Chapter Text
Suguru doesn’t remember much after his death.
The last thing he remembers is Satoru. Because for him, it’s always Satoru.
He remembers his eyes, so full of sadness, of undeserved love. He remembers the one lone tear that escaped from them just before a pale, trembling hand raised towards him. He remembers the burst of power that shook the air and rumbled deep in his bones, the flash of light, the strong but brief spike of pain, and then darkness.
After that, the darkness follows for a while.
At first it feels good, it feels right. It feels like falling asleep after a long, tiring day, tucked cozily under warm blankets and engulfed in lulling darkness.
And then it turns sour. It becomes a different kind of darkness: oppressing instead of comforting, crushing instead of embracing. It pins him down, holds him back, and suffocates him.
For a long while it feels as if he is drowning, immersed in muddy black water, only distantly aware of what is happening above the surface but unable to properly take it in from how dulled his senses are.
And then, suddenly, a wisp of light breaks through the surface.
It is familiar, comforting, inviting. It urges him, frantic yet gentle as it pushes him towards the rippling surface.
And then he sees him.
Satoru.
Because, for him, it'a always Satoru.
Bright blue eyes are blinking at him like a lighthouse in the night, cutting through the darkness and fog, guiding him back home.
And then a warm, familiar voice breaks through the static.
“How long are you gonna let yourself be used like this, Suguru?”
Those words feel like a punch to the gut, breaking him out of his months-long daze. He starts thrashing and struggling against the black quicksand engulfing him and trying to suck him back down.
It hurts. It hurts so much, it feels as if every muscle of his metaphorical body is ripping apart from the struggle.
Still he keeps pushing. Because Satoru needs him.
Something breaks, and suddenly his right arm is free and attacking, moving almost on instinct, on a primal urge to protect Satoru .
Because Suguru has always protected Satoru, even at the risk of making the other despise him. Because Suguru is willing to defy the law, logic and death itself to protect his beloved.
The quicksand gets stronger, trying desperately to suck him back in, to drown him, to force him into submission.
But all that he can see is the sky blue of Satoru’s eyes and all that he can feel is the pure, hot, bubbling rage that is burning within him at the realization that someone is trying to use his body to hurt his one and only.
Something else tears, and his other arm is free.
Guided by pure instinct and determination, he keeps pushing and pushing and pushing , up to the point where he is sure he is going to tear in two.
He grips onto his flickering consciousness like a lifeline, holding onto it with nails and teeth and pure desperation.
Finally, everything tears.
He is free.
He blinks through his eyes and sees the dirty floor of the train station. He twitches his hands, gripping onto the cold tiles, awestruck by the simple fact that he can feel them under his fingertips.
He slowly sits back from where he was splayed out on the floor, collapsed after what must have been one hell of a fight for control of his body.
He can still feel a throbbing pressure in his head, the residual struggle of whoever had taken his body to try and push him back down and take the reins once more, so he grits his teeth and pushes back just as strongly, metaphorically planting his feet and making himself unmovable.
Finally, he looks up and finds himself face to face with Satoru, who is still kneeling with his hands tied behind his back by the Prison Realm and is looking straight back at him.
All the defiance and aggression from earlier is gone from his eyes, replaced instead by a familiar softness. Undeserved love.
Satoru smiles, weak and tired, but sincere nonetheless.
“Welcome back, Suguru.”
Suguru blinks, still processing everything that has happened just in the span of a few minutes.
However, while looking into Satoru's bright and loving eyes, he finds himself not really caring about any of that, about the pure absurdity and craziness of the situation.
He has protected Satoru. That is all that matters.
One hand tentatively reaches up, hesitant and trembling but longing oh so strongly to touch, to make sure that this is real , that the beautiful man in front of him is not just a figment of his imagination.
It feels weird to have his body back: his control is still shaky, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated, limbs feeling as if filled with lead. He steadies himself with a deep breath and finally brings his palm up, carefully cupping Satoru’s bloody cheek. No Infinity meets his palm, the Prison Realm still repressing the sorcerer’s cursed energy. Or perhaps does Infinity still recognize him and naturally part for him like it did back when they were young and guiltless?
Satoru flinches a bit at first, but then relaxes into it, pressing back into Suguru’s palm like a purring cat. He is slightly trembling, Suguru can’t help but notice, the notion making his heart ache and his hand turn even gentler.
For all the confident bravado he had put on, Satoru had been scared. Someone had used his only weakness against him and almost defeated him. He had probably been terrified .
“I’m here. You’re okay, I've got you.” Suguru soothes, thumb gently wiping away the blood still splattered on the other’s cheek. “You’re safe with me.”
Satoru’s only reply is to close his eyes and let out a small, quivering breath, as big of an admission of vulnerability as he would allow himself to show.
The display of fragility lasts for only a few seconds and then Satoru’s eyes are opening once again, grave and determined.
“This isn’t over.” Is all that he says, an underlying urgency in his firm voice.
Suguru tilts his head to the side and smiles, agreeing and reassuring.
“It’ll be fine. After all, we’re the strongest, right?”
Satoru’s pretty eyes widen in surprise at hearing his own motto from when they were young, but then a blinding shark-like grin spreads on his face, shining even brighter than his azure eyes.
“Damn right.”
And so Suguru completely frees him from the Prison Realm’s bindings, storing the awful object safely within one of his curses, and they get to work.
It has been over a decade since the last time they fought side by side, and yet it feels as if no time has passed at all as they take on one curse after the other, never faltering or slowing down in their perfectly coordinated attacks.
They work together like a well-oiled machine, bouncing off of one another easily, communicating with just one glance and protecting each other as if it is second nature, overwhelming their opponents on all sides.
They defeat all the curses in just a little over half an hour, Suguru absorbing them while Satoru aids his hurt students and the civilians.
Suguru’s head is still pounding, the dirty impostor not giving up his fight for the control of his body. At one point the pain becomes so strong that his memories of the fight start to get fuzzy and confused, and he’s fighting only on raw instinct, managing to keep holding on until Satoru claims that they are finally done.
And only then does he promptly pass out.
He awakes to the feeling of a gentle hand combing through his hair and two familiar voices talking in hushed whispers.
“Stop looking at me like that.” That’s Satoru’s voice, Suguru is quick to register, still keeping his eyes closed both out of curiosity and to avoid making the pounding of his head worse.
“This is going to bite you in the ass, I just know it.” That voice, though definitely familiar, is one that he hasn’t heard in over a decade, so it takes him a few moments longer to properly place. However, when along with Satoru’s usual sweet cologne he manages to take a whiff of cigarette smoke he is quick to recognize the woman speaking as Shoko.
Her voice has gotten deeper and a little rougher, most likely due to both age and her obsessive smoking. She sounds tired.
“You’re always such a pessimist.”
“I’m not. I’m actually your only voice of reason. And I’m telling you, you’ve fucked up big time.”
“You talk as if it’s my fault that all of this happened.”
“Isn’t it? If you had let me properly dispose of the body we wouldn’t be here talking about it.”
The hand in his hair stills for a few seconds, and Satoru’s cursed energy turns sour like it always does when frustrated but trying to keep it down.
“Why are you talking as if this is a bad outcome? We’re all okay, and Suguru-”
“You almost got sealed , Satoru.” Shoko grits out, voice slightly getting louder though she quickly reels herself in and goes back to hissing lowly. “Do you have any idea of how bad things would have turned out if Geto hadn’t regained control of his body? How many civilians, how many sorcerers, how many of your students might have died? Kugisaki and NItta already got hurt, Ijichi got stabbed! Countless civilians have been transfigured by that curse with stitches. If you hadn’t got freed and those Special Grade curses hadn’t gotten exorcized right away by you two… it would have turned into a fucking massacre.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t. That’s the point.” Satoru replies as if obvious, and Shoko huffs loudly, the sound of heels clicking on the pavement echoing in the room telling Suguru that she is pacing nervously.
“But it very nearly did! Because you were careless ! Because you’re always careless when it comes to Geto!”
“Shoko, I’m sorry that I didn’t properly dispose of the body, okay? I fucked up, I know that. But how could I have imagined that there was some thing with a corpse-snatching technique who somehow knew of my history with Suguru and decided to use it as a trump card against me? How could I have possibly seen that coming?”
“That’s not the point-”
“Then what is the point? Because the way I see it, this is the best outcome that we could have had. All of our sorcerers and students are alive and well, those Special Grade curses got exorcized, and Suguru is alive. He was dead, I killed him , and yet he came back. He’s here, back with us, he came back to save me! Why am I the only one who seems happy about that?”
Charged silence follows Satoru’s rant. His voice had raised well above a whisper in his frustration, yet Suguru doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare interrupt. Shoko and Satoru clearly need to get this out of their systems, and if he makes them aware that he has been awake this whole time he fears that it would only make things awkward. Also, more selfishly, he really wants to see where this conversation will lead, morbid curiosity making him wait anxiously for the woman’s answer.
“You know, just because he saved you doesn’t mean that things are okay now. It doesn’t erase everything that happened. Just because he protected you doesn’t mean that he changed.” Shoko’s voice is grave yet gentle, softly scolding like a worried mother.
Satoru takes a few moments to answer, fingers going back to gently carding through Suguru’s hair almost as if trying to distract himself or self-soothe.
“I know. But he could. He changed once, he can do it again.”
“The higher ups will never let this slide. It doesn’t matter that he helped us in Shibuya. You may have been able to hold them off for now, but they’ll want him executed.”
“I don’t care. I have called off executions before, I can do it again. I’m not- I can’t kill him again, Shoko. You know that I can’t.”
Guilt starts swirling around Suguru’s stomach, somehow tasting almost as foul as the curses he regularly ingests.
Satoru just sounds so… broken.
He has never heard him talk so openly, be so vulnerable with his emotions. He has never heard Gojo Satoru sound small, fragile.
As a teenager, he had never allowed himself to show any weakness, mostly because of the conditioning that his clan had put him through growing up, convincing him that he needed to be unbreakable, convincing him that showing any emotion was somehow beneath him.
It seemed that growing up Satoru has been able to let go of that hurtful idea, allowing himself to be vulnerable, at least with Shoko, with whom he seems to have remained close, despite the fact that at the moment they were in a disagreement. There is no mistaking the amiliarity between the two, a familiarity in which he had once been a part of.
Despite finding some relief in seeing the emotional growth of his former best friend, Suguru can’t ignore the rising shame at the knowledge that he is the one causing Satoru’s suffering. It is because of him that the man is sounding so dejected.
“Whatever, do what you want.” Shoko sighs in defeat at last, snapping Suguru out of his thoughts. “Just… be careful, alright? I’m really fucking tired of seeing you get hurt because of him.”
“Aww, so you do care! You try to act all tough but deep down you're a big softie, aren’t you?” Satoru teases, the shit-eating grin evident even in just his voice. After all, more emotionally mature or not, he is still Satoru, and so he is physically incapable of maintaining a serious conversation for more than five minutes.
“Shut up before I lock you in the freezer with the dead bodies.” Suguru can perfectly picture Shoko’s intense eye-roll.
“Morbid. By the way, I know that you always tell me that I should go into therapy, but I honestly think that you might need it more. Your fascination with dead bodies is starting to lean less towards goth and quirky and more towards creepy and psychotic.”
Suguru can’t help himself.
For some unknown reason, Satoru’s shitty, sassy and blunt humor has always worked on him, and most likely only on him. Finding Satoru genuinely funny is probably one of his darkest secrets.
And so, he can’t help himself. He snorts.
Immediately, all the attention in the room is pointed on him and Satoru’s hand quickly leaves his hair. He is embarrassed to admit that he already misses it.
Slowly, he opens his eyes, blinking at the bright infirmary lights before turning his gaze first to Satoru, who is sitting beside his cot, and then to Shoko, who is leaning back on the far wall with a cigarette in hand and a sardonic glint in her eyes.
“Look who’s back from the dead. Quite literally.” She comments drily, and he gives her an unamused look.
“How long have I been out?”
“About two days, I think?”
“Two?” He frowns, trying to sit up but faltering and groaning at the sudden spike of pain in his head.
Immediately, a big, pale hand reaches out, steadying him, its weight and warmth comforting on his chest as he is gently pushed back down.
“Careful, dumbass. You were under surgery just a few days ago.” Satoru reprimands, though there was no actual bite in his tone.
Suguru frowns, glancing at Shoko questioningly. “Surgery?”
The woman hums in confirmation, taking one last drag of her cigarette before putting it out against the cement walls and throwing it away in a nearby trash can. She pushes herself off the wall and walks up to his cot.
“The guy who snatched your body put up one hell of a fight while you were out of it. It was kinda funny, honestly, you looked possessed. Like something straight out of The Exorcist. I had to sedate you, crack your skull open and surgically remove the impostor. The most stressful nine hours of my life, honestly. Now I know that I’ll never become a brain surgeon. You owe me big time.” She explains way too calmly for Suguru’s liking and he has to take a few seconds to process all of that.
“So… am I okay now? Am I just… me?” He hesitantly aks, raising a careful hand to his head, feeling soft bandages wrapped around where the stitches used to be.
“Yup. Just your big, old, dumb genocidal brain. No squatters allowed.”
Suguru ignores the jabs that the woman sent him, instead focusing on the simple fact that his body is once again his, and his alone. He feels like he could cry from the sheer relief, the simple memory of how suffocating and agonizing it had been to be trapped into his own mind, so close and yet so distant from the outside world, helpless and powerless to do anything, feeling like a distant nightmare now.
“I healed you as much as I could, which is why you’re not currently bed bound and barely conscious, but you’re still recovering, so you’ll feel tired and your headache will probably stick around for a while. You can walk around and shit, but you shouldn’t do anything too strenuous, both physically and mentally, so take it easy. Or don’t, do whatever you want, like you usually do.” Shoko boredly explains, tone pungent and laced with old bitterness.
Suguru doesn’t feel any guilt or shame for his past actions, but he does find this sharp hostility from a person that he once considered one of his closest friends to be a little unnerving, leaving an unpleasant taste on his tongue.
Before he can answer with something just as sharp, Satoru cuts in.
“Don’t worry, doc. I’ll keep an eye on him.” His attitude is playful and easygoing as usual, but the brief stern look that he throws Suguru tells him that the sorcerer has clearly read his intention to pick a fight and is purposefully keeping him quiet.
Suguru huffs out but obliges, mouth shut and turned downward into a scowl.
Shoko studies the both of them for a few moments before sighing tiredly.
“That’s not really as reassuring as you may think it is. Whatever, you can help him move into one of the spare rooms and wait for Yaga to come back. He wants to speak with you. The both of you.” And with that the doctor turns around and leaves, the echo of her heels clicking on the pavement in the hallway slowly getting fainter and fainter.
Awkward silence falls over the room as the two men simply sit there, staring at the empty spot that Shoko left to avoid looking at each other.
When they were together fighting in Shibuya it had been easy to fall into their old comfortable routine, to forget everything that had happened, too busy exorcizing curses to address any of the tension and awkwardness in between them. But now, in the quiet of the infirmary room it is impossible to ignore.
It is rare for Suguru to find himself at a loss for words, but Satoru has always been the one exception in his life.
Because what can you say to someone who used to be half of your soul and yet you still left behind? What can you say to someone who you once thought you would always keep by your side only to then abandon and ignore for ten years? What can you say to the person who killed you only to then bring you back to life? What can you say in the face of the love you’ve smothered with your own violent, bloody hands but that keeps stubbornly burning despite everything?
Thankfully, Suguru doesn’t have to mull it over for much longer for Satoru, always the braver one between the two of them, takes it upon himself to take that first step, shouldering that burden upon his own shoulder like he does everything else, a modern day Atlas.
“How are you feeling?” He asks with a gentleness that Suguru knows he doesn't deserve and yet is too selfish to reject.
“My head is killing me, but I finally feel like myself again. So that’s good. It feels good to be in control again.”
Satoru hums in understanding, and the awkward silence returns.
Suguru then decides to follow in Satoru’s footsteps, chasing after him like he always used to do, and so he gathers his own courage to break the tension once again.
“I’m really glad you’re okay.” He admits softly, relishing in the look of genuine surprise that Satoru gives him just before a blinding smile spreads on his face.
“I have you to thank for that. How does it feel to be my knight in shining armor, huh? Pretty darn good, I bet. Don’t get used to it though, I’m too strong and amazing to be caught off guard like that ever again.”
Suguru chuckles with a fond shake of his head. Oh, how he has missed Satoru’s obnoxious bragging.
“Sure, whatever you say.”
“You know I’m right. Duh, I always am. Anyways, we should get you situated into your room before Yaga comes back from his meeting with the higher ups and starts nagging us.” Satoru announces cheerily, springing up from his seat with so much energy that Suguru feels dizzy just looking at him.
“I don’t really have any belongings to move, at least I don’t think so.” He ponders out loud while slowly getting up from the medical cot, with just a little help from the other as a wave of dizziness hits him as he stands upright for the first time in two days.
“Nope, you didn’t really have anything with you. You know, since you’re technically dead and all. All you had were those god-awful monk robes and I made sure to get rid of them. You’re welcome, by the way.” Satoru comments as they slowly weave through familiar halls that Suguru still remembers like the back of his hand, heading toward the section of the dorms.
“What? I liked those. They were very comfortable.” He complains with a frown, trying to hold back a smile at the sight of Satoru’s shocked expression.
“God, Suguru, they were a fashion nightmare! They did absolutely nothing for you. I can’t believe that people let you walk around in that for ten fucking years, my god. Honestly, if I could I would burn them a second time just out of spite!”
“You burned them?” The raven haired man splutters incredulously, and the other nods proudly, not a trace of shame in his expression.
“Duh. Don’t look at me like that, it was for your own good. You’ll thank me someday.”
“You talk as if you aren’t the one walking around looking like a giant paintbrush.” Suguru comments with a roll of his eyes, making the sorcerer gasp loudly and dramatically put a hand on his chest.
“How dare you? You’re just jealous of how effortlessly hot I look. You’re in shambles.”
“You look like a freak. Seriously, what’s up with the blindfold? The glasses were already tacky, but this is just awful.”
“Aww, do you want to see my pretty eyes so badly? How sweet of you, 'Guru!” Satoru teases with a shit-eating grin, all while hooking a finger into his blindfold and briefly pulling it up to reveal his eyes, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes at him.
It is kinda true, Suguru has to admit. He always feels a little disappointed when Satoru covers his beautiful eyes. But the other man doesn’t need the ego boost, so he just sighs with as much sarcasm as he possibly could and shakes his head.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
They keep walking through familiar corridors, and just as a certain question starts tugging at Suguru’s mind, he senses something: a known cursed energy that makes him both shiver and grin mischievously.
They turn one last corner and his senses get proven right as he comes face to face with a familiar small but powerful figure standing rigidly in the middle of the hallway.
“Ah, Okkotsu-kun! So nice to see you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Suguru greets with a seemingly gentle smile, though the boy easily senses the underlying threat in it, considering how his eyes quickly narrow into a glare.
“It has.” The boy replies with a curt nod, not letting anything but detached iciness slip through either his face and his tone, not giving Suguru anything to latch onto or exploit to rile him up. Boring .
The kid has quite grown up in those past months, and not just physically. Yes, he has undoubtedly grown a few inches taller and is able now to properly fill out his past baggy uniform, looking less scrawny and more firm while still maintaining his lithe and thin build; and his hair has been left to grow out a bit and parted to the side, framing his less-rounded and sharper face nicely, taking away from that childish appearance that he had had last time Suguru saw him.
But the changes in him run much deeper than that. The way he carries himself has changed, has matured . Yes, he has grown taller, but he also stands taller, steady and self-assured, no longer hunching on himself, trying to make himself look smaller like he once did. His eyes, still wide and adorned by tired dark circles, are sharper, calculating, dangerous. He is still composed and quiet in his demeanor, but it is no longer out of overt shyness and self-consciousness. He is more like a feline predator: calm, elegant, silent, but always ready to pounce.
He is no longer the doe-eyed confused kid that Suguru first approached a year ago, nor the wildly uncontrolled and overly-emotional newborn powerhouse that he fought on Christmas Eve.
This is truly a Special Grade sorcerer.
Immensely powerful and he knows it. He has finally grown comfortable in his strenght, and doesn’t fail to make sure that everyone standing near him knows just how powerful he is.
This boost in confidence that the kid had clearly needed a year ago isn’t unjustified, either. Suguru can tell, can sense that the boy’s power has grown greatly in just a little less than a year. He can feel it pulse all around them, he can feel that almost bottomless pit of cursed energy thrumming in the boy’s core, rippling the space all around him.
He can also tell that part of it is definitely on purpose. Okkotsu is showing off, allowing his cursed energy to leak out and swirl intimidatingly around him, a silent challenge, a dooming threat, a dare to cross him and see what happens.
“Yuta!” Satoru cheers rushing to the boy like an over-enthusiastic puppy, either unaware or just simply uncaring of the tense and passive-aggressive atmosphere. “How are you? How was the flight back?” He wraps the boy into a strong but brief hug, pulling back only to affectionately ruffle his dark hair.
And Suguru is left to watch with a weird mix of amusement and another bitter and piercing emotion that he cannot quite place as Yuta’s energy and demeanor immediately soften at the attention from his sensei as if a switch has been flicked, turning gentle and pliant as he leans into the affection like a purring house-cat, a genuine but shy smile gracing his lips.
“It was fine, sensei. Though I wish you could have been a little more specific with your SOS text. You made me really worried, but I’m glad to see you’re okay.” The boy calmly explains, eyes crinkling at the edges with relief.
“Of course I’m okay, I’m The Strongest!” Satoru easily dismisses with a playful scoff and a wave of his hand.
“More importantly, have you been filled in on everything that happened? Judging from your incredibly calm reaction at seeing what is quite literally a dead man walking I assume that you have.” The teacher continues with that same aloof and playful attitude, vaguely tilting his head back in Suguru’s direction.
Okkotsu’s kind smile fades a bit, eyes darkening once again as his gaze travels back to Suguru, mouth pursued in badly concealed displeasure.
“Yes, Ieiri-san and Yaga-san filled me in on what I’ve missed in Shibuya. I see that the surgery was successful.” He comments coldly with a nod to Suguru’s bandaged forehead.
Suguru smiles, tilting his head to the side amicably, cold and fake in his politeness.
“Indeed, it went very well. Thank you for your concern, Okkotsu-kun. That’s very sweet of you.”
One of the boy’s eyes slightly twitches, an almost imperceptible sign of annoyance that Suguru wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so well practiced at reading people and their every microexpression. It makes him smile, sly and satisfied at having riled up the apparently stoic kid.
“You look awfully calm for someone whose future is still hanging on a thread and up for decision. I would try to not antagonize one of my possible executioners, if I were you.” Okkotsu points out with narrowed eyes, and Suguru’s grin only stretches further as he takes an assured step towards the boy.
“Oh my, is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning .”
“Okay!” Suddenly the growing tension is broken by Satoru’s forcedly cheerful voice as the man plants himself in between the other two and loudly claps his hands. “While it pains me to interrupt such a friendly conversation, Yuta you should be getting ready for our meeting with the higher ups, and Suguru you need to rest. So less chitter chatter and let’s get moving, folks!”
And with that Satoru is ruffling once again Yuta’s hair and pushing him towards another hallway before grabbing Suguru’s arm and basically dragging him away.
Suguru can’t help but grin fondly at the man’s overdramatic antics, stumbling a bit before regaining his footing and easily falling into step with Satoru and his kilometric legs.
“What’s the rush? I was having fun.” He sighs with fake disappointment, and the sorcerer huffs, no doubt glaring at him under his blindfold.
“So having a pissing contest with a seventeen year old is your definition of fun now, huh? I’m just saving you from getting your ass handed to you.”
“How little faith do you have in me? I could take that brat.” Suguru grumbles, very real annoyance slipping into his voice at having his abilities doubted. Especially at having his abilities doubted by Satoru .
“Need I remind you that he beat your ass once before and also, before you say that it was just a stroke of luck or something like that, that you’re currently recovering from brain surgery and therefore are in no condition whatsoever to fight? So yeah, you most certainly can not ‘ take that brat’ at the moment.” Satoru is quick to shut him down, brutally honest as always, though there is a hint of playfulness in his tone that is perhaps meant to soften the blow.
Suguru’s pride is wounded nonetheless.
“Whatever.” He huffs out in reply, remaining quiet for the rest of the walk. At least, until he notices which door they have stopped in front of.
A wave of bittersweet familiarity crashes into him, making him freeze in his tracks.
“Is this…?” He murmurs softly, not finding the words to finish his thought. Satoru understands him anyway, nodding and gently nudging him to the side to put a hand on the handle and slowly open the door. He then steps aside, letting Suguru enter the room first.
Suguru’s heart aches in his chest as he takes in the dusty old dorm room, looking exactly as it did the day he left it once and for all.
A rush of mixed memories floods his mind. Memories of when he first moved into this room, young and innocent and blissfully ignorant, homesick and unsure but nonetheless excited at the prospect of being in a place full of people that could understand him, full of people like him.
But there are also memories of sleepless nights spent tossing around and wondering: wondering what he was doing, why he was doing it and how long he could keep doing it before he broke, wondering if there was a way out and if he actually had the courage to take it.
He looks around, taking in the perfectly made bed, the creaky rolling chair pulled up to the wooden old desk scattered with trinkets and school supplies, the shelves filled to the brim with books ranging from narrative to poetry and to jujutsu history, the pictures of his long dead family and long lost friends hanging on the wall.
The memories keep flooding in, chaotic and messy as happy ones overlap with the painful ones.
Napping cuddled up on the bed with Satoru after a long mission; sitting still like a corpse at his desk uselessly staring at his incomplete school assignment while trying to push down the overwhelming grief that had been following him ever since Haibara’s death; sitting with Shoko on the windowsill while smoking and chatting about whatever came to mind, feeling happy and calm and heard ; laying awake on the bed a few days after the Star Plasma mission staring at the ceiling and wondering if it had been his fault or if there was someone else to blame for all this suffering; staying up all night playing videogames with Satoru on his Nintendo while eating junk food; coming back exhausted and wounded after a mission and thinking that there has to be someone to blame for all this pain ; spending his off days lazing around and reading while listening to the mixtape that Satoru made for him; skipping another meal just to bury himself under the too warm covers of his bed and thinking there’s no meaning, no meaning, no meaning, no meaning- over and over again until even those words no longer made sense to his own mind.
It all feels like too much, the mix of warmth and hate and nostalgia and regret overwhelming him.
“You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. There are other spare rooms.” Satoru’s gentle voice breaks him out of his stupor and he turns sharply back towards the other man whose face is pinched in worry, having most likely read right through him like he always has.
“Why is it the same? Why has this room not been cleared out of my stuff in the last ten years?” Suguru demands instead, grave and urgent, completely ignoring the other’s words.
Satoru hesitates. It is a rare sight.
“I didn’t allow it.” He admits softly, voice laced with an emotion that Suguru can’t quite place. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t lose the last remnants that I had of you.”
Oh.
So that’s the emotion that Suguru couldn’t place: grief.
Satoru was grieving him, and is still grieving him in some way.
Even before his death, Satoru has been grieving him, grieving the loss of his best friend from his life.
This room alone is a testament to his grief, to his painful and unhealthy attachment to someone who was no longer there but he couldn’t seem to let go of.
That same bitter guilt that had sunk in his gut earlier in the infirmary while listening to Satoru and Shoko talk suddenly comes back in full force, even stronger now.
It is strange. For in the countless years that he spent lying and manipulating and murdering he never felt a shred of shame or guilt, yet now as he is faced with Satoru’s broken heart he feels as if he is drowning in them.
“Pretty damn pathetic, yeah I know.” Satoru seems to take badly to his stunned silence, quick to mask his earlier show of vulnerability under a forced smile and a self-deprecating laugh. “Anyways, it’s fine if you don’t want to stay here. Like I said, there are plenty of other rooms, this was stupid, let’s just go-”
“No, it’s fine.” Suguru cuts him off, lips curling into a reassuring smile as he takes another look at the room.
Yes, there are many painful memories of this place, but the good ones far outnumber the bad ones. This is where his and Satoru’s friendship blossomed, after all. It was their hang-out spot, for Satoru’s own room was always too messy to stay in.
This is where he first realized he was in love with Satoru. On a lazy morning, after a night spent watching the new season of a show that they both enjoyed, on one of those rare occasions in which Suguru woke up before Satoru, his feelings, after months and months of confusion and denial, were suddenly undeniable, a vivid and concrete thing carved into his chest.
As he had looked down at Satoru’s sleeping face, the morning rays of Sun filtering through his curtains painting him in a soft warm yellow glow, hair an unruly mess sticking out in every direction, a soft pale cheek squished against the pillow, long white eyelashes curling against high cheekbones, plump and rosy lips hanging open and leaving a trail of drool to trickle down his cheek and pool onto the pillowcase, looking so incredibly human , flawed and tangible like any other man, he had realized that there was no other word fit to place the sizzling feeling in his chest. No other word but love .
How could a place that joined him to the love of his life ever be bad?
It had been easy for him to forget about his first two years at Jujutsu Tech, about all the happiness and love that they had given him. It had been easy for them to get buried under the horror and trauma of the Star Plasma mission and everything that happened after it. But standing here, in that same room, with Satoru, with his one and only, suddenly all of the good parts are standing tall and proud at the forefront of his mind.
“Are you sure?” Satoru tilts his head, clearly confused by his stark mood change.
“Yes, I’m sure. This is my room, after all.” Suguru smiles, and that is the end of it.
“Okay, if you say so.” Satoru nods, turning then to focus his attention on the closet standing on the opposite wall. “Your old clothes are still here, so in the meantime you can try them on and see if they still fit. They should since you were a big emo who always wore clothes three times his size, but in case they don’t I could always lend you something.”
Suguru rolls his eyes at the jab at his past fashion style, but nods nonetheless.
“Great. So you do that and then try to get some sleep, Shoko said you need to get lots of rest. I have a meeting with the higher ups in a bit but I’ll probably be back before you wake up.”
“And if you aren’t? Am I allowed to leave my room or will Okkotsu-kun kick my ass if I do?” Suguru asks with a tilt of his eyebrows, and Satoru hesitates for a second before snorting in amusement. It sounds only a little forced, Suguru has to give him that.
“Of course you can, you’re not held hostage here.”
“But I am to be kept under some sort of surveillance, right? Let me guess, I’m not allowed to leave the school grounds?” Suguru presses, and Satoru’s resounding silence is all the answer he needs.
“So that’s a yes. Makes sense: under Tengen’s barrier I can’t use Curse Manipulation without triggering the alarms, so it’s the easiest way to keep me in check without needing someone to look after me twenty four-seven. I am to be surveilled here until the higher ups make a decision about my execution, right?”
Satoru opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted by a series of booming knocks at the door. A grin spreads across his face as he gracefully weaves past Suguru to go and open the door.
“Perfect timing! You should ask the boss himself.” And with that he throws open the door, revealing a clearly annoyed Yaga.
“What’s with the frown? Come on, turn that frown upside down! Show me that beautiful smile of yours!” Satoru exclaims obnoxiously, poking at his own cheeks to stretch his smile wider.
Yaga sighs with the strength of a thousand annoyed teachers and silently glares at the man.
“So, I’m guessing that the meeting with the old farts didn’t go too well?” Satoru tries again, a little less annoying in his overplayed cheer.
“Let’s just say they were less than enthused by our suggestion. I did what I could, the rest is up to you and the kid.” Yaga says with a tired nod, and Satoru grins that sharp, blinding and arrogant grin of his that Suguru can’t help but love despite its obnoxiousness.
“Don’t worry about that, boss. I can be very persuasive.”
“Trust me, I know.” Yaga rubs at his temples before gathering himself, standing up straighter, and looking over Satoru’s shoulder. “He’s here?”
“Yup, still alive and kicking!” Satoru then steps to the side, no longer standing in between Suguru and Yaga and gesturing theatrically at the former.
Suguru awkwardly waves at his former teacher. “Hello, sensei.”
Yaga hesitates, seemingly unsure on how he is supposed to react to his past student who turned evil and then died standing once again in front of him and greeting him politely.
“Uhm, so I assume the surgery went well? You’re no longer… you know?” He vaguely gestures, looking so incredibly out of his depth that Suguru can’t help but chuckle.
“Nope. There’s just me in here.” He taps at his forehead, and the older man nods in understanding.
“Good, that’s… good. Has Satoru explained your situation to you?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
Yaga’s left eye twitches. “Even though I explicitly told him to?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Yaga slowly turns toward Satoru, who is whistling and looking around innocently, and sends him an exasperated look.
Suguru is already preparing himself for one of Yaga’s famous yelling fits, which both he and Satoru have been at the receiving end of so many times in their high school days.
However, Yaga surprises him by instead taking a deep breath and turning back towards Suguru with an only vaguely annoyed expression. Talk about character development.
“Your status in jujutsu society is currently being discussed in trial. While your past actions are not forgiven, your aid in Shibuya helped us overturn what could have been a very tragic incident, and even the higher ups can recognize that.”
“Now, there’s no need to call me a hero. I just did what I had to.” Suguru can’t help but tease, waving a hand in dismissal and smiling with fake humility.
However, Yaga doesn’t seem to appreciate his attempt at humor, expression souring.
“I wouldn’t joke around, Geto. I may be grateful for your help in Shibuya and willing to vouch for you, but I can easily change my mind. You haven’t regained my trust, so don’t get too comfortable. You’re not here as a guest, you’re here to be kept under close watch and surveillance until the higher ups decide what to do with you. Your death penalty is still very much active, just delayed for the time being. Act accordingly.”
Suguru’s eyebrows raise in both surprise and amusement at the man’s speech. He may not yell and shout like he used to, but he still holds on dearly to his strict and tough guy act.
“I wouldn’t have expected anything else.” Is his mild reply, still keeping his fake polite smile on, knowing how much it unnerves people. He may be stuck here for the time being, but he won’t bow his head down and keep quiet, he won’t act like a grateful rescued stray for the higher ups’ pleasure. His hatred for them and everything they stand for persists, and he will make sure to make it as obvious as possible.
“Now that that is out of the way, let’s set a few ground rules: you are not to leave school grounds while your sentence is being decided. Breaking that rule will result in your death penalty being immediately restored. The same punishment will result if you harm any student or faculty member in any way. Also, the alarms will activate if you use your cursed technique without explicit permission from me, and that will also result in execution, even if you haven’t used it to harm someone. When the time comes for you to speak with the higher ups, or if for a particular reason you are required to leave campus, you will have to be escorted by either Okkotsu Yuta or Gojo Satoru. Even while on campus you will need to be under continuous supervision. Any communication with your former allies is also strictly prohibited and will be punished through execution. Is everything clear?”
“Crystal.” Suguru easily agrees, which seems to surprise Yaga, who blinks a few times before shaking himself out of it and nodding solemnly.
It’s not like Suguru could outwardly refuse, even if he is all but thrilled about the situation. He had expected those to be the rules, so he isn’t particularly shocked or outraged. He knows that the fact that he hasn’t already been executed right away is already extremely lucky. He’s not going to push his luck right now while still weak and vulnerable.
He will just have to lay low and do as told for a while as he recovers and figures out his next step.
“Well then, that’s all for now.” Yaga announces, turning then towards Satoru, who had been quietly observing their interaction and attentively tracking Suguru’s reactions throughout most of it. “Satoru, you should get going, they want to speak with you as soon as possible. Okkotsu is already outside waiting for you.”
“Yes sir!” Satoru exclaims with a mock-salute, and Yaga simply rolls his eyes, the action fonder than it used to be in their teenage years. The principal then exits the room with one last cold nod to Suguru.
“Well, you heard the boss. House arrest for you, mister.” Satoru teases as soon as they are alone once again.
“Fun.” Suguru drawls with as much sarcasm as he can manage, rewarded then by Satoru’s laugh.
“Trust me, I’d much rather be stuck here than have to go talk with the higher ups. You’re the lucky one.”
“Do you want to switch? I wouldn’t mind having a nice, polite conversation with them. There are some things I’ve been meaning to tell them for quite a few years.” Suguru proposes with a wicked smile, the devilish glint in his eyes implying that the conversation he has in mind would be all but polite.
“No, thank you. I don’t need you making your case worse.” Satoru chides playfully. “Well then, I’d better head out. Try not to cause any trouble while I’m gone, okay?”
“When have I ever caused trouble?”
Suguru can feel Satoru’s responding glare even from under the blindfold, and so he chuckles, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll behave. Now go.”
Satoru seems hesitant to leave, continuously glancing back at him with an emotion that can only be described as longing, but then he finally steadies himself and walks up to the door.
“Get some rest. See you later, Suguru.” And with that he slips out of the room, silently closing the door behind him.
It is strange for Suguru to see this new version of his best friend, a more mature, adult version of him. He is still undoubtedly Satoru, with his obnoxious jokes, chatty nature and cheery attitude, but it is now all toned down to a more bearable level. He seems calmer, quieter, more aware of himself and others. While still brutally honest, he is no longer the blunt and rude teenager that Suguru used to constantly reprimand. He is still incredibly confident and sometimes cocky, but his arrogance doesn’t strike him as heavy and sincere like it had once been, instead he seems to play it up mostly as a joke, as another part of his happy, go-lucky persona.
Almost eleven years have passed since Suguru left. It is only natural for Satoru to have grown and changed in the time they spent apart, and yet Suguru can’t help feeling surprised and a bit unnerved by it.
It’s not that he doesn’t like this new version of Satoru. He would always like him, he would always love him, no matter what. He actually probably likes the man even more now that he has matured and grown out of his more childish behaviors.
It is just strange to be forced to face the fact that Satoru’s life has kept going even after Suguru left him. It is strange to think that Satoru has gone through so many experiences and changed so much without Suguru by his side. It is strange to think that the same person that he had once known like the back of his hand now has developed whole new sides and parts that are completely unknown to him.
They are both different people than those that they had been, the past versions of themselves are long gone and lost, and it is a hard pill to swallow.
Perhaps a small part of him childishly thought that by him being back here, at Jujutsu Tech, along with Satoru, things would have just gone back to being the way they once were.
But in life there is no going back. You can only move forward.
Their youth has long slipped away from their grasp. It has already been tainted, murdered, buried and mourned.
Still, as Suguru changes into one of his old pajamas stuffed at the back of his dusty wardrobe and slips under the warm covers of his old bed, it feels easy to pretend, just for a little bit, that he can still be young, innocent and in love.
Just for a little bit.
When he wakes up it is early evening, the sky darkening outside his small window.
It feels disorienting to wake up in his old dorm room again after eleven years, leaving him to glance confusedly at his surroundings for a minute or two and slowly gather his thoughts before everything that had happened in the last few days comes back to him.
As he slowly gets up from the messy bed, staring at the wall in front of him for a few moments, trying to decide what to do now, he wishes he had his phone on him to at least check the time. He doesn’t know how long he slept, just that the throbbing of his head has slightly quieted down and that the Sun is no longer out.
He wonders if Satoru has come back from his meeting with the higher ups. If he had his phone he could just text him, but since he doesn’t he would have to go find out himself.
With that thought in mind he gets up from the bed, brushes a few annoying strands of hair that had fallen over his face during his nap, wishing that he had a hair tie on him, and opens the door of his room.
Only to be met with a strangely familiar tall blond man leaning on the wall opposite of his room and looking at something on his phone.
At the sound of the door opening, the man’s gaze flies up to meet Suguru’s, an odd emotion flickering on his otherwise stoic expression for a moment.
“Geto-san.” The man nods with a polite coldness that Suguru knows all too well, having used it himself countless times.
And then it hits him, the reason why the man seems so familiar.
Memories of a similar, though slightly higher pitched, voice calling him “Geto-senpai” echo through his mind along with those of long blond bangs brushed over tired younger eyes.
“Nanami?” He asks with a surprised twitch of his eyebrows, taking in how different his former underclassman looks.
There are no traces of the scrawny emo teen that Satoru used to tease and mock at every possible chance. The man standing before him is tall and sturdy, firm and imposing with his wide shoulders, cutting jaw, sharp cheekbones and piercing narrowed eyes.
“I see you’ve woken up. Did you have a good rest?” Nanami asks, breaking him out of his shocked stupor, though his unbothered expression makes it clear that he is asking out of politeness rather than actual interest.
“I did.” He simply answers, still carefully examining the man. Nanami doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest by his scrutinizing, meeting his stare dead on, as calm and composed as ever. Suguru is both annoyed and amused at the other’s impassivity.
“Good.”
“Is Satoru back from his meeting?” Suguru finally breaks their little staring contest to glance around, looking for that familiar head of white hair that he can’t help but long for despite having seen him only a few hours prior. Which, after ten years of not seeing one another seems pretty dumb, but it’s not like he can control his feelings.
“Not yet.”
Suguru brings his attention back to Nanami, finally giving a second thought to how strange it is that the man was simply standing there right in front of Suguru’s room. And then it dawns on him.
“Oh, so in the meantime they put you on babysitter duties, huh?” He asks slyly with a tilt of his head. Nanami remains unbothered.
“I wouldn’t personally call keeping a close eye on a mass murderer ‘babysitting’ , but if you consider yourself a child who am I to argue.”
Suguru’s left eye twitches.
Nanami doesn’t smile at his annoyance, expression stoic as ever, but he does look a little smug.
“You’ve changed a lot, haven’t you?” Suguru then asks, a part of him amused and intrigued by the veiled attitude that the once so formal and rigid man is displaying.
“I could say the same about you.” Nanami is quick to reply, and Suguru chuckles.
“I suppose I have.”
A few seconds of silence follow in which the two men keep sizing each other up, unspoken tension lingering in the air.
Nanami is the first to break the silent stand-off, his earlier stoic expression melting slightly into a softer, less frigid one. He doesn’t look kind, not exactly, just more genuine, less guarded.
“It likely isn't relevant at the moment, but I feel the need to tell you that, back then, I understood your need to leave. I still do.”
At the unexpected confession, Suguru feels something that he wants to call curiosity but tastes closer to worry on his tongue.
“Really?”
“Yes. I understand how this world, sorcery, can start to feel like too much to bear. This job, it crushes your body and shatters your soul. Gojo often says that jujutsu sorcerers have to be crazy. At first I thought it was just another one of his idiotic jokes, but I’ve come to realize that he’s right. You have to be crazy to keep going in this world. Gojo is a prime example of that. And if you aren’t crazy from the start, then this world takes care of that and turns you more and more insane the more you go on. I think that this was our problem: we were both a little too sane for this world.”
Suguru wants to laugh at that. It has been such a long time since someone has called him sane that it almost feels like a joke now.
However, he realizes that there is some truth to Nanami’s words. He remembers how he used to be at the beginning, back when he was just a normal fifteen year old, thrust upon this world of curses and sorcerers that Satoru and Shoko had seemed already so comfortable in while he was still struggling to realize that the little monsters he grew up seeing were real and that he wasn’t schizophrenic like so many doctors had told him. He remembers how uncomfortable he used to feel about things that came naturally to Satoru: slaughtering curses, seeing the corpses of the victims and ignoring them in favor of completing the mission, talking to the victims’ families, the grief, the crying, the blood, the jarring sound of flesh being torn apart and of pointy inhuman teeth carving through skin, the mental exhaustion, the blood , there was always so much blood -
Perhaps Nanami is right. Perhaps the difference between him and Satoru was that he had been too sane at the beginning. He had been an empty vessel for this world to fill to the brim with madness, and the world did just that.
Satoru has remained mostly unchanged to his core even through everything that they have been through because he was already full, brimming with a special kind of madness that only a mortal god like him could carry so effortlessly. Suguru, on the other hand, empty as he was, took within himself everything that this insane world threw at him, his soul becoming more damaged and tattered and corrupted with every loss and every curse ingested.
Still, he doesn’t like the implication that the place he has reached after all that suffering and pain is one of insanity. It feels like Nanami is trying to dismiss his choices and lifelong mission as nothing more but a streak of folly, when he would argue that his commitment towards a world void of curses has been the only thing keeping him sane for the past decade.
Nanami keeps talking, unaware of his silent pondering.
“Haibara’s death was a breaking point for you, right?”
Suguru hesitates. How long has it been since he thought of Haibara? How long has it been since he last heard his name spoken out loud?
“One of them, yes.”
Nanami nods, solemn and a little melancholic. “It was a breaking point for me too. That grief… I had never felt anything like it before. It was overwhelming, ever-present. It made everything else feel difficult: eating, sleeping, talking… Missions became unbearable. Just the thought of having to spend the rest of my life exorcizing curses only to then end up another dead body on a table like Haibara was terrifying.”
Suguru doesn’t want to remember it, doesn’t even want to think about it. Eleven years have passed, he found a new purpose, built himself a new life, left it all behind. And yet Nanami’s words awaken a deep-rooted grief that he thought he had buried away. His chest pangs with it and he has to concentrate hard to make sure that the pain doesn’t make its way into his expression.
“So, a few months after your defection, I also left the sorcerer world.”
Thankfully, Nanami’s admission manages to pull his attention away from his old wounds as he widens his eyes in surprise.
“You did?”
“Yes. Though, I didn’t start a cult after I left. Instead I got a job in finance and worked as a simple office worker for a few years.”
Suguru decidedly ignores the jab at his own expense, focusing instead on the second part of the other’s sentence.
“Then why did you come back here?”
“I was unhappy there.” Nanami shrugs. “And so I thought: if I’m going to be miserable either way might as well do some good while I’m at it and help other people.”
Suguru wants to scoff, wants to tell him that helping monkeys is not the noble thing that the sorcerer world wants so desperately to present it as, wants to tell him that the monkeys don’t deserve saving, not at the cost of sorcerers’ lives. But he has a feeling that Nanami wouldn’t receive the comment well, so he keeps it to himself for the moment being.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” He asks instead, genuinely curious. He and Nanami had never been particularly close even in his high school days. They got along, sure, but Nanami always kept to himself, Suguru was much closer to Haibara than to him. So he doesn’t understand why the man is revealing his past to him.
“I guess I wanted to show you that there was another option. You could have just left to live a normal, peaceful life. Perhaps then you would have finally been happy.”
“Bold of you to assume that I wasn’t happy with the life I chose.” Suguru sneers, the insinuation making him feel on edge and defensive, for some reason.
“It didn’t turn out very well now, did it?” Nanami challenges him with a cock of an eyebrow, and Suguru’s scowl only deepens.
“That doesn’t mean that if I had just left to pretend to be a monkey like you did I would have been happier. That would have just meant running away from the problem. What I did instead was choose to solve it.”
“And did you actually solve anything?”
Suguru opens his mouth to reply but then shuts it again, his words failing him for once. Anger and frustration thrum under his skin at not having a counterargument and his glare hardens, refusing to let the other believe that his silence means that he is actually reconsidering his ideals. As if a few pointed words could be enough to tear down the dream that he built his own life around.
“That’s what I thought.” Nanami sighs, bringing a hand to his face and fixing his glasses. “I felt a great deal of respect and admiration for you, back in my first year, Geto. Which is why I was left incredibly disappointed when I heard of your defection. I do not think that you are a bad person per se, and I trust that you truly believe to be in the right, but it pains me that a man who used to be so compassionate, thoughtful and noble could become so incredibly close-minded.”
“I actually think that I’m the only one able to see the full picture. Perhaps you are the close-minded one.” Suguru argues with a sly smirk, but Nanami only gives him a skeptical look.
“You’ve divided your whole world into black and white: sorcerers are good while non-sorcerers are bad. If that’s not a superficial and narrow way of seeing the world, then I don’t know what is.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Is it? Because the gist of your ideals is exactly that.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Nanami sighs once again and pinches the bridge of his nose, looking like he reached his limit.
“There is no point in arguing with someone who isn’t willing to question himself. I simply wanted to point out to you that if being a sorcerer makes you unhappy there are other paths to take besides that of crime. You are being granted what some people would call a second chance, so I suggest you think more carefully about how you want to use it. That is all.”
“A second chance, mh? Well, that is if the higher ups decide to not execute me.”
“They won’t execute you.” Nanami waves his hand dismissively, not even entertaining the possibility. Suguru arches one eyebrow in question.
“You sound pretty confident there.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because Gojo, for some reason, wants you alive. And we both know that when he truly wants something, nothing can stop him from getting it. Especially not the higher ups.” The blond man chuckles a bit under his breath while shaking his head, looking almost fond .
It is a drastic change from teenager Nanami who would turn his nose and frown only at the mere mention of Satoru.
Just like Satoru and Shoko seem to have grown closer in Suguru’s absence, Nanami’s tolerance for Gojo seems to have grown, bordering on what Suguru couldn’t describe as anything other than actual care.
His gut churns with an unpleasant emotion at the thought of how close the two might have grown while Suguru wasn’t there.
He tries to convince himself that he isn’t jealous.
It would be silly of him to be jealous, after all. Satoru is not his, never has been. So he’s not jealous. He’s just… unnerved by the change. Nothing more.
His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden surge of cursed energy pulsing to life distantly on campus and spreading all around like a ripple on the surface of a lake. He would be worried by the powerful energy pushing its way through the surrounding space with overwhelming intensity, blanketing everything in its aura, if not for the familiarity of it.
He would recognize that cursed energy anywhere: cool and sharp yet sweet at the same time, like peppermint candy.
Nanami feels it too, for he sighs and comments wryly: “Speak of the devil…”
The previously thick cursed energy mellows out, becoming fainter and more delicate though still recognizable, and soon two pairs of footsteps can be heard approaching.
“I still haven’t gotten used to your teleportation, sensei.” Suguru recognizes Okkotsu’s voice, though it sounds a little shaky.
“I know, the nausea takes a while to go away, but this just means that I’ll have to take you on more trips to help you get used to it!” Satoru’s bubbly voice echoes in the hallway, making Suguru’s expression soften in spite of himself.
“Or we could just take the train?”
Satoru’s boisterous laughter emerges at that, making Suguru smile. “You’re so funny, Yuta-kun!”
“I wasn’t trying to be…”
Finally, the two approaching figures turn the corner, and Suguru is able to see firsthand Satoru’s blinding smile as he teases his student.
Satoru’s attention, however, immediately lands on him, head snapping up in his direction as his grin widens even further.
“Suguru! You’re awake! Did you sleep well?” Satoru asks cheerfully, so endearingly excited to see him even though they had spent only a few hours at best apart.
Suguru’s heart flutters pleasantly in response, and though he tries to maintain his composure he can’t help the soft curl of his lips and crinkling of his eyes as he nods.
“I did. How did the meeting with the higher ups go?”
Satoru groans at that, leaving Okkotsu’s side only to sling an arm around Suguru’s shoulders, completely disregarding Nanami’s presence in the process. He tries not to look too smug about it.
“Sooo boring!” Satoru whines, leaning heavily on him as if unable to stand on his own. It’s fine, Suguru is strong enough to carry both of them. He will always let Satoru lean on him.
“You always say that.” Nanami comments with an exasperated shake of his head, making Satoru finally look in his direction.
“That’s because they’re always boring, Nanamin!”
“Or maybe you just have the attention span of a child.”
“So mean to me, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, and the blond simply adjusts his glasses with a sigh.
“Given your good mood I assume that Geto’s execution has been called off.”
“It was further delayed. He needs to stay here under surveillance and follow the same rules for the foreseeable future.” Okkotsu cuts in to explain, and Satoru nods in agreement.
“So nothing’s changed.” Suguru points out drily, and Satoru jolts him playfully and chides him.
“Be grateful, they wanted to kill you right away. This is the best deal you’re going to get for now.”
Suguru huffs but doesn’t complain further, aware that the other is right. Knowing the higher ups and how careful they are, the fact that they haven’t already ordered his immediate execution is already a miracle in itself.
“Well then, now that that’s settled, are you guys hungry? Cause I’m starving.” Satoru asks cheerfully, and Okkotsu politely shakes his head.
“I think I’m just going to go back to my dorm room and get some sleep, sensei. I’m still pretty jet lagged.”
“I’m also going to go now that you’re back. I still have some matters to attend to.” Nanami adds. Satoru turns to Suguru with a smile.
“Just us, then?” He asks tentatively, and Suguru can’t help the responding soft smile that grows on his face.
“Yeah. Just us.”
And so Satoru leads the way as they head to the small kitchen, the path as familiar as it was eleven years before, though the kitchen itself has changed a bit. There are new cooking supplies, more sets of plates and utensils and new food stains near the stove and counter. It appears much more lived-in that it was back in their high school days. Suguru likes it better this way.
“What do you want to eat?” Satoru asks him while looking through the fully stocked fridge, a big change from their own high school days where they were all too busy to go grocery shopping as often as they probably should have, leaving the fridge perpetually empty.
Suguru simply shrugs, still nostalgically looking around. Until he realizes something.
“Wait,” he abruptly turns to Satoru, “are you actually going to cook ?”
“Yeah.” Satoru answers as if it is obvious, still rummaging through the fridge before turning to him and asking, “Curry’s fine with you?”
“Uhm, yeah.” Suguru answers somewhat hesitantly, and Satoru gives him a thumbs up.
“Great, sit down now, you’re in the way.” Suguru obeys, falling back on a stool at the kitchen counter and watching almost incredulously the other weave through the kitchen with expert ease.
“When did you learn to cook?” He finally asks the question that has been bugging him all along, remembering how useless Satoru used to be in the kitchen when they were teens. It was expected of a rich clan kid like him who had always had servants and cooks ready to cater to his every need. Back in their first year Satoru hadn’t even known how to turn on the stove, and from then on Suguru got appointed as the unofficial cook in their class, while Satoru was on clean-up duty. So it was more than a little surprising to suddenly see the same person who had once managed to fuck up instant noodles now cooking with the confidence of a professional chef.
“Mh, I taught myself around my last year of high school.” Satoru replies with a thoughtful hum while stirring the different ingredients in the saucepan.
‘After your defection’ goes unspoken, but Suguru hears it anyway.
“I tried to convince you for years that you needed to learn to cook for yourself. What finally convinced you?”
“Well, it was briefly after I took Megumi and Tsumiki in. While I was fine with living on just takeout and pre-made stuff, Shoko pointed out that two growing kids also needed healthy homemade meals. So yeah, I forced myself to finally learn.”
Suguru nods with an understanding hum. And then freezes as the other’s words truly settle in. “Uhm, what ?”
Satoru gives him a confused glance. “What?”
“I’m sorry, you have kids ?!” Suguru specifies incredulously, and Satoru, the little asshole, laughs at his visible distress.
“Yeah, kinda. I think I mentioned it to you briefly before you left: before dying Toji Fushiguro confessed to me that he had a kid that was going to be sold to the Zen’ins. I stopped the sale and took him and his sister in.” Satoru explains casually, as if talking about the weather.
“Wait, you actually did that?” Suguru asks, only vaguely remembering Satoru mentioning something about Toji’s kid, conflicted on what to do. He had been too preoccupied with his own inner turmoil to truly focus on Satoru’s struggle at the time, but all this time he simply thought that Satoru had stopped the sale with the Zen’ins and then moved on with his life. He never considered that Satoru would have taken in the kid and look after him. Let alone two kids. The eighteen year old Satoru that he remembers was still so incredibly childish and immature that the thought of him raising two children seems absurd and terrifying at the same time.
Satoru doesn’t seem too phased by his evident shock, simply shrugging casually. “Yeah. They needed someone to help them so I did.”
Suguru doesn’t understand how he can make it sound so normal, when to him this is all but normal.
“You took in the children of Fushiguro? The man who literally killed you? The man who killed Amanai ?!” He can’t help the sharp edge that slips into his voice, incredulity transforming quickly into accusation as he struggles with the thought of Satoru being in such close contact with that horrible man’s offspring. Toji Fushiguro was the devil incarnate, how could his children be any different?
Satoru breaks his casual attitude at his sudden hostility, firmly setting down on the counter the ladle that he was holding and turning around to face the other man, his expression cold and sharp, no traces of humor or playfulness for the first time in the past day.
“His children didn’t have anything to do with it. His actions were his alone.” He reprimands sharply and then falls silent, still facing Suguru, as if daring him to argue further, daring him to defy him.
Suguru may not be completely sane, but he is also not crazy enough to prod further and test his luck, fully aware of how devastatingly terrifying an angry and protective Satoru can be. So he simply nods in understanding, relieved at the way the other immediately relaxes, all traces of hostility slipping out of his body.
Clearly pleased at his silence, Satoru turns back towards the bubbling pot on the stove and keeps talking, tone much lighter now.
“Was it a bit weird to be around them at first? Yeah, sure, especially since Megumi looks so similar to his father. Like, the first time that I saw him with his hair wet after a shower I almost hit him with Hollow Purple on the spot. But at the end of the day, they were both just innocent children who had been left alone to fend for themselves. I couldn’t just let the Zen’ins take them or let them starve by themselves, regardless of who their father is.”
“I… I understand. You’re probably right. I just… God, after all these years just thinking about that man still makes me angry. I don’t think I could have been able to do what you did.” Suguru confesses genuinely, impressed by the unusual maturity showcased by the other.
“I mean, I didn’t like the guy either, but honestly after everything that happened I didn’t really think about him all that much anymore by the time I took the kids in. And then, even if Megumi at first reminded me of him, once I got to know both him and his sister, I stopped thinking about him all together. Tsumiki and Megumi are their own people, separate from him and his actions. They are nothing like him. They are both incredibly kind, though in different ways, and they care so much about other people. You would never think that they are related to that man.” Satoru explains patiently, tone laced with a fondness that Suguru has rarely heard from the man. It’s sweet, endearing despite the less than ideal context.
“God, I just never pictured you with children. It seems crazy to even just think about it.” He can’t help but point out with an incredulous chuckle, a light teasing edge in his voice.
Satoru laughs, not offended in the slightest, taking the comment in stride. “Yeah, I certainly never pictured myself adopting two kids while still being a teenager either, but life is just crazy like that sometimes. And it’s not like I did a very good job at the beginning, it took me a while to truly start acting like their guardian.”
Suguru tilts his head to the side, curious. “What do you mean?”
“Well, back then I had never really interacted with kids. I had no idea of what they would need or how to give it to them, and it’s not like I could take inspiration from my childhood.” Satoru huffs with a shake of his head, and Suguru is reminded of all the appalling and depressing stories that the man has revealed to him about his childhood at the Gojo clan.
Satoru might have been a prodigy, the golden child of his clan, but none of the praise and worship that he received from birth was enough to make up for the complete emotional neglect, the crushing pressure and the physical and mental overexertion that his supposed family put him through all throughout his childhood. So it was definitely a wise choice to avoid taking any parenting tips from the Gojo clan.
“Anyways, because of that at first I didn’t really have any idea of what I was doing and so I just kind of… gave them lots of money, checked in on how they were doing every now and then and that was it.” Satoru continues with a shrug, breaking him out of his thoughts.
“But then I realized that children need more than that. I remembered how as a child, even though I had everything that I could ever ask for and had servants taking care of my every need, all that I really wanted was affection, you know? And so I tried to be more present in their lives, I tried to give them more, to give them the attention and love and care that they had been deprived of for so long. It was hard at first, balancing everything. I fucked up a lot, that’s for sure. It took a long time for Megumi to start trusting me and opening up to me, but in the end it was so worth it. I love those kids with my whole being.”
Suguru doesn’t say anything for a while, just taking it all in: the fondness in Satoru’s voice, the softness in his eyes, the gentleness of his movements as he expertly cuts up the vegetables to add in the curry, looking so incredibly cozy in the big white hoodie and baggy sweatpants he changed into before he started cooking, ditching his dark teaching uniform, his blindfold replaced by a pair of dark rectangular glasses.
And suddenly Suguru can picture it perfectly: Satoru standing at the stove and preparing dinner, two little kids hanging off of him and demanding his attention, asking him when the food will be ready or to help them with their homework, all the while Satoru smiles with that same fondness and indulges them. He can see him carrying two bowls of rice and curry to the two awaiting children and sitting down with them, asking them about their day, sharing stories about his, teasing and joking around obnoxiously just to make them giggle, his own grin as blinding as Suguru always remembers it to be.
His chest aches at the mental image, partly fond and partly longing. Longing to have seen that part of Satoru, to have shared that domesticity with him.
He can’t help but wonder if he could have shared it with him, if only he had stayed. If he could have been standing right beside Satoru, hip to hip, helping him slice vegetables and telling the kids to go and finish their homework because Satoru would be an overindulgent parent so he would need to be the strict one, ruffling their hair as they huff and walk away and pressing a tender kiss to Satoru’s temple as he moves around the kitchen to grab four bowls and spoons, feeling warm and cozy and so incredibly happy.
He shakes those thoughts away, knowing that there is no point in mulling over the what if’s.
His life has been happy nevertheless. He had his own kids to look after and a purpose to fight for, it doesn’t matter if the person that he was fighting for resented him for it. He is happy. Right?
He frowns at his own uncertain thoughts. Nanami must have gotten into his head with their conversation earlier.
“Suguru?” Satoru’s voice snaps him out of it, the sorcerer having turned back to look at him with a worried frown after his long silence.
“Ah, sorry. I was just thinking.” He tries to smile reassuringly, pulling himself back together.
“About what?”
“You being a parent.” Suguru’s answer is only partially truthful, but Satoru seems to believe him anyway as he raises an eyebrow with slight amusement.
“Is it that hard to believe?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. It’s more… unexpected. And a bit amusing.” Suguru explains with a teasing smirk. “To picture the world’s strongest sorcerer preparing lunch boxes, tying shoelaces, going to parent-teacher meetings-”
“God, don’t remind me of those. They were the worst!” Satoru groans dramatically. “I’m so glad Megumi goes to school here now so I don’t have to flirt with handsy middle aged teachers to get him out of trouble anymore.”
Suguru’s head snaps up in attention at that, eyes wide and incredulous. “You what with the teachers?”
“Megumi had a habit of picking fights, so I had to use every weapon in my arsenal to keep him from getting expelled for misconduct. My ethereal good looks and charming personality just happened to be my strongest weapons.” Satoru explains with a shrug, as if it is the most natural thing in the world.
Suguru is no stranger to using his natural charms to get what he wants every now and then, heaven knows how many people he convinced to join his cult just with a little smooth-talking and a few pretty smiles, and yet the idea of Satoru having done the same bothers him, even though he knows that he has no right to feel this way.
He really needs to stop feeling like this. He was the one to leave Satoru behind, he was the one to move on from what they once had. He has no right to these feelings, has no ownership over Satoru and no say in what he does and with whom. And yet his heart has a mind of its own, aching and burning at the simple thought of Satoru with anybody else but him.
“You really have no shame, huh?” He teases instead of voicing his irrational emotions, hoping to distract himself from them.
“What, you jealous?” Satoru smoothly quips back with a grin, and Suguru, emboldened by the other’s playful attitude, decides to test his luck.
“And what if I am?”
Satoru freezes for a fraction of a millisecond, a falter so small that had Suguru been anyone else he might have missed it. But, even if he might be a bit rustier than he had been back in high school, he is still well versed in Gojo Satoru’s body language, and so he manages to pick up both the small hiccup in his smooth movements while cooking and the slight pink tint of his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
He tries not to feel too smug about it.
Satoru is quick to hide his reaction under a forced bubbly laugh as he turns back around to focus on the cooking.
Suguru decides to take pity on him and bring the subject back to their earlier topic.
“So, you raised two kids. Tsumiki and Megumi you said their names are, right?”
Satoru immediately smiles at the mention of the two, nodding enthusiastically.
“Yes. Tsumiki is two years older than Megumi, and let me tell you: she’s the sweetest girl on the face of the Earth. She’s just adorable, always smiling, always helping others. She’s my pride and joy.” He announces cheerily, though there is something nostalgic and melancholic in his voice.
“Megumi, however, is a pain in the ass.” He then adds with a chuckle, already sounding lighter. “Like, I love the kid to pieces, but holy shit was he a difficult child! He was just so grumpy, the grumpiest kid in the world, I swear! And then he became a teenager and got even worse . I thought that since he has been in his emo phase his whole life, at least during his teenage years he would have a change of heart and try something else, instead he just became even more emo.”
Suguru laughs at Satoru’s whining, endeared by how animated he gets when talking about his kids.
“And he is so stubborn , Suguru, I swear to god, he never listens to anyone!”
“Mh, sounds like someone else I know.” He points out with an amused grin, and Satoru softens at that, his bright grin relaxing into something more intimate and pensive.
“Yeah, I guess he does take after me in some ways. But he is so much better than me. He may not outwardly show it, he may not even admit it to himself, but he is very kind. And he is incredibly intelligent and sharp, and has so much potential and strength. Once he starts believing in himself a little more he will have no problem surpassing even me.”
Suguru blinks in surprise, not having expected the sudden genuine admission from the other.
“Wow, that’s high praise coming from you. I never thought I would see the day that you admit that someone might be stronger than you.”
Satoru smiles, though it looks wrong, not as bright as it should, bitter instead of proud.
“Yeah, well… I’ve realized a long time ago that being the strongest isn't all that it was amped up to be.”
And Suguru is forced once again to stand face to face with just how much Satoru has grown and changed without him. He is forced to see new pieces and fragments that make up Satoru’s sense of self that he hadn’t been there to see bloom, struggling to fill in the blanks with only the little clues that slip out of the man through his words and actions every now and then.
This admission in particular feels like a big clue, it feels heavy and important, a realization that must have meant so much for Satoru, that must have deeply unsettled and uprooted him and his way of seeing the world.
But Suguru wasn’t there to witness it, to support him through it.
It was his own choice, and he doesn’t exactly regret it, but it still stings.
Just before he can start to drown in his own bitter thoughts, Satoru’s voice pulls him out of the impending spiral, a bit too bright and cheery, somewhat plastic.
“Anyways, so yeah. Love those kids.” Satoru announces and when he turns around there are two steaming bowls in his hands as he slips onto the stool in front of Suguru and places one of the bowls in front of him. His smile softens, less forced and more genuine as he adds: “I was the one who took them in and helped them, but in many ways they were the ones who raised me. I might have saved them from the Zen’ins, but they saved me from myself. To be honest, without those two little pests to help me through my dark times I don’t know where I would be today.”
Suguru quietly thanks him for the food, hesitating for a few seconds as he ponders over whether to say what’s on his mind or keep quiet, before finally making up his mind. Satoru had been so willing to open his heart and let Suguru take a peek, it is only fair for him to give even just a bit of that honesty back.
“I understand that very well.” He nods, making Satoru perk up and tilt his head to the side questioningly.
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Do you remember the last mission that I took before leaving? The one that changed everything?”
Satoru takes a few moments to calmly take a few bites of his food, though Suguru can see the slight tension of his shoulders that betrays his collected exterior.
“I do. You burned down a village and killed everyone in it.”
Satoru’s voice is sharp as a razor, an accusation more than a simple statement, but Suguru wills himself not to flinch. He isn’t ashamed of what he did back then, after all. He stands by his actions.
“Yes, that one. Do you know what actually happened on that mission? What made me do what I did?”
Satoru’s brows furrow, thinking it over for a few seconds before shaking his head, his earlier coldness giving way to genuine curiosity.
“There were two little girls. Twins, around five years old, both of them sorcerers. They were being kept in a cage .” Though he tries to remain neutral in his explanation, he can’t help the edge of anger, of hatred, that seeps into his voice at the last sentence. He can feel Satoru’s eyes watching him intently from where they are hidden beneath the dark lenses, intense and expecting.
“They were dirty, malnourished and battered. The village people, those monkeys , blamed them for what was really the doing of a curse. They feared them, they hated them. Two small children, treated like dangerous animals, locked away and abused just for being different. Just for being stronger than those monkeys. That was the last straw for me.”
Satoru remains eerily still during his tale, his expression not giving anything away.
“What happened to those girls, Suguru?”
“I took them with me. What else could I have done? I raised them, I taught them how to defend themselves against a world that constantly tries to crush those like us. I passed my ideals, my mission on to them. We may not have any blood relation, but they are part of my family, they are my daughters in every way that matters.” He states, passionate yet tender, feeling a sharp ache in his chest at the thought of his children that he misses oh so dearly.
Ever since he woke up in the infirmary bed that morning he has tried to avoid thinking about them and spare himself the painful longing. But in this moment, in the quiet of the kitchen and with the warmth of Satoru’s presence next to him, the pain feels a little more bearable, so he lets himself feel it.
“I guess we are much more similar than we thought, mh?” Satoru prompts with a soft, teasing smile that makes Suguru chuckle wetly.
“Yeah. I guess we are.”
“What are their names?” Satoru gently asks after a few seconds of comfortable silence, his genuine interest filling him with warmth even more than the steaming curry.
“Mimiko and Nanako.”
Satoru hums thoughtfully. “I think I remember them from last year, though I didn’t know they were yours. The blonde loud one and the brunette quiet one, right?”
Suguru smiles softly with a nod. “Yeah, that’s them. Nanako is the blonde and Mimiko the brunette.”
“They seemed like a handful.”
Suguru laughs, a full and warm sound that echoes in his chest. “They are. Especially Nanako. I think you would get along with her: she’s a bit of a brat, just like you were as a teen.”
“I wasn’t a brat!” Satoru gawks with an offended gasp. “I was a delight to be around! I really hope you don’t bully your children like you bully me, Suguru!”
The long haired man rolls his eyes, though the gesture is much more fond than it is actually annoyed.
“As if you didn’t bully me like every day back in our first year.”
“It’s my way of making friends!”
“That’s a shit way of making friends. I understand now why you barely have any.”
“Well, it worked with you, didn’t it?” Satoru grins, bright and cocky, and Suguru can’t believe how incredibly endeared he is by this mess of a man.
“I guess.” He simply shrugs, though there’s no hiding the affectionate curl of his lips, which Satoru takes as a sign of victory given how his grin only widens.
After that they both resume eating, falling back into an easy, comfortable silence.
Satoru is the one to break it once they’re both done with eating and he is washing their empty bowls, back turned to Suguru.
“Do you miss them? Your daughters.”
Suguru is taken a bit off guard at the sudden question, the ache in his chest intensifying.
“I do. So much that it hurts. I just hope that they are okay.”
Satoru simply hums in response and goes back to quietly washing.
An idea comes to Suguru, and he slowly rises from his place at the kitchen counter and inches closer to the other man, hope blooming in his chest.
“Do you think that maybe I could contact them in some way? Just to know if they are okay?”
Satoru hesitates, not looking away from his work as he chews on his lower lip, which Suguru knows he only does when truly conflicted about something.
“I… I don’t think so. At least not currently. If the higher ups find out they will see it as you contacting your old allies and therefore breaking one of their rules. They will have you executed for that.” Satoru finally sighs out, apologetic.
Suguru deflates, cursing himself for having gotten his hopes up like that.
Of course Satoru wouldn’t help him. He might understand his parental worry, but at the end of the day, Satoru is a sorcerer and Suguru a curse user. Satoru isn’t here as his friend, but as his supervisor, a failsafe to ensure that he can’t harm anyone, that he can’t go back to his old ways.
“Oh. I see.”
Just as he starts to walk away, Satoru’s slightly frantic voice stops him in his tracks.
“But I can.”
Suguru turns back towards the sorcerer, who still isn’t looking away from the sink.
“What?”
“You can’t have any contact with them, but I can. I can find them and make sure that they are safe.”
Suguru blinks, surprised and disbelieving as he steps back into Satoru’s personal space, voice pleading.
“You’d do that?”
At that Satoru finally meets his gaze, his expression pinched into something in between a smile and a grimace, though his eyes are soft and sincere as he nods.
“Of course. Can’t leave a fellow parent hanging, right?”
His voice is tight, just like his forced confident grin, and Suguru knows that Satoru is putting himself on the line for this. Knows that he is crossing a line that he isn’t supposed to, putting himself at risk, all just for Suguru.
It makes him feel hopeful. Hopeful that there could still be a future for them, that despite everything they might still be Satoru and Suguru, stand side by side against the world just how it was when they were teens.
And so his smile is wide and loving and incredibly sincere as he places a hand on Satoru’s back, his touch still bypassing the barrier of Infinity as easily as it did when they were young, hoping to be able to convey the full extent of his gratitude.
“Thank you, Satoru. It would really mean the world to me.”
The sorcerer tenses slightly under his touch, as if caught off guard by it, but then he smiles and melts into it, moving to playfully nudge Suguru with his shoulder as he waves a dismissive hand.
“Eh, don’t mention it.”
Suguru stares at the man he had defied death itself to protect and all he can think is: I would do it again .
Anything to protect Satoru.