Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru immediately knows he’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be the moment he opens his eyes and finds himself lying on a sofa, Shoko leaning over him with that clinical stare of hers.

“Did I die or something?” he asks, voice rough. His Six Eyes are already making his brain ache. Where’s my headband? What is this place?

Shoko sits down beside him, deadpan as ever.
“No, dumbass. You had a heat stroke.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’re a riot, Shoko. Now seriously—how did you manage to unseal me?”

The humor drains from him in an instant. He freezes when he senses it—nothing. No cursed energy from her at all. His eyes widen.

Shoko frowns. “I think we should really go to the hospital, Satoru.”

“You are the hospital, Shoko…” He sits up, staring at her, his tone sharper now. “So tell me what the hell is going on.”

Shoko only sighs, grabbing her car keys from the table.
“Come on, man. We actually need to get you some help. Whatever concussion thing this is, it’s not looking good.”

His Six Eyes are screaming at him. The place, the air—everything feels different. The last thing he remembers is staring into Suguru’s eyes. No, not him. The last thing was the seal snapping shut.

And this? This is not a seal effect.

It’s something else entirely. A different world. Shoko without cursed energy is a sight to behold, honestly. Strange, wrong, but almost peaceful. He needs to calm down. He needs to figure out what this place is, and then go back. The kids need him.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize the truth. He’s been in this world for over a month now, and it’s laughable how easy people have it here. There are no curses. Just like that.

So, of course, no sorcerers. No Jujutsu High. Which makes him useless in this dimension.

The only thing that hasn’t changed? He’s still lonely.

The clans exist, but not as sorcerer dynasties—more like business empires. He nearly choked on his spit when his assistant (apparently he has one here) emailed to ask if he was free to meet with the Zenin Group.

Yes. He has an assistant. Because why the fuck not, in this insane version of reality?

Here, he runs the Gojo Clan’s businesses. He’s still considered arrogant, a prick to many, according to Shoko. Some things never change.

But there are surprises. Pleasant ones. Shoko is still here, still his closest friend.
The not-so-pleasant one? He’s dead. Don’t ask. Don’t even think about it.

Nanami is here too, which is either cosmic comedy or cruelty. His company’s most valuable accountant, perpetually exasperated, and still, begrudgingly, his friend. No trace of Haibara, and he doesn’t dare ask.

The irony isn’t lost on him—having all the power in a world that doesn’t need it, while the world that does need it is without him.

He manages to adapt. Barely. His soul refuses to rest even here. His apartment is decent—modern, comfortable, up to his standards. Different, but familiar enough.

One evening, Shoko suggests hanging out at her place. He sits in his car, debating how to ask for the address without blowing his cover. Teleporting is out of the question; he has to play the part of whoever’s life he’s cosplaying. Eventually, he caves and asks. He makes up some story about taking a wrong turn, and, to his surprise, she sends it.

They end up sitting on the floor of her apartment, pizza boxes spread between them. Shoko munches casually while he stares, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. When was the last time they hung out without a patient bleeding out nearby? Without curses looming over their heads?

He hates it. Hates how much he would have loved this life if those damn curses hadn’t existed.

He tunes out when Shoko picks up her phone, scrolling through his own. It’s a habit he’s picked up in this world—he can’t sit with his own thoughts for more than five minutes, or else he’ll replay the mess he left behind. How easily he was outsmarted. How he refused to hand over his ex-best friend’s body.

Shoko hangs up, returns her attention to the TV. “Can you believe sleep deprivation made me bring the wrong backpack home?” she mutters, sipping her beer.

“I suggest you start sleeping instead of drowning in alcohol,” he says, snatching at the can.

She shakes her head. “Naa. He’s going to be here any minute. Said his apartment keys are in there.”

“He knows your apartment? Shoko, are you sure this isn’t some new form of flirting in the medical department?”

“Ewwww, Satoru.” She scrunches her face in disgust. “He’ll kill you if he hears that.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.”

She glares. “You do realize the one who called is Geto, right?”

His breath catches sharp in his throat. His mind spins. No. No, this has to be the seal. It’s messing with me. Trying to drive me insane.

He barely hears Shoko talking after that. The doorbell cuts through the haze.

“Open the door, Gojo. I can’t see straight,” Shoko says.

“No. No, I can’t,” he replies instantly, shaking his head.

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Satoru. He hates waiting.”

His chest is tight as he prepares himself for whatever nightmare waits on the other side. He opens the door—

He braces himself for whatever’s on the other side.

And then… he freezes.

Suguru Geto is standing there.

Purple eyes. Same as always. Hair in that damn high school bun, a stray strand falling across his forehead like he hasn’t aged a day. He looks beautiful, infuriatingly so. And… different. No cursed energy. None. Just scrubs.

Gojo’s brain is screaming. His chest tightens. For a second, he actually thinks this is a trick, the seal finally trying to mess with his head properly. But no—this is real.

“Suguru,” he blurts, and the word tastes like something he shouldn’t have spoken.

Suguru’s eyes widen. “Did you just call me Suguru? Are you drunk, Gojo?”

Hearing his voice is the final straw. Gojo’s hands start shaking. His stomach flips. The room spins too fast. He stumbles toward the sink, barely making it before he’s heaving, gut emptying itself like it’s trying to eject the world he left behind.

From somewhere behind him, he hears Suguru talking. Calm, casual, alive.
“What’s up with your friend, Shoko?”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean we are not friends?” Satoru demands.

Suguru had left as soon as he got his backpack. Satoru was still bent over the sink, scrubbing like he could erase the shaking in his hands, pretending the sudden stomachache wasn’t a cover. Shoko had checked on him, bought the excuse without much thought.

It isn’t that Suguru feels like a stranger. It’s worse. He looks at Satoru the way you’d look at someone you only vaguely know—polite, distant, like nothing about him is remarkable. That damn fake smile makes Satoru want to smash something.

So he plays dumb. Pretends around Shoko like he has everything under control. She doesn’t notice a thing. Maybe there’s nothing to notice maybe the Gojo who belonged here never had Suguru at all.

But life without curses isn’t peace. It’s hollow. What’s Satoru Gojo without being the strongest? Just a man with too much free time and no use for his power. Loneliness feels sharper here.

Eventually, he breaks. “Why did Suguru act like that when I called him by his first name?”

Shoko laughs out loud. “Are you serious? I introduced you two, and the first thing you said was how tired he looked. And now you’re acting like you’re besties?”

“I… don’t remember that,” he mutters.

“Yeah, no kidding. You and Suguru don’t like each other. And that’s fine.”

A week later, Satoru is still restless. He digs for information, but all he gets is scraps: in this world, he and Suguru aren’t even close. Just mutuals who orbit Shoko’s life.

The sight of him makes Satoru’s insomnia worse. He wakes at three a.m. every night, haunted by the memory of Suguru’s smile—the real one, not this stranger’s. I hate you for torturing me in every timeline.

He remembers: he killed him. Not even two years ago. Yet here he is, alive, whole, smiling like it costs him nothing.

So Satoru decides—he’ll fix it. He’ll be Suguru’s friend again. He did it once. He can do it again. Even if this Suguru doesn’t know him, even if it takes everything, he’ll find a way back in.

Suguru hates pushy people, so it has to be organic. That’s why Satoru leans on Shoko.

The business side of his life is the only thing that doesn’t fall apart. Compared to running the Gojo estate while teaching and fighting, this is child’s play. But free time is dangerous—it means thinking.

So he tells his driver to take him to Shoko’s hospital, calls ahead to say he’s buying her lunch. Shoko, surprisingly, doesn’t question it. Apparently here, he does nice things sometimes.

“Where’s Suguru?” is the first thing out of his mouth when he arrives.

Shoko arches a brow. “What’s gotten into you? You never even noticed him before.”

He shrugs. “He’s your coworker. Might as well grab him something too.”

“Hell no. You’d probably poison him.”

They’re standing in reception when Suguru arrives. Casual clothes, tired eyes. He looks too much like the boy Satoru remembers—and not enough all at once.

Against his better judgment, the words slip out. “Are you okay?”

Suguru blinks. “I… am. Are you?”

Shoko shakes her head. “Gojo’s in a generous mood. He wants to take us out for lunch.”

Suguru looks surprised, then suspicious. How could this universe’s Gojo survive with him this close, but still untouchable?

“Before you decline, I already booked a table for three,” Satoru says quickly. It sounds too much like begging.

Suguru gives him that fake smile again. “I have to pass. Apartment hunting on my break.”

Shoko leans in. “How’s that going?”

They slip into easy conversation, but Satoru cuts in. “Didn’t you have an apartment last week? Why are you hunting again?”

Suguru gives him a look. “I still do. The lease is ending. My roommate and I aren’t renewing.”

“Why?”

Suguru stumbles, caught off guard by the sudden interest. “Rent skyrocketed. Too far from work.”

“Stick it out for three months,” Shoko suggests. “Apartments are impossible to find right now.”

“Tell me about it.” Suguru pushes his bangs back, sighing. “Me and Haibara have been through hell these past few weeks.”

Satoru freezes. “Excuse me?”

Shoko smacks him. “Shut up while adults are talking.”

He ignores her, stepping closer. “You live with Haibara? Haibara Yuu?”

Suguru stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Gojo, what the hell is wrong with you? Of course you know Haibara. Nanami introduced you ages ago. We’ve been roommates for years. Now seriously—shut up.”

The audacity makes Satoru want to throw something. “Actually, no free meal for you.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “I already declined. And nothing’s free if I have to sit next to you while you rage-bait me half the time.”

Satoru points at him like a child. “You rage-bait me too!”

Suguru throws a hand up as he walks away. “That’s why I said half, idiot.”

Chapter Text

Satoru would love to say he acted subtle around Suguru. That’d be a big lie and Satoru is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He’s been racking his brain for ways to get closer to his ex-best friend. If that’s even what they are now. The point is, there’s no way to do it while keeping up his “too-cool-to-care” facade.

So here he is, begging Shoko to invite Suguru to dinner.

“Not happening,” she says flatly, swirling her drink. “Some of us actually work for a living. He probably needs rest right now.”

Satoru leans across the table, pouting like a child. “I’ve been working all day too. What’s your point?”

Shoko narrows her eyes. “For a living, Satoru. He’s a resident with no family support. Just go easy on him, okay?”

He waves her off. “Fine, fine. Did he find an apartment yet?”

“No. Haibara might move in with Nanami. If that happens, Suguru’s in a worse spot.”

Satoru’s mouth twists. Nanami, living with Haibara? Meanwhile, he can’t even get Suguru to grab lunch with him. This world is insane, and every new detail only tastes more bitter.

But wallowing isn’t his style. He’s already accepted that losing Suguru—killing him—was the kind of fate he deserved. Karma, maybe. Still, as long as Suguru’s alive and breathing, Satoru won’t stay away. Even if it costs him his sanity.

“Shoko,” he says suddenly, “how much does Suguru actually know about my family’s money?”

She squints at him, suspicious. “Not much. Just that you’re rich. That’s it.”

“Perfect.” He sits back with a grin. “Tell him I need a roommate.”

Shoko nearly chokes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Make up a story about me being lonely or something. Doesn’t matter. Just get him to move in, and I’ll owe you.”

She barks out a laugh. “Is this a bet? He can’t afford your rent.”

“I own the damn apartment. He can pay for groceries.”

Her expression hardens. “Satoru. Suguru will hate it if he thinks you’re pitying him. He’s proud. He never accepted help from anyone.”

“I know him,” Satoru blurts out, too quickly. His chest tightens, but he looks away before she can press. “So spin it so he thinks he’s the one helping me.”

Shoko signals for the bill, shaking her head. “You’ve always been obsessed with him. Lately? You’re just losing it.”

Satoru smirks. “If you make him my roommate, I’ll buy you that cigar collection you drool over. The one that costs an arm and a leg.”

Her lips curl. “And I get to pick the type.”

“Obviously.” He grins. (He would’ve bought it for her birthday anyway.)

A week later, Shoko has worked her magic. Satoru doesn’t know what kind of story she spun, but when her text comes through along with her shopping cart. He nearly makes his driver swerve.

He shows up early at her apartment, tossing her the cigars as soon as he walks in.

Shoko catches the box one-handed without even sitting up from the couch. “Someone’s confident today.”

Satoru sprawls into a chair with an easy shrug. “He can’t say no to me.”

She snorts. “I swear that heat stroke fried your brain when it comes to Suguru.”

He doesn’t even argue because she might be right. “So? How’d you convince him?”

“He’s strapped for cash. Resident pay is trash, plus he’s supporting his retired family. He didn’t question it much.”

Satoru tilts his head, though guilt prickles in his chest. “And you made sure it doesn’t look like charity?”

“Relax,” she says, finally sitting up. “He thinks I convinced you. He sees it as temporary. Just… don’t be your usual self. If you come on too strong, he’ll deck you.”

Satoru flashes a grin, even as his stomach twists. “Let me worry about that.”

The door creaks open. Suguru steps in, violet eyes flicking between the two of them. Shoko, of course, left the door unlocked.

“Hey,” Suguru says slowly, suspicion dripping from the single word.

It takes less than ten minutes to hammer out the details. Neither of them spends much time at home anyway. Rent becomes the sticking point—Satoru insists groceries are plenty, while Suguru frowns.

“I don’t get it,” Suguru says finally. “Why would you need a roommate if you already own the place?”

Satoru huffs, leaning back. Half-truth, half-lie it’s all the same. “Honestly? I just hate living alone these days. Figured I’d wait for someone familiar.”

“Never shared a place before,” Shoko cuts in smoothly, sipping her drink. “It’s a bucket list thing.”

Satoru nearly throws her another pack of cigars for that assist, but decides he’d rather she live long enough to enjoy the first. Still, the guilt lingers. He’s manipulating Suguru into this. But he doesn’t know how much time he has left. For all he knows, he could end up sealed tomorrow. He has to see this through.

Suguru’s gaze lingers on him, skeptical but resigned. “Fine. But I’m still paying my usual rent. Send me your account details.”

“You’re in?” Satoru can’t help the grin stretching across his face.

“Yeah. But I need to know you’re serious. I’m not risking being homeless again just because you get bored of this.”

Satoru almost laughs. Three years of living together and Suguru still thinks he’s the unreliable one. “We can sign a contract if you want.”

“Two months,” Suguru says firmly. “That’s when my residency ends. After that, I’m gone.”

Two months. The words make Satoru’s chest seize. He’d thought he’d have at least four. He shoots Shoko a betrayed look, but she’s already scrolling through her phone.

“For sure, man,” he says casually, while panic gnaws at his ribs.

“Keys?” Suguru asks.

“Already got you a spare.” Satoru tosses it without hesitation.

Suguru catches it, eyebrows lifting. “You’re really serious about this experiment, huh?”

Satoru just smirks. Two months. That’s all the time he has to remind Suguru why he stayed, once upon a time.