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Satoru sets foot on the Jujutsu Technical High School campus for the first time on the first day of first year. One of the Gojo Clan’s drivers drops him off and Yaga Masamichi is the only one there to greet him. They head straight for the classroom. Satoru walks a half step behind Yaga, though he knows the Clan would tell him to walk in front, that no one should walk ahead of him. He tells himself he lags behind because he’s too busy taking in the view, everything new and unfamiliar, novel.
Until now, he’s only left the Gojo Clan’s compound on occasion. The architecture of the school is still mostly an old, traditional style, but he can see the places where modern and western amenities and fixtures have slipped in over the years. It takes nearly the full fifteen minutes left before classes are supposed to begin before they reach the classroom.
Yaga stops him before they go inside, placing a hand on Satoru’s shoulder. The weight of his hand burns, sending pins and needles over the surface of Gojo’s skin, even through his uniform. He doesn’t flinch, but he can’t quite hold back the wince that graces his face. Yaga lets go quickly, eyebrow raised, though he keeps his questions to himself.
“Your classmates both arrived early last week. They’ve already settled in and gotten to know each other.” It sounds a lot like a warning, but Satoru’s not sure why.
Satoru shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets, head rolling back a little; casual, nonchalant, all that jazz. “Just say you mean, Yaga-sensei.”
Yaga huffs. “It might take a little more effort to befriend them, since they’ve had time to hang out on their own. Don’t let that get in your way, though. The three of you are stuck with each other for the next four years. I expect you all to act like it.”
Satoru’s still not sure he gets it, but he nods anyway. Yaga opens the door and leads them inside.
The two other students look up from where their heads are huddled together between their desks. The girl quickly tucks a phone away, and both sit up properly, giving respectful greetings to Yaga. The man in question gestures beside him to where Satoru stands at the front of the classroom, head tilted to the side as he observes his new classmates.
“This is Gojo Satoru, our third and final first year. I expect both of you to give him a chance before you discount him entirely.”
It’s a very different speech than the one he gave Satoru out in the hall, and he finds himself feeling a little offended, though he can’t quite put his finger on why. The girl snorts, mutters a sure and turns to the other student with a raised eyebrow. The other student, the boy, offers a serene smile, eyes closed, chin up, head tipped just enough that his bangs fall loose.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gojo. I’m Geto Suguru, and this is Ieiri Shoko,” he says, then sits forward, gesturing to the empty desk beside him. “Come sit, and join us for lunch, later.”
Satoru shrugs and takes his seat. Geto’s eyes follow him.
The guy keeps smiling.
Walking to lunch is an affair. Satoru is the first one out of the classroom, but he hesitates to pick a direction. He’s just starting to scan the campus with Six Eyes when a hand wraps around the back of his uniform collar and tugs. Satoru recoils. Ieiri laughs. Geto shrugs and points down the hall.
It only takes a couple of long strides to get ahead again, and regaining his place in front, Satoru spins on his heels, walking backward and grinning. “I would’ve figured it out.”
Geto rolls his eyes. “Sure, but it’s faster to just tell you. Yaga-sensei said you haven’t had the chance to get the campus tour, so Shoko and I will show you around after classes get out this afternoon.”
“You don’t need to worry about it,” Satoru shrugs, side stepping a loose floorboard without looking. “I can find my way around.”
“Yeah, sure. Six Eyes or whatever, right? Gojo shit.” Ieiri huffs, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “It’s about class bonding, not navigation. Yaga-sensei wants us to be friends.”
A degree of confusion must slip on Satoru’s face because Geto quickly takes a couple more steps to catch up to him. He smiles as he grips Satoru’s shoulder and spins him around so he’s walking forward again. It’s all a little faster than Satoru expects, a little bolder, a little presumptive.
Satoru takes a step to the side, Infinity flaring up around him. The side of Satoru’s neck where Geto’s hand brushed it tingles uncomfortably. He does his best to suppress a chill.
Geto raises an eyebrow, glancing back at Ieiri, who shrugs.
For a moment, Satoru wonders if they know he can see them. Ieiri must have an idea, but who even is Geto? Whispers about Reverse Cursed Technique are easy to come by, and Ieiri’s name is relatively familiar. Plus, there were mutterings about this year’s first year class at the Tokyo branch being particularly exceptional. It’s easy to connect the dots. But surely Geto must also have something interesting going on. His cursed energy is strong, plentiful, and something about it settles strangely in his gut, a writhing mass of black, blue, and gold, marbled together in one of the mesmerizing displays of cursed energy Satoru has ever seen.
Might as well ask. Satoru stares at him from across the lunch table as he sets his tray down. “So, Shoko’s the Reverse Cursed Technique user that the Clans keep whispering about, but I haven’t heard anything about any Geto Suguru.” Satoru raises an eyebrow. “What’s your deal?”
And yeah, Cursed Spirit Manipulation is pretty interesting, especially with Geto’s innate cursed energy stores. He’ll be strong, for sure. They were right when they said this class would be truly exceptional. As Geto explains some of the ins and outs of his technique, Satoru thinks he might actually be excited to see what’s in store.
It gets worse over the course of the week. Ieiri and Geto are both casually physical with each other, patting shoulders, punching arms, shoving each other back and forth. They offer the same casual physicality to Satoru, especially Geto. Every time Geto shoves Satoru’s face away, his skin is set alight. Every time they sit at lunch and Ieiri bumps her knuckles against Satoru’s to get his attention, he feels pins and needles all the way up his arm and down to his toes.
Every time, he pulls away carefully, puts up Infinity reflexively. He can’t keep it up long enough to prevent them from touching him again. He’s not used to people reaching for him so readily. The interactions are so unfamiliar he finds it hard to be prepared for it. He doesn’t notice them getting close until it’s too late, simply because he doesn’t expect it.
To touch the Six Eyes, the wielder of Limitless, the Gojo Clan’s Honored One, is taboo within the compound, within the walls of the estate. No one ever touched him without knowing the weight of their actions. Here, it happens every day, all the time, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.
It takes the whole first week for Satoru to figure out potential triggers, causes.
When Geto goes to sling an arm over Satoru’s shoulder, it stalls in the air, inches away.
Geto pauses, surprised, cautious. He knows by now that this is Satoru’s technique in action, but he’s never encountered it like this before. Ieiri glances back at them when Geto cuts off in the middle of a sentence and her jaw drops just a little, also surprised.
Satoru trembles. He has no reason to. Still, he stares at the ground and wraps Infinity around him like a shield, finally protected from the fire that burns under his skin every time someone touches him.
“Satoru? Are you alright?” Geto pulls back, circling around in front of Satoru, keeping a careful distance between them. Satoru’s wide eyes put him a little on edge, making him nervous that he did something wrong, but he doesn’t know what. Satoru is a tricky puzzle to piece together, layered in mask upon mask upon mask. Defensive measures, Geto guesses, though he’s not even sure Satoru would know that’s what they are. “Hey, talk to me.”
Try as he might, Satoru can’t manage to muster a response. Instead, he wraps his arms around himself tightly. Infinity isn’t enough, and he’s shaking worse now with every passing moment. He’s having trouble focusing on his technique with Geto’s concerned voice in his ear, soon joined by Ieiri’s.
A hand enters his field of vision. Geto’s. “I’m going to touch your shoulder, Satoru.”
The weight is nice, but it makes him shiver.
“Satoru, can you look at me, please? No one’s upset with you, we’re just a little worried.”
Carefully, he looks up at Geto, swallowing roughly. Geto’s fingers massage Satoru’s shoulder through his clothes.
“That’s good. Just like that.” Geto smiles softly, unhurried, unburdened. “Can you tell us what happened? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Feels weird.”
“What feels weird?” Ieiri asks, head tilting to the side inquisitively.
“Touching. It’s weird.”
Geto’s face does something strange, spasming between his usual serene expression and something twisted and ugly and upset. Ieiri takes over, though, so Satoru doesn’t get a clue what it was about.
“How does it feel weird? Like, tingling, maybe?”
Satoru nods. “Kinda. Like fire, too.”
Ieiri hums. “Satoru, are you touch-starved?”
Geto’s head whips to the side fast enough that Satoru has half a mind to warn him not to break his neck, but the other half of his brain latches onto that term: touch-starved. It’s not familiar, but he can make an educated guess.
“I dunno, maybe?”
“Satoru.” Geto’s hand drifts up from Satoru’s shoulder to his neck, his cheek. It hurts.
Satoru winces, reaching up for Geto’s hand to pull it away, but he doesn’t. He wants to, but he doesn’t. His hand rests atop Geto’s. His eyes flutter closed, even as the touch sets rivers of lava flowing through him. Satoru can’t help it when he tips forward, dizzy with sensation.
Geto catches him. “Maybe we should stay in today, huh? We’ll hang out in the dorms, and we can go into Tokyo tomorrow, or next weekend.”
Satoru nods into Geto’s shoulder, though he only half-processes the words.
Touch-starved. Huh.