the one who reached infinity

“There is a whale singing. He can hear it clearly.

It is a sad sound. Lonely and tired, many would think, but the whale keeps singing, its song as loud as before.

Is it lonely? Is it truly sad?

Melancholy is dancing inside and every sound just pulls at each string his shattered soul still has.

There is a whale singing.

Loud and stubborn. Perhaps, it is lonely.

It still keeps singing and calling and trying to reach, and his own body shudders, heart leaping to his throat.

He can hear its song and it is a heavy sound, matching his own heartbeat.”

—

There is earth, there is heaven and there is a space between. That’s where Gojo Satoru is born. He is a newborn baby and yet the world trembles each time his eyes blink. Satoru sees before he understands. He is four, and five, and six, and the world around him is big, but Satoru is bigger. He feels bigger, and everyone knows that. He learns to hold the weight of the world in the tip of his fingers and to smile when it cuts his flesh, drawing messy lines with his own blood. He gets used to the smell of it pretty soon. Blood does not bother him. Satoru learns pretty fast that sweets are the best thing ever, he is an anomaly in sorcerers’ world and he hates clans’ politics. He is also very, very important child, and his eyes are very special. He does not understand why at first, but then he notices that other people don’t see things like he does. “Shota.” “Yes, young master?” “I am special because of my eyes?” Shota is his caretaker or something like that. His parents are too busy to stick around; others are not allowed to talk to him. Not that he cares that much. He doesn’t even like them. His mother visits sometimes. She looks at him but does not say much, just sits with him, her fingers softly brushing his hair, and small smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes are heavy with contentment and it is not something Satoru likes. Her gaze makes his skin crawl. Shota is fine. He is calm and treats him with gentleness Satoru does not really require but still accept because it somehow makes Shota happy. Sometimes he would hold older man’s hand, even if it is not really appropriate, and it always nice to feel someone else’s warmth on his own skin. It’s like Satoru lives in bubble that separates him from everyone else but it is not his Limitless technique. He is just very special kid. “Hmm, they are, indeed, very special,” he says whiteout looking at him. It is Satoru’s free hours when he doesn’t have any lessons or meetings or other useless things, so he is just lazing around while Shota is reading his book, his eyes full with dull excitement. He is not very expressive, just like most of Gojo clan, but he is not cold either. “But I believe that young master still needs to figure out some things for himself to become truly special.” He blinks. Shota meets his eyes with a little smile, secretive and sly, as if he knows something Satoru doesn’t which makes him frown in annoyance. He doesn’t like not knowing things and he is too impatient for adults’ you-will-understand-when-you-are-older stuff, but Shota definitely won’t say anything else because he is mean like that. Satoru lays his chin on his crossed hands, turning his head towards window. It is snowing outside. He watches how snow falls slowly on the ground, playfully dancing in the air. Clouds are crowded in the sky, heavily looming above. He can imagine winter’s chilling breath on his skin, biting his cheeks and numb fingertips. His birthday passed two weeks ago.

—

He is six and the world around him is still big but Satoru is still bigger. He is six and there is a man after his head. He doesn’t blink when he kills him, Infinity curled protectively around his small frame. People are crowding outside, and his grandfather will be here soon enough. He doesn’t really care. Satoru watches how blood reaches to his bare feet, dark and sticky, it colors his pale skin and the edge of his hakama. Voices outside are louder but they don’t quite reach him. Satoru has been treated like something godly since the day he was born. There is a man dying under his feet and he probably deserve to die, because killing little children in their sleep is not a good thing to do. People are stupid, he thinks. Here he is, Gojo Satoru, the one who is blessed whit the power that change everything in this cursed world, who is human in flesh, clearly on peoples’ side. And yet, there is an assassin after his head. Most likely not the last one. He is six and world around him still moves and there are curses he will need to deal with soon, and there are humans that need to be protected. There is also he, Satoru, who is six and he is above curses and humans both. World is big but Satoru is still much, much bigger.

—

“Ah, so you are Gojo Satoru.” This is the first time his name is said with so little emotion. It surprises him, so he doesn’t say anything, just staring at the girl — his classmate — with cigarette between her fingers. Her eyes are narrowed and amusement is shimmering in them. “Oh? The one that everyone talks about?” “Mhm.” The first thing he notices it’s the bands. They are stupid. Second thing he notices is smile; soft and playful that feels like sun in spring, warm and careful, the one that gently slides over the ground, waking the world from the cold embrace of winter. (his heart is cold, so very cold-) Shoko is harsh with her words and Suguru in contrast is gentle, and yet both of them have this teasing glimpse hidden in the corner of their smiles. He is fifteen when he leaves Gojo estate. Suddenly world shrinks around him and her and him.

—

He is fifteen and life is suddenly fun. When he and Suguru are bickering on their way to classroom, and Shoko joins them after, rolling her eyes at his stupid grin and Suguru’s apologizing smile because of course they didn’t do their homework. Yaga-sensei just sighs tiredly, and he and Suguru share a grin. His heart feels lighter and world around him is still big but Suguru stays in his room in dorms and their classroom, and he stays with Suguru and Shoko, with laughter and friendly pushes and loud silence when they all are just tired after long day and long missions. He still kills curses but Suguru is always with him and sometimes Shoko joins them, too, and it feels different. Satoru is special kid and so is Suguru, even if he is not special like him, even when there is still so much space between them, because Satoru is god-among-humans, walking and breathing and world breathes with him, but Suguru never stops reaching for him. He is always there by his shoulder, and he is always smiling like it is nothing special, and Satoru can’t love him more. He does not think about Gojo estate — not home, that place has never felt like home — and he does not think of loneliness, and cold walls, and hushed whispers, and only Shota by his side. He does not think about his father and he does not think about his mother; of her cold hands and distant smile, of her gaze lingering somewhere far and never on him. (he thinks of his grandfather sometimes and they even talk, and he tells him about Geto Suguru and Ieri Shoko.) The thing is, he is not there anymore, he is here with his friends, — the world still foreign, but warm, so warm and so sweet — in Suguru’s room because it is the most comfortable one, and they are watching stupid movies, and funny movies, and scary movies, and both his friends are leaning on him; Shoko warm on his back and Suguru’s soft hair tickling his neck. It feels like life slows a little, letting him keep every moment. It whispers live, Gojo Satoru, live, and he does. In his fifteen he does every normal thing any normal teenager would do, and sometimes he even feels like one. Shoko smokes a lot and even if Suguru click his tongue at her, he still takes one of her cigarettes and stands by her side. He keeps a lighter with him and Satoru is pretty sure, there is always one or two cigarette in his pocket in case Shoko needs them. Satoru himself hates the taste, honestly; it is one of the most disgusting things he has ever put into his mouth. That’s something Shoko and Suguru share, special moments just for two of them, and sometimes he watches them from afar, his chest swelling and smile tugging at his lips. It is a nice feeling. Warm. His heart had been so cold, for so long, it now absorbs each little moment, keeping them deep inside, engraving to his bones. Having friends feels nice. Having Suguru and Shoko feels even better.

—

Just like Suguru and Shoko have their little moments, him and Suguru have ones as well, except they never feel little; they are always so, so big and so, so special. The night is nice. It is the good one. The sun has already gone, taking the heat of the day with itself. Satoru remembers the brightness of the summer sky; shy brush of pink and orange mixed on its surface just a few moments ago. Today was hot; he hates days like this, when he doesn’t want to do anything and he are too tired and too lazy, and it is really, really hot, but world out there is waiting for Gojo Satoru, and there are so many things to do. (curses to take care of and people to protect, and the power of world is balancing on the tips of his fingers-) Satoru is turning sixteen this year. Some people would say “just sixteen” and some would say “already sixteen”, and Satoru himself feels like he has lived ten time longer. Cold breeze playfully ruffles his hair, lost somewhere between white curls. He opens his eyes, his mind still tired and sleepy. Stars are brightly shimmering in the night sky, like broken glass spreading on the ground. Air is clear and nice, it is no longer cling to lungs and throat. Satoru’s head is laying comfortably on Suguru’s tight, his neck sore a little but he does not move. Silence between them is light and welcoming. He can even ignore all the imaginary weight on his shoulders when they are like this. Satoru feels trapped in his own body, his mind caging him in a way his duties and responsibilities fail to. One would think his role has been decided the moment he opened his eyes, and yet Satoru feels searching and reaching. Gojo Satoru was born with the name “strongest”, and he has never shied away from it, but still; he kills curses and saves lives, and yet he does not understand neither death nor life. Eyes are following him all the time. Eyes that admire him. Eyes that want to see him fail. That’s how those people of jujutsu world are; they fear god, and yet they are arrogant enough to challenge him, to think they can control him, as if he is some dog that only barks. Satoru lets them think so; he does his job, he walks among them, but he never stops reminding them how different he is, because he is Gojo Satoru, the one that was born between heaven and the earth. He smiles at them, and it is full of mocking and arrogance, matching their own, sharp and dangerous. Satoru is very, very inconvenient. But he is the strongest. So old fuckers bite their tongues and let him do whatever he wants, let him smile; all sharp teeth and cold eyes, let him walk over them like they don’t matter. And they don’t. Not for Gojo Satoru whose name makes both curses and sorcerers tremble. He breathes out and feels smoke filling his nose. He looks up, his eyes running over Suguru’s face; calm and soft; moonlight caressing his skin, cigarette in his mouth. Suguru must have noticed him staring because his lips twitch in small smile. “You sure you don’t wanna try?” Satoru blinks, watching amusement dance in his friend’s eyes. “Nope, thanks,” he winces, memories of bitter taste fresh in his mind. “I’m not putting that shit into my mouth ever again. Let Shoko be your buddy in it.” Suguru chuckles and the sound sends shiver down his spine. He narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue in annoyance, then shifts slightly, his shoulders now pressed to Suguru’s tights, his head comfortably on his stomach. His friend does not say anything, but amusement in his eyes shines brighter, mocking him, and Satoru would have punched him if he wasn’t this comfortable. Unlike Shoko, who is always hiding her hands in her pockets, Suguru is always warm. Not like Satoru himself, when the heat of his own body makes him uncomfortable, but in a pleasant way which sometimes makes Shoko cling to his hands, warming her own fingers. Suguru’s fingers brush over his forehead, and then slides to his hair, playfully tugging at his locks. The smile on his face widens, as if he could read what was on Satoru’s mind. Which, he usually could. Satoru grimaces, his lips twitching in annoyance, and that makes Suguru laugh. Suguru’s smile is a soft thing. It touches the corners of his eyes, color them with gentle light. He can smile, bearing his teeth in warning, looking all smug and cocky when there are people around who need to learn their place, or when he feels especially playful. Shoko and Yaga-sensei both have learned that Suguru can be headache no less than Satoru himself, and the whole façade of politeness can easily turn into sharp arrogance. He can smile wildly until his cheeks hurt, especially when they are together; being dumb children and dumb teenagers. He looks like one in these moments; no burden to carry, no curses to see and no one to protect. Just them and the time they have together to be stupid and do stupid things and enjoy every second of it. Suguru has this smile, too, when it’s painfully hard to look at it. There is just something in the corner of his mouth and his eyes that darken from the weight of his thoughts. It is a rare thing, but it is so Suguru, he can’t look away. Satoru loves each smile. Even the one that hurts both Suguru and him. The world breathes and he breathes with him. Moon shines above them, its cold light caressing the back of Suguru’s head, sliding to his dark curls. Smock from his cigarette reaches to the light, leaving almost-sliver lines after. They find solace in the nights like this; Suguru enjoys the peace it offers, while Satoru lets silence wash over him, finding a moment to breath without smell of the blood filling his nose. He blinks slowly, sleep taking over him, and looks how moon bathes Suguru’s face in cold light, and oh, Suguru is already is looking at him. If Satoru would need to describe it, he would say that Suguru’s eyes are honest. He can always look at them and they would never lie, not to him, never to him. Suguru’s eyes reflect his heart for those who know him. That’s just how Suguru is in general; soft and honest and kind, where Satoru’s arrogance lines with cruelty. Suguru is soft even in his rage. His lips twitch upwards a little, cigarettes still between them, and his eyes shine softly, looking at him like this — like he is a funny thing, like he talks all big and smug, but he is so simple in reality. He looks at him like he is Satoru who is almost sixteen years old, his classmate and his best friend in the whole world. He has been a lot of things, but being Suguru’s best friend is his favorite. “What?” he asks when Suguru doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him with his soft eyes and his small smile. “Nothing,” he says, and there is something in his gaze Satoru cannot understand; it is foreign look on his face, and those soft, soft eyes of his are searching something, looking at him, as if trying to get into his head, and Satoru wants to ask why would you do that, silly, you already know what I have there. He never gets a chance to say it because Suguru looks away, and his fingers in his hair feels nice, and Satoru is tired. Suguru put a cigarette into his mouth again, taking the smock in; Satrou can’t see his face clearly now when his head is thrown back, cold breeze kissing his face. He says something again, but Satoru is already half asleep, so he just murmurs something under his nose and let the peace of the moment lure him to sleep; Suguru by his side, moon above them both and world breathing with him.

—

Suguru says Satoru and his name is sweet, sweet, oh so sweet on his tongue. There is a tired hint in his voice, the one that his best friend uses when he is very done with him and Satoru is being very difficult. Nothing he can’t handle, though, so Satoru smiles, so wide and so hard his cheeks hurt, and Suguru just sighs tiredly and most definitely fed up with him, but he does not pull away when Satoru leans on him, chin comfortably lying on his shoulder. He says you should work on that attitude of yours, Satoru, and that’s why we are getting in the troubles all the time, Satoru, and that’s a complete bullshit because Suguru is no better than him, he just hides it under the façade of politeness. He talks about responsibilities and respect, and Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps himself close to Suguru; chest pressed to warm back, cheek lying on his shoulder, and Suguru does not pull away, just keeps talking and talking, even when Satoru doesn’t listen to him, too focused on their hands brushing; palm to palm and skin to skin and heart to heart, like an open wound, bleeding and arching. The world… the world, too big, does not matter anymore.

—

Children don’t do well in jujutsu world; Satoru learns very early. The concept of childhood is foreign not only for those adults in charge, but to said children themselves. That’s what their society is; solders, raised from very young age, adults that do not care and monsters that exist in humans’ shadows. Children are sacrifice. Satoru was — is — one. Amanai Riko is another. She talks big words and flashes big smiles, tells them about her being Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama being her, and all Satoru can see is cold walls and hushed whispers, people looking and curses looking. He wants to call her stupid but he can’t because for those people and this world she is Star Plasma Vessel and not Amanai Riko, just like he is Gojo-Satoru-the-strongest and not Satoru-sixteen-years-old. Not that it matters. They both don’t know what else to be because it had been decided the moment they were born, and that’s how it’s gonna be for other children like Amanai Riko and Gojo Satoru. He looks at Suguru and Suguru looks at him, promise heavily hanging between them. They watch how Riko reaches for Kuroi, the only family she has, how she glows under her attention and because of her hands gently lying on her shoulders — bony shoulders, and Amanai herself is so small. She says I am Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama is me, and yet, her fingers curls on Kuroi’s arm, and her eyes are clouded with sadness when she talks about her school and friends. She is fourteen and she is an absolutely brat that slaps him when they first meet, and calls Suguru names. She is loud and stupid and he thinks there is nothing of Tengen there. That’s Amanai Riko. They go to Okinawa, and his Infinity is shuddering around him, inside him, around them, protecting and keeping safe. He asks for Nanami and Haibara, and Suguru is here by his side, so he is not worried, and weariness does not bother him that much, so he brushes off his best friend’s worries and watches how Amanai enjoys herself, enjoys the sea and the sun, the sand and Kuroi by her side. Jujutsu world is not a place for children, sometimes it is not a place even for adults when they are weak and fragile and breakable. He watches Amanai walking under the blue light, among the creatures of ocean, and for the first time Satoru sees her as non-child, someone who is kissed by gods, with their blessing hanging above her head. She says I am Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama is me, and for the first time Satoru sees it with his all-seeing eyes; something ancient and divine flying through her veins. If there is one thing that gods love, it is tragedy. And that’s exactly how their love feels; heavy and burning; burning your skin and biting your throat. It feels like curse sometimes. He watches Amanai walk; her shoulders heavy and her head up, and sees ground burns her feet. Satoru himself has learnt to walk above it; his Infinity curling around him and protecting — from gods and humans both.

—

Fushiguro Toji is a reminder that he is blessed by gods, but is not god himself. Not yet.

—

To be reborn, you have to die first. He is sixteen and he is dying. It is cold and calm and there are no sounds, as if the world around him is waiting, holding its breath. His heartbeat rings clearly in his ears and it is getting slower and slower, and the cold is stronger, striking him inside, biting his numb fingertips. He takes a breath, heavy and shallow. Once and twice. His cursed energy is curled nervously under his ribs and he has never felt it so fully before. Infinity is cold. It curls deep inside, right under his ribs, and waits. Satoru takes a breath. There is a voice talking about blessings, and the word — blessing, blessing, blessing, blessing — rings loudly in the silence of his mind. Something warm is spreading inside him. His chest is lighter. There is heaven, there is earth and there is a place between. That’s when he is born. Covered in blood, Infinity wrapped around him protectively, he is above everything and everyone. The world holds its breath and lets it out when he crosses the threshold of godhood — not as someone blessed by gods, but a god himself. There is no regret, no anger. No remorse. There is a blissful silence where he floats, his body not his and his mind clear. Heaven and earth and the place between, and he alone is the honored one. The world is big, but Satoru is bigger and it does not matter anymore. — Satoru dies. Satoru is reborn.

—

There are no words to describe him; like thunderstorm in the clear sky, unexpected and loud, he strikes once but it is enough to shatter Satoru’s whole world where he is untouchable and unreachable, and here is Fushiguro Toji — a mortal, cursed by heaven itself; no curse energy, hollow and cold, and even his eyes are cold when his smirk is mocking. Jujutsu world is cruel to men like him; his power is nothing when he is not cursed to see the world as it is; with all the horrors and monsters and godlike being like Satoru or Amanai. Fushigruo Toji looks like he has seen it all. And he most likely did, because despite the lack of cursed energy, he is not an ordinary human; he still senses cursed spirits, he carries one on his shoulder, wrapped around him, keeping his weapons like a loyal dog. Fushiguro Toji is not a sorcerer and not an ordinary person; he is stuck somewhere in the middle just like Satoru himself. Satoru is not angry. Maybe it will come later but now there is nothing inside him; Amanai’s smile in his mind, her face covered in blood, her shattered dreams — they do not feed his anger. His body remembers how danger feels — how the man down there feels — but he does not care; his cursed energy is rumbling inside, brushing his ribcage, warming his heart, and Infinity is cold and protective — always protective — around him, running over his skin, part of him. He floats and he feels the wind, the water, the sun. The world is bathing in gold; it is no longer silent, whispering to him in a language so old that even the earth no longer remembers, and Satoru smiles; blissful and happy, for he feels everything and nothing at all. He is not angry and yet he still kills the man. Maybe he can find it in him to be grateful to him because Toji pushed him in a way no one else was able to in his entire life. So he asks for his last words. To show respect, maybe. Satoru watches his lips twitch upwards slightly, blood filling the corner of his mouth, sliding down. Fushiguro Toji is bleeding and dying; his face open and eyes clouded, and yet, he still stands in front of him, his whole existence like an act of protest and fuck you — to gods and sorcerers and curses. He is still numb and his head is not clear, but he still waits and waits, something inside him rumbling, screaming listen, listen, listen. Toji opens his mouth and Satoru leans closer. He listens.

—

“Satoru?” Suguru’s voice is small and uncertain, so unlike himself. His own mind is still clouded; emptiness now fills the space that previous bliss left behind. He lifts his eyes, meeting Suguru’s; wide and worried. There is a fear in them, too, well hidden. He is too tired to focus on that. Amanai’s body in his arms is light — her being small was one of the first thoughts Satoru had — but he feels so heavy; his libs are heavy and his shoulders are tired of the weight, and Amanai is small but she feels so heavy. He thinks there is no childhood in jujutsu world, because in the end Amanai Riko, who loved her school and her friends, who learnt of sea and sand and sun warming skin, and sea creatures swimming in blue light; caged and yet so free, the way she could never be, Amanai Riko, who slapped him when they first met, laughed with Suguru right after insulting him, glowed under Kuroi gentle touches and soft eyes, who talked about her being Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama being her, dies at fourteen, right the moment she thought there was a chance for her to be just Amanai Riko, who wouldn’t need to think about dying and being nothing more than an echo of godlike being. There are people around him clapping and smiling and celebrating, and he is still numb and tired, and there is no place for anger in him, not yet, so he can’t help but wonder — how can all this people find so much joy in a death of one little girl? How can they be so focused on themselves to ignore her smiles and her laugh, her eyes full of sadness, people around her, the way her hands trembles, the way her gaze would wander somewhere far away where no one can reach her and she is alone with I am Tengen-sama and Tengen-sama is me. He walks, one more time holding the weight of the world in his arms. “Suguru,” he says. “Should we kill them? The way I feel right now, I doubt I would feel anything about it.” He waits. Suguru’s face is blank, his eyes fixed on the ground. Or maybe on Amanai. Satoru can’t say. “No,” his face after second his voice steady, no hint of any emotion. “There is no point. It looks like there are only common believers here.” He says something else, but Satoru is tired, and he had his answer. His mind lingers on Suguru’s words. “No point? Does there really need to be any point in it?” People around them are clapping still. The sound is loud between them. He waits. “It’s very important that there is. Especially for a jujutsu sorcerer.” If that’s what Suguru says, it is enough for him. He walks. The ground burns his feet.

—

Life does not end and the world does not stop after that. Time passes too quickly but Satoru barely notices, too busy with curses and being here and there and everywhere. He is different now — the gap between him and others is so much bigger. He feels different. Satoru died and then he didn’t, and he doesn’t want to be there again, so he trains hard, so hard, between his missions and clan meetings and bickering with elders. His days are blur and his mind is too busy to focus on anything other than his missions and all this boring stuff he has been trying to avoid since he was a child, but he does not have that luxury now, when his grandfather — fuck him, respectfully — is trying to pass the title of the head to him. World shifts and Satoru watch with his Six Eyes wide open. He watches and he sees and there is nothing that can escape him. Turns out it’s not really true. “Suguru, have you lost weight?” he asks when they finished testing his Infinity, because Suguru looks like shit. His face is pale and there are huge bags under his eyes, as if he hasn’t been sleeping for a long time. Satoru feels worry curls under his ribs. “You okay?” “It’s just heat fatigue,” Suguru answers after moment of silence. His voice is light, but it lacks the usual softness and smile in it. “I’ll be fine.” Satoru takes it and makes a joke that bring a small smile on Suguru’s face, and that was fine for now, because they both are tired and somehow everything is different now. He can’t remember the last time he has a proper rest or the last time the three of them hang out together, and he doesn’t like it at all, but there is nothing he can do. He leans on Suguru, wishing for the warmth of his body to wash over him, and Suguru really has lost weight and he is so tense, cursed energy nervously shuddering around him. Satoru throws his arm around his neck, resting his temple on the back of Suguru’s head, hanging on him with his whole weight and clinging, clinging, clinging to him. Suguru is cold. He doesn’t know how to warm him.

—

He asks once to meet Suguru’s parents. His friend blinks. “Where is this coming from?” “Donno,” he shrugs and his arms are all over Suguru’s bad, filling all the space with his limbs. His legs are lying comfortably on Suguru’s, who’s back is resting on the wall. They are waiting for Shoko to come with some snacks and drinks, and then they will watch some old, shitty horror movies. “I just want to meet them. Me and Shoko both, actually.” Suguru told them once about the garden his family has back at home. Small, traditional one. His mother takes care of it most of the time and Suguru has been helping her since the very young age. He told them about the water running through the rocks and the ground warm under his knees, his mother’s hands gently brushing over chrysanthemums’ yellow heads and his own face and hands covered in dirt. She loves chrysanthemums a lot. She says they remind her of Suguru. The smile, lingering on lips Sugur’s face when he said it was soft but bitter. When he was ten, he asked to plant violets. I wanted to make her happy, he said. Then Suguru looked at him and chuckled. “White anemones are beautiful but they would look stupid in our garden,” that’s what he said and it meant absolutely nothing to him or Shoko. Satoru tries to think what kind of people Suguru’s parents are; to make him smile like that — soft and grateful, yet somehow distant. He knows his righteousness probably came from them, because Suguru wasn’t very social back then. He is a good son, polite and respectful. He is the best person Satoru has ever known and he is, well, everything. He knows it and Shoko knows it, Yaga-sensei and Haibara know it, and even Nanami knows it. Satoru wants to know if Suguru’s parents know it, too. “Sure,” Suguru answers, his eyes shining softly, focused on him and lips twitched in smile. “It’s not like you are gonna leave me alone if I refuse.” “Of course we won’t, stupid.” “What did I miss?” Shoko closes door behind her, holding a bag in one of her hands. She passes it to Suguru and kicks Satoru’s tight, making him yelp, and finds a place for herself to sit. “Mind your libs, idiot, there are other people besides you.” “Since when I care?” “Since it’s Suguru’s room and I can kick you out of here.” “How that makes sense?! Why are you the one who kicks me out if it’s Suguru’s room?” “Because I said so.” “Because she said so.” He sticks out his tongue childishly, but Shoko does not bat an eye; sipping from Suguru’s cherry cola and watching him, lips curled in cheeky smile. Suguru, that traitor, just smirks, and ugh, he hates them both. “I think I need new friends.” “Oh, finally.” “You can go bother Nanami.” Satoru really, really can’t stand them, so he throws his legs over Shoko’s and puts a strawberry jelly bean into his mouth, chewing loudly, the way they both hate. They lay there tangled in one mess, warm and comfortable, horror movies forgotten for now, while Suguru talks about summer sun of Kawagoe, the breeze and the colors of their garden. He talks how his mother helped him to plant violets and how his father told him that’s your responsibility now, Suguru, and how carefully he took care of them, like a dutiful son that he is. His palm hurts from how hard his nails are digging into the soft flesh. Yaga-sensei’s words loudly ring in his head. Suguru killed everyone in the village, he said, his house was empty, he said. He killed his parents, too, he said. Satoru doesn’t understand. “I can’t allow my parents to be a special exception. Besides those people aren’t my family anymore.” (Suguru’s smile is gentle when he talks and his face is open, he looks so soft Satoru wants to feel it physically, which he does; curling his hands all over him, clinging to his shoulders like a child that he is, and Suguru smiles wider and he keeps telling him about his home and the small garden in their yard–) Satoru can’t understand. “How arrogant.” “Huh?” Satoru is confused and he is angry and he doesn’t understand, but he desperately wants to because it is Suguru and Suguru is kind and soft and he is always right, but now it doesn’t feel like that because his words hurt and they feel like acid forced down his throat. “You could do it, couldn’t you, Satoru?” Suguru says, and that’s his voice and words are coming out of his mouth, but he feels like it is someone else. “Yet you convince someone else that it’s impossible to do something that’s possible for you?” People around them pass them, filling the gap between, without noticing them, as if the world is not crumbling right now. Suguru finally turns around, his eyes; cold and distant finding his. His face is blank but somehow it looks more peaceful then it was during this few weeks. “Are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest?” It feels like his heart stops for a moment; his chest terribly cold and empty. Everything around him slows, and there is Suguru and there is him, and the space between them is so big it freaks him out for a second, because there can’t be space between them; it’s always him heavily clinging to Suguru or Suguru leaning on him, his palm on Satoru’s back gentle but firm, as if telling I am here, feel me, feel me, feel me and remember me, and Satoru wants; skin to skin and heart to heart, fingers curled on Suguru’s hand, and maybe, maybe he would draw out blood and crawl under Suguru’s skin, to his bones, and Suguru would do the same to him. There can’t be space between them, but here they are and people are filling it, walking besides them and Suguru — all soft smiles and gentle teasing, careful hands and sharp eyes — Suguru is so far away. “If you want to kill me, then kill me. There would be a point to that.” Satoru stands there watching him go, Infinity dancing in his fingertips. Suddenly the world is so much bigger than him.

—

He feels alone again. It is like a reminder, like a slap to his face — how different he is from everyone else. He breathes and he talks and he walks among human beings — him, force of nature, no longer blessed by gods, but a god himself — and tries to feel like he belongs, but the world is not kind and life is not fair. Suguru’s words sting harshly, making him bleed inside, making his heart squeeze and bleed, bleed and bleed, until there is nothing else. (how arrogant- if you want to kill me, then kill me- there would be a point to that-) He feels like Gojo Satoru again, but he is not five or six, he is seventeen-years-old and he already died once and came back. Yaga-sensei says he is very strong, and he knows it, but in the end it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he is strong alone.

—

Satoru finds him in dirty alley. The kid has noticed him quickly, before he approaches, which is quite impressive. He doesn’t show any sign of it but Satoru can see how his shoulders tense and how his hands tighten on his backpack. His Six Eyes watch the shadows move under his feet, swallowing the sight and how the kid’s cursed energy surrounds his small body, shuddering aggressively and ready to bite. Satoru felt it — the moment Ten Shadows was born. He didn’t understand what was that back then, but he felt it with his body and soul both; his own cursed energy purring inside his chest, warming his bones. It was a strange sensation, especially considering the fact that Ten Shadows is the only one who can not only match, but also end him. Satoru wonders if the kid feels the same way right now, when he is so close. “Fushiguro Megumi, right?” The kid finally stops and turns around. “Who are you? And what’s with that face?” He looks like his father and at the same time he does not. His features are softer, but he has Toji’s nose and his cheekbones, the same curve of lips. Their eyes are different. The kid’s eyes are deep green, like a wild forest, and his gaze is distance but not like Toji’s who’s smirk would color his eyes with mocking and arrogance. This kid is just cold. Watching him with his green eyes, his face blank and small frown between his brows. There is so much of Toji in him and at the same time… there is not. Not really. He starts rumbling about the Zen’ins and his father, about curses and the boy’s technique — Satoru had been watching him for a while, he noticed how his eyes were lingering on the curses he met on the way. Kid looks absolutely uninterested, but listen to him politely. “I don’t care,” he says when Satoru mention Toji and he pauses, not expecting him to talk. He keeps talking about not remembering his father at all, and about his step-mother leaving them, and his voice is hollow and cold just like his face, and it is really not the look six-years-old should have. Satoru thins about Toji again; him standing steady, his eyes down and small smile on his face. He thinks of his last words and he looks at the kid in front of him, and he thinks you were his last words. He doesn’t really know what kind of person Toji was. He doesn’t really know much about Toji, but he knows this: Fushiguro Toji has a son, he named him Megumi, and his last words were about him. And Satoru still does not regret killing Fushiguro Toji, he never will, but he says you can always ask me about him, because he owns to kid that much. “So? What do you want to do? You wanna go to Zenins?” “What about Tsumiki? The kid asks, meeting his eyes without flinching. Satoru feels the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Will she be happy if I go? My answer depends on that.” He looks so sure and his voice is so steady for someone his age. Well, Satoru has already figured this one is definitely not a six years old. “No. Defenetly no,” he answers without hesitation. He does not even need a second to think about it, because jujutsu world is cruel to its own children. It’s not hard to imagine what will happen to a child, like his sister. The words finally get a reaction from the boy. He watches ice crackle in his green eyes, and shadows filling them, dark and dangerous, and his own Six Eyes are open wide, swallowing every twitch of his cursed energy. He feels the air between them shuddering. Kid in front of him doesn’t move, squeezing his backpack and frowning harder, shadows under his feet huddle together. The smile on Satoru’s face is surprisingly genuine. “Okay,” he says cheerfully and reaches to dark head. The curls under his palm are soft despite their spiky look, and he pets them a few time, awkwardly, because he has never done this in his life, especially with someone who is this small but it’s kinda worth it because the kid’s face looks absolutely hilarious. “Leave the rest to me.” He probably doesn’t understand how much of a weight Satoru’s words have but it doesn’t matter. He turns away, feeling the kid’s — Megumi’s, his name is Megumi — eyes on him. “I might need you to push yourself a little, though, so do your best. Get stronger.” (…hand to hand and skin to skin, and his heart is so cold–) “Strong enough to keep up with me.”

—

“Well, well. Congratulations are in order, as I have heard.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Satoru makes a quick gesture with his hand, dismissing the words. “That’s not the reason why I came here.” Zen’in Naobito is arrogant man. His eyes are cold and his smirk is dangerous, the kind that sends shiver down your spine, makes you feel like a small animal being chased by wolfs, with no place to escape. He is always drinking; Satoru has been around Zen’in estate since he was a kid — diplomatic matters, grandfather would say, — and he can’t remember him without a drink. This time is no different; the man is sitting comfortably in front of him, his nose and cheeks red from the alcohol, his traditional robes a stark contrast to Satoru’s dark uniform. “Oh? Than why are you here?” “How much did you pay Toji for his kid? I’ll pay you double and take him with me.” The silence that follows his word is heavy. Satoru leans back casually in a chair, ignoring the tension that fill the air. He fills Naobito’s cursed energy shuddering angrily, curling in itself as if getting ready to bite. “Your grandfather has always been soft on you, brat.” He narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything, not yet. No one is allowed to talk with him like that, especially not someone like Zen’in Naobito, but Satoru can be patient when it is needed. He is already playing a big game, taking the Zen’in boy, and not just any Zen’in — The Ten Shadow, under his wing. It has nothing to do with clan politics but no one is gonaa see it like that, and no one is gonna care because he is Gojo Satoru and Fushiguro Megumi is a Zen’in blood. “Just because you are the head of Gojo clan now doesn’t mean you can talk however you want,” Naobito smiles, sharp and dangerous, making the woman that was filling his cup flinch. “The boy is part of the Zen’in clan. He is none of your business. The matter was solved with his father.” “M-m,” he hums softly and tilts his head, letting sunglasses slide to the tip of his nose. “Well, his father is dead, isn’t he? I killed him. And his last wish was for Megumi not to end up here.” Probably. Satoru doesn’t really know what else do whatever you want with it means, and it’s not like he cares. Naobito’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing at Satoru. If it was someone else it would be better to back up, because the old man is clearly not in a mood of playing games. But he is not someone else. He had them all under his feet when he was five and six and fifteen. This time is no different. “You think I care about that?” his smile turns into smirk; cold and ugly. His eyes are watching him closely, as if trying to get under his skin. “This is not about Toji’s or your whims. It’s about the preservation of our traditions, our lineage. The boy is too important to be squandered in the hands of someone like you.” “Someone like me?” he raises an eyebrow, lips twitching in smirk. “A Gojo,” Naobito sneers, and there it is. The hatred and disgust in his eyes is clear as summer sky and it makes him smile wider because nothing brings him more pleasure than annoying the old fucker. The thing is Naobito can say whatever he wants, he can think whatever he wants. The truth is simple and it is only one — no one has a power over him, not really. Especially now, when Satoru had a taste of dead, when he is different — older, but not really, stronger than ever. “Oh, you make me feel so loved, old man, but let’s get this over, okay” he says with a smile and leans forward, his cold gaze meeting Naobito’s eyes. “I’m not asking anything. Megumi is going with me. End of the story. We can handle all this thing really quickly or you can make it difficult,” Satoru sits back, letting the sunglasses fall back. “Your choice.” The air hums with tension, both his and Naobito’s cursed energy vibrating dangerously. Infinity is curled around him, it dances in his fingertips and waits for Satoru to call, to bring it all out, to remind who he is and what he is. Satoru waits. Naobito does not need a reminder. “You will bring him here,” he says eventually, “The boy needs to know his history.” Yeah, the kid doesn’t really give a shit about that. He was pretty clear with that. “Sure. Once in a year will be enough.” “You will make sure he masters his technique,” Naobito narrows his eyes dangerously. “You will make sure he does it well.” Well, figures. “Deal.” There is no childhood in jujutsu world. If you are weak you won’t survive. If you are strong there is a chance you won’t survive either. Satoru is strong and yet he was killed, even if he came back after. No one is safe in the world of cursed spirit and people who sometimes are no better than them. Naobito doesn’t say this because he cares about Megumi’s well-being. The kid is not his own person to him; he is The Ten Shadows — an idea, incarnation of everything that Zen’in clan is. Satoru is pretty good at anything he puts his mind to. He is good like that — even Shoko said it. So he is going to teach that kid, and he is going to do it well, so he won’t turn out like his damn father or any of his trash relatives. Satoru will make sure he is strong and his mind is strong, and he is free of all that heritage-and-duty crap. Besides nothing is gonna be better fuck you to Naobito.

—

“What have you done?” “Good to see you, Shoko!” Shoko just looks at her unimpressed. He can’t help but notice that the bags under her eyes are bigger and she looks pretty tired. She spends a lot of time buried in her books and papers and Satoru remembers that she has an exam or whatever. They don’t spend much of a time together even when Suguru still was around but now they barely see each other with Satoru always away and Shoko hidden in her office, both trying to keep themselves busy so they won’t think and won’t remember. “Yaga-sensei just got a call,” she says, taking a sip from her cup. There is probably that disgusting coffee she always drinks. “He is stressing out still.” “He really needs a good vacation,” he answers, falling on the chair in front of Shoko’s desk. “So? What have you done?” “Why is it always something I did?!” Shoko just rises a brow, still looking unimpressed as ever. “Okay, well. I may or may not mess a little bit with Naobito. A little bit. Nothing serious really.” “Why would you even bother about Naobito?” he watches her frown deepen and then her eyes light up. “Is this about Fushiguro’s kid?” “Maybe.” “Seriously?” she doesn’t sound fed up with him, there is a genuine curiosity in her voice. Well, a good start. “I kinda adopted him? Him and his sister.” “Adopted them,” Shoko repeats, her face blank. “You.” “I don’t like your tone.” Now she looks as if Satoru is the biggest idiot to ever exist. “Do you even know how to take care of kids?” “Not really?” he shrugs, leaning his back on the chair. “I mean how hard can it be?” Shoko looks at him for a long moment, then sighs tiredly. “I don’t know, Satoru,” he notices her finger twitch; she probably wants to smoke, but Shoko kinda trying to quit. “They are kids. They need to be healthy, go to school, lots of attention and things like that. They can be pretty difficult.” He thinks yeas, most children probably are. But Megumi is gonna be a different kind of difficult. He doesn’t talk like kid and he doesn’t look like kid, and that’s a pretty dangerous thing — kids that don’t act like their age. Satoru has no idea where to start because for Megumi he is just a random guy, who came and talked some random shit about his dad and relative and then left to take care of things. It is going to be pretty difficult but maybe he knows where to start. “He told me he doesn’t care what will happen to him,” he says. “Said he cares only about his sister’s happiness.” Shoko is silent for a moment and her eyes are heavy on him. They are very, very tired and it makes her look older than she is, and Satoru understands. He really does. What she is thinking and why she is looking at him like that. “Well,” she eventually, her voice as tired as he feels. “That’s a start.”

—

Tsumiki is the kind of kid that will make you think children are all sunshine and rainbows. And there is Megumi who will look at you and you would prefer the ground to open and swallow you whole. He is kind of scary for a six years old but most of the time Satoru finds it adorable. That’s just part of his charm. Satoru takes them to new apartment; larger and brighter, and the neighborhood is nice. It is also closer to Jujutsu Tech and the kids’ school. He makes sure to visit them at least twice a week and every time Megumi scowls at him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, and Tsumiki always greats him with her cheerful Gojo-san and warmest smile. They are good kids. Don’t need much from him. They cook for themselves and the apartment is too clean for a six and seven years old. They even tried to do their groceries and not that Satoru minds but Tsumiki tried to save money which is ridiculous because why would they need that when he is here. She was absolutely shocked when he told her that. He doesn’t do much, really. Just visits them, brings groceries and clothes, takes them out sometimes and help Tsumiki with her homework, because Megumi absolutely refuse his help. Speaking of Megumi, they didn’t talk about his technique or the Zen’ins. He told the kid about the terms of their agreement with Naobito and he just shrugged, letting Satoru to think about everything else. It feels different. It’s not like what it was with Suguru or Shoko or Yaga-sensei, or entire world. It is something more… pure, perhaps, when he is needed in this kind of way. Like someone who is stronger, but not stronger as sorcerer. Stronger as person because, well, he is simply older. Satoru himself is not really an adult, but he has more experience and knowledge, and he does not know a shit about kids and parenting, but he knows stuff about life. The kids can handle themselves pretty well and he can give them anything to make it easier for them. It is weird. But he doesn’t mind. “Gojo-san.” “M-m?” Tsumiki wets her lips nervously, lowering her eyes to the ground. She holds her hands behind her back, bouncing on her feet. Satoru frowns. Tsumiki is not a shy kid, she is always confident and open with her feelings. It is not really easy to make her nervous. “What is it 'Miki?” “Well, my class is going on a trip next week. And… em,” she looks at Megumi, who is sitting in the kitchen, his homework open in front of him. He meets her gaze and hums in understanding but doesn’t say anything. Tsumiki breathes out in tiredly, and looks at him again, her cheeks heating up. “They need parents signature so… canyoupleasesingthisup!” He blinks. That’s… it? His mind goes blank for a moment. He looks at her for a moment and then reaches for a paper she holds, running over the lines and oh, they just need his signature. He looks back at Tsumiki who is nervously bouncing on her feet, all shy and even frightened, her eyes fixed on the ground, and suddenly the moment feels too heavy. Too big. He is their guardian. He is legally responsible for them, of course the school will need his signature. “That’s it?” he asks, his voice light and lets the smile color his face. Tsumiki looks up, her big eyes nervous but warm, meeting his own and the smile on his face loosens, stripping off forced cheerfulness. He can understand it. It’s weird and awkward to think about someone else as your parent, especially when they are not, and your relationship in general are noting like that. “You almost scared me there, Tsumiki. You have something I can sign this?” she hands him a pen she was holding in her fingers, her cheeks red and lips pressed together, probably from embarrassment. “I told you, you can ask me anything, right?” he puts his hand on her head, carefully brushing her hair. “You really should rely on me more. You too, Megumi!” The boy only wrinkles his nose, turning back to his book, but he looks oddly satisfied. Satoru stills when tiny hands cross over his middle and small body presses to his chest. He feels Tsumiki’s finger curling over his shirt and her deep breathes warm his collarbone. “Thank you,” she mumbles softly still clinging to him and he puts his own arms to her back, very carefully because he does not remember hugging someone so small and so fragile. He doesn’t really mind because Satoru craves; touches and warmth because he hates being cold and his Infinity can’t warm him because it a cold shield that protects him form everything, separates him from peoples and curses and from the world in general. He turns it off, letting himself feel Tsumiki’s warmth and feels her flinch. Her hands tighten and she hides her face in his chest. Satoru breathes. She starts calling him Satoru few days later. He starts to spend nights in their apartment.

—

Turns out Tsumiki real is a key with Megumi because the kid warms up to him when he notices how his sister brightens every time he visits. Well, as much as he is able to, because the kid is grumpy as old man and he even talks as one most of the time. Satoru finds it funny, really. Turns out that the kid is also natural. They haven’t start Megumi’s training yet but Satoru told him about curses and cursed energy just so the kid would know what he is dealing with. He noticed the next day how his cursed energy curls around his small body, calm and collected. Controlled. Yeah. Definitely natural. The little shit just rises his brow when Satoru narrows his eyes on him. He learns that the boy is not mean to him on purpose, he is just apathetic in general which is a little concerning because he is literally six. Satoru watches him and Naobito’s words when he first met the kid — he is a Zen’in, he looks like a Zen’in, his blood is Zen’in — rings in his head. Satoru knows about Then Shadows user; it is one of the first thing he has learnt as a kid because Gojo clan keeps an eye on the only technique ever exist that can, not just match the Six Eyes, but suppress it. He knows plenty about it to teach Megumi and teach him well. What Naobito meant is that Megumi is a Zen’in in a way none of the current clan members are. And Satoru can see it in his eyes — Zen’in eyes — green like a dark forest where beasts are hunting and screeching, and the wolfs’ howl lure the forest to sleep. His blood is ancient and blessed just like Satoru’s is. He watches shadows loom over his small figure, dark and tick, huddling under his feet, dangerous and ready to strike. He wants Megumi to keep his childhood as long as possible but at the same time he can’t help but feel excitement curl under his ribs.

—

It was raining heavily when he comes to Fushigruo’s apartment. Night has already creeped outside, taking the city into its embrace. Weather is shit and Satoru is tired as fuck, so it’s a relief when he finally crashed on the couch, taking off his shoes and letting his feet to rest. He feels burning in his eyes and sighs tiredly, pulling dark sunglasses away. His life is the same and at the same time it is not. Suguru left a wound in his chest that can’t stop bleeding, and when it is quite, when there is nothing to keep him busy, to keep his mind busy, he thinks of Suguru, Suguru, Suguru and his heart ache and his breath caught in his throat painfully. He misses him and he misses being Suguru’s best friend and he misses Suguru’s room in dorms and both of them with Shoko there. Nothing is the same because watching movies doesn’t make him feel anything and sweets doesn’t taste so good when Suguru is not there to share, even if they were too sweet to his liking but he still shares with Satoru because it makes him happy. Everything is the same because he still kills curses and protect people and he attend to clans meeting as head of Gojo clan and not as an heir. Some things are different because he spends all his free time in this apartment with two little kids and he takes them out at least twice in a week. He doesn’t mind. He likes moment like that because Tsumiki is so, so sweet and it is impossible not to be touched by her honest feelings. Satoru blinks when he suddenly feels burst of Megumi’s cursed energy in his room. It was angry and sad and so heavy, Satoru can feel the bitter taste on his tongue. He heads to his room and just notices thunder crashing outside. “Megumi?” Satoru knocks softly twice, letting know about his presence because he doesn’t want to scare the kid and he can swear he hears growling from the other side of the door. He blinks. “I’m coming in, kiddo.” Megumi is sitting on his bed, his blanket tightly wrapped around his small body. Satoru almost misses him in the dark. Air is humming with tension, Megumi’s cursed energy filling the whole room, making it hard to breath. But that’s not what catches Satoru’s eye. It’s two dogs, curling around Megumi on the bed. Two pretty big dogs, more like the size of a wolf, one of them white, a bright spot in complete darkness, and the second one black as the shadows. The white dog is nuzzling the blanket, whining lowly, while the black one is looking at Satoru in very unfriendly way. There is a red mark on its forehead. Well, shit. “Hey, Megumi?” he calls again. “Uh, I need you to come out or your new friend will probably eat me alive.” The black dog growls in proof of his words. He comes inside, ignoring it, and steps closer to bed where Megumi is sitting. His own cursed energy slowly fills the room; not strong enough to scare the kid more or anger his dogs. Shikigami. The kid has gotten his first shikigami. When Satoru reaches to the bed, two pair of watchful eyes are dangerously staring at him, but to his relief Megumi’s head is peeking up under the blanket. He notices that the skin around his eyes is red. “Stop it,” he mumbles, gently pushing the black dog’s head when it bears its teeth at Satoru. He watches closely how immediately obeys, nuzzling Megumi’s cheek and whining softly. “For how long can you summon them?” he asks gently, sitting in front of the kid. “Just now,” he sniffles, not meeting Satoru’s eyes. He notices how the kid’s body is shaking slightly. “They were in the shadows before. Never came out.” “M-m,” Satoru hums thoughtfully. “You are gonaa be pretty tired if you keep them around.” Megumi furrows his brows and curls his fingers on the blanket, finally looking up. Satoru smiles. “Okay,” he whispers, feeling how the air around them lighten. He sits on the bed — on the side that wasn’t occupied by shikigamis — and looks at the boy. “Mind telling me what’s wrong?” Megumi takes a deep breath but does not answer. Well, yeah, Satoru is not really surprised. “Are you scared of thunder?” Megumi answers with angry shake of his head. “Did you have a nightmare?” This makes him still. The white dog nudges him softly and then rests its big head on Megumi’s knees, but he ignores it, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. Satoru waits patiently, watching how his shoulders trembles, not from tears or out of fear. From anger. He can see it clearly on his face; furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips, shadows filling his eyes. “You know, Satoru,” Tsumiki once told him after dinner when they were washing dishes together. Megumi was in his room, tired from school and probably already sleeping. “I don’t really remember Megumi being hugged.” He paused for a moment and looked at her. There was a smile on her face; small and a little bit sad, her eyes shining softly. He doesn’t like the look on her face. It’s lonely thing, not really suiting Tsumiki who is all warm laughs and big heart. “He usually won’t let even me to hug him and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable,” she carefully put Satoru’s blue cup aside, after drying it. “I know you like to tease him. But it’s nice. Seeing someone so close to him, you know.” It’s not really hard to imagine. He can think about Toji as someone who was capable of showing affection or even had known what that means. And the kids don’t talk about Tsumiki’s mother but Megumi probably didn’t let her close. Satoru teases him a lot because it is fun to mess with him and Megumi’s reactions are priceless. Squeezing his cheeks, holding his hand when they are crossing a road, hugging him from behind or lifting him up — Satoru has never put much of thoughts behind that. But he actually understands what Tsumiki meant. Megumi is a lonely kid. No matter how hard his sister is trying, he is still different. Satoru was like that, too. He learnt the difference with Shoko and Suguru, but there is no one to show Megumi. Naoya once told him that a good Zen’in is a broken Zen’in. They learn fast like that. Satoru hates him even more than he used to. (He can’t help but wonder just how broken was Fushiguro Toji). Another crash of thunder brings him back to present. Megumi flinches besides him, curling into himself even more. Satoru feels something tighten under his ribs. “Hey, do you mind if I sleep here tonight?” The kid blinks and looks at Satoru, surprise clear on his face. His eyes are so very tired and red, and he is still shivering, fingers playing nervously with the blanket. The dogs wait painterly, watching Megumi closely. “Okay.” “Okay,” he smiles and reaches for him, ignoring soft protests and little fist kicking his shoulder. “Come on, we are going to sleep.” Megumi grunts something in return but does not try to free himself, so Satoru counts it as a win. He nudges the doges out of bed, making space for themselves and lies on his back with Megumi in his arms, still wrapped in blanket and his head tucked under Satoru’s chin. Satoru holds him close, feeling his damp breaths on the skin of his neck and steady heartbeat with his own chest. Megumi is so small. His hands tighten, palm sliding a little over Megumi’s back, luring him to sleep. He feels the kid’s cursed energy shudders and then it curls around them and suddenly Satoru can’t see anything. It is dark and there are no sounds and there is only Megumi and Satoru, and shadows surrounding them. He takes a shaky breath. Turns out sleeping is so much easier when there is a small child cuddled in your arms. Especially when the child has Ten Shadows that are perfect — and deadly — for his Six Eyes.

—

When he introduced Shoko and Megumi he didn’t really know what to expect from that meeting. Megumi is a polite kid despite his attitude. Honestly, he is a little shit only when it comes to Satoru, and he doesn’t mind because it’s funny most of the time. Shoko on the other hand doesn’t particularly like children because she just doesn’t know what to do with them. He can’t say he is surprised when they get along pretty well, because Megumi is not really like other children, he is quite, polite and respectful, he won’t give you a reason to dislike him. And they also bond together over bullying him, mind you. That’s why Tsumiki is his favorite, really. “Is it weird that I’m glad he’s gone not because he almost killed me, but because I can keep his kid?” Shoko looks at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Even though she is not smoking anymore Satoru still can smell her cigarettes. It makes him feel bitter taste on his own tongue. She does not ask who he is talking about. “Well,” she says eventually. “Maybe. Maybe not,” she shrugs and his eyes linger on her hair. She stopped cutting them and they are falling to her shoulders now. She looks different like this. Older, perhaps. “Does it matter anyway? His father is dead and you are not. Megumi doesn’t even want to hear about him.” Satoru nods, spinning the lollipop between his fingers. Sometimes he thinks there is a hole in his chest after Suguru but than Tsumiki’s laughter echoes in his head, sweet and bright like summer sun and he thinks of Megumi’s eyes; not-childlike at all, green and his most favorite. And he can always drag himself to Shoko’s office like this, just to annoy her. So, the wound in his chest is still there but it is not bleeding. Not anymore.

—

Time passes too quickly. Megumi and Tsumiki are going to elementary school and suddenly they are finishing middle school. Satoru is in his twenties and he is teaching his second year in Jujutsu Tech. He feels, not quite old, but not young either. He meets Okkotsu Yuta in the middle of September. The boy is terrified and tired of everything and everyone. He says I tried to die, but Rika-chan interfered, he says I don’t want to hurt anyone, so I’m not going outside anymore. He looks like someone who is ready to die. He is sixteen years old. It’s not pity. Satoru is not capable of that. But he has decided long time ago that there are a lot of things that he needs to change and he won’t do it alone. He can teach people like Hakari and Maki and Toge and Panda, and now Yuta too, to be strong on their own. He can teach his students to be strong enough to change things Satoru can’t. (Megumi is different, he is Satoru’s in a way no other of his students can ever be and there is so much more he wants to do for him–) His teaching is more like giving opportunities to learn and protection from things they are not ready to face yet. Life is the best teacher, he has learnt. Fushiguro Toji was one for him. So they learn. And he watches.

—

Suguru says at least curse me little at the end, and the world does not crumble this time, but his heart does. Satoru is twenty-seven when he kills his best friend. He goes to Fhusiguro’s apartment, covered in blood, his shoulders heavy and Megumi opens door for him. He doesn’t ask any questions, just let him in and when Satoru crashes on the couch, he comes back with Satoru’s blue cup. They stay up all the night in silence, with TV playing some comedy show on the background, drinking hot chocolate. It feels tasteless to him, but Megumi on his side is enough to stay grounded, so he leans on him, nuzzling dark hair that smells like Satoru’s shampoo and close his eyes, feeling Megumi’s shadows curling around them. He closes his eyes and all he feels is Megumi.

—

Tsumiki got cursed at her first year in high school and it is a reminder that life is not fair. It is a cruel place, especially for children and it doesn’t matter how good you are because Tsumiki is so good, and Amanai and Haibara were good. Suguru — all soft smiles and narrowed eyes, warm and so, so dear — was good, too. Life was never fair to them. Megumi is silent near her bad. He doesn’t touch her, doesn’t hold her hand or even look at her. He just sits there, his head down and he looks like the world just collapsed. And it probably did, because if there is one thing about Megumi it’s that his sister is his entire world. Satoru can’t bring himself to look at her as well. He hates these moments when he feels the most human. Vulnerable. When emotions are too much for him, washing over him and blocking his thoughts. It is always slipping through his fingers, what he is trying to protect. What use of him being the strongest if he can protect the world of humans, kill thousands of curses but can’t protect a little girl? His heart hurts when Megumi refuses to eat. His face is pale, it is almost white and there are dark circles under his eyes. He has always been restless sleeper and it worried Tsumiki a lot, but Satoru gets it because he himself has a hard time to sleep, too overwhelmed from his own cursed energy. It’s not uncommon thing. But Megumi is responsible kid and he always make sure to get at least few hours of sleep. He looks so, so tired and he barely speaks and it’s not like he is talkative in general but this feels different, the air around him is different. Megumi says I’m not hungry, he says I didn’t sleep well and I can’t sleep, he says I’m not in a mood to train and I’m not going to school, and Satoru sees what he missed with Suguru and– He is terrified. He doesn’t know what to do, how to help his kid. So he does the only thing he thinks Suguru needed him to do. He asks. “I want you to move into the dorms,” Megumi’s gaze is heavy on him, heavy and so, so tired. He puts his own hand on his neck, bringing him closer, their foreheads touching, so he will feel Satoru and Satoru will feel him, and it will be reminder to both of them that it is not over, they are still there, together. “You won’t be alone when I’m not around. Shoko will be there, and Maki, too. You get along with second years pretty well,” Megumi’s skin is cold under his palm. He looks so cold right now, Satoru presses his hand to his neck stronger, palm warm on it. “Please, Megumi.” For a moment he thinks Megumi will cry. He does not. Megumi doesn’t cry. “Okay,” he says instead, forehead still leaning over Satoru’s, and looks down where their hands are touching, skin to skin, and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

—

Life does not stop after that, just like it didn’t stop after Amanai died and when Suguru left. Megumi is getting better though. He moved into the dorms of Jujutsu Tech and now he spends most of his time with second years. Maki makes sure that he eats and drags him to training yard, and Inumaki and Panda watch that he gets enough sleep. Shoko keeps him in her office when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Megumi looks livelier than he was before and that’s everything he can ask for. Satoru tries to spend as much time with him as he can, and Megumi knows it. He rolls his eyes on him and tells him go, idiot, I’m fine, and he does sound fine, so Satoru lets himself to feel relieved. A little. Megumi gets closer with the second years very fast, especially Yuta. Satoru likes to tease them about that because Yuta clearly has a favorite. Said boy blushes and mumbles something under his nose, clearly embarrest. Megumi just looks at him as if Satoru’s entire existence is painful for him. Then come Yuuji and Nobara, and Megumi is not lonely anymore. “Are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest?” He thinks and thinks and thinks. He is both. He is Gojo Satoru and he is the strongest.

—

Megumi is light in his arms. His cheek is comfortably lying on his shoulder, tiny hand curled over another one. Satoru’s own hand is steady on his back; he can feel Megumi’s chest rising slowly. He is so little but so warm, Satoru can feel it with his own body. Being all touchy with each other is something they are not used to, not yet, but they are slowly learning, and Satoru didn’t really realize how much he craves it. It is sowing. Megumi will turn seven soon. He watches snow playfully dancing in the air, before it covers the ground. Clouds are hanging heavily above them, making it looks like the sky is frowning. The park is all blinding white. He can’t help but go back to Gojo estate when he was Megumi’s age, lying in his room during his free hours and looking outside the window. He rests his cheek on the back of Megumi’s head, nudging him a little. “Wake up, Megumi.” The boy grunts unpleasantly, and Satoru feels small hand slides from his shoulder to elbow, stopping there. He pulls away from Satoru and he immediately misses the contact and the warmth; his body cold and his heart cold, but then Megumi blinks sleepily and presses his forehead to Satoru’s chest. He feels something painfully tugging under his ribs, but it feels so, so, so good. Little fingers curl on his shoulder and then Megumi looks up, his cheek still resting on Satoru’s chest, warming his heart and keeping it safe, without letting it to freeze. Green eyes meet his own, still sleepy but soft, and Satoru smiles. He thinks about forcing Megumi to play with him later and can imagine him scowling, but still agreeing because that’s how he is. He never really says no to Satoru, like a good kid that he is. For now, Satoru just looks at Megumi who watches the snow fall, his nose red from the cold and eyes shining. He keeps him close, smiling when the hold on his shoulder tighten and nuzzles his temple, feeling Megumi’s heart beating steady in his chest. (his heart was cold once and then it wasn’t and then it was again, and now it is not really cold, but this time it is different because–) Satoru tightens his grip on the boy, because one should keep his heart safe, especially one like Gojo Satoru.

—

“You did well, Gojo Satoru. I won’t ever forget you.”

—

Satoru breathes. The world does not wait for him anymore.