Work Text:
At this hour, what is dead is restless
and what is living is burning.
I.
October 2019
You are looking at his soul, and he is staring at your face.
Tell me a story about fate.
There is something surreal at the thought of seeing Satoru again.
Yuuji sees the moment the restraints come off—are those eyes?—and the Prison Realm closes in on itself. Satoru stands a few feet away from him. His blindfold rests loosely on his neck, and his eyes land on Hana and Master Tengen.
For a moment, Yuuji’s world narrows to the space between them, and all else—the students, the sorcerers, even his friends—wane as if plummeting beneath the sea.
The universe holds its breath, and his heart ceases in motion when Satoru looks at him. He looks back, basking in that aquamarine gaze after a year of not feeling it on his skin.
When he steps forward, his legs don’t stop and he walks until he’s running. He runs like his life depended on it, and maybe it does. Because Satoru is in front of him, blood and bones and flesh, and uncontrollably alive.
His arms find a home in Satoru’s middle, and he feels like floating when Satoru holds him back, albeit a little hesitant. He does not register the people surrounding him, when the name finally leaves him.
“Satoru-san. Satoru-san. Satoru-san.” His voice cracks as he chants his name.
Satoru still looks the same.
His uniform doesn’t even have wrinkles, and he still walks with that confident air Yuuji admires. It’s like he wasn’t sealed, like this was just a terrible nightmare Yuuji had, and it’s alright because Satoru has his arms around him like he always did.
He leans back and stares.
He wants to cradle his stupidly gorgeous face between his fingers, sink into his embrace and take his tongue so deep in Satoru’s mouth that he will only be all that Satoru can ever taste again.
But he pauses at the look in Satoru’s eyes.
There is not an ounce of emotion, of longing, reflected back in those aquamarine eyes. If anything, he looks confused.
“Satoru-san?”
“Do I know you?”
Yuuji blinks. “What?”
“Am I supposed to know you?” Satoru inclines his head.
Yuuji tightens his hold. He just got him back. This has to be a joke. Satoru had always liked pranking Yuuji, saying his reactions were too cute and funny.
No.
“What?” He whispers, because if he speaks louder he might cry. He can’t afford to break now.
“I don’t think we’ve met before.” Satoru tells him, slowly. His eyes stray down to his uniform, and something akin to realization hits his face. “Oh, are you a student?”
I don’t think we’ve met before.
“What do you mean? I’m Yuuji. Itadori Yuuji.”
Satoru blinks at him, and his brows meet slowly in the middle. Yuuji resists the urge to smoothen them.
“I’ve… never heard of that name.”
There’s a moment where Yuuji can’t feel anything at all around the way his entire universe explodes like glass and he feels it prick behind his eyes, like he has a supernova blowing up in the middle of his skull. He doesn’t come to his senses even as Megumi gently pries him apart from Satoru, even as Nobara tries to shake him.
All he sees is Satoru, as if his eyes will always seek for him, talking to Master Tengen and the third years.
They cast him a worried look, but Yuuji doesn’t look away. He can feel the fear gaping inside him like a chasm opened up by tremors, deep and overwhelming.
“Yuuji.”
Megumi curls his hand on his wrist, bringing him to the present. “Come on, we’re bringing Gojo-sensei to Shoko-san.”
It successfully distracts him from the panic swirling within him, only for a little, but his feet move nonetheless.
His eyes stay locked on Satoru’s back.
*
Seeing Satoru on a clinic bed feels strange.
Yuuji had always remembered him sitting on the bedside, watching over him, because it was always him who needed to heal. Now, Satoru sits on the bed. He finds relief in the confirmation that he is okay.
They surround him, which Satoru seems to find hilarious and endearing all at once. “Look at you! Are you all worried about your sensei? That’s so cute.”
“And here I thought you needed some assistance. But you’re still insufferable as ever.” Maki-senpai says, but not unkindly. There’s an amused curl on her lips, which makes Satoru pout.
“So mean, Maki. Is that really how you treat your beloved sensei after he just came back?”
“We’re glad you’re okay, Gojo-sensei.” Yuta-senpai appeases, giving him that gentle smile that had always calmed Yuuji these past few months. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m great! Time didn’t exist there, have I told you that? I feel like how I did months ago.”
“A year.” Panda-senpai clarifies.
“Salmon.”
Yuuji clears his throat, eye catching the piece of jewelry on Satoru’s right lobe. An earring. “Satoru-san?”
Satoru blinks at him, as if he hadn’t even noticed Yuuji was there.
His fingernails press on his palm, hard enough to hurt.
“Oh, Yuuji-kun, was it? Sorry about earlier. You’re Megumi’s classmate, right? One of my students.”
Megumi’s classmate.
He hasn’t heard his name from Satoru for a long time, but coming from him right now, it doesn’t sound like him at all.
“Yeah.” He smiles, but he thinks it might’ve come across as a grimace. “Do you remember me, Satoru-san?”
He keeps calling him Satoru-san, even though he probably should revert back to Gojo-sensei. It might trigger something. Satoru had always felt giddy whenever Yuuji called him by his name.
“Ah. I apologize for that too, Yuuji-kun. You’re my student, I suppose? I’m sure I’ll remember you in no time. I’m Gojo Satoru.” He says his name like it’s supposed to comfort Yuuji, like it’s supposed to mean something.
And it should.
Because he’s Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive. He shouldn’t be affected by something like this. And yet.
And yet.
“It’s fine.” Yuuji croaks, taking a step back and brushing his shoulder with Megumi. Megumi pushes back, and the touch grounds him, steals him a bit of time to try to gather the scattered pieces of himself together and rake some dignity.
Here Satoru is.
On the bed inside the school, listening as his students narrate what happened in the year he was gone, but Yuuji can’t even kiss him. How can he, when right now, only he has the knowledge of what they had?
Shoko-san shoos them after a while, informing them that Satoru needs to rest. Yuuji knows it’s an excuse, because she’s going to interrogate Satoru once they leave.
It’s when he gets to the door that Satoru finally calls for him.
“Yuuji-kun?”
He whirls his head in no time. “Yeah?”
Shock paints Satoru’s face, perhaps startled at his thunderbolt response. He doesn’t let it get to him. “I’m just wondering, is there any reason you’re calling me by my name?”
Tell him now, he thinks, come clean and tell him everything about the two of you. Yuuji suppresses the war in him; a need so fathomless it threatens to bury him deep, and fear, raw and galactic, that paralyzes him to the bone.
Yuuji tightens his hold on the door. “No. We were close, so that’s how I called you. Sorry, I’ll use Gojo-sensei from now on.”
“Oh, alright.”
“Gojo-sensei?”
“Hm?”
“Welcome back. It’s nice to see you again.”
Satoru finally graces him with a smile. He knows it’s genuine, because it’s the kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle.
It’s Yuuji’s favorite.
He should feel relieved, but he doesn’t.
Because Satoru doesn’t say it back. He doesn’t say it back.
II.
The mystery is that he is the first thing you think of once sunlight pours across your skin.
He wakes up feeling like death has dawned upon him.
His head throbs, and his body is heavy as he drags himself to the bathroom. He looks like shit, but a shower could make him look decent enough to go out.
An hour later, he struts towards the kitchen for a late breakfast. It’s 10 in the morning, and there are voices coming from the room.
The commotion comes to a stop when they see him.
“Good morning, Yuuji.” Yuta-senpai smiles at him. “Have you eaten?”
“Uh… no.” Yuuji replies, but his gaze is locked on Satoru who’s sitting in the center. The students surround him, and he’s regarding Yuuji with a curious tilt of his head.
“We’re asking to see how much Gojo-sensei remembers.” Panda-senpai waves at him, and he hesitantly sits on the lone free chair, which happens to be directly across Satoru.
Nobara arches her eyebrow at him, and Yuuji gives her a smile. He’s feeling a lot better after taking a bath.
He helps himself to a serving of egg rolls and rice balls on the table, but keeps his ears alert on the conversation.
“Do you remember last year’s Kyoto Goodwill Event? We didn’t do individual portions because you wanted to play baseball.” Maki-senpai rests her chin on her knuckles.
“Tuna mayo.”
“Really? That sounds fun.” Satoru smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He probably feels detached from what they’ve been telling him.
Panda-senpai laughs. “Then Nobara tried to pick a fight with Mai.”
The rest of the room joins him, but Yuuji keeps his eyes on Satoru, who stares at his students laughing around him.
Yuuji barely manages to fight back the urge to hide him, to pull his face in his neck and tell him it’s okay, to assure him that he’ll remember it soon.
He knows Satoru hates this, wading the unknown.
This must be so bizarre for him, trying to fix this problem, which in this case is himself, even though this is a world where Gojo Satoru is the solution to everything.
“We won, though. Then you made us eat 5 whole cheesecakes.” Nobara shudders.
“What’s wrong? That doesn't sound too bad.”
Megumi rolls his eyes. “For you. It’s your favorite.”
Satoru coos, bringing his hands on his cheeks. “Megumi! You even know my favorite. How precious.”
Yuuji stills. His hand holding the chopsticks tightens.
“That’s because Yuuji used to bake it for you, sensei.”
Satoru blinks at Megumi, and turns to him. “Oh. Thank you, Yuuji. It must’ve been too much of a hassle for you.”
“No worries, Gojo-sensei. It really wasn’t.” He tries to smile, and tries harder to eat his breakfast despite the sensation of his throat closing, then tries hardest not to tremble when he brings his chopsticks to his mouth.
He wonders how long it would take until his best runs out.
*
According to Shoko-san, the last thing Satoru remembers is the terrorist attack in Kyoto two years ago, and for some reason, no cursed technique is working. According to Principal Yaga, they have no idea when the effects of the Prison Realm will wear off. All of these put things into a clearer perspective, except it doesn’t spare him the ease of knowing.
There you have it, Shoko-san said, your idiot of a professor.
Satoru has no recollection of meeting the sorcerer’s gateway to hell, and everything that happened after. So Yuuji asks himself, does he actually have him back?
“Yuuji-kun.”
Satoru stands beside him as he stretches on the ground. The early afternoon sun is unforgiving as it shines upon them in a harsh glinting light. He ponders if they’ll last training today.
“Gojo-sensei!” He beams, and it makes Satoru smile.
“I kept wondering about it since I heard it, but why did you eat that finger?” Satoru moves to sit on the grass.
He blinks. “We were going to die.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Satoru leans into his space in one quick motion. He’s humming under his breath and Yuuji smells a bit of a minty scent. His cheeks burn.
There is a sense of deja vu in this scenario. Does Satoru do this to everyone he meets? He hopes not. “You really merged with each other. That’s amazing.”
Amazing.
Yuuji has never thought of himself as an amazing person. But Satoru, in his own amazing way, has never failed to make him feel like he is.
“How do you feel about that? Does Sukuna talk to you?”
“He pops out. Though most of the time, he’s just in my head.”
"What does he say?"
"Uhm, you know." Satoru does not know, he reminds himself, because this is the version that hasn't met him yet. "Murder. Homicide. Massacre. Something along those lines. Sometimes when I look at you, he gives me detailed descriptions of how he'd like to kill you."
"Isn't that interesting." Satoru hums, then brings his hands together in a single clap. “Okay, interrogation’s over. Now tell me about that cake Megumi was saying.”
He snorts, sparing Satoru an amused glance. “Why, do you want me to bake it for you again?”
Satoru observes his nails casually, the ones he trims meticulously every 2 days because if there is one thing Gojo Satoru hates, it’s dirt getting stuck to the back of his nails. “Perhaps I do, perhaps I do not.”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Gojo-sensei.” He begins, a hint of mischief on his lips. “You always do.”
Satoru blinks at him, mildly taken aback. Then his mouth curls, a pretty thing that sends Yuuji’s heart in an uproar. “Alright, I look forward to that.”
Yuuji keeps on chattering, telling Satoru what shops and restaurants they had visited before, until the timer rings and they start training.
He wants to rattle off all the things he adored about Satoru, from the most evident features, like the way his voice always rises up a pitch when he’s teasing, to the fact that socks are the first things he wears before anything else.
“What was that all about?” Nobara asks him when they finish training. Megumi saunters beside him.
“What was?”
“That thing with Gojo-sensei earlier. What were you talking about?” She’s more curious than anything, but he knows she’s worried about him.
She’s probably wondering why he looks like a wreck.
How is he so affected in this situation, when all it took for her to feel better from being forgotten is releasing a full-hour rant yesterday?
“He asked me about the cheesecake, so I told him we used to visit shops in Tokyo.” He smiles, muted. “I promised him I’m going to bake it for him again.”
“That’s a great idea.” Megumi muses.
“Tell us when you’re going to shop for ingredients, there’s a mall I’ve been planning to visit anyway.” Nobara suggests, a finger curling a strand of her hair.
"Okay."
Everyone knows that Satoru liked Yuuji enough to be deemed as the unlucky favored student, and that Yuuji learned to deal with his antics like how he learned the use of cursed energy, as if he was born from the ground with a key in his mouth.
They don’t know that both of them walked in both ends of the line when sunlight rained the earth, and spent discovering each other's intricacies once the moon kissed the sky.
III.
You did not know that home is a feeling.
Under his bed, behind the CDs and manga he has stacked, sits a box hidden from view. The box hasn’t accumulated dust, unlike the others, as he used to bring it out every night. When he opens it, a familiar view welcomes his sight.
There are various photos arranged neatly, surrounded with random things he has collected over the past year. A smaller box, velvet and black, sits in one corner. At the end of his second month at Jujutsu Tech, when he used to stay hidden in the basement, he bought a camera that instantly prints the photos.
It was worth it, even though he had used all his money.
In order to be remembered, you have to make memories, and in order to make memories, you need to have someone to remember you for. Itadori Yuuji is aware of this. If you look inside the box, you will see a cluster of photos that may seem arbitrary.
Satoru stirring the pot. Satoru sitting on the floor with CDs strewn around him. Satoru playing Jenga, his tongue poking out on the corner of his mouth in concentration.
Eventually, the photos included his classmates, senpais, Nanamin, and some staff of the school. But the number of Satoru’s photos increased too.
Satoru kissing him on the forehead. Satoru taking a photo of himself as Yuuji slept on his lap. Satoru sitting on the floor, his temple resting on Yuuji’s knees as a hand rests on his head—Nobara had taken the photo herself.
Looking back, he wonders how people have not yet discovered their relationship. Love is easy, and affection is even easier. But things do not voluntarily come to you unless you search for it, so the thought leaves his mind.
The wave of memories bursts a flash of pain in his chest, and Yuuji gathers the photos to himself. What they had was real, and what Satoru felt for him was unmistakable. The proof is here, and there is nothing in this world that could deny this truth.
He pulls out a notebook, tape, and pen in his drawer. Then, he writes.
‘Hi, Satoru-san.’
He begins, feeling a little awkward. He’s not used to writing to people, but he figures this is the same with texting. Only his handwriting is a little bit crooked.
He tapes a photo on the first page. It’s a photo of them with icing on their noses. Nobara had taken it without them knowing, and Yuuji had been busy swatting Satoru’s hand from his face. They’re both laughing.
'You lost your memories when you came back. That’s a bummer, but I’m still happy you’re here. At least I get to see you, right? We talked about your favorite cake today. I didn’t tell you, but you refused to eat cheesecakes from the shops we visited when I started baking it for you. You said mine was just the best.’
‘Do you remember the second time I baked it? You tried to help me, but you drizzled the caramel all over the table.’
It had been too sticky to move, as Satoru had knocked over the container of the caramel. They ended up with sticky arms and fingers.
‘It was really disgusting! I had to take a bath right after. But it was fun, you’re really cute when you smile. I hope you remember me soon, Satoru-san.’
He smiles softly, eyes blinking slowly.
‘It’s hard to stop myself from touching you when you’re so close.’
He clicks the pen, and stares a minute longer at the photo. He doesn’t know when he’ll hand this to Satoru, or if he’ll ever give it in the first place. But it felt nice, writing down his thoughts. He should’ve done this sooner, back when Satoru was still his.
Satoru would’ve loved this idea. He’s a cheesy person like that. He puts the notebook inside the box, and hides it under his bed.
The bed dips as he lies down.
He prays. His grandfather had always told him to, even though the gods don’t really listen. He closes his eyes.
He doesn’t dream.
*
“Will you stop?”
Yuuji feels his face stretching, and Sukuna’s mouth appears. It’s always a reminder of what he is.
“Stop what?”
“You’ve been staring at him for hours, it’s raining sakura petals here.”
He huffs, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand.
Satoru is sitting on a tree branch while his students are fighting curses at a school gate. The sun is bidding them goodbye, but Yuuji is too busy dealing with a 5-feet-tall demon to pay it any mind. Curses do not give you the liberty of farewells. “It’s only been 30 minutes. And it’s the fall season.”
“How pathetic. Weren’t you all kissing his feet because he’s supposed to be the strongest amongst all of you? How does he not remember you now? Frankly, I’m disappointed.”
“You could never read a room, couldn’t you?”
“You’re so pitiful, wallowing in your sadness like this. I’m mildly offended that I’m stuck in a vessel like you.” Sukuna drawls, voice amused. “What if he doesn’t gain his memories back? You and I are the only ones in the world who know about the two of you, have you realized that?”
There it is.
The question has hung in the back of his mind for days, like a shadow no one would notice but is always there, never leaving his back.
The curse lunges its claws in a winding arc, and he jumps back to avoid the momentum. “I’m aware, as much as I know that Satoru will remember. I have my trust in him.”
“You’re astoundingly moronic. If you just confessed the truth, you wouldn’t be looking at him like an idiot.”
“You think it’s that easy?” He snaps. The wind picks up and a leaf gets caught between Satoru’s fingers as he observes it.
The leaf is orange as fall is supposed to be, and according to the laws of the earth, it should not be anywhere near a person who was born from the snow. But Satoru is not bound to the simplicity of the mundane, so Yuuji gets distracted and receives a punch to his face.
“Eugh”, he says, standing from the ground. The curse dashes forward. Behind him, Megumi and Nobara are fighting another curse. “This is your fault, Sukuna. Stop pestering me.”
He doesn’t tell Sukuna that there’s something else.
That there’s a fear within him that maybe, maybe Satoru will tell him he’s sorry, that he can’t, and Satoru will be permanently out of his reach. Because why would Gojo Satoru date his student? Unbelievable.
He doesn't say anything, but Sukuna knows it anyway.
“Well, I’ll just watch. This could be entertaining.” Sukuna returns to his domain, but Yuuji feels his presence like a particularly annoying allergy.
He calls on the cursed energy sleeping in his bloodstream, and does not turn his head to watch the icicles on Satoru’s head. The fall season is ending, and the wind is turning cold.
Soon, winter will arrive at its destination.
IV.
His fingers on your neck, his hands on your waist.
Him.
“Satoru-san, we won’t be able to finish your cake if you don’t stop clinging to me.” Yuuji says over his shoulder, spreading caramel on Satoru’s nose. He stares at the notes on the refrigerator beside him. He should write another one to remind Satoru to stock the ingredients soon.
If you walk around the residential areas of Tokyo at 2 in the morning, you will spot a lone house with its kitchen lights turned on. It is black and white in its motif, a modern design in a modern district. The walls speak of its urban democracy, but once you get inside you will see exactly two people trying to bake. You will think, 'This is home.'
“But it’s Friday, Yuuji. I spent the whole week working, I am depleted of Yuuji-hugs.” Satoru replies, curling his tongue on his nose to lick the caramel.
“You’re not even helping, even though you were the one who spontaneously asked me to do this.”
A nose tickles the crown of his head, and Satoru breathes him in. “I’m perfectly fine with this predicament.”
The weight of Satoru’s chin is now an ingredient in his otherwise sourly life, which makes things a little sweeter. He turns around to place the cake on the oven, and presses the timer. In spite of this, Satoru does not cease his hold.
A hand finds purchase on his wrist, and he is being dragged to the center of the living room.
“What are we doing?”
“Sshh. C’mere.” Satoru presses something on the player, and soft music thrums in the air.
He laughs, watching as Satoru lands a kiss on the back of his hand. “May I have this dance, mi amor?”
He snorts, and Satoru winks at him.
“Yes, I’d love to.”
The house stirs while the night sleeps. Two souls merge with the symphony of the music and the cicadas outside, and moonlight spills like a waterfall through the window.
Yuuji rests his temple on Satoru’s chest.
The smell of caramel joins their recital. This is Yuuji’s one of many nights with Satoru, and one that Satoru will leave behind.
Caramel, caramel, caramel.
*
When the birds fly south and leaves flood the dirt, it indicates that life is preparing for winter. Winter brings snowstorms and ice, but it also brings an occasion close to his heart.
On Satoru’s birthday, Yuuji bakes him a cake.
He makes a chocolate cake in the morning, and he makes a caramel cheesecake in the afternoon. When Satoru appears, it’s to the sun meeting the horizon and the atmosphere dropping exponentially. The sky is a void, and the season is on the cusp of coldness. But Satoru is here, so warmth washes over him in waves.
Nobara and Megumi guide Satoru to the lobby of the dormitory, where Nanami, Shoko-san, and the third years are waiting.
It provides a comical sight.
Satoru’s blindfold does not really do the job, so Nobara must cover his eyes. Such a weird feeling, Yuuji muses, that seeing Satoru’s smile makes him feel like today is his day too.
And then, This is the first time Satoru celebrated his birthday with us.
The food on the table is provided by the rest of them, and the night is filled with solace and glee. It is a welcome comfort against the knots pooling in his belly when he thinks about giving his gift.
They sing a happy birthday song, and Satoru cuts the cakes and claims the cheesecake for himself. It’s in the middle of all things that Yuuji senses the all too familiar tingle on his skin, and his head turns to find Satoru staring at him.
There is caramel on his nose that Yuuji has the urge to press his tongue onto, but Satoru is across from him on the table, and any distance between them, no matter how small, just means that they are miles away from each other.
An unreadable look hangs on Satoru’s face as his hand holds the fork.
Yuuji wants to ask, Do you not like the cake? And, That’s your favorite. But questions demand answers, and right now, Satoru is both a man with infinite answers and a hole in his head that’s the size of a boy.
Yuuji is terrified of both, and so the question remains in his tongue.
*
Nanami and Shoko-san leave when everyone agrees to watch a movie.
To do responsible adult things, they said.
The movie plays in front of him, the third years and his classmates sprawled on the floor and the sofa. He is seated between Megumi and Satoru, and he has no idea what the movie is about after an hour of watching it.
There is only Satoru’s warmth pressing against the side of his arm, and his laugh singing in his ears like a carol on a Christmas evening. By the time the movie ends, the only information you can find in his head is the first name of the protagonist, and that will be it.
“Gojo-sensei.”
Satoru turns to him, a smile on his mouth and his hands in his pockets.
Most of the time, if Satoru can help it, his hands will stay in his pockets. This is because when he is not exorcising curses, Gojo Satoru does not know what to do with it. Yuuji had asked him once, and Satoru told him it made him look cool.
This would come to a conclusion when he meets Itadori Yuuji, whose hair is as soft as cotton candy, and whose calluses are proof that he is a gift from the gods.
“Something you need, Yuuji-kun?”
“Not really. I just…” He fumbles something in his pocket, and retrieves a rectangular box. “Here.”
Satoru blinks. His fingers are warm when Yuuji presses the box on his palm. “This is…”
“Happy birthday, Gojo-sensei.” He says, bashful.
When Satoru opens the lid, a white, fat cat with black sunglasses stares back at them. It is an enamel pin Yuuji had specifically customized a month ago. It's so cute, Megumi, he had told an annoyed shikigami user, Gojo-sensei will like this.
"Is this me?"
"Yeah. I saw it when I went out with Nobara and Megumi last month, and it reminded me of you. If you turn it around, you’ll see your initials."
A silver G.S. glints on the golden surface of the pin, and Satoru observes it long enough for Yuuji to shuffle his feet on the ground.
"Interesting gift, I didn’t know you see me as a cat", Satoru laughs, his eyes crinkling with joy. "Thank you, Yuuji. I'll make sure to pin this where people can see."
"Oh, you don't need to do that."
"I want to, it's cute." Satoru waves his hand. "Were you the one who baked the cheesecake?"
"Yeah.” The world rumbles. He does not follow it with a question.
“I loved it.”
“You did?”
“I did. You have to bake it for me again, Yuuji-kun.”
He huffs out a laugh, silly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I don’t think I can find another that would taste just as good.” Satoru smiles. His earring catches the light of the moon.
The world settles.
Caramel, caramel, caramel.
V.
He longs for you, and you burn for him.
The television drones on in the background, something Nobara had wanted to watch in the lobby, but Yuuji is busy trying to reel back his tears as he reads the newest volume of the JUMP manga he had bought last week.
There is a sound of a door sliding, and Gojo Satoru enters the picture.
Yuuji turns his head and emerges from his bubble like a fish out of water, away from the world where a boy received superpowers from his hero.
Beside him, Megumi snores on the sofa.
“Satoru-san?” He whispers.
Satoru, with the whole of his being and the world on his shoulders, drops on the floor and lays his head on Yuuji’s knees like a cat. “Hey, sweet peach.”
Against his will, his face flames at the nickname. “You seem tired.”
“I had 3 missions today. What was that all about?” Satoru grumbles, pressing his cheek on his knee.
“You want to sleep? I’ll move out of the sofa.”
“No”, Satoru slurs, “Don’t leave. This is where I want to be.”
Not long after, Satoru’s breathing evens out and Yuuji has a new spontaneous mission of not moving his legs lest Satoru wakes. He goes back to the world of the boy with the superpowers.
“Is he sleeping?”
Nobara stands in front of them holding his camera. He closes his manga and brings a finger to his lips. “Sshh. You’ll wake him up.”
“That looks uncomfortable.”
“It does.”
But serenity makes a home on Satoru’s face, so he thinks it might not be the case. He rests his hand on Satoru’s head, feeling the locks on the nerve endings of his fingers.
A shutter clicks.
*
The snow keeps falling.
It piles on the floor and coats the field in white, until it comes to the point that he has to walk and pray to his god—the one he calls on every time he looks at Satoru—that he does not step on something funny. The god peers at him from above and laughs, and he gets a face full of snow. This god does not grant his wishes. If they do, Satoru would’ve been calling his name in that soft tone the way he used to.
“Put your brain back in place, Yuuji.” Megumi says, watching them make a fool of themselves in the field. Beside him, Nanami looks particularly annoyed in their current situation: a snowball fight in the school field.
Yuuji cannot say he shares the sentiment.
It’s his first time having a snowball fight with Satoru, and he feels a little more than happy.
A few feet away in front of him, Satoru is tending to his own stack of snowballs. Beneath him is the snow. It drowns his shoes and everything in its path. There is nothing but white. Here, it says, I will wash away your sins. I will cleanse your soul.
It does not, however, have the capacity to purify the living. There are faceless corpses printed on the back of his eyelids, and there is no amount of whiteness that could diminish the blood. It is just too many. The shade of rust has always been tough.
“Gojo-sensei, we haven't started yet. That’s cheating!” He grumbles, and turns to Megumi. “My brain is completely fine!”
“Focus, Yuuji! If we don’t win, he won’t treat us! And I’m really craving snow crabs right now.” Nobara pipes beside him, cursed energy pouring out of her as she shapes the snow between her palms.
“Gojo-san, was this the mission you wanted me to oversee?” Nanami pinches his nose, and lets out a sigh that tells them that just being here is taking years off his life.
“Nanami, you should not take this lightly! We could get injured, you know.”
Yuuji would agree that 'injured' is an overstatement, yet the pack of ice on his temple is an act of protest in itself. In a moment driven completely by spite, Nobara had accidentally elbowed him before throwing a lump of snow towards Satoru.
Unsurprisingly, Satoru had won.
There is a promise of ramen from Nobara's pockets, so Yuuji accepts the proposition, then the apology. Outside, the snow is still falling.
When he slides the door of the dormitory, he is welcomed by Satoru's back.
"Gojo-sensei, what are you doing here?"
Satoru turns around. He is standing at the third step of the stairs. Yuuji's feet are planted on the first step, and at this moment, their worlds are equal.
The enamel pin sits snuggly on Satoru's collar, and it brings a smile to his face.
"Why are you smiling?"
"The pin resembles you."
"Does it?" Satoru says, tracing the pin with a finger. "I believe I'm cuter."
"Maybe. What are you doing here?" He averts, repeating his unanswered question.
"Just watching the snow. Is your head okay?"
"It's fine now."
He stares at a point above Satoru's head. The snow continues to fall, and the moon hides behind the clouds. A movement catches his eye, and he sees Satoru holding a metal.
It does not glint, as there are no stars to share their light with them. But Yuuji knows it. The earring.
"I wonder what made me pierce my ear." Satoru muses, turning the earring over his fingers. "Well, I'm a spontaneous person."
Yuuji gazes at him. He feels numb, suddenly. "I'll tell you a secret, Gojo-sensei. You pierced your ear a week before you were sealed."
"Huh.” Satoru blinks, a contemplative look on his face. “Then, what about the engraving?"
"Engraving?" The question is acid on his tongue.
"Here." Satoru hands him the earring.
It's a small, silver hoop with a gold overlay scroll on its surface. Inside, letters are carved carefully the way children name things to establish what is theirs. In History, carvings are made for something to be remembered.
In this situation, it could be either case, or both.
I.Y.
"I asked Megumi earlier, you see." The version of Satoru in front of him is hesitant, a bit confused. Gojo Satoru does not approach things as an afterthought. This is an indication that things are starting to catch fire. "He told me, maybe it's your initials. I.Y. Itadori Yuuji. But why would I wear an earring with your name on it?"
Why would he cloak himself with your name? Why would he want blood on his flesh, a piece of metal on his ear? Answer the question, Itadori Yuuji. Why would he want that?
"That wouldn't make sense, Gojo-sensei."
There is a snowstorm brewing in his eyes. Snowstorms are never kind. They make your hair stand and feet tremble. If you do not put a layer on your skin, they will form a glacier out of the chambers of your heart.
This one, though. This one does not seem to do so. All it wants is an answer.
"So, you don't know what it means either? Or is that a secret too?" Satoru smiles, a resigned thing that doesn't quite suit his pretty face. His eyes are the most stunning shade of blue.
The snow keeps falling. The world holds its breath.
"No. I don't know what it means."
*
Under his bed, behind the CDs and manga he has stacked, sits a box hidden from view. Inside, you will find another one. Smaller, more compact. It is velvet and black, and fits right in the middle of his palm.
A lone earring sits on the soft pad of the velvet.
It is the half of a pair, the part of a set. It is silver and has a gold overlay scroll on its surface. If Yuuji decides to pierce his ear right now, it would coil and press a cold, soft kiss on his skin. Two letters are engraved on the inside.
G.S.
He holds the earring to his chest. Despite the tremors on his fingers, he holds on to it like a man dying for salvation. He curls on himself underneath the sheets, feeling the warm hug of cotton through his clothes.
Don’t cry.
He is breathing and not. There is a waterfall that threatens to break through the border of his lids.
You should have told him the truth, the curse inside his head tells him. But the truth has consequences, King of Curses, and the truth is that this vessel has a fear.
His fear is as solid as ice, and this fear has finally taken its form. It’s to the shape of a man with questions crawling out of its lips like worms, which this vessel cannot bring the answers to.
Today is cold, and the metal chills his fingers to the bone. But the fire has started, darling, and another truth is that the hottest fires burn blue.
VI.
Two different languages, yet your bodies understand.
“Satoru-san, why do you like this movie so much?” He says, tucking Satoru’s head underneath his chin and running his fingers on the strands.
For the 10th time that week, Satoru has dragged him back to his living room to watch Tangled. He has memorized the songs already.
“The songs are amazing, okay? There, look at the screen.” Satoru gestures at the television. “Flynn is staring at her, but she doesn’t even notice! Isn’t that sweet?”
“You’re surprisingly into cliches, huh.”
“Well, I think it’s very cute. You say it’s cliche, but you don’t even notice it when I do it to you.” Yuuji blinks, squishing his cheek on Satoru’s head. “Yuuji is always looking at other people, instead of me. But it’s okay, I like watching you.”
Ah, he thinks, Satoru is an idiot.
“Satoru-san, you’re an idiot.” This earns him a squawk, which turns a pouting Satoru into a grumbling Satoru.
“Well, I’m your idiot. That makes you an idiot too, Yuuji-kun.”
His body shakes as he giggles uncontrollably. “Is that how it works?”
“That’s how it works. Trust me, I’m a teacher.” Grumbling Satoru is now a smiling Satoru, only slightly.
He lands a kiss on his forehead, and hears a sigh escape from Satoru’s mouth. “I love you, do you know that?”
Satoru looks up at him, a hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s smiling now. Why are his eyelashes so damn long? “I know, sweet peach. I love you more.”
“No, I love you more.”
“We’ve had this argument before. I said, I love you more!”
*
Early afternoon, late winter.
On his blanket, the box and the notebook are sprawled. He picks up a photo.
Satoru is bare in bed, gleaming with sweat. He’s propped up on his elbows and staring right at the camera. Pink sheets pool on his waist. The golden arcing rays of the sunset come in woven strands upon him, and the image paints a Greek god. The knuckles of a person’s hand are pressed on his lips.
Yuuji’s.
Despite himself, a blush makes itself known on his face.
“Why are you still bothering with this?” A mouth appears on his cheek.
Another face, another personality. Perhaps he is fated to hide one for himself too. A vault, maybe, where he would lock his affection before it bursts and makes a torch out of his bones. His heart had been stolen from him before, fished out like a piece of meat through his skin and flesh, and tossed to the dirt where the rainwater had washed it away. He does not remember how it felt, however. As it may be, this could be the time where he would.
“It’s not a bother.” He says, taping the photo on the notebook. A pen clicks. “I’ll give this to him soon.”
“How soon? This something you have going on”, Sukuna pauses. He waits. “What do you call that? A pity party? This is getting ridiculous.”
He holds up a packet of ketchup.
On a school night, Satoru had teleported to his room and dragged him towards a car he stole from the school. They arrived at a beach in Chiba at the same time midnight had stretched its hands towards the sky, and they laid down a blanket on the sand. Satoru bought burgers and fries because Yuuji likes burgers and fries, and Satoru likes Yuuji.
When they got back to the school, it was the crack of dawn.
“There’s no party, Sukuna. And I’m not–”, he searches for the word, taping the packet on the notebook. “It’s not something to be miserable about. It’s unfortunate, but this is only temporary.”
“Why? Because you think he’ll remember you?” Sukuna laughs, condescending yet somehow amused. “What an annoyingly naive brat. You won’t heed my advice, and come soon, your naivety will bite you at the back.”
Naivety has made its mark on him once, and now death looms on the other side of the tunnel. Now he is careening towards the edge of the line, where boys are made of glass instead of steel, and fire is an oath of ruin instead of honor.
You’re wrong, he thinks as he drags a hand down his notebook, what Satoru and I had, it’s not something that will easily die. It’s immortal.
He brings his face to his hands.
*
“You seem tired these days, Gojo-sensei.”
He’s walking beside Satoru on the streets of Tokyo after a grueling mission, with the promise of snow crabs on their destination. Nobara had managed to get what she wanted, because well, she’s Nobara. And Satoru isn’t particularly strict when it comes to spoiling them.
“I do?” Satoru says in mock offense. “Why? Do I have wrinkles on my face?”
He giggles. “Not really. You’re just a bit quiet.”
“Is that so? You’re surprisingly observant, Yuuji.” No, Yuuji wants to say, I just know you too much. “Megumi told me I should keep it down, though.”
“I don’t mind. I like listening to your stories, sensei.”
A beat passes where the only thing that travels to his ears are Nobara and Megumi’s argument in front of them. He turns around to find Satoru watching him. His lips are parted, and there’s a pink blooming on his cheeks—is it that cold? It’s almost spring, though. It kind of resembles his hair.
He blinks. “Gojo-sensei?”
There’s a clack of teeth when Satoru snaps his mouth shut, and when he laughs, a puff of air follows. “Careful, Yuuji. You know I won’t shut up now.”
“You don’t have to”, then softer, a bit quieter, “When you’re around me, you don't have to worry about things like that.”
He didn’t mind that the words that came out of Satoru’s mouth would often not make sense, or that the bed in his dormitory was too small for them to cuddle on before. Satoru was with him, and for Yuuji, that has always been enough.
Satoru coughs, then promptly adjusts his blindfold. “Alright.”
It’s at that point when he realizes that the atmosphere has turned silent, and the argument between Nobara and Megumi has halted. His heart jumps to his throat.
Were they listening?
When he opens his mouth, the conversation begins to filter in once more, and his heart settles in his chest.
VII.
At one point, the road gets blurry.
“Satoru-san, what are you doing? People will see!” He giggles, watching Satoru lock a random classroom door.
A series of kisses land on his face. One on the nose. Two on the cheeks. Three on the forehead. And a longer, softer one on the lips.
“You just really looked cute in that baseball uniform. Who knew?” Satoru laughs through the kiss. He pecks him once more for good measure. “Well, I knew. But I didn’t think you would be this adorable. You never fail to surprise me.”
His face finds comfort on Satoru’s neck, feeling the fluttering pulse on his throat. “Stop, you’re too much.”
“You always get weird whenever I compliment you like this, but I’m only telling the truth.”
His teeth trace Satoru’s jawline, something shaped by a sculptor. The door handle presses on the low of his back. “I’m not used to it.”
“Well, you should be. I’ll tell you a secret, Yuuji.” A kiss on the ear. “You’re beautiful.”
He huffs, resting his forehead on his shoulder. “Alright, alright.”
“Although it’s not really a secret when everyone knows it.”
“What are you saying now?”
“I’m talking about the part where you’re supposed to kiss me on the lips.”
*
The sun guides the stone path as he takes meandering steps in the park.
It is 4 in the afternoon and the wind walks with him leisurely. On his left, a lake that mirrors the sky is as calm as the birds. On his right, people mill in and out of stalls with paper bags on their chests. It is, indefinitely, a good day.
“It’s still cold”, Nobara says, craning her neck to observe the crown of cherry blossoms shielding them from sunlight.
Yuuji hums.
It is a bit cold. Winter does not leave without traces, after all. A few feet away from them, Satoru is buying a daifuku.
“Should we make a hot pot for dinner?” Megumi asks, eyeing the takoyaki stand as they pass the stall.
“That’s for winter.” Nobara replies.
“That’s not what both of you were saying earlier.” Megumi shrugs, now observing the yakitori stand. Yuuji wants to tell him to just inform Satoru what he wants. Money has never been an issue. They have other pressing problems, which include trying to find the instructions for staying alive long enough to say that you’re happy. So when death calls on you, there will be no regrets between the marrow of your bones.
His eye catches a stall, colorful with the rainbow of fruits on its front, and his feet move. There are not many people in this part of the market, most of them are clumped at the street foods and souvenirs, but his eyes search for something.
Something familiar, something that brings warmth.
“What do you like, dear?” The shopkeeper regards him with the gentlest of eyes, her expression as still as the lake. She looks as if she has lived through several lifetimes, and age has taught her how to navigate this maze called life.
The fruit is soothing on his palm. It is pink, with spots of milky white on its surface.
“You want to buy that, Yuuji-kun?” Satoru appears beside him, staring at the fruit on his palm before holding one for himself. “I didn’t know you liked peaches.”
“I do, they’re sweet.” Yuuji peers up at him. The question crawls its way out of his throat. “Do you like them, sensei?”
Satoru scrunches his nose. “No, I’ve never been fond of fruits.”
Somewhere inside him, Yuuji feels something crack.
The fruit feels heavy on his palm now, and he averts his gaze towards the pile of peaches in front of him.
I’ve never been fond of fruits.
Which means he has never been fond of peaches, even though it’s sweet. Even though it’s pink, with milky white spots on its surface.
“Would you like to buy it? It’s not their season, but they taste just as good.” The shopkeeper says, her patience as long as time can stretch. She can see something on his face—his eyes lingering on the peach on his palm, his teeth worrying his lip, his fingers quivering ever so slightly before he hides them in his pockets.
“Yes. I‘d like to buy a pack, please.”
Beside him, Megumi and Nobara add a couple of fruits to the bag. In the back of his mind, he feels Sukuna watching.
The shopkeeper hands him the bag, and thanks him after he pays.
“Thank you, young man. The cherry blossoms are beautiful this year, aren’t they?” She remarks.
If he was given the chance, if the circumstances were different, Yuuji would have liked to cry on her lap like how children do, and feel the soft press of fingers on his scalp. Maybe, he would hear the reassurance that things may be worse when you’re young, but they will somehow get better when you’re older.
If he was given the chance, Yuuji would want to ask if history does repeat itself. Or if all of this, eventually, will all be left behind. If another curse from a millennia ago appears and tries to extract his heart from his body, will it be enough for Gojo Satoru to remember him, to recall the image of the gaping hole on his sternum?
Desperation, Yuuji has learned throughout the years, is the closest thing to surrender, after all.
“It is. Thank you, obaasan.”
They go back to the stone path, and Yuuji does not let his eyes stray away from the shower of sakura petals through the wind. Something catches his eye, and he feels a hand on the ends of his hair strands.
Satoru holds a petal on his fingers. Yuuji can see his eyes through the rim of his sunglasses, focusing on his hair until they lower on his face.
Satoru grins. Something passes in his eyes as he gazes at him, but it’s gone before Yuuji has time to decipher it. “Your hair has the same color as the sakura, Yuuji.”
Yuuji tightens his hold on his bag.
“I guess, sensei.”
The wind whistles and pink petals rain on them. The lake shimmers from the bits of light escaping through the leaves, and the image of the sky gets blurry.
It’s spring.
*
“You’re watching that again?”
He is jostled in his seat when Nobara sits beside him, but his eyes stay on the television in front of him. On his left, Megumi is immersed in his book.
“He’s been watching it more frequently these days.” Megumi pipes up.
It’s this scene again.
Two figures huddle on a boat under the moonlight. It’s dark, and the colors are cold. A lantern flits through the scene, seeping the coldness out of the room and bringing warmth within.
“Ah, isn’t this Gojo-sensei’s favorite movie? He used to make us watch this before too during the weekends.”
Megumi glances at her. “Only Yuuji had the patience to watch with him, though. He was persuasive.”
“Yuuji is just a pushover.”
“Lanterns, huh.” Yuuji muses, barely registering the conversation around him. He feels like watching them through a glass, muffled and blurry. In front of him, Rapunzel is holding a lantern between her palms. She holds her hands out to the sky, and the lantern flies. “When’s the Lantern Festival again?”
“Around September, I think. Why, do you want to go?” Nobara asks, side-eyeing him. She shares a look with Megumi once more. What is that about? “Well, we weren’t able to go last year.”
They had been busy, still trying to find and convince Hana to help them nullify the technique of the Prison Realm. In the back of his mind, he remembers how terrified he had felt when he heard Hana rejected them initially.
He wants Satoru to remember. If a god does not grant his wish, then, he wants to make new memories that will last beyond his time in this unending expanse of the universe, because death has knocked on his door a thousand times, and it can only strike so much until the wood shatters.
He wants him to remember, because the truth is that the wood shattered when he was 15, and all this time he is taking the smallest steps until death can curl a hand around his neck.
He wants him to remember. Because the truth is that he is still being haunted at night, and one touch from him will keep them at bay. Because his heart is in another man’s fist, but he doesn’t want it back.
He wants the man. He wants him to remember. Someone help him, please. Someone give those memories back.
“That would be nice.” He murmurs, heart sore like he’s got a sprain. “We can go this year with everyone.”
With Satoru, he does not say.
Megumi closes his book.
When the movie finishes, they wait with him until the end credits finish rolling, and Nobara plays another movie.
VIII.
He cannot trace his way back.
You await for him, still.
“Yuuji! Yuuji!”
The front door of Satoru’s house crashes to the wall as he bounds inside, and the note Yuuji was sticking on the refrigerator falls on the ground. When he turns around, Satoru is holding up a plastic bag with the biggest smile on his face.
“Satoru-sa–”
“Do you remember that market we go to? There’s a new stall there, and they sell fruits!” The bag is repeatedly brandished right to his face, and Yuuji places it on the table. When he opens it, several peaches are inside. “We can have peaches now. Every day!”
He blinks. “How come I didn’t know you liked fruits?”
Satoru sits at the table beside him. A kiss is pressed on his cheek, warm and soothing. “I’ll tell you a secret. I like them now.”
A giggle finds its way out of his lips. “Is that so?” He leans forward and boops Satoru’s nose. “You want me to make something with this?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A tart, maybe?”
Satoru grabs both of his hands, eyes sparkling like the ocean in the moonlight. Blue, so blue. “Yuuji, have I told you that you’re the best?”
*
They go to the beach on his birthday.
Satoru had insisted on celebrating at the beach, even though it’s spring and spring is at its best when its petals are kissed by sunlight. It’s a beach resort located in Kanagawa, which is public, because he had to put his foot down when Satoru tried to rent a private one.
The waves jump as the tourists splash water on each other, and the sun smiles brightly at them. There are ice cream stands in random places, and a bar is situated where the sand meets the grass.
As soon as his feet leave the hotel, Satoru is in his space.
“Yuuji! Come on, come on!”
A hand tugs at his wrist, and soon the grainy sensation of sand massages the spaces between his toes. In the corner of his eyes, he sees Nanami and Panda-senpai sitting leisurely on a chair. Most of the time, it feels like Nanami is years older than Satoru, even though he’s essentially younger.
“Wait, I’m still wearing my shirt!”
“It’s your fault for wearing a shirt on the beach!”
Satoru brings him to an elevated rock, and his world tilts a little when a pair of hands grab him under his knees and shoulders. He is instantly lifted from the ground, and his heart seizes in his chest. His arms curl around Satoru’s neck. “Gojo-sensei! Hold on–!"
“Missile incoming!” Satoru screams to the world, and the wind whistles in his ears as Satoru jumps, ignoring his pleas. The water is cold when it hits him. He comes up for air seconds after, and sees Satoru with a smile directed at him.
He can’t even get mad.
“Gojo-sensei, you scared me!”
Satoru laughs, carefree. Yuuji has always liked his laugh, it has never failed to make his tummy feel weird. “But it was fun though, right?”
“It was. And for that, you get a pass.” He says, smiling as he swims towards where the rest are. He is a third year now, and his classmates, together with the fourth years, seem to have a competition of… he doesn’t know. But there are life-or-death expressions on their faces, which makes him frown a little. “But now my shirt is wet, so your pass is canceled. Let’s make a truce for now.”
Satoru sniffs, and Yuuji blinks. “Sensei, where are your sunglasses?”
“Hm? Oh, it might have been carried away by the water when we jumped.”
He frowns. “But wouldn’t you get tired? Let’s find a replacement.”
Satoru stares at him, his eyes blue as the ocean between them. “Don’t worry, Yuuji. Besides, it’s hard to swim with sunglasses.” Then, his eyes turn mischievous. “Isn’t this better? You get to see me without something covering my face!”
He laughs.
“I don't really mind either. But it’s nice seeing your eyes, I’ve–” Yuuji halts. He stops walking towards the shore, and his smile hangs on his face like a piece of jewelry forgotten.
Beside him, Satoru freezes on his spot.
There are two statues standing as the waves crash on their waists. One of them has pulled the color of the sea, his eyes flaring when it catches the sun. One of them has the light seeped out of him, spilling outside the pores of his skin and joining the tides.
“Yuuji?” Satoru locks his eyes with him. Bluest of the blue. The hottest of fires. What is that look behind his eyes?
I’ve always loved that about you.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then, a puddle of water splashes on his face.
“Stop ogling each other!” Maki-senpai throws another to his face, and he coughs when some of it travels to his nose.
“We’re not–!” He sputters, but it’s drowned by his friends laughing at him.
“Come here, we’re having a race.” Nobara says, standing beside Megumi, who is busy trying to shake the water out of his ears.
Yuuji does not follow what he was about to say, and elects to stand beside Megumi and watch, with bated breath, as his friends wrestle Toge-senpai into the water. What kind of race is this? Race to death? Is this safe?
He looks over his shoulder, and finds Nanami and Panda-senpai sleeping. Nobara calls him again, and he shrugs as he removes his wet shirt and throws it on the sand. Yuta-senpai whistles, and when he turns around he sees Satoru staring hard at the water like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
*
“Gojo-sensei?”
Yuuji sits on the shore. Beside him, Satoru inclines his head like he has been waiting to be found. On another day, he will be laughing at how fast he figured out where Satoru had gone. But today, fondness squeezes in his chest like phantom fingers gripping his heart. Satoru has always liked the beach.
“How did you find me?”
“Just took a guess.”
The stars are here to accompany them tonight, as well as the moon, and Yuuji follows the glittering diamonds reflected on the surface of the water. Satoru is wearing beach shorts and a button-down, on the beach, because God forbid a person sees him wearing a shirt.
“The others?”
“Playing table tennis inside the hotel.”
“Even Nanami?”
“Nanamin’s great at table tennis! I’m not surprised though.”
“He’s playing?” Satoru asks. He is staring at him as if he has acquired another face, which should not be a surprise at this point.
“Panda-senpai asked him to play.”
Satoru hums, smiling a little.
“Hey”, Satoru turns to him again after a beat of silence. He seems to be thinking, gaze heavy and palpable, but melting once he meets his eyes. “Happy birthday, Yuuji.”
On his first birthday as a sorcerer, his friends had woken him up with a cake in his room. He spent the day watching movies and eating, before he went to sleep with an unoccupied space on his bed. A year later, he is celebrating his birthday on the beach. The space beside him is occupied, but now something in his chest feels empty like a broken flower vase, and he’s waiting for someone to fill it.
Maybe the man beside him will, soon enough.
“Thank you, sensei.” He smiles at the ocean, the greeting curling in his head. “I told you we didn’t have to celebrate, but I’m really glad we did. I enjoyed it.”
“How much?”
“Hm?”
Yuuji blinks at the sand digging on his feet, and slowly, his eyes move to watch Satoru beside him. Satoru gathers a handful of sand, only to let them slip through his fingers a second after. Things are easy to vanish if you don’t hold on to them. “How much did you enjoy it?”
Fondness hurts.
“A lot. I like the beach, and I like that my friends are here. I like that you’re here too, sensei.”
Satoru grins lazily, resting his cheek on his elbow as he folds his arms on his knees. “What else?”
Yuuji mirrors him, and they sit on the sand with their faces on their arms, gazing at each other. So close, yet not enough. His heart still aches. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me about the things that you like.”
So Yuuji tells him.
He tells him about the rough press of the beach volleyball on his calluses. He tells him about the taste of juice on his tongue, and about the view of the ocean in his hotel room.
He doesn’t tell him about the earring in the box, silver with gold overlay scroll on its surface. He doesn’t tell him about the silhouette of the man in his dreams, a fruit in his lips, the whole sky in his eyes. He doesn’t tell him about the things that matter.
He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.
IX.
Things are getting worse. Yet you are still here.
It’s dark. He’s sitting on the sofa, the soft fabric of the covering familiar against his clothes. In front of him, the television drones on.
“I lost. I can’t–” Satoru has a hard grip on his hands. He presses it to his face. Things are easy to vanish if you don’t hold on to them. He will learn that this can be applied to people, unfortunately. “I tried to understand you, and I know I’m being selfish but I don’t– I don’t want to. I admit it. I give up, Yuuji.”
“Gojo-sensei, please don’t make me do this.” He is staring at the movie. The colors become colder. His throat hurts, he wants to scream.
Satoru remains on the floor, kneeling as if asking for forgiveness, even though he has not done anything wrong. “But you want this, you told me you want this. Didn’t you promise you’re gonna live the way you want to? Am I… am I not–”
“This is different, Gojo-sensei. I’ll hurt you.” He stares at Satoru. His blindfold is askew on his forehead, hair strands falling on his eyes. So blue. He’s a mess. “I’m going to die, I can’t do this to you. This is cruel, even for you.”
“I don’t care about that.” Satoru pleads, pressing his cheek on his palm. Yuuji refuses to believe that this man is real. This man is a fantasy, a wonderful dream. He should be waking up soon.
“Please, don’t push me away. Choose me, Yuuji.”
*
Early night, mid-autumn.
If you ask Itadori Yuuji on a random day what movie he would like to watch, he wouldn’t answer you right away. The world has a vast amount of films made from different lands, and if you tell him to watch every single one until his last breath, he wouldn’t be able to finish all of them.
But if you ask him if there was one movie he would watch for the rest of his life, there’s a name that will pop on his mind beside a face tucked to his chin. The face does not leave. It’s the most beautiful one he has ever seen.
“This is my first time attending a festival like this.” Nobara says, eating a candied apple as she bothers with the lanterns lined up at the store. “There’s not much in my village before.”
“I’ve attended summer festivals when I was still in Sendai”, Yuuji pipes. Beside him, Satoru pays for the lanterns they bought. Tokyo bleeds in orange and red from the lights around them, and the people mill like ants on the street. There is fire everywhere.
They walk through the field where most of the people are gathered. Families, lovers, friends. Even the solitary ones. The wine bottle among soda cans. They are bound here by the feeling of loss. This is the one thing that keeps them chained.
Yuuji stares at the fire inside his lantern.
“This feels like a scene from a movie.” Megumi muses. He is dragging his eyes on the lanterns. “What was it again, the one you always watch?”
Nobara snorts. “That movie about a princess with glowing hair. I would’ve thought you’d watch more horror though.”
“It’s Tangled.” He says, still gazing at the fire. Maybe if he stares hard enough, he’ll go blind. In which case, he would no longer see the face Satoru makes whenever he watches him. If Yuuji refuses to see, he wouldn’t have to think why it’s there in the first place.
Satoru hums. “Is that your favorite movie?”
“Probably. Have you watched it before, sensei?” He asks, feeling like he’s digging his early grave in the middle of the field. He checks his phone. One minute left.
“I’ve seen it once. When I was in college, I think?” Satoru wrinkles his brows for a moment, and his hand comes up to massage his temple.
“Oh, I see.” The image of the fire is still seared in his retinas, and it slowly dwindles as he continues staring at him.
“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks, smiling and peering at him through the rim of his sunglasses. There’s that glimmer in his eyes again, but this time it stays long enough for Yuuji to decipher them. It looks too much like his own yearning staring back at him, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment to try to erase the illusion from his memory. When his eyelids part, the glimmer is lost and what remains is the usual warmth that lingers when he looks at him. “Something on my face?”
The one in front of him is not his Satoru. He has learned to differentiate between them. Sometimes, though, pieces of his Satoru peek through, and he waits for more cracks every time he looks at him. But he knows, more than anything, that he will love him in any shape or form, memories or not.
So the words fall out of his mouth before he has time to stop them from splashing on his feet. “No. You’re perfect, Gojo-sensei.”
Something flashes in Satoru’s eyes, and Yuuji has no choice but to meet his gaze. Or else, or else, or else. “Then, why do you look at me like that?”
Distantly, he hears a countdown. Ten, nine, eight.
Hey, Yuuji.
“Like what?”
Do you want to go to the Lantern Festival with me?
“Like you’re looking at somebody else.”
Five, four, three.
Imagine this: You are standing on the field surrounded by people you don’t know, and people who have seen your soul. The night is young and the moon smiles shyly at you from her position in the sky, and little fires light up the place like fireflies. You are thinking that this is romantic, you must feel happy. Except you are clasping grief between your palms like it is something precious, you have learned that things are easy to vanish if you don’t hold on to them. But there’s another reason, you know of this. The grief is heavy, and you are not allowed to surrender it lest the man in front of you burns. He is holding your heart in his fist, and it will be terrible if they both turn to ashes. Your grief is fire. The countdown stops. They tell you to hold up your hands.
Your time is up.
Now, let it go.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Gojo-sensei.” Yuuji says, forcing the memories out of his tongue. What was the phrase again? Keep the fire burning, no matter how small, keep it burning. Set everything on fire. “You used to love peaches.”
The autumn wind is hot even at night. Satoru’s eyes flare in blue, red and orange hugging his face. He has that haunted look in his eyes, as if he has known loss but is not sure what it is. It binds him to this place, his feet planted on the ground, keeping the earth steady.
Everything is suddenly too bright, and Yuuji’s shirt presses on his skin. He feels like he’s dying, but he cannot die. Not like this.
The world waits for Satoru to open his mouth. The trees do not breathe. The earring glints. But there are no words spoken, and he turns his gaze to the lanterns far, far away from him.
Darling, everything’s on fire.
*
“It’s this one, right? The manga you’ve been demanding me to read.”
Megumi holds up a book to his face. Because Yuuji does not bother to knock on Megumi’s door at ass-o-clock to talk about each chapter of the manga he reads, Megumi has decided to take pity on him like a god. Maybe his god should learn a few or two from Megumi.
“Yeah! But I told you, you can borrow the books in my room. You should use your money to buy those I haven’t bought yet.” Yuuji suggests, making sure to wiggle his eyebrows. “So we can borrow from each other.”
“Practical.” Megumi picks up another book. “Maybe if you used that brainpower in class, you’d get better grades.”
“Hey! That’s mean.”
Megumi buys the first two volumes of a manga about slaying demons, and they stroll around the street to find something to eat. It’s a weekend, and students their age come and go in groups. He’s sure Nobara is here somewhere, dragging poor Maki-senpai to different outlets.
It’s the time of the day when the lights start flaunting their colors, and there is a litany of shades casting the street. It’s one of his favorite things in cities. The day will bleed itself out and he’d think it’s on the verge of death, only for it to revive brighter than before.
“Yuuji.”
“Hm?”
“Did something happen?”
Ah, he thinks, is this the reason why Megumi asked him out? He stares at the ground. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been a bit weird since long ago. I think… I noticed it after sensei came back.” Yuuji falters in his steps for a moment. If Megumi notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “It’s been worse lately, though.”
He huffs out a laugh. The air leaves his lungs and it’s getting harder to breathe. “Nothing happened. Don’t worry about me, Megumi.” It’s empty reassurance, but it's a reassurance all the same. He hopes Megumi doesn’t press further.
“Sometimes, I look at you and you seem like you might burst out crying in any second.”
“I don’t–” he chokes, and Megumi gives him a long look. “I don’t look like that.”
“You do. Nobara has noticed too.”
A pause.
He can hear bits of conversations around him, but it’s no louder than his heart. It pulses in his chest, and perhaps Megumi could hear it too, because he lets out a sigh and drags a hand through his hair.
“Listen, I’m not–”, Megumi grimaces. He’s never been the type to talk about things like this. If they want some kind of coherent emotional advice, they go straight to Nobara. “I’m not forcing you to tell me. It’s still your own volition. But we’re here, alright? My door is literally next to yours.”
He’s not good at it. Because Megumi, if he’s not too angry to speak, will care in silence. Not in a creepy way. It’s actually endearing.
But gratitude swirls within Yuuji as he basks in the warmth of his words. He raises his eyes to the sky and lets him pull him in a tranquil, as temporary as it might be.
“I know. Thank you, Megumi.”
They arrive at the school two hours after, because it is a weekend which means restaurants are packed. The moon is high up at her seat already, and cicadas sing a symphony in the air. The wind is turning cold, and the leaves are starting to fall.
Just as they approach the stairs, the door slides open and Satoru emerges. Yuuji blinks at him. Once, twice.
“Yuuji, Megumi! You went out?” Satoru says, his hands in his pockets.
“Yuuji accompanied me to the bookstore.” Megumi starts ascending the stairs. Yuuji remains planted at its foot.
Satoru hums. “Just the two of you?”
“Yeah.”
Megumi turns around and opens his mouth, but he seems to decide against it as his gaze switches between Satoru and Yuuji. A sigh leaves him. “I’ll be in my room. Thanks for today, Yuuji.”
The door slides shut, and just like that, Yuuji is alone with Satoru. He, too, is watching the space where Megumi had gone.
Satoru faces him. “You seem happy about your date.”
He blinks. “It’s not a date.”
“It’s not?”
“No, Megumi just wanted me to buy books with him. And then we ate. Then we’re here.”
“Then you’re here.” Satoru echoes, descending the steps slowly like he always does. He probably thinks he looks cool when he does that. Which is true, Yuuji thinks despairingly. “Sounds like a date to me.”
“We’re not–” He begins, feeling a little defensive. For some reason, it feels like he’s threading something here. He tries not to think too much. Why is he asking anyway? “We’re not like that. Megumi. He’s my best friend.”
“So, it’s really not a date?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying, sensei.”
Satoru is at the foot of the stairs now. He clamps a hand on his mouth and hums. He doesn’t seem to be here at this moment, like he’s deep in thought. Too deep for Yuuji to be able to reach him without traveling across multiple dimensions to curl his fingers around his wrist.
”Well, it should be.”
Immediately, he feels his heart plunge to his stomach. “What?”
“You two should start dating. You’ll be good for each other. Isn’t Nobara dating Maki?”
Satoru is not smiling. He has his blindfold today, but Yuuji knows he’s staring right at his eyes. His earring glints, a creation of silver and gold fished out from the ceiling of the sky.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A memory flashes in his mind.
An emotionless face. A gaping mouth. Hesitant press of hands on his back.
Do I know you?
“I’m not going to date him.” He croaks, feeling like his soul is leaving his body the longer Satoru looks at him. He barks out a laugh, loud and forced and utterly defeated. “I’m not going to date anyone, at all.”
“Why not?” Satoru asks, sounding more like a plea rather than a question. “Do you like someone else?”
“I do.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
Yuuji tries to imagine several scenarios in his head. One where Satoru will laugh and tell him he was joking. One where he will strike him in the chest and beg him to take back what he said. Or one where a meteor will hit the earth and obliterate him in a millisecond.
Anything. Anything but this.
“I like him, just in a way he won’t understand.” He feels dizzy, all of a sudden, and his breaths come out broken. He spares an exhausted, miserable look on Satoru’s ghostly face before he climbs the stairs. “Goodnight, Gojo-sensei.”
The night is eerie. The cicadas continue their song, an ear-splitting melody he no longer wants to hear.
He returns to his room, away from the one where the strongest lies, and strongest is a word for invincible, and invincible means that no one can touch you, no matter what you’re made of.
X.
Faith, an unbreakable force that love demands, billows within you.
“Am I really that funny?”
Yuuji pauses in midchew and glances at Satoru laying on his lap. “What gives?”
“I mean, I think you’ve noticed already, but you’re the only one who laughs at my jokes.” Satoru casually throws a piece of popcorn in his mouth, his eyes focused on the television. “Personally, I don’t even think they’re funny. I’m not really a person who makes people laugh.”
Yuuji smooths a hand down Satoru’s arm.
Once upon a time, his grandfather would do this to him. He would smooth a hand on his back and arms before he falls asleep, letting him know that someone is with him before he closes his eyes. Now he does the same to Satoru, who will know that Yuuji will never leave him. “Not to me. You always make me happy, Satoru-san.”
He feels Satoru still, before a chuckle hangs in the air. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“Not really.”
Satoru huffs out a laugh, then he sighs as he looks up at him. “I’m so in love with you, Yuuji. It’s insane.”
*
Time heals what reason cannot. Yuuji has heard that before.
According to his grandfather, his father—a man with a face he cannot remember—used to say that all wounds will heal with time. But with each passing minute, hour, and day that he has to look at Satoru, Yuuji feels the wound in his chest getting deeper, digging further beyond the bones of his ribcage.
The stack of photos inside the box is thinner, the notebook getting thicker. The coldness of the metal in his finger is a siren at night, luring him into a false sweet disposition. Satoru is gonna remember, he says, as he closes his eyes and falls asleep. But he says it the next time, and the next time, and the next time, until he stops saying it, or anything else, at all.
“Yuuji, what’s going on with you?” Nobara barges in his room one day, eyes blazing with her hands on her hips. “And don’t even try lying to me. You look like shit.”
He grimaces, closing the manga in his hands. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
Technically, it’s not a lie.
His heart rests on the fist of a man with hair as white as snow, and his chest has been empty for a long time. But bare, useless things eventually fill up as how the world tends to work, and right now his chest is jammed with shrapnels with jagged spikes. The pain feels heavy and physical. It’s not easy to sleep when it pokes painfully on his ribs with every breath, so reading his notebook like a frenzied person is the next best thing to do. Does that still make him a human?
The answer: I don’t know.
“Why?” Nobara demands, shifting her weight in one foot. “Something on your mind?”
“It’s just Sukuna.” Once again, technically not a lie. But everyone already knows that.
“Megumi already talked to you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, I told him not to worry about me. Which, I think, I should tell you too.”
Nobara sighs, walking towards his bed. She slaps his head with the back of her hand. Twice.
“Tell me.” She says, staring him down. “However dumb that is, I’ll listen. Tell me whenever you’re ready. Megumi and I, we’ll wait for you.”
She closes the door when she leaves. He is left in his bed curling under the sheets, the four corners of his room closing in.
*
Satoru does not remember.
Days pass as they are expected to, and Yuuji goes on missions as he is required to. The fall leaves him chilly, and now winter is once again knocking on his doorstep. The heavy gazes of his friends now serve as a cloak on his body, solid on his skin yet not enough to ease the cold.
Sometimes, he catches Satoru staring. During training, missions, or even meals. Even when he is not looking, he can feel the prickling sensation on the back of his neck. That’s the problem, though. Satoru is just watching, but the line they keep toeing never seems to smear.
There’s something else too, lurking behind his blindfold.
Every so often, Satoru will move to tousle his head with unbridled tenderness, and will instantly retract his hand back as if he’s burned. And then Yuuji will see it, the look of utter skepticism on his face. Like he’s lost.
Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, as if his hands just remembered what his mind forgot.
He lingers just enough to expose some parts of himself, and Yuuji wonders how much of the truth he’s seeing and is being hidden away from him.
The weirdest thing is that he can see Satoru sleeping on the school grounds. He sees him sleeping in the lobby, on the dining table, even in the classroom.
On a weekday, Yuuji spots him sleeping on the teacher’s desk.
An hour has passed since their lesson ended. Outside, he can see the snow piling up. Yuuji sits on a chair directly in front of the desk.
The blindfold is curled loosely in Satoru’s hand, and his arms are folded on the desk. From here, Yuuji can see his white eyelashes brushing on the high of his cheeks.
It’s 10 minutes into watching him when Yuuji notes a subtle movement on the back of his eyelids. Slowly, Satoru’s eyes open. Yuuji smiles, it’s one of his favorite sights.
“Yuuji-kun?” Satoru murmurs, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “When did you get here?”
“Just a while ago, sensei.”
Satoru furrows his brows. “Huh, that’s weird. I didn’t even notice you coming in.”
“You sleep a lot these days.” Yuuji deflects. “Are you okay?”
“Sensei keeps having weird dreams, Yuuji-kun.” Satoru whines. His head is now resting on his palm. “Maybe Yuuji should just sing me a lullaby.”
His fingers curl. “Dreams? About what?”
“About you.”
He feels his heart skidding to a stop, and he balls his fists to keep them from trembling. “What?”
Then, Satoru smiles. A far too tender thing that Yuuji is not sure what to make of. “Just kidding. Sensei has been busy with missions, so I haven’t been getting much sleep.”
“Oh.” Yuuji says, not allowing an ounce of disappointment to drip on his tongue. He smiles. “Sleep more, sensei. I’ll keep watch.”
He knows Satoru doesn’t even need him to watch over him, he could feel another person’s presence from a mile away. But Satoru’s smile widens anyway, eyes softening even more.
“Thanks, Yuuji.”
Satoru sleeps for half an hour, until Megumi finds them inside.
It’s not easy, it never has been, but when he watches Satoru make a fool of himself in front of his students, or when he sees his smile, carefree and warm, he thinks, maybe things aren’t so bad after all.
Which is to say that things are still a bit pretty bad. Bad enough to make him fall to his knees, bad enough to break him only to make him realize that he can still feel. Didn’t he know that things are easy to vanish when you don’t hold on to them?
This is his first mistake: Itadori Yuuji should’ve known.
*
On Christmas eve, winter is at its peak.
The students from the Kyoto campus arrived a week ago, as a joint celebration for Christmas, something the school didn’t particularly care about. It will be good, Satoru had said to Principal Yaga, they won’t be alone this Christmas. They only meet once a year to fight each other, anyway. This will be a nice change.
In the span of an hour, Yuuji realizes appointing Satoru as a party host was not a good idea. For one, he fires Todo’s competitiveness on who can fit the most number of marshmallows in his mouth, and in the end, Noritoshi Kamo is at his wit's end. He tells the corniest jokes, but he looks so cute in doing it that Yuuji ends up bursting in laughter, so he gets glances with loaded judgement from the room.
“Gojo-sensei really tried his best on the decorations. I’ve never seen a room this… bright”, he says, scanning the Christmas ornaments inside the lobby. A large snowman in a Santa suit stands by the doorway, which Panda-senpai is so fond of. Deers are hanging on the ceiling, but oddly, there is no Santa Claus. He supposes the snowman is Santa Claus already. The Christmas tree stands in the corner, and there are lights everywhere enough to power the city of Tokyo. The music is loud, it thunders in his ears.
“Well, it’s the school’s money.” Megumi says, sipping his juice. They might be seventeen now, but they’re still underaged, so Nanami made sure not to allow alcoholic drinks from Utahime-sensei. “If something sets on fire though, it’s his fault.”
“Where is he anyway? Isn’t he the host?” Nobara asks through her second slice of cake.
A series of cheers booms from the kitchen, and Yuuji sees the fourth years and Kyoto students opening bottles of wine. In the middle of it all, Toge-senpai is holding up his mug of hot chocolate.
“I’ll find him.” He gets off his chair and goes out of the lobby outside the dormitory, and feels the cold touch of snow on his face. He descends the steps and pulls out his phone as he walks towards the back of the building.
He presses ‘Call’ on Satoru’s contact and waits for him to answer, but music rings from his right and he halts on his steps. It stops, suddenly, and Yuuji stares at his phone. Satoru declined his call.
Beside the dormitories, there’s an arched wooden bridge above a pond that connects the area to the classrooms.
He approaches the way where the sound came from, feeling the familiar cursed energy thrumming in the air. The clock on his phone says it's thirty minutes past eleven. The snow is falling on his hair. When he rounds the corner of the building, he sees two figures huddled in the middle of the bridge.
He feels his stomach turn sharply.
Here’s the crazy thing: in the span of fifteen seconds from the moment he heard a phone ringing, there was only one scenario playing in his head. He was expecting Satoru standing beside the pond, holding his phone in his hand and staring at the water like a child of snow.
This, whatever is in front of him, is not what he was expecting.
There is no mistaking it.
The color of the bow in her hair, white as snow. The color of his hair, white as snow. He’s staring at her hands on his shoulders. He’s staring at his hand on her waist. It’s funny that they chose this place, only it shouldn’t be because Satoru is kissing Utahime-sensei and she is not Itadori Yuuji.
A sob threatens to rack through his body and his hand clamps his mouth so hard he would’ve felt it in his heart. Only if he had one, because his heart is supposedly on this man’s fist, but right now the fist is curled on her hair and his heart is splattered on the ground once again, and this time the snow is here to wash the blood away instead of the rain.
He thinks, oh, alright. This is how it felt when his heart was fished out of his chest. He thinks, he doesn’t want to feel it anymore. He thinks, what a crappy, shitty feeling this is.
Satoru leans back and turns his head away towards where he’s standing, and they stare at each other for 3 seconds of immutable silence. He’s opening his mouth, but Yuuji bows his head.
He can’t handle this. He can’t look at Satoru, doesn’t want him to see how much he has hurt him. His ears are ringing, and he turns around and he doesn’t look back. He’s digging his nails on his palm so hard, he can feel blood trickling on his knuckles.
The lights smudge in his vision and the snow keeps falling, melting in his skin and further wetting his face. He opens the door of the dormitory and runs straight to the stairs towards his room, and right as he walks to his hallway a hand finds its way on his back.
“Yuuji, what–” Megumi falters when he sees his face, and Nobara follows behind him. They are both frowning at him.
“I–”, he starts, trying to scour his brain for words without screaming. He heaves, and inhales to calm down. But the image assaults him from all angles and it’s all too much, and before he notices it his hand is covering his mouth and his knees are falling to the ground.
“Hey! What the hell happened?” Nobara kneels beside him, grabbing his shoulder and sitting him up when his forehead hits the floor. He’s already shaking his head. He brings out his hands to reach out to her, and the words finally crash to the ground along with his tears.
“He’s not gonna remember me”, he says frantically, his hands trembling. “No matter what I do, how long I wait, it’s not gonna happen. He’s never gonna–”
“Wait, wait. Who?” Tears spill on his cheeks rapidly, and he doesn’t take notice of Nobara’s alarmed inspection of the blood on his palm.
“Satoru-san. He’s–” A wretched sob cuts out of his mouth. There is no pain in his injured hand when he curls his fists on Nobara’s shirt. Maybe Sukuna has healed him, maybe the pain in his chest is too fierce. He can no longer distract himself.
He keeps doing this to himself. He’s been ripped from the inside repeatedly, and yet everything in him responds to one name alone. He wonders if he’ll ever be whole again, but Yuuji knows—just like he knows that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West—that there is only one cure to this.
Nobara says something to Megumi, and he’s being hauled from the ground. An unhinged panic has him trembling in their arms, and fear grips him like a vice.
Megumi closes the door of his room, and they place him on his bed where he curls up and brings his knees to his chest. He makes himself feel smaller, pressing his kneecaps to his skin so it could distract him from the pain.
“Yuuji, what’s going on?” Megumi grips him, and he shakes his head.
“Megumi, he’s not going to remember me, is he?” He barrels on, the words finally getting out and running away from him. “He’s not coming back to me, he’s never coming back to me. He’s going to continue kissing Utahime-sensei, and Satoru-san will forget about me forever. Why is this happening?”
The blood on his hands is swept away by his tears, and he presses his palms on his heart.
“I love him so much, but he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember–” He weeps, wrenched by the falling feeling of loss that seizes in his belly, and the spikes slicing his chest open to spill his insides on the ground. The music outside drowns him out.
He’s crying like a child abandoned by its parents, left alone to figure things out by himself and pray to god he could trace his way back home. His heart is still on the dirt outside buried by snow, but he still doesn’t want it back. He doesn’t want it back. Satoru will pick it up.
“Yuuji, calm down! Do you hear me? Come on.” Nobara leans forward to hold his face, her jaw set on a rigid line that Yuuji knows she’s grinding her teeth.
“What do I do? Tell me, what do I do?” He wails, desperately searching for answers. They will know what to do, they have to.
“Yuuji, listen. Calm down, then tell us what happened. What are you saying about Utahime-sensei?”
“I went to find Satoru-san outside and I saw him kissing Utahime-sensei. I thought I’d be okay. If he couldn’t remember me, I’ll just have to make him fall for me again, right? God, I can’t believe Sukuna was right. I’m so stupid.” He whimpers, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “And what if he remembers in a few years? Satoru will blame himself. I can’t let him hurt himself like that. It’s not his fault.”
“What are you…”, Megumi glances at Nobara for a moment, wary looks on their faces. “What brought this on? Is there… was there something between you before?”
“I love him.” He sobs, hugging his knees tighter. “We were together. Two years ago, Satoru-san and I, we had something. He loved me, Megumi. But he doesn’t even remember any of it. Now he just knows me as his student who ate Sukuna’s finger.”
He tells them everything.
He tells them the reason why he wasn’t always in his room was that he spent his days lazing around Satoru’s house. He tells them they weren’t supposed to, but Satoru told him he didn’t care about the shadow looming on the end of the tunnel. Satoru didn’t care about a lot of things, but he cared too much about Yuuji, and Yuuji loved him just as much, if not a little more.
He doesn’t tell them about the earring, sleeping under his bed like the princess in the fairy tale, waiting for the prince to wake her up. It’s for him and Satoru alone, even if the door on the other side is already locked.
He’s still trembling when he reaches the end. In the midst of his grief, Nobara and Megumi laid him down and joined him on the bed. Small hiccups rack his body every once in a while. They lay in a loaded silence before one of them breaks it.
“We’ve always thought there was something going on between the two of you”, Nobara says, staring at his ceiling. “Gojo-sensei wasn’t really subtle about it, and sometimes you slip and call him by his name. But we figured you just weren’t ready to tell us, so we didn’t ask.”
He sniffles, and closes his eyes. Tears still fall on his cheeks like waterfalls, and Yuuji doesn’t know how to stop them. He can’t even be bothered getting surprised, not when Satoru is probably still outside. When he doesn’t answer, Nobara continues.
“Why didn’t you tell him, then?”
“I got scared that he wouldn’t believe me, then he’ll avoid me. Since we didn’t tell anyone, I’m technically the only one who knows about us. Besides Sukuna, that is.”
“Gojo-sensei wouldn’t do that to you.” Megumi says, turning around and staring at the side of his head.
“I know”, he sighs, feeling his soul seeping out of him. “He’s not like that. It’s just– it’s me. I’m the problem.”
“Why do you keep trying, then?”
Why does he keep trying?
Sukuna had asked him that before. The answer was easy.
He could give it a rest. Let things be, and free Satoru from this predicament. He could do it. It will hurt, certainly, but Yuuji has done all he can to ease the pain. He doesn’t blame Satoru for the feelings he’s no longer in touch with. There’s only one to condemn, but the memory still stings, so they don’t mention it.
The answer comes easy now, too.
“Because I’m in love with him.” He murmurs, his lids parting. “I’m so in love with him.”
The words hang heavily in the air. It used to be a promise, now it feels like a death sentence.
“Eugh, then that’s your answer, right?” Nobara faces him. They’re both watching him now. “Don’t be stupid, Yuuji. The only choice you have right now is to tell him. What’s he gonna do about it? Kiss another teacher?”
“How did that even happen? I thought Utahime-sensei hated him.” Megumi asks.
“I don’t know”, he answers, his lips quivering once again. The image is seared into his mind like a fresh tattoo, painful and red. “What if he doesn’t believe me?”
“Then I guess that’ll be the hard part”, Megumi says. He has that look in his eyes whenever he’s about to fight a curse, which in this case, would be Yuuji’s stupid decisions. “You just have to make him.”
He closes his eyes and lets his tears paint his face entirely.
Perhaps this is what it takes to achieve happiness, he thinks shakily. Perhaps you have to plunge towards the rock-bottom of the cliff, before you can eventually climb your way back up towards the sky.
His second mistake: He should’ve told him sooner.
XI.
The truth is that he is a part of you, and you of him.
“Is this legal?” He asks, eyes focused on the little diamonds twinkling in the sky. Is that the Big Dipper?
“It’s not illegal if no one finds out.” Satoru traces the sky with his finger.
It’s in the middle of the night when Satoru woke him up, appearing in the corner of his room instead of knocking like a normal person. The grass on the school field tickles his neck.
“That’s not great advice to say to your student, Satoru-san. What if someone sees us?”
“They’re all sleeping. And if someone comes, I’ll feel it from a mile away.” Satoru waves a hand dismissively. “Actually.”
A moment passes.
Yuuji arches an eyebrow at him. “Actually?”
“Here, I bought this.” Satoru sits up and searches for something in his pocket. Yuuji follows after, and a box is pressed on his hand. It’s small that fits in the middle of his palm, velvet and black.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
A pair of earrings sits inside. Silver with a gold overlay scroll on its surface. Satoru is twiddling with his thumbs and staring at him intently like a large, white dog waiting for a treat. A pet, maybe?
Satoru pulls out the earrings and gives the other one to him. “Here’s yours, so we match. You know my mission in Fukuoka? There’s a shop there that sells that. The owner asked me if I wanted my ear pierced, so I tried it! You know what’s amazing?”
“What?” He asks stupidly, feeling stupidly in awe and stupidly happy. Satoru is making him stupider than he is.
“Look inside. Something’s written there.”
Engraved are the letters G.S., and Yuuji may be stupid, but it doesn’t take much for him to figure it out. He stares at the earring on Satoru’s hand, and Satoru shows him the letters.
I.Y.
He laughs, a goofy one that makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. His face is heating. “What’s this for?”
“Just something to remember you for.” Satoru grins, satisfied and proud. “Since I’m barely around, I’ll just feel my earring then I’ll remember Yuuji! And that goes for you too.”
Yuuji’s face is hurting from how wide he’s smiling, but he can’t help it. He lands a soft kiss on Satoru’s nose. “Is that a secret too?”
A kiss on his forehead. “It’s a promise.”
*
The snow is piling.
It’s dark in his room. The curtains are drawn shut and the box sits in front of him on his bed. Megumi and Nobara had stayed with him until he fell asleep last night, and when he woke up a glass of water was placed on his nightstand.
His head is hurting like a brick has been thrown at him, and his voice is hoarse. He feels, by all means, like shit.
He’s thinking of the easiest way to spring this on Satoru without having to receive the most incredulous look he has ever seen in his life, because he knows it’s going to feel like he’s scraping the shrapnels out of his chest. But fate will never be kind to you if your name is Itadori Yuuji and you are seventeen years old and a sorcerer’s gateway to hell.
If you’re Itadori Yuuji, then you are born with a vacant space where your soul is supposed to be, because in fifteen years a king will make a castle inside of you. If you’re Itadori Yuuji, the next time you wake up you are tied with ropes tight on your arms, and a death sentence tight on your neck. If you’re Itadori Yuuji, you will die with a hole in your chest that’s the size of a fist, because the king inside you doesn’t want a castle, he wants a kingdom.
You will meet a man, and you will want to tell him the story of how you met, because fate hasn’t been kind to him either. You will want to write your story on a piece of paper, the proof of your existence, so that he will remember how you tasted on his lips. Oh, how much he adores you, darling boy, he is yours and yours alone. And by this, you will shape the whole universe into something that is indestructible.
Make it a man, the strongest. He has a crown made of blood and snow, and eyes that will see through everything, no matter how much you hide between the cracks in the concrete. Remember his face. Remember the smell of soap on his skin. Memorize everything about him. He was born when the sun left her seat and the sky mourned for months. When the universe had rewritten itself, and when you were nothing but a plan a thousand years from the past, he emerged as the lone that the heavens will honor.
Remember what he makes you feel. Remember the feeling of being alive.
Now, get up. Let the taste of his name bleed between your teeth.
*
The phrase “I’ll tell you a secret” was coined by Gojo Satoru from the moment of Yuuji’s resurrection to the jujutsu world. I’ll tell you a secret, Yuuji, Satoru had said. There's a room in the school only me, Gojo Satoru, knows. I’ll let you in, and it’ll be our little secret.
The stairs creak as he descends, and the smell of wood and dust permeates his nose. There is not a single thing out of place ever since he left this place two years ago, but particles have accumulated on the surfaces that cover his skin when he drags a finger.
The thought of coming back here has not crossed his mind, as he found it in himself that he did not need to. They’ve been training nonstop ever since the incident, making sure it wouldn’t happen again. They have to get stronger. Protect the people they care about. Grief is something that a cursed technique cannot heal.
But it seems fitting, to go back here where everything had started, before he closes his door for the last time and confesses everything. He sits on the sofa, letting the dust settle on his clothes, and closes his eyes.
*
Picture a television. A movie he no longer remembers showering the room in vivid colors.
Picture two people on the sofa, a few centimeters apart, trying to ignore each other’s presence. One of them has a stuffed toy on his lap, one of them has the world on his shoulders. Picture their hands splayed in between. The man reaches out, and the boy curls their fingers together.
Here is a man with a hole on his head that’s the size of a boy. Time has stolen something from him that he is not aware of, but the painting of loss hangs on his face. Here is a boy made out of a litany of memories. Time has stolen someone from him, but has given it back in exchange for his soul.
The question is this: What happens next?
*
A creak, careful yet heavy, stops him in his musings. His stomach churns, but he does not open his eyes. No, they stay closed and hopefully, blissfully unaware. There are steps from behind.
One, two, three, four, five. They stop.
“Yuuji.”
His fingers curl on his pants, and the pressure of his eyes squeezing has him seeing stars on the back of his lids. He does not move.
“Yuuji.”
A crack in a glass means a vase is shattered. A crack in a body means the skin is ruptured. A crack in a voice means someone is broken.
He has to fight against all odds just to open his eyes and stand up, turn his body a few inches to the left to see Satoru standing in the middle of the room. He is torn between dreading to see him and feeling desperate for it, which is to say, unbearable.
Satoru has his blindfold on his left hand.
Looking at his bare face like this, Yuuji can see the huge bags in his eyes and the pallid shade of his face. How long has he been looking like this? He seems as if he hasn’t slept a wink for days, and his hair is disheveled like he has spent hours gripping it hard.
He blinks, a million questions racing through his mind. He wonders how he looks right now through Satoru’s eyes. His eyes are still swollen from last night, and taking a bath didn’t even help. “What… How did you find me here? Are you okay?”
“I just– I just thought you’d be here.” Satoru drags a hand through his hair.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Like a switch, Satoru’s face crumbles instantly.
“Nothing’s okay, Yuuji.”
Yuuji stands frozen. He’s never seen Satoru like this before, looking lost and utterly crestfallen.
“Nothing’s okay, because I’ve been dreaming about you for weeks. For months. Every single night.”
Satoru’s voice is hoarse, he belatedly realizes, as if he had been screaming overnight. Yuuji is left confused.
“I kept dreaming about things that didn’t happen, and it’s all with you. You’re in my kitchen, you’re in my bed, you’re everywhere. My head hurts whenever I look at you, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know what was happening, but I wanted to be with you anyway.” Satoru’s eyes take on a look of naked desperation, but for the life of him Yuuji cannot move his hands to reach out. “When I first saw you, I felt– I felt like I wanted to hold you. And you looked so sad when I asked who you were, I wanted to turn back time and stop myself from asking.”
“What are you saying?” Yuuji whispers. He pretends his heart isn’t racing, that he doesn’t feel more alive than he has in months, even though his chest is being sliced open and his head is pounding.
Don’t cry.
“I saw how you looked at me.” Satoru says, and Yuuji averts his gaze, only for it to seek Satoru once again. It’s always like this with him.
“You always looked at me like everything I said and did hurt you, so I wanted to be the man you saw when you looked at me. I wanted to be him. I wanted to give you everything. God– ” his voice cracks, looking like he has lost everything. “I wanted to be good for you, Yuuji. I was only allowed to be with you in my dreams, and I kept sleeping. I thought pushing you away would stop this, but when I saw you crying last night, I knew it’s a lost cause. I can’t stop falling in love with you.”
Yuuji inhales sharply, the words burying in his skin like a knife thrust in to finish him.
Satoru moves one step forward, his eyes imploring. “Tell me, those dreams… are they real?”
Yuuji opens his mouth, and closes it again. He’s shaking his head, taking a step back and staring at Satoru, absolutely terrified of what he’s about to say.
“No.” He says, his voice shaking. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes. Don’t cry. “Don’t– You can’t. Is this a prank?”
“You always put on Tangled whenever it’s raining. Your socks are always mismatched, because you always lose one of them. You liked sleeping on the couch more, you said my bed was too big.” Satoru drops his blindfold, and drags a hand on his face. He fumbles something in his pocket, and he holds up several sticky notes with varying colors.
This is what breaks him all over again.
A tear finally falls from the corner of Yuuji’s eyes, and he doesn’t move to wipe it. He lets it fall until it unlatches from his chin, and another one falls, and soon enough he’s crying and struggling to breathe.
Don’t forget to buy ingredients, Satoru-san!
I stock up your favorite ice cream already <3
I am a thief, I stole your jacket.
“I found this last night in the back of my closet. Did you know? They’ve been there, all this time. And I didn’t even notice.” Satoru trails off, his eyes searching for something in Yuuji’s face. “Did you give these to me? Were you the one who wrote all of these?”
“T-That’s…” Yuuji croaks, wiping the tears on his cheeks.
Satoru holds out his right hand, and a metal twinkles like a star in the middle of his palm. A shot of pain, colossal in itself, lurches in Yuuji’s chest, and the memory travels to the forefront of his mind.
“I gave this to you, didn’t I?” Satoru barrels on, taking another step forward. He sounds so close to his tipping point. Yuuji doesn’t have it in him to be that strong for the both of them. “I bought this when I was on a mission, and you have the other half. Our initials… I had our initials carved on them.”
The sticky notes fall on the floor as Yuuji hides his own face on his palms, trying to muffle the final culmination of grief that his body can no longer contain. A pair of hands curls on his wrist and Satoru is in front of him, but his image is blurry and everything is too much and too little, the only thing he can do is weep.
“Yuuji, please.” Satoru pleads, placing his hands on his face. Warm and soft, like a fireplace on a winter evening. “Tell me I wasn’t imagining things. Tell me those dreams, tell me they’re real.”
It’s agonizing to see Satoru like this. But no matter what he does, he knows, despite everything, that this face is all he’s ever known of peace.
The stillness crackles between the two of them, broken by Satoru’s breathing and his own cries. He knows he should say something, perhaps an explanation of some sort, but he does not know how he could possibly put into words the overwhelming feeling in his chest that threatens to break through.
“Satoru-san.”
For a second, he doesn’t even recognize it as his own voice, irrevocably shattered and subliminally hoarse that it does not sound like him at all, but Satoru’s eyes widen and his breath stops in his lungs.
A crestfallen expression colors Satoru’s entire features.
“Yuuji. Yuuji.” Satoru says, curling his arms around him and burying his head on his chest.
He has never been like this, Yuuji thinks, as he presses his face on Satoru’s neck and wails. This Satoru is not sanguine and calm. This Satoru is tugging at him, trembling on every part pressed against him, a river of words rushing from him that Yuuji can make out as his name and “I’m sorry”.
This Satoru is real.
This Satoru is his.
“I’m so sorry, Yuuji. I’ve been so stupid”, Satoru laments, as Yuuji’s knees buckle and they slide to the floor. A pair of lips are pressed on his temple. “It must’ve been hard on you all this time. And I’ve been doing stupid things trying to stop myself from wanting you, not knowing how you felt. I’m so sorry, baby, I’m sorry.”
“You told me to date Megumi.” He whimpers, his fingers pressing on Satoru’s back.
“I shouldn’t have said that, Yuuji. I’m sorry.”
“You kissed Utahime-sensei.”
Satoru leans back and cradles his face in his hands, his eyes searching. “I’m sorry I– I thought I could stop thinking about you.” He presses their foreheads together. “She knew about it, though, so I let her help me. But when I kissed her, it’s just– She’s not you. She’s not you, Yuuji.”
Gojo Satoru wants to be forgiven. Yuuji can see it in his eyes. He can see it in the trajectory of guilt in his features—the way his fingers tremble ever so slightly on his skin, the way his voice quivers on the edges of his apologies, and the way his eyes are blue with remorse and untainted despair.
But Yuuji has never felt resentment towards him, even after all these months, he never blamed Satoru for his actions. There is only one emotion that stays, which is, by all means, longing.
“I don’t want your apology, Satoru-san”, he says, choking on his words a little. “All I’ve ever needed was you.”
Satoru’s eyes flutter shut. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“This is real”, Yuuji breathes, fisting his hand on Satoru’s coat. Don’t disappear on me. There should probably be a limit to how much a person can cry, but tears unendingly spill on his cheeks and dampen Satoru’s hand. “Tell me this isn’t a dream. If I wake up and you’re not here, I won’t take it. I can’t, Satoru-san. I don’t want to live in a world where you forgot to be with me.”
Satoru lands a kiss on his forehead, gentle and warm that soothes Yuuji in the most achingly wonderful way.
“This is very real.” A kiss on his eyelid. “I’m here with you, in the basement, where I told you how much I love you.” A kiss on his cheek. Yuuji feels another wave of tears springing, and he bites his lip.
“I missed you, Satoru-san.” His eyes are closed, and he feels a press of lips on his nose. “You were here, with me, for months. But it’s not the same.”
“I missed you too. I miss you, right now. I can’t believe I get to hold you like this.” There’s still a hint of regret in Satoru's eyes. They are a breath away from each other, but it’s difficult, being so close to Satoru and feeling like it isn’t enough. Like Yuuji is the most selfish person in the universe.
“Then, show me.”
He feels Satoru still, and Yuuji places his hands on top of Satoru’s on his face. “Show me how much you’ve missed me. Show me how much of this is real.”
Satoru locks his gaze at him, breath caught in his lungs, and Yuuji sees the moment the sorrow in his eyes makes way for desperation.
When Satoru leans forward, two years coming, Yuuji meets him halfway.
Yuuji thrives, in every sense, at the roaring yet aching silence as their mouths collide with each other that steals his breath away. Dry chapped lips, salt of tears on his tongue, the perfect press of their mouths like puzzle pieces—all of it, the feel of it, sets off an entirety of fireworks inside his chest that he feels like it would burst open.
Satoru inclines his head, and the tilt lets them reach further into each other. With all the yearning burning inside his head, Yuuji moves to push himself closer. He feels a wet tongue prodding his lips, and he parts to let Satoru in.
Oh, Satoru’s kisses.
One kiss and he is melting, his insides turning into a garden of butterflies, his limbs turning into puddles. He savors every bit of sensation of their tongues joining, their teeth clacking, their lips molding. When Satoru breaks the kiss, embarrassingly, he chases after him.
“Do you…” Satoru licks his lower lip. His cheeks a bit flushed and eyes hazy. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“Yeah”, Yuuji exhales shakily, “Yeah, Satoru-san.”
*
It has been too long, so they find each other’s touch instantly once their feet touch the bedroom floor. Satoru is ceaseless with his caresses, and Yuuji, correspondingly, is incessant as he drags his hand on Satoru’s hair.
Their coats are discarded on the floor. His back hits the bed gently, and Satoru follows not a second after. He has forgotten how Satoru had felt like. The weight pressing on him—not enough to crush him, but enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off him—and the image of Satoru above him, glorious with the fire in his eyes, Yuuji has never felt more alive.
Steadily, sweetly. Satoru is kissing him so softly, so deliberately. His taste, his scent—Yuuji drinks it all. Satoru is real, right here, at this moment.
Let the heavens mourn, let the lands burn, but Yuuji will never let him go again, for all of eternity.
It is apparent when the kisses no longer suffice, and they start to unfasten each other’s uniforms. It would have been easier, faster if Yuuji leaves Satoru on his own, but he cannot find it in himself to withdraw his hands from Satoru’s body.
Satoru uncovers him, inch by inch, and in no time their clothes are scattered on the floor. Oh, Satoru is wonderful. His chest is sculpted by the gods, and his arms, when they cage him, strains with the movement.
This, everything that Satoru is made of, is his.
“So beautiful, so strong”, Satoru breathes, and Yuuji trembles. The scars on his body are being traced by Satoru’s nimble fingers. The one on his chest, the one on his lip, and the one on his nose. Each caress is of careful devotion, and he is floating. “I remember touching you like this.”
He swallows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Satoru dips down and drinks from the hollow of his collarbones. The texture of tongue making a trail on its wake has his eyes fluttering. “I remember kissing you, in places no one has touched, in places no one has seen.”
“Tell me, what else do you remember?”
Satoru takes a nipple on his lips, and sucks hard enough to make his back arch on the bed. “You love it when I pay attention to this part of you.” It stings when his other nipple is played with Satoru’s hands, but a wave of pleasure bursts on his spine. He moans. “You love it when I tease you like this, but not too much, because it’ll make you come. You don’t like it when you don’t come on my cock. Or my mouth, that is.”
A series of kisses travel on his torso. Down, down, down. Satoru is in front of his aching cock, between his legs, and the image is too much. He whimpers. “I’ve missed this, Yuuji.” A kiss on the inside of his thigh. “I’ve missed tasting you here. I’ve missed your smell.”
He feels a warm, wet stripe on the side of his cock, and his body jerks uncontrollably. He has forgotten this too, the feeling of Satoru’s mouth on him. Hot and firm, striking his nerve endings and igniting his body on fire. Then Satoru is taking him, and a cry makes its way out his lips.
Satoru is good with his mouth, with his tongue, and he knows it. He knows how to make it best for Yuuji, as he always does. Pressing his tongue as he falls, and swirling it on the tip once he rises. Yuuji’s fingers curl on the sheets, mind blank as the pleasure replaces any coherent thought, then his mind registers that phantom feeling of soft strands on his fingers.
His hand moves and rests atop Satoru’s head, gripping his hair. The vibration from Satoru’s moan serves as his breaking point.
“Satoru-san, wait, hold on. I’ll–!” Satoru sucks him harder and does not pull, even when Yuuji feels his euphoria careening on the edge and he is coming hard on Satoru’s throat. The act was brief, yet his come is dribbling like rapids.
“Sorry, it’s… it’s been a while.” He says, embarrassed as he watches Satoru lick at the cum that drips down on his chin.
“You didn’t sleep with anyone while I was gone?” Satoru hums, moving so their faces are equal, and Yuuji can see the black swallowing the blue of his eyes.
“No, I never– I never tried to.” He cradles Satoru’s face in his hands, and tastes himself in Satoru's mouth. “I didn’t want anyone else besides you, Satoru-san. Some nights”, his face flames, and Satoru’s lids lower, “I think of you when I touch myself, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. My body still searches for you.”
“I’m here now. You don’t have to do it by yourself anymore.” Satoru kisses the corner of his mouth. “You wanna continue?”
“Yeah”, he says, nodding. “Yeah, please. I need you, Satoru-san. I need–”
“Sshh, I know, baby.” Satoru kisses his forehead, and he opens a drawer on his nightstand to obtain his lube. “I won’t go anywhere, Yuuji. I’ll be here with you.”
A thick, clear fluid lathers on Satoru’s fingers like honey. He warms it up on his hand, and after a moment passes, their eyes lock on each other.
Yuuji’s heartbeat thunders in his ears. A silent question, swimming in Satoru’s face, has him nodding his head and pressing his hips on Satoru’s fingers. Now, his body wants to convey, feel me right now.
Satoru bumps their foreheads together the moment a finger presses on his rim. It meets resistance initially, Satoru’s fingers have always been larger than his, and when the first finger finally breaches past, Yuuji lets out a breathy moan.
He tightens involuntarily, as if his body wants to cage the finger in, and he hears Satoru grunt above him.
“So tight, Yuuji”, Satoru groans. “So tight for me.”
Satoru drags his finger outside, if only to let him adjust, then traces its way back inside at an excruciatingly slow pace. He’s always like this, Yuuji recalls, always gentle with him, even during their second time, third, fourth, and so on.
Yuuji lets his eyes flutter close, overwhelmed and restless at once.
“Satoru-san”, he whispers, burying his hands in Satoru's hair to kiss him. He misses his lips immediately, like he just cannot get enough. He tastes amazing. He tastes lovely. But most of all, he tastes like Satoru.
The second finger makes him flinch, only a little bit, but his body responds to Satoru’s fingers instantly. It’s amazing, how his body melts for Satoru only, even after a few years have gone by without his touch. Satoru’s kisses are sensual and slow, and Yuuji savors every minute they are joined.
When the third finger presses in, he lets out a high keening sound that would have been embarrassing if he isn’t just too desperate right now. He presses his face on Satoru’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling the tender press of lips on his temple.
Then, Satoru curls his fingers.
“Ah, ah, Satoru-san–” Yuuji moans, tightening his hold on Satoru’s neck and wrapping his legs in his middle. “There, there, please!”
“I got you, Yuuji.” Satoru nibbles on his ear, curling his fingers and incessantly probing the most sensitive part of him where no one can reach, not even him. It makes tears spring on his eyes. The unrivaled ecstasy Satoru offers him—the unique form of madness only Satoru can make him feel—comes back to him in one, tsunami wave.
It has been frustrating, during the first night that he truly felt alone, smelling the coats Satoru had left on his cabinet in his room. The scent had not left him too, by then, and Yuuji had spent hours trying to imitate how Satoru had made him feel, trying to reach inside him, but coming up with nothing.
He needs this, needs it deeper still, needs to be fucked as hard as the way only Gojo Satoru can do.
“Please, please.” He pleads, voice cracking and nuzzling his face on Satoru’s cheek. “I need you, Satoru-san. I need you inside me. I want to feel you. Everything, give me everything.”
Satoru groans, and Yuuji feels it when he grinds on him. He moans, revering at Satoru’s hard cock sliding on his own.
“Please.”
“Yeah”, Satoru pants, “Yeah. Of course, Yuuji. Here, I’ll pull out my fingers, okay?”
He whines as the fingers leave him empty and aching. Not a moment later though, he feels the tentative press of Satoru’s cock on his skin, and he grips Satoru’s biceps so hard he knows he would feel bad once he sees the bruises later.
Satoru grunts. His fingers find a home on the tender valley of Yuuji’s thighs, and then. And then—
He urges forward, slowly, his cock breaking through every inch of barrier until finally, finally sheathing itself with Yuuji’s warmth.
“Oh”, they groan in unshakeable sync, and Yuuji watches Satoru watch him, their breaths intermingling in the air and shattering the deafening silence. Satoru kisses him then, astoundingly greedy, so implacable in Satoru’s way that this kiss, Yuuji cements, is enough to take away the rest of his pain.
Satoru moves, gradually unwrapping himself from him, and he feels himself getting undone. When he is on the edge, he pushes forward once more, and Yuuji’s mouth drops in a silent scream as the sensation floods his brain.
He wonders if it feels amazing on Satoru’s end. It certainly feels otherworldly for him.
“You alright, Yuuji?" Satoru exhales, a plea disguised as a question.
“I’m okay, Satoru-san”, he says, clenching on Satoru’s cock. “Please, you can move.”
Satoru picks up a slow pace, as he always does at first. His hands roam on Yuuji’s skin, aimless in its trajectory, learning the newness of his body. His eyes are blue, specks of snow peeking through, yet it is fiery where his hand makes a trail in its wake.
Months, Yuuji had spent thinking about this, dreaming about this. Satoru’s hands on him, slick and sweat gliding against each other as Satoru, through his actions, tells him that he is needed, he is wanted, he is desired.
He is loved.
He has forgotten the feeling of being taken, feeling claimed in every sense of his being, and feeling worshipped like how Satoru makes him. Satoru is kissing his neck, tracing the line of his jaw with his lips.
The ache in his chest grows, and Yuuji has no chance of stopping the tears spilling from his eyes. He tightens his hold on Satoru and digs his heels on his back, until no air exists between them.
The distance, inches, drives him mad. Perhaps this is still one of his dreams, a reverie borne of desperation. But the feeling of Satoru’s cock, plummeting inside him, is too real to be far from the truth.
Satoru does not feel it at first, but it’s obvious once he realizes. He stills.
“Yuuji?” Satoru leans away, and alarm crosses his face instantly. He holds his face in his hands. “Yuuji, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?”
Yuuji shakes his head. The image of Satoru’s worried face blurs. “No. No, you didn’t, Satoru-san. Please, don’t stop.”
“I just can’t continue like this.” Satoru kisses his forehead, and his hands leave his hips to catch the tears on his cheeks. “Come on. What’s wrong, baby?”
“I– ” Yuuji chokes, his tears now a stream on his face. “I wanted you to be here. With me.”
Pure, unadulterated devastation lodges itself in Satoru’s face, and he moves forward to rest his head on Yuuji’s. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my guard down. I’m sorry for leaving you, Yuuji.”
“No, no.” Yuuji sobs, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to blame Satoru for this. “It’s not your fault. It’s just– I missed you too much, Satoru-san. I’m sorry, I swear these are happy tears.”
Satoru takes hold of his jaw, and kisses his tears. “I won’t ever leave you again, Yuuji.”
His hips resume their movements, pulling out of him until only an inch is buried. There’s a new glint in his eyes, blazing, that renders him speechless in awe. “I’ll never let you feel lonely.” Satoru thrusts inside him in one quick motion, and Yuuji’s back arches beautifully on the bed. “I will not allow”, Satoru plummets into him once more, “you to be alone by yourself.”
Yuuji sobs as each thrust, feral and fierce, threatens to rewrite everything he knows in this universe. He keeps his eyes open, desperate to seek those eyes on him, and reveling when those blue, blue eyes do not leave him.
“I don’t care where I am, what I do, who I’m with”, Satoru bends his body, placing his legs on his shoulders and leaning forward until he feels his lips on his own. “Call me, and I’ll be there. I swear on my name”, Satoru drives forward, and Yuuji cries heavily as it hits the bundle of nerves deep inside him. “I’ll be with you in every waking moment, no matter what.”
Those are the final words that settle in Yuuji’s mind before Satoru picks up the pace in earnest, swallowing his moans with his mouth—frenzied and devouring—as if making up for lost time.
And they both know they have lost too much.
The universal truth is this: Yuuji has been in pain for too long. Enduring the unending torment in his chest in silence, but now, being with Satoru like this, he knows that Satoru has been suffering too. Every sound coming from his lips was pained, drained from him like blood seeping out of his body.
Yuuji closes his eyes, surrendering himself to the full force of Satoru’s adoration. The bruising grip on his hips, the mouth on his neck, and he is made anew. Not as a soulless scarecrow waiting for a miracle, but as if he was reborn, and finally complete.
Satoru snaps his hips, the joining of their skins reverberating in the room. The thought of people outside hearing him crosses his mind, but it passes just as quick, when Satoru finds his mouth and their tongues collide. He can barely register Satoru’s words.
You feel so good. I’ve missed this. Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji.
His nails drag on Satoru’s back, and his teeth dig into his shoulder, but Satoru is just as lost in ecstasy like him. Perhaps it makes Satoru undone too, as his thrusts come faster, fiercer, and harder.
There is no denying that they are two puzzle pieces; from the way they fit together, two bodies finally joined from Satoru’s tongue to his throat, from his hands to Satoru’s hair, and the tangled mess of their legs.
This, Yuuji thinks, is the ruling form of insanity.
The heat in his belly pools, it swirls until it reaches the ends of his fingers, until every touch from Satoru burns him on the inside. “Satoru-san, I–I’m close.”
“Just a little more, Yuuji.” Satoru groans, his voice straining. “Together. Let’s come together.”
“Inside”, Yuuji pants, “Please, come inside me.”
He has plummeted too deep into bliss that he has to wrestle with every bone in his body to keep his eyes open, to watch as Satoru comes undone with him, right in front of his eyes.
Memorize this.
He will not forget, he chants, as he sees Satoru crumble above him, his cry a form of yield into his pleasure. Yuuji feels the warm stream of fluid painting his insides, at the same time he finally crosses the edge and cracks himself open, his own cum staining both of their torsos.
There is a moment where silence lingers. Their eyes meet, and Yuuji sees it when Satoru comes down from his high and they both sober. Satoru kisses him then, still very much seated inside him, and Yuuji brings him even closer.
Satoru’s hair is wet when he combs his fingers through it, and their sweat intermingles with each other, but Yuuji does not want this to end. Doesn’t want to be apart from Satoru any longer than necessary, and wants to have his arms surrounding him just to feel him.
He knows the shape of their ease and agony too.
He wants to cry with the tranquility that settles deep in his soul, with the feel of his heart beating steadily in his chest. But more than anything, Yuuji wants to tell Satoru that he is forgiven, if only to quell the gnawing guilt on the tense line of his shoulders. Yuuji wants to tell him that he loves him.
He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.
Satoru cleans him after. He is embarrassed, so to speak, when he watches the crease in Satoru’s brows as he concentrates on cleaning his ass. It’s endearing, truly, but it’s flustering on his end. He knows Satoru loves taking care of him, so he often let Satoru do this before.
When Satoru gathers him in his arms, dread, like little inky fingers, crawls its way on his heart.
“Do you want to sleep?” He asks. He does not want this to be over.
Satoru draws circles in his hip bone, and the gesture instantly calms his nerves. “Not particularly. But, I think you should rest.”
When Yuuji doesn’t answer, Satoru presses a tender kiss on his temple. “Don’t worry. I’ll still be here when you wake up. I promised you, remember? I won’t leave.”
“Yeah”, he murmurs, “You did. Are you still going to remember me?”
Satoru huffs out a laugh, and maneuvers him so that his chin rests on the crown of his head. “I will, Yuuji. It’ll be hard for me to forget especially after seeing you like that.”
Immediately, his face flames. “You’re so filthy, Satoru-san.”
“You make me filthy.”
A pause, then Satoru sighs.
“Hey, don’t think about it too much, alright? I promise I won’t leave this bed, you’ll have to kick me out for that, because this is technically my house.” Yuuji smiles at that. “Let’s talk when you wake up, okay?”
“Okay.”
His eyes flutter shut, and he lets Satoru’s warmth pull him to slumber.
*
When he wakes up, Satoru’s arm is warm on his waist. His face, peaceful and young, is seared in Yuuji’s eyes.
This is where I want to be.
It’s easy to fall back asleep.
XII.
The road clears, and his silhouette looms on the horizon.
They had slept through the day, and when his lids part, the sun was at her place on the horizon already.
Yuuji has brought Satoru to his room, after Satoru went back to the basement to retrieve the sticky notes left scattered on the floor.
They are laying under their cocoon of blankets, and from his window, he can see the snow piling on the trees.
The box sits on the center of his bed, and he can see Satoru eyeing it with unconcealed curiosity. Oddly, Yuuji feels his heart beating rapidly. He had planned to give this to Satoru in the first place, but throughout the year, he might have been too absorbed that looking back at it now, this might be a little cheesy.
The pages got thicker with wrappers and photos pasted on it, a record of once upon a time, which he could unveil and say, See? We were here.
“What’s that?” Satoru asks, drumming his fingers on his own leg.
“It’s…” Yuuji scratches his cheek. “It’s our photos. Together, two years ago. Remember when I bought a camera?”
Realization flashes in Satoru’s face. “Oh, I always wondered where you kept those photos.”
“I just hid it under my bed.” He says.
Yuuji shows him the notebook, his face flaming. Sukuna did tell him not to bother with this, but it felt necessary, at the time, as the panic built inside him each day that Satoru did not recognize him.
The photos were his solace.
He tells him the stories behind each photo, and Satoru’s eyes twinkle, humming along as he traces each photo with his finger. There are still bits of information that are blurry to him, like the time, or date, when each happened. But it’s okay, Yuuji knows things don’t just change overnight.
More importantly, Yuuji tells him about the things that matter.
The scent of Satoru’s coat on his closet and how it faded slowly as if swept by the sea, the photos kept underneath his bed like monsters haunting him, and the empty shape of man beside him on his bed. Everything that he could never say to anyone else. Satoru plays with his fingers as he listens, mapping out the calluses, and sensing the warmth beneath it that leaps to meet Satoru’s touch.
He’s a little flustered. Yuuji feels like his chest is burning, but damn if this isn’t the best feeling.
“I didn’t know what to do when I pieced everything, you know. I thought I was losing my mind. I couldn’t sleep.” Satoru murmurs after a moment.
Yuuji worries his lip. “Yeah, I got worried. You seemed so tired when I saw you, Satoru-san.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, though, Yuuji?” Satoru smiles at him, gentle. His earring glints under the fluorescent light. In the midst of Yuuji’s narrative, he has abandoned his blindfold to see the photos with his naked eyes. “Were you afraid?”
“I was, I’m sorry.” He says, staring at the box. “I wouldn’t be able to take it if I reached out, only to be driven away. I was stupid.”
“No, don’t apologize. I was stupid too.”
Yuuji turns back to him, and he feels relief flooding him to have Satoru’s gaze on him, basking in it for as long as he can. Then he brings out a box, velvet and black, and sees Satoru’s hands still.
When he opens it, the earring blinks back at him. Silver with a gold overlay scroll on its surface. He places it on Satoru’s palm.
“You kept it, all this time.” Satoru breathes, his breathing heavy. His finger traces his initials on the earring.
“Of course”, he laughs, wet and thick, like he’s about to start crying again. “I didn’t wear it while you were gone. It didn't feel right at the time.”
“This is my name.”
“It’s yours.” And Yuuji cannot lie. Not when Satoru is looking at him with hopeful eyes and an earnest look on his face. He cannot lie. “Satoru-san.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.” He says, focusing on Satoru’s face and his warmth on his arm.
It’s the first time the words, dormant in the back of his mind, have traveled straight to the right person. It feels freeing to say it out loud, as if the castle in him has been lifted up.
Gratitude seems such a tiny word. But it stirs in Satoru’s face—bone-deep and infinite—and makes tears well in his eyes. Warmth envelops Yuuji then, when Satoru curls his arms around his shoulders, and whispers, “I love you, sweet peach.”
Such a bizarre feeling, Yuuji muses, when he presses his face on Satoru’s neck. He has never known that love and relief could be another form of glee, as he feels laughter trickling through his mouth. The words he had longed to hear for days to months to years, dance in the air like lanterns.
He feels the rumble of Satoru’s chest when he chuckles, but he feels something wet, too, on the side of his temple. Yuuji could reel back his own tears, but this is his Satoru, so his tears spill unprompted in response.
“You can’t cry, Satoru-san. Only one of us is allowed to.”
“But you love me.”
He sighs, resting his cheek on Satoru’s chest. “I do. Very much.”
“I love you more, though.”
He blinks, then giggles, which turns into full laughter when Satoru joins him. “Hey, this argument never ends! I always win, though, because I love you more.”
“You’re quite wrong, actually. I’m the strongest, so that means my love for Yuuji is the strongest too.” A kiss is pressed on the crown of his head.
“That’s not how it works!”
“I’m your teacher!”
*
“So.” Nobara arches an eyebrow as she crosses her legs on his bed. “You sort that out?”
“Isn’t that obvious? They’re disgusting.” Megumi says from the chair in front of them, opening a random manga on his table.
He sticks out his tongue, and Nobara flicks him on the forehead.
*
To Satoru’s shock, nobody was really surprised when they told the rest that they’re dating.
But I really was subtle, Yuuji!
“That means you can wear your earring now, right?” Satoru asks, nuzzling his face as they cuddle on his sofa. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, and they will leave with the rest of the students for their first shrine visit of the year. The television buzzes in the background.
“Yeah”, he says. “This will be our first New Year together, Satoru-san.”
“And it won’t be the last.”
Satoru kisses the corner of his mouth, and Yuuji seals their lips together. It is more delicate than the first snowfall of winter, but just as devastating, just as enchanting.
0.
We’ll always find a way back to each other.
“Welcome back, Satoru-san.”
*
Here is a story in three parts:
Once upon a time, beasts crawled the land. The gods took pity on humans so they sent them a god in the form of an infant, who will grow to be the strongest among mortals. Once upon a time, there was a boy. He is fated to cage a beast inside him. In which case, sealing his destiny of crossing paths with the strongest, who will break him apart with the desire of putting him back together.
At one point, one of them will vanish, one of them will stay. But this is a story of finding your way back, no matter how far you go. This is a story about fate, which, sometimes, will grant your wishes if you pray hard enough.
So here is the ending: They will meet in the middle where the fire burns the hottest, where the sky and land combine, and where time ceases to exist.
*
“I’m home, Yuuji.”
