Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Satoru approaches his old friend slowly, as if the thickness hanging in the air could slow his pace. The coppery scent of blood is overpowering, the residuals of cursed energy strong enough to be practically tangible. It’s Yuuta and Rika’s overwhelming presence, but also something that shouldn’t dare feel familiar anymore. 

Yet it does. 

He unwinds the bandages from his eyes and tucks the covering in his pocket. He then squeezes his eyes shut, taking a moment to brace himself for the inevitable sensory overload that’ll come. But for reasons Satoru can’t express, it feels important to see Suguru with his own two eyes, not through the lens of a cursed technique. 

In this space between buildings, where they once sprawled out together on the grass in between classes, Satoru opens his eyes and looks down at what remains of his best friend. 

Suguru is too far gone for even Shoko to heal, and Satoru’s chest feels unbearably heavy when he realizes that this is their end. The words they exchange will be their last, and those he doesn’t have the time to say will forever be a caged beast trying to claw its way out of him. 

Suguru. His name is the steady beat to which Satoru’s pulse falls in line. Suguru must be aware how easy it would be to manipulate Satoru, though he’s never tried. He never would. He’s not the type to abuse the power he holds over others, as ironic as that is. 

Suguru smiles through unimaginable pain, a weary grin that’ll haunt Satoru’s dreams tonight. At least it’ll be a change from the image of Suguru walking away from him, slowly disappearing into the crowd at Shinjuku. 

The words they say to each other mean nothing. The words they say to each other mean everything. It’s too late to understand Suguru’s twisted view of the world, but that doesn’t stop Satoru from committing every word to memory.

And then Suguru dares to say, "You should at least curse me at the end." 

Satoru could. A part of him wants to. He could easily open his mouth and let everything spill out, continuing to curse Suguru’s name long after his body has gone cold. Or he could use their remaining time together to demand an explanation. Why wasn’t he enough? What could he have done to make Suguru stay?

And if not that, why hadn’t Suguru asked Satoru to come with him?

The bond between an alpha and omega should feel stronger, but Suguru hovers near death and Satoru’s poisoned his body with blockers and suppressants for too long without thinking twice. Not that any damage to himself mattered once he learned to use reverse cursed technique. 

They’re both shadows of the teens they once were.

Satoru wets his lips, considering. There are so many things he could say, yet Suguru’s time is undeniably finite. And so he decides, knowing the words he’s going to speak are a curse in their own right, a burden that Suguru shouldn’t have to take on in his dying moments. 

But the weight of this secret is so, so heavy. It’s heavy enough that Satoru fears it may one day become enough to break even him. 

And so the words he’s never told anyone spill out of him. 

“We have a daughter, Suguru.”

Satoru’s parents spend an obscene amount of the family fortune both on treatments and silence from those they trust to know about their son’s condition. There are doctors advising against such an aggressive medication regimen but signing off all the same. And then there are teachers, coaching Satoru on how to act, on how to suppress his own mannerisms and adopt someone else’s. To pretend to be a different person. 

It’s not a crime to be an omega. Some clans even prize the secondary sex, especially when an omega possesses a powerful cursed technique they can pass along. But the problem is that omegas aren’t considered strong in their own right; how can they be when subject to the will of an alpha? Because he’s the only viable heir to the Gojo clan, Satoru quickly learns to accept that being himself is not an option. When he presents as a young teen, he submits to his parents’ will and works hard to conceal his inferior nature. 

Possessing both the Limitless and the Six Eyes, he knows he can be the strongest one day in spite of what he is, though not if people believe him to be weak. And so deception becomes his nature. 

After spending his childhood being shuffled from one location to another, starting at the school presents a host of novel experiences. Seeing the same classmates day after day is something Shoko and Suguru are used to, something they take for granted. For Satoru, it’s an excitement and a challenge. He doesn’t ask his parents what will happen if anyone discovers his defect; he knows as surely as he knows that he’ll one day be the strongest that it simply can’t happen. And so he overcompensates by being loud and brash, projecting an air of overconfidence at all times. 

Suguru hates him at first. 

It’s more accurate to say Suguru hates him for the better part of their first year together. 

Suguru is a natural alpha, self-assured in an unimposing way that Satoru is never able to mimic properly, no matter how carefully he observes. Teachers and classmates write off their disagreements as grandstanding between two alphas fighting to establish superiority. Even Shoko, a beta through and through, quickly tires of trying to be their peacekeeper and instead leaves them to their own devices. 

Once, after a particularly heated argument in the middle of a history lesson, Yaga locks the two of them in a small classroom with a threatening promise not to let them out until they learn to get along. It takes everything in Satoru to hold his ground, to not lose himself in the way that Suguru smells like a mix of smoke and mint gum, to meet Suguru’s deep eyes and fight against the way his body aches to submit. 

It’s the most exhausting thing he’s ever done, even more than laying out his domain for the first time. 

But Satoru stays relentless in both his facade and his pursuit of Suguru’s friendship, and finally Suguru relents. 

Except rather than making things easier between the two of them, maintaining an act only becomes harder. Lies of omission build up one after the other, becoming a precarious tower that could topple at any moment. Suguru is Satoru’s best friend, his only friend if he’s being honest with himself. And Satoru becomes consumed by the fact that he’s a liar, presenting a front to the world. 

And more importantly, to Suguru. 

At the end of their first year, he breaks down and finally tells Suguru. They’re sitting on Satoru’s bed, preparing for final exams that hardly matter anyway. Well, Satoru hasn’t been able to focus on anything for the last thirty minutes. He’s been studying Suguru, and Suguru has been pretending not to notice. 

Finally, he reaches over to open his nightstand drawer, revealing all the pills he swallows daily. He tosses one of the small bottles to Suguru, who catches it effortlessly without looking up from the textbook open in front of him. 

It’s the longest ten seconds of Satoru’s life as he watches Suguru peer at the label. 

It’s long enough to realize that he shouldn’t have told Suguru. Suguru knows he’s a liar now. Worse, Suguru knows there’s something wrong with him. They can’t be the two strongest anymore. 

Satoru wipes sweat from his palms, the only external sign of the panic raging within him. 

Suguru finally looks up, brushing stubborn bangs out of his eyes. “Suppressants?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” Satoru’s voice is disappointingly small.

"Suppressing what?" 

It should be an easy answer because it goes without saying. That he’s an omega. That he’s weak. He doesn’t know what Suguru hopes to gain by making him say it out loud, other than some kind of confirmation that Suguru is the better of the two of them. “You know what,” Satoru says. 

Suguru nods, tossing the bottle back to Satoru. “I guess the better question is why.”

“Why?” Satoru repeats, still not understanding. 

“Why have you been hiding who you are?”

Satoru remembers that Suguru was scouted, that he comes from a normal family. He didn’t grow up in this world, and so it makes sense that he doesn’t understand. Relief washes over him. “It’s complicated,” he says. 

“Mm. I suppose so,” Suguru says, returning his gaze to the textbook open in front of him, as if Satoru hasn’t completely changed the dynamic that should exist between them. 

Does Suguru really not understand?

“You can’t tell anyone,” Satoru says. Just to make sure. 

A hint of annoyance passes through Suguru’s expression, a quick flare of his nostrils. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“I mean it. If-”

“Satoru.” Suguru’s gaze snaps up. “I swallow curses. You swallow pills. I don’t care. Your secret is safe with me.”

That Suguru would compare his prized cursed technique to Satoru’s weakness shows how little he understands. All the same, Satoru trusts that Suguru is sincere when he says he won’t say anything. 

For the first time in far too long, the smile on his face is genuine. 

“You didn’t tell me,” Suguru says. 

Satoru sinks down next to Suguru, resting his hands on his knees. “I didn’t know when you left,” he explains. “Figured it out a couple weeks later.”

He considers but decides against asking if it would have changed anything had he realized sooner. Speculation doesn’t do either of them good at this point. The fact that he’s even telling Suguru any of this is undeniably cruel, but Satoru can’t keep carrying it around. 

Not even Shoko knows. Satoru gave her some halfhearted excuse before heading home, but by the time he left, he hadn’t been in his right mind for weeks. Everyone had attributed it to grief. They’d given him a wide berth, treating him with excess care when they did have to interact with him. It was Yaga gently broaching the idea of sending him back out on an assignment that made him realize he had to do something. 

Suguru tilts his head towards Satoru, studying him with those dark eyes. “I heard that you left for some long-term assignment in India.”

“Mm,” Satoru hums in confirmation. “My parents paid a lot for that lie.” It was something they’d reminded him of often, another thing to hold over his head, and-

“Satoru.” The seriousness in Suguru’s voice pulls Satoru from the memory. “What happened?”

Satoru is careful to wait until he's sixteen weeks along to tell his parents. Predictably, they’re livid. But their rage is something he’s been prepared for. What he doesn’t know is what will come next. 

He’s sent from the family room after a good deal of shouting. He manages to tune most of it out, absently rubbing the small curve of his stomach. They’ll come up with a plan for handling this situation and he’ll fall in line. He doesn’t have Suguru to guide him now. He’s left with the jujutsu world and all that it expects from him. 

All Satoru is certain of is that he wants to be the strongest. It’s what he’s always been, and he doesn’t want to give it up. 

It would be more than enough for his parents to see the fading bite marks on the side of his neck and know that Suguru claimed him, that someone from a non-existent lineage now has control over the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world. Not that Suguru would ever abuse his position as an alpha, even when Satoru would have liked him to. 

It’s funny, he supposes, how he still believes he knows what Suguru would or wouldn’t do. 

Several hours pass before Satoru is summoned back to the family room. His father has clearly been pacing, while his mother is sitting on the edge of an oversized chair. When his father gestures for him to sit down, Satoru chooses to stand. 

Satoru realizes he’s grown since the last time he saw his parents. He’s now a few inches taller than his father. 

The heavy silence between the three of them is broken by his father. “You think you’re going to keep this baby,” he states. 

Satoru nods.

His mother stares at the floor, massaging her temples. “Do we want to know who the father is, Satoru?”

"The curse user-"

He doesn’t think to use Infinity to stop his father’s hand from connecting with his face. "You'll never say his name again. Do you understand, Satoru?" 

A dark bruise will form on Satoru’s cheekbone. It won’t matter. No one will see him for close to a year. There will be a lie that people are paid to confirm and perpetuate. Gojo Satoru will spend a year in India, an immersion trip. A chance to clear his head after losing his best friend. 

Another lie. 

“I guess it was convenient, in a way,” Satoru says conversationally. In the decade since Suguru left, he’s gotten better at refining his act. He’s learned to lean into the arrogance that comes from being untouchable. “That would have been the year they got serious about finding someone for me to marry. Whoever could be paid enough to never tell anyone how defective I am.”

Satoru got through that time by finding joy anywhere he could. Truthfully, there had been little to be found anywhere while he was kept on house arrest in one of his family’s more remote homes, kept company by a skeleton crew of staff who were paid generously for their discretion. 

“You still talk about yourself like there’s something wrong with you,” Suguru replies, though each word is spoken as though it causes him pain. His breath rattles in his chest when he takes a slow inhale. They don’t have much longer together, Satoru realizes. Five minutes, perhaps, if they’re lucky. 

But the messy tangle of emotion that he feels stays pushed far, far down. 

Satoru tips his head back and smiles. “Come on, Suguru. There’s plenty wrong with me.”

Satoru gets to hold his daughter for twenty minutes. Had he known what was to come next, he would have used every bit of his limited energy to memorize her, to commit every bit of her to detail. 

She has a full head of dark hair. Her eyes are a dark blue, though he’s read that all babies are born like that. He looks forward to seeing if they lighten to a shade like his, though he hopes she takes after Suguru. 

His body hurts like he can’t ever remember hurting before. The pain is compounded by exhaustion after spending two days trying to bring his daughter into the world. But there’s an overwhelming sense of fear that transcends any physical pain when he remembers he can’t keep his daughter safe with Infinity anymore. 

He should think twice when his mother gently pries her from his arms, but he’s so tired. And she strokes his sweat-dampened hair, speaking to him in a low voice and telling him that it’s alright. To rest for just a little bit. 

He'll wake up and find her gone.

A look of horror comes through the deathly pallor of Suguru’s face. 

“It took me a while to find her. My parents said it was for her protection that she not be easily traced back to me,” Satoru continues, now staring straight ahead at the far wall. It’s surprisingly easy to recount this part, considering that it was a bitter wound for such a long time, but he learned he couldn’t survive that way. And so he forced himself to let it scab over and form an ugly scar on his psyche. “I guess I was scared of what they’d do. That if I found her, they’d hide her better. And I didn’t want to make her life harder.”

Suguru starts to say something, but Satoru cuts him off. “And in exchange for being good, they gave me pictures of her every so often. I know they had to be of her because the way she smiles…” He pauses to force a laugh and turn to Suguru, mimicking the way Suguru always closes his eyes. “It’s just like you.”

He takes a moment to clear his throat. “Once I had enough money, I hired my own people to keep an eye on her. Nanami helped. I don’t think he understands it. Or maybe he does but just doesn’t want to ask. She’s growing up in Canada with a nice family.”

“Is she…” Suguru trails off, and Satoru isn’t sure if it’s because it’s become too painful to speak, or if the thought that their daughter is a useless monkey is too much for Suguru to consider. 

"Like us?” Satoru supplies. “She is."

Satoru fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens his photo gallery. He clicks to a familiar album, keys in a password, and then holds the screen out to show Suguru. The most recent pictures of her are displayed first: a smiling girl with dark hair and eyes that contain the sky. She looks happy, untroubled by the issues that bind either of her biological parents. 

As far as Satoru can tell, her childhood has been relatively normal. There aren’t as many curses outside of Japan. Their daughter is getting to grow up in one place surrounded by a loving family. Things he didn’t get to have. Things he now realizes he wouldn’t have been able to give her. Even if Suguru had stayed, the two of them wouldn’t have been fit to raise her, though no one would have been able to convince them otherwise. It’s unfortunate that he can only see everything clearly in hindsight. 

“She’s in contact with people who can teach her the basics for now. One day I’ll ask her if she wants to come study in Japan. It’ll be her choice.”

"You haven't met her?"

Satoru shakes his head. He can’t read the emotion in Suguru’s statement, so he answers honestly, if not superficially. "Nah. She deserves a simple childhood. As simple of a life as she can have one day. It's better that she's not tied to either of us. I guess I should thank my parents for that."

Suguru coughs. The simple action shakes his entire body, and his next words are more labored. "You shouldn't thank them for what they did to you."

Satoru waves a hand dismissively. Only a little longer. He only has to act brave for Suguru for a little while longer. "It's in the past. I can't change it."

"They made you hide who you are,” Suguru insists.

"And I keep hiding it now." Satoru turns to Suguru, offering him a smile. "Do you hate me for telling you now?"

"You should have told me before."

"Maa. Maybe." The thought of him and Suguru with their daughter feels too far off. The fantasy belongs to someone else, someone who was much more naive. There was a time that Satoru believed in a fair and just world, of the strength contained between himself and Suguru, and most importantly, their ability to fix the things that are broken in the world. 

Now, he realizes that telling Suguru everything has been much less cathartic than he’d always imagined. Because Suguru will soon be gone and he’ll be alone again, knowing that they have a daughter growing up on the other side of the world, a happy girl who doesn’t even know Satoru exists. 

Satoru realizes that despite how well he’s been able to pretend otherwise, there’s still a part of him who’s nothing more than a weak omega wanting his alpha to make everything better. He wants more time with Suguru, time to tell him everything properly, to beg for forgiveness and understanding. 

But he makes sure the storm brewing inside him stays contained.

Suguru coughs again, blood now staining his bottom lip. "I hate the jujutsu world, Satoru. I wanted to fix it for you."

"You wanted to destroy it," Satoru corrects. "For more than me." 

With the arm that hasn’t been destroyed by Rika, Suguru reaches out and takes Satoru’s hand. His skin is clammy, covered with cooling blood. 

Satoru allows himself to cling back. 

"What's…" A slow, labored breath. "...her name?"

One of the few things his parents had respected. "Shinobu."

"Satoru…"

Satoru tilts his head, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. Better yet, a command from his alpha. Satoru has fought against his nature for so long, pushing down the part of him that loves Suguru, that wants Suguru at his side, for Suguru to tell him what to do and make everything better. 

Suguru is gone now. Satoru can feel it as surely as he can feel his heart still stubbornly beating in his chest, a dull marching order. He still owes the world so much, the world that's taken so much from him yet given him so much to protect. 

Without Suguru, he gives himself half a minute to let the grief overwhelm him, to let ugly, unrestrained tears fall down his face for the first time. He didn’t allow himself to cry, not when Suguru left. Not when Yaga told him he’d one day have to kill his best friend. Not even when he’d woken up and found his daughter long gone. 

He can’t stop sobs from shaking his body, though he bites down on his knuckles to keep from crying out. The world isn’t fair and sometimes the weight of everything he’s trying to fix is more than enough to crush him. 

An infinity passes too quickly in those last few seconds. But Satoru counts to thirty and takes one last shaky breath before retying his blindfold, letting it mask his bloodshot eyes. He wipes his nose on his sleeve and gets to his feet, gently scooping up what’s left of his best friend. He’ll ask Shoko to make Suguru look more presentable, and then he’ll deliver Suguru’s body back to his so-called family. 

And tomorrow, Satoru will go back to being nothing more and nothing less than the strongest sorcerer in a generation, trusting that his secret is safe with a dead man.  

Chapter Text

Rain drizzles down around the two of them, soaking Suguru’s torn clothing. He doesn’t feel the cold, though. No, he doesn’t even feel the pain that should be radiating from his side. And that’s how he knows this is the end for him. Even if Shoko was still his friend, even if she could get to the two of them in time, he knows with a comforting certainty that there’s no use clinging to hope. 

There’s nothing more than these final moments with his old friend. 

“Satoru…” A thousand apologies blossom on Suguru’s lips, only to wither and die before he can find the words to complete them. 

And then there’s nothing.

Suguru feels like he’s slowly falling, suspended in some kind of viscous haze. He tries to focus, to open his eyes and figure out where he is. He was so certain that he was dead. Did he somehow survive?

His limbs feel leaden. No, he realizes that’s not quite right. No matter how hard he focuses, he can’t make any of them move. It’s like an awful kind of sleep paralysis. 

Is he dreaming?

Moments of awareness are fleeting, like a dragonfly landing softly on exposed skin before darting off quickly. Memories play through his mind, but he feels less like the person in control, more like a viewer watching someone else speed through the film of his life. 

They linger at certain moments. The first time Suguru sees a curse. The first time he brings himself to swallow one. 

The first time he meets Satoru. 

Somewhere deep in the corners of his consciousness, Suguru can hear an unfamiliar voice laughing. 

Suguru comes to the college with a solid grasp of his cursed technique but with little understanding of the jujutsu world. Yaga tells him it’s fine, that he’ll learn everything soon enough. After all, this is his life now. 

Besides, his classmate Gojo Satoru grew up in this world. Yaga promises that he’ll help Suguru acclimate.

From their first meeting, Suguru decides there’s something off about Satoru, though it will take months for him to pinpoint exactly what it is. In the meantime, he remains polite but distant. And it only makes Satoru press harder for his friendship.

There are confusing patterns of behavior that Suguru slowly identifies. Satoru makes himself unlikable before people can decide they dislike him, choosing to act rude and brash. He’s confident in his status as one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers, yet he seems so uncertain when asked to make decisions. He prefers for someone else to give him a clear target to demolish.

And yet there’s something magnetic about Satoru. As much as Suguru can’t stand him, he can’t fully stay away either. He misses Satoru when they’re not together. He too often finds the two of them too close, casual touches that linger a few beats too long. 

Just as Yaga brushes through the rest of their conventional education, they’re given a brief lecture about sex education. It’s impossible to say who in the room is the most embarrassed. Yaga trips over his words, barely able to force them out. Shoko spends the entire time pretending to take notes so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. And Satoru is so tense it looks painful. He folds his arms across his chest, curling in, trying to make himself look small. 

Alpha. Beta. Omega. Yaga fumbles through some explanation about how their the flow of cursed energy through their bodies creates some kind of secondary sex. Suguru tunes most of it out. He knows all he needs to. A few times a year, he has to spend a couple days fucking himself stupid because it’s all his brain can think about. 

It’s only when Satoru confides to him at the end of their first year that Suguru wishes he’d paid more attention to Yaga’s lecture. He doesn’t know much about what it means to be an omega, and so it doesn’t change his understanding of who Satoru is. 

Satoru is Satoru. 

So the Six Eyes is an omega. That unfamiliar voice’s laugh echoes. 

When presented with the rare opportunity to take an extended trip together, Satoru and Suguru jump on the opportunity. There are several different curses that need to be handled; it makes the most sense to send them on one long trip across Japan. For a few weeks, they’ll travel by train and work their way together through several assignments. 

The two of them are the strongest. They figure no assignment will take too long. They’ll have plenty of time to relax and explore new places.

But Satoru starts acting strange on the third day of their trip, though it's not until the fifth that he tells Suguru the truth in their small hotel room. 

His eyes are trained on the ground as he says, "I forgot my medicine."

"You should have said something. We could have gone back and gotten it." Now it sounds like a logistical nightmare that borders on impossible. They’re expected in different locations in Japan over the next couple weeks. And what excuse would they provide for turning around now?

Satoru shakes his head. "Didn't realize right away. Would have made people ask questions if we turned around." He's pale, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow. His hands are shaking, a fine tremor that perhaps he hasn't noticed yet. "I think this is just withdrawal or something. Can you handle today on your own?"

It’s a nest of several cursed spirits, but none greater than a grade two. It would be easier to handle with Satoru at his side, but Suguru says, “Sure.”

He comes back late that evening, exhausted but relatively unharmed. He looks around the small hotel room for Satoru but doesn’t see him. The bathroom door is cracked open. He can hear the shower running. 

“Satoru?” he calls out. 

There’s no answer. Suguru feels apprehension coil in his chest. He pushes the door open, letting himself inside the small bathroom. 

Under the patter of droplets on porcelain, Satoru is fully clothed, head buried in his hands. He’s crying, letting frigid water rain down on him. When Suguru reaches out to him, his skin feels frozen to the touch, yet it’s through a choked sob that he whines, “It hurts. It’s so hot. I think I’m dying. Suguru, please.”

Suguru reaches to turn off the water and pulls Satoru out of the shower. He thinks quickly, reaching an impossible conclusion. This isn’t a withdrawal. 

No, part of him has known since he first walked into the room, since he felt the arousal pooling in his stomach, a physiological response to the scent filling the air. It’s the amplification of how he’s felt about Satoru for so long, brought to an inevitable confrontation. 

This is what Yaga was too embarrassed to tell them about when they were first years. 

This is heat. 

“I think…” Suguru clears his throat, embarrassed even now with Satoru keening on his shoulder as frigid water seeps into his clothes. “I think you need to be fucked by someone.”

Satoru stops his wailing to look at Suguru with something close to curiosity. His blue eyes, so rarely uncovered, convey a sense of confusion, of wonder. 

Of hope?

"I - I can help you, Satoru. If that's what you need." 

Their clothes are off and they’re on one of the small hotel beds together in less than a minute. Their first time together is little more than a frenzied rush, Satoru so hungry for release that he doesn’t allow Suguru time for any kind of insecurity. 

Neither is entirely sure what they’re doing. They work quickly, making fevered promises to each other. If either were able to stop and slow down, to think about the full repercussions of what they’re doing, perhaps they’d realize the dangerous game they’re playing. But the time for rationality is long past.

The moment Suguru is inside Satoru, enveloped by a tight heat so intense it removes all possibility of thinking straight, any thought of pulling back is gone.

Neither ask, but both know. Neither of them has ever done this with another person. There are a few clumsy kisses, but they quickly settle on chasing after some kind of release. Words are replaced with rising noises of pleasure until the two of them climax with an intensity so strong Suguru’s consumed by it. 

But the relief they find in each other abandons them the next morning. For once, Satoru is the first one to wake up. He’s showered and dressed by the time Suguru is woken up by his alarm, claiming that he’s never felt better. They catch the train to the next town that needs them. And when they face a hungry semi-grade one curse, Satoru’s moves are sharper, faster, more perspective. 

They don’t discuss it together, but Satoru decides to quit taking his suppressants. To compensate, he doubles the use of scent blockers. 

Like that first night, he sneaks into Suguru's room when he needs release. Suguru assumes it's all an arrangement of convenience, and Satoru never tells him otherwise. He's the only person who knows the truth about Satoru, the only person who can be trusted to help him fill what he needs. 

And so the two of them let it stay physical. Nothing more. 

Oh, but it is. You marked him in the end. That unfamiliar voice, still so amused.

The last time Satoru had sought him out had been a few weeks before everything changed, before Suguru was sent to a small village in the middle of nowhere and returned a curse user. 

He’d felt so alone. 

Satoru had been right there, had always been right there, and yet it had felt as though an infinity separated the two of them. It had been some misguided instinct that had caused Suguru to press his lips to the soft spot just to the side of Satoru’s neck. Satoru had frozen, waiting to see what Suguru would do. 

He’d bitten down, teeth breaking the skin. It was instinct. 

A surprised cry had left Satoru’s mouth, followed by a few high gasps before he came. 

Suguru had left quickly, not knowing if or how he should apologize. And neither of them had even brought it up again. 

They’d never had the chance.

You marked him. Do you even understand the control you have over him?

For the first time, Suguru thinks to reply to the strange voice. Who are you?

There’s more laughter. You can call me Kenjaku. 

Combing through the rest of Suguru’s memories takes little time once it becomes clear that Kenjaku is most interested in Satoru. After their final conversation in Shinjuku, the two of them didn’t speak again. 

There are messages that Satoru left him for him on his phone. Suguru can listen as his former friend works through the stages of grief.

First: “I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me to come with you. You didn’t even ask.”

A week later: “Did you want me to kill you, Suguru? Is that it?”

And then the final message, roughly two months after he’d left: “Suguru. Please. Just call me back. I really need to tell you something.”

Suguru chooses to quit listening to the messages after that. To make sure Satoru can’t get to him any longer, he disconnects his old phone number a few weeks later. He has a new family to focus on. Two little girls who depend on him in a sincere, open way. 

He realizes he could fracture the foundation of the jujutsu world by revealing Satoru’s secret, but it would mean ruining Satoru in the process. The sentiment gives him pause when it shouldn’t.

Satoru could have killed him that day in Shinjuku, but he chose to let Suguru walk away. 

And so Suguru repays the kindness with his own silence. 

But in time longing becomes resentment. 

Satoru used him. 

Satoru only pretends to be the strongest. 

Satoru is a liar. 

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru.

Kenjaku is equally obsessed with Satoru, though he never calls him by his name. Only the Six Eyes, as if one of Satoru’s cursed techniques are all that matters.

In time, Suguru learns to focus his attention. There’s a tiny, ever-moving window in his psyche. If he follows it, he can see what’s happening. He can see that Kenjaku now wears his body and uses his name. But while his own thoughts have been an open library, he’s unable to see what Kenjaku intends to do. 

Today Kenjaku stares out at waves that lazily lap against the shore of a beach. He’s surrounded by special grade curses. “October 31. Shibuya. We’ll use everything at our disposal to seal Gojo Satoru.”

Geto Suguru, do you think it’s enough for me to show him your face?

Suguru’s mind works slowly. It takes too much energy to hold onto consciousness. Even now with Kenjaku taunting him, it’s hard to grasp the full meaning of his words. He doesn’t think. He doesn’t consider the final words Satoru said to him. 

He’s a fool. 

“I found the girl you were looking for. Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. Woulda charged a helluva lot more if I’d known that-”

Kenjaku lazily waves a hand. A hungry curse appears, sizing up the man for only a moment before opening up its massive jaws, revealing dozens of teeth and proceeding to devour its meal. With a second wave of his hand, Kenjaku recalls the curse. The private investigator is taken care of, leaving behind only a thin file with all of what he’s found.

“The Gojo clan hid you well,” Kenjaku says to himself as he opens the file, gaze combing over compiled documents and pictures. He thumbs over a recent school portrait. The girl’s dark hair is done perfectly in two braids, her face split by a wide smile. 

Leave her out of this. I’ll give you anything you want, just-

Kenjaku laughs and says aloud, “As if you have anything more you could offer. Besides, don’t you want to meet your daughter?”

Of course he doesn't. 

Of course he does.

Kenjaku is sprawled out on a sofa. Curses under his control flit around the home, but there’s nothing left for them to consume. Besides, they know the girl isn’t to be harmed when she finally arrives. 

By now, Suguru understands how pointless it is to try to do anything. He can watch. Nothing more. Occasionally, he can feel Kenjaku's annoyance with his emotions. And when that happens, it's followed by the sensation of falling, of losing stretches of time, of coming back and not realizing how much time has gone by. 

Perhaps it's better not to see anything that happens. But it's all he can do. 

The sound of a door closing followed by a high scream heralds her arrival. Kenjaku leans back, enjoying the sound of the ensuing fight. Shinobu is able to hold her own for a surprisingly long time before the sheer number of curses must overwhelm her. She’s bleeding from a deep cut on her cheek when one of them finally brings her before Kenjaku. Her eyes are wet. She can’t stop trembling. 

She’d be a rather unremarkable girl at first glance if not for those piercing blue eyes. Satoru’s parents must have hated that. 

“Hello Shinobu," Suguru's voice says. 

“Who are you?” she demands. In the face of danger, she shows Satoru’s fiery spirit. She lashes out, testing the strength of the curse that holds her.

Suguru prays that Kenjaku won’t tell her the full truth. He wants nothing more than to reach out, to hold her, to apologize for everything that’s happened and beg for her forgiveness. He didn’t know that she existed. How could he have known?

“Unimportant. Do you know who Gojo Satoru is?”

She trembles so violently in the curse’s grip. 

“Mahito. Let go of her.” Though a moment later Kenjaku nullifies any kindness by adding in warning, “If you try to run, my curses will break your legs.”

Without any kind of support, Shinobu falls to her knees. She keeps her gaze trained on the ground, but Suguru can see the way her gaze flicks back and forth, still assessing the situation even now that any outcome couldn’t be more bleak.

“I asked you a question,” Kenjaku reminds her, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. Suguru has learned this much about him: while he is often theatrical, he quickly grows tired of people. “Do you know who Gojo Satoru is?”

She looks up, those blue eyes reflecting back things no child should have to see. “He’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the entire world,” she recites. “Everyone knows who he is.”

Kenjaku nods. “And you’re going to help me take care of him.”

No. No. NononoNO-

Shibuya is nothing short of a nightmare. Suguru forces himself to watch everything Satoru is put through. Being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer means it takes considerable force to push him to his limits. But Kenjaku is unrelenting, not satisfied until he’s confident that the Six Eyes has been brought to his breaking point.

Only then does he release his grip on Shinobu's shoulder. "You know what to do if you don't want anyone else to be hurt," he says coolly, giving her a gentle push forward. 

Shinobu is defiant enough to glare at him, but it’s all she risks doing. She’s terrified. Not once has he seen her stop shaking since she was snatched from her home, brought to the heart of all of this to be a pawn in some twisted game. 

Suguru can do no more than watch as she slowly walks through the carnage of Shibuya. One of her shoes has come untied, her pristine white Converse now stained with blood. 

Satoru looks as though he’s seen a ghost. He freezes, doing nothing as she continues her slow procession towards him. Suguru wants to scream, to tell him that this is his moment. If he’s quick enough, maybe he can grab her and get the two of them far, far away from here. But Satoru is paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch as his daughter walks toward him. 

He sees Satoru mouth her name. Even now, he can't even voice it. 

Shinobu is brave, but she's no more than a child who’s been thrust into a situation that no one should have to endure. Tears streak down her face as she lets the prison realm spill from her hand. Satoru doesn’t even look at it as it tumbles to the ground. He’s too lost in the sight of his daughter. 

It’s too late when the prison realm springs to life, effectively trapping him. Suguru feels something heavy settle in his chest. He’s heard Kenjaku talk about this cursed object too often. He knows that escape is all but impossible. 

Kenjaku walks through the carnage. Suguru can feel his satisfaction, bordering on a manic kind of elation. “Satoru,” he calls in Suguru’s voice. 

It would have been enough to wear his face. Bringing Shinobu into this is cruel, but Suguru's come to understand just how much Kenjaku hates the Six Eyes. 

Kanjaku comes to stand behind Shinobu, resting a hand on her shoulder. It doesn't stop her from trembling. "You did well, Shinobu."

"Who are you?" Satoru demands. He can barely move against the constraints of the prison realm, but it doesn't stop him from trying. "I know you're not Geto Suguru." 

In all of this, there's something like relief. Relief that Satoru knows this isn't him. 

With his free hand, Kenjaku cups Satoru's face, tracing a thumb over his cheekbone. "It was kind of you to create a replacement vessel in case anything should happen to this one."

It takes a long moment for Satoru to understand. Suguru is helpless to watch as the color drains from his face. Satoru jerks back as much as the prison realm's confines allow him. "Suguru!" he begs. Suguru hates that he can feel the rush of arousal Kenjaku feels at rendering the Six Eyes so desperate. "Suguru, please. Don't let anything happen to her. Anything else. Just not-"

"Your alpha is gone," Kenjaku says calmly. His voice is Suguru's voice, the same voice that could order Satoru to destroy every soul in Shibuya. But he doesn't need to. 

Wearing Suguru's face was more than enough to trap Satoru. 

"You should have killed your friend properly," Kenjaku continues. "If you had, perhaps I wouldn't have been able to possess his body. But instead not only did you fail to kill him." He laughs. "You told him everything I needed to know."

Fear is an emotion Suguru has only seen on Satoru's face a handful of times. Now he can see nothing but an all-consuming terror. 

"Suguru, please," Satoru tries again. "You won't - I know you won't let yourself get used like this."

He can't do anything. Not knowing that there's a young girl who could bear the cost of his disobedience should he fail. 

Kenjaku squeezes Shinobu’s shoulder. Suguru can feel the way she trembles. “Take a good look at your father,” he tells her. “He won’t be able to get out of the prison realm for a hundred - no, a thousand years.”

Shinobu lets out a choked noise of surprise. The pain on Satoru’s face is indescribable. Throughout his life, Satoru’s only been made to feel helpless a handful of times. Suguru knows with a crushing certainty that this is by far the worst.

“I’m-” he begins. His voice shakes. “Shinobu, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re the strongest jujutsu sorcerer.” Tears stream freely down her face. “Do something!”

Kenjaku laughs. “He can’t. The prison realm strips him of cursed energy.”

“Suguru-”

“Is gone.” Irritation is clear in Kenjaku’s voice. “Let us meet in the new world, Gojo Satoru.”

Do something. 

“Please, Suguru. Take care of her.”

I can’t. Satoru, I’m so sorry.

“Prison realm close.”

At Kenjaku’s command, the sides of the box come together again and condense back to the original size, creating something no bigger than a paperweight, yet powerful enough to contain the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. He bends down and picks it up, smiling. Suguru can feel his satisfaction. 

But then his eyes flick over to Shinobu. Only one can possess the Six Eyes at a time, but her Limitless technique makes her a potential threat. She’s served her purpose here, after all. What point is there in letting her grow into something that could be much more inconvenient?

Let her live and I’ll never try anything. Please. 

No. That’s not good enough, not when the odds of him ever posing a threat to Kenjaku are so small. And so Suguru thinks, combing through the same set of memories that Kenjaku has studied like a familiar film, trying to find something that the both of them have overlooked. 

My cursed technique. I’ll tell you something about it that’ll help you. Make a binding vow with me that you won’t hurt her and I’ll tell you. 

Kenjaku’s annoyance is clear. But inside their shared mind, he replies, If it’s useful to me, the girl will be unharmed. You have my binding vow. 

Suguru finds a memory, buried in the tedium of the daily lessons with Yaga. Their subject had been cursed techniques at their maximum state. Suguru may be the only sorcerer alive with the ability to manipulate cursed spirits, but he’s not the first. And so he repeats to Kenjaku what Yaga had told him, giving this deadly curse more power in exchange for keeping one person safe. 

Uzumaki. Use it against a special grade curse and you can take their innate techniques.

Kenjaku laughs, and Suguru feels his hope fall. There’s nothing else he can offer, no hidden weapon or technique. He can barely do more than watch as events unfold before him. And now he fears he’s going to have to watch Shinobu be killed. 

But Kenjaku tightens his grip on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t doubt that you have a father who cares for you very much,” he says. “Now come with me. It appears I need to protect you.”

Satoru…

I’m so sorry.

Chapter Text

Satoru wakes with a start when he hears the bedroom door creak open. It takes a moment to adjust to the darkness, to identify the wall he’s staring at as foreign. He needs to figure out where he is and remember how he got there.

“Relax.” It’s Suguru’s familiar voice. A moment later, he feels Suguru’s fingers brush against his wrist. “She just had another nightmare.”

A small body flings herself onto the bed, wedging herself in between the two of them. “Did not,” she defends. 

Shinobu?

Satoru blinks sleep from his eyes, rolling over so he can face the two people in bed with him. Suguru’s eyes are already closed again, his bangs draping over his face and a content smile twisting at the corners of his lips. 

A reflection of his own eyes peers back at him in his daughter, sparkling blue that shines even in the dim light. With a shaky hand, he reaches out to brush her bangs out of her face. 

She’s real. He can touch her. She’s here with him and so is Suguru. Satoru doesn’t dare blink. If he shuts his eyes for even a moment, he risks losing this. And so he stares, trying to commit every detail of his daughter’s face to memory.

Has everything else been a nightmare?

“Dad.” Her tone is dry, mildly irritated. “Why are you being weird?”

Suguru snorts but doesn’t open his eyes.

Satoru doesn’t care that his daughter is irritated, and Suguru is - well, he realizes he doesn’t know what Suguru is to him other than present . The two people who matter the most to him are within his grasp. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says to Shinobu. “Go back to sleep.”

Somehow satisfied by his non-explanation, Shinobu wriggles around in an attempt to make herself comfortable in the space between them. She ends up curling herself against Satoru’s chest, kicking Suguru in the process. He lets out a small grunt, brows furrowing slightly. 

Shinobu doesn’t apologize. It’s Satoru who she speaks to when she says, “Can we go get mochi tomorrow?”

“Sleep,” Suguru warns, though his tone is light. 

“Sure,” Satoru promises. “Anything you want.”

When Satoru opens his eyes, he finds himself back in the confines of the prison realm. He pulls down his blindfold, but nothing protects him from the onslaught of cursed energy. It’s like being forced to stare directly into the sun, but there’s no place for him to look away. 

He needs to focus. The bones of those who couldn’t find a way out surround him, his only company in this cage. He can’t let himself become one of them. There are too many people out there who depend on him. 

Who depended on him. 

He lets out a forced laugh. Maybe this was his fate from the start. He wasn’t born to be strong, to be a protector. He’s been pretending in order to assume a role for his entire life. And now the world will have to find a way forward without him. 

His daughter. More than anything, he hopes there’s someone who’s able to protect her. There’s nothing he can do but pray that someone strong like Nanami, or even one of his students, is able to find her and get her away from that thing possessing Suguru. 

He squeezes his eyes tight, praying for an escape from this bleak reality. 

Satoru lives a thousand realities. 

Suguru is always there. 

Time passes strangely in the prison realm. Satoru’s aware that it continues to pass, but he can’t determine whether it’s been a matter of weeks or months. He can tell that moments of clarity are becoming fewer and far between. All of this cursed energy must be doing things to his head, causing him to hallucinate more and more. 

Still, he can’t help but wonder about all the skeletons that surround him. Perhaps they’re not those who couldn’t find a way out. 

They’re the remains of those who didn’t want to leave. 

"Prison realm open."

There are too many pairs of hands reaching to restrain him, and Satoru can’t ward them off like he normally would, not with his cursed energy still completely drained. But he’s far from incapable of fighting. Like a rabid dog, he lashes out indiscriminately. 

"Don't move."

Satoru has never had to endure the effects of an Inumaki’s cursed speech. In any other circumstance, it would be foolish to try to use such a technique on the strongest sorcerer alive. But now, there’s indescribable physical pain in the way every muscle fiber in his body seizes.

The cursed command doesn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest as he stares at the ground. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was sealed away. 

He doesn’t want to be here, back in this cursed world that’s taken everything from him and given nothing back in return. Already, the weight of it is crushing him. How can he keep pretending to be the strongest?

He can’t breathe. 

“Satoru.” A familiar voice, the last person he heard before being sealed away - the one who ordered the prison realm to close in on him. Though it’s now infused with something he’s never heard. It’s not a cursed technique. 

No, it’s the command of an alpha to their omega. 

His heart hammers louder. Is this Suguru, or the curse in his body?

A hand gently cups his face, tilting it upward. The touch is so gentle, so painfully familiar. And when he looks at Suguru’s face and sees the cut across his forehead, now a deep red with blood crusted around the places stitches once were, he knows. 

Everyone there can see the way Satoru goes limp under Suguru’s touch, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff of its neck. The unconscious act of submission is painfully clear. 

Suguru gives him an apologetic look before saying, “This is too much for you to understand right now. I’m so sorry. Sleep, Satoru.”

Satoru welcomes oblivion.

He wakes up in a hospital bed. When he tries to get up, bindings rattle in mockery of his pathetic attempt. His wrists have been secured to the railings, cuffs infused with cursed seals. It’s not necessary, though. He doesn’t have much cursed energy yet. The effects of the prison realm are slow to wear off. 

Satoru surveys the room, trying to ascertain as much as he can. There’s an IV connected to his arm that he wishes he could pull out. Some strange little machine is clipped onto his left index finger. It must be feeding information to the monitor at his bedside. 

Because as everything sinks in, that he doesn’t know where he is, what’s happened, or even how long it’s been, he sees the way his pulse increases in a steep slope, the monitor beginning to let out a series of high pitched beeps. 

Within half a minute, Shoko enters the room. She looks more tired than normal and reeks of smoke, but Satoru’s just glad to see a familiar face. The angry beeping of the monitor tapers off as he manages to take in a few breaths. 

“Oh. You’re awake,” she remarks. “It’s about time. Have a nice nap?”

That she’s being sarcastic with him has to be a good sign. He ignores her question and rattles the cuffs binding him. “Mind telling me what these are for?”

“Just a precaution. You weren’t the calmest coming out of the prison realm. We weren’t sure what you’d be like when you finally woke up.”

“Think it’s alright to take them off now?”

"Promise you're not going to do something stupid?" 

Satoru forces a smile. Shoko fishes in her pockets for a key.

“How long has it been?” Satoru asks as Shoko undoes the cursed seals on the cuffs. 

“Since you arrived here? Or-”

“Both.”

“You’ve been unconscious for close to a week.” Satoru dreads her next words. How much time did he miss when he was suspended in between worlds? But his worst fears are quickly alleviated when Shoko adds, “Shibuya was a few months ago. It’s December 24th today.”

Only a few months. “What happened?”

Shoko can only manage a tired smile. “The short version?”

"For now,” he agrees. 

He listens as Shoko condenses everything he’s missed. His students are safe and alive. The curse that was possessing Suguru is gone. Somehow, Yuuji’s consumed nearly all of Sukuna and still maintains perfect control over him. And Yuuta’s done what Satoru’s always wanted to do: stripped the elders of any kind of power and control. 

It all seems too good to be true. As Shoko continues on in more detail, Satoru realizes that it isn’t. It can’t be. This is another scenario that his delirium has created. It may not be real, but it’s a nice respite. 

“And Suguru?” he asks. 

"He'd like to see you and tell you everything himself. If you'll allow it." 

Of course he would. In the worlds Satoru’s mind creates, Suguru is always there. 

After only a week, the scar on Suguru’s forehead already looks infinitely better. It’s just a faint line now, only noticeable if you know what to look for. His hair is carefully pulled up, the same style he often sported as a teen, with only stubborn bangs remaining out of place. 

He remains close to the doorway, as if poised to make a hasty retreat should Satoru turn on him. 

Even if nothing about this is real, Satoru doesn’t want to waste any time. “Where is she?” he asks. 

“Safe. I made sure he didn’t have a reason to use her for anything other than trapping you, Satoru. I promise. Maybe I could have brought this all to an end sooner, but I needed to make sure that-”

Satoru waves a hand to silence Suguru. “The details don’t matter as long as she’s okay,” he decides. This world isn’t any more real than any of the other realities he’s gotten to visit. He doesn’t want to waste time on small things. 

Suguru stays near the door, as if not sure whether or not his presence is welcome, and something holds Satoru back from offering him a more explicit welcome. 

Suguru clears his throat. “She’d...like to see you. She knows who you are.”

Satoru feels as though he’s falling. This is the moment he should snap out of this dream and back into the confines of the prison realm. He closes his eyes, expecting the familiar company of skeletons when he opens them. 

There’s only a worried look from Suguru. 

This...is real?

Satoru makes sure his blindfold is in place. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He folds them in his lap, then fiddles with the IV in his arm, then stops because he doesn’t want Shoko to show up and yell at him in the middle of all of this. 

He can sense her the moment she walks into the room. He forces a smile and waves her inside, folding up his legs so there’s room at the edge of the bed for her. “Come on. Sit down.”

She’s hesitant, taking small steps forward and sitting down as far away as she can. Satoru pulls his knees up to his chest, looping his arms around them and resting his chin on his knees. He tries and fails not to think about when he was a teen and Shinobu fit so easily into his arms. 

He should never have let her go. 

Her dark hair is pulled back into two painstakingly neat braids, accenting the sharp lines of her face. Satoru watches as she chews her lip for a moment before blurting out, “I’m sorry for what happened in Shibuya. He said that more people would get hurt if I didn’t-”

Satoru silences her with a wave of his hand. “You don’t need to apologize for what happened. None of it was your fault.”

“But I-”

“Did what you had to do.” He could never hold a grudge against any child put in that kind of position. “He didn’t hurt you afterward, did he?”

Shinobu shakes her head. She studies the floor when she says, “He killed my parents because of me, didn’t he?”

Satoru tells her what he wishes his parents would have told him every time someone was hurt protecting him as a child. “It’s not your fault. They wanted to protect you.”

Shinobu seems even more afraid to continue. Satoru forces himself to stay quiet, to endure the heaviness that settles between the two of them as she works up the courage to speak again. 

“He said you’re my father.”

“He did.”

“Is it true?”

Satoru swallows, then nods. There’s nothing left to protect her from, nothing worse than what she’s already endured. “It is.” But he quickly adds, “For now, it’s better if no one else knows, alright? It’s not that I want to hide you. It’s that…” he trails off. It’s what?

It’s not her, he realizes. It’s Suguru. There’s already too much that connects the two of them. If someone were to realize the level of control Suguru could exercise over Satoru (never mind that he never has ), they wouldn’t be forgiving. 

When Satoru reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, he’s confronted by the uncanny feeling of hitting a barrier. Invisible yet firm, it feels like he should be able to just stretch his fingertips a little further, but he knows better than anyone how useless the effort is against the Limitless. 

There’s anger in her eyes when she looks at him, anger masking indescribable heartbreak. It makes Satoru want to tell her everything, beginning with how he never wanted her to be taken from him. But even if he understands little about being a father, he realizes that it’s easier for now to let her simplify their complex relationship in her mind. 

Shinobu jumps off the bed and rushes for the door. She’s out of the room before Satoru can even think to call out to her. He falls back on the bed, combing a hand through his hair and thinking through a plan. 

Shinobu will have to stay in Japan now. He can take her in. After all, he’s the only person who can teach her how to master the Limitless technique. 

There’s so much he needs to make up to her. 

It’s a good thing he has nothing but time. 

Shoko returns later that afternoon to check up on him. She’s not concerned that his cursed energy is still completely drained, reminding him that the prison realm is a special grade tool and he’s perhaps the first person to get out of it alive. 

It’s as she swaps out his IV bag that she casually remarks, “I might have been the reason you were out for a week, had to give you a crazy amount of suppressants to prevent you from going into heat. I figured this was the better option.”

The way Shoko says it so casually...does everyone know? Satoru can hear an irritating beeping and is tempted to rip the stupid monitor off his finger. 

“Relax. I’ve known since we were students.” 

“Sure you have.” Satoru was always so careful. Even when he decided to quit taking suppressants, he and Suguru were discreet.

Shoko gives him a tired smile. “It’s your cursed energy. Could tell something was different the first time I patched you up,” she explains, then launches into one of her unhelpful explanations that no one can understand but her. “Most people are like…” With her index finger, she draws out a vague spiral shape. “But an alpha like Suguru is more…” She waves her hand in a fluid motion, as if constructing some invisible orchestra. “And you’re...” Her hand movements become smaller, more diminutive. “Just different,” she finishes unhelpfully. 

“You knew?”

“Since we were first years.”

“And you never said anything.”

“Didn’t think it was my business.”

Satoru watches her work, gathering courage like kindling until he’s brave enough to say, “Shinobu is my daughter.”

Shoko’s back is to him, so he’s not able to see her reaction. “Figured as much,” she says. 

“How-”

“Timeline adds up. I remember your bullshit study abroad trip. Just figured at the time it was some confidential mission you weren’t allowed to talk about. Her eyes, too. No one else has eyes like that. And then she’s got your family’s cursed-”

“She’s Suguru’s daughter too,” he blurts out. It’s a gamble, but if there’s any person who may be inclined to help him, it’s Shoko. Satoru’s been out of the game for too long. So much has happened that he doesn’t know about. He needs a friend to help him protect Suguru. 

Shoko turns around, leaning against the wall and folding her arms over her chest. Satoru’s heart picks up again when he realizes she doesn’t look surprised. 

“Relax. I’m probably the only person who suspects anything. I mean she looks like him, sure, but what’s more likely? That you’re an omega who had his kid? Or that you were a horny teenage boy who went out and fucked a girl who looked like him?”

Satoru looks down. Shoko’s words are meant to soothe him, he knows. He should be thanking her for helping keep his secret. But all he can think about is what’s next. “What’s going to happen to Suguru?” he asks quietly. 

“Honestly? Not sure. Okkotsu’s been the one calling a lot of the shots, and you know Suguru’s not his favorite.”

“We can talk to him. Yaga and Nanami too.”

Shoko doesn’t have to say it. The way she won’t meet his eyes tells him everything he needs to know. He looks down, digging his nails into his palms. The time to mourn them will be later. Right now he needs to focus on the person he can still save. 

“Can I see him again?” Satoru asks. 

“I think he’d like that,” Shoko agrees with a tired smile. 

This time when Suguru enters the room, Satoru wastes no time in waving him over. The hospital bed is small, reminiscent of their dorm room beds. Rather than pulling up his legs so they can sit facing each other, Satoru simply rolls to his side. Suguru hesitates for only a moment before joining him, careful not to disturb any of the wires still hooked up to Satoru. 

Their faces are only inches apart, their legs brushing against each other. 

Back when they were students, Satoru never let Suguru spend the night. They never even cuddled then, he realizes. He’d take what he needed, then act as if his best friend hadn’t fucked him senseless. 

He’d been so stupid. 

Suguru is the first one to speak. “You didn’t tell her the whole truth.”

Satoru gives a small shrug. “Do people suspect anything?”

"Maybe. I don't know. No one's eager to tell me anything."

Satoru wishes they had more time. As is, he’s not even sure how long this conversation will last. And so he wastes no time in asking, “What do you think is going to happen to you?”

"I don't know. Whatever the punishment, I suppose I deserve it."

"You died once. Isn't that enough?" 

Suguru's scent is comforting, familiar. Satoru wants to quit fighting against his better nature, to curl against Suguru and trust him to figure things out. To quit holding up the weight of the world and let someone else shoulder the burden. 

It's not fair. It never has been. And it’s not lost on him that the reason Shinobu got pulled into all of this is because he told Suguru about her in his friend’s dying moments, unable to carry the burden on his own anymore. 

"Tell me how you chose her name,” Suguru requests quietly, pulling Satoru out of his pity party. Right. He’s not the one with an axe looming over his neck. 

"I liked how it sounded. Suguru. Satoru. Shinobu. I guess I was still imagining the three of us."

Suguru doesn't say anything. Satoru finds himself speaking to fill the silence. It feels good to finally be able to tell someone. "I wasn't really thinking that far. I trusted my parents to figure everything out. Stupid, right? I never forgave them for what they did. I told them that the Gojo clan would die with me. My dad said that was better than letting it continue on through her." 

“You tried to tell me about her, didn’t you? You called me after I left, said you had something important to say.”

Satoru doesn’t like remembering those desperate calls, his last resort before going to his parents for help. “I did.”

“Do you ever think about how things could have been different if I’d answered?”

Of course he has. Especially when the grief of losing his daughter was so raw, Satoru agonized over every moment that could have changed things. He thinks about their last year at the school together and how he ignored the signs that Suguru was falling apart. He thinks about all those times he used Suguru without any kind of thanks. 

“This is the hand we’ve been dealt,” he finally says, trying and failing to keep his tone light. There’s no trace of bravado, only a quiet fear, when he says, “I’m not going to lose you again. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Suguru provides little relief when he says, “You’ve lost me before. You’ve survived it every time. I know you’ll be okay. You don’t need me as much as you think you do. You’re the strongest, Satoru.”

The strongest. The words he’s clung to, the hollow title he’s spent his entire life chasing and fighting to keep. The hollow epithet that’s pressed down on his chest like a curse. The words aren’t an indisputable truth. They’re a chain wrapped around him. 

Let Yuuta be the strongest. Let him share the burden with Yuuji. With Megumi. With Nobara and Maki and everyone else Satoru’s trained. 

He doesn’t want the title anymore. He wants his daughter. He wants Suguru. 

He wants a bed just big enough for the two of them, one that quickly becomes snug when their daughter has a nightmare and wedges herself in between them. He wants to take Shinobu to every food stand in Tokyo and see if she’s inherited his sweet tooth. He wants Suguru to be waiting at home for the two of them. 

He wants to cram a thousand realities with them in this one life they’ve been given. 

Maybe it’s too late. Maybe Shinobu will never be able to look at Suguru’s face and see anything other than the curse that killed her family. Maybe she’ll never be able to forgive Satoru for failing to protect her. 

Maybe his cursed energy will never come back. Maybe the prison realm has damaged him beyond repair. 

But Satoru has never wanted anything as badly as he wants this. He’s a drowning man making one last desperate grab at a tether when he reaches out for Suguru’s hand, holding it so tightly and vowing to never let go. 

“I need you,” he finally admits, the soft confession as strong as a binding vow. 

Maybe the words are an anchor, a sinking weight that’ll pull them both down. 

Or maybe they’re a promise, feather light and fragile, buoyed by hope and trust in a future that Satoru’s worked so hard to create. 

When he sees Suguru’s smile, a familiar friend that’s been absent for so long, he prays to any god who will listen that it’ll be the latter.