Change

by X_a1le

Summary:

Gojo wasn’t expecting to see Geto again, especially not in a crowded plaza, with kids at both their sides. The past still hurts, but something about this meeting feels different. Maybe there’s still a chance to make things right.

or: Single dad Gojo Satoru becomes just dad Satoru with Suguru!!

Chapter 1: Ghosts of a not so distant past

When Satoru Gojo saw Suguru Geto, his first thought was, Oh, shit.

Tsumiki was perched quietly on his shoulder, while Megumi clung to his chest, small hands gripping the fabric of Satoru’s uniform. He shifted his stance instinctively, as though his body could shield them from view. The urge to hide the Fushiguro siblings surged up in him but teleporting out was out of the question. They were surrounded by civilians. Normies. The kind Suguru had once sworn to eradicate without hesitation.

And Suguru had already seen them.

The tension went unnoticed by the crowd, who bustled around the plaza without a care, sipping drinks and scrolling through their phones, humming along to street performers in the distance. The sun was shining. The world was oblivious. But to Satoru, everything had become too loud. The sound of a bike bell, a pigeon’s wings flapping nearby, even the crunch of a chip bag, it all scraped at his nerves.

A familiar absence weighed against his senses. That hollow, dense void of cursed energy he once found comfort in now pressed against him like a migraine he couldn’t blink away. He winced subtly and adjusted his blackout glasses with the edge of his knuckle, hoping to reset his sensory overload. It didn’t help.

Megumi noticed first. Of course he did. The sharp, perceptive seven-year-old never missed a shift in Satoru’s tone, much less his body language. His dark eyes narrowed and followed his ward’s line of sight. He spotted Geto standing across the square, flanked by two young girls.

Tsumiki noticed next. Her hand tightened slightly in Satoru’s hair.

Suguru’s gaze flicked between Satoru and the children with something unreadable in it. But the second his eyes lingered on Tsumiki,on her sweet, unguarded expression. Something cold wrapped itself around Satoru’s heart.

The Fushiguro siblings looked at each other. No words were exchanged, but something passed between them. Megumi’s spiky black hair seemed to bristle even more, his little jaw clenching. He looked like a particularly hostile sea urchin.

Satoru’s own expression shifted from stunned to steel-hard as his brain caught up to the moment. Geto’s look toward Tsumiki wasn’t openly hostile, but it wasn’t neutral either. And that was enough.

The kids his kids weren’t going to suffer because of old ghosts. Even if they didn’t know the full history, they could read the tension. Megumi, eternally grumpy and barely seven, was now actively scowling. Tsumiki’s gentle face fell the moment she recognized the hard set of Satoru’s mouth. Her big sister instincts took over and she clung a little tighter to Gojo, casting Geto a wary glance.

Tsumiki was a normie. A regular human child. And Satoru knew all too well what Suguru thought of people like her. Megumi, on the other hand, was different. His cursed energy buzzed like static under his skin, untrained, but unmistakable. There was no hiding what he was.

Satoru set the boy down gently, a hand resting on his spiky hair as if to keep him grounded. His senses sharpened as he focused on the figures beside Geto. Two girls stood flanking him. They didn’t look like twins at first glance, one had her hair a pinkish blond, the other dark brown, but Satoru’s Six Eyes saw deeper than surface details.
Their cursed energies were almost identical. Only the swirling patterns differed, unique like fingerprints. Twin flames spun in different colors, but their source was the same. Satoru’s eyes flashed a brighter blue for a moment, though no one would have noticed behind his glasses.

He let out a slow, measured breath. So... Geto was a father now too. Or something like it. The realization was strange, almost absurd, like hearing that a thunderstorm had taken up knitting. But there they were kids on either side of him, and Suguru wasn’t making a move.

That meant something.

Their eyes locked across the distance. Neither moved. Neither spoke. But the weight of their shared history filled the space between them. The trust that once bound them had been shattered the day Geto destroyed that village. The day he left.

Satoru took a step back. Then another.

He didn’t want to fight. Not here. Not with children watching. He didn’t want to do this, no not again.

The moment fractured when Tsumiki, who perhaps sensing the heaviness between the two men, stuck out her tongue at the curse user and his daughters. The childish defiance cut through the tension like a gust of fresh wind. Geto blinked, visibly offended. His girls looked equally scandalized, clutching their hands and casting dramatic glares back at the tiny offender.

Megumi followed suit, frowning fiercely and then making a face that was somewhere between disgust and challenge. One of Geto’s daughters gasped in outrage and tugged at her father’s sleeve, clearly demanding retribution.

But Geto didn’t move. He looked down at his daughters, then back at Satoru. A shadow of something flickered behind his eyes, regret maybe, or nostalgia. Satoru wished he couldn’t let himself feel anything.

He just took a step back, hand resting protectively on Megumi’s shoulder as Tsumiki hopped down and clung to his other side.

Satoru was torn. Why was Suguru here? Of all places? In a crowd full of laughter and sunlight, in a plaza where the air smelled like roasted coffee and early summer. The moment felt surreal—like the universe had cruelly pressed rewind on a wound that had never closed.

It was like a cut that never healed, a scar picked open with the careless flick of a memory. A scar worn in silence. Satoru bore it like an old shame, the kind that no title—not even "the strongest"—could ever justify. He wasn't supposed to carry shame. Or longing. Or this sharp, buried ache that stabbed its way into the light the moment he looked at Suguru.
A quick, fierce anger surged in him not just at the reappearance, not just at the gall of Suguru strolling in like a ghost in daylight, but at the way his eyes lingered on the children. His kids. The ones Satoru had taken in, protected, grown to love more deeply than he'd ever thought himself capable of. The ones who had unknowingly dragged him out of his spiral. Who gave him something to live for after everything fell apart.

They were his lifeline, those kids. Not tools, not wards, not extensions of his duty, but family.

And Suguru looked at them.

Like he was remembering.

Like he had the right to.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding behind a calm mask. His cursed energy twitched, restrained only by the feel of Tsumiki’s small hand now gripping his uniform.
But the anger passed. Quick, like a spark in the wind.

What settled in its wake was far worse.

Grief.

It sank into his chest, slow and heavy, like cold water in the lungs. A grief that didn’t shout or scream but sat in him, constant. Familiar. He hadn’t let himself feel it for years, not really. Not fully. He thought he’d buried it beneath duty, sarcasm, power. But one look into Suguru’s eyes had unearthed it all.
Satoru’s otherworldly blue eyes dulled, just for a second. A flicker. A dimming of the unnatural brilliance that always made people feel like they were looking at something inhuman. He looked awfully human now. Vulnerable.

That flicker of vulnerability caught Suguru off guard.

For the first time since he’d stepped into the plaza, he faltered.

He hadn’t seen Satoru like that in years. Not since the Star Plasma Vessel mission, the mission that had started it all, the first break in the world they were building. Or… was it when he left? That final confrontation outside the school, when their ideals collided and cracked them both?

Suguru couldn’t remember.

Or maybe he remembered both, and couldn’t tell which hurt more.

Because there, across the square, was the man he once knew better than anyone. Looking at him not with hatred, not with fury—but with something far more devastating.
Loss.

And it mirrored his own.

 

Chapter 2: You Were Almost Home

Satoru Gojo was officially freaking the fuck out.

Suguru had been right there. Just a few steps away. And all they did was look at each other.

Look.

No words. No fight. Not even a flinch. Just a crackling silence that said everything and nothing.

Satoru had been ordered to kill Suguru on sight. Cold. Clinical. Efficient. No exceptions.

He always knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t be able to do it. So he avoided the possibility altogether. Skipped reports that mentioned curse-user sightings. Sent someone else to handle “those” missions. Changed his route through cities just in case.

But fate didn’t care about his careful evasions.

He had frozen.

Not in fear. Not exactly. But in something worse. In grief.

The Strongest Sorcerer. That’s what they called him. The title came with weight, suffocating, inescapable. His clan reminded him constantly. The higher-ups reinforced it every time they handed him another impossible task.

Perfection wasn’t a goal. It was a requirement.

So why couldn’t he breathe?

Now he was home. Or what passed for home lately. He paced the living room, long fingers twitching at his sides. His eyes burned, pulse erratic.

Megumi sat curled up on the arm of the couch, sharp eyes watching him like a hawk. The boy had always been wary, guarded. But now he was downright tense.

Tsumiki didn’t smile.

That was the final clue that something had shifted. Tsumiki always smiled, even when she was tired, even when Megumi was being grumpy. But tonight her brows were drawn in, her lips flat.

He had scared them. He could see it in their eyes. His cursed energy had spiked, suffocating the room. He hadn’t meant to. It was just—there was too much inside him and nowhere for it to go.

“I’m supposed to be perfect,” he muttered to himself, pacing tighter circles. “Perfection.”

His voice cracked. The word felt hollow.

But all he could see was Suguru’s face, the way his hair caught the light like it used to, the softness around his eyes, the recognition. Suguru had looked at him like he always had. Like he knew him. Like nothing had changed.

And that was the cruelest part.

Because everything had changed.

Satoru had frozen when it mattered most.

He felt disgusted with himself. A traitor to the expectations of everyone who relied on him. The kids. The school. The world.

He felt like a child again, caught between the urge to scream and the desire to curl into himself and vanish.

He hated Suguru.

He loved Suguru.

He wanted to punch him. Hug him. Shake him until he explained everything, then hold him until they both stopped shaking.

Suguru was dangerous. Satoru knew that. Had seen the evidence firsthand. But standing in the plaza earlier… Suguru hadn’t looked dangerous. He looked familiar. Like the past had worn new clothes and come back to taunt him.

Tsumiki. His sweet, gentle Tsumiki. She couldn’t see curses. She had no concept of the things Suguru hated. To someone like Suguru, she was already doomed. A cog in a blind machine. Guilty of ignorance.

Would he still see her that way?

Would he hurt her?

Satoru’s cursed energy spiked again, thrashing like a storm around him. Invisible pressure flooded the room, pushing at the walls and ceiling.

Tsumiki whimpered once, shrinking into herself. Megumi's hands curled into fists, and a bead of sweat traced a slow path down his cheek.

“Shit,” Satoru whispered. He sucked it all back in, dragging the storm into himself like he was trying to swallow the ocean.

“Sorry,” he murmured to the floor.

He was somewhere else now. Some other time. A dorm room, cluttered with snack wrappers and shared hoodies. Suguru laughing at one of his dumb jokes. Sunlight catching on his lashes. A moment where the world felt soft.

He snapped out of it then fell back in.

Again and again.

Until-

“Chichi?” Tsumiki’s voice, small and trembling. She tugged gently at his sleeve. “Who was that? The person?”

Satoru flinched. The question pierced something tender.

“No one,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean-not someone you need to worry about.”

He forced himself to breathe. In. Out. Calm down.

“You know him.” Megumi’s voice was flat. Accusing, almost. But not cruel.

Satoru sighed. “Not-yes. I do.” His shoulders sagged. He felt impossibly old. “He was… he is my best friend.”

My only one, went unsaid. My everything.

“He hurt you,” Megumi said, a low growl underlining his words.

In any other moment, Satoru would’ve laughed. Ruffled his hair. Teased him about being protective. But now-

“Yes,” Satoru said. “Yes, he did. But he was hurting too.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Tsumiki snapped. Her voice was sharper than he’d ever heard. Her usual sweetness burned off like mist. “Don’t forgive him.”

It stunned Satoru. Not because she was wrong, but because she was angry. Protective in her own way. She didn’t even know Suguru. But she knew Satoru. And that was enough.
“I guess it’s not,” he whispered. “But… it’s late. You two should get to bed.”

Both of them shot him skeptical looks. Matching, mirroring. They had become their own little team. And he loved them for it.
“Please?” he added softly. That sealed the deal.

They slid off the couch and disappeared down the hall, leaving him alone with the silence.

Satoru stood. His limbs felt heavy. He walked to the sink, soaked a washcloth in hot water, and lay back down with it over his eyes. Maybe the heat would ease the headache. Maybe it would make everything disappear, just for a moment.

But the memories came anyway.

Laughter in the dorms. Quiet study nights where Suguru always fell asleep first. Long walks back from missions, hands brushing but never quite touching. The way Suguru said his name like it meant something.

And then-

The mission. The girl. The choice.

The day everything changed.

Satoru had cleaned out Suguru’s dorm in the aftermath. Alone. Touching each item like it might dissolve in his hands. That dorm had been more of a home than his own ever was.
Only because of Suguru.

He had finally accepted that Suguru was gone.
And then he wasn’t.

And Satoru… Satoru was tired.
He worked himself to the bone, trying to save what could still be saved. Trying to prevent another Suguru, another Yuu. Trying to protect the world, even if it never saw him as anything more than the Six Eyes.
But Suguru had seen him. Once.

He understood why Suguru left.
But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
And the worst part?
Even now… even after everything…
He still loved him.

Notes:

PLEASEEE PLEASEEE COMMENT I NEED IT. I NEED THE MOTIVATION GAWDDDD

Chapter 3: I Saw You That Day (Revised)

When Suguru Geto saw Satoru Gojo, the first thing he thought was 'it’s him.' Spoken softly in his head with a love forgotten.

The second thought was when the guilt began to settle under his ribs. 'This isn't supposed to happen.' He knew how it was wrong but he couldn't help but ache for it. It burned underneath his skin, the obsession, the codependence, never really left. To him Satoru looked as beautiful as the day Suguru left. 

He hadn’t planned to come to this plaza. Not specifically. It had just been a stop, an errand, a quiet detour with Mimiko and Nanako in tow. He liked to take them places where the world still looked kind, still sang its little tunes, smiled its small smiles. Even if it was only for those "monkeys".

But then Satoru appeared. Towering. Unmistakable.

Suguru’s breath caught before he could stop it. His heart seemed to jump at the sight of the man.

He saw the two children first. One, a little boy with hair like a messy inkblot, scowling like the world had done him personal wrong. The other, perched with ease on Satoru’s shoulder, her smile fragile, fleeting, like it could disappear if the sun blinked.

His kids?

The thought struck like lightning. Blunt, hot, burning.

He hadn’t considered that Satoru would have taken in children. Not really. He knew Gojo protected people, it was in his nature, his curse and his gift. But these kids weren’t just protected, they were held close. Tethered to Satoru in a way Suguru had once been.

Something ugly and old clawed up his throat. Jealousy, or maybe hate, or longing.

Probably all three.

His eyes lingered too long on the girl, the way her fingers wove gently into Satoru’s snow-white hair, the way she tilted her head with childlike curiosity. Suguru saw the spark in her gaze, unaware of danger, untouched by fear. A "Monkey". He could tell from a glance. Soft. Sweet. Blind.

The kind of person he had once vowed to protect.

The kind he now saw as the cursed ones.

Disgust bubbled up under his skin. Anger was quick to second. 

His stomach twisted, the war inside him louder than the plaza’s bustle.

He watched as Satoru instinctively shifted his body in front of the children, as though his presence alone might block Suguru’s view. It shouldn’t have stung. But it did.

The past echoed in every movement.

Satoru's grip on the little boy’s shoulder, his protective stance, his subtle shielding. Suguru remembered all of it. He remembered the way Gojo used to stand like that when he was the one being shielded from danger, from fear, from loneliness. He remembered, and it hurt. He wanted it back.

He stood still. He couldn't get rid of these feelings no matter what.

Nanako tugged lightly at his sleeve, her face scrunching up at the sight of Gojo. Mimiko, quieter as always, clutched his other hand, gaze flicking warily to the sorcerer across the square.

One of his children had asked him a question. Did he listen to it?

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The question, though unspoken, was too big. Too heavy. Is that the one who let you fall? The one you once called family? The one who didn’t stop you?

He felt the same familiar tug of regret and fury, swirling like curses beneath his skin. He couldn’t look away from Satoru, and Satoru of course was looking right back.

And then it happened.

That flicker in Satoru’s eyes.

Not power. Not danger. Something far worse.

Sadness.

Suguru froze. It was like being doused in cold water. That look he hadn’t seen it in years. Not since the Star Plasma Vessel mission. Or maybe... maybe it was the last time they spoke, when he walked away and never turned back.

The plaza was sunny, warm, full of life. But to Suguru, it felt like a fire during winter. Like every moment from the past had pressed itself into this single point in time.

And still, neither of them moved.

Not until the little girl-the monkey-stuck her tongue out.

It was so absurdly normal that he nearly laughed. Nearly. Nanako gasped in offense, clutching his coat like she’d just been personally insulted. Mimiko tugged on his hand, eyes wide with confusion and a touch of indignation.

Suguru blinked, shocked at how easily the tension had broken. The children his and Satoru’s looked at each other with guarded curiosity and the beginnings of inherited animosity. Their little defiant glares were like making sparks in dry grass.

Yet still, Suguru didn’t move. His instincts told him to step forward, to speak, to say something but there was nothing safe to say. No, there was nothing he could say to make it better. 

So he watched Satoru take a step back.

And then another.

The message was clear. Stay away. He didn't want to stay away.

Suguru’s heart clenched. It shouldn’t have. He made his choices. Satoru made his. That was the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

It never had been.

It shouldn't be.

Suguru looked down at Nanako and Mimiko. His girls. Not biological, not born from him, but his nonetheless. The only ones left he’d sworn to protect. He softened a little as they pouted at the insult from across the square.

He could feel the weight of Satoru’s judgment even now. Not just for what he’d become, but for what he’d done. The children he brought with him. The choices he made. The blood he spilled.

He wished he could explain. Not to be forgiven. Just... to be understood. To be loved by him like he used too, to maybe have Satoru at his side like he used to.

But there was no understanding anymore. Just the aching knowledge that they stood on opposite sides, speaking different languages, carrying wounds carved by the same blade.

And Satoru’s expression, what was left of it, said everything.

He hadn’t healed either.

Suguru had expected hatred. Fury. Maybe even disgust. But what he saw instead made him feel worse.

Loss.

Real, bone-deep loss.

He saw the way Gojo’s lips parted as if to speak, and then closed again. He saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his sunglasses tilted just slightly, not enough to slip, but enough to see the dimming in his eyes.

For a moment, Gojo looked so human. So tired. So hurt.

And Suguru hated himself for still loving him like this.

He should have looked away. Should have turned his back and gone.

But he didn’t.

He stayed just a second too long.

Because seeing Satoru with those children, children he protected, children he loved, made something inside Suguru ache in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in years. It reminded him of what they could have been. Of what they lost.

The moment finally broke when Gojo turned, taking his kids with him, putting his back to Suguru like a closed door.

Suguru didn’t call out.

He simply stood there, his own daughters flanking him, and let the silence fall like snow.

 

 

His eyes narrowed.

Chapter 4: We were almost something.

It took only a few days to shove the encounter into the cluttered corners of Satoru Gojo’s mind. Not forget, no, he could never forget Suguru, not entirely. But Satoru had become a master of denial over the years. He buried himself in missions, in paperwork, in bureaucracy. He filled his days with back to back assignments, sometimes with barely a breath between them. Sleep was optional. Rest was dangerous. Silence was unbearable.

When his mind was still, it wandered. When it wandered, it always found its way back to Suguru.

The only assignments he ever declined were the ones connected to Geto Suguru. He never said it out loud. Never needed to. He’d just shrug, flash that same lazy grin, and find some way to be "too busy." The higher-ups, greedy, self-serving, and ancient in every sense, noticed, of course. But they never challenged him on it. Not directly. No one wanted to press the man who stood at the peak.

Instead, they got smarter. Crueler.

They stopped putting names in the mission details.

They handed him slips of paper with bare essentials. No warnings. No context.

Just places. Targets.

This one simply read:

Shibuya. Curse User. Eliminate.

That was it.

No rank, no name. Just a place and a vague objective. Satoru crushed the slip of paper in his fist, jaw tight. The ink smeared with the pressure, paper crinkling under his cursed energy.

He already knew what this was.

They wanted him to walk blindly into it.

They wanted him to face Geto Suguru.

Satoru’s mouth twisted into a bitter grin as he let the paper fall to the floor. It didn’t matter. He had a job to do. There were innocents to protect. Even if it was Suguru, even if his heart turned to ash at the idea, he’d go. He had to. He couldn’t afford the luxury of avoidance anymore.

He didn’t speak as he prepared.

Yaga noticed. Shoko noticed. Even his kids noticed. Megumi and Tsumiki hovered more than usual, exchanging glances and offering hesitant words he barely heard.

But he ignored them.

He put on his uniform like armor. He wrapped himself in confidence like a shield. He strapped on his blindfold like a mask.

He was Satoru Gojo, the strongest.

He would not falter.

And yet-

Shoko caught him in the hallway just before he left. She didn’t try to stop him. She never did. But her voice was quiet when she said, “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep carrying all of this alone.”

He laughed. “I’m not alone. I’ve got my fan club.”

Her look said everything.

Pity.

It disgusted him.

He didn’t want it. Didn’t need it. Pity was for the weak. For the broken. And wasn’t he still standing? Wasn’t he still fulfilling his duty? That should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because deep down, in the parts of him he kept locked behind layers of cursed energy and performance, something was cracking.

He could hear it in the way his own footsteps echoed too loudly. In how quiet the world became when he was alone. In how desperately he tried to fill every second of his day so he didn’t have to be alone with his thoughts.

He told himself he was fixing the system. That every step he took, every mission he completed, brought the world one step closer to justice. To peace.

To safety.

He told himself that maybe -just maybe- when it was all done, Suguru would come back.

It was a thought so sharp it made him wince.

A thought he buried instantly.

He couldn’t afford to be weak for that man anymore. Couldn’t afford to chase ghosts. Geto had made his choice. He’d left. He had blood on his hands. So much blood.

But still.

Satoru found himself thinking: If I fix this broken world, will that be enough? Will he see that it didn’t have to be this way? Will he understand why I stayed?

He clenched his fists. The memory of Suguru’s expression in the plaza resurfaced unbidden, those unreadable eyes, that haunted stillness. And beneath it, something else. Something familiar.

The ache grew, hollow and hot. Like his ribs had been pried open and a fire lit in the space where his heart should’ve been.

His head ached. His curse energy crackled against his skin, restless and volatile. He forced himself to breathe, to press it down, to remember who he was.

Are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo… or are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest?

He hated that question.

It looped in his mind endlessly. Like a curse of its own.

A riddle he could never solve.

Was there a Satoru without the power? Would anyone have cared for him without it? Would Suguru have stayed?

His smile slipped.

And then, as it always did, the memory came.

Suguru laughing under a tree, wind tugging at his long hair. The warmth of late spring. The echo of shared jokes. Eyes that saw him. Not the Six Eyes, not the clan heir, not the invincible force of nature but he saw him.

The memory fractured into the image of Suguru standing in a blood-soaked village. Of curses swarming like flies. Of his voice, quiet and resolute: “We’re just monkeys to them, Satoru.”

And then it all collapsed into the final moment.

“Will you kill me?”

He wasn't begging to be killed. Suguru questioned his ability to do so. In some ways he was completely right.

He had said nothing. Could do nothing. Just stood there, bleeding in ways no one could see.

He would never stop bleeding.

That was what it meant, he supposed, to be the strongest. Everyone looked at him like he was untouchable. Infallible. Inhuman. Even Shoko, even Yaga, even the children. None of them truly saw the cost of it.

The higher-ups treated him like a living weapon. The students worshipped him like a god. His enemies feared him.

But Suguru? Suguru had known. Had looked at him like a boy. Like a person.

He was the only one who ever dared to question if Satoru Gojo even wanted to be the strongest.

And now he was gone.

Not dead. Worse than dead.

A ghost that walked in daylight. A monster that looked like the person Satoru loved most.

Loved.

Past tense.

Another thought betrayed him with denial.

However, he gritted his teeth and stepped out into the Shibuya sunlight.

He wasn’t here for sentiment.

He was here to finish a job.

But even as he dropped into the city’s cursed underground like a blade of divine retribution, the thoughts clung to him. Twisting. Clawing.

If he found Suguru again… what would he do?

Could he fight him?

Could he kill him?

Was he willing to sacrifice everything to stop him?

Or had he already sacrificed everything just to survive?

The streets blurred past him. He moved like lightning, like wind. The curses that lingered in the alleys shrank away from him instinctively. The fear in their malformed expressions was familiar.

He was fear, made flesh.

He reached the designated location. Felt the heavy pressure of cursed energy in the air. Not Suguru’s, not exactly. But familiar. Traces of it. A whisper. Like an echo left behind.

His heart clenched.

The mission ended quickly. Too quickly. No sign of Geto. Just another trail. Another taunt. Another reminder.

The higher-ups were playing with him.

Testing him.

Or worse.

They were hoping he’d break.

He stood on the edge of the building, city spread beneath him, and let the wind rip through his coat. His blindfold fluttered slightly, the fabric tugged by the breeze.

He imagined, just for a second, what it would be like to fall.

To let go.

To surrender the weight.

But then he remembered Tsumiki’s laugh. The way Megumi looked up at him like he was unshakable. He remembered Haibara's fists trembling as he declared he wanted to save everyone. He remembered Yaga’s tired smile. Shoko’s cigarette smoke curling through the sky.

And he remembered Suguru’s voice, soft and accusing:

“You think you can save everyone. You can’t.”

But maybe.

Just maybe.

He had to try.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed out a message.

Sighting is a dead end. No further action required.

He didn’t mention Geto.

He didn't to.

Didn’t mention the ache.

Didn’t mention the way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He pressed send.

And he stood there a little longer.

Waiting for the ache to fade.

Knowing it never would.

Notes:

I apologize if this chapter isn't the best. I'm a 15yo girl and struggling really bad with my mental health. I guess I kindof project myself onto my writing so if the characters sound oc then thats probably just me. Leaving comments is a good motivation to me so I would appreciate it.

Chapter 5: The Path I Left For You

The city pulsed with cursed energy, but Suguru Geto moved through it like a ghost.

He had been here before, not this exact alley, not this exact prefecture, but cities just like it. A thousand times over. They were always the same: crowded, noisy, brimming with ignorance. Civilians strolled with their eyes down, ears plugged with music or scrolling some bright little screen, completely unaware of the curses that slithered around them. The veil that separated their world from his had never felt so thick.

Suguru stood still in the mouth of a narrow alleyway just off the main street of Shibuya. It smelled like wet stone and old blood. Perfect.

He closed his eyes and let the energy bloom from his fingertips.

The curse he left behind was low-grade, feral, and hungry. It snapped at his ankles like a half-starved dog before slipping into the shadows of the alley. Not powerful enough to hurt any of those monkeys, not truly, but loud enough. Disruptive enough. Traceable enough.

He opened his eyes and exhaled slowly.

Satoru will find it.

He always did.

Suguru didn’t smile. Not quite. But there was something like hope that flickered inside his chest.

He had tried to be patient. To build his new world one cursed stone at a time. But some part of him, a part he could never quite rip out, still looked back. Still remembered what it was like to believe in something beside himself. Beside this mission. That part of him still believed that Satoru Gojo, his Satoru, could be brought to understand.

He thought about it an awful lost and came to the conclusion.

He needed Satoru Gojo

He would never reach him with words. Not anymore. Satoru was too deep in it. Too tangled in obligation and guilt and the weight of being "the strongest." But if Suguru could pull him down, drag him just low enough to feel again, to see again. Maybe, just maybe...

He moved to the next location.

A shrine on the edge of the district. Quiet. Empty. The paper lanterns swayed gently in the wind. Here, he left something older. A curse made from lingering grief, harvested from a suicide just a week prior. It hummed with pain, its form almost human in its posture. Curled in prayer. Its head twitched when Suguru approached.

"Stay," Suguru murmured.

The curse stilled.

He didn't bind it. No need. It would remain here until Satoru arrived. It would scream for him, weep for him, infect the very air with its sorrow. Maybe then Satoru would start to understand what it felt like to *listen*.

To see the world the way Suguru did.

He left behind another breadcrumb.

And then another.

And another.

Each one carefully planted in places Satoru frequented or had history with. A convenience store from their youth. A school where he and Satoru once visited for a mission. A ramen shop they had sat in together during a rainstorm, laughing about nothing and everything.

Suguru stood outside that shop the longest. It was closed now, the windows dark and dusty.

"You're going to find these, aren't you?" he asked aloud, though the only answer was the wind.

The girls waited for him just beyond the next street.

Nanako kicked her legs against the wall as Mimiko held a rice ball between small, trembling fingers. They were quiet today. Tired. Suguru brushed Mimiko’s bangs aside gently and handed her another cloth for her nosebleed. It was nothing, just the curse they passed earlier. Too strong, maybe.

"You're doing well," he told them both. They looked up at him, uncertain. He softened. "Really."

He wondered if they understood what he was doing.

No. They were too young. And too loyal.

But maybe that was the point. They were what the world tried to throw away. And Satoru protected those kinds of people now. So why couldn't he see it? Why couldn't he see that Suguru was protecting them too?

They just had different methods.

He left the twins in the care of one of his curse spirits named Karasu and headed to the rooftops.

From above, the city was a patchwork of lights and lives. Every window a story. Every shadow a secret. The curses danced below like worms beneath the skin of the world.

He sat on the edge of a building and looked toward the skyline.

"He’ll come," Suguru said to himself.

And when he does, he will be tired. He will be frustrated. He will question why the higher-ups keep sending him on these low-tier missions. He will wonder what he's missing. And then, maybe then, he will understand that the system cannot be fixed from within.

It must be burned.

Suguru believed that. With every breath in his body. With every step he took deeper into the shadows.

And Satoru...

Satoru had once been the brightest thing in his world. The blinding sun to his orbit. The laughter in his darkness. The only person who ever made him feel like he was something more than a tool.

If he could just reach him again-

Suguru closed his eyes.

That night, he visited the cemetery.

The gravestones were slick with dew. One of them bore the name of a girl he hadn’t thought of in years. She had died unexpectedly by a bullet to the head.

They hadn’t saved her.

He pressed a curse talisman to the base of her grave.

"Another one for you," he murmured.

He wasn't sure who he was speaking to. Himself? Her? Satoru?

It didn't matter.

By now, the breadcrumbs had formed a path. Satoru would notice. The patterns. The specific residues. The personal connections. Suguru wasn’t hiding from him. He wanted to be found.

Because deep down, he didn’t want to fight him.

He wanted him to understand.

And maybe-

Maybe even follow.

Notes:

Thank you for all the support. Geto is gonna be a little off his rocker in this one but dont worry its only a little.

Chapter 6: What Does It Mean To Be Human?

Satoru felt dumb.

Not in the fleeting, self-deprecating way he used to when Suguru beat him at shogi back in their dorm, or when Shoko rolled her eyes after another of his dumb jokes. No, this was something else. A deeper, colder kind of dumb, one wrapped in disbelief and exhaustion and something dangerously close to grief.

He had been tricked. Played like a cheap flute.

The signs had always been there, he just didn’t want to see them. Or maybe he did, deep down. Maybe a part of him had known from the very first sighting, from the moment he sensed a cursed signature that felt too familiar to be random.

Now, standing in the middle of yet another alley soaked in curse residue, it all finally clicked.

Geto Suguru.

It had always been him.

Satoru didn’t even remember when he stopped breathing. The realization had drained the air from his lungs like a sudden plunge into cold water.

All the cursed spirit sightings he’d been chasing for the past few weeks? They weren’t coincidental. They weren’t natural. They were placed deliberately, meticulously, in locations that only one person would know he’d remember. Places saturated with memory. With ghosts.

The park where they first trained the first-years.

The station platform where they once waited for a mission to Kyoto and laughed so hard Satoru choked on his drink.

Even this alley, where they’d once fought back-to-back, bloodied and breathless and invincible.

And now it was filled with leftover curse energy, pungent and clinging like smoke.

Geto’s calling card.

Satoru stared at the residue, eyes unfocused behind his tinted glasses. The cursed energy didn’t hum like it used to. It used to be background noise, like static on an old TV, a sign of conflict but also of familiarity. Now it grated. It buzzed like fluorescent lights on the verge of burning out, worming into his skull until it throbbed behind his eyes.

A migraine was forming. Not that he cared.

He was tired. Not just physically though, the fatigue was deep in his bones, but in a way that frightened him. He was tired of being the strongest. Tired of pretending that being strong made him untouchable.

If this was what Suguru wanted. To wear him down, to make him doubt, to make him remember. Then he’d succeeded.

Satoru pressed a hand to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. The dull pain didn’t help, but it gave him something to focus on.

He didn’t want this. Not now. Not ever again.

He couldn’t afford to be human anymore.

Not when people depended on him. Not when he had Tsumiki and Megumi waiting at home, one with soft eyes and quiet worries, the other with thorns in his voice but warmth buried deep. Not when the balance of the entire jujutsu world rested on his shoulders.

Humans were weak.

And he had to protect them.

Satoru opened his eyes again, staring down at the residue as if it might suddenly rearrange itself into an answer. But there was no grand message. Just the same clawing feeling in his chest. That he was being watched. That he was being hunted, but not in the way an enemy hunts prey. No. Suguru was watching him like a scientist watches an experiment, waiting to see if he’ll crack.

He was baiting him.

That realization twisted something inside Satoru. It made his lips curl back into a bitter smile.

“You clever bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Because of course Suguru knew what would get to him. Of course he knew exactly how to burrow beneath his skin. Who else would understand Satoru well enough to orchestrate this?

He should have recognized the pattern sooner. The cursed spirits weren’t just chaotic outbreaks—they were orchestrated, spaced out like chess moves. Designed to keep him chasing, always one step behind. Always tired. Always questioning.

And the worst part?

It was working.

Satoru leaned back against the crumbling brick wall of the alley and exhaled slowly, trying to ground himself. His cursed energy flickered slightly, unstable for just a moment before he reined it back in. He couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not here. Not anywhere.

The world didn’t allow the strongest to falter.

But standing there, with the ghost of Suguru's energy clinging to the walls around him, he felt like anything but strong.

He was unraveling.

Slowly. Quietly.

Suguru always knew how to make him feel human.

That thought came unbidden. And it hurt. Because he didn’t want to feel human. Not anymore. Humanity was soft. Vulnerable. And Suguru had carved those pieces out of him and scattered them like breadcrumbs.

Satoru clenched his jaw, willing the ache in his chest to go away.

It didn’t.

He thought of Shoko and her knowing gaze. Of Yaga, who no longer even tried to hide his concern. Of his kids, who tiptoed around him when he came back from missions more worn down than usual.

He’d brushed them all off. Told them it was just exhaustion. Another mission. Another cursed spirit.

But it was all Suguru.

Every single time.

Another dead end.

Another dead end.

Another dead end.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d said that to himself.

And yet he kept chasing.

Was that Suguru’s intention all along? To lead him in circles until he broke? Or... was it something else?

A test?

A message?

A plea?

He didn’t know. And that made it worse.

He could feel the edge of panic rising in his throat, acidic and sharp. He swallowed it down and forced himself to think of home. Of Megumi complaining about the vegetables he overcooked. Of Tsumiki smiling with her whole face when he remembered to bring back her favorite juice.

He needed to go home.

They were probably worried by now.

Satoru pulled out his phone with trembling fingers and stared at the screen for a long time. Notifications buzzed in the background, ignored. He scrolled past them all until he reached the contact he’d never deleted.

“Suguru.”

It sat there like a scar.

He hadn’t messaged it in years. Not since-

No. He didn’t let himself think about the last time.

The silence between them had stretched for so long it felt like another kind of curse. Heavy. Endless.

He hovered his thumb over the keyboard.

He could still walk away. He could delete the contact and bury this feeling in the graveyard of all his other regrets.

But the buzzing in his skull wouldn’t stop. The fatigue wouldn’t lift. And the question inside him refused to die.

Why?

Why do all this?

Why now?

He started typing.

He erased the first message.

Then the second.

By the time he found the right words, his hands were shaking.

Just four.

Four words.

What do you want.

He stared at the message, thumb trembling over the send button.

He didn’t want to want an answer. But he did.

He sent it before he could change his mind.

And then he stood there, in that empty alley choked with ghosts and echoes, the residue of Suguru’s presence thick in the air.

And he waited.

Not for a cursed spirit.

Not for another clue.

But for a reply.

Because in the end, it wasn’t the battles that wore him down.

It was the silence.

Notes:

This chapter really hit close to home for me. This chapter is kind of exactly what happened to me just jujustu kaisen version.

Chapter 7: Repeated Mistakes

He stared at the message, the words burning on his screen like a brand. Final. Irrevocable. His thumb hovered above the screen, shaking slightly, and suddenly all the air vanished from his lungs.

What did I just do?

It hit him all at once. The mistake. The weakness. The invitation.
He hadn’t meant to reach out. He hadn’t meant to give Suguru anything. No opening. No handhold. No reason.

He was tired. That was all. Exhausted. Running on fumes. That’s what he told himself, over and over, like a mantra. Like if he repeated it enough times, it would rewrite the truth.

It was a mistake. Right?
Everyone makes mistakes.
Even him?

His vision tunneled. The edges of the world blurred, colors bleeding into one another, too bright and too dim all at once. The alley he’d tucked himself into for just a second of peace now seemed to pulse with pressure—his heartbeat, his breath, a dull roar in his ears like the world itself was tilting.

His throat closed around nothing.

He scrambled to delete the message, tapping the screen frantically, fingers trembling too hard to make contact, too slow to change anything.

Too late.

A small line of text bloomed beneath the message like blood through white cloth.

Read.

No.
No, no, no.
NO.

Then the bubble appeared.

Typing…

Satoru’s chest seized. He couldn’t breathe. The phone slipped in his grip, nearly falling. He fumbled to keep hold of it, clutching it like a lifeline, or a weapon he couldn’t afford to lose.

His heart wasn’t pounding—it was slamming, a trapped animal battering itself against his ribs. His pulse throbbed behind his eyes, in his jaw, his limbs going cold and numb. His knees gave, and he caught himself against the alley wall with one hand, slamming palm to brick hard enough to sting.

He couldn’t let this happen.
Not again.
This was what Suguru wanted.

With a panicked gasp, he shut off the phone. Not just the screen, no, he powered the whole damn thing down. His thumb missed the button twice before it finally hit hard enough, and the screen went dark.

Black.

But the noise in his head didn’t stop.

His breathing turned shallow, too fast, too hard. He couldn’t slow it down. Couldn’t control it. Each inhale was a blade, each exhale ragged and useless. He pressed his back to the wall and slid down until he was crouched, elbows on knees, spine curling forward.

The cold of the ground seeped in through his coat. It should’ve helped. It didn’t.

In through the nose, out through the mouth, like Shoko once told him. Like he told Megumi when the nightmares got too real. When the past clawed into the present and left nothing but broken sleep.

He tried.

It didn’t work.

Megumi makes it look so easy, he thought bitterly. But I can’t even do this right.

Images surged behind his eyes-Suguru’s eyes, that long, unreadable look in the plaza. The absence of words. The knowing that hadn’t needed them. That ache. That obsession.

And now I’ve cracked.
Four words. One second.
I reached out.

A sob bubbled up, sharp and sudden, and he clamped a hand over his mouth before it could escape. The pressure helped. A little. He felt the sweat on his palm, the tension in his chest coiling tighter, the shaking in his legs spreading upward like a virus.

“You’re so… so stupid,” he hissed to no one, voice hoarse. “What the hell are you doing?”

His sunglasses slid from his face, clattering beside him. He didn’t reach for them. His hands were gripping his head now, fingers threaded through his hair like he could keep his skull from splitting open.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus.
Couldn’t be The Strongest like this.

Suguru had already ruined him once.
What would he do if he had the chance again?

What if this -the cursed trails, the staged sightings, the flickers of cursed energy at the edge of missions-what if all of it was a setup? What if it was leading to this , to Satoru spiraling alone in an alley?

This crack in his armor.

And the kids- Megumi. Tsumiki.
They couldn’t see him like this.

He wasn’t supposed to be human.
He was supposed to be their hero. Untouchable.
Not... this.

The tears threatened again, hot and unwanted. He pressed his forehead to his knees, nails digging into his scalp.

You’re the Strongest.
You don’t get to cry over someone who committed genocide.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning. Fear. Grief. Guilt.
And something worse. Something deeper.

I wasn’t ready to feel this again.

Too late.

Suguru had read the message.
And that meant… something was coming.
Whatever it was, there was no undoing it.

The silence that followed buzzed in his ears, louder than any explosion. For a long time, he stayed there. Breathing. Not breathing. Shaking. Willing the world to leave him alone just a little longer.

Eventually, his lungs remembered how to work. Shallow. Then deeper. Stuttering but steadying. Like a baby deer learning to walk.

Still, he held his breath too long between them. Caught himself on the edge of hyperventilation, teetering.

Suck it up.
You’re the Strongest.  Not some weak bitch at another's beck and call.

 

He was both

 

But also- he wasn’t the strongest. Not all the time. Not right now. Maybe not ever. He’d lied to so many people, including himself. He was a god when they needed one. But when no one was looking?

He was this.

And this couldn’t protect anyone.

He thought of Megumi’s eyes. Steady. Serious. Watching. Relying.

He thought of Tsumiki’s laughter. Light and precious. A sound he hadn’t heard in too long.

He thought of the day he brought them home, telling himself it wasn’t about redemption. That it was practical. Strategic.

That was a lie too.

Because the truth? He’d needed something to hold on to.

And now? He was about to jeopardize that.

He was practically inviting evil back into their lives. The kids had already lost everything once. Could he live with himself if he was the reason they lost more?

What the hell was he thinking ?

“People don’t change,” he muttered. “Not really.”

But then a darker thought slithered in.

Was I ever a person?

The Gojo clan had never treated him like one. They called him a god, revered and resented in the same breath. He was too divine to mingle with the “lower life-forms.” Too special to need love, or rest, or grief.

And yet-

Suguru.

Suguru had seen him as a person.
Had called him out, called him in.
Had loved him anyway. Or maybe because .

No.
He shook the thought away, violently.
He couldn’t afford that softness.

He couldn’t be anything less than a god. Not now.
Not when his failure meant others suffered.

He rose, slowly. His limbs ached. His spine popped. The alley spun for a moment before settling. His eyes dimmed, then flared with light.

He was the guardian.
The shield.
He needed to act like it.

With shaking hands, he picked up the phone and turned it back on.

He needed to detach.
To build walls again.
To become untouchable.

It was harder said than done.

The screen lit up. A new notification.

 

"Meet me at the park. Next week. 12 a.m."

Notes:

I've been going through something. So you guys get a little of that something as a treat <3 I love comments

Chapter 8: Rain After Fire

A lot of things were easier said than done.

Satoru had tried so damn hard to be what Jujutsu Society wanted him to be. A god. A symbol. The Strongest. He wrapped himself in the title like armor, hoping it would protect whatever softness remained underneath. But it wasn’t armor. Not really. It was glass. Thin, brittle, and cracking more each day.

He tried to detach. To float above the noise of his heart. But when he walked into his apartment and saw their faces, those small, worried faces, it all shattered.

Megumi was curled against his sister on the couch, his little shoulders tense, lips pressed into a line that said more than any words ever could. The kid had always been prickly. A cactus, Satoru thought. Bristly on the outside, soft on the inside, blooming only in the right conditions. But right now, he wasn’t blooming. He was scared.

And he was looking at Satoru like he didn’t recognize him.

The shame burned down to his bones.

Megumi looked away almost immediately, gripping the hem of Tsumiki’s sleeve like it anchored him. He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask.

Satoru didn’t blame him.

He ran a hand through his hair, forcing a breath through his nose. He must’ve looked like shit. There was probably a storm behind his sunglasses, his shirt wrinkled, shoulders slumped, throat raw from all the unshed words he never gave Suguru. It was late. The apartment was dim and quiet, like it was holding its breath.

And his kids had waited up for him.

That thought hit him in the chest. Made his heart stutter like a broken metronome.

He closed his eyes for a second. Just one. One second to collect himself.

Then he knelt. Lowered himself to their height.

Because godhood meant nothing in this space.

Not when his kids looked at him like that.

Not when the ones he loved most needed Satoru, the human, the constant, not Gojo the sorcerer.

He opened his arms. A soft invitation. Nothing forced.

They didn’t move right away.

And that hesitation?

That hesitation hurt worse than anything Suguru ever did.

It was like being stabbed with a knife he handed them.

He began to lower his arms, the guilt already crawling up his spine when suddenly two small bodies collided with his chest.

Megumi and Tsumiki clung to him, their little arms wrapping around his neck, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. All he could do was hold them tighter.

Then, with the sound of scampering paws, Megumi’s divine dogs joined the pile.

Literally.

“Wha-hff-guys!” Satoru wheezed, crushed beneath children and Shikigami. “Okay, okay, personal space is an illusion now-got it!”

But he didn’t mean it.

He wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.

Not even for Suguru.

He stayed there, buried beneath warmth and fur and small hands, and laughed. The kind of laugh that made his ribs ache. Not from pain. From something sweeter. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Eventually, the dogs scampered off, padding back to their domain, and the kids pulled away, slightly disheveled but smiling.

No words had been exchanged, but they weren’t needed.

The hug said everything.

And Satoru?

He felt like himself again and all it took was to see his kids.

He sat back on his heels, brushing a tuft of long, dark, hair from Tsumiki’s face. Her smile lit up the whole room. Megumi, meanwhile, tried to pretend he hadn’t just launched himself into a full-body tackle. His face turned pink, and he looked away quickly.

Satoru cackled, ruffling his hair before Megumi could stop him.

“Hey guys,” he said, voice still scratchy with leftover emotion, “whatcha doing up so late?”

His words came out as a low grumble, but his kids knew better. They heard the warmth underneath.

“You promised to take us to that aquarium in Sendai today,” Megumi muttered, frowning like a miniature adult. His arms crossed, and he refused to meet Satoru’s gaze.

Satoru blinked.

Oh. Shit.

“I did,” he admitted, dragging a hand down his face. “Man, I’m the worst.”

“You are,” Megumi said flatly.

Tsumiki giggled, and even Megumi’s mouth twitched with a hidden smile.

Satoru clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Straight through the heart, Gumibear. You wound me.”

“Stop calling me that,” Megumi groaned, but his voice lacked real bite.

Satoru grinned.

Tsumiki tugged on his sleeve. “Can we go tomorrow, Sato-nii?”

Her voice was hopeful, eyes bright with trust.

God, how did they still trust him?

Satoru nodded instantly. “Of course. I’ll take the whole day off. We’ll get snacks and everything. I’ll even buy you guys those overpriced glowing squid keychains.”

Megumi squinted at him. “You never let us get those.”

“Yeah, well,” Satoru said, standing up and stretching with a groan, “maybe I’m getting soft.”

Or maybe he just realized how close he came to losing himself.

Again.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket, already scrolling to Ijichi’s contact.

“Your Majesty,” he intoned in a faux-regal voice, “I shall inform the Court of my noble obligations to the realm of Sea Creatures.”

Megumi tackled him with a pillow.

Satoru let himself fall backward with an exaggerated groan.

—

Later that night, when the kids were tucked in, Tsumiki curled around a plush rabbit and Megumi snoring faintly with one arm around a divine dog. Satoru stood alone on the balcony.

The city glittered below. Cars whispered down the street. Somewhere, someone was laughing. Life kept moving.

And yet he stood still.

He stared at the message on his phone.

12:00 am next week

Still there.

Still marked as Read .

He had tried to forget it. Had even considered smashing his phone against the wall just to feel like he had control over something. But the message had already been seen. He had already read it. He knew he was going to show up too.

And Satoru had panicked.

Full-body, oxygen-leaving-his-lungs panic.

He had shut his phone off like it would shut off reality too.

But reality didn’t care.

Now, in the silence of the night, it returned. With a vengeance.

He clutched the railing, fingers white-knuckled.

His vision blurred, his breath catching in shallow gasps. His chest hurt. Not physically. Emotionally. Existentially. Whatever the hell it was, it felt like being torn in half.

He felt weak.

Like that scared teenager again, the one who wasn’t strong enough to save anyone. Not Riko. Not Suguru. Not even himself.

The tears came before he could stop them. Hot. Furious. Silent.

They slipped down his cheeks, wetting his shirt collar.

He didn’t sob. Not really.

It was quieter than that.

Just soft, broken exhales.

In and out.

In and out.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m okay, I’m okay. It’s fine”

But he wasn’t.

And it wasn’t fine.

Because deep down he’d wanted Suguru to answer. That was the truth of it. He’d sent that message not just in panic, but in hope. Some small, foolish part of him still wanted to hear Suguru say I’m sorry. Still wanted to be understood. Still wanted the Suguru he used to know to be out there, waiting.

But he wasn’t.

That Suguru was gone.

And Satoru had children now.

Children who depended on him.

Who waited up for him.

Who didn’t hesitate to love him, even when he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

That was the truth he needed to hold onto.

Not Suguru’s ghost.

Not a memory in a message thread.

He turned off the phone again. Slid it into his pocket. Wiped his face with a sleeve.

Behind him, the floor creaked. He turned.

Megumi was standing in the hallway, rumpled and sleepy, rubbing his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet.

Satoru stared at him.

Then smiled.

Soft.

Shaky but real.

“Yeah,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair again. “I am now.”

And he tried to mean it.

Notes:

Juju Stroll: Meet The Author
Hello I am Xa1le pronounced as (Ex) (Aile)
I am 15
My birthday is May 19
My favorite color is red
I struggle with bipolar 1, depression, and anxiety (all severe but it makes me a good writer)
I love rabbits (I have 4)
And I LOVE comments plz comment!
(Btw who do ya think is gonna be introduced next chapter????)

Chapter 9: The Untimely Curse

God, Satoru should’ve never promised to take the kids to the aquarium.

Not after what had recently happened. The string of incidents, curses behaving abnormally, attacks on civilians, strange spiritual disruptions, even Suguru should’ve been a warning. One he, like so many others before it, ignored.

He knew better. Hell, he was better at fighting curses and staying one step ahead of (most) disasters. But children? That was an entirely different battlefield. And today, like most days lately, he was losing. With every step, with every exhausted thought, he felt like he was losing a little more.

His mind burned out from a week of relentless missions and only fragments of sleep. His sunglasses sat slightly askew, offering little protection from the fluorescent chaos that surrounded them. Crying toddlers, anxious parents, the low mechanical hum of the life support systems for the tanks every sound scraped across his frayed nerves like sandpaper.

He winced.

He should’ve known this little trip wouldn't be so little.

Tsumiki clung to his sleeve. Her small fingers curled tightly in the fabric, as if her grip alone could keep him from spiraling further. She was scared he could feel it, not just from her cursed energy, which buzzed in disarray around her, but from the tremble in her voice as she called out Megumi’s name.

Again. And again.

And Megumi… was gone.

The crowd pressed around him in slow, sticky waves. The stench of cotton candy and saltwater mingled with something else, something darker. Thicker. But restrained. It teased the edge of his senses like smoke behind glass. His eyes burned from the overwhelming cursed signatures flooding the building. Every person leaked some kind of residual whether it be anger, sadness, stress. It made tracking anyone specific near impossible.

But none of it matched Megumi.

Satoru spun slowly in place, scanning faces. Vendors. Balloons. Neon-lit tanks glowing with electric blue. Strollers, backpacks, wet floors. But no Megumi.

He’d looked away for one second. One.

And now the boy was missing.

His fists clenched at his sides. Cursed energy surged within him, barely kept in check beneath his skin. He couldn’t afford to panic. Not in front of Tsumiki. Not in front of hundreds of innocent bystanders. But deep in his gut, cold dread began to take root.

Because it wasn’t just that Megumi had wandered off.

Satoru felt it now.

That flicker.

That ripple.

Something dark was here and it wasn’t from a tantruming toddler or a cursed goldfish in tank 14-B. It was malicious. Controlled. Intentional.

Something must’ve taken him.

And if it thought it could get away with it, it clearly didn’t know who it was dealing with.

He scanned the air again, filtering through the tangled threads of spiritual noise. If he had to scour this whole city-no, this whole world . He knew he would. Because no one touched his kid. No one.

The bright lights from the jellyfish tunnel stung his brain wrong. Even the damn jellyfish had cursed energy. He grit his teeth. The sensory overload was enough to make his skin crawl.

Then he felt it.

A shift in the currents of cursed energy. Faint. Malevolent. Like a shadow stretching where it shouldn’t. The signature was unfamiliar, but strong . Wrong in a way only truly dangerous things were.

He adjusted his hold on Tsumiki, lifting her so she could rest against his chest. “Almost there,” he whispered, more to himself than her.

But Megumi's energy and his sharp , cold spiritual fingerprint was nearly lost beneath that darkness. Drowned out. That could only mean one thing: Megumi was with it.

Satoru’s movements turned forceful. He weaved through the crowd with speed and precision, shoving aside civilians without apology. His jaw was tight. His grip on Tsumiki, tighter.

And then his heart stopped.

The residuals in the air twisted. They swirled unnaturally. For the briefest second, his Six Eyes projected a warped image into his brain. A figure with four eyes. Four arms. Its aura seeped through the cracks of reality.

Satoru immediately dropped to a knee beside Tsumiki.

“Miki,” he said softly, urgently. “I’m not going to lie to you. Something is wrong. I need you to stay here and wait for me.”

His eyes glowed a pale, anxious blue, and his hand trembled only slightly as he ruffled her hair.

She nodded with wide, frightened eyes.

Before she could ask any questions, he was already gone.

He followed the trail like a predator, his entire being locked into the hunt. He paused only twice, making sure the threads hadn’t twisted on him. They hadn’t.

Then he saw it.

The messy spikes of black hair. A familiar figure standing just past the emergency exit behind the whale tank exhibit.

Satoru ran to him and scooped him up instantly.

“Megumi!”

The boy tensed in his arms, but he wasn’t injured. Not even scratched.

“Let me go,” he grumbled, squirming like an annoyed cat. His face was set with that same unimpressed expression that somehow always made him look older than he was.

Satoru didn’t respond at first. He was too busy checking him over, searching for injuries. Bruises. Blood. Anything.

“Satoru. Let me go.”

Satoru’s own name landed flat but this time, Satoru registered it.

“No.” His voice was low. Stern. His chest still tight with relief.

And then-

“ Dad . Let. Me. Go.”

Satoru froze.

His eyes widened. His heart flipped inside out.

That was the first time Megumi had ever called him that.

Dad .

He wanted to cry. Right there in the middle of the emergency hallway behind the dolphin tank. But he didn’t. He blinked a few times, nodded dumbly and loosened his hold.

Megumi didn’t wait. He slipped from his arms and walked over to a kid standing awkwardly nearby.

Pink hair. Bright smile. Big eyes.

Satoru’s focus narrowed.

That kid…

There it was again. That evil ripple. Stronger now. More personal . His Six Eyes adjusted, and he looked not at the boy, but through him.

Two souls.

One dominant, wide-eyed and human.

The other was small. It was dormant. But monstrous in its density.

A vessel.

Satoru’s jaw tightened. He didn’t recognize the boy’s face. But he recognized that cursed fragment burning inside him like a buried brand.

The King of Curses.

Sukuna.

Notes:

I need comments guysssss im so unmotivated

Chapter 10: The King's Vessel

Yuji was scared.

His mother said they were going on a trip just the two of them. Not that there was anyone else to go with. His father and grandfather had gone missing a long time prior.

She had smiled when she told him, a stretched, unnatural smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She had leaned close, whispering into his ear with her smooth, low voice. The same voice she used when she wanted him quiet. Safe. Still.

"My favorite creation," she’d said. "My perfect experiment."

The words should’ve meant love. Comfort. But they didn’t. They brought dread. They always did.

They hadn’t even left Sendai. Just traveled deeper into the city, to one of the more crowded districts. The aquarium, she’d said. Somewhere full of color and life. Something normal. Fun.

It wasn’t.

Not for Yuji.

Not when the shadows writhed under the surface of things, when the corners of his eyes constantly caught movement he wasn’t supposed to see. When the monsters. Curses, his mother called them, clung to the people around him like leeches.

And they couldn’t see it.

Only he could.

A gift, she’d told him.

It didn’t feel like one.

The deeper they moved into the aquarium, the darker it felt. The blue glow from the aquatic tanks cast ghostly colors over his mother’s face, making her pale features seem almost translucent. Her short, dark, straight hair shimmered in strange hues. But it was her eyes that terrified him the most, cold, distant, calculating. Empty.

There was no warmth in them, not even when she looked at him.

Especially not when she looked at him.

The only thing he saw when she looked at him was a sense of accomplishment.

Her hand tightened around his without warning, fingers pressing into his skin like a reminder. A warning. Be still. Be quiet. Don’t draw attention.

He flinched and looked away.

Even her love came with consequences.

Sukuna stirred.

Yuji tensed immediately. That voice, the one in his head, the one that spoke like it owned him, had been quiet lately. Muted, almost as if sleeping. But now it slithered out from the corners of his thoughts, dragging claws along his consciousness.

“You really haven’t figured it out yet, brat?” Sukuna’s voice echoed, smug and dry. “You almost got it.”

Yuji’s eyes widened. He hadn’t spoken out loud. Hadn’t even thought in full sentences.

But of course, Sukuna heard everything.

The ancient curse laughed again, a rasping, guttural sound that coiled behind Yuji’s ears and dug into his spine. The sound made his skin prickle.

Why now? he wondered. Why here?

“Because you’re finally beginning to realize what you are,” Sukuna sneered. “It’s adorable, really. Watching you stumble through this little horror show, still trying to pretend you’re normal.”

Yuji swallowed hard. His feet moved automatically, keeping pace with his mother through the aquarium’s jellyfish tunnel, but his mind was a blur.

His hand twitched in hers. He wanted to pull away.

He didn’t.

“Shut up,” he whispered under his breath, so quiet he barely heard it himself.

“Oh, what’s that? Finally growing a spine?” Sukuna cackled. “Please. You were bred for this. Kenjaku built you for this.”

That name again.

Kenjaku.

Yuji had an idea who it was. With what his mother sometimes murmured late at night when she thought he was asleep, when she touched the old stitches on her bare forehead and spoke of plans, evolution, vessels.

A chill went down his back.

He didn't remember when Sukuna had first appeared. The voice had always sort of been there , a whisper in the corners of his dreams, growing louder with every passing year. But the memories were blurred, smudged by time and… something else.

Something deliberate.

But one memory stood out.

Screaming.

Yelling in his head about a child vessel. About rage and betrayal. About being mocked .

“I’m still furious about it,” Sukuna muttered darkly, his voice shifting from amused to venomous in a second. “Incarnated into a child . What kind of joke is that? This must be one of Kenjaku’s sad little ironies.”

Yuji didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

His mother pulled him to a stop in front of a giant tank, filled with circling stingrays. She crouched beside him, still gripping his hand like a leash.

“You see them, don’t you?” she asked softly, nodding toward the figures only he could see monstrous things lurking in the shadows of the tank’s glow, eyes fixed on the crowd, drooling anticipation.

He nodded stiffly.

“That means it’s working,” she said. She smiled again, this time softer. “You’re almost ready.”

Yuji’s stomach twisted.

“I’d laugh,” Sukuna said in a low growl, “if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

Yuji wanted to scream.

Instead, he stared at the stingrays.

And realized one was watching him back

He was unnerved by the stingray.

Its black, glassy eyes didn't just reflect light, they reflected him. Something in its slow, fluid movement felt… wrong. Not in the way the other curses felt wrong. This was deeper. More intimate. Like the stingray knew him. Extra eyes opened on the stingray’s body. A curse.

Yuji took an involuntary step back, the image of himself warping in the curve of the tank. He turned to look at his mother, to tug on her sleeve and ask to go, just for a moment. Just to take a breath.

But she wasn’t there.

His fingers curled instinctively, reaching for the warmth that should’ve been wrapped around his hand. Empty air.

He blinked. Once. Twice. A full turn now. The crowd buzzed, moved, shifted around him, but her sharp, emotionless figure was gone.

Panic crawled up his throat like bile.

His breathing stuttered.

“W-Where…?” he whispered, spinning now, heart thudding so hard it made his chest ache. Where was she? Why would she leave him here?

“God, I thought you were smarter than this.” Sukuna’s voice rolled through his mind, sharp as shattered glass. “Kenjaku was never really your mother. Get it through your thick skull, brat.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Yuji didn’t want to believe them, even if part of him already knew. Had always known.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but his voice was shaking, barely audible.

A pathetic whimper escaped him. It got lost in the hum of the crowd, the chatter of nearby children, the gurgle of the tanks. No one looked at him. No one noticed he was alone. No one saw the fear on his face.

He was just a kid.

And now he was a lost one.

His cursed energy surged outward like a ripple in a still pond—frantic, confused, distressed. It pulsed through the air like an unintentional cry for help, one only the cursed things could hear.

And they did.

From the corners, from under the floor, from behind tanks and walls, tiny curses twitched and stirred, hungry and curious. Drawn to the beacon of unstable energy.

Sukuna went quiet.

Not the quiet of amusement or brooding. But a stillness. A pause.

Even he didn’t know what to do.

Yuji could feel it, somehow. That even the great and terrible Sukuna—the one who had growled and laughed and belittled him—was caught off guard. Nervous.

The tears began to fall, wet trails on his cheeks he didn’t register at first. His chest tightened. His vision blurred.

He wasn’t breathing.

He didn’t even realize it until he started to sway, lightheaded. Dizziness swam through him in waves. His small fingers trembled, curled against his sides.

And still, no one saw him.

Sukuna cursed in the back of his mind.

“Brat,” he snapped, more harshly than he meant. “Cease these emotions. I will not have a weak vessel.”

It wasn’t helpful.

Yuji’s knees buckled slightly.

The boy began to sob, quiet, broken cries that no one around him even noticed. He was a ghost in a sea of people. An invisible child with a monster in his soul and no mother in sight.

Something in Sukuna shifted.

He didn’t like this.

Not the crying. Not the helplessness. Not the sheer vulnerability of it.

Yuji was his vessel.

His domain.

He couldn’t explain why but the image of the child, small and scared and shaking from abandonment, struck a nerve in the old curse. Not a human one, not sympathy but something more primal. Possessive. Territorial.

With a snarl, Sukuna’s soul surged forward, wrapping around Yuji’s like a coiled serpent. Protective. Enveloping. Not gentle but firm . Commanding.

The air around them snapped with power.

Cursed spirits that had begun to creep closer now recoiled violently, scattered like roaches under light. Even the largest of them, the ones with jaws and limbs and dripping, hungry mouths, they ran.

Yuji didn’t understand why the air suddenly felt warmer.

Didn’t know why the pressure in his chest eased just slightly.

But he did feel the presence.

Sukuna, though monstrous, ancient, and cruel, had taken hold.

And he would not let anything else touch his vessel.

Not yet.

It wasn’t scolding. Not really. More like Sukuna didn’t know what else to say.

Yuji sniffled, his face hot and splotchy. He couldn’t stop crying. He felt like something inside him was cracking. Splitting into pieces.

Mom wasn’t coming back.

He didn’t even know why she brought him here.

He pressed his forehead to his knees.

And then-

He felt it.

Not like Sukuna. Not like Kenjaku.

Something… sharp . Focused. Watching.

A thread of cursed energy brushing his own.

Then a voice.

“…Hey.”

Yuji flinched, looking up fast.

A boy about his age, maybe a little taller, stood a few feet away. His face was serious. Eyes dark. Hair spiky.

He didn’t look afraid of Yuji at all.

“Hey,” the boy repeated. “You’re kind of setting off the whole room.”

Yuji wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I-I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” the boy said. “It’s okay. It happens.”

Yuji blinked at him. His heart was still hammering. “I can’t find my mom…”

The boy frowned. Not in a mean way. Just like he was thinking hard.

“That wasn’t your mom,” he said simply.

Yuji’s breath caught. “What?”

“I don’t think she was. You know that too.” The boy looked down, then back up. “I saw it. She left you. Moms don’t do that.”

Yuji wanted to argue. Wanted to say she had to be his mom. That she must have had a reason.

But his hands still felt empty.

“…I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to know yet,” the boy said. Then he squatted down, meeting Yuji’s eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Yu-Yuji.”

“I’m Megumi.” He looked over his shoulder for a second, then turned back. “You wanna come with me? The guy I’m with is really tall and annoying but he’s strong. He’ll help.”

Yuji hesitated. His hand twitched.

“Promise?” he asked.

Megumi nodded once. “Yeah. I promise.”

Yuji stared at him. Then slowly, quietly, he reached out.

Megumi didn’t flinch. Just took his hand like it was easy. Like it was normal .

And then something huge crashed through the cursed energy around them.

Yuji gasped.

Even Sukuna jolted. “Shit. That’s him.”

The hallway lights buzzed, and a pressure like a mountain settled over the aquarium.

Footsteps.

And a voice.

“MEGUMI!”

A man with white hair and tinted sunglasses came flying down the corridor like a storm. His energy didn’t even touch Yuji, but he could feel how furious and scared and focused it was.

Yuji froze again.

The tall white haired man picked up the spiky haired child, looking all over for injuries, while Yuji just stood there awkwardly with puffy eyes.

“Let me go,” Megumi grumbled, squirming like a worm. 

The white haired man didn’t respond at first. He was too busy checking him over the child.

“Satoru. Let me go.” Megumi grumbled a little louder. Yuji then noted that the man’s name was Satoru.

“No.” Satoru's voice was low but relieved.

“ Dad . Let. Me. Go.” Megumi almost shouted. Yuji’s eyes widened once more. This was Megumi's dad? They didn’t really look alike other than the spiky-ish hair.

Megumi’s dad let him down.

Megumi didn’t even blink. “I found him. The crying one.”

The white-haired man’s head was already turned toward Yuji, sharp and fast.

Yuji couldn’t breathe. He stepped back, instincts flaring. All he could picture in his mind was the man’s eyes. 

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You.”

Yuji’s stomach twisted. “I-I didn’t mean to do anything-” he blurted out. “I just-”

“He didn’t do anything,” Megumi said, voice firm. “He’s like me. Just louder.”

The man exhaled. He looked so tired. Like all the fire inside him had burned too long.

Then

“Are you hungry, kid?” he asked.

Yuji stared at him. “I… think so?”

“Great,” the man said, scooping him up like it was nothing. “We’re getting ice cream. Then we’re going to talk about the monster in your head.”

Yuji blinked in surprise.

How did the man know that?

He didn’t know if he should be terrified or… relieved.

Notes:

I have been going through something. I've been fighting with suicidal thoughts and actions. Sorry this took a while I was hospitalised because of my tendencies. Please remember I'm a 15 year old girl who is struggling heavily. I'm trying my best. Comments are a nice motivation. <3

Chapter 11: Kidnapping? I don't know.

Nope. Nope. Nope.
Yuji was terrified.
Everything inside him screamed to run away. If his legs were not dangling in the air, they would have already bolted in the opposite direction. His heart pounded so loudly that he was sure the others could hear it. It felt like his own heart was trying to escape too.

Sukuna was no help.
In fact, he was worse.

“Get away. Get away now, brat,” the curse hissed, slamming his voice into Yuji’s mind like a blaring siren. “That man is a walking execution order.”

The warning was primal and deep. It was not panic; Sukuna did not panic. Instead, he was alert and on edge. Like a predator spotting something even it did not want to fight. Not with Sukuna’s current power.

Yuji trembled in the man’s grasp.

Satoru, Megumi’s dad, apparently, was not even holding him properly. One arm was under Yuji’s legs, and the other hung loosely around his back, as if Yuji weighed nothing. As if he was neither a scared kid nor a ticking time bomb. As if he was nothing to worry about.

But that was the worst part.

Because the man’s eyes were fixed on him.

Behind those tinted sunglasses, Yuji could feel the intensity. He could almost see it, a bright, searing focus, like sunlight trapped behind glass. Watching him. Studying him. Like he was a bug the man could crush at any second. Yuji had no doubt the man could.

Yuji tried not to squirm, but he could not help it.

He had never been held like this before. Not by someone he did not know. Not by someone who looked at him the way this man did.

Like he was not human.

Like he was a puzzle piece from a dangerous game.

Megumi walked alongside them, eyes flicking back and forth between his dad and Yuji. He did not say anything, but Yuji could feel the stare burning into him.

Then, softly, Megumi spoke, “He’s scared.”

Satoru did not look away. “I know.”

“I think you’re making it worse,” Megumi added, his tone more blunt this time.

Satoru sighed through his nose, something between tired and amused. “I haven’t even started talking about the monster in his head.”

Yuji stiffened.

Monster.

He knew exactly who Satoru meant.

And so did Sukuna.

“Tch. I dare him,” Sukuna growled. “Let him try and provoke me. I’ll turn his brain inside out.”

But his voice was not as steady as usual. Yuji could tell. Sukuna was bluffing.

He was scared too.

They went to go pick up a girl too. One with wide eyes and a soft smile. She didn't say anything just followed Gojo's lead.

Yuji looked away from the girl, he swallowed thickly and curled slightly in the man’s arms. “Am I... in trouble?”

Satoru finally blinked, then raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched just barely. “Only if you keep crying before the ice cream. That will ruin the flavor.”

Yuji blinked at him.

That was not an answer.

But it was also not not an answer.

He glanced over at Megumi, who did not react. He just kept walking like everything was fine. Like this was normal.

He looked at the older girl and she gave him a gentle smile but didn't do anything to help.

Yuji looked at the passerby, hoping to silently alert them to help him, when he felt the hand disappear from his back and reappear on the nape of his neck. A warning—no, a promise.

The kid was trembling.

Satoru did not miss it. The way the boy curled in on himself, shoulders hunched, breath shaky, like he was waiting for something worse to happen. Maybe a hit. Maybe a scream. Like fear was muscle memory.

He was light.

Too light.

Satoru did not even bother holding him properly. One arm looped around like the boy was just another stray Megumi dragged home. But his eyes stayed on him.

He was not sure why.

The cursed energy clinging to this boy was off. That was the first thing Satoru noticed. It was not just leaking out like most untrained kids’ energy. This felt built wrong. Heavy and unstable. Honestly, it felt a little caged.

And in the core of the cage, it was not just strong. It was violent.

Feral.

Satoru had felt a lot of cursed energy in his life, enough to know when something should not exist. But this boy, this thing inside him, it felt like a warning. Like the kind of feeling that comes right before a veil drops. Before people start dying.

But the boy was not pulling away.

That was what pissed Satoru off the most. He should have pulled away. His instincts were screaming to fight, to kill it if he had to.

He was younger than Tsumiki. Maybe a year or so. The child was most likely Megumi's age. But he felt small to him. Like if Satoru held him the wrong way, he would crack. Then again, everything cracked in Satoru’s hands, no matter how gently he tried to be.

And the worst part?

No one had noticed the kid was missing.

No one had come looking for him.

No one had noticed how scared he was with Satoru.

Just this pathetic mess of cursed energy and red eyes and silence, wandering around with whatever the hell was riding his soul.

Satoru did not understand it yet.

He did not know what kind of monster was buried inside this kid or who put it there. But for a split second, he thought:

If I had not shown up...

It could have been much worse.

That thought bothered him.

More than it should have.

So he held the boy a little tighter. Did not say anything. Just let his cursed energy hum steady and solid around them like a boundary line. A claim over Sukuna’s own vessel.

No one was going to touch this kid again.

Not until Satoru figured out why he mattered so much.

And what made the two souls wrap together in one body.

The shop was too bright.

Yuji squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights as Satoru pushed the door open with one hand, the other still under Yuji’s legs, carrying him like a stray cat that had not decided if it wanted to bite or not.

Bells jingled overhead. Cold air hit his face.

It smelled like sugar and freezer burn.

Megumi walked ahead, already heading toward the counter like this was just another Tuesday. Yuji, still being carried, felt completely out of place, somewhere between a kidnapped child and a glitch in reality.

“Okay,” Satoru said casually, like this was not weird at all. “Pick your poison. Two scoops. No bargaining.”

He finally set Yuji down on a booth seat with the care of someone placing something breakable. The sudden loss of warmth made Yuji shiver a little.

His legs felt like noodles.

He did not answer.

Did not look up.

His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as his brain caught up to the fact that he was no longer in danger. Probably. Maybe.

Was he?

Across the table, Megumi and the girl studied the menu like it was a math test. Satoru, on the other hand, leaned on the back of Yuji’s seat, chin resting on his hand.

Waiting.

Watching.

Yuji finally mumbled, “I don’t know what to pick.”

Satoru grinned. “Then I will surprise you.”

Megumi did not even look up. “He’s not going to like it.”

The girl giggled at Satoru and Megumi.

Satoru ignored them, already heading to the counter.

Yuji stared after him, unsure what to do with his hands. He glanced at Megumi, who slouched in the booth across from him like he was not babysitting a cursed object in sneakers.

“Is... is this normal?” Yuji asked softly.

Megumi blinked. “What?”

“This. All of this.” He hesitated. “Your dad.”

Megumi considered the question, then shrugged. “Kind of. He does weird stuff sometimes.”

"Sometimes? Try all the time." The girl's laughter lightened the room but still didn't take away Yuji's nerves.

"Shut up Tsumiki." Megumi grumbled. While Yuji was looking at Tsumiki, commiting her name and face to his memory.

Yuji did not know what answer he expected. Whatever it was, did not help.

Satoru returned a moment later, spinning three cones in one hand like a street magician. He plopped one in front of Megumi without ceremony. He then grabbed the chocolate one and lowered it so Tsumiki could grab it.

Then he handed the other to Yuji.

Bright pink. With rainbow sprinkles.

Yuji stared at it.

“...Strawberry?”

Satoru beamed. “With extra serotonin. That is the real flavor.”

Megumi made a face. “You gave him the unicorn one.”

“I am building trust,” Satoru said, nudging Yuji’s cone toward him. “This is how you do it. With sugar and overcompensation.”

Yuji slowly took the cone, half expecting it to vanish like a trick. But it was cold in his hands. Real.

He took a cautious lick.

Sweet. A little artificial. The sprinkles crunched like glass.

But it was good.

Satoru sat across from them, long legs taking up too much space. He looked absurdly comfortable for someone who had just threatened the King of Curses under his breath.

Yuji glanced up. Caught him staring again.

But this time, it felt different.

Less dissecting. Less dangerous.

More curious.

Like Satoru was still trying to solve the puzzle, but maybe he was no longer sure if it needed to be solved right away.

The silence stretched for a minute.

Then Yuji asked quietly, “So... am I still in trouble?”

Satoru paused mid-bite of his own cone, one eyebrow lifting.

“...It depends,” he said eventually, licking a drip off the side. “But you ate the ice cream. That is legally binding.”

Yuji blinked. “That’s not a law.”

Tsumiki chimed in, "It's a law."

Megumi retorted, “That’s definitely not a law.”

Satoru shrugged. “It is now.”

Yuji looked down at his cone.

Then took another bite.

They did not take him home.

That was the first red flag.

Yuji noticed it about fifteen minutes after the ice cream shop when they did not start heading toward the station. They did not ask for his address or even mention where he was staying. Instead, they walked toward the edge of the city. Calm. Normal. Like they knew exactly what they were doing.

Yuji hesitated at a crosswalk. “Uh. Where are we going?”

Megumi did not answer. Tsumiki gave a sheepish smile and shrugged. She definitely knew but wasn't going to tell him.

Satoru smiled without turning around. “Somewhere safer.”

That sounded like a lie.

“Wait, seriously,” Yuji said, slowing down. “I need to go back. I have school tomorrow. And... stuff.”

Satoru tilted his head back, still walking. “Yeah, not anymore.”

“What?”

Megumi spoke up flatly, “You have a curse living in your body.”

Satoru added, “A big one.”

“You are not exactly a civilian.”

Yuji opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

He flailed his hands. “But-! But I did not ask for that!”

“You also did not ask for that haircut, and yet here we are,” Satoru said breezily, reaching into his pocket for sunglasses he did not need at night. “Some things just happen.”

"Dad don't be rude. It's not that bad..." Tsumiki looked up at Satoru with big eyes.

Yuji sputtered then gawked at him. “That is not the same thing!”

They turned onto a quieter street, the city noise fading behind them. Trees started replacing buildings. The sidewalk cracked in familiar places, like it had been walked on a thousand times before. It felt like a neighborhood.

“You cannot just kidnap me!” Yuji said. “I have a life!”

Satoru hummed. “Do you, though?”

Yuji nearly exploded. “YES?! I HAVE MY MOM-”

He stopped.

Mouth open. Words stuck.

His throat closed like a trap, and all that came out was a thin, ugly sound.

Satoru slowed down.

Megumi glanced back.

Tsumiki didn't notice and kept walking before Satoru grabbed the back of her shirt to stop her.

Yuji stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, hands clenched at his sides.

Satoru said nothing.

Satoru was in front of him in a second. Not too close. Not touching him.

Just there.

Present.

Quiet.

Yuji was still breathing too fast, the beginnings of panic clawing its way up again. His hands trembled at his sides. He was too tired for this. He did not want to fight anymore.

He just wanted someone to tell him what the hell was happening.

Satoru’s voice dropped low. Calmer. Still teasing, but gentle around the edges.

“I was not kidding earlier,” he said. “You are in trouble.”

Yuji looked up at him, eyes wide, ready to run.

But Satoru did not sound angry. Did not sound threatening. He sounded annoyed. At the world.

“At whoever thought it was a good idea to dump a curse in you and leave you on the street like someone would not notice. You are lucky I found you first.”

Yuji swallowed. His eyes burned.

Satoru continued, quieter. “You do not need to go back to whatever is left of your life. We will build something new.”

Yuji blinked at him. “We?”

A voice behind him muttered, “I say it’s okay.”

Yuji turned around.

Megumi was already at the door of a modest house, holding a key and looking deeply unenthused.

He jiggled the doorknob. “It is open. Come on.”

Yuji stared at the house.

Then at them.

“You guys can’t just-just!” he said, exasperated but unable to find the words.

Megumi gave him a deadpan look. “You already ate the ice cream. You are part of the family now.”

Satoru slung an arm around Yuji’s shoulder before he could bolt. “He gets it!”

“I don’t! what is even happening right now?”

“You are moving in.”

“I don’t have any clothes!”

“We will buy some.”

“I don’t even know if I’m safe to be around!”

Satoru smirked. “Good thing we are not exactly normal either.”

Yuji opened his mouth one more time, then stopped.

"Yeah you're not leaving bud." Tsumiki smiled trying to lighten the tension but failed deeply.

He did not cry.

He did not smile.

He just let himself be led inside.

There was nothing they would let him say anyway.

Notes:

Suguru's chapter is next guys.... Buttttt comment please i need interaction for my motivation!!

Chapter 12: Ignored Responsibility

He read the message again.

Four words.
Simple.
Raw.

A crack in the marble.

It was enough.

A slow smile curled along Suguru’s face, one hand still loosely holding the phone like it might evaporate.

His thumb hovered above the screen.

Not to respond, not yet.

No, this moment wasn’t for haste.

This was for savoring.

This wasn’t just contact.

This was proof .

Satoru had reached out.

Voluntarily.
Willingly.
In weakness.
In need .

That had to mean something.

Suguru exhaled, slow and quiet through his nose, as though any sudden motion might dispel the spell the universe had just offered him.

He closed his eyes, and the smile deepened, spreading like warmth into the hollow places of his chest.

“See?” he whispered into the silence of his quarters, to the quiet hush of candlelight and shadows.

“He still cares.”

The world would’ve said he was wrong.

That he was cruel.

That he needed to let go.

But the world was stupid.

They didn’t see .

They didn’t know Satoru like he did.

They couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to carry a soul so heavy that even divinity bowed beneath it.

To be shaped by power and burden, and still choose connection.

They didn’t see the way Satoru used to look at him.

Like he was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Like without him, Satoru would float off, dissolve into some brilliant, unreachable star.

No.

This wasn't an obsession.

This wasn’t madness.

This was inevitability .

And Suguru had always accepted the things others feared.

He and Satoru had been made for each other, twin catastrophes in orbit, two divine errors that only made sense in tandem.

A god alone was unstable.

A god with another?

Balanced.
Complete.

He was only doing what needed to be done.

What should have been done years ago.

If Satoru had forgotten that- forgotten him , then it was Suguru’s responsibility to remind him.

And he would.
Gently.
Carefully.
Thoroughly.

He moved through the temple corridors in a dreamlike quiet, the soles of his feet whispering against the floor.

Everything around him was as it should be: clean, orderly, reverent.

His sanctuary.

He stepped into the shrine room.

Not the public one.

This one was private.
Intimate.

Lit only by the faint gold of flickering candles, the walls were lined with quiet, curated relics.

Satoru’s old missions.

Their pictures, creased at the edges, the corners curling inward like they missed the fingers that once held them.

And at the center, resting like an offering on black silk, lay that scarf.

Faded blue.
Frayed where Satoru had torn it on a mission, then flung it at Suguru in protest after one too many jokes about his delicate constitution.

He remembered the exact moment.

The exact way the fabric had landed against his chest.

The glare Satoru gave him, more mock than real.

Suguru reached out and touched the edge of the scarf, featherlight, as if it might crumble.

Reverence in every motion.

He hadn’t kept it out of grief.

He’d kept it as proof .

He kept everything that mattered.

And now finally things were moving again.

He turned and began to plan.

First: the message.

He didn’t send it right away.

That would be impulsive.
That would be emotional .

And Suguru was calm .

He was in control.

He opened his notes app instead.

Typed out possible replies.
Deleted.
Rewrote.
Changed punctuation.
Adjusted the tone.

It had to feel like gravity.
Not desperation.

Satoru was flighty when scared.

But if you spoke to him in the right voice, if you struck the right chord in the memory, he always came back.

He was loyal that way.

So Suguru wrote it soft.

Just a nudge.

“Meet me at the park.
Next week.
12 a.m.”

Midnight. That was important.

Not quite night, not quite morning.

The hour between.

The space where things were neither dead nor living.

A park. Something open.

Nostalgic.
Familiar.

They used to meet in parks when they skipped debriefings, back when being together felt like the only thing that mattered.

He would choose one with long shadows, old trees, something that felt like memory, not confrontation.

Suguru locked the message behind his notes, then rose to prepare the setting.

He retrieved barrier paper from his shelves—older than most of his students knew how to use.

He chose ink made from pine soot and mixed it himself.

He folded the talismans with exact creases, muttering under his breath not curses but intentions .

This wasn’t for harm.

It was for stillness.

A hush.

A soft room in the world’s noise.

Just enough to quiet the space.

To make Satoru look at him again.

No girls this time.

No cursed spirits.

Not even mimics or scouts.

This wasn’t for anyone else.

This wasn’t about an army, or a world, or an ideology.

This was personal.

He would do it all himself.

He packed a coat, dark, neat, lined with silk.

He ran fingers over his watch, the old one Satoru once teased him for, called grandpa-core .

He smiled at the memory.

The teasing had been cruel. Then sweet. Then cruel again.

A cycle he had grown to crave.

He dressed with care.

Not vanity.
Intention.

Everything meant something.

He wanted to show Satoru the version of him that still matched .

Still fit beside him.

Not ruined.
Not monstrous.

Just… right.

The same as before.
Better, even.

He wasn’t trying to trap him.

He was trying to bring him home .

That night, Suguru arrived at the park an hour early.

The moon hung thin and pale in the sky like a knife’s edge.

The trees towered like old gods, their roots exposed and curling through the sidewalk like reaching hands.

The wind tasted cold, metallic.

Like change.

Perfect.

He set the barrier, subtle and wide, buried into the soil like breath.

No edge, no shock.

Just a suggestion: Stay here.
Stay with me.

He walked the perimeter three times.

Then paced the center.

His pulse was calm.

Focused.

Everything was ready.

And Satoru would come.

Suguru knew he would.

He’d broken the silence, after all.

Even if he came angry.

Even if he shouted, cursed, and wept.

It didn’t matter.

Those were just the thrashings of someone trying to deny the truth.

And Suguru could wait through a storm.

He didn’t want revenge.

He didn’t want an apology.

He wanted restoration .

To put it all back together.

To make Satoru remember .

He would be gentle.
Patient.

Even if it took another week.
Another year.

Because love, real love, was devotion . Worship.

And Suguru had never loved anyone the way he loved Satoru.

He always came back.

Eventually.

And when he did?

Suguru would be waiting.

And that meant—finally—he’d stepped back into the orbit Suguru had been quietly, patiently preparing for him all this time.

Notes:

As I stated before I have Bipolar 1, I do project it on Suguru. Just like me , Suguru tries to find ways to justify his behaviors even through lying to himself so much that he started believing it. Deep down he knows this is wrong but will he ever come to face it? No <3

Chapter 13: A Week Gone In A Blink

Yuji stared at the door again.

 

It looked smaller now, somehow. Like it had learned to mock him. One solid block of wood between him and out there, a world he still didn’t trust, but at least it wasn’t this. At least it didn’t come with eyes on the back of his neck every time he so much as breathed.

 

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

 

Gojo hadn’t cracked a joke in an hour. Tsumiki’s laughter didn’t echo through the kitchen. Megumi, usually a looming presence, hadn’t stepped into view yet. That silence was rare. That silence was an opportunity.

 

Yuji’s heart thundered as he padded across the hardwood in socked feet, each step a battle between impulse and reason. He hadn’t eaten. Sleep had been scraps. He felt like a raw nerve in a stranger’s home, and no matter how much Gojo insisted this was for his own good, Yuji couldn’t stop seeing it as a cage with plush pillows and empty warmth.

 

Just get out.

 

Get out.

 

“Are you really doing this again?” Sukuna’s voice curled around his spine like smoke, quiet but sharp, the sneer hidden beneath something tighter. “Desperate little one, aren’t you?”

 

Yuji didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His throat felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire. His hand reached for the doorknob, trembling just enough to notice.

 

Ten feet.

 

Eight.

 

Six.

 

His palm touched metal.

 

Turned.

 

It clicked.

 

His breath locked in his chest. He yanked the door open, the cold night air brushing his face like freedom, and

 

“Going somewhere, Yuji?”

 

Gojo stood on the other side of the door, holding two grocery bags and a lopsided box in one hand.

 

Yuji froze like a startled animal.

 

Gojo blinked at him once. Then let out a tired sigh and moved past without another word.

 

“I forgot the milk,” he muttered, nudging the door shut with his foot as he passed. “Again.”

 

The click of the door echoed louder than a slam. Gojo had used the deadlock and Yuji wasn’t tall enough for that.

 

Yuji didn’t move for a full minute. Then two. Then he slumped against the wall like something inside him cracked.

 

The second day

 

Megumi was everywhere.

 

It didn’t matter where Yuji went in the house, it could've been the living room, the hallway, the upstairs bathroom but somehow, in someway, Megumi was there. Not staring. Not accusing. Just... watching.

 

Sometimes with a book. Sometimes doing absolutely nothing.

 

Sometimes with his phone in hand, tilted just enough for Yuji to wonder if he was texting Gojo.

 

Yuji stopped trying to fake smiles by mid-afternoon.

 

By evening, he started planning again.

 

This time, it had to be the window.

 

Gojo was distracted with some phone call in the kitchen. Tsumiki’s music drifted faintly from her room. And Megumi, finally distanced from him, was in the bath. With the door closed and steaming through the cracks.

 

Now or never.

 

He cracked the window open inch by inch, heart stammering with every squeal of the old frame. The wind hit his face sharp and clean, like the kind of freedom that cuts too deep. He didn’t care. He wanted it to cut. Maybe then the pressure in his chest would stop ballooning.

 

“Jump,” Sukuna whispered, quieter this time. “It won’t kill you. Probably. But even if it does… I’d heal you before that happens.”

 

Yuji’s knuckles whitened on the window frame. He swung a leg over, blinking hard.

 

Two stories down. Grass below, mostly. Some concrete. He’d landed from worse, right? Sukuna wouldn’t let him die, the curse said so himself.

 

But there was no weight behind his thoughts. Just white noise, like the volume had been turned up in his skull and none of the channels were clear.

 

He hated this.

 

He hated this, the situation. Not the people, not the house. Not even Gojo, though that line blurred more each day.

 

It was the watching. The suffocation.

 

He couldn’t even breathe without it feeling monitored.

 

“Don’t you get it yet?” Sukuna whispered, softer now, almost coaxing. “They’re not helping you. They’re holding you. Keeping you under glass like a cursed object. Like a time bomb.”

 

Yuji squeezed his eyes shut.

 

The wind shifted.

 

Then, Gojo’s voice, casual, from somewhere down the hall:

 

“If I hear a single thump outside my house, I will drag you back by your hair if I need to..”

 

Yuji nearly fell backward through the window in his rush to yank it shut.

 

His hands shook.

 

His chest wouldn’t stop heaving.

 

He turned around and found Megumi in the doorway, arms crossed, still damp from the bath.

 

He didn’t say anything.

 

Yuji couldn’t either.

 

That Night

 

He barely slept.

 

The house was too quiet, but somehow too loud. Creaks. Voices. Memories. Gojo’s silhouette passing under the doorframe. The rustle coming from Megumi’s room that wasn’t too far from his own. Tsumiki’s light was still on.

 

Sukuna’s voice was worse than all of it. Not because it was cruel. But because it wasn’t.

 

“You think they’d do this if they trusted you?” he murmured. “If you were just some kid? They know what you are. What I am. This whole setup is just a delay. Containment. Until they figure out what to do with you.”

 

Yuji squeezed the pillow so hard it nearly tore.

 

“They’re not protecting you,” Sukuna said. “They’re afraid of you.”

 

He sounded afraid too.

 

The curse was selfish but he took care of what was his.

 

And Yuji could feel it in his own marrow. 

 

The suffocating claim on his soul.

 

That tightening, burning truth.

 

He was afraid too.

 

And gojo?

 

He was worn.

 

The hallway light flickered again.

Satoru didn’t move from the kitchen table, one hand curled around a half-cold mug of tea. He hadn’t taken a sip. He was just holding it. Feeling the warmth. Letting it burn his skin just enough to know he hadn’t gone completely numb.

The window above the sink reflected his own image faintly, white hair mussed, eyes dark beneath his glasses. He looked older tonight.

He could feel Yuji again.

Not cursed energy exactly, not when the kid was trying so hard to muffle it. But Gojo had lived through too many ambushes, too many years with too many secrets pressed into the walls of his clan’s estate. He could tell when someone was trying to disappear inside your house.

The kid was making another break for it. Probably through the laundry room this time.

Satoru didn’t get up.

Not yet.

Instead, he tilted his head back and let the silence stretch. There was the faint scuff of socks on wood, the subtle slide of a door being pushed open millimeter by millimeter, trying to be clever.

Trying to vanish.

Again.

He sighed. Closed his eyes. Counted to ten. Then twenty.

Megumi was asleep. Tsumiki, too. He’d told them to rest that he’d handle it this time.

Because that was his job, right?

The strongest. The protector. The guardian.

The goddamn warden.

He stood slowly, the bones in his knees crackling like dead leaves. His tea was still steaming faintly as he left it on the table.

Down the hall. Around the corner.

There.

Yuji froze in the shadow of the back door, one foot already outside. His breath hitched as he turned and met Satoru’s eyes like a deer in a snare.

Satoru didn’t say anything. Not right away.

He just looked at him.

The kid’s face was pale. Eyes sunken. He hadn’t eaten dinner. Again. His shoulders were too tense for someone his age. Too small.

Too familiar.

Gojo took a breath and spoke, quiet.

“Where were you going to go?”

Yuji didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t. He never did.

Gojo walked forward slowly and closed the door with a soft click , locking it this time.

“You don’t know,” he said, more to himself than to Yuji. “You don’t even have a plan. You just want out.”

Silence.

“I get it.”

That made Yuji’s jaw tighten. He looked like he didn’t believe him. Like it was a trap.

Satoru looked away. Back at the hallway. The lights flickered again.

“You’re not the first kid I’ve seen run.”

He thought of himself. Twelve years old, breaking through barriers on the old estate. Fists bloodied from fighting guards twice his size.

Let him go. He’s dangerous.

They’d said that, back then.

They said it now, too. About Yuji.

“I didn’t want to do it like this,” Gojo admitted, quieter now. “I didn’t want to be… them. ”

Yuji flinched, the kid didn’t know what Satoru was talking about but he didn’t need to.

Satoru ran a hand through his hair. He was so tired.

“You think I’m doing this because I’m cruel? You think I like locking you in?”

No answer.

Satoru laughed, but it was hollow.

“I’m doing it because I’m scared of you.”

Yuji’s eyes widened — just a fraction. Like that actually hurt.

And Satoru hated himself for it.

“I know what’s inside you. I’ve seen the things curses can do. It makes me wonder what the king of em’ can do.” His voice cracked, barely perceptible. “But that doesn’t mean I think you want that. I just… I can’t take chances. Not again. Not after everything else.”

He looked down at his hands. Pale and steady. Covered in too many burdens.

“It wasn’t fair,” he muttered. “What they did to me. And I’m doing the same thing to you.”

Yuji swallowed hard.

Satoru met his gaze again. And for the first time, the words felt real.

“You’re not a prisoner. You’re one of my kids.”

There was a silence between them. Heavy. Full of all the things neither of them knew how to say.

Then Gojo gestured gently.

“Come on. You’re not sleeping by the door again.”

Yuji hesitated. Then took a single step back inside.

Satoru didn’t touch him. Didn’t push. Just walked beside him down the hallway, the light buzz of the ceiling bulb humming softly above them.

When they passed Megumi’s door, Yuji glanced back, just once. Like he was checking for eyes on him.

Satoru pretended not to notice.

But inside, he felt the weight of it.

Every step, every glance, every instinct that screamed “run” ,  it was his fault now.

Just like it had been theirs, back then.

And he swore, deep in his chest, that this time would be different.

Even if it killed him.

Satoru didn’t have time to notice that the week was at the end. 

The next day would be the mark.

Yuji couldn’t sleep again.

The ceiling stared down at him like it expected something. Like it knew.

The quiet was too much. Even the house seemed to be holding its breath. Somewhere down the hall, Gojo moved, barely audible, but Yuji’s nerves were strung tight enough to hear it like a drumbeat. Every creak in the walls felt like a warning. He couldn’t move without imagining Megumi in the next room, alert, waiting.

He pulled the blanket up over his head even though the room was too hot. His breath steamed against the fabric. The pressure in his chest wouldn’t go down.

“Stop it,” he hissed at himself. “Stop freaking out. You're fine. You're safe.”

“You’re not.”

Yuji flinched.

Sukuna’s voice pressed against the back of his skull like a hand sliding around his throat. Not mocking this time. Not cold either.

Just there .

“You’re cornered, ” Sukuna said. “Even a dog knows when it’s about to be put down.”

Yuji’s fists clenched in the dark.

“Shut up.”

“No one here trusts you. They say they do, but look at them. Look at their eyes. They’re watching. Waiting.”

“I said shut up-”

“They’re waiting for me to wake up. You feel it, don’t you?”

Yuji wanted to scream. But his throat wouldn’t let him. It was too raw from silence.

“…Why do you even care?” he whispered finally, barely audible.

The question lingered.

He didn’t expect an answer.

But Sukuna surprised him.

“I don’t,” Sukuna said. “But I live within you, don’t I? Your body and soul are mine. So if they come for me…”

His voice dropped to something near a murmur.

“…They come for you, too.”

Yuji squeezed his eyes shut. His throat burned.

It was stupid. He hated Sukuna. The way he talked. The way he felt. The way he made every breath feel like it might not be his last, but it should be.

But there was something worse than the hatred.

The sick, hollow part of him that was relieved he wasn’t alone.

Even if the only one who understood the fear was the monster inside him.

“You’re scared,” Yuji said, voice hoarse. “You try to act like you're not. But you are.”

Sukuna didn’t deny it.

The silence between them stretched.

“You should run,” Sukuna said, quietly. “You’re good at that.”

“I can’t.”

“Then we’ll rot here together.”

Notes:

Yall get this for now. Next chapter suguru and satoru meet up

Chapter 14: You held on tightly, I couldn't find the courage to let go.

The kitchen was dim, just the way Satoru liked it in the morning. Not that it mattered.
He hadn’t slept. Again.

A cup of untouched coffee sat cooling in front of him, one hand loosely wrapped around the ceramic like it might anchor him to the present. His other hand hovered over his phone, thumb resting against the home button but never pressing.

He’d checked the same group chat with Megumi and Tsumiki four times already. Still nothing.
No crises.
No updates.
No Yuji breaking through another window.

Peaceful.
Too peaceful.

The quiet pressed in around him, unnatural and tight. Even the ticking of the kitchen clock felt too loud—sharp in his ears like a curse breaking.

Then his screen lit up.

Not a message. Not a missed call.
Just a calendar notification. One he had set himself.

“Reminder: July 24 – Meet with Geto.”

For a full second, Gojo just stared. His brain didn’t process it. Couldn’t. It was like his eyes saw the words before his soul did.

Then his pulse slammed into overdrive.

“…Shit.”

He shot up so fast the chair behind him screeched against the floor. The coffee mug tipped on the table but didn’t spill. Not that he noticed.

His body moved without thought, pacing tight circles across the tile floor. His fingers dragged through his hair, tugging the strands just to feel something sharp.

He’d forgotten.
He had actually—completely—forgotten.

In his defense, it had been a long week.

Yuji was on escape attempt number twenty-seven.
Megumi’s silent judgment had evolved into a full-blown death stare .
And Tsumiki had started asking the kind of innocent, well-meaning questions that made his head hurt.

“Why can’t we just let the boy go outside like a normal person?”

Gojo had laughed at the time. Said something light. Shrugged it off.

But now? Now the cracks were showing. All the spinning plates were crashing down, and this— this —was the one plate he couldn’t afford to drop.

Because this wasn’t a mission.
It wasn’t a patrol.
It wasn’t a school obligation he could wave off with a cocky grin and an excuse about how he’d lost track of time.

This was Suguru.

And it was today.

“Shit,” he hissed again, under his breath this time, the word more a prayer than a curse. He dragged both hands down his face, like that might somehow erase the reality unfolding in front of him.

He hadn’t checked the location.
Hadn’t scouted the site.
Hadn’t called in a favor or checked for traps or asked Shoko to poke around with her usual blend of dry sarcasm and emotional support.

He didn’t even know if Suguru would show.

God, he’d gotten too soft.

He’d let his guard down for five seconds , just long enough to fall into a routine. Trying to keep the house from imploding. Trying to keep Yuji from getting himself hurt. Trying to keep up with the endless back-to-back responsibilities that came with being him.

And now-

Now he had no idea what he was walking into.

His thoughts raced faster than he could control them. His mind started jumping steps, calculating routes, scenarios, outcomes.

How long would it take to get there?

Could he leave the kids alone?

Which one could he trust to keep the others safe?

Megumi, probably, but Megumi was also too sharp. He’d know something was wrong before Gojo even made it to the door.

Tsumiki would worry. She would be easy to fool but that was the problem. He wouldn’t even think of entrusting her with Yuji.

Yuji would take it as an opportunity and if you asked him Sukuna was no help at all either. The curse just instigated the whole thing anyway.

Satoru reached for his phone and tapped open the reminder.

12:00 a.m.
The time was set for midnight.

It was 10:03 a.m. now. Fourteen hours.

It should’ve felt like enough time. More than enough, even.

But it wasn’t. He knew it. In his bones.

It wasn’t enough time to do anything.
It wasn’t enough time to do everything.

His thumb hovered over the “cancel” button. The blinking cursor taunted him.

He could call it off.

He should call it off.

But he couldn’t.

Suguru would come. He’d said he would.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe it was a trap. Another elaborate game. Another nightmarish recreation of what they used to be, only twisted, broken, soaked in blood.

But… what if it wasn’t?

What if this time, Suguru meant it?

What if this time, there was a chance to end things clean?

To talk. To see his best friend again. Not the cruel person who was on that plaza a year agp. Not the murderer. But Suguru.

The one who used to laugh beside him. Who used to walk too close, always shoulder-to-shoulder like they were one person instead of two. Who used to believe in something.

Maybe that was foolish. Hell, it probably was. He knew better. He knew better.

But that didn’t stop the part of him that ached to see him again.

To see if there was still anything left.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

He didn’t need to check to know who it was. His stomach dropped anyway.

Geto Suguru (previously set as: SUGURUUUU<3)
“See you soon, Satoru.”

His breath caught. Sharp. Sudden.

The words burned. Branded themselves into his brain. He could practically hear them in Suguru’s voice, smooth, quiet, threaded with that same smug gentleness that always made his chest twist.

His fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles paling. He didn’t even notice his cursed energy spike, flickering hot and unfocused at the edges of the room.

He turned in place, eyes wild, scanning the kitchen like it might hold the answer to a question he couldn’t name.

This was happening.

Today.

And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much power he had, no matter how much he wanted to believe he was in control,

He wasn’t ready.

Gojo didn’t realize how hard he was gripping his phone until his fingers ached.

He set it down.

Tried again.

Breathed.

It didn’t help.

Suguru. Tonight. After everything. After years . No prep. No recon. Just trust —the one thing Satoru didn’t have anymore.

He ran both hands through his hair and muttered a curse, pacing the length of the kitchen like it would kickstart a plan.

But there wasn’t a plan. Not yet. Not when his brain was full of static and his stomach was doing Olympic-level flips.

He needed to focus.

He needed—

A thump upstairs made him freeze.

Another.

Then a window creaked open.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Gojo muttered.

He moved without thinking, autopilot taking over. Out of the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hall—he didn’t even knock. Just opened the bedroom door to find exactly what he expected:

He had one leg over the frame when the floor creaked behind him.

“Seriously?”

Yuji flinched, then groaned.

“Can you not teleport like that?” he hissed over his shoulder.

Megumi stood there with his arms crossed, looking very unimpressed for someone whose hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“I walked,” Megumi said flatly.

“Sure you did.”

“I did. Your hearing is just garbage.”

Yuji ignored that. He got the other leg out and crouched on the edge like a little raccoon. The sun was warm on his back. The world was right there . So close. Trees. Grass. Sky.

Freedom.

“Don’t jump,” Megumi said. “You’ll sprain something again.”

“I didn’t sprain anything last time!”

“You landed on a trash can and then limped for three days.”

“I was FINE.”

“You weren’t fine. You screamed ‘my ankle’s broken’ and tried to crawl into the neighbor’s bush like a wounded animal.”

Yuji glared. “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

“I lied.”

Behind them, somewhere deeper in the house, a cabinet slammed.

Megumi tilted his head. “Gojo’s up.”

Yuji froze. “How mad is he?”

“He hasn't yelled yet. That probably means he's really mad.”

Yuji cursed under his breath. Then: “He found the shirt, didn’t he?”

“I’m guessing, yeah.”

Yuji groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “That was my only clean shirt. He’s gonna roast me and the laundry.”

Megumi shrugged. “You shouldn’t have used it to keep the door shut. It’s cloth of course it’s gonna tear.”

“I don’t have a lock!”

“And for a good reason” Megumi muttered. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Megumi said, stepping forward, voice dropping slightly. “Not acting like a prison break inmate with a vengeance arc.”

Yuji opened his mouth. Then shut it.

“…I can’t breathe in here,” Yuji muttered.

Megumi’s face shifted. Just slightly.

They still hadn’t noticed Satoru watching from the door, which was slightly opened.

“I’m not trying to make trouble,” Yuji added quickly. “I’m not—this isn’t about being rebellious or whatever. I just… I don’t trust it. I don’t trust him. ”

He didn’t say Gojo’s name.

He didn’t have to.

Megumi was quiet. His eyes dropped to the backpack. The silence stretched.

“Where would you even go?” he asked eventually.

Yuji didn’t answer.

Megumi exhaled. Then, with exactly zero warning, yanked the backpack back inside and slammed the window shut.

“HEY—!”

“You want air?” Megumi said. “Go outside like a normal person. In front of the house. Where people can see you. ”

Yuji banged on the glass like a pissed-off cat.

“FUSHIGURO, YOU TRAITOR.”

“YOU WERE GONNA JUMP OFF THE ROOF—AGAIN.”

Yuji flailed. “IT’S NOT A ROOF, IT’S THE SECOND STORY WINDOW— ”

The door opened behind them. A long pause.

“…What are you two doing?” Gojo’s voice was disturbingly calm, pretending as if he didn’t listen in.

Megumi answered without turning around. “Yuji’s trying to escape. Again.”

Gojo sighed. “Did he use the same route as last time?”

“No,” Megumi said. “He added WD-40. He’s evolving.”

Yuji crossed his arms and scowled at the ground. “I hate it here.”

Gojo walked over, pulled open the window again, and looked Yuji dead in the eye.

“I hate it here too, kid.”

Then he shut the window and walked away

Gojo closed the window with a final click.

The moment it latched, the weight of everything slammed back down on him.

The chill of the night bled through the glass, but it wasn’t the cold that made him shiver.

He rubbed his temple, slow circles with the heel of his palm, like he could press the thoughts back into place. But his head throbbed anyway—tight behind his eyes, buzzing at the base of his skull. His body hadn’t stopped moving for days, but now, with a moment of stillness, exhaustion hit him like a train.

There were too many things happening at once. Too many threads pulling in opposite directions. He was already balancing on the edge of a knife, and the tiniest shift—one extra detail out of place—would send it all toppling.

He couldn’t afford another crack in the system.

Not today.

And then it hit him.

Someone had to watch the kids.

The thought didn’t ease in—it slammed. Like it had been waiting in the corner of his mind, crouched and quiet, until now.

Someone had to watch them.

Because he couldn’t.

Not tonight.

He stared blankly at the floor for a second too long. Then he pulled out his phone, thumb flicking over the screen, scrolling through names faster than he could read them. He skipped instinctively, mentally crossing off anyone too soft, too new, too overwhelmed already.

There weren’t many left.

Shoko was the obvious first choice. Smart. Capable. Already involved. She didn’t take his shit unless she was exhausted, and even then, she had a soft spot for Megumi that Gojo pretended not to notice.

He dialed.

She picked up on the fourth ring, voice scratchy and muffled like she had the receiver pinned with her shoulder.

“Gojo. If you’re bleeding, I need you to hold it.”

He let out a half-laugh, more breath than sound. “No blood. Not mine, anyway. I need a favor.”

Pause.

“That’s worse.”

“I just—look. Can you watch the kids for a bit tonight?”

Another pause. Then the faint clatter of metal on metal—forceps, maybe. Something surgical.

“…You mean the three chaos gremlins you’ve been housing like a bootleg foster dad?”

“Those would be the ones.”

She groaned under her breath. “Satoru, I’ve got back-to-back autopsies and a cursed womb with teeth. Actual teeth. I’m booked until sunrise.”

He leaned against the wall, head knocking gently back. “Figured. Had to ask.”

Her tone softened, just a touch. “You okay?”

No.

“Fine.”

He hung up before she could push.

Next.

Yaga.

Three tries before he picked up. Probably dodging admin duty or buried under reports. Or maybe avoiding him on purpose.

“Satoru,” came the voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t start. I need a favor.”

Yaga’s chuckle was dry. “Of course you do. Is this about the boy?”

“The boy, the girl, and the other boy. I just need someone to keep them alive for a few hours. That’s all.”

“Satoru…” Yaga’s tone shifted, heavier now. “I can’t. I’ve got an emergency call from Kyoto. Two students went missing in a Grade 1 zone. I’m already packing.”

Of course he was.

Gojo closed his eyes. “Right. No, yeah. That’s—fine.”

“Satoru—”

But he was already lowering the phone.

Two down.

And that only left—

No.

He didn’t even want to think the name.

But his thumb hovered over it anyway, the contact staring back at him like a dare.

Nanami Kento
(not affiliated)
(last active: 4 months ago)

Gojo stared at it. At the clean, unchanging text. The polite little parentheses that said: he left, and you let him.

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then hit call before he could think better of it.

It rang once.

Twice.

He kind of hoped it would go to voicemail.

It didn’t.

“…Gojo.”

Flat. Distant. Tired in that specific way only Nanami could manage—like even acknowledging him required effort.

Gojo scratched the back of his neck. “Hey. Um. Hi.”

Silence.

“I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“I almost didn’t,” Nanami said.

Right. That tracked.

“I, uh… I need a favor,” Gojo admitted. “Just a quick one. Tonight.”

Long pause.

“You called me for a favor?”

“I know it’s—look, I know. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t—”

“You have a long list of people you could call,” Nanami interrupted. “Why me?”

Gojo exhaled through his nose. “Because everyone else said no.”

“…Of course they did.”

He winced. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.”

The silence crackled on both ends. A brittle kind of quiet. The kind that came when neither party wanted to acknowledge what was actually being said underneath the words.

“I just need someone to watch a few kids,” Gojo said finally, voice softer. “That’s all.”

“Children?”

“Two seven-year-olds and one eight-year-old.”

Nanami’s sigh was long and audible. “You’ve resorted to conscripting me into babysitting duty?”

Gojo huffed a laugh, brittle at the edges. “Figured you’re good at standing in corners with your arms crossed, glaring. They’ll respect that.”

“Don’t flatter me. It’s pathetic.”

He looked down, thumb brushing over the cracked corner of his screen.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“And yet here we are.”

Another long beat.

“Where are you going?” Nanami asked.

Gojo hesitated. Too long.

“…Somewhere I don’t trust.”

“Of course.”

“I just…” Gojo swallowed. “Need someone I can count on. For this.”

There was a noise on the other end—a chair scraping, maybe a book being closed. Quiet, distant movement.

Then, finally:

“I’m not doing this for you.”

Gojo nodded like Nanami could see him. “Didn’t expect you to.”

Click.

The call ended.

Gojo lowered the phone slowly.

He stood there for a long time, motionless, staring at nothing.

There was no rush of relief. No lightness in his chest. No triumphant exhale.

Only the quiet hum of dread creeping back in, curling around his ribs like smoke.

He didn’t even know if Nanami would show up.

But he had answered.

And sometimes, that was all Gojo got.

Gojo stood in the hallway, the buzz in his skull turning sharper by the second.

His Limitless was reacting to the pressure again, trying to stabilize everything outside because inside, he couldn’t. Every nerve ending buzzed like it was short-circuiting. His cursed energy pulsed without rhythm, no longer flowing through him so much as clawing to get out.

He leaned a hand against the wall and breathed through his teeth.

He’d forgotten to tell Nanami about Yuji.

And Yuji was the one he absolutely should’ve mentioned.

A flight risk. A ticking clock. A kid with a monster inside him that not even Gojo fully understood yet. Should he even leave Yuji with a Grade 1 sorcerer?

And worst of all, Geto. Geto was out there. Breathing. Plotting. Watching.

And Gojo hadn’t even told Nanami why he needed a babysitter.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain in his head surged like a spike, right behind his temples. He pressed a palm hard against his forehead. Not now. Please-not now.

Footsteps creaked behind him.

He didn’t turn.

“Gojo-san?” Yuji’s voice was small. Wobbly. “Are you okay?”

Gojo swallowed hard and forced his spine to straighten.

“I’m fine, kid. Just… adult stuff.”

Silence.

Then, very softly, “Is it ‘cause I tried to run?”

Gojo stilled.

Yuji stood a few feet away, his expression crumpled and uncertain. He was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“I didn’t mean to mess things up,” Yuji said. “I just- I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Gojo’s heart gave a strange twist.

“I’m sorry,” Yuji mumbled. “Are you… still mad at me?”

Gojo didn’t answer at first. He let out a long breath and crouched down in front of him, hiding the wince as the migraine throbbed like a drum behind his eyes.

“I’m not mad,” he said gently. “Promise and you didn’t hurt me bud. Who can hurt the strongest?”

Yuji looked like he didn’t believe him.

Gojo reached out and ruffled his hair with a hand that was barely steady. “I just have a lot going on. That’s all. None of this is your fault.”

Yuji didn’t pull away but he didn’t smile either. “Are you leaving?”

“Just for a little while. I wouldn’t leave you guys alone.”

“Who’s coming?”

Gojo hesitated. “An old friend.”

Yuji gave him a look. The suspicious, too-smart-for-seven-year-olds kind. “He’s not gonna be mean, is he?”

Gojo almost laughed. “Not unless you deserve it.”

“…What if I kinda do?”

“He would never hurt you.” Gojo said with a tired smile, standing slowly. “Just… stay inside. Don’t listen to Sukuna. And maybe don’t break anything, yeah?”

Yuji nodded, suddenly shy. “Okay.”

Gojo reached the door just as a knock echoed on the other side.

He opened it and found Nanami there, expression unreadable, coat collar pulled up, one hand tucked in his pocket like he’d rather be anywhere else.

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Hi,” Gojo said.

Nanami didn’t smile. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Gojo stepped aside to let him in.

“Already doing my best.”

 

Nanami stepped through the door like it might bite him.

He glanced around once—just once—and Gojo saw the way his eyes flicked to the hallway where the kids had retreated. Not hostile, not curious. Just… measuring. Taking stock.

“You didn’t tell me this was a domestic situation,” Nanami said flatly.

“I didn’t have time to write a pamphlet,” Gojo muttered.

He reached up and tugged his blindfold down, the pressure behind his eyes so sharp it felt like it might crack bone. He’d been holding his technique too long. His body was protesting it now—aching in places he couldn’t name.

“You look terrible,” Nanami said bluntly.

Gojo huffed a breath that didn’t quite become a laugh. “Thanks. That’s the warmth I missed.”

“I didn’t mean it as warmth.”

“Still comforting.”

Nanami narrowed his eyes. “Have you slept?”

“Define sleep.”

“That answers that.”

Satoru scrubbed a hand down his face, then dragged himself toward the kitchen counter where a half-drunk cup of coffee sat cold. He stared at it for a moment, debating drinking it anyway, then gave up and leaned against the edge of the sink.

“I just need you to stay here for a few hours. The kids know not to go outside.” Satoru winced. “Uh scratch that.” He then smiled weakly. “I call them my chaos gremlins.”

“And why, exactly, are you playing caretaker to three traumatized children?”

“Because someone has to.”

That came out a little too fast. A little too sharp.

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “Gojo.”

He didn’t respond right away. He looked tired, not the usual fraying-around-the-edges tired. Depleted. Washed out. Like his technique had eaten more of him than he meant to give.

He rubbed at the corner of his eye, fingers shaking slightly. “They don’t trust anyone else. Barely even me.”

“And you trust me?” Nanami asked, not unkindly.

Satoru gave a thin, uneven smile. “You were the only person left who picked up.”

Nanami let the silence sit.

Then: “Where are you going?”

Gojo looked down into the coffee cup again, like it might hold a better answer.

“Out.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Didn’t promise you one.”

Another beat.

Nanami studied him, something unreadable tightening in his jaw. “You always talked too much. Now you’re not saying enough.”

“I’m fine,” Gojo muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“You’re not.”

The words hung there. Bare. Undeniable.

Gojo didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy. He just pressed a hand to his temple, like maybe if he pushed hard enough the buzzing in his head would stop.

For once, Nanami didn’t scold or chide. He just watched him for a moment longer—eyes narrowing, posture less stiff than usual.

“You’re shaking.”

Satoru let his hand drop. “It’ll pass.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” Gojo said, voice soft now. “I’m just trying to hold the pieces together long enough to finish what I started.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away.

But something in his expression shifted—quiet, subtle. The kind of shift that didn’t mean forgiveness, not yet. But maybe the beginning of something adjacent.

“I’ll keep them safe,” he said finally.

Gojo blinked at him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t make me do this twice.”

Gojo nodded. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”Nanami glanced once more toward the hallway.

“You didn’t mention names.”

Gojo blinked like he had to reboot.

“Right. Yeah. Okay. Uh… roll call.”

He gestured vaguely behind him. “Tsumiki’s the girl. Quiet. Sweet. Smarter than all of us, sometimes. She’s the least likely to set the house on fire.”

“Comforting.”

“Mmm. Megumi is her little brother. He’s… serious. Watches everything. Doesn’t say much unless it matters. He won’t talk to you unless he decides he likes you, and honestly? Good luck.”

“And the third?” Nanami asked.

Gojo hesitated.

He looked away, jaw tight, the pressure behind his eyes starting to spike again, his technique flickering faintly at the edges of his perception like static under his skin.

“That’s Itadori,” he said finally. “Yuji.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “That name’s unfamiliar.”

Gojo didn’t look at him. “It should be.”

Something in his voice made Nanami straighten.

Gojo rubbed at his temple, squinting toward the low kitchen light like it was brighter than it should be.

“Yuji’s… complicated. He’s seven, but he’s been through more than most adults. He doesn’t trust me. Not really. Not yet.”

“And?”

“And,” Gojo exhaled, “he’s the one you need to watch.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t shift, but the air in the room pulled tighter.

“Watch him,” Gojo repeated, more serious now. “He’s scared. He’ll pretend he’s not, but it leaks out. He bolts when he thinks no one’s looking.”

“Are you telling me this child is a flight risk?”

“Yes.”

“A cursed child?” Nanami asked, tone clipped.

Gojo hesitated.

“He has… something inside him,” he said carefully. “It’s not stable. He’s not stable. But he’s not dangerous. Not unless he’s pushed.”

“You brought a vessel into your home with two other children.”

Gojo finally looked up, eyes dull beneath his lashes. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Nanami didn’t argue. But his jaw was set.

“He’ll test you,” Gojo continued. “He’ll lie. He’ll say he’s just going to the bathroom and try to climb out the window. Don’t let him.”

“Noted.”

“And don’t yell. He shuts down.”

Nanami gave him a long, unreadable look.

Gojo softened a little. “I mean it. You don’t have to coddle him, just don’t make him feel cornered. He’ll bite.”

“…Metaphorically?”

Gojo’s mouth twitched. “I hope.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, just as Gojo turned to go, his hand hovering near the doorframe—

“I didn’t know you were doing this,” Nanami said quietly. “Raising children.”

“I didn’t either,” Gojo replied. “Until it was already happening.”

Nanami didn’t ask why. Didn’t ask whose kids. Didn’t ask what happened.

Gojo was grateful for that. He didn’t have the strength to answer.

“I’ll be back before tomorrow morning,” he said, though he wasn’t sure that was true.

Nanami didn’t nod. Didn’t reassure. Just said, “Don’t die.”

Gojo flashed him a thin smile. “Can’t make any promises.”

He pushed off the counter slowly, grabbing his coat with hands that didn’t quite stop trembling.

The door clicked shut behind Gojo.

And just like that, the silence in the apartment became hostile.

Nanami stood still in the entryway, unsure if he’d just accepted a babysitting job or been lured into a cursed hostage situation.

Three sets of eyes were fixed on him.

Sharp. Unblinking. Immediate.

He'd faced cursed spirits with less intensity.

The girl, Tsumiki, stood in the hallway with her arms crossed, lips pressed in a thin line. Not unfriendly, but clearly skeptical. The boy next to her (Megumi?) stood a half-step in front of her, gaze cold and steady, like a bodyguard sizing him up for weaknesses.

The third child, Yuji, was perched halfway up the stairs, one socked foot visible beneath the railing. His eyes flicked between Nanami and the front door like he was calculating the distance.

Nanami adjusted his cuffs.

“...I was asked to watch you,” he said plainly.

No one responded.

Megumi didn’t blink. Tsumiki didn’t move. Yuji made a noise, something halfway between a snort and a sigh, but didn’t speak.

“I’m Nanami Kento,” he tried again.

“We didn’t ask,” Megumi said flatly.

Tsumiki elbowed him lightly, but didn’t disagree.

Nanami stared at them for a moment, then exhaled slowly through his nose. Children. Right.

“I understand this is... unusual,” he offered.

“Do you even know our names?” Tsumiki asked, voice quiet but sharp.

“Yes.”

“Mine?”

“Tsumiki.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Megumi,” he added, without being prompted.

“And me?” Yuji said suddenly.

His voice came from the stairs, quieter now. His head peeked around the railing, a little messy puff of pink hair just visible over the banister. His knees were tucked to his chest like he wanted to fold up and vanish.

Nanami hesitated.

“You’re Itadori.”

Yuji watched him closely. “But do you know me?”

A strange weight pressed into that question, more than a child should carry.

Nanami didn’t answer.

Yuji looked away.

“Thought so.”

Tsumiki sighed, soft and resigned. Megumi didn’t move.

Nanami adjusted his tie, more for something to do than any sense of formality. “Gojo-san told me to keep an eye on you.”

“Of course he did,” Yuji muttered. “Because I’m the one that runs.”

“You planning to?” Nanami asked.

Yuji didn’t answer. That made it clear that he was planning to.

Megumi took a deliberate step closer to his sister. Still watching. Still sizing him up like a predator in a button-down.

This wasn’t just caution, Nanami realized. This was learned behavior. These kids weren’t being rude, they were being careful.

How long had they been living like this?

Nanami sighed and walked toward the kitchen.

“Do any of you eat dinner,” he asked, “or do you just sharpen knives and glare at strangers all night?”

Tsumiki gave the smallest, most surprised laugh.

Yuji peeked out again.

“We already ate,” Megumi said, unmoved.

“Figured as much.”

Nanami leaned against the counter, rolling up his sleeves.

“I’ll be here until morning. Possibly longer. I’m not here to replace Gojo-san or interrogate you. I’m here to make sure you stay alive, don’t escape, and hopefully don’t set anything on fire.”

Yuji shifted on the stairs. “He said you’d be mean.”

Nanami raised a brow. “And do you think I am?”

Yuji squinted at him for a long second.

“…You talk like a vacuum cleaner.”

Tsumiki slapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Megumi looked like he wanted to laugh and was actively fighting it.

Nanami resisted the urge to sigh again.

“Noted,” he said dryly. “I'll try to adjust.”The third kid, the pink-haired one, hovered halfway down the stairs, one hand curled loosely around the railing. Yuji, Gojo had said. The one Nanami had to watch closely.

Yuji didn’t move. Just stared. Not with the jumpy energy of a child caught doing something wrong, but with something… older. More patient. More wounded.

Like he was waiting for Nanami to prove something.

Nanami cleared his throat. “...I’ll be staying here for the evening.”

Still no one spoke.

The kitchen clock ticked.

“I assume Gojo informed you.”

“He didn’t,” Megumi said bluntly.

“He just left,” Tsumiki added, her voice quieter. “Didn’t say anything.”

That surprised Nanami.

Gojo? Forgetting to say goodbye?

Megumi’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”

“Because Gojo asked me to be.”

Tsumiki gave him a skeptical look. “He doesn’t ask people for help.”

Nanami hesitated.

“No,” he agreed. “He doesn’t.”

The kids looked at each other, like that unsettled them more than anything else.

“…Did he say where he was going?” Yuji asked. His voice was too casual.

“No.”

Megumi’s shoulders tensed.

Nanami cleared his throat and made his way to the kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” he asked again, already opening cupboards.

“Yeah,” Megumi said quickly.

“Gojo made dinner before he left,” Tsumiki added. “We’re fine.”

Nanami blinked. “He cooked?”

Yuji looked over the railing. “He’s actually really good.”

“Like, weirdly good,” Tsumiki said. “He made karaage last week that was better than the cafeteria.”

“He makes it with yuzu pepper,” Yuji offered helpfully, softening for the first time.

Nanami pulled open the fridge. “Yuzu pepper? Really?”

“He said it’s ‘a citrusy little kiss,’” Megumi deadpanned, expression flat as concrete.

Nanami stared at him.

“…I stand corrected.”

The kids all shifted at once, and Nanami realized they’d moved just slightly closer to the kitchen. Not enough to join him. Just enough to watch. Judge.

“Are you cooking?” Tsumiki asked cautiously.

“I was planning to.”

“What are you making?” Megumi asked, already suspicious.

“Nothing citrusy,” Nanami said, dry. “Just tamagoyaki.”

Yuji frowned. “That’s hard to get right.”

Nanami didn’t respond.

He cracked the eggs with practiced ease, heated the pan, started whisking.

The silence lingered, but it was less hostile now—just tense. Curious.

He burned the first roll slightly.

Yuji winced. Tsumiki sighed. Megumi leaned in closer like he was mentally calculating how many ways it could be improved.

Nanami felt judgment radiating from behind him like heat from an oven.

He ignored it.

He burned the second one worse.

“…Do you need help?” Yuji asked carefully.

“No.”

“He usually adds mirin,” Tsumiki offered.

“And dashi,” Megumi added. “You didn’t add dashi.”

“I’m aware.”

Yuji leaned on the counter. “Gojo does.”

Nanami turned slowly, expression dry. “Would you like to do it?”

Yuji grinned, a little too smug. “Nope.”

Tsumiki bit back a laugh. Even Megumi looked vaguely entertained.

Nanami turned back to the stove with a sigh.

By the time the third egg roll was sufficiently edible, Nanami noticed the apartment had gone quiet again.

Too quiet.

He glanced up.

Yuji was still at the counter, swinging his legs, trying—and failing—to whistle through his teeth.

But the other two?

Gone.

Nanami’s stomach dropped. “Where are the other children?”

Yuji blinked at him. “What?”

“Megumi. Tsumiki. Where are they?”

Yuji glanced toward the hallway, then back to his mostly untouched plate. “...Bathroom?”

“Together?”

“I mean… maybe?”

Nanami set down the spatula, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t think to tell me they left?”

Yuji raised his hands. “You told me not to move. So I didn’t move.”

“How does that correlate to speaking?”

“Pretty sure you didn’t specify.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. This was why Gojo had sounded like he was dying.

He grabbed his coat off the hook and pointed. “Get up. We’re going after them.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re coming because Gojo specifically told me not to let you out of my sight.”

Yuji flinched, just slightly.

Nanami caught it and softened. Only slightly. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Yuji slipped off the stool with a mutter, grabbing his hoodie. “I didn’t tell them to leave.”

“I know. But you didn’t stop them, either.”

“They’re fast.”

Nanami didn’t dignify that with a response.

They headed into the hall, Nanami mentally calculating the odds. The girl, Tsumiki, was the quieter of the two, but that made her harder to track. Megumi was brooding, secretive. He’d likely picked a high vantage point. Roof, fire escape, alley ledge. Somewhere with visibility.

They exited the building into the muggy evening air.

Yuji tucked his hands into his sleeves. “They’re not trying to run away.”

Nanami glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

Yuji kept walking, scuffing his shoes against the pavement. “They’re trying to find him. That’s all.”

“…Gojo-san?”

Yuji nodded.

Nanami slowed, watching the boy’s expression carefully. There was no smugness. No manipulation. Just pure, unfiltered worry.

“They know something’s wrong,” Yuji added. “Even if he didn’t say anything.”

Nanami looked forward again.

That tracked.

Gojo hadn’t said why he was leaving. Not to Nanami, and probably not to them either.

But children didn’t need details to understand something was wrong. They could feel it.

And if they trusted Gojo— really trusted him—they’d know how serious it was when he didn’t smile, or joke, or explain himself.

Nanami exhaled slowly.

He spotted a dark-haired blur halfway down the block—Megumi, crouched by a stairwell, eyes scanning the street.

“There.” He pointed, already picking up speed.

Yuji followed, silent now.

Megumi looked up the moment they got close, mouth tight, eyes harder than any eight-year-old’s had a right to be.

“You weren’t supposed to follow us,” he said.

“You weren’t supposed to leave,” Nanami shot back.

Tsumiki appeared a second later, emerging from the alley with her arms crossed. “Did he send you?”

“Who, Gojo-san?” Nanami asked.

Tsumiki hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I meant Yuji-chan.”

Yuji blinked. “Me?”

“You’re always the one he tells things to,” she said.

“I—what? He didn’t tell me anything!”

“He didn’t tell any of us,” Megumi cut in, voice sharper. “That’s the problem.”

Nanami looked between them.

And for the first time, he understood what kind of pressure Gojo had been under. These kids —they didn’t just look up to him.

They relied on him. For everything.

For food. For safety. For answers.

And when he faltered—even a little—they scattered like sparks from a flame, not to escape but to find him.

To fix something they couldn’t name.

Nanami stepped back and ran a hand down his face. “I am not equipped for this.”

Yuji offered him a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. No offense, but neither was he at first.”

“…And yet he managed.”

“Somehow,” Yuji said softly.

He should have dragged them back.

That was the plan.

Standard adult protocol: locate missing children, return them home, secure the perimeter.

But instead, Nanami found himself walking behind three determined pairs of small feet, watching as they whispered to each other like a SWAT unit on a stealth mission.

Not one of them looked back.

Not once did they question if he was following.

They just knew.

Yuji had quietly fallen in beside Megumi, the two of them scanning alleys and corners like little watchdogs. Tsumiki held a small flashlight from who-knows-where, swinging it across the sidewalk like it mattered. Their shoulders were tense, backs straight. More soldier than child.

Nanami didn’t interrupt.

Couldn’t, really.

Because this wasn’t rebellion.

This was search and rescue.

“…What if he didn’t go to a mission?” Megumi muttered. “What if he just didn’t want us to see something?”

Tsumiki bit her lip. “You mean like when he had a fever and pretended he didn’t?”

Yuji snorted. “He was sweating through his blindfold. And he still made us breakfast.”

“Yeah, and he passed out on the floor right after,” Megumi added flatly.

“Only for a second!” Yuji shot back. “I caught the eggs.”

Nanami’s steps slowed.

He didn’t need to ask who they were talking about.

He could hear it in their voices. In the irritation edged with concern. In the way they griped, not because they were mad—but because they were worried.

Gojo.

They were talking about Gojo.

Not the strongest sorcerer alive.

Not the loudmouthed prodigy with all bark and reckless bite.

But their person.

The one who made them breakfast while actively dying.

The one they trusted so implicitly they didn’t even argue about running into the city to find him.

Nanami let out a long breath and shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

They made it five more blocks before Megumi turned suddenly and squinted at him.

“Why did he pick you ?”

Nanami blinked. “Excuse me?”

“To watch us,” Megumi clarified. “You didn’t even know where we live.”

“I figured that out,” Nanami muttered, glancing back the way they came.

Tsumiki chimed in, soft but not timid. “You don’t cook as well as he does, either.”

“I’m aware.”

Yuji elbowed Megumi. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not,” Megumi said. “I’m being honest. He made us yakisoba from scratch last week. Your egg rolls tasted like regret.”

“That’s subjective,” Nanami replied calmly.

Yuji tilted his head. “Are you friends with Gojo-san?”

Tsumiki bumped Yuji with her elbow. “He told you to call him Satoru! He doesn’t like Gojo.”

Yuji muttered an apology and looked back up at Nanami.

Nanami paused.

That… was a loaded question.

“No,” he said after a moment. “Not anymore.”

Tsumiki frowned. “But he trusted you.”

Nanami didn’t answer.

Megumi folded his arms. “So why’d you come?”

Nanami met his eyes. Steady. Serious. “Because he asked me to.”

Yuji looked down, quiet now.

Megumi shifted. “…But why would he ask you if you’re not friends?”

Nanami hesitated again.

And when he answered, it wasn’t for their sake.

It was for the man who’d shown up at his doorstep with dark circles under his eyes and a voice that cracked around the edges.

“…Because he didn’t trust anyone else.”

Tsumiki’s expression softened.

Megumi turned back toward the street, jaw tight.

Yuji stayed quiet the longest.

Then finally—softly—“I don’t think he knows how scared we are when he leaves.”

Nanami felt that. Right in the chest.

“I think he does,” he said after a moment. “But I don’t think he knows what to do about it.”

Megumi glanced back over his shoulder.

“…Yeah. That sounds like him.”

They walked in silence after that.

Nanami didn’t push them to turn around.

Didn’t command them to stop searching.

He just followed.

Because tonight, that was the best he could do.

Be the grown-up who stayed close.

Even when Gojo couldn’t.

The park was empty.

Not unusual, given the hour. But something about the silence felt too complete. Like the world had been muted.

Gojo didn’t notice.

He was sitting on the edge of a low, concrete bench, slouched forward with his elbows on his knees and his glasses askew. His jacket hung open in the early dusk breeze, one hand curled loosely around his phone, the other absently tracing the edge of a cracked tile near his boot.

He was thirty minutes early.

He never was.

Gojo Satoru didn’t arrive on time, let alone early. That was a rule. A law. Something close to sacred, if you asked anyone who’d ever worked with him. But tonight? He couldn’t sit still at home. Couldn’t pace another hallway. Couldn’t listen to the quiet scratch of Megumi’s pen at the kitchen table or Yuji’s muffled voice through the bedroom door without feeling like the walls were pressing in on him.

So he left.

Now he sat in the dim, half-shadowed park beneath a sycamore tree that hadn’t changed since they were kids. The wind moved just enough to rattle the leaves. Streetlights buzzed faintly in the distance.

And yet he felt nothing .

The way he didn’t register the silence as strange. The way he didn’t notice how the distant traffic had faded, or how the cicadas had gone still. The way the world felt closed , without quite triggering his Six Eyes.

A veil.

Thin. Almost tender.

He didn’t notice.

His vision shimmered faintly behind the blue-tinted lenses. His fingers tapped out an idle, nervous rhythm on the edge of the bench, something without thought or pattern. His foot bounced. He didn’t know why.

He was tired.

God, he was tired.

The kind of tired that pressed behind the eyes and seeped into the teeth. The kind that made every thought too slow and every breath too deep. He hadn't been sleeping—not really—and even when he did, it didn’t help.

Gojo scrubbed a hand over his face.

The kids were tense. Even Tsumiki had started whispering with Megumi when they thought he wasn’t listening. Yuji didn’t eat dinner two nights in a row. Not properly. He watched Gojo the way someone watched for storms, waiting to see which direction the lightning would fall.

He didn’t blame them.

He hadn’t been fine.

Not for a while.

Still.

He came out here.

To this park. To this bench.

Because maybe, just maybe, some of the ghosts would be kind enough to show up, too.

He didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t feel the veil shift.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

Gojo flinched.

Not enough to jolt but the muscle jumped. His breath hitched. His technique should have triggered. Should have surged forward on instinct, shielding him from whatever dared get this close.

But nothing happened.

No Infinity.

No separation.

Just a hand, warm and real and resting exactly where it used to, like no time had passed at all.

“You came,” Suguru said softly, his voice cutting through the stillness like a half-remembered dream.

Gojo didn’t look at him.

Didn’t speak.

He swallowed hard, jaw twitching. His eyes stayed locked on the pavement in front of him, as if maybe he could pretend he hadn’t heard. As if not looking would make it less real.

“You’re thirty minutes early,” Suguru murmured, amusement barely coating the sadness. “That’s not like you.”

“I know,” Gojo said, too quiet. It wasn’t even defiance. Just fact .

His shoulders were tight, back bowed, like he was holding up something enormous. Something that kept pushing down, no matter how straight he tried to stand.

Suguru stepped closer.

Sat beside him.

Too close.

Their knees almost touched.

And Gojo didn’t stop him.

Didn’t want to stop him.

His breath shuddered in his chest. Not visible. Not loud. But there. Like a crack in the foundation finally starting to show.

“I missed you,” Suguru said.

And Gojo leaned into the man’s touch.

He didn’t mean to.

Didn’t want to.

But he shifted, just enough, and his shoulder grazed Suguru’s. Just for a second. Just enough to remember.

What it used to be like.

What it should have been like.

And his Infinity never rose.

Because deep down, even after everything, even after blood and lies and betrayal and murder , part of him still trusted this man.

Still loved him.

Still leaned toward him in the dark.

Suguru didn’t press him at first.

He just sat there, close enough to feel the heat between them, close enough for old muscle memory to stir.

The kind of quiet they used to share.

But it wasn’t the same.

Not anymore.

Not with blood between them.

Not with the dead.

Gojo’s hand was still resting against his thigh, slack and pale, fingers twitching slightly from the cold.

Suguru’s hand moved slowly, gently, as if reaching for something fragile. His fingers slid over Gojo’s knuckles, soft and unassuming, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Gojo flinched .

Not dramatically but he pulled away, like the touch burned.

It didn’t.

That was the problem.

It felt safe .

Too safe.

And that scared him more than any technique ever could.

“I know,” Suguru said, voice low, warm. “You’re still angry.”

Gojo didn’t respond. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked near his temple.

Suguru smiled faintly. Not smug. Not sharp. Just… sad. Like he’d already forgiven Gojo for something that hadn’t been said yet.

“I never expected forgiveness,” he murmured. “But I hoped you’d still come.”

Gojo looked away.

His heart was pounding too fast, too loud. Like it was trying to shake something loose. Like it was trying to run.

But he didn’t move.

Suguru reached for his hand again.

Slower this time. Gentler.

His palm closed over Gojo’s knuckles with a patient reverence. No pressure. Just presence.

And this time Gojo didn’t pull away.

He let him .

His fingers didn’t curl back, not yet. But he allowed it. Let Suguru hold him like that, quiet, steady, like nothing had changed.

As if Suguru hadn’t shattered the world.

As if Gojo hadn’t let him.

The air between them tightened. The veil throbbed faintly, unacknowledged. Still there. Still holding.

Gojo didn’t notice.

He was too busy trying not to fall apart.

Too busy remembering what it felt like to be seen, not as a weapon, not as the strongest, not as a burden, but just as Satoru .

Suguru’s thumb brushed over his hand, barely there.

A ghost of affection.

And Gojo’s eyes burned.

He didn’t cry.

He wouldn’t cry.

But he leaned, just a fraction more, and let his hand rest inside Suguru’s like it belonged.

Because maybe, for a moment, he wanted to believe it still did.

Gojo’s fingers twitched in Suguru’s grasp.

Not enough to break free. Not enough to signal anything.

But Suguru felt it, knew the language of his silence like breathing.

And then Gojo moved.

He shifted back, his weight pulling away, the quiet closeness fracturing.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Gojo murmured.

His voice wasn’t sharp. It was small . Hollow. Like he’d finally heard himself think.

He stood, unsteady, wiping his hands on the front of his coat like he could shake off the moment. His sunglasses hung loose around his neck, forgotten. The world blurred without them.

“It was a mistake.”

Suguru looked up at him, expression unreadable. His fingers curled slightly where Gojo had left them behind, like he wasn’t ready to be empty yet.

Satoru took a shaky step back.

“I-I just wanted to be sure,” he said, like he owed Suguru an explanation. “That the kids weren’t involved. That you weren’t…”

He couldn’t finish it.

That you weren’t going to take them from me, too.

His breath hitched. His infinity flickered, barely a hum, but then smoothed itself out.

Suguru stood slowly.

Not angry. Not hurried.

Just… calm .

Measured.

But there was a weight behind his movements now. A precision.

“You always do this,” he said, softly. “You run the moment it feels real.”

Gojo’s eyes flicked up, wide and raw.

Suguru stepped forward.

And when Gojo tried to sidestep him, the hand on his arm came fast , not violent, but decisive . Suguru’s fingers closed around his wrist, firm.

Satoru froze .

The grip wasn’t tight, not really.

But it held .

His shoulders tensed like he was bracing for something. Anything. His throat worked around a breath that didn’t come.

“Let me go,” he said, too quietly.

Suguru didn’t.

“You came , Satoru.”

Gojo’s name landed like a bruise.

Suguru stepped closer, voice lowering, not cruel, never cruel on purpose, but threading through the cracks in his resolve.

“You came. You sat with me. You let me hold your hand.” His thumb brushed against Gojo’s wrist again, deliberate. “And now you’re running. Again.”

Gojo flinched.

He couldn’t breathe properly. His eyes wouldn’t meet Suguru’s. His skin crawled with guilt and grief and something that felt too close to longing .

“I have to ,” he whispered. “I can’t trust you-”

“But you do ,” Suguru said, soft as snowfall. “That’s why you’re afraid.”

Gojo didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

His body was still, caught in the middle of escape and surrender.

Suguru’s fingers were still around his wrist. Not yanking. Not pulling. But firm.

A tether.

The veil outside shimmered faintly.

And inside it, Gojo Shattered-the-Sky stood trembling in the grip of the only person who had ever known how to hold him without breaking him.

Gojo’s breath hitched.

It started small.

A twinge behind his eyes. The kind that usually meant he’d overexerted himself or skipped too many meals or gone too long without sleep. He could never really tell the difference anymore. They all bled together, these quiet little failures of the body he always expected to keep up.

He blinked, slow.

Once.

Twice.

And that’s when he saw it.

The air shimmered.

Not much. Barely enough to notice, like the bend of heat rising off pavement in the summer, like a reflection in glass that didn’t quite match up. But it was there. A subtle drag to the space around them. A heaviness he hadn’t noticed until now.

His throat dried.

“…The air,” he murmured.

Suguru didn’t react.

Didn’t even blink.

But the wrongness settled around them like fog.

Gojo’s fingers twitched. His cursed energy stuttered, like a static signal cutting in and out.

His stomach turned cold.

“Suguru,” he said again, quieter this time. “What did you do?”

There was no accusation in it.

Not really.

Only dread.

Only the familiar ache of knowing, really knowing , that he should’ve seen this sooner. That he’d walked straight into something carefully spun and almost lovingly laid out, like a trap made just for him.

Suguru stepped forward.

Too smooth. Too gentle.

Into his space. Into the sliver of safety that his Infinity should have protected.

But it didn’t.

It never had, not with Suguru.

And now… now Gojo wasn’t sure it ever would.

“I just needed time,” Suguru said softly, like they were back in the dorms, sneaking out past curfew with laughter in their chests. “Just you and me. No students. No missions. No watchers.”

Gojo’s pulse roared.

He stepped back.

Suguru followed.

“You veiled the park,” Gojo said, voice cracking. “You… veiled it. ”

The world didn’t answer.

No cicadas. No wind. Not even the sound of passing cars. Just stillness— off and too quiet. Like a painting made of sound, frozen in a moment that refused to pass.

“And you’re still here,” Suguru replied, unfazed. “That means something, doesn’t it?”

Gojo reached up, sluggishly, to push him away.

His hand met solid cloth. Muscle. Warm skin.

And Infinity let him.

Of course it did.

Even now, with his heart clawing at his ribs, it still let Suguru in.

Because part of him still wanted it to.

Suguru caught his hand before he could pull it back. Held it.

Gojo flinched.

He yanked away immediately, his chest tight, skin burning, as if the touch had left a mark.

Suguru didn’t chase. Just looked at him with that same tired, nostalgic fondness like he was the one heartbroken by all this.

Like Gojo had left him.

“You’re tired,” Suguru said. “You didn’t even notice it at first, did you?”

His voice was quiet. Gentle.

Like a lullaby in a child’s nightmare.

Gojo’s legs felt strange.

Wobbly.

The world swayed for a second, and he had to brace a hand on the park bench to steady himself.

No wonder he hadn’t noticed.

He was worn thin. Months of chasing, teaching, fighting, keeping a house full of broken children alive while holding the whole world up on his back and now, finally, he was slipping. Of course he was.

And Suguru had been waiting for just that moment.

“I need to leave,” Gojo said, voice hoarse.

He straightened. Or tried to.

Took a half step back.

But his limbs dragged. His cursed energy was sluggish. His control- his power -felt like it was being held underwater.

Suguru reached for him again.

This time, he grabbed Gojo’s wrist.

Firmer now.

Gojo startled. Instinctively tried to wrench free but Suguru didn’t let go.

The hand wasn’t rough, but it was final. Like he wasn’t going to lose him again.

“I just want to talk,” Suguru said, pulling him in. “Isn’t that what you wanted too? You came early, Satoru. You never come early.”

That stopped him cold.

Because it was true.

He had come early.

And he hadn’t thought to question why.

“I don’t…” Gojo started but the words crumbled in his throat. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re scared,” Suguru said.

Gojo stiffened.

The truth of it was too close. Too loud. It sat behind his ribs like a second heart, drumming an uneven rhythm.

He hadn’t been scared like this in years.

Not since…

Not since Riko.

Not since Suguru.

“I trusted you,” Gojo whispered.

“You still do,” Suguru answered, fingers sliding down to interlace with his.

Gojo didn’t stop him.

Not this time.

He couldn’t tell if it was weakness or choice.

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore

The veil held steady.

Like silk draped over the world, thin enough to fool the eyes, thick enough to smother the senses. It pulsed faintly at the edges of the park, nearly imperceptible like the moment before a migraine or the hush of snowfall that falls too quiet.

Gojo swayed.

Not visibly. Not enough to draw alarm. But Suguru noticed.

Of course he did.

“You’re scared,” he said again, gentler this time.

Not mocking. Not cruel. Just... true.

Gojo's throat moved as he tried to swallow it down. The word. The feeling. Everything.

His cursed energy sparked at his core like it wanted to rise, wanted to answer. But it didn’t. It stayed quiet. Too quiet. Like it wasn’t sure who to protect him from.

Or maybe it already knew.

“I can’t,” Gojo said hoarsely, though what he meant, even he didn’t know. “I shouldn’t.”

But his legs didn’t move.

Suguru’s hand didn’t let go.

“You don’t have to fight me,” he murmured. “Not right now.”

Gojo finally looked at him.

It hurt. Like looking into a photograph that had warped with age. Suguru’s face was older now. Sharper. More tired. But his eyes, his eyes were the same.

Warm. Knowing. Devastating.

“I can’t trust you,” Gojo said, barely a breath. “Not after everything.”

“And yet,” Suguru whispered, brushing a thumb over his wrist, “you let me touch you.”

Gojo’s breath hitched.

It wasn’t seduction. It wasn’t even affection. It was history. Intimacy. Something old and ruined and still beating somewhere under the ash.

He should’ve left.

He still could.

But Suguru was watching him like he was already gone. Like he was trying to memorize what was left.

And that look-God, that look-it broke something.

Because part of Gojo still wanted to be remembered by him.

Even now.

Especially now.

“I’m tired,” he confessed, barely audible.

Suguru didn’t say anything at first. His thumb slowed on Gojo’s skin, rhythm softening like he was memorizing that, too.

“I know,” he said.

Gojo’s knees gave slightly.

Not a full collapse. Not yet. But the bend was there, subtle, instinctive. And Suguru’s hand steadied him without making a scene. Without tightening. Just there.

Holding.

Gojo hated how good it felt.

How easy it was to fall into step with him again.

“I thought you’d kill me,” Suguru said, almost idly.

A long pause.

Suguru’s hand stilled.

“That was never the plan,” Satoru murmured. “Not unless you made me.”

Gojo’s stomach turned.

There it was. The horror he hadn’t wanted to name. The quiet threat folded in between soft words and familiar hands.

“But I wouldn’t,” Gojo said, voice frayed. “Even if I should.”

“I know.”

Suguru moved in then, not fast, not with violence, but with the certainty of someone who had already played this moment out a thousand times in his head.

He didn’t embrace him.

Didn’t kiss him.

He simply closed the space, step by step, until they were face to face.

So close Gojo could feel his breath.

The veil trembled around them, barely held.

“Tell me to stop,” Suguru said.

And Gojo?

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because for all the pain and betrayal and blood-soaked history, for all the children depending on him and the world waiting for him to stay strong—

For this one breath, this one second—

He didn’t want to be alone.

So he didn’t say anything.

And Suguru, gently, reverently, leaned in.

Not for a kiss.

Just to rest his forehead against Gojo’s.

A quiet act.

A stolen moment.

And Gojo let it happen.

Because he was tired.

Because his heart still remembered the shape of Suguru’s.

Because betrayal, when it came wrapped in love, didn’t feel like poison until it was already too late

Notes:

This one is extra long like my non-existent dih

Chapter 15: God or a man

Everything was going well, at least in Suguru’s eyes.

Aside from a few tremors of resistance—tired, faltering, and easy to override—Satoru was yielding. Slowly. Painfully. But yielding all the same.

Suguru’s hands tightened, fingers wrapping more firmly around Satoru’s. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind him that there was no more space between them. That he was here now, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and pressed his forehead to Satoru’s like they were still sixteen, curled on dorm rooftops with the world sprawled at their feet. Like nothing had changed. Like nothing had broken.

A quiet hum of satisfaction curled in his chest.

Satoru didn’t pull away.

He was trembling, barely, but he stayed.

That was enough.

All he needed was a little push.

It hurt, in a strange, buried way, to see him like this—spun thin and brittle, a ghost of the divine creature he once was. But Suguru took pride in it. Pride in being the one to see it first, to hold it in his hands. To witness the slow collapse of the god.

The god he made.

The god who had once looked at him like he hung the stars—and had learned what it meant to live without him.

He’d drag him back, piece by piece if he had to.

And Satoru was already halfway there.

Suguru exhaled against his skin, and a faint, private smile pulled at his mouth. Satoru wouldn’t notice—not like this. But it lived there all the same. A sliver of something possessive, something cruel.

There were issues, yes. Cracks in the foundation that hadn’t been there before. But Suguru didn’t mind. Not now. Not yet.

They worked in his favor.

Satoru’s hands weren’t as steady as they used to be. His fingers were thinner, bonier, the nailbeds cracked just slightly at the edges. There were fine tremors in the tendons, small signs of exhaustion a younger Suguru would have never thought to look for.

And his face—God, his face.

He looked wrong.

There were shadows under his eyes, faint and carefully hidden beneath what Suguru now realized was makeup. A soft powder, a shallow trick. He almost laughed. Gojo Satoru—too proud to crack, but not too proud to cover the damage.

And below the eyes—just under the lash line—there were sores. Faint. Raw. Like he’d been rubbing at them too often. Like sleep had become an afterthought, or maybe a punishment.

Had he always looked like this?

No.

No, he hadn’t.

Suguru’s thumb brushed over the inside of Satoru’s wrist, slow and thoughtful. He didn’t expect a reaction—and he didn’t get one. But he could feel the tension simmering beneath the surface. The tight coil of energy that was always there, always just out of reach.

Satoru made a sound then.

Small. Choked. Something between a sob and a whimper—quiet enough to die between them, but loud enough to mark the moment.

Suguru smiled wider.

Carefully, he guided Satoru forward, coaxing him down to rest his head against his shoulder. A gesture that would have meant comfort, once. Now it was just a performance. A shadow of what used to be.

But Satoru let it happen.

He resisted, of course he did. He was Satoru Gojo. He didn’t know how not to resist. But it was faint. An afterthought. Suguru felt the tension in his shoulders spike, the flinch beneath his skin—but it passed, like the last breath before a fall.

Still, it annoyed him.

Why wouldn’t he give it up already?

Why did he fight?

Why couldn’t he just remember what they were, what they could have been?

Suguru’s fingers flexed against his back, his grip tightening just enough that Satoru couldn’t slip away. Not easily. Not tonight.

He could feel the cursed energy rising, gathering low, like a storm caught in Satoru’s chest. It pulsed once. A warning.

But it didn’t crest.

It didn’t break.

No Infinity. No backlash. No threat of retaliation.

Just raw, unspent power trembling like fear.

Suguru’s grin deepened, slow and quiet.

It was almost sweet.

He could have cooed at him.

How lovely. How pathetic. How perfect.

The great Satoru Gojo, undone not by force, not by war, but by memory. By closeness. By the ache of something he never really let go of.

And Suguru would take every piece of it back.

He could feel Satoru swallow. It was small, just the flutter of his throat against Suguru’s shoulder, but it was there. A faint, reluctant movement. A quiet betrayal of everything he still tried to hide.

Suguru hummed under his breath, soft and satisfied. He lifted a hand and threaded his fingers through that stark, snowy hair, so pale it shimmered faintly under the moonlight bleeding through the leaves overhead.

God, he’d always looked out of place.

Even now, draped over him like a fallen star, Satoru didn’t feel real. He felt untouchable. Outworldly. Celestial.

Suguru used to hate that.

Used to hate how Satoru walked through the world like nothing could touch him. Like pain was for other people. Like the sky belonged to him and the rest of them were just lucky to orbit near enough to bask in the glow.

Strong. Arrogant. Spoiled.

That was what he used to see.

Until that night.

It had been late, so late it had bled into the early edges of morning. The dormitory halls were quiet, the windows shadowed, and the sky outside had been choked in clouds. Suguru hadn’t been able to sleep. His thoughts had been too loud, his body too restless.

He’d slipped out of his room and padded barefoot to the dorm kitchen, chasing comfort in the hum of the refrigerator and the creak of old tile.

That was when he saw him.

Satoru.

Standing in the hallway like something carved out of a nightmare and moonlight.

He hadn’t looked awake.

His eyes, those damned, terrible eyes, were wide open, glowing faintly in the dark, but his posture was wrong. Not defensive. Not posturing. Not mocking.

Just still.

Frozen.

Like a soldier on watch.

Suguru had screamed.

It was reflexive, sharp and quick, his body jerking back like he’d stumbled across a curse but Satoru didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just looked at him.

Stared, deep and unwavering, like he was trying to see past Suguru’s skin and into the muscle, the bone, the beating heart beneath.

Suguru had stood there, heart racing, trying to decide whether to speak or run.

And then he’d moved.

Just a step.

And Satoru followed.

Not fast. Not aggressive.

Just… present.

Hovering close, eyes flicking to every corner of the hallway like the shadows themselves were a threat. He was guarding him. Even in that strange, trance-like state, with no conscious awareness behind those glowing eyes Satoru was watching over him.

Protecting him.

The memory had buried itself deep, hidden behind every insult they hurled at each other, every fist, every bruise, every mocking word. But it was there.

That night was the first time Suguru had ever seen past the armor.

Past the power.

And what he saw?

Terrified him.

Because even then, even before he understood what he was looking at, he knew that boy would die for him.

He would bleed for him.

Even if they tore each other apart by day, something inside Satoru had always, always chosen him when the world was quiet and no one else was looking.

Suguru never told anyone about that night.

Not even Satoru.

Especially not Satoru.

It stayed locked behind his ribs, tight and burning. A sacred, twisted thing. Something holy. Something rotten. Something that never stopped aching.

He carded his fingers through the white strands now, gentle, reverent. Like they belonged to him. Like they always had.

"You used to follow me everywhere,” he whispered, smiling against the side of Satoru’s head. “Even when you didn’t know you were.”

The man in his arms didn’t reply. Didn’t move. But his breath hitched, just barely.

And Suguru held him tighter.

“You were so scared of losing everything,” he murmured. “But you never stopped looking out for me.”

He closed his eyes.

“I wonder if you even remember.”

There was no answer.

But that was okay.

Because he remembered.

Satoru sniffled. His hands trembled as they gripped the back of Suguru’s coat, bunching the fabric so tightly that his knuckles turned pale beneath the gloves he hadn’t bothered to take off. The scent was familiar, like old incense and something bitter underneath, something that made his stomach turn but it was the warmth that confused him most. This shouldn't feel safe.

“This isn’t right-I can’t…” Satoru’s voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. The shame of it, the weakness, lodged itself in his throat like broken glass. He tried to step back, to peel himself away from Suguru, but he didn’t get far.

“Stay still.”

Suguru’s voice was a quiet command, almost gentle in its cadence, but not in its grip. His arms tightened around Satoru like iron bands, and his fingers, once stroking, soft, coaxing, turned harder in his hair, just enough to sting.

A jolt ran through Satoru. He was never good with pain.

Infinity had kept it from him for so long, buffered it, distorted it, made it feel like a rumor from another lifetime. But that tug, that brief twist of fingers at the root of his scalp, hit like a tidal wave. Not just physically. It echoed behind his eyes, sharp and splitting, like a migraine made manifest. His breath hitched, too sharp, too sudden and Suguru must’ve felt it.

Because the pressure eased instantly.

“Sorry,” Suguru murmured, low and not entirely sincere. His hand slipped from Satoru’s hair and came to rest instead at the nape of his neck. Gentle now. Cool fingers against fever-warm skin. Possessive, but careful.

Satoru didn’t speak. He just let himself be held, breathing in short, uneven gusts as his heart thudded frantically against his ribs. He couldn’t bring himself to push Suguru away. Not yet. Not when his head felt like it was stuffed with static. Not when his cursed energy was frayed and tangled around them like seaweed dragging him under. He just stood there, letting Suguru hold onto him until the trembling in his shoulders dulled to a shiver.

When they finally pulled apart (if it could even be called that) Suguru didn’t let go entirely. His fingers slid down, and instead of releasing him, he laced their hands together. His thumbs brushed over Satoru’s knuckles in slow, rhythmic passes, almost like he was soothing a frightened child.

Satoru’s breath caught again, but this time from something deeper. Wearier. He stared down at their hands and then up at Suguru, expression tight.

“…Suguru,” he said, voice worn thin with fatigue. “Why did you call me here?”

He didn’t sound angry. That would have been easier for both of them, probably. No, there was only tiredness there, and something like quiet pleading beneath it. His shoulders slumped. His eyes, ringed with smudged makeup and pain, didn’t meet Suguru’s. He couldn’t bring himself to look.

The brushing thumb didn’t stop.

Satoru didn’t know if he wanted the answer. But he needed it. Even if Suguru was going to lie, he needed to hear it.

Suguru’s thumbs stilled on Satoru’s knuckles. His expression shifted, not dramatically, not enough to scare, but just enough to unsettle. The softness in his face drained away, leaving something colder beneath. Not cruel. Just... determined.

“I want you to join me.”

There was no buildup. No sugarcoating. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes pretending they were something they weren’t anymore.

Satoru’s breath hitched. He looked up slowly, disbelief crawling across his face like frostbite. “What?”

“You heard me.” Suguru’s voice remained level, patient. “I want you by my side. Not just today. Not just in secret. I want the world to see it. You and me, together. The way it should’ve always been.”

Satoru flinched at that.

Suguru leaned in, gaze sharpened, voice gentler than it should’ve been. “You’ve never belonged in their world, Satoru. You know that. You’re not like them. You never were. They fear you. They use you. They’re never going to stop taking from you, not until you’re drained dry.”

His hands squeezed Satoru’s, grounding and imprisoning all at once.

“I’m the only one who’s ever seen you for what you are,” Suguru said. “Not a tool. Not a weapon. A god.”

Satoru’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Suguru’s eyes flickered with something feral. “They chained you to their cause and made you smile through it. They made you a weapon, like that was all you were good for. Babysitting half-trained children while they gnawed away at your reputation, your sanity. They can’t even look at you without trembling, and still they expect you to save them.”

He leaned in closer, his grip ironclad. “But I would never ask that of you.”

Satoru’s throat bobbed with another swallowed sob.

“I want you to be free. With me.” Suguru’s voice cracked, just slightly. “I can give you that. We can burn down every cage they ever built around you. No more elders. No more clans. No more Jujutsu society. Just us.”

His smile returned, this time twisted into something tender and devastating.

“You’ve always been mine, Satoru.”

There was silence. Not even the wind stirred.

Satoru’s head dipped, hair falling over his eyes. His hands were still trapped in Suguru’s, but his fingers had gone limp.

Suguru waited.

And waited.

He was sure, so sure this time, Satoru would say yes.

Satoru’s voice came quiet. Flat. “That’s your big plan?”

Suguru blinked. “What?”

“To burn it all down?” Satoru looked up at him, face pale and drawn. “Kill everyone you don’t think is good enough? Start over from the ashes like some goddamn messiah?”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But that’s what it is, isn’t it?” Satoru pressed. “You want to create a world without curses, so your solution is to slaughter every non-sorcerer and pray the curses vanish with them? You think that’ll fix it? That there won’t be backlash? You think that’s peace?”

“I think,” Suguru said, voice cooling, “that it’s the only chance we have at a future where sorcerers aren’t being hunted and bled dry for the sake of a world that doesn’t care about them.”

“Maybe,” Satoru said, “but it’s still genocide.”

Suguru’s lips twitched. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“No,” Satoru snapped. “Don’t be so stupid. You think the world ends with you? That if you cut out the ‘monkeys,’ everything will get better? Curses don’t come from the weak, Suguru. They come from the human heart. From fear, hatred, guilt, all of it. You can’t erase that by killing people.”

Suguru’s jaw clenched, but Satoru didn’t stop.

“You’re not fixing anything. You’re just angry and grieving and pretending it’s some great cause. But you’re just—just another sorcerer who broke.”

Silence.

Then Suguru laughed. A bitter, breathy thing.

“You’re so arrogant.”

Satoru stilled.

Suguru stepped closer, voice low and sharp, mimicking the same venom he’d once used at a fast food table years ago. “You always were. You think just because you’re the strongest, you get to define right and wrong. You think you see the world better than anyone else, like a god. ”

Satoru’s fists curled.

“But you know what, Satoru? Maybe it is possible. For you. If anyone could end this cursed world without getting their hands dirty, it’s you. But you won’t.”

“Because your way is broken,” Satoru said, a flicker of heat returning to his voice. “And I’m not going to follow someone who’s lost in it.”

Suguru’s face twisted, the corner of his mouth trembling before hardening again.

Satoru stared at him, breath tight in his chest. “What about Amanai?”

That name cut through the tension like a knife.

Suguru froze.

Satoru stepped forward now. His turn to press.

“She was a monkey, wasn’t she? No cursed energy. Just a girl. A kind one. Would you kill her again, if she were alive?”

“Don’t,” Suguru warned, voice sharp.

“Why not?” Satoru asked. “She was exactly the kind of person you want to erase. Would you look her in the eyes and-”

“ Stop it! ” Suguru snapped. His cursed energy spiked, an invisible pressure warping the air between them.

Satoru’s eyes widened, a flinch twitching through him before he clenched his jaw and stood his ground. His own cursed energy simmered under his skin, hot, electric, but still restrained.

“You talk about creating a new world,” Satoru said, quieter now, but no less cutting. “But you can’t even admit what you’ve destroyed.”

Suguru’s cursed energy still prickled around them, heavy, oppressive, like a storm waiting to crack open the earth. But Satoru didn’t flinch again. He reached into the inside of his coat slowly, deliberately. His fingers brushed leather.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” Satoru murmured, withdrawing his wallet. His voice was hoarse now, frayed around the edges, and his hand trembled just slightly as he opened it. “I came because I… wanted to understand.”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing as Satoru flipped past cards and folded bills until he found what he was looking for: a small, time-worn photo, protected in a thin plastic sleeve.

He held it out.

In the picture, Satoru stood with one arm wrapped around a little girl, smiling with all her teeth, hair pinned back with a clip. Next to her was Megumi, arms crossed and clearly annoyed at being in the photo, but standing close all the same. Satoru was grinning like a fool between them, his sunglasses crooked on his nose.

“I keep it with me,” he said softly, “because sometimes I forget that this is real.”

Suguru’s gaze dropped to the photo. His jaw locked, unreadable.

“She’s not a sorcerer,” Satoru continued. “Tsumiki. No cursed energy at all. She’s… normal. Sweet. Brave. And a pain in the ass when she wants to be.” A faint, broken smile flickered on his lips. “You’d like her.”

He looked up at Suguru now, and the mask was gone. No Infinity. No strongest sorcerer. Just a man, worn thin, heart cracked open and raw.

“Would you kill her?” he asked. “Would you look her in the eyes, like you would Amanai, and call her a mistake? A monkey?”

Suguru’s fingers twitched. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he said nothing.

“She’s my daughter, Suguru.”

That word hung in the air like a gunshot.

Satoru’s eyes shimmered, not with power, but with the kind of hurt that never healed properly. “And she’s Megumi’s sister. She’s family. You would’ve been her family too, you know. If things had been different.”

Something flickered across Suguru’s face. A crack in the façade. His breath hitched just slightly, and he glanced away like the photo physically burned him.

“That’s the world you want to destroy,” Satoru whispered. “One where she gets to live. One where we could’ve been something… better.”

The silence between them thickened, taut with everything unsaid.

“Tell me, Suguru,” he said, voice shaking now. “Would you kill her, too?”

Suguru didn’t answer. His eyes stayed locked on the photo like it was something obscene, like it offended him just by existing. His jaw clenched hard enough to pop. Satoru held his breath, watching him, praying please , that he’d say no. That something in him was still alive. That something could still be saved.

But then Suguru reached for the picture.

It wasn’t a violent motion. It wasn’t fast. But when his fingers closed around Satoru’s wrist, tighter than necessary, too sudden, Satoru flinched . The sharp intake of breath, the way his shoulder jerked back, the crackle of cursed energy sparking up reflexively like a scared animal, it was instant . However infinity never went up.

Suguru froze.

His grip loosened immediately, but it was too late. Satoru’s hand had already curled inwards, the photo trapped against his palm like a shield. His eyes were wide, far too wide behind his glasses. Breath shaky. There was nothing ethereal or godlike about him in that moment. Just fear.

Suguru's heart kicked against his ribs.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, low. And he didn’t let go. Not completely. Just… gentled his hold, eyes darting over Satoru’s face, searching for something, what, he didn’t know.

“I know,” Satoru whispered. But his voice had dropped into that hollow, guarded tone he used when he was too close to breaking.

Suguru looked down at the picture still half-visible in Satoru’s grasp. Tsumiki’s smile. Megumi’s scowl. Satoru’s crooked grin.

Would you kill her too?

The words replayed in his head, over and over, and the question wrapped itself around his spine like a vice. He hated how much it hurt. Hated that it hurt at all.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I…” His voice came rough, strained. “I don’t know.”

Satoru stared at him. The silence stretched between them, cold and heavy and brutal.

Suguru’s fingers slid away from his wrist.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, softer this time. “She’s not real to me. None of this is. You-you say it like it matters. Like love is enough to stop what’s coming.”

Satoru didn’t answer right away. He lowered the photo back into his wallet with trembling hands, slipped it into his coat, and took a step back, not far, but enough to breathe again.

“She is real,” he said. “And that’s what scares you.”

Suguru didn’t deny it.

He just looked away.

Satoru watched him carefully, still tense, still halfway caught between fight and flight. But Suguru wasn’t looking at the floor anymore. His attention had shifted again. Narrowed. Locked.

Right back on him.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” Suguru said, voice suddenly low, uneven.

“I know what I’ve done. I know how far gone I must look to you,” Suguru went on, fingers curling in and out at his sides. “But Satoru—I still think about you. Every single day.”

“I was going to tell you that day. After Amanai. I was going to— I wanted to. But everything fell apart and I was so angry and you were still trying to play God and I—"

Satoru’s expression was unreadable.

Suguru stepped forward, only one step, just enough to breach something unspoken. “I loved you,” he said, and it wasn’t smooth or manipulative like before—it was raw. Ugly. From the pit of something broken. “Maybe I still do.”

There was a long, breathless pause.

Crash.

The hush of the moment shattered like glass underfoot. The bush nearby shook violently—then out tumbled two bodies in a tangle of limbs, leaves, and indignation.

Satoru startled hard, hand instinctively half-raised in defense until his brain caught up with his eyes. “What-”

Megumi groaned as he rolled upright, covered in dirt, his usual scowl deepening with each leaf that clung to his sweater. “Ow.”

“ Megumi, Tsumiki! ” Satoru practically yelped, lunging toward him. “Are you guys okay? Are you hurt? Why the hell were you-”

“I’m fine,” the boy muttered, brushing his knees off.

“Speak for yourself,” Tsumiki hissed, rubbing her ankle. “You shoved me!”

“You slipped!”

“You were breathing too loud!”

“You pulled me down with you!”

Suguru stared, frozen. He had not expected this.

Tsumiki finally looked up and froze as well because now she was face-to-face with him.

Her expression shifted instantly. No fear. No hesitation. Just the sharp, quiet protectiveness of someone used to being the buffer between two halves of a fractured world. She didn’t look like a sorcerer, didn’t radiate cursed energy and yet…

She instinctively shifted slightly in front of Megumi and Satoru, hand braced protectively near them.

Suguru’s breath hitched. That simple act, the way she stood guard over a sorcerer and flinched at him, shook him more than he expected.

A monkey. Guarding someone like Satoru. Caring for someone like Megumi.

And Satoru…

Satoru wasn’t even paying attention to the stand-off. His voice rose in panic. “Where’s Yuji? Where’s Nanami? They were with you? Please tell me they didn’t follow too, I swear to god if something happened-”

Tsumiki immediately reached for him, silence. “...”

Satoru breathed out hard, half a sob, hand raking through his hair. “Okay. Okay. Okay, okay.” His hands shook. “They’re smart. They’re smart. They wouldn’t leave the house would they?”

Suguru glanced at him in alarm. This was not the Satoru he knew. Or maybe it was, the one he’d only glimpsed in rare, fractured moments. The one who snapped and unraveled when people he loved were involved.

“Yuji…?” Suguru asked cautiously.

Megumi frowned. “He’s the kid with Sukuna.”

That made Suguru stiffen.

Satoru shook his head quickly. “He’s different. He’s-” He stopped himself. His eyes flicked to Suguru. Then to Tsumiki.

She was still staring at Suguru. Not with hatred. Not with fear. But… wariness. The kind Satoru recognized.

“Satoru,” she said carefully, “is this the man who-”

“Yes,” he said, fast. Then quieter: “This is him.”

Suguru’s lips parted slightly. “She’s… the girl in the picture?”

“ OH MY GOD, ” Satoru groaned as one more kid rolled out of the bush. “No. Absolutely not.”

Suguru blinked.

This time it was Yuji who popped up, covered in dirt and shame, looking like a guilty puppy. “Uh hi. We were just—um—making sure you weren’t dead.”

Nanami, dragging himself upright with a sigh of cosmic exhaustion, muttered, “I told you we should’ve stayed back.”

Suguru stared at the pink-haired boy like he was a cryptid.

Yuji blinked back. “...Why’s he looking at me like that?”

Satoru dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “Because you’re literally carrying the most dangerous curse in existence in your gut and he’s the guy who invented exorcism-by-genocide. Great timing. ”

Yuji tilted his head. “Huh?”

Suguru, eyes narrowed, took a step toward the boy. “Who are you?”

Yuji squinted at him. “I could ask you the same thing, murder wizard.”

Satoru stepped in so fast it practically blurred, placing himself directly between them. “Nope. Nope. We are not doing this.”

Suguru frowned. “He’s a vessel. So why-”

Satoru didn’t let him finish. “Because I said we’re not doing this.”

Yuji just whispered to Nanami, “This is the guy? The, uh, evil ex?”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose.

Satoru was shaking now, not from fear. From stress. From the sheer overwhelming absurdity of trying to juggle his fractured past and fragile present.

Suguru said nothing more.

He just stood there, hand half-lifted, lips slightly parted, his confession hanging in the air, half-spoken, now buried under the sound of children bickering and the slow unraveling of the only man he’d ever truly loved.

The clearing had gone dead quiet.

Suguru hadn’t moved, his hand still suspended midair, the confession lodged in his throat. Satoru’s breath was shallow, eyes darting toward the bush where the kids had tumbled out.

And then came the voice.

Low, unamused, and sharper than a knife:

Nanami’s voice was quiet at first.
“Unbelievable. Both of you.”

Satoru flinched like a teenager caught red-handed.
Suguru blinked, turning toward the voice, stunned. “...Nanami?”

Nanami stepped forward slowly, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
“I should’ve known,” he said, tone dry as bone. “If there was any disaster bizarre enough to drag you out of hiding, it would be Satoru Gojo in an emotional crisis.”

He didn’t look angry.

He looked done .

“I thought I was hallucinating,” Nanami said, gaze flicking between the two. “But no. I really did just Satoru and the jujutsu world’s biggest traitor having a sentimental heart-to-heart behind a curtain of cursed energy while literal children watched from a bush.”

“Satoru?” Suguru echoed, a little stunned, a little dry. “Since when did you start calling Satoru by his first name?”

“Don’t deflect,” Nanami snapped. “You don’t get to play coy.”

Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Nanami.

“I was handling it-”

“You were not handling it,” Nanami cut in. “You ran off without backup, dragged along three minors, and are currently standing three inches away from a man who has more curse-user followers than sense. And you didn’t tell anyone. ”

He turned his full weight of judgment onto Suguru then, like he’d been waiting years for this.

“And you. What the hell are you doing here?”

Suguru’s smile faltered. “I just wanted to talk to Satoru.”

“You’ve had years to ‘talk,’” Nanami said. “You chose mass murder instead.”

Yuji made a choking sound. Megumi smacked the back of his head.

Suguru opened his mouth, but Nanami kept going.

“I trusted you once,” he said. “You were older than me. Smarter. You helped me get through the mess that was first year. And then you left us. You left him. You threw everything away.”

“I know,” Suguru said quietly. “But-”

“No.” Nanami stepped forward. “You don’t get to ‘but.’ You hurt people. You killed people. And now you’re trying to weasel your way back into Satoru’s life by playing on his grief?”

“That’s not fair,” Suguru said, suddenly sharp.

“No, what’s not fair is what you did to him.”

Suguru reeled like he’d been slapped. Even Satoru winced.

The kids stood frozen behind a tree, none of them brave enough to speak now. Tsumiki gripped Megumi’s sleeve tightly, sensing the sheer weight in the air.

Suguru’s voice was quieter now. “Kento… You don’t understand.”

“I understand better than you think,” Nanami said, his tone suddenly colder. “And I’m not going to stand here and watch you play with his heart just because you’re lonely.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then, as if remembering himself, Nanami sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m taking the kids back. Satoru, come find me when you’re thinking clearly.”

He turned on his heel, gesturing for the trio to follow. Yuji scrambled up awkwardly, still looking a little pale. Tsumiki and Megumi didn’t move at first. They both hesitated, eyes flicking toward Satoru.

“Go,” Satoru said softly. “I’m okay.”

They obeyed, reluctantly.

As Nanami passed Suguru, he paused just long enough to mutter, low and hard:

“If you break him again… I will break you.”

Suguru didn’t answer.

“Love you guys.” Satoru waved bye to them.

He then turned to Suguru and stared.

“I feel like Yaga caught us all over again.”

Notes:

yippee. Im so tired. I wanna see those comments.

Chapter 16: Something Needs To Give

Summary:

GAY PEOPLE

The clearing had gone too quiet.
The veil made it so, cloaking the world beyond in an unnatural hush, as if even time had been suspended. No birdsong. No wind. Not even the hum of cursed energy moving in the distance, only that heavy, cloying stillness, thick like rot on the tongue.

Satoru stood at the center of it, spine stiff, arms heavy at his sides. His eyes—those brilliant eyes—were unreadable behind his glasses. Glass. Distance. Anything to keep him contained.

Suguru hadn’t moved. Not since Nanami’s voice had cut the tension like a blade, a surgical slice straight through something delicate and just starting to bleed again.

They hadn’t touched since.
Not since that almost-moment.
Not since Suguru had seen it, hesitation. A flicker across Satoru’s expression like a bruise forming under the surface, sudden and impossible to ignore. That hesitation hadn’t been there in their youth. Back then, Satoru used to reach for him like it was instinct. Without fear. Without thought. Like they were gravity-bound to one another.

But now? Now even breathing felt borrowed.

“I should probably go,” Satoru said finally, and it sounded like a lie. Like he didn’t believe it even as he said it. Like he was testing the sound of it on his tongue, waiting for Suguru to contradict him. To say no. To give him a reason to stay.

Suguru didn’t.
Not yet.

His breath caught, sharp and shallow. His eyes, dark and steady and aching, dragged over Satoru’s face like he was trying to memorize it again. Like he wanted to trace every line, every softened edge, and catalog the new weight they both carried.

There was something desperate in his stillness. Something soft.

“Yeah…” Suguru said. Barely audible. “Yeah. Okay.”

But neither of them moved.
The air between them was thick with everything they hadn’t said. Everything that could still ruin them.

The silence stretched.
It grew long and thin, like a held breath. Like string pulled too taut. Something waiting to snap.

Then, finally, Satoru shifted. One step, half a step forward before stopping. Suguru’s hand twitched at his side. He didn’t look at it, but he knew it was there. The way it trembled. The way his fingers inched forward, desperate to make contact. To bridge the aching gap between them with even the smallest touch. A coat sleeve. A corner of cloth. Skin.

But he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t close the space.

Instead, Suguru curled his hand into a fist like he could crush the want out of his bones.

“…Text me, okay?” he said.

It was too soft. Too bare. The words frayed at the edges, a quiet plea hidden behind false casualness. No smirk. No sarcasm. No shield. Just Suguru, asking not to be forgotten.

Satoru finally looked up.

Their eyes met.

And something inside Satoru cracked.
It was a subtle fracture, like a tremor beneath a frozen lake, but it was there.

His breath hitched. Just a flicker of movement. So small most people wouldn’t notice.
But Suguru wasn’t most people.
Suguru knew .
He remembered the way Satoru’s hands trembled after missions, how he always cracked a joke to distract from it. How he flinched when the adrenaline wore off and he was left with nothing but silence.

He saw it now.

Satoru smiled.
But it wasn’t a real one.
It was hollow, tired, stripped of all his usual armor. Like he couldn’t summon the cruelty to push Suguru away and didn’t have enough heart left to be kind.

“I’ll think about it,” he whispered softly.

Suguru’s throat bobbed. He nodded once, like any more movement might unravel him.

Satoru turned.
Step by step, he walked back into the trees. Slow. Too slow. Like any faster might shatter what little was left of him.

Suguru didn’t follow.
Didn’t move, but he wanted to so badly.
He stayed still long after Satoru was gone. The air stirred. The leaves shifted again. The moment broke like thin glass under a breath. But Suguru’s eyes didn’t move from the place Satoru had vanished.

Like if he stared long enough, he might come back.

The veil peeled back like a curtain torn from the world.

And Satoru stumbled out.

He teleported into his living room.

The shift was too fast. Too much. The cursed pressure evaporated, but his body didn’t know how to breathe without it. His limbs lagged behind his awareness. His knees buckled beneath him.

He didn’t fall.
Not really.

But he tilted sideways.

And Nanami caught him.

The grip was steady. Grounding. Warm. Satoru leaned into it for a moment too long, head low, shoulder slumped against the other man’s chest. He could feel Nanami’s pulse, steadier than his. Real. Unmoving.

“You got home fast,” Satoru muttered, standing up like nothing had happened.

Nanami blinked once, deadpan. “…No, we didn’t.”

He crossed his arms, exhaling through his nose like he was trying very hard to remain patient. “You’re an hour late. I expected you back immediately. The tea I made is cold.”

Satoru glanced at the mug on the coffee table, untouched. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t think I was gone that long.”

Nanami’s stare didn’t waver.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fine ,” Satoru snapped, voice sharper than he meant it to be.

It echoed through the room like something brittle breaking.

Nanami didn’t flinch. He just watched him. Quiet. Waiting. Satoru’s hand brushed the back of his neck without thinking  that he was touching the place where Suguru’s hand had lingered.

He forced his face back into blankness.

Nanami didn’t push. Not yet. Just stood there, arms crossed, like he was waiting for Satoru to either collapse or admit something.

Satoru didn’t.
He moved slowly and sat down on the couch. His posture was stiff. His eyes were fixed on the cold tea like it was the only stable thing in the world.

Nanami sat beside him.

Careful. Measured. Close, but not close enough to threaten.

The quiet stretched.

“Listen,” Nanami said, voice clipped, “you can’t keep doing this.”

Satoru didn’t look up.

“Running off. Dragging the kids into your chaos. Pretending you’re invincible. You’re not.”

His words cut clean. Not cruel but honest. Firm.

“You think hiding everything protects them. You think not showing weakness is strength. But it’s not. It’s isolation. And it’s hurting all of you.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You want to be strong? Be honest. Be human. Let them see you. Let them carry some of that weight. Because if you keep this up, Satoru, you’re going to break and no one will be there to catch you next time.”

Nanami looked at him. Not like a subordinate. Not like a coworker.

But like someone who still gave a damn. Who always had.

“I’m not going to watch you self-destruct. I won’t see another person fall like that. I won’t let it happen.”

The silence that followed was different.

Satoru didn’t argue. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. His fingers twitched in his lap.

“…I know,” he finally said, voice hoarse.

Nanami nodded. And then, softer:

“I’m here. We all are. Don’t forget that.”

There was a pause.

Then Nanami hesitated, glancing down at his hands like he needed to rehearse what came next.

“Satoru,” he said, voice quieter now. “Look… I’m sorry.”

Satoru’s eyes lifted.

“I shouldn’t have treated you like you weren’t human,” Nanami said. “When Haibara died- I was angry. I blamed you because it was easier than admitting we were all helpless. But I don’t blame you anymore. You couldn’t have known.”

Satoru blinked. He didn’t move.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. That maybe we’d all toughen up. But I wasn’t. I left you alone when you needed someone. I wasn’t there for you. And I’m sorry.”

Satoru’s breath hitched.

The apology was too big. Too unexpected. It landed somewhere deep, behind the armor, beneath the jokes. And he didn’t know what to do with it.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t nod.

He just looked down, eyes glassy, throat tight.

He blinked quickly, holding back the tears that threatened to rise.

Nanami didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

He just sat there. Solid and steady. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask anything in return.

And for the first time in a long time, Satoru didn’t feel like the strongest man in the room.

Just the most tired.

The silence sat heavy between them.

Nanami’s apology lingered in the air, settling into the spaces between couch cushions and cooling tea and old regrets. It wasn’t the kind of thing they were used to doing, talking like this , peeling back old wounds and letting the air hit.

Satoru stared straight ahead, but his posture had shifted. He wasn’t trying to play it off anymore. No grin. No flippant shrug. Just that tight line of his shoulders, and his hand gripping the hem of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering him to the present.

“I’m sorry too,” Satoru said.

Nanami turned slightly, eyes narrowing faintly. Not in anger. Just in surprise.

Satoru didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. His voice was steady, but low.

“I was arrogant,” he admitted. “I thought I could… handle everything. Save everyone. Protect them from the world just by being strong enough. Like if I stood in front of the fire, no one else would get burned.”

He exhaled shakily through his nose.

“But people still died.” His voice thinned. “They still died, Nanami. Haibara did. And Riko. And- Suguru left me behind…” He hesitated there, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say that name aloud anymore. “I thought… I thought if I was strong enough, they wouldn’t. That they’d be safe with me around.”

He finally looked at Nanami.
No blind confidence. No divine posturing.

Just a man, eyes shining with something he refused to let fall.

“But they weren’t.”

The words felt like glass in his throat, and he let them cut on the way out.

“I’m sorry for being a jackass about it all. Acting untouchable. Pretending none of it got to me. I thought… if I let any of it show, I’d lose what was left of them. That I’d be useless to you all.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away.

He just sat there, watching him. Listening.

Satoru looked back down at his hands. They were perfectly still in his lap, but the tension in his wrists betrayed the tremble he was fighting.

“I’m not good at this,” he added, quieter now. “I joke, I talk too much, I don’t know when to shut up, Megumi tells me that all the time.” A huff of something like laughter pushed through, but it was soft, bitter. “But I care. About all of you. I always have. Even when I’m terrible at showing it.”

Nanami’s expression shifted, not to surprise this time, but something warmer. Something understanding.

He reached over, slow and sure, and rested his hand on Satoru’s shoulder.

“You’ve always cared,” he said. “Even when you were impossible.”

Satoru swallowed thickly. His mouth opened, then closed again. He blinked fast, dragging the heel of his hand across his eye like he could pretend it was just an itch.

“You’re still impossible,” Nanami added, dry as ever.

Satoru laughed, a real one this time. Quiet. Tired. But real.

“I know.”

They sat like that for a long moment. Not talking. Not needing to. Just letting the silence settle around them, not as a weight but as something shared.

And in that moment, Nanami saw it clearly, what Satoru never said out loud, what sat behind all the bravado and jokes and god-complex nonsense:

He carried every single one of them in his heart.
Every failure. Every memory. Every name he couldn’t bring himself to say too loudly in case it broke him open.

And even now, with everything cracked and reeling, he still hadn’t let go.

He never would.

Nanami let out a long breath, slow and deep, like he’d been carrying some of that tension too.

Then, softly, softer than Satoru had heard from him in a long time, he said,
“Let it go, Satoru.”

Satoru blinked, head turning slightly.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Nanami’s voice didn’t waver. “Not Haibara. Not Suguru. Not any of it.”

Satoru’s lips parted, instinct ready to argue, but Nanami shook his head.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault. That’s just what this world does to us.”

His hand dropped from Satoru’s shoulder, resting between them.

“You didn’t fail them. You loved them.”

That stopped Satoru cold. He sat there, eyes flickering, breath caught between denial and the terrible possibility that Nanami might be right.

“Sometimes you love too much, even to those who don’t deserve it.”

He let it sink in.

Let it stretch through him, settle in his chest, loosen the guilt by just a thread. And then…

He smiled.

Small. Honest. A little broken, but real.

It was the kind of smile that made him look young again, less like the strongest, more like someone who'd just been waiting for someone to say it wasn’t all his fault.

Nanami, of course, noticed it immediately and looked away just as fast, face twitching like he regretted being earnest.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, reaching for his tie like it had personally offended him. “I’m not your therapist.”

Satoru chuckled under his breath. “No, you’re worse. You charge in disappointment.”

Nanami huffed. Then cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he said sharply, like he needed the subject change as much as oxygen, “go to the front door.”

Satoru tilted his head. “Why?”

Nanami refused to look at him. “The kids are by the door. They were doing a stakeout to make sure you didn’t bleed out or explode or whatever it is you usually do when left unsupervised.”

Satoru’s brows rose. “They didn’t know I teleported back?”

“They thought you’d walk. Like a normal person.” Nanami stood, brushing off imaginary lint. “You’ve been gone an hour. Tsumiki threatened to hex someone if you didn’t come back in one piece. Megumi’s pacing. Yuji’s eaten half a box of crackers and is stress-sobbing into the other half.”

Satoru blinked, then laughed, loud and full this time. “You’re serious?”

Nanami just gave him a long-suffering look. “Go. Before they raid the entire pantry out of grief.”

Satoru rose, still smiling, but slower this time. More grounded.

He paused at the door, hand resting on the frame.

“…Thanks, Nanami.”

Nanami didn’t look up from where he was straightening the living room cushions like it would save him from emotional sincerity.

“Just don’t make me say it twice,” he said.

Satoru grinned.

And then, lighter than he’d been in days, he stepped out toward the front door,
toward the kids.

Satoru crept toward the front door like a man on a mission.

He could hear them, the muffled voices hiding under the staircase, crouched just out of sight, but still painstakingly watching the door. Tsumiki’s whisper was stern and sharp, Megumi’s tone low and clipped, and Yuji… Yuji was sniffling. Loudly.

Satoru smirked to himself.

Showtime.

He flung into the open with dramatic flair, light flooding out behind him like a stage spotlight. “Boo!”

Yuji screamed.

Tsumiki shrieked and immediately threw a cracker at him.

Megumi didn’t react on the outside. But his eyes widened and he flinched just slightly, enough for Satoru to clock it and mentally file it under Effective Prank #37.

“You-! We thought you were dead!” Tsumiki snapped, but her voice cracked halfway through the sentence. Her hands were shaking.

Yuji, meanwhile, had gone from startled shriek to full-on sobbing. He dropped the rest of the crackers, his arms still wrapped protectively around the half-eaten box, and choked out, “I-I thought you left —I thought you weren’t coming back!”

Satoru’s smile dropped.

Yuji was crying hard now, eyes red and wide, gasping between sobs like he was trying not to fall apart. “Like-like she did—like my mom did and I thought you were different !”

“Yuji…” Satoru moved fast, crouching in front of him before the boy could even turn away in shame. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I came back , didn’t I?”

Yuji nodded, but the tears kept falling, fingers twisted in his hoodie sleeves like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

Satoru reached out carefully, then pulled him into a hug, tight and secure. Yuji clung to him immediately, face buried in his jacket.

Tsumiki’s arms dropped to her sides. Her face crumpled.

“I told you not to take so long,” she whispered, and suddenly she was crying too, turning into Megumi’s shoulder and hiding her face.

Megumi’s arms hovered awkwardly for a second. Then he wrapped one around her, jaw tight, blinking hard.

Satoru looked up and met his eyes.

Megumi didn’t speak. Didn’t cry.

But his lip quivered just slightly, and he blinked once, no- twice, too fast.

Satoru’s voice cracked with warmth. “I didn’t mean to scare you, guys. I’m sorry.”

Yuji let out one more hiccupping sob, but his grip eased. “Don’t do that again.”

“Deal,” Satoru said, giving him one last squeeze before standing.

He glanced at all three of them, his mismatched little family, their eyes red and hearts worn thin, and he felt that guilt again. But also something stronger.

Something softer.

“You three really like me, huh?” he teased gently, wiping a stray tear off Tsumiki’s cheek.

Megumi rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Tsumiki sniffled. “You were gone. ”

Yuji just looked up at him with that open, raw expression, no mask, no filter, no bravado.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” he said.

Satoru froze.

He felt that land deep. Heavy.

And for once, he didn’t deflect.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not if I can help it.”

Then, with a sniff and a grin, he slung his arms around all three of them, dragging them in close even as they protested.

“Group hug. It’s mandatory.”

Yuji hugged him back immediately. Tsumiki muttered “idiot” into his chest. And Megumi, grumbling, didn’t pull away.

Behind them, Nanami watched from the window with a quiet sigh and maybe, just maybe, the hint of a smile.

The room had settled into something warm and messy. Pillows knocked askew. Half-empty water bottles. A blanket tossed over the armrest like a flag of surrender.

Satoru was still sprawled like a defeated man, head in Yuji’s lap, legs across Megumi’s knees, one sock falling off. He looked absurdly comfortable for someone who’d just been emotionally dismantled by kids who haven’t even hit double digits.

Yuji tapped his knee thoughtfully. “So… I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good sign,” Megumi muttered.

Satoru grunted. “Agreed.”

Yuji ignored them. “I’ve decided I approve.”

Satoru blinked up at him. “Of what?”

“Of the murder wizard.”

“ Suguru is not a— ” Satoru sat up so fast he nearly headbutted Yuji. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

Tsumiki raised a skeptical brow from the floor. “You let him cradle your face like you were a dying Victorian wife.”

“He had wrist contact ,” Yuji added helpfully. “Real tender.”

Megumi scoffed. “You’ve never touched anyone like that. You don’t even make eye contact when we’re eating dinner.”

“I have trauma,” Satoru argued weakly.

“Exactly,” Tsumiki said. “So does he. And you let him touch your tru- tra- whatever it is head. That means something.”

Satoru’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

Yuji beamed. “As long as he doesn’t murder us, I say go for it. Love is love.”

“Kids,” Satoru said, voice tight. “He’s not my boyfriend. We were partners in the field. Colleagues. Friends-”

“With benefits?” Tsumiki offered sweetly.

“ NO! How do you even know that?! ”

Tsumiki shrugged, “I watch movies.”

Megumi folded his arms. “Satoru, you blush every time someone says his name.”

“I do not! ”

Yuji gasped. “He totally does. Say it again, say Suguru.”

“Don’t-”

“Suguruuu~”

Satoru groaned and faceplanted into the couch cushions. “This is bullying. You’re all emotionally bullying me. I hope you’re proud.”

“We are,” Megumi said flatly.

“Extremely,” Tsumiki agreed.

Yuji grinned. “Geto Suguru, huh? You’ve got taste, sensei. Creepy, tragic, handsy taste, but taste.”

Satoru made a strangled sound into the pillow.

And despite everything, despite the raw ache of the last few hours, despite the lingering echo of Suguru’s touch and Nanami’s apology, he laughed.

Real and breathless and almost boyish, the way he used to laugh when he still believed in easy victories and unbreakable promises.

He turned his face toward them, eyes crinkling. “You guys are the worst.”

“We know,” the three of them chorused, smug and unrepentant.

And at that moment, Satoru didn’t feel quite so alone.

Satoru’s eyebrow quirked up in confusion. “How are you guys this smart? That's not normal.”

“Your one to talk.”

“Touche” 

The house had gone still.

After the teasing wore off and the laughter faded, the kids had slowly trickled to bed, Tsumiki first, then Megumi with a suspicious yawn he claimed wasn’t emotional exhaustion, and Yuji last, clinging just a little tighter than usual before trudging down the hall.

Now, the living room was quiet.

Just Satoru, curled sideways on the couch with a blanket over his lap and the ghost of Suguru’s hand still lingering somewhere at the base of his skull.

He stared at the ceiling. The clock ticked. The silence wasn’t oppressive, but it wasn’t peaceful either. It was the kind of silence that made you think too hard, feel too much. The kind that made you want to fill it.

He sighed and reached for his phone.

The screen glared too brightly at first. His thumb hovered over Suguru’s name for a long time.

He could still hear Nanami’s voice in his head. Let it go. It wasn’t your fault.

Maybe not. But some things still needed to be said.

He typed slowly at first. Deleted. Typed again. Paused. Stared at the message. Changed it. Then finally, finally, he pressed send.

Satoru:
I’m not joining you. I can’t. You know that.

But if you still want me in your life
If you really meant what you said earlier
Some things have to change.

No more hiding. No more games.
Not with me. Not with the people I care about.

If you want something real, Suguru, then meet me halfway.

He stared at the text a long time after it sent, as if waiting for the words to echo back and hurt less.

They didn’t.

But they were honest. That counted for something.

Satoru leaned back into the couch and shut his eyes.

Maybe Suguru would reply. Maybe not.

But at least now, the silence wasn’t quite so empty.

Notes:

My newest goal right now is to make someone cry bc of my fic, not just like a singular tear i want them to CRY. It's fun to see emotions be induced by writing. Let me know if I succeed <3

Chapter 17: When I Can

The temple was quiet in the way graveyards were, too still, too knowing.

Suguru sat on the worn dais beneath the cracked statue of a forgotten deity, one leg pulled lazily up onto the stone, the other stretched out before him. His cursed spirits lingered along the rafters, shifting restlessly in the shadows, their unease matching the taut coil in his gut.

He didn’t send them away. He liked the company. Even if they reeked of death and malice, even if their loyalty was forged in power, not love, they stayed. And that was more than most.

His hand clenched around the edge of his robe.

He’d waited too long in that clearing, like an idiot. Like some hopeful teenager caught up in the way Satoru’s voice softened just for him.

Nanami had ruined it.

No. That wasn’t fair.

Satoru had made his choice.

And Suguru was angry. Of course he was. But beneath it, simmering like a second heartbeat was disappointment. Not just at Satoru.

At himself.

He should’ve known better.

He should’ve remembered that look Satoru always got when things got too close, like the light behind his eyes dimmed with guilt, like he was already preparing to walk away. He used to look like that when the elders barked orders, when missions turned bloody. When Suguru got too loud about what he believed in.

And yet his phone buzzed in his lap.

The screen glowed against the dusk-drenched floor.

He skimmed through the contents and made the three main points.

I’m not coming with you.
But if you still want me in your life, Suguru.
Things have to change.

Suguru didn’t breathe for a long moment. He just stared, feeling the words settle into him like ash.

Not a goodbye.

A challenge.

A tether.

He read it again. Again.

Somewhere deep inside, something fragile and furious stirred. He wanted to smash the phone. He wanted to text back something scathing and clever. He wanted to scream into the night about how dare Satoru dangle hope like that when he’d already left.

But instead, he smiled.

Small. Crooked. Almost fond.

Because Satoru had reached out. Not with love, not with apologies, but with an opening. A door, half-cracked.

That was more than Suguru expected.

More than he deserved.

He let his head fall back against the pillar behind him, staring up at the rotted ceiling beams, at the twitching shapes of curses too nervous to meet his eye.

Like smoke curling from old incense.

He remembered the way Satoru used to follow him around their first year at Jujutsu High.

Like a second shadow.

Always just a step behind, pretending he wasn’t doing it. Suguru would feel the weight of his stare long before he heard the clumsy footfalls. And whenever he turned.

“What?” Satoru would snap, too loud, face flushed beneath those ridiculous glasses.

Suguru had teased him for it once, after class.

“You know,” he’d said, slinging his arm over Satoru’s shoulders, “if you wanted to spend time with me, you could just say so.”

Satoru had shoved him off immediately, spluttering. “I’m just keeping an eye on you, Geto. You’re suspicious.”

“Oh? And tailing me through the gardens during lunch is surveillance, not stalking?”

“I wasn’t-! I was-! Shut up!”

Suguru had laughed until he cried.

He missed that sound.

He missed him.

The boy who had once said, so quietly Suguru almost missed it, “You’re my favorite person, you know. Not that it matters.”

The boy who still smiled with his whole face. Who still stood at the edge of damnation with open arms and trembling hands.

The boy who had walked away tonight—but not all the way.

Suguru blinked back to the present, the memory fading into dusk.

His fingers hovered over the reply button.

He didn’t type anything yet.

Instead, he let the message sit in his chest like a buried ember, warm and aching.

“I’ll try,” he murmured to the silence. “If that’s what it takes to have you back.”

His voice barely carried over the wind slithering through the cracked beams.

One of the curses tilted its head at him, but didn’t move.

Suguru exhaled.

Tomorrow, maybe, he’d plot his next move.

Tonight, he’d let the memory of Satoru’s warmth keep him company.

Because hope, once lit, was hard to kill.

The temple was unusually bright that morning.
Light filtered in through old wooden slats like something divine, though the lingering scent of blood and incense grounded it firmly in the grotesque. Suguru was already awake, fully dressed, and inexplicably… humming.

That was the first red flag.

Mimiko walked into the hall, half-asleep and clutching a chipped bowl of miso like it might save her life. She blinked once, twice, and stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted Suguru standing in front of the shrine, face tilted toward the sunlight like he was in a shampoo commercial.

“...Are you okay?” she asked cautiously.

Suguru turned, beaming. “Mimiko, darling! Did you sleep well?”

She squinted at him. “No, there was a bird fight on the roof at 3 a.m.”

“Ah. Nature.” He nodded sagely. “Brutal and beautiful.”

Mimiko stared. “...Did you get possessed?”

“No,” he said, still smiling, “but thank you for asking.”

Nanako shuffled in next, dragging a blanket and expecting blood on the floor. She stopped next to her sister and blinked hard.

“What the hell,” she muttered.

“I know,” Mimiko whispered back.

Suguru walked over and pinched both their cheeks between two fingers like an embarrassing uncle. “You two are too young to frown like that! You’ll get wrinkles.”

Nanako slapped his hand away. “We kill people, Chichi.”

“And what a fine job you do,” he said proudly of his children. Most nine-year-olds' parents wouldn’t be too happy about that accomplishment, but Geto was.

They exchanged a horrified glance.

Manami trudged in next, holding a clipboard and looking like she hadn’t had her coffee yet. “Okay. Village extermination at 10, curse collection at 1, temple cleansing at 4. Sound good?”

Suguru shook his head. “Cancel the village.”

Manami froze. “What?”

“We’re not doing that today,” he said lightly. “Let them be. I’m feeling generous.”

“You said they had a ritual site we needed-”

“They can keep it,” Suguru said, taking a pear from the shrine tray and biting into it happily. “Besides, I’m in a good mood.”

Nanako crossed her arms. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Suguru said, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a smug cat. “Someone texted me.”

Mimiko narrowed her eyes. “Was it the white-haired sorcerer?”

Suguru raised a brow. “Maybe.”

Nanako groaned loudly. “Oh my God, it was .”

Manami dropped her clipboard onto the floor. “We are so sick of this.”

“You’re all being very dramatic,” Suguru said, taking another bite of the pear.

Mimiko sat down next to him and poked his arm. “You were sulking in the dark for six days straight because you had to wait to see him.”

“And now you’re glowing,” Nanako accused.

The day had started with laughter.

Not the manic, blood-tinged kind that curled in his throat when his curses stirred, but real laughter. Easy. Light. Honest.

Suguru didn’t remember the last time he’d felt like that.

Mimiko had noticed first, head tilting just slightly, where she stood by the doorway of their crumbling old temple. “You’re smiling too much. What happened?”

He only hummed.

“He washed his hair,” Nanako said, squinting at him with suspicion. “Not just washed it. He used the nice stuff.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Suguru replied smoothly, pushing her comment aside with a wave of his hand. “It was on sale.”

Three pairs of unimpressed eyes locked on him.

“You’re glowing like a schoolgirl who just got a text back,” Manami muttered, dropping onto the floor and grabbing a lollipop from the stash. “Don’t tell me you saw him.”

Suguru tried very hard not to smile.

“You saw him,” Mimiko groaned.

“He said he still wanted me in his life,” Suguru admitted.

Nanako narrowed her eyes. “Did he say he’s joining our cause?”

His smile dipped. “Not exactly.”

“So it wasn’t a yes.”

“But it wasn’t a no.”

Mimiko stared at him. “You’re happy.”

“I am,” Suguru agreed. “Inconvenient, isn’t it?”

The girls groaned in unison. Manami stood. “If we’re not doing murder today, I’m going back to bed.”

Suguru waved at them absently as they filed out one by one, leaving him alone with the ghosts of what-ifs and the cloying scent of incense.

He lay flat on the floor, eyes drifting to the ceiling, phone cradled against his chest. It vibrated once. A new mission notice. He ignored it.

His hand moved almost unconsciously, opening his photo gallery.

The first one always got him.

A grainy selfie. He held the phone. Satoru leaned over his shoulder, half-asleep, glasses slipping off his nose, mouth parted in a yawn. Suguru remembered the exact weight of that moment: the dampness from the rain, the warmth of Satoru pressed against him, the way he’d tried to scowl at the thunder before falling asleep next to his bed.

The second photo was worse. A candid shot from the summer festival: Satoru mid-laugh, arm slung around his shoulder, shaved ice dripping down his wrist. He’d laughed like he couldn’t stop. Like Suguru was the only person who mattered in that moment.

He kicked his feet against the floor.

Once.

Twice.

He couldn’t help the sound that left him. Half-laugh. Half-breathless ache.

Another photo. Satoru is asleep on a bench, dango stick poking out of his mouth, Suguru’s jacket over him. He’d waited for Suguru to get back from a mission.

He always waited.

Suguru stared at the screen until his eyes burned. Then, quietly, he whispered, “I should’ve deleted these.”

But he never did.

He showed them to the girls later, ignoring their groans. He even organized the folder. Renamed it:

Satoru: Do Not Touch.

He didn’t care if it looked pathetic.

Because Satoru was his.

No one else got to have him. No one else ever understood him. Suguru had carved space in his soul for Satoru Gojo. He’d made room in every part of himself—mind, memory, madness—for that man. And now, after everything, Satoru had looked at him again. Spoke like he still cared.

So what if he hadn’t said yes?

He hadn’t said no.

It was enough to spiral him.

That night, when the temple was silent and the curses curled low to the ground like wary dogs sensing a storm, Suguru scrolled through his gallery again. Again. Again.

He reached the last message:

If you still want me in your life, something has to change.

He knew Satoru’s patterns. The way he hesitated. The weight behind every word.

That alone was enough to make Suguru’s throat tighten. That Satoru had to hesitate. That he wasn’t sure. That they weren’t a given anymore. He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. His voice broke the silence, soft and half-strangled. “I’m still in your life, idiot.” The quiet didn’t answer. It never did.

He reread it. And again. Until his chest ached.

Then he stood.

The phone clutched so tight his knuckles were white. His steps carried him toward the cluttered cabinet in the back room, the one with the drawer of old junk he always swore he’d burn one day. He opened it. Didn’t breathe. Photos spilled out, scattered, crumpled, worn.

 Suguru dropped to his knees in front of them like he was praying. There was one of Satoru from their second year, caught mid-laugh with his hair flopping in his eyes and a popsicle hanging out of his mouth. Another of them at the beach, Satoru flinging a towel at him, half-sunburned and smug.

Satoru in summer. Satoru in winter. One where Satoru was bleeding from a split lip and grinning like a lunatic. Satoru is holding out a candy bar with a sarcastic wink.

He touched the photo edges like they were altars. He traced outlines, remembering each second.

And he burned.

He wasn’t supposed to text first. He knew that. That was the plan.

Let Satoru suffer. Let him need.

Let him remember.

But Suguru couldn’t breathe anymore.

He used to follow him everywhere.

 Not that Satoru ever said anything. Not really. But Suguru could remember the little glances. The awkward coughs.

 The times Satoru trailed behind him like a shadow and then insisted he was just bored or just making sure Suguru didn’t get kidnapped by curse users.

 He used to say it was about the company. 

But Suguru had known the truth.

 And now—now there was no company. No shadow trailing behind him. No flippant jokes to cover how tightly Satoru clung to his sleeves when the world got too quiet.

 Suguru pressed the photo to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. He was empty without him. He’d tried to fill the hole. With curses. With devotion. With sermons and violence and control. But none of it felt. None of it reached the part of him that still remembered Satoru’s hands, his touch, his weight, the way his voice dropped in rare quiet moments like it was something secret between them.

 He missed him like a phantom limb. Like pain that never stopped echoing.

He tapped out the message.

I can’t do this.

I thought I could wait. But I can’t. I don’t want to. I just want you.

Say something. Say you miss me. Say you still want me.

I love you. I never stopped. I don’t think I can stop.

Send.

He dropped the phone like it burned.

Then he curled around himself.

He didn’t cry.

Not yet.

But his chest cracked open. His breath came ragged. He felt the loss all over again. Worse, maybe. Because this time, it had been close.

So fucking close.

He ruined it. With his honesty. With his need.

With that cloying possessiveness that had always clung to him like a second skin.

But he didn’t care. He didn’t want anyone else to have Satoru. Didn’t want Satoru finding comfort in another world, another life, another person.

He needed him.

Not just wanted.

Needed.

Because no one understood Satoru like Suguru did.

And no one ever would.

He whispered into the dark:

“Come back to me.”

No answer.

So he whispered again.

“You’re mine, Satoru.”

Still, silence.

But he kept whispering.

Like a mantra. Like a curse. Like a promise.

He would come back.

Because Suguru didn’t know how to let go.

Not of him.

Never him.

Even if it destroyed them both.

Chapter 18: I Don't Feel Safe Around You Anymore

Satoru couldn’t remember the last time he breathed.

Not the shallow, automatic kind of breath he took between words or during fights. Not the type of inhale that kept him upright when he was laughing too hard or pretending to be fine. No, a real breath. A breath that filled him, loosened the tension in his shoulders and didn’t feel like he was inhaling smoke.

It had been years.

There was always this weight on his chest, a pressure so constant it had become part of him. He carried it like an old scar invisible to the eye but aching with every movement. An apology, unexpected and undeserved, had only pressed that weight deeper. At first, hearing it had been like the smallest relief, a crack in the glass where light could get in. But that relief didn’t last.

Guilt was not something you could simply set down.

It had claws, blackened and sharp, sinking into the walls of his mind until they were part of him. It wound itself through his ribs like ivy through a chain-link fence, embedding into every crevice, every hollow place where his breath should have lived. Sometimes it sat quietly, a low hum in the background. Other times it snarled, reminding him of every mistake, every moment he failed to be who he swore he would be.

Suguru was another weight entirely.

Guilt was one thing; it was familiar, almost predictable. But love? Love was the most twisted curse of all, and Satoru would stand by that for as long as he lived. Love wasn’t gentle. It didn’t soften his edges or lift the heaviness from his chest. No, it hooked itself into him like cursed energy feeding on weakness, and every time he tried to pull it free, the wound only deepened.

He didn’t want to think about Suguru now.

He’d already tried to bury that encounter, shoving it down into the coldest, darkest corner of his soul where it couldn’t reach him. But Suguru was a lingering presence. Even in his absence, he left traces — the sound of his voice folded into the quiet, the shadow of his gaze in every empty room.

Neither of them knew how to let go.

Suguru clung to control the way a drowning man clung to air, grasping at any shred of power that might keep him from sinking. And Satoru… Satoru’s mind and soul clawed for something else entirely. Not dominance. Not authority. Just something as simple and devastating as true affection.

To each other, they were the embodiment of their worst attachments.

Most people saw Satoru as arrogant, cold, maybe even cruel. And they weren’t wrong in certain lighting; those labels fit him perfectly. But those same people never looked closely enough to see past the surface. They didn’t see the way he cared about other people’s safety like it was his spine. They didn’t notice the moments his voice softened, or the split-second hesitations that came from a place of care, not doubt.

In the Jujutsu Society, no one cared to look.

Even someone as important as Satoru Gojo was still just a name, a name that meant power, and power meant distance. It meant untouchable. It meant people could turn a blind eye to the fact that he was still human, still fallible, still someone who could feel grief coil itself around his ribs and squeeze.

To them, Gojo was a fortress. But Satoru knew better. He knew every cracked stone and crumbling wall. He knew that guilt and love were two of the only things that could ever breach it and Suguru Geto had always been both.

People called him selfish, but that wasn’t the truth.

If anything, Satoru loved too much. He just loved quietly and at a distance. He didn’t know how to keep people close without the fear of losing them creeping in, so he wrapped himself in shallow arrogance, in humor sharp enough to cut away the real parts of him before anyone else could. His smiles were often too wide, his words too flippant, all because it was easier to be untouchable than to admit how much he wanted to hold on.

The truth was, he wanted to save everyone. Not because it made him feel powerful, but because the thought of someone else enduring the kind of pain he’d seen and the kind he’d felt was unbearable. He wanted to carve out a world where no one had to make the kinds of choices he had been forced to make. A better place, where strength didn’t have to come at the cost of humanity.

That was the part no one saw. They saw the jokes, the smirks, the impossible confidence and they mistook it for selfishness. But underneath all that was someone who bore the weight of too many names, too many faces, and would burn himself down if it meant keeping them safe.

Satoru’s relief from the night before didn’t last long.

It had been a brief, fragile kind of peace, the kind that comes in a single exhale after a choice you hope was the right one. When he’d sent that text to Suguru, he’d almost felt… lighter. Like maybe they could still exist in each other’s orbit without it ending in another implosion.

But the second his thumb hovered over the screen, that relief began to crack. He didn’t want to see the response. Couldn’t. So he powered his phone off; the sudden absence of light and noise felt safer than whatever words Suguru might send back.

He told himself it was because he already knew what the answer would be. Suguru didn’t take conditions well, never had. He could already imagine the cold dismissal, the cutting reply, the same cycle they’d spun through before. A few hours of false warmth before Suguru disappeared again, leaving him with the taste of hope gone stale.

What Satoru didn’t stop to think about what he couldn’t let himself believe was that Suguru might consider his terms. That somewhere, buried under all the years and all the wrong turns, there was still a part of Suguru willing to meet him halfway.

So instead, he left the phone facedown on the nightstand, silent and lifeless, and pretended the weight in his chest was just exhaustion.

The morning felt heavier than it should have.
The light feeling from the night before had burned out fast, leaving only the faint echo of it behind. Satoru’s phone was still powered off, tucked deep into his coat pocket like he was hiding something from himself. He told himself he’d turn it on later. He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself a lot of things.

The kids were quieter than usual during the drive. Even Tsumiki, who normally tried to fill the air with something soft, seemed content to let the hum of the engine carry them. He dropped them off at school one by one Tsumiki with a little wave, Megumi with a narrowed look that said he knew Satoru was avoiding something.

All except Yuji.

Satoru sighed, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as he caught Yuji’s reflection in the rearview mirror. The kid was sprawled across the backseat like he had no spine, cheek squished against the window. “You could go with them, like a normal kid, if you behave,” Satoru told him.

Yuji didn’t even open his eyes. “Yeah, not happening.”

The truth was, Satoru didn’t like taking him on missions. Not because Yuji couldn’t handle himself, the brat was capable enough, but because he didn’t trust the situations. And deep down, he hated how much he worried about the possibility of Yuji slipping away the moment he wasn’t looking.

Today, though, Yuji only made three attempts to bolt. Just three!
That was a record.

So they ended up sitting on the curb outside a little ice cream shop, sun glinting off the silver of Satoru’s blindfold as he watched Yuji shovel a scoop of vanilla like it was his last meal.

Yuji was quiet for a bit before speaking, tone deceptively casual. “So… the whole ‘you’re staying with me’ thing we talked about… the ice cream isn’t legally binding anything else, right?”

Satoru paused mid-bite of his ice cream, looking at him over the top of his shades. “Kid, are you trying to renegotiate your contract with me over mint chocolate chip?”

They sat on the curb, the heat from the pavement seeping through their clothes, the air smelling faintly of sugar and waffle cones. Yuji was halfway through his second scoop when he spoke again.

“So…” Yuji drawled, like he was trying to sound casual, but the question had been brewing for a while. “This whole thing where you keep dragging me around… that’s not like, legally binding , right? There’s no curse law about it?”

Gojo licked a smear of chocolate from his spoon. “Depends. Why? Planning your great escape?”

Yuji smirked, but it was faint. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t… want to be stuck somewhere I’m not wanted, y’know?”

Gojo tilted his head. “And who says you’re not wanted?”

Yuji shrugged like it was nothing, but his eyes stayed fixed on the puddle forming in his cup. “People change their minds. I’ve seen it happen.”

The joke that had been forming on Gojo’s tongue dissolved. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just leaned back against the shop’s brick wall, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“You’re not gonna scare me off, Yuji,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual. “I would love having you around for as long as you’ll let me.”

Yuji glanced at him then, suspicion warring with something softer. “Even if I’m… a pain?”

Gojo grinned. “ Especially if you’re a pain. That’s when I know you’re one of mine.”

For a long minute, they just sat there, the noise of passing cars filling the space. And in that stillness, Gojo realized something that hit him harder than he expected: he wouldn’t have made it this far without them. Without his kids. They weren’t just kids, or responsibilities, or people he had to protect out of duty. They were the reason he kept moving forward when everything else tried to drag him under.

Gojo stretched his legs out and stood, brushing crumbs of waffle cone off his jacket.
“Alright, Pinky,” he announced, “change of plans. We’re spending the night at Shoko’s. All of you. Full-blown sleepover.”

Yuji blinked. “Wait—like… all of us?”

“All of us,” Gojo said, already pulling his blindfold up just enough to flash him a smug grin. “Megumi, Tsumiki, you. Even Panda if he wants in. Shoko’s gonna love it.”

Yuji squinted. “You didn’t even ask her yet, did you? Also, who’s panda?”

“Nope,” Gojo replied cheerfully, ignoring Yuji’s question, already heading toward the car. “That’s how you keep it fun.”

An hour later, he was on a mission of his own, picking up his kids like prized collectibles.
Megumi was pulled straight from his English, looking both tired and suspicious. Tsumiki came from her math class, brightening instantly when she heard the plan. Even Panda got swept up in the chaos when Gojo made an impromptu stop at Jujutsu High’s Principal quarters, where the tiny panda resided.

By the time they all piled into the car, it was noisy and cramped in the best way. Gojo didn’t mind. The laughter, the bickering, even Megumi’s deadpan complaints, it was better than silence.

“Panda is a panda-?!”

At Jujutsu High, Shoko met them in the infirmary doorway, cigarette dangling between her fingers, eyebrows lifting at the sight of the crowd.

“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “You’re not here because someone’s injured.”

“Correct,” Gojo said, beaming. “We’re here to grace you with the children’s presence. Overnight stay. I’ll even bring snacks.”

Shoko exhaled smoke, side-eyeing the group of kids now hovering behind him. “You will bring snacks. And you’re not making them sleep in the infirmary.”

Gojo leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place. “You’re the best, Shoko.”

She gave him a look that said she knew exactly how much trouble she’d just signed up for. “You say that now, but it’s gonna be a long night.”

Gojo just grinned wider. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Shoko took a slow drag from her cigarette, leaning against the infirmary doorframe while the kids filtered inside.

Gojo’s head tilted. “Really?” he said, his voice cutting through the chatter.

She arched a brow. “Really, what?”

“You’re smoking in front of the kids,” he said, striding past her and plucking the cigarette right out of her fingers. “At least make the bad habits look cool from a distance.”

“Pretty sure you are the bad habit they should be avoiding,” Shoko said, reaching to take it back.

Gojo held it just out of reach. “Nuh-uh. Out of sight, doc. Set a good example. Or a slightly less terrible one.”

With a sigh that sounded far more patient than she felt, Shoko plucked the cigarette from his fingers and crushed it out in the ashtray by the door. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning. “Look at us. Being responsible adults.”

“That’s a stretch,” she muttered, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

While the kids wandered deeper into the infirmary, Gojo lingered in the doorway beside her, his usual playful tilt to his voice softening.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Shoko turned, eyebrows lifting. “What now?”

“Just… thanks. For everything,” he said. “You’re one of my best friends, you know that?”

For a moment, Shoko froze. Back when Suguru was still around, she’d always been the quiet third in their orbit, tolerated, but not fully pulled into that blinding light they made together. And now… here he was, saying it without hesitation.

She let out a slow breath, a smile finding its way to her face. “Yeah, I know. You’re one of mine, too.”

Gojo grinned, the easy kind that didn’t hide anything. “Good. Means you’re stuck with me.”

“Unfortunately,” she said, but her smile didn’t fade.

Shoko leaned back against the doorframe, watching the kids claim their corners of the infirmary like it was a competition. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels before leaning toward her.

“Wanna hear a secret?” he asked, voice low like the kids might overhear from across the room.

Shoko narrowed her eyes. “If this is about you hoarding sweets in the staff lounge again-”

He waved her off. “Nah, nah. This one’s better. I’m gonna set up an official room for Yuji. Not the guest room anymore. Like his own space. Stuff he likes. I’m not too sure about a lock yet, though. Kid will run at any possible time, you know?”

Shoko tilted her head, studying him. “Huh. That’s… unexpectedly thoughtful.”

“C’mon, the kid’s been through enough,” Gojo said, and for a second the usual grin wavered into something softer. “He deserves more than feeling like he’s just crashing at some random house. I want him to know he belongs here.”

Shoko’s gaze softened, though her tone stayed dry. “You getting sentimental on me, Gojo?”

“Maybe. Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” he said, but he was still smiling, that rare, unguarded kind that made it obvious he meant every word.

She let the silence hang for a beat before smirking. “You realize you’re playing house, right? You, Megumi, Tsumiki, Yuji… Next thing I know, you’ll be buying bunk beds and a minivan.”

Gojo laughed, tipping his head back. “Oh, please. I’d rock a minivan. And maybe I am playing house, what’s wrong with giving them something solid? They’ve all had enough instability for a lifetime.” He glanced over his shoulder, watching Megumi help Tsumiki unpack snacks for the others. “They deserve a home. Not just a stopgap.”

“Even Yuji?” she teased. “What if he bolts?”

“Then I’ll just bring him back,” Gojo said simply, like it wasn’t even a question. “But until that happens, he gets the same as the others. A room that’s his, a place where people love him, a place where no one’s gonna kick him out.”

Shoko studied him for a moment longer, the edges of her smirk softening. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your sap,” he said, bumping her shoulder with his.

Gojo glanced at the clock on the infirmary wall, then back at the kids sprawled across the space. “Well,” he said, straightening up, “I gotta get to business. The room ain’t gonna fix itself.”

Shoko smirked. “What, you're doing the handiwork yourself? Should I be concerned?”

“Hey, I’m not useless,” he said, mock-offended. “I can wield a hammer. Kinda.” He took a step toward the door, then hesitated and looked back at her. “Seriously though… thanks, Shoko. For letting them hang here. For everything. ”

Her brows lifted slightly at that. It wasn’t often he got this direct. “Huh. Guess the same goes for you, Gojo.”

He grinned, all teeth, but there was something warm behind it. “Good. Then I’ll see you later, bestie.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Go. You're making me think something bad is about to happen.”

Gojo gave a lazy wave as he walked out, but the last glance he threw over his shoulder carried that rare, unspoken sincerity.

The afternoon sun slanted low as Gojo slid behind the wheel, grumbling under his breath. “Should’ve just teleported… what was I thinking bringing the car?” He glanced in the rearview mirror, looking at the seats all of his kids had occupied moments ago.

It wasn’t exactly a long drive back, but still, it was time he could’ve shaved off seconds.

Then again…

Gojo’s hand loosened on the wheel. The quiet hum of the road, the light remnants of laughter still lingered in his mind, so yeah, he guessed he didn’t mind the extra minutes. Teleporting would’ve cut it all short.

And right now, he didn’t want to miss it.

Gojo eased the car into the driveway, tires crunching over gravel in the quiet evening. No chorus of chatter in the backseat this time, the kids were still at Shoko’s. He sat there for a moment with the engine ticking cool, letting the absence sink in.

Normally, he’d just warp himself home in a blink, but tonight the drive had been… nice. Lonely, sure, but nice. Gave him too much time to think, though, and that was always dangerous.

He parked, stepped out, and shut the car door with a soft thud. The air was crisp, streetlights casting lazy shadows across the yard.

Halfway up the walkway, he decided not to bother with the door. With a subtle twist of cursed energy, he warped space and stepped through

straight into darkness.

The house was pitch-black, the kind of dark that swallowed the shape of furniture and blurred the walls into nothing. His stomach dropped.

He wasn’t supposed to feel that way not in his own home.

Satoru’s senses sharpened instantly, curse energy coiling hot at his fingertips. His blindfold caught the faintest trace of residual energy, something unfamiliar, faint but present.

The silence felt wrong. Too still.

“...Alright,” he murmured under his breath, his voice losing its casual edge, turning low and dangerous. “Who’s in my house?”

Nothing answered.

But Gojo didn’t relax. If anything, he was already stepping lightly across the floor, every nerve alive, ready to hit first.

A faint shuffle broke the stillness. Too close. Too quiet.

Before he could turn, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Satoru’s whole body jolted like he’d been shocked. Cursed energy flared violently, Hollow Purple already forming, his breath ripping in and out in short, panicked bursts.

He spun

and stopped dead.

“Suguru?!”

The name came out sharp, ragged. His Six Eyes should have picked him up the moment he set foot on the property. Limitless should have thrown up a wall before anyone could get this close. But Suguru hadn’t registered at all. He’d been invisible to him, slipping right past every defense like they were nothing.

Gojo’s fingers twitched, the curse technique still hot at his fingertips, but it fizzled before it could fire. His pulse was still hammering in his throat, his muscles locked tight.

“What—what the hell are you doing in my house?!” His voice cracked halfway through, too raw, too loud. “How did you even find my house?!”

He hated the way it sounded startled, cornered. He hated even more the way Suguru’s presence didn’t feel like a threat to his technique, and yet it had his heart pounding in his ears.

Suguru’s face was unreadable in the dim room, but his silence made the air feel smaller.

Suguru’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more of a quiet, amused snort .

“That’s… quite a reaction,” he said, voice low, like he was holding back a laugh.

Satoru’s shoulders stayed stiff, but the initial flare of his cursed energy began to settle. Barely.

The moment lingered too long, teetering into awkwardness, until Suguru finally broke the silence.

“You didn’t answer my texts.”

Satoru blinked, the words not quite computing at first. Then his mouth fell open. “You—” he jabbed a finger toward Suguru, “you broke into my house… over me not answering?!”

His tone pitched up in disbelief, an incredulous laugh cutting through the tension. “You couldn’t just, I dunno, wait? Or maybe not commit a felony?”

Suguru only looked at him, head tilting slightly, as if that question didn’t even make sense.

Suguru’s expression didn’t shift much, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something Satoru couldn’t quite name.

“Wait?” Suguru’s voice was almost gentle, almost mocking. “You think I could just sit there… knowing you might decide not to answer at all? That maybe you’d change your mind while I was being patient?”

He stepped in closer, the air tightening between them.

“I’ve waited for you before, Satoru. Years.” His gaze flicked over Satoru’s face, sharp and searching. “And every time I did, you slipped further away. I’m not doing that again.”

Satoru’s throat felt dry. He wanted to move, to push him back, to do something , but Suguru’s presence was the kind that filled the whole room, the kind that made the walls feel closer.

“This isn’t about a text,” Suguru continued, low and steady. “It’s about you. And I’m not losing you again because I played nice and gave you space.”

Suguru’s gaze bore into him, unblinking. The words felt simple, almost casual, but the weight behind them was crushing.

“You think this is just about messages? About convenience?” Suguru’s voice dropped to a hard whisper, “No. It’s about trust. About respect.”

Satoru’s chest tightened. He swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed, like every choice, every hesitation was a crack Suguru could peer through.

“I waited,” Suguru said, voice sharper now, “while you pretended things were fine. While you hid behind jokes and that damn arrogance.” He stepped closer, his hand tightening slightly on Satoru’s shoulder, just enough to leave a mark without breaking skin. “And when you disappeared without a word? When you left me wondering if I was worth the effort?”

The accusation hung in the air like poison.

Satoru’s mind spun, tangled in that knot of guilt — Was I worth the effort? Did I fail him just by needing space?

He wanted to push Suguru away, to scream that it wasn’t his fault, that he had reasons — but the words caught in his throat, smothered by the cold truth Suguru forced into the room.

“I’m not the one who walked away,” Suguru whispered, eyes darkening. “You left first.”

Satoru’s heart hammered, the lines blurring between blame and love, between fault and forgiveness.

Satoru’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, but enough to make him seem smaller than he was, less towering, less untouchable. He took a shaky breath and murmured, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” His voice faltered as he curled inwards, folding into himself like a bruised child.

It was an unfamiliar posture for someone as tall and usually unshakable as him, and Suguru’s anger wavered for a flicker of a second. A pang of guilt sliced through the bitterness he’d been nursing.

Still, the heat in his eyes didn’t fade. “Don’t apologize just to soften the blow,” Suguru said quietly, voice rough with frustration and something darker beneath.

Satoru gave a small nod, then pushed himself up. 

He stepped ahead, fingers brushing lightly against Suguru’s arm as a silent invitation to follow.

They moved into the living room, where the dim light softened the sharp edges between them. Satoru took a seat across from Suguru, eyes downcast but steady. Suguru sat opposite him, fists loosely clenched, but his gaze locked on Satoru’s tense form.

The silence stretched between them, full of unsaid words and fragile hope.

Satoru swallowed hard, voice low and a little rushed. “I… I had my phone off all day. I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I was… busy.”

Suguru’s eyes darkened, and a sharp edge crept into his voice. “Busy with what, exactly?”

The question hung heavy, almost accusing. Satoru hesitated, jaw tightening. He wasn’t used to defending himself like this, especially not to Suguru, but something pushed him forward.

“I was taking care of Yuji,” he said finally, voice softer now. “Dropped the others off at school, but Yuji… he’s different. I had to take him with me on missions.”

Suguru blinked, surprise flickering across his features before it was masked by that guarded expression.

Satoru looked down, fingers fiddling nervously. “He tried to run away once or twice. It was… it was a lot. I didn’t want him to feel abandoned again.”

There was a quiet pause as the weight of his words settled between them.

Suguru’s gaze softened just a little, but the tension was far from gone.

Satoru’s eyes didn’t meet Suguru’s as he spoke, his voice softer, more vulnerable.

“Yuji’s… different from the others. He’s new to all this, new to me, to the family. He needs more attention, more care. I can’t just leave him alone, not yet.”

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“They’re all at Shoko’s now.” He paused, then almost absentmindedly added, “I’m setting up a proper room for Yuji, something more than just the guest room. He’s been through enough. I want him to be happy.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, but instead of embarrassment, there was a quiet honesty in his tone.

Suguru’s expression flickered surprise, something softer, maybe even a touch of something like hope.

Suguru’s shoulders dropped slightly, the tension in his face easing as he took in Satoru’s words. For a moment, the sharp edge of his anger dulled, replaced by a quiet understanding.

“Okay,” Suguru said softly, voice low but steady. “Maybe I was overreacting.” He ran a hand through his hair, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you… Need some company? I know you’re not exactly the best at building stuff.”

Satoru hesitated, eyes flickering with doubt. But then, a faint smile cracked through his usual facade.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice quiet but sincere. “I could use the help.”

The room settled into a calm silence, the weight of unspoken things hanging between them. And just like that, the chapter closed on a fragile but hopeful note.

Notes:

School starts up again so the chapters might slow down. On a good part new chapter? Idk man things been tough.

Chapter 19: No is not an answer.

Summary:

This one might be more intense for some people. I know this experience is not a good one. Just a fair warning.

Satoru hadn’t exactly meant to agree. The word “sure” had slipped out before he could stop it, and now he was regretting it every second he watched Suguru lounge at his kitchen table like he belonged there. He didn’t. Not anymore.

“Relax, Satoru,” Suguru drawled, propping his chin on his hand as if the whole situation wasn’t suffocating. “It’s just shopping. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“The worst,” Satoru said flatly, shoving his keys into his pocket, “is that you’ll annoy me the entire trip, and I’ll end up teleporting you into a dumpster.”

Suguru smirked, unbothered. “You won’t.”

And damn it, he was right.

Satoru groaned, grabbing his sunglasses as if the tint of his lenses could soften how raw the night felt. His nerves were frayed, still too aware of Suguru’s hand on his shoulder from last night, the way his heart had kicked like he’d been sixteen again, terrified, vulnerable. He didn’t want to feel like that again. Not now. Not in his own home.

But Suguru was already standing, already following him out the door, like they hadn’t spent years trying to avoid one another. Like none of it had happened.

The car was quiet for the first ten minutes. Too quiet. Suguru sat comfortably, his gaze fixed on the passing streets, while Satoru drummed his fingers on the steering wheel like the silence were some unbearable punishment.

Finally, Suguru broke. “You? In a home goods store? Don’t think you’ll survive it.”

Satoru glanced at him, lips tugging into a slight frown. “I survived worse.”

“Yeah,” Suguru muttered, “barely.”

It was easier to joke than to acknowledge the twisting in his chest, the ache of old memories bleeding into the present. This shouldn’t feel normal, shouldn’t feel like slipping back into an old rhythm. And yet, it did.

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Suguru was smirking again like he owned the place. Satoru killed the engine, glaring at him.

“Don’t start,” he warned.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Your face said enough.”

Suguru only chuckled, low and warm, and for a second, it was too easy to pretend they were just two old friends running errands. Too easy.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as they walked into the store, and Satoru instantly regretted every decision that had led him here. He wasn’t built for this, too many aisles, too many choices. And the thought of doing this with Suguru at his side? Torture.

“Alright,” Satoru sighed, grabbing a cart with unnecessary force, “we’re getting a bed, a dresser, maybe a lamp. That’s it. No detours, no extras.”

Suguru smirked, grabbing the other side of the cart to steer with him. “You sound like a dad trying to wrangle five kids through a candy shop.”

“Don’t project,” Satoru shot back. “You’re the one who hoards strays.”

That earned him a small, amused huff. “So do you.”

 Suguru’s hand brushed against his on the cart handle as they pushed forward, and Satoru’s stomach twisted like he’d swallowed glass. He should’ve let him walk behind.

The first aisle was beds. Satoru scanned through headboards, muttering under his breath about sturdiness and height, while Suguru leaned lazily against a display, watching him with that infuriating half-smile.

“You’re overthinking it,” Suguru said at last. “It’s a bed for a kid, not a fortress.”

“It is a fortress,” Satoru argued, tugging on the corner of a frame as if testing it. “Yuji’s gonna be jumping on this thing, maybe even fighting off imaginary curses. It has to hold.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “So basically you’re shopping for yourself.”

Satoru turned, glaring at him over the rims of his sunglasses. “You offering to test it out?”

The air thickened for a second, too sharp, too charged, and Suguru’s smirk faltered just enough to sting. Satoru looked away first, muttering something about measurements as he lifted a box into the cart.

Next aisle: dressers. Satoru picked one quickly, but Suguru stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Too small,” he said simply.

“For whom? Yuji’s a kid, not a clothes collector.”

Suguru tilted his head, his gaze heavy. “Didn’t stop you from buying a king-sized bed.”

Satoru froze, throat going dry. “Shut up,” he muttered, jerking his hand back.

They argued through lamps, rugs, and storage bins, the tension stringing tighter with every step. And yet, somehow, between the barbs and the half-smiles, Satoru caught himself enjoying it, the push and pull, the way Suguru fell into step beside him like nothing had ever changed.

When Satoru reached for a stack of blankets, Suguru’s hand brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pull away. “Careful,” Suguru murmured, voice low. “Or I might start thinking you like me here.”

Satoru blinked, heart thudding in an unfamiliar rhythm. “You-don’t—”

“I know,” Suguru interrupted, smiling faintly, “but it’s fun to see you squirm.”

By the time they hit the checkout line, their cart was overflowing. Far more than Satoru had planned.

“I said no extras,” he grumbled, staring at the pile of blankets and wall hooks, and was that a stuffed bear?

“Yuji will like it,” Suguru said simply, shrugging.

Satoru’s chest clenched in a way he didn’t want to name. He sighed, running a hand down his face. “You don’t even know the kid. You're impossible.”

“You missed me,” Suguru replied, voice soft enough that Satoru almost didn’t hear it over the beep of the scanner. “Plus, if I weren’t here, you’d probably buy the whole store. Don’t be shy now.”

Satoru froze. Not here, not now. But the words lingered, warming and biting all at once.

The drive back was quiet, the weight of unspoken tension hanging between them like smoke. Suguru’s gaze was fixed on Satoru, who gripped the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“You know,” Suguru said quietly, almost lost under the hum of the car, “I still love you.”

The words hit Satoru like a curse, sharp and suffocating. His hands faltered on the wheel, and for a second, the car drifted before he corrected it.

“Don’t,” he said finally, voice brittle. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth,” Suguru replied, unflinching.

Satoru kept his eyes forward, sunglasses hiding the storm beneath. “Because if you say it, I might-” He stopped himself, clamping his jaw shut. A bitter laugh slipped through instead. “I might start believing it.”

Suguru’s lips curled, but not into a smile. Something sharper, possessive, emerged. “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“Maybe it would,” Satoru shot back, knuckles white on the wheel. “You don’t get to drop those words on me like you didn’t leave. Like you didn’t-” He bit his tongue.

Suguru reached over, brushing a hand against Satoru’s. Light, teasing, but deliberate. “I know. I’ve left. But look at you still letting me in, even now.”

Satoru’s heart stumbled. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to yell. But instead, his fingers twitched where Suguru’s brushed his. “This isn’t about us,” he muttered. “It’s about Yuji. About giving him something stable. That’s all.”

“And what about you?” Suguru pressed, voice softer, closer. “Who’s giving you something stable?”

Satoru’s laugh cracked, brittle, and sharp. “Not you.”

Suguru’s gaze softened, but that possessive edge lingered, pulling like gravity. “We’ll see,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Satoru’s temple with a thumb. “No matter how far you run, no matter how hard you fight it, you’ll always end up here. With me.”

Satoru’s shades slid slightly, revealing the storm behind his eyes. He wanted to protest, to flee, but something in Suguru’s voice rooted him to the seat. “I-”

Suguru leaned closer, enough that their knees brushed, voice dropping. “…you’ll realize you were mine all along.”

Satoru’s chest tightened, heat pooling low, and for the first time since they left the store, a faint, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Just a little. Sweet, almost tender.

Suguru noticed. And it was enough.

The guest room felt smaller now, crowded with the new furniture, the faint scent of pine from the bedframe mixing with the crisp, store-bought scent of fresh linens. Satoru sat on the edge of the bed again, rubbing his face with both hands, the last box of screws discarded carelessly beside him.

Suguru leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him like he was a puzzle he didn’t need to solve but couldn’t stop examining.

“You know,” Suguru said, stepping closer, “you look ridiculous when you’re stressed.”

Satoru opened one eye, glare hidden behind his sunglasses. “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”

Suguru smirked, brushing a finger along the top edge of the mattress. “Depends. Do you want it to be one?”

Satoru exhaled sharply. “I don’t.”

“You do.” Suguru’s voice dropped low, a dangerous softness threading through it. He crouched beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “You always do.”

Satoru tensed, swallowing. “Stop getting so close. You-” He stopped, the words dying in his throat.

Suguru’s hand slid lightly to rest near Satoru’s on the mattress, thumb brushing the back of his hand. “Stop running, Satoru. You’ve been running all your life. Can’t you just… be here for once?”

Satoru’s jaw worked, his hands tightening in his lap. He wanted to protest, but the warmth of Suguru’s touch, the easy dominance of him being near, was disarming. “I… I’m not-”

“Not what? Afraid? Angry? Wanting to strangle me?” Suguru teased, but his eyes softened, lingering on Satoru’s face. “I don’t care. I’ll take all of it.”

Satoru’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, the bedframe, the blankets, the absurd shopping trip all vanished. It was just them. Too close. Too sharp. Too impossible.

“Fine,” Satoru muttered finally, looking away. “Maybe… maybe I did miss this. Some of it.”

Suguru’s grin was slow, satisfied. “Some of it?”

“Don’t push it.” Satoru tried to sound stern, but his shoulders relaxed slightly, a tiny crack in his armor.

Suguru leaned back just enough to catch his gaze, thumb still brushing Satoru’s hand. “Some of it’s enough,” he murmured. “Some of it’s better than nothing.”

Satoru’s heart thudded so loud he was sure Suguru could hear it. He wanted to look away, but something held him in place, drawn by the dangerous gentleness in Suguru’s expression. “Better than nothing…” he repeated softly, almost to himself.

Suguru leaned closer again, shoulder brushing his, voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t have to hide from me anymore. Not here. Not ever.”

Satoru swallowed, chest tight. “I wasn’t hiding-” He stopped, and Suguru’s hand slid over his, fingertips brushing his palm, steadying, claiming.

For the first time in hours or maybe years, Satoru let himself relax, just a little. Just enough for a small, almost tender smile to escape. Suguru noticed immediately.

“That’s it,” Suguru said softly, leaning his forehead just barely toward Satoru’s temple. “You can smile. Just for me.”

Satoru’s head turned slightly, catching Suguru’s gaze with a flicker of vulnerability he hadn’t shown in years. “Do n’t-don’t let me get used to this.”

Suguru chuckled, low and satisfied, his thumb brushing over Satoru’s hand again. “Too late. You already are.”

And in that tiny, fleeting moment, amidst the chaos of furniture and blankets and an overly ambitious shopping trip, the tension softened just enough for sweetness to break through. For all their history, all the words left unsaid, all the fights and departures, they were here. Together.

Suguru’s voice was barely above a whisper now, a promise wrapped in possessiveness. “I’ll stay. Right here. If you let me.”

Satoru didn’t answer immediately. He just let his hand linger against Suguru’s, heart thudding in a quiet rhythm of tension and comfort, defiance and surrender, all at once.

And Suguru’s smile said everything words hadn’t yet dared.

Satoru’s fingers twitched under Suguru’s hand, half-drawing back, half-leaning into the contact. His chest felt tight, like he’d been holding his breath for decades and only now realized it. He wanted to protest, to remind himself that this closeness, this warmth, this sharp intimacy was dangerous. But every fiber of him resisted. Suguru’s presence had a gravity he couldn’t escape.

“You know,” Suguru said, voice low and almost teasing, “I could stay like this forever. Just… watching you squirm.” His thumb traced slow circles over the back of Satoru’s hand, deliberate, gentle, possessive.

Satoru swallowed, lips parting as if to speak, but nothing came. Instead, a soft, humorless laugh escaped him, brittle, tense. “I should hate you right now.”

Suguru’s lips curved into that signature half-smile. “Maybe you do. But it doesn’t matter. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I’m here because of Yuji,” Satoru muttered, though the words felt hollow, even to him. “Not because I wanted… this. Not because I wanted you.”

Suguru leaned closer, enough that their knees pressed together. The warmth of him was suffocating, intoxicating. “You always want me, even when you fight it. Even when you tell yourself otherwise.” His voice dropped to a whisper, a velvet thread of obsession curling through it. “I see it in your hands, in your jaw, in the way you can’t look away from me.”

Satoru’s stomach twisted, and he shifted back slightly, but his fingers remained intertwined with Suguru’s. “Stop reading me,” he said, but the tone lacked conviction.

Suguru tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement and hunger. “Reading you? No. I’m memorizing you. Every reaction. Every little flaw. Every soft spot.” His thumb brushed Satoru’s knuckles again, a gentle, lingering claim.

Satoru’s heart stuttered. “You’re impossible,” he whispered.

“And yet,” Suguru said softly, voice lilting like silk over steel, “you’re still here. You always come back.”

Satoru’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to remind Suguru of the years, the betrayals, the distance they’d tried to maintain. But the words caught in his chest, heavy and raw. He just let out a soft, reluctant sigh, brushing a hand over the bedspread without meeting Suguru’s eyes.

Suguru’s hand moved, almost instinctively, cupping Satoru’s jaw. “Look at me.”

Satoru’s shades slipped slightly, revealing his stormy eyes. He resisted, looking at the floor, at the screws scattered across the rug, at the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains. But Suguru leaned closer, thumb brushing his cheek, patient, insistent. “Satoru. Look at me.”

The word was soft, low, and commanding all at once. Against his better judgment, Satoru’s gaze flicked up.

Suguru’s smile softened, but the possessive glint never left his eyes. “There. That’s enough for now.” He lowered his hand, but his presence pressed close, heavy with unspoken claims.

Satoru ran a hand down his face, trying to shake off the lingering heat Suguru left behind. “This… this isn’t normal.”

Suguru tilted his head, amused, leaning back just slightly to keep the tension taut. “Normal is boring. You’re not normal. I like that about you.”

“You always have to be the worst part of everything,” Satoru muttered.

“And yet, somehow,” Suguru said, voice low, teasing, “you can’t get enough of me.”

Satoru blinked, chest tightening. “I don’t-”

“Shh,” Suguru interrupted, pressing a finger lightly to Satoru’s lips. “No words. Just feel it.”

Satoru’s lips twitched, a faint smile threatening to break free despite himself. Suguru leaned closer, shoulder brushing his, warmth radiating, commanding and gentle all at once. “You can let me in,” Suguru whispered, voice husky, “even just a little. You don’t have to fight me every second.”

Satoru swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest spreading, spreading like fire under his skin. “I… I can’t,” he murmured, but his hands stayed where Suguru’s had brushed them, reluctant to pull away completely.

Suguru’s grin softened, something like affection creeping in, but the edge of possession never dulled. “You can. You want to, even if you don’t admit it.”

The tension between them was thick, electric, and yet, somehow, in that moment, sweet. Satoru felt himself leaning slightly, just enough for their shoulders to brush again, and he caught a fleeting warmth he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

“You always do this,” Satoru muttered, voice low, breath uneven.

“Do what?” Suguru asked, voice casual, dangerous, soft. “Make you want me?”

Satoru’s jaw tightened. “Make me… feel things I shouldn’t.”

Suguru leaned back slightly, enough to give Satoru a teasing glance, but close enough that the air between them shimmered with tension. “I didn’t do anything. You let yourself feel them. You always let yourself.”

Satoru groaned, burying his face in his hands, the bedframe and the scattered screws forgotten. “I hate feeling like this,” he whispered.

Suguru crouched in front of him again, tilting Satoru’s chin up with a careful hand. “Hate it? You love it. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Satoru’s eyes met Suguru’s, stormy, reluctant, vulnerable, and in that gaze, Suguru saw it all: fear, longing, resistance, surrender. “I don’t like it,” Satoru said finally, but his voice faltered.

Suguru smiled, leaning closer. “You do. You always do.”

And then, just for a fleeting heartbeat, Satoru let himself relax completely. The bedframe, the screws, the chaotic shopping trip, all of it melted away. For just a moment, there was only Suguru, only warmth, only that sharp, sweet ache of being wanted, claimed, and somehow safe all at once.

Suguru’s hand lingered over Satoru’s, thumb brushing over the back of his fingers, possessive and tender. “I’ll stay,” he whispered. “I’ll stay right here. If you’ll let me.”

Satoru didn’t respond, but his hand remained, almost clinging, almost surrendering. The storm behind his eyes softened, if only slightly, and in that fragile, dangerous moment, Suguru’s quiet smile said everything words hadn’t yet dared.

Satoru’s hand twitched, then pulled sharply away from Suguru’s. His chest felt tight, suffocating under the weight of proximity he didn’t want but couldn’t entirely resist.

“I—stop,” Satoru said, voice rough, almost breaking. “I can’t. This… this isn’t right.”

Suguru’s brow furrowed, and his smile faltered for the first time. The hand that had been brushing over Satoru’s fingers didn’t retreat, though. Instead, it clasped his wrist firmly. “Not right?” His voice had a sharp edge now, a note of frustration threading through the usual calm. “Satoru, what exactly isn’t right? Me being here? Touching you? Or are you running away every time I get close?”

Satoru swallowed, jaw tightening. “All of it. I… I can’t let myself-”

“Let yourself what?” Suguru cut in, leaning closer, a low heat radiating from him. “Love me? Miss me? Admit that you want me, too?” His eyes burned, sharp and unyielding. “You think I don’t know you, Satoru? I’ve known you too long. I can see it the way your hands shake when I touch them, the way you bite your lip when you think I’m not looking, the way your eyes”

Satoru flinched, shaking his head, turning his face toward the floor. “I’m not… I’m not your puppet,” he whispered, voice brittle.

Suguru’s hand tightened on his wrist, dragging it gently so that Satoru had no choice but to meet his gaze. His dark eyes glinted with anger and something softer, possessive. “Not a puppet?” he repeated, voice low, dangerous. “Is that what you think I am? That I just… manipulate you? Satoru, I’ve bled for you. I’ve waited. I’ve stayed in the shadows while you tried to push me away for years. And now… now that I’m here, you act like I’m wrong for wanting to be close?”

Satoru’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He wanted to scream, to run, to shove Suguru away, but Suguru didn’t relent. He leaned closer, nose brushing against Satoru’s temple, voice dropping into that dangerous whisper that always made Satoru’s resolve falter.

“You can’t fight it forever,” Suguru murmured. “And don’t you dare act like you don’t want me. Don’t you dare tell me that you can just walk away. You’re mine, Satoru. Even if you pretend otherwise.”

Satoru flinched and pulled back slightly, trying to put space between them. “You stop it, Suguru. You can’t—”

Suguru’s hand clamped lightly over Satoru’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Stop it? Stop what?” His voice rose a notch, frustrated, sharp, like the quiet storm he often kept hidden. “Stop existing like this, trying to act like you don’t need me? Stop pretending that everything I am is dangerous?”

Satoru’s lips trembled. “I—can’t… I can’t.”

“And you think this is easy for me?” Suguru snapped, the anger lacing his words slicing through the room. “Do you think it doesn’t hurt when you pull away, when you reject me after everything we’ve been through? I stay. I stay for you. I wait. I fight. And you… You just push me away, every single time!”

Satoru flinched, eyes widening, guilt stabbing through him. “Suguru… I…”

Suguru’s hand moved, brushing a finger across Satoru’s jaw, almost tenderly, but the fire in his eyes didn’t soften. “No. Don’t you dare apologize. Don’t you dare act like it’s my fault you’re like this. You’re scared, and I get it. I’ve been scared, too. But that doesn’t mean you get to push me away while I give you everything. I give you patience, I give you my time, my presence, and you… You act like I’m a shadow in your life.”

Satoru’s chest felt like it might collapse under the intensity. “Suguru…You're not listening.”

Suguru’s voice softened slightly, guilt mingling with anger, the possessiveness shifting into quiet insistence. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing this because I care. Because I love you. And you-” He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching Satoru’s, eyes dark and unwavering. “You need to stop punishing yourself for what happened, stop punishing me, and just… be here. Be with me. For once, Satoru. Just for once, let me in.”

Satoru’s resolve cracked, a fragile whimper slipping past his lips. He wanted to pull away, to insist he wasn’t ready—but Suguru’s closeness, his voice, the heat radiating off him, made it impossible. His chest ached, torn between resistance and the raw, undeniable pull he still felt toward Suguru.

Suguru leaned closer, hand moving to gently grip Satoru’s face, tilting it so their eyes met. “Don’t fight me,” he whispered, possessive and tender at the same time. “I won’t leave. I’m not leaving, Satoru. You can fight it, scream at me, push me, but I’m staying. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Satoru’s lips parted, eyes glossy, voice trembling. “I… I don’t know if I can anymore.”

“You can,” Suguru interrupted, pressing a soft, possessive kiss to his temple. “Because you always have. And deep down… You want me. Admit it.”

Satoru’s heart hammered painfully. He wanted to resist, but the ache of wanting to be held, to be seen, to stop running… broke him. “I… I don’t want to be alone,” he whispered.

Suguru’s eyes softened, a possessive triumph threading through the tenderness. “Then don’t be. Not ever. Not while I’m here.”

For the first time, Satoru didn’t pull away. He let Suguru’s hand rest on his jaw, let the closeness press in, felt the tension of years unraveling in the dangerous warmth of Suguru’s presence.

And Suguru, satisfied but never letting go completely, murmured against his hair: “Good. That’s all I needed. Just… don’t run from me, Satoru. Not now. Not ever again.”

Satoru tried to pull his hand back, just slightly, but Suguru’s fingers closed around his wrist with unyielding warmth. The touch sent a shiver up Satoru’s spine, sharp and intrusive, and he realized with a jolt that he couldn’t shield himself. Infinity shimmered, ready as always, but Suguru was coded as safe, untouchable by the barrier Satoru instinctively relied on. Every nerve, every surface of skin he exposed was at Suguru’s mercy.

“Stop flinching,” Suguru said, voice low but easy, leaning closer until their shoulders pressed together. “I’m right here. Nothing bad is happening.”

Satoru’s chest tightened. “I—I just—” he gasped, jerking slightly, desperate for even a fraction of distance.

Suguru tilted his head, as if Satoru’s reaction were curious and endearing. “Relax,” he murmured, sliding a hand along Satoru’s forearm. “It’s just me. You’ve wanted this. Don’t lie.”

Satoru swallowed, fingers trembling as the warmth of Suguru’s touch spread across his skin like fire. His heart hammered in a rhythm he couldn’t steady. He tried to curl his fingers into a fist, to anchor himself, but Suguru’s other hand gently pressed his palm against his chest, holding it there with effortless insistence.

“You see?” Suguru whispered, thumb brushing over Satoru’s knuckles. “You’re already reacting. You want this. You just don’t know how to admit it.”

Satoru’s head jerked back, eyes wide, panic flickering in his gaze. The touch burns on his skin. “It’s too much, Suguru. It hurts.”

Suguru’s free hand slid from Satoru’s wrist up to cradle the back of his neck, guiding him forward until their foreheads nearly touched. “Shh,” he said softly, oblivious to the storm he was stirring. “It’s okay. You don’t need to fight it. I just… want to be close. You always do this to yourself, running, hiding, blocking everything.”

Satoru’s lips parted, trying to form words, but the onslaught of contact, the overwhelming sensation of being so unshielded, left him shaking. He tried to push Suguru away, even slightly, but every attempt was met with gentle pressure, insistence that pinned him firmly against the bed.

“You’re tense,” Suguru murmured, brushing a hand down Satoru’s arm, tracing the lines of muscle. “Let me help you relax. You’ve been so starved… I just want to fix that.”

Satoru’s breathing hitched, a sharp, staccato rhythm, and he trembled beneath Suguru’s touch. Every nerve screamed with overstimulation, every brush of skin like fire. “Suguru.”

“I know,” Suguru said, his voice warm, entirely unseeing of the panic he was causing. “It’s overwhelming. That’s why you need me. Don’t pull away from me now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Satoru’s hands curled helplessly against Suguru’s chest, knuckles white, and his mind raced, a tempest of desire and desperation, pleasure and panic. He wanted to raise Infinity, to push him away, but the barrier would not touch Suguru, not now, not ever. The realization left him exposed, vulnerable in an almost unbearable way.

“See?” Suguru leaned closer, pressing a forehead to Satoru’s temple. “You can’t resist me. And why would you want to? I’m here. I’m yours, whether you like it or not. You can feel everything now, every inch of it. Let yourself feel it.”

Satoru’s chest tightened violently, heat pooling across his skin, nerves aflame. “I… I can’t handle it.”

“Too much?” Suguru asked, voice soft, almost teasing, as he slid a hand down Satoru’s side, fingers brushing along tense muscles. “Good. Let it be too much. You’ve been alone for far too long. Don’t fight it.”

Satoru’s knees drew up instinctively, body trembling, trying to make space, to flee, but Suguru followed every motion, adjusting his stance until escape felt impossible. Every inch of skin that Satoru revealed was met with deliberate, insistent warmth. Every flinch was met with a smile from Suguru, a gentle, possessive reinforcement of the closeness.

“You’re mine, Satoru,” Suguru whispered, hand cradling the side of his face, thumb brushing over tense jaw muscles. “You always have been. Every little thing you do… it tells me you feel it too. You can’t hide from me anymore.”

Satoru’s chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, impossibly, every nerve that burned with panic was tinged with something dangerously close to relief. Suguru’s persistent, assertive, oblivious left him raw, trembling, and completely undone.

Suguru pressed a gentle, insistent kiss to Satoru’s temple, eyes closing for just a moment. “Finally,” he murmured, lips brushing against his skin. “You’re letting me in. Just a little… and it’s enough. For now.”

Satoru’s eyes fluttered closed, chest tightening, mind spinning. Overstimulated, overstretched, trapped in a wave of heat and pressure he couldn’t escape, he let out a small, shuddering breath. Suguru’s hand lingered on his face, his shoulder pressed against him, unrelenting.

“It’s not right-” Satoru began, voice trembling.

“I know,” Suguru interrupted, smiling faintly, completely oblivious to the torment he caused. “I’ve got you. Just feel it. Feel everything. I’ve waited too long for this.”

Every nerve, every shiver, every overwhelmed gasp of Satoru’s was met with Suguru’s persistent touch. Oblivious. Assertive. Possessive. And impossibly, undeniably, inescapable.

Satoru’s chest was tight, every nerve ablaze, heat and panic coiling through him from Suguru’s insistent touch. His hands shook, his fingers tangling in the edge of the sheets as Suguru’s hand lingered on his jaw, thumb brushing along tense skin. He tried to speak, tried to push back, but words failed him. Every inch of him felt raw, overstimulated, fragile, and impossibly exposed.

Then his phone buzzed sharply against the nightstand. Satoru’s eyes snapped to it, heart leaping into his throat. The name on the screen made him stumble backward: Shoko .

“Shoko!” His voice was hoarse, catching, fumbling as if Shoko saved him.

Suguru glanced up, eyebrows lifting in mild curiosity, still leaning forward, still touching, still pressing that dangerous, unrelenting closeness. “Shoko’s calling you? Why,” he murmured, voice soft but intrusive.

Satoru’s hands fumbled, knocking the phone from the nightstand before grabbing it with shaking fingers. The world felt too bright, too hot, too close. Suguru’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, tracing patterns that made his chest tighten even more. “I-I have to take it,” he whispered, voice trembling.

Suguru tilted his head, smirk darkening but not disappearing. “You always do. Fine. But don’t disappear on me.”

Satoru didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His brain was a storm of flashes of the car ride, the store, Suguru’s smirk, the words I still love you looping relentlessly. He wasn’t prepared for this. He couldn’t breathe properly. He couldn’t think. The overwhelming intimacy, the obsession in Suguru’s presence, left him lightheaded, exposed, panicked.

He shoved himself backward, slipping off the bed, hands still clutching the phone like a lifeline. Suguru followed without moving his hands from Satoru’s skin, still oblivious to the chaos he’d caused, still smiling faintly, asserting himself like nothing had changed.

Satoru’s mind raced. He wasn’t like this before. Not like this. Not even before he… defected. We weren’t even—dating, and now he’s—he’s acting like an obsessive ex. He said he loves me… and—I-I don’t even know how to love right. What if I can’t? What if I break him? What if I break myself?

His fingers trembled over the green button on the screen. “I… I have to… I have to talk to her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, voice tight with fear and confusion. His thumb hovered, heart hammering so fast it felt like it might burst.

Suguru’s voice was calm, soft, just inches from him, yet Satoru flinched as if it burned. “I’m not going anywhere,” Suguru said. “You know that. You’ll always have me here.”

Satoru’s chest heaved. “I… I can’t right now. I need a second…” His words fell apart, swallowed by panic and overstimulation, the reality of Suguru’s relentless presence and his own conflicted emotions crashing over him.

He pressed the phone to his ear, barely registering the ringing tone before blurting, “Shoko…”

Suguru’s hand lingered a moment longer before reluctantly letting go, his smirk unreadable but satisfied, as if he didn’t notice the tremor in Satoru’s hands, the flush creeping up his neck, the racing of his heart.

Satoru took a sharp breath, his chest tight, stomach twisting. Overwhelmed, confused, and more exposed than he’d ever let himself be. The call was his anchor, his lifeline, the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely in Suguru’s obsessive orbit.

Suguru also watched as Satoru’s face twisted in horror and panic.

Notes:

Yeahhhhhh. So any thoughts????

Chapter 20: How Peculiar

Summary:

Man, I'm so tired... I'll be uploading on the weekends. That's your new schedule. Anyway, should I make a playlist for this fic? It seems popular enough to warrant one. ≡(▔﹏▔)≡

The clinic smelled faintly of smoke and antiseptic, like it always did when Shoko had been working too long. She sat with her legs crossed in the corner chair, cigarette hanging between her fingers, flipping lazily through a stack of reports she wasn’t really reading.

Across the room, Tsumiki and Megumi were bickering over a board game set up on the floor. Pieces clattered, dice rolled, Megumi scowled, Tsumiki laughed—normal sounds. Safe sounds.

Yuji sat with them, knees pulled up, half a piece of candy dissolving on his tongue. He nodded when Tsumiki asked him a question, and he moved his piece when Megumi told him it was his turn. On the surface, he was there.

But his eyes kept sliding out of focus.

Pathetic.

The voice curled sharp and familiar in the back of his skull.

Look at you. Playing house. Do you think any of this will last?

Yuji blinked hard, trying to push it away, and tried to focus on the board in front of him. The candy was suddenly too sweet, cloying against his teeth.

“Yuji?” Tsumiki tilted her head at him. “It’s still your turn.”

He forced his hand forward and moved the piece two spaces. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing against his ribs from the inside.

They don’t even see it, do they? Sukuna’s tone was low, almost amused. How close you are to breaking? How easy it would be for me to—

Yuji clenched his jaw. His fingers dug into his knees, nails biting the fabric. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.

Shoko’s gaze lifted from her papers. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing, only tapped her ash into the tray.

Megumi noticed too Yuji felt it in the way his friend’s stare lingered one beat too long, suspicion heavy in the silence before he turned back to the game.

Yuji dropped his eyes. The board blurred. He wished he could disappear into it, into the laughter, into anything but the voice gnawing at the edges of his skull.

Tsumiki laughed as Megumi lost another round, scooping up the dice before he could snatch them back.

What a waste of time, Sukuna muttered, tone dripping with disdain. Children playing with scraps of plastic while the world tears itself apart. Pathetic.

Yuji moved his piece without really looking.

She cheats , Sukuna went on, sharp teeth flashing in Yuji’s mind’s eye. Look at her smirk. You really think she’s playing fair?

Yuji bit the inside of his cheek. She’s just having fun, he thought back, not even meaning to. That’s the point.

Fun? Sukuna scoffed. Losing isn’t fun. You know it. Look at the brat’s face!

His gaze slid to Megumi, who was scowling at the board. A little laugh escaped Yuji before he could stop it.

“Something funny?” Megumi asked flatly.

Yuji shook his head quickly. “Nah. Just thought of something dumb.”

Megumi didn’t buy it, but he let it drop.

He glares too much, Sukuna continued, undeterred. Always pouting. Just like the Gojo brat. At least this one doesn’t run his mouth every five seconds.

Yuji’s lips twitched. You’re literally running your mouth right now.

That earned him a low, rumbling laugh inside his skull. Finally, a tongue. Took you long enough, brat.

Shoko exhaled a ribbon of smoke from across the room, flipping another page. Sukuna’s voice immediately shifted.

That one’s going to cough herself to death before she ever lifts a scalpel. Revolting habit.

Yuji rolled a candy wrapper between his fingers, eyes fixed on the floor. She’s fine. Don’t talk about her like that.

Soft, Sukuna clicked his tongue. Too soft. That’s why you’ll always lose. You can’t even admit when I’m right.

Yuji didn’t answer. But when Sukuna went quiet, the silence almost felt heavier than his voice.

Tsumiki rolled the dice, grinning as she landed exactly on the finish.

“Ha! Beat you again, Megumi.”

He scowled. “It’s just luck.”

Excuses already, Sukuna sneered. Pathetic. Doesn’t even have the spine to admit he’s been beaten by a girl.

Yuji pressed his palm against his knee. She’s his sister. He’s not gonna say that.

He thought it, though.

Yuji glanced sideways at Megumi’s tight jaw, and for one sickening second, he wondered if Sukuna was right.

Tsumiki was already setting the pieces back up. “You want in again, Yuji?”

“Uh… sure.” He picked up a pawn, turning it over in his fingers.

Clumsy hands, Sukuna muttered. You’d drop it if not for me. And the girl, look, she pities you. They all do.

Yuji swallowed, keeping his eyes down. That’s not true.

Then why is she watching you so closely?

He felt it then, Tsumiki’s gaze lingering on him a little longer than before. Not pitying, just… worried. But the word lodged in his throat anyway.

See? Sukuna crooned. You feel it too. She’s wondering what’s wrong with you. What you are.

Yuji’s chest tightened. His fingers curled hard around the pawn until it hurt.

Across the room, Shoko flicked ash into the tray and leaned back, her eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they tracked him. She said nothing, but Yuji could feel it like she was dissecting him without lifting a scalpel.

That one knows, Sukuna purred. Knows more than she says. If she told the Gojo what she’s seen…

Stop.

I bet he’d throw you away in a heartbeat. Just like the rest.

Yuji’s breath stuttered, and he pressed his tongue to his teeth until it hurt.

“Yuji?” Tsumiki asked softly.

His head snapped up too fast. “Yeah?”

She hesitated, then smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You spaced out again.”

“Sorry.” He tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “Guess I’m just tired.”

Megumi stared at him a moment longer, then dropped the dice into the center with a sharp clatter. “Then don’t play.”

Yuji flinched, shame crawling hot up his neck.

Sukuna’s laughter filled the hollow space in his chest, low and cruel. Even he sees it. You don’t belong here.

Yuji didn’t answer this time. Didn’t even try.

Yuji hesitated, dice in his hand.

…You wanna play too? he asked before he could stop himself.

Sukuna scoffed instantly. Pathetic. You think I’d lower myself—

The second eye opened on Yuji’s cheek with a wet twitch. The room went still.

Tsumiki blinked. “Um…”

Megumi frowned, waiting for the worst.

Shoko exhaled smoke, her face giving away nothing.

Yuji ducked his head, mortified. Forget it, forget I said anything.

But then Sukuna hummed. …Fine. If it shuts you up. Give me the dice.

Yuji froze. Wait, really?

The eye rolled impatiently. Do it before I change my mind.

So Yuji set the dice down and let Sukuna’s will guide his hand. They clattered across the board, landing in exactly the right spot.

He moved their pawn forward.

Again, the dice rolled high. Again, perfect placement.

“Wait,” Tsumiki said, half-laughing, half-suspicious. She was acting as if she wasn’t cheating the whole night. “You’re cheating.”

Yuji grinned despite himself. “I didn’t even do anything!”

You’re welcome, Sukuna muttered.

For the next ten minutes, the two of them swept the board. Every move hit just right. Every gamble paid off. Sukuna leaned into it with sharp, greedy delight, barking orders through their link, and Yuji followed without question.

When their piece landed squarely on the finish, Yuji couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him, bright and unguarded. “We won!”

Sukuna’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest. Of course we did. Who do you think you’re sharing a body with, brat?

Megumi shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Tsumiki sighed, smiling despite herself. “Fine. Guess you earned it.”

Shoko tapped ash into the tray, watching the boy’s shoulders loosen for the first time all night. She didn’t say anything, but her gaze lingered.

Yuji leaned back, heart still pounding from laughter. 

Yuji was still grinning when Sukuna leaned forward in his head, voice booming with smug delight. Sukuna’s mouth manifested on his cheek while the curse gloated.

“Ha! Did you see their faces? Pathetic! Absolutely pathetic! I crushed them like insects!”

Yuji winced, still laughing. “ It was just a board game—”

“Just a board game, he says!” Sukuna roared. “Child, that was domination. That was artistry. I’ve led armies to slaughter with less precision than that move with the dice.”

Megumi groaned and shoved the board away. “You sound like an old man bragging about his glory days.”

“Exactly!” Sukuna barked through Yuji, and Yuji had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep the laugh from spilling. “ Back in my day, battles were fought with blood and steel, not these flimsy little pawns. And yet I still win. I always win.”

Tsumiki gave Yuji a look, lips twitching. “I knew you were cheating...Is this Sukuna? He’s funny.”

Yuji waved his hands quickly. “No, no, it’s not! He’s just—”

“That’s right”, Sukuna interrupted, voice dripping with relish. “ Be afraid. Bow down before the true champion of… What do you call this again?”

Yuji’s face burned. “Snakes and ladders.”

“Yes!” Sukuna declared. “ Bow down before the king of snakes and ladders!”

That did it. Tsumiki burst into laughter, Megumi pinched the bridge of his nose, and even Shoko had to turn away to hide a smile.

Yuji sat back, cheeks aching from trying not to laugh too hard, while Sukuna continued to gloat like some drunk uncle at a festival. “ Pathetic opponents. Weak strategies. Yet, you should be honored you even shared the board with me.”

Yuji thought, a little breathless, You’re ridiculous.

And I am the king of snakes and ladders , Sukuna shot back without missing a beat.

And Yuji didn’t deny it. Not this time.

Eventually, even Sukuna’s victory lap dulled. His voice still grumbled in Yuji’s skull, muttering about “weak opponents” and “fools who dared challenge him,” but the sharp edge of it had faded into something almost like contentment.

The board was cleared away. Tsumiki folded the blanket over her lap and leaned against the arm of the couch. Megumi settled cross-legged near her, and Shoko stretched out with her lighter, flicking lazily between her fingers.

The laughter had drained from the room, replaced by the quiet thrum of night.

Yuji shifted where he sat, gaze flicking from one face to another. For once, they weren’t staring at him with suspicion or worry, just tired, normal, like kids winding down after too much noise.

You think too much , Sukuna drawled, softer now.

Yuji didn’t answer.

Instead, he lay down on the floor beside Megumi, folding his arms under his head. The carpet scratched his cheek, but it felt steady. Safe.

Tsumiki dimmed the lamp, the room dipping into shadow. Shoko exhaled smoke one last time before snuffing the cigarette out.

Megumi muttered something Yuji didn’t catch, half-asleep already.

Yuji closed his eyes. Sukuna’s presence lingered loud, smug, constant, but in the hush of the room, even that didn’t feel so heavy.

For the first time in a while, Yuji let himself drift without fighting it.

Darkness pressed against his eyelids.

Yuji shot up with a gasp, sweat sticking his shirt to his back. His chest heaved as if he’d been running.

For a moment, he didn’t recognize the room, the way the shadows pooled in the corners, the faint sound of someone’s breathing nearby. Then it clicked: Megumi, Panda, Tsumiki, Shoko. They were still here. Still asleep.

But something wasn’t right.

The air felt heavier than before, like the walls were leaning in. A chill ran over his skin, prickling the hair on his arms. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs, faster than it should’ve been.

Yuji pressed his palm against his face, trying to steady himself.

Finally awake, brat?

Sukuna’s voice wasn’t smug this time. It was low. Taut.

Yuji swallowed hard. What’s wrong?

There was a pause. The second eye on his cheek twitched open, unbidden.

Something’s here, Sukuna murmured. Something watching.

Yuji glanced across the room. Megumi stirred in his sleep, and Tsumiki shifted under the blanket. They hadn’t noticed.

Only him.

The unease crawled deeper into his bones. He couldn’t tell if it was just Sukuna spooking him or if the King of Curses was the only one telling the truth.

Yuji rubbed at his face, willing his pulse to slow.
And then it hit.

A sharp, high-pitched whine exploded in his ears, slicing through the quiet. It wasn’t just sound. It was pressure, like something pressing down on his skull from the inside.

He flinched, hands flying to his ears, but it didn’t help. The ringing only grew louder, drowning everything else out.

Brat—! Sukuna’s voice cracked across his mind, raw with urgency. What is this—?

Yuji tried to answer, but his own thoughts scattered. The noise swallowed them.

The second eye on his cheek strained wider, darting side to side. He could feel Sukuna pushing, clawing, trying to break through with a mouth, with words—but nothing came. No teeth. No grin. Nothing.

That was wrong. Sukuna always forced his way through. Always.

The ringing spiked higher, stabbing needles through Yuji’s head. He doubled over, breath ragged, the carpet spinning beneath him.

Through the haze, he thought he saw shapes shifting in the corners of the room, long shadows stretching, curling, bending in ways they shouldn’t.

His stomach lurched. His body wouldn’t move right.

Do something! Sukuna snarled in his skull, the edge of panic cutting through the usual arrogance. Get up! Get them up!

But Yuji couldn’t even form the words. His tongue felt thick, useless. He pressed his face to the floor, teeth gritted, and the ringing devoured everything.

The ringing didn’t stop. It shifted.

Not quieter—never quieter—but thinner, stretched into a thread that tugged at him. It slipped beneath his ribs and pulled, steady, insistent, toward some point beyond the walls.

Yuji staggered to his feet without thinking. His limbs moved clumsily, sluggish, like he was wading through water. His head screamed at him to lie back down, to wake someone, anyone, but his body ignored it.

One step. Then another.

The shapes in the corners swayed as he passed, bending with him, reaching. His breath rasped through his throat, too loud in the suffocating quiet.

Megumi shifted in his sleep. Tsumiki turned, murmuring something soft and wordless. Shoko’s lighter clicked once in her half-conscious hand, then stilled.

None of them woke.

Yuji’s hand closed around the door handle. He didn’t remember reaching for it. His fingers trembled as if they weren’t his own.

Stop. Sukuna’s voice hissed like static beneath the ringing, guttural, and desperate. Idiot, stop!

Yuji blinked. The second eye on his face was wide, bloodshot, but still silent. No mouth. No bite.

He slipped out anyway.

The night air slapped cold against his sweat-soaked skin. The thread pulled tighter, unyielding, dragging his feet down the dark corridor, through the quiet halls, deeper and deeper into the compound.

Toward the Star Tombs.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t even remember why his heart hammered so hard. The only thing that existed was the ringing, the shadows, and the path unfolding beneath his steps.

Yuji didn’t remember the steps he took to get there. Only the echo of his bare feet against the floor, the oppressive silence, and the way the halls seemed to bend for him.

When the tomb doors loomed ahead, he blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. The sharp ringing in his skull dulled. Softened.

By the time his hands pushed the doors open, it was gone, entirely replaced with something stranger.

A low hum. Steady. Content. It didn’t press against his skull, didn’t tear at his thoughts. It slid through him like warmth after a fever.

The chamber stretched before him, cold stone and deeper shadows. At its heart, the jars stood in perfect rows among other cursed items. Each one faintly gleamed in the dark, its glassy surfaces catching the thin strip of light that slipped through a crack overhead.

Yuji’s chest tightened as he stepped closer.

The hum grew louder—not painful, not intrusive. It felt familiar. Welcome. His pulse slowed against it, matching its rhythm. For the first time in what felt like hours, his body didn’t feel like it was tearing itself apart.

His fingers brushed against one of the jars. The chill of the glass burned into his palm.

Behind his eyes, something stirred.

Family, the thought flickered, though Yuji didn’t know if it was his or Sukuna’s.

He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching the smooth curve of the container. His breath fogged the glass, and the hum swelled in response, almost as if it recognized him.

The hum thickened as Yuji stepped deeper between the rows.

One by one, the jars began to resonate. A faint vibration ran through the stone floor, humming in his bones. The glass quivered in place, low and steady, like a choir breathing in unison.

Yuji froze, wide-eyed. The air itself seemed to ripple with sound.

He turned his head slowly, watching as each jar gave off a faint tremor of light. Shadows inside stirred, faint outlines shifting in liquid darkness.

 

The one nearest to him moved.

The glass shuddered, and the mass within drifted forward, pressing closer to where Yuji stood. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t threatening. The shape inside floated with a strange patience, as though reaching.

Yuji leaned down without thinking. His reflection blurred on the surface of the jar, overlapping with the vague form within. His lips parted, breath shallow.

Wonder overtook everything else.

The ringing was gone. Sukuna was gone. The fear, the cold sweat, the disorientation gone.

There was only this moment, this quiet recognition between him and the thing sealed before him.

His hand slid across the smooth glass, palm flat. The hum deepened in answer, resonating through his chest. For an instant, Yuji thought he could feel the echo in his heartbeat like it was syncing with his own.

Yuji tilted his head, squinting at the shifting blur inside the jar.

“…Hey,” he whispered, voice small in the vast chamber. “Can you… hear me?”

The shape within pressed closer to the glass. The hum deepened, vibrating through Yuji’s arm, through his ribs, like a pulse answering him.

He grinned faintly despite himself. “Guess you can. Huh.”

His breath fogged the surface again, and he leaned his forehead against the cool glass, peering in as though trying to make sense of the form inside. “What are you?”

The mass inside shifted, trembling with intensity, as though those words mattered. The vibrations quickened, beating against the jar like a second heartbeat.

Yuji blinked, eyes softening. “You’re… really happy, huh?”

The hum swelled.

Yuji laughed under his breath, sheepishly. “I don’t get it. Why me?”

The figure floated closer, so close it seemed like it might push through the barrier. A warmth spread through Yuji’s chest, subtle and steady, the echo of something not his own.

Choso, though Yuji didn’t know that name, was radiant inside that sealed jar. Joy radiated through the resonance, overflowing, uncontainable. A brother. He had another little brother.

Yuji reached up, palm flat against the jar again, smiling tiredly. “You’re weird. But… I kinda like you.”

The chamber seemed to exhale. Every jar thrummed with low, approving sound, but the one before him sang the loudest, thrumming with unmistakable affection.

Yuji’s eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the resonance, as if the whole room wanted to cradle him in that moment.

Yuji’s body sagged against the jar, his palm sliding down the glass until it rested limply at his side. The warmth thrumming through him dulled his thoughts, heavier with every breath.

The hum wrapped around him like a lullaby.

His head tilted, cheek brushing the cool surface, and before he realized it, his eyes had fluttered shut. His breathing evened, slow and steady, as if the resonance itself had rocked him to sleep.

The chamber was silent again except for the faint shimmer of energy clinging to the jars.

Then, from the shadowed archway at the back, soft footsteps broke the stillness.

A figure lingered at the edge of the gloom, still and composed, white robes brushing faintly against the floor.

Tengen stood watching.

Her masked face tilted ever so slightly as she took in the sight of the boy curled against the jar, the sealed creation inside vibrating with quiet joy. For a long moment, she did not move, did not breathe.

Finally, her voice slipped through the silence, low and contemplative.

“…So this is the vessel.”

She stepped closer, robes whispering over stone, her presence filling the space like a draft of cold air.

“How peculiar.”

The jars thrummed again.

But Yuji slept on, undisturbed.

Notes:

So we got big brother choso here...kinda. Um idk. I read all of ur guys' comments, and I would love to see more. I've been soooo tired.

Chapter 21: If You Let Go, They Die.

Satoru left the man all alone in his house.

He knew, without a shred of doubt, that Suguru would be angry with him for it. But what was he supposed to do? Bring him back to Jujutsu High? Parade him through the barrier where the heart of Japanese jujutsu slept, and Shoko would immediately know something was wrong.

Yeah, no.

Every step he took away from the threshold was heavy, but he didn’t dare stop. His instincts screamed at him to look back, to check if Suguru had followed, if he was standing in the doorway with that sharp-edged grin, but he refused. To look back would feel like inviting him to stay.

He already knew what he’d find if he did: Suguru, at ease, filling the silence with his presence like he owned it, like he owned him. The thought alone made Satoru’s jaw clench. His home wasn’t supposed to be touched by anyone like that. It was supposed to be safe, the one place he had carved out for the people he loved. The walls here weren’t just walls; they were promises, they were safety.

And Suguru had walked right through them.

His hands shook as he walked the grounds, searching. It wasn’t the usual faint tremor, the kind he could disguise by keeping his fingers busy or shoved deep into his pockets. This was worse, an earthquake running up through his bones, rattling his nerves raw. He tried clenching them into fists, unfurling them again, but nothing helped. His whole body shuddered and shivered even though it wasn’t cold enough to warrant it.

Suguru was inside his house. Inside the place he slept, the place where the kids laughed—the one place in the world where Satoru had felt truly safe.

Suguru had always been able to find the weak points.

The strongest sorcerer alive, and still, he couldn’t stop shaking.

Satoru swallowed, the motion dry and tight. He didn’t want to seem dramatic. He was Satoru Gojo, the strongest. He used to take pride in being it too. The one who didn’t falter didn’t need help. He was a weapon, not a person. And weapons didn’t break.

But tonight everything felt like it was unraveling, just as it had when they were both seventeen. They were nineteen now, but those two years changed everything.

He laughed at himself for a second. Who would’ve thought they would become teen parents? 

However, for however funny it might be, Yuji was still missing.

That fact gnawed at him the loudest. If he could find Yuji, maybe his pulse would settle, maybe the air would feel breathable again. But the boy was nowhere in sight. Satoru had already swept the barrier himself. Yuji hadn’t left, the wards hadn’t tripped. He was still inside.

And yet, there was no trace.

Yuji wasn’t subtle. He leaked cursed energy like water through a sieve. Normally, Satoru could pinpoint him without even trying. But now? Nothing. The grounds felt too quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath.

That meant…that the kid was hiding or someone was hiding him. And the kid wasn’t good at hiding.

His chest tightened. Distressed was too light a word.

His eyes, uncovered and raw, scanned every corner, every corridor, the lines of his vision stretching wide in his Six Eyes’ clarity. The sunglasses lay forgotten on his head, useless items when his panic refused to let him look away from a single detail. He knew the migraine later would be brutal, but right now, he couldn’t care.

He bore his suffering in silence. Always had. He never cried where anyone could see him. What would they think if they did? If the strongest was seen broken?

That was a weight he couldn’t afford.

Born a weapon. Raised a weapon. He would die a weapon too. That was the role pressed into his skin, stitched into his marrow.

And yet despite all the conditioning, all the self-discipline, he still felt the sting of tears pricking hot at the corners of his eyes. He blinked hard, biting back the burn.

Breathe.

Focus.

 What if it wasn’t him who found Yuji? What if it were the higher-ups? The thought slammed into him like a curse, colder than anything Suguru had said. They’d never hesitate. They wouldn’t see a boy or a child trying to live. They’d see a vessel, a risk, a mistake that needed to be erased. If they caught him wandering, unguarded, disoriented, he wouldn’t have the chance to explain. They would execute him immediately.

He told himself Yuji was fine. He was fine. But the words rang hollow. He didn’t believe them. Not with Suguru still fresh in his mind. Not with that half-smile carved into his memory like a knife.

He dreaded the thought of bringing the kids home and finding Suguru waiting. How would he explain it? How could he possibly reassure them? The children didn’t understand who Suguru really was. They’d only heard stories, half-joking whispers calling him the “Murder Wizard.” They didn’t know what it meant to stand in front of him.

But Satoru did.

Suguru was dangerous. The kind of danger that didn’t need sharp claws or flashing teeth, he only needed words, a tilt of his head, a look. That was enough.

And Suguru wasn’t the same as he’d been in high school.

Back then, there had been steadiness in him. Gentleness, patience. A balance to Satoru’s chaos.

That man was gone.

Now, Suguru was sharp edges and splintered anger. He pressed, he pushed, he took.

And worse, Satoru had let him. He always had. He’d never known how to stop him.

There were lines, of course. He wouldn’t join the cult. Wouldn’t abandon the stud. Wouldn’t risk his children. But he had been close. Too close. The thought made his stomach twist.

If it weren’t for the kids, he wasn’t sure where he would be now.

He wanted everything. He wanted Suguru, and he wanted his family. But those two things could never coexist without blood being spilled. He knew it. He saw it in every shadow.

Tsumiki wasn’t even a sorcerer. What would Suguru see when he looked at her? A liability? A weakness? A problem to be solved?

The idea made Satoru’s heart hammer so hard it felt like it would bruise his ribs. He wanted them safe. That was the only thing that mattered.

But Suguru had never asked about them. Not once. Not Megumi, not Tsumiki. He had never spoken their names.

And those two children who hovered around Suguru, the ones Satoru had seen him with before, who were they? They seemed close. Too close.

Were they safe?

The question gnawed at him. Because he knew better than anyone that being close to Suguru was never safe.

Satoru’s steps quickened, his sandals scuffing against the stone. His eyes swept every corner, every shadow, but the grounds gave him nothing. Not a whisper of the boy’s cursed energy, not the faintest thread to follow. His chest rose and fell too fast, shallow, as though the air itself resisted being drawn in. His hand grazed the wall as he passed, fingertips brushing the wood, needing something real, something solid. The tremor in his fingers made him recoil from it almost immediately.

“Yuji,” he called, the word coming out rougher than intended. No answer. Only the rustle of leaves outside, the creak of the house settling. His Six Eyes dragged along every surface, catching even the smallest shift of dust. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He told himself again that Yuji was still here, that the wards hadn’t stirred, that he’d find him in a moment curled up in some corner. He told himself the words like an incantation, but they did nothing to still his pulse. Because another voice—one colder, one crueler—rose louder in his head.

The higher-ups.

What if it were them who found Yuji first?
Not him. Not Shoko. Them.

The image was immediate, unbidden: their wrinkled mouths pressed thin, their eyes hollow of anything resembling compassion. They would see not a boy but a vessel, a mistake they could still erase before it festered further. They wouldn’t hesitate. Not like him. Not like Shoko.

Satoru squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, but it was a mistake because the darkness brought a different memory. A sharp, searing one he’d never been able to scrub out, no matter how much he joked, no matter how loud he made himself.

He’d been seven. Small enough that the ceremonial robe draped on his shoulders had nearly swallowed him whole. The courtyard of the clan was quiet, hushed in the way of all rituals. He remembered clinging to his grandmother’s hand, though she shook him off after a single squeeze. “Watch,” she told him, voice like ice.

He had been seven. The ceremonial robe swallowed him whole, a fabric tomb that smelled of incense and authority. The courtyard stretched empty, hushed, but not with reverence. No kindness threaded the stillness, only the unspoken cruelty of those who thrived on control.

The boy they dragged forward couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Grey hair plastered to his sweat-drenched forehead, eyes wide and panicked. His small body struggled against the ropes, knees scraping against stone until blood mingled with dust. Every muffled cry echoed in Satoru’s chest, vibrating like a drum he could not stop.

“Please! I—I can try! I’ll do better!”

The words collapsed into a scream. He thrashed violently, head snapping from side to side, hands clawing at anything within reach. His voice pitched higher, cracking under the strain. Satoru remembered it like a relentless hammer: desperate, terrified, unheeded.

The elders did not flinch. They did not look away. They did not even speak beyond the monotone declarations of protocol. Cold eyes, indifferent faces, they treated the boy not as a person, but as a flawed machine, an error to be corrected.

The boy’s screams turned raw and ragged, then wet and bloody as the process continued. Panic rippled up Satoru’s chest, nails digging into his palms until the pain anchored him to reality. But it could not block out the sound, the gurgling, the half-formed pleas, the whimpers that turned into broken, strangled gasps.

At one point, the boy’s gaze locked with Satoru’s, unseeing, desperate. The little silver eyes, wide and pleading, seemed to beg him to act, to stop it somehow, to somehow make the adults care. But no one did. Not a single person blinked. Not a single hand reached out. The courtyard was a cage, a stage, a graveyard.

He struggled. He cried. His tiny fists beat against the ropes, each thump like a hammer striking Satoru’s chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixed with blood and sweat, and his lips formed words too broken and strangled to carry beyond the walls of the silent courtyard.

And then, when it was over, Satoru couldn’t even call it silence. The echoes of his voice, the rasping struggle, the terrified cries, they clung to him. They were stitched into his bones. He could still hear them in the quietest moments, in the spaces between breaths.

“This,” an elder said, stepping forward with deliberate slowness, their voice flat and chilling, “is what happens to weakness. The strong survive. The rest… are cut away.”

No one flinched at the words. No one softened. No one moved to comfort the living, to honor the dead. The child’s last sound was wet, desperate, and unresolved. It hung in the air long after his body had crumpled.

Little Satoru had gripped his own wrists so tightly afterward that crescent-shaped marks bloomed white on his skin. He hadn’t dared to cry in front of anyone. No one had offered him comfort. But the sting of his grip reminded him he was still here, still breathing, still alive.

And yet that sound—the gurgling, the pleading, the impossible terror—lived in him. It had lived there for years. It was the reason his hands trembled now, for Yuji, for anyone who could vanish so quickly, for the fragile threads of life he was desperate to hold onto.

He could still hear it sometimes when he blinked too long. And every time, it reminded him that being the strongest didn’t mean he was safe. Didn’t mean anyone was safe.

He had watched. He hadn’t understood at first, not really. The boy standing in the square couldn’t have been more than fourteen, his grey hair only a few shades duller than Satoru’s own, his face pale with terror. His crime was simple: weakness. A talent that hadn’t blossomed fast enough. Potential that hadn’t been proven. A “failed branch.”

They had executed him without ceremony. A clean cut, efficient, merciless. The sound of it had echoed in Satoru’s skull long after the boy’s body crumpled.

“This,” His grandmother had said, her gaze heavy on Satoru, “is what awaits those who cannot fulfill their role. Remember, Satoru. We do not suffer weakness in this clan.”

The silence of the courtyard afterward was worse than the execution itself. No one cried. No one protested. They only looked at him as the next heir, the prodigy, like he had already been carved into something other than human.

He remembered gripping his own wrist so tightly afterward that crescents of his nails marked the skin. The sting had grounded him, reminded him that he was still there. But from that day, something coiled inside him, a desperate, gnawing thing. He couldn’t be left alone. He couldn’t be cast aside. He couldn’t fail.

Not him. Not anyone he loved.

Satoru’s eyes snapped open again to the dark hallways of his home. His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling with more than just the cold. He could feel that same coil inside him now, winding tighter and tighter. Yuji wasn’t just a student. He wasn’t just Sukuna’s vessel. He was a child. His child, in every way that mattered.

And if the higher-ups found him, if they so much as laid a finger on him, Satoru already knew what would happen. He’d seen it before.

And he would tear the whole foundation of jujutsu society down before he let it happen again.

Ever since then, people have called him clingy, loud, and obsessed with power. They teased him, whispered about how he always had to be at the center of things, always had to dominate every conversation, every fight, every moment. They didn’t understand. No one did. That facade, the brashness, the constant laughter, the relentless confidence wasn’t vanity. It was armor. It was a way to keep people safe.

If he clung to them, never letting them out of his sight, the higher-ups wouldn’t dare touch them. Their scrutiny had teeth, but it only bit into the weak. Being strong made him untouchable. Being loud, asserting presence, staking claim—monsters, curses, enemies of every stripe—they understood a claim. They didn’t approach what was already taken. What was guarded.

He had learned early that weakness invited death. The higher-ups didn’t hesitate. They didn’t look for excuses or mercy. They hunted the quiet, the small, the unnoticed. If he had been anyone else, he would have been one of them. If he hadn’t been loud, if he hadn’t screamed ownership with every word and every action, if he hadn’t become the strongest, the cunningest, the most visible—Yuji, Tsumiki, anyone he loved—they would have been erased. And he would have been powerless to stop it.

So he clung. He watched. He made sure that no one slipped away without him knowing. His loudness wasn’t just personality; it was a warning, a signal—to monsters, to enemies, even to curses. It said, This is mine. Approach at your peril. It kept the danger at bay. Every bold step, every brash laugh, every display of power was a protective measure, honed over years of watching helplessness consume others.

The truth was uglier than people ever suspected. Underneath the confident exterior, the easy smirk and casual jokes, there was desperation. Fear. The kind that had been drilled into him as a child when he had witnessed the helpless scream of someone too weak to resist, the cold indifference of those who held life and death in their hands, and the certainty that anyone not claimed, not marked, would vanish. That fear never left him. It had become the engine that drove every action, every decision, every instinct.

Even now, as Yuji was missing, that old panic clawed at him. He couldn’t just be strong for himself anymore. He had to be strong for the boy who trusted him, for the family he wanted to protect, for the lives that would crumble if he faltered. The fear of abandonment, of helplessness, of losing someone he cared for—of failing them as he had failed others—burned hotter than any curse. His obsession, his intensity, his refusal to let go, wasn’t arrogance. It was terror made flesh.

And it was relentless.

Because of this, he had always thought Suguru was safe. Strong enough, clever enough, untouchable in a way that made Satoru feel secure. That was why he had given him space, why he left him alone mostly, why he had trusted him. Because Suguru could handle himself. Because Suguru wouldn’t falter. Because Suguru would never leave him, and no one could’ve taken him from that certainty then.

Satoru had believed in the armor Suguru wore, the confidence that never wavered, the sharpness that cut through every obstacle. In a way, Suguru was safe, from the higher-ups, from the bureaucracy that dictated life and death, from the monsters that lurked in every shadow. He could protect himself, Satoru had told himself. He didn’t need to be watched, he didn’t need to be guided, he didn’t need anyone tethering him.

But Satoru had forgotten the one danger no one else could guard against: Suguru himself.

Strength was never a shield against his own impulses, his own obsessions, his own darkness. Suguru had always been capable of terrible things, and Satoru had assumed that strength alone would restrain him. That belief that naive trust was a weight he carried now, sharper and heavier than any curse. Because what Suguru chose to do didn’t follow the rules, didn’t honor loyalty, and didn’t bend to Satoru’s expectations.

And yet, Satoru’s fear wasn’t just about Suguru’s power. It was about the cracks he had ignored, the subtle hints of volatility, the whispered risks of obsession, control, and desire that had always shadowed them both. Suguru had always been dangerous, but it wasn’t his strength that terrified Satoru at all. It was the part of Suguru that no one could contain, not even himself.

In that sense, giving him space had been a mistake. Giving him freedom had been a gamble, and Satoru had been counting on the wrong form of safety. Suguru was safe from everything else but not from the choices that could unravel them both.

Satoru’s steps were uneven, almost clumsy, as he moved through the temples and grounds. He checked every corner, every shadow, every faint noise. His sandals scraped against the stone floor as he moved from room to room, fingertips brushing the walls to anchor himself in reality. Doors creaked under his touch; windows rattled in the night breeze. He muttered under his breath, curses and incantations mixing with his own panic.

“Where are you, Yuji?” His voice cracked, louder than he intended, but he didn’t care. The sound had to be heard. Every second mattered.

He kicked a chair aside, muttering under his breath, scanning the edges of rooms, sweeping through corridors, feeling the tension coil tighter in his chest. The faintest whisper of movement made him spin on his heel, but it was only a shadow, a curtain swaying in the wind. His pulse thundered in his ears.

The trembling in his hands had grown into a full-body shiver. He clenched his fists, paced back and forth, trying to force the panic into action. He tapped wards he’d placed himself, muttering a chain of protective incantations, willing them to be alive, willing them to tell him something, anything.

And then the subtle shift.

A momentary lightness in the air. A slight loosening in the tautness of Tengen’s barrier. He froze mid-step, senses on fire. His Six Eyes caught it immediately: a thread of cursed energy, small, hesitant, yet unmistakably familiar. Yuji.

“No…no, no, no…” He barely breathed the name, his body moving before his mind could process.

A quick, sharp exhale, and then Satoru vanished. The teleportation left the world spinning behind him, a flash of air and motion, and he landed softly, silently, in the heart of the hidden space. The jars lined the walls, humming faintly with the energy they contained. And there, in the center, was Yuji. Alone. Small, curious, utterly unaware of the danger he was surrounded by.

Satoru’s pulse hit his throat. The jars were cursed objects, some of them vessels of unimaginable danger. His fingers twitched as he approached, a reflexive tightening of his fists. His eyes scanned the contents, expecting movement, expecting the worst. But the objects remained inert. The cursed energy radiated softly, calmly.

“Yuji…” His voice was rough, shaking, a whisper and a shout all at once. The child looked up at him, innocent, unbothered, eyes wide with curiosity. Relief collided with fear in Satoru’s chest. He could almost feel the weight of the moment pressing down; the horror he had expected didn’t materialize. The jars didn’t move. The cursed objects hadn’t claimed him. Or they did? Their energy felt so much like Yuji's, and he did not like it.

Still, he kept a wary distance, scanning the room. Where had Tengen been? Why had she left the barrier unattended? There was always a reason, always an intention behind her actions, and Satoru didn’t trust her blindly. Not fully. Not after everything.

The relief of finding Yuji alive was tempered by suspicion. He crouched slightly, taking in the child’s relaxed posture, and his mind raced. “How…how did she…?” he muttered, shaking his head. He could feel the lingering hum of the barrier, still faint but intact, still protective. Tengen had been there. He could sense it in the subtle shift of cursed energy.

Yet questions remained. Where exactly had she been? What had she seen? And most importantly…why hadn’t she intervened directly?

Satoru’s hand brushed Yuji’s shoulder gently, steadying himself as much as the boy. The trembling that had gripped him for so long eased slightly, replaced by vigilance. His gaze swept over the jars once more, then back to the child. Alive. Safe. For now.

The relief was short-lived, a bitter reminder that safety was never guaranteed—not from curses, not from the higher-ups, not even from those who claimed to protect.

He let out a long breath, low and shaky, as he whispered, “You’re…okay. You’re safe.” But even as the words left him, the Six Eyes flared, searching beyond the room, beyond the barrier, tracing every ripple in the cursed energy. Questions about Tengen, about the higher-ups, about Suguru—about all of it—remained unanswerable.

And Satoru knew that would haunt him until he had every answer, or until the next crisis forced itself into his arms.

Satoru didn’t linger. Relief burned through him, yes, but it was short-lived. He couldn’t afford to let it distract him. Not when Yuji had been out of sight for so long. He crouched slightly, letting the boy see him, hear him. “C’mon. Let’s go,” he murmured, voice rough but gentle. Yuji hesitated for a moment, just a flicker of confusion in his wide eyes, before trusting him and stepping closer. The kid saw the tremble in his hands and the glossyness of his eyes and decided to keep quiet.

The walk back to where the other kids were waiting was tense. Satoru’s senses remained on high alert, every shadow a possible threat, every rustle a potential sign of cursed energy. He could feel the lingering hum of Tengen’s barrier, still holding, still protective, but he kept moving, unwilling to test it further.

When they reached the others, Shoko stepped forward immediately. Her usual composure was frayed, her voice small. “I… I’m sorry, Satoru,” she whispered, almost pleading. “I should’ve—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he interrupted gently, cutting her off before guilt could settle like poison. His voice was firm but calm, carrying the weight of someone who had seen far worse and understood the limits of others. “You did all you could.”

Her tired eyes welled, and she looked down, she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I just…You trusted me to watch them and-.”

Satoru crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to her eye level, to make it seem as if he was on her level. “Like I said, you did your best. You’re human. You care. That’s enough. I’ve been… worse at keeping people safe.” He let the words hang in the cold, early-morning air. The faint light of dawn or maybe just the thin spill of night cast long shadows across the ground.

The kids were gathered quietly now, sensing the weight of the moment. Yuji clutched Satoru’s hand, small but steady, and the others followed, one by one, linking together like a chain of fragile safety. Satoru’s pulse thumped, fast and relentless, as he guided them carefully back through the grounds, back into the house’s safe perimeter, and then onto the path leading home.

The journey was silent except for the soft shuffling of feet and the occasional whisper from a child. Every nerve in Satoru’s body remained taut, scanning, analyzing, calculating. His relief at finding Yuji alive was tempered by the knowledge that there were still threats unseen, still dangers lurking in corners he couldn’t reach.

When they finally arrived home, a chill ran through him not from the air, but from the sense of presence. Suguru was waiting. Not a shadow, not a rumor, but there, in the dim light of the entrance, his posture calm, his expression unreadable yet sharp, the edges of his presence cutting through the quiet like glass.

Satoru froze for a heartbeat, taking in the scene. The children instinctively clustered closer, sensing the tension radiating off him. Yuji pressed against his side, a small anchor in the storm. Satoru’s hands curled slightly at his sides, trembling not with fear, not any more, but with the memory of all the stakes, all the danger, all the consequences he’d just skirted.

Suguru’s gaze met his, slow and deliberate, carrying a weight that was both familiar and threatening. Satoru could feel the old, dangerous pull of their history, the push and tug of control and trust and obsession. His eyes narrowed slightly. He had found Yuji. He had brought the children home. And yet… the night wasn’t over.

The first words to break the silence had to be careful. Measured. But the air between them was already charged, electric, brimming with unspoken questions.

Satoru inhaled, letting his instincts guide him. “You’ve been waiting,” he said simply, voice low but cutting through the cold dawn.

Suguru didn’t answer immediately. The tension thickened. The kids held their collective breath. And somewhere in the back of Satoru’s mind, a part of him, an instinct, a warning knew that whatever came next would test not just his control, but every tether he had built to protect the ones he loved.

The silence stretched, taut and heavy, until a small, high-pitched giggle cut through it.

Satoru’s eyes flicked down. One by one, the children were hiding their faces behind their hands or peeking around each other, trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

“Is… is that ‘Murder Wizard’ again?” whispered one of the kids, barely holding in another giggle.

“Look at his bangs, he looks stupid.,” Megumi added, pointing subtly.

“Do you think he eats people?” Tsumiki giggled followed with Yuji asking “Should we throw holy water on him to see if he melts?

Suguru’s expression didn’t change, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, almost as if he recognized the effect he had on them, or maybe he was just silently annoyed but amused.

Satoru’s jaw loosened a fraction despite himself. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, and the kids’ innocent amusement cut through some of the dread that had been coiling around him all night.

“Don’t… don’t call him that,” Satoru muttered, half-heartedly, though his voice carried no real threat. He knew it was hopeless; the kids had already claimed it as their own little joke.

The children giggled again, louder this time, and for the first time in hours, Satoru let himself breathe. Suguru remained motionless, the same sharp presence as ever, but now softened slightly by the laughter echoing around him.

Even in the midst of danger, even when stakes were high, Satoru realized something simple and strange: these kids were fearless. Not in the reckless way he was used to, but in their ability to see past the terrifying reputation, to call him what they wanted, and to still feel safe.

And for a brief moment, that was enough.

As the kids’ giggles died down and the house finally began to settle, Satoru’s smile faded. His eyes narrowed behind his shades, his Six Eyes scanning instinctively through the familiar walls.

And then he felt it.

The echo of cursed energy, heavy and unmistakable, clings to the corners of every room. His stomach twisted. Suguru had been everywhere, his living room, the kitchen, the hallway leading to the kids’ bedrooms. His fingerprints were all over Satoru’s sanctuary, smeared like graffiti only he could see.

Satoru’s chest tightened. His home wasn’t his anymore; it had been breached, marked. Claimed.

When his gaze snapped back to Suguru, the man’s expression was unreadable for a beat too long. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. Not wide. Not cruel. Just… smug.

Like he knew exactly what Satoru had found. Like he had done it on purpose.

Satoru’s hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. His breath caught between a thousand words he could say and the silence he forced on himself instead. He didn’t want the kids to see, not here, not now.

But Suguru’s eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction, as though he’d won some invisible game. Revenge. Payback for being left behind, for being told no, for being locked out of the one place Satoru thought was untouchable.

Satoru stared at him, his jaw rigid. And Suguru only tilted his head slightly, as if to ask— Well? What are you going to do about it?

Satoru’s lips pressed into a thin line. The smugness rolling off Suguru was unbearable, and worse, he could feel the kids behind him. They didn’t understand the silent war playing out in the air, not fully, but they felt the shift. The way the room grew colder. The way Gojo stood straighter, his shoulders squared, his energy bristling.

Suguru’s smirk deepened, like he was daring him. Like he wanted Satoru to break the thin veneer of normalcy and lash out.

Satoru’s jaw flexed. His sunglasses slid lower down the bridge of his nose, the glow of his Six Eyes flickering in the dim light as he glanced over his shoulder at the kids.

“Megumi. Tsumiki. Yuji.” His voice was calm…too calm. The kind of calm that only came before a storm. “Attack.”

The air snapped taut, cursed energy sparking like static as the children’s eyes went wide, their bodies instinctively moving to obey.

Suguru’s smirk twisted into shock and then betrayal as he was trampled by children.

And the house, their supposed sanctuary, suddenly felt like the stage for a war.

Notes:

Originally, the flashback scene was really graphic, but my friend told me apparently that triggers people? Idk man, so I had to tone it down by like A LOT. Apparently, writing straight-up gore for the trauma aspect is not ok. I like this fic a lot, but I have to tone it down to make it digestible. I'm not normal and have stated before I'm mentally ill, I'm not trying to be a jerk when I write or say these things. I just don't get the sentiment. Anyways, y'all didn't answer me last chapter. Do y'all want a playlist for the fic? I have a few songs in mind. Please tell me if I'm being too much. I try to catch myself on these things, but sometimes it goes unchecked.- Xa1le

Chapter 22: The Package Deal

Summary:

Yay Tsumiki's pov. I did not read through this at all. There are mistakes.

Tsumiki rubbed her eyes as she shuffled into the house, her whole body sagging with the kind of bone-deep tired only a child could feel after being up far too late. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, pull the blankets over her head, and forget the world existed.

Instead, the world decided to sit at their kitchen table.

Suguru Geto.

He looked like he belonged there, his long hair tied neatly, posture straight, hands folded as if he had been waiting. Too calm. Too polite.

“Ah,” Suguru said smoothly, voice like oil over glass. “You must be Tsumiki.”

She blinked at him, clutching the strap of her bag tighter. Great. A stranger. At midnight. In my house.

Her face smoothed into a practiced smile, the one adults always liked. “Hello,” she said, polite as a textbook. 

“A cute little monkey, aren’t you?” Suguru cooed with false sweetness dripping from his teeth.

Inside, her thoughts were less charitable. Wow. That’s a totally normal thing to say to a nine-year-old. Not creepy at all. Good job, sir.

Suguru leaned forward slightly, eyes warm, but not really warm. Too warm. Like the kind of smile a magician gives before pulling a coin from behind your ear, fake wonder, fake kindness. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he continued.

Her head tilted, false, polite curiosity painted over her face. “Oh?”

From who? she thought. Because I know Satoru doesn’t talk about me to random guys who sneak into our house. So, unless the walls are gossiping, you’re lying through your teeth, Mister Wizard.

Suguru chuckled softly, as if she’d said something clever, though she hadn’t said much at all. “You’re even more well-mannered than I imagined.”

Her lips twitched, still holding the polite smile. “Thank you,” she said, voice sweet.

Well-mannered? Really? What kind of compliment is that? Why not just call me a goldfish in a tank? ‘Oh, how well-mannered, how you swim in a straight line!’ Creepy, creepy, creepy.

Suguru’s gaze lingered on her a little too long, like he was trying to read her. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way his eyes seemed to weigh her.

So, she tilted her chin up, channeling every ounce of sass she could muster through the exhaustion. “And you are?” she asked, as though she hadn’t already guessed.

Suguru blinked, amused by her bluntness. “Suguru Geto. An old friend of Satoru’s. You met me before.”

Her eyes flicked toward Satoru, who was leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, his grin plastered in place. Too casual. Too easy.

But she was too tired to read into it. Instead, she turned her gaze back on Suguru, squinting just slightly.

Old friend, huh? Then why does it feel like you rehearsed that line in the mirror about fifty times?

Suguru, still smiling, tried again. “Satoru tells me you’re very bright. I can see that already.”

She crossed her arms, polite mask cracking just a little. “You just met me.”

He chuckled again, as though her retort delighted him. But her stomach curled with unease. It wasn’t a delight, it was a performance. Everything about him was performance.

Still, she could hear Satoru’s voice in her head, the one that always told her to try. To be patient. To give people a chance. So she swallowed down her irritation, her exhaustion, and gave Suguru her sweetest, fakest smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

But if you breathe near my blanket fort later, Murder Wizard, I will haunt you myself.

Tsumiki perched on one of the kitchen chairs, hugging her knees under her chin. She was tired. She was cranky. And she was in no mood for the weird man, who had apparently decided their house was his stage.

Suguru sat across from her, perfectly calm, perfectly polite, sipping tea like he’d lived there all his life. His eyes, though, kept drifting not to her, but to Satoru, who leaned lazily against the counter.

Every time Satoru spoke, Suguru’s gaze flicked over like he was hanging on every word. Every time Satoru laughed, Suguru’s smile deepened, too smooth, too practiced. Once, when Satoru walked past, Suguru’s fingers brushed his sleeve as though it were an accident. It wasn’t.

Tsumiki’s stomach twisted. Oh, great. Not only creepy, but flirty creepy. Amazing. Just what I needed before bed.

Suguru turned to her with that gentle smile again. “Do you like having Satoru around?” he asked softly, as if they were sharing some tender secret.

She blinked, then plastered on her best angel face. “Of course. He takes care of us.”

Suguru hummed, eyes flicking back toward Satoru. “He always was… protective.” His voice lingered on the word like it meant more than it should.

Ew, Tsumiki thought immediately. Sir, this is a Wendy’s. Please keep your goo-goo eyes to yourself.

Satoru chuckled from the counter, but his shoulders were a little too stiff. She didn’t notice she was too busy trying not to gag.

Suguru leaned back in his chair, folding his arms loosely. “You must feel very lucky, Tsumiki. Not many children get someone like Satoru looking out for them.”

She narrowed her eyes, lips still curved in a smile. “We make him lucky, too.”

Suguru paused, then gave a little laugh like she’d told a bad joke. But her gaze didn’t waver, and in her head she was already crowning herself the champion of this round. That’s right. Two can play Fake Polite Olympics, Creep.

Suguru glanced back at Satoru again, this time letting his smile curl just enough to show teeth. “He always did draw people to him.”

Tsumiki wanted to throw her juice box at his head. Oh my god, stop. You sound like one of those weird poets who write about rivers or something. Next thing I know, you’ll be calling him the moonlight in your darkness. Spare me.

She shifted in her chair, chin on her knees, watching him with narrowed eyes. Out loud, she said sweetly, “You must like Satoru a lot.”

The words were innocent, but the silence that followed was not. Satoru snorted, covering his mouth with his hand, and Suguru’s smile twitched almost imperceptibly.

Bullseye, Tsumiki thought. Creepy wizard: 0. Nine-year-old: 1.

Her eyes stung from being awake too long, and her head buzzed with the leftover adrenaline of the night. 

Suguru sat too close to Satoru. Always too close. Every time Satoru leaned away, Suguru leaned in, brushing past his shoulder, nudging through that invisible line around him like it was nothing. And Satoru, who always swaggered like nothing could touch him, let it happen. He laughed like it was all fine, his sunglasses hiding his eyes, his smile just a little too wide.

It made her stomach twist. If she could see something was wrong, how could he keep pretending?

When Satoru turned to grab something from the kitchen, Suguru’s polite smile dropped. He leaned forward across the coffee table, eyes sharp, voice low.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

Tsumiki met his stare head-on, her lips pressing flat. “You’re creepy.”

His eyebrows flicked up, then he chuckled under his breath like she’d said something funny. “Children are usually more subtle.”

“I’m tired,” she muttered, chin propped on her hand. “Don’t have energy to lie.”

Suguru’s smile curved sharply, more fox-like. He tilted his head toward Satoru, who was humming to himself with his back turned. “He’s doing all this for you, you know. For both of you. Be grateful.”

Tsumiki’s eyes narrowed. “We didn’t ask you.”

For a second, his eyes gleamed with something mean, then the mask slipped back on as Satoru turned around, setting down tea. Suguru leaned back in his chair, all lazy charm again, like nothing had passed between them.

But when Satoru brushed by a moment later, Suguru’s hand ghosted over his sleeve, passing right through that invisible barrier again.

Tsumiki scowled into her cup. He keeps doing that. And Satoru lets him. Why?

Suguru glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and she stuck her tongue out at him before taking a sip. His smile twitched.

War declared.

Satoru noticed the way Tsumiki’s head kept bobbing forward, her chin nearly hitting the table. He softened, shifting Yuji more securely in his arms. “You look beat, Tsumiki. Want me to tuck you in?”

She blinked up at him, stubbornly fighting her eyelids. “...No.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be tough. Even warriors need sleep.” He bounced Yuji lightly, already heading toward the hall.

Tsumiki hesitated, her gaze flicking toward Suguru—still lounging at the table, one hand curled around his teacup, his smile too polite. She didn’t want to leave. Not with him here. Not with the way he kept brushing too close to Satoru, like he owned the air around him.

“I’ll help,” Suguru said smoothly, standing as if it had been his idea all along. “It’s no trouble. Kids should get their rest.”

Her stomach tightened. The thought of leaving him alone with Satoru in the kitchen made her skin crawl.

“Actually,” she said loudly, hopping down from her chair with a scowl, “I’ll help too.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, amused. “Pretty sure the one who needs help walking is you, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.” She crossed her arms. “Besides, what if he—” she cut herself short, darting a glare at Suguru. “What if someone gets lost?”

Suguru’s eyes flicked down at her, sharp for just a moment before his smile smoothed over again. “How thoughtful,” he murmured.

But Tsumiki didn’t care if she was being obvious. She trudged forward after Satoru but stopped.

Satoru paused mid-step, Yuji cradled in his arms, a sudden spark lighting his expression. “Wait… the surprise!” His voice was low at first, then brightened as he shook Yuji gently. “Yuji, wake up, wake up you’re not gonna believe this. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Yuji’s eyes fluttered open, still half-asleep, blinking up at him. “Huh…? A surprise?”

Satoru grinned, a little too wide, his hands steady despite his excitement. “Yeah! But you have to come with me quietly, though. Don’t wake the Megs monster.”

Suguru, standing just a few steps away, tilted his head, his gaze fixed entirely on Satoru. The faintest smile curved his lips, like Satoru had literally hung the stars in the sky just for him. He didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. His eyes said enough.

Meanwhile, Tsumiki’s patience was evaporating by the second. She watched Satoru with wide eyes, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. And Suguru. Oh, Suguru. Always staring. Always close. Always… ugh .

Her fingers twitched toward the table. There! Suguru’s phone, abandoned. She slid it into her sleeve like a tiny victory, smirking to herself. This is for later, Murder Wizard.

Satoru adjusted Yuji in his arms, lowering his voice. “Okay, ready? Don’t peek. It’s… It’s amazing.”

Yuji yawned, rubbing at his eyes, but followed along, trusting Satoru completely.

Suguru stepped closer, his movement smooth, his expression a blend of adoration and intent. “A surprise, huh? For him… or for you?” His voice was soft, teasing, but his presence pushed the invisible boundaries Satoru usually kept with ease.

Tsumiki’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like him, she didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t about to let him make Satoru uncomfortable. She trailed behind them, hiding the phone in her sleeve, plotting her next move while muttering silently: If he touches Satoru one more time, he’s gonna regret it.

The kids were excited, Satoru’s enthusiasm infectious, and Suguru… well, Suguru was just standing there, gazing like he’d won the universe.

And Tsumiki, silently, was already planning how to make sure he didn’t. She smiled with her hoodie sleeve bulging suspiciously, thinking smugly to herself: Good luck calling for backup now, Murder Wizard.

A grin tugged at her lips. Ohhh, this is going to be fun.

She darted behind the couch, ducking low and pressing her back against the cushions. From her vantage point, she could watch everything unfold. Suguru’s eyes lingered on Satoru like he was some prized artifact, and Tsumiki’s lips twitched in silent amusement.

Okay… first move: make him sweat. Let’s see how fast he notices his precious phone is missing.

A soft giggle slipped past her lips. The game was officially on.

Even though she was only nine, her mind worked fast, smarter than most twelve-year-olds. She already had a dozen tiny strategies lined up: block his view of Satoru, tease him just enough to make him twitch, and most importantly, keep her beloved ChiChi safe from his overbearing creepiness.

She peeked around the couch, eyes bright and mischievous. Suguru didn’t notice her yet. Good. Very good.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun, she thought, hiding her grin behind a hand as she imagined the little chaos she could unleash.

Satoru came back smiling at Suguru, and Tsumiki’s heart melted a little at the sight. Aww, cute… she thought, letting herself soften for a split second. But then Suguru’s gaze landed on Satoru, lingering just a touch too long, and that little bubble of sweetness popped.

Nope. Destroy it. Right now, Tsumiki muttered under her breath, already plotting how to make the moment awkward.

“Um… Satoru,” she piped up, hopping down from her hiding spot behind the couch, “can you make something to eat? I’m starving.”

Suguru’s eyebrow shot up, and he leaned closer, voice smooth as silk. “Satoru… you're not going to cook, are you?”

Tsumiki froze. “Huh? What?” She tilted her head, confused. Satoru makes the best food.

Suguru’s expression flickered not with smugness, but with something… like fear. His sharp eyes darted to the kitchen, then back at Satoru.

“I… uh… had to learn after you left,” Satoru said casually, brushing off his jacket. “I’m not going to burn anything down anymore. Promise.”

Tsumiki’s eyes went wide . He burned things down before? Suguru actually looked surprised that Satoru knew how to cook. Her grin widened, all her mischievous energy kicking in.

Ohhh yes. Tension restored. Beautiful.

Suguru’s smooth demeanor faltered for the briefest moment, just enough for Tsumiki to notice. She could see his mind racing behind that perfect mask—calculating, second-guessing, probably wondering if Satoru would really blow the kitchen up.

Tsumiki leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, savoring it. I love this. I love watching him squirm. I love that I’m in charge. I love that I get to watch all of this happen.

She almost giggled aloud, but held it in, watching the interplay between the two grown-ups. Suguru tried to mask it with that faint smirk, but Satoru’s calm, confident presence dominated the kitchen.

Heh. Sorry, Suguru. This is my territory now, Tsumiki thought, the tension and chaos making her little heart race.

Satoru hummed a little as he chopped vegetables, completely ignoring the silent war Suguru was trying to wage, and Tsumiki’s grin widened even further. Oh, I could get used to this.

Suguru’s sharp eyes darted around, pausing on the empty spot where his phone had been. His lips pressed into a thin line, and the moment stretched too long.

“…Where’s my phone?” His voice was low, almost dangerous, and Tsumiki’s grin widened in anticipation.

She pretended to think, tilting her head innocently. “I… don’t know?”

Suguru froze, a flicker of something, annoyance, disbelief, maybe even hate crossing his face. Then it hit him. “You… you took it.”

Tsumiki shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. What’s it to you?”

His sharp glare cut into her. “Why do you hate me so much? I’m trying to be nice to you!”

Tsumiki blinked, and then her nine-year-old brain, tempered with the cunning of someone way older, kicked in. She leaned on the counter, arms crossed, smirk twisting up one side of her face.

“Trying your best doesn’t mean it’s… good,” she said, voice dripping with blunt honesty. “It’s obvious. You’re just… ugh, you! All… all over the place. Too close, too creepy, too fake when Satoru’s looking. You think being nice is enough, but it’s not!”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, but Tsumiki wasn’t done.

“Seriously,” she continued, tapping her chin, “you try, and everyone can see it. You can’t hide it. You think you’re smooth, but it’s just… sad. And annoying. And gross. Honestly, maybe just stay over there and let Satoru do everything, okay?”

For a moment, Suguru just stared. Tsumiki could almost hear the wheels spinning behind his perfect mask, calculating, hurt, flustered, all at once. The smirk he tried to muster faltered.

Meanwhile, Satoru hummed happily from the kitchen, completely ignoring the silent explosion happening in the living room. Tsumiki’s eyes flicked to him briefly, the sight of him calm and confident making her smirk widen. Yes. All mine. Suguru’s going down, and I get front-row seats.

Suguru’s hands twitched, his jaw tight, as if he wanted to yell, but he didn’t. Instead, he let out a long, slow exhale, a quiet concession to himself.

“You know…” His voice was low, deliberate, almost hesitant, “I have two daughters. Around your age.” He paused, eyes distant, flicking briefly to Tsumiki before looking down at the floor, as if carefully choosing his words. “They talk back, hide things from me… they frustrate me constantly. I’ve had to learn patience with them. A lot of it.”

Tsumiki’s eyes looked to the bottom of the couch where she hid the phone, hiding a grin. The way he softened, just a fraction, was… rare. She kept her sass bottled for now.

“They’re… difficult,” Suguru continued, tone shifting subtly, carrying both frustration and fondness. “But they’re mine. And if I want Satoru…” His voice lowered further, almost a whisper, “If I want him… then that means you, too. You, and Yuji, and Megumi… all of you are part of that. You’re connected to him. I can’t separate one from the other.”

Tsumiki blinked. He wasn’t smiling, but the weight in his voice was strange—soft, careful, almost intimate.

“I’ll tolerate you,” Suguru said quietly, voice smooth but edged with a subtle intensity that made Tsumiki’s hairs on her arms prick. “Not because I like it… not because I think you’re easy… but for him. For Satoru. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him by my side.”

There was a brief pause as his gaze lingered on her, sharp and measured, scanning, as if weighing her worth. “My girls,” he said, voice gentler now, “they would probably like you, if you weren’t… different. But you are. And yet, I’ll tolerate you, because he matters. You matter… as long as he’s near.”

The words were strange, almost dissonant, a mix of devotion, possessiveness, and reluctant kindness. Tsumiki tilted her head, processing it. It was slightly creepy, but there was no denying the sincerity. He meant it.

“And I know this doesn’t fix everything,” Suguru added quietly, finally meeting her eyes. “I know it’ll take time. You probably hate me. And… well, maybe you should. But I’ll try. I’ll try to be someone you don’t… fear, at least not too much. Because I need him. And if you’re part of him… then you’re part of the package. And I have to accept that. Even if it’s hard.”

Tsumiki’s grin fell; it was no longer fun. She fetched the phone and chucked it at the curse user’s head before retreating into her room. This was no immediate truce, no sudden friendship, but it was a start.

Notes:

Here's the official playlist for change!
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Q7lylzB2688z8JmJhN2oc?si=hN4clMCSR4aONIwmAFSmXg
It's peak trust.
Also, did y'all see the teaser? The art style looks so different. It's cool and I'm excited.
Anywayssss comment please!

Chapter 23: Talk To You (ReWritten)

Summary:

I hated this chapter, so I rewrote ALL of it ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

When Gojo returned with the food, Tsumiki was gone. The apartment felt strangely quiet without her tucked in the corner, her soft presence absent. His footsteps faltered for a heartbeat, a prickle of unease traveling up his spine as his gaze cut straight to Geto.

Suguru lifted his hands in mock surrender before Satoru could even speak, a calm, infuriatingly confident expression on his face.

“She went to bed,” he said simply, voice even. Yet in the flicker of his eyes, there was amusement, sharp and knowing, like he was enjoying some secret joke at Gojo’s expense.

Gojo’s jaw ticked. He didn’t like the idea of Tsumiki disappearing when Suguru was around, not with what he knew Suguru had become, but he forced himself to swallow the unease, though it burned unpleasantly at the back of his throat. The small bowl of fried rice in his hands felt heavier without her to eat it.

He dropped onto the couch with a graceless thump, chopsticks clacking against the rim. If she wasn’t going to eat it, he might as well. He dug in, shoveling bites into his mouth as though chewing could fill the cavernous silence stretching between them.

Suguru moved immediately, sliding in beside him with that effortless, uninvited grace. Their knees brushed. Familiar, close, and yet every inch of Gojo’s body stiffened.

When Suguru’s hand drifted toward his chopsticks, Gojo swatted it away sharply. “Get your own,” he said, tone clipped.

A soft laugh, almost musical, slipped from Suguru. “You never used to mind sharing,” he murmured, leaning just enough to brush heat against him, teasing but deliberate.

Gojo shoved another mouthful into his mouth to avoid answering, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Suguru leaned closer, pressing warmth into him, pressing boundaries that Gojo had spent years maintaining.

Then Suguru’s hand moved again, slow, deliberate. The back of his knuckles brushed along Gojo’s shoulder, sliding higher, fingertips ghosting up the column of his throat. The rice in Satoru’s mouth turned to ash.

He froze, utterly still, like prey under a predator’s gaze. The heat of Suguru’s palm lingered against his neck, thumb tracing the angle of his jaw as though it belonged there.

Suguru leaned in further, forehead nearly brushing Satoru’s temple, nose nuzzling the hollow beneath his ear. His breath was warm, intimate, intoxicatingly familiar.

“You still get quiet when I do this,” Suguru murmured, voice soft, teasing, but with a dangerous undertone.

Gojo’s grip on the chopsticks went rigid. Appetite gone. Every nerve screamed to shove him away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe properly.

Suguru’s fingers slid from his neck to his wrist, plucking the bowl from his lap.

“Oi—” Gojo’s voice cracked, sharp but delayed.

Suguru only smiled, calm and infuriating, taking a deliberate bite. “…Huh.”

“What?” Gojo demanded, scowl deepening.

“This is actually good,” Suguru said, brow quirking in mild surprise. “I thought those kids were exaggerating… lying to spare your ego. But no. Really good.”

The compliment landed heavier than it should have. Gojo’s chest tightened, and he tried to scoff, reaching for the bowl Suguru had shifted just out of reach. “Don’t sound so shocked, idiot. I can handle more than instant noodles.”

Suguru chuckled, slow, indulgent, taking another bite like savoring more than the food itself. “Guess I underestimated you. Again.”

Gojo muttered under his breath, ears hot. He reached for the bowl again, determined to end the ridiculous tug-of-war. Suguru let him, fingers brushing deliberately, lingering, like he wanted Gojo to notice. Gojo swallowed hard, pretending not to care, moving toward the kitchen.

Footsteps followed almost immediately. He didn’t need to look back to know who it was.

“You don’t have to run off the second I say something nice,” Suguru murmured, voice gentle, teasing, but his words carried weight. “Or is accepting a compliment unbearable now?”

Gojo set the bowl down with a little more force than necessary, jaw tight. “You’re the unbearable one,” he muttered.

Suguru stepped closer, pressing his presence into Gojo’s space. His hand came down over Gojo’s on the counter, not hard, but enough to root him in place. His smile was soft, sweet, but his eyes were dark, unwavering, daring Gojo to move.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered, leaning close so his breath brushed Satoru’s cheek. “You’re good. Really good.”

Gojo tried to slice through the tension with a smirk. “Suguru,” he said sharply, “keep talking like that and I might think you missed me.”

Suguru shifted smoothly, countering every step, cutting him off. “I did miss you. More than you’ll ever admit.”

Gojo’s grin faltered. His throat worked, words trapped. Suguru’s gaze softened, but not his grip. His other hand hovered, brushing lightly against the edge of Gojo’s jacket, resting on his chest.

“You don’t get to walk away like I’m just anyone. You never have,” Suguru whispered.

Gojo’s pulse roared under the weight of him. His eyes darted, hunting for a joke sharp enough to shatter the moment, but the words lodged behind his teeth.

“So don’t bother trying,” Suguru murmured, lips brushing Gojo’s ear.

“You never answered me, Satoru,” he added, voice low, deliberate, pressing closer, fingers digging into the fabric of Gojo’s shirt. “When I told you I loved you.”

Gojo tried to deflect, weakly joking. “Tch. You were always dramatic. I thought you were joking.”

“I wasn’t,” Suguru murmured, nuzzling the hollow of his neck. “Just like now.”

Gojo’s stomach churned. He tried to pull back, pressing his hands between them, but Suguru mirrored him, closing every gap. The apartment shrank until all he could feel was Suguru—the warmth, the weight, the claim.

“You always thought you could laugh it off,” Suguru murmured, fingertips tracing collarbone. “Pretend it didn’t matter. Pretend I didn’t matter.”

Gojo’s chest tightened. Words tangled, failing him.

“I don’t want your dinner,” Suguru whispered, voice low, reverent. “I want you. I always did.”

Every movement was anticipated. Suguru leaned closer, forehead grazing his temple, lips ghosting along his jaw.

“You belong to me, Satoru,” he murmured, soft but suffocating. “Even when you pretend you’re free, even when you hide from me.”

Gojo’s hands twitched, gripping fabric. Resistance surged, melted under Suguru’s deliberate pressure. Heat rose through him, nerves coiled tight, every breath thick with unspoken words.

“You can’t hide,” Suguru whispered, tilting his chin, forcing Gojo to meet his gaze. “Stop pretending. Look at me. Only me.”

Gojo’s lips parted, voice trembling. He swallowed hard, trapped in the intensity.

Suguru’s hands pressed firmly yet gently, brushing along his jaw, down his neck, cupping his face, holding him in place. “I’ll wait,” he murmured. “But I will have you. Always.”

The kiss came then—sudden, soft, possessive. Heat ignited, rational thought fled. Every nerve alive.

When they pulled apart, just enough to breathe, Gojo’s chest heaved, face flushed, hands still entwined with Suguru’s.

“Finally,” Suguru whispered, voice low, reverent.

Gojo stayed, overwhelmed, letting Suguru hold him, letting the warmth, tension, and years of unspoken longing wash over him.

Suguru’s hands traced his jaw, tilting his head, pressing foreheads together. “Mine,” he murmured. “Always mine.”

Gojo’s lips curved into a quiet, breathless smile, chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers gripping Suguru’s. The storm of emotion, the heat, the closeness, he finally let himself belong.

Suguru’s lips brushed his hand. “No more waiting. No more silence. I’m here. And I love you, Satoru. Always have. Always will.”

Gojo’s chest heaved, hands trembling, heart pounding, and for the first time, he didn’t pull away. He only stayed, pressed to Suguru, letting himself feel everything he’d denied for so long.

Suguru’s fingers traced the line of Gojo’s jaw, gentle yet deliberate, holding him in place as if keeping the world from intruding. “See?” he murmured. “You don’t have to hide it. Not from me.”

Gojo exhaled shakily, trembling hands slowly letting go of resistance.

Suguru leaned closer, lips brushing his temple, murmuring, “Good. That’s exactly how I want you. Mine. Always.”

Gojo’s chest was still pounding, pulse hammering in his ears. Every inch of Suguru’s presence pressed into him the warmth of his hands, the weight of his body, and his usual defense, his humor, smirks, and deflection felt useless.

Abruptly, he pushed himself past Suguru. “Ah—right! The plate,” he blurted, voice a little too high, a little too fast. He had the bowl, fumbling with it as if holding it could anchor him.

He tried to force a grin, leaning on his usual armor of humor. “Can’t let my award-winning rice go to waste, right? I mean… someone has to taste it before it hits the trash!”

There was a pause. Suguru’s smirk only deepened, eyes glinting with amusement and something more predatory. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even blink.

Gojo’s smile faltered, words catching in his throat. “…Right. Yeah. Sure.”

The joke had completely fallen flat. Heat crawled up the back of his neck. He shoved the bowl into the sink, letting the clatter of ceramic against metal fill the awkward silence.

“Guess… guess I’d better… uh, deal with the aftermath,” he muttered, leaning on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual bravado had crumbled entirely, leaving nothing but a flustered, racing mind. “You know… clean up before it turns into… chaos.”

Suguru stepped closer, effortlessly bridging the small distance, corners of his mouth quirking in that maddening way. “You always were quick to run when caught off guard,” he said softly, teasing, tender, utterly inescapable.

Gojo swallowed, eyes darting to the sink, then back at Suguru. He gave up on jokes entirely. His hands lingered on the counter, chest hammering, before muttering, “…Yeah… kitchen chaos,” and turning toward the kitchen, trying to reclaim a shred of composure.

Suguru’s presence followed him, close, unwavering, the silence between them thick and deliberate. Gojo’s fingers flexed against the counter edge, chest still racing, but for now, he let himself step back, even as the tension lingered, smoldering and unbroken.

Gojo moved into the kitchen, holding his plate like it was some kind of fragile weapon. He shoved it into the sink with a little more force than necessary, water sloshing over the edge. “Alright, okay, let’s… be responsible or whatever,” he muttered, forcing a laugh that sounded way too high-pitched and shaky to be convincing. “Can’t have a rice apocalypse, right?”

Behind him, the quiet shift of Suguru’s presence made his stomach tighten. He could feel Suguru hovering close enough that the warmth brushing his back wasn’t from the stove. Gojo’s fingers froze on the plate for a second, ears burning, heart doing that drum-roll thing it always did when Suguru was near.

And then he noticed the hair. Suguru’s dark waves were completely down, falling over his shoulders in a way that made Gojo’s chest skip a beat he didn’t want to admit. It framed his face perfectly, catching the light just enough to be distracting, and Gojo had the sudden, unwanted urge to reach over and fix it or mess it up. He didn’t want either, of course.

“Uh… so… just, uh… okay,” Gojo mumbled, scrubbing at the rice like it was the most urgent task of his life, trying and failing to focus on the suds.

Suguru stepped a fraction closer. The brush of his sleeve against Gojo’s arm made him jerk slightly, lips parting in a half-laugh, half-gasp. “Hey! Watch it,” he muttered, though the sharpness in his tone was diluted by the flutter in his chest.

Gojo’s eyes flicked sideways, and there it was. Suguru’s stare was quiet, unwavering, and way too intense. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t playful. Just… focused. Studying. Measuring. Gojo swallowed hard, forcing a chuckle he didn’t feel. “Uh… enjoying the show?”

Suguru’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Something like that,” he said softly, voice low and intimate. The tone alone made Gojo’s cheeks flare hotter than a furnace.

Gojo tried to focus on the plate, scrubbing faster than necessary. He noticed other little things, because of course he did: Suguru’s hand resting lightly on the counter, his eyes flicking just slightly when Gojo adjusted his sleeves, the faint scent of him subtle but impossible to ignore.

“Uh… so… you hungry?” Gojo asked, letting his usual charm slip in, but it came out breathless and uneven. He cleared his throat, adding a weak laugh that went nowhere. “I mean, not like I care, but… hypothetically?”

Suguru’s gaze didn’t waver, and the smirk that tugged at his lips made Gojo’s stomach coil tighter. “Not right now,” he murmured. “I’m… enjoying the view.”

Gojo choked a little on his own spit, shoving the sponge into the sink harder than necessary. “Really?” he stammered, trying to hide the sudden flutter in his chest with a joke that sounded flat even to him. “Wow… view appreciation… top-tier, Suguru. You’re… cultured.”

Suguru leaned just a little closer, filling the narrow space behind Gojo. His eyes traced a line from Gojo’s neck to his shoulder, and Gojo shivered involuntarily. “Of course,” Suguru said softly. “Can’t waste a good view.”

Gojo’s grin faltered, and he muttered under his breath, “This is… fine. Totally… normal…”

Gojo caught himself glancing sideways, and there it was again, the stare. Suguru’s eyes were dark, steady, unflinching. Not mocking, not teasing. Just… observing, studying him. Every twitch of muscle, every flinch, every stolen glance at the counter, all catalogued in those impossibly calm eyes.

“Uh… you gonna help or what?” Gojo blurted out, too quickly, too awkwardly, immediately regretting it.

Suguru’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but enough to make Gojo’s chest tighten. “I don’t think you need it,” he said softly, voice low, almost intimate. “But I don’t mind watching.”

Every small motion made Gojo hyper-aware: the brush of Suguru’s hand, the way he tilted his head, the way his gaze pinned him like a butterfly. His usual deflection, his jokes, his cocky comments—they all dissolved under the quiet intensity.

Gojo’s stomach twisted, and he shoved a hand through his hair. “Right… I should… uh… I should probably shut up,” he said, giving up entirely on humor. Every nerve was screaming at him, but he moved mechanically, trying to put space between himself and Suguru without making it obvious.

Suguru’s soft chuckle followed him, a deliberate, quiet sound that made the air feel even heavier. “Okay, Satoru, whatever you want,” he murmured, voice low and teasing but with a weight that made Gojo’s spine stiffen.

Gojo’s chest rose and fell fast. He gritted his teeth, pretending to focus on the faucet, scrubbing, rinsing, stacking anything to keep from noticing every detail about Suguru hovering so close: the hair falling across his forehead, the quiet weight in his eyes, the subtle curve of his lips when he thought Gojo wasn’t looking.

And somehow, somewhere deep in the chaos of embarrassment, fluster, and heat, Gojo realized he was completely… aware. Too aware.

Gojo abruptly pushed his plate toward the sink, muttering under his breath as if the act of moving it could reset his racing thoughts. He rubbed at his hands with a towel, deliberately slow, forcing his pulse to calm.

Suguru tilted his head, watching him, silent but with that impossibly calm intensity that made Gojo swallow twice too quickly. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly, eyes following as Gojo bent over the shoe rack to straighten the mismatched pairs.

Gojo straightened up a little too fast, wiping his hands on the towel like it wasn’t already damp. He shot Suguru a grin, all teeth and bravado. “Oh, just… fixing the chaos. Someone’s gotta be an adult around here.” He grimaced at his own words, immediately realizing how lame they sounded.

Suguru raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “‘Adult’? Really, Satoru? I never thought I would hear you say that.”

Gojo waved a hand, trying to play it off. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m efficient. It’s a gift. Unlike… you. Standing there. Totally blocking my view.”

Suguru’s dark eyes flicked to him, patient, amused. “Blocking your view?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gojo said, gesturing vaguely toward Suguru’s bangs, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “I’m surprised you can even see anything behind those stupid bangs of yours. They’re… dangerously stupid.”

Suguru’s lips twitched. He was confused but also amused. “What?”

“Exactly,” Gojo said, tapping the edge of the shoe rack, hands still trembling slightly despite the joke. “Like, seriously. Someone should trim them or tie them back before you trip because you can’t see. Safety hazard.”

Suguru stepped closer, slow, deliberate, but didn’t say anything. Gojo noticed every tiny movement—the way his hair fell perfectly, the way his gaze lingered, and it made him shift just slightly, adjusting the towel in his hands, forcing a casual, teasing grin.

“I mean, I’m trying to do something normal here, okay?” Gojo jabbed lightly at Suguru’s bangs again. “And you’re just standing there… looking menacing, or whatever.”

Suguru’s laugh was soft, almost patient, but it made Gojo’s chest tighten. 

Gojo’s hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the towel. He forced a slow exhale, but the familiar composure he clung to felt fragile, already fraying at the edges. “You probably should go,” he said quietly, voice low, careful more as an attempt at control than anything else. “It’s late. I think it’s time.”

Suguru’s dark eyes narrowed, the faintest edge of irritation sharpening them. “Go? You want me to go?” His tone was soft but carrying weight, the kind of weight that made Gojo’s stomach twist.

“Yes,” Gojo said, almost inaudibly, each syllable heavy. “It’s better… for both of us.”

Suguru’s expression hardened, patient amusement fading into something closer to insistence. He rose, deliberate and slow, and stepped closer. Gojo instinctively stepped back, but the wall pressed against his back before he could get away. Suguru’s presence filled the narrow space.

“Better?” Suguru murmured, tilting his head. “Do you really mean that?”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to meet those eyes that had always seen too much. “ I just… I need…” His words stumbled over themselves and died on his lips.

Suguru leaned in, subtle but undeniable, and pressed gently against Gojo’s back with the weight of his body. “You’re trembling,” he observed softly. “Do you think I don’t notice?”

Gojo swallowed hard, the familiar instinct to mask it with a joke absent, leaving only the heat creeping up his neck and the guilt tightening in his chest. He pressed the towel harder into his hands, trying to anchor himself, but it did little to quell the rising panic.

“Go,” he whispered again, voice rough and small, almost a plea. “Please… just… go.”

Suguru’s smirk was gone, replaced by a quiet insistence. He shifted, tilting Gojo’s chin upward with a finger, their faces close enough that Gojo could feel the faint warmth of his breath. “You don’t get to ask me to leave,” he said softly, firm, unyielding. “Not after everything.”

Gojo’s hands trembled again, the old habit creeping back, the one he had learned after Suguru left years ago: curling fingers, gripping, trying to hold onto something solid in the storm of unease. He swallowed hard, eyes dropping instinctively to the floor, ashamed at how completely Suguru had broken through his defenses.

“Please,” he murmured again, barely above a whisper, and the word felt like an admission of weakness he wasn’t used to. His chest tightened with shame, each breath shallow, each pulse thundering too loudly in his ears.

Suguru didn’t respond immediately. He only moved closer, tilting Gojo’s head just slightly, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You can’t hide from me, Satoru,” he said, voice low and steady. “You never could. And right now, you don’t even want to.”

Gojo’s lips parted, trembling. His mind raced, wanting to deny it, to push back, to reclaim control, but his body betrayed him. Every nerve screamed in protest even as every instinct whispered the truth: he couldn’t.

The room fell into quiet tension, the only sound the faint rustle of the towel under Gojo’s shaking hands. Suguru’s presence was a weight pressing him against the wall, intimate and suffocating, yet unrelenting.

“I—” Gojo began, then stopped, the word faltering on his tongue. His cheeks warmed, guilt pooling like a stone in his stomach. He averted his gaze, letting his hands press the towel tighter, the micro-shaking betraying every fragment of composure he tried to hold onto.

Suguru leaned closer, just enough for his lips to ghost the side of Gojo’s face. “You don’t get to ask me to leave, Satoru. Not when I can see everything you’re trying to hide. Not when you’re like this.”

Gojo swallowed, a small shudder running through him. He wanted to escape, to shove, to run, but every instinct, every muscle in his body, was frozen under Suguru’s presence. The shame, the guilt, the undeniable pull—all coiled tightly in his chest, leaving him breathless and unsteady.

He exhaled sharply, barely above a whisper. “I can’t…”

Suguru pressed just slightly closer, firm, deliberate, anchoring him in place. “I know,” he murmured. “I know you can’t. Not from me. Not now. Not ever.”

Gojo’s hands gripped the towel until his knuckles whitened. The tension between them was suffocating, charged, unbearable. And though he wanted to flee, a part of him, a quiet, reluctant part, felt the impossible truth: he couldn’t.

Gojo’s palms pressed against the counter, knuckles whitening, his body rigid, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. Not from Suguru, not now. Still, there was something new, a subtle shift beneath his skin, almost imperceptible, like a gentle thrum of warning: Infinity.

The invisible bubble shimmered faintly, weakened, fragile, barely more than a whisper of the force he’d mastered. Around Suguru, it was like pushing through a layer of thick, viscous water: soft resistance, almost imperceptible, yet undeniably there.

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, sharp and alert. His hand hovered over Gojo’s arm, feeling the subtle pulse of energy brushing against him. “Huh,” he murmured, a low note of surprise threading through his voice. “Finally…”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He didn’t respond, didn’t even meet Suguru’s gaze. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the faint push of Infinity a reminder that part of him was still trying to create distance, to guard himself—but it wasn’t enough. Not enough to keep Suguru truly out, just enough that he could feel it, sense the hesitation.

Suguru’s lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile. “You’ve never done that before,” he said, voice low, measured, like he was savoring the anomaly. “Never. You’ve always let me in. Always. And now…” His fingers twitched almost instinctively toward Gojo, a reflex born of years of familiarity, of habit. “…now you’re letting me feel it.”

Gojo’s fingers trembled slightly, brushing against the counter as though clinging to it could anchor him, give him strength. “I…” he began, throat tight, but the words faltered. The guilt, the shame, the knowledge that he’d built a wall, even a fragile one, between them it coiled in his stomach like a stone.

Suguru’s hand moved just a fraction closer, brushing the edge of Gojo’s forearm. The bubble shimmered faintly, pushing back ever so slightly against him, and the reaction to the very existence of resistance made Suguru’s eyes darken with frustration. His jaw tightened.

“You don’t trust me,” Suguru murmured, voice low but edged with heat. “You’ve never done that before. Not once. Never even thought to question letting me in…” He paused, a quiet growl escaping his throat. “…and now, suddenly, you do. That's…sad.”

Gojo swallowed hard, fists tightening around the edge of the counter. He wanted to explain, to tell Suguru that this wasn’t about him, that it was his own guilt, his own fears, but the words stuck, tangled, useless against the weight of their history pressing in.

Suguru leaned closer, his forehead nearly grazing Gojo’s temple, eyes smoldering with restrained frustration. “This… little pushback,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate, “I can feel it. And it’s maddening. You’re letting me in, but not all the way. You’re keeping me on the edge of you. Why? Why now?”

Gojo’s pulse thudded in his ears, every muscle taut, every nerve alive with the friction of proximity and the faint, insistent resistance of Infinity. He felt trapped, cornered, guilty beyond reason, and yet, he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not from Suguru.

Suguru’s hand brushed Gojo’s arm again, just enough to make the energy ripple beneath his fingertips. “You’ve never done that before,” he repeated, voice low, dangerous, almost a growl. “…and I hate it.”

Gojo’s lips parted, no words coming. His heart pounded, a fragile, guilt-stricken rhythm against the impossibility of the moment. The barrier shimmered faintly, weak but persistent, a trembling shield born of shame, and Suguru felt it all, every pulse, every hesitation, every ounce of the man he’d once had full access to.

Suguru’s eyes darkened, and the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Good,” he whispered, almost to himself, “I guess. I was beginning to think you’d never fight back.”

Gojo’s chest tightened as Suguru’s fingers traced along his jaw. The touch was deliberate, close, and invasive, but he stayed still, letting himself be pressed against the counter, aware of the bubble of Infinity between them.

“You… you should probably go home,” Gojo said quietly, voice steady but carrying the weight of unease. “See your… children. I’m sure they miss you.”

Suguru froze mid-motion, thumb brushing along Gojo’s cheek. For a heartbeat, the playful, predatory calm faltered. His eyes flicked downward almost instinctively, just enough to show a trace of hesitation. He had been so focused on Gojo, on this closeness, that he had forgotten about the lives waiting elsewhere, the responsibility he usually carried without question.

Gojo kept his tone soft, unpressured. “I’m… I’m not trying to push you away,” he said, hands flexing slightly against the counter, a tremor betraying the tension he refused to show outright. “But this… isn’t right. Not here. Not like this.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. His dark eyes lingered on Gojo’s for a long, charged moment, weighing the command, testing the trust he had always taken for granted. He opened his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to insist, but something in Gojo’s quiet firmness made him pause.

Finally, he stepped back just slightly, hand falling from Gojo’s face, giving him space. His expression softened only a fraction, just enough for Gojo to catch the subtle acknowledgment. “…Fine,” Suguru said, voice low, edged with lingering frustration. “I’ll… go. For now.”

Gojo exhaled lightly, relief washing over him, though his hands still trembled against the counter. He kept his gaze even, voice careful. “Thank you… And please… don’t come back. Not like this. It’s not doing either of us any good.”

Suguru’s lips curved in a faint, defiant smirk. “I don’t care,” he said simply, his voice low but certain, before turning on his heel and walking out the door.

The soft click of the latch sounded final, leaving Gojo standing in the quiet apartment, chest tight, hands trembling, guilt gnawing at him for the space between them and the truth he couldn’t escape.

Notes:

I remade this entire chapter. I got so mad when I read it, but it was too long to edit, so I got rid of the original and made a whole new one! ...Anyway, WHERE IS EVERYBODY? I think I've only had a handful of comments, and I THRIVE off of interaction. GUYS. TALK TO ME!!!

Notes:

Thank you for the comments <3 having people enjoy my works make me happy. School just got out so I'll have all the time in the world to write!