Chapter Text
December 24th, 2018.
Gojo Satoru is dead.
Itadori Yuuji stares at the remains of the person once believed to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer—his precious teacher, his pillar of support, the man he’s in love with—on the washed-out, grainy screen in front of him.
He stares and stares and stares, throat closing shut, chest constricting as his heart shatters into a million pieces, because it just can’t be true.
It can’t.
How could Gojo Satoru lose, when he outsmarted Sukuna in every single way? When he dominated the King of Curses, even with his back pressed against the wall and facing off against multiple cursed techniques?
How could Gojo Satoru lose, when he’s supposed to be the strongest?
(How could Gojo Satoru lose, when he promised Yuuji he’d win?)
You’ve never broken a promise to me before.
His eyes burn with the familiar sting of tears once again.
Sensei.
Gojo-sensei.
Satoru-san.
It still doesn’t feel real.
The same sentiment seems to be shared with everyone around him as well—a haze of cursed energy infused with the heavy weight of pain and regret swarms all around them, each and every person who witnessed the impossible not daring to move a muscle, too shocked by the sight before them.
Too afraid of the implications of what comes after.
Kashimo, however, is the first to brush Gojo’s death off.
“Told you guys he couldn’t have beaten Sukuna.” He grabs his staff and stretches his arms towards the ceiling, then down to the ground, one eye closed as he yawns like nothing ever happened.
Like Gojo-sensei didn’t just get cut in half.
Like Sukuna didn’t just cheat his way through the entire battle.
Like Kashimo himself wouldn’t just make it two steps into the battlefield without being disintegrated into a forgotten pile of flesh and blood and bone.
Unbothered, Kashimo starts making his way to the exit, his staff propped up on his shoulder. He turns to Okkotsu, one eyebrow raised. “Since that guy’s dead, you won’t mind if I’m next, right?”
The infuriatingly blasé way he says it, the absolute disregard for Gojo’s efforts—Yuuji finally snaps out of his trance.
How…how can you still praise Sukuna after that?
Kashimo seems to be arguing with Kusakabe and Okkotsu, but Yuuji doesn’t hear them. His body moves on his own, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he rushes over.
“Wait,” he croaks, one hand fisting into the back of Kashimo’s shirt. “Take me with you.”
Kashimo bristles. “Hah?!” He steps forward, wrenching himself angrily out of Yuuji’s grip. “I thought I made it clear I was next in line. I’m fighting Sukuna next.” He looms over Yuuji, cursed energy flaring dangerously, laced with killing intent.
“And I’m doing it alone.”
Yuuji tightens his jaw , darting around him and blocking his way.
“I’m not going out there to fight Sukuna,” he says, glaring. “And you’re crazy if you think you can last longer than Gojo-sensei. If you want to die next, be my guest.” He ignores Kashimo’s scowl, his next words feeling thick and heavy in his mouth, “I just—I need…I need to get to sensei.”
Kashimo looks at him like he’s just said something incredibly stupid.
Before Yuuji can say anything else, a large hand lands on his shoulder, the weight of it grim and sympathetic.
“Itadori…” Kusakabe sighs, expression apologetic, “he’s gone. You saw it. We all saw it. There’s nothing we can—”
“No!” Yuuji swivels around, slapping Kusakabe’s hand away. Kusakabe blinks at him, taken aback, and Yuuji grimaces.
Other people are gathering around them now, and he pointedly ignores the concerned looks the older students give him.
“No, you guys don’t get it.” He shakes his head, letting out something that’s half-sob, half-laugh. He knows he probably looks pathetic, but he doesn’t care. “We have to get him. I have to get him.” He looks to Ieiri, whose expression is currently unreadable.
“You know what I’m talking about, right, Ieiri-san?” Yuuji presses, voice pleading, “Choso told me what happened with Geto-san. I’m not letting Sukuna or Kenjaku have him.”
Yuuji lets his words sink in.
He knows he’s gotten the point across when the other jujutsu sorcerers around him pale, the cursed energy in the air suddenly swarming with fear.
Maki grips her sword tighter, while Okkotsu’s face darkens. “If that thing takes over Gojo-sensei’s body, then…”
“Then the bets for the fight will be back on,” Mei Mei chimes in. “My, what a possibility.”
Yuuji stares at her in disbelief.
How can she say that?
He just died for us!
Anger clouds his vision—he takes a step towards her, something cruel twisting and turning in his gut, but Ui Ui blocks his way.
“Hold it. Don’t come so close to Nee-san.”
“Then tell her to not talk about Gojo-sensei like that,” Yuuji snarls, cursed energy flaring menacingly, and Ui Ui grits his teeth.
Beside him, Yuuta frowns, his cursed energy spiking slightly and causing Ui Ui to flinch. Sensing an uncomfortable tension in the air, Yuuji chooses to drop it for now and turns back to Kashimo.
“Please.” He says, determined. “Take me with you.”
Kashimo studies him for a moment, one eyebrow raised. His head tilts to the side, his right hand absentmindedly tapping his staff up and down on his shoulder. What he’s looking for, Yuuji doesn’t know, but he holds Kashimo’s gaze, not backing down for even a second.
Eventually, Kashimo gives.
“You better not get in the way. I’ll kill you if you do.” He turns around, looking at Yuuji while jabbing a thumb towards his back. “Well? Come on, then. And hang on tight, or I’m dropping you halfway.”
Kashimo deposits him unceremoniously behind a pile of rubble near Gojo’s remains, completely unbothered by the sight while Yuuji can’t even glance anywhere near it without feeling bile pool in the back of his throat.
He can’t speak, can’t breathe—he was ready to make peace with what happened and safely bring Gojo back, but it hurts all over again when he remembers that Gojo died all alone with the whole world watching.
With the whole world on his back and shoulders, and yet not a single person helped him.
And I couldn’t do anything either because I was too weak, Yuuji thinks.
Not for the first time, he wonders how much better things would be if he’d ended it all back then.
Sensing a pained flicker in his cursed energy, Kashimo clicks his tongue, gesturing for Yuuji to get a move on.
“Hey. Stop that. You’re gonna attract other curses here with all that negativity and get in my way.” Kashimo rolls his eyes. “I refuse to fight Sukuna in terrain that’s in such disarray, so do what you need to do and get out of here,” Kashimo tells him, not bothering to hide his annoyance at the slow nod Yuuji gives him. “If you get caught in the crossfire, that’s not my problem.” He gives Yuuji one last unimpressed glance before leaping into the air towards Sukuna.
“Ryomen Sukuna! It’s about time we fought,” Kashimo shouts, grinning maniacally as he blasts down a bolt of lightning that splits the ground open, effectively pushing Sukuna away.
Sukuna drawls something in response, followed by a series of explosions and deafening crashes, but Yuuji can’t hear them; doesn’t want to hear them. Sukuna isn’t why he came out to the battlefield.
He needs to get to Gojo.
He rises up from where he’s hidden from view, grabbing onto a large rock to steady himself. He moves a shaky step forward, almost toppling over from the bout of vertigo that washes over him.
Calm down. He swallows, taking a few seconds to steel himself.
Remember, this is for Gojo-sensei.
He takes a deep breath, leaping from the broken concrete and over to the upper half of Gojo’s body, unable to keep down the miserable sob that escapes his throat when the sight of his teacher’s bruised and bloodied face comes into view.
“...Sensei,” Yuuji murmurs, knees suddenly weak, wanting to gouge his own eyes out but unable to prevent himself from burning the sight into his memory. “Gojo-sensei.”
He’s more used to death these days—has been better at coping with the burdens of it since Junpei and Shibuya, but this…
This hurts. Like nothing has ever hurt before.
This cuts into him, deep, like a knife plunging straight into his chest and sliding along his ribs, whittling flesh from bone. Carving heart from soul and then soul from body.
“Satoru-san.”
Tears flow freely from his eyes now, sliding down his cheeks and falling onto Gojo’s cold and lifeless body below.
For a second—just one naïve, hopeful second—Yuuji thinks that life will work itself out like a movie. That his tears could somehow bring Gojo back; that they could reunite happily in the world of the living instead of finding each other in another time and another life.
That they could live in each other’s embrace again, like how they’ve been spending the past month ever since Gojo was unsealed from the Prison Realm, every inch of their bodies pressed against one another with nothing but heat and skin between them.
But life isn’t a movie that Yuuji can watch in basements anymore.
His miracle doesn’t happen.
Gojo still lays there, and Yuuji’s still grappling with the cruelness of the reality before him.
Don’t get distracted, he tells himself, taking another deep breath.
Bring him back to the others, quickly. As long as his head’s with me, then…
Yuuji shudders, fighting the urge to vomit. He doesn’t want to leave any part of Gojo behind.
Then he’ll be safe from Kenjaku.
More tears slide down his cheek.
As he kneels down to get closer, Yuuji sees—no, feels, with every fiber of his being, a beacon of hope: the pooling of cursed energy within Gojou-sensei’s eyes.
He blinks, unsure if it’s a figment of his imagination; if it’s a delusion born from hope and heartbreak, but then the cursed energy flares just the slightest bit, almost in a familiar, reassuring manner, and—
Oh, Yuuji realizes.
(In the back of his mind, an old conversation begins to surface. Something he never figured out back then, but fondly remembered and revisited all the same.
Yuuji-kun really likes sensei’s eyes, huh? I wouldn’t mind giving them to you, you know.
No? You wouldn’t want them? That’s too bad. There’s an old wives' tale about how giving someone your eye is a love confession. Maybe even a marriage proposal!
Haha, you don’t believe sensei? That’s fine. You’ll understand what I mean one day.
Just remember my words, then, Yuuji.
These eyes are only for you.)
He half-laughs, half-sobs out loud at the memory, the sound cold and empty, on the verge of crumbling to pieces.
He wipes the tears from his face.
The cursed energy in Gojo’s eyes reaches out again, and this time, it’s not Yuuji’s imagination.
I wouldn’t mind giving them to you, you know. Gojo’s words echo through Yuuji’s mind once more.
“...So this is what you meant, sensei,” Yuuji murmurs, smiling softly.
It dawns on him, then, the implications of what he needs to do.
He reaches out, the tips of his fingers gingerly brushing the hair away from Gojo’s forehead. He trails them down and caresses them over Gojo’s cheekbones, his thumb tracing over Gojo’s eyelids and eyelashes in an almost reverent manner.
“Thank you,” Yuuji whispers, pressing a kiss against Gojo’s temple, his fingers resting gently over Gojo’s right eye, “and I’m sorry.”
He presses them in.
Trapped deep underground in the lobby of a Jujutsu High safehouse, Ieiri Shoko leans against a wall, stares at a crack in the ceiling, and lights another cigarette.
“Oi, Itadori!” Kusakabe shouts at the television screen, eyes wide in disbelief. Both his hands come up to clutch the sides of his head, his grip so tight that Shoko can see the whites of his knuckles.
“Surely, he’s not going to—!”
“He is,” Shoko says, tone soft. Jaded. She doesn’t offer any additional information.
Multiple heads turn in her direction, but she stares straight ahead, taking another drag of her cigarette and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
“What’s Yuu-chan thinking?!” Kirara gasps, their hand flying to their mouth.
“He’s probably not, that’s the thing,” Maki sighs. “You think he had any thoughts in his head when he ate Sukuna’s finger?”
“But still.” Hakari shakes his head. “How can he…? With sensei’s…?” He grimaces, clenching his fists.
Shoko makes a non-committal noise.
“It’s not a long shot. Itadori-kun’s body can soak up souls and cursed energy,” Shoko tells him, taking another drag of her cigarette. “Sukuna and Gojo both possess a level of power we don’t understand. I wouldn’t put it past the Six Eyes being a cursed object of some sort.”
She pauses, considering.
“And besides, like someone being picky about what to eat, souls also have the option of choosing their vessels. If Itadori-kun can even house Sukuna, then he’d be more than enough for anyone else.”
Silence fills the room once more as everyone contemplates her words.
If anyone replies to her, she doesn’t hear it.
This is what you wanted in the end, isn’t it, Gojo?
In the distance, countless bolts of bright, white-hot lightning rain down from the sky, incinerating everything the crackling electricity touches.
But all efforts are futile.
Kashimo Hajime is no match for Sukuna.
“You’re not nearly as entertaining as I hoped you would be.” Sukuna clicks his tongue in mocking disapproval, his fingers tightening around Kashimo’s throat. “Although, that’s not your fault.” He grins, smug, still basking in the afterglow of his previous victory.
“Nothing much can compare to Gojo Satoru after all of this. Seriously, what a disappointment…”
“Kgh—!” Kashimo coughs angrily and spits at him, a spray of blood splattering against Sukuna’s skin.
“So filthy,” Sukuna sighs, the sound full of distaste. “Well, since you came all this way just to fight me, I suppose I’ll give you a proper send-off,” he drawls, one hand raising into the air and ready to cleave the space around them again.
“Enjoy your return to the world of the dead. How many more are there in line after you, I wond—”
He freezes mid-sentence, body going shock-still with the sudden spike in cursed energy in the distance.
And not just any regular person’s cursed energy, either. The way it’s roaring to life; the way it’s infuriatingly familiar and fueled by pain and hatred and regret—
It’s abruptly cut off and overtaken by Gojo Satoru’s cursed energy, by Gojo Satoru’s soul, and Sukuna’s eyes widen at the implications.
That brat!
“Hah,” Kashimo laughs, bloodshot eyes wide open now as he looks at Sukuna with an expression that’s borderline maniacal. “Wow. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. This turn of events…it’s not what I expected either, to be honest.” He throws his head back and cackles.
Sukuna bristles. “That’s enough out of you.” He rounds on Kashimo, snarling as he bares his fangs and sinks them violently into Kashimo’s shoulder, ripping flesh away from bone.
The taste of iron and copper coats his tongue.
“So even you feel fear.” Kashimo’s still cackling at him, unfazed even as Sukuna tears his arm off. He coughs again, blood pouring out his mouth.
“Your old vessel—he’s something, huh?” Kashimo rasps.
Sukuna rips his throat out.
By the time Sukuna makes it back to Itadori, the transformation has already started.
Started, but not yet finished, judging by the way Gojo’s cursed energy is still integrating itself into Itadori’s system.
The problem is that I have a Binding Vow to keep the head intact. The eyes, too.
If Itadori’s swallowed one already, then—!
“Brat!” He snarls, fury welling up in his chest at the possibility of breaking his Binding Vow, “what the hell do you think you’re—”
“Sukuna.” Itadori holds up Gojo Satoru’s eye, the one that hasn’t been swallowed yet, and the sight of it freezes Sukuna in his tracks.
The cursed energy inside of it is absolutely brimming with raw, unadulterated power. It glows, iridescent and pure like the moon.
It’s beautiful.
Suddenly, he understands why Kenjaku is so dead-set on obtaining the Six Eyes.
“You think that’s gonna be enough to take me out?” Sukuna mocks, his mouth pulling into a sneer.
“Even your precious sensei couldn’t win against me. What do you think someone like you can do?”
“It’s true. I can’t do much.” Itadori takes a step forward. “But I know what hurts you. What scares you.”
His face is devoid of emotion. Blank, like a canvas stripped of all art and color.
“I said this to everyone before,” Itadori says, his voice hollow and toneless, threatening in a way that’s different from anything Sukuna’s ever felt before. “But I don’t think I’ve said this to you, Sukuna.” He raises the eye to his mouth.
Sukuna bristles, an onslaught of alarm sirens going off in his body at the way Itadori’s cursed energy flickers to life. He lurches forward, activating cleave to cut the space around Itadori’s neck, his hand reaching out for Gojo’s eye—
His cursed energy bounces off Itadori and ricochets away.
Sukuna’s eyes widen.
Itadori continues approaching, unyielding, like he knew the attack wouldn’t land. “I’d eat anything to kill you, Sukuna.” He stares straight at Sukuna, opens his mouth, and swallows the eye whole.
“Even Gojo-sensei.”
In a place that resembles Naha Airport, Gojo Satoru is about to board a flight heading south—perhaps to Okinawa.
Just as he’s about to cross over the gate, a physical snap! can be felt in the air, followed by a voice calling out for him. What the voice says, he does not know, but something about it feels…achingly familiar.
The voice sounds so sad, so heartbroken, so lonely, and before he can question it further, an impossibly sharp noise begins ringing in his ears. It’s followed by an onslaught of images that crash through his mind—faces of people he doesn’t recognize; of jujutsu sorcerers that do not yet exist in his life…one of whose eyes are impossibly bright, shining like liquid amber…
He stops in his tracks.
No. They’re not just random images, Satoru realizes. These are…
“Memories.” The voice calls out, drifting in and out of Satoru’s ears like a siren’s song. “They’re yours.”
“Come back, Satoru-san.”
“Please.”
“Come back to me.”
Suddenly, his surroundings begin to spin. Like a curtain being lifted, Satoru can physically feel parts of mind break free from some invisible hold.
(It’s like the sun’s shining upon him again.)
The deep, thick haze clouding his brain retreats as if burned.
Why is he about to board a flight to Okinawa again? And why is he…shorter? Younger?
(Weaker?)
Why isn’t he with—
“Satoru?” Someone calls out, and Satoru raises his head in surprise to see the familiar face of his former best friend, alive and well, still in his high school uniform from ten years ago like nothing ever happened.
“What’s wrong?” Geto Suguru asks, and Satoru can only stare.
When did Suguru get here? Why is Suguru here?
Didn’t Satoru make the decision a year ago and—?
“Hey. What’s taking so long? You coming?” Nanami grouches, appearing on his left. He’s flanked by Haibara.
Why is everyone…?
Satoru opens his mouth, then closes it. “I…”
Suguru places his hands on Nanami’s and Haibara’s shoulders. “Sorry, guys—you mind giving us a minute?”
“Just don’t take too long,” Nanami grumbles, pulling Haibara with him past the gate and into the jetway. “If the plane leaves, I’m not waiting for you guys.”
Suguru chuckles, watching them go. Once they’re out of sight, he turns back to Satoru, gaze unbearably tender.
“You’re not coming with us, right?”
Satoru stares at him, still at a loss. Eventually, he regains control of his body again and shakes his head.
“It’s okay.” Suguru closes his eyes and smiles. His tone is patient. Gentle.
“It’s okay, Satoru.”
Satoru takes a step forward, a wave of guilt washing over him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, chest constricting, “but I can’t go south with everyone just yet.”
Suguru nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. He chuckles softly, like he already knew Satoru’s answer.
“Sukuna, again?” He asks, expression curious.
Something bitter wells up inside Satoru’s chest at those words. “No,” he murmurs, filtering through his regained memories until he lands on a flash of pink again; on an innocent and youthful face that’s smiling at him like he’s the only thing that exists in the world. “Not Sukuna.”
Satoru swallows, hanging onto the image of that person like a lifeline.
“Someone…important to me. Someone I want to protect.”
Suguru regards him with a tilt of the head, his expression considering. He smirks and looks to the side. “You’re really trying to make me jealous now, huh?”
“Heh.” Satoru’s nails dig into his palms. He doesn’t know what to say, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath instead. “I still need to lay your body to rest, you know.”
“That’s…oddly sentimental of you,” Suguru says, sounding just the slightest bit surprised, “but then again, you’ve been sentimental this entire time, haven’t you?” He runs a hand through his hair, then dusts off his shoulder, fiddling with the button on his uniform.
He looks back to Satoru after a moment. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
Satoru sighs. “It is what it is.” He shrugs.
“Satoru-san. Please,” the voice calls out again, and Satoru’s heart breaks at how sad it sounds.
Whatever emotion is currently showing on his face, Suguru seems to take notice of it. “Oh. Ew. Never thought I’d see you look like that.”
“Look like what?”
Suguru shakes his head. “Nothing. So, you gonna head north now?”
Satoru steps forward and squeezes Suguru’s shoulder. “Yeah. I think.” He swallows. “Sorry. I…I have to go. Someone’s waiting—no, calling for me.”
“I figured,” Suguru says, lips pulling into a smile. He reaches out, fingers coming towards Satoru’s face as if to cradle his jaw, but pulls back at the very last second.
“Have fun, Satoru.”
“I will.” Satoru returns his smile with a grin of his own, feeling the sting of tears threatening to well up in his eyes, but shoves it away.
“Bye, Suguru.”
And then he turns on his heel, and breaks off into a run.
Wait for me, he thinks, desperately chasing that achingly familiar voice.
I’m coming back to you.
With each further step away from the boarding gate, the airport signs and lights and kiosks melt into nothingness. He grapples with the version of himself from ten years ago, forcing that Satoru to let go of the vice-like grip he has on friends and acquaintances that have already passed.
It’s difficult; part of him begs to go back.
(To go south.)
But he can’t.
The lingering nostalgia over the heartfelt reunion slowly morphs into a feeling of being trapped in liminal space—he pushes himself harder, runs faster, feels his lungs burning as he gasps for oxygen that does not exist; for a name that he cannot yet remember.
He keeps running.
Gradually, the memories begin trickling in. With each blurred airport gate he sprints by, passing details—or are they things he held dear?—come back to him, like the smell of citrus shampoo, the taste of homemade ginger-filled meatballs after a long mission, the sight of a red hooded jacket.
Like neatly folded laundry on his living room sofa. Like movie marathons in his basement. Like promises and confessions whispered under a full moon. Like shaved ice dates where he didn’t need to act his age and someone would still humor him. Like the color of cherry blossoms and setting suns and too-sweet mocktails in Hokkaido.
Like the souls of two boys he saved—one that he could pass the baton to, and one that he fell in love with.
His fears come next, like the shock of seeing pale, clammy skin and a hollow chest without a beating heart on an operating table. Like hearing the voice of a ghost call out to him and the following eternity spent in darkness with skeletons.
Like eyes the color of honey becoming devoid of life.
Everything is suddenly a reminder and a regret all at once, an infinite number of fragmented shards cutting deep into him.
But still, he doesn’t stop.
Instead of slowing down, he picks up the speed—more scenes fly by. The voice is getting closer.
Satoru’s legs are growing longer, his frame larger, the weight and bulk of well-built muscles settling onto his bones, their power thrumming beneath his skin. Ten years seep into his bones. His body begins glowing an iridescent blue, his uniform unraveling around him, the threads reworking themselves into more familiar clothing and clinging against him once more. His sunglasses shatter, but the world doesn’t hurt his eyes anymore.
He lets his cursed energy take him where he needs to be; follows the bright light in front of him—the airport’s exit doors appear in his line of sight. He’s so close, so close—his hand’s splayed against the glass and pushing forward—
The ground beneath his feet disintegrates, and he plummets into the darkness below.
He’s falling, falling, falling…
But then…
“Gojo-sensei!” A voice calls out to him.
Satoru turns his body in the direction of its owner.
When a hand reaches towards him, Satoru doesn’t hesitate to take it.
In the split second that their fingers intertwine, a blinding light illuminates their surroundings, and he remembers.
He remembers.
Floating mid-air, Satoru’s finally greeted with the sight of Yuuji—sweet, beautiful Yuuji, his entire being glowing like the sun, so warm and so inviting.
Everything comes to a standstill.
“Sensei!” Yuuji smiles, unshed tears in his eyes, “Gojo-sensei. Satoru-san.” He lets out a soft laugh, the sound achingly tender.
“You came. You came back to me.”
“Of course I did.” Satoru reaches out, the aquamarine glow of his own hand complimenting the golden tones of Yuuji’s light beautifully, and gently cradles Yuuji’s face. “You’re the one that saved me back there. I didn’t know where I was, who I was…but when I heard you calling out for me like that, I…” Satoru trails off, his lips stretching into a sad smile of his own.
Yuuji shakes his head. He places his palm over the back of Satoru’s hand. “You’re not allowed to just go like that,” Yuuji tells him, one tear sliding down his cheek. “You’re not allowed to just leave me here, Satoru-san.” He closes his eyes.
“Please. Anyone but you.”
Satoru’s heart aches.
“I won’t, Yuuji. I promise.”
At his words, Yuuji’s eyes open again, the hopeful shine of them beautiful enough to take Satoru’s breath away.
“Okay,” Yuuji murmurs. “Okay.” He moves closer to Satoru and leans in, close enough that Satoru can see the tears clinging to his eyelashes, the soft dust of freckles over his cheeks.
“Do you remember what you told me back then, Satoru-san?” Yuuji whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “On that night with the full moon?”
“When you told me you loved my eyes?”
“Yes. And more. I love everything about you.”
“Seems to ring a bell,” Satoru chuckles, the sound reverberating around the both of them, “but yes. I do remember. I told you that these eyes are only for you.”
“At the time, I didnt…I didn’t know what you meant.” Yuuji exhales shakily. “But I get it now, Satoru-san.”
He closes his eyes.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry for taking your—”
“There’s no need to thank me,” Satoru hums, cutting him off. “I wouldn’t be here if this isn’t what I wanted. Becoming one with you…better me than Sukuna, right?”
“Right. You’re way better,” Yuuji laughs. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the space around them suddenly begins to rumble, the golden light emanating from Yuuji flickering for a few seconds.
Satoru sighs. “I’m guessing that’s…”
“Yeah. We should get back. Everyone’s waiting for…” Yuuji’s hands fist into Satoru’s shirt. “For us. Satoru-san, if you still want to go through with this…” He looks into Satoru’s eyes, his cursed energy roaring to life, and the fire burning within those amber pools is so intense and determined that Satoru can feel the flames caressing his face.
A shiver runs down his spine. How could he ever think to leave someone like Yuuji behind?
How could he ever go south and spend the rest of his days in the past? In a life without Yuuji?
“Of course I do. I even made a Binding Vow with myself to make sure of it, you know,” Satoru tells him, smiling fondly when Yuuji gives him a look of confusion. “Ah. Don’t worry about the details.” He nuzzles closer to Yuuji.
“In any case…” He takes a deep breath and feels the air percolate into his bloodstream, one last time.
Soon, he will no longer have physical form. Soon, he will be just a soul—but he will be a soul inside Yuuji’s body.
“I’m ready, Yuuji.” He gathers all the cursed energy he has, letting it pool in his mouth, the taste of it cold and pure and crisp, like the icy wind on the first day of winter.
“Me too, Satoru-san,” Yuuji whispers, warm and unwavering, and it’s all that Satoru needs to hear.
Without any hesitation, he leans in, kisses Yuuji, and surrenders all of his cursed energy over.
The effect is immediate.
Blue melts into gold, the light emanating from their bodies fusing into one. Yuuji kisses him back, a soft whine sounding from his throat as Satoru’s soul presses against his and curls along it, coaxing and intimate, their life forces mixing, their cursed energies interweaving…
It feels good and warm.
It feels perfect.
Satoru will cleanse every stain remaining from Sukuna and keep all of Yuuji for himself.
Because the one that taught me love is…
He wraps his arms around Yuuji, pulls him closer, closer, until Yuuji’s breath and heartbeat becomes his own—
Deep in the core of their intertwined bodies, a lotus bud blooms.
And with that, Gojo Satoru sheds all that he knows of his past, and becomes reborn.