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Chapter Text

Haru Sato was only three, but she already knew how to keep quiet when the adults were speaking. Her grandmother’s hand, warm and dry with age, clasped hers as they walked through the tall corridors of the Gojo estate.

Everything smelled different here—sharp incense, the faint tang of polished wood, and something heavier, like rules pressed into the very air. Haru didn’t like it, but she kept her lips pressed together. She knew today was important.

A boy had been born. And he had been born special. From what Haru had gathered from the chatter in her own clan, the large clans were in an upheaval. 

Her grandmother spoke in hushed tones with the attendants, who bowed lower than Haru had ever seen anyone bow before. "We’ve come to see the boy," her grandmother said, voice threaded with the kind of authority Haru only ever heard when she talked about something important.

They were led into a quiet chamber, where a bundle lay inside a lacquered cradle lined with pale blue silk. Haru crept forward, her small sandals clicking faintly on the floor. She had seen babies before—her aunt had one just last year—but none of them had looked like this.

The baby’s hair was white. Not like snow, but like the moon, like a secret shimmer in the dark. And when the attendant carefully lifted him out and presented him, Haru caught sight of his eyelashes—so pale they looked dusted with frost—and eyes the color of an endless summer sky. But prettier.

The adults didn’t gasp in wonder. They didn’t coo. They murmured.

“The Six Eyes.”
“Unprecedented… born bearing them.”
“He will surpass them all. A weapon of untold strength.”

Weapon.
They said it so easily. Haru’s little fingers clenched into her kimono. She didn’t really understand, not completely—but she knew enough. The baby wasn’t being called a son. Not even a grandson. Just something sharp, dangerous, useful.

Her grandmother crouched beside her, never once acting like the other adults. Seeing a baby just like Haru did. “Would you like to hold him, Haru?”

Haru’s breath caught. She nodded quickly, stretching out her arms the way she’d seen her aunt do. The baby was heavier than she expected, warm and squirming. His eyes blinked up at her, impossibly bright, and then—just like that—his tiny fist reached for her collar.

“Hi,” Haru whispered, as if he could understand.

The baby sighed against her chest, his cheek pressing to her collarbone. He fit there, as if he belonged. She tucked her chin over his snowy hair and felt something warm unfurl in her chest.

He wasn’t a weapon.
He was soft. He was small. He was hers to protect.

She held onto him even when he cried for a bottle, insisting in her own childish way that she would feed him. The assistant only allowed it once Haru’s grandmother insisted that they let little Haru have some fun. 

Three months later, Haru nearly dragged her grandmother through the Gojo gates. She didn’t care about the long walk, or the stiffness of the adults who tried to keep her away—she wanted him .

Inside, attendants rocked the baby, whispering about training, potential, bloodline. Haru marched right up, hands outstretched. “Mine,” she declared, with all the ferocity of a child who didn’t care about propriety. And to the attendants’ visible relief, they let her take him.

As soon as he was in her arms, Satoru cooed and reached for her hair. Haru plopped down on the tatami, giggling as he tugged at the ribbon holding her braid together. She pressed her cheek to his, letting him babble and kick while she made silly faces to earn his laughter. She started humming and Satoru melted in her arms, grabbing at her hair and nose.

The grandmothers sat across the room, speaking low, watching the interaction with warm, sad eyes. Haru pretended not to listen, but every word reached her ears.

“His mother hasn’t come once?”
“She gave him up… for the betterment of the clan.”
“A cold woman, even for the Gojo family.”
“She’s only ever cared about climbing the ladder. He’s a means to an end for them.”

Haru looked down at Satoru, who was trying very hard to gum her sleeve with his toothless mouth. Her throat felt tight. She hugged him closer, ignoring his squirming protest at the sudden squeeze.

“It’s okay,” she whispered fiercely, rocking him against her chest. “I’ll be here. I’ll stay.”

He stilled at her words, as if comforted, and curled closer against her.

From then on, Haru begged her grandmother every month—sometimes every week—to take her back to see him. She didn’t have the words to explain it, but she felt them all the same: if the adults saw only a weapon, then she would be the one to see the boy.

The boy with moonlight hair and sky-colored eyes.

Chapter Text

By the time Satoru was eight months old, Haru had learned exactly how to sneak past the stares of the adults in the clan.

It wasn’t that they kept her away—no one dared deny the granddaughter of an honored family friend—but they always watched her closely, like she might ruin something. Like if she treated him too softly, the boy would lose his sharp edge before it was even honed.

Haru thought that was ridiculous.

So every visit, she stuffed her sleeves with treasures. Little wooden animals her grandfather had carved for her, a rattle she had begged off her aunt, and sometimes even pebbles polished smooth by the river near their home. Things that were fun, things that were colorful. Things that weren’t weights, sticks, or balls meant to “train reflexes.”

Today, she sat cross-legged on the tatami, carefully shaking the rattle in front of her. “Look, Satoru! Listen, it sings.”

On the other side of the mat, the baby lifted his snowy head, blinking those too-bright eyes. His little arms slapped the floor, legs kicking. For a moment, he hesitated—just like always, as if weighing whether to bother. But then he leaned forward, wobbly, and began to crawl.

Haru gasped, hands covering her mouth, eyes wide with delight. “You’re coming! You’re coming to me!”

The attendants didn’t share her excitement. One clicked her tongue. “Eight months. He should have crawled sooner.”
Another sighed. “Perhaps it’s a sign his energy weighs him down. He must be trained harder.”

Weapon. Always, always a weapon.

But Haru purposefully ignored their words. Her entire world narrowed to the sight of Satoru’s uneven crawl, his fingers grasping at the floor as he pulled himself inch by inch toward her. When he finally reached her, collapsing into her lap with a satisfied little grunt, Haru’s heart swelled so big it nearly burst.

“You did it!” she cried, scooping him up and spinning him against her chest. “You’re the best, the very best boy!”

Satoru blinked at her, then broke into a bubbling laugh. His little hands patted her cheeks, and when she peppered his face with kisses—forehead, nose, cheeks, even his round little belly—his laughter only grew louder.

The attendant nearest them paused in surprise. “He’s… giggling?” she murmured. “He hardly ever laughs. Rarely even smiles.”

Haru didn’t need to be told. She could feel it, the way he softened in her arms, his giggles turning to squeals as she rubbed her nose against his. He didn’t laugh for them because they didn’t see him.

But he laughed for her.

“I’ll always make you laugh,” Haru promised softly, tucking him close, her cheek pressed to his hair. “As much as you want. Forever.”

And Satoru, with all the solemnity an eight-month-old could muster, clung to her sleeve like he believed it. 

After Satoru’s giggles had finally quieted into soft hiccups, Haru flopped onto her back with him sprawled across her stomach. His little fists clutched at her sleeves, tugging insistently until she held up the wooden rattle again.

“You like this, huh?” she teased, shaking it gently so the soft chime filled the air. “It’s called a ra-ttle . Can you say that? Ra-ttle.”

Satoru’s wide eyes blinked at her, his lips parting as if to mimic. What came out was only a garbled sound—“Ahhh”—but Haru gasped as though he had spoken a full sentence.

“That’s it! You’re so smart!” She grinned, tapping his nose. “Okay, okay—how about something easier. Haru. My name. Say Ha-ru.”

The attendants in the room shifted uncomfortably. “He should be focusing on letters, reading the sutras,” one muttered under her breath. “Words that sharpen the mind, not… childish things.”

But Satoru’s gaze stayed locked on Haru. His little mouth worked, drool catching on his chin as he babbled, “Ha! Hahh…ruu!”

Haru froze. Her eyes went round, then filled with sparkling pride. “You did it! You said my name!” She sat up so quickly the rattle clattered to the floor, hugging him close and spinning in a little circle. “You’re perfect, Satoru! Perfect, perfect, perfect!”

The baby squealed at her excitement, repeating the sound again and again—“Ha! Ha-ruu! Ha-ha!”—each attempt a little clearer, his cheeks flushed with effort. He clapped his chubby baby hands happily and she copied the motions, adding to his glee.

By the time she settled back down, out of breath with laughter, Haru pressed her forehead to his and whispered, “You don’t need their words. You only need ours. I’ll teach you all the good ones.”

Satoru nestled closer and gave one last triumphant, “Ha-ha,” before yawning wide.

The attendant who had spoken earlier murmured in disbelief, “He’s never been this… responsive. Never.”

But Haru wasn’t listening, or at least she pretended not to. She only rocked him gently, humming under her breath. She had given him his first word—and she knew, deep down, that she’d give him many more.

Not weapons. Not curses. Not lessons in how to be sharper or stronger.

Just laughter. Just warmth. Just love.

Chapter Text

By the time Satoru was thirteen months, the whispers in the Gojo estate had grown sharper.

“He’s behind.”
“Walking should have come sooner.”
“The Six Eyes mean nothing if the body doesn’t keep up.”

Haru hated those voices, even at the young age of four years old. Every visit, she felt them scrape at her ears like cold knives. She didn’t understand everything they meant, but she understood enough: to them, Satoru was failing. Too slow. Too soft.

But to her, he was just Satoru. And Satoru was perfect.

That afternoon, she planted herself on the tatami mat and clapped her hands. “Come on, Satoru! You can do it. Let’s show them.”

The baby pushed himself upright against the leg of a low table, wobbling dangerously on chubby legs. His snowy hair fell into his eyes, his little fists clenching and unclenching for balance. For a moment, he looked toward the attendants hovering nearby—then turned, searching the room until his gaze found Haru.

Her heart squeezed.

“That’s it,” she whispered, spreading her arms wide. “Come to me.”

He hesitated, lips puckered in concentration, before letting go of the table. For two seconds, he stood on his own—wobbly, uncertain, but standing. Haru gasped so loudly that one of the attendants nearly dropped the tea tray.

“You’re doing it, Satoru!” she cried. “Look at you! So strong, so smart!”

The boy squealed at her excitement, bouncing once on unsteady legs before plopping to the floor with a soft thud. Most of the adults sighed in disappointment. But Haru was already crawling toward him, scooping him into her lap and peppering his cheeks with noisy kisses.

“You stood up for me!” she giggled, squeezing him tight. “All for me! You’re amazing, Satoru!”

As if spurred by her praise, he wriggled down from her lap, determined little hands slapping against the mat. Slowly, carefully, he crawled toward the toy she had brought—a wooden dog, painted with uneven black spots. He snatched it up, then immediately turned and crawled back into her waiting arms, shoving the toy against her chest as if offering it like a prize.

“You came back to me,” Haru whispered, her eyes misting as she pressed her forehead to his. “You’re such a good boy.”

The attendants muttered about weakness, about delays, about how late he was compared to the other clan children. But Haru didn’t hear them. All she knew was that when Satoru stood, he stood for her. When he crawled, he crawled to her.

And when he laughed, bright and clear, it was always for her.

After that day, Haru begged her grandmother so often that she lost count.
“Please, please, we have to go back,” she would insist, tugging on her sleeve.
And somehow, her grandmother always gave in—until their visits became every few days instead of every few weeks.

Each time, Haru rushed straight to the nursery. She didn’t bring training tools, didn’t bring scrolls or weights. She brought bright ribbons, carved toys, and her endless determination to see him smile.

Satoru’s grandmother, though stern with everyone else, softened whenever Haru entered the room.

“You’re good for him,” the older woman said one afternoon, her weathered hand resting briefly on Haru’s head. “You treat him like a boy, not a burden or a blade. Don’t stop, even when it gets hard.”

Haru’s little chest puffed with pride. “I won’t.”

And she didn’t. She spent hours crouched on the mats, coaxing him up onto his wobbly legs.
“One hand here,” she urged gently, guiding him to grip her fingers. “Now the other—yes, good boy! Now, walk to me. Just one step, Satoru. One step!”

At first he toppled immediately, falling onto his diaper-padded bottom with a huff. The attendants would mutter about balance, about wasted potential. But Haru only clapped and praised him so fiercely that his sulky frown melted into giggles, and he tried again.

Days turned to weeks. Each time, he stood a little longer, leaned a little less, trusted her hands a little more.

Until one afternoon, when the sunlight streamed golden through the shoji doors, Satoru let go.

Just for a heartbeat, he wobbled forward—one, two tiny steps—straight into Haru’s waiting arms. She gasped, holding back a squeal so she wouldn’t startle him, then hugged him so tight that his giggles turned breathless.

“You did it!” she whispered fiercely. “You walked”

The attendants clapped politely, muttering about his progress finally beginning, but Satoru’s bright blue eyes narrowed at them. He scrunched his little brows together and shot them a glare so sharp it belonged on someone much older.

Haru nearly burst into laughter, biting her lip to keep it inside. He was only a baby, but somehow, he already knew who he didn’t like. And from the way he clung tighter to her sleeve, burying his face in her shoulder, he had no intention of pretending otherwise.

“Don’t worry,” Haru whispered into his hair, swaying him gently. “You don’t need them. You’ve got me. Always.”

And for the first time, Satoru truly walked—not for training, not for praise, but just for her.

Chapter Text

By the time Satoru turned two, Haru could feel the change in the air of the Gojo estate.

He was still just a toddler, still a little unsteady on his legs and full of squeals when she dangled toys in front of him. But between the bright moments, Haru began to notice things.

The attendants no longer simply carried him—they corrected his posture when he toddled, adjusting his shoulders like he was a little soldier. They pressed weighted sticks into his hands instead of soft toys, urging him to hold them longer, longer, until his face scrunched in effort. And when he cried from frustration, they never soothed him. They only nodded, as if satisfied with his willpower.

Haru hated it.

She was five now, old enough to understand more than the adults thought. Old enough to know when something was wrong. Her grandmother always listened when she let her frustration out and encouraged her–encouraged to walk the path she chose with confidence.

That afternoon, she crouched on the mat with him, offering him a carved fox toy she’d hidden in her sleeve. Satoru’s little hands reached for it eagerly, his bright eyes softening the moment he touched it. He leaned against her knee, babbling a messy “Ha-ru” that made her heart ache with both pride and sorrow.

But when an attendant stepped forward, frowning at the toy, Satoru’s expression shifted. His mouth pulled into the beginnings of a glare, his little chin jutting out in defiance. Haru almost laughed—he was already a force to be reckoned with. But the way the attendant clicked her tongue made something coil tight in Haru’s stomach.

Later, when she and her grandmother walked home from the estate, Haru stayed very quiet. Her grandmother hummed, thinking she was simply tired. But Haru’s mind was buzzing.

They were already shaping him. Already treating him like the weapon the whispers had promised he’d become. He was only two. Just a baby.

She clenched her fists against her sides, the wooden fox pressed tight into her palm.

If they were going to push him, then she had to push herself too. She couldn’t just sit by and watch. Even at five, she understood that much.

“I’ll get strong,” she whispered under her breath, the vow slipping out before she even realized. “Stronger than them. So I can stay by him. So I can protect him.” Her grandmother heard but stayed quiet, making a vow of her own to help the child in her endeavors.

In the Gojo estate, the boy with moonlight hair and sky-colored eyes was being raised to be a weapon. But Haru had decided something else entirely.

She would make sure he never forgot he was so much more. And he would never be alone.

The year that followed changed Haru more than any before.

At home, she started rising with the sun. While other children in her clan still played with dolls and chased each other in the dirt roads, Haru mimicked the training exercises she saw the older boys do. Her little arms shook as she tried to hold her body steady in a push-up, her legs wobbled when she kicked against a straw dummy, but every time she fell she whispered to herself, Again. I have to be stronger.

Her grandmother caught her once, sweat dripping down her small face as she tried to lift a bamboo pole above her head. Instead of scolding, the old woman only sighed softly. “You’ve inherited your stubbornness from me,” she said, helping adjust Haru’s grip so she wouldn’t strain her wrists.

Haru just nodded, too determined to admit how tired she was. Unsurprisingly, an uncle started helping her a few days a week. Making sure she didn’t do anything that was too much for her young body.

When she visited the Gojo estate, Satoru was always waiting. At two and a half, his hair had grown longer, soft strands falling into his eyes. He toddled faster now, but Haru noticed the way the attendants corrected even his stumble, barking sharp words like commands.

She hated it and hated them now.

So she made herself his shield.

When one attendant tried to take the fox toy away, muttering that “trivial things will dull him,” Haru planted herself in front of Satoru, chin lifted. “He’s still a child. He gets to play.”

The woman scoffed at her, but didn’t press the matter. Later, Haru caught the smallest, quietest smile tugging at Satoru’s lips, as if even at his age he knew she had fought for him.

She made it a habit: intercepting harsh words with her own, distracting him with silly noises when the adults grew too serious, offering him her hand when no one else thought he needed one. And every time he reached for her, clinging to her sleeve, she felt her determination strengthen.

The more she visited, the more Haru began to overhear the things children weren’t supposed to.

“The Zenin want to observe him soon.”
“Of course the Kamo are watching, too.”
“They say even the elders of our own clan worry he’ll grow too strong. He could shift the balance.”

Haru didn’t always understand the names and politics, but she understood the tone . Fear. Greed. Ownership. They spoke of Satoru as if he were a prize to be claimed, not a little boy who still fell asleep drooling on her shoulder.

She hated that most of all.

So when she walked home with her grandmother at dusk, she asked questions. “Why do they care so much about Satoru? What does balance mean? Why do clans hate each other?”

Her grandmother’s answers were quiet, but they shaped her: about power, and curses, and the fragile lines between families that would rather kill than bend. Haru didn’t understand everything—but she understood enough. 

If the world wanted to use Satoru, then she would grow into someone the world couldn’t ignore. Someone who could stand beside him. Her childish mind had absolutely refused to give up and she never thought of the consequences.

By the time she turned six, Haru’s hands were calloused, her legs steadier. She still stumbled sometimes, still felt the sting of scraped knees, but she no longer cried.

And Satoru, only three, already ran straight to her when she appeared, as though he knew she was his safe place in a house that never let him rest.

Haru always bent to catch him, hugging him close. Always, always, she told herself.

Because she had promised.

Chapter Text

The Gojo estate was loud that day.

Satoru was three and a half now and with his growing independence came a sharper temper. He’d always glared at attendants when they pressed him too hard, but this time, when one tried to yank away a toy Haru had brought—a simple wooden top painted in bright colors—something inside him snapped.

“No! Mine!” he shouted, his small voice cracking with fury.

And then it happened.

The air around him hummed , like the air before lightning. A pulse of pressure rolled outward from his tiny body, rattling the doors in their frames. The top fell from the attendant’s hand, clattering across the floor. Everyone froze.

Blue light shimmered faintly in Satoru’s eyes, far too intense for a child his age.

The adults erupted.

“So early—!”
“Already showing signs—”
“Do you see? … he’s extraordinary—”
“Must tell the elders!”

Satoru stood there, chest heaving, little fists clenched, his body shaking from something he didn’t understand. His glare trembled, and for the first time, Haru saw fear flicker across his face.

Haru didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, sliding down onto her knees until she was level with him. Without thinking, she let her own cursed energy ripple faintly outward—just enough to soften his storm, like a hand reaching through fog. She had been practicing, secretly and stubbornly, and now it mattered.

“Satoru,” she whispered, taking his fists gently into her hands. “It’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to be scared.”

His breathing hitched, but when he met her gaze, something in him calmed. The light in his eyes dimmed, the crackling tension faded.

But the whispers didn’t stop.
“His potential will bring the Gojo’s to the top…”
“Unprecedented…”
“A true monster in the making.”

Haru’s jaw clenched. She remembered—she remembered things from when she was three. The way people talked around her as if she wasn’t listening. Satoru would remember this too, even if they thought he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let their words root inside him.

“Come on,” she said softly, tugging his small hand. “Let’s go outside.”

She led him past the attendants, past the hushed excitement and greedy eyes, into the garden where the air was clear and full of the smell of summer grass. Satoru clung to her sleeve, still trembling. Haru pulled him into her lap, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“They don’t matter,” she murmured into his snowy hair. “You’re not what they say you are. You’re Satoru. Just Satoru. And you’re mine to protect. I love you, Satoru.”

“Wuv you, Ha-ru,” he mumbled back,burrowing against her chest, his breath warm and uneven. Slowly, his fists unclenched, his body softening in her hold. Within minutes, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted into sleep, snuggled into her like he belonged nowhere else.

Haru rocked him gently, glaring out at the estate walls. She was only six and a half, but in that moment she felt older, fiercer.

They wanted a weapon.
She would give him a childhood.

The garden was quiet, Satoru’s soft breaths steady against Haru’s chest. She stroked his hair absently, keeping her eyes on the drifting clouds above. For once, he was just a boy—no glowing eyes, no heavy expectations. Just a sleepy child in her arms.

The peace shattered with the faintest crunch of gravel.

Haru stiffened. It wasn’t the steps of an attendant. Too light. Too deliberate. Her grandmother’s words about clan politics echoed in her ears: There are some who would rather see power destroyed than let it grow. Be always aware.

Before she could move, a shadow slipped between the hedges—a man dressed in muted dark cloth, face covered, blade glinting faintly in his hand. His intent was clear.

Her heart thundered. He was coming straight for Satoru.

Haru’s body moved before her mind caught up. She shifted Satoru against her shoulder, his tiny body still dozing, and thrust out her hand with every ounce of cursed energy she had trained with.

There was a sound like steel being forged in the air itself. A sharp, gleaming dagger of energy thrummed in her hand.

The assassin’s eyes widened in shock, but it was too late. Haru threw it, not with grace, but with desperation. The weapon struck true.

The man collapsed at her feet, unmoving.

Silence.

Haru stared at him, her breathing ragged, the weapon vanishing back into nothing. Her small hands shook violently as she clutched Satoru tighter. She had… she had killed someone.

Her grandmother was the first to arrive, her keen senses no doubt alerted by the surge of cursed energy. She took in the scene—Haru pale and trembling, the body at her feet, Satoru still sleeping—and her expression softened, though her eyes were sharp with understanding.

“My Haru,” she murmured, kneeling beside her, gently caressing her hair. “Do not let guilt eat you. He came for Satoru, and you protected him. That was not cruelty. That was necessity.”

Haru’s lip wobbled, but she nodded. She could feel Satoru’s warmth against her chest, the reason she had acted without thinking.

Her grandmother placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “And now we know what blooms in you.” Her gaze flicked to the dissipating shimmer of cursed energy still crackling in the air. “An innate technique. Shikigami of Steel ? Hmm, no… more fluid than that. It is creation. The ability to manifest weapons from your cursed energy.”

Haru blinked up at her, wide-eyed. “Weapons… any weapon?”

Her grandmother gave a small smile. “So it seems. A rare gift. One the clan will respect. Remember this: power gives them pause. It may even keep them from dismissing you.”

Haru’s hands were still shaking, but as she looked down at Satoru, sleeping safe and sound against her, she felt something new inside her chest. Not just fear. Not just resolve.

I’ll make any weapon I need, she thought fiercely.

Her grandmother’s grip tightened briefly. “Good girl. Now breathe. The road ahead is heavy—but you are not walking it empty-handed.”

And for the first time, Haru felt like the vow she had whispered long ago had sharpened into something unbreakable.

Chapter Text

The years slipped past like sand in water, and the world within the Gojo estate shifted with them.

Haru was nine now, and Satoru six.

Her grandmother had not wasted time once her innate technique had been revealed. Each morning, before the sun crested over Kyoto’s tiled roofs, Haru rose to practice. She summoned spears, blades, shields—sometimes no larger than a dagger, sometimes so heavy she could barely lift them. At first, they flickered and broke, draining her energy until she collapsed. But slowly, she built stamina. Precision. Confidence.

“If you cannot wield the weapon you summon, child, then it is wasted,” her grandmother would say, correcting her stance with patient but firm hands. She realized in these moments how lucky she was to have a kind family.

So Haru learned not just to summon, but to swing. Her palms blistered, her arms bruised, but her resolve hardened. She wasn’t training for glory. She was training so that when Satoru needed her, she could stand.

Each visit to the Gojo estate brought a brighter welcome. The boy who once toddled unsteadily now sprinted straight into her arms, white hair bouncing, eyes flashing with joy he rarely showed others.

“Haru!” he would shout, voice cracking with excitement. “Look what I did!”

Sometimes he’d drag her to see how he had gotten better with his katas, or how he could throw a wooden stick harder than his attendants expected. Other times, he just wanted her to sit with him in the garden, spinning the old painted top she had given him years before.

When the adults scolded him for clinging too much, Satoru’s glares were sharp enough to cut. He didn’t care. With Haru, he allowed himself to laugh, to pout, to be a child. And Haru never failed to scoop him close, whispering, “Don’t listen to them. You’re doing amazing.”

But as Satoru grew, so did his sharpness.

At six, he noticed things he shouldn’t have. He noticed how his mother’s footsteps never echoed in the estate halls. He noticed how the clan elders’ smiles were thinner when Haru was praised for her growing strength. He noticed how attendants sometimes spoke of him when they thought he wasn’t listening.

“They don’t like me,” he muttered once, chin digging into Haru’s shoulder as they sat beneath the camellia tree. “They like what I can do.”

Haru’s heart ached. It was too much for him to understand so young, but he did understand. He was too perceptive—too much like herself when she’d first heard the whispers.

So she did what she always did: pulled him closer. “That’s because they’re stupid,” she said softly, brushing his hair from his eyes. “You’re not just ‘what you can do.’ You’re Satoru. My Satoru. And I like you just as you are.”

For a moment, his usual confidence cracked, and he pressed his face into her sleeve. Haru pretended not to notice the way his fingers tightened, clinging like she was the only solid thing in a shifting world.

One afternoon, after months of subtle practice away from prying eyes, Satoru decided to show Haru something. A small pulse of energy, barely enough to lift a leaf from the ground, flickered around his tiny hands.

Haru’s eyes widened, not with fear or awe, but with pure delight. “Whoa! Look at you! You made it float!”

Satoru giggled, pushing the leaf higher, tilting his head at her expression. “I did!” he said, clearly proud.

Haru clapped her hands, encouraging him. “Yes! Do it again! Let’s see how high it can go!”

Unlike the elders, who would have scolded him for lack of control or begun their endless assessment of his potential, Haru treated it like a game. She even coaxed him into weaving small patterns, watching leaves spin like tiny dancers. Laughter spilled between them, bright and unchecked.

Satoru’s grin grew wider than Haru had ever seen. “Haru, did you see that?!”

“You’re amazing, Satoru. Just amazing,” Haru cheered, spinning the leaf with her own tiny pulses of energy for fun. He flopped on her laugh and relaxed, fully and completely and it melted her little heart. He watched her play with her cursed energy and they talked, always open and honest.

Over the years, their bond had grown into something even the clan elders whispered about. They saw in Haru both a dangerous tool and an unexpected stabilizer for the prodigy child. The girl who had manifested weapons out of thin air now stood as his anchor.

But neither Haru nor Satoru thought of politics in those moments together. To him, she was safety. To her, he was purpose.

And together, they began weaving a thread no one in the clan could sever.

Chapter Text

Haru tightened her grip on her bag as she walked through the familiar gates of the Gojo estate. She was now fifteen, older and taller than the little girl who had first held Satoru in her arms, but inside, her heartbeat still stuttered the moment she saw him.

He was sitting on the edge of a low wooden platform in the garden, legs dangling, white hair catching the sunlight like frost, eyes scanning the estate with a calm precision she had never seen in a child so young. Twelve years old, and already… changed.

“Satoru,” she called softly.

He turned instantly, a small, warm smile breaking across his sharp features. The boy she had raised in secret—even as he became a prodigy in the clan’s eyes—still had that bond with her. He waved, and she hurried to meet him.

“Look at you,” she said as she reached him, crouching so she was at eye level. “You’re… so big.”

“And you’ve grown, too,” he replied, his voice still warm but tempered, measured. There was a calmness now, a subtle cold edge that hadn’t been there when he was younger.

They talked quietly, swapping stories of the past year: his lessons, the small victories he had achieved under the Gojo clan’s scrutiny, and her own training at school. It was easy, like old times—but the peace didn’t last.

An attendant approached, voice low but sharp. Haru listened as he spoke, dread coiling tight in her chest.

“Gojo-sama you have a mission debriefing soon. Don’t let any distractions get in your way.”

Haru froze. Her eyes widened, and for the first time in years, she felt paralyzed. Her fists clenched at her sides. Missions. Dangerous work. And he was only twelve.

Satoru’s eyes were on her, calm but piercing, watching her reaction with that unnerving clarity he had always had. He could see the fear in her—she could see it too—but he didn’t hesitate.

“Haru,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand. “It’s not your burden.”

Her throat tightened. “The hell it’s not! I don’t want them to—”

He shook his head gently, a small but firm gesture. “I know. That’s why you’ll always be here with me. But I don’t have much of a choice… and I need you to stay by my side, not in front of me. Understand?”

Haru exhaled slowly, letting her body soften as she nodded. The tension drained from her shoulders as she lowered her hands, leaning down to rest her cheek briefly against his shoulder.

“I’ll always be here,” she whispered. “No matter what.”

Satoru rested his head lightly against hers, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, she felt the same warmth as when he had been a toddler, clinging to her, trusting her completely.

Even if the world wanted him to be a weapon first, she would keep him grounded. She would protect him however she could.

And he knew it. That was enough for now.

Later that day, she was walking through a quiet corridor when one of the clan elders—an older man with sharp eyes and a reputation for intimidation—called her aside.

“Sato-san,” he said, voice low and calculating, “come here for a moment.”

She approached cautiously. There was always something unsettling about the elders—an invisible pressure that made her small frame feel heavier, her chest tighter.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “I hear you spend an unusual amount of time with Satoru… alone. Tell me, do you ever… influence him in ways the clan might not approve of?”

Haru’s heart skipped. His gaze lingered a fraction too long, his tone carrying a subtle implication that made her skin crawl. She froze, unsure whether to defend herself or retreat.

From behind, she heard a familiar, sharp patter of footsteps. Satoru had arrived. His normally calm, almost casual gait was different now—intent, commanding.

“Haru’s business is not yours,” he said, stepping between them. His voice was quiet but carried a weight that made even the elder flinch. “And she will not be questioned like this.”

For the first time, Haru saw fear in the elder’s eyes. Not anger, not disdain—real fear. For all the years she spent in the Gojo compound, she had never seen anyone look at Satoru that way. Her stomach twisted, but then Satoru turned to her.

The piercing blue of his eyes softened as he gave her that look—the one she had remembered from his earliest days, the one that said, I see you. We’re in this together. You're my anchor in all of this. Don’t leave me.

Haru felt herself exhale, the tension in her shoulders melting. The fear and nervousness she’d felt in that corridor faded, replaced by the certainty that no matter what the clan tried, she was his. And he was hers.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to him. She let her hands relax at her sides, meeting his gaze and offering a small, reassuring smile.

Satoru gave a subtle nod, as if to say, Good. You always have to remember, we’re together.

The elder swallowed, straightened, and said nothing more, though the residual fear lingered in his eyes. Haru felt a shiver—not of weakness, but of awareness. Satoru’s presence, his authority, had become something more in her short absence.

For the first time in years, she understood just how much he relied on her for warmth and human connection—and how much she had come to love feeling important to him.

And that, Haru thought, was more important than any rule the clan could enforce.

Chapter Text

Satoru, now fifteen, had changed even more drastically than she had anticipated. His once-bubbly laughter was rarer, tempered by a calm awareness far beyond his years. Yet when Haru arrived at the Gojo estate, he still brightened—just enough for her to see.

“Took you long enough to get here,” he said simply, sliding a glance her way. It wasn’t a greeting, not exactly, but a recognition of their bond that no one else in the estate could pierce.

“And you’re taller than I remember… again,” Haru teased, tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. She kept a watchful eye on the attendants nearby, who had grown more observant over the years.

Satoru smirked faintly. “Maybe if you saw me more, you wouldn’t be so surprised.”

Haru blinked, then sighed, a little guilty. “I… I know. School and missions have kept me busier than I expected. I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with mild amusement. “Busy, huh? You mean pretending to grow up while secretly plotting to beat me at everything, right?”

Haru rolled her eyes, though she smiled despite herself.

“And that’s okay,” Satoru said, his tone softening. “I get it. You’re busy. I just… I miss you sometimes, that’s all.”

Haru’s lips curved in a small, fond smile. “I miss you too. Even if you get snarky the older you get.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes brightening. “But don’t worry—I’m actually kind of excited. Only three more months, and we’ll finally be at school together. No more sneaking around, no more half-days. You’re stuck with me.”

Haru laughed quietly. “You mean I get to survive school with you? Lucky me.”

“Hey,” Satoru teased, nudging her shoulder, “that’s the spirit!”

She shook her head, smiling, feeling that familiar warmth of safety and belonging.

Their moment was interrupted when an elder appeared, his steps deliberate. He looked Haru over with a calculating gaze before speaking.

“Haru,” he began, voice low but sharp, “I notice you attend Jujutsu Tokyo rather than Kyoto. Surely you understand that with Master Satoru’s decision to study there, it would be… prudent for you to switch to Kyoto? So that he would change his course and stay closer to the clan.”

Haru felt the weight of his words. They weren’t simply curious—they wanted her to change, to fit into the clan’s expectations regarding Satoru. So that they could control him more–keep him under their thumb longer.

She glanced at Satoru, who was watching her carefully, his calm yet piercing gaze steadying her. She squared her shoulders.

“I understand, sir. But I’m most definitely not switching schools and Satoru’s path is his own to choose,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. Inside, her resolve hardened. She wouldn’t shift simply because the clan wished it. Satoru’s path was his own, and she would not manipulate him—nor be pushed into one that wasn’t hers.

Satoru’s faint smirk returned. “See? Now stop bugging us. We haven’t seen each other in more than a month and you're interrupting bonding time, old man.” His playful words did not match the look he gave the elder, making the man scurry off as elegantly as he could manage.

Haru exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she met his eyes. That look—the one that reminded her she saw the real him—softened her. Whatever the clan demanded, whatever expectations they imposed, she would always be by his side.

And Satoru knew it. That was enough for now.

After the conversation with the elder, Haru followed Satoru up the wide wooden stairs to his room. The space was sparsely decorated but orderly, with a few toys and trinkets still tucked in corners—a remnant of the child he had once been.

They sank onto the low futon by the window, the late afternoon light warming the room. For a while, they just talked—about school, lessons, and missions she had gone on. Laughter returned in small doses, easy and natural between them, the kind that had always existed despite the weight of the Gojo estate.

Finally, Haru leaned back, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I still can’t believe we get to go to the same school soon. I… just hope I survive my classmates. They can be super annoying.” She snorted lightly, thinking of some of the boy she already disliked.

Satoru’s pale eyes glimmered with amusement. “Oh? Anyone in particular?”

Haru’s nose wrinkled slightly. “Masa Zenin. I can’t stand him. He’s arrogant, pushy, and mean… everything I don’t like in a person. Plus, he never pulls his weight on missions.”

Satoru’s smile shifted slightly—sharper now, thoughtful. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and regarded her with a new intensity.

“Does he bother you often?” he asked quietly, carefully. “Because I need to know if I should… prepare.”

Haru blinked, caught off guard by the precise wording. “Prepare?” she echoed, unsure how to answer.

“I mean,” he said, tilting his head and giving her a half-smirk that made her stomach twist, “if someone’s trying to annoy you, or harass you or anything like that… I need to be ready to show them you’re already spoken for.”

Haru felt heat rise to her cheeks. She had expected teasing, maybe playful concern—but this was different. Calculated, observant, and… personal. A part of her realized he was no longer just the boy she had watched grow—he was a young man now, keenly aware of the world around him, and aware of her.

“And… you don’t trust me to handle it?” she asked lightly, trying to mask her flustered thoughts, booping his nose playfully.

Satoru’s smirk deepened. “I trust you. I just like handling things for you. You’re important to me.”

Haru’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but no words came. She hadn’t expected the subtle intensity, the flicker of… something almost like jealousy. It was the first time he’s ever made her speechless.

He leaned back slightly, giving her that mischievous, knowing look that had always made her know he was about to start trouble. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I won’t start any fights… not yet.”

Haru couldn’t help but laugh quietly, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he replied, tone teasing, “but you’ve known this for years.”

For a long moment, they just sat there, the afternoon sun washing the room in gold, laughter and quiet words filling the space. Haru realized she was seeing a side of Satoru she hadn’t before—the tactical, perceptive, semi-flirty young man he was becoming.

And in that moment, she also realized something else: she didn’t mind being caught off guard by him at all.

Chapter Text

The sun sat high above the training field, heat shimmering across the ground as Haru jogged back from her mission, the dust of the road still clinging to her boots. Her shoulders ached from hours of exertion, but there was no mistaking the quiet satisfaction of finishing a job well done. She cut across the wide, open field, her braid swinging behind her. 

Ahead, voices carried. Haru spotted Utahime standing with Akio Yuu, their other classmate, as they guided three new arrivals through the campus. It took only a moment for her sharp eyes to catch familiar faces—Shoko, Geto, and…

Her breath hitched slightly. Satoru.

Utahime noticed Haru first, waving her over. “Haru! Hey—hold up.” She jogged forward a few steps, placing herself in Haru’s path before her wide smile could get the better of her. “What’s the rush? You look like you’re about to sprint past all of us.”

Haru blinked, forcing composure. Still, the smile tugging at her lips couldn’t be hidden as her eyes flicked to the tall boy in the group. Gojo had grown again, broader in the shoulders, sharper in presence. His pale eyes met hers over his glasses with a calculating gleam, one corner of his mouth curving upward.

Utahime frowned, catching the exchange. “Don’t tell me you’re already smiling at him. You’ve got to help me keep Gojo under control.”

Before Haru could respond, Satoru slipped in with a grin, his tone all too casual. “Utahime, you make it sound like I’m a problem child. You wound me.”

“Don’t tempt me to actually wound you,” Utahime muttered under her breath, cheeks pink as she looked away.

Gojo’s smirk widened, but his gaze returned to Haru, sharp and unwavering. She felt it—not just a look, but an assessment, as though he was confirming something only the two of them understood.

Before either of them could speak, another voice cut in—smooth, irritating, and far too close behind her.

“Sato,” Masa Zenin drawled, stepping up with practiced confidence. “We should file that report together. Afterwards, how about grabbing something to eat? My treat.”

Haru stiffened, her smile vanishing in an instant. The warmth she had just felt toward Satoru was gone, replaced by a cold, flat stare directed at Masa. 

“No,” she said simply, her voice clipped. She shifted as though to keep walking, but Masa moved with her, persistent.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You know it’ll look better if we submit the report together. And it’s just a meal. Nothing serious.”

Haru’s eyes narrowed, hands fisting so tight her knuckles turned white. “I said no.” Each word dropped like ice, but Masa either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

Satoru did.

In the next moment, he was at Haru’s side, sliding an arm casually but firmly around her shoulders. The move was smooth, natural—so familiar it made her relax a little.

“Funny thing about reports,” Satoru said lightly, his voice carrying that lazy, mocking drawl Haru had only recently started being privy to. “They don’t taste better just because you eat after filing them.” He leaned down slightly, bringing his cheek flush with Haru’s, his smirk aimed at Masa. “Senpai’s job is to take care of their underclassmen. Zenin-kun, you seem plenty capable of taking care of yourself.”

Masa’s jaw ticked, his irritation flashing for a second before he forced a thin smile. “Gojo.”

“Zenin.”

The two locked eyes, silent barbs thrown between them in the space of a heartbeat. Then Satoru pulled Haru with him toward the others, not waiting for a reply.

“Come on,” he said, voice light, almost teasing as if nothing had happened. “Let her show the new kids around properly. I’d hate for them to think you’re a pushy guy who doesn't know when to back off.”

Utahime glanced between them, flustered, while Akio and Shoko both raised their brows, amused. Geto simply smirked, as though the scene had entertained him more than it should have.

But Haru, caught under Satoru’s arm, felt her pulse skip. His warmth was steady, his presence shielding. And though his words had been playful, she caught the underlying edge in them—protective, sharp, and aimed directly at Masa Zenin.

For the first time, she realized that Satoru Gojo wasn’t just the boy she remembered. He was someone who could change the very air around him with a look, a word, or a single, deliberate action.

And she wasn’t sure whether that made her heart settle—or race faster.

When the tour finally wrapped up and the group began drifting toward the dorms, Haru found herself walking beside Satoru. His arm had slipped from her shoulders somewhere along the way, but the phantom weight of it lingered, annoyingly present.

She shot him a sideways glance, then said flatly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Satoru tilted his head, his glasses catching the late afternoon sun. “Do what?”

“You know what,” she replied, her pace steady. “I was handling it.”

“You were,” he agreed easily, his smirk tugging at his mouth. “But it was boring. Zenin doesn’t know when to quit. Watching him bounce off you again and again was… repetitive.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, voice deceptively light. “Besides, I don’t like the way he hovers around you.”

Haru blinked, caught off guard by the directness. “You don’t like—? Since when is that your problem?”

“Since always.” He slowed his steps until she had to glance up at him, and the teasing curve of his lips softened into something sharper. “Or do you like having him pester you?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. Words tangled before she could make sense of them. “No, of course not. But that doesn’t mean—”

“Good.” His interruption was quick, confident. “Because he doesn’t get to bother you. Not when I’m around.”

She stopped, staring at him. His tone wasn’t flippant now—it was deliberate, calculated. The warmth in his eyes was threaded with something new: possessiveness.

Her pulse skipped, heat crawling up the back of her neck. She hadn’t seen this side of him before—the boy who was always loud, careless, and teasing now carried himself like someone who could strip away defenses with nothing more than a look.

Haru scrambled for something, anything to break the sudden weight in the air. “You sound jealous,” she muttered.

Satoru’s grin returned, though it was slower this time, deliberate. “Maybe I am.” He leaned just slightly closer, enough to unsettle her but not enough to overstep. “You of all people should know by now that I don’t like sharing you.”

Her breath caught. She looked away quickly, resuming her stride toward the dorms with stiff shoulders. “Ugh, why are you such a teenage boy now, Satoru?”

But her heart betrayed her—thudding fast, betraying the fact that she hadn’t hated the idea nearly as much as she should have.

Behind her, Satoru laughed loudly.

Chapter Text

The dining hall buzzed with chatter, students from both years weaving in and out, but Haru’s group ended up at the same long table as the new first-years. Shoko lounged with her chin in her hand, Geto carried himself with quiet composure, and Gojo—well, Gojo was louder than all of them combined.

“Don’t sit next to us,” Utahime muttered as Gojo flopped dramatically into the seat directly across from her.

“Why not?” Gojo shot back, already slurping down one of his four strawberry milks. “I’m charming company.”

“Annoying company,” Utahime corrected.

“Same thing,” he said easily, flashing a grin—only, his eyes immediately flicked to Haru, and something sharper settled in the smile. “Though, maybe not for everyone.”

Haru arched an eyebrow, suspicious. “Don’t drag me into this. You are indeed annoying when you choose to be.”

“Too late,” Gojo teased, leaning forward on his elbows. “You’ve been dragged in since the day I was born.”

Across the table, Akio snorted into his rice, Shoko hid a smile, and Geto shook his head like he’d seen this a hundred times already.

Utahime finally rolled her eyes. “Why are you so much nicer to her? You’re actually tolerable right now.”

The laughter that rippled around the table cut off when Gojo’s expression turned, just for a moment, disarmingly sincere. His voice lowered, losing its teasing edge. “Because she’s important.” His gaze didn’t waver from Haru. “She always has been.”

Haru froze, chopsticks halfway to her mouth, pulse skipping at the weight behind his words. But before she could respond, he smirked again, lifting a bite of food to his lips. “Besides, someone has to put up with me. She’s been in training for years.”

“Unbelievable,” Utahime muttered, but her ears were pink.

The group spilled out into the courtyard after breakfast, conversations overlapping. Gojo somehow ended up walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Haru, their banter softening into small nudges and half-smiles that she tried—and failed—to ignore.

That’s when Masa Zenin appeared, falling into step on Haru’s other side. “Haru,” he said smoothly, “we still need to talk about that report. Maybe go over it during lunch?”

“No, thank you.” Her tone was clipped. She sped up but her little legs were no match for his long strides.

“Come on,” he pressed. “You’ll have more fun with me than babysitting him.” His chin jerked toward Gojo.

Haru stopped, sighing. With a flick of her wrist, a translucent shield shimmered into existence in front of her. Masa, mid-stride and not paying attention, walked straight into it with a loud thunk before staggering back.

The first-years burst out laughing—Shoko covering her mouth, Geto’s calm mask cracking with amusement, even Gojo throwing his head back and letting the sound echo through the courtyard.

“Guess she’s not interested,” Akio called, grinning.

Masa’s scowl deepened, but Haru only dismissed the shield and kept walking, her expression cool. Gojo caught up with her easily, still chuckling.

“Cold,” he said, eyes glinting with approval as he leaned closer, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “But effective. I like it.”

She gave him a sidelong glare, though her lips threatened to curve despite herself.

~

Haru barely had time to drop her bag on the desk before Utahime slid into the seat beside her, eyes narrowed like a cat ready to pounce.

“All right,” Utahime said, voice sharp but curious. “What’s going on with you and Gojo?”

Haru blinked, hand frozen on her notebook “…Excuse me?”

“You heard me. He was practically glued to your side at breakfast, and—” Utahime lowered her voice— “I’ve never seen him that serious about anything, let alone someone. So spill.”

Akio leaned over from the row in front, grinning. “Yeah, Haru, is he your secret boyfriend? Lover? I vote yes.”

“Absolutely not,” Haru said flatly, though her ears betrayed her with heat. She set her notebook down, folding her arms. “It’s not like that. I’ve known him since we were babies. We’ve always been there for each other.”

That shut them up. Masa, sneered at her back as she spoke, still angry about his earlier humiliation.

Haru exhaled, tone steady but edged with something heavier. “From the moment he was born, everyone wanted a piece of him. The clan, the elders—they saw him as a weapon, not a person. I couldn’t just…let them take him apart.”

For a second, silence hung. Even Masa seemed struck, his sharp features softening with something like surprise—something almost vulnerable. But it vanished as quickly as it came. He let out a low, ugly laugh.

“So what? You’ve just been raising yourself to be Gojo’s concubine?”

The word sliced through the classroom like a blade.

Utahime shot to her feet. Akio swore under his breath. Haru’s chair scraped as she stood, fury flashing across her face.

In the next instant, Masa was airborne, her shield slamming into him with brutal force. The window shattered as he went flying out into the courtyard below.

“Oh my god—” Utahime started, but Haru was already vaulting after him, landing lightly in the dirt as Masa scrambled to his feet. Her skirt flitted around her thighs, showing her spandex shorts underneath as she landed.

“Fine,” he spat, cursed energy flickering hot and sharp around him. “If that’s how it is, let’s see what the ‘concubine’ can do.”

Haru’s own cursed technique flared, shimmering daggers flashing in her hands. The courtyard shook with the impact of their first clash, energy bursting like thunder.

Upstairs, the first-year classroom rattled. Yaga pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “Of course. I’ll deal with it.”

The first-years had already crowded the windows. Gojo leaned halfway out, grin stretching wide. “Ooooh, they’re really going for it.”

Shoko propped her chin on her hand. “Do you think she’ll actually kill him?”

“Not kill,” Geto murmured, watching intently. “But maim for sure.”

“Go, senpai!” Gojo called down, laughing. “Show him what happens when you run your mouth!”

Another shield cracked against Masa’s strikes, sparks flying with every blow. She was fast, her movements sharp with years of precision—but Masa was brutal, pressing her hard. His shadows formed claws at the end of his hands.

Then he sneered, blood at the corner of his mouth. “No wonder Gojo keeps you close. You’re just his pet, aren’t you? Maybe he’ll toss you a scrap when he’s bored—”

The air froze.

Gojo’s laughter cut off mid-breath. He was already moving before anyone registered it, dropping from the window with terrifying speed. He landed between them, the courtyard ground fracturing under the weight of his cursed energy.

When he straightened, it wasn’t the playful boy from breakfast anymore. His glasses hid his eyes, but the fury radiating from him was suffocating, cold enough to burn.

“Say that again,” he said, voice low, threaded with venom.

The sheer force of his presence made Haru’s shields flicker. She stumbled back a half-step, breath catching—not from Masa, but from him. For the first time, the raw, unrestrained anger in Gojo’s voice made her heart stutter with fear.

Masa swallowed hard, his bravado faltering.

And Haru, standing just behind Gojo, realized she had never seen Satoru like this.

Chapter Text

“Enough.”
Yaga’s voice cracked through the courtyard like a hammer on steel.
But Gojo didn’t move.
He stood between Haru and Masa, cursed energy shimmering faintly around him like a mirage, sharp and dangerous. The look on his face wasn’t his usual cocky grin—this was ice. His hands were loose at his sides, but the sheer pressure rolling off him made even the watching students flinch.
“Gojo.” Yaga’s tone was harder now, edged with warning.
For a moment, it looked like he wasn’t going to listen. He didn’t even turn his head toward his teacher, as if Masa was the only person in existence.
The air was so heavy Haru’s stomach knotted. This was Satoru—but not the one who teased, or laughed, or leaned too close with mischief in his voice. This was the Gojo that clans whispered about—the one they were afraid of.
Finally, slowly, he stepped back, his cursed energy settling like a blade sheathed but not forgotten.
Yaga’s gaze snapped to Masa. “Zenin. Back to class. Now. We’ll discuss your actions later.”
Masa stiffened, eyes darting to Gojo with something that wasn’t quite hatred and wasn’t quite fear, then turned on his heel and stalked away.
“And you.” Yaga’s attention swung to Haru. His voice wasn’t angry—just measured, heavy with meaning. “Don’t waste your technique proving things to idiots.”
Her jaw clenched. She released the daggers in her hands in a sharp hiss of sparks and gave a stiff bow, cheeks burning.
Gojo still hadn’t turned to look at any of them. She headed back to the classroom, feeling a knot forming in her chest.
~
Lunch couldn’t come fast enough.
Haru barely made it into the hall before a hand closed around her wrist. Gojo didn’t even ask—he just pulled her along, long strides purposeful, ignoring anyone who called after them.
“Satoru—” she started, but he didn’t stop until they reached a quieter part of the grounds, tucked behind one of the older buildings. Only then did he let go, pacing like he couldn’t stand still if his life depended on it.
He turned on her suddenly. “Has anyone else ever said that to you?” His voice was sharp, still edged with the anger he’d shown Masa. Too sharp.
Haru blinked at him, caught off-guard. “…What?”
“Don’t play dumb.” He stepped closer, yanking his sunglasses up to hit her with the weight of his stare. “Zenin—what he said. Has anyone else said that to you before? Or anything similar?”
Her throat tightened. For a second she just stared at him, stunned at how much fury was in his voice—not at her, but for her.
Then she exhaled slowly, lowering her gaze. “I knew the path I chose. The moment I decided to fight the clans, the moment I decided you would not be their weapon but a person. I knew what people would say about me. And I chose it anyway.”
Silence stretched.
When she finally looked back up, his expression wasn’t angry anymore—it was soft. Painfully soft.
“Idiot,” he murmured, and before she could react, his arms wrapped around her, holding her against his chest. His cursed energy still hummed faintly, but now it felt like warmth instead of ice. Her arms moved automatically, remembering him even when her brain wasn’t functioning.
But a second later, Haru froze at the sudden closeness, pulse jumping. Gojo had always been affectionate—leaning on her, tugging her sleeve, sprawling across her lap when he was little. But this was different. Taller, stronger, his embrace was no longer a boy clinging to someone safe.
It was a young man holding her like he meant it.
And the worst part was—he knew she’d realized it.
“Don’t let them talk about you like that,” he said against her hair, quiet but sure. “Not when you’re the one who gave me something real.”
Her breath caught. For the first time, Haru didn’t know how to answer him.
They didn’t talk much on the walk to lunch. Gojo’s hand stayed on her wrist the entire way, warm and firm, his long strides forcing her to keep pace. It wasn’t until they entered the dining hall that he finally let go, and Haru felt the ghost of that touch linger even as the noise of a dozen conversations filled the space.
Masa was nowhere in sight.
Gojo fell back into his usual rhythm so effortlessly it made her dizzy—loud, teasing, effortlessly charming in the way that made half the room roll their eyes and the other half laugh despite themselves. But Haru knew better. She saw the sharpness beneath it, the way his gaze flicked to her every so often, checking, measuring, making sure she hadn’t folded under Masa’s words.
She tried to eat quietly, to blend into the chatter around them, but her thoughts kept circling back. To the cold fury in Satoru’s face. To the way Yaga had needed to command him down. To how tall he suddenly seemed when he stood between her and the world.
“Oi.”
Haru blinked just in time for him to pop a piece of food between her lips. She made a startled noise, nearly choking, as his grin widened.
“You’re thinking too much.” His voice was light, almost sing-song, but his eyes sparkled with that calculating edge she had come to recognize.
She shoved his hand away, glaring. “Personal space, Satoru. Ever heard of it?”
His laugh came bright and blunt, the kind that made heads turn. “Personal space? Between us? Come on, Haru, that’s a joke.”
Her brow furrowed. “It’s not—”
“You used to drag me out of the Gojo estate gardens by my ear when I wouldn’t listen,” he cut in, leaning far too close. “And you’re telling me now I should respect some imaginary boundary?”
“That was different,” she muttered, trying to look anywhere but those ridiculously blue eyes.
“Was it?” he tilted his head, grin crooked, voice dipping low enough that only she could hear. “Seems to me, personal space between us was a moot point a long time ago.”
Her chopsticks stalled, the weight of his words tugging at the edge of her thoughts. But before she could decide if she’d imagined that strange note in his voice, Gojo leaned back and popped another bite into his own mouth like nothing had happened.
Oblivious, Haru told herself firmly–he’s just being himself. Don’t overthink it.
She cleared her throat, forcing her shoulders to relax, and turned quickly toward the other side of the table. “Shoko,” she said, maybe too brightly, “I’ve heard you’re good with reversed cursed energy. How’s that work?”
Shoko looked up from her food, one brow arched in quiet amusement. “Messy. I stitched three people back together before lunch. Not exactly glamorous, but…” She shrugged, the ghost of a smirk tugging her lips. “I like it better than missions.”
“Messy is better than boring, I guess,” Haru offered, glad for the steady ground of conversation. “At least you don’t get saddled with asshole partners or have to go out in the rain.”
Across the table, Geto chuckled under his breath, and Utahime shook her head, muttering something about discipline and propriety. Gojo, meanwhile, tilted his chair back, watching Haru with a faint grin like she was the only one in the room worth paying attention to.
She didn’t notice. She was too busy clinging to the normalcy of Shoko’s dry tone, grateful for the distraction from the strange undercurrent at her side.

Chapter Text

The sun was sharp overhead, flooding the training field with warmth as both classes filed into position. Yaga stood at the center, arms crossed, his heavy frame somehow commanding without effort.

“We’ll be sparring in pairs today,” he rumbled. “Good practice, especially with the goodwill event coming up in a few months.”

That earned some murmurs, a couple of raised brows. Haru caught Utahime’s look and smirked back—this was the kind of training she lived for.

Yaga, however, wasn’t finished. “And before anyone asks, Gojo won’t be allowed to participate in the event. His rank disqualifies him.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the group. Haru stiffened almost imperceptibly, her gaze darting toward Satoru just behind her shoulder. She didn’t need to look long—she could feel the edge of irritation rolling off him.

Before she could say anything, he leaned down slightly, his voice pitched just for her: “You’ve gotta stop thinking about me so much.”

Her head whipped toward him again, scandalized. “What—?”

She cut herself off with a sharp elbow to his ribs. Except—where she expected the give of a lanky boy’s side, she found something solid. Muscle. More than she remembered. Her breath caught just briefly before she yanked her arm back, ears hot.

Gojo only chuckled, the sound smug and amused, eyes glittering behind his glasses. “Careful, Haru. You’ll hurt yourself.”

She refused to dignify that with a response.

“First-years versus second-years. Pair off,” Yaga ordered, stepping back to give the field to them.

The first pair was Gojo versus Geto. The air between them crackled with tension even before either moved. Gojo grinned wide, posture loose, while Geto was calm, deliberate, already shaping cursed spirits at his side.

Gojo struck first—a blur, his hand cutting through the air with raw cursed energy that shattered the ground beneath. Geto countered with precision, sending a few shikigami weaving to cut off Gojo’s path. The fight was fast, sharp, almost playful but not without bite—both of them testing each other, learning rhythms they’d been honing for years. Gojo came out victorious, grinning like a madman as he hopped back to Haru’s side.

Utahime and Shoko were next. Utahime came in controlled and precise, her technique carefully honed. Shoko, though not as offensive-minded, proved quick on her feet, dodging with minimal movement, countering just enough to frustrate Utahime. Every missed strike had Utahime’s jaw tightening, and Shoko’s small, sly smirks only made her more furious. It wasn’t a flashy fight, but it showed Utahime’s grit—and Shoko’s uncanny ability to endure.

In the end, Utahime ended up victorious. Shoko groaned about not being made for field work before she flopped down on the bench.

When Haru and Akio stepped onto the sparring field, most expected a display of cursed techniques—Haru’s weapons flaring, Akio’s overwhelming fire slamming through. Instead, the two exchanged a silent look, a quick nod, and shifted their stances low and deliberate.

No weapons. No techniques. Just muscle and grit.

The first clash was brutal in its simplicity—Akio lunged, fist arcing like a hammer, and Haru blocked with her forearm, cursed energy flooding into her muscles to take the blow without crumpling. The shock reverberated up her arm, but she gritted her teeth and countered with a sharp kick to his ribs.

He caught her leg. She twisted, used his grip to spring forward, elbow slamming toward his temple. He barely ducked in time, her strike grazing the top of his ear.

Excited energy rippled through the watching students. Neither of them were holding back.

Akio grinned through the sting. “Didn’t think you’d go this route.”

“You’ve known me long enough to not be surprised,” she shot back, breath sharp.

They fell into a rhythm that felt less like a spar and more like an old martial artist’s brawl—punches, grapples, knees, every strike laced with cursed energy reinforcement that made the ground quake beneath their feet. Akio tried to overpower her with raw strength, but Haru was faster, her movements honed and efficient. When he threw a hook at her ribs, she slipped in close, using his momentum to sweep his leg and nearly take him down.

He recovered instantly, shoving her back with a surge of cursed muscle. She hit the dirt hard, rolled, and came up already driving forward with a low tackle. The impact rattled his balance, her shoulder burying into his abdomen.

Cheers broke out from the sidelines—Geto laughing, Utahime muttered “damn,” and even Gojo tilted his head with open interest.

By the time they broke apart again, both were panting, sweat slicking their skin. Akio cracked his knuckles, grinning wide despite the bruise already blooming along his jaw where Haru had tagged him earlier.

“Your strength always surprises me,” he admitted.

Haru tightened her stance, chest heaving. “And you’re slower than you think.”

Their last exchange came fast—a storm of blows, fists and kicks snapping through the air, each strike landing like thunderclaps. Finally, Akio’s knuckles grazed her cheek at the exact moment her palm slammed into his chest, the recoil blasting them both backward into the dust.

The field went silent for a moment, then erupted in chatter.

Haru didn’t care—she was flat on her back, staring up at the sky, lungs burning, muscles trembling from the strain of holding cursed energy in every fiber.

And that’s when Gojo’s shadow fell across her, smirking down as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“Not bad,” Gojo’s voice drawled above her. His hair flopped in that adorable way that made her heart stutter and squeeze.

She cracked an eye open to find him crouched beside her, forearms resting casually on his knees. He most definitely did not care that he was basically crouching over her face. “You were sharp out there. Kept your head, even when Akio had you cornered. I’d give it… mm, eight out of ten.”

She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Don’t start scoring me like a critic. I’ll die here out of spite.”

“Then I’ll just have to resuscitate you,” he shot back smoothly. “Might even use mouth-to-mouth.”

Her arm snapped down and she glared at him, red-faced. “Satoru!”

He only laughed, reaching out like he might muss her hair before flicking her forehead lightly, grin infuriating. “Relax. I’m teasing. But seriously—you were good. Better than I’ve seen in a while.”

The compliment, genuine beneath the flippancy, settled warm in her chest. Still, she turned her head away, muttering, “Go away before I summon my shield on your face.”

Gojo just chuckled again, staying right where he was.

Haru finally pushed herself up onto her elbows, dust and sweat clinging to her hair and skin, and cast a glance toward the others.

“Satoru,” she muttered, trying to gain some composure, “I’ve never seen you put out that much cursed energy all at once. Even in training. It’s intense.”

He sat down next to her, crossing his legs. “Intense, huh? That all? I’d say that’s underselling me.”

She huffed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I mean it. You’re… scary. In a good way, I guess. But it’s different. You’re not just teasing or playing around. You’re powerful.”

Gojo’s grin softened, one corner twitching as he leaned just a little closer. “You’ve always been good at noticing things, Haru. Even little details no one else sees. But I think I really like how you’ve never once focused on how powerful I am.”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m noticing a lot right now,” she muttered, giving him a pointed glare.

He chuckled, shuffling closer until their shoulders brushed. “Oh? And what, exactly, are you noticing?”

Haru groaned, leaning back on her hands, exasperated but flustered. “Can you… can you go back to being the sweet little boy I used to baby? This—this intense, scary, flirty version of you is… too much right now.”

Gojo brought his head near hers, voice dropping to a soft, teasing whisper. “Sweet little boy? Nah. I much prefer this. The powerplay, the teasing, the challenge… it’s more fun for me. And now, you notice me in ways you hadn’t before. I’m stingy with your attention, Ha-ru.”

Haru blinked, unsure whether to be annoyed or secretly thrilled. “You’re persistent and annoying.”

“And you love it,” he replied with a crooked grin.

She groaned again, flopping back onto the ground, muttering under her breath, “I swear, some day I’m going to… I don’t even know.”

He only laughed, the sound low and warm, lingering beside her as she tried—halfheartedly—to ignore how aware she was of him, of his presence, and how much he had grown beyond the boy she once knew.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the dorms was filled with chatter and laughter. Shoko leaned against the railing, clearly already plotting the evening. “Movie night. Snacks. I’m serious. And you’re all joining, no excuses.”

Haru chuckled, shaking her head. “Snacks are a must!”

“Always,” Shoko grinned.

Once inside the dorms, everyone headed off to clean up. Haru grabbed her things, slipping into her room to wash off sweat and dust, enjoying a rare moment of quiet. 

Then, with a bang, her door burst open.

“Satoru!” she yelped, stumbling back.

He froze, hands raised in mock surrender, before slowly scanning the room with exaggerated care. “Wow… you always came to me. It’s… kinda nice to be able to come to you for once,” he said, voice softening just enough to make her chest tighten. Her room was simple elegance, light colors and minimal decorations.

Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand lightly. “Come on, we’ve got snacks to get!”

As they stepped into the hall, he immediately began childishly singing about the snacks they’d get, hopping a little step with each syllable. Haru groaned, but couldn’t help laughing despite herself. 

When they joined the rest of the group, his mood shifted–loud and chaotic, purposefully angering Utahime and giving her whiplash.

At the store, Gojo stayed glued to her side while casually putting all the snacks he wanted into her basket. Most of them were sweets. She rolled her eyes at his picks but said nothing. 

When she veered to a different aisle, he shadowed her silently, eyes twinkling as if it were a game. “You think I’d let you wander off?” he asked, grinning. She rolled her eyes but didn’t respond.

She stopped to chat with Shoko for a second and he subtly leaned in, a hand brushing hers back lightly, a presence she couldn’t ignore. Before she could say anything he spotted Geto a few steps away and went to pester him.

Haru walked off to grab food for breakfast the next morning, glad to have a moment's peace without the giant looming over her. She had no idea how to handle the changes in him and how they were making her feel.

When they got to the counter, Haru reached for her purse, but he slammed a hand down first. “Nope. Not happening.”

“What?” she demanded.

“I am never letting you pay for anything. Ever,” he said, voice unexpectedly serious. His usual teasing tone was gone, replaced with quiet determination.

“I don’t need you to—”

“I know you don’t,” he interrupted, grinning faintly but holding his ground. “But this isn’t up for negotiation.”

She tried to argue, tugging at her wallet, but he just grabbed her wrist and started pulling her toward the door. He even carried all the bags.

“Satoru!”

Behind them, Geto laughed softly, shaking his head at Gojo’s antics. “You really like bossing her around, don’t you?

“She’s mine,” Gojo replied dramatically, ignoring the teasing in Geto’s voice. “And you need to step up your game. Snacks are serious business. Look at the crap you’re buying”

Haru paused for a second, watching them bicker back and forth, realizing with some amusement that Gojo and Geto were becoming fast friends. It was strange… comforting.

Even as the door swung shut behind them and the night stretched out ahead, Haru couldn’t shake the mixture of exasperation, warmth, and something else entirely, knowing she’d never get a moment’s peace around Satoru Gojo—but also that she didn’t really want one.

~

The dorm lounge smelled of popcorn and energy drinks, blankets sprawled haphazardly across couches. Shoko had commandeered the biggest screen, while Akio and Utahime argued over who got to pick the first movie. Haru approached the couch, stretching, already feeling the tension of the day melt just slightly.

Gojo, naturally, flopped beside her before she could even sit. “Finally! Snacks, movies… and you right here,” he said, leaning back, one arm stretched across the back of the couch like he owned the place.

Haru shot him a look. “You act like I’m a prop.”

“Prop? Nooo,” he said with mock offense. “You’re… essential scenery. Very important scenery.”

Utahime’s voice cut in sharply. “Gojo, can you stop flirting for thirty seconds and let people pick the movie?”

He tilted his head, grin wide. “Oh, come on, Utahime, you saying you’d rather have me pissing you off instead?”

Haru groaned, rolling her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. She flopped her head back in mock surrender before realizing that she was now resting against Gojo’s arm. She sat back up, catching the smug look he was giving her.

Shoko finally shouted over everyone, declaring her movie choice victorious. Blankets and snacks were settled. Haru sank into the cushions, trying to focus on the screen, but Gojo kept brushing against her, teasing little nudges when she reacted to the movie.

“Stop it!” she hissed at one point, laughing despite herself.

“Stop what?” he said innocently, sliding his knee to rest lightly against her thigh.. “It’s movie bonding. Totally appropriate. We used to do this all the time as kids.”

Meanwhile, Utahime muttered under her breath, mutinous, trying to throw him off. “Bonding with her isn’t all that seems to be on your mind, Gojo.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo replied smoothly, leaning closer to Haru. “Don’t worry, Utahime. I’ve got my priorities straight.”

Haru felt heat rise, but instead of scolding him, she leaned back, accepting a piece of popcorn he mischievously popped into her mouth. “Satoru!” she whispered, smacking his arm.

“Mm,” he said, satisfied. “You’re too serious sometimes.”

Akio snorted from across the couch. “You two are ridiculous.”

Shoko tossed a blanket at him. “Stop distracting everyone, Gojo!”

But he ignored her, lounging beside Haru, whispering teasing remarks about scenes in the movie, making her groan half in exasperation, half in amusement. Every time she shifted toward the couch's arm, he subtly nudged closer, ensuring she didn’t go too far.

At one point, Haru went to stand up to grab another drink, and Gojo swooped in to intercept, pulling her practically onto his lap. “Oh no, you can’t just leave me out while you gather the spoils!”

Haru tried to argue, laughing. “Satoru, it’s a drink! Not a quest!”

“Everything’s a quest if we’re together,” he replied smoothly, flashing her a grin.

As the night wore on, Utahime leaned against the back of her seat, muttering to herself. “He’s so bad… and she’s just letting him go unchecked.”

Gojo smirked, pulling Haru closer. “Oh, she knows how to handle me just fine,” he said feral and all too snarky, knowing Utahime would misinterpret what he said. And she did, going crimson.

Haru sighed, shaking her head, feeling flushed all the way to her neck. “You are the worst,” she said, but it was more fond than harsh.

Even as the movie played on and the group bickered and laughed around them, Haru realized she’d never seen Gojo this relaxed. And somehow, in the center of it all, Satoru Gojo was still very much the same boy she’d grown up with… only now, more dangerous, more teasing, and infinitely more complicated.

The lounge was empty now, the moving having ended without Haru noticing. Shoko, Geto, and Akio had retired to their rooms, and even Utahime had disappeared down the hall, muttering about cleaning up later. Haru stretched on the couch, before bidding Gojo goodnight and heading to her room.

He followed her back, not saying a word. When she got to her door, she turned and gave him a questioning look.

“Satoru?” Her voice was tentative.

He stepped in quietly after her, no bluster, no playful grin—just him. His presence was calmer than she remembered, the overwhelming force of his cursed energy reduced to something almost comforting.

“Hey,” he said softly, closing the door behind him. “Thought we could hang out alone a bit. Don’t exactly want to say goodnight yet.”

Haru blinked, startled by the gentleness in his tone. The teasing edge, the power, the energy—it was there, faintly, but subdued. He was… careful. Attentive.

She swallowed, cheeks heating. “I mean, sure, if you want to.”

He moved closer, settling onto the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd her. “You know,” he murmured, voice low, “I treat a lot of people like… I don’t know… jokes, games, or challenges. But not you. You’re different. You see through all of it.”

Haru’s chest tightened. She tried to reconcile this image with the boy she had known—the one who teased relentlessly, who ran across courtyards singing, who dared to elbow her ribs and laugh in her face.

“Different?” she whispered.

He gave a small, almost shy nod, the kind of gesture he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah. You’re… not just someone to mess with. You’re… important to me. And I want to keep you close without making it awkward, without losing the bond we’ve had for forever.”

Haru stared at him, confused and flustered. The boy she adored, the one she’d held and cared for since he was a baby, was clearly growing into a man, someone strong, sharp, and… intimidating. But here he was, this gentle version of him, sitting quietly, offering warmth instead of energy, and looking at her like she was the only person in the room that mattered.

“I don’t know how to separate the boy I knew from this man you’re becoming,” she admitted, voice barely audible.

Gojo’s grin was small, thoughtful, but his eyes glimmered with awareness. “You don’t have to. I’m still me, Haru. Just… different layers. And maybe it’s time you see that side of me too. But don’t worry, I won’t push you more than you're comfortable with.”

Haru felt herself exhale, tension easing slightly, though her heart still raced. “I just… I don’t want to lose the boy I cared for all this time.”

He leaned forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You won’t. That boy’s still here—he’s just… grown up a little. And I want you to know, I trust you enough to show him to you.”

Haru’s eyes softened, and for the first time all night, she let herself relax completely. He shifted just enough to lay down next to her, shoulders pressed together, gentle and sure, no teasing, no games.

Gojo’s whisper tickled her ear, warm and intimate: “We’re changing, Haru… but not growing apart. Together forever, yeah?”

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips, remembering hearing herself say that to him many times over. “Together forever.”

Chapter Text

Haru took a deep breath, the early morning sun painting the training grounds in pale gold. Today wasn’t just a mission—it was the test to see if her rank had advanced.

Standing close to her were Utahime and Gojo. Utahime’s arms were crossed, brows furrowed, giving off her usual aura of quiet intensity. Gojo, on the other hand, lounged casually against a post, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other idly spinning a piece of cursed energy between his fingers. But even his relaxed posture couldn’t hide the sharpness in his gaze—he was watching her every movement.

“Why is he coming with us?” Utahime muttered under her breath, glancing at Yaga. “It makes no sense that a first year is grading a second year.”

“I get why you’re upset Utahime, but Gojo is a special grade,” Yaga stated, gathering both of their full attention. “Should anything go wrong, he’ll be able to take care of both of you.”

Haru’s mind ticked. She knew Utahime was thinking the same thing she was—Gojo was a first-year, yet he was ranked as a special grade sorcerer. That meant… countless missions, countless dangers all before the age of fifteen.

She froze for a moment, stomach tightening. Her chest clenched all of a sudden as a horrifying thought struck: how many missions had he gone on before now? How many times had he been in danger or left to figure his own emotions out without her there?

Her eyes widened slightly, and Gojo immediately noticed the shift in her expression. Without a word, he stepped closer, tugging her gently out of her spiraling thoughts. He flicked her nose, making sure he had her attention.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, concern threading through his usual smirk.

“Can we have some–”

“Privacy.” He mumbled, completing her sentence and engulfing them in his Infinity. The two of them placed sound proof seals on the four “walls” of the invisible barrier, clearly having done it before. 

Haru swallowed, voice tight. “I… I failed you. I should’ve been there. I should’ve asked more ques—”

“Failed me?” Gojo’s voice snapped, feral and low, his usual teasing tone replaced by a sharp edge. “Haru, what the hell are you talking about?!”

Her body stiffened under the intensity of his gaze, his hands gripping her shoulders lightly but firmly. “You’ve done so much, so young. Special grade at your age. And I wasn’t there. I couldn’t protect you. I failed you!”

Gojo’s jaw clenched, and he grabbed her face, smooshing her cheeks almost painfully. “You failed me?!” he growled, stepping even closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Do you ever think about what that actually means? You think for one second I don’t notice how you’re always there, how much you’ve sacrificed, how far you’ve pushed yourself to be here?”

Haru’s breath caught. His anger was terrifying, but it wasn’t for her—it was because of her. Because she doubted herself, because she dared to put the weight of his danger on her own shoulders.

“I… I just—” she started, eyes watering slightly, “I just want to keep you safe. I don’t… I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Gojo’s expression softened fractionally, though the fire in his eyes remained. He leaned forward so their foreheads were grazing, voice lower, almost purring in its intensity. “You’re not supposed to keep me safe, Haru. You’re supposed to be yourself. You’re supposed to fight, to grow, to… be there for you. Not just me.”

Haru swallowed, chest heaving, the tension ebbing slightly under his words. “Why didn’t you tell me about the missions?" He pulled back and gave her a look that had her getting angry.

“I’m really hurt and angry right now, Satoru! I thought we didn’t keep secrets.”

“Why’re you angry, Haru?”

“Becuase you were so young–”

“And?”

“Because they treat you like a weapon–”

“And?”

“Because you’re mine!” Haru’s chest heaved as she all but screamed the declaration she had been claiming since they’d first met.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured smugly, fingers grazing her cheek. “And you’re mine. So don’t sweat the things that are done and over with it. Let’s focus on the here and now. We’ll talk about it more after your mission.”

~

The old chemical factory loomed against the storm, skeletal and ominous. Rust clung to every broken beam, windows shattered to jagged teeth, shadows pooling deep and thick within.

Haru stood just beyond the gates, energy swirling around her in tight coils, ready to react to her command. The storm broke overhead, rain pouring in cold, relentless sheets that plastered her hair to her cheeks. She let out a steadying breath before slipping inside.

Behind her, Gojo and Utahime followed at a measured distance, saying nothing. It was her mission, her test—her chance to prove herself.

Inside, the air was damp and chemical-thick, every breath burning faintly in her lungs. The clatter of dripping water echoed off steel beams. She felt the shift before she saw it—curses moving in the dark.

The first came lunging, grotesque limbs stretching unnaturally. Haru summoned a short bow, drew and loosed in a single breath; the arrow whistled through and exorcised it cleanly. She pivoted, another already on her, and her bow dissolved into smoke. Twin daggers gleamed in her palms as she sliced the curse down in two swift movements. Another approached from her back, trying to catch her off guard.

Utahime’s brows furrowed in concentration, instinct twitching to step in. Gojo stopped her with nothing more than a sidelong glance, his tone sharp and quiet.
“Don’t. Only move if she tells you to. You interfere, you jeopardize her grade.”

Utahime bit back a curse but obeyed. Haru, grateful for his backing even without hearing the words, pressed on. Twirling to slash the curse behind her brutally.

The air grew heavier. The shadows shifted. The real opponent finally stepped out—taller, leaner, eyes gleaming like acidic fire. A grade 2 curse, but the oppressive weight of its cursed energy pressed far closer to grade 1.

Haru steadied her stance, blades tight in her hands. The creature rushed her with unnatural speed, claws sparking against her daggers. Sparks flew, her arms trembling with the force of every impact.

Minutes bled into each other. Every strike she made seemed to glance, every dodge cut too close. Sweat and rain slicked her skin. She realized with a jolt of cold dread—I might not be able to do this alone.

The curse landed a vicious hit, sending her flying through the air. Her ribs screamed, her body nearly giving in to the pull of unconsciousness. But her hand didn’t falter. In the arc of her flight, she summoned a spear of cursed energy, hurled it with all the fury in her chest. The spear pinned the curse against the wall with a sickening crunch.

She slammed into the concrete, vision spotting. Her grip slipped, darkness threatening to pull her under. With the last of her strength, she summoned a cruel looking war hammer and threw. The blow crushed the pinned curse’s skull in one decisive strike. The creature dissolved into nothing.

Haru collapsed to her knees, panting, chest heaving. She leaned forward, hands braced on the dirty ground as she tried to catch her breath.

Gojo’s jaw clenched as he strode forward, crouching down and lifting her chin with one long finger. His touch was deceptively gentle, though his voice vibrated with dangerous heat.
“Now that was beautiful,” he murmured, his grin sharp but his eyes startlingly warm. “I wish you could see yourself out there. You didn’t give in. You didn’t fold. You outplayed it.”

Haru’s lips parted, caught between the scolding tone she expected and the praise he was actually giving her. Her chest tightened—it was unfair how much she liked hearing his approval, how the words sank deeper than they should.

She wanted to tell him she barely made it, that she was one breath away from collapse. Instead, she whispered, “You really think so?”

“Think so?” His grin widened, and he leaned in until his forehead almost brushed hers. “I know so. Don’t ever doubt it.”

Her heart stuttered. He had no idea the way his certainty filled her in all the places her own doubts clawed at. She didn’t realize she was smiling until—

“Haru.” Utahime’s voice cut through the moment, brisk and worried. She stepped closer, scanning Haru critically. “Any serious wounds?”

Haru flushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “…Maybe a concussion?” she admitted sheepishly.

Gojo’s head whipped back toward her, and his irritation was immediate, sharp. “Maybe?!” He hooked an arm under her knees and another around her back before she could blink. “That’s not a ‘maybe’ kind of injury, love. You could’ve told me before you tried to pass out.”

“Put me down, I can walk—”

“Nope. Not happening.” His infinity flared faintly, wrapping them both in a protective barrier that kept the pounding rain from touching even a strand of her hair as they left the building. “You’re not ruining my mood by face-planting in a puddle.”

Utahime rolled her eyes but said nothing, trailing behind as he carried Haru with obnoxious ease.

Gojo ginger placed her in the car and slid in after her, too warm and too big by her side. Haru sat with her arms crossed, still flushed from being carried the entire way. Gojo leaned against the door, smirking like he’d won a contest.

“You're seriously overprotective,” she muttered.

“And you’re adorable when you pout.” He tapped her nose before sliding his fingers across the back of her head, gently probing to see what the damage really was. He stopped when she winced and moved to rest his arm across her shoulders. 

“But seriously, Haru—you want to stand with me, don’t you? To fight alongside me?”

Her chest tightened, but she nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Good. Then lucky you…” He pinned her in place with his gaze, blue eyes gleaming mischievously seeing as his glasses were now being twirled in his other hand. “Now that we’re living together, I get to make sure you level up. Personally. Every day.”

Her jaw dropped at his tone. “That sounded way more suggestive than it needed to.”

“Did it?” He tilted his head innocently, then smirked, teeth flashing. “Or maybe it sounded exactly right.”

She swatted his arm, heat creeping up her neck. “You need to behave, Casanova.”

“Ah, as much as I like that nickname, it’s not quite fitting, is it? Casanova wanted women and I very much only want one woman–you.” Haru buried her face in her hands and leaned away from him, groaning as he chuckled at her apparent discomfort.

Utahime groaned from the front seat. “If you two could stop flirting for five seconds, that’d be great.”

Gojo just laughed, fingers drumming on Haru’s shoulder as they drove out of the rain and back towards the school.

Chapter Text

Gojo’s “concussion protocol” was nothing short of maddening.

Every time Haru’s breathing evened out and she started to drift, his voice would cut in.
“What’s your name?”
She groaned, rolling onto her side. “Shoko already healed me.”
“Humor me, princess.”
“Haru.”

A pause. Then again, “What year is it?”
Her answer was muffled into the pillow. “The one where you’re annoying.”
“Wrong. It’s the one where I’m making sure you don’t pass out and die in my arms.”

She cracked one eye open to glare at him, only to find him perched at the edge of her bed like a sentinel, eyes sharp even in the dim light. He looked too serious, too protective. She sighed, muttering, “You need to leave and get some sleep.”

“Not happening, you’re stuck with me,” he said simply, brushing her hair back from her face.

Eventually, exhaustion won. She slipped under despite his fussing, lulled by the weight of his presence at her bedside.

Sunlight spilled across the sheets. Haru blinked blearily, her mind fogged, back sore but not broken. What caught her attention wasn’t the warmth of the morning—it was the steady, heavier warmth pressed against her side.

Gojo.

He was sprawled in bed beside her, half under the blanket, his breathing even in sleep. His face, unguarded like this, looked almost boyish. For a moment, her mind wandered back—back to when they were kids, when he used to fall asleep in her arms and snuggle up to her chest and drool on her shoulder.  Back when the thought of sharing a bed would’ve been unthinkable.

Now… not so much.

Her cheeks heated when he shifted, draping an arm over her waist in his sleep and pulling her close. Something else pressed insistently against her hip, making her groan and bury her face in the pillow.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath.

“Mm?” His voice was rough with sleep, curious. One blue eye cracked open lazily.

“We’re not kids anymore,” she mumbled, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Gojo’s grin spread, slow and wicked. “Finally noticed?” He didn’t move away—in fact, he stretched a little, deliberately, pressing more firmly against her just to watch her squirm.

“You have no shame,” she accused, turning her head to glare at him.

“With you? Not even possible,” he said bluntly, eyes glinting with unrepentant amusement.

Her breath caught, because beneath the teasing, there was something raw in his honesty. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a gentler touch, his hand sliding up to smooth over her hair.

“You still sore?” His voice softened, almost too much, thumb brushing her temple like he was still worried about her head.

“Fit as a fiddle,” she replied, lips twitching despite herself.

The softness in his gaze flickered—and then he smirked, sharp and devious again, leaning in closer to speak directly in her ear. “Perfect. Then I don’t have to hold back anymore.”

Haru groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. “You’re too much this early in the morning.”

“Mhm. But you love me anywwaaayyy,” he sang, tugging the blanket down just enough to reveal her scowling face.

“Debatable.”

“Don’t lie, it doesn't suit you.” He tapped her nose with one long finger before flopping onto his back beside her, hands laced behind his head like he hadn’t just been pressing every boundary on purpose–literally. His voice dropped, lazy and warm. “Besides… you wouldn’t have survived without me fussing over you last night.”

She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “That wasn’t fussing. That was torture.”

“Concussion protocol is sacred,” he replied solemnly, though his smirk betrayed him. “And now that you’re all better, it means you’re fair game again.”

Her stomach flipped at the way he said it—half joke, half promise—but she rolled her eyes, trying to keep her cool. “Game implies you actually win sometimes. ”

Gojo barked a laugh, rolling onto his side again so he was close enough for her to feel his hard chest and abs against her once again. “Careful, Haru. You keep challenging me like that, and I might just prove I never lose.”

Her pulse jumped, but she forced herself to snort. “You already lost the second you crawled into my bed.”

Instead of taking offense, he lit up, as though she’d just handed him the victory outright. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s not a loss.” His grin was maddening, boyish and smug at the same time. “That’s a checkmate.” His hand threaded through her hair, giving her a slight massage and she melted, murmuring about arguing later and he chuckled breathily, intent on putting her back to sleep.

~

The weekend brought a rare pocket of peace. No missions. No training schedules. Just a lazy afternoon sprawled across the common room, junk food and card decks littering the low table.

Shoko plopped down with a mischievous grin and dropped a bag onto the table. “Imported candies. Weird flavors. Don’t say I never do anything nice.”

Akio peered inside, eyebrows shooting up. “Weird flavors, how?”

“Try one and find out,” Shoko deadpanned.

Geto laughed, already tearing one open. He popped it in his mouth and instantly gagged, lunging for the water bottle beside him, which was nearly empty. “Why does it taste like soy sauce and cough syrup had a baby?!”

Akio snorted, but one bite later he was coughing too, scrambling after Geto for the water.

Meanwhile, Utahime had been hovering near the doorway. The second she caught sight of Gojo’s grin already forming, she turned right around. “Nope. Not doing this.”

Gojo leaned back, cackling so hard his shoulders shook. “Aw, don’t be shy, Utahime! I saved the earwax flavor just for you!”

Her departing footsteps were her only answer.

Haru elbowed him sharply, giving him a look. “Stop pushing her too far.”

He rolled his eyes, though the smile never left his face. “What? It’s just too much fun. She gets riled up so easily.”

“You’re mean,” she muttered, but her lips twitched, no real bite to the words.

Amid the noise, Haru picked up one of the candies. She popped it in her mouth, waiting for the assault—except… it wasn’t awful. Strange, sure, but not unbearable. She looked at the wrapper again, trying to make sense of the pictures on the tiny wrapper. 

Gojo, of course, noticed immediately. “What flavor?” he leaned in, voice smooth.

She waved the wrapper in front of his face. “Says here it’s… salted plum chili? I think…”

He hummed thoughtfully, too close now, his breath brushing her cheek. “Salted plum chili, huh?”

Before she could pull back, his mouth was on hers, his tongue deft and shameless as he stole the candy straight from hers. The kiss was fleeting but heated, leaving her frozen and blinking as he leaned away, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

“Mm,” he said around the candy, eyes glinting. “Not bad.”

Shoko didn’t even blink, though her smirk sharpened. “Stealing candy and kisses now, huh? Efficient.”

Haru’s face burned. “I—he just—”

But before she could gather herself, Geto and Akio returned, still gagging and groaning about their last candy, oblivious to the electricity still crackling between her and Gojo.

Shoko leaned back, clearly entertained, while Gojo only grinned wider, settling an arm lazily along the back of Haru’s seat. “What? Don’t look at me like that. Known her my whole life, I figure I’ve earned certain privileges.”

Haru gaped at him. “Privileges?!”

“Mmhm,” he said, leaning in again, his tone low and teasing. “I’ve put in the hours.”

Geto’s chuckle slid in like a knife. “Careful, Satoru. You sound like you’re applying for a marriage license.”

He just laughed, utterly unbothered, while Haru aggressively riffled through the candy. The deck slapped down onto the table, making her jump comically. Shoko shuffled with the kind of precision that suggested she’d dealt more than a few questionable hands before.

“Alright,” she said, fanning them out expertly. “Rules are simple. Don’t cheat.”

Everyone immediately looked at Gojo.

“What?” he said, offended, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “You wound me. I’m an honest man. Scouts honor!”

“Sure you are,” Geto muttered, snatching up his cards.

Akio narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his own hand, then at Gojo. “If my cards are trash, I’m blaming you.”

Gojo leaned back with a lazy grin, one arm still stretched along the back of Haru’s chair. “Blame the dealer, not the divine.”

“Divine?” Haru scoffed, giving him a sideways glance.

“Exactly,” he said, smirk widening. “See? She gets it.”

The first round started, and within minutes it devolved into shouting.

“YOU stacked the deck!” Akio accused, pointing dramatically at Gojo.

“I did not,” Gojo said smoothly, laying down an obnoxiously perfect hand. “I’m just better.”

Geto groaned. “You literally pulled three of the same card in a row. Statistically, that’s—”

“—a sign of destiny,” Gojo cut in, flashing a grin.

Haru reached over and shoved him, hard. “You’re cheating.” Of course, he didn’t budge an inch and it infuriated her more.

He clutched his chest. “Et tu, Haru? I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the side of fair play,” she said, glaring at him.

“And I’m on the side of winning,” he shot back, leaning closer. “Guess we’re at an impasse, huh?”

Shoko tossed her cards down, smirking. “Not really. I win.”

Everyone froze, then groaned in unison as she smugly collected the pile of snacks they’d all tossed in as ante.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Geto muttered.

Akio buried his face in his hands. “I suffered through soy-sauce candy for this.”

Gojo leaned back, unbothered, tugging Haru’s sleeve to get her attention as the others bickered. “See? You’re lucky you’ve got me,” he whispered, lips curling. “Without me, you’d have lost way worse.”

She raised a brow. “Or maybe I would’ve actually had a chance.”

Instead of answering, he tilted his head, that familiar glint flashing in his eyes—the same one he wore whenever he was two seconds away from pushing her buttons. “Mm. Don’t pretend you don’t like it when I stir things up. You’ve known me long enough to admit it.”

Heat crept up her neck, but before she could answer, Shoko tossed a new set of cards onto the table.

“Rematch,” she declared. “This time, no whining.”

Geto snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey,” Gojo said indignantly, already scooping up his cards, “whining is half the fun.”

Haru sighed, shaking her head as the noise started back up, but even as she tried to focus on her hand, her eyes flicked to him—the smug curve of his mouth, the way his fingers tapped his cards without a care in the world, and the lingering warmth of his arm stretched casually behind her.

He caught her looking, of course. He always did. And when their eyes met, his grin softened, just for a moment, before he leaned in and whispered low enough only she could hear:

“Better save that look for later. Those are bedroom eyes.” And that’s when Haru threw her cards in his face, tackling him and knocking over the table, much to the group's entertainment.

Chapter Text

The mission was supposed to be routine. Clean up the lingering curses festering around the abandoned building, report back, done. But routine missions rarely stayed that way.

Haru wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, smearing ash and sweat. Three curses already lay dissolved behind her, their twisted shapes melting into nothing. Each one had pressed harder than expected—closer to level twos than threes.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Again.

She didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Gojo: how’s it going 🕶️
Gojo: bet you’re thinking about me rn
Gojo: don’t ignore me haarruuuu
Gojo: you’re ignoring me aren’t you
Gojo: RUDE
Gojo: want me to come help? i’ll be there in 2 secs flat
Gojo: haruuuuuu!!!!!!!!

Fifteen unread messages blinked up at her, the newest one popping up just as she glanced down:

Gojo: blink twice if ur in trouble 👀

She shoved the phone back into her pocket with a groan. “Idiot,” she muttered, drawing her short sword back up.

That was when the air shifted.

The oppressive weight fell over her shoulders like a curtain. Heavy. Stifling. Too strong.

Her grip tightened on her conjured blade. “Of course,” she said flatly, watching the cursed spirit materialize from the shadows. Too big. Too wrong. Special grade. It tilted its head and started to languidly walk towards her.

Her phone was in her hand before she even thought about it, thumb hitting dial on his contact. The blade disappeared and a scutum shield formed in front of her.

When he answered on the first ring, she didn’t bother with greetings. “I need help.”

Three words. That was all it took.

The instant Haru whispered those three words, the line didn’t even have time to disconnect properly and Gojo was suddenly there. The air split around him, the pressure of his cursed energy slamming into the area like a hammer. He stood between her and the special grade without hesitation, his posture loose, almost casual—yet his aura was suffocating.

The curse, a grotesque humanoid that stood at least 7 feet tall, reared back, shrieking at the intrusion. Gojo tilted his head, gaze sliding lazily toward it. But the curve of his smile was sharp, cruel.

“You made her afraid,” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Do you know how much that pisses me off?”

The curse lunged, but Gojo didn’t flinch. In a blink, his hand was around one of its flailing limbs, and with a flick, the appendage snapped like dry wood. The monster wailed, thrashing, but every strike bounced harmlessly against the infinity that wrapped around him.

He wasn’t simply exorcising it—he was dismantling it, piece by piece. Every movement of his hands was surgical, merciless. He drove it back with casual steps, every strike blooming with lethal precision. The air cracked with the force of his cursed energy, the concrete itself groaning under the weight of it.

Haru should have been terrified as she watched him basically torture the creature with a cold ruthlessness she’s never witnessed before. She had seen curses die, seen battles waged—but never like this. This wasn’t a fight. It was domination. Gojo wasn’t just strong, he was untouchable, absolute.

But as she watched, her heart wasn’t pounding with fear. It was something else entirely—something that left her breathless. Maybe a little too warm. And far too aware of the power the young man casually walked around with.

Gojo’s glasses slipped halfway down, revealing gleaming blue eyes, glinting with something dark and vindictive as he pinned the curse in place with his sheer presence. “Say night night,” he hissed, almost gleeful.

The words barely left his lips before the curse imploded, erased so completely the air itself shuddered in the absence of it.

Silence fell, save for the hum of Gojo’s cursed energy as it slowly dissipated. He turned toward Haru then, and just like that—the cruel, merciless glint in his eye softened. Concern flooded in, the predator melting back into the boy she knew.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone suddenly warm, sweet as honey, as if he hadn’t just annihilated a special grade like swatting a fly.

Haru could only stare at him, torn between awe, disbelief… and something far more dangerous stirring in her chest.

He said her name, getting her attention finally. “Haru, Haarruuuu.” He was at her side in a blink, hands running over her arms, her shoulders, like he had to confirm she was in one piece. “You’re not hurt? You’re sure?”

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, though she didn’t push him away.

His grin slid back, softer this time, lips curling like he couldn’t help it. “You called before you even engaged. Smart girl.” His voice dropped, warm and smug, practically purring. “You trust me that much, huh? You know I’ll always come when you need me.”

She rolled her eyes, but her chest squeezed anyway.

Without asking, he swept her up into his arms bridal-style, carrying her toward the exit like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You were amazing,” he kept saying. “Perfect judgment. Gorgeous form. Ten out of ten, no notes—”

She slapped her palm over his mouth. “If you say one more word, I’ll kick your butt like I did when we were kids.”

His eyes gleamed behind his shades, far too amused. Then, without hesitation, he licked her palm, slow and deliberate.

“Satoru!” she yelped, jerking her hand back.

The second it receded, he followed it and nipped at her fingers, entirely too playful.

“Mm,” he drawled, smug as ever. “What was that about kicking my butt?”

Her groan echoed through the night, but he just laughed, carrying her the rest of the way without a care in the world. She covered her face with one hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously handsome? Ridiculously strong?” Gojo teased, tilting his head so he could catch her eye.

She peeked at him through her fingers, lips twitching despite herself. “Terrifyingly strong, actually.”

He faltered, blinking at her in genuine surprise. “...Terrifyingly?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Her voice was quieter now, though no less firm. “You wiped that thing out like it was nothing, even toyed with it. The power you carry—it’s terrifying, Satoru. Anyone else would’ve frozen.”

For the first time, he looked like he didn’t know what to say. His usual grin slipped into something thoughtful, but before he could respond, she added, almost under her breath, “...kind of hot, though.”

His head snapped toward her so fast she swore she heard his neck crack. “Wait, wait, what?” His grin returned in full force, brighter than ever. “You think I’m hot when I’m being scary?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean it like—!”

“Ohhh, you totally meant it,” he sing-songed, shifting her in his arms so she was cradled closer, hand splayed against her bare thigh. “So, you’re into strong guys? Lucky for you, I just happen to be the strongest.” He winked, smug as ever.

Haru backhanded his shoulder, though the blush on her face betrayed her. “Don’t twist my words!”

“I don’t need to twist them,” Gojo purred, leaning in so close his breath tickled her ear. “You said them yourself. You think I’m hot.”

Her whole body went warm at his teasing, and before she could push him away, his tone gentled, the playfulness slipping back into tenderness. “But seriously… you’re okay, right? No injuries? No strain?” His thumb brushed along her arm, worry flickering behind the mischief in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, softer this time. “Really.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Because I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

~

Haru let her head fall back against the car seat as he slid her inside the warm vehicle, muscles finally starting to unclench. She’d been ready to fight until the bitter end, but the moment she’d pressed “call,” it was like the weight had shifted.

Gojo filled every space, and he always had—whether she wanted him to or not.

Watching him annihilate the curse without breaking a sweat, then turn around and fuss over her like she was precious and breakable, had left a knot in her chest. He was too much, always, but with her, it felt… different. Softer. As if the untouchable Gojo Satoru carved out exceptions just for her.

Her thoughts drifted until his voice cut through. “So,” he said, chin propped in one hand as he leaned far too close into her space, “are you gonna give me the full play-by-play, or do I gotta squeeze it out of you?”

She sighed, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward. “There were three—grade threes, almost twos. Tougher than expected. I handled them. Then the special grade showed up.”

He hummed low, approval heavy in his tone. “Handled three on your own and then called me before biting off more than you could chew? That’s my girl.” He reached over, thumbing her cheek with exaggerated fondness. “Do you know how pleased I am? Like, unbelievably. You’re brilliant, Haru.”

Heat crept up her neck despite herself. She hated how his praise still did that to her, how it still found the cracks and made them glow.

But the warmth twisted into something heavier. She stared at the window over his shoulder, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I can’t protect you anymore.”

For once, silence fell between them.

When she glanced up at his face, he wasn’t smirking. No teasing curve in his mouth, no mocking glint in his eyes. Just steady, clear intensity.

“You protect me in all the ways that matter,” he said finally, voice quiet but unshakable. “You keep me human. You give me warmth when the world tries to make me ice. You love me for me when everyone else just… sees a weapon.”

Her chest tightened, but before she could argue, he leaned across the space between them and all but folded himself over her, pressing his forehead against hers. His arms were warm and heavy, keeping her pinned as they wrapped around her.

“You’re my safe place,” he murmured. “That’s worth more than any shield.”

She groaned, shoving half-heartedly at his shoulder and cheek. “You’re way too cuddly right now.”

“Mm, maybe,” he replied, grin creeping back, though his voice stayed steady. “But I’m serious. You’ll never be a burden to me, Haru. Not ever.” His grin softened, eyes crinkling as he looked down at her. “You ask, I come running. Easiest thing in the world.”

She groaned, dropping her head against his shoulder to hide the heat crawling up her neck. “You’re too much.”

“I know.” He shifted, all but sprawling across the seat so she had no choice but to settle against him. His fingers drummed idly at her hip, playful, trying to tease a smile out of her. “Come on, don’t pout. Let me see those pretty eyes. I’m in an excellent mood, thanks to you.”

“You’re smothering me.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He buried his face into her hair, speaking against it, warmth lacing his tone. “You can fight curses all day long, but you can’t fight me when I want to cuddle. Not happening.”

Despite herself, a tiny laugh escaped her, muffled against his shirt.

He beamed, triumphant. “There it is,” he whispered, squeezing her just a little tighter. “That’s all I need.”

And she let him have it, admitting to herself that she wasn’t going to win against him even if she pretended differently.

Chapter Text

Morning filtered in through the blinds, soft streaks of light across the sheets. Haru shifted groggily, only to realize she was pinned, wrapped securely in Gojo’s arms. His chin rested in her hair, his breath even and steady against her ear. He was holding her like he was scared he’d lose her.

She huffed, but didn’t try to move. Instead, she let herself sink back against him, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

Somewhere in the warmth, his voice came, low and teasing. “You’re smiling. Enjoying my company, love?”

She twisted her neck just enough to glance up at him. “You’re awake.”

“Have been. Watching you drool a little.”

Her scandalized gasp had him cackling, tightening his arms so she couldn’t squirm away. “Kidding, kidding. You were cute. Still are.”

She groaned, burying her face against his chest as his laughter shook them both. It was stupidly easy, the way they fell back into old stories—bickering about who was faster as kids, who stole whose sweets, who fell asleep first during long study nights. Their words tangled with laughter, soft and genuine, until the buzz of his phone cut through the quiet.

Gojo sighed as he reached for it, reading the message. His lips pressed together before he untangled himself from her, stretching lazily. “Looks like they’re sending me out.”

Her smile faded, replaced by a little pout. “Of course they are.” She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “And of course I can’t help. Yesterday made that perfectly clear.”

He turned back to her with a grin too wide to be real, throwing up a peace sign. “Nah. This is Strongest Only work, Haru. You’d just slow me down.”

She smacked the pillow at him, and he laughed, dodging easily. “Relax, I’m kidding. You know I’ve got this. Always do.”

Her pout deepened, words soft but heavy. “Still doesn’t mean I like it.”

For a moment, his grin softened, gentling. He crouched at the edge of the bed, hand brushing lightly over her hair and cheek. “You don’t have to like it. But you don’t have to worry either. Because no matter what, I’ll always come back to you.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. Quick, certain, and very much on purpose.

She froze, heart stumbling, before her brain caught up. “You little—”

Gojo straightened, smirk already back in place, sunglasses slipping over his eyes. “See ya, sleeping beauty. Try not to miss me too much.”

She sat there, red-faced and sputtering, as he waltzed out of the room laughing, every inch the smug bastard he’d always been.

~

Haru walked into Yaga’s office, rain still dripping from her umbrella. The adrenaline from the kiss lingered in her veins, a faint buzz of satisfaction. She handed over her mission report, summarizing the fights, the curses she’d faced, and the special grade that had forced her call to Gojo.

Yaga raised an eyebrow. “Gojo came to you?”

She nodded, hands folded neatly. “Yes, sir. I called him before engaging beyond my limits. He arrived immediately and… exorcised the threat.”

Yaga’s sharp gaze lingered on her for a moment, then softened with a hint of dismissal. “Noted. That’s… unusual. But good. Now, unfortunately, you have a few visitors.”

Three imposing figures sat in the room she was shown. Haru recognized them immediately—the Gojo clan elders. Their eyes swept over her, always assessing for weaknesses or faults. They did not seem impressed by her street clothes, jeans and a flowy maroon top.

She bowed slightly, the proper respect drilled into her. “Please, have a seat.” The invitation seemed like a command.

Once seated, the elders’ questioning began, sharp and probing.

“Explain your presence with Satoru-sama,” one began, voice deceptively calm. “Your intentions—are they honorable?”

Haru’s cheeks flushed, but she kept her posture immaculate. “My intentions are to support him as a person, nothing else. As I’ve stated on multiple occasions."

Another elder leaned forward, eyes piercing, ignoring her sass. “And… what of marriage? You are getting older—don’t you know your purpose as a woman?”

Heat crept up her neck. Anger simmered under her calm. They really don’t pull punches. But she maintained composure. “I am under no pressure for marriage from my clan, as they respect my choices. I respectfully decline to comment beyond that.”

The third elder frowned. “Do you understand the weight of what you involve yourself in? You are not a child any longer. Your… influence over him is unusual. He will need to produce an heir before the age of 25.”

Haru’s jaw tightened. “I understand. I have known him since he was a baby, and my actions are consistent with protecting him in ways the clan has overlooked… as I’ve told you multiple times.”

They didn’t like that poke at their ways and she could see it on their faces.

The questioning continued for what felt like hours. Haru answered each inquiry with precision, calm, and respect—but the questions grew bolder, prying into personal territory that made her cheeks burn hotter.

Then the door slammed open, making all four of them jump. Gojo strode in, glasses missing, in his usual chaotic perfection. His eyes scanned the room, sharp and assessing, instantly sensing the tension. The elders stiffened, some even flinching, their usual composure cracking under his presence slightly.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, voice carrying that lazy authority that somehow managed to make everyone simultaneously uncomfortable and afraid. Except for Haru.

Haru exhaled slowly, just enough to feel the weight lift slightly as the closeness she always shared with him in these situations restored her confidence. “They wanted to ask about… things. You and me. My intentions.”

Gojo’s grin curved, his presence calm yet unyielding. “Ah. Of course. Let’s see what they want to know.” He folded himself next to her, not caring that they noticed his leg pressed tightly against hers.

The elders proceeded with their interrogation, asking about marriage, intentions, purity, loyalty, everything they could conjure. The questions almost the same but slightly different each time. 

Haru answered each with careful respect, never wavering in composure, even as Gojo leaned back and interjected each time, head tilted arrogantly, watching the elders with that smug, calculating amusement that made them squirm.

One of them tried to regain control, speaking sharply, “Enough! You—this is not your place, Gojo Satoru. We will dictate the proceedings.”

Gojo’s eyes flared, dangerous and cold. “No. You will learn your place.” His voice was lethal, the kind that left no room for argument. Haru slipped a firm hand on his leg, grounding him, trying to calm him.

But he didn’t budge an inch, making it clear that they were to leave Haru be or there would be consequences.

Finally, with a dismissive wave, he leaned into Haru. “Let’s go eat. I think we’ve earned it.”

The elders were left fuming in discomfort, their authority thoroughly dismantled.

Haru stood, a small smile tugging at her lips. Gojo’s hand found hers immediately as they left the office. The moment they stepped outside, he jumped them into the city, the world blurring around them. In moments, they were at their favorite food spot, laughing and bickering, the tension of the elders slowly dissolved into the air behind them.

“You handled that beautifully,” he murmured as they slid into a booth. Haru slid in first and Gojo slid in next to her, entirely too close. He leaned back casually, one arm draped along the back of the seat, eyes glinting mischievously.

“But you always have. I may have gotten a bit carried away though when they asked about your fertility and cycle tracking.” He pinched his fingers together in front of them, barely holding them apart.

Haru blushed but laughed loudly, finally relaxing. “You? Carried away? Never.”

He leaned closer, voice teasing but low. “Maybe a little.”

And for once, they didn’t have to care who was watching.

“So,” he began, picking up a piece of meat with chopsticks, “do you think you’re ready for marriage yet, Ha-ru?”

Haru choked on her water, sputtering. “What—what?!”

He raised a brow, lips quirking. “I mean, the elders sure seem invested in it, don’t you think? They asked all the questions—so maybe I’m just… great husband material. All this charm, this strength that you find hot… obviously perfect for you. And you’re clearly wifey material.”

Haru slapped his leg, glaring through laughter. “You’re insane. And a perv!”

He laughed, unbothered, leaning closer. “Perfection has many sides, you know. I’m also capable, reliable, ridiculously handsome—what more do you need?”

“I—ugh, stop!” she whisper shouted between giggles, trying to shove him away.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he said, voice low and teasing, leaning further into her space. “You remember the elders? They wanted to know everything. Maybe I should be practicing my husbandly duties, you know. Just in case.”

“WHAT?!” Haru shrieked, face red, pounding on his chest lightly. “You—! Stop saying things like that!”

He leaned back, grin devilish. “What? I’m just dedicated. Caring. Thoughtful. Obviously very skilled.”

“You clearly don’t know when to stop!” she gasped, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.

“And you love it,” he countered smoothly, fingers brushing teasingly at her sides. She yelped.

Before she could escape, his hands were on her ribs, tickling expertly, and she erupted into uncontrollable laughter. “S-Satoru! Stop! I can’t—ha—breathe!”

“Not letting up,” he said gleefully, keeping his hold, leaning closer until she was practically pressed into his lap. “You’re too much fun, Haru. I could do this all day.”

Through tears of laughter, she tried to shove him away, but his grin only widened, smug and victorious. “See? You’re mine. Even when you call me a perv—you love this too.”

She gasped, eyes wide, half annoyed, half helpless against the ridiculous, flirty chaos of him. “I—okay! Maybe! Now stop!”

He finally relented, letting her catch her breath while keeping an arm snug around her shoulders, tugging her close enough that she couldn’t escape. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

The laughter between them faded into warm smiles, the tension from the elders replaced with the chaotic closeness. Around them, the restaurant buzzed, oblivious, but in the booth, it was just Haru and Gojo—bantering, teasing, and utterly comfortable with the reckless intimacy of their bond.