someonehereforpeaceofmind

(it's not related to Sukuna - it's just in an era previous to the present age, and it's not yuri, kimonos were worn by samurais in previous ages)

Gojo had been called a lot of things in his life.

Powerful, perhaps the most. A wonder of the world. First Six Eyes in a generation. The strongest. Best of Heaven and Hell combined. The only sorcerer who can be trusted to do the job.

But in all his 21 years of life, never once had someone simply called him, “Satoru,” and wrecked him inside and out. Made him want to drop everything in his hands just to hear that voice, “Satoru, is the mochi to your liking?” Wished to lie in the grass all day and watch that dark long hair swing around like a wave of the inky sea given life. “Suguru,” he muttered, smirking just to hide the butterflies in his stomach when that violet gaze landed on him, “Come on, do a twirl! I didn’t go all the way up to Hokkaido for that kimono only to see you treat it like a stray cheap yukata.” “Satoru, it’s kind, but it’s…” Suguru’s gaze flicked to Gojo, warm and trying extremely hard not to laugh. His lips twitched as he still sat stiffly across from Gojo at the table, knees folded under him with his arms folded over his chest. He had worn the kimono and trousers that Gojo had oh so graciously gotten him from his recent mission in Hokkaido, and the colour was beautiful. A dark indigo blue with light blue swirls that matched the colour of Gojo’s eyes, creating a wave impression. “This isn’t a kimono. This is too small. It won’t close. It’s too open.” “Oh? I didn’t realise,” Gojo almost purred, already enjoying this more than he should have as he leaned forward impatiently. His blindfold was already pulled low below the bridge of his nose, like he needed his full Six - Eyes just to enjoy the sight of Suguru’s bare chest.

“Satoru,” Geto tried to deadpan, eyebrow raising, “I’m not showing you. This is not appropriate. We are both esteemed sorcerers and friends and you are acting childish.” “So you’re going to deny me?” Gojo gasped in offence, falling back away from the table to the futon, “No. Suguru Geto, my best friend, my one and only, my strongest partner, says no to me? Suguru. I am deeply hurt. You have wounded me with your meagre sharp words. I may never recover.”

In true Disney Princess style, Gojo fell back dramatically to the goza, sprawled like a swooning dimwit in distress, face buried in his elbows. It was still warm from the constant sunlight streaming in through the open window, which helped Gojo be even more petty and completely sink his whole frame into the woven mat. He heard Geto sigh, not the ‘you’re so annoying’ sigh that one of his juniors, Nanami, had, not the ‘you’re so annoying but I still love you’ sigh that his bestie and doctor, Shoko, had, not the ‘you’re so annoying how are you even alive’ sigh that his boss Yaga had.

No, Geto’s breath was always different for Gojo. He could feel it in his bones without even trying, the soft exhale of air that left the dark haired sorcerer’s lips. It always felt comforting to hear it, and his eyes could always trace the energy of it when it reached him.

Soft.

Warm.

Loving.

Never annoyed. Never pissed off. Just always beautifully calm.

Gojo felt Geto move before his eyes could catch it. The slight pressure on his ankle as Geto tried - in vain - to pull Gojo’s frame off the bed. (Gojo only dug in further into the goza with all his weight and ignored Geto).  The tickling over the sole of his foot as Geto tried bullying him into getting up instead. (Gojo only kicked him for that and tucked his feet under the edge of the mat). The pull on the back of his knees as Geto attempted to move Gojo’s lanky legs off the mat. (Gojo didn’t even bother tensing his muscles). Gojo only felt like moving when Geto finally muttered, “Alright, alright, I’ll let you see the kimono.” Gojo sat up so fast that he felt lightheaded for a solid three seconds. The room spun a little as he blinked rapidly and watched Geto reluctantly stand and uncross his arms, showing Gojo the kimono. For a second, Gojo almost thought that the room was still spinning. Because there was no way he hadn’t known for so, so long that his friend was this hot.

Scars running down his tanned skin like little mountain ridges of white. Firm muscles under taut veins that disappeared below his collarbones. Yeah, the dark blue kimono was too small, and Gojo hadn’t bothered to give him an obi, so the front hung wide open over Suguru’s torso, showing off everything not hidden by the trousers Geto was unfortunately wearing. The cool haunting blue of Gojo’s eyes looked perfect on Geto’s frame, like winter against summer, sea against land, wind against earth. Gojo must have been silent for too long, blindfold pulled low enough over his nose to show off his wide cerulean eyes in all their glory, because Geto muttered, “Satoru? You still there?” “Yeah,” Gojo swallowed, finally looking back up at Geto’s face, “It - It looks good on you. The colour suits you. Your chest suits you - I mean -!” Gojo fumbled. Not once in his life had he fumbled so badly. Speaking without thinking was normal enough for him, but spilling his actual thoughts without a filter over his lips? That was a first. Geto raised an eyebrow, amused as he started pulling his long hair up into that stupid bun that made Gojo want to pull it open every time. “My what suits me?” “Your crest!” Gojo corrected, quickly getting up from the goza and pulling his blindfold up, “The crest of your sword. Matches the colour of the kimono. It looks good. I have to meet Shoko.” “Shoko’s in Osaka.” “I have to meet Nanami, then.”

“...Nanami’s on a mission in Nikko.” “Yaga! I have to give a mission report to Yaga!” Gojo had to speedwalk out of the room with whatever little remaining dignity he had before the gay little spark in his heart betrayed him even more. He couldn’t fall for his friend, couldn’t tell his best friend that he wanted to lie on that chest at night and hear his breathing for lullabies, couldn’t tell his fellow sorcerer that he wanted to trace the scars over his skin to soothe him and kiss every single one. Geto just laughed quietly, another quiet “Satoru…” leaving his lips as his gaze landed on Gojo’s retreating back. The white haired sorcerer was already out of the tiny room, almost escaping as if Geto’s bare chest was suddenly poisonous to look at. Oh, how Gojo wished he had looked at that chest a little more. How Gojo wished he could have looked deeper, used his Six Eyes to look right to Geto’s heart. Wished that he had seen the darkness already starting to curl under his beloved’s ribs. Because the only time Gojo got to see Geto’s bare chest again was when he had to stop Geto’s heart himself.

“Any parting words, Satoru?” Geto smiled, and it hurt Gojo like a blade to his lungs at how beautiful Geto still looked. Like a cherry blossom dipped in blood. Like a doll sliced in half. His arm was missing, his huge jacket was bloodied and pooling down around his waist, his hair was soaked and open. But Gojo’s eyes still caught sight of it, even when it was soaked in Geto’s blood and sweat. He was wearing his kimono. The one Gojo had given him only a year previously. “Why do you still have it?” Gojo wasn’t even pissed anymore. Anger was what he felt when he found out Geto defected, taking the lives of innocent non-sorcerers. Pain was what he felt when he realised what Geto was doing, what his fate would be. Despair was what he felt when Yaga warned him with a shaking breath that Geto would be coming after other sorcerers soon. Rage was what he felt when he wondered why his best friend never told him, never confided in him, never spilled his depression to Gojo, never trusted him. Now? All that was left was the peace before the storm. “You gave it to me, Satoru.” And it cracked Gojo’s whole chest open to realise that his heart still wanted to skip a beat when Geto said his name like that. Geto was smiling like that was all the reason he needed to keep the kimono, to wear it under the jacket. Gojo gave it to him. That made it important. He gave it to him.

“You were my one and only, you know that?” Gojo hissed, feeling traitorous pinpricks of salty waters under his lashes.

“I know,” Geto whispered calmly, purple eyes still serenely resting on Gojo. “We were supposed to grow old together!” “I know.” “We were supposed to be the strongest sorcerers of this era together!” “I know.” “We were supposed to love each other!” “I never stopped doing that.” Splash.