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tinaswampdweller · 4 days ago

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found you - ch. 6 (part II)

pairing: gojo satoru x female oc (ara natsuna)

tropes: psycho! rival! athlete! yandere! gojo x introvert! smart! rbf! oc

warnings: 18+ only, stalking/possessive themes, profanity, coercion, pet names (kitten, baby), sexual themes, gruesome/violence, physical assault, there’s probably more but i can’t think of it all at the top of my head—just be warned & pls if there’s anything that makes u even slightly uncomfortable pls do not proceed truly

word count/plot: [16.5k!] ara catches gojo’s attention when news breaks that she is the top academically ranked student in their grade. he is ranked second. he tries to befriend her but she ignores him. despite her obvious disinterest, his obsession begins…

a/n: hiii sorry for the delay folks but part 2 is out now ;) happy reading

ch. 1 , ch. 2 [ part 1 | part 2 ] , ch. 3 , ch. 4 , ch. 5 [ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 ], chapter 6 [ part 1 I part 2 ]

The pain was blinding. Black spots lined his vision. Blood dripped down his brow as he attempted to open his eyes. His vision blurred as he tried to focus on his surroundings.

He grunted, trying to straighten his back only to realize he was tied to a chair. His wrists tied to the armrests and his ankles tied to the chair legs.

He could barely react, everything hurt. His head was pounding.

“Oh! You’re up.”

He glanced around and realized he was in Ara’s room. He couldn’t find the owner of the voice but he spotted a bloody pipe wrench on her desk. His pipe wrench that he kept in the garage.

Suddenly a tall, built boy entered his line of sight. He was dressed in all black, down to his black gloves. He was pale with the lightest hair he’d ever seen—it was nearly white. His eyes were quite the brilliant blue, it was unnatural how they seemed to glimmer like crystals in the dark.

He tilted his head, “Remember me?”

His head throbbed, causing him to groan. The side of his head hurt so bad it felt like the pointed edge of a metal cube was trying to embed itself into the left side of his skull.

He spit out blood as he replied through a gasp, “Fuck are you?”

The boy frowned, “Aw, I was hoping you remembered. Ara told me you once did but-“ he tapped his own temple, “-your heads probably all messed up right now so I can’t blame ya.”

He groaned as another painful throb passed through his head.

The boy appeared unbothered, merely gazing around the room with…longing, was it?

What’s wrong with this piece of shit? What’s he want with me?

The boy was staring at Ara’s bed when he yelled, “The FUCK DO YA WANT FROM ME?”

The boy laughed boisterously, tilting his head back as he did so, “So loud. Don’t you wanna know who I am first?”

He glared, only to wince when his head pounded once more. It hurt so bad. He felt warm blood trickling down his neck as he heaved.

“No?” The boy smiled, “Alright then, you can answer my questions first.”

The pain was making it hard for him to think. He dropped his head, trying to focus on evening out his breath so he could do something to get outta here but Christ he just wanted to close his eyes…

The boy grabbed his chin and forced his head back up, “Aht, aht. Chin up.”

“Fuck you.” he hissed.

“This is your daughter’s room, isn’t it? Have you even been in here since she left? Looks the same.”

“She’s missing.” he spat.

“Well she left you before that.”

“Excuse me?” he growled.

The boy picked up a picture frame on her nightstand. It was a picture of him holding Ara when she was a baby, her mother had taken the photo. “Did you leave everything as it was hoping she’d be back?”

He was feeling too much pain to respond. All he could do was watch the boy stare at the photo before gently setting it back down.

“I was the same,” A grin broke out across his lips, “til I crashed out.”

Why’s he acting like he knew my daughter?

He picked up Ara’s only stuffed toy, a small battered sheep that was once fluffy but had gone through the washing machine too many times.

“Do you even know where she went when she left?”

According to the cops, she’d lived with one of her high school friends. A boyfriend, at that. He’d been so disappointed that he hadn’t even bothered to ask who. His daughter had become a whore.

The boy tossed the sheep back onto the bed. He clenched his teeth, he hated that he was touching his daughters things.

His bright blue eyes snapped to his, “Do you?”

There was something so off about the look in the boy’s eyes he decided to answer, “She lived with some–some boy.” He spat out some blood that had trickled down his lips, “Stupid whore.”

Suddenly the boy was directly in front of him, his hand shoving back the top rail of the chair, making the chair tilt backward. The abrupt action wasn’t good for his head.

“She's not a whore.” If he’d thought there was something wrong with his look earlier, it was nothing compared to now. There was a feral glint to his eyes that was downright psychotic despite the cold sense of control in his words.

He let go of the chair, causing it to fall forward and make his head bob as the chair fell back in place. The rough action made his head pound in pain, he felt more hot blood spill down his cheek. He made a choked sound as black spots clouded his vision.

The boy stood behind him. His voice came from somewhere above his right ear as he outstretched an arm to point at Ara’s bed, “I took her virginity on that bed—right under your nose.”

Red hot anger pulsed through him but before he could speak his head was yanked back by a fistful of his hair, making him yell in pain.

He spoke into his temple, “She only put out for me, cuz she’s mine.”

He went on, “She was a good girl, and a good daughter.”

His head was suddenly shoved forward. His wound throbbed, he felt more blood gushing down his scalp. The pain was making him dizzy.

Through his hazy vision he spotted the boy circle around him, “And you hit her anyway..”

The boy tapped his bound hand, his index finger skimming his knuckles, “..with these hands..”

“..these legs.” Suddenly he viciously kicked one of the chair legs, sending the chair reeling. He was certain it was going to fall over but somehow it managed to stay upright. His head had swung around so harshly he was going to puke from pain.

“F-fuck!” he cried out.

The boy looked him up and down, “You’re making such a big mess.”

There was a trail of blood on the floor, in the places that his chair had been swung around.

“Let’s go somewhere else.” He grabbed the back rim of the chair and swiftly began to drag him out of the room.

He yelled, the tilted angle and rough movement of being dragged around only made the pounding in his head worse. He couldn’t keep his head still.

Finally the chair was pulled still, making him sigh in relief—until he was kicked down the stairs.

He screamed, the pain of bouncing down each step was brutal in its intensity. It felt like a bullet piercing through his skull with each jerk of his head.

He was certain he was going to die when the floor by the bottom steps was inches away from his face only to be yanked still.

He gasped, turning back to see a menacing grin on the boy’s face. He was holding the back rim of the chair with one hand, “Not yet, old man.”

He dragged the chair to the kitchen, only to spot the array of kitchen knives neatly spread out on the counter. The toolbox that he kept in the garage was there as well, including his drill.

Fear exploded in his gut.

The boy precariously tossed the bloody pipe wrench in the air before setting it down alongside the arranged tools and knives.

“She cared about you a lot, y’know.”

His fear almost made him forget who he was talking about. He watched the boy pace around, overlooking the laid out tools.

He picked up the mini cordless electric chainsaw.

His throat instantly went dry.

The boy wasn’t looking at him as he spoke, merely testing the weight of the saw in his hand, “She drove by here to check up on you.”

His blue eyes zoned in on him, “Even though you beat the shit out of her.”

Dread rushed through him, louder than the pain. If he was going to die, so be it. But he wasn’t going to let this shithead tell him what to do with his daughter. Yet the longer he looked at him, a sense of familiarity brewed within him…

“I only hit her when she deserved it.” he seethed.

For the first time he saw true anger spark in the boy’s eyes, “Oh yeah? What did she do the night she ran away from you then?”

“She lied—just like her fuckin’ mother. She lied about there being a fucking robber the night I got busted up so I had to show her what happens to liars—“

In the blink of an eye the boy was right in front of him, his hand squeezing the life out of his throat, “No. You had a breakdown because of your ugly fucking face and chose to lash out on her.”

“You knew she wouldn’t fight back..” He squeezed his neck harder, “cuz she never fights back with you.”

His eyelids twitched. He felt the air leave his body and began to thrash. Choked noises left him as he tried to swing his neck out of his grasp. Just before his vision went black, the boy let go.

The boy leaned towards him, placing his hand on the back rim of the chair, “Do you remember who the robber was?”

“There was a no fucking robbber.” he spat hoarsely, “It was you.”

A bright smile bloomed across his lips, “That’s right.”

He let go of the chair and took a step back. He turned the saw on and held it close to his face.

He screeched, jutting back and sending the chair flying backwards. He groaned as his head hit the floor. The pain thundered through his skull..

The sound of the saw turned off and all that filled the house was the sound of his bright boyish laughter.

Once he blinked away the spots in his eyes, he looked up to see the boy standing over him. The boy's face looked upside down from his view.

“I should’ve fucked your face up more.”

Suddenly his foot was on his face, pressing down so hard he had to scream. The pain was excruciating—

“AHHHH!!!”

He began to grind the heel of his foot until a disgusting ‘crunch’ resounded under his shoe.

“Oh?”

He raised his foot to see the man’s nose had combusted. Pieces of bone could be seen within the mush of blood.

He smiled, “There we go.”

He pulled the chair back upright. The man coughed out blood, his eyes struggling to regain focus through the pain.

“F-fuck you.” he gurgled out.

He patted his shoulder, “You would’ve died that night if she didn’t stop me.”

He sauntered in front of him, “You also would’ve died the night she came crying to my doorstep.”

A chuckle suddenly escaped him, “Why’s death always involved every time I wanna see you?”

He couldn’t answer, merely heaving from pain as blood spilled down his face. His mouth was full of blood.

The boy’s back was to him as he faced the kitchen counter. He watched his arms move as if picking things up and setting them down, “I helped her put on lotion every night cuz she was so worried about her skin scarring.”

He turned around with a drill in his hands, “But what about the ape who gave her those scars?”

He shook his head, “You were barely twenty minutes away but I couldn’t do shit cuz she would get mad at me.”

He shrugged, “Looks like she’s not around to stop me anymore.” He took a step towards him.

His eyes widened, “Wait! Wait-“ he sputtered through the mess on the face.

“Wait what.” he snapped as he stood before him.

He watched the old man cough out clumps of blood with disgust, “I didn’t want us to meet like this either.”

“I always thought I’d meet you sometime before I put a ring on her. I wanted to pretend to ask for your blessing and then rub in your face how happy I would make her.”

He used the tip of the drill to tilt his chin up, “I wanted to send you the wedding video, so you could watch her smile and laugh and cry happy tears—and feel like the fat fucking loser you are.”

Her Dad shook his head, making more blood pour from his nose, “P-please-h-hold on, you—“ he breathed haggardly, “you want to marry my daughter?”

He felt a low thrum in his chest as he swallowed. He answered flatly, “Yes.”

“S-she wants to?” Another chunk of nose slid down his face, “Marry you?”

He grinned bitterly, “I didn’t get the chance to ask.”

It was hard to tell with all the blood on his face, but he seemed to be confused, “I-I don’t get it. Where is she then? She didn’t send you?”

“No.” his voice was crisp, “I came here myself. The last time I saw her was at graduation, just like you.”

The old man appeared zoned out.

He went on, “You left after her speech. Why?”

“C-cuz I thought she was talkin’ about me…she was all don’t ever let anyone tell you what to do and I thought she was shittin’ on me.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, “You don’t know your daughter at all, do you?”

He tilted his head, “She never said a single bad word about you, not one. Not until the day you almost beat her to death and even that I had to force outta her.”

He pressed the drill to his throat, “That’s how much she cared.”

There was a moment of silence before tears began to shine in the old man’s eyes. He shook his head, sobbing.

It was a low, broken sound—his sobs. One that the old man never let anyone else hear. His shoulders sagged, the tip of the drill digging into his neck.

As the man sobbed, he couldn’t help but smile smugly. It was the first emotion he’d seen on the oldie that wasn’t anger.

“Let’s hope she still cares enough to show up to your funeral or else you died for nothing but my enjoyment.”

The drill turned on.

It was vile.

The body hung from the living room ceiling fan. The tightly knit rope made the 47 year old man’s neck deep purple from blood loss. His neck was also bent at an odd angle, one that shouldn’t be naturally possible unless your head snapped.

He was shirtless, his stomach and chest marked with various colored bruises and deep cuts. It was obvious the murderer used the neatly arranged house tools/utensils left on the counter to beat this guy—and all of them were caked in blood.

His limbs were cut off-both of his arms from elbow down, as well as his legs from knee down. The wounds were cut at a jagged angle and left a copious amount of dark purplish red blood on the floor. He could only pray that the murderer cut off his limbs after he was dead.

Upon a closer inspection, the man’s eyes were drilled in, leaving ground out, chunks of blood on his face where his eyes should’ve been. The man’s nose appeared crushed in, the white bone of his nose was visible through the crusted blood surrounding it.

There was a wound on the side of the man’s head that looked absolutely lethal. One side of his skull was caved in, completely ravaging his ear. The blood that had seeped from the wound seemed to cover the entire left side of his body. It might’ve been the final blow, if the old man was lucky.

The man’s back was a sight to see. Atop the rainbow of harsh, wide-spread bruises was letters. Letters that were burnt into his skin by a fireplace poker that was left carelessly within the puddle of blood on the ground. The words carved into his back stated—

Last words: I’m sorry Ara.

His mind couldn’t even formulate the right questions due to how struck he was by the sight before him. Grotesque would be too light of a word.

Vile. The person who did this had to be vile.

“Detective.” He glanced over to see his partner, Inanna, approach him. “They found remnants of his arms and legs in the fireplace.”

She stopped beside him, assessing him for a moment, “You okay?”

She’d told him the scene was gory but this gory? It didn’t feel right at all. Yes, a person could hate someone but this, this was hatred to an atrocious degree. If it was even hatred at all that fueled this…

He was certain this stench was going to stay with him for a while.

He ran a hand over his mouth. He needed to focus.

“Ara is his daughter right?”

“Yes, she’s been missing for about 9 months now.”

He remembered how widespread the search for her had been. It’d reached national news at a point due to a rich government related backer. They hadn’t let go of her case for months. And yet there was still no sign of her.

He’d been a detective for about 26 years now, not much scared him in life but this… this entire thing felt ominous. He’d barely dipped his toe into the case and yet the energy of this house, the murder felt off to an almost demonic degree.

He could smell the media and conspiracy theorists from a mile away.

Whoever was in this room, torturing this man had enjoyed it. It was clear from the way the homely tools turned weapons were laid out nearly upon the counter. It was as if he’d arranged them like that because he/they wanted to use them all—like a little experiment and he had.

There was no regard of keeping anything hidden either. The fireplace poker was left in plain sight, leading them straight to the victims limbs.

It wasn’t a first time killer either. Not from the way Mr.Natsuna’s home surveillance cameras were all jammed and the data from them all cleanly deleted and removed. There was no sign of forced entry.

It was odd—the combination of carelessness yet thoroughness. But out of all of this, one thing was clear.

This killer wasn’t scared.

Quite a bit of people showed up to his funeral, to Gojo’s surprise. It probably had to do with the media attention on the case versus actual care for the guy.

Most of the attendees were just work colleagues that the old man didn’t even have in his phone contacts. Yet they’d all told the media their account of him, none of them strayed far from ‘grumpy, kept to himself old man’ some even mentioned stories of him talking lovingly about his daughter which he couldn’t help but doubt.

Regardless, the media coverage was perfect especially if it reached the target audience.

He sat a good distance away on a bench in the cemetery, watching the preceding. It was a whole bunch of old people, paying respects and pretending to care. Media outlets sat outside the cemetery fence, snapping pictures and waiting for a chance to talk to the attendees.

The media was just dying for a crumb about the case, but little did they know none of those old head co-workers knew a single thing about Mr.Natsuna’s true nature.

He watched the funeral attendees disperse and head on and home, the media following soon after. It was laughable how enraptured the public was by the case. Everyone found it so mysterious.

His favorite theory on the internet was that Ara came back and killed her father.

She most certainly should’ve.

The sky was beginning to darken, it’d been hours since the funeral ended. Many people had come and gone since then, leaving flowers at loved ones gravesites and yet no one stopped at Mr. Natsuna’s grave.

It was getting colder. A cloudy fog slowly wafting over the tombstones. The hum of harsh winds passing making leaves and trees rustle in the distance.

He knew he should leave but he didn’t want to. He had a few more ice cream bars in his coat pocket to keep him company.

As well as a thousand ghosts.

It should be eerie, he supposed, to reside in a graveyard for so long but he felt nothing. The silence felt comforting, even in the presence of so much death. He almost respected it.

A stronger gust of wind howled past him, making his hat fly off and hair ruffle up with the wind.

Just as he stood to retrieve his hat he spotted someone approaching Mr.Natsuna’s grave. It was a smaller figure, with a bouquet of white flowers in their hand. It was hard to tell who it was due to the black mesh fascinator hat they wore.

Everything was similar. The height, the gait, the lengthy hair. His pulse thrummed with hope.

He circled around her from a distance, trying to assess her completely as she bent down to place the flowers beside his tombstone.

Then suddenly she fell to her knees and began to cry. The sound of her cries was so similar to Ara’s he nearly froze in place.

As he silently approached from behind her, he noticed something was off. The woman was older, he could tell from the skin of her hands flat against the ground. The veins and slightly wrinkled skin was unlike Ara’s smooth hands.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

She quickly turned her head up, and the similarities nearly made him gape.

It was Ara’s mother. He’d seen pictures of her when she was younger but goddamn she was pretty as hell. Ara was nearly her carbon copy.

He’d told James to keep tabs on her for a while now. James would update him whenever she travelled to different countries, just for the sake of potentially finding Ara but it seemed James didn’t know she was back in America.

Last he heard, she was in Germany.

She blinked away her tears, “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” she stood up while delicately dabbing at her face with a handkerchief, “anyone else was here.”

He shook his head, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re fine, dear.” She barely looked old enough to be calling him ‘dear’ unlike her husband. She looked 35 at most.

She glanced over at him and he couldn’t find it in himself to break his stare. Is this how Ara is gonna look like at 35? Am I ever gonna be able to see that?

It hit him like a truck when he realized how badly he wanted to see that. How badly he wanted to grow older with her. How badly he wanted to see her at every stage of life. How badly he wanted to change with her.

He didn’t want to be without her.

She blinked, her long lashes fluttering—Ara’s eyes had the same exact shape, “Did you know him?”

He belatedly realized she was referring to her husband. He briefly glanced at his tombstone, “No.” he lied, “I was actually visiting someone else.”

“Oh.”

He watched her stare at the old man’s grave more somberly than before.

“Who is he to you?” he asked, as if he didn’t know.

“My husband,” she responded before adding, “My first husband.”

“Oh.” James hadn’t updated him at all apparently.

“I got remarried a year ago, to a school friend but… I never got the chance to properly say goodbye to him.”

She spoke confidently despite the waver in her voice. The regret was evident in her eyes. Her eyes were just the slightest bit lighter than Ara’s.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, “Don’t be. I did this to myself.”

A small pained smile appeared on her lips, “It’s not a lie when they say you can’t run away from your problems, but that’s all I ever did.”

“Why?”

She glanced over at him, silently assessing him for a moment before responding with a touch of forlornness, “It felt like the safest option for me at the time.”

Her eyes dropped somewhere low, “But I neglected someone I shouldn’t have.”

There was something about the way she spoke that was inexplicably compelling. Something about her composure felt almost… tranquil, as if she’d already endured all the hardships of life.

“Who?”

“My daughter.”

“What’s her name?” he wanted to hear her say it.

“Ara.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

She nodded, “She would’ve been about your age now.”

He hesitated, “Did she.. also pass?”

She shook her head abruptly, “No, she’s missing.”

She suddenly turned to him, her gloved fingertips hovering over her lips, “Oh I shouldn’t be oversharing like this-“

“No, please. Don’t stop. I need a distraction,” he insisted, “Please.”

A slight laugh left her, “I hardly think talking about my family will be a happy distraction.”

“I’m not looking for happy, I just wanna hear something honest.”

She appeared stricken before her gaze softened, “I’m not sure what else I could tell you.”

“Tell me about your daughter.”

A little sad smile flickered across her lips, the expression reminded him so much of Ara it hurt.

“I wish I could.” she responded gently, “but I barely knew her myself, I was too absorbed in my own head to care about her the way I should’ve. I pushed her away when she needed me the most.”

She blinked away the tears collecting in her eyes, “Motherhood isn’t something that came naturally to me. I was married but I wasn’t ready to have her. We both weren’t.”

She glanced at the tombstone, voice soft, “I didn’t protect her.”

His jaw clenched. His voice came out flat, “Why?”

“Because I was weak.” she admitted, before shaking her head, “Even she was stronger than me. She knew I wasn’t okay, she begged me… to do what I needed to do. She was even ready to drop out of school and work to keep us afloat but I-I wasn’t ready. I was too scared, too heartbroken. I had to act on my own.”

“She was the smartest girl.” She pressed a gloved hand to her brows, “I don’t know how she was mine.”

He was zoned out.

She gracefully wiped away her tears, “Of course I realized this all too late. I just hope she’s free now.”

“Free?”

“Yes, free.”

He took in her side profile. Her puffy under-eyes, her fatigued gaze, the undeniable set of resilience to her jaw. It was the look of a mother who believed in her daughter, despite all odds.

He wondered if his mother ever believed in him this much. If she were alive, would she regret her actions too?

“If you could say something to her now…what would you say?”

A fresh stream of tears glistened in her eyes, “I would tell her so much. I would tell her everything I should’ve told her before. I would hold her-God,” she broke down in tears, “What I would do just to hold her.”

She sobbed, “I just want to hold her and never let go.”

Me too.

As she struggled to compose herself, she reached into her purse. He assumed she was going to get another handkerchief or such but instead she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

She handed it to him.

“That’s her.”

He stared at her missing poster. The poster that he’d posted everywhere in California, even personally handed out to countless people at a point.

She pointed at her picture.

“If you see her, report it immediately.” her voice sounded distant.

He stared at her picture, as if he didn’t pick it.

“Don’t forget it.” her tone firm.

“I won’t.”

I can’t.

She sets down the coffee cup, looking at the screen as she does so.

“Order 43!”

Suddenly she feels a hand clasp over hers, making her gasp.

She glances over to see a tall, white-haired male. He’s rather pale and has the sharpest jaw she’s ever seen. There’s a shadow of darkness under his eyes and hard set to his lips.

Despite his unearthly looks, it wasn’t that that made her gasp. It was how cold his hand was.

She immediately slides her hand off of the cup, unable to formulate any words.

He’s staring at her. His eyes the most riveting shade of blue, it almost feels as though he’s compelling her. There’s something brewing in his eyes, she can tell he wants something—almost ruthlessly so.

But then his gaze wavers, something akin to dismay flashes through his eyes. He glances away.

“Désolé.” he mutters in French but she hears the touch of an American accent in his tone.

He takes a hold of his coffee and turns around. She watches him stalk out the cafe, his trench coat fluttering in his wake.

Once he’s out of sight, she turns around and presses a hand to her chest. Her heart rate was spiraling out of control.

Her co-worker touches her shoulder, “Tu vas bien?”

She quickly faces her, “Vous avez vu ça?”

“Oui... c'était bizarre.”

She can’t shake the ominous feeling whispering along her skin, “C'était.”

(a/n: pls feel free to use DeepL or google translate to translate the french to english)

He throws the coffee cup into the trash–a little too viciously, it seems, since a nearby passerby flinches.

He glances down at his hand that touched the barista’s hand with a frown. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her. Their sparkless touch confirmed it.

But why did she have to look so much like her?

He raked a hand through his disheveled hair. Suddenly his mind blanks–

“Here.” She set a mug on his desk.

He glances up from his laptop before reaching towards her just as she’s about to walk away. He tugs her onto his lap.

“What’s this?”

Her familiar scent wafts over him as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “I made you a coffee.”

He keeps a hand on her waist while reaching over for the mug, “Really?” he asks, elated.

“Yeah, I made too much.” she mutters.

He takes a sip before his eyes widen, “It’s sweet.”

“I added more creamer in yours.”

The corner of his lips curl before he tugs her smaller frame tight against his chest. He nuzzles the crook of her neck, “You love me.”

She squirms as he peppers a trail of kisses down her neck to her shoulder. Her laughter makes his heart pound faster.

She cups his face in her hands, “Stop.” She was always too ticklish to take his kisses.

“You love me.” he repeated with a satisfied smile.

Her eyes narrow as she searched his face. She couldn’t deny it. Not after her confession last week. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. She loved him.

Everytime he thought about it he felt high. This beautiful girl in his arms loved him. After everything they’d been through together, it felt so right. It felt more than right. It felt perfect.

She sighed, “How do you manage to fit that into every conversation.”

“Becauseeee it’s true.”

“Did I ever say it wasn’t?”

He pouted, “No.”

“Then stop embarrassing me.”

“How’s it embarrassing?”

“Because…” she reddens, shifting on his lap, “It just is.”

He presses his forehead to hers, “Loving your boyfriend isn’t embarrassing.”

“I-I know but…”

“But what?”

She’s not meeting his eyes, merely staring down at her hands on his chest. A light flush on her cheeks.

“But nothing.” she mumbles.

His hand tightens around her nape, tilting her head up to face him, “I thought you were over being embarrassed about us.” he deadpans.

Her eyes widened, “I am! It’s–not that.”

“Then?”

“I just–I’ve never said that to anyone before and you keep bringing it up. It makes me-” her flush deepens as she hesitates, “It makes me shy! Okay?”

He grins before slipping his hands under her shoulders and picking her up so that she’s now facing him, with her thighs straddling him.

He places his hands on her hips, his fingers sneakily slipping under the hem of her shirt as he stares up at her.

He licks his lips as he looks her up and down, “I still make you shy?”

She looks like an affronted kitten and he can't help but grin wider.

Just as she attempts to shuffle off his lap he uses his hands on her hips to keep her in place. He leans forward, speaking against her neck, “I’ve never said it to anyone else either, you know.”

He feels her go still in his arms. She slowly backs away to stare down at him. Her dark eyes assess him silently and he can’t help but feel his heart thrum in his chest. There isn’t one emotion on her face.

Suddenly her hand fists the hair at the back of his head, yanking him back, “Good.” she hissed, “because if you did, it was a lie. You’ll never love anyone the way you love me.”

Her hands slide around his neck, “I own you.” Her nails dig into his skin.

Her teeth nip at his lower lip, “I’m gonna haunt you til the day you die.”

She kissed the corner of his lip, “I’m gonna ruin you.”

He squeezed her waist, “Ruin me.” he begged as he leaned forward, chasing her lips as she backed away.

“I’m gonna rip your heart out.”

“Do it.” He captured her lips and kissed her so hard that his lips hurt.

“Ha~” a dry scoff escapes him. The memory was so hilarious he couldn’t even find it in himself to laugh. Especially not as he remembered how he’d had her in every single position he could on his desk after that.

She’d meant every word she said and all he could think about was the feel of her in his hands. How much he missed it. How every single time he touched her bare skin it felt like his hands were born to be there. How each touch between them made his body and soul gripe with such visceral need–he had no choice but to listen to his instincts.

And one touch from that barista hadn’t made him feel a thing.

He hears a feminine giggle from Suguru’s room as he passes. A fleeting sense of pride flows through him.

If high school had been his playground, university was definitely Suguru’s.

He quickly makes his way down the steps and passes the kitchen—only to freeze when he notices the candy bowl on the counter is full. Suguru must’ve refilled it.

He’s about to poke through to find something he likes only to find that it’s all things he likes. All of the candy was various kinds of his favorites.

He picks out two gold wrapped Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Just as he pops one in his mouth he hears Suguru.

“Yo! Satoru.”

He glances over to see him padding down the stairs. Suguru gives him a brief once-over.

“Where are you going?” Suguru asks.

“Out.”

He raises a thin dark brow, “Don’t tell me you're getting on that jet again, are you?”

He supposed there was no point in avoiding it, “I am.”

The disappointment on Suguru’s face is evident, “What? No, you can’t miss Suda’s birthday party.”

“It’s fine.” he replies while tossing the balled up wrapper in the trash. He doesn’t miss.

“I told you days ago to keep tonight free.”

He slides his car keys off the hook, “Yeah, sorry.”

“What is goin’ on with you?”

“She’s your girl, what difference does it make if I’m there or not?”

He stops at the door, awaiting Suguru’s answer only to be met with silence. He decides to look over his shoulder.

Suguru appears stricken until he frowns, “Fine.”

“Cool.” he swings open the door and leaves.

He removed the dog treats out of his pocket. The dog immediately noticed, it went still in its pursuit of rolling around in the grass. It shot up straight and glanced around before spotting him. The dog ran towards him.

“Lucky!” she yelled but the dog didn’t listen.

The dog stopped before him, planting its tiny paws on his shoes before circling around his feet. It’s tongue stuck out in excitement.

He lowered himself to one knee, feeding the dog treats out of his hand. He pet it with his free hand.

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced up to see the dog’s owner. His heart panged in recognition, even their voices sounded similar. If Ara had decided to go vanilla blonde that was exactly how she would’ve looked like.

He pulled down his hood, watching her expression carefully as he did so. Her eyes seemed to widen before she glanced away.

He tilted his head before rising to his feet. She was an inch taller than Ara but it’d been quite some time. She could’ve grown some height or maybe her platform sneakers were giving her a boost.

“No worries.” he responded calmly, “I like dogs. I keep treats on me just in case.”

That was a lie. He’d read her file and he knew she took daily walks in the park with her dog at this exact time.

She was so pretty it was making his heartache. Her yoga pants fit her legs rather nicely. Her thin jacket fit her waist snugly as well. Just looking at her made him feel less hollow.

She twirled her ponytail around her hand. A nervous gesture? He couldn’t be sure.

She was avoiding his gaze and it piqued his curiosity more than she knew. He tried not to get his hopes up anymore but could it really be…

“Ara.”

Her eyes darted to his, genuine confusion marking her countenance. “Huh?”

It wasn’t her. Ara wasn’t that much of an actress to be able to hide a reaction to her name. This girl wasn’t afraid of him either. But just to be sure—

He grabbed her hand.

Not her.

He didn’t feel a thing. The pull wasn’t there. His Ara wasn’t there.

He placed the dog treats in her palm before letting go. He chuckled airily, “Sorry, don’t mind me.”

He gestured towards the extra dog treats in her hand, “You can have those. There isn’t a dog on the planet that doesn’t love em.”

“Who’s Ara?”

The question took him by surprise. He’d just been on the verge of turning away but his feet froze at the mention of her name.

Who is Ara? Would I even be able to recognize her if I saw her? Does she still think about me? Is she in college like me? Does she still like art? Is she majoring in art?

Everything he knew about Ara was old. He didn’t know anything about her now. He didn't know if she’d changed in any way. He didn’t know what new experiences she’d gone though—what new things she’d discovered. If she’d found another hobby to occupy her time like she always would or if she’d gotten to explore her style like she wanted to.

It bothered him. Everything about it bothered him.

He didn’t even know if she was alive.

“Are you okay?” She reached out to gently touch his arm.

He instinctively avoided her touch a second before she could reach him.

“Sorry. I—“ she dropped her hand, “It’s none of my business.”

“You’re good,” he subtly shook his head, “I’m the one who’s more sensitive than a baby apparently.”

She laughed lightly.

He didn’t miss the concern in her eyes as she asked, “Are you okay though? You seem..” she trailed off.

He raised a brow, urging her to continue.

“Kinda down.” she finished.

He took a moment to assess her before responding, “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. I really look that busted, huh?”

This time a real laugh escaped her, “No but I just—I know that.”

“Know what?”

She hesitates before replying, “I know what it’s like to be going through it.”

He’s quiet.

She goes on, “I’ve been there.. group therapy helped me.”

He laughs while tilting his head up towards the sky.

“I’m serious. It did!“

“Everyone would think I’m crazy.”

“That’s what I thought too but sometimes sharing your problems makes the load feel lighter, no matter how absurd it is. We people have more in common with one another than differences, y’know.”

A humorless smirk slowly spread across his lips. His hands slipped into his pockets before he faced her.

“You really are a psych major, huh?”

She froze. He saw the exact second the sympathy in her eyes transformed into fear, “How did you know that?”

“I guessed.” He lied.

She was still for a moment before a low laugh slipped out of her, “I just try to help people when I can.”

“That’s real nice of you.”

She blinked before squinting slightly in doubt. The expression reminded him so much of Ara-it felt like a shard of glass had pierced straight through his chest.

His knuckles lightly grazed her cheekbone, “I mean it.”

For a second he imagined her to be his Ara, “We need more people in the world like you.”

He withdrew his hand. It was then he noticed another male heading their way in the distance.

She glanced down, scratching the back of her neck, “Thank you.”

“Stay safe.” he muttered with a little smile before walking off.

Just as he turned away, the approaching male stopped beside her. According to her file, that guy was her current boyfriend. He worked at the cafe she regularly visited.

He overheard their conversation as he walked away.

“Who was that?” he asked. The fresh coat of jealousy in his tone made him grin faintly.

“Just—some guy,” she paused, “I think he needed help.”

“With what?”

“I’m not sure..”

She stepped out of the comedy club. The crowd from the show filled the streets before her. Everyone seemed to be discussing the comedian in high spirits.

“Prim, how are you getting home?”

“I can walk, remember? I literally live 5 minutes away from here.”

“Oh yeah!” Lucy let out a short laugh before freezing, “Wait but still. Aren’t you a little tipsy?”

“Nah nah. I’m all good.”

“You swear?”

Prim spotted Owen’s car pull up in front of them, “Yeah, I swear.”

Before Lucy could go on she playfully shoved her towards the car, “Don’t worry. I promise, now go. Owen’s right there—“

“—but wait—“

“Go, go, go.”

She hustled Lucy towards Owen’s car before waving them off. She raised the strap of her shoulder bag from the crook of her arm before walking down the sidewalk.

He walked in stride a couple feet behind her.

Her miniskirt was catching the eyes of all the wrong men and he happened to be one of them.

Her legs were distracting. Her long boots went well with her look. All he’d need to do is bend her over and the little piece of fabric would lift up to show his favorite place.

A subtle breeze passed and her lengthy hair rippled along the wind. The chatter of the crowd from the comedy show fading into the distance.

She momentarily bent down, shuffling around for something in her shoulder bag before lifting up a mini hand-held mirror. She was in the midst of reapplying her lip gloss until she spotted him.

He knew he’d been spotted the second her confident stride faltered. He was right in the mirror’s line of sight.

But she didn’t stop. She continued to walk at the same pace.

Smart girl.

He picked up the pace.

She must’ve felt it somehow because her pace quickened as well.

She glanced over her shoulder and a rush of exhilaration sprawled from his core.

She began to walk faster, with less subtlety.

He sped up right along with her. It didn’t take much time. She stood only three feet before him now.

She turned a corner and he turned a moment after her. This time she was blatantly glancing back as she walked. Looks like she’d given up being indiscreet.

She quickly shot out her hand and he instinctively gripped her wrist. He’d gripped her wrist hard enough to send her pepper spray clattering onto the ground.

Her eyes widened in fear and his chest surged with satisfaction.

But those aren’t her eyes.

Ara’s eyes weren’t ever that clear-ever that readable. Ara was always thinking ahead-always thinking one thing, yet doing another.

This girl’s fear left her paralyzed—as malleable as paper.

Barely stronger than a feather.

Her wrist felt entirely too fragile when she flinched at the firm pressure his fingers applied.

“Why are you following me?” her voice cracked.

She was beautiful-that red lip was entirely too enticing. Ara never wore a red lip.

He released her wrist, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

“You look like someone I’m looking for.”

“I do?” She was terrified, attempting to put on a brave face. It was so obvious he could almost feel her fear—her struggle.

He took a step towards her, her feet remained rooted in spot. Her pupils dilating in fear.

He saw her neck bob as she swallowed, her eyes never leaving his.

He nodded, “She’s missing.”

Her eyes briefly dropped to his chest before returning back to his.

When she spoke her voice had this quality to it that made him wonder if she was losing her voice, “Really..”

“She’s been missing for two years.”

He tilted his head as he watched her lower lip quiver.

“Is she even alive?” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.” he replied just as quietly.

Her gaze dropped to his chest once-more.

He leaned towards her, “I’ve been looking for her ever since.”

He lightly nudged her chin upward with his knuckles, “She was my sun.. my stars.”

Her eyes were glossy.

“What happens to the world when the sun disappears?” he murmured.

Her eyes were brimming with tears. He was viciously reminded of how Ara would look so incredibly beautiful when she cried—it was odd how such an emotion could captivate him but.. it only felt just to find her attractive during her highs as well as her lows.

“Answer me.” he urged softly.

Maybe the girl was scared because she knew she couldn’t outrun him. The heels of her sexy boots would never allow it—regardless it wasn’t like she had a chance.

Her only meager attempt at harming him failed.

Her jaw trembled under his touch, “I- I don’t know.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, “Oh come on, you gotta have a theory. We all took our basic science classes didn’t we?”

“It’s not possible-“

“But if it was.”

“The world would be completely dark, wouldn’t it? The planets wouldn’t have anything to orbit around and humans-plants-all life would eventually die off.”

she rushed out.

He was still, for what must’ve felt like a long while to her because her countenance fell. Her eyes darted between his, as if contemplating whether or not she’d said the wrong thing.

He cupped her elbow, grinning, “Relax, you're right.”

She moved her arm back but his grip only tightened, “What does this have to do with me?” her voice shook.

“Oh it has everything to do with you, sweetheart.” He swung her around, pressing her small back against his chest.

He nuzzled her cheekbone, “So impatient.”

He squeezed her arms, “Just bear with me..”

They were so similar in height, just holding her against himself like this brought back memories. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, sliding his arms around her waist. If he closed his eyes maybe he could pretend…

but she didn’t smell like her. She didn’t even come close. There was nothing about her scent that made his body rush with that irresistible magnetism that overwhelmed him whenever she was in his vicinity. It was maddening.

His tongue swiped her neck, making her jolt. She didn’t taste like her. Her skin didn’t taste like a dangerously potent elixir had been poured all over her skin just for him.

She struggled against him, “Wait-stop. Let go. Stop!”

He cupped her mouth with one hand, sighing, “Shhh, baby.”

He felt a tear touch his palm over her mouth and immediately glanced at it—before instinctively leaning close to lick it.

Her tears didn’t taste the same. Ara’s tears were less bitter, more salty. More addictive.

He squeezed her jaw, aggravated. He’d wanted to hold her for a moment, reminisce but all he seemed to do was note their differences.

But that was good, wasn't it? He still remembered. He remembered her scent, her feel, her taste.

It was impossible to forget but with this girl, the differences were blatantly clear. Each difference evoked a different emotion—igniting his already desperate longing.

He just wanted her image to stay in the forefront of his mind longer…

Each memory of her was a high in and of itself but he was running out. He was running out of memories to replay in his mind and that scared him. He couldn’t lose her. He’d already lost her physically but to lose her in his mind? He wasn’t ready to live without her.

Suddenly his mind flashed with another memory.

He was blinking away his dreariness when she yanked at his hand in hers. The next thing he knew they were running.

He ran out of the backyard with her leading the way.

“Why are we running?!”

“Just wait.” she yelled back.

She stopped abruptly, making him nearly crash into her until he spotted the folded silk sheet at their feet. There was a cake atop it—specifically a white chocolate raspberry truffle cheesecake.

His mother’s favorite.

Today was his mother’s birthday. He’d been thinking about it all day and yet he hadn’t said a word about it. He didn’t plan to either.

He slowly met Ara’s gaze, astonished, “H-how did you..”

She gently tugged his arm, “Come, let’s sit.”

She lowered him to sit atop the silk sheet. Just as she moved to sit beside him, he instantly yanked her onto his lap.

She smiled softly, shaking her head.

He stared at the candlelit cheesecake before them, still stunned.

“Who told you?”

“Do you think you’re the only one paying attention?”

Her small hand slid up his nape, her fingers raking through his hair, “You’ve been quiet all day.”

The candlelight seemed to reflect in her eyes as she leaned closer and kissed his cheek.

“Let’s celebrate her.” she murmured.

He couldn’t stop staring at her as she glanced towards the cake. She pulled the cake closer before her lips made a little ‘o’. It seemed one of the candles had went out.

She quickly pulled out a lighter from her pocket and-it took a couple tries-but she relit it. She faced him.

She searched his face before whispering, “Satoru.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, unable to respond.

Her hand cupped his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheek, “Satoru.” her voice cracked.

Her eyes watered right alongside his and he decided right in that moment he never loved anyone more.

His head dropped to her neck and she drew her slender arms around his shoulders, trying to hold him. He silently cried against her, squeezing her tight.

She kissed his head, her hand in his hair caressing his messy strands comfortingly. Her hand on his back gripping him tight.

“It’s okay.” she whispered as he shook. His tears unable to hide themselves, “I’m here.”

“I’m here.” she repeated, as if she knew how much that meant to him.

“I love you.” she whispered.

“I love you.” he muttered back, only to realize he’d spoken out loud. His arms tight around the Ara look-a-like, tears stinging his eyes.

He blinked away the tears when he realized the girl in his arms was shaking.

“Please, please let me go.” she begged.

He was still for one long moment, selfishly continuing to keep her close as he whispered in her ear, “Is that what you want?”

She nodded.

He eyed the side of her tear stained face, “Are you sure?”

“I- I am.”

He didn’t move, merely pressing his lips to her temple—inhaling her. He almost thought he could smell her scent if he held his breath long enough.

“Let me go.” her voice wavered.

He closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling of holding her one last time before letting go.

He watched her book it down the street, her heels echoing against the asphalt as she ran.

It would be easy to chase her. He wouldn’t even lose his breath trying.

He’d catch her and she would scream. Nothing close to that pretty little laugh that’d escape Ara’s lips when she’d run and get caught. She’d always tilt her head up to look at him after, her chest heaving and eyes alight with exhilaration.

No… it wouldn’t be like that.

There would only be fear, short-lived satisfaction and then silence. Endless, hollow silence.

He unlocked his phone, tapping open the photos app before letting his thumb hover over a photo album. An album dedicated to pictures of her. He used to go through this album daily.

He opened the album, swiping through. A cold billowing sensation curling in his gut with each picture he swiped through. Some pictures were blurry from trying to snap a picture of her true smile in time, she’d always manage to evade it—except for this once.

They were at an aquarium and after a lot of deliberation she finally decided on a favorite fish.

Just as she pointed at one and faced him, he managed to capture her smile on camera in time. Her smile was so bright, wide and enrapturing when turned up at its full potential like this. And she didn’t have a damn clue.

He stared at the picture, it felt like he’d taken it yesterday but now here he was at 20, staring at a picture of a 17 year old girl.

How did time pass so fast… and still feel so dreadfully slow.

He exhaled derisively before swiping to the next picture. His heart stopped.

She was in a bikini set with side tie bottoms. He’d taken this picture of her off guard, when she’d just been relaxing in the pool with him. And he was damn sure glad he took it.

Her tits were spilling out the sides of the bikini top, the little cloth barely able to contain her full tits. Just the silhouette of her sexy little waist made him run his teeth over his bottom lip. Countless memories of him gripping that tiny fucking waist and thrusting into her clouded his mind.

Going from fucking her anywhere, anytime to not being able to touch her at all had been the harshest withdrawal.

He was hard–glaringly so. It pressed awkwardly against his belt, throbbing for attention.

The doorknob turned and he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

A woman emerged from the door, clad in barely any clothes. The lingerie set was inky black, yet see through in all the right places. The garter belt hanging from her hips accentuated her hips perfectly. She walked with the strut of a model.

The woman’s hair was long and wavy, just like Ara’s–even the way her smile spread across her face was reminiscent of her. If Ara was a couple inches taller, had smaller tits and fully tapped into her sensuousness, she would’ve looked just like this.

Which was solely why he paid for a night with her.

Ciara was her name. She was Slovenian and her prostitute name was Kitty. Ha.

Was it a coincidence or fate that kitties needed to entertain him?

He watched her slowly walk towards him, truly cat-like in her gait. Her heels not making a sound against the floor as she made her way to the pole in the center of the room.

He leaned back against the cushions, watching her.

She didn’t break eye-contact, merely twirling around the pole rather measuredly, as if to give him a full view of what he was working with.

His eyes dropped to her little ass peeking out her thin panties. He grit his teeth.

She let go of the pole and sauntered towards him. Her eyes dropped to the tent in his pants.

“You look like you need a little help.” she murmured sultrily, before lowering to her knees.

She placed her long nailed hands on his knees and slid them up his thighs. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against his bulge as she looked up at him.

She fluttered her eyelashes before leaning back to undo his belt and the zipper of his pants. He kept his arms spread atop the cushion’s backrest.

A short breath of relief escaped his clenched jaw the second his cock was free from the constraints of his zipper. The only constraint left was his boxers, which were struggling to keep his twisting cock inside.

He watched her eyes widen at the sight, “You’re so big, daddy.” A subtle whine to her voice.

She licked her lips as she whispered, “I can’t wait to fit all of you inside me.”

She jutted her chin aside, casually flipping her long locks over her shoulder before reaching for his cock.

He grabbed her throat a second before her fingers wrapped around him. She jolted in surprise.

His grip on her throat kept her in place as he bent low to press a kiss to her lips. The second their lips met she had no choice but to cave to him. His kiss was so invasive and consuming. Each subtle scrape of his teeth against her lips licked up the flames inside her body. His tongue intruding her mouth nearly felt as sensual as being fucked. There was an unfathomable sense of control in his actions that she’d never felt before—it was dizzying. His rigor was stronger than hunger, darker than mania. She felt compelled to submit to him.

Suddenly his hand on her throat pushed her back. She gasped as she landed harshly on her elbows. She could already feel the bruises forming.

She watched him stand with his belt in one hand. His eyes glacial in their coldness, dissonant to the unfeeling set of his lips.

“You’re not her.”

He stepped over her, leaving her heart racing and ego smaller than a speck of dust.

One year later

The chauffeur opened the car door and he stepped out. He smoothed down the front of his suit and glanced over when he felt a hand on his back.

His Uncle stood beside him, a small smile on his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes.

His uncle was a few inches shorter than him now. His ice blue eyes surrounded by wrinkles. His white hair was gelled back, minus for one strand hovering over his forehead.

He’d seen that face more than he would’ve preferred to during the past year. He’d observed his antics, motives and character to an in-depth degree and learned that his Uncle was more than just conniving. His Uncle was lethal in his business pursuits. Steadfast in business dealings and a genius at making money.

All skills that were easy to replicate, skills he could easily advance.

Which was why his Uncle didn’t like it much when he’d let Gojo take charge of the company for a week only for stocks to double, investments to quadruple and their worth to jump upwards by a couple billion. He also didn’t like it when their investors began to contact him regarding business dealings.

He was supposed to remain CEO for a month but his Uncle quickly did away with that after a week when he noticed his progress. He supposed he didn’t want his position to get unseated that quickly. He wasn’t dead yet.

His uncle patted his shoulder, “Go on, boy.”

Gojo grinned subtly before walking ahead. He entered the buzzing art gallery with an air of boredom.

A server passed by with a tray of drinks and he took one. He handed it over to his Uncle.

His Uncle took it before frowning, “You know I don’t like champagne.”

He shrugged before greeting one of their investors as she approached them. It didn’t take long for other familiar faces to pop up and greet them.

Small talk. Small talk and more small talk.

He was bored of it all. It was all too menial for him so the first chance he got, he slipped away. He was planning on heading out but then the art gallery owner caught him.

“Please, Mr. Gojo.” she touched his arm, the elderly woman had quite a flirtatious laugh, “Just take a look around before you leave, won’t you?”

He tilted his head, “Since you asked so nicely, Ms. Brahms.”

She smiled, showcasing her perfect teeth, “I really think there’s some pieces you might like.”

Another male approached her just as he turned away. He supposed checking out the art couldn’t hurt.

The theme was ‘emotions’ so the art displayed was supposed to brew up feelings within the viewer. Ms.Brahms insisted on clarifying that he should wallow in what the art makes him feel versus trying to interpret what emotions the artist is trying to convey.

He slowly walked around the less chatty area of the gallery. Perusing the fresh pieces, some with familiar names, some completely new.

None of the art was particularly notable, which was unsurprising. He hadn’t felt much as of late—well, for a while now.

He stared at an art piece that showed a red moon casting a red light over a black & white city. It was an interesting vibe, sure but not the kind to make him feel a sort of way.

He walked over to the next wall. His gaze gravitated towards a canvas with a human laying on a hospital bed, attached to several wires. The wires were all white but upon closer inspection you could see that they were all very lightly colored pastels.

Everything else in the picture was gray and white, shaded in areas to show depth. The unsettling part about the art piece was that there seemed to be one-sided windows into the patient's room. There were other onlookers peering into the patient’s room, pictured as black, blurry human-like figures.

Then there was the most odd part, the patient on the table’s eyes were wide open. Their mouth was covered due to some sort of contraption covering it.

It was intriguing how the eyes of the patient strapped to the bed were so expressive. The paranoia in their gaze was clear, but so was the effect of the drugs. It made the fear in the patient’s eyes almost hazy, dream-like. The entire piece was captivating.

The details-the subtlety, the onlookers, the helplessness. He was intrigued.

He looked at the canvas beside it. This one looked like it took place in a vault with walls of black mirror, there were stacks and stacks of treasure, towering atop each other. The stacks of treasure surrounding a willowy girl.

She was dressed in a modern style, floor-length dress and hair done in a neat updo. She looked classy, elegant in a way that felt similar to a swan.

She was dancing, despite being attached to a shiny silver string that was attached to each of her limbs from somewhere above.

She was barefoot—her feet up to her ankles were covered in this red liquid he could only identify as blood. It was everywhere on the floor of the vault. It even stained parts of her gossamer white dress. The only place blood seemed to seep from was her eyes—upon closer inspection he realized her eyes were sewn shut and yet there was a smile on her lips.

It was then he realized the willowy woman was dead-from her sunken cheeks, slightly hanging posture, to the subtle gray sheen in her skin. She must be dead-or at least close to it. She was only able to dance because the silver strings attached to her were making her dance. Someone from above, off-the-canvas was controlling her.

It was quite the compelling piece. He’d never seen anything like it.

He glanced below the two canvases he’d just seen to one more below it. It seemed to take place in a long hallway, the hallway becoming darker & darker the further it went on. There seemed to be a small rectangle of light to potentially signify an exit to this hallway.

But the walls of this hallway were covered with eye-balls. They were peering in, staring every which way. There were even eyes on the ceiling. The only area that didn’t have eyeballs was the shiny white tiled floor.

The eyeballs were bloodshot and the irises were a familiar shade of bright, electric blue.

An odd sensation bloomed in his gut.

He tilted his head, staring at the picture as if it could tell him more. The detail in the eyes was quite realistic, it looked as if they were growing from the walls.

It was obvious what this piece was trying to convey. In fact it perfectly encapsulated it.

The feeling of being watched.

He motioned one of the gallery worker’s over. She compliantly came forward.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell me about this artist.”

She smiled, in a way that was almost coy-as if she was unsurprised he found these art pieces caught his attention.

She motioned towards the name-plate below the pieces, which he’d already taken note of. “This artist goes by the pseudonym, Anonymous. They went viral for their art piece titled ‘Love’ 3 years ago, I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

“I haven’t actually.”

“Oh! Well, everyone in the art world knows of it. It was the most expensive rookie art piece sold in a while-“

“How much?”

“40K.”

He merely nodded.

“They’ve been relevant in the art industry ever since.” She pointed at the canvas with the several blue eyes, “This is their most recent piece and it’s been getting quite popular. The artist actually didn’t even want to release it but their team convinced them to.”

“How do you know that?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose, “It’s mentioned on their website. They always write a little blurb about each art piece they drop on their blog.”

He watches her examine the art almost fondly, as if she’d stared at the pieces several times before.

“There’s just… so much detail and layers in each piece. The color play as well-of course, there’s so much black & white but the shading brings out a certain.. depth and the little bit of color that is used is almost emphasized due to the darkness of everything else.”

“I feel like the more you stare at it the more you find.” she paused, before facing him, “Doesn’t each piece feel like a glimpse into a nightmare?”

He was silent. He couldn’t help but find her words.. the best way to put it. Each piece was quite creepy–in a way that almost didn’t feel intentional. There was certainly a dreamlike quality in each work but the darker themes felt almost purposefully masked in or glamorized. As if there was a pretense of normalcy someone who merely glanced at the art wouldn’t notice but if you actually took a moment, it was blatantly clear.

She went on, pointing at the bottom right corner of each canvas, “If you notice the artist doesn’t have a signature either, instead they use a white hibiscus as their signature-“

“What?”

He must’ve spoken too sharply because she nearly jumped. She glanced up at him with a bit of confusion, “A hibiscus-the flower? That’s the artist's signature. If you look closely at each canvas you can find a hibiscus placed somewhere in their art. A lot of our visitors have fun trying to find it in each piece.”

Now that she mentioned it… he peered closely at each piece. He pointed out the white hibiscus flower in each canvas, it was rather subtle and small in the art but it was there.

“Wow.” the gallery worker-Charlotte, according to her badge-spoke with a slight laugh, “You found them quite fast.”

“What’s the artist's real name?”

“I don’t know.”

He sharply faced her and her eyes widened.

“N-no one knows,” she quickly added, “They go by a pseudonym, remember?”

“How can I get in contact with them then?”

“You would have to reach out to their agent. That’s what Ms.Brahms did-“

“Get me the agent’s contact. Now.”

She blinked, taking a step back, “Uh, sure. I’ll go speak with Ms.Brahms.”

He watched her walk off with a nagging impatience brewing in his gut. He faced the art with narrow eyes. There was… something here.

There had to be.

He felt it, like an itch needing to be scratched except it was more potent. Way more potent.

No. A quiet, cool voice whispered in his mind. Don’t get your hopes up. We’ve been disappointed so many times before…

He grit his teeth, hastily rubbing his chin before pulling his phone out from his pocket. He snapped a few pictures of the art before sending it to his private investigator.

James responded not even a millisecond later.

J: What’s this?

G: I need you to find the artist. Send me everything about them asap.

J: On it.

He took a puff of his cigarette in one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other.

He found the image he was looking for. The artist’s breakthrough piece.

The backdrop was black. At its center was a cake stand but instead of a cake at its center, it was a heart. An actual human heart.

It was incredibly realistic. Each part of it anatomically correct but… the heart was stuck with thin, shiny needles, at almost every single point. The silver of the needles the only color on the entire canvas. Everything else was black and white.

Once again, the art had this almost dream-like quality to it that made it hard to look away.

It was a simple piece, and yet it felt heavy with symbolism. Especially because of the title, ‘Love’.

Maybe it was because the shiny glint the tiny needles gave off or how compactly the needles were pierced upon the organ but he swore he felt a twinge in his own heart.

It was the only romance related piece amongst the artist’s artwork. He supposed even they understood the woes of heartbreak.

And if the artist was who he thought it was…

The car door pulled open, Ijichi stood beside it, “We’ve arrived, sir.”

He stepped out of the car, tossing the cigarette on the ground without a glance.

Just as he was about to walk, he stopped. He turned around, his eyes dead set on Ijichi’s cautious expression.

“Do you remember Ara?”

He paused, “O-of course, sir.”

“Do you think about her?”

He watched Ijichi grow anxious under his stare.

He looked Ijichi up and down before reaching inside his coat for another cigarette, “It’s a simple question.”

“Sometimes.” Ijichi admitted.

He placed the cigarette between his lips just as a slight laugh escaped him.

He shook his head, “She was pretty, right?”

Ijichi watched him light the cigarette with unease, “Yeah..”

“Really pretty,” he muttered to himself before taking a puff. He faced Ijichi, “What if I told you she was here, in New York, right now?”

His eyebrows skyrocketed, “She is?”

“I don’t know, I’m just guessing but.. if she was, then what?”

“I would…” Ijichi seemed unsure of what to say, “I would be happy for you.”

“You would?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“Because you would be happy to see her.”

He raised a brow before a dry chuckle slipped out of him, “Should I be mean to her or nice to her?”

At the obvious confusion on Ijichi’s face, he added, “If I see her again.”

Ijichi’s brows furrowed.

He leaned against the car, “I have the right to be mean, y’know. She left me.”

“She went missing.” Ijichi corrected, as if that meant anything.

“I think of her now and I just want to hold her but… back then I woulda wanted to make her cry.”

He chuckled again, “I liked seeing her cry.”

Ijichi frowned, “You shouldn’t make women cry.”

He turned to Ijichi with a smile on his lips, “That’s right.”

A moment later he asked, “Have you ever been in love, Ijichi?”

He seemed to redden at the question. He scratched the back of his neck, “I-I’m not sure.”

“You haven’t.”

Ijichi blinks.

He goes on, “It’s not the kinda thing you get confused about. It’s a curse, makes you all kinds of twisted—for one reason only.”

“For what?”

“Love.”

He stared out of the tall glass walls, at the rain pouring against the windows. He raised his glass to his lips. It was this newfound apple cranberry iced tea he’d found a liking for.

He felt a piece of ice go down his throat as he stared at the view. The penthouse was completely soundproof, one would not be able to guess his building was in the heart of New York City. All of Central Park and Manhattan could be seen from his windows.

His phone buzzed. He set his glass down before slipping his phone out his pocket.

He raised his phone to his ear, “James.”

“Yes, Mr.Gojo. I gathered info on that artist. I’m sending it over now.”

He pressed his phone on speaker and tossed it on the coffee table. He sat back on the recliner, crossing his long legs over one another, “Tell me.”

“Her name is Sade West. She’s twenty one years old. 5 feet 5 inches in height. She was born in Orange County, California. Her father is unknown and her mother passed away 7 years ago. Her mother was a homeless, drug addict who surrendered her to foster care early on.”

James continued, “She grew up in foster care, switching from home to home all over Southern California. She was a good kid, didn’t get in trouble much except for a bit of tardiness in high school. She was an average student but did well on her SATs so she was able to get into the School of Visual Arts in NYC.”

“She had enough saved up from her part-time jobs to move to New York but mainly took loans to cover her school expenses. She graduated last spring.”

“During her time at the School of Arts she was discovered by Lynelle Ivo-“ his brows furrowed at the familiar name, “-a very experienced art curator, she basically took Sade under her wing.”

“Apparently sometime during her intern years with Ivo she requested that her art be released through a pseudonym-“

“Do we know why?”

“Unclear but Ivo agreed and the pseudonym decided was ‘Anonymous’.”

He tilted his head as James went on, “A year after releasing art as ‘Anonymous’ her piece titled ‘Love’ went viral on social media-specifically Tik Tok and X. The physical piece got sold for 44K.”

“Who bought it?”

“Johnny Depp.”

Gojo merely grinned, “Go on.”

“Shortly after she graduated Chroma Atelier, a high quality paint company, reached out to her. She has a 3 year sponsorship deal with them. She hired on a management team of two people after that, a publicist and a manager. She currently utilizes Reese Heim’s art studios as her workplace. They have a working agreement that whatever art she creates in his studio gets showcased at his galleries.”

He’d heard of Reese Heim’s before. He was pretty sure his assistant had bought one of his pieces for his office. It was worth a pretty penny.

“And you won’t even have to book a flight to see her.”

He sat up in his seat, snatching up his phone. He opened up her picture just as James said, “It looks just like her, that Ara you’re looking for.”

It did. It truly did. Not one feature was off. Her eyes were the same. Her nose was the same. Her lips were the same. Sade looked just like her.

“Why didn’t you start with that?”

“Sorry, I thought you knew.” James replied.

Gojo didn’t respond, his brows drawn as he swiped past the copy of her ID to look for more pictures of her. He swiped past her birth certificate, social security card, passport, high school transcripts, college diploma. He barely skimmed her resume. James had collected everything and more, from her vaccinations down to her aerial silk yoga class receipts. That’s what he liked about him, no information was ever too much information.

“Her hair looks different.” James added, sounding unnerved by his silence.

“She dyed it.”

“Is it her?” he asked.

The corner of his lip twitched as he stared at her ID photo, “Is this the only picture you got?”

“Yeah, that’s all I could find. She doesn’t have any pictures of herself on her social media or any professional pictures. Rather odd, really.”

“Not odd for someone on the run.”

“Do you really think it’s her?”

He paused, staring at her somewhat blurry passport picture-which was the colored version of her ID photo. She barely looked older, but her alluring eyes held this gaze that could only come from age, “This is all she’s ever wanted… to pursue art. Being an artist was her dream.”

His knuckles skimmed his chin, “Where is she?”

“Her apartments in Lower East Side, barely a few miles from you. She lives with three roo—“

“What’s her address.”

He stared up at her apartment building. It was a simple off-white brick building with black trim windows. There seemed to be a balcony on each floor, as well as a fire escape.

“Agh! What the fuck!”

He glanced over to see a girl near his age staring back at an older man who was fast-walking away. Her groceries were all over the wet side-walk.

He blinked and realized he recognized the girl. Her name was Priya, one of Sade’s roommates. She was a software developer at Google. According to James notes she’d met Ara through mutual friends in college.

She was still glaring at the older man when he approached.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“That asshole just ran into me.”

She shook her head in frustration before double-taking when she saw him. Her hazel eyes widened. He smiled faintly.

Her black hair was pasted to her face from the rain. He pulled up his hood before handing her his umbrella.

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

He bent down and picked up her reusable bag from the ground before placing her fallen goods within.

He stood up and handed the packed bag to her, only to freeze when he saw she was already holding a bag and was clutching the umbrella-rather tightly-in the other.

“If you want I can carry your groceries wherever you need me to? I’m in no rush.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He grinned slightly, “Yeah.”

“My building’s actually right there.” she pointed at Sade’s building, “but I live on the fourth floor-“ I know “-and we don’t have an elevator so.. it’s a bit of a workout.”

“You trying to scare me away?”

She laughed, “I just want you to know what you're in for.”

She unlocked the apartment door and immediately dropped her bag by the door. She was panting.

“Oh my god.” she gestured for him to follow her inside and he did.

She closed the door behind him, “How are you not out of breath? I swear those four flights of steps get me everytime.”

He chuckled as he picked up the bag she’d set down and put it on her kitchen counter, alongside the one he’d been carrying.

“You're a model, aren’t you?” she asked him as she hung up her coat.

“I’m not actually.”

She walked around him, “You have the height for it.”

He grinned, “I know.”

She returned his grin and pointed at the stool beside the kitchen island.

“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get you some water before you head out. Consider it my thanks.”

He perked up, “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” She opened the fridge, “Do you want juice? We got apple, cranberry, orange-“

He slipped into the seat, “Orange is perfect.”

“Great.”

He glanced around. It was a cute place, it was clear that girls lived here from the way everything was stocked and decorated. The line up of empty alcohol bottles atop the fridge reminded him of college.

“You mind if I use your bathroom?”

She barely glanced over her shoulder as she struggled to open the orange juice, “It’s at the end of the hall to your right.”

“Thanks.”

He stood up and walked down the hall. He turned on the light to the bathroom but didn’t step in when he closed the bathroom door shut. He glanced back at the end of the hall to make sure Priya wasn’t looking before looking at the four bedroom doors in the hallway. Lucky for him, the doors were labeled.

He approached the door with Sade’s name. The door was already open so it was easy to slip inside.

No one was there.

He glanced around the room. It was well decorated. Her desk was scattered with sketches and her silver Macbook was covered with stickers of Kuromi. She had an extra clothing rack since it seemed her closet didn’t have enough space.

He nearly stepped on her fluffy slippers before glancing at her nightstand. It seemed she was currently reading ‘The Five People you Meet in Heaven’ by Mitch Albom. He briefly remembered reading that book in middle school.

There were printed pictures on her wall. They all seemed to be taken from the same kind of digital camera. There were several pictures of her friends, cafes, restaurants, aesthetic New York City shots but none of her.

He’d never been in the room before but there was this odd sense of familiarity. He couldn’t tell how or why but he knew, he knew he was in the right place but he just needed to confirm it.

He needed to confirm it was her.

He slowly reached for her pillow and held it up to his face.

Ara.

He hadn’t even inhaled yet and his nostrils were filled with the scent of her, it was incapacitating in its intensity.

My Ara.

His heart thudded wildly in his chest.

Ara was here.

His eyes snapped open.

It’d been so long… since he’d felt this alive.

His gut tightened as he began to eye the room with a newfound vigor. This was the little room his kitten was living in without him? This was the little life she created for herself? Her new home?

Did you think I would never see this?

He grinned.

He dropped the pillow back on her bed, he was tempted to keep it but there would be no need. The owner of that scent was going to be in his arms by the end of the hour.

He walked out of the room with a wide grin on his lips. His mind racing.

She was here. She was here. She was here.

He wiped the smile off of his lips when he returned to the kitchen. Priya was still struggling with the orange juice.

He slid beside her, chuckling, “I got it.”

He opened the orange juice container in one try and she groaned.

“I swear I can do that myself.”

“Mhm.”

She gave him a look and he smiled. Her gaze immediately got stuck on his lips. He had one of those smiles that belonged in a romance movie.

“What’s your name?”

“Priya.”

“How long you been in the city?”

“Five years now. You?”

“A few months.”

“Still fresh then, hm? Are you in college?”

“Nah, I graduated two years ago.”

“How old are you?”

“21. I graduated early.”

“Oooo.” she teased.

The corner of his lip curled subtly, “What about you? You in school?”

“I graduated last May. I just got my first post-college job.”

“Where?”

“At Google.”

“Ooooo.” He mocked her earlier teasing.

She smiled. “Yeah, it’s nice as hell honestly. The benefits are-” she proceeded to do a chef’s kiss.

His eyes glimmered with amusement, “Yeah? What are the benefits?”

“We get..”

He tuned her out, sipping at his orange juice as he sauntered about the kitchen. He looked around, discreetly scanning the place for anything of Ara’s when his eyes landed on a picture pinned to the fridge.

It was a picture of four girls-her three roommates and her. There she was, in a little fitted dress and a stunning wide smile on her lips.

“Ara.” he nearly gasped.

“What?” Priya stopped mid-spiel. He was too in his head to realize he’d spoken out loud.

He took off the picture from the fridge, running his thumb over her face. Her hair was still long, just a slightly lighter shade. She was wearing red lipstick and her eyes…they were glittering. She looked beautiful.

“My Ara.” he murmured. He hadn’t seen her in so long...

Priya lightly touched his arm as she sidled next to him, drawing him out of his reverie.

“Ara?” she questioned before her eyes dropped to where he was looking. “That’s not Ara, that’s Sade.”

Right. Sade. Her new identity.

He feigned innocence, “Sade? You sure?”

“Yeah, we’ve been friends since college. We took that photo at a bar the night of graduation.”

“A bar?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t usually go out but that night we dragged her out.”

He grinned faintly, “That sounds like her.”

“She’s starting to come out more often though.”

“Is she.”

Priya nodded.

He spoke quietly, “There’s a girl I used to know.. that looks just like her. Her name was Ara but—she was my best friend. We lost contact after high school but I’ve been looking for her ever since.”

“Oh..” she sounded apologetic, “Where’d you go to high school?”

“In California.”

Her eyes widened. She must know Sade is also from California.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Gojo.” he answered before tilting his head, “Has she mentioned me?”

She pursed her lips in thought, “I don’t think so?”

He slipped his phone out, pulling up a selfie of him and Ara to show her. She gasped.

“Oh my god,” She leaned towards him to peer at the photo more closely, “She looks so young..”

He swiped again to another photo of them. Ara was hugging him in this one.

Her gaze softened, “Aww yall look so cute.”

He swiped to another picture of her. It was an off-guard picture of her attempting to play the piano back at the estate.

She frowned, “That… really does look like her.”

“I need to talk to her.”

Priya looked up at him, searching his face. She must’ve found something because suddenly her eyes poured with sympathy.

“Please.” he added, uncaring of how desperate he sounded.

The sympathy in her gaze turned conflicted, “I don’t think I can give you her number..”

“That’s fine, just give me anything. Anything that gets me to her.”

“You can leave your number for her? I’ll tell her you came by-“

“No.” he grasped Priya by the arms, “I need to see her now. Please—please tell me where she is.”

She swallowed.

He shook his head, “You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for her, please... I-I miss her.”

“What if it’s not her?”

The corner of his lip twitched, it was a valid question. He’d seen enough lookalikes to know pictures weren’t the end all but… her smell. Who could replicate her smell? Her ideal career path? Her favorite flower as her signature?

“It’s her.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall before looking back at him, concern etched in her expression, “She’s about to get out of work, if you go now maybe you’ll catch her.”

“Where?”

“Reese Heim’s Gallery, on the corner of Belford and 63rd.”

“Thank you.” He let go of her arms before stepping back, “Thank you.”

He turned around and then bolted out of the apartment.

It was a nice building. Its architecture was anything but basic, clearly designed by someone with an artistic eye. It looked quite futuristic with the dreary rainy weather reflected in its mirrored surfaces.

The lower floors of the building made up the gallery while the upper levels were the studios and offices. And in one of those studios was his Ara.

There were multiple entrances so getting in would be easy but finding her, that would be a task—as it always was—but she must be on her way out of the building right now, so he planned to utilize that.

Thunderstruck the skies, making him briefly glance up. A bolt of lightning appeared through the rain clouds before disappearing in an instant—and oddly enough, something felt changed.

His eyes zipped back to the gallery across the street and spotted one of the doors opening.

She stepped out.

She was wearing a sleek black trench coat with a tote bag over her shoulder. Her hair was in a neat braid, her pretty face on full display. She held an umbrella in one hand and had her phone raised to her ear in the other.

She looked distraught-whoever she was speaking was upsetting her. Priya. It must be Priya. She must be telling her I came by.

She suddenly froze in her steps as if struck.

He grinned.

He watched her slowly look around before growing frantic in her search. She whipped her neck around, scanning her surroundings, looking for no one else… but him.

Until she did.

Her eyes met his.

And recognition cut through him like a bullet.

Any doubt he had about Sade was ripped to shreds in milliseconds. It was her.

I found her.

It was explosive, the satisfaction he was feeling. He felt it in every point of his being. It was sharp and ambitious in its intensity.

He’d always known this day would come.

Her face fell and he couldn’t help but grin wider. Her eyes were wide with such fear, it was exhilarating.

He always knew it would be like this, that she wouldn’t be able to hide her fear once she saw him. They’d shared too much. She knew too much.

She knew full well that if he ever found her again, it would never be the same.

He reached up to pull down his hood, wanting to make his presence just as clear as hers. Her expression was priceless.

So much fear.

It was unreasonable how even fear on her face made him feel so greedy, so eager to see all the faces she could make—just like he had before. Her good, her bad, her ugly—he wanted it all. He wanted to burn through their old memories with new ones.

And he would.

Suddenly cars zoomed between them, he didn’t realize the streetlight had turned green. It truly felt like time had stopped.

He watched her turn and bolt down the street. He laughed—it was hilarious really. It was already too late.

He followed her from his side of the street. It didn’t take much effort, just a bit of fast walking and she was still in his sight until her speed picked up.

Her adrenaline must’ve hit because she was running faster than he expected from her petite frame. Which bothered him because now she was running with no regard for herself, just trying to get away from him. He needed her to be careful—

He crossed the street in a blink of an eye, causing the oncoming car he passed by a millisecond to honk deliriously but Ara, Ara was being careless.

He was running now, half a minute away from catching up to her. He watched her run across the street when the streetlight was still green. A car was approaching, ready to make a turn at full speed as she ran.

“ARA!!” he yelled with all his chest.

His vision went white. The image of her body colliding with the car and dropping dead filling his mind, nearly making him cripple with shock.

He was not going to lose her like this, not after he just got her back.

But he wasn’t going to make it in time, he wasn’t close enough.

No.

He didn’t think, he ran so fast he didn’t see anything but her. He closed the distance between them in half a second—shoving her ahead with the force of his whole body.

The car touched him by a hairs breath as he made it to the other side of the street. He didn’t glance back as the car made a terrible screeching sound as it skidded in attempt to belatedly slow down–only to get rear-ended by the car behind him.

The surrounding people gasped but his eyes were fixed on her. Through the heavy rain he grabbed her waist, pulling her upright seconds before she catapulted face first into the asphalt from his shove.

But she shoved him, hard enough to make him let go.

“Ara.” he hissed as she tried to run away from him.

Only to end up half stumbling/half walking down the street. Her speed nothing to what it was before.

He followed her, readying himself for her fall since he knew it was coming. It seemed her adrenaline had left her, maybe he pushed her too hard.

But he had to, or else she would be dead right now. His heartbeat was still ringing in his ears at the idea.

She would rather die, than get caught by him—was that it? A cruel smile found its way upon his lips.

She tripped over her own feet, stumbling into an alley. The heavy downpour was only making her more disbalanced.

He instinctively reached a hand out to try steady her but she was scurrying up ahead, “Ara.”

She didn’t turn around, instead her hand went to the brick wall beside her as she coughed—coughed loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain.

Her legs wobbled and she collapsed to her knees. Her coughs racking her entire body. She’d overworked herself, hadn’t she?

He stopped a little behind her, watching her body shake from the weight of her coughs.

He lowered himself beside her, his eyes never leaving her as he grabbed her chin and shoved her against the wall.

Her eyes flickered upto his and everything he’d forced himself to numb came rushing back.

It was her.

Ara.

Right in front of him… after all this time.

He forgot how to breathe.

Four years later and she’d only gotten prettier. That picture hadn’t done her justice. The lighter shade of hair complimented her too well, somehow enhancing her skin and drawing attention to her alluring eyes. Her cheekbones had a glass like sheen that made her look unreal. And her lips…they were the same, as pouty and inviting as ever.

Her lashes had grown out and her face features had tightened up with time. There were hollows in her cheeks that weren’t there before, her smooth jaw more defined. There were freckles on her nose, whether they were drawn on or not he didn’t know but it didn’t matter. He liked it, all of it.

She was beautiful enough to defile right then and there.

Her eyes watered and he wondered if she’d read his mind.

His fingers tightened around her chin, “Found you.”

“No.” her voice came out choked. It was her voice. The voice he’d replayed so much in his mind and craved to hear in his dreams. Another cold shot of victory ran up his spine.

He felt her chin move in his hand but he kept her in place.

She tried to push herself up but failed. It seemed she was too weak too.

He watched the tears pour from her eyes, mixing in with the raindrops atop her skin. She must be realizing all her struggle was useless, all her struggle to get away from him then and all of her struggle now. There was nothing she could do.

“No.” she rasped, weakly.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He watched another tear slip out the corner of her eye, “You cryin’?” he asked softly, despite the cacophony of emotions roaring inside him, “You cryin’ cause you missed me?”

He should be angry, watching her cry should infuriate him. He felt hints of it—the deep betrayal that consumed him in the early months when she left but.. looking at her now, he just wanted to bask in her. He wanted to hold her, feel her, taste her.

And break her, all at the same time.

It was pathetic how weak he was when it came to her. Just watching her cry made him ache. Her wet tears got caught in her lashes, just like they would before, and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly with each cry. The turmoil in her glossy eyes—Fuck, why does she have to look so pretty when she cries?

It shouldn’t be this easy but hell he missed her so much.

He sighed, aggravated, “Still such a pretty fuckin’ crier, s’not fair.”

“Stop.” she cried, shaking her head as the rain continued to pour atop them. She pushed at his chest, “Stop.”

His skin tingled where she touched him. He caught her wrist before she could lift her hand away. He moved his hand on her chin to catch one of her tears with his thumb. He felt the warmth of her tear seep into his skin.

“I missed this.” he spoke quietly, “I missed this so much.”

Her chest shook from the sob she let out.

He leaned towards her, his forehead almost touching hers. Just being close to her was addictive, all he could smell was the rain but his hands on her—his hand on her wrist, on her chin. His skin thrummed with life at the contact. He hadn’t felt this way in so long.

She was so close to him now. Just millimeters away. Four years of deprivation about to come to a reprieve. The future never felt so ripe with possibilities.

It felt so right.

“I missed you.”

“No you don’t.” she cried, shaking her head wildly before trying to stand once more. “You don’t!”

“I do.”

Just as she stood, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against himself. Her head against his chest, his arms around her smaller frame. His skin warmed under their contact, the familiarity of it making his gut churn with a deeper need.

“No-!” she scrambled up but he grabbed her pretty little plait and dragged her back against him.

You're not getting away from me that soon, kitten.

He withdrew a handkerchief from the inside of his coat and cupped it over her mouth. It was doused with a liquid that would temporarily make her lose consciousness.

He watched her eyes widen as she stared up at him. Her small body thrashing in his arms. He fought to hide his smile, her little body must’ve gotten stronger cuz he felt more force in her actions than she was ever able to produce before, but it was like paper to a rock. Her eyes finally fluttered close, her body going limp.

He removed the handkerchief from her mouth. He turned it over and wiped the raindrops from her face.

He gazed down at her. She looked peaceful. It would probably be the only time she looked that way, for a while, at least.

He pressed his lips to her forehead for a moment, before whispering against her skin, “I found you.”

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tinaswampdweller · 6 days ago

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I smell good so you gonna moan a lil when you hug me

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tinaswampdweller · 6 days ago

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If u think I’m not interested, you’re right

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tinaswampdweller · 7 days ago

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yall ever masturbate so hard you start begging like “fuck-pleasepleaseplease” even though you’re the one fucking yourself? or is that just me.

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tinaswampdweller · 7 days ago

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cw: nsfw, riding, fem-bodied reader, sub gojo yappa yappa yk the drill

gojo satoru wasn’t one to shy away from indulgence. being the strongest came with perks—wealth, freedom, and unshakable confidence. but none of that compared to the thrill of being reduced to nothing more than a plaything under your control. he wasn’t ashamed to admit it; he craved the moments when you stripped him of his identity, leaving only the desperate man beneath.

his long, pale limbs sprawled across the mattress, his chest heaving as he watched you with those piercing cerulean eyes, now glassy with submission. his white hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, his lips parted in a helpless gasp as you rode him at an agonizingly slow pace.

“ngh… fuck, baby, faster—just a little—” his voice cracked, the usually smooth baritone reduced to desperate, whiny pleas. he tried to move his hips, to meet your rhythm, but your palm flattened against his lower stomach, pinning him down with infuriating ease. “no. you’re not in charge,” you said, your voice calm and cool, in direct contrast to his chaotic, needy energy.

the words struck a nerve. his head tipped back, and a groan ripped from his throat, raw and guttural. “god, yes. yes, i’m yours, just—just don’t stop. use me—use me all you want.”

you smirked, rolling your hips just enough to draw another broken whimper from him. your pace was torturously slow, every motion deliberate, dragging him to the edge of his sanity. the friction burned in the best way possible, and his fingers clawed at the sheets, his knuckles turning white.

“is this really all the strongest can take?” you taunted, leaning forward to graze your teeth over his collarbone. your breath was hot against his skin, and the light scrape of your nails across his chest left goosebumps in their wake. “pathetic.”

“i’ll—I’ll take whatever you give me,” he rasped, his voice choked and desperate. his eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running down his spine as you clenched around him. his hands hovered above your thighs, trembling with the effort to keep himself from touching you. “please… i need you. need you to ruin me.”

every word from his mouth was another crack in his carefully crafted facade. the cocky, arrogant man who once held the world on a string was now nothing more than a quivering, pleading mess beneath you.

you leaned back, your hands bracing against his chest as you set a brutal, punishing rhythm. his entire body arched up, and a strangled moan escaped his lips. “fuck! oh, god—please, please don’t stop. don’t—ah—don’t stop.”

“so needy, s'toru,” you murmured, watching him unravel with each thrust. his face contorted in pure bliss, his brows knitting together as his lips parted around a silent gasp. “i’ll do anythin',” he choked out, his hands finally gripping your thighs as if he’d die without the contact. “just—just keep using me. don’t—don’t use anyone else. promise me.”

the desperation in his voice sent a thrill down your spine, but you didn’t answer. instead, you continued your relentless pace, letting his whimpers and moans fill the room. every thrust dragged him closer to the edge, his body trembling beneath you as he surrendered completely.

and gojo satoru, the strongest, wouldn’t have it any other way.

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tinaswampdweller · 7 days ago

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doodles~

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tinaswampdweller · 8 days ago

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forced quiet sex is such a turn on. covering your little mouth, telling you to shut the fuck up while your muffled whines escape through my fingers. only fucking harder into you out of anger for not being quiet

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tinaswampdweller · 8 days ago

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Yes, I want to be his neighbor. Of course I want to be the stripper at the club he owns. I want to be his fated omega. I want to be his co-worker. I want to be his doctor, his arranged wife, his enemy, his childhood friend, his kid’s babysitter, his girlfriend, his wife, his ex-wife, his barista, his soulmate, his strange cryptid, his favorite blood bag, his divorce attorney, his pr relationship, his boss, his secretary, his sugar baby, his... I think you get the point.

In all universes, physical forms, and realities, I want that man.

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tinaswampdweller · 9 days ago

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not to bring us all back to some old xreader tropes but the thought of like. faking an orgasm just to get a reaction out of any of the bllk guys ..........................they're all crashing out. every single one of them

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tinaswampdweller · 10 days ago

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lovesick ♡

synopsis: how gojo would be when has a crush on you.

paring(s): teen! gojo satoru x gender-neutral reader.

disclaimer(s): none!

teen!gojo who flirts with you 24/7.

— gojo constantly teases you, throwing out over-the-top compliments like, "you’re soooo lucky i’m not blinded by your beauty," or calling you ridiculous nicknames like princess or sweetheart.

— but when you tease him back? its a whole new story. he gets flustered and deflects by laughing too loudly or making a dumb joke.

teen!gojo who tries (&fails) to impress you.

— to impress you, he brags about his workout routine, saying he can bench press twice his weight.

— when you challenge him to prove it, he quickly changes the topic to, "why are you so obsessed with me lifting weights, huh?”

— gojo swears his sunglasses make him look cool, but you once caught him squinting at a menu because they're prescription.

— he’s convinced he's irresistible, so he shows off constantly-basketball trick shots, balancing a broom on one finger, or "accidentally" letting you see how easily he aces a test he didn't study for.

teen!gojo who is always listening to you.

— gojo remembers the random details you casually mention, like your favorite snack or that you're stressed about an upcoming quiz.

— the next day, he'll "magically" have your favorite candy in his pocket— or whisper the quiz answers he definitely stole from the teacher's desk.

teen!gojo who gets jealous easily.

— if anyone flirts with you, gojo will swoop in, throwing an arm around you and loudly proclaiming, "sorry, they’re busy being obsessed with me!"

— he’ll act nonchalant, but if you show any interest in someone else, he'll sulk until you ask what's wrong. typical!!!!

teen!gojo who panics when ur nice to him.

— if you compliment him genuinely-like saying he looks good without his sunglasses-he'll short-circuit for a second before brushing it off with a cocky, "i know, right?"

teen!gojo who has ridiculous pick up lines for you.

— “if beauty were a crime, you'd be serving a life sentence."

— “do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?"

— when you roll your eyes, (per usual) he adds, "hey, that was gold! you’re just in denial."

teen!gojo who enjoys texting you whenever, wherever.

— gojo sends you memes at 2 am with captions like, "us, if you'd just admit your feelings."

— and if you don't reply immediately, he texts, "?? hello? did you die? or are you just playing hard to get like always?"

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tinaswampdweller · 10 days ago

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Feral Gojo english dub highlights... Just close your eyes and listen..

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tinaswampdweller · 11 days ago

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perv!geto who will jerk off to anything you do.

he’ll see you in the kitchen, grabbing a snack and watch your cute little face munch away while u stand silently with the bag in your hand. shit, he’s got a boner.

he’ll see you in the shower, the glass could literally be fogged up but he could still see your figure slightly. aaand he’s hard. he’s not shy or discreet about it either, pulling down his sweatpants as he watches you and starts jacking off.

getting out the shower, you screech at the tall, dark, lanky figure pumping his cock to the outline of your body.

“hi angel—“

“sugu!!??? what the fuck??”

you’ll be watching a movie with him on your bed, laying on your stomach and lightly kicking your feet in the air until you feel a large hand sliding up your thigh and resting on your ass.

it wasn’t sexual at first, you hummed in response, knowing he enjoyed having a hand on you at all times until he squeezes it with a large SMACK.

“suguuuu,” you whine, trying to scooch away from your boyfriend who was invading your little space bubble and ruining your concentration, i’m trying to focus on the movie!!”.

“so focus,” he states flatly, “and don’t run away front me,” he keeps his hand on your ass, squeezing and traveling down slightly to your upper thigh, his fingers brushing against your pussy as he keeps you in place.

you scoff, turning away before you heard the shuffle of his pants and a quiet cough as he spit on his palm.

plap plap plap

“pervert.”

“i said focus, angel.”

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tinaswampdweller · 12 days ago

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Closer than Infinity

Summary: No one touches Gojo Satoru without permission. No one bypasses his infinity. And yet here you are, clinging to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Paring: Gojo x Reader who’s cursed technique is cursed energy absorption

Word Count : 9.6k

Cw: choking (as in the trying to kill you kind not the sexy kind), potential jjk spoilers, kidnapping, mahito, kenjaku performing experiments on you. let me know if i missed any pls mostly just tooth rotting fluff with satoru being whipped for you (and some heart wrenching angst as well... but with a happy ending!) Read on ao3

The sun glares down at you, searing and relentless. It was bright. Too bright. A moment ago, you were in your room, lulled by the soft patter of night rain against the window. Now, you’re here, disoriented and overwhelmed, standing in the middle of a bustling Tokyo street.

The sky feels heavier here, the air thick with something you can’t quite place; cursed energy, though you don’t know it yet. People bustle about around you, eyes glued to their screens, their expressions vacant. No one spares you a second glance.

You don’t understand where you are, and the anxiety starts creeping in, your vision blurring as tears threaten to spill.

Then, you hear a voice.

"Hey, hey, you okay there? So, you’re the one displacing all the cursed energy in this area, huh?”

You turn toward it, and he’s just standing there, hands shoved into his pockets lazily. Clad in an all-black attire, his blindfold is tugged just above his sharp grin.

His name, you would come to learn, is Gojo Satoru. The catalyst for your new life.

There’s something about him, something undeniably safe despite the power that hums around him, distorting the air. The oppressive weight pressing down on you seems to lift in his presence, and instinctively, you take a step toward him.

But before you can reach him, a careless passerby bumps into your shoulder, sending you stumbling.

Your hand shoots out, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself.

His smirk falters.

His mind blanks for a second, and his eyes widen just slightly; a flicker of shock. His Infinity didn’t activate. Didn’t even react.

You had bypassed it entirely.

Why… why did my Infinity not activate?

He didn’t drop it. He knows he didn’t. And yet, your hand, small, soft, and trembling, touches him like it’s nothing. Like touching Gojo Satoru is the most natural thing in the world. His brain scrambles for an explanation, but all you do is blink up at him with wide, confused eyes, unaware of what you’ve just done.

It fascinates him. No one gets this close to him without permission. No one just touches him.

But you did.

And you're clinging to him like he's the only safe thing in this entire strange world.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, is rattled by a single touch. He masks it quickly, of course. A sly grin spreads across his face as he leans in, eyes narrowing with interest.

"Oh? You must be special, huh?" he teases, but there’s an edge to his words, a curiosity that borders on obsession.

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer, not that you could. Before you know it, he’s taken your hand, his grip light yet unyielding.

Because now he needs to know.

Why you can touch him. Why his Infinity doesn’t react. Why he can’t see through you with his Six Eyes.

You’re like a puzzle he can’t solve, and Gojo is obsessed with solving things. He takes you back to Jujutsu High, deciding to figure out exactly what you are.

---

At the school, he watches you quietly, letting you stick close to him. His explanations about Jujutsu society, cursed spirits, and techniques are frustratingly vague, always seeming to leave out some crucial detail. You scramble to piece things together, devouring books from the school’s archives and pestering him with endless questions, to which he mostly responds with amused grins and teasing remarks.

“You’ll figure it out,” he’d casually reply, lounging back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You’re a quick learner.”

Despite his carefree demeanor, you soon realize that he’s much sharper and more perceptive than he lets on, and he takes a certain delight in testing your limits. Through a series of spontaneous, almost playful experiments, you both begin to uncover the nature of your cursed technique: cursed energy absorption.

“Let’s see what happens,” he announces one afternoon, tossing a small flicker of cursed energy your way. It’s harmless, just a wisp, really, but the moment it touches you, it vanishes, swallowed into the void of your body. You barely feel it, just the faintest tingle, like static electricity dissipating against your skin.

Gojo’s eyes narrow slightly, his interest piqued. “Huh. That’s neat.”

He doesn’t stop there. For extra measure, he releases a low-grade fly head into the room; a harmless cursed spirit. The creature buzzes around erratically, its movements jittery and unpredictable. But the second it brushes against you, it crumples up and disappears completely, as if sucked into a black hole.

He lets out a low whistle. “Scary,” he murmurs, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

But you’re not invincible. Physical attacks, you quickly discover, can still hurt you. The realization makes Gojo frown thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he processes the implications.

“So cursed techniques don’t work on you, huh? But a punch in the face would?” He leans in slightly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “That’s… not good.”

You huff at his bluntness, crossing your arms. “Thanks, mister obvious.”

He chuckles at that, but his expression grows serious as he continues. “All this cursed energy you absorb, it has to go somewhere, right? Energy can’t just vanish into thin air. It’s gotta build up or… redistribute somehow.”

His words linger in your mind for days, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Where does all that energy go? You find out soon enough.

It happens by accident, during another one of Gojo’s experiments. He’s been pushing you harder lately, testing your capacity to absorb larger amounts of cursed energy. You’re already tired, your body humming with the energy you’ve collected over the past hour, when he suddenly says, “Alright. Let’s try something new.”

Before you can protest, his hand lands gently on your shoulder. The moment his palm touches you, the world shifts.

It’s like a thread pulls taut between you and him, an invisible line that snaps into place and yanks you forward. The energy within you stirs violently, surging toward him as though drawn by an irresistible force. And then, without warning, you’re pulled in.

Your physical body seems to dissolve, your consciousness folding into his. It’s not painful, more like slipping into warm water, the boundaries between you blurring as you’re absorbed into him completely. You’re disoriented at first, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of sensations. His cursed energy roars around you, infinite and untamed, but instead of drowning in it, you find yourself amplifying it. Strengthening it.

And then you feel his thoughts.

They’re loud and clear, vivid and raw. His confidence. His focus. His endless, swirling intellect. But underneath it all, there’s something else. A quiet loneliness, buried so deeply that even he might not realize it’s there.

You know he feels you too. His awareness brushes against yours, tentative at first, then curious. He’s seeing all of you. Your awe, your nervousness, the way your heart stutters when you think about him.

A voice echoes in your mind. His voice, but softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Is this… you?”

And then it’s over.

Your body emerges from his in a rush, like being expelled through a barrier. You’re weightless for a moment, reeling from the sudden separation, before his arms catch you instinctively. One hand steadies your waist, the other bracing your back, holding you close as though afraid you might collapse.

You’re trembling, your head spinning, but his grip is firm, grounding. His expression is unreadable, his gaze flickering between concern and amazement.

“That,” he finally says, his voice low and breathless, “was… unexpected.”

You nod weakly, still trying to process what just happened. “What… what was that?”

Gojo tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the obvious seriousness of the moment. “Looks like your cursed technique has a little bonus feature,” he says. But there’s an unmistakable gleam in his eyes, something almost giddy, like he’s already thinking of all the ways this changes things.

“Merge,” he murmurs thoughtfully, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “You can merge with me. Boost my energy, maybe even my technique… and I can feel everything you feel.”

You blink, the weight of his words sinking in. “I… merged with you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone light. “I could feel you in there. Your thoughts, your emotions. It was… intimate.”

The word makes you flush, but Gojo doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he’s just enjoying your reaction. He allows you to remove his hands from your body and step back, regaining your composure.

“This changes everything,” he continues, his mind already racing with possibilities. “With an ability like that, you could turn the tide of any battle. But…” He trails off, his expression darkening.

“But what?”

He meets your gaze, his tone unusually solemn. “It also makes you a target. If people find out what you can do, they’ll come after you. And not just curses—the higher-ups, other sorcerers, maybe even people we don’t know about yet. You��ve got something they’ll want to control.”

The gravity of his words makes your stomach twist. You realize, perhaps for the first time, just how dangerous your ability could be. Not just for your enemies, but for yourself.

Gojo must see the worry on your face, because his grin returns, softer this time. “Don’t worry,” he says, ruffling your hair playfully. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m the strongest, remember?”

---

Word of your ability spreads fast. It’s not long before the higher-ups find out. They hear whispers of an anomaly. Someone who can bypass Gojo’s infinity, someone with a cursed technique powerful enough to absorb energy itself.

You first hear about their unease from Gojo himself. He brings it up casually one day, as if he’s commenting on the weather.

“The higher-ups are wary of you, you know.”

You glance up from the book in your hands, frowning. “Wary? Of me? But I haven’t done anything, have I?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, as if the answer is obvious. “You have. You can do what no one else can.” He leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs, a small smile playing on his lips. “You can touch me.”

To the higher-ups, you’re a threat. An unpredictable variable that could shatter the delicate balance of power.

If she can bypass Gojo, she can kill him.

And if she can kill Gojo, she can destroy everything.

The order is swift: Immediate execution.

Gojo only laughs when he hears it. Laughs in that cold, dangerous way that makes the air around him tighten.

“Oh? You want to what now?”

They try to argue.

“It’s a precaution. You can’t possibly guarantee she won’t turn on us.” “It’s too dangerous to let her live.”

Gojo’s smile sharpens. “No. You’re not laying a hand on her.”

And that’s the end of that conversation.

Even though the higher-ups were afraid of you, the one they were most afraid of was Gojo. They knew better than to risk provoking him. Instead, they compromise. If they can’t execute you, then they’ll find another way to control you.

That’s how you end up being appointed as Gojo’s personal assistant. Or, as you later realize, his handler. It’s a political move, thinly veiled under the guise of practicality. They claim it’s to “help you grow as a sorcerer” and to “ensure your potential is properly utilized,” but the truth is far simpler: they want you close to him, where they can keep an eye on you both.

Gojo seems happy enough with the arrangement, informing you of it with a wide grin.

You frown. “How is this a good thing?”

“Because,” he says, ruffling your hair playfully, “it means I get to keep you close. And you’re safer next to me than anywhere else.”

---

At first, Gojo is determined to keep you emotionally far away from his heart. He knows better than to get attached to someone like you, someone vulnerable and still finding their footing in the world of curses and sorcery. He’s lost too many people he cared about already. He can’t bear to go through that kind of pain again.

But you’re like gravity to him. The more time he spends with you, the harder it becomes to stay away. Not to mention the way your cursed technique pairs so naturally with his, like a missing puzzle piece. He tries to keep his feelings at bay, but he keeps getting pulled closer.

And slowly, before he even realizes it, he’s falling.

The first time you merge with him during a mission is a nightmare for you. As he’s cutting through curses with ease, beneath the adrenaline, he feels your awe and your admiration for how effortlessly powerful he is.

Your thoughts begin drifting to the image of him while fighting, the way he can effortlessly fight hand to hand, the way you can sometimes catch a glimpse of his well-built stature and abs when his jacket lifts up slightly mid battle…

God, he looks so attractive when he’s fighting.

He smirks mid-battle. Shoot.

“Oh? Is that what you’re thinking right now?”

You flush with embarrassment, mentally scrambling to cover it up, but it’s too late. He finds it adorable. He doesn’t stop teasing you about it for a week afterwards.

You find that you can merge with other sorcerers too. It isn’t just Gojo’s cursed energy that’s compatible with yours, as much as he likes to loudly claim that his is the best match. Nanami, for instance, has a steady, almost soothing flow of cursed energy. Organized, predictable, and oddly comforting in its calmness.

But there was admittedly something about Gojo’s cursed energy that stood apart. Merging with him felt... natural. Like his energy wasn’t just accepting of yours, but welcoming, pulling you in with an ease that was almost magnetic. You last longer in the merged state with him, your abilities amplified in a way that feels effortless. It’s a fact he takes great pride in, often teasing you about it with a smirk.

“Guess my energy is just built different,” he says, smirking. “No one else can keep up with you like I can, huh?”

It’s infuriatingly true, and he knows it. But his smugness doesn’t stop you from practicing with others. After all, you can’t rely on him for everything.

One day you decide to practice with Nanami in one of the training rooms. His cursed energy is steady as always, and you focus on syncing your flow with his, attempting to enter his body the same way you do with Gojo. The process is slower, less intuitive than when it’s with Gojo, but you’re making good progress.

You’re in the middle of a successful merge when you feel a strange presence, faint but undeniably familiar. Turning your head slightly, you spot a flash of white hair peeking around the corner of the doorway.

At first, you think you must be imagining it. But then the head tilts, and you catch the unmistakable glint of Gojo’s dark sunglasses reflecting the light.

Was he seriously spying on you?

It takes all your self-control not to burst out laughing. You can’t tell if Nanami is unaware, or just ignoring the figure at the door, though you assume the latter. He just continues with his usual calm focus, adjusting his stance and refocusing his cursed energy.

You glance back at the doorway, only to find Gojo glaring. Not at you, but at Nanami. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his expression is a mix of a pout and a death glare, like a sulking child who’d been told to share their favorite toy.

He catches your gaze and immediately straightens up, feigning innocence. With exaggerated casualness, he leans against the wall, whistling as if he hadn’t just been caught.

“Don’t mind me,” he calls out, his voice entirely too loud and cheerful. “Just passing by. Carry on!”

Nanami sighs, clearly unimpressed. “Gojo, if you’re going to spy, at least be subtle about it.”

“I wasn’t spying,” Gojo retorts, strolling into the room with his hands shoved in his pockets. “I was monitoring. Big difference.”

“Sure,” you say, smirking. “You’re monitoring my progress with Nanami. That’s why you were hiding behind the corner and glaring at him, right?”

Gojo’s eyes widen in mock offense, one hand flying to his chest. “Glaring? Me? I don’t glare. I radiate charm and positivity.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about Gojo’s inability to take anything seriously.

Gojo ignores him, turning his full attention to you. “Anyway, you’ve been practicing enough with him. Time to come back to the one and only,” he declares, pointing at himself with a dramatic flourish.

“Jealous much?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Me? Jealous? Pfft, never.” But the faint flush creeping up his neck betrays him.

Nanami, ever the professional, simply rolls his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says, stepping back. “Good luck.”

You both know the last part is directed towards you.

As soon as Nanami leaves, Gojo sidles up to you, his grin a mix of smugness and relief. “So, how’d it go?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes betraying his curiosity.

“Fine,” you reply, being deliberately vague.

“Just fine?” he presses, leaning in closer.

“Don’t worry,” you sigh. “…Your cursed energy still feels the best.”

The triumphant grin that spreads across his face is both endearing and irritating. “Knew it,” he says, ruffling your hair.

---

Your new life is strange. But you grow used to it. You grow close to the staff members and students at the school and become more familiar with your cursed technique.

Over time, merging with Gojo becomes second nature. But what surprises you the most isn’t how well your cursed energies sync. It’s the emotions you begin to feel through the connection.

At first, it was fleeting impressions. An ache that wasn’t yours, a flicker of sadness that disappeared almost as soon as it surfaced. It was like catching shadows in the corner of your eye. Easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

But you were paying attention.

Through these merges, you truly begin to understand him. Gojo Satoru. The strongest sorcerer alive, but also someone who carries an almost invisible weight on his shoulders. You can sense his loneliness. It’s heavy, quiet, and constant, masked by his confidence and easy laughter. You begin to see the cracks in his carefree facade, the moments of vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.

Beneath the teasing remarks and self-assured smiles was a man who bore the pain of loss and the burden of protecting a world that barely understood him.

You can’t shake the feeling. It lingers long after the merges end. You find yourself wanting to do something, anything, to ease that aching loneliness.

You start paying attention to him in ways no one else had.

When he cracks one of his terrible jokes, you laugh. Though not out of pity, but because more often than not, he’s actually hilarious in his own absurd way. When he tugs you away during missions to slack off, you go along without complaint. You let him have his fun, matching his playful energy with a smile of your own. You find his cheerful grin and happiness worth every second of it.

The more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself saying “yes.” Yes to his impromptu plans, late-night snack runs, and the ridiculous detours he insists on taking just because something caught his eye. Every spontaneous moment and silly adventure feels like a glimpse into a part of him the world rarely gets to see. A part he doesn’t let anyone else in on.

And slowly, things began to shift.

He doesn’t have to beg Nanami or Shoko to join him anymore because he has you. You’re the one he starts to seek out. Because you’re one of the few people who can offer him genuine comfort.

You see how his eyes light up when you listen to him ramble on about various topics, how his posture relaxes when you’re around. Slowly but surely, the walls he had built around himself start to crumble for you.

---

The streets of Tokyo are alive tonight. Lanterns light the pathways, casting a warm glow over the festival-goers. The scent of grilled skewers and sweet treats lingers in the air, mingling with the distant crackle of fireworks. You walk beside Gojo, his towering frame impossible to miss even in this crowd. His blindfold is in place as always, covering his eyes from your view. But you can tell he’s enjoying himself from the faint but genuine smile tugging the corners of his lips.

You had toured the festival together, eating your fill of tasty street food, and laughing as Gojo tried (and failed) to win you a stuffed animal from a claw machine. As the night winds down, the streets grow quieter, the hum of the festival fading into the distance. Gojo suggests taking a walk, and soon, the two of you find yourselves on a secluded hill overlooking the city. The soft glow of Tokyo stretches out below.

Gojo tugs his blindfold down, letting it rest loosely around his neck. His snowy white hair ruffles in the wind as he closes his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face.

He’s still holding his dango stick, though it’s down to one last piece. With a smirk, he holds it out to you.

“Wanna try?” he asks, his voice light and teasing.

You lean down, taking a bite. The sweetness of the sauce melts on your tongue.

“It’s good!” you exclaim, glancing up at him with a smile. But you pause when you see the way he’s looking at you.

His gaze isn’t teasing or playful like usual. It’s different. Softer, unguarded. His vivid blue eyes are fixed on you, admiring you like you’d hung the very stars that shine down upon you both.

The vibrant hues of the fireworks reflect off your face, your hair gently blowing back in the night breeze. And in that moment, with the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke, the way your smile lit up the world around you, he realized something he couldn’t deny any longer.

He was hopelessly, utterly, entirely in love with you.

You tilt your head, a little confused. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

That snaps him out of it, and he lets out a soft laugh. “No,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent. “…You’re perfect.”

As the city lights sparkle below and the wind carries the distant echoes of the fireworks overhead, standing next to you, he wonders if this was the happiness he had been craving.

He doesn’t even realize his Infinity begins instinctively sneaking around you, hovering just above your skin, careful not to be absorbed by your technique. In time, it becomes second nature to him. Because in Gojo’s mind, you’re not just beside him, you’re a part of him.

He never realized how much he needed you until you were here with him.

But happiness, you learn, is fleeting in the world of jujutsu sorcery.

---

Kenjaku had heard of you. Your cursed technique, the ability to merge with other sorcerers, and amplify their power. Such a gift was dangerous, especially when paired with someone like Gojo. He recognizes the danger you pose if you’re allowed to grow stronger, especially under Gojo’s protection. But Kenjaku is patient. That’s why he waits. Waits for the perfect moment, when you would be at your most vulnerable.

Shibuya, 9:27 PM. Gojo Satoru was sealed.

You wander the winding halls of the subway alone, eyes frantically darting all around you. Where was he?

You two had arrived at the scene together, alongside the other sorcerers, but it soon became clear the situation was much graver and more calculated than anyone had first expected. Gojo headed towards Fukutoshin Line Platform alone, entrusting you with Nanami and the remaining sorcerers. Nanami made sure you stuck close to him, not letting you out of his sight for a second as you two split off from the other sorcerers to search for Ijichi, who had mysteriously gone silent on the intercoms a while ago. You couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. You already knew how insufferable Gojo could sometimes be towards him. You hoped he was alright.

Nanami led you through the streets above, the city now a warzone. Buildings shook, the air thick with cursed energy. You followed his lead, searching for Ijichi amid the destruction. The cursed energy in the air continued to grow heavier, more menacing. And then you heard it. The sound of a swarm. A wave of curses emerged from the shadows, surrounding Nanami in an instant. He fought them off with a calm precision, but there were too many.

You couldn’t get close enough to touch him, couldn’t merge with him to amplify his strength. You tried to fight, but without a partner, your cursed technique was nearly useless.

“Run,” Nanami ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Go!” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your heart pounding, you turned and ran. The only place not teeming with curses was the underground subway entrance, so you slipped inside, cursing yourself for your own weakness.

---

That’s how you end up in your current predicament.

The subway is eerily quiet, the faint tremors of battle above shaking the walls. Dust particles fall from the ceiling as the yellow tinged led lights overhead flicker on and off. The air is thick with the stench of blood and curses. You swallow your fear and keep pushing forward in the dimly lit corridors. The sound of your footsteps seem to echo too loudly off the walls as your eyes dart around, searching desperately for Gojo.

“Gojo?” Your voice trembles as you call out for him, the silence swallowing your words. Something wasn’t right.

The floor beneath you shudders violently, and for a brief moment, you think the ceiling might collapse. You didn’t know it, but Sukuna and Mahoraga were clashing above, their battle shaking the city to its core.

You turn the corner. And you freeze.

You come face to face with a humanoid curse. Dead, greyish blue eyes and hair, and a patchwork face. His eyes widen with excitement as he spots you. You had seen the report from Nanami. His name was…

Mahito. A crazed grin stretches across his face, eyes glinting with manic glee as he pushes off the wall he was leaning against.

“Ohhh, you’re the one they’re all talking about.” He tilts his head.

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to remain calm, or at least give off the pretense of it. “Stay back,” you warn, your cursed energy flaring.

He keeps talking like he doesn’t even hear your words. “I wonder… what happens if I do this?”

His hand lashes out faster than you can process, aiming for your arm, intending to twist your flesh and warp your body just enough to incapacitate you.

But nothing happens.

His palm presses against your skin, and he feels it. That pull. Like his cursed energy is slipping away, getting swallowed into a void.

Mahito’s grin falters for the first time.

He jerks his hand back, staring at you with narrowed eyes. Then realization dawns.

“Ah… right. That’s your cursed technique, isn’t it?”

His confusion quickly twists back into delight.

“Oh, this’ll be fun. No wonder Kenjaku wants you alive”

You take a step back to run, but he moves faster. His fist connects with your stomach, and the impact sends you lurching into the concrete wall, where you slump to the ground.

“Alive doesn’t mean unharmed.” He crouches down to grab you by the collar. “You’ll come with me now.”

The damp, musty air clings to your skin when you wake in the dark, your head pounding. The walls of a dingy cell press in around you, suffocating in their emptiness. No sunlight reached here, only the faint, flickering light of a distant bulb that barely illuminated the room.

Your limbs feel like lead, barely able to resist as Kenjaku runs countless experiments, one after the other on you. The sting of a needle piercing your skin feels all too familiar now, followed by the burn of whatever strange liquid he would inject into your veins. Each time, it drags you into unconsciousness, the edges of reality slipping away.

You have the same reoccurring nightmare every time. You see Satoru walking ahead of you, but no matter how fast you run, how loudly you call out to him, his back only grows smaller and smaller. Your hands reach out futilely towards him, but he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t stop. Then he’s gone. And all you’re left with are the whispers. Cruel, taunting voices in the back of your mind.

If only you had done something differently.

You let him down.

He’s not coming for you.

The ground beneath your feet cracks, a void forming and swallowing you whole. You let out a soundless scream as you fall, knowing he wouldn’t be there to catch you. Then you wake in a cold sweat. There was no solace for you, no relief. The darkness of the cell is no better than the darkness of the void.

You’re growing weaker. You miss him. Desperately. Miss that familiar warmth of his cursed energy, miss his teasing voice, miss those kind, comforting eyes.

Groggily, you open your eyes, the faint sound of voices breaking through the fog in your head. Kenjaku and Mahito are speaking just outside your cell. You don’t know how many days it’s been. Your throat aches, you’re so thirsty. Their words come slowly, distorted by your exhaustion, taking time to process in your mind.

“…too dangerous to use…” Kenjaku’s voice is measured, clinical.

“Absorbing curses if she’s near them too long…” Mahito adds.

“So then, a waste of time.” Kenjaku concludes, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Her ability is far too advantageous for the sorcerers. If she remains, she’ll only become a liability to us.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. Were they planning on getting rid of you? Then that meant… Your body jolts as the barred gate is thrown open loudly, and you scramble to your feet using what remains of your strength. Mahito steps towards you wearing a terrifyingly wide smile. Too wide. He’s still talking to Kenjaku, though in your panic you can’t hear what he’s saying properly. The sound of your pounding heart fills your ears. You attempt to back away from him but you can only move so far before your back hits the wall. You see his mouth move again.

“If she serves no purpose to us then… why don’t we just get rid of her?”

His cold hands wrap around your throat, before you can process it. He’s squeezing, watching you choke and claw at his hands. He only laughs at your attempts to struggle, clearly unhinged. Tears fill your eyes, flowing down your cheeks. He coos in mock sympathy at the sight. It was sickening. Was this really how you were going to die? Your vision becomes hazy as your hands slowly drop to your sides.

The ground trembles beneath you as a deafening explosion tears through the air. The crushing grip around your throat falters in shock, and you collapse to the floor, gasping for air. Shards of debris cascade around you like a deadly rain, but all you can feel is the warmth of sunlight spilling across your skin. It’s warm. A warmth you’d almost forgotten.

Blinking through the haze, your eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness. You see a tall silhouette standing within the light, his white hair illuminated like a halo, his piercing blue eyes filled with raw fury. It’s him.

Satoru.

He looks frantic, his gaze locking onto you. You don’t remember what happens next as you finally pass out, but you swear you can hear your captor’s pitiful screams weaving their way into your dreams.

---

When your eyes open again, the harsh glow of artificial lights fills your vision. It takes a moment to register where you are. Shoko’s clinic. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air, and the faint beeping of monitors accompanies the sluggish rhythm of your heart. Your body feels impossibly heavy, and the stiff brace around your neck prevents you from moving your head.

Your eyes begin to dart around the room, searching, desperate. The heart monitor beside you spikes erratically. Panic claws at your chest, tears stinging your eyes before you even understand why. You don’t know why you’re crying, just that you need to see him, badly.

Then a warm hand wraps firmly around your own. You recognize the touch instantly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is soft, steady, pulling you back from the edge. “I’m right here. You’re awake… thank god.”

Your body relaxes hearing his familiar voice, and a shaky breath escapes your lips, one you hadn’t realized you were holding. The bed shifts slightly as he leans over, his face coming into view.

And that’s when the tears fall in earnest.

You try to speak, but your throat is raw, the words breaking apart between hiccups. “I— I m-missed you so much— I…”

He silences you with an understanding smile, his thumb brushing gently at the tears streaking your cheeks. “I know. I know. I’m here now, okay? You’re safe.” His voice is quiet, soothing, but there’s a tremor of something beneath it. Relief, fear, maybe both.

He stays by your side, his hand never leaving yours, as silence settles between you. You finally notice how exhausted he looks. Dark circles shadowing his usually bright eyes, his normally neat hair a tousled mess. Even so, to you, he’s never looked more beautiful.

“You scared me, you know?” he murmurs after a while, the words almost too quiet to hear. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You want to apologize, but your voice catches. So instead, you squeeze his hand weakly.

---

A few days later, as you’re discharged, Shoko explains your injuries in her usual clipped tone. Your body is severely malnourished, and the curse had nearly fractured a vital bone in your neck. If Gojo had arrived even a few seconds later… she doesn’t finish the sentence, but her expression betrays the relief she doesn’t say aloud.

“You need to rest—no overexertion, no training, no missions,” Shoko warns, fixing you with a stern look. “I mean it. Don’t make me hunt you down.” Although her tone is clipped, you can tell she’s just as relieved as everyone else that you’re okay.

You manage a small smile, thankful for her concern for you. You make a mental note to gift her a bottle of her favorite wine later as thanks. Checking your phone, you notice a timid message from Ijichi, kindly pleading with you to try not to get kidnapped ever again, because Gojo was an absolute pain to deal with.

You find out later from reports that there was nothing left of the place, just rubble and ash. He had obliterated it all. Somehow Kenjaku had managed to escape during the chaos. But Mahito… it was a bloodbath. He didn’t stand a chance. The sheer devastation speaks volumes, but what hits you harder is the knowledge that he hadn’t stopped for even a moment. The second he was unsealed and heard about your disappearance—your likely kidnapping—he was livid. He didn’t rest once until he found you, until you were back in his arms where you belonged.

It was the first time you saw just how deep his need for you went.

You’re badly shaken. The events will haunt you for the rest of your life, your first taste of the brutality and violence of the Jujutsu world. But it’s clear Satoru fared even worse. After that he doesn’t leave your side for days, hovering constantly, as if afraid that you might disappear again the second he looks away. The whole experience serves as a painful reminder to him of your vulnerability. Without him, you were a target, easy prey for those who sought to exploit or destroy you. The thought eats away at him.

“You’re moving in with me,” he says one day, standing over you with an air of finality that left no room for argument.

You blink up at him from the couch, still recovering. “What?”

“It’s not up for debate,” he continues, arms crossed. “You’re safer with me. No one can get to you if you’re in my home.”

You take a moment to consider, but you find that you don’t really want to argue with him anyway. You can hear the hidden plea beneath his words. A part of you knows he’s right. If this is what he needs to find some semblance of peace of mind, then so be it. And a quieter, more selfish part of you doesn’t mind the idea of being close to him, spending more time with him.

“Okay,” you finally relent.

That’s how you find yourself standing in his penthouse a few hours later, what few belongings you own packed neatly into a bag at your side.

The penthouse is just as over-the-top as you expected: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek furniture, and little touches of Gojo’s eccentric personality scattered throughout.

“This is... a lot,” you murmur, taking in the sprawling space.

“Only the best for me, and now for you,” he says with a wink, tossing your bag onto the plush couch.

What catches your attention the most is the care he takes in making space for you. Your favorite snacks fill a section of the fridge, an extra toothbrush sits beside his in the bathroom, and a cozy corner of his study has been cleared out for you. It’s the little things, the quiet gestures, that tell you just how much this means to him.

But even as you settle into this new rhythm, something doesn’t sit right with you.

Satoru starts taking on more missions, alone. Where he used to insist on dragging you along for backup, now he refuses. Each time you bring it up, his excuses are vague, his tone dismissive.

Lately he had been returning home later and later, some nights not at all. His once-vibrant energy feels dimmed, like he’s burning himself out trying to shoulder more than even he can bear.

You hate seeing him like this.

The curses have been more active than ever, and you know he’s overworked. You try your best to help him with what you can, managing the paperwork, maintaining the space you shared, even preparing meals for him. But it’s not enough. He’s still stuck with the belief that as the strongest, he had to carry everything himself. You frown at the thought. You wish you could do more for him.

You hear the front door open, and you rush out of your shared bedroom to greet him. But your smile fades as you see him standing there, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, his usual carefree grin nowhere to be seen.

Your heart aches at how drained and worn out he looks. You tentatively step closer to him, wanting to soothe him but unsure of how. His blindfold keeps you from seeing his eyes, as if acting as the barrier between you and his true self. You feel an urge to pull it down. He lets you, hands resting at his sides as you gently tug down his blindfold. His weary eyes meet your own. Those usually sparkling eyes, now dull and lifeless.

You don’t know why you do it. It must have been instinctive. You just want to be able to lighten his pain and offer him rest, even just the slightest amount. Your hands move on their own, rising to lightly rest over his tired eyes. Covering them completely.

But the second your hands cover his eyes, his breath hitches. He can’t see anything. No cursed energy, no shapes, no flickering auras; its just darkness, pure and quiet. He’s stunned. His hands shakily reach up, wrapping around your wrists. Not to stop you, but to keep you there. Like if he lets go, that peace might disappear.

“What do you see?” you ask softly, almost afraid to disturb the stillness.

“Nothing. Nothing but you. Only you,” he murmurs, his voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid saying it out loud might shatter the moment.

Gojo, burdened by his Six Eyes from birth. He had spent his whole life seeing everything, constantly overwhelmed by the endless stream of cursed energy and the weight of being the strongest. He can only find true relief with you. For once, he isn’t the strongest sorcerer, the invincible figure everyone relies on. With you, he’s just Satoru, resting in the soft comfort of your hands, shielded from the constant noise of the world.

From that moment on, it becomes your thing together. After long, grueling missions where he’s pushed to his limits, when his mind is frayed and his vision is burned with cursed energy, he’d search for you, tugging gently on your hands, silently asking for comfort. He leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Sometimes he pulls you into his lap, burying his face into your neck, quietly asking, “Just for a minute… please…”

And you allow him as long as he needs, stroking his hair gently. Letting him enjoy that rare, sacred peace.

The intimacy deepens his attachment to you in ways he never thought possible. You’re no longer just his assistant, his partner. You’re the one person in the world who truly understands him, makes him feel human. It’s in these stolen moments, when the world falls away and it’s just the two of you, that he realizes how much he truly needs you. And when he thinks about how fragile you are, how vulnerable, it terrifies him.

You’re my everything, he thinks to himself one night, as your body rests above his. The room is quiet, save for the faint sound of your breaths and the steady rhythm of Satoru’s heartbeat beneath you. You lay sprawled across his chest, your cheek resting against him as his arms hold you close to him.

Maybe that fear is the reason his arms wrap around you just a tad tighter, why he holds you flush to his own body as if afraid you’ll disappear.

“What do you think about having kids one day?”

Satoru blinks, caught completely off guard by your question. He stares at you, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. For once, Gojo Satoru, the man who always had something clever to say, was at a loss for words.

“You—kids?” he finally manages, his voice slightly hoarse.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. Kids.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, tilting his head back against the pillow as he processes your words. “Huh. You really know how to throw a guy off, don’t you?”

Your smile widens, and you prop yourself up on his chest, looking down at him. “I’m serious, Satoru. What do you think?”

His eyes flicker to yours, searching your expression for any hint of doubt, any sign that you might be joking. But you aren’t. You’re completely serious.

“I… I never thought about it,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “I never thought I’d want something like that. Or that I could even have it.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Why not?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. “Because I’m me,” he says simply. “The strongest. The guy everyone depends on. The guy who…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I never thought I deserved that kind of happiness. Not with the life I’ve lived. Not with all the things I’ve done.”

You feel a pang of sadness at his words, and you reach up, brushing your fingers gently along his jawline. “You deserve to be happy, Satoru,” you say softly. “You deserve to have a family, to have someone who loves you unconditionally. And you know what?”

He turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes shimmering with something you couldn’t quite place.

“I think you’d be an amazing dad,” you continue, your voice steady and sincere.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable. But then his lips quirk into a small, almost shy smile.

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” you say, your voice firm.

He lets out a quiet laugh, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You make me believe it,” he murmurs.

You smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. When you pull back, his eyes are still locked on yours, searching, as if he was trying to commit this moment to memory.

"We'd make a cute kid," he eventually says, a genuine smile spreading across his face, one that makes your heart swell.

You can’t help but grin back, bright and contagious. His hands slide to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he guides you gently toward him.

And then he kisses you, slowly, deeply, as if pouring all of his emotions into that single moment.

In his arms, you feel it. The warmth, the love, the unspoken promise of a future that seems a little brighter, a little fuller.

With him, it feels right.

---

The kiss lingers in your mind, even as the two of you walk side by side toward the battlefield. The warmth of his hand in yours grounds you. His long fingers curl tightly around yours, as if to anchor you to him. To remind you of his silent promise.

I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you.

But even with his reassurances, there’s a weight in the air, heavy and oppressive. You both know this fight isn’t like the others. Ahead of you, Sukuna’s cursed energy crackles in the distance, dark and suffocating, a storm that threatens to swallow everything whole.

Gojo’s grip on your hand tightens as you near the edge of the battlefield, and the two of you come to a stop. You glance up at him, and the sight takes your breath away. His white haori catches the breeze, billowing behind him like the wings of an angel sent to bring judgment. To you, perhaps he is.

His hair is wild, tousled by the wind, and his blindfold is gone, leaving his piercing blue eyes on full display. They glimmer with an intensity that’s equal parts terrifying and beautiful. But beneath the crystalline clarity of his gaze, you see something softer. Something meant only for you.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice soft yet steady, the calm within the chaos.

You nod, your hand squeezing his in quiet reassurance.

For a moment, the world seems to fall away. It’s just the two of you standing there, bound together by something deeper than words. You wish he didn’t have to fight. You wish things were different, that there was another way. But you know this is the path he has to walk. The world is counting on him. It always has.

So you’ll stand by him, no matter what.

Somewhere in the pit of your stomach, the uneasy feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong begins to take root.

---

The air crackles with cursed energy as Gojo and Sukuna stand, facing each other. The battlefield is in ruins, the ground scorched and torn as the clash of the two strongest sorcerers continues. Gojo stands in the center of it all, his body aching, his cursed energy reserves dangerously low. But inside him, he can feel you, your cursed energy merging with his, amplifying his strength, your unwavering determination giving him the edge he needed to keep fighting. Your presence is warm, steady, even as you pour every ounce of your strength into helping him.

But he knows what you’re doing.

“Stop it,” he growls, his voice strained as he sends another powerful attack towards Sukuna. His words aren’t aimed towards his enemy, but at you. “You’re pushing yourself too far. I can handle this.” “No, you can’t,” your voice echoes softly in his mind, calm yet firm. “Not alone.”

Gojo’s jaw clenches as he blocks another strike, his fingers trembling from the strain. He can feel it, feel your energy fading, slipping through his fingers like sand. It’s not just his body weakening. It’s you giving everything you had, pouring your soul into protecting him.

“Damn it, stop!” he shouts, his frustration boiling over. But you can hear the desperation and worry beneath the words. “I’m telling you, don’t do this! I won’t let you-”

“You don’t get to decide this, Satoru.” There’s a bittersweet smile in your voice, one he feels deep in his chest. “If it means keeping you alive, I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

He freezes for a fraction of a second, Sukuna’s cleave grazing his shoulder. His eyes widen in a panic as your words register. “No- no, don’t talk like that. We’re getting out of this together, you hear me?”

You don’t reply. Instead, he feels his arm raising on its own, his hand forming the symbol for a hollow purple. But he’s not the one in control. You are, your cursed energy overriding his will, guiding his body. The over exertion from the devastating technique would drain you completely. You both know it.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now. “Thank you… for everything. For making me feel like I wasn’t alone. For loving me. I’m sorry...”

“No. No, no no!” Gojo cries out desperately, as he tries to force his arms down. But his own body doesn’t listen to him, controlled by you using the last of your energy. The blinding glow of purple grows bigger at his finger tips, ready to end the battle. “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me! Don’t you dare-”

But then, he feels it. The moment you fade entirely. That comforting presence, the warmth he’d grown so used to. It was gone. His fingers release in that instant, his hollow purple launching forward with imperceivable speed, overpowering Sukuna in a brilliant burst of energy. It was over. Gojo had won. But victory feels like ashes in his mouth.

Because you were gone.

As the dust settles, he falls to his knees, his chest heaving. His hands claw at his heart, trying to feel for you, trying to sense even a sliver of your presence, but there was nothing. Nothing but a hollow, aching void, filling every crevice.

“No,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “No, no, no. Come back. Come back to me!” He clutches at his chest, tears streaming down his face as he calls your name over and over again. “Please�� don’t leave me. I need you. I need you…”

Then, a faint glow emerges from his chest. He freezes, his breath hitching as he watches a small, delicate gem form in his hand. A teardrop shaped crystal, shimmering faintly with the last traces of your essence. It’s beautiful, radiant, and it breaks his heart into a million pieces.

He stares at it, tears dripping onto the gem as he cradles it in his palm. All that’s left of you. His hands shake as he holds it to his chest, gripping it tightly as if afraid it might vanish. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the sobs wrack his body. “I should have protected you… I should have stopped you… Why did you do this for me?” His voice cracks, raw with pain.

“You promised we’d stay together…”

---

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. He barely sleeps anymore. Reduced to a shell of the man he used to be. He has the gem crafted into a necklace, the delicate pendant resting over his heart at all times. He clutches it during sleepless nights, fingers brushing over its smooth surface as he whispers your name into the silence.

“Do you know how much I miss you?” he murmurs one night, his voice hoarse. He’d been crying, again. He always did when the nights were too quiet. “Do you know how much it hurts to wake up every day without you here?” His thumb traces the edges of the gem as if it could bring you back.

Sometimes, when the moonlight hits the gem just right, it seems to shimmer, and he swears he can feel a faint warmth radiating from it. As if you were reassuring him. It’s foolish, he knows, but it’s the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

“I still look for you,” he admits quietly. “In the crowds. In my dreams.”

His voice cracks, and he bows his head, tears falling freely. “I miss you so much. I miss everything about you. Your laugh. Your touch. Your stupid little jokes.” His grip on the gem tightens. “God, I’d give anything to hear you again. To feel you again. Just… once.”

He pauses, his breath catching.

“If I had known…”

His voice trails off as he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Had I known I wouldn’t see you again,

I would have said goodbye.

Unbeknownst to him, the gem begins to glow faintly, a soft, warm light pulsing from within. At first, it’s subtle, almost imperceptible. But then the light grows brighter, more radiant, until it fills the room, making his breath hitch. He freezes, staring at it with wide eyes. For a second, he thinks he’s hallucinating, his grief playing cruel tricks on him. But then he feels it. The familiar hum of your cursed energy. A presence he hadn’t felt in so long.

“…No,” he whispers, weakly shaking his head in disbelief. “No, this can’t be…”

The light begins to shift and shape itself, materializing into something he thought he’d never see again.

You.

“Satoru,” you say, your voice soft and warm, filled with love and longing.

He doesn’t move at first. He can’t. He just stares at you, his entire body trembling. “…Is this real?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Are you real?”

You smile at him, stepping closer. “It’s real,” you say gently. “I’m real.”

He reaches out, hesitant, as if afraid you might disappear if he touches you. But the moment his hand brushes against yours, his composure shatters. He pulls you into his arms, clutching you tightly, face buried in your shoulder as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

“You’re here,” he says breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re really here…”

You wrap your arms around him, holding him just as tightly. “I’m here,” you murmur, your voice soothing. “I’m sorry it took so long, Satoru. My cursed energy… it was all but gone after the battle. But there was a sliver of me left in that gem. Over time, I slowly regained my strength… enough to come back to you.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he looks at you, his tears streaming freely. “I thought I lost you,” he chokes out. “I thought you were gone forever.”

You smile, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. “I was never really gone,” you say softly. “You kept me close the whole time. Thanks for taking such good care of me, even in gem form,” you can’t help but add with a chuckle.

His laugh is shaky, barely more than a breath. “Of course I did,” he says, his voice low and trembling. “It was the one thing that kept me sane. The only thing I had left of you.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry for putting you through all that,” you whisper against his lips. “But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he lets out a long, shaky breath. “You’d better not,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t…”

“You won’t,” you promise, your hands resting against his chest, right over his heart. “You saved me, Satoru. You saved everyone. You were so brave. So strong. I’m so proud of you.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I didn’t save you,” he says quietly. “You saved me. You always have.”

You smile softly, your hands brushing through his hair. “Then let’s call it even,” you say, your voice light and teasing.

For the first time in a long time, Satoru smiles, warm and genuine, brimming with everything he feels for you. He pulls you back into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go.

His warmth was the first thing you felt as you entered this strange world. You hope it’s the last thing you’ll feel as you one day leave it behind, together with him.

534 notes · View notes

tinaswampdweller · 15 days ago

Text

Rewound Infinitely

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Part one: Infinite Rewind

Synopsis: A decade later, Gojo has finally caught up with you. Weddings take a lot of planning.

Word Count: 8.6k

(Warnings: flashbacks to gore, not healthy trauma coping, thats all tho! pretty wholesome compared to last time)

Some things about him had changed within a decade, while others stayed the same.

Even taller than you last saw him. His hair has been styled, no longer ivory chaos. You can't see a single blemish or mark despite the decade of fighting curses. He's as flawless as the first day you met him. No glasses; the entirety of his blue keeps you still.

You've seen this Satoru before: Suguru's memories, with glassy eyes, ruffled ivory hair, and an empty expression. Seeing such beauty yourself when you're standing right in front of him, it's breathtaking.

Even the lights of Tokyo couldn't compare to him.

You say nothing. You can't. Your mouth is dry and pointless. You're not even sure where to even begin. In front of a God, your insecurities pile up all over again. Is he disappointed by you? How could you explain everything that you put him through? Your mouth opens, you think you're about to speak: an apology, a plea, anything-

"—You're late!"

His hands reach up to squish your cheeks together. It was so unexpected, you squeak.

And Gojo Satoru is pouting.

It's a wave. The ocean of anxiety, guilt, and fear crashes into the shore. You feel nothing but indignant rage at the brat who clearly hadn't matured one damn bit.

"I'm not late!" You hiss back. "If anything, you're the one who's late. I was—"

You're cut off by his laugh, light and happy.

He isn't offended by your outburst; he's overjoyed about it. His cheeks are dabbed with pink, and his lips are so wide that he's showing his teeth. Your anger wanes when he pulls you into his chest, arms circling around you. You can smell his cologne when he buries his face into your hair.

"There you are. Finally." He melts into you like butter. "I missed you, Greeny."

His voice is soft, quiet, and sincere. You can't do anything but hug him back, allowing him to sink.

"I missed you, too." You whisper.

He hums. Apart from the wind, it's quiet. He's clinging onto you as though he's afraid once he lets go, you'll disappear forever. His behavior is justified. You were constantly meddling with his life before whisking away. Just this once, you allow him to keep you within his reach, letting the cat catch the canary.

"This is sweet 'n all. But we're actually getting late." He mutters. "Also, we gotta do something about your clothes."

"Hm?"

One moment, you're atop the Tokyo Skybridge; the next, you're standing in an upscale boutique.

Satoru skips away from you. Meanwhile, you're frozen, brain scrambling to catch up with what happened. Teleport. He can teleport now.

"Mr. Gojo, sir." A voice calls. An older woman smiles at him.

He gives her a casual wave before gesturing over to you. "Mind giving this one a dress? It's a black-tie event. We don't have a budget."

The woman turns to you with a smile. "Of course, sir."

What?

Dazed, you pliantly follow the woman into the back of the boutique. Her hold on you is gentle as she ushers you through the hall with one hand on either side of your shoulders. When you look back, Satoru is waving with a wide grin. The door shuts behind you.

"Do you have any preferences?"

You turn back to the woman. She's still smiling. You can't tell if it's genuine or customer service. Perhaps both.

Did Satoru not like what you're wearing? When you look down, it makes sense. Your time on the tower wasn't kind to your hair, not to mention your clothes. This morning, you'd just thrown on the first thing you saw.

This morning. That felt like centuries ago.

She's still waiting. You give a trepid smile.

"Anything," you say, "anything as long as it's cheap. I'm not exactly swimming in cash."

She gives a confused look. "Oh, but Mr. Gojo is paying, isn't he?"

Was he? You had no idea what was happening, much less what he had just said. She returns to her usual smile.

"If you have nothing in mind, let's see here..."

Some time later, your usual clothing was removed and replaced by something satin and long. It was a pretty dress that fell right to your feet. A set of women also flitted in and worked on your hair and face, putting everything back in your face so that you looked more human and less cryptid.

"What do you think?" She asks, looking at you through that mirror.

Pretty, you looked pretty. But when you looked closer, no amount of make-up could remove that look in your eyes.

When you step back out, Satoru is waiting with a tapping foot.

"Finally!" He exclaims, standing up. He doesn't acknowledge the dress, probably because he's seen himself in better. "Thanks, Hana. Okay, let's go."

"Go?" You prod. "Go where? You—you still haven't told me what you're even doing—"

It's no use. He grabs your hand, instantly warping you away from the boutique.

You're outside. There's people everywhere. In the distance, you can see a crystal glass dome. The sun was still in the sky, which was strange because you remembered watching a sunset not too long ago, unless you weren't in Japan anymore. To prove it to yourself, you check your phone location. Yakima, Washington. What the fuck.

Was this some type of torture, him flitting you from continent to continent, all in a ploy to punish you for something? You give him a pleading look.

"Just tell me what's going on—"

"Nuh-uh." He grins. "It's a surprise! Besides, you'll figure it out soon enough. Now, I gotta' go. Stay here, be good, and find the panda!"

And then he's gone.

You always knew he was insane, but this is ridiculous, even for him. To leave you in the middle of nowhere, that asshole.

There is no one you recognize in the crowd, but they are all walking towards the dome, so you meekly follow. What did he say? Find the panda? It had to be a metaphor of some kind, or perhaps there was a panda statue you needed to wait under.

And then you see a panda on two legs walking and talking with a group of teenagers.

Seriously, what else did you expect?

Feeling like you've just aged five years, you approach the group. Including the animal, there's five. They all look like 14-16 years old. You feel like you're in high school all over again when they glance over at you. The girl looks particularly unimpressed.

"Hi." You look at the panda. Maybe it's a really good costume because no one else looks shocked. "Satoru said I should find you...?"

One of them seems to get the code. The one with black hair and puppy eyes perks up.

"Ah! Are you 'Greeny'?" Did he tell everyone about that nickname? Didn't you tell him it was supposed to be a secret? Though, it doesn't really matter anymore.

"It's not my actual name." You say before introducing yourself.

He gives a nod. "Okkutso Yuta." He bows. What a polite kid. "This is my friend, Inumaki Toge."

The kid with half his face under his scarf gives a wave. You smile.

"Just Maki." The girl steps in before she gives you a once-over. "I like your dress."

"Oh, thank you!" You say happily, "I love yours as well!"

She looks away, but you have a feeling she has a hard time taking compliments.

"I'm Panda." The panda fucking says, and no, it isn't a costume, but you're too tired to ask at this point. "Nice to finally meet you."

When the final kid says nothing, Panda reaches over and wraps a furry hand around his shoulder.

"And this is Fushiguro Megumi! He's shy." Panda says cheerily. The boy flusters under his weight.

"Get off." Fushiguro gripes.

"Don't mind him." Maki rolls her eyes. "He's just throwing a tantrum because his sister couldn't make it, and he's gonna have to socialize with people instead of hiding behind her."

Fushiguro glares, but he doesn't respond to that. He just gives you a nod, and you decide these are good kids. At the very least, they're all way better than that brat Satoru.

"So, why are we waiting out here?" You ask, peering around.

"The doors haven't opened, yet," Okkutso kindly relays, "we're just waiting out here until everything is set up."

"If they're taking this long, then they should at least ask for help." Maki crosses her arms. "We've been waiting out here for at least thirty minutes."

"At least there's food." Panda tries to assuage.

"Salmon," says Inumaki.

"They're serving salmon out here?" You give him an incredulous look and he waves his arms around.

"Bonito flakes." Inumaki says. Okkutso tries to come to his rescue.

"Inumaki can't speak anything but food items because of his curse-" Maki quickly yanks him down by his collar frantically. Fushiguro is whispering something in his ear. You watch them go back and forth before it clicks.

"Does it have something to do with his technique?" You ask, curiously.

They stop squabbling.

"Oh, our bad. Sorry 'bout that." Panda gives a sheepish grin. "We didn't think you'd know about jujutsu sorcery 'cause...well. Your cursed energy is really low."

"Super low." Maki agrees.

"Salmon."

"Even lower than Maki's." That earns Panda a punch from her.

"Thank you," you dryly say, before you turn back to the building.

"What's going on in that place anyway?"

They all give you an odd look before they look at each other. Did you say something wrong?

"Did Gojo-sensei not tell you anything?" Okkotsu asks.

You allow yourself to leak some bitterness. "Satoru just dropped me on the sidewalk before teleporting away. He never tells me anything.

"That sounds like him." Panda nods.

"Idiot," Maki says.

"Such an idiot," Fushiguro says, and now you feel bad for Satoru.

"Our sensei's getting married today." Okkutso supplies. He points at the dome.

You don't get why you didn't realize it sooner. You knew these kids, at least Okkutso, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki. They all showed up on the very last day Geto Suguru died. Okkutso, in particular, had fought and defeated Suguru.

These were Gojo Satoru's students.

You think back to the last time you saw Satoru. He didn't look like a groom, but he's an eccentric guy. You wondered what kind of person would put up with him for the rest of their lives. You pitied them.

"Oh." You frown. "His wedding? I—I would have at least brought a gift."

"I don't think he'd mind," Panda said, "besides, you didn't even know!"

You still felt a bit guilty.

"We didn't bring anything either," Fushiguro states, and it helps just a tiny bit.

"When the ceremony begins, you can sit with us," Okkutso tells you, "we're supposed to keep an eye on you, anyway."

"You're not talking to a dog." Maki grunts.

"Oh no I—I didn't mean to be offensive!" Okkutso backtracks. "It's just—well, Gojo-sensei's been talking about you for a while, and we want to make sure everything goes smoothly and we were all really excited to meet you so—"

He keeps rambling like that until Inumaki pats his shoulder. You laugh, amused.

"I wasn't offended or anything." You tell him before his words sink in. "Wait, Satoru talks about me?"

"All the time." Maki responds, an edge to her voice. "'Greeny this', 'Greeny that'."

"We usually tune him out when he gets like that," Panda says, "honestly, we didn't even think you were real until just now."

"I always thought 'Greeny' was an inside joke Gojo-sensei and Haibara-sensei had," Okkotsu admits.

Something warm bubbles in your stomach.

"So," Fushiguro speaks, "how do you know Gojo, anyway?"

You didn't know the story Gojo told them so you simply keep it vague.

"I knew him as a kid."

It's Panda who gets the most excited about this.

"Really? What was he like as a teenager?"

"A brat." You instantly respond, and then you think a little more. "But I don't think that ever changed."

They ask you a couple more questions about Gojo's high school days. You oblige, thinking this as payback for how Satoru dropped you here without saying anything. You don't know how long you spend out there, airing out Gojo's younger days while his students get increasingly giggly.

Okkotsu is the one who notices the crowd is moving.

"I think they opened the doors." He smiles. "Let's go, everyone."

You follow behind Maki, admiring the architecture. It's a grand building. Sparkling crystal glass lets the sunlight bleed in. The decoration was something else entirely. Small white flowers adorn the chandelier, and they cascade down the edges. Ice sculptures of angels greeted the guests. Live music was already playing. Satoru knows how to plan a wedding.

Maki finds you all seats. You sit next to her. Fushiguro follows you. Okkutso, Inumaki, and Panda take the seats behind you. While you wait for the guests to settle down, you pass your time, waiting for the students to bicker with one another. From your assumption, it looked as though Maki, Panda, and occasionally Inumaki butted heads with each other. Okkutso often served as the timid referee, trying to get everyone to calm down, which almost always made things worse. Fushiguro just elected to ignore everything.

"Are they always like this?" You lean over to whisper to him. Fushiguro gives a tired nod.

"Every. Single. Day." He's saying this from experience, but at least you get a show.

Everyone settles down eventually. The kids grow quiet when the music starts to swell. The indoor lights dim. It's starting.

You've never been to a wedding this grand before. There was a live orchestra. Women and men were dressed in baby blue, gently strumming away their cellos, violins, and violas.

It's how you miss Satoru's entrance. He's already standing on the altar by the time you look back. He's changed into something more formal. The suit and green tie fit him. A perfectly put-together beauty. As though he can sense your stare, he catches your eye and winks.

But why was he already up there? Shouldn't he be—

"Sensei's coming!" Okkotsu whisper-yells. Inumaki hushes him.

Everyone turns to face the door. You do, too.

Your heart stops when you see him.

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool.

You don't think you're breathing when you watch him walk down the aisle. The music is low, barely loud enough to hide the click of his heels. He takes his rightful place beside Satoru, his best man. Satoru gives him a nudge, and Suguru shakes his head fondly.

Everyone turns to see Shoko's entrance. You should too, but you keep staring at him. How much he's changed since high school. How much he's changed since he waltzed onstage wearing a priest's outfit, filled with nothing but empty hatred for those he viewed as weak.

But he's not wearing that twisted monk costume. His eyes aren't dull and dead and bitter. There's no sickly faux smile on his lips.

Today, Suguru looks like the happiest man on Earth.

His eyes are wide and eager and sparkling purple beauties. He's 27, but he looks younger. The lines of exhaustion and heartbreak aren't so prominent. And you—and you—

You just sit there, watching as Shoko walks up to the altar, watching as they stand as bride and groom. His daughters, adorned in pretty blue dresses, stand right behind him, smiling so hard you're sure it hurts. The priest speaks. They say their vows. You can't hear a single word. It's like you're behind a glass wall, and you can see him, but you can't feel him.

When they kiss, everything comes back. The crowd celebrates. Satoru ruffles Himeno's hair. Nanako smiles wider. Behind you, Inumaki and Panda sniffles. Okkotsu hands them a tissue.

"It’s pretty." Maki comments. Fushiguro gives a hum of agreement.

ⴵ

Satoru finds you and the kids when you're waiting for the reception to start.

He appears behind you with a cheery, "And how are my lovely students holding up?" You almost spill your drink in shock.

"Sensei!" Okkotsu chirps. "Where's Geto-sensei and Ieiri-sensei?"

"Shoko's around; Suguru's taking a break," Gojo answers with a grin. "If you don't mind me, I'll be stealing this one for a sec."

He doesn't wait for an answer, steering you away by your shoulders. You look behind you. Panda waves. Fushiguro just looks even more upset. You wave back at them regardless.

"I can't believe you put your students out on babysitting duty." You tell him. "And what's with this wedding? There's no alcohol anywhere." To make your point, you take another sip of your apple juice.

"We have kids here. Kinda' have to make it alcohol-free," Satoru says.

"The bartender could ID them." You suggest.

"You think teens who fight curses daily wouldn't figure out how to get around that?" He grins. You frown at his frustratingly good response.

“What’d you think of them?”

“Hm?”

“The kids.” He urges. “What’d you think?”

Your brows scrunch. You have no idea what he means by that. Eventually, you take a breath.

“I like how...close they are.” You eventually say. “The bond they share. They care. I think each one of them will be good sorcerers.”

He’s silent, and you think you might have misunderstood his question.

“I learned that from you,” Satoru says, “keeping them together, making sure they can grow, get stronger, together. You were always so insistent on that, back then. I’m glad you were. It was one of the best things about you.”

You stare at him. Really stare. You’ve never heard him sound so genuine, so sincere before. You look into his crystal-blue eyes, wide and earnest. Part of you wants to take a picture, so you could keep it forever.

Eventually, Gojo successfully drags you to a less crowded area of the party. He looks around.

"Hm, he should be around here somewhere...?" Satoru hums to himself.

"Who?" You ask. That question answers itself.

Haibara Yu is waiting a little ways ahead. By now, the sun was starting to set. His brown hair turned gold. Gojo eagerly hurries you forward as he calls out to him. You stumble, still lost at what you're seeing.

"Guess who I brought?" Gojo sweetly sings, Yu-Haibara, he hasn't let you call him Yu yet-tilts his head.

He smiles, confused. "Oh? Hello!" He says cheerily. "Who's this?" He asks to Gojo.

"Guess," Gojo says.

Haibara stares at you, and you decide to give him a hint.

"Brocolli head?"

He gapes. It's almost the same reaction he had last time. Last time, when you had to convince him to kill you so you could go back in time to save Satoru.

"No way." He gasps. "Greeny?"

He doesn't remember. He wouldn't, why would he? Still, it's nice to see the innocence on his face, rather than the pain you saw last time. Right before he snapped your neck.

You think he was crying the last time you two saw each other.

In this timeline, Haibara is hugging you so tightly you think your head's about to explode.

"It's really you?" Haibara says, but his bear hug muffles his words. "“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again even though Satoru said we'd see you again one day, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

"Haibara." You plead. "You're suffocating me."

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry." He lets you go, and your lungs inflate again. "I—I'm just so happy! And—and you're a girl!" He says it like it's the most surprising thing about this whole revelation. Maybe it is.

Satoru is always needy for attention and whines as always.

"Wait, you two came up with a code word?" He complains. "That's not fair. We never did that."

"I mean, it was Haibara's idea." You point out. "You should be smarter next time."

That makes him frown even more. You laugh.

"Yu." Haibara suddenly says.

You turn to him.

"My friends call me Yu."

It's nice to know that no matter what timeline you're in, Yu will always remain stagnant.

"Okay, lover boy," Gojo says with a not-so playful bite, "keep your eye on this one for me, okay? Gotta' go do more best man shit."

Satoru's gone once again. You look at Yu.

"He's been running around since I got here." You tell him. "Does that man ever rest?"

"Nope." Haibara grins, before taking your arm. "Follow me; you should meet a couple of people."

He leads you through the crowd. You spot the teens moping about out of the corner of your eye. Panda and Inumaki seem to be in a push-up competition. Maki is egging them on. You wisely decide not to disturb them.

Yu drops your hand to wave to someone. There's no need for any kind of introduction for these people.

Riko and Misato Kuroi smile at you first. Miss Kuroi's aged beautifully since you last saw her. Wispy silver hair knitted seamlessly into brown strands. She never got that chance to grow gray hairs last time. You're staring so much it might be rude.

"Yu?" Riko asks and you think you're about to break because they know each other. "Who's this?"

"Uh, this-" Haibara chokes before looking at your awkwardly. Right, he doesn't know your actual name.

Come to think of it, Satoru doesn't know either. He never bothered to ask too. Probably on purpose. Ass.

You smile and politely introduce yourself. It takes everything within you not to scream and hug them both because in this timeline, they don't know you. They never did.

But you can change that now.

"Hello!" Riko beams. "I'm Kuroi Riko, but just Riko is fine! And this is my mom: Kuroi Misato."

She says that so plainly, like that had always been her name, like Miss Kuroi had always been her mother. You wonder how long it took for those two realities to become her norm. Or maybe it hardly took time at all.

"It's wonderful to meet you." Miss Kuroi states before she tilts her head. "May I ask how you know the couple?"

Haibara jumps in for you. "Um—actually, this is Satoru's date!" He fumbles.

You do a double-take. No, you technically weren't Satoru's date. But you technically entered the wedding with him. And he was the one who 'invited' you. Fuck, you were the brat's date. Damn it.

"Ah." Nanami cuts in for the first time. "So, you're the one Gojo won't shut up about."

His accusation sounds like Maki's, but less harsh. You wonder if he has a favorite student.

Nanami looks the most different from his high school counterpart. A new haircut, less slouchy, more tall and refined. He blinks at you, slow and calculating.

Sheepishly, you laugh. "Yeah...that's me....sorry."

"Don't be rude, Kento."

Ieiri arrives with a soft smile and painted features. She's changed out of her glowing gown, sticking to something small yet perfectly elegant: a short white dress that curls ever so slightly at the ends. Riko's the first to hug her, ecstatic. Ieiri hugs her back, too, because they've become friends in this timeline. The circles under her eyes are less prominent. Her smile looks more real. This isn't the timeline where she's had to bury her friend; it's the timeline she's allowed to marry him.

"Congratulations," you say politely once everyone is done cooing over her. She smiles at you, the way a stranger would.

Then, her head tilts.

"Sorry," she hesitates, "do we know each other? You...feel familiar somehow."

Ieiri was the first person you met when you activated your technique and returned to the past for the first time. She was the one who calmed you down, kept you grounded. In a way, you owed a lot to her.

Looking at her, you can see why Suguru kept her cigarettes in his pocket.

You shrug. "I must have one of those faces."

The attention turns back to her, her beautiful dress, pure and white and beautiful. You feel Haibara stare at you. You shake your head at him. It wasn't the time. Maybe it never will be.

"This really is a beautiful wedding," Mistato says when the conversation reaches a pleasant lull, "I can't imagine how much it cost."

She shrugged.

"Probably a fortune, but I let Satoru deal with the numbers."

Misato looks confused, and Ieiri laughs.

"He paid for everything." She gestures to the venue. "Suguru and I didn't have to fork over a single cent. It's the least he could do for being a pain in the ass for 12 years."

Damn, you knew he was rich, but you didn't know he was rich rich. Maybe you should consider being nicer to him. If you ask politely, perhaps you could get him to pay off your car loans.

"I'll get him to pay for my wedding too." Riko proudly says.

"He'd probably do it, too." Ieiri nodded along. "He offered, just like that. The only thing he was hellbent on was the date."

"The date?" You echo. Ieiri shrugs, messing with her laced sleeves.

"Said it absolutely needed to be on December 24th. Something about spirituality. I never listened to that guy's rants."

It comes to you immediately, but you're pushing it away. No way. Satoru wouldn't. There isn't a chance in Hell he would have convinced his friends to have the biggest day of their lives on the same day you were supposed to meet him.

No, of course, he would do that. Ass.

"So, how do you know Satoru?" Riko asks you. When she realized how rude it sounded, she backtracked. "I—I didn't mean anything by it! It's just...the guy only knows five people. When he spoke about bringing someone along, I thought he was joking."

"Same here," Nanami says. Haibara stifles a laugh, and you realize all of Satoru's friends think he's a loser.

Friends. Back then, he only had one of those.

"Um." You toss Haibara look. He shrugs. "We met a few years ago! But we just recently reconnected." That's close enough to the truth. Good enough.

You remember your blunder. You sympathetically look at Shoko.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't able to bring a gift," you say, "I was blindsided. Satoru barely gave me enough time to get ready."

You laugh, and you're hoping they laugh it off too. They don't, instead Shoko, Nanami, Riko, and Misato look at you. Then, they look at each other.

Nanami speaks first. He clears his throat.

"Did Satoru....abduct you?"

"What?"

"That sounds like him." Misato sighs, more exasperated than anything else.

Riko nods along with her. "We tried to teach him. Where did we go wrong?" she laments.

Haibara and Shoko laugh as you desperately try to defend your not-date date because he didn't actually kidnap you, but he did bring you here against your will and started dragging you along like some toy, but it's the context about that that matters. You wished they could've had a bit more faith in him. Poor Satoru.

It ends eventually. Ieiri excuses herself. Riko and Misato go too. You stay with Yu and Nanami, watching as they get into increasingly petty arguments. It’s hilarious how quickly Yu is able to bring the usually staunch and serious Nanami down to his level.

Sometime later, you find yourself roaming the balcony. The party roars on indoors, laughing, talking, cheering. It was chilly outside, you should go back in within a few minutes. You just needed a break from the action.

The sun had already gone down, by then. You were somewhere out in the country. The buildings sparsely dotted the horizon. There were no artificial lights. It meant the stars could shine as brightly as they wanted to, with no one to stop them.

You hadn’t seen Satoru in a while. You had no idea where he’d run off to. It didn’t matter; you knew he’d eventually pop out of a box to harass you again.

But now that you had space for yourself, you needed to think.

You rest your hands over the rail, looking up at the stars. There were so many out tonight.

You fixed the future. You changed everything. Does that mean you still needed to tell Satoru about the past timeline?

You promised him answers the next time you two met. You promised him an explanation. He waited ten years for that. You pinch at the fabric of the dress.

This future that you carefully built, crafted with your own hands. It’s delicate, a glass castle.

It’s justice, but did that make it right?

“Want one?”

The voice makes you jump.

He stares at you, leaning against the rail. Purple eyes, mirroring the starry sky.

You knew these eyes, for a while, they used to be yours.

You stare at him. Then, you stare at the cigarette in his inviting fingers.

Your fingers twitch.

“No—no, I’m fine.” You smile. “Actually, I’m trying to quit.”

“Ah.” Suguru says, lighting it up before bringing it to his lips. “Shouldn’t tempt you, then. Pardon, what’s your name?”

You can hear your heartbeat. It’s loud, right in your ear. You wonder if he can hear it too. Are his curses around? Can they smell it? Your blood? Are they still as ravenous as the last time, eager to tear and fester and eat—

“It’s Greeny,” you say, “you can call me Greeny. ”

He hums in approval.

“Geto Suguru,” he says, “though I’m pretty sure you already know that.” You both share a huff of laughter.

“My fiancé quit a few years ago.” Suguru starts, mentioning the cherry-red cigarette. “Thought I’d follow in her footsteps, but here I am.” He shrugs before he winces.

“Wife, sorry.” He corrects. “I still can’t believe it.”

The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more.

You smile at his tone. He sounded like that 12 years ago, when he was still just a kid. Full of soft wonder.

“I’m guessing you’ve been planning this for a long time?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Shoko did most of the work. This is all thanks to her, really. Unfortunately, I was too busy managing the school.”

“I heard you were a principal?” You prod.

Suguru nods, “Our current one recently retired. I’m trying to follow in his footsteps.”

You think of Principal Yaga, the one with sunglasses and a stern expression. He looks a lot like Nanami in some areas. But he acts more like Suguru than anyone you ever knew.

And you knew Suguru; you knew him as well as yourself.

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru.

“I can tell you’re already making him proud,” you say, “I met your students. They’re good kids.”

He smiles, soft, gentle. Those used to be your smiles.

“They are, aren’t they?” He repeats back, “some of them had a rough beginning, but it all worked out somehow.” He hums. “I’m glad.”

His daughters, the ones standing beside him as he kissed his wife, wide eyes and even wider grins. They didn’t have the darkness in their faces. The bitterness. Like they did in the last timeline.

You were glad, too.

This death is a lot more painful than the others.

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die.

You forgive Suguru.

“It sounds like you’ve had personal experience with that sort of thing.” When he looks at you, you quickly say. “Your eyes. I—I can see it. I’ve always been good at that sort of thing.” You knew Suguru. His eyes matched yours.

He doesn’t look offended. Suguru takes a minute, reaching up to his black locks. He removes the elastic, pretty black hair falls down his shoulders He’s grown it out since high school. It reaches his waist.

He eases himself back onto the rail, looking up at the stars. You follow.

“Yeah, I do,” he’s saying, “I think I know what it’s like being them at that age. Alone, isolated, slipping down a rock. Drowning, but no one can see it.” Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised.

“When I was younger...it was really hard. Some days, I was so full of hate and anger. The pain was a lot. Sometimes, I had this despicable idea that it was someone else’s fault I was like this. Someone innocent.” He laughs, bitter.

“And, on those days, I would often feel something.”

You look at him. Suguru doesn’t stare back, eyes lost in the stars.

“Sometimes, it’d be a voice. Other times a small nudge on my shoulders, pushing me in the right direction. Once, it was a hug, keeping me from doing something that would’ve changed my life forever. And it would be just a bit more bearable, like I wasn’t so alone.”

You can feel your heart in your throat. Your fingers grip the railing.

“What did you think it was?” You expect hate, disgust. You want to give yourself a reason.

You forgive Suguru.

He takes a moment, coming back from heaven. His eyes find yours.

“I’m not sure.” He admits. “I’m not religious, but I always liked to think of it as—”

An angel. A hand of God. A higher power. It doesn’t matter what Suguru said, you knew what he meant.

A part of you always wondered why Suguru would return to Jujutsu society, when he wanted nothing more than to run from it. You expected him to retire. Instead, he took the reins of the beast, wrangling it down. Now, you get why.

“That’s why you’re a teacher now,” you say, “so you could be the same thing for your students.”

He nods, and you think of Maki. You think of Okkutso. You think of Panda. You think of Fushiguro. You think of Inumaki. Suguru must have been there for Maki, even when her own family wasn’t. Suguru must have helped Okkutso control his technique, being the only one who could. Suguru, must have made these kids better than they ever possibly could’ve been. Fighting for them instead of against them.

“Sorry.” He blinks. “I—I didn’t mean to get so sentimental. It’s been years since I thought about my own highschool years.” He laughs, voice full.

“You’re just...really nice to talk to.” He hums. “I don’t think I can explain it but it’s...familiar somehow.”

You look at him. He’s older, but in some ways, he hasn’t really changed. Even now, when you look at him, you see a reflection of yourself.

“I can see why he likes you.”

“Who?” You ask when he brings you back from your thoughts.

“The idiot.” But he says it so affectionately, so lovingly, you can’t help but smile. “I saw him dragging you around earlier. Sorry about that. I would’ve stepped in but...” He trails off, thinking.

“It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

You hadn’t noticed anything about Satoru. He smiled just as brightly as he did in highschool. Now, you wonder if this was the first time in a while Suguru had seen that side of him: carefree, no longer The Strongest.

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru.

“Are you and him…” he trails off.

“No.” You laugh. “No, I’m his….childhood friend. We just haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head. “How long has it been?”

You decide to be honest. “Ten or so years, give or take?”

He whistles.

“No wonder he’s bouncing around like a yipping puppy,” He says, and you can’t help but agree with the analogy.

“In any case.” He leans over the railing. His cigarette is down to its last embers. “I hope you stick around. A friend…I think he needs more of those more than anything.”

You stare at him. Those purple eyes. You can see what Shoko sees. You can see what Satoru saw all those timelines ago. They only ever saw the light, the gentleness, of Geto Suguru.

You are the only person in the world who knows him.

He’s killed people. He’s killed you. No matter how much logic or justification or pain was involved, the blood of the innocent is still sticky. It still drips across the pavement, scarring the sidewalk in red. It still hurts.

When Suguru would kill you, you’d force yourself to forgive him. You needed to die without regrets, because the pain of hatred builds up, you’ve seen it happen firsthand.

But now that you’re free, what Suguru did to you wasn't fair. Just because his innocence was taken away doesn’t give him the right to take the lives of others. It never gives anyone the right to murder. You keep telling yourself that this Suguru and that Suguru were different…but they weren’t. Not really. The look in their eyes matched perfectly.

He’d do it again, in the right conditions.

And yet.

You forgive Suguru.

You can’t judge him. If there is a God, maybe Suguru will have to pay for the crimes he committed all those timelines ago. You can’t save Suguru from that. But to you, the debt is paid.

Besides, you’re too tired to hate him. And you won’t allow yourself to fall into the same cycle he struggled to break free from.

You look into his eyes. Then, at his ring. You smile.

And that's enough.

“I will,” you say, “I will.”

Then, as two parts of a whole, the two of you stare at the stars for a little while longer.

ⴵ

The reception was nice. A fancy dinner, you can’t remember the last time you ate something. The speeches were beautiful, especially Shoko’s. You swore you saw Nanami shed a tear, but you never said anything about it.

You saw a glimpse of white hair in the crowd before the first dance began. Stunning music. The couple must have practiced for months. Bride and Groom, husband and wife, held hands and looked at each other like they were the only ones in the room.

Megumi stood beside you, watching Ieiri and Geto sway to the music. As though the kid could sense him, Megumi’s serene face sours. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when there’s a tap on your shoulder.

“Cute, huh?” Satoru starts, mentioning at the dance. “It didn’t look this put-together in the beginning. Shoko gave him a ton of bruises,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

You frown. “Shouldn’t you be doing something else than gossiping about your friends?”

“I am! I’m checking up on my son!” And then he turns to Fushiguru. “Megumi!”

“No.” Fushiguro instantly rebukes.

“Don’t mind him.” Satoru chides. “He’s going through an angst phase.” Fushiguro rolls his eyes, but he shifts just a tiny bit.

“Y’know, he was actually supposed to be the flower boy, but he refused. Such a shame, the pictures would’ve been something else.” Gojo sighed and now you’re convinced they aren’t father and son.

“That was never going to happen.” Fushiguro says, and as if he thinks you’re naive enough to believe Satoru, he glances at you. “Never.”

“Of course not.” You crack a smile.

You watch as Ieiri descends into a graceful spin, Geto taking the lead. When he tips her over, your eyes soften.

Gojo leans over; you can feel his breath in your ear.

“Next year.” He whispers. “For us, it’ll definetly be next year.”

You jerk away but he’s already skipping off, having the audacity to call out a cheerful ‘toodles’.

“What did he say?” Fushiguro questions.

That’s what you wanted to know, too, but you were so tired, and the night was so long, and you couldn’t bother to get out your Gojo translator and figure it out.

“The same stuff he always says. Nonsense.” You decide on. Fushiguro takes the answer.

“I don’t understand how he has all that energy.” You mutter, watching Satoru disappear through the crowd.

“I thought he’d get better with age, turns out I was wrong,” Fushiguro says.

“I wanted to ask,” you start, your eyes still on Ieiri and Geto, “how do you know Gojo? Aren’t you still in middle school?”

“Everyone knows Gojo. He’s pretty famous in the jujutsu world.” Fushiguro shrugs. “But personally...he’s my benefactor. Took me and my sister in when my parents left.”

You look at him. And you feel like an idiot.

He’s the spitting image of his father. Sharp cobalt eyes. Black hair. Fushiguro Toji is all over the young man.

Gojo Satoru, the one who killed the sorcerer killer, took care of his enemy’s children.

“What?” Fushiguro asks when you’re smiling

You shake your head. “No, no it’s nothing.”

Satoru told you that you’re the one who taught him about the importance of bonds. But you think he should take some of the credit too.

ⴵ

Eventually, everyone gets on the dancefloor.

It’s a mess. Absolute chaos. Panda and Inumaki are trying and failing to do the waltz. Maki and Okkuttso are lightly swaying to the music. They’ve managed to get Fushiguro up there too. Though, he doesn’t look extremely happy.

The adults are even worse. Apparently, the retired principal Yaga is a pretty good dancer. You think one of them found alcohol, because Haibara looks absolutely wasted. He’s swinging his arms around, almost hitting the other guests. Nanami is trying to get his attention, but the guy wants none of it. When Haibara catches your eye, he wildly waves in clear invitation.

You smile back, but you shake your head. You think he’s about to come up to you, but something else catches his eye, and he’s grinning at a very irrated-looking Iori.

You were sitting on a chair, just people-watching. It was a nice break from everything. To listen to the music, lightly tap your feet, play with the frill of your dress. You weren’t really in the mood to dance.

Besides, you weren’t technically invited here anyway. It’d be rude to just burst on the scene.

“There you are! Been looking all over for you!”

You don’t have to look over to see who it is. Satoru slumps down in a chair next to you.

“Greeny, you gotta’ do something about your cursed energy. It’s so weak. Like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly.

“Always happy to help.” Satoru beams, and then he glances over at the floor.

“We’re dancing after this song, by the way.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s so cute you think you have a choice, Greeny.”

You frown. “There’s no point in calling me Greeny anymore. Unless you still don’t know my name.”

“I do, but it doesn’t matter,” Satoru says arrogantly. “You’ll always be my Greeny to me.”

You roll your eyes. Even now, he’s a brat. You thought all these years would mellow him down just a tiny bit.

“So,” you start, “are you done with your ‘best man shit’?”

“Yup.” He announces. “Now, I can sit back and enjoy the show.”

You smile, but you can still feel the butterflies in your stomach. He’s been running around so far and it’s given you time. Now, that he’s free, it means you two have to talk.

And you aren’t sure if you truly want to.

You flex your fingers.

“Um, how have you—”

“Stop.” Satoru interrupts. “Let’s not make this awful, Greeny.”

You nod immediately, relaxing. His voice gets softer, after that.

“I’m glad you chose that color,” he says, “I was sorta’ hoping you would.”

You look down at the dress. A deep green. You hadn’t even thought about the color, the boutique lady had basically thrown it at you.

The shade of Satoru’s green tie matches your dress. You can feel your smile again. Typical.

“I’m glad I did too,” you honestly say. And then, you continue to fiddle with your fingers. Ultimately, you decide to just bite the bullet.

“I thought you’d be mad.” You finally say, words jittery and unfocused. “Angry at me for...for what I did.”

He’s silent, and you feared that it was all true. The laughs and the jabs were all a facade.

"I don’t think I was ever mad." He responds, staring into the crowd. "Hurt, yeah. Then, it faded into something that stung everytime I thought about it, and then...something else. And now, I know it's a waste to get mad because you're finally here now. With me."

His tone pitches upwards as he reaches over to painfully pinch your cheek.

"'Sides, I know you can't escape me anymore, Greeny," Satoru cheerfully says, "Now, I know your face, your name, and with little effort, I could probably find your address, your social security-"

"Okay! Okay!" You pull away, rubbing your cheek. Damn, he's scary. "Threat acknowledged."

"Good!" He straightens himself back up, and you find yourself slumping again.

“I am sorry, though,” you say, “for leaving like that. I...I always wished I could do that a bit differently. You deserved better.”

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head. “Don’t blame yourself for only doing what you could. It eats at you, Greeny. It really does.” He sighs, leaning forward in his chair.

“You deserved better too,” he says back, voice barely above the music, “I always had some regrets about those years. I thought I could’ve done more to help you, back then.”

There it was again: selfishness, the urge to do good to others while retaining that greed. You supposed you taught him that.

You put your face in your hands.

“Even though, you dragged me here against my will, I feel so guilty being here.” You complain, hoping it’ll lighten the mood. “You should apologize to everyone because I crashed the party.”

Satoru scoffs. “What are you talking about? Everyone loves you!” He exclaims. “Look, Yu’s ecstatic. Riko won’t stop gushing about you; you even have Nanami’s approval! I don’t even have that!” You roll your eyes, sinking back in your seat.

“Besides, you needed to come. You needed to see it.”

“See what?” You ask.

“This.” He points to the venue, the ballroom full of glittery whites and sparkles.

“Look around, Greeny. Look at all the people you saved.”

Haibara and Riko are dancing together. Two dead children finally had the chance to grow up. Misato speaks to Nanami. Beautiful gray hair, eyes that aren’t so tired. Shoko sparkling in her dress, and Geto—

The same day he was supposed to die, Suguru was getting married.

“Thank you.” When you look at him, Satoru is staring right at you. His sea eyes give everything and more.

“Thank you for saving all of us.”

Your heart skips, then just stops completely. You can’t cry, you won’t not here, not on such a happy day. But your eyes are stinging. And Satoru is turning blurry.

And then, like Satoru always does, he ruins the moment.

"Did you just fall for me a little?"

His head tilts. That same mischievous, irritating smile lights up on his face.

You relax, laughing out of disbelief. When you speak, your voice is barely scratchy. "You're so full of yourself; it's actually a little cute."

"You think I'm cute?"

"Did you hear anything else that I just said?"

"I heard you think I'm cute,” Satoru responds proudly, and you doubt he’d ever let you hear the end of it.

“And besides! Today is supposed to be a celebration for you too!” He exclaims.

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” Satoru says proudly, “you did it! You became a fully-fledged sorcerer. Considering your low CE, you might pass as grade four, but when I talk to our new principal, I’m sure he’ll make things right. Get ready to join be and him in the big leagues.”

You could read between the lines. Satoru wanted to tell everyone. You think a while ago, you might have agreed, but...

“Can...Can I quit being a sorcerer?” You ask. “I’m tired.”

He takes a second. Some of you wonders if he’ll try to talk you out of this. It’s more beneficial for him if you stay as an asset to the jujutsu world. How many people’s lives will be saved by a technique like yours? To be able to go back in time again and again and again. To die again and again and again.

“Someone once told me that it’s okay to be selfish every once in a while.” Satoru looks at you, eyes like lilies once again. “I won’t fault you for it. I don’t think anyone will.”

When you try to smile, it feels wobbly.

“That person sounds smart.”

“Nah.” He grins. “An idiot, actually. Way too oblivious.”

You laugh, despite the insult.

“Quit,” Satoru says when it’s quiet again, “do whatever you want. But...you can’t run away, okay? I won’t let you.”

It’s barely a touch. His hand reaches for your fingers. You’re the one who grabs it.

“I won’t.” You promise. “I won’t.”

He’s satisfied with that. You can tell when he squeezes your hand back.

You look at him, and you decide you won't tell Satoru what happened in the last timeline.

There's no point. It wouldn't do anything but shatter everything he worked so hard to make. Why would you break the glass when you could just add concrete, make it stronger? You saved everyone. A few white lies here and there just keep this future safe.

And you know this Satoru. If you told him, he'd carry that burden with you like the soldier he was. You don't want him to do that. You don't want him to have the same look you see in your own face. One last sacrifice.

When you come back, Satoru is shifting in his seat, uncrossing his legs.

“So...about that dance?”

“Ugh, fine.” You stand up. “One dance. And if you do anything embarrassing, I’m leaving.”

“Clearly, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” He grins, standing up himself.

He doesn’t release your hand for the rest of the night.

You don’t mind.

(When you disappear again, Maki’s the one who finds you.

By then, it’d been long into the night. Shoko and Suguru were already gone, off to their honeymoon in the Maldives. Riko, Misato, and most of the students were sleeping off the night. Maki, his most diligent student, was helping the remaining adults pack up the venue.

She’s dragging chairs away when she grunts in Satoru’ direction.

“By the way, your date’s sleeping outside.”

Ah, you were on the balcony. No wonder he couldn’t find you. Satoru needed to do something about your cursed energy. What’s the point of having six eyes when he can’t even find the one person who’s evaded him for a decade?

You’ve completely passed out. Slumped over on a chair, head bent at an angle that could not be comfortable. Satoru knows he should feel bad. He dragged you around the entire night like a ragdoll. This was partially his fault.

He can’t really blame himself, not when you were finally here.

It still feels like a dream. Being able to hear your voice, not Suguru’s, not Yu’s. Your touch. Your eyes. Your face. Your laugh. For years, he’s wondered what it sounded like.

Reality beat even his perfect daydreams.

Seeing you up there on the Tokyo Skytree. The wind pushing your hair back and forth. It was breathtaking.

Even the lights of Tokyo, couldn’t compare to you.

He leans down, lips at your ear, voice low because he’s too prideful to let anyone else hear, not even you.

“I know it’s too late, but you looked really pretty tonight.”

You say nothing, but you shift, murmur something in your sleep. It’s all he needs.

He ditches the clean up party, taking you within his arms. He thinks he says something to Yu, but Satoru doesn’t really care if he heard. Right now, he only has one priority.

Tonight, he’ll sleep on the hotel’s pull-out sofa while you snooze in the luxurious queen-sized bed. You’ll probably be mad in the morning, something about how you should’ve taken the couch, but he doesn’t mind your mindless acts of selflessness.

He’s waited a decade. He deserves to keep you.

And he knows you won’t fault him for being selfish one more time.)

2K notes · View notes

tinaswampdweller · 15 days ago

Text

Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Word Count: 18.1k

(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked

First, you saw a monster.

It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain.

And then, you saw a bright, clear sky.

The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night?

"Hey, you good?"

A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot?

When you don't respond, her eyes squint.

"Suguru, are you okay?"

That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice?

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger.

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror.

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces.

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone.

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy.

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness."

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well.

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying."

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out.

You were dreaming.

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you.

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes.

“Excited?”

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes.

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident.

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else.

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.”

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct.

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions.

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside.

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real.

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles.

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru.

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.”

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again."

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly.

Oh, you were supposed to follow him.

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros.

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up."

What should you say? You clear your throat.

"He just wants what's best for us."

Wrong answer.

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old."

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway?

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already.

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this?

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans.

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you.

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should."

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say.

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time."

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing."

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid.

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful.

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best."

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker.

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?"

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave.

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all."

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable.

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end.

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone.

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it.

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here?

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there.

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed.

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs?

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher.

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't.

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid.

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster.

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream.

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster.

You were going to die.

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face.

And then the creature explodes.

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place.

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse.

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then."

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky.

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener.

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit.

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession."

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?"

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual.

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up."

You blink, trying to remember the date.

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here."

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course.

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut.

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend?

When you ask him, he just snorts.

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong."

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you.

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22."

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man."

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?"

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity.

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?"

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending?

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?"

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them."

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too.

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.'

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform.

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech."

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted.

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-"

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold.

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk.

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen.

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back.

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back.

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink.

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today.

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar.

It used to be your voice.

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him.

"Suguru...?"

He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him.

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy."

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now.

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into.

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as.

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street.

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying."

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him.

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off.

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery."

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die.

ⴵ

Again. You died again.

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized.

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks.

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same.

Not again.

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?"

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award.

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player."

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body.

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer.

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories.

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future.

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru.

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit.

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too.

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline."

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me."

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique.

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid.

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego."

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all.

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!"

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right?

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy.

A blue ball drops into your hand.

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe.

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?"

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?"

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl.

"Look away."

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched."

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down.

Instantly, you choke.

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested.

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem."

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore.

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed.

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous.

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted.

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body."

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew."

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?"

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird."

You perk up at that. "What did he say?"

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs.

"I forgot." Typical.

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself.

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it."

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar.

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?"

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump.

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so.

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body."

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!"

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan.

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?"

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record."

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me."

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up.

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure.

"So...do we fight Greeny?"

"It's not my name." You get ignored.

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh?

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again.

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat.

"Give me your hand. I want to go home."

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?"

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything.

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?"

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug.

"Haven't figured it out yet."

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know."

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again.

You need to leave.

Exorcised. Ingested.

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories.

Exorcised. Ingested.

You need to leave.

Exorcised. Ingested.

You need to survive.

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows.

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it.

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future.

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too.

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you.

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more.

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you.

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing.

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen?

The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now.

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself.

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that.

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later.

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins.

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?”

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?”

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you.

Huh. Interesting.

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.”

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass.

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter.

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet.

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?”

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?”

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.”

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.”

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful.

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?”

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?”

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child.

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.”

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue.

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims.

You blink. “A code word?”

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.”

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway.

“Okay, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile.

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps.

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death.

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged.

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look.

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.”

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?”

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories.

“Haibara told me.”

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.”

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words.

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.”

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side.

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?”

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach.

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says.

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.”

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?"

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today."

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window.

"Do whatever, Greeny."

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time.

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda.

Gojo only watches with a tilted head.

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin.

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?"

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression.

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back."

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru.

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state.

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole.

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks.

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time.

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?"

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean.

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him.

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath.

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous.

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better."

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues.

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?"

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down."

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two.

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed.

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand.

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you."

You blink at that. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body.

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru.

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko.

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that.

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again?

"Hungry?"

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips.

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?"

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp.

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly.

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful.

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late.

"Something wrong?" Riko asks.

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived.

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji.

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens.

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased.

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too.

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him."

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor.

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat.

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning.

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter.

You were wasting time.

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name."

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying.

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away.

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two.

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything.

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened.

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro.

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off.

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades.

You release all 368 of them.

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target.

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time.

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead.

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo."

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past.

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi."

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

Nothing happens.

Everything happens.

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing.

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore.

You're sitting in front of God.

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late."

You manage to smile.

"Sorry."

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over.

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way.

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death.

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go.

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier."

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words.

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear."

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore.

You clear your throat.

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her."

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high.

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right."

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand.

"You and Suguru."

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer.

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold.

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others.

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now.

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief.

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other.

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off.

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual.

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days.

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall.

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru.

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit.

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters.

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way.

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red.

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers.

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one.

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out.

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?"

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused.

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs.

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone.

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness.

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again."

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression.

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her.

"Your hair's nice." You tell her.

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems.

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response.

"Where are you going?" You ask.

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork."

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company.

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat."

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color.

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then."

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done.

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru.

"That hurt." Haibara whines.

Good, you inwardly think.

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like.

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly.

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?"

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall.

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again."

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has.

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you.

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue.

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do.

“I know you will.”

He scoffs, right then.

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.”

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.”

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—”

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again.

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless.

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

It’s today.

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?"

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk.

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists.

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone?

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking.

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you.

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away.

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is."

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything.

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere."

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense.

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?"

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive."

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible."

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could.

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much.

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them.

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?"

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

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