Chapter Text
On October 31st, 2018, Satoru Gojo unlocked a facet of the six eyes condition that he had no previous knowledge of.
Prescience.
Later, diaries hidden deep within the confines of the Gojo compound would explain that in moments of extreme duress, the six eyes can present their user with something extraordinary: a complete vision of something that has not yet happened.
That night, as Satoru was about to enact his domain for exactly 0.2 seconds to ensure safety of the citizens trapped in the station, a vivid set of images appeared in his brain. A world thrust into chaos, burning and bloody and defined only by the culling of non-sorcerers and sorcerers alike. The processing power of the six eyes could tell him within the span of an instant that this reality would come to fruition if he continued with his current course of action. With less than a moment’s notice, Satoru made an impossible choice.
On October 31st, 2018, Satoru Gojo saved the world.
And in the same moment, he committed the single worst terrorist attack known to man.
January, 2019
The music is so loud that Toge can feel it vibrating in his blood.
He lets himself exhale, completely caught up in it. Toge remembers liking this place when he was here a couple weeks ago, so he isn’t sure why he never came back. Last time, there’d been a band that thrashed gloriously all night, but even on a regular weeknight, they’re playing music so loud it’s nearly deafening.
Toge likes being in places where no one can hear each other properly. Toge likes being in places where he can’t hear himself properly.
He’s lost to it, sweat gliding off his forehead as the beat surrounds him. Long past feeling his feet, Toge jumps with the crowd, arms flailing in every direction. Maki would say he’s wasting energy, Panda would say he should be getting a good night’s rest before their classes tomorrow, and Satoru would…
Well, Toge doesn’t care much what Satoru would say these days.
He pushes the thought out of his head. Extracting himself from campus hadn’t been an easy feat with Maki breathing down his neck, so if he’s finally here, he’s damn well going to enjoy himself. Toge’s not going to waste even another second thinking about the mess he walked out of. In fact, if he has it his way, he won’t waste another second tonight thinking about anything at all.
It works for a brief spell. There is a stretch- maybe minutes, maybe hours- where Toge is nothing but a body in a club, faceless and blissed out.
It doesn’t last.
He sees a flash of it out of the corner of his eye, but he felt it even before that- the invasive squall of cursed energy. It burns in the back of Toge’s nostrils, creeping down his throat. All at once, Toge remembers why he never came back here. This place is crawling with low-level curses.
His senses flare, his whole body springing into action without his permission. Because Toge isn’t the same as everyone else in this club. He’s a Jujutsu Sorcerer.
The curse has a small purple body, but long, slimy limbs. It roves over the patrons, leaving a sticky film on their shoulders as it makes its way across the club. It’s weak. Toge can tell just by looking. It’s grade three at absolute most, but it’s picked its targets well. People here are completely vulnerable to its whims and are too inebriated to be deterred by its presence.
Not hesitating for even a second, Toge yanks at one of the curse’s legs and starts dragging it towards the emergency exit. With the noise levels being what they are, he can't handle this in here. He pushes the door open and the curse lets out a whining squelch, writhing around unhappily as it’s torn from the jaws of the club and into the cold winter air. Toge can’t help but share the sentiment.
With a flick of his wrist, Toge throws the curse into the alleyway and against the wall. It makes a terrible splattering noise, but Toge didn’t put enough force into it to finish it off. All it really does is leave the curse stuck against the wall. It squawks at Toge yet again, furious about its new circumstances. Toge figures it must have been created by the sediments of bad energy leaking out of the club-goers, meaning the curse would have been born right there. It’s probably never left the space before and must not be too keen on change.
Toge sighs, sinking down against the opposite wall and tugging at his face mask. There’s a part of him that almost feels bad for what he’s about to do, but it’s not nearly loud enough to stop him.
“Die.”
The curse disintegrates into the air without protest, taking all traces of its noxious cursed energy with it as it goes. Toge doesn’t even feel so much as a scratch afterwards.
“Toge,” Yuuta interjects. “Why would you do that?”
His voice is always in Toge’s head lately, often at the most random moments- during missions, while out on walks, in the middle of the night. Toge’s gotten pretty good at ignoring it. He supposes this particular interruption makes sense, though. The first time Yuuta ever used cursed speech, he skipped right over all the gentler words and went straight to “die.” Toge gave him an earful about it once they were all to safety. It was beyond reckless to be using that word heedlessly. Cursed speech had the capacity to turn on its user, so a word like that was the last thing a beginner should ever consider using.
Toge used to avoid it himself, but lately he’s been testing the waters with it against these lower-grade curses. It was perhaps a little more dangerous, but thrillingly effective. Blasting and twisting were often long and laborious affairs. Die cut straight through like butter.
“Toge,” Yuuta repeats. This time his voice emerges clearly, as if coming up from underwater. “What was that? You could have gotten yourself killed.”
Toge’s head snaps over. He blinks, trying to make sense of his imagination. He’s heard Yuuta’s voice before in his head, but he’s never actually seen him.
Suddenly, Toge feels the beers he charmed someone into buying him a few hours ago creeping back up his throat. He didn’t drink that much tonight, but he can’t exactly remember when he ate last either. Not that it matters much now. It’s all spilling out of his mouth, right on to the cement.
This isn’t Toge’s imagination at all. Yuuta is really standing there, one hand on the propped open emergency exit and two perfect, indigo eyes shining in the darkness.
“Fuck,” Yuuta swears. Dimly, Toge remembers how polite Yuuta used to be. He never would have said something so crude when the two of them first met. This must be a habit he picked up while he was in Africa.
He’s back from Africa, Toge’s brain supplies uselessly.
“Are you okay?” Yuuta asks, rushing over. Toge doesn’t move. He’s not sure he even can. All he can do is stare blankly at Yuuta, and even then, he doesn’t really know where to look.
Toge knew that his training regimen there was insane, but this is far beyond anything Toge could have imagined. His limbs have been stretched out, the lines in his face sharpened. Everything about him looks stronger and more refined. Even his sweltering cursed energy is tightly contained at his core instead of rolling off of him in waves. It’s only been nine months, but Yuuta is an entirely new person.
And now he’s back.
Why is he back?
“I needed to see you,” Yuuta says, almost as if he’d heard Toge asking. Toge shakes his head, unable to comprehend why. “Because you haven’t answered any of my texts in two months.”
Toge winces. Had it really been that long? It couldn’t have been. They texted a few days after the incident, Toge is sure of if. November, December… oh.
It’s not that Toge has been actively dodging Yuuta’s texts. He just hasn’t had much to say. Yuuta sends a picture of something in Africa, and Toge looks at it. Yuuta sends a link to something he found online, and Toge clicks it. Yuuta asks how Toge is doing, and Toge doesn’t have an answer for him. It’s really only just occurring to him now that Toge hasn’t sent back a text in well… two months, apparently.
“I’ve been worried,” Yuuta clarifies.
Toge only shrugs, which is probably the wrong thing to do given the serious tone of this conversation. He can’t help himself. Actually, he really can’t help himself. Suddenly he’s laughing out loud. This whole thing is hysterical to him, and he can’t name why.
Maybe it’s because Toge would have done anything a few weeks ago to make Yuuta come home, and now Yuuta’s come home because Toge is doing literally nothing- or at least, nothing to do with him. It’s actually not funny at all, but if Toge doesn’t laugh he’s not sure what he’ll do, and he doesn’t trust himself in front of Yuuta right now.
He laughs and laughs, and keeps laughing even as Yuuta wraps a firm hand around his wrist and hauls him up and off the sidewalk. He laughs over stumbling feet to the train station and all the way down the steps to the platform. He’s even laughing when Yuuta whips around to bring them face to face, his lit-from-within cobalt eyes not showing so much as a trace of humor in them.
“I don’t understand what’s so funny,” he says, the small muscles in his face tightening with little twitches. “You really fucking scared me tonight.”
The last bubble of laughter dies in Toge’s throat. Yuuta’s never spoken to him like this before. His voice is firm and commanding and maybe even a little bit scary. There’s an intensity to him that Toge has never seen before and, in a wrenching sort of way, Toge finds it very compelling. The way Yuuta won’t look at anything but him, the way he’s acting like nothing else even exists- there’s something unbelievably thrilling about it all.
The moment is over far too quickly, train tracks starting to rattle. Toge’s just about to pull away and step towards the track when out of nowhere, Yuuta pulls him in closer. His arms wrap around Toge at the exact same second the train flies past, kicking up wind into the entire station.
“I missed you,” Yuuta whispers, just barely audible. Toge is limp in his arms, too stunned by the gesture to participate in it. His forehead is pressed into Yuuta’s neck, head tucked gently beneath Yuuta’s chin. He’s so tall now. Toge feels impossibly small.
Yuuta runs a hand over Toge’s hair as he pulls away, letting it land on Toge’s shoulder to help guide him through the sliding doors. Maybe Toge’s still tipsy, or else just dazed from a long night out, but he feels completely out of body as they tumble into the train car and sit down beside one another. Yuuta takes up so much space that their knees touch. Toge is so cramped that his shoulder presses into the window as the train starts hurtling out of Tokyo Proper.
“Are you going to say anything?” Yuuta asks, staring straight ahead. He manages to sound both hopeful and defeated at the same time, speaking in that helpless, melancholy way that only sits right on Yuuta’s tongue. Toge doesn’t even offer as much as a shake of the head. Instead, he settles into the train car, jockeying for shoulder room so he can sit squarely in his seat, Yuuta’s new size advantage be damned.
With that, Toge’s alertness finally gives out- snapped clean like a thin rubber band. He’s asleep in an instant, not even aware enough to stop his head from falling onto Yuuta’s shoulder as the train rocks them.
Because, no. Toge doesn’t plan on saying anything. In fact, he doesn’t plan on saying anything ever again if he can avoid it.