Chapter Text
When the night is cold and the moon is out, he remembers. He rubs his hands together, blowing warm air on them in one long breath, then stuffs them into his pockets.
The music streams out from closed doors and throbs against thick walls within the club district, and sometimes a door flies open and he catches a whiff of cigarette smoke mixed with something he can only describe as love— it’s a feeling, nostalgia perhaps, and it reminds him of vigor and euphoria.
The laughter and chatter are the same now as it had been, and he knew that no matter what, love wasn't going anywhere, even if it ebbed and flowed; much like water, it could be wild or stagnant.
Things aren’t the same as back then, of course, but there is a familiarity regardless. It always brings up a fond remembrance, and he once again feels the tear in his heart. It's been long since mended, he'd tell himself, but no matter how well you patch up fine china, it wouldn't ever be the same. The cracks have formed him just as much as the delicate paint on smooth porcelain have.
He closes his eyes, his heels clicking against the cobblestones as he reminisces about days long past, love long lost.
He conjures up a waking dream, memory even, of being in high school, riding a high that had only ever felt natural— normal. He'd been pleased with himself one too many times; being told that no one quite like you had been around in the past 900 years from the moment you start developing a sense of self isn't something he'd now ever recommend doing to a young child.
"If it hadn't been for you," he whispers, voice muffled under his thick scarf, "how would I have turned out?"
He remembers everything vividly, as though it’s happening right in front of him.
It's spring, April 1956. Gojo Satoru wears his school uniform, neatly ironed, not a speck of dust on it. He's perfectly orderly, until he disappears from the sight of his driver as he meanders uphill, towards the entrance of the school he'd be attending. The road leading up to the school twists and turns, and even Satoru needs to expend some energy to properly move uphill. His jacket flies open as soon as he leaves the gaze of his driver, he opens not one but two buttons of his dress shirt and unwraps the bandages over his eyes, replacing them with a pair of perfectly black sunglasses. He sticks a lollipop between his lips, then tucks it into his cheek.
Gojo Satoru is finally able to get a taste of freedom in that moment, and it's already intoxicating.
He follows the curve of the road and looks up to a boy his own age, hair a deep black, and he's panting as he steps uphill. He's a bit further ahead, and Satoru wonders why he hadn't seen him before. Maybe the other boy had been that slow.
Satoru then decides this is now a contest, and one he intends to win at that. He takes larger steps, gaining on the other boy, and it doesn't take long for him to catch up, and then in the fraction of a long second, pass him by.
He gives the boy a sideways glance as he passes, sunglasses hiding his own eyes, lollipop still neatly tucked into his cheek.
The other boy has narrow eyes, an exhausted expression on his face, sweat on the sides of his cheekbones. His hair was likely once tied neatly into a bun, but it had started to sag and made him look disheveled, though even in that moment, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The boy wasn't wearing a uniform; instead he wore a black button-down with matching black pants, both looking like they were originally made in pre-war times. Looking at him, Satoru wasn't surprised he appeared to be melting.
He knows immediately that the other boy is a sorcerer, much like himself, but he feels darker, like something isn’t right. He feels like both a curse and a sorcerer joined into one body, but Satoru decides that he looks human enough. If they’d been doing their jobs at the school, a curse wouldn’t even have gotten this far.
The second passes, Satoru steps right in front of the other male, and marches on.
He takes his silent victory over whoever the boy might be, and continues walking. He can’t help but throw a quick glance backwards, and sees the kid hunched over, only now noticing the suitcase he’d been carrying. It hadn’t exactly been a fair competition, in the end. If he ends up being a student, Satoru would love a rematch to beat him fair-and-square, at whatever challenge the school could throw at them.
He continues on quickly when the boy begins to raise his head, stretching out his hand to grab his suitcase again.
Satoru walks quickly, without pause this time, not taking any time to appreciate the fact that this is still Tokyo despite being so quiet and seemingly smack in the middle of nature. He doesn't hear the birds chirp and barely feels the sun softly gleaming through the leaves of the trees between which this meandering road is hidden. He doesn’t see the blush on the boy’s face, and he certainly doesn’t hear him curse under his breath— or so he pretends.
It isn’t long until he reaches the entrance, where a signboard indicates where the men’s dormitories are located. He knows he’s meant to wait for Masamichi here, but it’s warm after that stroll up the hill and he doesn’t see anyone around. Assuming it’s fine either way, he decides to get settled into the dorm first. It looks a bit shabby, despite all the money he knows his family has thrown towards the school, but it’s nice to know he’ll have a place of his own.
“Let’s see…” he mumbles, taking a crumpled up piece of paper out of his pocket, remembering he’d gotten a letter with the room number on it at some point. “Ah, this one,” he says, then hears the door behind him slide open again. When he turns to see who had entered, he recognizes the black-haired boy from before.
The boy politely bows, setting his suitcase down next to him.
“I’m Geto Suguru,” he says, head still tilted downwards. Only after introducing himself does he raise his head again. “Nice to meet you.”
“Satoru,” is all Satoru says, looking the boy over for the second time that day. “Which class are you in?”
“First. You?” the boy answers, rubbing the sweat from his upper lip.
“Same here. I’ll see you around then, Suguru.”
He callously addresses the boy by his given name rather than his family name, partially just to gauge his reaction, partially because he’s never quite cared for formalities. The boy doesn’t react to it, and simply nods, opening the door to his dorm room. It’s the one right next to Satoru’s.
“See you around.”
Satoru enters his own room, eyes scanning the room— mostly the boxes his family had sent up ahead of time. He knows he should unpack. He throws his keys, sunglasses and and the crumpled up letter on the desk and instead opts to lay down on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, then allows his eyelids to fall shut. He feels snug and happy, knowing no servants will be disturbing him here. Expectations will be high regardless, but at least he won’t feel smothered or locked up here. At least, that’s what he hopes.
He falls asleep, legs still dangling off the side of the bed, and doesn’t wake up until the next morning. He shows up to class only eight minutes late, sickeningly sweet chewing gum hidden under his tongue, but that unmistakably saccharine smell can’t be covered up by anything.
Inside the classroom sits the boy from yesterday— Suguru, he recalls, and another girl.
“This is everyone?” Satoru mumbles, eyebrows raised.
“Gojo Satoru,” the man Satoru knows to be Masamichi says, and he can already see a throbbing vein developing on the man’s forehead. “You’re late.”
“So I am,” Satoru says, sitting down at one of the desks, wrapping one leg over the other. “Masamichi.”
“You will address me as Yaga-sensei. You will be staying late,” Masamichi grumbles, already starting to sound exasperated. He turns his head to Suguru. “You as well, Suguru. Not only did you not inform anyone that you’d arrived, you essentially trespassed when you entered the dorms.”
The girl sitting in the back snorts, then covers her mouth with her hand, quickly looking towards the window.
“Is that really necessary?” Satoru says, chin leaning into the cup of his hand. “I have plans, actually.”
Masamichi lets out another sigh, but doesn’t grace Satoru with an answer. He’s known him for longer than just today— his experience tells him not to engage him further.
“You’ll be setting out on your first mission at the end of the week. For today, I’d like you to spar amongst each other, excepting Shoko. She’ll be your designated healer,” he says, acting as though he hadn’t just exchanged words with anyone. “Please head outside. Feel free to let loose, Shoko will be there to put you back together if you mess up. Just try not to kill each other, sorcerers are rare enough as it is.”
“Aren’t first days generally meant for introductions?” This time it’s Suguru speaking up. Satoru can tell he’s not used to Jujutsu society. His family name hadn’t sounded familiar at all, so it was likely his parents were regular people. By the looks of him, from a small town. He probably assumed this was going to be like a regular high school. Satoru can’t help but wonder how he’d gotten scouted.
“No,” is all Masamichi says. It’s silent for a good few minutes until Masamichi realizes none of them have made any type of indication they’d be getting up and going outside. Suguru because he still expected Masamichi to elaborate, Satoru because he wanted to see what might happen, and Shoko for the exact same reason as Satoru.
Masamichi caves first. “This isn’t a normal high school. I don’t know what you were told, but this is life or death. If I’m not certain you’re ready to be sent on missions, I can’t confidently do it— but that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t do it. Sorcerers are scarce, and at times I won’t have a choice. Do what you’re told, if you want to live.”
Suguru’s face seems a bit paler than it was before, but he nods, grabs his belongings and looks at Satoru, gesturing for him to do the same. Satoru just grins, and follows him outside. Shoko remains seated for a while longer, and Satoru can barely hear her speak as he exits the classroom.
“Wasn’t that too harsh? He’s new to this.”
Satoru doesn’t hear Masamichi’s response.
They spend the entire morning being pitted against each other, and the first time Suguru unleashes his technique, alarm bells go off, and the wards around the school seem to interpret his technique as an attack on the school itself. What Satoru had sensed yesterday finally made sense.
He hasn’t gone all out against Suguru yet, but it’s clear the other can hold his own. He summons monstrosities from out of nowhere, one of them perhaps even a grade one, and he makes a rational decision to overwhelm Satoru with numbers when he realizes what he’s up against— but it doesn’t work.
“Why are you a sorcerer?” Suguru asks Satoru right in the middle of their sparring session.
“Because I’m the strongest,” Satoru answers, not really considering the question at all. It was an automatic response; something that had been drilled into him since the moment he could understand what he was being told.
Suguru follows the answer up with another attack, visibly displeased with the answer he’d received.
“What, you mad?” Satoru asks, grinning as he dodges blow after blow, six eyes easily able to follow wherever Suguru’s cursed spirits go. “You’re just weak.”
Satoru knows then that he is Suguru’s natural enemy. He doesn’t have to strain too hard to see what Suguru’s next move is going to be— his cursed technique is nothing when faced with the six eyes. “It’s okay to be weak, just don’t pretend you’re strong. It’s off-putting.”
“You’re weak,” Satoru says again, unleashing Red on Suguru. Suguru dodges swiftly, not letting himself go down that easily, and feints; making Satoru believe he’s about to unleash another cursed spirit, but instead punches him in the face, breaking his glasses.
Satoru’s eyes go wide; partially in shock, partially in awe. His blue eyes gaze into Suguru’s, and it’s right then that Satoru notices they’re purple. Suguru’s eyes are wide, as if he’s just as shocked as Satoru. It’s almost as if he wasn’t expecting his blow to connect at all. Satoru feels a pang of disappointment at that.
“That’s enough for today,” Masamichi states, gesturing for Shoko to have a look at Satoru.
While Shoko looks him over and Masamichi thinks he’s out of earshot, Suguru gets scolded again for not properly warning anyone beforehand, and Satoru can only chuckle.
“Did you really have to taunt him like that?” Shoko says, pulling at the skin under Satoru’s eye.
“Shh. Shut up for a second.” He trains his ear on what Suguru’s saying.
“Rude, but okay,” Shoko sighs, and Satoru presses a finger against her lips.
“You were aware of my technique when I was accepted, is that not enough?” Suguru snaps, adrenaline still coursing through his veins after his altercation with Satoru, and Satoru has to admit he’s intrigued. He seems docile and quiet, but deep down there’s a bomb waiting to go off. “I understand. I apologize. I’ll inform you next time.”
He’s decided he doesn’t like him, though— he’s overconfident, and at the same time he wears a mask of innocence that’s easily broken. He’s studious and brave, and he’s got this disgusting thing called ‘values’. Satoru doesn’t like him at all.