Chapter Text
The campus dojo was mostly empty by the time their match ended. The mats still quivered from the last impact. Sukuna’s kick had sent Gojo skidding across the floor like a ragdoll. The referee blew the whistle, declared Sukuna the winner, and left quickly, like he knew better than to watch whatever came next.
Sukuna stood there, chest heaving, expression twisted into annoyance rather than triumph. “Oi,” he snapped. “Don’t walk off like that.”
Gojo didn’t respond. He was already slipping out the back door of the dojo, steps too light, too quick, the way he moved when he didn’t want anyone to notice him falling apart.
Sukuna followed. He found him in the equipment room, sitting on the floor between stacked pads, forearms braced on his knees, face buried in his hands. The room smelled faintly of old gym mats and sweat, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, flickering in a way that made shadows twitch like nervous ghosts. His shoulders shook once, barely, like he was trying to swallow a sob before it escaped. It didn’t work.
Sukuna tilted his head, noticing the faint sheen of sweat on Gojo’s forearms, the blue of his eyes just peeking out between trembling fingers. “Are you crying?”
Gojo flinched. “No,” he muttered. “I’m leaking. Very masculine leaking.”
Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. You didn’t fight properly. Again. You just—” He snapped his fingers sharply. “Let me win. Why? You think I need charity?”
Gojo laughed weakly. “Of course not. I just… I don’t know.” His voice cracked. “I needed a reason to look like this, okay? I can’t show up crying because—” He cut himself off.
Sukuna folded his arms, muscles flexing as he leaned back against a stacked mat. His tattoos, dark swirls and jagged lines across forearms and neck, almost seemed to pulse under the buzzing light. “Because of that clown?”
“Don’t call him a clown,” Gojo said automatically, then groaned. “Actually, no, call him a clown. It’s fine.”
Sukuna crouched in front of him, elbows on knees, eyes sharp, calculating, every inch of him radiating a dangerous, magnetic energy. The faint metallic smell of the mats mixed with Sukuna’s subtle tang of sweat, filling Gojo’s senses in a way that made his chest tight. Gojo wiped at his eyes like he could erase the evidence by force.
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Stop that. You look stupid.”
Gojo shot him a watery glare. “Oh wow, thanks, your emotional intelligence is breathtaking.”
Sukuna ignored it. “You didn’t answer me,” he said. “Why’d you let me win?”
Gojo exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping. “Because I needed someone to hit me hard enough that crying made sense.”
Sukuna stared. Gojo stared at his hands. “I can’t cry because Geto dumped me in front of KFC,” he whispered, voice wobbling. “I can’t cry because he looks happy with Manami. I can’t cry because people already treat me like I’m supposed to be perfect, unbreakable. ‘The strongest.’”
He laughed, bitter. “And it turns out the strongest doesn’t get to have heartbreak.”
Sukuna let out a quiet, sharp exhale, annoyance mixed with something unspoken. “You’re pathetic right now,” he said bluntly.
Gojo winced. “Rude.”
“But,” Sukuna added, tapping Gojo’s knee with a single finger, “you’re not wrong.”
Gojo’s gaze lifted, catching Sukuna’s dark eyes, confidence radiating, tattoos curling under the flicker of light. Sukuna’s presence was sharp, magnetic, almost impossible to ignore. “Everyone puts expectations on you,” he said. “They act like it’s easy. Nobody sees you as human anymore. And Geto…” His expression hardened. “He walked out in a way that made it worse.”
Gojo swallowed.
“You’re allowed to be pissed,” Sukuna continued, voice still low and measured, dangerous in a way that made Gojo’s chest squeeze. “You’re allowed to be hurt. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you normal.”
Gojo wiped at his eyes. “I don’t want to be normal.”
“Well, too bad,” Sukuna said. “Right now, you are.”
Gojo huffed a laugh, half-smile breaking through the tension. “You’re such an ass.”
“And you’re a drama queen,” Sukuna replied. “Glad we agree.”
He looked Gojo over, noticing the faint bruises beginning to form along his jaw, the way his muscles tensed, the subtle sheen of sweat glinting under the fluorescent light. “How many fights have you thrown this week?”
Gojo froze. “Depends.”
“Try me.”
“Five.”
Sukuna’s eyebrows shot up. “Five? You’ve been making people think they beat you?”
“Not everybody,” Gojo mumbled. “Just people who hit hard enough.”
“So, me?”
“Yeah… maybe Nanami one time. He was already pissed about having to train past session.”
“Because you wanted bruises.”
“…Yeah.”
The room fell silent. Sukuna’s fists curled slightly. “You absolute idiot.”
“Hey.”
“No. You deserve that one,” Sukuna snapped. “You’re the strongest Stem student alive, and you’re giving people wins so you can justify crying?”
Gojo’s throat tightened. “I don’t know how else to do it.”
Sukuna inhaled sharply through his teeth, holding back the urge to shake him. Then, in one swift movement, he grabbed Gojo’s chin and made him look up. “Listen carefully. You don’t need a bruise to prove you’re hurting. You don’t need to get kicked in the ribs to be allowed to cry. You don’t need an excuse.”
Something in Gojo cracked further.
Sukuna released his chin with a sharp flick. “Also, if you’re going to throw a fight, don’t make it my fight. I hate pity wins.”
Gojo laughed, short, hiccuping, but real.
“And here I thought you’d appreciate me lying down for you.”
“I appreciate real fights,” Sukuna growled. “Not whatever that was.”
He extended a hand. “Come on. Get up.”
Gojo blinked. “Why?”
“Because I’m making you a deal.”
He hauled Gojo up, just slightly too hard, enough to make him stumble against Sukuna’s chest, close enough that the warmth and danger hit all at once. Sukuna pretended not to notice. He definitely noticed.
“You fight me properly next time,” Sukuna said, smirk twisting into something wicked, “and I’ll help you make an impression. Geto will see you. Everyone will see you. You’ll look put together, unshaken, and untouchable. I'll even hold your hand... Makes it believable. Makes them assume you’ve moved on to something better.”
Gojo swallowed hard, pulse hammering. “…And if I don't?”
Sukuna’s grin sharpened, dangerous, teasing. “And if you don’t? I’ll just tell everyone that you cried in the equipment room anyway. That’ll motivate you.”
Gojo’s chest tightened, blue eyes wide, heart hammering. Slowly, he extended his hand. “…Deal.”
Sukuna clasped it firmly, pulling him just a little closer, letting the tension hum in the small, sweaty room. “Good. Because next time, I’m going to beat you for real.”
Gojo’s voice cracked, but determination shone through. “Yeah? Well… I’ll beat you worse.”
Sukuna snorted, leaning back just enough to let the tension linger, grin wicked. “There he is. Finally. The Gojo I’ve been waiting for.”