Chapter Text
Satoru wakes with a start, shooting up ramrod straight.
His heart is pounding loudly against his ribcage, the only thing he can hear, really, and his head feels cloudy and hazy, and he can’t seem to focus. There’s an intense thrum of pain flaring across his frontal lobe, and even without really thinking about it, he can feel his cursed energy going haywire.
He can hear the buzz of it surrounding him; a sound he’d almost forgotten.
Limitless encapsulates him, and it feels like he can’t breathe.
Satoru sucks in a choked inhale, one hand coming up to clutch at his own shirt just over where his heart sits in his chest. He can feel the steady thump, thump, thump against his knuckles, and he tries really hard to believe he’s not dead.
He’d... he’d been in the Prison Realm.
That’s the last thing he really remembers.
He’d been trapped— his cursed energy useless and stagnant in the tight space, dulled in a way that made him feel average, like there wasn’t anything there at all and Limitless had been unreachable no matter how hard he tried.
He’d been stuck in that box.
That thing— Suguru's corpse possessed by that thing, whatever the hell it was, curse or curse user... he doesn’t even fucking know, can’t wrap his head around it, honestly, had used his second of surprise to seal him away in an ancient relic Satoru hadn’t even really known existed.
It had used his dead best friend as a trap, as a Goddamn lure, to stop him in his tracks. Just enough time to activate that stupid prison realm and seal him away. What a cheap move.
Stuck in a timeless shoe box used to imprison him. Something he hadn’t even known existed, hadn’t known was capable of containing the power of the Six-Eyes. Time had not been passing in that realm, he was sure about it, but the world around him wouldn’t cease to exist as well.
Satoru can only imagine the damage that would’ve followed him being sealed away.
That Not-Suguru had power.
He had curses working alongside him. Powerful curses. Curses he hadn’t even consumed— just working with him. Some sort of curse able to manipulate blood, whatever the hell that thing had been, that weak hot-headed mountain curse that Satoru’s really tired of seeing, and that nature-related curse that Itadori and Todo had battled during the fiasco that was the Goodwill Event.
None of them even tied to Not-Suguru's curse manipulation technique, but still working coherently.
He knows his students are strong in their own ways— Itadori, Megumi and Kugisaki, and the second years too, of course. And even Nanami and the other sorcerers had power behind them, even if Satoru hadn’t played the important and prodigious role of teaching them all the best tricks, but everyone knew Gojō Satoru was the strongest.
Virtually untouchable.
Maybe even the strongest Sorcerer to date.
That thing clearly knew Satoru was the strongest too.
They’re a powerful group, but if Satoru had been tricked and bested... how much of a chance do they really stand against this? If the strongest was taken out, how would the rest fare?
That wasn’t even Satoru’s superiority complex speaking, that was simply logical thought. The game’s over when the king is captured, isn’t it? There’s no doubt in Satoru’s mind that Not-Suguru was masterfully playing a game of chess with them, always two steps ahead of them.
Everything that happened before Satoru was sealed, before war surely went on after he'd been seal, wasn’t a war to that creature parading around in Getō Suguru’s body; this was a game he intended to win. And maybe he had?
Satoru squints his eyes shut, afraid to imagine any further; scared to see what his mind would conjure of his students, friends and colleagues without his protection. Of possible death, surely bloodshed left in the wake of Satoru’s imprisonment. The thought made him physically sick.
It knew Satoru was a threat, so it tried to cage him. And it succeeded.
Fuck.
How long had it been?
How much time had really passed?
How did he even get here? Where was everyone? He certainly wasn’t in the Prison Realm anymore, but there’s still something that feels... off. He can’t imagine any of his first-year students leaving him alone if he’d been gone for who knows how long and was finally back. Unless... they were unable.
Satoru’s thoughts whir dangerously at the implications of that specific thought.
He pushes away the pitting feeling in his stomach.
He eases himself back along the soft cot under him, pushing himself up into a sitting position so he can survey over the room. He takes stock of the room; empty. Good. Perfect.
He can breathe for a second then.
Satoru swallows roughly, grimacing at the stiffness of his limbs as he pushes himself up a bit straighter and shuffles back a bit more until he can lean back against the wall with a wince.
He brings a shaky hand up to press his fingers against his eyes, ignoring the flicks of pain that follow the relief the pressure offers. There’s an intense ache buried somewhere behind his eyes, and without a blindfold or something of the likes to nullify the world around him, pressure is the only thing that can help.
“Oh good,” Satoru startles, hand falling from his face in surprise. Gearing up for a fight, or an attack. His hands lifts minutely for a Blue attack, but he wilts just as fast as recognition clicks in his mind, hand dropping back to his lap. He knows that voice. “You’re awake. I'm going to pretend you didn't just threaten me. You've been pretty out of it.”
"Force of habit," Satoru swallows thickly, "sorry."
Finally, Satoru lets his eyes drift to the door, where Shoko is entering the room.
Her lips are tilted up faintly, a tiny, relieved smile.
“No worries. Now, how are you feeling?”
Satoru opens his mouth, gapes dumbly for a second before his jaw snaps shut with an audible click. He stares, blinking owlishly as he takes his friend in with all the power of his sight as well as his cursed technique, opening his mouth again, trying to form words before ultimately letting his jaw snap shut again.
Then, finally, “why do you look like that?”
Satoru can’t keep the incredulity from his voice as he scans her up and down unashamedly.
She’s so young— what the hell is happening? Why does Shoko look like that?
“Asshole,” Shoko scoffs, marching towards the bed.
Satoru can just shrink back faintly as she looms over him in irritation.
“You try not sleeping for three days while on idiot watch, and then we’ll see how good you look, dumbass,” Shoko sneers. There’s an air of playfulness, but she also sounds genuinely annoyed too. He hadn’t heard her sound like this in years. “You know, your personality is pretty shit sometimes. If you weren’t so pretty, I’m sure the rest of you would scare people away.”
“I’m powerful too,” Satoru mutters back on autopilot, still trying to wrap his head around the fact he’s staring at a teenaged Shoko. “It’s a selling feature, you know?”
He hears himself saying these things but can’t seem to focus on them.
Maybe she snorts out a laugh, or maybe she just glares down at him in annoyance, he isn’t sure.
He’s just trying to wrap his brain around this. Around Shoko looking like that again.
As far as he’s aware, and he likes to think he’s pretty aware of things, aging is supposed to go forwards, not backwards, right? So why is Shoko, twenty-eight the last time he’d seen her, looking like a fresh-faced baby sorcerer? She can’t possibly be any older than eighteen. There’s just no way.
What the fuck is happening?
Satoru sucks in a shaky breath as he tries to collect his thoughts on the matter, tries to string together something intelligible to say, but just ends up pausing abruptly when he hears something, someone, approaching the room. The footsteps fall heavily outside the infirmary, hurried and anxious, but familiar too.
“Shoko,” Satoru hears a voice that has him freezing. No... that can’t be. How is he here? Why is he here? “Hey, I brought you some coffee, how’s Satoru doing—”
Satoru’s blood turns icy in his veins, and his body tenses up.
He lets his eyes slip shut, squeezing them shut as he inches backwards on the infirmary cot. He topples to the ground uneasily, only protected by Infinity flaring up around his body.
That... that’s Suguru’s voice.
That had been Suguru’s heavy footsteps trailing into the room.
Suguru’s stupid, calm and comforting voice. Something he’d missed— whatever that curse thing, or whatever it truly was that was possessing his best friend’s corpse was, it had never been able to mellow Suguru’s voice like this.
Too confident.
Too egotistical and malevolent.
Too self-assured, grinning teasingly in a way that Suguru had never seemed so vicious, so telling that that wasn’t his Suguru stood before him. That it wasn’t his Suguru who’d trapped Satoru in that stupid Cursed Object’s grasp and sealed him away without a care.
Looking back now, Satoru can see where they differed.
If he hadn’t been so surprised by his best friend seemingly resurrected and talking to him, Satoru’s sure he would’ve been able to tell the difference instantly. Six-Eyes might not have been able to tell, but Satoru could.
That thing had put on a good show at first glance, but it wasn’t Suguru.
Unless it’s learning.
Satoru’s heart stutters in his chest at the thought.
Satoru inhales another shaky breath, pushing himself back until his spine connects with another wall—or until Infinity connects with another wall.
Footsteps trail closer, pounding on the floor. His eyes are squinted shut, but Six-Eyes allows him to see the cursed energy fluttering closer before pausing just before him. Everything pauses; the people, the energies. Everything goes stagnant around him.
Maybe they’re talking, or maybe they’re not.
He’s not sure.
He can’t hear anything past the static in his own ears.
It feels like Suguru. Looks like his energy wisping off his frame, dirtied and mucky by the curses he’s consumed, but something so calm and naturally Suguru as well. Satoru doesn’t know how his friend had managed to balm over the energy of the curses under his possession, but he had.
But that thing had looked, felt and sounded the same too.
“Satoru?” Satoru stiffens at Suguru’s calm, worried tone. “Hey, it’s okay. Are you alright? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened? Shoko, why is he—”
Icy blue eyes sliver open, and for a second, all Satoru can see is cursed energy hovering just before him. Blobs of energy pressing in close, looming around him. He lets his eyes adjust past Six-Eyes, focusing on his regular vision until two figures form before him from the clouds of cursed energy.
When the haze clears from his vision, he studies the two before him.
Shoko, stood just behind Suguru, but leaned forwards slightly.
Her lips are pulled downwards in a frown, eyes narrowed worriedly as she scans Satoru’s hunched over form. Her arms are laced over her chest, an air of indifference that doesn’t fool Satoru in the slightest. He can read the uncertainty and worry in her taut muscles. She’s close to him, but not close enough for it to be suffocating. A healthy distance. Satoru appreciates it.
His eyes flick downwards, staring straight ahead now.
He meets Suguru’s worried eyes.
Icy blue meeting dark purpleish-black irises.
Suguru is crouched just in front of Satoru.
They’re almost the same height, Suguru only an inch or so taller in their different positions. It’s still painfully easy to let his gaze linger in Suguru’s own despite how his heart hammers even harder against his ribs. The dark-haired boy’s eyes are kind, but genuinely worried, one hand outstretched faintly as if battling with himself on whether or not he should fully reach out to Satoru.
Satoru can’t decide between shying away from his touch or reaching out to meet him desperately.
He does neither.
Satoru’s eyes flick up finally, drawing the line across Suguru’s forehead where those disgusting stitches had sat. Where that thing had popped the top of Suguru’s head and skull open, and exposed its slimy self to him when he was already weak against the restraints of the Prison Realm, incapable of doing anything about the atrocity.
But... they’re not there.
Suguru’s forehead is stitch free, just a furrowed brow and a tuft of dark hair falling over his forehead. There’s a crinkle between Suguru’s eyebrows, worry obviously clear, but besides those things, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Still, Satoru wants to reach over and touch, verify for himself as if his physical sight and Six-Eyes aren’t enough, run his thumb over the line he can still envision running around the entirety of Suguru’s head when he thinks hard enough about that monster, but he keeps his distance, hands curled into his chest to avoid temptation.
Satoru chokes on another stuttered breath when he finally notices.
Suguru looks so young.
Both of them— Shoko and Suguru. They’re young. She’s not the woman he’d had falsify Yūji’s death just a couple months ago to get the higher-ups off the poor student’s back and he’s not the man Satoru had had to kill a year ago after he’d tried to recruit Yūta into his genocide mission and had hurt Satoru’s then first-year students like a toddler throwing a tantrum when he was denied.
And he’s certainly not the monster who’d tricked and imprisoned him.
The lack of stitches and scarring is proof enough of that.
He doesn’t understand.
How do they both look like this? Why is Suguru even here? How is this possible—
“-toru—”
Satoru stiffens.
If they look like that, and they aren’t concerned that he looks so much older in comparison, then would that mean...
Satoru pushes himself up abruptly, shouldering past both his friends without a word. His limbs feel shaky and almost numb, but he pushes onwards desperately. He stumbles, one hand coming up to palm at his temple where his head thrums, pounding along with each step he takes.
He distantly hears them calling out to him, following just a step behind him, matching his own panic, but he’s on a mission. He needs to see for himself. He needs proof.
The bathroom is dark when he throws the door open and stumbles in, but he can still see himself in the mirror just from the light filtering in from the main room of the infirmary.
He doesn’t bother with the door, doesn’t bother with the light.
He can see enough anyways.
Satoru’s hands lift to prod at his face, eyes wide with surprise.
He’s so young.
His fingers trail down soft skin, wide eyes taking in his own baby face.
God, he doesn’t even remember looking this young.
Maybe he repressed his school years after everything that happened, but it truly has been a lot of years since he’d looked like this. Young and innocent. Childish. Unbroken but the world and Jujutsu society.
His breath catches in his lungs, and he wavers with a bout of dizziness that threatens to take him out, but he just can’t seem to tear his gaze away from his own face.
He’s sans any eye protection, which he’d known as much by the constant sting of Six-Eyes, hair a ruffled mess and slightly greasy but falling familiarly over his face and eyes. It’s shorter, just barely, and he’s lacking his undercut that made wearing his blindfold easier.
Satoru’s eyes flick down his own body in the mirror, chewing on the inside of his cheek when he recognizes the familiar student uniform. The slick cottony material hugs his slender body a bit looser than the satiny teaching uniform he’d long since gotten used to.
He’s a tiny bit shorter, and not quite as sturdy; lankier.
Satoru’s hands fall from his face to brace on the edge of the counter, breaths coming out short and forced as he wobbles unsteadily.
What the absolute hell is happening?
He’s dreaming.
He has to be dreaming.
That stupid cube finally did it. Lulled him into a sense of security, shattered his mind. Fuck.
“You could've just said if you needed to take a piss,” Shoko is the first to reach the bathroom door, hand clutching against the wood of the doorframe as she leans in. Worry still curls in her tone, despite how she’s trying to keep it neutral. “You’re such an idiot, if you keel over from your own sheer stupidity, I’m not going to bring you back.”
Suguru appears just a second later, peering into the room over Shoko’s shoulder. His eyebrows are knit even tighter together, worry lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he scans Satoru not so subtly.
He’s not half as good at hiding his worry as Shoko is.
Satoru lets out a humorless laugh, tears stinging at his eyes before he lifts his hands to press his palms hard against his eyes. Against Six-Eyes. Six-Eyes that’s telling him everything is okay. That this is fine. That this isn’t cause for concern— that being here, right now, with Suguru and Shoko who look like students, with him looking like a student when he’s twenty-eight-fucking-years-old, is perfectly normal.
This is not normal.
This is so far from normal it’s not even funny.
The last thing Satoru feels before blacking out is his knees buckling under him, hands slipping from his face as he folds in on himself and Suguru’s energy ramming past Shoko hurriedly to catch him before he can hit the ground.
The second time Satoru wakes up, he’s not alone.
He spots Shoko on the other side of the room, leaning out a window with a cigarette balanced between her lips. Smoke wafts into the room despite the open window. It’s funny to him that younger Shoko opened the window, when older Shoko doesn’t even bother anymore.
He supposes she is usually in the morgue at that point, everyone goes to find her when they need her, but the point still stands. Growing up had been rough on her too.
Some battles aren’t worth fighting anymore.
Satoru lets his gaze flick to the side where he spots Suguru.
The other boy’s eyes are shut, and he’s leaning back against the chair he sits in, head lulling back a bit. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest, rising and falling faintly with the even breaths of his chest.
Satoru can’t tell if he’s awake and resting his eyes, or if he’d really fallen asleep.
He has half a mind to reach out and touch, thumb along Suguru’s forehead like he’d wanted to earlier, but now Satoru isn’t sure what’s really happening.
It had felt so real.
Both of them here, young students before the cruel world of Jujutsu had really taken a toll on them. Before Suguru had defected and brought calamity with him whenever he returned. Everything about this felt real. Waking up. His body. Passing out. The energy his Six-Eyes is seeing, and even what his normal human vision is seeing.
It’s real.
This is real.
These people are real. His friends are real. They’re real and right in front of him. Alive and not what they’d been the last time he’d seen them. It’s like he’s seeing the them from the deepest pits of his memory.
Satoru sucks in a shaky breath, lifting a hand to his face in an attempt to muffle the sound. A couple more minutes with his thoughts would let him wade his way through all this, but he’s not that lucky. He’s never that lucky.
His attempt is futile.
A quick glance over shows Suguru’s bleary eyes settling on him before the dark-haired teen is jolting up and scooching his chair closer. His fingers settle on Satoru’s arm, putting light pressure which is far more comforting than Satoru thinks it should be.
Satoru’s eyes flick down to the contact, mind whirring at how real it feels.
There’s no way this isn’t real.
There’s just no way.
“Satoru,” Suguru whispers kindly, “hey, how are you feeling?”
“Peachy,” Satoru mutters blandly, flopping back into the pillow behind him. He throws an arm over his eyes, attempting to block out the loudness of the world, but it doesn’t help much. The ache in his head persists. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Suguru scoffs, “maybe because you passed out a few hours ago?”
Satoru hums thoughtfully, “no, that doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“Really?” Suguru rolls his eyes. “Looked that way to me.”
“Get your eyes checked then—”
“Ugh, you two are insufferable,” Shoko groans from the window. “Get married already, will you? You’re either moping over each other or bickering like an old married couple. Disgustingly domestic and incredibly annoying.”
Satoru’s gaze flicks back to her, watching silently as she takes one last drag of her cigarette before dropping the butt of it into an old looking can of Cola. She tugs the window shut just a second later, and then she’s making her way over to them.
She pats Suguru’s shoulder sympathetically as she passes, and it’s just then Satoru notices the annoyed, narrowed gaze his friend is shooting in his direction.
He pretends he doesn’t see it.
Suguru lets out a heavy sigh as his hand drops from Satoru’s arm and returns to where he’d had his arms crossed over his chest just moments earlier.
“If I ask you how you’re feeling, will I get an honest answer?” Shoko calls over her shoulder as she pulls open a desk drawer. Satoru watches her rifle through it, head cocking faintly before he loses interest.
“Depends on how nicely you ask,” Satoru offers in return. He props himself up a bit, grinning widely at the woman, even though her back is currently to him. It’s so easy interacting with them. Maybe it really is a dream? “Say please, Satoru and maybe I’ll consider it.”
“You’re a dreamer, Satoru,” Shoko scoffs instead, as she selects something from the drawer and turns back to the two of them. “You’re difficult, you know that?”
“You know, I’ve heard that once or twice,” Satoru quips back as Shoko finally joins them.
Shoko comes to a stop beside Suguru, at Satoru’s bedside. She and Suguru exchange a look that has Satoru squinting between them. His eyes narrow on Suguru, the more likely to try something, who simply cocks an eyebrow in question.
“Hey, Satoru?” Shoko says sweetly.
“Yeah, what—”
The second he turns to glance at her, a blinding light flashes in his eye.
“Hey! Ouch, warn a guy with sensitive eyes before blinding him,” Satoru scoffs, rearing away to rub at his stinging eye. “Do you have any idea how bright that shit is? Even without Six-Eyes. I already had a headache, now I’m seeing stars too! This is why people don't like doctors!”
“You big baby,” Shoko offers a teasing smile, reaching out to grasp Satoru’s chin between her fingers to hold him steady. He stares defiantly up into her challenging eyes, squinting when she holds up the turned off light. “I gave you the option to answer my question, didn’t I? Now, you got any other bright idea to see if you’re concussed or not? No? Then let me check. Don’t make me make Suguru hold you down.”
Satoru can’t help the puff of laughter at her honestly very real threat.
Satoru suffers through her tests, trying not to look away as she shines her light and studies his eyes despite the sharpness of the light against his sensitive Six-Eyes. Spots dance across his vision even after she pulls the light away.
When she releases her grip on his face, he finally reaches up to palm at his eyes.
“Satoru, here.”
Satoru lets his head lull in Suguru’s direction suspiciously, half surprised to find a pair of his circular black-out glasses held out to him. He can’t help but hesitate for just a second as he scans the sunglasses with one eye as he keeps rubbing hard at the other.
Finally, he lets his hand fall from his friction-numb eye and takes the pair of glasses into his fingers gently. He stares down for a long second, studying the frames he’d grown out of and replaced with thin oval shaped ones that fit his adult face better.
“Thought you might want them,” Suguru shrugs as he drops back against the backrest of the chair. “Your other pair got broken when you got knocked down, but I grabbed your spare pair on my way down here. Thought maybe your eyes might hurt when you woke up.”
Satoru had almost forgotten how thoughtful Suguru was.
Back before he turned into a genocidal maniac.
“...thanks,” Satoru breathes out after a long second, flipping the temples of his glasses open and pressing the pair onto the bridge of his nose. The relief is almost instant. Not quite as nice as his blindfold blocking out everything, but still better than nothing. They really did do a good job blocking out the world. “So, what’s the verdict, Doc? Will I make it?”
“Unfortunately,” Shoko sighs theatrically, brow furrowing in amusement as she speaks, “I’m afraid it looks like you’ll live this time.”
Suguru snorts a surprised laugh.
“Unfortunately?” Satoru gapes, only slightly offended, “you’re so mean, Shoko! I’m a joy. I think you meant fortunately.”
“Sure, Satoru,” Shoko smiles softly, “but all jokes aside, you do have a mild concussion. I was expecting much worse considering you’ve passed out twice. Light activity and try not to overextend your techniques. Don’t hide behind Infinity until I give you the go-ahead, and we can wrap your eyes with bandages if you’d like as well, probably more protection than your glasses. Give Six-Eyes a break for a bit while you recover.”
“Yeah, okay,” Satoru slumps in defeat, “and I don’t pass out.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Okay then,” she shrugs indifferently, waving Suguru off with a crooked smile, “you fainted like a dainty little flower. Twice. Better?”
Satoru squawks in offense, “that’s worse!”
Suguru lets out a full bellied laugh at Satoru’s expense, all but bending himself in half as he cackles.
Instead of being offended, Satoru lets a small, pleased smile curl onto his lips as he looks between the two of them. Satoru can’t even find it in himself to be upset at him laughing at him, because he’d missed this with every fiber of his being.
Maybe that’s why this is so hard to believe.
There's a yearning in his chest for this to be real— a desperation for this to be the truth.
He doesn’t know what that means for everything else; eleven years later, two classes of amazing and powerful students he’s playing a role in teaching, that war they were on the brink of (probably full-fledged now) and the Prision Realm.
That had all felt real too.
That... couldn’t have been a dream, could it?
Something that his mind conjures up that’s so vivid it’s real.
Or is this the dream? Being here with a young Shoko; a young, very alive Suguru. Life before shit hit the fan, when they were just three young idiots trying to navigate the Jujutsu world. Before his best friend turned his back on them and defected. Before he’d left Satoru.
Satoru’s gaze flicks between his two friends as he curls in on himself a little.
He can’t even decide what he wants to be real anymore. Doesn’t know where he wants to be.
Here, where he so desperately wants to be, or there, where he’s probably very needed. Satoru knows himself to be a selfish man, he finds a way to get what he wants, and he knows how to work the system in his favor. The world is indebted to him after all. He’s stood alone at the top for many, many years.
He’d love to give into his own whims, be selfish and stay here, but there are people there he wants to protect too. A world that he’d abandoned, whether willingly or not.
Nothing feels real, but at the same time, everything does. It all feels real. Too real.
He’s not sure, and Six-Eyes isn’t even helping.
Nothing makes sense.
But... maybe that’s just the head wound talking?
And speaking of...
“Hey,” Satoru calls attention, glancing between his two friends, “so, uh, what actually happened? I don’t remember anything. How’d I get concussed?”
“On a mission in Tokyo,” Suguru offers softly. All traces of the amusement that had just filled the room like a blanket is swept away by the graveness in his tone. “You were supposed to go alone, but I didn’t have any missions planned, and you wanted to ditch the assistant on the way back and go try a new boba shop in downtown Tokyo.”
“Sounds about right,” Satoru shrugs.
Suguru hums, “we arrived in a small town, at an old temple on the outskirts of Tokyo. A religious cult offering human sacrifices. It’s no wonder they assigned it to you. There was only supposed to be a special grade curse lurking around, but there ended up being a surprise first grade and some grade three and fours. Not that that bothered you.”
“Of course not,” Satoru snorts out, “we’re the strongest, aren’t we?”
Suguru lulls his head in Satoru’s direction, eyebrows knit together as if debating reaching over and smacking some sense into Satoru and agreeing with him.
He does neither as his lips press in a straight line.
“Do remember the part where you almost died,” Shoko says unkindly. “Arrogant prick.”
“That sounds a little overly dramatic—”
“Trust me, it’s not. Suguru had to save your dumb ass,” Shoko perches on the edge of Satoru’s cot, her hand finding his ankle and her thumb stroking along the protruding bone. “Sent you out of the veil on Rainbow Dragon and exercised the curses alone. You’d be a goner if you’d taken that one alone, Satoru.”
Satoru takes a second to process that. “How... what actually happened? I don’t really remember any of this.”
And wasn’t that the statement of the year.
Not remembering anything, remembering too much.
He can’t tell.
“The special grade, a creepy snake looking thing went for you instantly, and I went after the first grade. The fourth and third grades weren’t a problem. The first grade, however, was strong. I think it might’ve even been a special grade one, maybe; definitely kept me busy,” Suguru explains plainly, looking anywhere but at Satoru. “I took care of it eventually and then went to find you, but when I found you and the special grade again, something was wrong.”
“Wrong?” Satoru echoes. “Wrong how?”
“You just... stopped. I don’t know what happened. One second you were fine, I heard you blabbering on about the kind of boba you were going to get, and the next you were silent, and it was throwing you against a wall. You weren’t using any of your techniques. Not even Infinity. You hit hard, Satoru. Then your cursed energy just went super crazy before you could even push yourself up.”
Suguru’s voice had gotten steadily fainter as he spoke, thoughtful and worried.
He’s quiet for a second before he continues, tone stiff, “I didn’t know what was happening. It’s like you... I don’t know, like a cursed energy bomb went off or something. But like in reverse. I don’t know where it came from, but you just absorbed it into your own cursed energy, and then you just kinda lost consciousness. Collapsed completely right then and there.”
“Oh,” Satoru breathes the word out.
“Yeah,” Suguru looks away, cupping his chin in his hand as his elbow settles on his knee, “I hardly had time to send Rainbow Dragon to retrieve you before the curse was striking towards you to finish you off. Just barely got to you first. I lost a couple good curses to that thing. It put up a fight. Definitely could’ve used some backup, but I handled it in the end.”
Satoru swallows guiltily as he turns the information over in his head, “well... I’m sorry. Y’know, for flaking out like that, I guess. I don’t know what happened, honestly.”
“I’m not sure what you did counts as flaking out,” Suguru’s eyes finally flick back to Satoru, brow furrowing. “Apologize for almost dying on me, not for leaving me to do all the work.”
Satoru offers a cheeky grin, desperate to lighten the mood, “oh, my dear, dear Suguru, I’m so very sorry for almost croaking in your presence! How unkind of me! How will you ever forgive me for such a sin? Say the word and you’ll have it! Money? Treats? Smooches?”
Satoru puckers his lips making exaggerated kissing sounds as he leans towards Suguru.
A pale hand pushes his cheek away before he can get close though to press an exaggerated, sloppy kiss onto Suguru’s cheek. Satoru pouts, gaze lulling towards the younger boy as he slumps in defeat before brushing it off.
“You’re such an ass,” Suguru huffs out fondly. “It sucked, but it wasn’t all bad, I managed to consume the special grade. It’ll be useful sometime, I’m sure. Afterall, it is a curse that knocked the strongest sorcerer on his ass.”
“’cause me almost dying ‘wasn’t all bad’,” Satoru huffs back in mock despair, silently reveling in the affronted look Suguru shoots him. He’d almost forgotten how easy it was to rile Suguru up. “So cruel, Sugu-chan! I see how it is! And I was clearly unfit to work! Don’t go telling people it knocked me on my ass! What will our precious kōhais think of their super cool senpai then?”
“Obviously you dying was the bad part, not the ‘wasn’t all bad’ part, dumbass,” Suguru rolls his eyes. “And Nanami and Haibara would have to think of you as a super cool senpai in the first place for anything to change.”
“Mean!” Satoru squeaks out. “Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you? Don’t you remember, Sugu-chan? I’m hurt. I’m concussed. Where's the sympathy, huh? Be nice to me.”
“You’re fine,” Shoko snickers. “In fact, if you feel okay enough, you’re good to leave. You can go somewhere else to sleep this off. Finally. You had a pretty high fever for a while when we got you back to the school, but you’re back to regular temperature now. We were just waiting for your lazy ass to wake up. Now, I can wrap your eyes and send you away, they’ll probably be overly sensitive for a bit.”
Shoko pauses, hums thoughtfully to herself as if running through a mental checklist before her head cocks in Satoru’s direction and a smile graces her lips, “the earliest I want to see your face is tomorrow morning, so neither of you bother me unless Satoru’s dying again, got it? I’m looking forwards to some peace and quiet and I can finally sleep with you jackasses out of my hair. You’ve been here way too long. Both of you. And I’ve been here too long too. Plus, I’m tired of looking at your ugly face.”
“My face is the prettiest and you know it.”
“Wait,” Suguru pauses, “I thought he shouldn’t sleep if he has a concussion?”
“He'll be fine,” Shoko shakes her head as she pushes off the bed and stretches out her back. “It’s a mild concussion. His pupils weren’t dilated, and he can hold a conversation, as stupid as it was. I was just as worried as you when he woke up that first time, but he’s okay, Suguru. Head trauma is weird like that. Rest is what he needs now. But if you’re really bothered, you can stay with him and wake him up every hour.”
“That sounds like actual hell,” Satoru’s nose scrunches up as his eyes follow Shoko to the cabinet where medical supplies are kept over the rim of his glasses. His eyes flick to Suguru where he pouts at the thoughtful look on the other’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re honestly considering that.”
“Well,” Suguru bites his lip, shaking his head, “I’d rather you not die in your sleep.”
“So, you do care,” Satoru groans, pulling his glasses off his face and palming at his eyes as Shoko finally approaches with sterile white bandages. “Ugh, fine, but don’t be mad at me if I’m crabby. I am just tired. And my eyes hurt. I feel okay now. Seriously. I'm fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Is all this assurance just a way to tell me you don’t want to have a sleepover with me?”
Satoru pouts as Shoko steps closer to start wrapping soft bandages around his eyes. He feels a lot better as the brightness fades to darkness with each coil. He’s definitely going to have to invest in a blindfold.
“I want to have a sleepover with you,” Satoru mutters past puckered lips.
“My room or yours?”
Satoru doesn’t need to see to know Suguru is sporting one of those ridiculously cute, gentle closed-eyed smiles. Satoru pretends his heart doesn’t stutter in his chest at the familiar image his brain conjures up of Suguru’s smile.
Satoru had been a bit afraid that when he went to sleep here, he’d wake up somewhere different.
He’d laid beside Suguru in the dark-haired teen’s bed, his stomach a flutter of familiarity and longing as he settled into the blankets at Suguru’s side. It smelled of Suguru— a scent Satoru had missed.
He’d always liked Suguru’s dorm.
Satoru’s dorm had more; more posters, more knick-knacks, more possessions, more personality.
As soon as he’d been given freedom from his clan, coming here after fifteen long years of isolation and prestige, being the clan’s perfect little God amongst men, he’d done and bought himself whatever he fancied. Sweets, risqué posters, dumb knick-knacks and anything else that would’ve tainted the suffocating air of the Gojō estate.
That said, Suguru’s dorm always felt homier.
Satoru had more, sure, but Suguru had an energy in his dorm that Satoru didn’t know how to replicate. An energy that he thinks he craves somewhere deep in his soul. An energy you won’t find in the walls of the Gojō Clan’s estate.
And having a warm body beside him, his best friend, who was obviously feigning sleep as if some sort of reverse psychology to get Satoru to fall asleep in turn, had something warm and fond lighting up in his chest. Satoru had almost snorted a laugh at Suguru’s not-so-even breaths that gave him away.
He’d missed having the warmth of someone, of Suguru, at his side.
Suguru’s arm was under Satoru’s shoulders, and Satoru’s ear fell on Suguru’s bicep, just before his shoulder. He was able to perfectly wedge himself against Suguru’s side.
It wasn’t the most usual position for best friends, guys at that, but after their rocky first couple months as classmates, Satoru had found companionship in Suguru that he’d never been able to find anywhere else. They bickered and fought, rammed head over stupid things, but at the end of the day, their relationship trudged on through it all.
The one who came closest to reaching him.
His one and only.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Suguru.
There was comfort in the position— how they had to puzzle themselves into the small dorm beds on sleepover occasions such as this one, how it came so naturally. There was no hesitance, no awkwardness between them. It just was what it was.
The beds were small, they’d always ended up sprawled over each other in the morning anyways.
Still, he didn’t want to give in to the call of sleep, no matter how much his eyes and head were begging to rest. He was afraid. Terrified to really let himself be vulnerable and fall asleep when he wasn’t sure what would come of it.
He was still so confused, and he was scared that something would change.
He didn’t want to wake up back in the Prison Realm.
He didn’t want to wake up in a war zone.
He wanted to stay here.
“Aren’t you tired, Satoru?”
Suguru’s voice is soft. It’s soft, and nearly inaudible, but it still disturbs the façade of sleep they’d lulled into. They both know the other is not asleep, but he’d appreciated them both pretending.
Satoru feels Suguru’s head turn and knows he’s watching him.
“I am,” Satoru admits lightly, refusing to let his head lull in Suguru’s direction in turn. “I’m so fucking tired, Suguru...”
A soft breath the just faintly catches against Satoru’s hair, “why aren’t you sleeping then? If you’re tired. I don’t understand, Satoru.”
I’m scared, Satoru wants to admit.
It sits on the tip of his tongue, and he almost, almost, lets the vulnerable words slip out. But he also doesn’t want to admit it. He’s Gojō Satoru. What does he have to be scared of? What does this world have to offer that’ll honest and truly scare him?
When an obstacle rises in front of him, he rises higher.
That’s how it’s always been.
“I don’t want to wake up and see you’re not here,” Satoru lets out instead. It’s not condemning. Sappy, maybe, but not condemning. He chews on his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut behind Shoko’s immaculate bandaging job. He turns his head away from Suguru’s prying eyes, tries to push down the feeling of being watched that always gets under his skin. “I don’t want things to change.”
“Will you sleep if I promise not to get out of bed before you wake up?”
Satoru lets out a weak sounding laugh, finally letting his head lull in Suguru’s direction. Of course Suguru wouldn’t know what Satoru really meant. Satoru himself hardly knew what he meant.
Still, the childlike sentiment is oddly charming.
He’s still got his eyes covered, can’t see anything and even Six-Eyes is nulled with the cover, but he still feels Suguru’s tired gaze scanning his face. Satoru offers a half smile for Suguru’s sake.
“I’ll try to sleep,” Satoru insists instead of accepting the offer, sinking further into the mattress and Suguru’s arm that he’s using more like a pillow than the actual pillow behind him. “I’m just being an idiot. Don’t worry about it. Goodnight, Suguru—”
“What do you think is going to change if you go to sleep?” Suguru asks quietly.
A beat passes, Satoru hums in acknowledgment just so Suguru knows he wasn’t ignored.
“I don’t know,” Satoru finally says evenly, lying right through his teeth. He knows exactly what’ll change. He doesn’t want to admit it. Can’t admit it, but he knows.
Suguru is quiet for a long second.
Satoru focuses on Suguru’s breathing, trying to match it with his own. Finally, Suguru’s body shifts as he pushes himself up faintly, no doubt turning his head to scan Satoru again.
The younger boy looks for a while, studies Satoru with a precision that no one but Suguru had ever been able to reach when it comes to making Satoru feel bare, then lets out a quiet sigh as he drops back into the pillows in defeat.
“I know Shoko said you’re okay, but you’re really worrying me, Satoru.”
Satoru hums faintly in return, shutting his eyes and finally giving in to sleep just to avoid responding to that.
To Satoru’s genuine surprise, not only does he wake up in Suguru’s dorm room just as he’d gone to sleep, but he also wakes up beside Suguru.
Just like he’d promised.
The dark-haired teen had shifted in the bed at some point, probably when he woke up, back leaned against the headboard and Satoru senses the quiet hum of his phone in his hand even with his eyes still covered and shut. His other hand is trailing gently through Satoru’s hair, careful not to disturb the bandages.
Satoru’s head is pillowed on Suguru’s stomach, one arm thrown over him and his face buried in the fabric of the younger’s sleep shirt. Satoru doesn’t have it in himself to be embarrassed about clinging to Suguru like this.
He’d long since accepted, and tried very hard to ignore and forget about, the hole in his heart that Suguru had left, but it’s nice to feel whole again. Even if this is a dream.
“Satoru?” the fingers in his hair pause, “are you awake?”
Satoru doesn’t open his eyes, muttering sleepily into Suguru’s shirt, “if I say no, will you keep doing that? Feels nice. Helps with the headache.”
Suguru snorts out a laugh, going right back to trailing his finger through Satoru’s hair. “Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re my best friend, or a cat. How did you sleep?”
“Shitty,” Satoru hums into Suguru’s shirt. “Someone kept waking me up.”
He faintly remembers Suguru shaking him awake a couple times through the night. Maybe not every hour, like Shoko had suggested, but enough times that Satoru’s sure he lost a good amount of sleep between rousing and trying to fall back asleep.
“The nerve,” Suguru scoffs sarcastically, “someone caring about your well-being and not letting you fall into a coma or possibly even die while you slept. I’m a terrible friend.”
“The absolute worst,” Satoru agrees readily, smiling against Suguru. He pushes himself up just enough to turn onto his back, head now dropping on Suguru’s thigh. Suguru goes with it, fingers carding up through his bangs instead now. “Lighten up, Suguru. Shoko said I was fine, and would you look at that? I’m fine. Gojō Satoru lives to see another day, yippee.”
“You’re still concussed,” Suguru reminds.
“But I’ll live,” Satoru grins back sharply. “I’m fine. Seriously. It takes more than a knock to the head to take me out. I’ll lay low for a bit, doctor’s orders, and then I’ll be good as new. Like always. Okay?”
Suguru is quiet. Too quiet.
Satoru cocks his head faintly, eyebrows furrowing slightly, “what?”
“You just...” Suguru sighs. The phone in his hand gets set on the mattress, and then his hand is lifting to rake back through his own dark hair before scrubbing down his face. “You said some weird stuff last night. Worried me a bit.”
“Did I?” Satoru hums. “I have no idea what you’re talking about."
Satoru keeps his expression light, clueless, even when he feels Suguru’s gaze dropping to scan him. He feels more exposed in the morning light, as opposed to the dark night. He doesn’t react, keeping his expression lax and uninteresting. Innocent.
Thankfully, Suguru doesn’t push.
“Forget it then,” the other lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “You were probably just tired anyways. Now, am I allowed to get up and start my day now that you’re awake, or does his majesty still require my presence? Just so you know, I’ve needed to pee for like an hour, and I’m hungry.”
Satoru stretches out along Suguru’s middle before curling up like a cat and angling his head as if peering at Suguru’s face despite the bandages. “I mean, you are a pretty comfy pillow so...”
“We can make pancakes for breakfast?”
Satoru pauses, squints his eyes through the bandages.
“...with chocolate?”
“With chocolate.”
Satoru waits on bated breath for the other shoe to drop.
Three days.
He’d been here for three days. He’d been waiting for three days. Waiting, and watching, and ready to be sucked back to the hell of the Prison Realm. To return to whatever hell would await him outside the Prison Realm, eleven years in the future from this point.
He goes to sleep each night expecting to wake up in his own personal hell, and each morning he’s surprised to find himself in a bed, still just a seventeen-year-old boy.
Nothing happens.
That first entire day passes by with nothing.
They make breakfast, and Shoko stumbles out of her room just as Suguru is plating the last bribery chocolate chip pancake. Satoru’s already eaten three by the time they see their friend, as well as two handfuls of straight chocolate chips, but there’s still more than enough for everyone.
Satoru takes a long shower, sneaking around the dorm bathrooms as if something will catch sight of him and drag him away. Despite Shoko’s warning, Satoru showers with Six-Eyes sweeping over the room just as a security blanket that nothing will sneak up on him when he’s vulnerable, bandage blindfold left with the rest of his clothes.
He hangs out with Suguru and Shoko, enjoys meals with them, and even catches sight of Nanamin and Haibara on their way out for a joint mission on the other side of Japan. There’s something surreal about seeing the two of them. Haibara, who’d been gone for a lot of years, and the version of Nanami that Satoru only really thinks about when teasing his blonde friend about his emo high school years.
He’s hyperaware of everything going on around him, even without Six-Eyes.
He gets the all clear from Shoko to take off the bandages that evening and return to his glasses. His headache hasn’t quieted at all, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He doesn’t mention it.
He spends another night in Suguru’s dorm before returning to his own dorm room.
He returns to core classes with Suguru and Shoko the second day.
Yaga teaches on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Though, when lessons are finished, Satoru finds himself kneeled through a lecture from Yaga about being more careful and being aware of his surroundings when out on missions, as if passing out was something he could’ve prevented— he doesn’t even remember doing, the old man just liked to nag.
Some things never change.
Satoru shoulders through the lecture on autopilot, and beelines to the gym where Suguru and Shoko are when he’s finally dismissed.
He falls right back into the routine of it as if he hadn’t missed a day, let alone what feels like eleven whole years. It’s frighteningly easy to settle into this, even after he’s been a graduate for so long, since he's been a teacher for almost as long.
But... no, that’s not right.
If he’d graduated, he wouldn’t be stuck in classes now.
So he couldn't have.
...right?
Life continues on.
He doesn’t get assigned any missions, and Satoru doesn’t even mind that he’s been benched. Maybe if he weren’t still so unsure about everything, he’d kick up a fuss, but he’s relieved to have some time to figure everything out without his teachers and the higher-ups breathing down his neck.
He wonders if it’s Yaga who’d benched him, or Shoko’s insistence as the school’s aspiring physician.
It all feels so normal. So ordinary.
Another day in the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer student.
It feels right and normal, but darkness looms in his stomach despite it. A worry deep in the pits of his stomach that whispers that something’s not right. That this isn’t right, no matter how good it feels.
He’s starting to think that maybe it was all just a nightmare.
The Star Plasma Vessel mission, his first official failed mission, and the Sorcerer Killer.
Meeting Tsumiki and Megumi.
Growing up, becoming a teacher— actually liking it.
Collecting hordes of students like he collects Digimon cards. Each rare and spunky and insanely strong. The next generation of Sorcerers that he’d intended to make the strongest. A group to stand by his side at the top, a position very few ever reach.
Okkotsu and Riko.
The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.
Killing Suguru.
Yūji and the King of Curses.
Meeting Not-Suguru.
The Prison Realm.
The war he’d unknowingly left them to fight without him.
...
Was it all just some elaborate nightmare?
It had all felt so real. His students, his friends, his colleagues. The deaths he’d faced and the people he’d lost. Everything he’d done, the decisions he’d made that led to that point. It felt so real.
He’d lived that life, there’s no way he hadn’t.
It feels so real. The people he’d met, feelings he’d felt. Things that had happened, both to him and because of him. It’s so detailed, far more detailed than any dream has the right to be. It felt lively and familiar— not in a distant way, either, but in a way that it is the truth.
It feels right.
It aches to think about all of that stuff. Memories that are his, he thinks, but don’t really feel like his now. To remind himself of all of that stuff. Everything that went wrong, the people who’d been stuck in the heart of that nightmare. It makes his chest swirl with guilt and regret and shame, a gross weight in his stomach he can’t get rid of, but it still feels right.
He belongs there, he knows that— that feels like the truth— but he also belongs right here.
He just doesn’t get it.
Satoru slumps back against the courtyard wall, watching Suguru and Shoko work on hand-to-hand.
Or, watching Suguru try to teach Shoko some hand-to-hand, even though she doesn’t have plans of actually taking on curses once she graduates and applies to med school. Yaga insists she not even go on any missions— her technique is too valuable he says, but it’s obvious the orders have come from the higher-ups.
He lets his gaze drift from them.
If Satoru looks hard enough, if he squints towards the distance of the courtyard, he can almost see ghosts of those kids he’d dreamed up running amok in this very schoolyard. His students.
They’re all too real to be figments of his mind. They’re unique, personable and vastly different from one another. It’s not an image of a stereotypical class of young faceless Sorcerers, nothing average about the wily group possessing his psyche.
They’re actual kids, actual people, he’s had the pleasure of meeting.
Personalities, appearances, strengths and techniques.
They’re real people. Real students.
There’s just no way they can’t be.
Panda and Inumaki watching in amusement and playing cheerleaders as Maki and Yūta arch in defensive positions for what Satoru knows will be an intense spar. Maki snapping out critiques which are a little too venomous to be constructive criticism, but Yūta stumbles to correct himself hurriedly, offering sideways smiles whenever his position matches hers.
She may look annoyed, but the pleased smirks whenever Yūta isn’t looking breaks the façade.
Then, a bit to the left, he can envision Megumi standing gloomily while Nobara and Yūji bicker over something stupid; perhaps a movie, or shopping, or something else Satoru doesn’t care about. He can see Yūji saying something stupid, innocently, and Nobara gritting her teeth before launching full force at him, a perfect balance between playful and seriously pissed as her energy radiates annoyance and that fierce determination that had made him want to take her on as a student.
Megumi watches on, unimpressed, but lips quirked up faintly.
How can that all be a dream?
How could something so real be a dream?
Everything that doesn’t make sense right here and now, doesn’t feel like a dream but... neither does this. This all feels so damn real too. He doesn’t know which is the dream. He doesn’t know which is real. He doesn’t even know what he wants to be the truth, because either way, something doesn’t feel right.
“Hey, space cadet?”
Satoru blinks in surprise as a hand waves in front of his face. His head jerks up, glasses slipping down his nose as he stares up at Shoko over the frame of them. He’s not sure when he started slumping back against the wall, but now even Shoko is taller than him.
Satoru blinks again, coming to awareness and finally noticing that Shoko and Suguru are right here. He hadn't noticed anyone move. Hadn’t noticed their approach.
He squints at her before dumbly muttering a simple, “huh?”
“You were spacing out,” Suguru tells him, expression pinched faintly. “Just kinda staring at us. You didn’t notice us coming over?”
“Not really, no.”
Satoru pretends not to notice the faint, uneasy tilt of Suguru’s head.
“And you had this look of impending doom,” Shoko adds, patting his cheek with the hand that had just been waving an inch in front of his nose. Satoru’s nose wrinkles faintly as he eyes her. “I mean, I get that Yaga’s training is ass, but you looked like something terrible was going to happen. You know something we don’t about today’s lesson?”
“No,” Satoru shakes his head. “I was just thinking.”
“I didn't know you knew how to do that,” Shoko snorts out teasingly as she tugs a carton of cigarettes from her pocket and slips one between her lips.
Satoru glares sharply for a second before it melts into a pout, “I’ll have you know I do a lot of very thoughtful thinking. Important stuff going on up here.”
Shoko lets out a hum of acknowledgement that sounds suspiciously like mocking as she pats at her pockets before frowning. A second later she snakes a hand into Suguru’s pants pocket and pulls her hand back with Suguru’s lighter grasped delicately between her fingers.
“Hey,” Suguru rolls his eyes, but doesn’t look offended in the least. Suguru watches Shoko through narrowed eyes as his arms cross over his chest. “Thief. You could’ve just asked, you know.”
Shoko shrugs as she sparks the lighter to life and cups the flame to the tip of her cigarette. She sucks in a drag of it before holding the lighter back out to Suguru. “Maybe I just wanted to put my hands on you.”
Suguru rolls his eyes.
“Hey, wait, if I start smoking can I put my hands on you too?” Satoru cocks his head to Suguru, batting his eyelashes. It’s entirely teasing, just to see if he can get a rise out of Suguru. Maybe embarrass some colour onto his cheeks. “Why should Shoko get to have all the fun?”
“No,” Suguru’s brow furrows as his narrowed gaze falls onto Satoru and hardens slightly. “Don’t even think about it, Satoru. You don't need another addiction, your sweets one is more than enough. Besides, you don’t even like the smell of cigarettes, you always complain that we smell.”
Satoru has half a mind to point out he doesn’t mind the faint cling of it on Suguru, but Shoko smells like a chain-smoker more often than not. He doesn’t not like it; it just gets overwhelming to his senses.
He wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“And you just put your hands on him whenever you feel like it anyways,” Shoko reminds with a snort. She takes another drag of the cigarette and blows the exhale of smoke in Satoru’s direction. “No point in ruining your lungs for something you already do.”
“Yeah, but you basically felt him up though!” Satoru cries out as he bats away the cloud of smoke away with a glare shot at her. “So not fair.”
“Do you want to feel Suguru up?” Shoko’s lips curl devilishly.
Satoru’s jaw snaps shut.
Shoko snickers.
“Just so you know, I hate you both,” Suguru sighs tiredly as he pockets the lighter. Despite his words, Suguru is sporting a fond little smile as he looks between the two of them. “Why are we even friends?”
“You don’t have many other options,” Shoko shrugs back, “unlucky draw. I’m sure Nanami and Haibara would gladly take you in, Haibara does have quite the fascination with you, Suguru.”
“Unlucky draw,” Satoru agrees, flashing Suguru a grin. “Its no wonder Haibara-kun adores Sugu-chan so much though! He’s just so amazing, isn’t he? Almost as amazing as me! Close second for sure.”
Suguru shoots him a deadpan expression, but Satoru just beams in return.
He’s glad they’ve distracted themselves from his spacing out.
He doesn’t want them to ask questions, doesn’t want to answer any questions. And he can’t very well explain something he doesn’t understand, now, can he?
“I don’t see very much warming up going on out here.”
The three of them stiffen simultaneously, all whipping around to see Yaga stepping out the doors with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His stern expression sweeps over them before narrowing on Shoko, glare noticeable even behind his glasses. “I’m going to forget I see a cigarette in your hand if it’s gone within the next five seconds, Ieiri.”
Shoko drops the nearly finished cigarette to the concrete below them as if it had suddenly burned her, scuffing the embers out with her shoe.
“Litterer,” Satoru scoffs teasingly to her under his breath, which prompts a not-so-gentle shove from Shoko. She glares daggers at him as she picks up her pace in a poor attempt at leaving them behind.
Suguru stifles a laugh from behind them, as the three of them hurry to follow behind Yaga.
“Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to return to training, Gojō.”
“Awh, don’t tell me you were worried about little ol' me, Sensei,” Satoru teases, hands tucking in his pockets as Suguru finally falls into step beside him. Shoko is still a couple steps ahead. “I’m touched old man, honest. But really, I’m fine. As I keep saying. Seriously, one knock to the head and suddenly I’m made of glass. I get hit harder in class all the time.”
“Maybe we’re just treating you like a human being,” Suguru retorts stiffly.
Satoru doesn’t know what the sudden tension is from, one eyebrow arching as he glances over at his friend. “Well don’t,” Satoru sniffs indifferently. “Like I said, I’ve been hit harder in class.”
“It’s not about how hard you were hit, Satoru,” Suguru narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “It’s the principle of it. Your cursed energy went weird, and you were left defenseless because of it. What if it happens again? What if your cursed energy putters out again, and you’re left defenseless?”
“I also passed out,” Satoru scoffs, “you know, a bodily reaction? What did you want me to do? Stop being human? I’ve tried, doesn’t work. It's honestly a drag.”
“Gojō, Getō,” Yaga’s voice already sounds exhausted.
They ignore him easily.
“I’m not talking about this specific incident, Satoru,” Suguru snaps back hands tightening into fists at his side. “I’m talking in general. Do you even have any idea how to fight if you’re not using your technique as a safety net? You half ass your way through combat and hide behind Infinity and don’t take anything seriously because you think you’re so strong. And you are, but you’re not invincible and you won’t always have the upper hand. Did you not learn anything from this? From almost dying? I think we have a right to be concerned about you!”
“I was clearly sick or something!” Satoru sneers back, shoulders hunching up defensively as he turns to glare at Suguru. He’s unsurprised to find a matching heated glare directed at him. “Just drop it, will you? So I made a mistake, that, might I remind everyone, I don’t even remember making. I don’t see you pointing out anyone else’s shortcomings. I don’t fucking know what happened, okay? So lay off.”
“Does that not worry you?” Suguru snaps heatedly. “What your cursed energy did? What happened? That you don’t know why it happened? I saw what it did, Satoru! It wasn’t normal, and then you collapsed! In front of a curse, in a veil! You could’ve died! You would be dead! Why aren’t you concerned about it?!”
“Well, I obviously didn’t do it on purpose!” Satoru growls back, “it was an accident! And who said I wasn’t concerned? I might be the strongest, but cursed energy is cursed energy. I’m still learning too! God, it’s like everyone forgets I'm a student too! I may walk among them, but I’m not a God. I am a human. I’m just like you, Suguru, so why are you using this as some kind of olive branch to nitpick me? I fucked up once. My cursed energy fucked up once. Get over it. I told you to lay off, Suguru!”
“I'm not saying you did it on purpose!” Suguru fumes, leaning in so they’re almost nose to nose glaring daggers at each other, “I’m saying I’m worried about you, you arrogant asshole! You could’ve died! I’m worried about you, and you’re just pretending this is normal when it’s really not!”
“Boys—!”
“Sensei...?”
The voice, as quiet as it is, cracks like a whip through the tension.
Satoru’s sure everyone startled, that the four of them tense up at the oddity disturbing the tranquility of Jujutsu Tech’s training field. It’s a small voice that drags such a reaction from them. Small and very, very out of place here, because that— that's the voice of a child. A young child.
A young child who has no business being here at Jujutsu Tech.
Now, Satoru is not a sensei. Maybe somewhere in his dreams, but not here. Not now. He’s a student himself. He has a sensei. So, there’s no reason for him to glance over, well, besides to maybe gawk at a child within Tengen’s barrier.
But he can’t help but glance towards the call of the word as if moving on autopilot.
As if the word, the small voice, is calling out to him instead of Yaga-sensei. It feels... familiar in a sense. Somewhere in the pits of his soul. Familiar in a way he can’t quite put into words.
Satoru turns his head and freezes when his eyes settle on the child.
He’s short— tiny, really. Satoru’s not sure he’s ever seen a human that small. Satoru doesn’t know children, but there’s no way this one is any older than five. He’s dressed in a pale sky-blue uniform shirt, no doubt an elementary school uniform of some sort, maybe even a preschool uniform.
Satoru's mouth drops open anyways.
At first glance, he doesn’t know the kid. Not that he thought he would; he doesn’t know any kids. He’d lived a sheltered life at the Gojō Clan estate and his first real introduction to youth had been when he’d started at Jujutsu Tech with Shoko and Suguru. And they weren’t quite kids at that point. Not like the small human before them.
Still, Satoru can’t help but let his eyes flick up the kid.
Wide, childlike eyes and rounded chubby cheeks. Short, but probably average weight and height for a toddler. Satoru assumes, at least. Fluffy pale pink hair? A bit odd, and... and familiar.
Where has he seen that before—
Holy shit.
The child looks just as surprised to see him as everyone else looks to see an unknown child here, auburn irises widening comically as Satoru’s hand lifts to tear his glasses off his face as if they’re the culprit behind what he’s seeing.
Six-Eyes trail over the child, but he’s just a regular non-sorcerer kid.
Six-Eyes might not see anything of interest, but Satoru sure as hell does.
In turn, the child scans Satoru up, hardly giving anyone else a second thought. The kid’s surveying gaze starts at Satoru’s shoes and climbs up his frame until the child’s wide eyes meet Satoru’s just as shocked blues.
A long second of stunned eye contact between them.
Shock bleeds into the child’s expression as uncertainty clouds his gaze. He’d found his way here, but now there’s a hesitance in the boy’s eyes. Satoru completely understands.
This is a mess.
So fucking messy.
The child takes a tiny, hardly noticeable step back, as Satoru takes a longer stride forward. His teacher and classmates are all but forgotten behind him, and he’s unable to tear his own gaze away from the child a couple steps away. Something about seeing him makes Satoru’s chest warm and fuzzy. Excitement, he thinks.
“Oh my God,” the boy whispers in shock as the realization hits. “Sensei.”
Warmth blossoms in Satoru’s chest as the weight of all of this crashes into him, a wide, toothy smile pulling at his lips despite the churn of ‘what the fuck’ in his stomach.
Satoru takes another step forwards, arms spreading wide in excitement, “Yūji-kun! You’re here!”
“Oh my God,” the child repeats breathlessly, sounding far older than any child his age should sound, unable to tear his eyes away from Satoru. The boy shakes faintly, shock maybe, words a shaky exhale, “it’s really- you’re- you look- this is— oh my God!”
There’s really no doubting it now.
Clearly this is not the dream Satoru had thought it to be since waking up in the infirmary feeling weird in a way he can’t describe.
Twenty-eight-year-old him and the shitshow residing in his thoughts, more often than not, is also not a dream either, apparently, because that, that child right there, is Itadori Yūji, Satoru’s fifteen-year-old student.
Satoru’s fifteen-year-old student who is currently a round-faced knee-high child.
A child he’s never met as a seventeen-year-old. A child who wouldn’t know about him, a child he wouldn’t know about. A child who shouldn’t know about this school— about Jujutsu Sorcery, in general— and who certainly shouldn’t be able to find this school and get through Tengen’s barriers without detection.
Because Yūji, the Vessel of Ryōmen Sukuna, The King of Curses, over eleven years from now, currently has not an ounce of cursed spirit in his little tiny body.
Interesting.
But also, fuck.