Archive of Our Own

the world — “indifference and opposition to God’s design”, 
“empty, passing values”

It's another dream.

Suguru is young here — fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is young, alive and well, and there is still chubbiness on his cheeks that he lost long before Gojo ever registered what was truly going on. 

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Geto says. “Are you even listening?” 

Gojo tries to breathe. 

“Yeah,” Gojo mumbles without thinking and blinks. “I’m not,” he adds. 

“Fuck you,” Geto says. 

“Yeah,” Gojo says again.

 Geto snarls at him, sounding like a wild animal, ready to rip Gojo apart. 

“Don’t start.”

Gojo laughs. The bed is cozy, and he is sitting in a position that would break his back ten years later. Geto is sitting on his legs, slightly to his sided He’s reading something, maybe a textbook, maybe just some novel; Gojo cannot tell. He doesn’t care, truly. 

How old are they? Is this still in their second year? Probably; there’s still sweetness in the way that Geto stares at Gojo, and there is something deeply strange about it all. Intimate. 

“Satoru,” Gojo mutters. 

Geto chuckles. 

“Are you going insane already?” Geto asks softly. “That’s not my name.”

“Say it,” Gojo answers, and raises his head slightly. Geto looks at him without an expression. “Say it.”

“Mhm. Go to sleep.”

Gojo shakes his head. He sits down on the bed, and it’s so close to Geto that it makes him dizzy. He can see him—he can see him, but also can see every little thing that was so correct. The little creases around his mouth, the red blood vessels in his eyes. It’s so undoubtedly Suguru, that it makes him feel even more crazy. He looks so real, so like he always was; before the sour smile was all that was left, and the dark circles under his eyes were always there.

And here he is — not at all like he should be. 

Dead. Gone.

“I need to wake up,” Gojo just mutters.

“You are not asleep,” Geto answers, and frowns his eyebrows slightly. “Are you sick?”

He tries to touch Gojo’s forehead, but the boy just flinches. Geto grimaces slightly, and moves again, this time touching Satoru — and his hands are cold, but they were always kind of cold anyway.

“Fever.”

“Your hands are cold,” Satoru answers. 

“Mhm. Or you are feverish.” 

“Let me go,” Gojo snarls.

His leg jerks, and he tries to kick. 

Something in Geto’s expression snaps. He gets angry just for a moment, and looks older than a highschool aged boy – he pushes Gojo down.

“You are so annoying,” Geto says, and pins Gojo down to his own bed. “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” Gojo lies. And he’s sixteen, so he sounds desperate, and he sounds crazy, and he feels like he’s losing his mind. “Let me go,” he begs. 

And Gojo Satoru never really begs (not yet, at least — he’s too young for that), so Geto raises his eyebrows, and his grip on Gojo softens, but he still holds him pressed to the bed. And it’s not good—not by itself, and it’s almost overwhelming and it should not be. 

So, he tries to kick. He gets one good hit before Geto nearly pins him down, keeping his legs in place too, now so much closer to Gojo than he was before. 

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Let me go,” he cries out.

Geto clicks with his tongue, and presses Gojo more into the mattress. 

“You always think you are so fucking clever, right, Satoru?”

When Satoru blinks, he’s staring at his ceiling. The room is cold and dark, but he’s sweating like a fever. When he kicks the blankets down and gets up, the mirror welcomes him again — an old, tired version. So, he tries to shake it off, again. 

How many times was it already? Fifth night in a row? Sixth? Honestly, he started losing the count. Every night, since the first time he finally gave up and decided to sleep at least a bit; the never ending tiredness got onto his nerves, and nothing was really helping. 

But he gets up, he gets dressed, he covers his eyes. He goes out, he meets Maki on his way to class, and she gives him an annoyed explanation why she’s the only one here today. So, the classes are cut short — it’s not like she wants to be here, and when he tells her that, she just goes to test some new curse weapons that Yuta brought her last time he visited. 

And Gojo goes to the dorms, and finds all first-years in Megumi’s bedroom.

“You should try knocking,” Megumi says as Gojo enters. 

“The whole school can hear you kids anyway,” Gojo answers. “Yuji,” he calls him, and the boy snaps his head towards him. “Come with me,” he asks, and Itadori makes a questioning face, but he gets up anyway.

He says something to Megumi and Nobara, and runs towards Gojo, giving his teacher an awkward smile.

“What is it, sensei?” he asks politely.

“We are going for a walk,” Gojo answers.

“Walk?”

“What, you never take walks?”

Yuji frowns, but goes with him anyway without much more questioning. 

Gojo, actually, doesn’t really have a plan. But the basic plan for the last few weeks was just taking care of Yuji; making sure he doesn’t fall back on his training. He’s a good boy, and there is a demon hidden inside of him that would love to take over — so, Gojo needs to make sure Yuji won’t allow it.

They go out of the school, and walk on grounds without a word. Yuji is nervously playing with the hem of his shirt, clearly waiting for something strange, so Gojo finally turns to him, and gives him a wide smile. 

“It’s your time for a quiz!”

“Hah?!”

“What is a cursed technique?”

“Uh—an ability that sorcerers us—”

“What is a reverse cursed technique?”

Yuji frowns his eyebrows.

“When uh, negative and negative meet, they make a positive.”

“Why would one not be able to use it?”

Yuji tilts his head. He looks like a baby bird like that.

“Because—because they cannot?” Yuji guesses, and then adds: “Maybe they used too much energy on different things?”

“Good guess,” Gojo says, and bites the inside of his cheek. “What sorcerers can do this?”

“You?” Itadori asks.

“Most powerful sorcerers can do that,” Gojo says. “To different extents — I just do that the best.” 

He gives Itadori a wide grin, and the boy rolls his eyes. 

“Okay,” Yuji just says. He’s a little honest boy — a bad liar too, but there was something so pure about it all. “Do you think I will ever be able to do it?”

“Probably,” Gojo answers, and it’s honest too. With all that honesty and naivety, there was a bit of genius there too, and Gojo Satoru always believed that his students would defeat all expectations put on them. “In a few years, you may.”

“Wow,” Yuji mutters. He suddenly stops, and Gojo almost walks onto him; they both stare off the bridge, and Yuji swallows hard. “There is a dead bird there,” he points out.

One dead bird, three others, bigger, darker, enjoying the meal. Gojo looks at it for a moment, at the blood and guts and bright, green grass getting dirty, and he just smiles. 

“They die, we die. Nothing new,” he states, and Yuji makes a pained sound at that. “It’s all the cycle of life!”

One day, Gojo Satoru will be dead too — sooner than later, as the stories about all great curse users say. If you don’t die early, you either turn into one of those annoying and awful seniors, or you are simply no one, and Gojo wasn’t no one, for sure. 

“You cannot die before me,” Geto answers him.

Gojo laughs, and shakes his head. Of course, like always

…

Geto? 

“You want to be the greatest, then?” Satoru asks.

“Not really,” Itadori answers after a moment, and he sounds strange. “I don’t want anything,” Geto says. 

There is nothing left of the bird already — just a bloody mess that someone will need to clean sooner or later.

“I will be.”

“Aren’t you already?” Geto and Itadori say, and Gojo just nods.

“I could be better,” he says softly, and turns to his left. 

Yuji is staring at him.

“Are you okay, sensei?”

“Great,” Gojo lies. “Let’s go, I’m hungry. I’ll pay for you too, Yuji.”

Before Yuji can answer, Gojo is already walking away, and Geto is left behind. 

the flesh — “gluttony, and sexual immorality, …
our corrupt inclinations, disordered passions

After a few weeks of this, Gojo started going insane. The pure exhaustion that he felt was nothing new — but it felt different this time, like he was hit by the train and all years of truly ignoring all his bodily functions tried to eat him alive like some sort of parasite. It was like having an insane blur always clouding some parts of his mind, vision, sanity, and there is a ticking bomb in his mind.

People notice. No one really important; elders just say he has gotten even ruder, and Nanami tells him to drink less on their usual bar visits. But his students, somehow, notice first. 

“Good luck,” he yawns, and Maki gives him a dirty look.

“Are you going to sleep while giving us an exam?” she snarls. “That’s stupid.”

“‘m not sleeping,” Gojo answers and closes his eyes. “Write your test, or I’ll just assume you all are cheating because you are talking.”

Maki groans, but her pen clicks, and there is a sound of three pairs of pens scratching against the paper. Gojo breathes slowly, and yawns again; when he opens his eyes, he’s still at class. 

“Dangerous, to do it here.”

Geto tilts his head and looks at Gojo with a glimmer in his eyes. The sun is setting and leaving long, orange streaks of light all over the classroom – the door is closed, and Gojo is still sitting at the teacher desk.

“Are we going to roleplay?” Geto continues, and shit-eating grin crawls onto his face. “Should I call you ‘Gojo-sensei’?”

“I don’t remember this,” Gojo whispers. He gets up from the teacher chair, but doesn’t come closer to Geto. 

“Remember what? Nothing happened yet,” Geto answers, surprised. 

And Gojo still hears the pens writing on the paper. 

“No?” Gojo says, because he plays stupid.

“Did you dream about doing something dirty in a class?” Geto asks, and raises his eyebrows. “That’s low, even for you.”

Gojo laughs. He comes closer to Geto, and the boy doesn’t escape – he just simply waits for Gojo to place his hands on the desk, so close to Suguru that they could feel each other breathing.

“I just want to realize your little dreams,” he says softly. “I saw how you were looking at Yaga,” he jokes. 

“Fuck you,” Geto says.

“I can fuck you if you ask nicely,” Satoru says.

It’s cocky, because he is a cocky teen. It’s cocky, because now, he’s nothing more than a deeply annoying man that cannot take anything too seriously. And there’s nothing to be taken seriously in the world that cannot live without him. 

But not yet, not yet — for now, he’s just strong. And there are a lot of people like him all around. It’ll take time, death and some blood to actually become the strongest. For now, there is a boy his age in his own bed, and Gojo has his hands empty, and they are aching. 

For now, he plays with it. He’s so tired, that even in his teenage body, Gojo yawns. 

“Sorry, am I that boring?” Geto asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“Not letting me fuck you here is pretty boring, you should admit it.”

Somewhere over Geto’s arm, Gojo can clearly hear Panda mutter something underneath his breath. Geto doesn’t react, and Gojo is not even sure if the dream-vision is… aware? Huh. It was strange to get hold of what was exactly going on. Still, not taking over just yet, Gojo smiles towards him sweetly.

He’s a handsome boy. A sweet one too, for now. His smile is full of teeth, cheeks still have just a bit of that child chubbiness to them, and all girls go crazy over just one look of his blue eyes. He’s cute, he can get whatever he wants. 

So, Geto comes closer. He treats it as an invitation, and stops when he is almost pressed to Gojo. Puts his hands on the teacher’s desk and tilts his head, his eyes flickering towards Gojo’s lips. 

“You are always on my mind lately,” Gojo whispers, and gently cups Geto’s face. “Everywhere I turn, it’s always you.”

“And somehow, you are always away,” Geto answers. “Never here with me.”

Gojo hears steps, and it’s unsure from where they are coming – is Yaga gonna burst in and give Gojo his lashings? No, too soft and quiet; Maki or Inumaki, he thought to himself.

“And you are always with me,” Gojo says.

Geto softly bites his lower lip. Gojo wants to break him for it. To grab this boy, throw him on the desk and do nothing but kiss him until the whole world collapses on itself. He almost feels it in his joints, the way he just needs to wrap his hands around Geto and make his sickening brain detach from everything real.

 At a very young age, Gojo had learnt that desire and pleasure did for him nothing more than make him forget about reality.  And it was a good thing, for a while. For him, at least; he never thought too much about whatever it had done to Geto. 

“Don’t look at me like this,” Geto whispers.

Honest to all that ever was, Gojo can feel Geto’s breath on his face. He’s alive, breathing, his skin is soft, and he looks like he’s going to tear himself apart at any second.

“Like what?” Gojo asks, his voice hoarse.

“Like a hungry animal. Like you're going to eat me.”

“I will.”

Geto chuckles. 

“I think we have different definitions of it.” He sounds honest to the bone. Just a sweet, honest boy, and Gojo cannot stop anything that is going to happen to him in the following years. “Hey,” he mumbles, and scrunches his nose slightly as Gojo’s arms wrap around him. “Do you really wanna play like this?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to Geto’s temple. 

“It tickles, Sato—jo,” Maki finishes for Geto, and when Gojo opens his eyes, she’s just leaning over his shoulder, eyes focused on him.“Gojo?” she repeats, clearly worried. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Great,” he answers, his tongue feeling like a piece of paper. “Are you done with your papers?” 

He pants like he just ran a marathon, and wobbles on the chair like his head is too heavy for his shoulders. For some damned reason, he still feels Geto’s warmness all over himself.

Maki exchanges worried looks with Panda in Inumaki.

“We barely started,” Panda says after a moment. “It’s been like ten minutes.” 

“Mhm,” Gojo mutters and clears his throat. “Okay, then get back to it,” he hurries them up.

“Mustard leaf…” Toge mutters, and Gojo rolls his eyes.

“Sit down and take your exam,” he repeats. “Or do you all want to fail, hm?” 

Maki stares at him for a moment, before she sighs and nods slowly, going back to her chair. They all do – and they all exchange a strange look, before the pens start sliding on the papers again. 

Gojo can hear a soft murmur from Maki as he unties his eye-covering and slowly rubs his eyes. He’s still tired; once again, he tries to ignore that. His body hurts, and his mind is racing, and this is probably the third time in his whole life that Gojo Satoru came close to having a heart attack. 

When students are done, he dismisses them all, and looks for Shoko. He finds her where she is always — in the cold room that smells of blood and flesh most of the time, and she’s elbows deep inside someone’s chest cavity when he finds her.

“I need help.”

“Wow,” Shoko answers and turns around, facing him. “Not even hi? Or anything?”

He ignores that. 

“I don’t need to sleep nor eat, but I was getting exhausted lately, and—I cannot sleep, and I cannot use reverse cursed technique to not be so tired.”

Shoko sighs, and keeps looking for something in that chest. 

“Then just sleep,” she answers. 

“I just told you I can’t sleep! At all!”

She sighs, takes her hands out and pulls down the gloves. With a slow turn, Shoko gives him a dirty look up and down, and tilts her head slightly.

“Well, with your obsession not to sleep at all since we were teenagers, maybe you just forgot how to.”

“I can’t sleep!”

“Stop whining,” she says and her jaw tightens, as she stares him up and down. “You do look bad,” she admits after a second. “What happened? Got into a nasty fight, overworked yourself lately?”

“Not more than usual.”

They both know that Gojo is constantly getting into nasty fights, and constantly getting awfully overworked. 

“Then just get better sleep habits. Go to sleep at an earlier hour.” 

“I’m trying,” Gojo just says, but he closes his eyes. 

“Not literally now,” she snaps at him. “Do you not realize what being exhausted can do to you?”

“But I’ve been trying for such a long time. I just cannot sleep at all”

She sighs resignedly. “I can just drug you, if you want. That may help. Really, I don’t work here to give you all just sleeping meds—they are literally here.”

Gojo snaps his fingers. Shoko still wouldn’t take him seriously, and that was absolutely nothing new about that. He thinks for a moment, then, without saying much, takes off his jacket. Shoko raises her eyebrows but says nothing, even when Gojo rips his shirt out of his pants and raises it up, pointing his fingers to his chest.

“Look,” he says. 

Shoko sighs and her eyes go over his body. They stop on his chest, before snapping to Gojo’s face again. 

“I don’t need to think about your sexual habits," she answers.

“There is nothing to think about,” Gojo mumbles. “Do you think I have time for that now, Shoko? Really?”

“Then it’s a bruise,” she says. 

“A bruise,” he repeats. “Really?”

Of course it was a bruise, sure, but it wasn’t just a bruise; Gojo rarely allowed anyone around himself those times, not talking about digging their teeth into his own skin like a fevered animal. So, they stare at each other for a moment, until Shoko finally gives up and waves at him to dress again. 

“It appeared after a dream?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of dream?”

He stays silent. Shoko stares at him for a moment, before rolling her eyes and sighing loudly.

“If you want my help—”

“It’s Geto,” Gojo finally says. 

Shoko raises her eyebrows slightly. 

If she ever knew, she also never let them know. But she was a smart girl, and was around them more than most; she was there before, during and after Geto. Gojo hopes that she will be here long after he’s already gone too. 

And it was obvious that in some way, Shoko always knew. She probably realized when they were still young, never seeked the confirmation, and as things stood now, it’s not like it would ever change anything if she asked. 

“It’s pathetic, Satoru,” she states simply. 

“Really?” he snaps, and shakes his head. “That’s your medical judgement?”

“It’s my judgment as a person that has known you the longest,” she states simply, and he wants to argue—but she’s probably right. There were others, sure, but they knew of Gojo Satoru, but they never really knew Gojo Satoru; by now, Shoko may be the person that was winning with everyone. “Do you still truly want him?” Shoko tilts her head. “Honestly, admirable. I know you are not the uptight guy, but still thinking about Suguru…” 

“I do not.” He’s honest. Really, he is. There were weeks and months where he was losing his mind, dreaming of better life for both of them, being angry, furious, losing his fucking mind. But then, there were years. And then, Geto died. “We are talking about my sleep issues, not Suguru.”

And now, Geto is here again. 

(In his dreams, obviously—even if there were people who knew more than him by now, Gojo Satoru was not aware of everything happening all around the world.)

“I don’t understand how it—you never switch your infinity off,” she says quietly and comes closer, staring at his chest. He squirms slightly as she pulls her face so close that her breath tickles Gojo’s skin. “You’re sure it appeared after the dream?”

“I would remember if it happened when I wasn’t,” he mutters, and pulls his shirt down, Shoko eyes going up to look at his face. “It's the first time I noticed anything.”

“Hm,” Shoko hums. Clearly a lot more interested now, she tilts her head as she takes a step back. “Are you scared of sleeping in the same room with dead bodies?” she asks morbidly. 

“No.”

“Then go lie on the other bed.” She motions towards the one by the wall.  “I’ll stay with you.” 

Gojo groans at that.

“I know, I know,” she mutters. “But I’ll just check if anything actually happens when you are asleep. I cannot sense any stray cursed energy around you for now, so it may change.” 

She starts pulling her office chair towards the medical bed in the corner. When Gojo still doesn’t move when she’s done, Shoko raises her head and motions towards the bed.

“Go, lie down. Just take off your shoes.”

Gojo snores. Does as he is told, and lies down on the examination table, throwing his jacket on the floor below the table. Shoko moves the bed so it’s lowered almost to the ground, and sighs, standing over him. 

“Are we sure it’s not a hickey?” she asks quietly. “Well, yeah, okay. Since when have you had those dreams?”

“I don’t exactly know when it started,” Gojo admits. 

Shoko frowned her eyebrows, her eyes softening slightly as they reached his face. 

“Something is wrong with your cursed energy,” she notices. “Turn off infinity,” she asks. “Just do it, for a moment.”

As he does, she places two of her fingers against his abdomen. With closed eyes, she slowly presses down, then slowly moves them upward. Tilts her head as she does that, and presses harder. 

“Well,” she says after a moment, and pulls away. “I don’t know what.”

Gojo just looks away. Figured. 

“So you just wanted to scoop a feel?” he jokes, and Shoko gives him a tired look. “Can it be a curse?”

“Not sure,” she answers. She sits down on the computer chair and stares at him. “We will see after you are asleep.”

Gojo huffs.

“I’m not even sleepy,” he starts nagging her. “And this place smells of corpses.”

“Really? I never noticed.”

She sits down on the chair and crosses her legs. 

“At least I can sit,” she mumbles softly. “Is your RCT messing with your eating habits too?”

“I—maybe,” he realizes, “I don’t think I can feel hunger anymore, so that may be the problem.”

“Mm. Maybe you need to eat more, you look—sickly.” 

“I think I can manage my diet.”

“Can you? I can see your ribs.”

“It’s normal!”

“Not for you,” Shoko snorts. 

“And you are used to seeing me without a shirt?”

“I’m used to not seeing your ribs through your shirt,” she snickers and stabs him at his side. “Whatever. Just fall asleep so we can be done quicker.”

“But I don’t wanna sleep now,” he says. 

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Satoru.”

“Alright,” he rolls his eyes. “But don’t do anything weird when I sleep.”

“I would never do anything to you,” Geto says.

Shoko is not here — instead, Geto is sitting there, in his ridiculous cult-leader-clothing. And as Gojo looks, unable to move, Geto is like a freakishly sleep paralysis demon.

“You are so stupid,” Geto whispers, and he slides down from the chair, on the ground, placing his chin on the examination table. “How are you?”

“Fuck you,” Gojo mutters. “Haunting me now? You’ve upgraded.” 

He shifts his eyes away, and Geto chuckles like a devil. Gojo can feel him getting on the table; slowly, he appears before Gojo, and smiles sweetly to him.

“You used to like me in your bed.”

“I used to like you not being a serial killer.”

Geto sighs, rolling his eyes.

“I thought danger got you going. Remember, back then?” Geto whispers. “When you came back from all those dangerous missions? When you got into my bed without asking, wake me up with kisses—”

“You liked that.”

“I liked everything that made me sick to my bones,” Geto gnarls. Slowly, he climbs onto Gojo, and tightly straddles Gojo’s hips with his thighs. “And you just liked me riding you.”

And for whatever reason, Gojo just simply laughs at that. Sure, yeah, he did — and Geto was good at it. So what? There was not much he could say for his teen self. He was an asshole, and all people around him would just accept that about him. 

“So what?”

The ghost, demon or the cursed spirit laughs, and it sounds like a murder cackle. 

“Silly man,” Geto says, and grabs Gojo’s face. He forces Gojo to look straight ahead,  “Do you ever miss it?”

Gojo tries to move his face away, but he still can’t. So instead, he just snarls with annoyance. 

“I don’t really think about adolescent sexual experiences with a terrorist.” 

Geto laughs so loudly and honestly, that for a moment Gojo cannot stop thinking that maybe, for this one time, it’s truly him — maybe somehow he’s still here, and tricked him, and now Gojo was all for him to take. 

But it’s a silly thought. So hopeful for nothing.

Still straddling him, Geto slowly unties his own kimono and slides it off his arms. Then, comes the second layer — and third, until it’s all slid down from his arms. And Gojo doesn’t allow  his eyes to go lower, because that’s probably disrespectful towards the dead.

“Gojo,” he whispers. 

“Call me Satoru,” 

Geto laughs. Softly, he places another kiss on Satoru’s temple, and it burns like a cigarette. 

“Gojooo,” Geto say-sings, and it should be very scary. 

Gojo should be very, very scared.

And, oh, Gojo Satoru was scared before – once, twice, maybe five times. As a kid, as a teenager, as an adult. And he was so, so scared when Geto left him in the busy street — and maybe he should be more scared now, with a dead man all over him. Maybe Gojo should be very, very scared, but instead, he just feels excitement building up inside him. 

Geto’s flesh should be rotten, his bones scattered in whatever place his cursed soul pulled him to. But he’s as real as he always was — thinner than his clothes would suggest, with soft, sparse dots of little beauty marks all over his skin. And Gojo has never seen him like this. 

“You are staring,” Geto mutters, and places a chaste kiss on Gojo’s lips. 

And Gojo laughs. Because it’s silly. Because now, he was getting once again tormented by the nightmare visions of his best friend from high school, that was truly nothing like Geto ever was. 

Geto kisses him again, and his lips are surprisingly warm, but hands wandering around Gojo’s body are not. He slides lower, pressing a wet, loving kiss to Satoru’s neck.

“I killed you once,” Gojo whispers softly, as Geto tongue slides down, makes a circle around his nipple and bites. “What makes you think I can’t do that again?”

“Did you, now?” Geto replies softly. He bites, and it hurts, and it feels like he wants to eat him. “Can you?”

So, Gojo grabs his hair. Pulls it up, to his eyes, and when Geto cackles like a maniac, he throws him to the side and sits on him, both of his hands now wrapping around Geto’s neck.

“Can I?” Gojo whispers. He presses his hands tighter around Geto’s neck, and Geto coughs. “I know one thing I can’t do lately,” Gejo says, pressing all his weight onto Geto’s airways. “I can’t get rid of you,” he gnarls. “Get the fuck out of my head.”

“There you go,” Geto whispers and smiles at him. 

Gojo blinks, and the crazy smile disappears from Geto’s lips. The few wrinkles around his eyes and mouth are gone too – he looks softer now, like he eats more and sleeps better. And as he realizes, he suddenly releases Geto’s neck from his grasp, a teen boy looking at him with a disgusted expression. 

“You are talking crazy again,” Geto mutters, and he sounds cold but worried. 

He pushes Gojo off, and Gojo slides off the bed and falls on the floor. When he blinks, everything is different again — the setting sun is making the room glow in oranges and pinks, and Geto looks thinner, younger. Gojo blinks, and he feels infinity failing him again — it’s gone by now. Now, he’s again too young to keep it up. 

“Stop getting into my bed when you act like this,” Suguru mutters bitterly, and grabs his shirt. He throws Gojo’s clothes off his bed, and presses his lips onto a thin line. “I’m not in the mood for dumb shit like this.” 

He looks thinner, his hair is a mess, and Gojo is not really sure if this is his normal state by now, or is it because of Satoru pulling it.

“Suguru,” Gojo groans, and Geto gives him a dirty look.

“No,” he says, and pulls his shirt on. “I don’t want to fuck you anymore.”

“I never wanted to fuck you either,” Gojo answers angrily. 

Geto gives him an ugly laugh.

“That’s low, even for you,” he says quietly. 

But they are young. Just boys. They are young, and for a long time back then Geto looked violently ill in a way that Gojo couldn’t really understand. They both went their own ways back then; and in a few weeks, they would go on to live completely different lives. 

For now, Geto is sitting on his bed, looking like a mess, and Gojo is sprawled on the floor, more naked than clothed. And maybe, once again, he was just a bit too cruel. 

“It’s just great,” Geto says and gets off the bed. “Great to hear that.”

He grabs his pants and pulls them on himself. Gojo tries to get up, but his legs shake, and he almost immediately tumbles to the floor again. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.

Geto chuckles bitterly.

“I get it, Satoru. I—” 

“I didn’t!” Gojo shouts and finally gets up. He tries to grab Geto, but the other boy just shakes his head and goes towards the door. 

“Stop.”

“Don’t do that,” Satoru begs him, and it’s never really about only this. 

“Can’t you fucking listen?!” 

“Then make fucking sense!”

They are in the corridor now, and it’s late, and they are both screaming. 

“You haven’t been making any sense lately too, at all!” Geto answers angrily. “What the fuck would you—don’t follow me!”

They both startle as the door of one room opens, and Shoko’s head pokes from there. She gives them both an ugly look and curses under her breath. 

“Shut up,” she says coldly. “One time I decide to go to sleep early, and you dumbasses need to have a lovers quarrel at my door?”

“Sorry,” Satoru just mutters and he grabs Suguru by his arm. “Come.”

“No,” Geto wiggles himself out. “Fuck off.”

And he storms off again. Shoko gives Gojo an annoyed look, and he sighs softly, still feeling deeply embarrassed, even if nothing was real. In the past, it all went so similarly – but he couldn’t really remember what that fight was truly about, and why it upset Geto so much. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” he says to Shoko. 

“I don’t care,” she says simply.

“It’s not even real,” Gojo whispers, more to himself than to her.

“I don’t think it’s helping now.” 

“It’s a dream.”

“Are you high?”

“I’ve been dreaming about it all for weeks.”

“Wha—seriously, are you high?”

He leaves her without an answer, and goes after Geto, always going after Geto—even in his own dreams. They are outside before Gojo catches up to him. They are both bare footed, and Gojo drags him towards the wall of the building, pressing Geto’s back to it. 

“Calm down,” he snarls.

“Stop hurting me,” Geto says, and there was no point in their real life that Geto would ever say something like this. “Let me go.”

“I let you go a long time ago,” Satoru answers. “And you still come back to haunt me. This is not real.”

“Nothing is real for you,” Geto answers calmly. “Were you ever even here with me, Satoru?”

When he closes his eyes, Geto disappears, and Gojo squirms, feeling the nails dug up deep inside his skin. When he opens them, his hands are wrapped tightly around Shoko’s neck. 

“Hey!” she struggles, and Gojo halts. 

Her chest is rising and falling, and he lets go of her, blood dripping from his hands as he moves them away. She dug her fingers hard, and now Shoko looks away, and takes a few deep breaths, before she shoves him back and quickly moves to the sided Gojo doesn’t move — but he looks at her, as she stands with her back turned to him, and shaking a bit, takes something out of her pocket.

When she looks at him again, there is a cigarette in her mouth, and with shaky hands, Shoko is trying to light it up.

“You are the reason I cannot quit,” she mutters. “Fucking—what the fuck was that?”

“What happened?”

She puffs the smoke through her nose and takes the cig out of her mouth.

“You tell me,” she gnarls at him. 

“I—I slept,” he insists.

She almost tore the skin off his hands. 

“Maybe you should really give up on sleeping, then,” she says coldly. The room is quickly filling with an awful smell of cigarettes. “You are dreaming of him, and then having visions, because you are too sleep-deprived to perceive anything at all—that’s not a thing you should be doing when you are Gojo Satoru.” 

The infinity, he thinks to himself. Then, he looks at Shoko again, and brushes the blood off his hands. 

“Are you okay?”

Shoko swallows hard. There was a reddish mark forming on her neck, but she still nodded.

“I had worse,” she says after a while. “Are you okay?”

Gojo shrugs. Stupid question.

“I was choking him,” he tries to explain himself. “I— What time is it?”

“It’s been thirty-eight minutes,” she says quietly. “You barely slept.”

“Curse?”

“No,” she answers and shakes her head. “You just slept, like you always did when—” She presses her lips into the thin line. “Then, you suddenly threw yourself onto me trying to choke me.”

So maybe it was the bigger problem that Gojo expected. And he is maybe glad that his infinity didn’t work when he was asleep—maybe that was the only thing that actually saved Shoko’s life. 

When he stares at her, there are marks all over her hands. When she wipes her face, the smudges of dark make up and red blood appear all over. Gojo takes a deep breath, looks down at his hand and tests the infinity.

Works, somehow, but he feels like he is seventeen again when he does that.

“I need you to drug me.”

Shoko raises her eyebrows.

the devil —  “a real, personal enemy, a fallen angel,
 Father of Lies”

She drags him to the closest bar from the Jujutsu High. Gets him a glass of whiskey, and pays for it on her own, then gives a barman a smile like she is running the whole show. 

“I can get whiskey myself,” he says. “And I don’t hold liquor well.” 

“That’s why I got you this,” she answers and grins. “What’s up, Satoru?”

There is nothing strange about two coworkers getting drinks after work, even if there is a reddish bruise all around Shoko’s neck. She could get rid of it in seconds, sure, but for some reason she leaves it there – and Satoru just stares at it, before his eyes snap back to her face. 

“You are not a psychologist.”

“No, and oh, how happy I am about that. But you clearly need to talk to someone, so I’m here. What’s going on?”

“Those nightmares,” he says after  a moment. “Awfully realistic ones. They are all a miss-match of memories and additional nightmare fuel.”

“And it’s always about him?”

“Mhm,” Gojo just mutters and looks at her again.

In all those years, Gojo never really fought Shoko in any physical way. He forces his students to do it, sure; he never really agreed with whatever elders thought, about not making women as involved in physical fights as men. He made sure that every single one of his students would fight each other, even if now it mostly meant getting their ass beaten up by Maki on their first day. 

Now, staring at her, he isn’t really sure if it counts. For a moment, lost in his own thoughts, Gojo considers that with current times, maybe he should teach her at least basics – getting killed by pure physical strength seems a bit silly.

There was a possibility that she would throw at him her glass if he suggested that now.

“Can’t you fix your bruises?” he asks sheepishly. 

She smiles.

“I’ll do it later,” she says, and touches her own neck. “We are talking about you, now – and lately, you’ve been stressed.”

“I’m always stressed.”

“More than usual,” Shoko says, and softly strokes his arm. He cannot truly remember the last time that he allowed her to touch him at all. “What are the dreams about?”

“About Suguru. I told you that already.”

“Tell me in details, then. I need—I’m trying to find a solution, not to—” She stops and takes a deep breath. Throwing her head backward, Shoko thinks for a moment, before saying slowly: “I’m not judging you nor I’m trying to—find gossip. I understand that your relationship with Geto was different from what society perceived, and I’m trying to find a way so you won’t kill me or your students in sleepless mania.” 

There are a lot of people here, actually. It is safer for her, in a way, even if Gojo doesn’t really expect Shoko to be afraid of him. And if she was, she also was for sure aware that there wasn’t anything ever stopping him from killing everybody here.

“They are not bad dreams, actually,” he starts after a moment. “Just memories of Jujutsu High. Before he left. First and second grade, bits of the third. They are always normal until—the dream memory goes wrong. Something changes, and it gets awful.”

“What happens then?”

“Nothing that I can’t take,” Gojo says. “But he appears outside my dreams lately too.” 

“Like?”

“I saw him when talking to Itadori. He also sat in the chair, where you were.” 

Shoko hums. 

“Do you love him?”

Gojo laughs.

“No.”

“Did you?’

He stays silent. It’s an answer in itself, isn’t it? But he cannot take the blame for what he felt back then; he was a child. 

“Okay,” Shoko says. “So let’s assume it’s just the grief.”

And Gojo laughs again. 

“I’m not grieving him.”

“Maybe you should, just a bit. Or maybe your brain is, but you don’t know about it.” 

“Is that what is wrong with me, doctor?”

Shoko tilts her eyes, and looks away from him. She looks around the room for a moment, before she sighs and suddenly grabs his hand, squeezing it.

“Do you want a real answer?”

“No,” he answers.

With a pitiful smile, Shoko says: “Cursed by love, then.”

Shoko gets him sleeping pills. It seems like a stupid solution, but Gojo doesn’t fight her about it. She tells him to take one — and if he takes more than five, he will be dead. So, next evening he annoys Megumi for an hour or two, they play some cards when Yuji comes to them, and after Gojo sends both boys to sleep, he takes four pills and locks himself in his room. 

Of course, she left him some notes too. Told him to not ever attack Geto in his dreams again, no matter how bad the situation would get. To let the dreams continue like they would be nothing but a simple memory, and see how far he could get before waking up if everything played perfectly well. 

So he plays that game. He opens his eyes to see Geto, and they are both on the beach. Gojo yawns, stretches like a cat and moves closer to Geto, looking at the book he’s reading.

“You speak Korean now?” he asks quietly. 

Geto just hums and turns the page.

“The pictures are pretty,” he explains. “I read all the other books that I had with me already.”

Gojo laughs quietly, pressing his face inside the crook of Geto’s neck. He presses a gentle kiss to sweaty skin, and hums to himself. 

“Nasty,” Geto whispers. 

He puts the book down. Pushes Gojo onto the towel, and leans over to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Then, just stay there for a short while. I don’t remember this, Gojo thinks to himself.

“But you like it,” Gojo answers after a while. 

Geto cracks a smile, before kissing Gojo again. Gojo can’t say where they even are; the beach is silent, and he can only hear waves crashing and seagulls screaming. They must be all alone here, but there wasn’t a moment in their life when something like this could ever happen. 

They kiss softly and slowly, and Gojo just follows the lead this time. Show me the rules of this, he thinks to himself. The sleeping pills seem to have a strange sedating effect on him even here, in the dream world. When he blinks, Geto is still kissing him, but they are not longer at the beach.

“Hey,” Gojo hears his own voice. “I’m back.”

“Welcome back,” Geto answers quietly. He pulls away, and doesn’t allow Gojo to kiss him again. “You were gone for a very long time.”

This never happened either; but Gojo knows that this Geto had happened. Thinner, with deep bags underneath his eyes, hair loosely falling all over his face. Under the baggy sweaters, he’s a lot thinner too. 

“The mission went astray,” Gojo answers. “But I’m okay.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you okay?”

Geto laughs.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m not sorry, you know.”

Geto looks taken aback by it. With a wild glimmer in his eyes, he gives Gojo a one look over and laughs at it like it’s just some ridiculous joke.

“About being late?” he asks.

“Uh,” Gojo mutters.

What was he even doing? His voice wasn’t his, and the weird thing inside him made him say stuff before he processed them. Without control, his body moves and grabs Geto, pulling him closer. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Geto whispers into a kiss. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“Mhm,” Gojo answers and bites his lip just slightly, so Geto squirms in his arms. “Please.”

“Always so sweet,” Geto mutters, his hands wrapping around Gojo’s body. “But I prefer it bitter at this hour.”

Gojo closes his eyes, disappearing into the kiss. It’s heatless, it’s pointless, it’s slow and almost painfully messy. They are both tired, right? But they are still teen boys here, and they somehow kiss like they are too old to care where their hands go, how lovely it should truly be. 

It’s a welcome back, sure; but Gojo is not sure where in the timeline they even are. 

“Suguru—”

“No,” Geto stops him. “I’m sorry, but—I’ll meet you for breakfast.”

“Okay,” Satoru gives it up. “Just one last kiss, for good sleep.”

Geto smiles softly as he nods, and Gojo closes his eyes. 

When Gojo opens his eyelids, just to peek, the kiss disappears. 

He is sitting in his bed, and there is a ghost staring at him from the chair by the dresser.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Geto laughs. 

“That’s not a nice way to welcome an old friend.”

“Why are you still here?” Gojo complains. “I did everything I should have. You are dead, and I didn’t care.”

He feels like his teenage self in those moments. Maybe that was fair enough, with Geto still constantly annoying him to the point of being unable to do much. 

“But I’m here,” Geto says after a moment, and grins. “Are you scared?” 

“No. I was never scared of you, Suguru.”

“Come here,” Geto says, and pats his knees.  “Let’s talk. No one gets Gojo Sat—” Suguru stops himself and gives Gojo another ugly smile. “No one, not even you, yourself.”

“But you do?” Gojo asks bitterly, but still comes closer.

He sits on the ground. Like a disobeying child, he places his head on Geto’s lap and sighs, so tired.

“You enjoy tormenting me,” Gojo says softly, as his head rests on Geto’s lap. “You enjoy my suffering. What memory will it be now?” he wonders, and slides his hand into Geto’s pant’s sleeve. “Leaving? Dying?”

“Nothing like this,” Suguru answers and laughs softly. His hand is playing with Gojo’s hair. “Do you miss it?”

“Being on my knees for you?”

“The world before.” 

“I don’t. There is nothing to miss.”

“You were so young before. Innocent.”

“I was never innocent. I was born for this — six eyes, infinity. I was made like this before I was even born.”

“Isn’t that just sad?” 

“No. It’s fate.”

“Fate is such a silly word—it has its favorites, right?”

“Mhm.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Would you ever come with me, if I asked?”

“...”

“...”

“... no.”

“Hm. That’s unfortunate.”

“I never agreed with you.”

“I thought you did. A bit, at least.” 

“Maybe you never really knew me that well, then.”

“But wouldn’t it be easier?”

“Maybe. I don’t care, Suguru. Honestly, with the way things are now—I believe they were worth a struggle.”

“Hm. Would you let me die again, then?”

“... yes.”

“Hm. And there I was, thinking you loved me.”

“I did.”

Geto chuckles.

“You’ll die sooner than later.”

The hands brushing his hair disappears. When Gojo opens his eyes, he is in his bed again. 

31st of October, in Shibuya, Gojo Satoru stops and looks at the thing that appears before him. His eyes scan it, and he cannot understand it.

Then— 

“Hi, Satoru.” 

The reality breaks.