “Delicious?”

“Shut up.”

“Five stars?”

“I'm going to feed you to the next one.”

“Please don’t.”

Geto wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and exhaled sharply. “I hate this job.”

“Finally, something we agree on.”

Gojo went through his pockets, before throwing something to Geto.

He caught it automatically and blinked, “...a candy?”

“For aftertaste?” Gojo grinned. “I’d give you a mint for your breath, but I don’t any. And I’m pretty sure candy’s leagues better then whatever curses taste like.”

Geto slowly, blinked, before throwing the candy in his mouth.

“Thank you, that was…” he paused. “Oddly considered of you.”

“Yeah, I’m perfect like that,” Gojo shrugged, trying to ignore the pink flush. “Perks of being my friend.”

Geto smiled, he raised one hand and summoned the dragon again.

Cursed energy gathered beside them, rapidly taking shape into the enormous, serpentine creature. Its scales gleamed darkly in the morning light, and its long body coiled above the forest floor. It lowered its head toward them, its jaws opening in a silent snarl.

Gojo stared up at it.

Then he looked at Geto.

“You can fly on that thing?”

“I can now.”

“And you were going to make me walk all the way back?”

“I was considering it.”

“That's actually evil.”

“Get on, Satoru.”

Gojo scrambled onto the dragon’s back, settling himself between two ridges of its scales. Geto climbed up behind him, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Hold on,” Geto said.

Gojo glanced back. “Why? Is it going to—”

The dragon surged into the air.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Gojo grabbed a ridge of scales as the forest dropped away beneath them. Wind tore through his hair, whipping his blindfold and sending his jacket snapping behind him. The dragon climbed above the treetops, revealing a vast stretch of green forest broken by distant hills and the thin silver line of the river.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The morning sun warmed Gojo’s face. Below them, the place where they’d nearly died grew smaller and smaller until it was swallowed by the trees.

Then Gojo leaned back just enough to call over the wind, “You know, for a guy who hates me, you’re being awfully nice.”

Geto snorted. “I’m getting you home so I can make sure you don’t die before I get the chance to kill you myself.”

“That's friendship, Suguru.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Gojo grinned, turning back toward the horizon. “...I am your favorite friend, right? I bet I’m the only one you’d allow to fly your pet dragon—”

“Keep talking and I’ll drop you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Geto didn’t answer. He just nudged the dragon forward, sending them soaring faster toward home.

Gojo laughed into the wind.

For once, Geto didn’t tell him to shut up.

Notes:

Hope you liked this :D
I enjoys writing it a ton.
Please ignore any mistakes. Me and english aren't on the best terms.

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