Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He chuckles as Amanai drags them through the aquarium entrance, Kuroi hot on their heels chiding her to slow down. He can’t blame the Star Plasma Vessel for being so excited; it’s her first time really out exploring and experiencing the world, albeit not in the best of circumstances, but she’s not letting the bounty on her head and the threat of assassins stop her.

And honestly, he can’t help but also feel giddy at the sight of something new: the beach, the gardens, canoeing, now the aquarium. Things normal people have done instead of experiencing it vicariously through books and conversations. He’s trying to take in as much as possible for the extra day they’re here: the smell of the ocean, the taste of char-grilled meat, the feel of sand between his toes, the sound of waves crashing into the shore, everything.

It feels like another universe with the way the tank lights bathe everything in a warm blue light, everything mimicking the deep sea’s bioluminescent glow because of it, fish shadows partially blocking some of the light and creating dancing patterns along the floor.

They hang back as Amanai wanders aimlessly, pausing in front of exhibits that capture her attention. He never realized how similar her eyes are to the color of the ocean; when they get close enough, he can see that they barely change, completely reflecting the joy and wonder she must be feeling.

It makes some of the worry about the mission slip away. He’s still on high alert of course, even with fewer curses here. The people who kidnapped Kuroi were most likely associated with whatever group is out for Amanai’s bounty. They could still be lurking around Okinawa, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

But he can’t help the fondness that seeps into him as he watches the pure child-like joy Amanai can barely contain as she truly experiences the world for the first time. He knows it rubs off on his partner too, even though he’s also constantly checking their surroundings.

Amanai gasps at something ahead of them, running back to grab Kuroi by the hand and drag her over to the open stingray pool. He chuckles, knocking into his partner and gesturing to where the caretaker and daughter have run off to. The other also snorts, shaking his head.

He keeps an eye on them as Amanai sticks her hand in, giggling as one of the stingrays swims past her. She pulls Kuroi’s hesitant hand in, cackling at her reaction to the no doubt slimy texture of the sea creature. A school of fish swims past the glass he’s next to, shadows darting over the other’s face. He leans closer to his partner, lacing their hands together and pulling him towards the stingray pool.

Even if they’re on such a high-stakes mission, it really doesn’t feel like it. If anything, it just feels like they’ve somewhat begrudgingly taken their younger sister on a last-minute summer vacation. Sure, he’s constantly scanning everything to make sure nothing is dangerous, but it’s been calm. Too calm. But he doesn’t let that stop him from enjoying himself. Who knows when he’ll get a chance to come back here?

He kneels on the opposite side of the pool, still in clear view of Amanai and all her surroundings. His partner kneels next to him, hesitating with his hand above the water as a larger stingray floats closer. He tamps down his own apprehension, grabbing his hand again and with no warning plunging their joined hands into the water.

The other shrieks even if the water is tepid, and he can’t help but laugh. He gets water flicked at him for his efforts. If he wasn’t risking ruining Amanai’s fun by getting kicked out, he’d splash his partner back and it’d probably devolve into them in the knee-deep water soaking each other to the bone.

The stingray finally swims past them, and while it is slimy, it’s also almost impossibly smooth. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. He watches as the other drags his fingers in spirals over its back, obviously enjoying the feeling if the grin on his face is anything to go by. He probably has a matching one, something in him inexplicably happy watching his partner experience the simple joys in the world.

Amanai gags at him when he looks back over at her and Kuroi, so he sends a retaliatory splash of water at her. She huffs but points over her shoulder where the wall-length tank sits down a flight of stairs. He gives her a nod, her face splitting into a grin as she loops her arm in Kuroi’s and drags her off again.

He knows he should follow them, but when he glances back at his partner, somehow he’s figured out a way to make friends with most of the stingrays in the pool, all of them piling on top of each other for pets. The other has both hands elbow-deep in the water, and his heart melts at the peaceful smile on his face. So he gives him more time, one eye watching Amanai admire the whale sharks swimming by and the other on his partner making the stingrays chase his fingers.

But eventually Amanai wanders a little too far for his liking. He bumps into his partner, pointing over to where Amanai is slowly wandering further away. The other sighs, giving each stingray one last pat before he stands. As he also stands and ignores the way the other drags his wet hands over his shirt, his partner winds their fingers back together, using his free hand to cup his face and tuck loose hair behind his ear. He leans into the touch, the warmth, sighing contently. The other tilts his head up, grinning softly at him despite how tired he looks.

But then the world starts to shift, colors swirling violently. It feels like everything and nothing, moments in time flashing before his eyes as he watches his first day at Jujutsu Tech, all the missions he went on as a student, teaching newer generations of sorcerers, the victories, the losses, the pain, unbearable pain as his heart shattered when his one and only left him with crazed ideals and died in his arms. The happy, sad, distraught, grief, joy, heartbreak, everything that started ten years ago.

He blinks rapidly, coming back to himself after the rush of memories, grounding himself as he runs through the things he last remembers. It’s 2017, he just defeated an unregistered special-grade curse, slaughtered countless transfigured humans to protect the non-sorcerers trapped within multiple veils.

He tries to stand, and when he realizes he can’t move does he remember the words chanted, the overwhelming aura of the Prison Realm as it opened. His arms are pinned behind his back by the strange, cold, disturbing flesh-lie texture of its internals. When he tries to call forth his technique to free himself, instead of the steady well of energy he’s so used to drawing from, he glances off the surface of it. The only thing that’s still disorienting is the hand from his memories holding his face still, but with none of the gentleness and reverie he remembers.

“Struggling is pointless,” the person in front of him croons, someone who can’t possibly be in front of him. Something glints wickedly in their eyes, too much knowledge that they shouldn't have for being alive for only twenty-eight years. They're cold and unfamiliar and not like how he remembers from before that fateful day ten years ago.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice wavering as he darts his eyes around desperately for a way out of this. But instead of the train station covered in blood from the now-dead transfigured humans, the frozen unidentified cursed spirits ready to be sliced in half, and shell-shocked non-sorcerers, it's just overwhelming darkness. It presses in on him, too hyper-aware of it and the residuals that should no longer exist.

The person pouts, an elegant hand pressed to their chest as the bracelets around their wrists jingle. “You don’t remember me at all? I’m hurt.”

“You aren’t who you claim to be,” he states with full confidence, trying to tug his face away from the person’s cold grip.

“Uh-uh, don’t do that,” they tut, digging manicured nails into his cheeks and drawing blood. "You know you’ll just fry your brain, but at this point, that might be a better alternative to what you'll experience in the Prison Realm. And how are you so sure I’m not your beloved worst curse user?”

"Because he wouldn’t go around slaughtering innocent people on a power trip. It was one of the things he was against. And I killed him with my own hands.” More memories flash in front of his eyes, from a year ago when jujutsu society was nearly turned on its head. He never expected to find him severely wounded and dying in that alley, and who was he but a puppet to the higher ups to make sure their society didn’t collapse?

“Are you sure?" They cackle, leaning uncomfortably closer with a twisted grin splitting their face. “I’m standing right here in front of you. Besides, something could’ve happened to me that made me change my mind. After all, wasn’t it you who said something along the lines of non-sorcerers being the scum of the Earth that needed to be purged for the sake of jujutsu society?”

“Who the hell are you?!” he shouts, glaring at the imposter wearing his one and only’s face. “He knew that wasn’t even half of it. You aren’t him. I can feel it in my soul, my everything. You aren’t him, so who the hell are you?!”

It's horrifying, bile rising in his throat quicker than any curse he's ever swallowed as whatever is piloting The Strongest's body uses their free hand to push white bangs away from their forehead. His stomach plummets further at the line of stitches across their forehead, thread slowly unraveling the gorey seam. A sadistic grin cracks their face, piercing blue eyes glowing over rectangular frames. They peel back the top of their skull, revealing the curse nestled contently inside.

Suguru can only stare in shock, heart shattering for the third time in his life at the sight of Gojo Satoru reduced to nothing but a puppet, a weapon, a tool, the very thing he despised.

How did it come to this?

Chapter Text

The butter knife and paper ball both freeze mid-air thanks to Infinity after being pushed away by Red and pulled back by Blue. Slowly, Satoru’s been figuring out how to fine-tune Limitless to distinguish objects by how much of a threat they could pose to him. He can still feel where Fushiguro pierced through his skin, scars tingling at the thought. While there’s no way he could train himself to resist the Inverted Spear at all thanks to the technique it’s imbued with (which is thankfully now sealed away), he can make sure that no weapons, normal or filled with cursed energy, will get through Infinity when he has it on.

Even with Reverse Curse Technique and slowly increasing how long he’s kept Infinity on to teach himself how to keep both running on top of limiting the movements for his hand seals, he can’t let something like that happen again. He’s supposed to be one of the strongest sorcerers to date, but he let someone with no cursed energy kill two innocent people, kill him and send him on a complete power high, and nearly kill his partner.

A breeze filters through the open engawa doors, blowing his books open and papers from his desk onto the floor. The sheets on his unmade bed flutter, same with his uniform thrown over his bed frame. For once, his floor is clean of any dirty clothes or dirty dishes, one of those random late-night manic bursts of energy. He didn't want to think about the memories of the botched mission that have been plaguing his thoughts, so now his shoes are lined up nicely by his door, old assignments organized in his desk, clothes either in the hamper in the closet or folded neatly in the dresser, bookshelf arranged neatly with books and his GameBoy game in alphabetical order.

Sighing, he uses Red to flick away his makeshift projectiles again, sending them out past the engawa. He waits a while before activating Blue, pulling both back toward him as he stops thinking about what’s flying toward him to let Limitless figure it out—

Buzz buzz.

He whips his head around to his phone rattling noisily against the desk. His heart hammers in his chest as it keeps ringing, not relaxing when it stops because it just starts back up again. And again. And again. Groaning, he marches over and declines the call even though it’s from the clan heads. They could only be calling for two things: marriage arrangements with talks of preserving the Gojo line or high-caliber missions where they test how much he’s grown in terms of being the strongest. Things he doesn’t want to think about or do right now because both will just end in scathing criticism of how he could be doing better.

His phone buzzes again, this time a text from Shoko, but he doesn’t get a chance to read it when something thwacks him in the side of the head. Groaning, he’s ready to pulverize whatever it is, but when he turns, he sees the knife hovering two inches from his nose and the paper ball slowly rolling underneath his desk.

Sweet.

He flicks the knife away with a ting, letting it clatter onto the floor. He’ll pick it up later. For now, he clicks over to Shoko’s text.

[硝子]  
is geto w/ u

[悟]
no, y?

[硝子]  
bc class is gonna start in a few
minutes and i dont want 2 do
damage control when sensei gets
here get ur ass over here and
find geto (not in that order)

[悟]
cant promise i wont be l8 still
but fine

Flipping his phone shut, he tosses it on his bed as Shoko keeps texting him about the bullshit he’s making her deal with and that he owes her beer the next time they go out for covering his and Suguru’s ass again. He pops the joints in his fingers, shutting the engawa door with a clatter, hopefully drawing Suguru’s attention if he’s in his room. But it’s been unusually silent next door; no peaceful drone of music from the stereo system through the wall, no sighs of frustration at their homework, barely any movement of his energy Satoru can spy with Six Eyes.

He shrugs his uniform jacket on, grabbing his glasses from his nightstand and pushing them up his nose. All the tension melts from his body as he limits his sight to just energy, the familiar pangs of a migraine slowly slipping away.

A pull of Blue has his phone back in his hand as he walks out of his room and over to Suguru’s door. Logically, he knows it’s only been a few days since he last saw Suguru, sitting next to the vending machines when Yaga gave them fifteen during sparring. Usually they talk, Satoru pushing all of Suguru’s buttons and throwing jokes around while the other snarks back and laughs. But when he made a quip about their upperclassmen, Suguru hadn’t reacted, eyes unfocused and soda can unopened where he sat.

There was barely any of his residuals around the common spaces, anything that was still lingering was from two weeks ago, before— well. All there is now is brief flits of controlled amounts of Suguru’s energy around the kitchen and bathroom. Controlled enough to pass as normal and signal that he’s still alive, but too controlled because Satoru knows how skilled Suguru is at controlling his output.

He knocks on Suguru’s door, not ignoring the way his residuals seem to almost leak through the gaps in the door. Even without Six Eyes, he’s sure he’d still be able to feel just how distraught Suguru is. He knows exactly why the other is slipping. The same reason Satoru is pouring everything into getting stronger. He has another reason besides upholding the unwanted title of “The Strongest.”

When Suguru doesn’t open his door, Satoru knocks again, calling out his partner's name. “Are you awake? Class starts in,” he flips open his phone, “four minutes ago. Shoko can only cover our asses for so long.” He watches Suguru’s energy shift behind the door, but not moving to get up.

[悟]
suguruuu cmon shokos gonna kill
me if i dont drag u to class. she
wants beer as payment
cmon

Suguru opens his phone, but he doesn’t move after that.

[悟]
i see u moving in there open
up. i know u don’t want to
miss lecture or be a weirdo and
break ur perfect attendance

Still nothing.

[悟]
alright u asked for it

As always, the doorknob clicks open, never locked because Satoru is the only one who ever barges into Suguru’s room unannounced but never unwelcome. Despite the mid-morning sunlight that typically filters in, the room is oppressively dark. The usual pristine neatness of everything Suguru owns is displaced: clothes stick out of his dresser haphazardly, papers and pens are scattered across his desk, a couple books lay open on the floor, a half-eaten plate of food sits on his nightstand, one of the corners of the rug is even flipped up. Suguru lies in a pile of blankets, phone clutched against his chest as he stares at the ceiling.

“I’m fine, Satoru,” Suguru huffs, still not looking at him.

“Clearly,” he retorts, slipping off his shoes to kick the rug back into place before shuffling over to his best friend. “This totally isn’t a cry for help.”

“Not at all.”

“And you absolutely don’t need to talk about it whatsoever?” Satoru peers at Suguru, hair splayed wildly across his pillow, deep purple bruising under his eyes. He’s seen Suguru tired thanks to long missions that drag on because of their special-grade status and class assignments they stay up too late goofing around more than actually completing them. But never this tired. It echoes somewhere distantly in his chest. He cups Suguru’s face, thumb rubbing over the splotch gently.

When Suguru shakes his head, Satoru sighs, flopping on top of the other with little fanfare. He doesn’t completely think his actions through, landing on Suguru with a grunt and accidentally knocking their foreheads together. And of course Infinity has never detected Suguru as a threat so his head goes flying back. That doesn’t stop Satoru from getting comfy, rubbing the spot on his head as he rests his chin on Suguru’s sternum.

“Really?” Suguru groans, half-heartedly trying to shove him off and giving up two seconds later. “The fuck was that for?”

“Even though I ignore most social cues, can’t really do that with you when I know you so well,” Satoru hums, fidgety hands wandering to fiddle with the neckline of Suguru’s sleep shirt. “But we don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.”

“When did you get so emotionally intelligent?” Suguru sighs, finally tearing his gaze away from the rafters to lock eyes with Satoru.

People always say Satoru’s eyes are fascinating, something to marvel and behold all thanks to Six Eyes. Maybe it’s because he’s had to deal with the constant migraines and strain and information overload they cause, maybe he’s sick of the endless praise of his strength, but he hates them.

Suguru’s eyes have always been so much more interesting. Aside from his bangs, it’s one of the first things he noticed about the other. They’re just so captivating, an endless swirl of purple flecked with gold that almost seems to shift with its own tide. They used to remind him of galaxies or the deep ocean no one’s had the chance to explore, but after seeing Curse Spirit Manipulation for the first time, he realized that Suguru’s eyes look exactly like those condensed ball of curses he consumes. Less romantic, but it never took away from their appeal to him. It just meant that now Satoru knows he’s not the only one whose technique affected him physically.

“I didn’t. I’m really just here to drag you to class so I don’t have to get lectured by Sensei alone.”

“And how are you going to accomplish that by laying on top of me?”

“By getting up. Obviously,” Satoru retorts, but he just wiggles closer, slotting his face into the space between Suguru’s neck and his pillow.

“Then get up, you fucking oaf,” Suguru huffs, but he also doesn’t move, hands moving from his sides to wrap loosely around Satoru’s waist.

“Well, now you’re just too comfortable.” That’s not a lie at least. He and Suguru might be all muscle at this point from training and missions, but they’ve both filled out since being scrawny first-years. Suguru’s breaths are a steady even pace that lifts him gently up and down, hands tracing the seams of his uniform. Satoru lets a hand drift, weaving into Suguru’s bedhead to work out some of the tangles. If this is what Suguru needs right now, he’s more than happy to just lay here like this, silent except for their breathing and the occasional shift of the blankets against them.

He’ll make him talk eventually. For now, his eyes droop. Just being with Suguru lifts so much weight from his shoulders, body untensing as he breathes in the smell of Suguru’s detergent. All his thoughts slip away, the guilt of what happened two weeks ago fading into the background—

Buzz buzz.

They groan in tandem, Satoru begrudgingly unwrapping himself from Suguru as he fishes his phone back out.

[硝子]
i can only sit here w/ sensei  
for so long before he figures it  
out get ur asses up here

“Shoko’s patience is wearing thin,” he groans, scrubbing at his eyes. “We better go save her from Sensei’s wrath.”

Suguru lets out a long sigh, gaze flicking back to the ceiling. “Alright. Alright, tell her we’ll be there in three. Off, Sato.”

He rattles off the text, languidly dragging himself up to sit, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. But Suguru doesn’t move, taking slow deep breaths. Satoru doesn’t say anything, knows exactly what thoughts are running through his head. He doesn’t know what to say to make Suguru feel better.

“C’mon,” he sighs, lacing their fingers together and pulling Suguru up next to him. Suguru slumps forward, and Satoru catches him, holds him there with his head resting on top of his. “What can I do to help?” he asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Suguru mutters, shaking his head but bringing their intertwined fingers to his lips. “Just give me a second.”

Another deep breath, Satoru using his free hand to rub circles into his shoulder. Suguru nods, pulling away and swinging himself out of bed. His movements are slow and deliberate as he gathers up the pieces of his uniform. Satoru averts his eyes when Suguru’s hands pause at the hem of his shirt, flicking aimlessly through his phone. It stings a little, but he gets it, his own scars from that day burning at the thought of showing anyone how weak he was.

Begrudgingly, Satoru figures he should maybe actually listen to the voicemails the clan heads left him. That plan flies out the window when he's greeted with five lengthy voicemails probably prattling on and on with boring clan politics. He probably has too many unread texts from his parents, but he also refuses to check those. Too much bullshit about being the proper heir and getting stronger and doing this and that for jujutsu society. It makes him frustrated just thinking about it.

Suguru sighs in front of him, and Satoru peeks at him over the rims of his glasses. Suguru’s back faces him, hands angrily tugging the elastic out of his hair and slipping it back on his wrist. He gathers his hair up again, but with how much his hands are shaking, Suguru can’t seem to get the tension right.

Satoru stands, pinching the elastic between his fingers and snapping it back on Suguru’s wrist. “Let me,” he says over his boyfriend’s yelp. Suguru whirls to glare at him, but he slips the elastic off Suguru’s wrist and holds it between his teeth, raising his eyebrows. With a roll of his eyes and a small huff of laughter, Suguru turns back around.

If he was a bolder man, Satoru would be cheeky and braid Suguru’s hair. Suguru taught him how to in their first year after they stopped pissing each other off, for the days where a curse is particularly stubborn after being absorbed and Suguru spends countless hours hunched over the toilet. But for now, he just gathers long inky strands up into a ponytail, securing it with the elastic a couple times before pulling Suguru’s hair slightly through the last loop.

“And done,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the back of Suguru’s neck before spinning him around. And just because he’s a brat, he pulls the shorter strands of his bangs out of the hair tie’s security, completing Suguru’s signature look.

“Asshole,” Suguru snarks, pushing his glasses way too far up the bridge of his nose, the pads digging into the corners of his eyes before they get slipped onto his head, hair probably sticking in fifteen different directions.

“Your asshole.” Satoru tugs at Suguru’s bangs in retaliation, sticking his tongue out.

“My asshole is happily attached to my ass and not walking around on two legs giving me sass, thank you very much.” Suguru flicks his nose, unbuttoning the outer button of his uniform.

“What am I then?” he asks, smushing Suguru’s cheeks together.

“Mine” comes out muffled, but it still makes Satoru’s heart race like the first time Suguru ever called him that.

“That works,” he hums. At least Suguru’s smiling now. It settles the writhing possessive thing in his chest that wants Suguru to never look this upset, clawing at his insides to do anything in his power to make sure nothing like the incident two weeks ago happens again.

Though now that haunted look comes back, eyes locked on Satoru’s forehead.

“You can't glare holes at my scars if I'm not allowed to see yours,” he mumbles, fighting the urge to reach up and scratch at the scar from Fushiguro’s killing blow or cover Suguru’s eyes so he stops looking at it.

Suguru’s expression softens, hand resting on the back of his head and tipping him forward slightly. His lips are warm on Satoru’s forehead, making dumb dragonflies buzz in his chest. Suguru lingers there for a few seconds, so Satoru just stays still, eyes closed, his own hand reaching to tangle with Suguru’s free one. If only they could stay here forever, trapped in time where they didn’t have to worry about anything like being used as tools or bounty hunters or this dumb stupid world.

His phone buzzes somewhere on Suguru’s bed. Something tells him it’s Shoko complaining about how it’s been longer than three minutes and for them to move it, but he really doesn’t want to move.

Suguru pulls away first, though not far as he dots kisses down the bridge of Satoru’s nose, ending at the corner of his lips. “Tease,” Satoru mutters, using a finger to lift Suguru’s chin and kiss him lightly. That possessive feeling makes him want to press deeper, pull him closer, but he knows while the distraction would be nice, it’s not what they should be doing to cope. He pulls away after a few pecks, pressing their foreheads together.

“We’re... gonna get through this, okay?” he murmurs, squeezing Suguru’s hand. We're the strongest comes to mind, and they are, but the last time he said it, well. “I know I’m emotionally constipated and have the social skills of a brick, but you know I’m here for you, right?”

Suguru chuckles, but he nods, unlacing their fingers to wrap them around his waist. Satoru pulls him closer, letting Suguru bury his face in his neck, breaths shaky but even. They stay like that for a tad longer, just until Satoru’s phone buzzes again with Shoko’s wrath.

He sighs, pulling away, but grabbing Suguru’s hand again. Satoru tugs him along, scooping up his phone and hopping over the mess on the floor as he drags him out of his room and toward the upper floors with the classrooms.

“What, not going to just teleport us there?” Suguru asks, a little snark in his voice. “Haven’t we made Shoko and Yaga-sensei wait long enough?”

“One: you know how I am. I’m gonna make them wait as long as possible,” he snarks back, purposefully taking the stairs only one at a time. “Two: I still haven’t worked out the kinks in teleporting people with me or even someone on their own. I have to look more into the quantum physics side of Limitless compared to standard physics because, for all I know, I could accidentally teleport us into an alternate dimension.”

“God, I forget how much of a nerd you really are,” Suguru laughs and Satoru bumps into him in retaliation.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bangs.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass in training.”

“I dare you; you know you can’t land a hit on me.”

“Liar, I know I can. Just because you’re a nerd doesn’t mean I’m dumb—”

“I never said you were!”

“—and that I didn’t notice that even when you have Infinity up I can get through.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t kick my ass too badly and we’re on the same side.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Eight Eyes.”

“You little—”

Suguru tugs his hand away, cackling as he skitters down the hallway. Satoru races after him, peeved that Suguru knows how to push all his buttons to no end and rile him up to fuming, but he honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. They slam into the classroom, Suguru rattling the door open and slipping into his seat next to Shoko, batting his eyes at Satoru with an innocent grin on his face. Oh, the things he would do to wipe it off his face.

“Satoru,” Yaga grunts, pausing him in his tracks.

“Sensei,” he says back, shooting a glare at Suguru (who sticks his tongue out at him) as he gives up his chase and flops down at his desk.

“Do you have an explanation on why you decided to be twenty minutes late?” Yaga asks, ever the stickler for rules.

“Well, you see—”

“A good reason?” Satoru bites his tongue, slumping over on his desk. Yaga just sighs, getting up from his seat and starting his lecture. He knows it’s important and he should probably pay attention, but his mind can’t help but wander to the methodical scratching of chalk on the chalkboard.

No matter how many times the clan heads call him or his parents text him, even though he knows exactly what those messages will contain, he can’t help but get his hopes up that they might throw this stupid power bullshit behind them and let him be a normal kid for once. He thought they would change after Amanai's death and seeing how much it affected him, but all they focused on was that he finally managed to use Reverse Curse Technique, Red, and Hollow Purple all within a few days.

Just the Prodigy living up to his title. The only thing that mattered was that he got stronger so the Gojo clan could sit at the top of the Big Three again for whatever political reason; he never paid attention to that part during tutoring. He could care less about the clan politics and behind-the-scenes. He’s grateful for the power, sure; it’s what protects him and Suguru during missions (though not well enough, a small part of his brain nags at him), but that power doesn’t outweigh the worship and grooming to become a weapon of mass destruction.

Honestly, he envies the rest of his family. Some of them have Six Eyes, some of them have weak, uncontrollable versions of Limitless, but of course he's special: the first Gojo in four hundred years to be born with both Six Eyes and Limitless. While he spent countless hours with older family members learning to harness both, he watched his cousins play and laugh outside.

It’s all he is to everyone: a special-grade sorcerer that shifted the balance of curse energy with his birth, a weapon of mass destruction that could eliminate Tokyo with a flick of his finger, the strongest sorcerer to date, a tool to bend to the whims of jujutsu society.

Well, just a tool to everyone aside from Shoko and Suguru. Shoko is more like his annoyed older sister that’s sick of cleaning up his messes and covering for his ass and healing him from missions or pissing off Suguru. Not like she needs to now thanks to his own Reverse Curse Technique, but maybe he’ll pester her for shits and giggles by not healing himself from time to time. And stealing all the candy she has stashed away in her room. He likes being a nuisance to her, just like with Suguru, pushing all the buttons to rile the two of them up because even though they end up fuming mad, they’re allowed to do stuff like this to just be kids in the few moments they can be. And of course he lets Shoko bully him relentlessly, especially before he and Suguru got together.

Even before they started dating, Suguru never treated him like he was some god. Hell, the day classes started, instead of ignoring Satoru’s comment about how strong he was and how no one could touch him like how everyone else would because he’s the pride of the Gojo clan, Suguru snapped back just as harshly about how he should take his ego and shove it up his ass. Sure, it had stung because no one had ever spoken to him that way, but also no one’s ever said anything cruel to his face, let alone called him out for being an asshole. So he kept starting useless spats with Suguru, a little high and giddy on the feeling of just being a bratty teen to someone for once.

He’s not a nuisance all the time; the slower times when they’re all studying in Shoko’s room or wandering around Tokyo after a mission are times he enjoys too. Those moments make him forget about what’s waiting for him when he turns eighteen, happy to just be in the moment and be a kid and get in trouble for stupid shit. He’s particularly fond of the time after their first mission when they went to the local yakitori restaurant and proceeded to get kicked out because they got into a heated argument over who exorcised the most curses that day.

His eyes drift over to Suguru, ignoring Yaga's neat handwriting as he talks about some important Meiji period writer. His partner stares at their teacher, but he has that far away look in his eyes; here but not taking in anything. Satoru can see how much the guilt of Amanai's death weighs on him, shoulders slumped with invisible weight and fingers twitching restlessly. He gets it, feels his own guilt eat away at him as the sun goes down. If only Fushiguro didn't get the upper hand and knew practically his every move, if only he wasn't stupid enough to take down Infinity despite the safety of Tengen's barriers, if only he was stronger.

He has to get stronger. Not just to appease his family, but to make sure something like that never happens again.

Bored out of his mind as Yaga yammers on and on about cats and metaphors, he crooks his fingers to pull a couple loose sheets of paper from Yaga’s desk over to him with Blue. Snagging one of the pencils from inside his desk, he draws out a tic-tac-toe grid, slapping an x in the center before kicking Suguru's desk and slapping the paper down. Suguru raises an eyebrow, giving him an exasperated look that Satoru just wiggles his eyebrows at with a grin. Sighing, Suguru fishes out his own pencil, scribbling something down on the side before adding a circle, passing the paper back.

That’s how they spend most of their allotted class time. Eventually, Shoko gets involved, so they switch to dots and boxes, which devolves into them just passing notes and scribbling over each other’s words. Satoru doesn’t even realize Yaga stopped talking until Suguru flicks him in the forehead. Their teacher looms over them, all three of them blinking innocently up at him.

Yaga just sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Since you three seemingly have nothing better to do, training field.”

Satoru whips around to Suguru, grinning menacingly as his chair rattles as he stands. Suguru glares back with just as much heat, and Shoko sighs next to them.

“Prepare to get your ass beat, Suguru,” he taunts, bumping into him as he walks out the door.

“In your dreams, Satoru,” Suguru retorts, following him out, hands in his pockets and a serene smile on his face. Satoru turns around to walk backward, sticking his tongue out. Shoko pokes him in the side as she breezes by, and he absolutely does not shriek. Yaga just sighs one of those sighs where he’s completely sick of their shit and it’s not even noon, following Shoko as their pace slows down.

He chatters away with Suguru, baiting him into pointless arguments to rile him up because it’s always fun sparring with Suguru when he’s pissed. Makes it more challenging and like a real fight because Suguru worries too much about hurting him now.

“Satoru—”

But Suguru doesn’t warn him fast enough, not paying enough attention to Six Eyes to realize the person briskly walking toward them until it's too late.

“Watch where you’re going,” he scoffs, looking down at the window scrambling to pick up whatever report she had.

“Says the guy walking backward,” Suguru scolds, brushing past him to help the girl with the final papers before offering her a hand. She takes it with a relieved smile, and Satoru can’t help the tiny ball of jealousy that settles in his stomach.

“Thank you, Geto-san,” she says, brushing off the dirt on her pants and taking a deep breath.

“Don’t mention it,” Suguru responds, shooting Satoru a look when he slides up next to him with a brief touch to his back. “Is there any you need assistance with?”

“Actually,” she starts, eyes darting over to Satoru’s, “I have a mission for you. A semi-grade-one curse and three second-grade curses have been spotted lingering around a local funeral home in Yokohama. They’re disturbing the non-sorcerers there in mourning: moving remains, causing panic and fear, and just generally disturbing the area. While they haven’t caused any drastic damage or concern yet, they’ve been requested to be dealt with as soon as possible.”

He glances over at Suguru, taking him in and making sure he’s okay. The last mission they took ended in a dumpster fire and they haven’t had any missions the past two weeks, in no doubt thanks to Yaga’s influence. Suguru bites at the inside of his lip, but his cursed energy is calm. If only he could read minds.

“This’ll be a piece of cake for us,” Satoru says, bumping into Suguru’s side. “We’ve handled way worse.”

“Um,” the window cuts in, shrinking slightly as she brushes dark hair out of her face. “This mission has only been assigned to you, Gojo-san.”

“Hah? What do you mean ‘only been assigned to me?’ Suguru and I always are assigned the same missions.”

“I understand that.” The girl fidgets in place, clutching the report close to her chest, but he really doesn’t care if he’s stressing her out right now because this is bullshit. “However, the higher-ups have noticed an abnormal increase in strong curses as the summer ends so we’re trying to utilize our resources the best we can, and sending two special-grade sorcerers on a mission that could be handled by one isn’t practical to them.”

“So what if it isn’t practical to them? In case they already don’t know, which they should, we’re a package deal. Doesn’t matter what grade we are—”

“Thank you,” Suguru butts in, grabbing the report out of her hands and giving her a small bow. She bows back, obviously relieved as her shoulders relax before she skitters away. Suguru watches the end of the hallway, blindly handing Satoru the file. He snatches it, skimming over the information and still peeved the higher-ups thought it’d be a good idea to split them up.

“Let’s go,” he groans, knocking into Suguru when he won’t move. “Finally have something interesting to do aside from sitting around all day waiting for a distraction.”

“Well, you do at least,” Suguru sighs, pointedly keeping his gaze away from him.

“You think I’m not dragging your ass with me?” Satoru walks back over to the other, report tucked under his arm. “C’mon, when have we ever listened to what those old geezers have said?”

“Too often,” Suguru grumbles under his breath, and Satoru deflates, thinking about the last time they went on a mission. Blood, pain, numbness. He shakes himself out of it when he notices the glazed-over look in Suguru’s eyes, tugging at his bangs.

“The fresh air will do us some good. Get out from being stuck inside Tengen’s barrier,” he murmurs, grabbing Suguru’s hand.

But Suguru pulls his hand away, picking at his cuticles instead. “It’s okay, Satoru. The window was right; with the uptick in curses, it’d be best if we go on separate missions, get everything done quicker.”

It breaks something in him as he looks away, shoving his hands in his pockets. This doesn’t sit right with him, especially right after Amanai’s death. He has a feeling he knows what’s going on, what the higher-ups are planning for him and it makes white-hot anger roil in his gut.

“Don’t be like that, Sato.” A hand on his cheek, pushing his glasses onto his forehead before rubbing under his eyes. He breathes in, nudging into Suguru’s hand to chase away his thoughts. “I’ll go hang out with Shoko, help her study for her upcoming medical exams, maybe help Yaga go through the weapon shed, catch up on training I’ve missed.”

“I don’t like this,” he groans, stepping closer, letting the report flutter to the floor again as he winds his arms around his boyfriend. Suguru does the same, standing on his toes so he can nuzzle into his neck.

“I know. But I’ll be fine. We’re the strongest.”

“Together, not separate.”

“All drama with you, you big baby.” Suguru pokes at him. He nips at his nose in retaliation.

“We’re…” Satoru starts, hands fisting in the back of Suguru’s uniform. “I didn’t fuck anything up, did I? This isn’t you getting rid of me?”

Suguru’s eyes soften, tugging him close again to kiss him gently. “No and no. You think I can get rid of you that easily? I’m just being cautious; the higher-ups probably have their eyes on us and want to make sure we don’t fuck up again. Better to appease them for now.”

“Stop being so smart, you nerd.”

“Hey, I’m logical, not a nerd. That’s your job.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

He’ll never say no to that, pulling Suguru back into a kiss. The other hums, hands tangling in Satoru’s hair as he pulls him closer and licks into his mouth. It’s times like these when he could tell Suguru just how much he means to him, but words always fail him, so he hopes these moments and gestures make up for it.

“You should go,” Suguru says breathlessly, purple eyes swallowed by black and lips ruby red, “before we both get in trouble and I keep you here with me.”

“You’re just trying to get me to leave,” Satoru snarks back, grin on his face.

“So you’ll come back faster.”

“Touché.” Satoru sighs, pulling away. “From the looks of it, this shouldn’t take me longer than two days.”

“Be safe, yeah?” Suguru says, squeezing him tight one last time before pulling away. “And I’ll be okay, I promise. I’m sure Shoko will keep me plenty occupied until you get back.”

“I’m unkillable at this point. I’ll be back in a couple of days. I’ll call you when I get there.”

Suguru nods, stepping away and turning the corner to go find their classmate and teacher. He tells himself it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. But it’s just a couple days. It’ll be in and out, the quicker the better. That's what he tells himself at least as he teleports away with a sigh.

Chapter Text

There’s bright bursting pain in his sternum. When he looks down, there’s a katana sticking out of his chest. Not normal, his tired brain helpfully supplies. Dimly, he feels Infinity and his curse energy kick on a beat later, preventing any other internal damage.

Gritting his teeth, he sends a blast of Blue toward his assailant which sends him flying into the trees, ignoring the odd sensation of the blade being removed. Of course, because Suguru knows his every move like the back of his hand and vice versa, his partner sends one of his curses to swallow the man, thrashing in the dirt to disorient his attacker.

Satoru shouldn’t have turned off Infinity when they were in the safety of Tengen’s barrier, the school buildings in sight as they'd climbed the last stairs. He knew something was up the second there was suddenly a bounty on Amanai’s head. It’s why he had Infinity and Six Eyes running nonstop for the past two days, wearing himself down to the bone to keep an eye out for any threats. Figures the second he turns it off something stupid like getting stabbed would happen. Such a scripted event, like something out of a show.

Suguru’s voice is full of worry as he calls out Satoru’s name, rushing over to him and leaving Amanai and Kuroi out in the open and vulnerable. He holds up a hand, stopping Suguru in his tracks as he shakes his head. He gets it; if Suguru was grievously injured in the middle of a fight, he would do anything possible to make sure he was okay and their attacker was nothing more than a stain on the ground. But it’s not just the two of them right now.

“It’s fine,” he groans, willing shaky feet to move so he’s standing upright again. God, he wishes Shoko’s fyoo fyois suddenly made sense just so he could patch himself up right now and wipe the terrified look off Suguru’s face.

“Amanai is the priority,” he continues, turning away from where Suguru’s giant worm curse writhes to keep his attacker contained to look at his partner and the other two, ignoring the fear in the Star Plasma Vessel’s eyes. “I’ll take care of this. Go with Amanai and Kuroi to Tengen-sama.”

Suguru pauses, stares at him with wide swirling purple eyes filled with too many emotions to speak of, looks back at his curse, faces Satoru again.

“You’re hurt though!” Suguru shouts back, inching closer to him.

Wait.

That’s not how this goes.

“It’s just a scratch,” he finds himself retorting, forcing Infinity to recognize Suguru as a threat. He ignores the look of hurt that crosses his partner’s face as he bounces off the invisible wall. “I’ll go see Shoko right after you take Amanai and Kuroi to Tengen-sama and finish the mission and I kick this dude’s ass.”

“But he waited until you were vulnerable to strike,” Suguru says, eyes pleading Satoru to just listen to him. “He obviously knows how to deal with you. You need help handling this.”

Satoru shakes his head, taking a step backward from Suguru as he readies a blast of Blue. “I’ll be fine,” he insists again, glancing over to where Amanai and Kuroi are watching them. “Run,” he tells them, looking back at Suguru. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise, just—”

Bang.

Both he and Suguru freeze. His ears ring painfully, the sound bouncing around his head too many times. It’s something he’s never heard before, but he hopes he never has to hear it again.

A scream.

Satoru tears his eyes away from Suguru, and they widen when he sees Amanai on the ground, tears painted down her face as she cradles a limp Kuroi to her chest, red splattered across her dress and dripping into the dirt. The woman's expression is flat, eyes distant as Amanai screams and screams and screams.

Ever the saint, Suguru runs over to her. He slides on his knees, using his bare hands to staunch the bleeding, do the impossible and save Kuroi, but Satoru can hear her heartbeat stutter slower and slower, breaths so quiet he doesn’t think the other two can hear them.

Bang.

He sees it this time, the small fleck of silver flying through the air. But he doesn’t move fast enough, finds that he’s rooted to the spot, forced to watch as it doesn’t stop moving until it hits Amanai in the temple. The force splits her headband, blood spraying from the impact. He sees the moment the life leaves her eyes, face going from distraught to expressionless in less than a second. She tips over, hitting the ground with a thud, facing the person she considered her mother.

All he can do is stare in shock, Suguru in a similar state. The nagging part of his brain screams that this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, that Suguru, Amanai, and Kuroi were supposed to listen the first time and head to Tengen while he was left to deal with whoever this is. Then things could go horribly wrong because they would be safe and this is what he was raised to do.

Suguru turns terrifyingly slowly in the direction of his curse, and Satoru belatedly pans his head to look over, just in time for the curse to explode in a shower of purple blood. The man has a sword in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other. He opens his mouth, but Suguru doesn’t give him a chance to speak, unleashing Rainbow Dragon in full force.

Satoru tries to move, fire off Blue at maximum output, summon his incomplete domain, anything , but he can’t move at all. Nothing restrains him—his feet aren’t tethered to the ground and his arms aren’t bound to his sides—but something keeps him from moving. He can’t figure out what, left to watch as Suguru fights for his life against the man who killed Amanai and Kuroi.

It’s flashy, dramatic, powerful as Suguru uses everything he has to try and beat their assailant to a pulp. Eventually, though, he must notice that Satoru isn’t doing anything to help, because of course he does; whenever they’re together on missions, they fight in sync, actions unsaid as they dance around their enemies. When Suguru sends Kucchisake-Onna at the assassin, he turns to Satoru. He cocks his head, confusion and panic and worry written on his face.

Fatal mistake.

Satoru tries to scream at Suguru to turn around, but now his mouth won’t work either. He’s left to watch in abject horror as the assassin runs his sword through Suguru’s chest, mirroring his own wound but Suguru can’t utilize his energy as effectively as him. Satoru can’t scream as he watches the man spin Suguru around, slashing him twice across the chest before pushing him to the ground. He can’t run to Suguru’s side, cradle him to his chest so he can try and teleport them to Shoko so she can save him. He can’t fight back like he wants to, no way for him to do anything but just sit and listen as Suguru’s breathing slowly gets weaker and stare at the blood slowly forming a pool around him.

He stays frozen in place as the assassin disappears from his vision, and then he feels the stark energy of the Inverted Spear of Heaven pulse as it shatters Infinity. Blinding pain scorches through his neck, blood rushing to the wound and choking him further before the spear slices through the rest of his body. He doesn’t fully register the stabs through his thigh, or the killing blow between his eyes; he just lets his body fall over, head lulling to the side.

His fingers give a pathetic twitch, but that’s all he can do, left to just stare at Amanai and Kuroi in the distance, lying next to each other with their blood mixing together in the dirt. It hurts just watching as his partner dies before his eyes, nothing he can do to stop it as breathing becomes harder.

But that’s how it went anyway, right? Because he wasn’t able to defeat Fushiguro the first time around, Amanai was killed to prevent the merger, Kuroi was murdered in cold blood, and Suguru was on the brink of death. Satoru should’ve been stronger, then Amanai and Kuroi would still be alive somewhere safe and away from Tengen. Suguru wouldn’t be so silent and distant, not always needing to be pulled back to reality (not that he minds doing it; it just scares him when Suguru starts drifting). He wouldn’t be falling into the carefully laid trap his clan set up, priorities shifting so he can get stronger and become the weapon they want him to be.

It makes him sick.

He shuts his eyes, the darkness welcome against the pain radiating everywhere. But of course his mind starts to drift, the backs of his eyelids shifting from black to blue, fingers tingling with the familiar power high as it shifts again from blue to red. Shoko never talks about how much Reverse Curse Technique hurts, but maybe that’s just him having to learn it on the brink of death, nerves coursing fire through his body as his wounds stitch themselves back together. The colors shift for a final time, blue seeping back in before it combines with the red to make purple.

Now, he doesn’t feel anything, just startling numbness as he’s suddenly thrown back to that horrid white room. The sharp copper scent of blood fills his nose even though the sheet covering Amanai is pristine; he can’t tear his eyes away from it. People’s faces blur as they applaud the dead Star Plasma Vessel in his arms, celebrating that the tool that prevented the evolution of their god is gone. It makes a weak lick of fire curl in his gut, fingers twitching at the thought of just activating Infinity and crushing them all to a pulp.

He snaps his eyes toward the door as it creaks open, Suguru’s eyes wide and full of fear as they stare at each other. He can’t hear anything anymore, just watching his partner’s lips and feeling his own move in response. Their conversation at the Time Vessel Association haunts him, though. He always wonders what would’ve happened if Suguru said “yes,” how he wouldn’t have felt a thing as they slaughtered the group that was responsible for the death of a girl he’d somehow grown to care for. They’d still be fucked up, sure, but at least then they would’ve done something about it instead of letting it fester inside them.

He feels Amanai’s arm slip out of his hold, the two thin silver chains around her wrist glinting harshly against the light.

And then it moves with startling speed, fingers digging into his neck and cutting off his air. He tries to activate Infinity, but he suddenly can’t feel his cursed energy. When he looks up to Suguru for help, there’s no one there, the white room replaced with an empty void as Amanai’s grip gets stronger. Spots dance in his vision, but he can’t let her go.

“It’s your fault,” Amanai’s voice creaks as the sheet slips off, the hole in her temple oozing blood down her face and dripping onto his arm, blue eyes dull and lifeless. “It’s all your fault. Why couldn’t you save me? You said you were the strongest, that you would protect my future. Why couldn’t you let me live my life the way I wanted?”

He wants to protest, say he didn't want her to not end up as a tool, but she grips harder, tears streaming down his face as she crushes his windpipe.

“Weak.”

He doesn’t shoot up or dramatically gasp awake like the movies say people do after a nightmare. Satoru just inhales sharply, Infinity automatically kicking in as his brain tries to remember where he is.

The sticky autumn air seeps its way into the room through the open engawa door, bringing the sound of crickets chirping and the smell of early morning with the breeze passing by. In the moonlight, he can just make out the novels stacked on the nightstand and the two photo frames cast in shadows. The blankets are pushed to the foot of the bed, the fan on the desk blowing cool air over his sweaty body.

An arm is draped over his middle, legs tangled together with another pair. Soft puffs of breath tickle his neck, and when he turns his head to look down at Suguru cuddled up to him, he just gets a mouthful of hair for his efforts.

Right. He’d just gotten back from a solo mission that took over a week to complete despite being one of the strongest sorcerers; some first-grade curse roving around a hospital, which makes sense considering the curse was generated from a fear of anesthesia. Despite the late hour, he’d shuffled into Suguru’s room with no complaints from the other, greeted with snuggles and both of them promptly passing out.

He sighs, fingers tangling in Suguru’s hair, working out the knots that have formed as he tries to calm his racing heart. Maybe it’s because of Six Eyes, but he can always remember his dreams in startling detail even days later. Or maybe it’s just the fact he’s experienced being stabbed to death before, the scars from the Inverted Spear tingling at the phantom feeling of the blade breaking through his flesh and blood oozing out of the wounds.

That wouldn’t explain the lingering feeling of a hand around his neck choking him. Ever since Infinity manifested when he was younger, only two people have been able to break through. One used a cursed tool and is long dead, the other his Six Eyes never perceived as a threat no matter how much he beat him into the dirt during training, said person snorting in his sleep and burrowing closer to Satoru.

Still, he can feel the way his windpipe was crushed, the woozy feeling of his brain rapidly losing oxygen, lungs struggling to expand. He knows what it’s like to choke on your own blood, gurgling and bursting from the wound and flooding his mouth with the dull taste of copper, but he would rather go without knowing what it’s like to be strangled to death.

He rubs at the spot, trying to get rid of the phantom fingers as his breath stutters. The hand holding Suguru close rises and falls with his partner’s breathing, so Satoru takes a shaky inhale, matching his breathing to Suguru’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees moonlight glint off the thin silver bracelet on Suguru’s nightstand. He refuses to look at it, knowing exactly where the other sits in a box shoved beneath his bed.

Slowly and eventually, the images of Kuroi, Amanai, and Suguru lying in pools of their own blood, the feeling of being greeted by death’s darkness, the sound of gunshots float away with each steady breath. The thoughts he’s been having since that day, however, stick around as he stares at the flickering Christmas lights tacked around the room Suguru never bothered to take down last winter.

Bitterness clogs his throat as he thinks of all the followers of the Time Vessel Association who just stood there applauding the dead girl in his arms. The vessel bound by the hands of fate to unwillingly assimilate with their god, told her entire life who she was and what she had to become only for it to be ripped away from her. He wonders if Amanai preferred this outcome: still completely herself when she died instead of becoming Tengen.

It makes his blood boil because as much as he hates to admit it, he sees so much of himself in the loud, spunky girl he grew so close to over the three days they had to protect her. A girl forced into a box based on those old geezers that run jujutsu society. A girl who never got to live her life to the fullest, terrified of those who coveted her because of the power she held. A girl hunted for that power, only for people to claim bragging rights about ushering in a new age of sorcery and whatever cash was attached to her name.

A girl’s life he sees reflected in his own, constantly being told his birth shifted the very nature of cursed energy, constantly isolated and trained to use Six Eyes and Limitless because he was told he was supposed to be the strongest sorcerer of the modern day, constantly aware of each and every curse and curse user hunting him down.

But she’s dead now, and he’s almost envious of how she no longer has to bear the burden of Star Plasma Vessel while he’s still alive and kicking as the strongest.

The higher ups are taking full advantage of that; it hasn’t gone unnoticed by him. Since Amanai’s death, he’s been sent on more and more missions, more and more difficult, and more and more frequently. It all started with that solo mission they sent him on two weeks after those curses in a funeral home. True to his word, he finished hunting the curses in two days, but instead of the normal two weeks of classes between missions, a day later he had another mission without Suguru to back him up.

And that trend just kept going. Mission after mission after mission after mission slowly piled onto him because “he can handle it,” “he’s the strongest.” Just a weapon for the higher ups to throw at whatever curse they need.

He barely spends any time at the college actually learning or training anymore. Hell, he barely spends any time at the college period. He never thought he’d miss the busted vending machines and the wobbly desk chairs and… everything really. Is this what it feels like to grow up too fast? He’s only seventeen, but all he seems to do is work and kill and follow orders.

This is the first night in almost two weeks he’s been able to sleep with his boyfriend and not swarmed with back-to-back missions. The few times he has been back in the past month he’s noticed Suguru’s demeanor change more: hair down more often than not, only in the present after his name is called a few times, slumped shoulders, dark bags under his eyes. They’ve spent a handful of hours together during those days before he’s whisked away on yet another mission, and he sees Suguru deflate every time it happens.

Satoru gently traces over the dark circles now, careful not to wake his partner up. On one hand, it feels good taking so many missions on his own. There’s less risk of other sorcerers or Suguru getting injured or killed, and they get more time to hone their skills on the off chance he does need backup. No worry lingers in his chest at the thought of turning around and finding his partner dead like in his dreams. He doesn’t want to think about what he’d do if that ever happened.

On the other hand, he’s just so tired. Reverse Curse Technique can give him a fresh brain as often as he needs it, sure, but that doesn’t stop the slow roll of fatigue that consumes his body if he pushes off sleep for days on end. He may have a near-infinite well of cursed energy to draw on for whatever he needs, but it doesn’t help when everything just becomes so much.

Six eyes means six points of receiving information covering all his normal senses: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, and energy—essentially doubling the sensory input of a normal sorcerer. Nowadays after missions, he’s bombarded with migraines and all-around sensitivity to everything more often than not.

When it did happen before Amanai’s death, being with Suguru always helped. His partner had accidentally been there the first time his senses crippled him during their first year. A simple-turned-deadly mission consisting of an unregistered special-grade and four first-grade curses crawling around an abandoned mine. He spent so much time pushing Six Eyes beyond what he was used to, relying on everything he could to make sure none of the curses got the jump on them.

But of course they still did. On top of stretching his senses, he used one too many Blues and attempted too many Reds, leading to him nearly bringing the entire tunnel down on them as he collapsed to the ground.

It was the most pain he felt in a while—not even close to what he experienced growing up learning how to properly utilize Six Eyes and Limitless together with the strict teachings of the Gojo clan—but pretty damn close. Satoru dropped the biggest secret he kept, that the Gojo clan told him to never tell anyone or else it would shatter his appearance as the strongest. On accident of course; the years of “discipline” made sure he would never crumble if someone dared to call him weak.

He’s just glad it was Suguru with him that day. The other didn’t skip a beat when Satoru crumbled, just put more force into defeating their foes and getting the two of them out of the mineshaft seconds before it collapsed. There was no judgment on his face either, swirling purple irises full of concern as he ignored his refusal of help.

Of course Satoru caved and told Suguru what he does when he overloads himself. It’s Suguru. How could he not? They’d ignored the window that accompanied them, Suguru hoisting him onto one of his airborne curses and propelling them back to the school. Suguru had trapped his head in his lap face-down, leaning over him to block out the sound of rushing wind and the harsh sunlight, filling his nose with the smell of the other’s detergent. If he hadn’t been practically writhing in pain, he would’ve said something completely inappropriate for a fifteen-year-old.

Ever since, Suguru and his room have always been his safe space, unwillingly at first until they stopped trying to rip out each other’s throats at every opportunity. At this point it’s instinctive for his partner; Satoru just has to stumble into the other’s room without a word before he’s enveloped in everything Suguru. And as infrequent as it's been, Satoru's always been happy to wrap every gangly limb around his partner when Suguru's had a rough day.

Now though, he’s overstimulated more with less time to recuperate. But he’s just happy that he finally has a chance to breathe, limit the information he’s taking in to just Suguru’s scent and touch and tiny snores and the sight of him finally relaxing.

If he had to guess, this is probably the most Suguru’s slept in a while. He doesn’t grumble as Satoru shifts slightly, rolling onto his side to properly pull Suguru into his chest. Suguru just clings tighter, nuzzling into the hollow of his neck. Satoru presses kisses to the crown of his head, slipping his hands under the oversized sweater to rub up and down Suguru’s warm skin. Goosebumps follow the path his hands take; Limitless always makes him run cold, so he takes every opportunity he can get to steal Suguru’s warmth, sleep finally pulling at the edges of his consciousness again.

Suguru’s completely dead to the world, not even startling awake when Satoru’s phone shatters the silence. The buzzing makes him jerk, flailing a hand blindly around the nightstand to grab it. Thank god it was just a text. Suguru groans quietly, the small sliver of his face Satoru can see scrunching up. He shushes his partner, carding fingers through his long hair until his expression relaxes back to peaceful slumber.

Burning curiosity gets the best of him as always, flicking his phone open. He ignores how it’s five in the morning, though it makes sense when he sees who the sender is; his mother has always been an early riser.

[母]
Satoru. You can’t keep ignoring
the clan’s messages forever. You
have a duty to your family. The
heads need you home to go over
major updates within the clans.
We’re expecting you home by the
weekend. We let your teacher know.
You know how sad Kyou will be if
you don’t show up.

He sighs, not bothering to reply to the message as he snaps his phone shut with too much force and throws it somewhere into the depths of Suguru’s open closet. There goes his option of asking Yaga for a mission so he can get out of bullshit clan politics. And the guilt-tripping, staple Gojo family classic. Will he give into it? Never. But a little part of him dies at the thought of his six-year-old cousin’s pouty face and teary blue eyes the next time he actually decides to show up at the clan household.

It always startles him when he realizes home shifted from the people who he shared blood with and compact minka around the mountains to the boy in his arms with drool slowly pooling at the collar of his shirt. It went from where he was held on a pedestal for something he had to fight tooth and nail to control to being someone’s equal in everything they do.

Honestly, he’s not complaining and would choose the latter every time. Having power is good, great even, but not when he has to bend to the whims of people who have more say in how jujutsu society is supposed to function, left to just be puppetted around as a piece on a game board.

Maybe he’ll kidnap Suguru and Shoko and take them wandering around the city for the fifth time. They’ll surely find something to stick their noses into and cause trouble, even if they’re banned from a handful of restaurants for disturbing the peace, among other things.

Plan set in his mind, he takes a deep breath as he settles into Suguru’s death grip around his waist, burying his face in the top of his partner’s head to try and quiet the buzzing thought rattling around.

But the threads of sleep that were so close a few minutes ago have completely vanished, replaced with nerves and adrenaline that always come with his family. He can’t keep still, fingers racing up and down Suguru’s spine, feet rubbing against calves, wiggling around trying to adjust. At this point, he’s going to wake up Suguru with how much he’s shifting around. As much as he relishes in the other’s warmth and presence, he needs to do something about this sudden energy.

When in doubt, he falls back on the clan’s strict teachings and horrible coping mechanisms. 

He lets out another sigh, bringing his hands up to cup Suguru’s adorable sleeping face and kiss his forehead and cheeks and nose and lips gently before he pulls away. Of course, Suguru’s face pinches at the sudden lack of him in his arms, but Satoru replaces himself with the pillow he wasn’t using, shucking off his hoodie and wrapping it around his partner. Suguru settles, back to occasionally snorting in his sleep as Satoru uses a pull of Blue to grab his phone before padding out the engawa in his bare feet.

The cool air sticks to his sweaty skin. Crickets and cicadas chirp with the sky just starting to turn indigo. The dew is cold against his feet as he steps off the wood, the crisp morning air flooding his nose. He takes a deep breath of it in, closing his eyes and trying to calm his racing thoughts.

Satoru pauses, just taking it all in. Right now, he’s not the strongest, not a special-grade sorcerer, not a Gojo. Right now, he’s just a teenage boy with his stupid thoughts in the too-still morning.

A little part of him wishes that was all he had to be.

But he opens his eyes, still she strongest, still a special-grade sorcerer, still a Gojo; the weight of it all still heavy on his shoulders. But he can do this. He has to make sure the haunted look in Suguru’s eyes dims.

The air around him cracks as he draws on his cursed energy—something he only feels because of Six Eyes. He takes a deep breath in, weaving his fingers together as he pictures the training grounds a short walk away, with its dingy track, itchy grass, and scuffed lines from him and Suguru getting too competitive.

He concentrates harder, imagining the spot where he and Suguru sparred for the first time: the patches of dirt from digging their feet into the grass, the dents in the fence from both of them throwing each other around, the blood staining the edge of the track when Suguru clocked him in the cheek and sent him tumbling to the ground.

The scent of ozone fills the air, his cursed energy bubbling under his skin as he concentrates. Once the image in his head is vivid enough, he claps, squeezing his eyes shut.

He tries not to focus on the feeling of everything warping around him, like the fabric of reality is puling over his skin, trying to consume him whole. It doesn’t last longer than a second, going from everything to nothing almost instantly. It’s an odd sensation, a taste of what his domain is like, if the old records the Gojo clan has are anything to go by, not that he’ll ever get to experience that information overload thanks to his technique.

Slowly, he cracks open his eyes. He’s greeted with the sight of the training grounds, the scuff marks and blood stains below his feet. A small grin spreads across his face. Maybe he’s finally nailing his teleportation.

But of course the moment he gets excited, something drips down his nose. He wipes it away with the back of his sleeve, the edge coming back stained with blood. Groaning, he sends a burst of Reverse Curse Technique through his system to stop his nosebleed, frustration overwhelming his short-lived euphoria.

He hates the conflicting feelings warring through his head constantly. There’s such a rush he gets being the strongest sorcerer of his generation, all the power at his fingertips, able to level Japan (and maybe the entire world) with the flick of his finger. He can do whatever he wants and no one can tell him no out of fear.

Well, everyone except the higher ups and the elder clan members. They still see him as a child with little control over his abilities. But they don’t see him as weak, the higher ups especially as they send him on more and more challenging missions, more and more frequently, more and more alone. It makes something angry claw at his chest, the child in him screaming that he’s not getting to live his life to the fullest, reduced to nothing more than a doll to pilot around and do the jujutsu world’s bidding to keep everyone safe.

A tiny part of him doesn’t mind shouldering the burden. He’s watched the worry slowly bleed out of Shoko’s posture at the infrequent numbers of sorcerers and students entering the morgue, the stress lines melt off Nanami’s face not having to worry about himself and Haibara taking difficult missions, the tension disappear from Yaga’s hands when he gives Satoru another high-grade mission.

He keeps expecting to see the bags under Suguru’s eyes slowly fade back to a healthy color, but each time he’s seen his partner, they’ve only gotten deeper. But Suguru’s safe—all of them are—and that’s what’s important: that they don’t lose anyone else again. So he’s willing to suck it up, willing to play the part of the strongest if it means his friends can live another day.

The larger part of him though is constantly frustrated at being pulled this way and that, stretched thin, overstimulated at everything. He’s only one person; there are two other special grades they can rely on, and countless first and semi-first grades who honestly could be special-grade. He’s the strongest sorcerer, sure, but at what cost?

Sighing, he pops the joints in his finger, kicking one of the empty soda cans they left out from training the other week and sending it flying with extra help from Blue. At least he’s managed to minimize the somatic components of Reversal and Lapse, just a hair’s breadth of distance between the two hand signs when he wants it to be obvious. He doesn’t even really think about it when he pulls the can back with Red, lost in his swirling thought until he hears it clatter against the track, blocked automatically by Infinity.

Which is good. It means he’s gotten stronger.

If he wouldn’t get in a world of trouble, he’d love to mess around with Hollow Purple, see on how large a scale he could manipulate his cursed energy. He can try that out on missions, let curses be his training dummies under the safety of a veil.

For now, as the sun slowly turns the sky from indigo to navy and birds start singing, he messes around with how small he can manipulate Purple. It’s fascinating, watching the ball of fabricated mass condense smaller and smaller until it’s nothing more than a pinprick. He fires it off at the can.

The bang it lets out makes him flinch, images from his nightmare flashing in front of his eyes. He doesn’t even know what an actual gunshot sounds like, all his knowledge of modern weapons pulled from TV shows and video games. Even if he never saw how Amanai died, he got the details from Suguru eventually, and they still haunt him, phantom memories dancing in his brain. They linger and fester almost as bad as his death. Sometimes he wishes he could just forget it all.

He flops down in the grass, having to manually turn off Infinity so he can feel the blades itch against his palms and bare calves. It’s a semi-nice distraction, watching the tops of the trees split the slowly approaching sunbeams. He forces himself to take a breath, calm his racing heart and mind.

Not that it works, the tiny voices in his head that sound like the elder clan members telling him he needs to be stronger, that nothing should affect him.

He pops his fingers again, mind drifting back to what he knows of his domain. At the moment, it’s incomplete; he needs to be in an enclosed space in order for it to have the desired effects of information overload and immobility. But from what he’s read, with time and practice and more fine-tuning of his cursed energy output, he should be able to have a complete and enclosed domain he can manipulate at will.

There’s no better time to practice than the present.

He takes a breath in, pushing himself back up to his feet. His cursed energy rushes forth in a tidal wave, almost overwhelming him but he doesn’t falter. Widening his stance, he forms the hand sign, the words at the tip of his tongue.

Buzz buzz.

He groans, the tug his cursed energy disappearing as he gets distracted by his phone. At least it’s not a phone call. It could be from his mother again, more insincere words trying to get him to come home.

But it’s just Suguru, and the weight melts from his shoulders.

[傑]
where r u

[悟]
training grounds. y r u awake?

[傑]
bc u left

[悟]
miss me that badly?

[傑]
shut up dont move im coming to u

Satoru chuckles, flicking his phone shut. He turns toward the dorms and waits. Eventually, he sees a figure creep down the hill, Suguru’s cursed energy unmistakable. His partner looks tired, though considerably more well-rested than he did yesterday. It probably doesn’t help that he’s now wrapped up in the hoodie Satoru left behind.

He smiles softly as Suguru approaches, and once he gets close enough, he opens his arms. Suguru comes to him with little protest, face scrunched against the creeping morning light. He nestles his way into Satoru’s arms, resting his chin on Suguru’s shoulder and winding his arms around him. Suguru nuzzles into his neck, taking a deep breath as his eyelashes flutter against his skin. His partner is still warm from being all wrapped up cozy in bed, and Satoru leeches off of it, content to just bask in the morning chill wrapped up in him.

“What’re you doing up so early?” Suguru mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep as he pulls away slightly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, tucking Suguru’s bangs behind his ear.

“Satoru.” Suguru gives him a deadpan look. Or attempts to anyway. It’s less intimidating when there are still sleep crusties around his eyes and dried spit on the corner of his mouth and pillow wrinkles pressed into his cheek.

But he still caves. Partly. “My mom texted me. She wants me home over the weekend for dumb clan politics.”

“You can’t ask Sensei for a mission?” Suguru asks, swaying them side to side.

“Mom went to him before she texted me so that’s a no-go,” he sighs, resting his chin on top of Suguru’s head. “Probably can just kidnap Shoko and go wandering around the city to get out of it.”

Suguru hums, leaning into the touch. “Without me?”

“You’re invited too, I guess,” he snarks, squeezing him tight.

“Glad I’m just an afterthought to you, Sato,” Suguru chuckles teasingly, kissing the sensitive spot where his neck and shoulder meet. “You sure that’s all?”

“Mhmm.” Of course Satoru deflects. He knows he can talk with his partner about anything and everything, but he’s seen how Suguru reacts whenever their botched mission gets brought up. If he brought up the nightmares he’s been having of not only Suguru’s death, but Kuroi and Amanai’s as well, he doesn’t want to think about how much it might hurt his partner, both mentally and emotionally.

“Are you sure?” Suguru pulls back more, and Satoru hates the worry swirling in his eyes, dulling the usually vibrant purples and golds. It makes him feel hollow, a little horrible that he’s keeping this from his partner, but what else is he supposed to say?

“Okay, fine, maybe the constant missions are starting to get to me. Just a little bit though; it’s nothing horrible. I’m fine. Promise.”

Suguru melts at that, worry shifting to concern as he brings a hand up to cradle his cheek. “You don’t look fine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with eye bags before. And your eyes are a little duller. Do you get enough sleep during missions?”

“No, but it’s fine,” he hums, leaning into his partner’s touch. “Besides, I’ve got you to recharge me right now. What about you? I thought the extra load off your shoulders would do you some good, but you look worse than you did last week.”

“Wow, thanks. Really feeling the love.” Suguru rolls his eyes, a tired smile on his face. “It’s just from the summer heat, but it’s autumn now. I’m fine. Starting classes again has helped some.”

“Not enough, obviously.”

“I’m going to throw you across the field, I swear to god.”

“You can try, but I’m not letting you go,” Satoru sing-songs, grinning playfully as Suguru tries to pull away. “Loosen up, Ruru. I’m here to protect you.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, but a smile spreads across his face at the nickname. “Like I’m not also a special-grade.”

“Then you can protect me too.”

“Wasn’t that always the plan?” Suguru laughs, leaning his weight heavily to one side, making them stumble and tumble into the grass. Satoru can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips, staring at his partner leaning on top of him, hair trapping their faces in a curtain of black.

“Yeah,” he sighs, leaning in to kiss him gently. Suguru hums, pushing back softly and letting their hands tangle together. But Satoru pulls away before they can get too wrapped up.

“C’mon,” he says, kicking his feet. “Summon Awa.”

“Awa?” Suguru questions as he sits up, pulling Satoru up with him.

“Yeah, Awa. The manta ray curse you have that can fly?”

Suguru snorts. “You named it? Really? What are you, five?”

“Dude, that be so gross then if I was.”

“You did not just ‘dude’ your own boyfriend.”

“So what if I did? Awa’s still not here, c’mon.”

With a roll of his eyes, the air next to Suguru ripples with inky darkness as he activates his technique. Out glides the pink manta ray, which Satoru of course gives a pat between the eyes.

“C’mere,” he tells Suguru as he hops on its back, patting the space between his legs.

“Where are we going?” Suguru asks as he slides in place, Satoru wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s stomach and pulling him backward so he can lean on his chest.

“Up and around,” he says helpfully, nuzzling into his hair.

“So descriptive,” Suguru sighs, but Awa rises up into the air slowly after a few seconds.

They crest the tree line and then they start moving forward, Suguru sending Awa on a loop around the school. They aren’t high enough in the air for the buildings to be tiny blips on the mountain, but it’s still hard to make out certain details. Cold air nips at their skin, Suguru snuggling closer to him.

Usually, Satoru would be blabbering away, filling the silence with whatever came to mind, Suguru bouncing off him. But right now, he’s content with staying quiet, listening to the wind whip in his ears and Suguru’s quiet breaths. It’s nice, peaceful, and his thoughts finally drift away from his nightmares and missions and family, letting him enjoy the moment he has to breathe.

The sun peeks over the horizon, rays of light illuminating the sky as the upper atmosphere turns the sky a gorgeous shade of orange. The clouds in the sky reflect it, turning the sky into a work of art.

“We should do this more often,” he sighs, shutting his eyes briefly to just feel the contrast between the cold air and the warm sunlight.

“We could if you didn’t insist on sleeping until the middle of the day,” Suguru teases, pinching his thigh.

“I’ll fix my sleep schedule then,” Satoru hums, grinning down at his partner when he looks up at him in shock. “What? You act like I wouldn’t do whatever you wanted.”

“Because I am. Since when do you listen to anyone?”

“I always listen to you,” he says cheekily, kissing his nose. “Besides, it’d be nice, y’know? Not like we get to spend a lot of time together during the day anymore.”

Suguru deflates a little at that, glancing off to the side. "Yeah..." he mutters. "But it's okay, honestly. You don't need to worry about me."

"But I do," he responds, hugging his partner tighter. "Again, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but you look so tired, Ruru. I... I want to be here for you whenever and however I can."

Suguru doesn't say anything at first, which is fine. Satoru will always wait for him to get his thoughts together. He doesn't mind basking in the morning silence with him as the sun finally starts driving some of the chill away.

"You do more than enough, Sato," his partner eventually says, leaning back into him. "More than you could ever know."

"I'm glad," Satoru whispers, pressing kisses into his hair. "I just hate that they've been making us take missions alone. Sometimes..." He pauses this time, a little scared at the words that want to slip out of his mouth, a little relieved that he wants to talk about this in some capacity. "Sometimes I'm glad you aren't with me during missions. Not that you would, but I don't have to worry about you getting hurt. But... they aren't as fun anymore. I don't know. I'm more worried that I don't have you there to watch my back anymore."

"Satoru," Suguru mumbles, turning around completely so he can cup Satoru's face with warm fingers. "You've been doing great without me. But—" he cuts off Satoru's protest, "—the next mission that either you or I get assigned, we can go together, okay?"

"Okay." He nods, leaning into the touch and resting their foreheads together. "I need you, Suguru."

"I know," Suguru sighs, kissing him gently. "I need you too."

It settles the thing clawing at his chest, but not enough. It's three words, sure, but not the three words he craves to hear.

"I love you," he murmurs into the kiss, trying to pull Suguru even closer even though they're as close as they can possibly get.

His partner chuckles, hooking his legs around Satoru's hips, not breaking the kiss. "I love you too. We're gonna be okay."

He can only hope that they will be. But he ignores the self-deprecating part of his mind, fully content to bask in the sunrise above the trees with his one and only.

Chapter Text

The winter air bites at Satoru’s skin despite the winter coats he, Suguru, and Shoko are bundled up in. He doesn’t really mind the cold, especially growing up close to the mountains and thanks to the extensive bullshit borderline-abuse his clan made him go through to train Infinity. But now he enjoys the cold for the sole purpose of stealing all of Suguru’s body heat no matter where they are: outside, on a mission, in class, in bed.

He doesn’t like to dwell on the fact that those moments have still been getting less and less frequent as, of course, more and more missions have popped up for him to take on. He hasn’t been able to sleep in a couple days with how stressful and intensive his last mission was. But now he’s finally back on school grounds for a day, maybe longer as the number of curses finally dwindle from the summer months, left to build up their strength again.

“Heads up!” Shoko calls out, pen poised and ready to be thrown. He snorts, ignoring the fact that she didn’t listen to what he told her. Suguru stands next to her, eraser in hand, also ready to throw it at him.

They throw both items at the same time, and even with him being able to see them coming right as his face, he doesn’t make any conscious effort into activating or shifting around Infinity. The pen stops right in front of his nose, making him go cross-eyed as the eraser bounces off his forehead.

“It’s working!” he cheers, snatching the pen and eraser out of the air. Both Suguru and Shoko gape in shock.

“What the heck was that?” Shoko questions, tilting her head in confusion.

He opens his mouth to respond, but—

“Automatic selection of targets for Infinity?” Suguru cuts in, tired eyes filled with awe.

Satoru can’t help the grin that spread across his face, a little part of him pleased that Suguru knows. But maybe he caught him one of the days he was messing around with his technique in his room.

“Yep!” he responds, picking at the eraser. “But I’m technically the target. I’ve automated what I used to do manually. So now I get Infinity to discern objects by the strength of its cursed energy, mass, velocity, and shape. One day I’ll be able to do poisons, but that’s for later. This just lets me keep Limitless perpetually active on minimal resources.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, fingers twitching at her side like she wants to throw something at his head again, but her only weapon is in his hands. “Running your technique forever will fry your brain, genius,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Or have you forgotten that, Mr. in bed for a week with a migraine because I cooked my brain trying to save everyone in our first year?”

“Well, now I have RCT,” he retorts, grin turning sly as he spins the pen around, “and I can also keep it running on top of Limitless, so I’ve always got a fresh brain to work with. Though now that I’ve been able to shorten my hand seals, the only hurdles left I need to work on are Domain Expansion and teleportation.”

He sighs, tossing the pen back to Shoko so she has something to do with her hands as he pops his fingers. “We should set up some courses without obstacles so I can practice. You have any lab rats I can use, Shoko?” he asks, ducking for show as she chucks the pen at him again.

“In your dreams,” she snarks. “Despite what you think, I’m not looking to get in trouble with whatever stunt you decide to pull during that. Count me out.”

“Boo,” he whines. Shoko just sticks her tongue out at him like a child. He flicks the eraser at her, which she has the audacity to catch without even looking. It’s mildly impressive, considering she doesn’t go out on missions anymore as she focuses on her medical-intensive studies.

“Whatever,” Shoko sighs, stretching her arms above her head. “Rope your boyfriend into whatever scheme you’re plotting. I’ve got other things I need to do.”

Even though she can’t see it, Satoru sticks his own tongue out at her as she walks away. “You’re no fun, Shoko!” he calls after her, shoving his hands in his pockets as he wanders closer to Suguru.

“One of us has to be the voice of reason between the three of us!” she shouts back before she steps inside the building with a shudder of relief.

“Loser,” he snorts, scuffing his feet in the snow as he stops in front of his partner. “So, what say you? Wanna help me train?”

But Suguru doesn’t say anything, staring right past him. Satoru recognizes that look. He blinks, staring at his boyfriend closely for the first time in a month. His eyes are dull, eyebags dark, cheeks sunken, fingers thin. The sight makes Satoru’s heart pound in his ears, a lump stuck in his throat that he pushes past as he raises a hand to cup Suguru’s cheek.

“Suguru?” he says softly, the thing in his chest squeezing tighter as Suguru jerks initially at the contact. But his partner settles a second later, like he never flinched in the first place, but Satoru knows better. “Have you lost weight?”

Suguru shakes his head, shivering as a gust of wind blows by, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s just school and mission stress.”

“Are you sure?” Satoru asks, running his hand to the back of Suguru’s head to guide him into his chest, warping Infinity around both of them to combat the cold.

“I’m fine,” Suguru deflects, muttering into his neck, breaths warm against his skin.

Satoru pauses, really takes a moment to think about how he wants to go about this. He could choose to believe Suguru at face value, take his word as law, not pester him about what’s swirling around his mind.

But now that he actually has a moment to think about something other than obliterating curses for the higher ups and staying alive, that might not be the best thing to do. He’s not as blind as Suguru wants him to believe. He sees the way the other has been pulling away during the brief times their times away from missions overlap: mind drifting during class and training, assignments left unfinished on his desk, the piles of dirty laundry around his room, body turned toward the wall while he sleeps.

Satoru’s sick of pretending he doesn’t see it in the way Suguru walks slower, feel it when he wraps his arms around his partner, hear it in the middle of the night when Suguru gasps awake from a nightmare. It’s killing him watching Suguru wither away while all his attempts to help are pushed away because their missions come first.

He refuses to give up.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, winding his free arm around Suguru so he can’t escape. He feels it when Suguru tenses, shoulders hiked high as his breath stutters. “I know I said we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but I’m… I’m getting worried, Suguru.”

His partner shakes his head again, trying to step out of Satoru’s arms, but he doesn’t let Suguru get very far. “I’m fine, Satoru. Really. You have more important things to worry about than me.”

He can’t stop the scoff that flies past his lips. “You’re literally my first priority because you’re my boyfriend. Everything else can go fuck itself.”

Suguru snorts, but it’s a short, self-deprecating thing.

“I’m serious,” Satoru continues, smushing Suguru’s cheeks together and forcing them to meet eyes. “I don’t care what you’ve convinced yourself of about my status and the bullshit jujutsu rules we have to follow. I care about you , not stupid bullshit we can’t control right now.”

He sighs as Suguru looks away again. A small part of him feels guilty for pushing, but the spiraling thoughts about losing him overpower it.

“C’mon,” Satoru sighs, lacing their fingers together and tugging Suguru toward the dorms.

“What?” Suguru stutters out, tripping over his feet before catching up with him.

“We’re going out,” he says, weaving their way through the halls without slowing down.

“Where?”

“Somewhere, I don’t know. Just out of the school not on a mission because we need to do something other than working ourselves to death.”

“Weird way of asking me out on a date,” Suguru chuckles softly, thawing the cold panic in Satoru’s chest slightly.

“Yeah, well, I’m weird. You knew this when you started dating me,” he retorts, pushing open Suguru’s door when they finally arrive at their rooms. “Go. Put on something nice. Get out of your uniform for once.”

Suguru wiggles his eyebrows at him, the fucking pervert. Satoru slams the door in his face before he can say anything else and hopefully not notice the heat rising to his ears. His boyfriend laughs again, and Satoru only turns to his own door when he sees Suguru’s cursed energy move toward his closet.

He opens his door with a sigh, taking in the dust that has been gathering on his shelves and desk since he’s been using his room less and less and opting for hotel rooms more and more. A small part of him aches, screams at him that this is where he needs to be. He should be waking up every morning either with Suguru in his arms or a short walk away, ready to pester and annoy the shit out of his partner, not overworking himself past the point of no return every week only to practically collapse at the end of every mission. He ignores the part of him that screams that the stress and busywork is good, that the exhaustion makes sure his sleeps are dreamless.

But he doesn't linger on those thoughts for long. He has to get ready for his spur-of-the-moment idea, dress accordingly and figure out where they should actually go. He digs through the clothes hanging in his closet and folded in his dresser. Eventually, he settles on a Digimon shirt, color block crewneck sweater thrown over it, jeans, and sneakers. Not super nice, but he's putting in effort, so it counts for something at least.

It doesn’t take him long to throw everything on, sliding his sunglasses on top of his head as he indulges himself and reaches under his bed for the box of jewelry he has hidden away. He’s hoarded a variety of necklaces and bracelets as he grew up, always a tad jealous of the adults with their refined looks and the other kids with their beads and strings. Something the clan decided he never had time for so he did it in secret.

His heart both sinks and leaps in his throat when he sees the thin silver chain resting on the top of the pile. All he can think of is Amanai’s hand slipping out from underneath the sheet that covered her body while in his arms, the harsh overhead lights of the room reflecting off the metal. The last time he saw the one Suguru had, it was on his nightstand. The one he took has been stashed in this box for the past few months. It always hurts to look at.

He doesn’t know what compels him to, but despite the way his heart aches for Amanai, he grabs the chain and hooks it around his wrist. It feels like a leaden weight, but he refuses to take it off now. And unlike the scars he sees whenever he passes by a mirror or undresses, at least there are some happy memories attached to the bracelet. So instead of lingering on her death, he thinks about having a water fight on the beach and dumping way too much hot sauce in her ramen.

Satoru’s jolted out of his memories when his phone buzzes on the bed. He pats around for it, groaning once he flicks it open. Two texts from his father, one from his mother, and three voicemails from the clan head. One of these days he’s going to tear his own eyes out.

The box shuts with a click, shoved back into the dusty corner underneath his bed after he shoves his phone into his pocket. Sighing, he stands, walking back over to Suguru’s room.

“Are you decent?” Satoru calls, knocking twice.

“No, but that’s not going to stop you from barging in, is it?” Suguru calls back.

“Nope!” And just like Suguru says, he pushes the door open.

But he freezes before he can get both feet in the door. He knows he’s staring like a lovesick loser, but he honestly can’t drag his eyes away from his partner as Suguru changes out the studs in his ears for black and gold dangling earrings.

Sure, Suguru’s dressed pretty simply—dark t-shit, black long-sleeve denim jacket, straight jeans, a pair of beat-up converse—but Satoru hasn’t seen his partner in something other than his uniform and old nerd tees in so long it makes his brain short circuit.

“What?” Suguru’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. Satoru finally drags his eyes back up to Suguru’s face, a coy smirk that tell Satoru his partner knows what he’s doing. “Like what you see?”

“Uh-huh,” he says dumbly, blinking slowly.

“Take a photo. It’ll last longer,” Suguru hums, turning back to the small mirror propped up on his dresser. Which also gives Satoru a great view of his ass.

“Cheese,” he groans, finally swallowing the spit in his mouth and shuffling over to Suguru. He hasn’t done anything with his hair yet, still hanging loosely over his shoulders. It’s gotten longer since the summer, touching the edges of his shoulder blades. It looks good on him.

Satoru snags a stray hair tie off Suguru’s dresser, combing his fingers through his hair to work out any tangles. His partner doesn’t say anything, still working on threading his remaining earring through his piercing, so Satoru keeps going. He sections Suguru’s silky hair into three chunks, and with steady movements, he braids them together. Suguru melts at his ministrations, sighing contentedly as Satoru wraps the elastic around the loose ends.

He props his chin on his partner’s shoulder, blowing at the earring in his face. He doubts he’ll ever say it out loud, not any time soon at least, but looking at himself and his boyfriend in the mirror, contrasting aesthetics and colors, he can’t help but think they look good together. But Suguru is always especially gorgeous; Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over it.

“Ready?” he asks quietly, slipping his hands around Suguru’s waist.

Suguru hums in response, leaning into the embrace and resting his hands on top of Satoru’s. But his partner pauses, and he watches confusion and then pain cross over Suguru’s face in the mirror as he looks down at Amanai’s bracelet around his wrist.

“Sorry, I didn’t think…” Satoru murmurs, pulling his arms back. But Suguru grabs them, doesn’t let them go, keeps them secure around his waist.

“It’s okay,” Suguru says, not meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I just didn’t expect it, is all. You… There’s nothing stopping you from wearing it if you want to.”

“Are you sure?” he asks hesitantly. It honestly was a gamble when he put it on; either Suguru wouldn’t notice it, notice it and not say anything, or notice it and say something.

“Yeah.” Suguru nods. “Why wouldn’t it?”

Satoru pauses, worrying his lip between his teeth. He could take Suguru’s deflection, let them dance around the topic until the end of time or whenever Suguru finally decides to open up. But it kills him inside watching this tidal wave of guilt and grief consume his partner. He’d deflect in this situation too, but maybe...

“I just…” Satoru starts, placing his chin back on Suguru’s shoulder, playing with his fingers. “I don’t want to only remember her as sad, y’know? We had a lot of fun with her too. I don’t know, I guess bringing this piece of her with me makes me want to cherish that part of her too.”

Suguru lets out a shaky sigh, cursed energy flaring and calming down instantly. He squeezes tighter.

“I’m serious. I can take it off if you don’t want to look at it. You can take all the time you need to process what happened. I just don’t want you to get lost in it.”

It makes a tiny part of him ache, the kid part of his soul screaming how he wishes this was something the clan told him that instead of throwing him from tutoring to practice, a constant back and forth he never got a break from aside from punishment when he didn’t listen.

“It’s okay,” Suguru says, voice quivering. “I promise. I… want to do that too, really. It’s just gonna take more time for me to… y’know.”

“I get it,” he murmurs, kissing gently up his neck and along his ear. “Take all the time you need, honestly. I’m always gonna be here waiting for you, Ruru. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

His partner snorts, scrunching up his shoulders. “Way to ruin the moment, Sato.”

“What? I’m just being honest.”

“You’re being gross, actually.”

“Rude!”

“Says you.”

“Hey! Now who’s the one being rude?”

Suguru just laughs, grin not quite splitting his face like it used to, but enough that it makes the worry in Satoru’s chest subside a tad. He grins back, nestling closer to his partner.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Where are we going?” Suguru rolls his eyes, shoving a hand in Satoru’s face to push him away. 

“Well. You see.” Satoru starts, wandering over and flopping down on Suguru’s bed. His partner levels him with a glare, arms folded across his chest.

“You didn’t actually think of a place to go, did you?” Suguru asks, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Of course I did!” he retorts with a huff. “I just want it to be a surprise. That’s all.”

“Sure,” Suguru drawls as he walks over to stand in front of Satoru. Satoru just smiles sweetly at him, dragging his hands up his thighs to rest on his hips.

“Are you ready?” he asks for the third time.

“How many times do I need to tell you that I am, Satoru? Your ears not working?”

“Maybe I just miss hearing you talk.”

Oh. That’s a first. Satoru watches with gleeful satisfaction as Suguru’s whole face flushes from the tips of his ears down his neck. His partner flounders over his words, mouth forming shapes but no sounds coming out.

“Shut up,” Suguru eventually murmurs, hiding his face with a hand.

“Nah,” Satoru giggles, standing up and pressing a kiss to his forehead before lacing their fingers together. “C’mon. I actually do have a place in mind. I think you’ll like it a lot.”

“Alright. But… before we go…” Suguru trails off, not letting go of their joined hands as he stretches to reach over to his nightstand. He snags the other silver bracelet that belonged to Amanai, slipping it onto his wrist.

“Suguru…” he mutters, nerves spiking again.

“It’s okay,” his partner reassures, eyes locked on the bracelet. “It’s only fair to bring both parts of her with us.”

Satoru sighs, pulling Suguru back in and wrapping his free arm around his shoulders. His partner goes willingly, burying his face into Satoru’s shoulder with a shuddering breath. He gives Suguru a few minutes, just sitting in silence as his boyfriend breathes shakily against him, stealing his warmth as he scratches gentle fingers along his scalp.

Eventually, Satoru pulls away, but not without showering kisses all over Suguru’s face.

“Let’s go,” he says, tugging Suguru gently to guide him out of the room, plan slowly forming in his mind.

Shinjuku is bustling as evening draws closer, people bumping into each other as they leaves their jobs to head home. Footsteps echo in his ears, a cacophony of thumping banging on his eardrums but Satoru puts up with it because they only have a few more minutes until they reach the place he had in mind. At least the train ride was bearable, silent aside from the train cars steadily clicking over the rails and the occasional whisper as Suguru would lean over to say something. The feeling of his lips brushing over Satoru’s ear still makes him shiver.

They weave through the crowd easily thanks to Infinity warped around them, guiding the clueless non-sorcerers around them with ease while it still looks like they blend in with the crowd. He can’t hold Suguru’s hand right now, but his partner is pressed up against his shoulder, bordering that line between casual friendship and something more.

Honestly, Satoru doesn’t care if people judge him. He’s gotten used to the staring thanks to his unnaturally white hair and sunglasses inside and even at night. Besides, what are they going to do about it? He’s the strongest after all.

The only reason he hasn’t pulled Suguru in close is because he knows his partner wouldn’t be able to take all the eyes piercing into them right now. He’s not blind to the way Suguru’s slightly curled up, leaning toward him to avoid people bumping into him regardless of Limitless around him. Plus with the minimal knowledge Satoru has on Suguru’s life before coming to Jujutsu Tech, Satoru keeps his hands dutifully in his pockets for now.

He takes them through twists and turns, ignoring the frequent pulsing of grade four curses fluttering around random people or hanging in alleyways. Eventually, he pauses in front of one of the buildings that ends just before the road. Suguru crashes into him, giving Satoru an excuse to settle a steadying hand on his waist.

“We’re here,” he says, grinning at the confused look on Suguru’s face.

“This is the sports center,” Suguru states.

“Uh-huh.”

Suguru glares at him. “You told me to dress nice.”

“I did.” Satoru grins harder, toeing that line again and wrapping a hand around his wrist. “C’mon. You’ll see.”

“I swear to god, if you make me rip these pants playing basketball, I’ll never forgive you,” Suguru groans, but he trails along. Satoru buzzes when Suguru doesn’t pull away.

He tugs them into the building and into the elevator, pressing the button for the correct floor. The doors slide shut without anyone joining them, so he takes the opportunity he’s been presented with.

He spins around with a sly smile, letting go of Suguru’s hand only to cup his face and pull him into a kiss. His partner lets out a squeak that Satoru will never let him live down, but he doesn’t push him away, hands wrapping around his waist. His earrings tap against his fingers with their movements as he nudges Suguru back until he’s pinned against the elevator wall.

“I missed you,” Satoru breathes against Suguru’s lips, refusing to pull away until he absolutely has to.

“We’ve been together all day,” Suguru mutters, eyes hooded when he cracks them open.

“Still,” he hums, pressing himself closer, trying to pull Suguru into him because he needs to be closer to his one and only. Suguru hums, dragging his hands up Satoru’s chest and hooking them around his neck, tugging him back down to crash together again.

He wasn’t lying. With how many missions he’d been sent on in the last week alone, still solo, he found himself longing harder for the only person he’s been able to let his walls down with. It feels like it’s been ages since they’ve gotten to spend time together outside of classes and training. He doesn’t even remember the last time they went on a date. So he has to make every moment of this count, because who knows when he’s going to be able to keep Suguru this happy again?

The thought makes his hands tingle, but he forces it down. He doesn’t want to think about how bullshit it is that the higher ups keep separating them. When Suguru’s feeling better, he’ll put his foot down and they’ll go on missions together again.

The elevator dings, and Satoru risks it by giving Suguru one last teasing kiss, licking quickly into his partner’s mouth before he pulls away. Suguru’s face is red, purple irises swallowed by black, lips slightly swollen; stunning in every sense of the word. Satoru’s sure he’s not fairing any better, biting his tongue with a grin as he turns around right when the doors open. A small part of him wishes he had the forethought to hit the emergency stop.

“I hate you,” Suguru mumbles under his breath as he slides next to Satoru, bumping into him with more force than necessary as they walk out.

“Sure you do,” he snarks back, pinching at his partner’s side as he walks up to the receptionist. He holds up two fingers and they nod, running his card when he hands it to them and gesturing to head in the open doors.

He tugs at Suguru again, pulling him through the doors and into the darkness of the large open room as he forces himself to turn off Limitless so his eyes don’t turn into shining beacons. It’d probably be hard to see anything, but he navigates easily thanks to Six Eyes, guiding the two of them to an open spot among the small crowd of people. Under the cover of darkness, he’s able to fully grab Suguru’s hand, winding their fingers together and squeezing tight.

“What is this?” Suguru asks quietly, leaning in close.

“You’ll see,” he responds, tugging his partner to stand in front of him, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I think you’ll like it a lot.”

An announcement rings through the open room that the doors are closing and that people should remain where they are until the show is over.

“Show?”

“You’ll see,” he repeats, winding his arms around Suguru’s waist and hugging him tight.

Suguru jumps when a voice comes through the speakers. Satoru can’t help but chuckle and he gets an elbow to the ribs. He listens with one ear, more focused on Suguru’s face as he listens to the recording. Satoru’s been here a couple times already, and this program is one he’s familiar with, what made him realize that his partner’s eyes swirled with their own galaxies.

Suddenly, the room goes from pitch-black to covered in layers of stars and space dust, drifting in a steady circle around the center of the room. He hears the tiny gasp Suguru lets out, can see the way his eyes glue onto the projected image of the Milky Way.

Satoru had a hunch Suguru might’ve been missing something like this. They may be on the outskirts of Tokyo during school, but they’re still close enough to the city that the light pollution blocks out most of the smattering of stars, only the prominent constellations visible on a good night. But Suguru’s from the countryside, and from the few times Satoru’s been sent on missions there and been able to stay the night, the night sky completely enraptured him.

He smiles softly as he watches Suguru listen to the recording and watch the projections dance. It might not be the real thing, but it’s close enough for now until he masters his teleportation. When the recording starts talking about comets and meteors, Satoru brings a hand up to Suguru’s neck, tipping his chin up so he can watch the ones that fly over their heads.

The projection pans, focusing on the solar system, starting at the Sun and hopping between planets as the recording lists facts about each of them. How the Sun blazes at the center of the solar system without a partner, how Mercury speeds around the Sun but the days are long, how Venus twins the Earth but is a trapped ball of greenhouse gas, how Earth is the only planet in the solar system suitable for life, how Mars had the potential for life if only it was closer to the Sun, how Jupiter could’ve been the Sun’s partner but nuclear fission didn’t do it justice, how Saturn’s rings are moons that never came to be, how Uranus was knocked off-kilter long ago, how Neptune only receives half the Sun’s energy compared to Uranus. The recording hasn’t been updated yet, still classifying Pluto as a planet. Satoru learned once it was declassified that it had never made a full orbit around the Sun during the time it was a planet.

Suguru leans into him under the cover of real darkness and artificial stars, his own galaxies reflecting the stars above them, twinkling with wonder. Satoru presses a sneaky kiss to his cheek, the other viewers rightfully distracted by the marvels above them. His partner winds their fingers together, rocking them side to side gently.

A small smile creeps up his partner’s face, watching as the projection zooms out to a different star system. Not their own, considering there are only five planets total and two stars spinning lazily around each other. The recording enthusiastically talks about binary star systems—how it’s estimated that one-third of the solar systems in the Milky Way are multi-star systems, but in reality, our solar system is the rarity since it’s theorized that nearly eighty-five percent of star systems in the universe are binary.

It makes him think, hugging Suguru closer to him. Being alone in the universe is a rare thing; more often than not, there will always be something—someone—to lean on no matter what happens. He’s been isolated for so long on this pedestal for the jujutsu world, all alone at the top for his entire childhood, pushed to be something record-breaking. But he’s not alone anymore, even if the higher ups try and make it that way. His partner is just as strong, special-grade in his own right even though he didn’t have any fancy training until he arrived at Jujutsu Tech. If Satoru told his first-year self about these feelings, he’d be blasted into a pulp. 

As the recording shifts to stars in general and their colors and formations. Satoru watches as that wonder slowly shifts away, worry creeping up his throat as that haunted look filled with grief creeps back into Suguru’s expression. It takes a second for it to click, but the second it does, Suguru is trembling slightly in his arms.

Fuck.

Satoru quickly spins Suguru around, uncaring of all the people around, and tucks Suguru’s head down. He gently presses one hand against his ear so his head rests against his chest, hoping that he can block out the rest of the recording so Suguru can focus on the sound of his heartbeat.

They stay like that for the rest of the show, Satoru’s throat tight with nerves and cheeks heated with embarrassment. He silently chastises himself, popping the knuckles of his free hand. He feels so stupid. Of course they were going to talk about stars at a planetarium. Of course Suguru was going to make that association. Satoru should’ve too.

He swallows thickly, trying to keep his breathing even so Suguru has something consistent to match. Cursed energy buzzes inside him, pushing at his skin, begging to be let out as his emotions spike, and he fights to keep the lid on it so it stays steady. But god, he feels like such an inconsiderate idiot.

Eventually, the show finishes, fake starlight dimming and overhead lights slowly coming on. He doesn’t care this time, pulling away from Suguru but lacing their fingers together as he all but drags them back to the elevator. Suguru doesn’t fight it, keeping his head down but gripping Satoru’s hand tightly with a trembling hand.

They don’t say anything in the elevator, the silence for once uncomfortable between them. He keeps popping the joints in his fingers, mouth dry as the worry sits uncomfortably in his chest. He doesn’t fuck up often, but when he does, it’s all he can think about.

They still don’t say anything as they walk out of the building, still hand in hand, and back out onto the busy street. Satoru carefully guides them toward a gap between buildings, pulling them far enough into the shadows to hide from possible prying eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Satoru mutters, scrubbing his hands up his face, pushing his glasses askew. When he drags them back down his face, Suguru is staring at him, mouth agape. “What?”

“You’re… apologizing?” Suguru says, leaning against the wall, shock still plastered on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

Satoru blinks. “Because of what just happened in the planetarium?”

“You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t know that would happen.”

“I’ve seen that show before, so yes, I did.”

Suguru sighs, using his thumb to scratch between his eyes. “Regardless. It’s my own fault for reacting that way. I should be the one apologizing, not you.”

“Bullshit,” Satoru snarks, scuffing a foot against the ground.

“Really, Satoru. It’s okay. I promise.” Satoru shuffles closer, wrapping his hand around Suguru’s and pulling it away from where he’s scratching. “I appreciate this, I really do. I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry for ruining this.”

He sighs, leaning in to press his lips to the reddened spot. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Maybe we should just head back,” Suguru mutters. “I don’t want to make you feel like this is all for nothing.”

“It’s not,” Satoru says adamantly, brushing Suguru’s bangs out of his face and running his thumbs across his cheeks.

“I just don’t think this is going the way you planned.”

“I didn’t really have a plan to begin with, Ruru. But it’s okay, really, I—”

His phone starts ringing, and Satoru has to take a controlled breath so he doesn’t blast it away with Red. He pulls it out and declines the call, ignoring the messages that have popped up in the past hour from Yaga about his next mission. 

“Do you need to go?” Suguru asks quietly, hands twitching in his grip. The look in his eyes shatters Satoru’s heart in a way he never thought it could.

“No,” he mutters, completely turning off his phone before he shoves it back into his pocket. “It’s fine.”

“But—”

“Suguru.” Satoru cuts him off, squishing his cheeks together. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important. Even if this isn’t going as planned, I think… maybe I know a way to make you feel better.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow at him, expression deadpan. Satoru rolls his eyes. “Not like that, you perv. Just—” He sighs, frustration building. Sure they joke all the time, but this is serious. “C’mon.” He pulls Suguru into his chest, grateful that his brain had the forethought to choose a place close to the spur-of-the-moment idea he has as he claps his hands together.

They appear in a different alley, watching as Suguru blinks rapidly from the vertigo. Satoru gives him a second to get his bearings again, wiping at the blood that drips from his nose. A tad farther than he anticipated, but it’s fine. He did it without horribly mangling them; that’s all that matters.

He ignores Suguru’s concerned gaze, spying no one at the front desk through the window and tracking the cursed energy of the curses that linger in the building until he finds an open room. It doesn’t matter that he’s pushing himself, teleporting them again to that curse-less room.

“Don’t move,” he says as Suguru blinks at him. And then Satoru teleports into the lobby, leaving a stack of bills to cover the room their using. He teleports back to the room he left Suguru in, steadying himself against the wall as his vision spins.

“Satoru!” his partner shouts, rushing over and cupping his face, wiping away the blood trickling down his chin.

“I’m fine,” he says with a grin, sending a pulse of Reverse Curse Technique through himself.

Suguru glares at him skeptically but doesn’t push as he crosses his arms. “What is this place?” he asks, eyes sweeping around the room. Random things lie around the room: old computers and monitors, TVs, broken appliances, empty glass bottles. They’re encased in four cement walls that are chipped and stained from all sorts of things.

“Hold on,” Satoru sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He draws on his cursed energy, crossing his fingers as he chants the incantation for a veil. With some control, he’s able to limit it to just the room they’re in, though it takes a lot of effort to keep it small.

He hides the way his hands shake as he cracks his fingers. “They’re this new thing that lets people get all their emotions out in a semi-healthy way by beating crap out of old shit. A rage room, I think it’s called.”

“Why don’t we just go beat up some curses then?” Suguru asks with a raised eyebrow, crossing his arms as he juts his chin up

“Because,” he hums, leaning down to pick up one of the bottles by his feet, tossing it up and down, shifting from concerned boyfriend to pestering brat. “I’m sure both of us are sick of dealing with curses right now with the amount of missions the higher ups are putting us through.”

“Then why don’t we just spar?”

“And ruin the face you love so much?” Suguru scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Not happening tonight, babe.”

“You’re just scared you’ll lose.”

“And it’s not a theory I want to test out tonight.” Satoru sighs, tapping the bottle against the wall in a steady rhythm. “I put the veil up in case you want to go all out. Just try it. Please?”

Suguru’s posture goes meek, shoulders curling in as he taps his fingers against his arm. “I don’t…”

“I know I’m one to talk,” he starts, activating his technique and making the bottle spin in lazy circles, “But you’re allowed to be angry about what happened with Amanai and Kuroi.” Suguru bristles, finally. “And Fushiguro. And the Time Vessel Association. And the higher ups for sending us on that mission in the first place without vetting it properly. Do I regret it? No. But I’m pissed it played out the way it did, knowing that if I went about things differently they’d still be alive. I don’t know, I’m just—”

The sound of glass shattering bounces around the room. He blinks, pulling himself out of the memory haze he put himself in. Suguru’s turned away from him now, shoulders heaving with his ragged breaths, bottle shards in front of him that weren’t there before.

“Bullshit,” his partner mutters under his breath as he picks up another bottle and throws it. “Stupid fucking bullshit.” Satoru watches as his hands shake, whole body trembling with uncapped rage, summoning some of his lower grade curses to fling at the old refrigerator in the corner.

He sighs in relief, shutting off Limitless and going back to flipping it around and around. Bringing Suguru here also gives Satoru the opportunity to take out some of his own pent-up anger over… everything really.

His own time spent doing whatever he wants getting shorter and shorter. More and more people leaning on him, desperate for salvation from his cursed energy shifting the balance of the jujutsu world. Dying and losing Amanai. The higher ups playing him like a damn fiddle right now because he’s still a child and he can’t do shit to say no. Barely any time spent with Shoko, the two first years he wants to know more about, his own boyfriend, all relegated to only a few hours a week before he’s whisked away on yet another mission the higher ups failed to delegate to other people. His family.

His own anger bubbles under his skin, grabbing the bottle tightly before he launches it at the far wall. It shatters on impact, the sound echoing in his ears. He gets it now. Exorcising curses with the flick of a finger is infinitely more satisfying, but being able to destroy everything around him without any consequence also has its perks, still gives him a spike of adrenaline now fueled by all the emotions he’s been keeping sealed tight. And doing it with his own hands feels even better.

They spend the next hour like that; throwing shit against the wall, wailing on bigger objects with their techniques or bats lying around, swearing under their breath as they let themselves loosen the grip they have on their cursed energy. There’s no risk of creating curses or cursing those around them if there’s no danger.

He gets caught up in his thoughts, just angry at the higher ups, angry at his family, angry at himself. Satoru doesn’t wish this burden on any other person, but god, does he just want to run away from it all with Suguru in tow, watching from the safety of wherever they end up as they watch jujutsu society crumble. The thought makes him shudder unpleasantly, because while it may be this deep-rooted desire that sits nestled in the secret corner of his heart, Suguru’s words echo in his head, about the strong protecting the weak because that’s just the way the world works. But that just makes his gut churn further, and suddenly, he doesn’t know what to feel anymore.

All the anger dissipates from him, chest heaving from exertion as he collapses against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He never has to work this hard to fight curses, and it’s only a tad more difficult to handle curse users. Suguru’s the only thing in the world that could prove a challenge at this point.

Their breathing layers together, the sound of destruction pausing. It makes him crack an eye open, gaze immediately drifting over to where Suguru stands over the mangled and misshapen fridge. Like he can feel Satoru’s gaze, his partner jerks his head up, locking eyes for a tense moment.

And then Suguru laughs, a tiny chuckle that morphs into full-bellied cackles with a real smile on his face that Satoru hasn’t seen in almost six months.

He can’t help but join in, snorting at the ridiculousness this whole day has been. But when he takes a second to think and assess himself, he finds that he really is feeling better, at least a bit. Their problems are nowhere near solved, but somehow, they seem so much smaller.

“What are we doing?” Suguru wheezes between giggles, wandering over to Satoru on unsteady legs and flopping down next to him, leaning heavily into his side.

“Trying to be emotionally stable people,” he huffs back, lifting his arm up to wrap around his partner’s shoulders. Suguru snakes his own around his waist, feeling bold as he dips his fingers under Satoru’s sweater to press against cool skin.

They keep laughing, endorphins high and keeping them loose. He doesn’t have it in him to move. Even if he wants to teleport them over to the nearby river and relax, for some reason, sitting on the cold concrete here feels infinitely better.

“Feeling better?” Satoru continues, knocking his head into Suguru’s.

“Yeah,” his partner hums, squeezing him tight. “Yeah, actually.”

“Good,” he sighs, leaning all his weight into Suguru. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A pause, silence washing over them as Suguru taps a random rhythm against his skin. But it’s not tense or awkward like they have been at times recently. So he gives Suguru all the time he needs to weigh the options in his head.

“Okay,” Suguru eventually murmurs, not pulling away from him but also not turning to meet his eyes. Which is okay; he’s already asking for a lot from Suguru. Whatever makes him comfortable. Honestly, Satoru’s shocked he even said yes.

“I just…” His partner huffs, ducking his head down to stare at the hand in his lap, Amanai’s bracelet glinting up at them. “Everything’s just… so much right now. I want to believe we’re doing this all to protect m… non-sorcerers from curses, but after what happened with Riko-chan, I… I just don’t know anymore. Sometimes... I can still hear those m— non-sorcerers applauding her death and it just makes me so mad. We’re supposed to protect the weak, but why is it at the expense of ourselves for people who don’t even know the horrors we have to go through? At the expense of our friend’s lives? It’s…”

Suguru sighs, clenching his fist. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s any point to it really. If it means anything at all to put our lives on the line for a never-ending cycle.”

Silence again. Satoru pulls him closer as an indicator that he was listening. He mulls over Suguru’s words, surprised they’re having the same thoughts, even more shocked that Suguru’s view of the jujutsu world has changed. But he also isn’t. His own views have been shaken drastically since Amanai’s death.

“Then let’s change it,” Satoru finally says, his own thoughts bouncing around his head. Suguru glances at him like he’s crazy. Maybe he is a little bit. “We’re the strongest, aren’t we? We could do that if we really wanted to. Who could say no to us?”

“The higher ups.”

“Then we just kill them.”

“Satoru!” Suguru scolds, turning to face him. “We can’t just do that; we’d get labeled as curse users immediately. Besides, somehow they’d just replace themselves with new people who follow the rules already in place.”

“Boo,” Satoru groans, rolling his eyes. “Suguru’s no fun.”

“It’s called being reasonable,” Suguru sighs, leaning back into him. “You want to spend your entire life on the run?”

“So what? I’d have you and that’d be enough,” Satoru says, kissing his cheek ridiculously.

“Sap,” Suguru groans, pushing his face away, but Satoru can see the way his face lights up and flushes red. “Regardless, it’d be too dangerous. We’d be putting everyone at the school at risk too.”

“Then what do you want to do instead?” he asks, pulling out the hair tie keeping Suguru’s braid in place to give his fingers something to fidget with. But he feels like he already knows the words that are about to slip out of his partner’s mouth. It’s not something he necessarily wants to do, but it could work. They could make it work.

“We… could stay at the school. Get our teaching certificates. Help the next generation learn the rights from wrongs and start a revolution—”

“From the inside,” Satoru finishes, twisting the hair tie in frantic loops. Could he see himself doing that? His whole life has been laid out for him since he was born. He’s supposed to marry someone after graduating, take over clan duties, exorcise curses until he can’t think straight, pass on his technique.

But he’s thrown wrenches in his family’s plans before. He swiped his Kyoto Tech registration papers and swapped them out for Tokyo ones. He’s dating Suguru, and even if it’s his first relationship ever, it’s the only one he plans to keep. His family doesn’t know that one, but there’s no way he isn’t going to do everything he can to keep Suguru by his side.

Does he like kids? Not really. But if he and Suguru taught at Jujutsu Tech, the brats wouldn’t be going through what they are right now. Could he teach them?

Of course Suguru could. When it’s not Satoru he’s dealing with, his boyfriend is the epitome of patience when it comes to helping people out. He’s seen the way Haibara drags Nanami to Suguru for tips and pointers on regulating their techniques. And they get better; Satoru can see it in the way their cursed energy has changed every time he returns from missions.

He and Suguru could give the next generation a fighting chance to survive instead of the slim one it feels like has been forced upon most sorcerers. Especially with Suguru’s technique. There’d be less need for grueling missions to gain combat experience when his partner has a seemingly endless reserve he can draw upon and control.

Could he do that?

Suguru stares at him patiently as he thinks, head tilted slightly to the side as he spins Amanai’s bracelet around his wrist. But for once, he doesn’t look trapped in those memories; eyes alight as he also thinks about what he just proposed.

It makes Satoru’s heart pound in his chest. He hasn’t seen hope in Suguru’s eyes since their conversation before meeting Amanai.

“Let’s do it,” Satoru says, holding his hand out palm up for Suguru to take. “Let’s start a fucking revolution.”

The grin Suguru gives him is blinding, lighting up the whole room for the first time since Amanai’s death. It makes his stomach swoop, matching his partner’s grin as Suguru grabs his hand and squeezes tightly.

“Promise?” Suguru asks, bumping their foreheads together.

“Promise,” he mutters, kissing him quickly.

“Really?” Suguru snorts, not pulling away so he mouths the word against his lips.

He doesn’t pull away either. “Really. Why? Don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know,” Suguru teases, finally puling away with a grin on his face and an eyebrow raised. “How do I know you’re not just going to abandon me and run back to your clan?”

“That little faith in me, Ruru?” he snorts, pushing himself off the floor and offering a hand to Suguru. His partner takes it, hauling himself off the floor before Satoru spins them around. It makes Suguru laugh genuinely, filling the void in his heart again. And he can’t help but join in, face aching from the grin that splits his face.

“Then I’ll just have to show you I really mean it,” Satoru mutters, pulling Suguru close again, teleporting them back outside the building.

He doesn’t care anymore, riding the adrenaline and endorphin high as he winds their fingers together and drags them through the city. Suguru just laughs, bumping into him occasionally as they plan and scheme how the next years of their lives are going to go.

Eventually, they finally arrive at the store he had in mind, dragging Suguru inside with a laugh. It’s nothing fancy; just a dingy souvenir shop they used to pop into from time to time after missions for a breather.

The worker waves at them, face familiar but Satoru doesn’t remember their name, but he still waves back with a grin. Suguru calls out to them, letting go and wandering over to the counter. Which is fine; gives him the opportunity to slink away and find the thing he had in mind.

He wanders over to where they keep the tacky jewelry, spinning the revolving holders around slowly one by one. It’s the last one he gets to that has what he’s looking for: those beaded gemstone bracelets. There’s a whole plethora of them here, ranging from standard jade to crystals he’s never heard of before.

He scans through them slowly, glancing in the mirror as he grabs some of the blue ones to hold up to his eyes, checking the color. He doesn’t even need to check with Suguru as he grabs the one he knows matches his partner. It takes a minute, but he finally settles on two, looping back around to the front where Suguru is still chatting with the worker.

“These,” he says, placing them on the counter with his card.

“Cute!” the worker says as they scan the tags. “Smoky amethyst and aqua aura quartz.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, Suguru wandering next to him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“You’re so gross,” his partner scoffs, no doubt rolling his eyes as he slips his hand under Satoru’s shirt and pinches him. He tugs Suguru’s bangs in retaliation. The worker giggles as they run his card, handing everything back to him with a standard goodbye.

Once they’re outside again, he pulls them into another alley. Suguru leans against him, cursed energy calm by Satoru’s side. He can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out, worry melting out of his limbs. His partner chuckles, dragging him into a hug.

He squeezes Suguru tightly, burying his face in his shoulder. “I love you,” he says, muffled and quiet but true nonetheless.

“I love you too,” Suguru whispers back, scratching gently at the nape of his neck. “We can do this.”

Satoru hums, pulling away some. He grabs one of Suguru’s arms, slipping the crystal bracelet that matches his own eyes around his partner’s wrist, putting the one that matches Suguru’s eyes on his own.

“Believe me now?” he snarks, grinning at his partner.

Suguru laughs, flicking him on the forehead.

“This better not be how you’re proposing to me.”

“I’ll do that after we graduate.”

“Idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

“At least you’re not my asshole this time.”

“Hey!”

Suguru laughs again, shoving him away with a grin on his face that Satoru matches, walking out of the alley. Satoru yells after him, but he’s light for the first time in months.

They’ve got this.

Chapter Text

The uptick in curses starts early as spring rolls around thanks to the multiple disasters that have happened so quickly over the past few months. Which means Satoru has been busier than he’s been the past two seasons combined. There’s no rest for him; a window practically glued to his side, days without sleep, weeks without returning to the school.

He gave up hoping for a break a long time ago.

A part of him constantly aches whenever he thinks of his partner, relationship boiled down to nothing more than a few sporadic texts each week whenever they both have an ounce of free time. It sucks. But summer draws nearer, one step closer to graduating, one step closer to starting their plan. They’re both just grinning and bearing it at this point, but Satoru knows he just has to keep pushing through.

Being used by the higher ups like this constantly still makes him writhe uncomfortably in his skin, still makes him sick to his stomach that even as the strongest he can’t do anything because he’s too young to understand the horrors of the world.

He sighs, slipping a finger under the bracelets he’s refused to take off since their last date, spinning them around and around his wrist as he watches the scenery fly by out the car window, moonlight shining through the glass. Exhaustion drags his eyelids down, Reverse Curse Technique keeping him alive but doing nothing for the creeping fatigue that lingers in his body and has etched itself into his bones.

He’d give anything for a whole day of sleep, hell even just an hour nap, but the higher ups just keep pushing and demanding and forcing missions into his full hands with little room to say no. All the missions he has been getting have been high-grade, high enough to not be safe to even send a group of experienced first-grade sorcerers in to deal with. So of course their next best choice is a teenager with minimum experience, but whatever.

The car rolls to a stop in front of a graveyard, and he doesn’t wait for the window to put it completely in park before he’s hopping out. The air is muggy out, a haze that clings to the ground and makes it difficult to see ahead of him. Despite that, it still feels dreary out, but it is a graveyard, so it comes with the territory, supposedly.

But he can still spy the curse’s residuals through the fog, thick and cloying on top of the fog, lingering deep maroon touches over headstones and deep footprints in the grass. It has enough of a presence to make him shudder.

“One last time, just to be safe, Gojo-san,” the window says as they shut the car door, eyes glued to the clipboard in their hands. “Reports have indicated that there’s a possible grade-one curse lingering around here. Both sorcerers and non-sorcerers have reported hearing eerie whispering around the graveyard, rumored to be the regrets of all the people who are buried here. It’s been elusive so far; we’ve had two casualties on our end on top of five non-sorcerer deaths. The higher ups have faith that you’ll be able to put a stop to it today.”

“Can I say no?” he jokes, cracking the joints in his fingers as he rolls his head lazily to look over at them. The window just gives him a deadpan look, eyebrow raised. Informed of his shit. Boo.

“Kidding,” he sighs, pulling his glasses off, flicking the arms down and shoving them in his pocket. “Whenever you’re ready, do your thing.”

They nod as he walks closer to the fence, swinging a leg over it as he hears them open their veil. It makes it darker than it already was, and last he checked it was one in the morning. But at least it’s easy on his eyes, a blessing in disguise as the constant migraine stops thumping against his temples.

The veil touches the ground, completely trapping him and the curse inside.

"Gojo!" a voice shouts from somewhere deep in the fog. He whips his head around, eyes frantically scanning, Six Eyes thrumming in his skull as he tries to pick up any nearby cursed energy. The voice calls out to him again, and he reels back into the veil when he realizes that it's Shoko's cadence echoing around the graveyard.

"Gojo! Help me!"

Logically he knows it's not possibly her—he can't sense her cursed energy nearby, knows that she's at the school grinding out her medical studies, knows that she hasn't been sent out on a mission since spring of their second year—but his heart still pounds in his chest, hands still shake hearing his friend's voice scream for him.

So he stays pressed against the veil, willing his body to calm down as he keeps pushing Six Eyes, trying to spot even a blip of the curse's energy. He forces himself to think strategy. This curse can obviously mimic voices, probably to lure in whatever prey it's set its eyes on. All he can do to combat it is rely on Six Eyes proving that whoever it tries to mimic isn't there, rely on his knowledge that he knows everyone is back at the school.

The curse must realize it's not working, switching tactics on him and cycling through a handful of voices to scream out at him: Yaga, his mom, the clan heads, Kyou. Those are easier to resist, logic over emotion as he keeps his breathing steady, still desperately searching for wherever the curse has decided to hide itself.

Suddenly, he picks up a trace of active cursed energy, but it's strange. He recognizes it. Of course he recognizes it; he's used to it being constantly by his side wherever he goes. Steady and even, a swirl of purple and gold constantly shifting and changing, scent of smoke thick on his tongue.

"Satoru!"

Fear lodges itself in his throat, and his feet are moving before he can think about anything else.

"Suguru!"

He doesn't let anything get in his way, turning on Infinity and rising above the headstones as he keeps running. His hands shake, heart races. It feels like he doesn't get any closer to Suguru even though Satoru sees the scenery whiz by as he dives head-first into the fog.

Suguru's an idiot. What is he doing out here? Why is he on Satoru's mission? He thought his partner had his own intensive mission the higher ups assigned him. Did he finish it already? Why didn't he text him that he finished? How does he know the mission details?

It doesn't matter as Suguru screams for him again, panic and fear lacing his voice as his cursed energy starts wobbling. He's still too far away, and Satoru can't teleport to a place he can't see or visualize.

"Come here!" he shouts back, skidding to a stop mid-air, spinning in frantic circles. "Follow the sound of my voice!"

"Satoru!"

"Where are you?"

"Satoru!"

He swears under his breath, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He doesn't know what to do. What the fuck is he supposed to do?

"Satoru!"

His head snaps up, jerking to the right as he stares into the fog. Suguru's energy is closer, voice closer, closer.

He breaks into a sprint again, and this time, the gradually unsteady smattering of Suguru's cursed energy gets larger and larger. It eases the tight thing in his chest, but he's not letting his guard down until his boyfriend is by his side and confirmed to be safe. He pushes himself harder, calling out to Suguru again. His feet ache, his eyes hurt, but he keeps pushing as the ground beneath him slowly starts to slope up.

He bursts into a clearing with a gasp, fog hanging around the edges of the hill. Night looms above him, no moon in sight. At the center is Suguru, facing away from him, seemingly frozen in place. Not frozen, he realizes, wrapped up in a clawed hand pinning his limbs in place.

And suddenly the curse's energy appears in his vision: an erratic, writhing, viscous thing glaring silver in his eyes. When he focuses past the energy, it looms heads above him. It could pass for an owl if not for its sheer size, inky coloring, multiple sets of wings, and the wide eyes with multiple pupils boring holes into Suguru.

Satoru swings a hand out, Blue pulsing beneath his skin as he draws on his cursed energy. The curse snaps its gaze over to him, letting out an ear-deafening screech as its beak splits into three sections, wings sending up gusts of wind that kick up dirt. It limits his vision, which means he can't fire off Blue unless he wants to chance hitting his partner in the crossfire.

"Suguru!" he shouts over the wind, eyes locked onto his partner's energy "What are you—"

But the words barely leave his mouth before he hears a sickening crunch. His heart stutters. He stops breathing.

Suguru's cursed energy flickers, pulses, and then fades rapidly.

No.

He screams, feeling his own energy thrash against its carefully crafted walls, shattering them completely for the first time since he was six. Power rushes down his arms and to the tips of his fingers. He can’t even hear himself murmuring the words as he blasts the curse with Purple.

It disintegrates instantly, a screech falling past its beak before it’s nothing. The wind stops, letting him watch as Suguru’s body falls to the ground with a thud, limp and unmoving.

He takes a step forward, but his legs immediately buckle under him, sending him careening to the ground. The landing bites into his palms as he stares at the ground, something wet hitting his bare skin. Tears, he belatedly realizes. He’s crying.

It feels like something’s carved out his heart and torn it to shreds in his chest, whole body shaking as he drags himself toward his partner. Because Suguru can’t be dead. There’s no way. It isn’t possible. They’re the strongest.

It’s your fault , the voices in his head croon as he clasps a hand around Suguru’s arm and pulls him closer, fingers slipping under his uniform to find the warmth of his skin or his steady pulse. He doesn’t find either.

It’s your fault , they repeat, a cacophony in his ears as tears keep blurring his vision, sobs rattling in his chest. You did this to him. You failed him just like you failed Amanai, those sorcerers who were sent here before you, all the other countless lives that have been taken because of your birth.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he attempts to draw on his Reverse Curse Technique and push it out. Shoko’s words briefly flit through his mind, but they don’t make any sense. The positive energy hits a wall, stopped before it could ever leave his body. He wails.

It’s your fault you didn’t get here in time to save him. You’re the reason he’s dead. If only you had gotten here sooner, if only you hadn’t gotten distracted when you first arrived, if only, if only, if only—

Satoru grits his teeth, trying to pour everything into healing Suguru, but he still can't get Reverse Curse Technique to work on other people. Failure is a bitter thing in the back of his throat, because the voices are right. It is his fault that Suguru is—

He swallows thickly, breaths quick and shaking as panic slowly grips him. What the fuck is he supposed to do? It's his nightmares brought to life, Suguru dead in his arms, another body to the pile but it's the one that completely shatters him. Even Amanai's death didn't get him this bad, just numbness when he realized she was dead.

The grief came later for her. It hits him full force now.

All your fault , the voices whisper louder as he trembles. All your fault. Just a dumb, weak boy who can't save his beloved. Can't do anything right.

Satoru almost misses it, but he catches the brief flicker of another curse's energy looming over him, deep maroon, vicious, and thick. He chances a glance up, and through the tears he can see a too-wide grin over too many teeth, cheeks gaunt and split and bleeding, eyes completely white with lids stretched open, long sharp nails poised and descending for his throat.

His brain acts for him, teleporting him a few feet back, Suguru still in his arms. The curse shrieks, teeth bared as it roars toward the sky.

"Fool!" it screeches, sightless gaze turned back on him. "Things would be so easy if you just stayed put, Six Eyes."

He blinks, mouth forming around words but the curse disappears in a trail of smoke and blood-red residuals. Confused, he stands, whipping back and forth to try and find it again. The curse is gone though, somehow sentient enough to know to cloak its energy.

So the higher ups lied again, didn’t do enough scouting beforehand. He’s dealing with a special-grade.

Satoru curses under his breath, scrubbing the tears off his face with his sleeve. He takes a shaky inhale in and exhale out, trying to steady himself, kick his brain back into gear so he can figure out how to beat this curse.

But his mind comes up empty, hands shaking at his sides because he has no idea what to do. Suguru’s usually the one who takes the lead, makes strategic decisions that best suit their strong points while the other covers their lacking ones. On his solo missions, Satoru runs in mildly blind. He’s not an idiot, knows to plan ahead of time for what to expect and how to deal with it, but he can’t come up with a plan on the fly when he’s panicking like his partner can; worst comes to worse, Satoru just starts firing off his technique, hoping a shot will land.

The back of his mind whispers at him, tells him he just needs to run because even though he’s also special-grade, he’s not capable of taking on this curse right now. He needs time to breath, regroup, figure out how the fuck he’s supposed to tell Shoko and Yaga about—

He pops his knuckles, steeling himself, trying to shove all the emotions threatening to burst out back into fragmented walls. His energy is wild, clawing at the inside of his skin, desperate to be let out, and it’s only because of his clan’s harsh teachings that he’s able to get a grip on it, steadying it out until it’s even again.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

A gasp behind him. He whips around, and his heart plummets in his chest when he sees Shoko standing there, cursed energy flaring white.

“Shoko, I—”

“You killed him,” she says, hands over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears as she glares at him with so much vitriol.

“What? No, I—” he starts, reaching out to her. But then he sees the blood on his hands, on his clothes, dripping steadily into the dirt. Red, not purple.

“What the fuck, Gojo?” she screams, backpedaling harshly. “I thought he was your friend!”

“He is!” he shouts back, stepping toward her but she keeps walking backward, away from him.

“But why? What did Geto do? Why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t!” he screams, denying it because there’s no way he’s the reason Suguru is dead. “Shoko, please! You have to believe me, I would never—”

He doesn’t get to finish, Shoko sobbing as she turns around, running into the fog, cursed energy disappearing. He calls out to her, panic rising in his chest because the curse is still out there, she could get hurt, die just like Suguru did and he can’t have her blood on his hands too.

He steps forward, ready to follow after her, but he’s suddenly bombarded with the sight of cursed energy all around him. And it’s not random. He recognizes every single one. His parents, clan members, tutors, Yaga, older students, everyone.

A cacophony of voices hit his ears, some quiet and judging, others loud and screaming. He clasps his hands over them, but it does nothing to dampen their words.

Such a stubborn child. With that attitude he’s never going to make it far in the jujutsu world; he’ll get too cocky and die on his first mission.

He can’t get a handle on his powers. I know he has Six Eyes and Limitless, but how is he supposed to lead the clan if he can’t even control his technique?

You aren’t supposed to leave the clan home. Such a disappointment.

Stop slipping up, Satoru. You won’t be the strongest if you keep fucking up.

Beat it out of him. We can’t allow him to make further mistakes.

How did you forget such a crucial part of the mission?

Who forgot to cast the veil?

Why couldn’t you let me live my life the way I wanted?

Did you hear that he died and came back to life but he couldn’t save the girl he was supposed to protect?

Just a dumb, weak boy who can’t save his beloved.

Can’t save anyone.

Can’t save himself.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure.

Weak.

Weak.

Weak.

He screams, hands fisting in his hair, tears running down his face. The one person who would’ve shielded him from all this lays dead at his feet as the voices ring in his ears, unescapable. Because they’re right. It is his fault. He should’ve been faster, smarter, stronger. He needs to be stronger.

The cursed energy around him is so bright, blinding, dancing lights floating and zipping around him. It’s too much. All of it is too much, and he can’t do anything about it because he’s not strong enough.

But there’s one that stands in front of him, that’s barely moved. A boy he recognizes but doesn’t, dark hair spiked in every direction, green eyes staring unseeing through him.

“You left me,” the kid says before his energy gets swept back up with the mass. Satoru can just stare, frozen as the voices wash over him, every muscle keyed up, his entire being feeling so fragile but he doesn’t know what to do to fix the cracks and keep himself afloat.

But then he sees it. That same maroon swirling amongst the others, circling, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He doesn’t follow it with his eyes, making sure it has no idea he’s finally aware of its presence. 

Using any extension of his technique would give him away and most likely not deal enough damage to exorcise it. Teleporting away would do nothing; he knows it’ll just find him again. That leaves his domain, but it’s incomplete, no building to use as support. The voices aren’t helping him think straight, rattling around his skull as he breathes heavily. All he can do is watch out of the corner of his eye as the curse looms closer and closer.

Fuck it.

With a shaky inhale, he brings his hands down from his ears, putting all his concentration into wrangling his cursed energy. He crosses his middle and pointer fingers on both hands, touching the heels of his palms together. The curse’s energy flares, and he locks eyes with it. It snarls at him, but its face quickly morphs into shock and then fear as he mutters the words under his breath.

“Domain Expansion: Infinite Void.”

Emptiness spreads from his feet, reaching out in every direction. It doesn’t arc up like it’s supposed to, staying flat. He’ll figure out how to complete his domain one day, refine the hand sign so it’s not as complicated and obvious. For now, this has to do.

He makes it work, watches as the curse stops whizzing in circles and its gangly limbs touch the ground to calculate its next move.

Bingo.

The second it stops, it freezes, face completely slack as Infinite Void’s effects take over. Satoru breathes out, whole body trembling from exertion but he has to keep his domain open, has to exorcise the curse quickly.

As much as he wants to savor this, tear it limb from limb for everything it’s done, he feels his hold on his domain slipping. So he hooks his pointer and middle finger under his thumb, focusing on combining negatives and positives, and shooting a blast of Purple through it.

There’s no sound other than a bang and flesh being torn apart as Purple carves right through it. The curse disintegrates, nothing left. Satoru’s hands shake as he cracks the joints in his fingers, pulling his domain back.

But then everything else around him shatters, sky breaking away to stars and the moon, the fog receding, the cursed energy of everyone vanishing, the veil reappearing. Suguru’s body dissipates into tendrils of smoke, leaving behind residuals that match the curse’s maroon energy. When he glances down at his hands, the red melts off his fingers.

His knees give out on him again, hands fisting the grass below him as he stutters around a breath, tears welling in his eyes again. Relief crashes over him, heart still racing in his chest from all the adrenaline.

It was all part of the curse’s technique.

But a tiny part of his brain still doesn’t trust anything, the words still bouncing around his head and overpowering any other thoughts. He swallows past the lump in his throat, shaking hands pulling out his phone and dialing the number he knows by heart.

It rings.

It rings.

It—

Suguru doesn’t pick up, the dumb voicemail Satoru made his partner record on a dare while they were drunk playing in his ear. His heart races faster, hands shaking harder as he tries to redial the number.

But his phone starts ringing before he can type out the final digits. It’s not Suguru’s ringtone. It’s his clan’s. His mom’s. He tries to hang up, but his fingers slip, answering the call instead.

Fuck.

“What?” he snaps, pressing the phone to his ear because there’s no way he’ll get a call to Suguru through if he hangs up now.

“Well, that’s not any way to greet your mother,” her voice chides, judgment and scolding heavy in her tone.

“I don’t have time; make it quick because I need—”

“Satoru.” His teeth click as he shuts his mouth. Leave it to his mother and years of clan discipline to render him useless in the face of an emotional crisis. “I thought you were raised better than this. Honestly, Satoru, you’re almost eighteen. How are you supposed to lead the clan this way?”

Failure. Weak.

“Well, I have you now,” his mother prattles on as he pushes himself up on unsteady legs to walk in circles. “The clan heads wanted you involved in the initial decision to help you gain more knowledge of all the inner workings, but since you decided to ignore them, your father, and I, they went ahead and made the decision without your input and I’m here to provide you an update.”

“What,” he states, less of a question and more of an acknowledgement for her to get on with it already. He’s scared for his phone at this point, squeezed tight in his grip.

“We’ve secured a deal with the Zen’in clan,” his mother sighs, bored and uninterested like this isn’t something that will rock the foundation of jujutsu society. “The clan heads offered a hefty sum of money to the Zen’ins in exchange for their current Ten Shadows user.”

“What are you talking about?” he groans, raking a hand through his hair. “There is no Ten Shadows user yet.”

His mother clicks her tongue, and he can hear her eyeroll from here. “This is why you need to be involved in clan politics, Satoru. The assassin you killed during the summer. Fushiguro Toji. Formerly Zen’in Toji. He sold his son to the clan when the boy manifested his technique.”

Satoru pauses, cold zipping down his spine because suddenly he remembers. Fushiguro’s last words had been about his kid, his son being sold to the Zen’ins. He had checked on the boy once since the summer, reassured enough that he was alive and surviving, making the decision to help him once he and Suguru had more stability and time.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen for another couple years,” he croaks out, heart racing in his chest because there’s no way.

“People can be swayed, Satoru. Everyone knows this. You just have to play the right cards. Your father offered them double what Fushiguro exchanged for his son.”

This can’t be happening. His mouth goes dry as he freezes, staying eerily still.

“It’s insurance, Satoru. The last Six Eyes-Limitless user was killed by the previous Ten Shadows user. The clan isn’t taking any chances this time around. We’re not risking losing our footing. He’s at the clan home now, with plans set to teach him the Gojo ways and have him and Kyou marry by the end of the year to make sure he knows his place.”

He can’t say anything, words stuck in his throat as everything crashes down around him. Panic wedges its way into his chest, rage makes his hands shake and cursed energy bubble under his skin. Because he’s watching what happened to him growing up happen to Fushiguro’s kid: locked in the system with no way out, forced under the thumbs of people, puppeted around with no say in anything despite being strong.

Nothing his mother says registers anymore, mind whirring as he tries to think of anything he can do to stop this. He feels feverish, frantic, desperate for an answer because he can’t let this happen to someone else. He can’t let something happen like it did with Amanai, with Suguru, with all the dead sorcerers, with himself.

A thought crosses his mind. A small, itching thought that used to be a joke he’d throw around all the time but it starts solidifying more and more.

It’s the only option. Nothing else would work. It would label him as a curse user forever, the promise he made to Suguru torn to shreds, but what other choice does he have?

“The clan is expecting you home by the weekend to meet the boy and get you up to speed with all the other updates happening within the big families. Show up this time, Satoru.” His phone beeps as the call disconnects. He stares at nothing, morality trying to rationalize with him in Suguru’s voice, but it only steels his resolve. There’s no other way.

Buzz buzz.

Satoru glances down, Suguru’s name lighting up his screen. His heart aches, begging him to answer the call. But his finger hovers over the accept button, trembling violently. Because he knows that if he picks up the call, Suguru will talk him out of it, will help him hatch a strategic plan, will make sure they go about it safely.

But it’ll be too late. The kid will be trapped in his family’s clutches for the rest of his life. He can’t see that happen again.

He won’t let it happen.

He can’t let Suguru get more blood on his hands. He can’t let Suguru squander his chances of helping the next generation to his fullest capacity.

He bites his tongue, letting Suguru go to voicemail before he powers off his phone completely, shoving it in his pocket. Satoru doesn’t think about how he needs to report to the window. He doesn’t think about how much energy he’s expended today. He doesn’t think about how far away Kyoto is. Giving himself a count of five, a deep breath in and out, time to focus on the way the clan home looks, he draws on his cursed energy and teleports.

In a blink, he’s in the room he used to stay in before he moved into the dorms at Jujutsu Tech. But of course none of his stuff is here. All of his personal belongings—at least the ones he cared about—are in his dorm room. This is just an empty husk that doesn’t hold any meaning to him aside from memories he doesn’t want to dredge up.

No, he’s here for a reason right now, watching the dots of the clan’s cursed energy mingle about. He sets his shoulders, cracking his knuckles before he pushes the door open with a resounding bang, late hour be damned.

The maid just outside the room flinches, tray in her hands rattling violently, contents unsteady and wobbling until they come crashing down. She spins around, glare set on her face, but it quickly melts into shock then confusion then horror as she bows her head down.

“Satoru-sama,” she mutters, voice trembling as she clenches the tray in front of her. “I wasn’t aware that you were home. Your mother has been—”

“I just got here. Where is he?” he states, Six Eyes trying to locate the one cursed energy signature he doesn’t recognize.

“Who?”

“The boy the family just bought, who fucking else?” He glares at her, and she cowers, head dipping further into her collar bone, ivory hair covering her face.

“The clan heads have him in the basement of the main house, Satoru-sama,” she whispers, tripping and stumbling over her words. “Something about making sure he’s not able to harm any of the clan before he’s reeducated.” He sighs, hands twitching at his sides with fury and desire, but he curbs it for now.

The maid flinches as he breezes past her without another word, not bothering to pay attention to what she does once he turns the corner. Knowing the clan, the girl is going to run off and blab her mouth to the clan heads and his parents about his arrival. Honestly, he doesn’t care that much. Let them come at this point. Make things easier for him.

He navigates the twists and turns easily, whizzing past any other people he bumps into without a word even if they call out to him. If he could’ve teleported to the basement, he would, but that place is warded to heaven and back preventing anything in or out without the keys.

When he does arrive at the door, he blasts the locks to pieces with Red, shoving the doors open. The hinges scream in protest before he rushes down the stairs, moonlight washing away the dim glow that the talismans and charms give off. He can feel the power they hold, thrumming against his skin as it forces his technique off.

In the corner is a ball of a human, tiny arms wrapped around his legs, flinching as the light washes over him. Dark spiky hair covers his knees, bruising dotting his legs, no shoes in sight. Satoru can hear the quiet sniffles that slip out, whole body trembling. Rage coils in his gut that he struggles to tamp down. He’s not good with kids; that was always something better suited for Suguru. But damn it all if he’s not going to try.

He walks carefully over to the obviously terrified kid. The boy flinches again, teary green eyes peeking over his knees, hiding them again as Satoru crouches in front of him.

“Hey,” he mutters gently, keeping his hands clasped in front of him. The boy flinches again, trying to press himself deeper into the corner of the room. “Hey, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The kid peeks up at him again, eyebrows screwed up and mouth twisted into a frown, lips cut and bleeding. “I don’t trust you,” the boy croaks out, hiding his face again. Satoru can only wonder what horrible things the clan has done to him already. How long have they had the kid at this point for him to be this scared of him from appearance alone?

“That’s okay,” Satoru hums, adjusting himself so he’s sitting crisscross a little away from the kid. “I wouldn’t trust me either if I was you. Kinda do look like everyone else in this god-forsaken place, so I don’t blame you.”

“Do you not like them?” the kid asks, untucking himself again, raising his whole head this time to stare at Satoru in confusion. It’s kind of cute.

“Nope!” he croons, rolling his head back to stare at the plaster of charms stuck to the ceiling, bearing down on his cursed energy. “They may be related to me but they were horrible my whole life. Rigorous training, discipline, isolation. Standard practice for the big families, but you probably don’t know about much since you were lucky enough to be raised outside of all that.”

“I know a little.” The boy unfurls himself more, still tense but his posture relaxes some. “The scary people told me about some of it when they were trying to get me to show them my dogs.”

No wonder his clan wanted their grubby hands on him. He pops his fingers against the floor.

“You don’t have to worry about all that,” Satoru says, looking back at the boy. “I’m gonna make sure you’ll be okay. What they’re planning on doing isn’t right in the slightest.”

“How can I trust you?” the kid asks warily, rightfully so. His whole life probably got ripped right out from under him.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, leaning forward, hands clenched in his lap. “What can I do?”

The kid pauses, staring at him with wide eyes, gaze focused on his nose. “You’re bleeding.”

Satoru jolts, bringing a hand up to wipe his nose, coming back red with blood. He’s pushed himself again. But it doesn’t matter. Once he gets the kid out of the room, he’ll activate Reverse Curse Technique. It’ll be fine.

He has to stay strong.

“Don’t worry about me,” he mutters, trying to keep his expression gentle as the kid stares at him in concern. “I’m serious, though. What can I do so you trust me?”

The boy hesitates, worrying his lip between his teeth. He glances between his hands and Satoru’s face, clear debate running through his head. But he tries to channel as much of Suguru’s patience as he can, despite the looming threat of the clan heads bursting in the room at any moment to separate him from the kid.

“My older sister,” the boy eventually starts, eyes glued to the floor as his fingers clench at his shorts. “When they took me, I don’t think they told my sister about what happened to me. She’s the only person I have left.”

Satoru’s heart drops as the anger flowing through him becomes harder and harder to control. “When did they take you?” he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice even.

“Monday after I finished school.” So three days ago. God, what the fuck is his family doing? He can only imagine the panic the poor girl must be feeling; even though he doesn’t have any siblings, he knows it only compares to a fraction of the panic he’s felt whenever Suguru was majorly injured during their first year.

“I just want her to know that I’m alright. That I’m still alive, but she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore.”

He can’t help but gawk. This kid can’t be older than seven, way too young to be acting this mature about a decision that was made for him. Hell, he should be kicking and screaming and terrified out of his mind what might happen to him. It’s not right. This shouldn’t have happened. The kid should be just that: a kid. Not a tool for the big families to pass around willy nilly as a power move.

Satoru takes a deep breath in, reaching a slow hand out toward the boy. He flinches, and Satoru pauses. When the kid realizes that Satoru’s not going to do anything to hurt him, he just stares at the offered hand in confusion.

“I can do you one better,” Satoru hums, giving the kid a small smile. “I can take you back to her.”

The kid lights up, body still tense but finally there’s hope and sparkle in his eyes. A weight eases off Satoru’s shoulders. “Really? You can?”

“Of course I can. I’m the boss around here, technically. The scary people may have made the decision to take you, but I can tell them no.”

There’s a pause as the kid reaches out to take his hand, hesitating slightly, still wary that this is all some elaborate ruse, that he won’t actually be able to see his sister. Satoru can only imagine what his family has done to this poor kid, what Fushiguro did to his own children. But he won’t let it happen again.

“It’s okay, I promise,” Satoru reassures, wiggling his fingers. “I won’t let my family do anything else to you. I’ll protect you from them, and anyone else that might try and hurt you. Your sister too.”

“Promise?” the kid asks, mouth pulled in a pout as he stares as menacingly as a kid can at Satoru.

He can’t help the chuckle that slips past his lips. “Promise. We can pinky swear on it if you really want to.”

“Ew, no, that’s gross,” the boy groans, finally placing his tiny hand in Satoru’s. He barks out a laugh as he hoists the kid up, scooping him into his arms. Even if it’s been three days, Satoru’s glad his family didn’t manage to completely shatter the kid’s personality.

“What’s your name?” Satoru finally asks as he walks back to the door.

“Megumi,” the boy says, hands fisted into his shirt, eyes glued onto the doors like they might snap open at any moment.

“I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you, Megumi,” he hums, already thinking about all the ways he can tease the boy with ridiculous nicknames. “Where’s your sister?”

“Tsumiki and I live in Niigata. That’s where dad and Tsumiki’s mom moved us to when they got married, so we’ve been there ever since they both left.”

He ignores the fact that even Megumi’s step-mom has abandoned him, pressing the door open with his free hand. “Do you live near any popular landmarks?” he asks, wincing as Six Eyes comes back to life, the clan’s cursed energy merging together and growing larger, moving closer to him and Megumi.

“Our apartment is right by Hakusan Shrine,” Megumi hums, leaning closer to him as they ascend the stairs.

“Could you lead me to your home from there?” They’re getting closer, making his heart race. He needs to get further away from the seals if he’s going to attempt something this crazy. Just in case, he spreads out Infinity over both of them. It startles the kid slightly, but Satoru can’t explain it to him now, not when he can hear the pounding of his family’s footsteps.

“Yes.”

They round the corner, shouting at him to stop, drop the kid, that they can explain what’s going on. Satoru just presses Megumi’s head to his chest, ignoring the spiky black hair in his face as he blocks out the voices.

“Perfect,” he mutters, not taking his eyes off the boy staring wide-eyed up at him. “Hold on tight.”

Reality warps around them as Satoru pushes himself. He feels Six Eyes strain against his skull, pulsing in pain. Megumi shudders against him as ozone fills the air.

But then all the noise stops, yells replaced with the wind blowing through the trees, muggy basement air replaced with cool wind. He cracks his eyes open, not realizing that he squeezed them shut. Satoru recognizes the slowly inclining stairs, the torii gate covered in moss, the trees that loom over them.

He just teleported five-hundred kilometers. He actually did it. Megumi gasps quietly in his arms.

Of course, his celebration is cut short as he feels blood drip from his nose, both nostrils this time. He manages to catch the drips before they splatter onto the kid, using Reverse Curse Technique to heal his fried brain.

“Woah,” Megumi mutters, eyes wide as he looks around.

“See?” Satoru says, walking down the stairs and toward the park entrance. “Right where you said.”

Megumi nods, still taking in their surroundings and probably recovering from Satoru’s technique. When he’s not as disoriented, the kid points them in the direction of the apartment he and his sister are staying in. He fidgets in Satoru’s arms until he places him back on the ground, little hands fisting in his shirt as Megumi all but drags him through the winding alleyways filled with potted plants and clotheslines filled with laundry.

The boy turns a sharp corner, all but running up to the door, Satoru in tow. He just marvels as he watches Megumi’s cursed energy pulse, shadow slipping underneath the door. There’s scratching on the other side for a moment, and then the door opens, a white dog sitting on the welcome mat, energy matching the kid’s. It melts back into Megumi’s shadow.

Interesting.

“Nene?” Megumi calls out, rushing inside and turning a corner where Satoru loses sight of him. He sees the girl’s cursed energy burst forth as she wakes, no conscious control over it. A non-sorcerer then.

He hears her yelp as he locks the door behind him, sobs following shortly after. Satoru doesn’t rush, letting the siblings have their moment together. There’s only kid shoes in the genkan, no trace of adults in sight based on the kid coats hanging on the hooks to the frog umbrellas in the basket. It makes his blood boil, silently cursing Fushiguro for abandoning his kids because what the fuck?

Sighing, he wanders into the small apartment, not necessarily baren, but not thriving the way it should be when people have kids to take care of. There’s a small tv and kotatsu in the living room, glass doors with threadbare curtains boasting a tiny balcony with a basket of laundry. He can just spy the kitchen, appliances scuffed and worn, dishes in the sink practically spotless already.

He keeps an eye on both kids’ cursed energies as he waits, brain trying to catch up with everything that’s happened. Part of him wants to leave now that he knows Megumi is safe, but that part of him knows that’s not possible. The clan will just find him again, take him again, and the process will start again. No, the tiny part of him that sounds like his partner whispers that he needs to take these kids and run far far away, where no one from jujutsu society can touch them, subject them to those horrors until they’re ready.

Even so, he’s still going to make sure the clan can’t pull something like this again.

Their energy moves, and Satoru can hear the slap of bare feet on the hardwood. Megumi has a hand wrapped around his sister’s as they emerge from the hallway together. It makes his heart drop. He assumed Tsumiki would be well into her teens if she was left alone to take care of her brother, but no, she looks only a couple years older than him, auburn hair loose around her shoulders, flower pajamas hanging off her frame, only a head taller than Megumi. There’s bruising under her eyes that no kid should have, bloodshot and red most likely from countless hours of crying and worrying over her brother.

Her eyes widen when she notices him, blinking up in awe. Tears fill her eyes before she ducks her head and bows at the waist.

“Thank you so much,” she warbles, scrubbing at her eyes as she rises. “I don’t know how I can repay you for saving Megumi. We don’t have a lot of money lef—”

“Don’t worry about that,” he says casually, walking over to the kids. He crouches down, offering her another hand to squeeze and giving them a small smile. “My family’s not nice; they’re the ones that took him. It’s the least I could do, honestly.”

“Thank you,” Tsumiki repeats. Though she surprises him when she leaps forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. He tenses, but doesn’t let himself hesitate for long, hugging her back.

“Nene,” Megumi groans, tugging at her nightshirt, cheeks red from embarrassment.

“What, you want another hug, Megumi?” he asks playfully, pulling the boy into his arms. Tsumiki giggles as her brother tries to fight it, but Satoru can tell it’s half-assed when the boy melts after a few seconds. He just holds both of them close, mind racing. There’s no way he’s just going to abandon these kids now that he knows what they’re dealing with, what they’ll keep dealing with.

“Hey,” he mutters, pulling away. Both kids look at him with wide eyes. “I need to do something really quick.”

“You’re leaving already?” Megumi asks, trying to hide his sullen expression by looking at the floor.

“But, you just got here,” Tsumiki mutters, unwinding herself and stepping away from Satoru. It breaks a tiny part of him he didn’t realize he had.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, reaching out to ruffle both of their hair. Megumi groans and swats at him while Tsumiki leans into it. “I’ll be right back, promise. By the time the sun comes up.”

Tsumiki thrusts her arm forward, presenting her pinky finger with a determined gleam in her eye. He doesn’t miss the way Megumi rolls his eyes.

“You have to promise,” she demands, cheeks red with embarrassment. “You saved my brother. You’re our friend now so we need to learn more about each other.”

He laughs, hooking his pinky around hers. She’s more upfront than he is, something he never thought he’d see. It’s a little overwhelming, but he likes her attitude. God, this must be what everyone else feels minus the liking part.

“I’ll be back,” he says, pushing back up to full height as he glances over at Megumi. “You’ll keep each other safe?”

Megumi nods, shadow melting again into the white dog, but this time a black one joins it. They prattle around the siblings in loops before settling at their open sides. Tsumiki nods too, hand clutched tight around her brother’s.

“Good. Good.” He sighs, a weight off his chest that’s replaced with a heavier one. “I’ll be back before sunrise, but I’ll know if anything bad happens here.”

They nod, Tsumiki tugging her brother gently back down the darkened hallway. The bedroom door shuts with a click, both of their energy flaring nervously but even. He’ll keep an eye on them just to be safe, even if it’ll be pushing him past his limits.

Nerves creep down his spine, panic making his hands shake as he thinks about what he’s going to do.

He can do this. He has to do this. There’s no way he can let this keep happening. He’s the Strongest. He’s supposed to bring change to the jujutsu world.

And if it starts with staining his hands red with the blood of his family, then so be it.

With a shuddering breath, he claps his hands together, the teleport easy this time now that he’s done it once. He’s back at the basement doors, wind whipping through the open hallways. Despite the distance, he can still lock onto Megumi’s cursed energy split into three, still sparking nervously.

A shout of his name drags him out of his thoughts. He turns lazily in the direction, his mother all but stomping against the wood as she rushes toward him. Her white hair is done up intricately with clips and hair pins, light blue kimono whipping behind her menacingly as her own, very weak version of Limitless pushes against his own. Sapphire eyes bore into his, expression neutral, but Satoru watches the way the corners of her mouth twitch, but she won’t ruin her skin with glares or smiles.

“Mother,” he responds back coolly, refusing to let himself cross his arms or shove his hands in his pockets. He just raises his chin, looking down at her. He forgets when he passed her in height, but he’ll use every bit of it to his advantage.

“What did you do?” she asks carefully, words loaded with anger as she comes to a stop in front of him.

In reality, he should just kill her right here right now, but his mouth keeps moving, the kid part of him desperate for her to listen and understand what he’s gone through at the hands of their family.

“What I needed to do,” he states back just as charged, cocking his head to the side. “You wanted me more involved in clan politics, this is me being more involved in clan politics.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? What you’ve just—”

“Yes, actually.” He cuts her off, relishing in the way her expression shifts for the first time he’s ever seen, eyebrows drawing in as her mouth curls down in a frown. “I just saved a kid’s life and reunited him with his sister.”

“He didn’t need to be ‘saved,’” his mother spits out, clasping her hands in front of her. “The boy was right where he needed to be: safe in our hands.”

“Yeah, because safe is curled up in the corner of the charmed basement terrified of the door opening.”

“Satoru,” she scolds, but he ignores her, clenching his fists. “We were going to teach him our ways, prevent the same event from four hundred years ago. Of course, the boy is young so there were some emotional limitations we had to start with first.”

“‘Emotional limitations,’” Satoru hisses, his Infinity pushing her back a few steps. “Sure, emotionally traumatizing a kid is a good way to get them to respect you.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Satoru,” she sighs, unfazed. “When you have children, you’ll understand. You’ll know what’s best for them, like your father and I know best for you.”

“Bullshit you know what was best for me—”

“Language—”

“You’re the ones who would assault me if I couldn’t keep my technique running for hours on end. You’re the ones who left me alone all the time when I needed someone there for me. You’re the ones who forced me to be the strongest when I didn’t want it!” he shouts at her, lips turned into a sneer as he glares at his mother, hastily patched seams ready to pop.

“It wasn’t something you could choose.” His mother doesn’t raise her voice, expression smoothing out again. “Your birth shifted the jujutsu world, multiplied cursed energy tenfold. It was never your choice. We just wanted to make sure you were well-equipped to deal with whatever could be thrown at you.”

“Like hell you did,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m just a tool in the hands of the clan, in the hands of the higher ups. Just like Megumi was about to be.”

“Of course.” Satoru can’t help it. His heart sinks in his chest, any remaining hope crushed under his mother’s heel as she stares at him with no love in her gaze. “You’re a living breathing weapon, Satoru. We wanted to maximize your potential. You’re the Gojo clan’s pride and joy. You’re supposed to put us at the top of the big families again. You’ll bring—”

Her words get cut off, breath stuttering as Satoru lunges at her, breaking past her Infinity with ease and clamping his hands around his mother’s throat. Real genuine panic crosses her face, watery eyes wide, eyebrows high, mouth agape. She claws at his hands, nails drawing blood against the backs. He doesn’t let go, squeezing tighter.

“I’m not your tool,” he growls. “I’m not some dog that does cool tricks that you can go parading around. And I’m not gonna let you or the clan do that anymore. No one else will go through what I did. I’ll make sure of it.”

His mother tries to say something, lips trembling as her cursed energy thrashes wildly. But he doesn’t let up, just squeezes hard, pain and grief and rage fueling him.

He hears a crack. Her hands fall from his, head lulling to the side, expression frozen on her face.

Shockingly, he doesn’t feel anything. The numbness he felt during his battle with Fushiguro settles over him. He drops his mother, body thumping against the wood floors.

A gasp comes from behind him. He turns slowly, face blank as he locks eyes with the maid he bumped into when he first arrived. She just stands there frozen, hands trembling over her mouth as her eyes flick between him to the body next to him.

He doesn’t give her a chance to scream, blasting her into the wall with Blue before he teleports in front of her and smashes her head into the floorboards, painting them red.

It goes like that for a while. He spots one of the clan member’s cursed energy, he teleports, he kills them with his bare hands. Blood seeps through his clothes, hands and face tacky from the spray. In reality, he should just launch a massive Purple through the clan home. But even if he can’t feel it right now, this is infinitely more satisfying.

He loses himself in the haze of emotions and bloodlust. When he blinks back into awareness, there are bodies everywhere; torn, shredded, disfigured, dismembered. Mouths are opened in silent screams, some eyes punched out and dripping with blood. Everywhere is bathed in red.

Ignoring the way his hands shake with adrenaline—or is it fatigue? He can’t really tell right now—Satoru commits everything that happened to memory. He doesn’t bother hiding his residuals. This should be a statement enough for the higher ups to not chase after him.

Now everyone will know he's The Strongest.

Chapter Text

Knock knock knock knock knock.

He groans, shoving his face deeper into his pillow as he’s dragged harshly out of sleep. For once, he was dead to the world, waking up briefly only to be pulled back under, every part of him so heavy with exhaustion. Maybe if he waits, pretends he’s still asleep, whoever is at his door will go away, leave a note with whatever they wanted to tell him.

Knock knock knock knock knock.

“Coming,” he mutters out, rolling onto his back as he cracks his eyes open, greeted with the rafters. Sunlight peeks through the windows, high in the sky and warming his room slowly. But his bed is so much warmer, safer from the outside world. But apparently duty calls.

Groaning again, he scrubs his hands across his face, covers pooling at his hips as he sits up. Goosebumps rise against his arms, making him shiver slightly despite the warm spring air. The floor creaks under his feet as he stands, edges of his sweatpants covering his toes.

He shuffles over to the door, a yawn escaping his lips as he cracks it open.

“What’s—”

“Suguru.” Shoko’s voice shakes as she stares at him, eyes wide and critical and full of genuine fear.

All the sleepy dregs that were still clinging to him dash away as ice creeps down his spine. It’s not the way Shoko is reacting to whatever news she has. She called him “Suguru.” They may be close and he’s used her first name, but she always calls him by his family name. His throat goes dry, digging his nails into the wood of the door.

“Shoko—” Now that his door is open, she shoves past him, marching over to the engawa door. She pushes it open, rattling when the wheels hit the stops, fishing around her pockets and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He doesn’t say anything as she snags his lighter out of the nightstand drawer, flame flickering as she lights the end.

She’s stressed.

“Shoko,” he says again, closing the door and padding over to her, snatching the lighter out of her hand. She gives it over with little resistance, turning around to flop onto his desk chair. “What’s going on?”

“Sit,” she says, a trail of smoke billowing out of her mouth with her words, not all of it leaving before she’s bringing the cigarette back and taking another drag.

“Shoko—”

“ Sit , Suguru,” she begs, voice shaking as she stares him down. “Please. You’re gonna want to sit when I tell you this.”

Her words make his heart pound in his ears, hand drifting to the wrist he keeps two hair ties, Riko's thin chain, and the aura quartz bracelet on, slipping a finger under all three to fidget with them. He tries to keep his breathing steady as a million possibilities race through his mind on what could’ve happened while he was asleep.

But he does as Shoko says, sinking down onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees as he takes a shuddering breath.

“Alright, I’m sitting. What happened?”

She doesn’t say anything at first, eyes locked onto the tree that sways in the breeze right outside his room.

“Did Gojo call you at all in the past twelve hours?”

He blinks at her slowly, but then his mind catches up with her words. Because he did. Satoru did call him last night. It was late, closer to one in the morning when he was dragged from his sleep thanks to the stupid Digimon ringtone Satoru set from himself on Suguru’s phone. He’d missed the call as he was fumbling for his phone on the nightstand, but he’d called right back, only for it to bounce and bounce and bounce.

He left a voicemail, texted Satoru a couple times to make sure he was okay. But he trusts his partner, knows he can handle himself. Despite the nerves and panic, he’d fallen back asleep. And didn’t check his messages when he woke up.

His heart pounds harder.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asks thickly, clasping his hands together as they start to shake.

Shoko blows out another trail of smoke, tipping the chair back on two legs to wobble back and forth. “You had no idea he was gonna pull something like this?”

“Like what?” He glares at her, exasperated. “Stop beating around the bush, Shoko. What the fuck happened?”

She hesitates again, visibly swallowing as something close to pity flashes in her eyes. It takes her a second, floundering around the words she wants to say. He has to tamp down the urge to lunge at her and shake whatever it is out of her.

“Gojo… he… Last—”

There’s another knock on the door before it’s opened. Yaga stands in the threshold, eerily calm as he looks between him and Shoko, pointedly ignoring the cigarette between Shoko’s fingers and the lighter on Suguru’s nightstand.

“Did you—” Shoko shakes her head, cutting off Yaga’s words. She doesn’t cry, but her expression twists with something close to grief and rage.

“Seriously, what is going on?” Panic laces Suguru’s voice as he stands, marching over to Yaga. His teacher also takes a shuddering breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suguru’s beside himself with fear now, nails biting into his palms. He kind of wishes he had the forethought to take a cigarette when Shoko was lighting hers.

Yaga takes a deep breath before he starts. “Last night, the window came back without Gojo.”

Suguru’s heart leaps in his throat, worst possible outcome at the front of his mind.

“Is he—”

“No, he completed his mission. He teleported somewhere after the window lifted the veil, but the window didn’t know where.” Yaga pauses, head held high but looking past both Suguru and Shoko. “We got word this morning that the entire Gojo clan was killed—”

“What?” he gasps, but Yaga doesn’t stop.

“—and Satoru’s residuals were everywhere.”

“…what?” he murmurs again, heart pounding in his chest. There’s no way this is true. It can’t be true. Sure, Satoru hated his family and everything they put him through, but not enough to murder one of them, let alone his entire family.

“The higher ups have labeled him a curse user,” Yaga mutters, his own fists shaking from how tightly he has them clenched, “with orders to execute him once he’s captured.”

Suguru’s knees buckle, sending him careening toward the floor, but his teacher catches him, guiding him back over to his bed to sit.

“Told you you’d want to sit for this.”

“Shoko,” Yaga reprimands. She flinches, crossing her arms and ducking her head.

“Sorry,” she mutters, voice thick with emotion. “Sorry, that…”

“It’s fine,” Suguru says, voice shaking along with his hands.

But is it really fine? It feels like the world is collapsing in on him, crushing him beneath the weight of implications. If he had kept calling Satoru, if he had rushed to him when the calls stopped going through, if he just said fuck it and went on the mission with his partner, if he stopped playing it safe, none of this would’ve happened. He could’ve stopped this from happening.

The bracelet is cool against his fingers as they drift to it subconsciously, and suddenly that night from a few months ago comes rushing back, dopey smiles and promises of a brighter future. Only then does his heart stutter violently in his chest, breath lodging in his throat as tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Because now that’s never going to happen, at least not with his partner by his side.

He glances up hesitantly, loose bangs obscuring his vision. Shoko still has her eyes glued outside, cigarette left smoldering between her fingers. Yaga stares at him with this twisted, pitying look on his face. Suguru doesn’t know why that breaks him further.

“Do…” he starts, trying to get a hold of his shaking voice. “Do they know why he…” He can’t even bring himself to say it.

Yaga shakes his head. “Nothing’s been confirmed since there were no witnesses we know of.”

“I need a minute,” Suguru mutters, standing on shaking legs as he snatches his phone from the nightstand and rushes toward the engawa. The chair squeaks behind him, but Yaga must stop Shoko from following him, voices too far away as he speeds into the forest.

Rocks dig into his feet, but he doesn’t really feel it as his mind spirals, searching for an answer in the few interactions he and Satoru have had in the past months.

Nothing was going wrong, not that he noticed. Aside from the ever-increasing workload of exorcising curses. Everything was fine as far as he was aware. Hell, they even started talking about their feelings around jujutsu society, something Suguru never thought he would do.

He thought those oily viscous feelings were going to stay writhing in his chest forever until they festered and grew and eventually exploded. But he was genuinely shocked when Satoru brought everything that happened last summer up. Suguru thought he was hiding all the grief and anger Riko’s death and his own ass kicking from Fushiguro, but maybe he wasn’t.

Was it the same for Satoru with his family? Three years may have passed since Suguru fully stepped into the jujutsu world, but he still doesn’t fully understand the political inner workings of everything. He knows Satoru comes from one of the big clans, but aside from things he’s briefly heard from other students in passing, whispers when he and Satoru would walk by, he knows next to nothing aside from inherited techniques and major events like Kamo Noritoshi.

It makes his chest ache that Satoru could so obviously see the pain that was eating away at him but Suguru couldn’t see whatever it was that made his partner boil over. The space that’s been forced between them didn’t help in the slightest, but he thought Satoru was finally doing okay now that they had a shared goal in mind to keep being strong together, something they both wanted to better the world.

A shared goal that’s been thoroughly trounced now that Satoru’s been labeled a curse user. The thing he advised against them becoming. He doesn’t even realize the hot tears painting tracks down his face until brings a hand up to scrub at his face.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Suguru needs answers, needs to understand what his partner’s going through because then maybe he can be that anchor Suguru so desperately needed all those months ago for Satoru now.

The forest rustles in the wind, cooling his burning cheeks. Somehow, his feet have taken him the long way around to the training field. A chain link fence blocks him from walking onto the grounds, dented and warped in a few places from scuffles he and Satoru had in their first year, egos too high in the clouds.

His hands shake as he pulls himself up, metal cold against his fingers and toes as he swings his legs over, sitting on top of the fence. A shuddering breath wracks his chest, bracelets clinking together against the fence. He’s half-tempted to yank the blue gemstones off his wrist and throw them as far away as he can. But a tiny part of him refuses to, says there’s still hope, that he can reason with Satoru and everything will be okay.

He flicks his phone open, fingers trembling over the number pad as he navigates to his text with Satoru.

[傑]
satoru what happened i just heard the
report from sensei what did u do

No response.

[傑]
satoru

Nothing.

[傑]
please what can i do what happened
tell me

Silence.

Anger coils in his gut as he dials the one phone number he has memorized by heart at this point. His thumb hovers over the call button, terrified out of his mind what could possibly come out of this conversation, but he needs to know. There has to still be something, right?

He presses it, jamming the phone under his ear as it rings.

And rings.

And rings.

And goes to voicemail.

In theory, Suguru should hang up immediately, redial the number again and again and again until Satoru picks up. Which he will. But he craves to hear his partner’s voice, even if it’s just a dumb voicemail he recorded at three in the morning with post-mission exhaustion creeping in. Because if Satoru doesn’t pick up, Suguru doesn’t know when he’ll be able to hear his voice again. It’s a terrifying thought.

Heeeeeyyyyyyy you’ve reached Gojo Satoru. World’s strongest sorcerer, probably too busy blasting curses’ heads off or being drowned in schoolwork because some workaholic likes to make sure I actually do that instead of practical things like mission training—Hey!! Suguru give those back you—leave a message I probably won’t even bother to listen to it bye Sugu—!

His heart clenches as his phone beeps in his ear, recording him just breathing down the phone, words caught in this throat. He doesn’t even know what to say at this point, the indirectness of this with the chance of Satoru never hearing his words somehow makes everything so much worse.

He hangs up, redials the number, lets it ring and ring and ring until it doesn’t go through, listens to the sheer joy in Satoru’s voice, hears the beep, hangs up. Again and again.

He loses count of how many times he redials and listens, butt going numb from the bar but he can’t bring himself to move as he stares at a random patch of track pavement, belated realizing he’s locked onto the bloodstain that’s still faintly glowing with Satoru’s residuals.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

And—

The line clicks.

Suguru jerks his head up, eyes widening as his throat chooses this moment to close up on him. There’s so much he needs to ask his partner, a rush of thoughts and emotions and words all piling into his brain, trying to spill out at the same time. But nothing comes out, mouth floundering around the words as he tries to get his voice to work.

His partner doesn’t say anything, and Suguru almost wonders if his partner didn’t actually pick up the phone. When he strains to listen though, he hears Satoru’s soft breathing, crackling over the shitty reception the mountains have.

That’s enough for him to break.

“Satoru,” he whispers, fighting back the emotions that threaten to tear through his chest.

“Suguru,” his partner calls back. But Suguru’s heart nearly fractures into a million pieces. There’s no emotion in Satoru’s voice, cold and distant and completely foreign. Even when they were at each other’s throats during first year, Satoru still had fire and spite fueling his tone.

“Satoru,” he says again, mind stuttering over everything that wants to burst out. “What… what happened?”

His boyfriend sighs, and even over the phone Suguru can hear the way Satoru cracks his fingers. “I killed my family.” Satoru says it so nonchalantly, like he hasn’t flipped the whole world on its head now.

“Why? I don’t understand. I thought—”

“They were gonna put another kid in the system.”

“What?” Suguru murmurs dumbly, free hand white-knuckling the fence.

“They were gonna put another kid in the system,” Satoru repeats, frustration building in his voice. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So you murdered your entire family?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. Suguru stumbles over his words, whiplash hitting him full force. The bracelet burns against his wrist.

“The higher ups have labeled you a curse user now, Satoru,” he says, voice tinged with desperation, trying to make his partner see… something. He doesn’t know what but certainly not this startling indifference.

“I know.”

Suguru huffs, exasperated as he stares at the sky. “That doesn’t scare you at all? You’re going to be hunted down until they capture and execute you or you die.”

“So what? It’s not like it’s been any different since I was born. Countless bounty hunters have come after my head before. Honestly, I’m surprised no one in the school ever attempted anything. Now I have the power and the fear to back up my words. No one’s gonna touch me at this point.”

“Satoru—”

“You’re the one who leans on that moral compass of yours so much,” Satoru bites back. “What was it that you used to say before everything went to shit? ‘Protect the weak and keep the strong in check?’ That’s exactly what I did, Suguru. I thought you of all people would understand what I’ve done.”

“‘In check’ doesn’t mean murder!” he shouts, shaking legs rattling the fence. “They were your family, Satoru, I don’t understand—”

“You shouldn’t. No one should understand what I’ve been through. But countless kids have all in the name of becoming tools for the higher ups to wield. It can’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again.”

“What if I want to help?” Suguru tries, desperate for anything at this point. Because he doesn’t understand. Satoru barely opened up about his family: just eye rolls at his phone if they called him or skipping out on gatherings to drag him and Shoko around the city.

Satoru huffs something close to a laugh. “No you don’t.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Satoru. I’m being serious. Tell me what’s going on.”

“And so am I.” Suguru groans, pushing himself off the fence so he can pace around, body buzzing with nervous energy.

“You want to know what’s going on?” Satoru continues, voice finally tinged with anger or desperation, Suguru can’t tell. “I’m gonna get rid of everything.”

Suguru freezes in his tracks, breath catching in his throat. “What?”

“The system is bullshit. Jujutsu society and all its politics is bullshit. If I can prevent more people from dying and being manipulated into this endless cycle, more people from ending up like me, I’m going to do everything I can to stop it.”

“You said…” he starts, hands shaking as the tears he was trying so hard to fight come rushing back. “I thought we were going to change everything for the better. Together. In a couple years. You promised.”

“What,” Satoru hisses, anger biting through the receiver, “and leave a kid vulnerable in the system who was just going to be used for his power when I could use my own power to make sure that didn’t happen? I’m not just going to let him be turned into a tool like me. I’m done being puppeted around.”

Suguru gets it. He really does. But that doesn’t stop his heart from absolutely shattering in his chest. The fragments dig into his lungs and throat, making him choke on his breath.

“Where are you?” he stutters out, voice thin and wavering. He honestly hopes Satoru can’t hear how much he’s breaking Suguru’s heart, crushing it with his own hands and leaving nothing but broken shards in its wake.

“I can’t tell you,” Satoru says, fumbling with something in the background. “And you won’t find me either. I’ve cloaked everything. No one’s going to find me for a long time unless I want to be found.”

“Satoru, you—”

“No, Suguru,” his partner cuts him off. “I’m done with it all. It’s just… it’s too much. It doesn’t matter what the higher ups agree to if they decide to retract my execution or whatever stunt you or Sensei try to pull to get me back. What’s done is done, and all I can do is just keep going with it.”

“Then at least let me help you, Satoru,” he begs, hands trembling so much he’s scared he’s going to drop his phone. “Please. You told me we were going to do this together. Let’s do it together then. We could—”

“No.”

“What?” he whispers, the tears he was trying to hold back spilling down his face.

“No. You can’t help me. I’m the only one who can do this,” Satoru says, conviction in his voice. “I have to do this because I can. No one else is strong enough.”

The fragments dig deeper, ripping completely through his chest. It feels like his whole world is collapsing in on him, trying desperately to hold onto everything they have but it slips through his fingers completely. Everything they’ve done together, built together, promised together, reduced to nothing but empty words and fractured memories.

He doesn’t know what to do. What does he do?

“I’m sorry, Suguru,” Satoru murmurs, has the audacity to lace his words with pity but still exude confidence. “This is the way it has to be.”

Suguru goes to open his mouth and say something, anything. But before he can make a sound, his phone beeps in his ear. Call ended.

He can’t help it. He screams, anger and grief and fear and regret and overwhelming sadness encompasses him. His knees give out, collapsing onto the grass as he curls into himself. Hot tears cover his face, emotions choking him as everything in him curses at the world for turning them against each other.

Because it was never Satoru’s fault for getting to this point. It was beaten into him since the day he was born, pressure from his family and the jujutsu world and everyone to shoulder a burden he shouldn’t have to. Something was going to make him break eventually, Suguru just didn’t expect to be a casualty among the others.

They were the strongest together. Supposed to be until they died. All an illusion now, a ghost to haunt him for the rest of his days.

Suguru doesn’t know how long he stays there, lying on the ground as sobs make him shake uncontrollably. He’s not really processing anything anymore, just consumed in pain and grief from Satoru destroying everything in his path.

But that’s what he was meant to do, right?

Too late he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. Too late he realizes that he’s summoned a curse on instinct, nerves frayed and brain running on auto-pilot to do everything he can to protect himself in such a vulnerable state. Too late he notices Shoko’s presence walking towards him, the curse at his side growling and swiping at her.

She yelps, jumping back from the attack, the curse’s claws just managing to miss gouging out her insides. And wouldn’t that be horrible: losing both of the people he cares so much about on the same day.

“What the fuck, Geto?” she groans. There’s no bite in her voice, but he’s still absolutely mortified with himself. He needs to get a grip, control his emotions for now, figure out what the fuck to actually do now. He calls the curse back, and it pads back over to him, sitting with a huff on its haunches.

“I’m so sorry,” he mutters, sitting up properly and wiping his face. A wet snout bumps into his arm. He spies long dusty green fur and blood red eyes when he glances at it. Matcha his brain helpfully supplies before he’s thrown into the memories of acquiring this particular grade-one curse, Satoru adamantly naming her after Suguru consumed her. His throat closes up, staring at the grass between his legs as he dismisses her. She dissipates with a whine. It breaks his heart further.

Shoko breathes out a shaky sigh, finally wandering over to him. She plops down in the grass unceremoniously, tucking her legs into her chest as she rests her chin on her crossed arms.

They don’t say anything for a while, silence filled with rustling leaves and animal calls. It would be peaceful if not for the haunting thought Suguru knows they’re both having. He can’t help it, mind racing through all of his and Satoru’s recent interactions, trying to find a spot where the other had slipped up, revealed his true thoughts. Somewhere Suguru could’ve said something, acted differently, been better so this outcome never came to be.

Maybe he could find a curse related to time. Maybe he could consume the disgusting thing. Maybe he could use its powers to go back and change everything so this doesn’t happen. Maybe then today would just be a normal day. Maybe then Satoru would be sitting here with them cracking jokes and pressing their buttons.

But he’s not, and his absence is ever-present, lingering between them.

Shoko sighs next to him again, reaching into her pockets and pulling out her cigarettes and lighter. She pops open the pack, placing one between her lips before offering the open pack to him.

“How many of those have you had today?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Not enough,” she replies, waving it around.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Won’t pressure you or anything but you look like you really need it,” Shoko hums, pulling her hand back.

Before she can close it, the temptation of numbness wins over. He snatches one out of the pack, leaning over to steal the lighter out of her other hand. But his hands are shaking too much for him to properly flick it, frustration building. Shoko grabs it back, hands steady as the flame sparks on the first try.

He lights his little death stick, a small voice in the back of his head that sounds too much like Satoru telling him that it smells gross, tastes horrible, isn’t good for his health. He drowns it out with a drag, smoke filling his lungs as Shoko lights her own. The taste of nicotine coats his tongue, but it doesn’t make him gag. Swallowing vomit rags of curses will do that to someone’s tastebuds. He holds it in his chest, buzz slowly creeping under his skin before he breathes it out in a trail.

“Are you…” Shoko starts, voice trailing off. She doesn’t need to complete her thought.

“I don’t know,” he says, because he doesn’t know or understand the cacophony of emotions rattling around in his tattered chest. All he knows is that it hurts, pain squeezing him tightly and refusing to let go. “What about you?”

“I don’t know either,” she chuckles, plucking her cigarette out of her mouth and tapping the ash off it. “I’m mad, furious even at him for doing… all that. But… I can’t say I don’t get where he’s coming from. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, shutting his eyes as the clouds move away from the sun. Thoughts of Riko’s death bang against his skull, the pain of his near-death last year, the sound of all those people applauding. “Yeah.”

“You won’t leave too, right?” Shoko mutters in a rare moment of vulnerability. He cracks his eyes open, staring at her and the way her hands shake where they’re resting over her knees. Her face is carefully blank, eyes locked on the horizon but he can see it in the way she gnaws at her lips, peeling the dry skin until they bleed.

Should he leave? It feels like everything he knows about jujutsu society is turned on its head, morals torn to shreds as he desperately tries to realign the pieces. Nothing makes sense anymore, conscious now of the ways the higher ups have decided to go about throwing around their easily expendable lives even with their limited numbers. It makes his gut churn unpleasantly, though it’s nothing he can’t handle, nothing worse than consuming a grade-three curse.

He wants to leave it all behind, say fuck it all and watch as everything collapses to the ground, overrun by curses. Hell, maybe he would even be a part of that chaos, help destroy the very thing that took Satoru away from him.

But there’s still a part of him that screams at him not to. The bracelet is like a leaden weight on his wrist, and he reaches out to touch it. Even if Satoru destroyed all that was left of their promise, Suguru still can’t help but want to be part of that future that nurtures the next generation. No kid should go through what they did during any of their missions, needing to put their lives on the line to keep people who don’t care about them safe. If Suguru has to be that buffer, take on more responsibility, teach the next generation boundaries, keep them safe, then that’s what he’ll do.

“No,” he finally says, reaching over to rest his hand on top of hers. “No, I’m not going to leave.”

“Okay,” she sighs, smoke billowing from her lips as she scoots closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “I at least need someone to graduate with me next year,” Shoko chuckles as he wraps a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“Good thing you’re stuck with me forever then, huh?” he snarks back lightly, attempting to press back the bitterness in his throat because the last time he heard someone say that, well…

Shoko must notice too, pressing her cigarette back to her lips and breathing in. He takes another drag, breathing out the smoke, watching it drift away in the wind as they don’t say anything else.

Eventually, their cigarettes are nothing more than piles of ash and smoking butts. Suguru heaves a sigh, thoughts finally toned down to a manageable level. The only upside of nicotine for him; his hands are shaking even more violently now. But his emotions are still running strong, anger and grief and panic still clutching his heart together.

Shoko never gets the negative side effects of smoking thanks to her Reverse Curse Technique. Part of him wants to ask her if she can use it on him, but he doesn’t want to be any more of a burden.

“Oh,” Shoko says, wiggling out from under his arm so she can stand. “Sensei canceled classes today.”

He hums in response, cracking his neck from side to side before he stands as well. “Okay. I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll do, honestly.”

“Take the time to process everything that just happened and feel what you need to,” Shoko says, looking up at him. “Because that’s okay to do.”

“Maybe,” he sighs, matching her pace as they head back to the dorms. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

“Do you want to be alone?” she asks quietly, fingers twitching at her sides. He unloops one of the hair ties from his wrist and hands it to her. One of the things that was similar about her and Satoru. His heart clenches when he realizes he’s talking about the other in past tense.

But he mulls over her words, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the gemstone beads. "I think so, yeah," he mutters, giving her an apologetic glance.

"Okay." She shrugs, pushing open the engawa door to her room. "I'll be here if you need anything, Geto."

He hums, letting her take his hair tie with her as he steps into his own room. The door rattles shut on its tracks, silence encompassing him.

Too much has happened today already and it isn't even noon, brain frazzled and fried and struggling to think about anything that isn't the stabbing pain in his chest. But no one here can judge him as he rakes his hands through his hair, pacing the length of his room, ruminating on everything he could've possibly missed that hinted at Satoru snapping like this.

Nothing comes to mind. The other had seemed marginally less stressed since their date, even with their ever-increasing workload. The few days they did manage to squeeze in time together was always spent bickering and teasing and laughing and resting, completely wrapped up in each other. Hushed whispers would bounce around the room, nose to nose as they would discuss and plan out ideas for the future. It just makes the ache in his chest worsen, swallowing back another wave of tears.

He can't keep breaking down like this. Both of the bracelets feel like they burn against his skin. What happened with Riko was much worse; she's dead after all, and Satoru is still alive somewhere out there. but that doesn't stop that same wave of grief and loss from pulling him back under. It feels worse.

There's a pair of Satoru's sunglasses on his nightstand, bits of his jewelry scattered around. Both of their nightshirts and comfy clothes mingle together in the laundry hamper. Their GameBoys lay on his desk, ready to be played.

Satoru is everywhere. It hurts.

He steps back outside, leaning against the door after he's shut it. It all just feels so heavy, two ghosts sitting on his chest and crushing him. Both of them shouldn't even be ghosts, and one is still alive, wandering around somewhere and refusing to tell Suguru where.

Maybe he should look for Satoru, grab him by the collar and shake some sense into him. Logically, Suguru knows there's no way for them to get the higher ups to dismiss the charges, but he's charismatic, he knows he is. If he can just convince Satoru that everything will be fine, they can figure it out together.

But you aren't together anymore, are you? the traitorous, sane part of his brain whispers. Satoru said it himself, he's The Strongest, the only one. Forever separated now. The strongest curse user and the youngest special grade sorcerer.

Suguru has to try though, because he was the only person Satoru really ever listened to.

The elevator echoes around Suguru, memories of the last time he was here trying to pry open his chest. But unlike the last week where he's been forcing them down in an attempt to focus, he lets them overwhelm him this time. As much of an asshole Satoru was for all the words he said over the phone and breaking their promise, Suguru can't help but miss the other's presence. The heartbreak still feels fresh every time he wakes up, dulling throughout the day only for it to hit him full force when he lays in bed.

The doors rattle open on the eighth floor, squeezing past a family trying to get on. The same receptionist is there, smiling at him politely. He hands over cash, she hands him his change and tells him the same thing that she told him and Satoru months ago.

He wanders into the planetarium just as the doors are about to close, hands shoved in his pockets as darkness completely envelops him and the other patrons. The ceiling bursts to life in a smattering of stars and planets and galaxies, the same recording he heard a week ago echoing around the room.

It hurts, maybe still a little too fresh for him to be doing something like this to try and cope, but he doesn't know what else to do. Nothing is the same at the school: no one in the seat to his right, no one to pester him when he should be focusing, no one to give him an actual challenge when training. A permanent Satoru-shaped hole carved out of his chest.

The fourth years all stare at him with varying degrees of pity or disgust. Haibara shows him some sympathy, filling some of the silence. Nanami acts the same as he always does, but there's no Satoru to push his buttons. Shoko lingers around him, offering him a cigarette every time his hands start shaking outside of class, giving him an ear if he ever wants to talk about what's going on. He doesn't but he appreciates her nonetheless.

Everything feels strange now, being at the school. He's constantly being compared to Satoru and the title of Strongest left behind, how he's strong, but not strong enough to fill that hole in jujutsu society. It stings, hearing the same parting words Satoru said to him thrown back in his face by people who have no idea what the other said, but he's learning to ignore it, tuck it away, use it as fuel during training to get stronger and prove them wrong.

The projected stars zoom by, recording droning on about the Sun being solitary but still burning bright and providing everything the Earth needs to generate and sustain life. He sighs, trying to focus on the pinpricks of light and not the ghost of Satoru's arms around him or the phantom pressure of his chin digging into his shoulder.

But he doesn't do a very good job of it, mind swirling in memories. He thinks of him and Satoru throughout their first and second years, constantly bickering and pressing each other's buttons, trying to bring each other's egos down until Shoko locked them in a closet and told them to figure it out. He thinks of protecting Riko and taking her to Okinawa, how Satoru absolutely lit up entertaining the girl by chasing her around the beach with seaweed and sea cucumbers and doubling down on his efforts to protect her. He thinks of the slow spiral he found himself slipping into after Riko was killed that Satoru pulled him out of, caught in a cacophony of emotions that pulled him left and right until Satoru offered a solution.

It feels like everything happened a lifetime ago but only moments ago at the same time, memories and grief healed and raw at the same time.

Suguru's been looking everywhere for Satoru, trying to figure out what happened, where he is, what to say if he ever does come across the other. He checked the original mission site, finding the curse's residuals everywhere mixed with Satoru's violently. Satoru's residuals were still strong, vivid from where they mingled with the curse's. Suguru talked with the window that went with him too, asking all sorts of questions that the window just didn't have the information for since the veil blocked out practically everything, fog too thick and lingering to see past.

The Gojo estate wasn't much help either, not completely destroyed, but it was still a nightmare nonetheless. Blood drenched nearly every surface, countless white outlines of bodies overlapped each other, residuals that were only a fraction as powerful as Satoru's lingered around. It takes a lot for him to throw up unprompted, body used to fighting down nausea daily. That pushed him past his limit apparently. Every single Gojo clan member was dead, records taken either by the higher ups for safe keeping or by Satoru who's doing who knows what with them, cursed tools nowhere in sight. Satoru's residuals were strongest by the propped open basement doors, but Suguru had no idea why.

Capture efforts have been sent out, but everything he's heard has turned up empty. His own searches end up the same, leaving him exhausted as his hope slowly dwindles out. Suguru just wants to talk with him one more time, get all the facts, and figure out what to do. But Satoru remains elusive, not a trace of him spotted anywhere.

This is one of his last ditch efforts, spending the day in Shinjuku, the last place they really had any fun together. He has a few low level curses scouting around, ready to alert him if any trace of his partner shows up. Call him a sentimental fool, but maybe, just maybe, Satoru's been here the whole time. There's no logic behind it, just the longing in his broken heart, praying for this last chance to take him back home and figure everything out together.

He blinks as chatter filters into his ears. The lights gradually turn back on to not blind the guests as the show ends. Suguru sighs, disappointed he wasn't fully paying attention to the experience again, but he can't get a grip on his thoughts. He fidgets with the bracelets, waiting as everyone else files out of the room before he does the same, opting to take the stairs down this time so he's not plagued with those memories again.

Wind smacks him in the face once he steps outside, blowing his hair out of his face as the sun streams down from the clouds. He hasn't felt like putting it up recently, part too much effort, part it makes him think too much about fingers in his hair brushing out tangles.

People mingle about, weekend days especially busy since students want to hang around and most corporations are closed for families to spend time together. He tries not to squint too closely at them as he joins the crowd, trying to ignore faces but also desperately searching for the one he's been aching to see for the past week. Bodies constantly bump into him with how packed Shinjuku is today. It makes his skin crawl, but he can't do anything about it, swept up in the crowd.

It finally breaks as he wanders closer to downtown, pace hurried as he crosses the street as the blinker counts down the seconds. The buildings look familiar, but he doesn't recognize where he is. It's only when he passes by an alley and peers someone at a front desk through a window that he recognizes the rage room Satoru took him to.

As much as he would like to beat the ever-living shit out of something right now, Suguru needs to get his head on straight and focus. Now more than ever he wishes it wasn't just cursed energy right in front of him and residuals he could see. If he had Six Eyes, he's sure he would've found Satoru by now, even if he's still hiding his residuals. But he doesn't, so he's left to rely on his curses prowling about and his own eyes.

All his efforts feel futile, though, hope slowly slipping through his fingers when he still can't find Satoru anywhere. Japan is huge, but there are only so many places Satoru can hide. They have to bump into each other at some point.

The sky slowly starts turning orange, rays hidden behind the clouds and buildings as he keeps wandering around Shinjuku. It's been hours at this point, watching and waiting and praying that Satoru decides to show up. But his feet have started to ache, exhaustion weighing him down.

Even with all the drama that's come with Satoru leaving the school, the world doesn't stop. Suguru's had back to back to back missions, dealing with both his and Satoru's previous workload because the higher ups decided to shove both onto him instead of distributing it amongst everyone. He can't help but resent Satoru for that, gut constantly churning now with new curses in his collection, body and mind perpetually tired.

Low-grade curses mingle about with the people walking around. Their energy is small, just a pinprick that most higher-grade sorcerers could exorcise them with a wave of their hand. But there are too many hovering around, too many people in the way to wipe them out completely. And what's the point if non-sorcerers aren't able to comprehend what the jujutsu world does for them?

It's as he's scanning the crowd one last time that he notices it. He has to do a double-take, nearly colliding with the group of people behind him as he turns around and backtracks. Because there, in the alley he just passed, is the familiar light burns of Satoru's technique.

Frantic, he bursts back into the crowd, head snapping left and right in a desperate attempt to try and spot the familiar head of white hair. He makes the curses he has out renew their attempts at finding the other, constantly monitoring their energies for any spike.

He doesn’t care anymore, sprinting down the street and weaving between people. His eyes linger on the faint trail of Satoru’s residuals, following it like a lifeline. The other is so close, Suguru’s heart racing in his chest as he keeps turning corner after corner.

He wants to find Satoru so badly, to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. He wants to scream at him, to curse him out for doing something so reckless and stupid. He wants to take Satoru home, to hug him close and never let anyone use him like the weapon of mass destruction he was raised to be ever again. He needs to see him again, one last time despite the words that were spat like venom into his heart.

The trail of Satoru’s residuals eventually ends, the street less busy but still packed with people. Suguru curses, looking left and right, up and down, spinning in a circle, trying so so hard to spot the other.

An overwhelming sense of deja vu crashes over him when he realizes he knows the street he’s on. Down the block, the tacky gift shop sits with its door open as tourists bustle in and out slowly. The same one that he, Satoru, and Shoko used to frequent in their first year because the sodas were cheap after missions. The same one Satoru took him to on their date. The same one where Satoru bought him the bracelet that sits heavy on his wrist.

His heart both leaps in his throat and sinks to his stomach at the thought, because wouldn’t that be cruel? He’s been on a wild goose chase for a week now, and all he had to do was retrace the steps they took from that one night during the winter to find Satoru again. It feels too good to be true.

But it’s not. Suguru’s about to take another step forward, closer to the shop to scout it out and tell his brain that he’s actually insane, when it happens.

Satoru walks out of the store, not a hair out of place. A small part of Suguru is relieved that nothing horrible happened to the other in the time they’ve been separated. And honestly, Satoru looks healthy, better than he has in the past almost year now since they’ve been overworking themselves. There are no deep bruises under his eyes, no thin cheeks, no clenched jaw, no tension in his shoulders.

He looks good, in every sense of the word. His uniform jacket has been discarded somewhere, left in only the dress shirts they wear underneath and the scratchy pants Satoru despises but has to suck up and wear. His sunglasses rest low on his nose, eyes impossibly soft and fond.

Because he’s not alone. Next to him, on both sides, holding both his hands, are two kids. Suguru recoils slightly, bumping into the wall behind him. The kids don’t look older than ten. But the girl grins up at him, pressed close to Satoru’s side as she chatters away with him. The boy makes him reel again, though, because he’s the spitting image of the man that turned their lives upside down. He stares up at Satoru, face impassive but eyes impossibly wide with wonder.

It makes a bitter taste rise in Suguru’s mouth, hands trembling at his sides. Because it doesn’t make any sense. Satoru never mentioned anything about this to him. How long has he known that Fushiguro had kids? Why are they with him? How does this all relate to what happened that night at the Gojo clan home? Is one of them the child Satoru was talking about?

He’s about to storm over there, demand the answers that have been plaguing his thoughts all week, leaving him restless and on edge. Because he needs to know, needs to understand why Satoru went to such desperate lengths, needs to wrap his head around everything so he can help Satoru see reason.

But before he can take a step forward, Satoru’s eyes snap to his over the lenses of his sunglasses. Suguru’s heart stutters, because instead of being met with their usual warmth and fondness he’s gotten used to over the years of knowing Satoru, all there is within the eyes that carry so much power is cold, piercing right through his soul.

Satoru’s expression hardens, blinking once before he shakes his head slightly. Suguru wants to protest, march over and take Satoru home. But. He can tell that Satoru is taking care of these kids, so obvious by the way they stand close to him. They need him, like Suguru used to need him.

Somehow, it makes Suguru impossibly fond seeing Satoru warm up to kids. But at the same time, his heart breaks. Because it just solidifies the fact that Satoru is never coming back to him. He made his choice. It makes the broken shards of his heart splinter even more, digging in deep so they can never be pulled out.

He dissipates his curses, eyes still locked with Satoru’s as he takes a step backward into the crowd. Even after he’s dipped his head and turns on his heels to head back the way he came, he can still feel Satoru’s eyes boring into his back. A safety precaution. A warning.

Slowly, Suguru slips into an alley, making sure he’s deep enough into it before summoning Awa. He hops on its back before flying back toward Jujutsu Tech.

Satoru was right. He can’t help him with this. He’s not strong enough.

This is the way it has to be.

Chapter Text

It's been a while since Suguru's gotten a break from missions for this long. Supposedly, despite the uptick in curse as the summer comes to a close, he has the entire day off according to Yaga. A small victory, really. All he's been doing for the past few months has been an endless cycle of exorcising and consuming curses non-stop. But what other choice does he have at this point, deemed the new Strongest in light of Satoru's defection?

Some days are better than others. Some days he can go entirely without thinking about what happened. Those are the days he works himself until he can't think anymore, eyes set on his goals and making sure he can reach them.

Other days, it's all he can think about no matter what he does. He's haunted by the ghost of the boy who used to cling to his side, the other half of his soul, everywhere he goes. All people do nowadays is compare him to Satoru. Satoru could wipe out more curses in a day. Satoru could complete more missions throughout the week. 

He hates it. He doesn't. He thinks he just misses Satoru. 

He shouldn’t miss Satoru, not after the words that ripped into his soul and tore him apart at the seams. But part of him still craves and aches for the other. It’s been three months but it still feels fresh, like Satoru should still be next to him at every waking moment. Sometimes he catches himself in the early hours of the morning, dragged out of a nightmare and reaching across his bed for the warmth that should be there, only to find the space cold beneath his fingertips.

The vending machines hum beside him, heat penetrating through the windows behind him. It makes the room sticky and muggy, kind of similar to how his brain feels sloshing inside his skull. At least he has a day to breathe, ease the ache in his muscles, soothe the rancidness in his throat.

Honestly, he has a sneaking suspicion. Usually, curses increase in numbers as the warmer seasons near their peak. And he’s had a lot of missions, more than he’s used to. But as the summer months hit their climax, somehow, he’s gotten a break.

Not just him, either. He’s heard from Nanami and Haibara both that they haven’t been as overwhelmed with missions and actually have time to focus on their classes. Shoko has mentioned frequently while they’re out smoking that less sorcerers stop in for healing.

There have been rumors floating around the school, during missions, between cracks in office doors. Whispers about the decreasing numbers of curses, of strong residuals and the smell of ozone at mission sites only hours after the reports are processed.

Suguru has caught them and clung to them, desperate for any information on Satoru and his whereabouts, even if he gave up searching for the other. Satoru doesn’t want to be found, obviously with the execution order over his head. But Suguru just hopes that the other isn’t overworking himself like he’s been manipulated into and prone to doing.

He’s tried calling and texting a few times since he spotted Satoru in Shinjuku, but they’ve all gone unanswered. Honestly, as long as the other is safe and happy, that’s all he can ask for, even if Suguru doesn’t believe in what he’s doing.

Even if he’ll have to live with this hole in his heart forever.

“Geto-san?” someone calls out to him. He blinks out of his thoughts, through his bangs at his junior poking his head around the corner, strained smile on his face.

“Haibara,” he responds, waving him over. The poor boy looks like a worried puppy. Similar but so different to Satoru.

“Good work on your missions,” Haibara says, obviously trying and failing to hide the concern in his eyes.

“You too. Nothing for you today either?”

Haibara shakes his head. “Nope! Just class assignments. I’m supposed to be studying with Nanamin right now, but I needed a break. Who knew basic financial concepts could be so difficult?”

“Right. Well, at least you have Nanami-kun to help you out with that,” Suguru sighs, fidgeting with the hair tie around his wrist and bumping into the bracelets. He ignores the way Haibara’s gaze snaps to his movements, expression twisting.

“Are you—”

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, nodding over to the vending machines. “My treat.”

“What?! I couldn’t possibly—” Suguru just stares at him, waiting for his junior to make a decision. “Cola is fine!"

That conversation thoroughly avoided, he reaches into his sweatpants pocket, pulling out the three yen coins he needs and tossing them to Haibara. He catches them easily thanks to his reflexes.

“Nothing for you?” Haibara asks as he glances between the coins, the vending machines, and him.

His stomach roils, nausea crawling up the back of his throat, which he forces down easily. “I just ate,” he lies through his teeth, grin pleasant on his face. “It’s fine, I promise.” Haibara nods, turning toward the vending machine to look over his choices that haven’t changed since Suguru’s first year.

Suguru relaxes some now that there aren’t eyes assessing his every move. It feels like that’s all that happens around the school anymore. People like to gossip and talk about Satoru’s defection, what the cause could’ve been, if it had anything to do with them falling out. They’re wary around him; well, warrier now that Satoru isn’t glued to him anymore.

Most knew what Satoru was capable of, but Suguru’s technique apparently hadn’t manifested in anyone for a few decades. They know what he’s capable of to some degree, just enough that the threat of ticking him off risks him leveling the whole school supposedly. Which is fine at this point. He’s not afraid to admit to himself that he’s not looking to get close with anyone else. The small circle of Shoko, Yaga, Nanami, and Haibara is fine.

He’s lost too many people to deal with losing anyone else.

The soda thunks against the metal bottom of the vending machine, flap screeching open and shut as Haibara grabs it and pops it. He wanders over to where Suguru’s sitting and plops down next to him as he takes a drink.

“I have a mission tomorrow, though,” Haibara hums into his can, picking up their earlier conversation. “Nanamin’s coming too. It’s pretty far away.”

“Is that right?” Suguru chuckles, just a tad envious of his junior’s enthusiasm. “You’ll have to bring something back for everyone.”

Haibara gasps, turning to him with wide eyes. “You’re right! What do you prefer: sweet or savory?”

Suguru opens his mouth, answer on the tip of his tongue. But he pauses. Because he was about to say sweet because he knows Satoru will just steal some of his treats regardless of what he has, so he might as well make it pleasant for the other.

But Satoru isn't here anymore. Won't be by his side anymore. Suguru doesn't have to take what Satoru does into consideration anymore.

Somehow that realization guts him even more, leaving him floundering over his words. He didn't realize how much he considered himself a part of Satoru and hopes Satoru did the same, one person, one being, now with no idea how to function on his own despite doing so his entire life aside from the past three years.

His hands tremble where they're resting between his knees, clasped together tightly to prevent the shaking from being obvious but it doesn't do much. The shards of his heart dig deeper into his chest, pain blooming from the punctures.

"Sweet is fine," he mumbles out, forcing his voice not to shake. Because he's a creature of habit and left to lean on the fractured remains of his memories of Satoru.

Haibara is too aware, though, tilting his head slightly as he observes Suguru. "Are you sure? You know you don't have to since—"

"Are you Geto?" Another voice asks, piercing through the otherwise quiet atmosphere. He jerks upright, hair whipping in his face as he turns to look at the woman demanding his attention.

She has a leather jacket slung over her shoulder, blonde hair cascading over her bare shoulders thanks to her sleeveless turtleneck. Bootcut jeans drape over her legs as she crosses them. He blinks at her, wary of the grin sitting on her face.

"What kind of girls are you into?" she asks, brown eyes boring into him. Suguru just stares back, unmoving. How does anyone ask a stranger something like that the second they're given a chance? Haibara tenses beside him slightly, hands fidgeting with the tab of his can briefly before he sets it aside.

"Who are you?" Suguru asks, raising an eyebrow and resisting the temptation to snark back that there isn't a woman that fits his type. There was one, but he's made his choice. So Suguru has to live with it.

"I like girls with healthy appetites!" Haibara chimes in, previous apprehension gone and replaced with a bright smile.

"Haibara," he groans, tipping his head down as the woman cackles.

"It's fine," his junior reassures with a grin. "She's not a bad person. I'm a pretty good judge of character."

And Suguru can't help but think. About Riko and how he wasn't able to save her. About the Time Vessel Association members applauding her death and how much his hands ached to paint the walls of that room red. About the countless sorcerers that have died on countless missions and those missions he's had to take because he wasn't there first. About Satoru and Suguru failing to notice him slipping further and further away until it was too late and all he could do was watch. Forever haunted by what ifs.

"Present company included?" Suguru huffs, avoiding both of the gazes that fall on him.

"Of course!" Haibara says. It makes bitterness rise in his throat, fighting it down only thanks to so many years of practicing with curses. Because he's not a good person anymore. Not since Riko died and he neglected everything.

The woman laughs, tinny and grating on his ears. "He was being sarcastic, kid."

"Oh," Haibara mumbles, squinting at him. "Wait, that doesn't make sense. Why would you—"

"Isn't Nanami-kun waiting for you?" he asks, heart racing in his chest. This is not territory he wants to get into with his junior; the thoughts swirling around his head should stay there where he can contain them.

Haibara jerks, pulling his phone out and checking the tiny screen on the front. "Ack! I've kept him waiting for too long!" He scrambles up, nearly toppling himself over as he bows to the woman. "Excuse me! Thank you, Geto-san!"

Suguru gives him a half-hearted wave as the woman wanders over and takes Haibara's spot.

“Your junior?” she asks, both of them watching as Haibara dashes around the corner, nearly slipping as he skids around it.

“Yeah,” Suguru mumbles, ignoring the way her gaze shifts and pierces into him. It makes him feel like he’s being analyzed, dissected in some way that makes his hair stand on end.

“You gonna answer my question?” she asks, hair flowing as she tips her head to the side in question, curiosity making her vibrate.

“Maybe. You first, though,” he snarks back, leveling her with a glare despite the panic that rises in his chest. “Who are you?”

“Special-grade sorcerer Tsukumo Yuki.”

Oh. “You’re the—”

“The what?” She grins eagerly, eyes wild with excitement. He cringes slightly at the words that are about to leave his mouth, but he can't find it in him to be too put off by them after her initial question.

“The special-grade sorcerer who doesn’t take any missions and dicks around overseas instead of helping low-grade sorcerers.”

She clicks her tongue, groaning as she flops back against the window. “I hate Jujutsu Tech.”

Her reaction makes him chuckle sadly, eerily similar to how a certain someone would react to being called a brat with an ego that took up the entire school grounds. But Suguru drags himself out of those memories, forcing himself not to wallow. He's done enough of that the past few months. He should be over it by now. He hates that he's not. 

“Kidding, but we don’t really see eye to eye. The principals and higher ups are just treating symptoms. I’m trying to get to the cause.”

“The cause?” he questions, basic medical terminology not going over his head thanks to countless hours helping Shoko study for her exams. 

“We shouldn’t be exorcizing curses after they manifest," Tsukumo hums, far-away look in her eyes. "I want to create a world where curses don’t even exist."

"What?" he stutters out. This is the first he's hearing about something like this before, so opposite to the crazed undertakings Satoru was spewing. But not at the same time. It's still world-altering, just in a different way.

"There are two theoretical ways jujutsu society could go about it," she continues, ignoring his interjection and raising a finger. "One, eradicate all of humanity’s cursed energy. Or two,” she holds up a second, "teach non-sorcerers how to control their cursed energy. The first one isn’t a horrible idea. There was even a model case of it.”

“A model case?” he questions, but the panic from before morphs into full-blown fear when she locks eyes with him. She stares at him knowingly, aware of what she's about to bring up and how it's going to cross lines he doesn't want to. Suguru shrinks into himself further, grasping his wrist tightly, letting the beads and chain dig into his palm.

“Someone you knew. Zen’in Toji.” Disgust coils in his gut as he fights the trembling of his limbs from showing. And she keeps prattling on and on and on. "Typically Heavenly Restrictions just reduce a to-be sorcerer’s energy to non-sorcerer levels. But Zen’in had none, as I’m sure you realized. He even was able to heighten his senses to an almost super human level and ended up developing a resistance to curses. I’ve searched everywhere for another, but he’s the only one to ever do it.

"Don’t feel bad for losing to him,” Tsukumo sighs as she leans back. “I wanted to research him, but he blew me off. Shame he died, really.” 

Her words make white-hot rage boil under his skin. Fushiguro dying was a shame? What was a shame was a girl and her mother dying at his hands. What was a shame was both him and Satoru nearly losing their lives to Fushiguro. What was a shame was where they are now, completely detached from each other, is all because of what that man did last year. 

“Heavenly Restriction is limited even more than sorcerers, so my focus is on the second.”

“Teaching non-sorcerers how to control their cursed energy," he mutters back, biting his tongue.

“So you are listening instead of just zoning.” She grins at him, lighting up.

He shoots her a glare.

“I digress,” she continues, leaning forward and pressing her hands together, resting her chin on her thumbs. “Did you know jujutsu sorcerers don’t give birth to curses? Well, aside from sorcerers cursing themselves when they die.”

Suguru goes to shake his no, but he pauses. Because he remembers watching a curse ooze out of a non-sorcerer, yanking and pulling its way out of their skin before coiling around their shoulder. He knew non-sorcerers manifested curses, but he watched it happen right in front of him. Disgust and resignation and frustration had settled in him at that moment.

He nods.

"Sorcerers are taught to regulate their cursed energy, which results in so much of what we use staying internal unless we’re utilizing it. All in all, if every single human became a jujutsu sorcerer, curses would cease to exist.”

“Then… why not just kill every m… non-sorcerer?” He can’t help it when the question slips past his lips, old feelings spilling from his chest. All the pain and grief and anger pours out around his feet. That day last year flashes before his eyes: blood everywhere, Riko and her lifeless eyes, Fushiguro and that stupid worm that’s now in his arsenal and hasn’t been let out since, Satoru and the blank expression on his face as he asked if they should kill everyone in the room.

“Geto,” Tsukumo says, snapping him out of his thoughts as he whips his head around to look at her. “That is an option. Honestly, it might be the easiest route: make non-sorcerers adapt as they deplete in numbers. Forced evolution using fear as a catalyst, like how birds grew wings. But I’m not that crazy.”

She pauses, glances back at him, and asks, ”Do you hate non-sorcerers, Geto?”

“I… I don’t know,” he stutters out, hands drifting back to his bracelets. It’s like a dam breaks, words flowing out even though he doesn’t trust this woman yet and has only known her for ten minutes. "I used to think we existed to protect non-sorcerers, but… I’ve been doubting recently whether they’re worth fighting for. Being naive versus being oblivious, it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes. There’s a part of me that looks down on them, while another part tries to resist that. I just don’t know how I really feel anymore.”

“You’re not at that stage yet,” she reassures with a sigh, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Looking down on non-sorcerers and resisting that feeling are just two possibilities. Whatever you’re truly feeling, you’ll make your decision when you’re ready.”

He nods again, swallowing thickly. Honestly, he hasn’t been as plagued by his spiraling dilemma about non-sorcerers recently, mind too focused on everything that’s happened with Satoru.

“I was hoping to catch Gojo too,” Tsukumo hums, like she can read his mind almost. “We’re the only three special-grades after all. We should all get along.”

He blinks, waiting for her to claim it's just a cruel joke meant to dig at him. But she just stares back, waiting for an answer.

"You're serious?" he scoffs, mouth agape.

"Yes?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Suguru fumbles around the words, heart still digging into his chest where it's been shattered. "Because Sa-Gojo killed his entire clan and defected three months ago."

"Oh." That gets a reaction out of her, eyes widening in shock as she jerks backward. "Oh shit."

"Yeah."

"Was there a reason why?"

"No." Not an official one at least. Satoru's words from their final interaction still bounce around in his head, keep him up at night staring at the ceiling, aching for the phantom warmth next to him to be real. People would think he was even crazier if they knew Satoru murdered his whole family over a kid he just met.

Suguru thinks of the rumors. High-grade curses being found already exorcized when a sorcerer arrives at their mission. Satoru's residuals lingering around the sites. It feels like a dig at him specifically, limiting his potential arsenal and strength so he can't go after Satoru.

Other rumors are whispered in the depths of higher up meetings Suguru sneaks around to hear. Word of a high-grade sorcerer and window pair who worked extremely closely and obediently for them found dead at the mission they were assigned. No residuals were found, curse or curse user alike. Suguru has a gut feeling he knows who did it, but he can't bring himself to say anything.

It's enough knowing that Satoru is alive, even if the other isn't by his side anymore. At least that's what he tells himself. As long as Satoru stays alive, Suguru can cope with everything else.

"Damn," Tsukumo mumbles, cracking her neck. "That's... unfortunate, really. Bad timing, I guess."

"Something like that," he sighs, exhaustion creeping deeper into his bones.

Panic rises in his chest as his feet pound against the ground, nearly barreling into a group of windows walking down the hallway. Suguru bows to them quickly before he keeps running.

He just heard from Yaga that Nanami and Haibara's mission went awry, that the window didn't provide many updates other than both of them being severely injured and needing immediate medical attention. Yaga had only just relayed the information to him after he showed up to class and Shoko was nowhere to be found.

Suguru's been running to the morgue since. He's terrified about what he might find there. There's an extremely slim chance the window was just lying and both his juniors are okay, but that's severely unlikely since Shoko is nowhere to be found at the moment. Which means Nanami and Haibara are in fact injured, though of course he has no idea the extensiveness of their wounds. They're both strong, up and coming grade ones that will easily handle high-grade curses, especially together.

But even if they're strong, there's a small, terrified part of him that's thinking of the worst. That the second he enters the morgue he's going to be greeted with two more bodies to add to the slowly growing pile of deaths of people he knows. He doesn't know what he'll do with himself if it's that outcome, doesn't know what he'll end up doing in general if he loses more people.

He skids to a stop in front of the doors, deathly silent both inside and outside the room aside from his heart echoing in his ears. His gut roils, the pessimism winning over and convincing himself that the second he opens these doors, one or both of them will be bleeding out and dead on the table.

Standing in front of these doors reminds him of a year ago, when he was in a similar situation. Like then, his entire world changed the second he opened those doors. The clapping haunts him, a familiar beat against his ear drums he doesn't think will ever go away, scent of blood and decay forever burned into his nose.

He shakes his head, willing away the memories burned into the backs of his eyes. With a shaky breath, he pushes the doors open.

Sterile cleaning products hit his nose first. The examination tables that usually hold bodies lay empty in the center of the room, harsh lighting glaring off the clean surfaces. All of Shoko's tools sit either untouched or freshly cleaned on the rolling cart.

Then his ears finally pick up the steady din of chatter that floats and echoes around the room. His gaze snaps over to where the sound is coming from, heart rattling in his chest.

Nanami sits on one of the stools propped against the wall, rag over his eyes with his head tipped backward. He's still in his uniform, no cuts or tears in sight. His hands tremble where they hang between his legs, either from overexertion, adrenaline, fear, or a combination of the three.

Shoko pads over to Nanami, raising a hand to rest the back of it against his forehead. She glances quickly at Suguru, giving him a nod as she gnaws at the end of her cigarette. Her free hand fidgets with a pen, a steady click-click click-click filling the room.

And then...

Haibara sits next to Nanami on the other stool, in a similar position with a bandage stuck against his cheek. His uniform top is nowhere to be found, one of the few medical gowns they have thrown over. Suguru can see where the cut starts, right at his collarbone before dipping down into the shirt. He honestly doesn't want to know how far down it goes, but he notices the way his junior rubs at his chest, like his lungs were almost torn out.

Only then does Suguru let out the breath he's subconsciously been holding in, legs shaking as he wanders over to them and leans against the table. Haibara looks up at him, wide eyes rimmed red, but he still smiles at Suguru. He gives him a weak one back.

"Glad you both are okay," Suguru manages to murmur out, hands white-knuckling the table as he leans back. "Yaga-sensei only gave me minimal details so I rushed over here as fast as I could."

"Sounds like Sensei," Shoko snorts, removing her hand from Nanami's forehead, resting it on his shoulder before pulling away and wandering over to Haibara's side. "But you can also blame the window for that one. They're new. Didn't know what information to actually give us."

"Of course," he sighs, heart slowly returning to its normal pace. He looks back at Haibara, raising an eyebrow. "What exactly happened?"

"It was supposed to be a simple mission to take out a second-grade curse," Nanami groans out while Shoko checks underneath Haibara's bandages. "The report was wrong. It wasn't just some curse spawned from fear of a local deity. It was the guardian deity, easily a first-grade."

Suguru doesn't have anything to say to that, nothing comforting at least. That's unfortunately become their reality: reports with frequent errors that result in injury frequently and death more often than not. It should be common sense for the higher ups to ensure all the information from the requests they get from non-sorcerers in the loop would be more accurate as to not completely stamp out their increasingly limited numbers.

They also shouldn’t be sending children with minimal experience to be dealing with high-grade missions.

"We could've handled it fine," Haibara says, wincing as Shoko's hands glow softly.

"You almost died," Shoko states, eyeing the pink scar on his chest. "If Nanami didn't know basic first aid, if you didn't get here when you did, you would've been dead on my table instead of upright and breathing."

"But we—"

"You two are still second-years," Suguru cuts in, avoiding everyone's eyes as he fidgets with his bracelets. "You're still inexperienced, even if you're strong. I should've been the one assigned that mission. Not you. I would've been able to handle it."

Shoko rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything about how she and Suguru are only a year older. He knows, but even still. It's his new responsibility as the strongest sorcerer to make sure things like this don't happen.

He’s starting to understand Satoru's frustrations. But he keeps telling himself that he chose this. That he needs to do this.

"How did you two get back so quickly anyway?" Shoko asks as she pulls away, wandering over to Suguru and snagging the clipboard behind him before she settles next to him. "Your mission was all the way in Hiroshima. It's a ten hour drive."

Haibara tenses up, casting a wary glance at Suguru. Nanami's leg stops bouncing. It makes Suguru freeze up, fear kicking his heart back into his ears.

"What?" he asks, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

Haibara glances at Nanami, fingers picking at his cuticles. The other must sense it, because Nanami just nods, tipping his head away from Suguru. He stares at Haibara, waiting.

His junior swallows, drawing blood when he picks particularly deep. "It was... I don't know how it happened, honestly. One second the curse was there, ready to strike at me again. The next it was just... poof. Gone. And then the next we were in front of the school gates."

"Ozone," Nanami mumbles, gritting his teeth. "Smelled like ozone before we got here."

Shoko glances at Suguru. He tries to keep his face impassive, unbothered, but he knows his fidgeting gives him away, bracelet snapping against his wrist. Because of course it would be Satoru. No other sorcerer can travel that quickly over long distances.

"I see," Suguru says, tongue-tied again. It's honestly amazing that even though he's not here, Satoru still has so much of an effect on him. He tamps hurt coiling around the shards of his broken heart. "Get some rest for now then. When the window gets back we'll have more information."

Nanami clicks his tongue, and it doesn't take a genius to know that his junior is rolling his eyes. "At this point, why don't we just stop taking missions and let Gojo-san take care of everything by himself from now on? Obviously a curse user cares more about our well-being than our own school does."

As much as Suguru's thought about it since Satoru left... "We can't," he sighs, pushing off the table to stare at Nanami and Haibara. "It's still our responsibility. He's not one of us anymore, so we have to make sure he doesn't get out of hand."

The words feel hollow to him, more like he's trying to convince himself than his juniors. He doesn't stick around for them to call him out on it, spinning on his heels and walking out the doors. Shoko doesn't try to stop him, the click-click of her pen filling the silence again as he feels Haibara's eyes on his back.

They're safe. That's all that matters right now. It doesn't matter that it was Satoru who saved them.

He blinks slowly, mind sluggishly taking in the report that was just handed to him. Village out in the countryside, unexplained deaths, rumors building about monsters that lurk in the forest and taking people who wander too far into the depths at night. Simple. Easy.

But after Riko's death, after all the missions the higher ups have sent him on, after Satoru's defection, after Nanami and Haibara's near-death mission earlier in the week, something about this mission makes his gut churn uncomfortably. Suguru has no idea why, but this mission sets him on edge in a way he hasn't felt since before his time at Jujutsu Tech.

His footsteps echo in his ears and around the empty halls, raking a hand through his loose hair as he navigates each turn still flicking through the report.

The morgue doors are propped open as he wanders in, listening for the familiar click-click-click of Shoko fidgeting with a pen as she works on charts and reports. When he doesn't hear it, he looks up finally, spotting the door to her tiny office cracked slightly open. He catches the smell of nicotine, so he drifts closer, not bothering to knock as he pokes his head in.

Suguru doesn't think he's ever seen Shoko this tired before. She’s leaned heavily against the open window, bags bruised under her eyes as she stares with out of focus eyes at the forest outside. A lit cigarette burns between her fingers, smoldering slowly but she doesn't bring it up to her lips. Her clothes are rumpled, blood staining the edges of her coat.

It makes him wince, slightly guilty over what he's about to ask her.

“Shoko," he murmurs, walking over to stand next to her. She blinks slowly, tilting her head to look at him properly.

"Suguru,” she mumbles back, squinting at him. "What are you doing here?”

He chuckles, plucking the practically untouched cigarette from her fingers and taking a drag. "I can't visit my friend whenever I want to?”

“Nanami and Haibara can, maybe. You on the other hand seem to always come crawling to me when you desperately need something.”

"Rude,” he gasps in mock offense, letting her swipe the cigarette back. But she still doesn't take a hit, hand resting on her curled up knees instead. "You okay?” he asks, bumping into her gently.

"Yeah,” she sighs, free hand across her stomach and fisting her shirt. "Maybe. I don't know. Last week was…" 

“Yeah," he hums back, unpleasant images surfacing again. He pushed them back, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "You did good, though.”

"Something like that.” She trails off, lost in thought for a moment supposedly. He doesn't blame her, not after the shit show the higher ups pulled again. Not like they can do anything about it right now, still students who need to learn more.

"Anyway, what's up?” Shoko continues, head lolling around to look up at him.

"Mission. Some village off in the country-side with the usual rumors."

"But?" she prompts when he trails off, raising an eyebrow. Suguru can't help but shrink under her gaze. He's supposed to be strong now. He shouldn't be feeling this... unsettled by a mission.

"I don't know, honestly," he states, crossing his arms and watching the tree branches sway in the breeze, dark clouds looming over the treetops. "Call it a hunch, but something strange might happen this time."

"With the track record the higher ups have right now, no shit something's gonna go wrong." Shoko rolls her eyes, finally lifting the cigarette to her lips and breathing in.

He hums, passing her the mission report. She takes it without looking, eyes still skimming over the pages as she flicks through the information.

"I know you haven't been out in the field since the end of first year," Suguru starts, rolling his bracelets around his wrist, "but I was wondering if you could come with me today."

"Just in case?"

"Yeah. I have no idea what could possibly happen and I'd rather be safe than sorry."

She chuckles, fingers drumming against the clipboard. "You're special-grade. You can handle it."

It still hurts like a gut punch, that his friend isn't willing to support him when he asks. He's ready to suck it up, nod and head out as quickly as possible. But there's a tug at his sleeve, Shoko's free hand snagged in the folds.

"But I get it. None of the juniors are on any missions, and the fourth-years are probably all out partying and doing who knows what. Let's go."

The pressure eases off his chest. He sighs, gesturing for the report.

"Thanks, Shoko."

The curse is easy to handle, nothing more than a grade-two that easily bends to his will. Muggy summer air makes his shirt cling to his skin uncomfortably. His stomach rolls, curse fighting against him, but he keeps it down, stays standing on his feet, tells himself it's not that bad, that he's had worse.

With a shaky breath, he pulls out his phone and dials Shoko's number.

"All good?" she asks, voice crackling over the line.

"Yeah," he mumbles, flicking curse blood off his fingers. "Surprisingly the report was accurate."

"Think the higher ups fixed everything then?"

He laughs. "Hell no. It's the higher ups; you expect them to actually listen to us?"

"Fair enough," she sighs. "Hurry up. Feels like I'm drowning in sweat because of the humidity."

"That's just because you're used to the frigid temperatures of the morgue. You really should—"

"Excuse me."

Suguru turns around, glancing at the woman that just spoke.

"Give me two seconds; I'll call you back," he says to Shoko before he hangs up and pockets his phone, offering a placating smile to the woman. "Yes? Is there something I can help you with?"

"You're the one they sent to deal with the incident, correct?" she asks, voice grating on his ears immediately, frown pulling the wrinkles on her face down more.

"Yes, that's me," he states, raising an eyebrow. "I've already dealt with the situation so there shouldn't—"

"Why are you out here?" she interrupts again, glaring at him. "I thought your people or whatever would've told you we managed to control the ones causing the incident and have them restrained and ready to be dealt with however you see fit. Follow me."

He blinks as she turns around and marches off into the village. What she said doesn't make any sense. He's already dealt with the curse. There aren't anymore around from what he can tell, no other residuals he can sense. If the people here are sorcerers, why go through the trouble of locking up a curse in the middle of town and bring someone else to take care of it.

That odd feeling returns. He keeps the confidence in his posture as he follows her, but he's really wary of what he's about to find.

The woman keeps mumbling under her breath about something, but he doesn't pay any attention to it, mind trying to work through the possibilities of what the town could even be containing. From the looks of it, it doesn't look like there are any other sorcerers present in the village, which makes the whole thing even more perplexing.

He flicks open his phone.

[傑]

gona b a few more mins apparently
theres more they want me 2 deal w/

[硝子]

keep me posted send 1 of ur curses
over if something happens

"Right this way," the woman says, gesturing at one of the houses. He didn't even realize they walked to the other side of the town. A man stands outside the down, nodding his head at Suguru as he pushes the door open. He nods back, stepping inside. The man and woman trail behind him.

The door shuts and the sight in front of him makes him freeze in his tracks. Moonlight filters through the windows, bathing everything in a strange blue glow. The room smells musty, dust dancing through the air.

The room is completely empty except for a wooden cage that sits in the middle.

The sounds of someone, or some people, wheezing hits his ears. He drops his gaze. There, sitting in front of the bars, clinging desperately to each other, are two little girls, no older than seven. They're battered, beaten, and bruised, blood staining their faces, eyes swollen and puffy. Brown and blonde hair is matted to their faces. Their clothes are tattered and threadbare. Residuals creep past the bars, dripping onto the floor.

They stare at him with eyes wide and full of fear.

He blinks, heart sinking in his chest. "What is this?" he asks quietly, brain trying to comprehend what he's seeing in front of him.

"What do you mean?" the man asks, raising an eyebrow at him. "Didn't she tell you on the way here? These two are responsible for all the deaths and incidents in the forest."

"She did, but these girls aren't responsible," Suguru states, watching as the blonde girl sneers at the man, pulling the other girl closer.

"Impossible," the man scoffs. "They possess strange powers. I've seen with my own eyes how they attack other villagers when they think people aren't looking."

Suguru has no idea if that's true, but given how the girls are acting and where they are, he can't blame them for lashing out.

"I already dealt with the cause of the incident. They had nothing to do—"

"My grandchild was nearly killed because of these two!" the woman shrieks, glowering down at the girls. "Hellspawn, the both of you!"

The blonde girl bares her teeth, leaning toward the bars as hate flashes in her eyes. "That's because they—"

"Shut up, you monsters!" the woman yells, cutting off the girl. She flinches, cowering back with the other in tow. "Your parents were the same as both of you. I knew I should've killed you when you were born."

The woman keeps yelling and screaming with venom that the girls, the man jumping in with his own hateful remarks slandering the girls. Suguru flounders, trying to get his brain to work over the nonsense being spewed left and right.

His own hatred bubbles beneath his skin, churning in his gut. Because of course these non-sorcerers have no idea what they're talking about. Just from the looks of it, these girls have been neglected for a long time, most likely due to the fact that they could see curses.

He went through the same thing when he was younger, and no one believed him. His own parents thought he was crazy as he got older and still claimed there were monsters under his bed or lurking in the darkened hallways of his home. He learned quickly to not say anything to them about what he saw, listening to their words and thinking he was crazy until Yaga found him testing his technique in the city.

Just from what he's gathered, if the girls' parents were also sorcerers, they'd been dead or gone for a while if the girls are being targeted by the village. Clans aren't common this far out of the main cities, limiting resources and information to remote villages like these so non-sorcerers have no idea how to help and the random sorcerer that ends up being born here ends up being ridiculed and tormented. He's lucky it never happened extensively when he was growing up, but the anger still makes him want to lash out because this shouldn't be happening.

The resentment coils, looming in the shadows, taunting him, whispering at him. Non-sorcerers don't understand. They'll never understand those who are different, always looking to put themselves on top so they feel like nothing can stop them. Suguru should put them in their place, kill them all, make them all understand.

Tsukumo's words from earlier in the month ring in his ears. This is all happening because of curses. Curses which non-sorcerers fester and create because they have no conscious idea of what they're doing. If they all just die, there'd be no curses, no problems. Sorcerers would be fine, happy even.

He could do it. Starting with this village, he could do it. He could save these girls, make sure nothing bad happens to them ever again and wipe out the rest of the non-sorcerers.

His fingers twitch, hand raising slightly, cursed energy thrumming at his fingertips.

The bracelets around his wrist shift, metal and crystal cool against his wrist.

And then he remembers the ruins of the Gojo clan, the blood and gore splattered everywhere. Satoru's residuals thick and viscous all over the place, ozone choking in the air. He remembers the heartbreak he felt, the grief in Shoko's eyes, the confusion and frustration on Yaga's face. As much as he hates non-sorcerers at this moment, he can't bear to put the people he has left through something like that again.

Even if the promise he and Satoru made is null and void at this point, it's the only thing that's been keeping him going. He has to stick to it, even if the other made his choice.

He raises a finger, letting a shadow of a curse slither out toward the girls. They stare at it with wide eyes as it inches closer.

"I-it'll... be okay..." Suguru makes it whisper, knowing it's creepy but he hopes the girls understand at least that they will be safe. Their eyes snap from the curse to him, still curled into each other, but they both nod slightly.

Suguru takes a shuddering breath in, steadying himself and his emotions.

"Let's step outside for a moment, shall we?" he says, interrupting the man and woman still screaming at the girls. They bite their tongues, sending death glares at the girls before they agree and march outside with heavy footfalls. He leaves a curse in the room with the girls as he follows behind the two adults, just to be safe.

The door shuts with a thud, both of them whirling around to face him.

"So?" the woman asks haughtily, crossing her arms as she glowers at Suguru. "What are you going to do about them?"

He takes another breath, knowing now that trying to explain things the way he has in the past won't work. They don't understand.

"If what you say is true and they are dangerous to your village—"

"They are!" the man cuts in but Suguru ignores him, keeps talking.

"—even if I wanted to deal with them here, it would also pose too many dangers."

These people are keen on interrupting him, the woman's face going red with anger as she opens her mouth to retort. He holds up a hand.

"However, that doesn't mean I can't do something about it. To ensure the village stays safe, I'll take them elsewhere and make sure they're handled accordingly by the right people."

The man and woman lean toward each other, whispering harshly to each other. Suguru prays that this lie works. It has to work. Otherwise he has no idea what he can do to get the girls out safely. He holds his breath, keeping his hands still by his sides.

It feels like an eternity passes before they pull away from each other, the man giving him a nod. "So long as they're dealt with."

"They will be," he lies through his teeth. "Just to be safe, if you could go back to your homes for the time being while I handle things."

They nod, casting one last spiteful glare at the house behind him before turning away. He waits, heart racing in his chest as he watches their shadows disappear around a corner, listens for their footsteps to stop echoing in the street. And then he waits a little longer just in case. When he's sure no one else is around or coming back, he cracks the door open.

Suguru rushes inside, letting the door slam shut behind him. The girls flinch at the noise, still pressed tightly together, still trembling in each other's arms.

"It's okay," he says, commanding the curse he left in the room to shatter the lock. "They aren't going to hurt you anymore, I promise. You're safe."

He dispels the curse as soon as the lock is in pieces, pulling the cage door open but not stepping inside. The girls blink slowly at him; he can see the mistrust and fear in their eyes. He doesn't blame them, doesn't know if they heard what he said outside to the non-sorcerers to get them to go away.

"How can we trust you?" the blonde girl questions, voice scratching in her throat. Probably dehydrated and starved. Suguru hopes they have water and food in the car.

"The mean people are gone now, no?" he asks, moving to sit on the floor at their eye level, wood creaking beneath his feet. "They won't bother you anymore."

"Won't they just come back?" she presses, eying the open door warily.

"Not for a few hours, I hope."

"Where are you gonna take us?"

"Somewhere safe, where you won't be outcast like this, learn to control your techniques properly so you don't have to worry about something like this ever happening again."

"You promise?" the brown-haired girl mutters, peeking at him from around her sister.

"Mimiko!" the blonde girl hisses.

"What? He told us earlier it would be okay, Nanako," Mimiko says, hands clutching the doll in her lap. "Why would he lie to us? He's like us; can't you tell?"

Nanako huffs, glaring at Suguru. Her trepidation is warranted. Both girls probably haven't had a peaceful day since they were put in this cage.

"I promise," Suguru says, giving the girls a gentle smile. "I won't let anything bad happen to you ever again."

Nanako looks back at her sister, both of them seemingly conversing silently with each other. So he waits patiently, doesn't rush them. Eventually, Nanako looks back at him, still wary but now there's hope in them.

"Okay," she mutters, and Mimiko nods beside her. "I... Mimiko broke her ankle. I don't know if she..."

"It's alright." Suguru stands, walking over to the horrible wooden cage and stepping inside. Thankfully, the girls don't flinch as he approaches, crouching next to them. "Can you walk, Nanako-chan?"

"I think so," she says, raising on wobbly knees. She stumbles slightly, and Suguru is there to help her, offering a hand to steady herself with.

"It's okay if you can't," he says, but she shakes her head.

"I can!" she huffs, face scrunched up in concentration. He chuckles slightly, letting her squeeze his hand tight as he scoops up Mimiko into his free arm. The other girl clutches to his uniform tightly, wincing as her leg is jostled.

"We'll get you two fixed up in no time. I know someone who can make you feel better."

He takes them out of the hellhole who knows how long they were trapped in, walking slowly down the twists and turns, keeping a careful eye on Nanako. Mimiko clings to him with one hand and her doll in the other, head pressed against his shoulder.

They make it back to the village entrance, moon high in the sky. Shoko's sitting on top of the hood of the car, hands fidgeting with her lighter. She breathes a sigh of relief when she spots him, but then her eyes go wide when she sees who else is with him.

"What the f—"

"Language," he chides, adjusting his hold on Mimiko as Nanako stumbles.

Shoko rolls her eyes. "Wuss. Where on earth did you find these kids?"

He explains everything that happened to her, eyebrows pinching in frustration.

"Jesus Christ," she groans, scrubbing a hand down her face. "I knew it was sh— bad out in the countryside when it comes to having sorcerers out here, but not this bad."

"Yeah," he groans, trying not to think about his own experiences. He looks at the girls. "This is my friend, Shoko. She's the one I said could make you feel better."

Shoko grins at them softly, wiggling her fingers in a wave. "Hi. How old are you two?"

"Five," Nanako says, clinging to Suguru's pants as she wobbles.

"Woah, so big already!" Shoko says, crouching down. He's surprised how easily she matches Nanako's energy, how good she is with kids. Honestly, he thought she'd be more like Satoru, all groans and moans about dealing with them. But he's never seen her interact with any, and Satoru...

He zones back in, missing the moment when Shoko hoisted the girl into her arms. Shoko's hands glow slightly, activating her technique. Mimiko shifts in his arms, eyes locked onto what Shoko is doing.

"She's stable for now," Shoko says to him. "Malnourished and dehydrated, but it's nothing we can't fix back at school."

"Okay, good," he sighs in relief. "We should get going. I don't want to stay here any longer. Not after what just happened."

"Fair enough." Shoko opens the car door, slipping inside. He follows after her, tension melting out of him the second the door shuts.

Chapter Text

Summer, 2008

Sunlight beats down on him harshly, sweat sticking in all kinds of places. Of course the one day the air conditioner isn't working is the day Megumi and Tsumiki's new beds are delivered. As much as he enjoys having them pressed close to him, within arms reach in case a bounty hunter somehow comes barging in or either of them have a nightmare, especially with the encroaching summer heat, he figured they needed an upgrade. So does the air conditioner apparently, no cold air blowing out of it. Something he'll have to bring up when the landlord comes to get rent in the next few days.

After Megumi told him that the Gojo clan took him around his school, it was pretty safe for Satoru to assume that since he wiped all them out, no one else had any idea where the Fushiguros were living. Even with the wealth at his fingertips right now, having taken the entire clan fortune, he knows enough from the movies to not make such a large transaction like buying a house in the middle of nowhere if he wants to stay hidden. And even if jujutsu society or the now two big families knew where he was, considering no one has found them yet, they're probably too scared to confront him. 

Besides, he's still barely eighteen, has no idea how raising kids works. Better to leave them in their schools for now until he has more time to figure it out. Which he slowly is; it feels like it's the one thing he can't master. The siblings are ever-changing, walking emotional timebombs that explode at any given moment (Megumi more than Tsumiki).

But they're managing. It's been a long year of learning about and from each other, but there's been progress nonetheless. Megumi doesn't constantly jerk awake from nightmares about being taken away, doesn't cower away or do double-takes at Satoru whenever he walks into a room. Tsumiki doesn't hover over her brother at any given moment, doesn't feel the need to deny any necessities Satoru buys or be frugal with the money they have left over.

The two of them are sprawled out on the balcony, hiding in the shade of the drying laundry while the cooling summer breeze floats by. Watermelon rinds sit on a plate between them, hands and faces sticky and red from sugar.

Satoru can't help the smile that drifts across his lips and the fondness that squeezes his heart. He doesn't linger on the thoughts of regret and fear that like to take hold in the middle of the night, the what ifs that plague him if he didn't save Megumi, if he waited too long. All he thinks about is how these kids have wedged their way into his heart and now he can never let them go. He thinks it's the same for them too with the way they stare at him with so much awe and joy now whenever he comes home.

"Didn't you two say you would help me?" he calls out, holding back his laugh as Megumi groans in response and Tsumiki lazily rolls over to face him.

"Too hot," Tsumiki whines, a pathetic puddle on the floor he can't help but laugh at.

"I'm suffering in the same exact heat as you, Tsumiki, if not worse because you two decided to hog the fan all afternoon while I'm here slaving away to make sure you have a place to sleep tonight," he fires back, squinting back down at the instructions and trying to interpret their vagueness.

"But we already have a place to sleep," Megumi mumbles, green eyes sluggishly blinking against the sun high in the sky.

"My bed isn't everyone's bed," Satoru says, putting everything down and scooting his way over to the siblings, stealing some of the blessedly cool air from the fan.

"Why not? It fits all of us fine." Megumi finally turns his head, expression still way too serious for a five-year-old's face. It still sends a twinge of fear down his spine. Satoru's still learning to distinguish between Toji and Megumi, tamp down the trauma. The two aren't anything alike aside from features, but even then, when the boy is curled up next to him in bed, dead asleep to the world, he can spot the differences between father and son: Megumi's eyes are rounder, hair unrulier, nose shorter, cheeks softer.

Besides, they're two different people. One day Satoru will tell him and his sister what happened with Toji, but they're too young and have gone through enough already at their age. They deserve to be kids for a little longer.

"Yeah?" Satoru hums, leaning over to ruffle Megumi's hair. "Just wait until you two hit your growth spurts. Then you try and fit all three of us in one queen bed."

Megumi just harrumphs, feigning hostility as he leans into Satoru's hand. Tsumiki crawls over and sits next to him, pressed into his side as she tips the fan just a tad closer to herself, further away from her brother. The boy grunts in protest, kicking a foot out and jerking the fan back toward him. Tsumiki whines, tipping it back toward her.

Satoru sighs, ready to break up the sibling squabble, ready to put the beds off until tomorrow.

Winter, 2009

Something crashes and rattles noisily, jerking Satoru out of a thankfully dreamless sleep. He cracks his eyes open, ready to be assaulted with the harsh rays of morning light, but it's still shockingly dark outside his window.

Fear races through his limbs, adrenaline forcing the fatigue out of his body. He reaches with Six Eyes as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, kicking a pair of pajama pants into his hands from the floor. A quick scan around the apartment doesn't register any foreign presences of curses, sorcerers, or curse users. Though he does spot the relaxed blob of Megumi's energy split into three, the dogs sitting obediently by the boy's side.

Satoru relaxes some, forcing his thudding heart to calm as he scrubs a hand down his face. His ears finally turn on, not-so-quiet whispering echoing down the hall from the kitchen. He can't make it all out, Tsumiki guiding Megumi through something, gently correcting him and giggling.

The door creaks as he pushes it open, sticking his head out to see what the rascals are doing up at whatever ungodly early hour it is. Silence settles over the apartment, Satoru watching at the human-shaped shadows from the oven light freeze in their tracks.

"Gumi? Miki?" he calls out quietly, voice still heavy with sleep.

"Damnit."

"Megumi!" Tsumiki gasps like she hasn't heard her baby brother swearing all the time now in no thanks to Satoru's potty mouth.

"Language," he scolds anyway, even though he knows it won't do anything to dissuade Megumi. The boy just grumbles in response. Satoru knows he's rolling his eyes in protest. "What are you two doing up so early anyway?" he asks, holding back a yawn as he turns the corner into the kitchen.

And comes upon the room turned upside down. 

The siblings stare at him with wide eyes, cheeks coloring with embarrassment as they also look around what once was the kitchen, Tsumiki standing on a stool in front of the stove, Megumi next to her with a bowl of something in his hands.

Everything is covered in white, probably flour, sugar, baking powder, or a combination of the three. Somehow, there's egg dripping down the wall above the sink, batter stuck to the ceiling, fruit cores and peeled skins piled on the counters, whipped cream on the floor Shiro and Kuro are happily licking up. At least the stove isn't on fire this time.

"What's this?" he asks, trying to hold back his laughter because Megumi's hair is a dull gray from the flour in his hair and Tsumiki has batter smudged across her forehead. Both their clothes are also completely ruined, beyond saving.

"I told you to be quieter," Tsumiki hisses, glaring at her brother.

"I would've been if you weren't hovering," Megumi groans, shoving the bowl onto the counter.

"It's too early to be bickering," Satoru cuts in before Tsumiki can open her mouth, an easy grin on his face. "Either of you gonna answer my question?"

The siblings look at each other, then at the stack of wobbly pancakes covered in an unhealthy amount of fruit and whipped cream on the table, then back to him.

"Well..." Tsumiki starts, thankfully turning off the stove before she hops down from the stool. "I know we already celebrated my birthday and Megumi's too, and we know you said you didn't want anything from us for yours after last year..."

"Considering you two nearly burned the house down trying to make dinner, I feel like that's justified," he chuckles, ruffling Megumi's hair as he walks over to the table, sending a cloud of white up into the air. Megumi sneezes, glaring daggers at Satoru, but he just nudges him toward the table.

"But we're older now!" Tsumiki says, pulling open the silverware drawer and grabbing utensils. "And we figured breakfast was a safer option."

"And with all the sugar you eat too," Megumi huffs, clambering into his chair.

"What's got you so grouchy, Gumi Bear?" Satoru laughs, plopping down in his own chair after he grabs a wet towel, leaning over to wipe all the flour and batter from the boy's face.

"You try waking up before the sun comes up," the boy groans, face scrunched at the coldness from the water. 

"I do pretty regularly, thank you very much," he teases, poking Megumi's nose before he pulls away. Tsumiki settles on his other side, and she gets the same sponge bath treatment, though unlike her brother, she giggles at the touches.

Once both kids are clean, he goes to put the towel with the rest of the laundry when he hears the familiar click of a lighter. It's only been two years, but it's enough time for paternal instincts he didn't know he had to develop. He whips his head around, Tsumiki carefully (thank god) using the long stem lighter to light two candles he didn't see her pull out and stick on top of the singular pancake in front of him.

It's still dark enough outside for the candles to cast warm orange light around the table, illuminating Megumi and Tsumiki's faces as they stare at him. The two and zero stare up at him, almost a little intimidatingly. Satoru still feels like he's sixteen, still entering Jujutsu Tech for the first time. But no, somehow four years have passed since then, three years since Riko's death, and two since he saved Megumi and Tsumiki. A weird feeling settles in his chest, but he's learned to stop lingering on the what ifs that bounce around his head.

"You gonna sing for me?" he teases, huffing out a laugh as Megumi tries to weasel his way out of his chair only for Tsumiki to stop her brother with a glare. Megumi huffs, but joins his sister once she starts the song.

Maybe if things were different, there would be two more people here with him. But what's done is done, and he can't wish for them back as he blows out the candles, bathing everything in darkness again.

Autumn, 2010

Fog dances around his feet, headstones and graves littered around him as he runs through the field. He shouldn't be scared. He's the strongest after all. But right now, fear grips his limbs, heart pounding in his chest as he runs away from the cacophony of groans and screams coming from behind him.

He got a good look at them earlier when he tried to use any aspect of his technique and failed spectacularly. It's just a hoard of bodies, some beaten, some bruised, some bloody, some mangled. Most have their eyes gouged out, empty holes dripping blood in the open mouths that screamed at him. He recognizes them all.

Almost every single one has white hair, and if they still had their eyes, they'd be piercing blue like his. They lunged at him with hunger and rage, and without his technique, he's been forced to run.

He doesn't know how long he's been running, but his breaths wheeze and rattle in his chest. The graveyard seems to just stretch on and on and on with no end in sight, no place to hide and get his bearings. He's tired, but he can't stop running. He didn't fight so hard for it to end like this.

But of course, instead of picking up the pace, he slips on something, crashing hard into the cold hard earth below him. The impact rattles his head, vision blurring in and out as he tries to haul himself back onto his feet.

Ice-cold hands wrap around his ankles and pull, jerking him backward, toward the corpses of the Gojo clan. He kicks out, something crunching satisfyingly beneath his heel as one of them howls in pain. One hand lets go, but three more take its place, dragging him.

More hands and limbs wrap around him, sending shudders down his spine. Out of habit, he tries to kick on Infinity, tries to push them away and off of him, tries to put that familiar cold bubble of nothing around him. But it doesn't work, hands gripping him tight enough to bruise, nails digging in and ripping at him. Some take fabric, others take skin, the warmth of blood making him hiss.

That doesn't stop him from fighting back, pushing and kicking and shoving at whatever he can to wriggle free. He needs to get away. He needs to find Megumi and Tsumiki, make sure they're safe and then they need to run.

But he can't break free, the hands and arms and limbs dragging him deeper into the flesh pile they've created. It takes all his willpower not to throw up right then and there, touches foreign and sinister.

Fear creeps up his throat. He doesn't know what to do, how to break free of so many monstrosities without his technique. A scream tries to escape his lips, but suddenly there are hands around his face, rotten fingers in his mouth, the scent of coagulating blood and decaying flesh filling his nose and he instead chokes on a gag.

He can't breathe. He can't see. He can't run away. He doesn't know what to do as his vision slowly starts fizzling out and—

"Toru?" a voice mumbles, and his eyes shoot open. He jerks upright in his bed, chest heaving as he gulps in mouthfuls of air. Six Eyes activate on instinct. Nothing threatening in the apartment, just Megumi's contained energy and Tsumiki's wild energy next to his bed.

He blinks past their outlines, focusing back on reality. The siblings stare at him with wide eyes, fear he hasn't seen them show in a while peeking through.

“What's wrong?" Satoru asks quietly, steadying his breathing as he leans over to flick the bedside lamp on. Megumi flinches as Satoru's bedroom is illuminated in warm light, scrubbing a hand across his face.

"Are you okay, Toru?" Tsumiki asks, fidgeting with her hair.

"Don't worry about me," he responds, plastering a reassuring smile on his face, one he's come to master now that he's been taking care of them for so long. "Why are you two awake?"

"Nightmare," Megumi mumbles, blanket around him fisted in his other hand. His sister nods in agreement.

"Rough night for us all then," Satoru sighs, patting the bed. The siblings clamber up, even though Tsumiki is eleven and Megumi is nine. It makes his chest all warm that the kids he's been with for three years now haven't yet outgrown the need for him, that they find enough comfort and safety in him to come when they need him.

He adjusts the covers, lifting them up so the siblings can crawl beneath them, one on each side, pressed snug against him. They fall over them gently, Satoru jostling them slightly as he reaches over to turn off the lamp.

Once the room is cast in darkness again, once he settles with an arm around the kids, does he relax. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks neither of them in particular.

He feels them both shake their heads, Tsumiki throwing her arms around his neck and Megumi nuzzles into his side.

"In the morning?" They both nod. He can just make out Megumi's face in the darkness, eyebrows unfurrowing as he relaxes. Tsumiki's grip loosens gradually. Eventually, both of their breathing evens out. Satoru knows by the morning Tsumiki will starfish in the middle of the bed and Megumi will be a ball on his chest.

He sighs, taking the time to run a hand through both of their hair, taking more time to tame the knots in Tsumiki's hair. They'll tell him in the morning. He knows they will. He's trying to be better than his family. No one else should end up like him. There are bumps and rough patches along the way, but he's doing his best.

At least the sibling's arms wrapped around him don't feel like the ones in his nightmare. It takes some time, but eventually his own eyes start to droop, sleep tugging at the edges of his mind.

Summer, 2011

One of the only things Six Eyes is good for is being able to keep track of cursed energy flares. It makes it easy for him to keep track of nearby curses, sorcerers, and curse users. It also probably helps that he stays one step ahead of Jujutsu Tech and their missions because whoever was sending mission alerts via email still bcc's him on the chain. Something he's sure will be remedied with the steadily rising boom of technology, but for now, Satoru will take what he can get.

The alley way he's creeping through is damp and musty, footsteps light and pace slow as he watches the shadows turn a corner ahead. He stays far enough away that the sorcerer and window he's tailing won't be able to hear him. His residuals are masked just to be safe since there still is a massive bounty on his head.

If he didn’t have Six Eyes, he wouldn’t be able to pick up the bits of their conversation up ahead. A blessing and a curse to have enhanced senses.

“How deep into the alleyways did you say this mission was?” a woman’s voice bounces around the buildings, exasperation heavy in her tone.

“A few more streets,” another woman responds with an amused huff. Their footsteps slap too noisily against the road. At this point they’ve most likely drawn the attention of the second-grade curse they’re hunting down, its energy flaring and pulsing with hunger.

It would be so easy to pulverize it now with a burst of Red, even from this distance and through the buildings that hide it from most sorcerers’ view. It’s what he’s been doing for a while now: staying a step ahead of the higher ups by hijacking their missions and destroying the curses they have their eyes on. He hasn’t been making any moves at them personally for a few years now.

“This is taking forever,” the first woman groans again. She doesn’t have a handle on controlling her energy; Satoru watches the way it flickers orange out of her limbs.

“You’re the one who got us lost after we got off the train because you insisted you knew where we were going,” the other says, green and orange energies colliding briefly as they bump into each other.

“So I missed a turn, big deal,” Orange groans. “We’re here now. Let’s get this over with. You better still be keeping your promise.”

“Yes, yes, we can stop by the arcade after this, my treat,” Green responds with a fond sigh, fingers tapping against something. “The curse shouldn’t be anything you can’t handle, just a grade-two with close-range attacks. But you should still be careful.”

“I will, don’t worry.” Their voices are closer now, energies halted in front of the curse.

“Good. I’ll set up the veil. Stay—”

Before Green can finish her thought, Satoru steps around the corner, uncloaking his energy. He sees the way both women tense at the sudden jump in cursed energy, slowly pivoting on their heels to face him.

Neither of them get a word out before Blue is crashing into them. Green reacts in time, able to brace for the impact of generated mass hitting her. She’s only knocked down to the ground, but Satoru still did a number on her, one arm twisted at an odd angle and blood dripping from her ears and nose.

Orange, however, goes careening into the wall behind them. Green’s eyes go wide as her partner’s head cracks against the wall, blood splattering everywhere: on the brick wall, on the concrete sidewalk, on Green’s clothes and face.

Satoru just blinks, eyes snapping to the curse where it still dangles eerily over a clothesline. Red obliterates it in a second, leaving clothes snapping in the wind.

“You’re—” Green chokes out as her eyes go wide and entire body starts trembling, though Satoru can’t tell if it’s from pain or fear.

“I’m?” he snarks back, raising an eyebrow.

“Please," the window wheezes out, hands and face coated with blood sprayed from her partner squelching against the wall. "Please don't kill me.”

"And why not?” Satoru asks, hands in his pockets, glaring down at the girl. He knows he makes for a menacing sight: eyes alight with his technique, peering over the lenses of his glasses, dressed head to toe in black aside from the floral kimono top and glittering earrings, confidence and power radiating off him.

"I can help you,” she bargains, but there's still so much fear in her eyes. "I know things about the schools, the clans, the higher ups. I can get you whatever information you might need to make sure you stay one step ahead of them.”

He pretends to think about her offer, hip cocked to the side as he brings a hand up to his chin. Silence wages coldly over them, tension strung tight between them. Something in him writhes in pleasure as he watches the window curl in on herself, obviously scared out of her wits. She should be.

"Tempting,” he finally responds back, steps echoing around the alleyway as he pads over to her. She scrambles backwards, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Too soon she can't anymore, back pressed against a building.

Satoru grins menacingly once the window realizes what—or who—she’s next to.

"But I know your type,” he says, crouching down so they're eye-level. “Will do anything to save your own skin, even if that means turning your back on the people you're supposed to be loyal to. So if I accept your offer, who’s to say you won't do this exact thing if the higher ups ever corner you? Would you divulge every secret you would learn?" 

“Please—”

"Save your breath,” Satoru sighs, standing up and brushing the dirt off his pants. "You'll need it in a few seconds.

Her eyes go wide, and then she's painting the wall red just like the sorcerer next to her. The blood splatters everywhere, and it's the only time he's really ever grateful for his technique. No gore ever gets on him or his clothes, leaving less questions once he steps back out into the bustling streets, merging with the crowd. Less to explain to the kids too.

He wasn't lying when he told the girl her offer was tempting. One of these days he knows he'll get kicked off the internal network and be left scrambling on his own trying to hunt down all the higher ups. Someone on the inside would be helpful, give him more access to information he needs. What he has right now is all outdated documents from the Gojo storehouses.

Plotting something like this is difficult and time-consuming, especially when he's been doing it all on his own for four years. It still feels like he's getting his feet under him after defecting, but maybe he's been using that as an excuse for a while now.

Maybe he needs to suck it up and find more people who think like him.

Spring, 2012

It takes him a second to realize what he's feeling as he's meandering around Shibuya. Satoru knew there were a couple strong sorcerers in the area, either on assignment or enjoying a day off. Most of them he doesn't recognize, fresh meat for the grinder who probably only know him by name. Sometimes he wonders what the higher ups and teachers tell the incoming students about him now that he's the most wanted and powerful curse user in centuries.

But one of the flickers of energy stands out, making him pause mid-step by the KFC he's walking past. He can't put his finger on why until he concentrates on it, takes the time to properly analyze it. It lashes out wildly in a way Satoru isn't used to seeing the person's cursed energy form. Usually it's steady and even, not this writhing maelstrom of purple and gold burning his peripheries like a wildfire.

He shouldn't. There's no reason for him to actively seek him out, not after the way Satoru painfully and forcefully made sure to completely burn the bridge connecting them, no matter how much it also broke him to do so. They haven't spoken in years, even if Satoru doesn't have the heart to block his number so he still gets the occasional drunken texts and calls that go unanswered. 

But the foolish, helpless, desperate part of him needs to see Suguru again. He tells himself he can't talk to him, can't show himself to the other no matter how much he wants to. There's an ever-growing bounty on his head, and from what little information he's heard from the sorcerers he's trailed and killed, the strongest duo went from two to one. Satoru's sure Suguru wouldn't hesitate to bring him in the second he showed the other his face.

Teleporting to the other would reveal himself and his carefully masked residuals, so Satoru opts to walk, mingling with the non-sorcerer crowd as they meander, none the wiser to jujutsu society. Sometimes it's nice, letting go of the concept of curses and techniques to feel like an average person. It only really happens when Tsumiki drags him and her brother out of the apartment, whether that be to eat somewhere new or wander a shopping district.

He keeps an eye on Suguru's energy, growing larger and more frazzled the closer he gets. Part of him can't help but be worried. In the few years they knew each other, Satoru's never seen the other grow this agitated and restless before. Suguru's always been calm, level-headed, the voice of reason and strategy wherever they went. The only time it ever differed was after Amanai, but that was the opposite; Suguru's energy was eerily still and too controlled.

Soon enough, he's turning the corner that puts him in the same area as Suguru. He feels the veil before he gets a proper look at it, pulsing an erratic off-white. If it's anything like their high school days, Satoru should be able to pass through it no problem, no warnings or restrictions preventing him from entering. But that's too great a risk he's not willing to gamble on today.

Instead, he checks around him, making sure no one walking past is looking too closely before he floats up into the air, maneuvering around his weightlessness until he's standing on the roof of the building he was just next to.

With the aerial view he has now, despite the white tint Suguru's veil casts the encapsulated surroundings in, Satoru can still just make out everything that's going on.

And for lack of better words, it's absolute carnage.

Somehow Suguru's figured out a way to lure not just one or two but at least ten different relatively strong curses to him, all trapped within the veil. There's splatters of purple against the ground, in scattered patches dotted everywhere. Shockingly, even the buildings have suffered a good chunk of damage, dented in from impacts, brick and mortar crumbling.

It all points to someone more violent, less restrained, full of anger that's hunting curses like a madman. If Satoru didn't have Six Eyes and couldn't make out the achingly familiar blur of Suguru's hair, he would've thought it was someone completely different, a new rising special grade.

But no, it's just Suguru. The same but so different it makes the old feelings he's locked away deep in his chest pound at his ribcage, screaming to be freed. His hair is longer, half of it dancing around the middle of his back, the other half tied up in the usual bun. He's still wearing the same stupid unflattering baggy pants, but the uniform jacket he used to wear has been switched out for one with a hood and higher collar. Instead of fighting tooth and nail with his arsenal of curses, surprisingly, he's smacking a curse into the ground with Playful Cloud. Satoru didn't even realize Suguru had it.

A part of him wishes he could make out the finer details from here: how the angles of the other's face have changed, if his shoulders and back really are broader and not just him misremembering, what the calluses on his hands feel like.

But that puts everything he's worked so hard for on the line, so he's left to just watch Suguru from this carefully crafted distance he's forged between them.

This is just how it has to be.

Summer, 2013

Sunlight beats down through the tree leaves, heating the air around him to a sweltering degree that Infinity can't even protect him from. Despite that, Satoru spots the siblings sitting outside, enjoying the quiet that comes with finally living in the outskirts of the city. 

He figured it'd been long enough since he killed the entire clan that no one is paying attention to where the money goes anymore. If they are, oh well. They'll get blasted to pieces if they try anything.

It's nothing sprawling and extravagant like the clan residence used to be before he blasted it to pieces, but it's bigger than what Tsumiki and Megumi are used to. There's two stories, their own separate bedrooms, separated dining and living room, a designated study for homework, endless hills outside to run around in. With everything they brought from the apartment, the place still feels empty, but Satoru's sure with time it'll grow into something warm and full of life.

Already it feels like more of a home than the Gojo clan ever did.

Shiro and Kuro are wiggling around on the grass, also enjoying the fact they can run free. Megumi's sitting under a tree, hidden in the shadows with a book in his lap. Tsumiki has her hands in the dirt bordering the house, a basket of different flower seeds next to her as she preps the soil.

Similar to all those summers ago, he's inside building and arranging furniture. Different to all those summers ago, there's actually a decent aircon in each room, making the instruction booklets flutter. It's just as mind-numbing as it was last time he did this, and this time Tsumiki and Megumi are adamant on helping him even if they're currently taking breaks.

He doesn't understand how they wormed their way into his heart, how he gets inexplicably happy when they're also happy or excited or just content. He's watched them grow up for five years at this point, nothing but pride for them as they've gotten older.

Tsumiki’s less skittish, more confident, but just as kind, if not more than the day he met her. Unlike normal teenagers her age, she insists on helping him around whenever she can: cooking dinner, washing dishes, tutoring Megumi, and everything in between. Satoru tells her that it's okay, she can be a kid, but she just gives him that look that's wise beyond her years and he crumbles.

Megumi’s still grouchy with a scowl always on his face. But he's so selfless, and Satoru can never punish him for it every time he gets a call from the school saying the boy has thoroughly trounced another pack of bullies. Should he be resolving things with his fists? No, but Satoru isn't one to talk with the blood coating his.

He loves the kids. Every time he walks down this train of thought, he can't help but feel pity for his parents, who looked at him with cold indifference, calculating each of his moves to make sure he turned into the strongest. He never had love and support growing up, so he does everything he can to make sure Megumi and Tsumiki always have it.

Is it perfect? No. There have been hiccups, relapses, and pushback from all three of them. There have been screams, tears, and outbursts, nightmares and ghosts that linger around.

Tsumiki didn't want to take care of her brother at six-years-old, didn't want to lose her mother and never see her again, didn't want to panic and scream and cry when her brother didn't come home one day.

Megumi didn't want to be coveted for his technique, didn't want to be left with almost no one to support him, didn't want to live in fear of how his life would've turned out if Satoru didn't find him.

Satoru didn't want to be a parent at seventeen, didn't want to constantly fear the higher ups finding him, didn't want to go through the rest of his life without the one person who didn't treat him like walking royalty or a spoiled brat.

They all had to grow up too fast, too soon, and he spends so much time trying to make sure Tsumiki and Megumi know they can just be kids. He only got that feeling for two years. He wants them to have longer, wants them to know he's there for them whenever they need it, wants them to know they're loved and cherished.

“How long are you going to keep screwing that table leg in?"

Satoru jerks at Megumi’s voice, screwdriver slipping out of his hand with a thunk.

“You want it to just spontaneously combust one day and spill food all over the floor?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“At this point you're gonna screw through the rod," the boy huffs, rolling his eyes. But he passed a glass of water to Satoru.

“That little faith in me, Gumi Bear?"

"Yes."

Satoru yelps, falling backward dramatically with a hand pressed over his forehead, screws and pegs scattering around him. "You wound me!"

"Serves you right," Megumi grumbles out smugly. But then he yelps suddenly, Satoru peeking up to see Tsumiki pinching her brother's cheek.

"Be nicer to Toru," she chides, Shiro and Kuro prattling around her feet even though she can't see them.

"He started it."

"That was all you this time, Gumi," he snorts, watching the fan spin lazily on the ceiling.

It devolves from there, bickering and bantering with each other to the point that somehow Tsumiki gets roped into it, all the while still working on building the furniture.

Still a little odd and foreign, but it's home.

Winter, 2014

One of the benefits of having so much space outside right in his backyard is being able to work on his technique with little consequence. After Megumi and Tsumiki are asleep, he fills the sky with Reds and Blues and Purples, adjusting the math and ratios, strengthening his output. Deeper into the night, he works on his domain, finally complete and easy to control with no strain on his brain.

The only thing he wishes he has is curses to properly test everything on, but he makes do with memories of energy of curses he's fought in the past, how they reacted to different abilities.

If he thinks too hard about it, he starts noticing the ghost by his side, the one that used to pin him to the dirt during sparring after sending everything he had at Satoru.

He shakes his head, focusing on keeping his domain up as he meanders around it. Even with the knowledge that if he didn't wield Six Eyes and Limitless his brain would be pouring out of his ears at the moment, he can't help but be amazed and awestruck at the beauty Infinite Void holds. His own personal galaxy, his to do whatever he wants with, make the curses and people he uses it on feel what he feels on a daily basis but tenfold. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating.

Time loses all meaning here, but when he starts feeling the strain behind his eyes and the pounding in his head growing sharper, Satoru loosens his hold on his domain, watching it melt away, giving way to the night sky smattered with stars, the full moon shining down and tinting everything a ghostly white.

Including Megumi and Tsumiki, who are a ways away next to the house. Tsumiki sits on the steps, hair pulled into a braid, arms tucked in to protect herself from the cold. Megumi stands next to her with his coat shrugged on, and even from a distance Satoru can tell his face is scrunched up in fatigue.

"What are you two doing up?" he calls out, walking over to them.

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, which earns him an elbow in his knee courtesy of his sister.

"We wanted to ask you a question but you weren't in your room," Tsumiki says, standing up with a yawn.

Even if they're tired, he can see the tension in their shoulders, Tsumiki gnawing at her lip and Megumi shifting from side to side.

"Hit me," he says, ever the tease and pressing his freezing hands against both their cheeks. They squeal and shout, Megumi grumbling further as Tsumiki giggles.

"This is supposed to be serious," Megumi huffs, drifting closer to Satoru. He's never one to deny the boy affection, pulling into his warmth.

"When have I ever been serious?" Satoru responds, but he tamps down his need to poke and tease the kids and put smiles on their faces. "What's going on?"

"Well," Tsumiki starts, glancing at her brother. "I guess... We know that you don't want us involved with jujutsu society and fighting curses. But we also know how hard you're working to change it for the better. Megumi and I talked about it some a few nights ago, and I know we're still teenagers but—"

"You're rambling," Megumi huff, burying deeper into his coat. "We want to help you."

Satoru freezes, ice creeping down his spine as he tries to keep his face and tone calm. "That's not something you need to worry about," he sighs, shaking his wrist so the bracelet slips down enough for his fingers to wrap around the beads and twist.

"We know," Tsumiki says, face too serious for a fourteen-year-old. "But you've done so much for us since you saved Megumi and took us in. It only feels right that we do something in return."

He can't help the chuckle that bubbles up, ruffling Megumi's hair before he crouches in front of Tsumiki. Her hands are cold as he takes them in his, squeezing them gently.

"The world shouldn't be give and take like that, Miki," he says, watching her carefully as he tries to formulate the right words. "I don't want it to be like that for you. I want to take care of you two, make sure you're safe and happy. Taking you in isn't a debt you need to repay."

Tsumiki smiles softly, squeezing back as Megumi scooches next to her. "Still," Megumi mutters, scowling when Satoru reaches out to pinches his nose, "wouldn't it be better if you taught us how to defend ourselves instead of making you do all the work."

"When have I ever not been there to protect you?" Satoru asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Last week as we were coming home from school," Megumi says with a glare.

"A month ago at the mall," Tsumiki chimes in.

"When you weren't home that one time and curse users ambushed us at the store."

"That time when—"

"Alright alright, I get it," Satoru huffs, tipping his head up to watch the clouds roll over the moon. "Excuse me for wanting to make sure you don't dirty your hands and protect your innocence."

"We aren't four and six anymore, Toru," Megumi mutters through a yawn.

Satoru sighs, cupping both their cheeks as he looks at them. "I know you aren't. But as your guardian—"

"Dad," Tsumiki and Megumi both say. It makes his thoughts stutter to a halt, emotions he can't even begin to describe clogging his throat.

"You punks," he says instead, shaking his head with a fond chuckle. "Fine, as your dad, I just want to make sure you're safe. So yes, I'll teach you self-defense, I'll help you with your technique, Megumi, and I'll still make sure you stay safe.

"But you will not be helping me. Not until you're older. You shouldn't make a decision like this out of obligation. I want you to come to your own conclusions and figure out what you want to do from there. Okay?"

They both nod, determination blazing in their eyes. Satoru just pulls them close, hoping that he's warm enough to combat the chill of the world.

Spring, 2015

He didn't expect the rumors to be true. But it's jujutsu society; he should've known that the whispers of mistreatment and power abuse were worse than people were making them out to be.

The neighborhood is quiet, his own footsteps loud in his ears as he keeps one eye on his surroundings and the other on the crackling lavender energy down the road. Satoru's honestly shocked that despite how old this clan is, they don't live in minka like his clan did. Though that could be because there are so few people with cursed speech after the genocide.

Honestly, it took awhile to hunt down the remaining Inumakis. The higher ups finally realized a year or two ago that their information leak was the reason Satoru kept popping up unannounced, seemingly one step ahead of them at all times, but that's the perk of being able to teleport. They kicked him off the job board, but they really need to start catching up with technology; a basic firewall cracking course lets him back in easily and with access to even more information.

Thousands of classified reports at his fingertips, which led to lots of late night hours reading through old reports and mission casualties, devising ways he can change the system so stuff like this doesn't happen anymore.

Manami tells him he needs better hobbies. He just laughs it off each time and goes back to scheming. He'll make bigger moves one day. For now he still has the slowly growing community of rejects and deserters he's been working on building on top of his two rascal children getting older, smarter, stronger.

So he stays small, taking out people lower on the food chain, getting to potential high-grade sorcerers before they're swooped up into one of the technical colleges, just so the higher ups know he's always a looming threat, steadily growing stronger and stronger.

A loud crack pierces the air, making him jerk his head up. Foolishly he didn't anticipate the grade three curses lingering around the neighborhood to be a threat, but now they are, getting closer and closer to the cursed energy he's been watching for a few minutes now.

He was going to do this slowly, gently, but now the kid's safety is on the line.

The curses are easy pickings at least once he teleports into the room, evaporated on the spot. At least he had the forethought to make sure he was standing in front of the kid before exorcising the curses; the perks of parenting for nearly a decade now.

The boy gasps, and Satoru can feel his energy trying to peek around him to see what happened but he blocks the kid's line of sight again, turning to face him.

Round purple eyes stare at him, part shock, part awe, part fear wavering in them. His hair is also platinum blond, understands the meaning behind both colors that makes his gut churn unpleasantly because it happened in his own family. The boy reaches up to cover his mouth, but Satoru still makes out the snake eyes and fangs blackened around his lips.

"Inumaki-kun, right?" he asks softly, crouching down so they're eye to eye. The boy reels slightly, apparently shocked Satoru knows his name, but he nods in response. "Gojo Satoru. I'm sure you've heard of me."

Inumaki nods again, hand still over his mouth.

"Though I can tell you unlike the rumors and stories everyone likes to tell about me, I'm not going to kill you."

The boy throws him a skeptical glance, eyes darting between him and the door to his right.

"Probably not reassuring coming from the man himself, but I want to help you," he says calmly, trying to remember the bits of information he skimmed from the clan books tucked away on his bookshelf. A lot of it was history written by the winners, stories of how cruelly and brutally the Inumaki clan abused their technique, bending curses, sorcerers, and non-sorcerers alike to their will.

“There's no need for you to live in fear of what you could do to people,” Satoru reassures, a gentle smile on his face. “I know it's scary. I was the same when I was learning how to use my technique properly. But I learned how to master it, and I know you can too. There are lots of sorcerers like you and me that can help you learn how to control your technique.

"I'm sure you've heard about the technical colleges too. You're set to go there in a few years, right?" 

Inumaki nods, slowly uncurling from himself the more Satoru talks to him like a normal person and not like the tool he’s probably been used as for however many years now.

“And you know what the higher ups do to students?" 

Another nod.

"I promise it's your choice what you want to do,” he says, straightening up. “I won't kill you if you say no. But I don't agree with what they're doing. I'm trying to make sure people like you have the choice on what they want to do instead of being thrown into a system where you can die in the blink of an eye.

“So if you'd like, Inumaki-kun, I can make sure you stay safe, learn to control your technique, and are able to have a day in their futures.”

He gives the boy time to think about it, waiting patiently as Satoru watches Inumaki bite at his thumbnail. He doesn’t mind; it gives him the chance to focus back on the information Six Eyes is giving him. There aren’t any more curses in the area, and surprisingly, no sorcerers either. While they’re probably knowledgeable about jujutsu society and Cursed Speech, Inumaki’s parents must not have inherited the technique.

It only reminds him of Megumi and how Satoru isn’t the best resource for him learning. It also reminds him of Suguru, gleaning the bits from late-night conversations about growing up in the countryside, terrified of what he could do and see that non-sorcerers couldn’t. His only escape was Jujutsu Tech.

A hand tugs at his haori sleeve, drawing him out of the potential spiral he could’ve slipped into. 

“I can come back if you want more time to think,” Satoru says, looking at Inumaki. The boy shakes his head.

“Made your choice that fast?”

A nod.

“Do you want to stay here?”

A shake of the head.

Satoru offers the boy a hand, and Inumaki grips it like a lifeline.

Autumn, 2016

If someone went back in time and told his high school self that this is where he’d end up in life, little Satoru would laugh in their faces and tell them to fuck off.

But no, this is where he’s ended up somehow. No family burdens, no jujutsu society pressure,no working himself to the bone trying to live up to the title of strongest given to him since birth. He’s still strong, but in a way he never thought he would be. Being labeled as the strongest curse user isn’t necessarily a compliment, and of course there’s little to no competition in that aspect either, but if that’s what people want to label him as, so be it. Only the stupidly foolish chase after him now after a decade of going rogue, never strong or skilled enough to be more than a splatter on the ground when they corner him.

If someone went back in time and told his high school self that he would also end up being a parent at seventeen and started taking in kids, little Satoru would pulverise them in an instant.

He never saw himself becoming a parent outside of continuing the horrid Gojo bloodline because duty and passing on either Limitless or Six Eyes or both and whatever other filial piety nonsense that was crammed down his throat growing up. At some point he resigned himself to an arranged marriage with whoever his parents picked until Suguru came into the picture and he started digging his heels in again.

Even with Suguru during high school, his opinion on kids never changed. But after Amanai, things changed and it started his whole spiral down to here. Megumi and Tsumiki are safe with him. They grew up without the horrors of the higher ups and the traditional jujutsu society ways that were ingrained into him, and he only let them learn the specifics when he knew they would be ready. Now they have their own opinions, and he’s glad they lean toward how ridiculous and unfathomable the higher ups can be.

It’s only been a couple years since he started working with Megumi to master his technique and tame the shikigami, but he’s already gotten so much stronger. The resources he took from the clan library definitely help.

Megumi and Tsumiki spar a lot too. Even without having any cursed energy, she’s a quick learner and a quicker eye for strategy and tactics. Satoru’s weaker when it comes to wielding weapons, but the siblings enjoy utilizing them when they can, so who is he to deny them so long as they’re safe about it (they only spar with staffs or kendo swords against each other).

And now Tsumiki can see curses. Satoru heard word down the grapevine that one of Zen’in Ougi’s twins was born without a technique or any cursed energy, but she’s still fighting curses thanks to years of training and glasses crafted to let her see them. It’s something Satoru never heard of, but once he knew about it, he jumped on the chance of getting Tsumiki a pair. If she also didn’t have her heart set on doing whatever she can to help him, something he still tells her he doesn’t need to do, they would’ve just been for her own protection. Curses constantly try to come after him and the kids, so he’s always trying to find ways to keep them safe.

Now, it’s not just the three of them anymore. It used to just be one house with acres of land surrounding them, but now there are houses scattered about everywhere. A bustling community of sorcerers who caught word of his ideas for the jujutsu world and wanted the change, as well as kids he’s saved from the system. Somehow his goals have grown into something real, tangible. A safe haven for sorcerers to not have to bend to someone else’s will.

He’s still a clan leader almost, but here, it feels like he’s actually working toward something and not perpetuating an endless cycle of meaningless deaths.

Maybe he’ll give sorcerers a chance to live past thirty.

The air is cold against his skin, autumn air turned frigid on the cusp of winter as he watches Megumi and Tsumiki smack each other around with training weapons. As always, they’ve gathered a crowd of enamoured children and fascinated teens, shouting and cheering for one sibling to get the edge on the other. Even Satoru’s mildly entertained, arms crossed with an amused smile on his face as he watches their maneuvers closely.

Surprisingly, Megumi gets the upper hand on his sister, manipulating his shadow to make her lose her footing before he knocks her off her feet. The kids cheer, running up to the siblings as they start bickering about rules and “illegal” moves and whatever else they dictated before the spar. He wants to walk up and break them apart before it spirals into a worse argument, but he has to remember that they’re not four and six anymore, that they can hopefully handle things like this with enough maturity.

“Gojo-san,” Manami says from behind him. He’s tried to get her to address him as “Satoru” but she’s a stickler for formalities. At least it’s not “Gojo-sama.” That wouldn’t end well for anyone.

He hums in acknowledgement, still watching as the siblings get over their spat with the promises of a rematch before turning to the younger sorcerers who want to learn all the cool and flashy moves they were showing off.

"There's a report that just went through to Jujutsu Tech you might be interested in," she says, the corner of a clipboard pushing against the edge of Infinity.

"What exactly would I be interested in?" he asks, taking it from her and skimming the printed report. Four high school students, severely injured, persistent bullying. "These are basic details about stuff that happens all the time."

"Keep reading," she sighs, and Satoru knows her lips are pursed in frustration.

More words and higher up jargon fill the page as he skims, flicking through the packet. The names don't ring any bells, but he pauses, rereading what they've been labeled as.

Special-Grade Cursed Human Okkotsu Yuuta.
Special-Grade Cursed Apparition Orimoto Rika.

"This is...." He trails off, the wood of the clipboard creaking as his grip tightens.

Manami hums. "I already started looking into their ancestry. Orimoto's turned up nothing, but I'm stumped on Okkotsu's at the moment. It'll be a few days before I have any information."

"Where are they now?"

"Where else do you think?"

Satoru sighs, passing the clipboard back to her. "What are they planning on doing with him?"

"Tokyo school."

"Of course they are," he chuckles, the bracelets around his wrist feeling colder. "Keep me posted. I might just have to pay a visit."

Chapter Text

Spring, 2008

He should be celebrating. He should be ecstatic. He should be a multitude of other emotions that border on pure glee and happiness.

Shoko’s standing next to him as Nanako and Mimiko hoot and holler for them. Haibara does nothing to discourage them like Nanami is attempting to half-heartedly do; he’s joining the twins in their cheerin Yaga stands in the back corner, not taking the spotlight from the two graduates, but Suguru can make out the proud gleam in his eyes.

But it doesn’t feel right. He hates saying that nothing’s felt right since Satoru’ left and he’s probably the only one that really feels that way, but it’s true. Especially during moments like this, it all just feels hollow, the missing piece that will never be found again, presence obvious no matter how much you try to ignore it. 

Everything feels like too much but not enough at the same time, thoughts running rampant as he stands at the front of the classroom, letting the juniors and twins shower him and Shoko with praise.

Satoru should be here with them, should’ve been with them the entire four years of their schooling instead of just the two short, fleeting years that also felt like a lifetime. Nothing should’ve played out this way. Riko should still be alive, him and Satoru shouldn’t have been pushed to the brink of death, none of the students should have to go through any of this, Satoru shouldn’t have come to an ultimatum and left Jujutsu Tech. Shouldn’t have left him.

But no, he’s here, Riko’s dead, the taste of death on his and Satoru’s tongues, a fresh wave of juniors coming in the next month, Satoru gone for two years now. 

All he can do right now is push those thoughts down like he does when curses try to fight against his control. He grins and bears it, drowning out the misery he’s really feeling and trying to leech off the joy everyone else is exuding.

“We did it,” Shoko mutters under her breath, a relieved grin spread across her face. It’s odd, but not in a bad way; he and Shoko have been ridiculously stressed grinding out school work on top of completing missions and long hours in the morgue respectively, plus taking care of Nanako and Mimiko. Blank and pinched expressions have been the norm for them, so seeing Shoko smile eases some of the pressure on his chest.

“We did,” he says back, bumping into her side. “Honestly surprised we made it at all.”

“Too many close calls for you.” He sees the way her eyes flicker slightly, a sharp dart to his left and back, so quick he wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t thinking the same thing. They haven't talked about Satoru since last spring on the training field, but he knows Shoko thinks about everything that happened second and third year too much, just like him. He catches her with lollipops in her mouth instead of cigarettes sometimes. She says it’s to cut back on smoking, but he does the same exact thing.

“Get your license faster and we won't have to worry about me dying on a mission,” he snarks to change the topic. Maybe they should talk about what happened and what they’re feeling like responsible adults, but there are still five sets of eyes on them still in a celebrating mood. Maybe later tonight he’ll take her out to a conbini for old time sake, get a couple beers to loosen their tongues, and get everything out.

For now, though, Suguru just pulls her into a hug, squeezing her tight so she knows that he’s also feeling the void Satoru’s left, that it should be the three of them standing there together and not just two. Her breath shudders as she hugs him back just as tight, giving them just a moment to grieve before they’re pulling away, back in celebration mode.

Nanako and Mimiko rush over once clapping gets boring, eyes sparkling with joy Suguru hasn't seen them hold before. While Mimiko is a little bit more reserved, clutching her doll tight to her chest as she grins up at him, Nanako grabs Shoko's leg and starts chatting up a storm.

He doesn't catch everything they talk about, offering out a hand for Mimiko to take so she knows she can wander closer. They've only been here under his and Shoko's care for a handful of months, but he always breathes a sigh of relief when he sees a glimpse of the girls' personalities under the trauma. It'll take time for them to heal and grow with it, so he takes what he can get, hoping they know they're safe with him.

Nanami and Haibara wander over as Mimiko shuffles into his side, giving them more congratulations before Shoko pivots the topic and asks them about their upcoming final year. Suguru watches out of the corner of his eye as Yaga walks out of the room, nodding slightly at him and Shoko before he slides the door shut.

Time starts to blur. It feels like he's been watching the whole conversation outside of his body, not really conscious of what's being talked about but his mouth is moving so he must be responding appropriately.

He wants to be here in the moment, he really does. This is the only graduation he'll have after all. He doesn't plan on getting a bachelor's or master's. A teaching certificate, definitely, but nothing to warrant another big celebration like this. He should be celebrating right now.

But his mind is still stuck on Satoru, how he's not here with them, being a brat and causing trouble. Suguru doesn't often admit to himself that he misses the other, but he really wishes Satoru was here right now.

Winter, 2009

Suguru doesn't even realize how much time has passed since he sat down to study until he suddenly can't see the paper he's supposed to be taking notes on. It's dark outside his window, moonlight barely filtering through thanks to the clouds that hang over the moon. There aren't any crickets chirping or cicadas buzzing like they do in summer, only the window whipping noisily through the trees and his poorly sealed window.

He blinks a few times, glancing over to the clock he has set up on his desk and the late out that blinks up at him steadily. Now that he's aware of himself again, feeling returns to his limbs. His back and neck are stiff and screaming in pain, hand cramping from how tightly he grips his pen.

But for once, aside from the ambiance of the world outside, everything is startlingly quiet.

Panic sets in first. There hasn’t been a quiet day in his room since second year, back when things seemed simpler and not as daunting. His days for the past year have been spent with the girls he rescued from that horrible village, taking care of them as they slowly realized that Suguru and Shoko were different from the people they grew up with.

But even if Nanako and Mimiko now look at him with stars in their eyes and glue themselves to his side wherever he goes, that’s only during the day.

He knows first-hand how much more terrifying the brain can be in the dark, conjuring and warping memories and illusions, shaping them into horrible things that would keep anyone awake at night. More often than not, the girls stay up with him into the wee hours of the night, fighting sleep in favor of feeling safe. Nightmares plague the girls, of what, Suguru isn’t quite sure yet. They’re still working on that part.

Never have they been this quiet in the dark, usually chatting with each other, asking Suguru questions about what he’s doing, or messing around on his GameBoy.

He flicks his desk lamp on with his heart in his throat, terrified something has happened to Nanako and Mimiko while he wasn’t paying attention. But as the warm light envelops his room and he turns to look at his bed, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Nanako and Mimiko are curled up under the covers, Nanako’s hands tucked under her chin while Mimiko has her face buried in the plush toy she hasn’t let go of since Suguru saved the twins. Both girls are dead asleep, breathing slow and even instead of short quick gasps for the first time.

Suguru feels his expression turn fond, quietly standing up from his desk. He ignores the way his joints pop too much for a soon to be eighteen-year-old before he carefully pads over to his bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits down next to the girls, scared the movement might wake them, but aside from a bit of snuffling and adjusting, they stay asleep.

Something in him loosens, the death grip around his splintered heart easing up. He knows healing and progress takes an undetermined amount of time that varies from person to person, and even though it’s only been close to half a year since Nanako and Mimiko have been in a safe, positive environment, he was worried the twins weren’t ever going to recover from something so scarring. It was traumatizing enough for him finding two little girls beaten to near-death trapped in a cage better suited for circus animals, he can only imagine what they felt living that for months or years. Shoko’s still trying to figure out how old some of their wounds are.

But this is progress. They’re slowly healing. It’ll be a blip once he has to wake them up for dinner, and then getting them back to sleep will be a nightmare in and of itself, but it’ll get better with time.

Sometimes he wishes he could say that much for himself. Sometimes everything still feels so painfully fresh, the shards still digging just as deep as they did when Satoru left. Sometimes it hurts just thinking about the other, how he feels like a ghost even though Suguru knows Satoru isn’t dead. His presence was too big, filling each nook and cranny of the dorms so that all Suguru sees is Satoru. The items he’s kept in his room are enough to lock him away in a spiral of thoughts. He hasn’t even attempted to enter Satoru’s old dorm room to get his old things the other stole from him.

It feels like he hasn’t made any progress in trying to heal the heartbreak he feels every day. Shoko says it’ll fade, but a tiny, desperate part of him doesn’t want it to. Even though Satoru’s taken his heart and fractured it into a tiny million pieces he’s still struggling to collect, he doesn’t want to let go of what they shared no matter how much it’s hurting him.

It’s the last thing Suguru has of the other, even if it’s been tainted with so much grief.

The twins grumble slightly in their sleep, faces scrunching up before smoothing out just as quickly. At least the sight always makes his heart melt some, fondness peeking through all the conflicting and complicated emotions he still doesn’t know how to name.

He reaches out slowly, carefully, to tuck Mimiko’s bangs out of her face and wipe drool from the side of Nanako’s mouth.

Dinner can wait a little longer, he decides, pulling the blanket over them, creeping back over to his desk to go back to studying, silence filled with pages turning, pencil scratching, and the twins snoring.

Summer, 2010

"Geto-san, Ieiri-san," the window calls out to them quietly where they're lounging on the couch, the twins off in Suguru's bedroom playing with the doll Yaga recently made for them.

Suguru looks up at the window where he's peeking through the door. "Yes?"

"Mail for you two," he says, two large sealed envelopes in his hand.

He sits up, heart kicking in his chest as he uses a foot to nudge Shoko awake.

"Thank you," Suguru murmurs, taking them from the window before he scurries away. It takes a second kick for Shoko to finally grumble awake, bringing her hands up to scrub at her eyes. He doesn't blame her for falling asleep at ten in the morning; they both were pulling all-nighters and long hours studying for their license exams. Honestly, he wants to be asleep, but now there's adrenaline and anticipation buzzing in his veins.

Shoko groans, squinting at the sunlight filtering through the curtains and into her face. "What do you want?" she grumbles out, glaring at him.

"They came," he says, holding out the envelope with her name to her. She blinks slowly, mind obviously still clinging to sleep and struggling to process what he's implying. But he sees the moment it hits her. She blinks again, pushing herself up and taking the envelope.

"Who would've thought they'd come at the same time" she chuckles, glancing at his.

"I mean, we took the exams at the same time," he grunts, leaning back into the couch cushions as he continues to just stare at the fancy print of his name.

"Yeah, but different departments," she sighs. "You gonna open it?"

"I will, yeah."

"Now?"

"You're not rushing to open yours right now either," he snarks back, rolling his eyes.

"Working myself up to it," she murmurs, flipping it around in her hands. "Just don't want it to be a no. What am I gonna do with my life if it's a no?"

"Take it again and cheat better," he huffs. "Or just commit medical malpractice." He's prepared for the shove, barely moving when Shoko knocks into him.

"I am not waiting another year to take this, let alone another five to do it properly. I already know more than the average person thanks to my technique."

"Well, then it better not be a no," he says. Suguru hopes his doesn't say no either. It wouldn't be the end of the world if he had to take the exam again, not like Shoko and her impatience, but he also gets it. He doesn't want a piece of paper to dictate whether or not he's able to make sure he can properly help new students learn everything they need to stay safe in the jujutsu world.

He wants to start now and be able to make a difference as soon as possible.

"On three?" he asks when they both still haven't opened their letters. Shoko nods, and Suguru pretends to not see the way the envelope trembles slightly in her hold.

"Okay... one, two, three."

The sound of ripping paper fills the room, shifting beneath their fingers as they pull out the letters. Suguru skims his, heart in his throat as his eyes skim over the words, trying to find words like "regret" and "unfortunately." He swallows thickly when he doesn't find them, taking a deep breath before he starts at the top again, this time properly reading.

He doesn't hear anything from Shoko, so he glances over at her. Her face is blank. It's like she can feel his eyes on her because she looks up at him.

"So?” she says, carefully neutral, carefully impassive."

The words are stuck in his throat , so he hands her his letter, which prompts Shoko to do the same.

He reads through hers with much more focus and care, absorbing everything. But he stops reading after the first paragraph, looking back up at her.

"Tell me it's real," she says. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

"Pretty sure it's exactly what you think it is, Doctor Ieiri," he says, grinning at her.

"Oh my god," she murmurs, blinking. "Oh my god."

"Congrats, Shoko." He grins, pulling her into a hug. She melts into him, clutching onto him tightly.

"Don't downplay yourself, bozo," she grunts, pinching at his side. "You got yours too. You can teach , Geto."

"Yeah," he trails off, waiting for the buzzing excitement to fill him, but it never comes. "Guess it just hasn't hit me yet. It doesn't feel real. Probably won't hit me until I'm actually in front of the classroom talking to students."

"Or it'll hit you in about three hours and you'll be screaming about it to everyone," she teases, plucking her letter out of his hands.

"We'll see," he sighs, throwing his letter onto the table in front of them.

"Hey," Shoko mutters, leaning into his side, filling the space with a different weight he still isn't used to after three years. "We should celebrate. Get a couple beers tonight. Watch a movie maybe. Tell Yaga-sensei and Nanami and Haibara and Ijichi and Utahime. Plan something for this weekend. Just—"

She cuts herself off, but Suguru knows what she was going to say. But if things were going to be like old times, they'd need one more person but he's fucked off to who knows where.

The higher ups like to press him with questions still, trying to pry whatever information about Satoru's whereabouts out of him. Even if Suguru did know anything about where the other had gone, he doubts he would reveal anything.

He pushes through the ache, giving Shoko a reassuring smile. "Sure, let's do that."

"Okay," she hums, squinting at him. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now," he sighs as he flops back into the couch, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Maybe when I'm not sober and drunk off my ass."

"Challenge accepted."

"Shoko."

"Kidding, kidding," she chuckles, the flick of a lighter snapping in the silence. "I'll set everything up. But if you're ever feeling up to it, I'm always here if you want to talk about it."

"Thanks. Same goes for you." He knows what happened eats away at her too, if the empty packs of cigarettes he finds in her trashcan each week are any indication.

One day they'll talk about it, process the grief they're still feeling, but for now, Shoko just passes him the cigarette like she did that day out on the field.

Autumn, 2011

Everything around him is on fire, flames casting an eerie blue glow on everything and making the shadows they cast dance menacingly along the ground. Suguru doesn't really know what happened, doesn't remember how he got here or what caused the fire, but he's alone, and he knows he wasn't alone before this.

The twins were with him. So was Satoru and Shoko.

All of whom aren't with him.

Panic seizes his heart as he whips his head around, trying to squint against the harsh light of the flames and the smoke burning his eyes. He can barely make anything out, nothing in sight aside from blue fire. It crackles and pops in his ears, smoke filling his nose and lungs as he coughs it back up in a vicious cycle.

He calls out to Nanako and Mimiko, for Satoru and Shoko, hoping they can hear him over the roar of the flames. But a minute passes with no response, and fear grips him further. Swallowing thickly against the smoke, he forces his limbs to work, carefully creeping around the flames and burnt remains of the building he was standing in.

It's a struggle, heat licking at his skin, smoke pricking his eyes and making it hard to see, feet stumbling as he tries to find a spot on the ground that doesn't collapse under his body weight. Eventually, after what feels like too much time, he makes it out of the rubble he was in.

Only then does he realize he should assess himself, make sure he's not bleeding out and dying, even if he doesn't feel like he is. He doesn't feel like he's in any pain aside from the smoke crawling into every orifice and pore, making every part of him feel gritty.

A glance down makes him freeze, cold dread washing away the heat of the fire. Blood coats his hands, the previously white sleeves of his shirt stained crimson. Now that he's aware of what it feels like, he can feel it drying on his face, sticking to his skin through his clothes. Nausea churns his stomach, mixing with the fear that's slowly morphing into dread.

Because the blood that covers him nearly head to toe isn't purple. It's red.

Heart pounding in his ears, he breaks into a sprint, scanning desperately for any sign of his girls or Satoru or Shoko, anyone really because he's realizing that each burning building he runs past was a house, someone's house, a family's house, and it only makes the nausea worse. He doesn't look down, terrified of what he might find, keeping his eyes away from the ground as he calls out to his family until his voice goes hoarse from screaming and smoke inhalation.

He chokes on an inhale, doubling over as it wracks his body violently, burnt taste of charred wood and earth coating his tongue and making him gag. It's not as bad as the vomit-stained rag curses taste like, but it's a near thing.

But as he coughs, hands braced on his knees, he looks at the ground. His next inhale stutters in his chest, eyes going wide as bile creeps up the back of his throat.

Blood pools beneath his feet, somehow fueling the flames instead of extinguishing them. In the puddles of blood, though, are limbs, hands, and fingers. It could be anyone, but he's already looked too hard, knows that two of them are small hands of growing kids, one with nails bitten down to the beds, one with a crystal bracelet around its wrist.

The fear bubbling in his throat is the only thing that stops him from puking his guts out, panic settling like a cold vice around his limbs. Rationally, anything could've done this. But with the blood on his hands slowly going tacky against his skin, something deep in his bones knows that whatever happened here, that the deaths here are his fault.

He shivers, trying to back away, trying to wrack his brain for a way to fix everything. Something splinters above his head, and he looks up just in time to see a wave of fire careening toward him.

Suguru shoots up with a gasp, entire body trembling and covered in sweat. His heart races in his ears, eyes out of focus as he tries to figure out where he is and what's happening. The sour taste of bile tickles the back of his throat before he can fully comprehend everything, so he crashes out of his bed and runs out the door, willing his shaking legs to move faster before he shoves into the bathroom and hunches over the toilet with violent retches.

Being used to throwing up is a blessing and a curse. Too often the twins or Shoko find him here after missions, but he at least knows how to get his stomach to stop cramping, forcing himself to take slow even breaths to make the waves of nausea pass more bearably.

It does eventually pass, hands shaking as he reaches out to flush it away before he slumps back against the wall. He closes his eyes, relishing in the coolness of the tile beneath his legs, but the images from his nightmare plaster themselves on the back of his eyelids, phantom heat and imaginary blood cloying to his skin.

He snaps his eyes open, forcing the images into the back of his mind as he starts counting the tiles beneath his fingers. He knows Nanako and Mimiko are in the room next to his, the curse on watch in their room still there and unmoved. He knows Shoko is asleep at her desk at this hour, face-down in a medical textbook or reports that needed her attention. And Satoru...

He doesn't know where Satoru is anymore, but there's still an ever-increasing bounty on the other's head, still active that has almost every high-grade sorcerer hunting him down. A dumb, stupid, ridiculous thing Satoru has dealt with since he was young that Suguru wishes Satoru didn't have to deal with anymore. But it still being active is the only way he knows Satoru is alive, so he takes it even if it hurts.

Spring, 2012

"I understand that, but contrary to what everyone seems to believe, I have no idea where Gojo might be. I know we were close during our time enrolled in the Tokyo school, but he hasn't contacted me since he defected." I've told you enough times already , Suguru bites back, staring at the shadows of the higher ups through the privacy screens. They don't need to know about the fact that he never blocked Satoru's number or deleted it from his phone, and when he's inebriated enough he'll give him a call or send a text. They never go answered any way.

"He's eluded us for five years now," one of the higher ups grumble. "This can't go on for much longer. Countless sorcerers have died because of him and more have left because of the blasphemy he preaches."

He wishes he could snap back, tell the higher ups to their hidden faces that their numbers dwindle enough because of the risky missions they send students on. He tried to once a couple years ago when he started teaching. They changed the topic so fast he nearly got whiplash as they continued to dodge any attempt to bring the glaring issues up. There's a reason changes won't be made, a reason why Satoru's method seems more and more viable each time Suguru has to talk with these geezers.

Suguru takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he buries his face in the collar of his jacket. "I don't know what you expect me to do. I'm doing my best to hunt him down, but he's been cloaking his residuals for years now. He only wants to be found when he wants to be. The only person who could effectively find him is a Six-Eyes user, but the only one still alive is him. He won't slip up and let his guard down, so it's a waiting game."

The lie slips past his teeth easily. He hasn't been trying hard to find Satoru. Why would he? He gave up after that chance encounter in Shinjuku when Satoru made his stance perfectly clear. All his focus goes into making sure his students are safe. Does he agree with Satoru's methods? Not at all, but Suguru was always second to him. What do the higher ups expect him to do to stop the strongest curse user?

The rest of the meeting passes by in a blur he doesn't pay nearly enough attention to. He walks too quickly out the doors once it's over, frustration making his skin prickle. If only things would change, if only things weren't like this from the start.

He's not in a state to teach properly or spend time with Shoko and the twins like he planned. He scribbles out a note to tack onto his classroom door saying classes are canceled for the day, shoots a text to Shoko saying he'll be an hour or two before he hops on one of his flying curses and heads into Shibuya.

It's easy to get lost in the bustle of the crowd, almost like he was a normal person with no clue about curses. But he does, keeps an eye out for curses he can take his frustration out on.

Of course in such a crowded place like this, it's easy to find a couple higher grade curses. There have been grade four and grade three curses milling about with the crowd, but Suguru wants a challenge. Too bad there aren't any registered special-grade curses milling about. Most have been destroyed, some in his arsenal. It's too much effort to hunt down an unregistered, so he'll stick with first and second grade-curses.

He lures the ones he's found to a quieter alley, muttering the incantation for a veil under his breath. He doesn't properly count how many curses he's baited over until the veil is fully lowered. Ten shamble closer to him, all kinds of twisted and warped and hungry for blood.

Good thing he's hungrier.

Using the curses he's consumed would be too easy, so he summons that god-awful worm Fushiguro had and takes out Playful Cloud. The cursed tool practically vibrates in his hands, almost like it's itching for action. Suguru doesn't use it often, preferring weapons that he has less of a history with. But he's also itching for action, bloody carnage, for something to do that makes him feel like there's some benefit to everything he's been trying to work toward.

If Satoru were here with him, they would poke and prod at the curses, riling them up until they were frantic and desperate to prove they could kick two cocky teenagers' asses. Now, though, Suguru doesn't say anything, lunging forward with a swing of Playful Cloud, sending purple blood flying everywhere.

Autumn, 2013

"Geto-sama," Nanako whines, tugging him hander down the sidewalk. "The store's gonna close before we get there if we don't hurry!"

Mimiko has his other hand, but while she’s not saying anything like her sister, she's tugging him just as hard.

"It doesn't close for another hour," he chuckles, but he indulges them, letting the girls pull him to their hearts’ content as he pretends to drag his feet.

"It'll be closed if you don't go faster," Nanako sasses back. "Hurry!" Mimiko also pulls harder, eyes pleading just as much as Nanako is vocalizing.

"Alright, alright," he sighs, finally picking up the pace. "What's so good about this place anyway? There's a crepe shop closer to home."

"These ones are made differently," Mimiko says, pressed close to his side as they weave through the crowded streets. "And there are more options for toppings."

He hums, letting Nanako guide them around the busy streets, glancing up from her phone away now and again to make sure they're on the right street. Shibuya's busy as always, curses crawling around in his peripherals. Just to be safe, he has a few curses out, a distance away to not startle the twins, but close enough to handle any that might have the bright idea of attacking them.

"I did say I'd take you wherever you wanted for your birthday, huh?" Suguru says, and the girls grin up at him, moving faster as they get closer.

He's learned over the years that he's incredibly weak for the twins. He doesn't have siblings at home, a few cousins but they're all older than him by a few years. No one around him to have the brotherly, almost paternal instincts that should've been floundering but instead, caring for the twins is as easy as breathing, even in the moments where it seems like nothing is going right. He just wants to make sure they have something happy to look back on instead of all the negativity he knows he grew up with being different. Distantly, he thinks of those three days he knew Riko.

They turn onto Takeshita street and the girls only get more excited, nearly breaking into sprints as the little store comes into view. He has to tug them back though as they nearly bolt into the street as traffic starts again.

"Be careful," he chides gently, pulling them close so he can ruffle both of their hair. "It won't do you any good if we can't get there in one piece."

They at least look sheepish as they lean into his touch, Nanako nodding as Mimiko latches onto his hand tighter. It's another minute before the crosswalk sign says they can cross, the girls dutifully look both ways before Nanako's grabbing her sister's hand and they're dashing across. He can't help but chuckle, keeping them in view as he keeps a steady pace, sending a curse closer to the shop just to make sure nothing happens.

When he gets to the front, the girls have their faces pressed to the glass, murmuring to each other and pointing at the different variations of crepes and other baked goods they sell. Suguru sees the clerk behind the counter jump slightly once she turns and sees the twins, but her face goes fond as she watches them.

"Just gonna stand there and stare?" he asks, pulling the door open as a group of teens start walking out. Nanako and Mimiko scramble in once they pass, leaving smudges on the glass.

The fresh smell of baked goods and the sweet scent of fresh fruit hands in the air as they step in. There aren't too many people inside; he made sure they left the school closer to the tail-end of the typical lunch rush. The cashier the girls scared smiles at them, laughing softly as Nanako and Mimiko copy their earlier actions and press their noses against the display case.

"What can I get for you?" she asks. Nanako opens her mouth, but she hesitates, glancing up at him. He spots Mimiko in the corner of his eye, her own eyes glued to the chalkboard menu and the prices. He sighs internally, giving Nanako a reassuring smile and squeezing Mimiko's shoulder gently. He remembers being their age, hyper-conscious of minimizing being an inconvenience to others. But he doesn't want them to feel like they're a burden. They never are.

"It's okay. Get whatever you want."

At least they've been making progress since he took them in. All it takes is that little nudge for them to light up again, happily chatting with the clerk, who takes it in stride, answering their questions about the differences and wishing them a happy birthday.

"And for you?"

A completely normal question, expected even, but it still manages to catch him off guard.

"Oh," he says dumbly, eyes darting up to the menu. There are a lot of choices, a variety of flavors and textures. In his head, he knows he should get something savory; that's what he usually defaults to when it comes to Western breakfast food. But his eyes linger on something different, completely overloaded with sugar and topped with a copious amount of whipped cream and strawberries.

He shouldn't. He should actually order something he'll properly enjoy instead of giving himself a stomach ache. He should order something that doesn't make his feelings painfully obvious.

Old habits, unfortunately, die hard, phantom sweetness on his tongue as he hands the clerk his card to pay.

Summer, 2014

Each time he comes here, something changes. Most of the time it's little things that are supposed to be different each visit, like posters and events. On time it was an entire building renovation with the rapid growth in technology and modern design. Sometimes things are moved slightly, things rearranged that make him have to relearn everything again.

Somehow, though, the recordings have stayed the same. There have been new shows about different aspects of space added and old shows removed as they've become mundane, but somehow this specific one, the one about the solar system that Satoru took him to see what feels like a lifetime ago, has stuck around.

He doesn't know what he's going to do when they eventually remove the program. Suguru's watched the number of people dwindle as the years have passed. But the small, desperate thing in his chest refuses to let go of it.

Sometimes this feels like the last thing he has left of his partner.

At this point, the staff know him, always greeting him with friendly smiles and casual chatter. Today it's somehow the girl who gave him and Satoru their tickets back then. IF he focuses hard enough on the shift of her expression as he hands her his card, it's like she knows why he's here, glancing quickly over his shoulder for the ghost that isn't there.

She doesn't direct him to the room like  the other staff does, just gives him a small nod and a sad, knowing smile. He returns it hesitantly, ticket clutched tightly in his hand before his feet follow the familiar path to the planetarium.

He's brought the twins here a few times once they started asking questions about his interests in space and after they noticed the random shoe box full of old tickets spanning years of past visits. They enjoyed the show a lot, eyes full of wonder as they pointed in enrapture at the universe trapped in his tiny bubble of their world.

It's not often they come with him anymore. As they've gotten older, even without him directly talking about it, somehow they understand how personal of an outing it is for him, how much it means to him, how lost in his thoughts he gets.

Because every time he's here, he can't help but think about the first time he was here, enveloped in darkness but held tightly in the warm security of Satoru's arms holding the fracturing pieces of him together. Watching the stars and planets whizz by, information washing over him, made him feel so small, like his problems were so small and insignificant in the face of the vastness of the universe. Not in a bad way. It felt like they were two in an infinite amount of everything, that as long as they stayed in each other's orbits, nothing else mattered.

But they've both veered off course, pulled by different tugs of gravity even though Suguru tried to cling onto the familiar tug that kept him centered. He was left to drift aimlessly, confused and shattered over being alone, even though he was only in Satoru's orbit for a few years.

He takes a shuddering breath in and out, trying to not wallow like he always does when he's here. The bracelets are a leaden weight on his wrist as the room darkens, projection of the solar system coming to life before his eyes. The same voice on the recording repeats the same monologue he's heard so many times now, but it's comforting more than it is monotonous.

The familiar sights and sounds wash over him grounding him in a way nothing else seems to be able to. He gets lost in it all, focusing on each celestial body as they're mentioned. The Sun alone in the center. Mercury and its speed. Venus choking itself. Earth and its life. Mars not being good enough. Jupiter also not being good enough. Saturn and its loss. Uranus knocked down never able to right itself. Neptune so far away. Pluto never to be mentioned again.

A blink and the projection is fading already. He still loses time too quickly when he should be savoring every moment. But everything seems to slip through his fingers now. Maybe one day it'll get better.

As always, he waits for the other people to filter out. It's nice, getting to stare at the smattering of projected stars alone for a few seconds.

But when he looks down, ready to turn back toward the door to leave, he spots someone else doing the same thing. Their head is tipped up, white hair grazing their neck, hands in their pockets.

Suguru swallows, shifts nervously with his heart starting to hammer in his ears. A whole slew of emotions thrash and writhe in his chest, warring with each other and trying to scramble to the top. He wants to march over there, grip Satoru's shoulder and spin around, harsh words slipping off his tongue. He wants to summon a curse and rip Satoru to shreds. He was to grab Satoru and hold him tight against him, refusing to let go.

He's sure Satoru knows he's here. Suguru never puts any effort into concealing his residuals. Most of the time he wants curses to come to him so one one else risks getting hurt. But Satoru has stuck to his word, the small amount of his energy Suguru used to be able to feel gone.

But the other doesn't move, like he knows Suguru won't do anything to him.

Even though it's been eight years, somehow Satoru still knows him like the back of his hand.

Suguru bites back his words, stamps down his heart running rampant, swallows his pride before he turns on his heels and walks out the door. He ignores the way his eyes burn and anger thrums in his chest. He hates the small part of him that's relieved the other is still okay, still unscathed despite the manhunt that's been gunning for him forever now.

Winter, 2015

"Good," Suguru encourages, dodging another jab from Hakari and using the momentum from it to throw his own series of blows at the first year. Not with his full strength, of course, but Suguru has a feeling he'll be trading even blows with his new student quicker than most he teaches.

The sun beats down on them, his jacket thrown off onto the hill where Nanako and Mimiko dutifully sit and watch him instruct like they have since he started teaching. This time, Hoshi sits with them, a little hesitant until Nanako pulls them into a conversation like she so easily does, even if both their eyes are glued to the action.

Hakari manages to land a solid kick to his side, making Suguru grunt before he hooks a hand around his student's calf and tugging him off balance, pushing him into the dirt with a thud.

Hoshi groans with a roll of their eyes as the twins cheer for Suguru. 

Hakari also groans, pushing himself up with a huff before shooting a glare over his shoulder.

"Why are we even sparring against you anyway?" Hakari asks, nails digging into the dirt. "We're supposed to be fighting curses and whatnot, not other humans."

"Because you don't need to be fighting curses right now," Suguru explains calmly, waving Hoshi over. "There are already sorcerers stronger than you, who can handle their own against curses, who have enough experience to deal with curses at their respective levels. While you and Hoshi-kun have the makings of being extremely strong sorcerers, there's no need for you two to be throwing yourselves into unnecessary risk."

"But the Kyoto students are already getting hand-on experience fighting curses---"

"Utahime-sensei and I have different ways of teaching our students, but that doesn't make either of our methods right or wrong," he sighs, watching with a bit of fondness as Hoshi helps Hakari up. He's glad the two of them have grown close quickly, even if it is just the two of them in his first year class this school year.

"Whatever," Hakari mumbles out with a roll of his eyes. If Suguru squints hard enough, he can see a bit of Satoru in the teen, but only if he really squints. Their attitudes are similar, but that's where the similarities end. Based on his record, he got into trouble Satoru would never dream of touching, at least before he defected. Now, Suguru doesn't really know what the other would do.

"You'll get hands-on experiences with curses before the Good Will Event, I promise," he says with a smile. "We can do more training tomorrow. Why don't you two go see Ieiri-san and get patched up?"

At the promise of no more rigorous sparring, the two dash off, talking to each other in low voices that peter out as they head back to the main building. He knows they're just teens being teens; he was like that years ago too, always chomping at the bit, ready to take on more than he could handle, but he blames his ego on his special-grade status and Satoru. He knows he's strong, though, can handle practically anything that's been thrown at him since Fushiguro, and it shows in his teaching.

He refuses to let his first and second years anywhere near actual missions, reserving them for upperclassmen after a Good Will Event and Suguru utilizing his technique. The only thing it's good for. It makes him hunch over the toilet every time he consumes a curse, makes him strong enough to fight against high-grade curses, but it also makes him a great teacher. There's little risk in him throwing low-grade curses at his students, learning their limits, and slowly pushing them to get stronger and learn how to handle themselves.

It's been five years since a Tokyo student, enrolled or graduated, has died on a mission. It's something he takes so much pride in. He knows he won't be a teacher forever, but just maybe, if the jujutsu world sees what he's doing, the changes he's been desperately running towards and pouring everything into will become real.

"Geto-sama," Mimiko says, and it's only because he's so used to her moving so silently and appearing at his side that he doesn't flinch.

"Yes?" he hums, smiling softly at her and stroking her hair. A tiny part of him aches at the fact he doesn't have to lean down anymore to reach her, easy enough to pull her and Nanako close under his chin and rest his head on top of theirs.

"Can we practice?" she asks, hugging her doll tighter to her chest as Nanako bounds over.

His girls, of course, are the only exception to his rule. After he graduated and gave them time to heal from both the trauma and physical injuries on top of making sure they were physically healthy again, he started teaching them hand-to-hand combat with Haibara and Nanami, making sure they knew how to channel cursed energy into exorcising curses in case there wasn't an adult around to protect them. Shoko helped him as the girls started using their techniques, and a few years ago they started learning to use them offensively, at first against him without using Curse Spirit Manipulation, and now he's slowly letting them fight against the grade-four fodder he has for scouts and diversions.

"Of course," he says, tugging her close to press a kiss into her hair. Nanako likes to run from his affection now, as all kids do when they hit their teens and crave independence, though Mimiko still lets him shower her in affection. "Sparring or curses?"

"Curses!" Nanako shouts, grin wild as she runs a few yards away, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly. "Don't go easy on us, Geto-sama. We're gonna win this time."

"Oh? Have you been practicing like I told you to?" he asks, nudging Mimiko over to her sister as Nanako ducks slightly, cheeks coloring with frustrated embarrassment.

"Still gonna win this time," Nanako pouts, hands gripped around her phone.

Mimiko just sighs with a shake of her head, but Suguru can see the fondness in her eyes as she leans closer to her sister, reaching into her doll to pull out her rope.

"If you win," Suguru starts, summoning a grade-three and two grade-four curses, "we can go to that new cafe that opened in Osaka before my mission tomorrow."

The twins light up, cursed energy burning as they ready their stances. He's going to let them win anyway, but he won't go down easy.

Autumn, 2016

It still shocks him that curses can manifest in schools. Each time a report comes in that one is lingering around and wreaking havoc around children, it makes Suguru think too much about what it was like before, seeing weird things in the shadows that his parents brushed off as an overactive imagination. Regardless what missions he may have on his plate or classes he may have to teach, he takes those missions in a heartbeat.

But this one is a little different. A veil has been cast just to be safe, but the higher ups have supposedly already dealt with the curse. He’s just here to investigate the damage, make sure nothing of this caliber manifests again. A horrible use of his special-grade title, but at least they aren’t making him risk life and limb to piece things together in the middle of a fight.

Everything’s bathed in a not-quite darkness, seeping through the windows as Suguru walks through the hallway. His footsteps echo in the silence. He’d be nervous about attracting attention, but he can tell there’s nothing around at the moment. Wherever used to be nearby was scared off by the curse that used to be here.

The window gave him the rundown of what happened in the car: an unknown ranked curse had killed four students in this high school. There were whispers around Jujutsu Tech about it being a freak accident, a petty revenge scheme, or something else. Students like to gossip, somehow catching wind of what the higher ups are doing behind the scenes. He wasn’t any different at that age, huddled together with Satoru and Shoko as they’d murmur to each other about secrets they shouldn’t know. A lifetime ago but it still feels so recent.

His eyes drift over the classroom numbers, bouncing between them before he finds the one that matches with the incident report. The door is firmly shut, caution tape plastered over it and a curtain draped over the inside window. He pushes past the warnings easily, cracking the door open.

The wave of cursed energy that washes over him sends a violent shudder down his spine. It’s thick and burning, something he never really feels unless they’re residuals from an incredibly strong curse.

It’s all he needs.

He takes one glance around the classroom, at the overturned desks, the dented locker, the blood splatters, before he turns away and marches back outside.

The window sees him coming and lowers the veil, tapping her tablet to life.

“What did you—”

“Can I see the report?” he asks, cutting her off. She sputters around her words, clearly offended, but he just raises an eyebrow at her, holding his hand out.

“We’re here generating the report, Geto-san,” she bites out, clicking her tongue.

“You and I both know the higher ups just sent me out here to confirm their suspicions and they already have all the details laid out. The report.”

She rolls her eyes, and it takes way too much willpower to not smack the teen upside the head the way he does with his students. He’ll have to have a word with her supervisor later, but she at least gets the idea that he’s pulling rank, grumbling under her breath as she flicks through a few things before handing him the tablet with a glare.

“Thank you,” he says. He skims over the details he was told, focusing on the new information. He has to double-take when words he never sees in reports twice.

Special-Grade Cursed Human Okkotsu Yuuta.
Special-Grade Cursed Apparition Orimoto Rika.

He reads further, doesn’t get any of their background aside from Okkotsu’s age and Orimoto’s death year, experiences all the gruesome details of Orimoto’s carnage, finds the date of Okkotsu’s execution. Suguru reels, screen discoloring from how hard he grips the tablet.

“Thank you,” he says again, fighting to keep his voice steady and calm as he hands it back to the window.

“Whatever,” she grumbles, shoving it back in her jacket. “Is the report at least correct?”

He nods, not even waiting for her before he’s opening the car door and sliding into the seat. It would be faster for him to just summon a curse and fly back to the school, but these things still have etiquette and procedure he still needs to follow so the higher ups don’t put him on a tighter leash.

Even now, after nearly a decade apart with no words spoken to each other or reconciliation, Satoru’s words echo in his head. Overturning a corrupt system, saving kids from the horrible machine they get shoved into, bringing about chance all bounce around the silence of the car, Suguru staring out the window as the scenery blurs by.

Satoru has stuck to his word. The brief sprinkles of information he gets from whispers and eavesdropping tell him wild exaggerations about a growing army ready to destroy jujutsu society, children kidnapped right out from under their parents’ noses, sorcerers and windows dead at the hands of the strongest curse user of the modern day.

Not all of them are exaggerations. He knows Satoru has been murdering people in apparent cold blood, but the further Suguru’s looked into each one, the more he’s learned that each person is chosen carefully, inexplicably intertwined with the higher ups and their schemes. He knows the children Satoru takes are safe, no reports of their little bodies found dead anywhere, safe from the greedy hands waiting to get their hands on them. He knows that more and more of the very small population of people who can see curses are trickling over to Satoru and his promise of making a change in how things go for them.

Sometimes Suguru wishes he could run away from it all, back to the other. Everything would be so much easier for both him and the girls. But he knows where Satoru stands on the matter, his opinion of Suguru made known long ago with biting words and burned bridges. So he can only do his part from afar by making sure the kids he teaches know how to protect themselves, know to run if the situation turns bleak, know that they can say no to whatever mission if they think they can’t handle it and Suguru will take it over.

He refuses to have something like Riko or Satoru or nearly Haibara and Nanami happen again.

“I need to speak with the higher ups,” he says to the window, catching her eyes in the rear-view mirror. She glares at him

“You know meetings like that take time and effort to coordinate,” she huffs. “I can’t just bring you there and let you waltz in.”

“You can and you will,” Suguru states, staying calm. “They’ll want to meet with me regardless once they know I have information regarding Okkotsu Yuuta and Orimoto Rika.”

She raises an eyebrow, trying to catch his bluff, but he doesn’t say anything more, refusing to let his hand wander to the bracelets around his wrist like he wants to.

“If I lose my job because you’re lying—”

“Trust me; if you’re as much of a lap dog to them as you’re portraying yourself to be, you have much bigger problems to worry about.”

That gets her to shut up, face set in a scowl as silence settles over the car again, tense and tangible. With her focusing on the road, his fingers finally wander over to the cold metal and smooth bead of his bracelets, resolve hardening.

Their promise was broken so long ago, but Suguru still can’t help but uphold it, doing everything he can to make sure those dreams they had ten years ago finally become a reality.