...

Even more so now that you’d left the crowded bar, where some amount of uncomfortable proximity and dazed staring was unavoidable. Now, standing on the deserted sidewalk just outside, lit only by one flickering streetlamp and a few neon signs, the unwanted attention seemed like less of an occupational hazard and more of an active threat. His sharp, cold eyes were focused on you unblinkingly from behind his sunglasses, and with the sleeves of his button-up rolled to his elbows, you could make out the muscle along his arms, layered over his chest. There was more of it than you would’ve expected from someone so lanky. More of it than you had, certainly.

You still had your back to him, something you were infinitely grateful for. Watching him in your peripheral, you took a measured step forward, then stopped. He did the same. Another step, and another from him, too. You glanced over your shoulder, and he cocked his head to the side, his lips parting as he met your stare.

Like you’d said, fucking creepy.

You turned to face him. He didn’t move. Cautiously, you approached, keeping your hands in your pockets and a placid smile plastered across your lips. “Hi there.”

His mouth opened, but closed again just as quickly. You caught a dash of color rise to his cheeks, but that was all.

“It’s Suguru, right?” you tried again. “Shoko’s still inside, if you’re looking for her.”

He grimaced. “Satoru. And I—I’m not—” His speech was slurred and uncoordinated. It took him long, awkward seconds of trying before he was able to spit out something intelligible. “I don’t want Shoko.”

“And why’s that, big guy?”

“She’s—” Another stumble, another desperate pitch for the right word. “She’s mean.”

Immediately, you understood two very exciting, very important things.

The first was that Satoru was drunk. Very drunk. Not black-out, not quite, but not coherent, either. You probably didn’t have a lot to fear from a man who’d be knocked on his ass by another shot.

The second was that Satoru, in his drunken stupor, had sought you out. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought that he had a bit of a crush.

You edged that much closer. “You really should head back inside, buddy. I’m on my way home.” A pause, a smile. “Unless you’d rather come with me?”

He nodded, clumsily and hastily. Perfect.

“I don’t know. I can be pretty mean, too.”

“Let me co—”

“That’s not how we ask for what we want,” you cut in. “Try again.”

He glared, but did as he was told. A spoiled brat, but not one with much of a backbone. “I wanna— I want to go home with you. Please.”

You hummed, feigning uncertainty, but Satoru pouted and you cracked in an instant.

Let it never be said that you didn’t have a soft spot in your cold, cold heart for pitiful things.

~

The short walk to your building was slow and stumbling. Satoru ended up on the ground more than once. By the time you herded him into your elevator, he was all-but draped over you, those too-strong arms wrapped around your midriff and his face buried in your hair. It couldn’t have been much more than pure force of will keeping him upright. You’d have to take advantage of that while it lasted.

He drifted to your apartment’s door as you trailed behind him, then drooled on your neck while you fiddled with the deadbolt. He made it all of two steps past the threshold before tripping over his own feet and collapsing onto your living room couch – his long body spilling over either armrest as he struggled to get up again. A hand on his chest was enough to stop him, another on his cheek to smother his constant squirming into a few drunken, reflexive twitches. Once he was still, you let your fingertips skirt up his temple and hook underneath his sunglasses, flicking them to the carpeted floor.

He shut his eyes on instinct. You were quick to correct that. “You have to look at me, Satoru.”

His response came on a delay, meek and slurred. “…I don’t wanna—”

“Did I ask what you wanted?” You grabbed a handful of his unruly hair and tugged. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to prove it could hurt, if you wanted it to. “You’re in my home, ‘toru. My home. It’d be rude not to listen to your host.”

There was a second of hesitation, but eventually, the creases around the corners of his eyes relaxed, his lids flickering open. Bright, toxic blue burnt into you – hot and technicolor and hideous.

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I can see why you wear the glasses. Those things aren’t exactly doing you any favors.” He scowled, but any offense he might’ve felt was quickly forgotten as you threw a leg over his thighs and straddled him, shrugging off your jacket in the same motion. Immediately, the faint pink that’d been painted across his cheeks all night sparked into a violent, all-encompassing red. He started to stammer, but you put him out of his misery quickly. “You’re okay with this, right?”

“I—”

“You don’t have to answer.” You dropped your hands to the fly of his dress pants. “I think I already know.”

You could already see it – the tent in his pants, already painfully stiff at the slightest hint of stimulation. You undid the button, first, taking your time and letting his breathing go ragged, then the zipper, revealing—

Oh.

Oh.

Revealing a pair of your panties. The ones you’d lost two weeks ago. Thin and lacy and red with little pink hearts dotted across the front, identifiable by the tiny tear near the waistband that’d always driven you crazy. His cock strained against the material, arousal darkening the fabric.

You clicked your tongue. Come to think of it, you hadn’t needed to tell him which apartment was yours, either. You couldn’t be surprised, though. You’d always known there had to be something wrong with him.

No wonder Shoko liked you. You were probably the only normal person she knew.

You pulled the ruined panties to the side, freeing his cock. Or, trying to, at least. For some reason, you just couldn’t seem to make contact – your fingertips always falling half an inch short. Your gaze flickered back to his face, his cloudy eyes, his parted lips. His eyebrows were furrowed, like he was concentrating. You half-remembered a conversation you had with Shoko an eternity ago about strange, reality-bending powers, or martial arts, or a mix of the two. At the time, you’d assumed it was just another grad school mental breakdown, but her friends were pretty weird. There might’ve been a reason why.

“Satoru,” you started, as sweet and as tender as a lover could be. “Is there a reason I can’t touch you?”

A beat lapsed. Eventually, he nodded.

“But, you want me to touch you, right?”

Another nod, this one shakier than the first.

“Can you ease up on the force-field, then?” You rocked your palm over his cock. “If you don’t, I can’t help you with this. And you do want my help, don’t you?”

There was a low, fractured whimper, but the inexplicable force pushing you away disappeared. You laughed, finally taking his cock in your hand. It was big. Bigger than you’d expected from someone so desperate, at least. Pale as fresh snow with a pale pink tip, already leaking thick beads of iridescent pre-cum. “You’ve gotta be a virgin,” you muttered, lining it up with your lower stomach. A cock like that could puncture your lungs, if you weren’t careful. “Nobody’s letting you put this monster inside of them.”

“’m not,” he protested. “Back in high school, me n’ my best friend—”

“He let you fuck him? Or did you just lie there and take it while he fucked you?”

Satoru pursed his lips, refusing to answer. You all-but purred with satisfaction.

“That’s what I thought.”

 You wrapped your fist around the base, pumping gently. Satoru moaned shamelessly, every noise pained and breathy, as if he’d simply forgotten how to close his mouth.

“So,” you started, tracing your thumb over his slit. “How long have you been stalking me?”

Denial came immediately, as natural as breathing. “I didn’t—”

You slapped him across the face. Open palm, but with enough force for the crack of skin against skin to echo through your living room. He didn’t flinch, but he blinked up at you – tears forming in the corners of his eyes. You felt his cock pulse against your palm.

“Don’t lie to me, ‘toru.” This wasn’t going to be fun unless he played along. “You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings, right?”

It took a little more convincing, a few more seconds of grinding the heel of your palm into his shaft, but eventually, Satoru relented, his voice little more than a pitchy, prolonged babble. “Fo—Four months.”

You let out a low whistle. “That’s a long time. Even for a pervert.”

“’m not a—”

Your hand slid under his shirt, finding a nipple and pinching hard. His entire body arched underneath you, his hips bucking into yours.

“What’d I say about lying, honey?”

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” And then, hands scrambling to find purchase on the cushion beneath him, “I—I love you, ‘n I can’t stop, and I’m gonna— I’m gonna—”

Anything he might’ve said was swallowed by a hitched groan. His eyes rolled back in his head, and you felt something warm wash over the back of your hand – too clear to be cum and too thin to be premature ejaculate. Abruptly, your living room seemed to reek of ammonia and musk. Worst of all, his cock was still humiliatingly hard.

He’d pissed on you.

Your smile widened.

You spread your free hand over his lower stomach, leaning your weight onto his bladder. Your formerly languid pace was adjusted to suit your new goal – milking him dry, making sure you wrung out every last thing he might’ve been keeping from you. Satoru sobbed openly, now, tears running down his cheeks as he chanted a pitiful mantra of ‘please don’t, please don’t, please don’t’s. He’d never look better.

You pressed down that much harder on his stomach. A thick stream of piss and watery cum flowed down your wrist, dripping onto his legs, his pants. You could see a puddle of it forming underneath him, but his dignity and the state of your couch were abruptly secondary. It was all you could do to look away long enough to lower yourself down to his level, brushing your lips against his cheek and kissing away his tears before drifting south, slotting your mouth against his. Of course, Satoru pushed back against you, forcing his tongue past your teeth and lapping against yours. It was sloppy, messy, dirty. Very suddenly, you were very sure that you were the first person he’d ever kissed.

For the first time that night, something cruel and hungry came into being inside of you. To show him your appreciation, you took his lower lip between your teeth and bit down until your canines met. Blood washed into your mouth, dripping down your chin. Something thick and searing splashed against your midriff. A glance down confirmed what you already knew.

He’d cum already.

How boring.

You could feel him going soft in your hand. You let him go, rolling to the side and off of the couch entirely. You started for your bathroom, intending to take a hot shower and head to bed early, only to be stopped by a shaking hand latching onto your wrist. Satoru’s, of course, barely strong enough to keep you where you were.

His eyes were huge and glossy. Somehow, that was even more pathetic than the piss and cum that stained his lower half. “I thought we were gonna…?”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “You want it that bad, huh?”

There was no pause, this time. A slight distortion due to his punctured bottom lip, but no hesitation at all. “I love you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Give me a minute.”

You took a rushed shower, washing away the stench of urine and liquor. By the time you returned to Satoru, he was barely conscious, his eyes half-lidded and the blood smeared across his face just beginning to dry. With some effort, you clambered onto the armrest, placing a knee on either side of his head and settling on his face. His tongue lapped, warm and senseless, over your cunt. It was almost endearing – just how desperate he was.

Almost.

You fished your phone out of your discarded jacket and pulled up Shoko’s contact.

you: come get your friend

you: he peed on my couch :\

ieiri: lmaooooooo

ieiri: nanami should be there in ten

Nanami. The blonde one with the bad fashion sense. He was pretty, if you were into the depressed accountant type.

“Maybe I will. But you’re ruining the atmosphere. You know, I just got back from a mission.”

“A mission?”

He crouched lazily beside the bench. “I exorcise... unexplainable things”

“…What’s exorcise?”

“Make bad stuff vanish.”

You stared at him. “Can you make people disappear?”

He looked at you, grinned slowly. “If that’s your wish, sure.”

You’d stopped crying after that. Something about the way he said it had pulled the tears right back into your chest. You didn’t ask for his name. And you never saw him again. And that strange aura around him.

Years later, you stood in the courtyard of Jujutsu High, watching the new teacher arrive in a blur of chatter.

Tall, white hair, blindfold, such weird taste.

He strolled in, one hand in his pocket and the other waving lazily. “Yo~ Your new teacher is here! Try not to fall in love, alright?”

The other students laughed nervously.

You just stared.

And then he looked at you.

“…Oh,” he said. “You.”

“Have we… met?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just smiled a little, lopsided.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You frowned, puzzled.

If Gojo Satoru was supposed to be a teacher, no one told him that.

He never explained anything properly. He’d show up late, yawn through explanations, wave his hand and say, “You’ll get it when it’s real.” Then disappear with the wind before you could ask any questions.

And then, during your first few missions, real nearly meant dead.

You remembered shaking so hard in a cold alleyway, breathing through panic as a curse lunged at your face.

Maybe I’m not strong enough for this. Maybe I don’t belong here.

But somehow, you always made it through.

You started paying attention to how the older students fought, how they worked together. You learned to listen, to rely on others instead of pushing them away.

Not like Gojo, not like the others, all fire and confidence. But little by little, you stopped comparing.

Your technique wasn’t showy. You could “mark” a space with your cursed energy. Once marked, you could return to it instantly. One at a time. Five-meter limit. But in tricky situations? It saved your life.

You'd work on your technique more later.

And after all the exhausting teamwork, the debriefs, the training, your favorite part of the day was when it was all over. You loved the quiet space after school. Browsing little shops, running your fingers over trinkets you didn’t plan to buy. It helped you breathe again. After spending so much time around people, it felt like reclaiming part of yourself.

That evening, you were walking out of a bookstore, bag of snacks in hand, when you caught sight of someone across the street.

At first, you thought it was just another tall guy with messy white hair.

But then he shifted, tilted his head up slightly, adjusting the blindfold.

What was he doing?

He was crouched low in an alleyway, facing a brick wall. One hand rested on the ground, the other raised in a position you couldn’t read from this distance. You thought you saw him whisper something.

Then the air around him distorted for a second, like heat waves off concrete. And just like that, he stood up casually and walked away like nothing had happened.

You ducked into the corner of the building. He hadn’t seen you.

You clutched your snack bag tighter, unsure what you’d just witnessed.

-----

The mission had been brutal. Three curses, a caved-in tunnel, and a close call where rusted metal nearly took your arm off. Afterward, Gojo declared that you’d all earned a reward.

"Buffet time!" he announced, grinning like he'd invented the concept of free food. "My treat. Don’t hold back!"

Some students held back on food during group outings, nervous about appearances. But not you. After near-death experiences, you'd learned to savor meals without apology. Food was a victory. A thank you to your body for not giving up.

You were stacking your second helping of fried chicken and curry buns when another plate nudged into view.

"Need a hand?" Gojo asked, suddenly beside you, "What kind of teacher would I be if I let you miss the dessert table?"

"You never help unless you want something."

"Or maybe I'm maturing. Becoming wise."

"Unlikely."

But you let him trail you as you scouted the dessert table.

"You ever think about the kids who used to push you around?"

"...What?"

"Back when you were small." 

"Yeah, I remember. It just... stopped one day."

"Just like that?"

"I figured they got bored. Or maybe—" You hesitated. "Maybe someone warned them off."

"I guess that’s when things started to change." you continued quietly. "My mom still didn’t come back, but… I made it work. That’s when I started noticing stuff other people didn’t." You gave a soft, ironic smile. "Turns out, I could see curses. Guess that was the trade-off."

For a beat, he just stood there, plates in hand.

"You seriously don't recognize me?"

"Should I?"

"Nah," he said, "Just saying."

Before you could press, he balanced his stack of dishes and turned back toward the table. "Keep up. If you wanna survive this life, you'll need more calories than that."

----

Gojo was gone again.

Of course he was.

The four of you were sent to handle what should've been an easy job—a village tucked in the mountains where people complained of bad dreams and creeping dread. Your orders were clear: get everyone out, then wait for backup.

At first, it was almost boring. Then the mountain came apart.

One moment, the earth was steady beneath your boots. The next, a deafening crack, the world tilting violently as trees snapped like twigs and a tide of mud and rock swallowed half the town. It didn't feel like an accident. It felt like something had wrenched the ground open.

You were herding the last stragglers to safety when the scream tore through the fog.

You and Sachi met eyes and ran uphill.

And then you saw it.

A curse so massive and malformed it didn’t seem real. Its body was twisted like it was made of teeth and wet soil. The last evacuees were already gone, slashed apart like paper dolls. Sachi gasped beside you, horrified.

This thing would erase you both in seconds.

You dropped your mark behind a thick cluster of trees and lured it away. Sachi mirrored you on the opposite side. It was all you could do. You couldn’t exorcise it. Not even touch it without dying.

But even curses get irritated when their prey won’t die fast enough.

You miscalculated. One second too slow. The thing's arm lashed out and hit you square across the back. You were flung through the underbrush like a ragdoll, gasping at the burning in your chest.

You couldn’t move.

Sachi called out to you, but you’d already pushed your mark onto her jacket earlier. With the last strength in your arm, you forced the cursed technique active.

She vanished from sight, thrown safely back to the base of the hill.

"Run" you coughed.

The curse turned toward you now.

Well… maybe this is a good place to stop.

The air itself seemed to fracture as reality twisted, like the sky itself had split open. In that suspended moment, everything froze, even the monstrous curse looming over you. Then a streak of white flashed across your vision, and suddenly the creature was simply gone.

"Seriously? I leave for one mission and you try to die already?"

You coughed, half-laughing and half-choking. "You were late."

"Got held up" He crouched beside you.

"Sachi’s safe."

Gojo was quiet for a second. Then gave a small, proud-sounding huff.

"You really love being the self-sacrificing type, huh?"

"Only on weekdays."

He laughed once. You felt him lift you off the ground with a ridiculous amount of ease, like you weighed nothing.

"Come on," he said, "buffet’s on me again. After you stop bleeding."

Your vision swam, but you smiled faintly, eyes fluttering.

You woke up to someone yelling your name.

“You’re awake—!” Sachi sobbed, immediately clinging to your arm like a lifeline. “You idiot!”

“...It wasn’t that bad.” you croaked “I’ve had worse papercuts.”

“She said you’d be fine,” Sachi sniffled, pointing at Shoko, who stood at the end of the bed looking mildly amused. “But what if... what if she was wrong?”

“I wasn’t.” Shoko said. “Your cursed energy just hit empty.”

“Still—!” Sachi huffed, but softened, already relieved enough to sulk instead.

You leaned back against the pillow and let the white ceiling blur out your thoughts.

They went to the buffet that evening—Gojo, Sachi, and the other two. Gojo invited you. But you’d quietly declined.

Your body felt better now. Your head, though, still buzzed. Like your nerves hadn’t caught up to your survival yet.

So you stayed in your room, wrapped in your hoodie, a book in your lap and music in your ears. You let yourself disappear between the lines of a novel, chewing slowly through some plain convenience store bread.

You were about to turn the page when you felt it.

That uneasy silence.

Your music was still playing. Your lights still on. But the air shifted in that weird, unnatural way, like a pressure drop before a storm.

Then came the footsteps. Coming down the hallway, stopping just outside your door.

You paused, sitting up.

The shadow cast beneath the door was tall, unmoving.

You weren’t one to scare easily, but something about it sent a chill along your spine. You picked up the desk lamp with a firm grip.

Tiptoed to the door. And opened it.

“…Seriously?” Gojo blinked down at you, looking more amused than surprised.

You stared at him, lamp still raised slightly.

He reeked faintly of alcohol. Not enough to suggest he was drunk. A scent of sweet liquor mixed with citrus, like he didn’t plan to come back smelling like this, but here he was anyway.

“Put the lamp down” he said.

“You scared me.” you muttered, lowering it slowly.

“I knocked” he lied.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I meant to.”

You stood in the doorway, the two of you bathed in the warm hallway light. His hands were in his pockets, and his shoulders were relaxed in that particular way people get only when they’re tired but pretending not to be.

“Everyone passed out after dessert.” he said casually. “Didn’t feel like going back yet.”

“So you decided to haunt my hallway like a ghost.”

“Well, you do have the best snacks,” he said, leaning slightly to peek over your shoulder at your untouched bag of senbei on the desk. “Figured I’d steal some.”

You stepped aside.

He didn’t move.

Instead, he looked at you a second longer and asked, “You good?”

“I will be.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He gave a small nod back.

“Alright,” he said. “Just wanted to… check.”

“Why?”

He smiled a little, but there was something tired in his eyes.

“…Guess you remind me of someone.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already turning.

“Get some sleep,” he said over his shoulder, footsteps already retreating down the hallway. “Tomorrow’s boring again.”

You stood still for barely a second before snapping into motion.

You turned back to your desk, yanked open the top drawer, and pulled out the little bag of lollipops you always kept tucked inside. You dug around for a second, ignoring the melon flavor, skipping grape until you found the classic strawberry one.

Slipping out into the hallway, you jogged after him barefoot, lamp-light behind you flickering as you moved. You caught up just as he reached the far end, about to turn the corner.

“Gojo-sensei!”

He stopped, half-turned.

You held out the lollipop.

“…Here.”

He stared down at your hand for a beat. Then blinked, as if it took him a second to process the gesture. Like he’d been miles away in his head.

“That’s…?”

“Payment.” you said.

He huffed out a laugh through his nose, smiling as he took the candy from your palm. His fingers brushed yours just briefly. “Strawberry, huh. You’ve got good taste.”

“And maybe don’t haunt people’s doors smelling like alcohol next time.”

He chuckled again, unwrapping the candy slowly.

“Oh, and take a bath. You smell like a bar. Then go to sleep.”

Gojo stared at the lollipop for a second more, then, suddenly, his expression shifted.

His smile faded, just a little. His shoulders drew in.

And without warning, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you.

He was tall, broad, towering enough that you fit beneath his chin, and the warmth of him felt overwhelming all at once. You could feel the faint tremble in his chest.

“…Uh,” you muttered. “Okay?”

You gave a few awkward pats to his back, unsure what to say.

“You did this to me once, you know” he murmured.

You frowned up at him. “I hugged you?”

He shook his head, still not letting go. “No. You gave me candy and told me to stop smelling bad.”

You squinted, confused. “...Okay?”

But before you could ask what he meant, you gently pushed at his chest.

“Alright, sentimental ghost,” you said. “Back to your room.”

He let go slowly.

As you turned back toward your room, he lingered behind you just long enough to say:

“Thanks.”

You didn’t respond—just gave a half-hearted wave, closed your door, and leaned your back against it.

What was that all about…?

---

You were asleep when the footsteps woke you.

You threw on a jacket and opened your door. The hallway was dim, moonlight pooling through the high windows. You moved quietly.

You followed them. Down the hallway, down the outer stairs. Then across the courtyard, where the air hung strangely still. And then beyond, through the forested back path.

White hair that is visible in the dark. You saw him, Gojo. He was barefoot, wearing only a thin T-shirt and dark pants. His gait was off. Like he was… gliding.

“Is he… sleepwalking?” you whispered to yourself.

He walked through the trees. Down an overgrown slope and into the edges of town. You weren’t even sure why you kept going, maybe instinct, maybe that gnawing curiosity you never grew out of.

And then he turned into a narrow alley.

And vanished.

You ran forward, breath catching in your throat.

He was gone. No trace.

That same blurry ripple you’d seen before. A warping, like something wasn’t lining up with reality. Like you were remembering a dream before it dissolved.

You stared at the shadows for too long.

Then turned around and started back.

Halfway through the forest path, a voice stopped you.

“Why are you here?”

You spun around.

He stood there.

Gojo, now fully present. Dressed differently. Like he’d just woken up himself.

“That’s what I should ask you.”

He stared at you.

“I’m gonna start sleepwalking with barriers if you keep tailing me.”

You didn’t find it funny.

You both walked back in silence.

Nothing happened the next few days. Everything returned to normal.

Until that night.

You woke up to the sound of banging.

Like someone slamming their fist against a wall, over and over.

You sat up in bed.

No one else heard it?

You crept to the door.

Opened it slowly.

A shadow was there. Right in front of you.

You exhaled sharply. “Gojo—?”

But something was off.

And then, his hand lashed forward—unnaturally fast. Fingers wrapped around your throat. You couldn’t breathe.

You hit the floor hard, knees skidding against the wood, vision going dark at the edges. His face was blank. Not like Gojo’s usual blank. But… uncanny.

You kicked, clawed, tried to teleport, but your cursed energy wouldn’t respond.

You were going to die.

“OVER HERE!”

It was Sachi.

She rushed in, curse tool drawn. She saw what you saw. That thing that looked like him. She struck without hesitation.

The impact made the shadow-Gojo reel back, but only for a second.

Then it grabbed her by the arm. And twisted.

The crack was sickening.

The thing slammed her against the floor hard enough to break it. Then dragged her up by the throat.

You watched, helpless, as it drove its hand through her chest.

Blood splattered across the wall.

You couldn’t even scream.

And then the thing turned back to you.

You stared up, shaking, as it tilted its head.

Just as it stepped forward again—

The door shattered inward in a burst of light and force.

And the real Gojo stood there.

The room exploded in pressure and blue light.

You woke up in the infirmary again.

The ceiling looked the same as it did last time. But this time, the ache behind your ribs wasn’t from injury. It was emptier than that.

Shoko sat nearby, arms crossed loosely over her chest. When she noticed your eyes fluttering open, she stood and approached.

“Sachi.. Where is she?”

She didn’t answer. Just gave a quiet shake of her head.

That was all it took.

You turned away and curled in on yourself, letting the weight settle in your chest like wet cloth.

Gone.

You didn’t go to class that day.

The school was silent in its own way about these things. Everyone knew. Your two remaining teammates mourned at her grave that afternoon. You joined them later.

Riku, the boy in your group, calm and thoughtful, stood in silence for a long time with his hands tucked in his jacket sleeves. He barely looked at you, but when your legs finally gave out in front of the gravestone and the tears hit full force, he moved beside you and lent his shoulder without saying a word.

And Aoi, the girl with sun in her voice even when skies turned black, looked close to breaking too. But she held herself together, crouching beside you with a soft nudge “Sachi would beat us up if we cried this long.”

You choked a laugh through the sob.

“This is how Jujutsu life works, huh…” you muttered, wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeve. “You make friends, lose them, and have to keep going.”

Riku didn’t speak. Just rested a hand on your back.

Aoi nodded slowly, then wiped her own eyes. “So let’s keep going. Together.”

A week passed.

Gojo didn’t return.

You asked Shoko. She didn’t know where he was either.

You wanted answers.

How did that thing get in? Why did it look like him? What was it?

When you finally heard Gojo was back, you didn’t wait.

You just walked straight to the building where he usually hung out, some old classroom in a mostly-unused wing.

You opened the sliding door.

There he was.

Standing near the window. His back to you.

And across from him, other people.

They were tall too.

You didn’t recognize them at first glance, but something about the air shifted the second your foot hit the threshold.

Gojo turned around.

So did the strangers.

Their face looked exactly like his. Off by a fraction.

And Gojo didn’t look surprised to see you.

He looked tired.

Like he knew you’d come.

You didn’t see it coming.

One moment, Gojo and the stranger were staring at you, the next, something cracked against the back of your head.

You woke up slowly, like crawling through mud.

Your hands were tied.

Gojo sat across from you in a chair, arms resting lazily on his knees, blindfold gone.

“Hey.”

You didn’t reply.

“Still hurts? Sorry. I didn’t want it to be rough. But I couldn’t let you leave.”

“…What did you do?”

He leaned back in his chair, let out a sigh. “The thing you saw, that was… let’s call it an experiment.”

He continued. “I didn’t think it would become that aggressive, honestly. I just wanted to see if it could function on its own. Didn’t expect it to kill one of my students.”

“Sachi..” you whispered. “She’s dead because of you.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said, “But I’ll take responsibility. That’s why I’m telling you the truth.”

“Why me?”

Gojo looked at you. His eyes were painfully blue. And hollow.

"Back when I was losing myself," he said, "you reached out without even realizing it. I never forgot that."

“That doesn’t give you the right—”

“Maybe not.” He stood, walked toward you. “But I’ve already made up my mind.”

You flinched when he reached down.

His lips barely grazed yours, a whisper of contact.

You sank your teeth into his bottom lip.

Blood bloomed metallic across your tongue.

He didn’t even react. Just pulled away with the faintest smirk, licking the blood from his lip.

“Don’t worry. I’m not mad. You’ll see,” he said gently. “I only did this for you. I’ll eliminate everything that hurts you. Everything that stands between us.”

You stared at him, horrified. “You’re insane.”

He smiled again.

You were reported missing by the school two days later.

----EPILOGUES----

(1) ♡

The silence was broken by a faint sizzling sound.

You sat stiffly in the chair, half-watching as Gojo moved around the kitchen.

He wore a pale-blue apron over a simple black shirt, sleeves rolled up. He cracked an egg into a pan and turned over his shoulder.

“Any cravings? I’m open to requests.” he said casually. “Even those ridiculous sour noodles you like.”

You didn’t answer.

He only smiled.

"You're still giving me that look." he noted, stirring sugar into your abandoned coffee with infuriating calm. "I'm playing house with you. Voluntarily. You should feel special."

“I want to eat outside.”

“Pick something I can cook.”

“I want you to burn the kitchen down.”

He turned off the stove. Walked over. Leaned down and brushed your cheek with a thumb.

“I like it when you fight.” he said. “But don’t starve yourself over pride. You won’t win.”

You didn’t move. But your jaw tightened.

He walked back, still humming softly.

----

2) ♡♡

The mark was set.

You waited for him to fall asleep, or at least to leave. The moment the air quieted and his cursed presence faded to a whisper, you activated your technique.

Thud.

You hit something hard.

Your curse bounced back and dropped you right into the floor of the hall.

You coughed, groaned, and looked up.

Only to see him leaning casually in the doorway.

“Well,” Gojo said, “ten out of ten for creativity.”

“You were watching?”

“Oh, the whole time,” he said, walking over. “Let you think you had a chance. Kinda cute, honestly.”

You scrambled up, backing away.

He moved faster than you could blink, pressing you gently against the wall, one hand flat beside your face, lips hovering near your ear.

“I’m not mad,” he whispered. “But if you ever actually get out, I’ll erase the whole damn city looking for you.”

His tone dropped lower.

“Don’t make me prove that.”

---

3) ♡♡♡

He left.

Didn’t say when he’d return.

Just gave some vague line—“I’ll be back soon”—and left you with two unfamiliar attendants and a sealed house.

Days passed.

The servants didn’t answer much. They gave you food, books, whatever you asked for within limits. But it was like living in a gilded cage.

And when he finally returned, you didn’t even look at him.

You heard the front door open. His shoes. The pause when he noticed the untouched food.

He found you by the window, curled up with your back to the door.

“You didn’t eat?”

Silence.

“Did they treat you okay?”

Still nothing.

And then he walked over, knelt beside you.

“I’m sorry.”

You turned your face away.

"I shouldn’t have left that long."

You didn’t expect the blanket he draped around your shoulders.

Or the way he touched your hair.

Gojo! Who is 17, halfway into his first year at jujutsu high and enjoying his life. He likes his school, his friends and heck, even his teacher. Sure, Shoko's smoking habits are going to give him lung cancer from all the second hand smoking he's doing and sure Yaga now takes blood pressure pills because of him, but Satoru is sure that his life has never been better. Of course, the elders in his clan have a knack for sniffing out whenever Gojo is feeling too happy and were particularly skilled in finding ways that would effectively rain, thunder and trample all over that happiness. Surely, it was a curse technique. Weak, but effective as fuck.

Gojo! Who usually resists going back to visit his clans estate, who just about has to be dragged out of jujutsu high, kicking and screaming by Suguru and thrown into a car to visit. He's ignored the past three official summons, and is already on thin ice. It's stupid, he thinks. He's going to be the clan head in a year or so, so why should he be answerable to an old man? Gojo swears he'll replace all the sugar cubes with salt so none of the elders can ever enjoy a cup of tea again. He's done it before, not that Yaga had appreciated being his test subject.

Gojo! Who arrives at the clan house, annoyed and uncaring of formality. People bow left and right, they greet him warmly, but all he does is tuck one hand into his pocket and scoff. He finds himself seated in front of not just the clan head-but every elder there is in the clan. Any other person would be honoured. Gojo is annoyed. He petulantly asks them what the hell they want as he bites into a cookie.

Gojo! Who chokes on his cookie when they bring up an agreement drawn up with another clan- and agreement that binds him to their clan heads daughter. It's iron clad, apparently. Signed off by not just the clan head at the time, but even his parents, who Gojo has never even met. It's the worst news he's received in his life and that's coming from the man who just watched Piccolo sacrifice himself for Gohan last week and cried into Suguru's shoulder about it.

Gojo! Who spends the next three hours, for once in his life, willingly in the presence of these senile old men. He argues, angrily paces around the room, downs about five cups of tea, threatens to ditch the clan entirely, heck, he stress eats all the cookies and forces himself to ask them nicely to not do this. It's when he unleashes blue and the entire roof goes flying- yet the elders and the clan head remain unfazed- Gojo realizes that he truly has no way out of this.

Gojo! Who huffs and leaves, using blue to blow the door out of his way. His anger is visible to everyone, veins almost popping along his neck, eyes murderous. No one dares to approach as he leaves the estate. He goes back to jujutsu high and angrily spars with Suguru. Later, he tells Suguru everything. For once, not even Suguru knows what to say. He would have never agreed to Yaga's request to make Gojo go visit his clan had he known the outcome.

Gojo! Who is told that he has to meet you next week. His schedule is usually filled to the brim, but of fucking course, it's all clear now. It's disturbing really, wanting to attend the premiere of the new dragon Ball z movie didn't classify as a valid reason to skip out on a mission, but meeting a girl for a marriage he doesn't want suddenly gets him an entire day off. He should make those elders suffer and blue all their houses away as payback. Muttering, vengeful and just about ready to through with the pranks he has held back on pulling, Gojo goes to Kyoto. Suguru, despite his earlier sympathy, smiles at him as he sends him off. Gojo can almost hear the teasing that awaits him when he comes back.

Gojo! Who meets your parents first. They bow, greet him kindly. He mutters a hello- and purposefully raises his head a little higher. Like fuck is he bowing his head to them, the only person who got that kind of respect in his life was Yaga. And that man had fucking earned it for putting up with Gojo's nonsense, including the one time he and Suguru had gotten arrested. Ah, good times.

Gojo! Who ignores the offended look that crosses your father's face. He sits down casually, not one ounce of formality found in his demeanour. Still, his soon to be in laws offer him tea and biscuits. He accepts and makes sure to be as impolite as possible. Chewing loudly, setting down the tea cup roughly so that it spills everywhere. Maybe he could get himself rejected and not even have to meet you. Alas, your parents pay no mind to his lack of manners. It's his good looks, Gojo whines to himself. Maybe if he had been born just a little less attractive, he wouldn't be in this position. He wonders if it's too late to give himself a nasty scar. Ah no, he'd look even more attractive.

Gojo! Who purposefully looks at the window on his right as you're brought in. He senses your cursed energy head in his way, hears your clothes rustle as you take a seat in front of him, but doesn't turn towards you just yet. Your father introduces you proudly, so proudly he wonders how a man who is selling his daughter like a cattle can be so shameless. At least Gojo's own parents had the decency to keep at not showing their faces to him after having the nerve to trap him. Sucky parents? Sure. Consistent? Yes.

Gojo! Who orders everyone to leave him and his wife to be alone. It's an absurd request, not to mention inappropriate, but his cursed energy spikes. The elders realize that while they could deal with Gojo using blue while throwing a tantrum- they would not be able to live down the humiliation of him doing it in front of another clan head. They leave, silently seething and resigned.

Gojo! Who hates to admit it- seriously, he really really doesn't want to admit it- but you're actually pretty. He'd built you up in his mind as something like the girl from the exorcist, after all it made hating you a lot more easy for him. But, your eyes were the most beautiful shade of- Holy fuck no-

Gojo! Who scolds himself. He absolutely could not afford to actually like you. It went against everything he stood for- which was usually liking the opposite of what the elders liked. He could not like you. No way. Clearing his throat, he looks at you again, your eyes are lowered, hands clasped formally in front of you.

Gojo! Who tries to look stern, but his eyes keep tracing your face again and again, and he feels like a loser with no restraint. He suddenly has a greater understanding of the guys that gawk at Shoko. He'd never understood it before, viewing her as a witch doctor with a smoking addiction and slightly psychotic vibes when near a dead body- so why would anyone gawk at Shoko at first sight? But then you speak to him, slow, gentle- sweet. And he gets it. He totally gets it. He still doesn't get Shoko, but he gets the urge to gawk.

Gojo! Who had intended to scare you off in this meeting. A few harsh words, a little bit of blue at the furniture and a delicate princes like you would go crying to her daddy about what a monster he is. But the menacing script he had rehearsed looking at the mirror never makes its debut. Instead, he asks you about your hobbies, unable to stop how warm he feels to learn about how you love painting and cooking.

Gojo! Who spends the next two hours just talking to you, who even has lunch with you. He discards his former last ditch plan of feigning a poison induced collapse in order to start a war between your clans. Instead, he delights in telling you about how much he loves Gohan from dragon ball z while he eats dumplings- gleeful to learn that you made them. For him.

Gojo! Who is annoyed to be interrupted by the clan heads insisting that he's spent too much time with you today and it's inappropriate. He almost throws blue out, but now that he's begun to like you fallen totally hopelessly in love with you he thinks he'll hold off on his absolute last resort of using blue and taking out everyone in the near vicinity. After all, you're going to live here for another year or so. 11 months, 12 days, 3 hours, 24 minutes and 17 seconds more, to be exact.

Gojo! Who leaves much more peacefully than he'd entered, who even inclines his head towards your father, thrilled at how you beam at him. He doesn't bother giving the elders in his clan his usual I-hate-you-pricks glare for once. He goes back to Jujutsu high, whistling as he walks past a confused Suguru and Yaga.

Gojo! Who won't shut up about you to Suguru, much to his confusion. It's a startling realisation for Suguru, that Gojo had all but fallen in love with you in one meeting. Infatuation, he thinks to himself. It'll wear off. Of course, he begins to think differently when Gojo starts ignoring other girls and actively starts preparing for the wedding.

Gojo! Who doesn't even mind that the clans want an engagement ceremony. His past self (24 hours ago Gojo) would have defected from Jujutsu society and settled down in America as a farmer or something. Suguru would have said that he'd have no potential for it, but he'd be a hot one and people would have bought vegetables just on the basis of his face (Gojo doesn't know how farmers or farming works guys). Anyways, he's thrilled. The idea of you wearing his ring, a sign that you're claimed by him, makes him hum out of happiness. He drags Suguru to go buy you a ring- the one those stuffy elders will use doesn't mean shit to him.

Gojo! Who surprises the people at the jewellery store when he buys the most expensive diamond there. Suguru briefly debates stealing it but decides against it. He isn't scared to pick a fight with Satoru usually, but somehow he thinks Satoru might actually kill him for wronging you since he's decided that it's your ring.

Gojo! Who is on time and happy to be at the engagement ceremony. Suguru is with him, of course. Apparently, so are his parents. But they blend into the crowd of faces he wants to blue so he doesn't care. His eyes eagerly scan the place for you, huffing that you're still getting ready and not here. He would rather you be excited and impatient to see him too, but Suguru mentions that girls take more time to get ready for guys they like and Gojo brightens up immediately.

Gojo! Who is horrified when his clan elders and your clan elders end up arguing over something trivial. Some agreement his clan wanted more on and your clan couldn't give it. The argument escalates and before you can even show up- your father calls the marriage off. He's slack jawed at how it happens, Suguru watching him in concern.

Gojo! Who lets out such a burst of cursed energy that everyone in the room, including Suguru, pauses. Suguru can at least breathe though, but the rest feels like they are being choked. No one makes a move as they watch him leave the room, expression menacing and fists clenched.

Gojo! Who tones down his cursed energy as he goes to the room you're getting ready in. His expressions softens as he overhears you shyly talking about how you want to look perfect for him. He can't let the elders take you from him. He really can't.

Gojo! Who knocks on the door and enters. The women who had been getting you ready gasp and bow at the sight of him, but he pays them no mind. You look gorgeous, dressed in your pretty kimono. But you're unsure of why he's here. You don't get to ask though, because he gently grabs your hand and tells you to follow him. You obey, unaware that he's no longer your husband to be.

Gojo! Who takes you back to the room the elders had been fighting in. Carefully, he lets his cursed energy radiate to the other side of the room- a warning to both clans to shut the hell up. All are too scared to so much as move a muscle, fearing for their lives as Gojo reminds them of exactly who he is. They do nothing but watch as leads you to the area where you would exchange rings.

Gojo! Who happily slides his chosen ring into your finger. Suguru smiles at his glee, while no one else in the room dares to say a thing. It's your turn, and you look at your father for the ring, completely unaware of the glare Gojo sends his way. Your father complies, scared of his future son in law, but still patting your head as a father should.

Gojo! Who smiles when you put the ring on his finger. The clan elders clap, knowing Gojo might kill them if they don't. They behave with each as though the argument never happened. And when Gojo leaves your side and goes to hand his arms around the shoulders of your father and the head of the Gojo clan, they obey his command to forget that they had ever fought.

The aforementioned Wei Wuxian's instatement as head disciple was an occasion of some note in the Jianghu, Lan Wangji remembers. For one thing, Wei Wuxian is not a bloodline member of the clan: though this is not so uncommon amongst the latest generation of head disciples, especially in sects where clan disciples are not the majority. For another, Wei Wuxian was apparently disfavored by his shimu from the day Jiang Fengmian first brought him to Lotus Pier at the age of five—and when the news of his appointment reached Lanling Jin last year, there was a great deal of murmuring about how Yu Ziyuan had taken it.

"He is the head disciple," Nie Huaisang says gravely, "but that is of no importance here. The trouble is—oh, it's just a word, don't look like that—is that Wei-gongzi is a calamitous beauty, and his shidimen wrote to me asking whether the Cloud Recesses would be willing to assist in his protection during the lectures."

He holds out a letter and passes it to Lan Wangji. "Here. Jiang-xiong explained everything."

Much to Lan Wangji's regret, the letter's contents are exactly as Nie Huaisang described them. Apparently, Wei Wuxian—referred to in the letter as da-shixiong, as it had been penned by Jiang Wanyin and his biaodi Yu Zhenhong—is both too handsome for his own good and dangerously charming; and as a result, Jiang Wanyin professes, his shixiong leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes.

The last time we visited Lanling—which we would not have done if we had any choice, but the fact of my sister's betrothal ensured that we had precious little say in the matter—five of Jin Zixuan's cousins came to blows at the sight of my shige, each insisting that she and no other would be engaged to him in the future, Jiang Wanyin writes. One of the girls jilted her intended on the spot, vowing that she no longer wished to see him again as long as Wei Wuxian walked the earth; and her intended tore off the yaopei she had gifted him and flung it into the nearest koi pond before declaring that she need not worry about keeping their engagement, for he no longer had any love for her and now wished to bring our da-shixiong into his clan as a bride.

Lan Wangji looks up in dismay. "What?"

"Read on," Nie Huaisang advises grimly. "It gets worse."

Yesterday, he stole a flower from a local bun-girl and went to market with the bloom behind his ear; and later, we received news that the sight of him caused six carriages, nine produce wagons, and two riders on horseback to crash when he stopped to cross the street. He returned home after buying all the ruined produce and helping the women who were bruised in the melee, without the slightest idea that it only occurred because the driver of the first carriage was blinded by the sunlight reflected upon his hair; and the next morning, Fuqin received so many petitioners asking for Wei Wuxian's hand in marriage that he hung a sign at the gates to announce that he would entertain no suitors until after Wei Wuxian comes of age.

"Guanyin in heaven," Lan Wangji hears himself croak, stunned. "How—?"

Nie Huaisang shrugs. "If you ask me, it's the hair."

Lan Wangji shakes his head and looks back down at the letter in disbelief.

Thus, it is my hope that you will inform the second Young Master Lan about the two latest incidents, and impress upon him the importance of restraint in the Lan disciples—and in all the others who will come to study under Lan-laoshi—well before we arrive. (This passage is written in a more graceful hand, likely Yu Zhenhong's.) Our seventh shimei once fell off the pier and into the lake because da-shixiong smiled at her, and no trouble came of it because Lingxi-shimei is a strong swimmer; but if Lan-laoshi's disciples keep falling down the mountain because da-shixiong braided his hair instead of putting it up, someone might truly end up coming to harm.

"This beggars belief," Lan Wangji says doubtfully. "Can one man truly...?"

"I've seen him," Nie Huaisang replies. "And yes. Keep reading."

"'And if it would not be too much trouble,'" Lan Wangji reads aloud, "'please also consult Lan-er-gongzi or Zewu-jun on the subject of da-shixiong's safety.' Safety?"

Nie Huaisang winces. "Wei-xiong is very lovely to look upon," he offers, "and from his dress, it is not always clear that he has the backing of a great sect. Some men do not take well to being told no by a beauty."

"And by some men, you mean the men of Lanling Jin?"

"One never knows where such dangers may come from," Nie Huaisang tells him. "But if you ask me, you ought to keep an eye on the Jins anyway. Apart from Jin Zixuan, I doubt there's a single man in this year's course who doesn't hate Wei Wuxian for enchanting all the Jin girls."

Lan Wangji nods and rises to his feet. "I will handle this matter," he says decisively, turning towards the open door to the Lanshi. "You write back to Jiang-gongzi, and inform him that the Cloud Recesses will be duly prepared for his shige's arrival."

The Lan disciples are prepared accordingly; for over the next week, Lan Wangji orders all the male disciples between fifteen and twenty-five to copy the sect precepts concerning restraint, and ensures that none of the maiden disciples over the age of twelve will have cause to meet Wei Wuxian save for his own sect sisters. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Wei-gongzi is said to be twice as brilliant as he is beautiful: which means that Shufu is easily persuaded to place him in the advanced lectures reserved for disciples who would be hampered by study with the rest of their age-mates. Lan Wangji is the sole male disciple allowed to attend those lectures; so for much of his time at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian's only classmates will be a pair of married women and Lan Wangji himself.

Lan Wangji thinks better of the arrangement three weeks later, when he is carried to the infirmary after meeting Wei Wuxian on the mountain path and falling thirty feet into a copse of trees below.

"I'm so sorry. Lan-er-gongzi, I'm really sorry," Wei Wuxian gasps, gripping Lan Wangji's clenched fists as Xiongzhang and one of the healers set his broken legs at the other end of the bed. "You can hold on as tightly as you like, all right? Zewu-jun is nearly finished."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes tightly.

"What have I done?" he hears Wei Wuxian mutter to himself. "I'm so clumsy. I'll look after you until you're better again, second Young Master, just say the word and I—"

"Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji feels his brother's fingers twitch against his knee.

"What?"

"Not—not Lan-er-gongzi," Lan Wangji wheezes. "You may call me Lan Zhan."

Wei Wuxian beams at him with tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "You're not angry?"

"No."

His eyes fall shut again, provoking a sound of utter desolation from Wei Wuxian. "Here, I'll take that ribbon off," Wei Wuxian says soothingly, his rough hands stroking Lan Wangji's hot forehead. "Your ears are burning up. You'll feel better as soon as it's gone."

At the foot of the bed, Lan Xichen makes a choking sound: but Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to care.