Archive of Our Own

The car's headlights strain through the late autumn fog, struggling to illuminate the road ahead while the navigation dings a quiet reminder to continue straight. Crumbling buildings loom on either side of the narrow street, run-down and derelict, and as the car creeps cautiously forward their broken windows catch the passing light, glinting like watchful eyes.

The navigation dings again, announcing their arrival just as a gust of wind sends trash swirling through the headlights' path and into the night. Further down the block, a trio of hunched strangers huddle around a flickering street lamp, their coats flapping like crows' wings. One of them lifts his head to watch the car come to a stop, but he's quick to turn away, more interested in his cigarette.

Satoru's pretty sure he's seen this exact scene in his favorite crime thriller.

"Are-are you sure this is the right place?" Ijichi asks, visibly nervous, his hands wringing anxiously at the steering wheel's leather grip. "It l-looks…" he trails off, too cowardly to say what he's really thinking, but Satoru has no such reservations.

"Like Suguru's finally decided to have me killed off? Yes, it does." He triple-checks his message thread, confirming that yes, his so-called best friend had definitely sent him to this sketchy ass side street in the shadiest part of town. Locking his phone with a huff, Satoru shoves it into his pocket, squinting to see the shop past the car's tinted windows. The only thing that tells him that he's supposedly found the shop he's looking for is the plywood sign over the door, SHRINE painted across it in plain black characters, barely visible in the night.

"Keep the engine running and the doors locked," he orders Ijichi, fingers curling around the door's handle. "And if I get horrifically murdered, make sure to tell the media that it was Suguru who sent me here." With that, he throws the door open and steps boldly out into the street, straightening to his full height as his heavy coat unfurls around him. At least his chances of being recognized are slim-to-none out here, in this dead end place the city forgot.

He's still not convinced he's got the right address. The building in front of him looks more like a movie's idea of a head shop than any witches' parlor Satoru's ever been to, all black paint peeling off the crumbling brick storefront and grimy windows papered over with faded advertisements for booze and bands and fuck-knows what else. There are no patrons to be seen, and the only source of light is a fading neon sign—a pair of hands folded into a triangle shape, casting flickering red across the swinging OPEN sign dangling on the door.

Maybe Suguru really did send him here to get himself killed. Or mugged, at the very least. Is this revenge for something? What has Satoru done to deserve being held at knife-point and beaten within an inch of his life? So he was, allegedly, 'rude' to Suguru's boyfriend once or twice, but does that really warrant deat—

A smudge of white catches Satoru's eye, derailing his spiraling train of thought, and he steps up onto the sidewalk, bending at the waist to get a better view of the little symbol drawn onto the black brick wall in chalk. It's a pretty basic protective talisman, the kind even Satoru can recognize and draw, which doesn't do anything for his confidence in the proprietor's abilities but at least confirms that he's probably not got the wrong shop.

It's tempting to get back in the car, to order Ijichi to take him straight home and forget they ever came out here, to tell Suguru that the so-called healer he'd sent him to was a fraud and next time he wants to help, he can come along himself. It probably wouldn't even be a complete lie; a real healer wouldn't have to hide out in a place like this. The real deal would have customers beating down their door and forking over cash hand over fist for cold cures and youth elixirs and whatever else their brand of magic claims to provide. Only a con-man would be slumming it in this hole, and a really shitty con-man at that.

Satoru's just about decided that this is a cruel prank when the world abruptly slides out from under him. He lurches, arms pinwheeling, but it's like trying to find balance on a rolling ball, like he's some kind of circus act. He barely catches himself from falling, slamming hard into the side of the car, gasping for breath as his heart races and his stomach roils.

It lasts less than a minute, and then the sensation is gone as quickly as it came on, everything settling back into place again, leaving only the faint stirring of nausea in its wake. Satoru groans, embarrassed and annoyed, as Ijichi's door opens beside him.

"For real?" he whines, ignoring his assistant's worried clucking. He doesn't know if he's bitching at the feeling or the shop or the universe at large, but all three refuse to answer him. "Fine, fine. I can take a hint. I'm going, okay? You win."

With renewed determination, Satoru straightens his clothes, tugs his knitted cap more firmly over his trademark hair, and crosses the distance to the door in three easy strides. He shoves at it, realizes almost immediately that it's a pull door, and then swings it open for himself, strutting into the shop like he owns it and absolutely, definitely not thinking of being mugged and murdered.

Inside, the building is narrow and dimly lit, and the air is so thick with incense that it makes Satoru's throat close around a cough. There are candles stacked on every surface, but only a few are burning, casting warm gold light over shelves crammed with books and colored rocks and glass bottles that catch the dancing firelight in countless tiny flames. Sigils, a hundred times more intricate than the one he'd seen outside, paint the walls in a twisting, dizzying array of loops and whorls that gleam hypnotically in the pink and purple neon signs that advertise the shop's services, a half-dozen simple symbols that represent the different areas of magic on offer.

Satoru recognizes a few of them—everyone knows the mark for Sex Magic, aphrodisiacs and the like, and the simple leaf to the left of it is pretty self-explanatory in the context of the plants growing lush and healthy in the back of the room—but he's never bothered to learn the specific symbols. Any time he'd deigned to use magic in the past he'd just sent Ijichi to fetch whatever spell-in-a-jar he'd wanted.

When he doesn't immediately see the little hoops that mean Healing he scowls, rocking up onto his toes to check for other signs hiding on the back wall. Nothing. Apparently, this shop doesn't offer the service he's after at all.

He's going to kill Suguru.

Before he can dig out his phone to give his friend a piece of his mind, the world tilts again, the ground beneath his feet replaced with oil and quicksand, slippery and devouring. Satoru curses and trips sideways, sick with vertigo, his heart hammering wildly. He's about to go through a shelf stacked with painted canopic jars he does not want to learn the contents of when a strong hand curls around his elbow and everything comes to a stop.

"Whoa," an unfamiliar voice says, sounding worried, and a second hand joins the first, gripping Satoru by the hip to steady him as he gets his feet back under himself, swallowing against dizziness as the ground settles again. "Easy."

Still reeling, Satoru blinks past the swirling stars in his vision to meet bright eyes, as warm as the candlelight flickering around them. They widen in shock as they take him in, and Satoru has just enough time to think, 'Of course he knows who I am. Just perfect,' because he'd come to this tiny, nowhere shop specifically to avoid being recognized, before the other man says, "That's a serious curse on you," sounding impressed.

"You know I'm cursed?" Satoru's mouth replies before his brain can catch up, and then he snaps it shut, stuck somewhere between relieved that he hasn't been caught out and embarrassed to say something so stupid because obviously, he's in a magic shop, and this man must be the proprietor—the witch Suguru had recommended.

'The brothers that run this place look basically identical,' he'd warned Satoru, swiping lazily at his phone as he'd texted him the address. 'If half his face is burned off, you've got the wrong one. Don't even say a word to him. With your sparkling personality, you'll get yourself hit with something that'll make these dizzy spells feel like a gift in comparison. He'll teach you the real meaning of a curse, and laugh while he does it.'

There are no burns on this man's face, and Satoru takes a moment to thank the heavens and any listening gods for that blessing. He's not one of the polished pretty boys that usually catch Satoru's eye, the arm candy that looks good in tabloid headlines and online spreads, but even as the nausea settles, Satoru's heart keeps right on racing, heat sparking in his belly that has nothing to do with the curse on him and everything to do with honey-sweet eyes and the sharp line of the man's jaw.

"I've seen a Dizzy Spell once or twice," the guy says, answering the question Satoru can't remember asking, the corner of his mouth tipped up. Some of the concern furrowing his brow has eased now that Satoru is standing on his own, but his eyes are still fixed on Satoru's face, and he hasn't removed his hands. Not that Satoru is complaining. "This one is pretty nasty. Ex-girlfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Satoru is quick to correct, leaning in a little bit closer, looking the man up and down. The worn red t-shirt with the peeling applique advertising the 'Black Flash Cancer Away 5k' is a long way from the brand names and designer labels he's used to, but the way the thin cotton clings to the man's rounded shoulders, sleeves biting into the meat of his biceps, must have been tailor-made to drive Satoru wild. Floral tattoos spill all the way down the man's sculpted arm, roses blooming across the back of his hand, and Satoru's fingertips itch with the desire to trace them up to their source, to see just how much of the man's skin is painted in ink. "But we weren't dating."

The guy laughs, his smile wide and boyish despite the scar tugging at the corner of his mouth, white teeth gleaming in the neon light. It's a beautiful sound, bright and easy, and warmth thrills in Satoru's chest at being the cause. "Judging by the state of your aura, I'm not sure he knew that," he says, but there's no judgment on his face, no censure for Satoru's casual dismissal of his latest fling. Instead, he hooks his head towards the back of the shop. "Come on. I'll take a look."

"Trying to get me to a secondary location?" Satoru teases as he lets the man steer him between the shelves, hand still on his hip, providing support Satoru may not actually need as much as he's maybe letting on. "I knew this place looked dangerous."

"Isn't that kind of insulting?" Despite his words, the guy is still smiling at him, obviously unbothered. "I just don't want you knocking over all of my merchandise."

Satoru snorts. "Please, I'd probably be doing you a favor. Some of this stuff looks like it's been here since the turn of the century."

"Longer." They've made it to the back now, and the man reaches out ahead of them to snag a heavy black curtain Satoru hadn't noticed before, tugging it aside with a flourish and ushering him through the doorway behind it. He has to let go of him for the two of them to fit, and Satoru doesn't bother to hide his sulky pout. The phantom feeling of the man's touch lingers, tingles sparkling under his skin. "Hard to believe Gramps' erectile reducer potions aren't selling."

"Reducers?" Satoru clarifies, grinning. The hallway he's being guided down now is as dimly lit as the rest of the shop, the walls bare brick and undecorated. "Like hard-on begone?"

"Yup. Long-lasting. Six months without a woody or your money back."

Satoru makes a show of shuddering. "A fate worse than death! Lucky Whatshisname didn't think to come here when he was trying to get me cursed."

"Whatshisname, really? I can't imagine how you ended up like this." Any sting in the words is instantly erased by the laughter the guy is obviously struggling to hold back, and Satoru adds a little strut to his walk, smug. He can't remember the last time he smiled this much, or had someone play into his antics rather than rebuke him. It's a bigger head rush than the magic that keeps yanking the world out from under him.

"What can I say? I'm bad with names. But if you told me yours, I promise I won't forget it," he says, turning up the charm and peering back at the guy flirtatiously. He knows the move is devastating, accenting his glittering eyes and the cut of his cheekbone, the strong line of his shoulder, and he's not ashamed to pull out all the stops.

They pass a door marked as a restroom, and then the hallway opens up into what must be the shop's work space. Metal bookshelves claim an entire wall, stuffed to their limits, and opposite them are matching open-faced cabinets crammed full of what Satoru can only assume are the tools of a witch's trade: jars and vials of every shape and size, wicked looking knives and bizarrely tiny hammers, a bowl full of misshapen objects that look uncomfortably like bones, and countless rocks and crystals resting on velvet-lined stands and shining faintly in the overhead light. A large stainless steel worktable dominates most of the floor space, its surface scattered with piles of plants left in the process of being chopped up, and an old-fashioned cauldron bubbles on an electric counter-top burner next to the built-in sink, violet mist shimmering in the air above its open mouth.

"You shouldn't make promises you won't keep, you know," the man says, motioning Satoru towards a chair in the corner. It's the kind of padded, adjustable thing that wouldn't be out of place in a tattoo parlor, and Satoru's suddenly reminded of the lack of a healing symbol on the wall out front. He feels a little spark of apprehension, but it's easy enough to ignore. Every instinct he has is telling him this man doesn't mean him any harm, and if he does, well. Satoru catches a glimpse of the guy's ass as he passes him, heavy and rounded, straining against the worn denim of his jeans, and decides he's done stupider stuff for less.

"Don't I deserve to know the name of the person poking around in my—" He waves his hand vaguely as he shrugs out of his coat, trying to remember the word the man had used earlier "—auras?"

"I guess that's fair." The guy takes the coat, draping it over the wooden chair pushed to the side of the worktable. He's still smiling. "I'm Itadori Yuuji. It's nice to meet you."

"Yuuji-kun," Satoru says with relish, falling back across the padded seat and wriggling to make himself comfortable. He watches from under his lashes, waiting to see if Yuuji will scold him for the familiar use of his given name, but the other man just laughs.

"You're kind of shameless, huh?" he asks, dropping onto a rolling stool and wheeling himself closer.

Satoru makes a show of stretching, digging his heels into the footrest and arching his spine. "What's there to be ashamed of?" he asks airily, feeling hot eyes rake down him like a touch, but Yuuji just snorts, refusing the bait.

"Why don't you tell me about the curse," he suggests instead. Satoru's a little disappointed, but as it is, he can't even get through a private session with his hand without being interrupted by a random bout of vertigo; if he does manage to get on top of this guy, he plans to stay there for a good, long time. First things first; deal with the curse, then focus on wooing the pants off of Yuuji—hopefully literally.

"You've pretty much seen all of it: the whole world goes sideways, and I fall over." He pouts, tipping his chin into the air. "Whatshisname wanted me to look like an idiot, but joke's on him. Everyone already thinks I am, anyway."

Yuuji's hum is noncommittal. "I don't think that."

That single statement shouldn't be as devastating as it is—this man doesn't know anything about him, Satoru hasn't even given him his name—but it lands like a blow anyway, Satoru's breath catching around the impact. He stares hard at the other man's face, looking for signs of smirking, or simpering, or any of the dozen other things that tell him that a person is more interested in what Satoru is than who he is, but Yuuji doesn't even seem to realize he's said anything noteworthy. He's sitting with his shoulders straight and that furrow back between his brows, his smile gone, all business.

"Do the attacks happen regularly?" he continues into Satoru's speechlessness. "At random? How long do they last?"

"A minute? Two tops." Satoru clears his throat and shrugs, trying for casual and probably missing by an embarrassing margin. "I can't find a pattern. Sometimes it's every few minutes, and sometimes there's hours between them. I figured it would go away on its own, but here we are, a week later." He wrinkles his nose, annoyed.

The stool squeaks under Yuuji's shifting weight as he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Curses don't wear off," he explains, brows scrunched adorably together. "Break conditions are woven into the casting, and until those are satisfied, the curse will just keep feeding off of whatever negative energy it's inflicting until the host isn't around to make any more."

That doesn't sound promising. "So how am I supposed to know what the break condition is?"

Yuuji chews at his lip. "Usually, the person inflicting it will tell you—it's like a contract, makes the curse stronger. I don't guess Whatshisname said anything?"

For the first time, Satoru feels slightly sheepish. "I may or may not have blocked him and deleted all of his messages around the time he started telling me I'd pay for—" he stops, feeling his cheeks heat. He hadn't been lying before—he hadn't actually been dating Whatshisname—but even Satoru knows that you shouldn't carelessly admit sort-of-infidelity to someone if you want them to agree to date you.

And it's still early, but he can't shake the feeling that he might be interested in that. With Yuuji. Like, for real.

He's not sure if it's encouraging or not that Yuuji doesn't so much as blink at the mention of his indiscretion. "It's cool, there's other ways around it. It sounds like True Love's Kiss is off the table—" His eyes twinkle at the joke and Satoru gasps, faux-offended and fully delighted "—but healing magic is always an option."

"I'm willing to try the kissing thing if you are, Yuuji-kun," Satoru purrs, voice low. "Unless you've already found your True Love…?" he trails off suggestively, desperately hoping that this beautiful man isn't already spoken for. How could he not be, though, with an ass like that? With that boyish smile and those kind, intense eyes? Satoru's going to need a miracle here, and he realizes he's holding his breath, heart beating double-quick, when Yuuji chuckles.

"Nah," he says casually, reaching up to tug his headband off and push it back through his pink hair, resettling it in a practiced motion. "And anyway, magic-wise, True Love takes years to build up. We wouldn't be sparking off just yet."

Yet. Hope shines, fluttery and unfamiliar, in Satoru's chest. How long has it been since he's wanted anything? He grins, excited by the thrill of it. "So that leaves us with healing?"

"Yup." Yuuji pops the 'p', pushing off with his toes so his stool squeaks its way back towards the shelves on the far wall. "Like I said, I've seen a couple of Dizzy Spells before, so I've got a pretty good idea of what to do…" his words fade to an inaudible mumble as he bends in his seat to root around on one of the bottom racks. "I'm pretty sure I-ah. Is this it? No. I think I put it... Jackpot!"

He straightens, arm raised triumphantly over his head, fist clasped around a dark chunk of rock, and wheels quickly back over to Satoru's side like that, body undulating ridiculously as he scoots himself across the floor. Or, it should be ridiculous, but Satoru can see the flex of his abdomen through that thin cotton shirt, and his mind is too busy conjuring up images of those hip thrusts in a very different scenario (or maybe not so different, Satoru's already reclining after all) to leave any space for amusement.

"Here, hold onto this," Yuuji orders when he reaches him, and waits until Satoru lifts his hand, slowly, because his brain is still offline, to drop his prize into his open palm. Satoru almost mistakes it for charcoal at first, a smooth chunk of matte black with beveled striations like wood chopped against the grain, but it's heavy and too-cool in his hand, and when he rubs his thumb along one of the raised edges there's no give to it, just the unyielding hardness of stone.

"You're already giving me a rock, hm?" Satoru asks, smirking devilishly to hide his confusion. "I admit, I'd prefer a diamond, but if it's Yuuji offering, then I accept."

"I don't think you're gonna wanna keep this one when we're through." Yuuji's voice is warm with laughter. "I'm going to channel the curse out of you and into it."

"Ew," Satoru says, wrinkling his nose. He curls his fingers around the chunk of stone. "Will it hurt?"

Yuuji pauses, teeth digging into his lower lip as he gives the question serious consideration. It's somehow more comforting than any mindless platitude would be, even when his answer is, "It might be uncomfortable. Curses don't like to give up a meal once they have one, and this thing's had a week to settle in."

Satoru considers this, weighing his options, tossing the rock between his palms to feel the heft of it. It's strangely grounding, and he wonders, in an idle kind of way, what will happen to it once they're done.

It's Yuuji's hand that stops the nervous movement, curling over the stone, his fingertips brushing the inside of Satoru's wrist, sturdy and steady and warm. "You don't have to worry," he says, calm and unoffended by Satoru's uncertainty. "I'm good at this. I won't let anything happen."

He sounds so earnest, so sure, and Satoru's never been the kind of person to take things on faith but he'd come here looking for help, because his best friend had recommended this shop and this man—the brother with no burns—Yuuji—to help him.

"I don't knoooowww," he says, dragging the word out, but he's already settling back in the seat, making himself comfortable, mind made up. "What's in it for me?"

"You mean besides giving you back the ability to safely cross the street?"

"Besides that," Satoru agrees, smiling sweetly. It earns him another laugh, brightening the warmth in Satoru's chest until he feels like he's glowing, and he could almost start purring in satisfaction.

Yuuji must recognize Satoru's agreement for what it is because he doesn't waste any time straightening again in his seat, pulling his hand from Satoru's to make a short, sharp slashing motion in the air over his head, two fingers extended. While he works, he clicks his teeth, humming like he's giving Satoru's question some serious thought, playing along with his antics.

"I could give you a pretty sweet discount on some vintage Boner Killer. It might help keep you out of this kind of trouble."

Satoru giggles. "We might both regret that, Yuuji-kun!" he says flirtatiously, waggling his eyebrows and earning himself another one of those boyish grins.

"I do try to avoid doing things I'll regret." It sounds enough like agreement that Satoru's heart flutters, but it's clear the other man's focus has shifted, his gaze fixed somewhere in the space between the two of them. The air around his hand ripples slightly, a faint distortion, like fingers dipped into a pool of water, and an itch crawls up the back of Satoru's neck. He scratches at it idly, but the sensation only grows, spreading to his shoulder and down over his chest, creeping across his skin like dozens of tiny spiders hidden under his clothes.

It's uncomfortable, but not unbearable. This does not stop Satoru from complaining. "Yuujiiii," he whines, squirming in his seat. It gets Yuuji looking at him again, and that's almost worth the discomfort.

"Sorry," the younger man says, lips pursed in a sympathetic grimace. "I have to stir the curse up so I can see where it is and what it's doing. It's complaining a little."

"A little," Satoru echoes, gasping when Yuuji's fingers twitch again, and the tiny invisible spider legs grow tiny invisible needles for feet. He drops his head back against his seat, draping his forearm over his eyes so Yuuji can't see how much he means it when he continues, "I'd hate to see it complain a lot."

Yuuji's answering silence feels distinctly apologetic, and Satoru slumps, resigned.

"I suppose there are worse ways to go than laid out under a beautiful man," he sighs dramatically, and is rewarded when he peeks out from under his arm at the sudden silence to find the other man flushed up the same bright pink as his hair, his pretty eyes wide.

What a delicious reaction. It's a moment before Yuuji visibly gathers himself, saying, "You aren't gonna die," and Satoru's answering grin shows all of his teeth. He's been flirting like his life depended on it since the other man had put his hands on him, and Yuuji's been giving as good as he's been getting without missing a beat, so what about that line has him blushing like a maiden? The innuendo? Or the compliment? And most importantly—how can Satoru get him to do it again?

"I don't know, I've heard curse breaking is pretty dangerous," Satoru says slowly, as the spiders crawl and crawl and crawl. They've reached his legs now, creeping around in the sensitive hollows behind his knees, and even though Satoru knows there's nothing there, his body doesn't agree. It takes more willpower than he cares to admit not to tear off his clothing and slap at his skin like a madman, but he imagines how Yuuji would react to Satoru hopping around his little workroom, naked and hollering, and stubbornly keeps his seat.

"It can be, sure. Curses can explode, or transfer to the healer, or sometimes just kill their target outright, but that sort of curse is pretty rare, no matter what the movies want you to think. That level of backlash takes serious intent; like, we're talking cursing someone with your final breath kind of intent." Yuuji smiles wryly, and his eyes are fixed on the curse between them again, his blush faded. "There's not many of those running around, for obvious reasons. Hang on, I'm going to try something. It might suck."

That's all the warning Satoru gets before Yuuji hooks his fingers in the air and tugs, and all those tiny spiders dig in their tiny needle feet and hang on for dear life. It feels like fishhooks in his flesh, like his skin will pull right up off the meat of him, and Satoru gasps, dropping the chunk of rock to grip at the padded armrests of his chair, nails biting into worn leather.

There's another sharp yank, and then the pressure vanishes, but the spiders don't settle, riled up and frantic, clawing their wicked way across the surface of Satoru's body, pin-pricks that bite like knives. Warm, calloused hands cup Satoru's face as he gasps for air, fingers petting over his skin to smooth out his shaking. Heat spills out from the touch in a slow wave of relief like a balm, laying the horrible pain to rest.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, that was rough, and I'm so sorry, Gojo-san, you're okay," Yuuji says again and again, a low, steady murmur, and Satoru focuses on the sound of his voice while the curse settles into quiescence, the sharp stabbing sensation gradually fading into the harmless skittering from before.

"This might suck," Satoru parrots when he feels like he can speak, breathless and melting into Yuuji's touch. Has he ever been held this gently? If he has, he can't remember it.

"Yeah, sorry," Yuuji says, and he sounds so sincere. "It's way stronger than I was expecting. Whatshisname paid good money to try to screw you over."

Satoru huffs a wry laugh. "He did have expensive tastes."

"Yeah, well." Yuuji's thumbs are still stroking idly at Satoru's cheeks like he doesn't realize he's doing it, melting what feels like years' worth of hidden tension from Satoru's muscles with every pass. "If it makes you feel any better, the guy who cast the curse kind of cheated him."

"It might," Satoru says grumpily, crossing his arms. "Feels like he got his money's worth."

"Nah. A curse's strength comes from two things: the power of the person casting it and the intent behind it. This guy had plenty of the first one, but…"

"But he didn't really want to curse a wonderful person like me?"

Yuuji laughs. "That must be it."

"So then Yuuji can fix it, right?"

"Yeah," he says easily. "No problem." He finally releases Satoru's face, missing Satoru's spectacular pout when he settles back on his stool and closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. When he opens them again, his gaze is more gold than brown, glowing in the shadows cast by his lashes. "Hold on to that rock, okay?"

Despite the phrasing, there's some strange quality about his voice that turns the suggestion into a command. Satoru obediently curls his fingers around the chunk of black stone, squeezing until the edges press indents into his palm. "Good," Yuuji tells him, and Satoru gasps as the praise sweeps down his skin like a spill of warm honey, sticky-sweet. There's a tangible strength in the other man's voice now, magic sparkling under every syllable, and Satoru's met witches before, seen petty playacting at power, and this is not that. This is the real deal, hidden in some tiny hole-in-the-wall in the ass-end of the worst part of the city.

Remarkable.

"Be gentle with me," Satoru tries to joke, but then Yuuji is lifting his hand again, and the words get torn away from him, lost in a tide of sensation that sweeps down from the top of his head to his feet, swallowing him like a wave.

It feels like being embraced, like he's been taken up out of his body and wrapped in velvet warmth, cradled in those same calloused hands that had caressed his face so tenderly. His body feels far away from him, the spiders little more than tickling sparks of sensation, and Satoru laughs, giddy as the bubbles in a champagne flute and just as golden, just as shining.

"Yuuji-kun!" he gasps, then giggles at the sound of his own voice, lifting his finger to point blearily at the man seated beside him. "Did you get me high?"

"I guess it might kind of feel like that." Whoa. Yuuji's voice is a beautiful as the rest of him. "I wrapped you in my magic, so the curse can't hurt you on its way out."

"Wow. Wooow." Satoru processes this, his thoughts iridescent, pretty but fleeting. "Is it trying to hurt me?"

He's nearly forgotten the question by the time Yuuji answers, distracted by the way the tickle of spider feet have begun a steady march to his shoulder, traipsing down his arm in zig-zaggy lines that make him want to squirm. In his hand, the black chunk of rock has started to gain an oily sheen, a sickly yellow cast that looks faintly fetid.

"Sort of. It doesn't want to let you go."

Satoru hums mindlessly, turning his hand to watch the play of light over his newly gross rock. He hopes Yuuji will take some notes from the curse. "Whatshisname wasn't cute enough to be worth all of this."

It earns him a laugh, and he beams, wiggling and tapping the toes of his shoes together in happy excitement. "How cute does someone have to be to get away with trying to kill you?"

He looks up at Yuuji again, at his shining eyes and soft pink hair, at the scars that are somehow more handsome than threatening, despite the part of town they're in. "Yuuji could. For sure."

The spiders don't slow their exodus, but Yuuji lifts his head, meeting Satoru's eyes. The corner of his mouth is tipped up like he's smiling despite himself, like he just can't help but be charmed by Satoru. Satoru knows the feeling. "I see you haven't learned anything from this."

"I learned your name," Satoru counters. "Hopefully I'll learn your phone number, too."

Yuuji huffs, but he's grinning again, teeth gleaming and eyes still glowing bright. He's so handsome. Satoru could stare at him all day. "I can't tell if I really did get you high or if you're just actually this shameless."

Satoru offers up his most sultry smile, the one designer brands pay him ten figures to put on their billboards and magazine spreads. For the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel like a lie on his face. "Whichever one gets you to say yes."

"Wow. Smooth." Yuuji doesn't sound as dazzled as Satoru had been aiming for, and he doesn't say anything else, but it's not a rejection. The hope in his heart grows wings, but he bravely tells himself not to push. He suspects he's only going to get one shot at this—at Yuuji—and even Satoru is self-aware enough to know that he'd started this on the back foot before he'd even realized what was at stake. He's got to tread carefully.

So he holds his tongue, and they lapse into a comfortable quiet, the offer still on the table, not taken but not refused. Satoru drifts, feeling warm and safe and looked after, idly tracking the progress of the curse as Yuuji works whatever magic he's using to dispel it. The faint tickling feeling that had initially crawled the entire length of his body is mostly centered in his arm now. The rest of him feels light and airy in its absence, like he would float right up out of the chair to join his head if the rock in his hand weren't weighing him down.

In a few more minutes the curse will be gone, quick and easy. Satoru would have come to see Yuuji days ago if he'd known.

"Did you mean it before?" he asks eventually, mind snagging on a thought that won't quite drift away with all the others. Yuuji makes a questioning noise, and he clarifies, "When you said he was trying to kill me."

"Ah." Yuuji's face scrunches, the way people's do when they're trying to decide between honesty and tact. Satoru likes him even more when he quickly settles on the former. "Yeah. Most people hit with Dizzy Spells are gone in a few days. They trip into traffic or fall down the stairs, or stumble and crack their heads open." His nose crinkles, tugging at the slash of a scar through his brow. "I saw a dude fall on his own sword once. Got so mad about being cursed he tried to attack the guy who cast it. Barely got two steps in before he tripped over nothing and stabbed himself in the gut."

"Huh," Satoru says, doing his best to process that with his head so fizzy. "Wait—why'd he have a sword?"

"My brother hangs out with some weird guys." Satoru wants to ask more, but Yuuji continues before he can find the words, "Anyway. It's meant to make murder look like a freak accident. Usually people are dead before they even realize they're cursed—this might be hard to hear, but it's honestly a miracle you made it this long."

Satoru thinks about that, about Nanami's strong hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and Ijichi's insistence on driving him everywhere, even on the days the other man should have had off. About Shoko rearranging last week's photo shoot so that Satoru had spent the entire day lounging over a low-backed couch, looking tousled and sexy in varying states of undress and never once having to risk standing up.

The way Suguru had just happened to know a healing witch that could fit Satoru without a waiting list or a name, one that would show him dignity and respect without so much as mentioning how familiar Satoru must look.

"I think," Satoru starts, and then stops. His throat feels tight, and he swallows uncomfortably, rubbing his thumb over one of the rock's raised edges and pursing his lips against a feeling he doesn't know how to express. He's not sure he even has a name for it. "I think maybe my miracle is just really good friends." As soon as the words are out, he flushes. It sounds so lame.

Yuuji doesn't laugh at him. "Love is its own kind of magic, you know?" he says, and it would seem like a line if it weren't for the way he's wholly earnest about it, dropping a hand to squeeze Satoru's around the chunk of rock, steady and warm. "Feelings matter with this kind of thing, and intent is as important as power in its own way."

Satoru nods, mulling it over. He's never thought of himself as loved—adored by people around the globe, yes, but not for himself, not as himself—yet here's this stranger, a man who has only known him for half an hour but doesn't even blink at the idea that Satoru's friends care deeply enough to save him from a curse that should have taken his life.

It's been a long, long time since Satoru has met anyone who had seen past his beauty and his wealth and his frankly awful personality; even longer since anyone who did so liked what they saw, the man buried beneath the glamor.

What is Satoru supposed to do with that? How is he supposed to respond? It feels vulnerable, like Yuuji has cracked his chest open and laid out all the tenderest parts of him, bloody-red and vital, to measure and weigh the worth of. He wants to shy away, to curl back over himself and hide from those glowing, keen eyes, because what if Yuuji doesn't like what he sees?

What if the first person to look past the mask of Gojo Satoru in a decade decides what he finds there isn't worth the effort?

Too caught up in his circling thoughts, Satoru doesn't even realize the last tingles of the curse are gone until the warm haze of Yuuji's magic slips from his mind, like a protective sheet tugged gently away to reveal him spotless and untouched underneath.

"That should be all of it," Yuuji is saying, oblivious to Satoru's revelation. "Are you still feeling the curse? Or noticing anything strange?"

Define strange, Satoru almost says, but as exhilarated and intimidated as he feels by the idea of Yuuji seeing him, it's somehow less staggering than how much better he feels now than he has in days—weeks even. It's like Yuuji has cleared away a dark miasma that has been lingering over him like a raincloud, a general misery he only notices now that it's been blown away. Satoru feels lighter and brighter than he had even under the influence of magic, and he laughs, giddy and overjoyed, wondering if Yuuji could make him float right up out of his chair like a balloon, too full of joy to go anywhere but up.

"I guess that's my answer, then," Yuuji says, sitting back on his stool and beaming. Satoru returns the other man's smile, happy to be sharing this moment together.

"I think my second miracle is Yuuji-kun," he tells him without thinking, and then flushes when he realizes he no longer has the effects of Yuuji's magic to explain away the honesty. He doesn't take it back, though. It's a little bit scary, but he wants to give Yuuji his honesty, wants Yuuji to know that there's more to him than the flippant playboy that had nearly gotten himself cursed into an early grave.

He's rewarded for his bravery when Yuuji flushes back up immediately, even brighter than before, reaching up to cover his mouth and completely failing to hide the burning pink in his cheeks. "I-I wouldn't go that far," he stutters around the obstruction of his hand, the color in his face deepening to red when Satoru just smiles wider, all bared teeth and delight. "Lots of healers could have broken that curse."

"I didn't go to lots of healers," Satoru pushes, leaning closer, greedily drinking in Yuuji's response. It's only because he's looking so close that he catches it—the split second Yuuji's eyes flick down to his grinning mouth. It's all he can do to swallow a groan. "I came for Yuuji-kun."

The innuendo goes right over Yuuji's head. Satoru doesn't know if he should be put out or not; it was hardly his best work. "Y-yeah, and I'm glad you found me. Actually, how did you find me?"

He's flustered, grasping at straws to change the subject. Satoru smirks, not ready to be deterred now that he's sensed blood, so to speak. "A friend gave me a—" he pauses, making a show of licking his lips and dragging his eyes up and down Yuuji, still seated on his stool, thick thighs spread and straining obscenely against the worn fabric of his jeans "—hot—tip."

Yuuji makes a strange sound, a high-pitched gasp that has Satoru's eyebrows lifting. He's heard a hundred different responses to his flirting before, but he doesn't immediately recognize this one, and his smile quirks quizzically, leaning forward, only for Yuuji to let out a sudden guffaw of laughter.

"That's—" he chokes out, shoulders shaking with restraint before he finally gives up the ghost and starts to cackle, throwing his head back and howling with mirth. "That's the worst line I've ever heard!"

Satoru pouts, slumping in his seat and poking his lip out, peering pitifully at Yuuji through his lashes, but where he's expecting the sting of rejection there's only a warm sort of happiness. It's not the response he was going for but, honestly, yeah, the come-on was pretty bad and besides, how could he regret making Yuuji laugh like this? It's a beautiful sound, and on god, he's going to do anything he can to get to hear it every day.

"Yuuji-kun," he whines, playing it up. "That's so mean! Don't laugh when I'm trying to woo you!"

"Is that what that was?" Yuuji asks him around giggles. "Are you sure?"

"You're breaking my heart!"

"Sorry, sorry," Yuuji tries to say, but any sincerity is obliterated by the laughter still rounding out the words. "It's just. Pfft. If Whatshisname fell for something like that, he really should have predicted where that situationship was going. He's got nobody to blame but himself."

"Yuuji is heartless," Satoru sighs, but even though he's braced for it, there's still no hurt. It's been so long since anyone cared enough about anything other than Satoru's money and fame to call him out on what comes out of his mouth. It hadn't taken anything more than a flash of his card at a VIP club to have Whatshisname practically begging for his number—he'd never cared much about what Satoru had to talk about, which was fair, because Satoru hadn't cared enough to say much anyway. Everything about this feels new and exciting in a way Satoru is probably way too old for.

"Hey, I'm not the one that cursed you," Yuuji—fairly—points out and then waves his hand at the rock Satoru's fingers are still clenched tight around. "Speaking of, I should get rid of that."

Poking out his tongue in not-so-exaggerated disgust, Satoru gladly holds it out. "Please do." The once matte-black stone is now covered in a shiny yellow film, and Satoru doesn't think he's imagining the way it feels slimy, slick like oil, and uncomfortably chill in his hand. Passing it over is a weird relief, like he's freeing himself from more than just the weight of the rock.

If Yuuji notices the stone's weird vibes he doesn't show it, smacking it casually against his palm as he wheels himself back across the room. "I'll let my brother deal with this," he decides, lifting the lid off of a clear plastic tub and dropping the chunk inside with a careless clatter. He snaps the top back down with a smack of his hand, and the whole thing lights up neon, sigils carved into the sides flickering to life, warding the curse within. "Make him do some work around here for once. You ready to go?"

Satoru's heart sinks. He hadn't really thought about what would happen once Yuuji had healed him, and, well. Now he doesn't want to leave. "So that's how it is then?" he asks, covering the sentiment with dramatics. "The curse is gone, so you're kicking me out onto the street?"

"Yup." Yuuji says without a moment's hesitation, getting to his feet. He crosses to Satoru in a few easy strides and gathers up his coat, gesturing at his abandoned work table as he holds it out to him. "I have orders to finish. You know, for paying customers."

"I am a paying customer!" Satoru insists, clambering up out of the chair. He doesn't realize that he's braced for the world to do a cartwheel until it doesn't, staying firmly in place even as he stands to his full height. Yuuji really has fixed him.

"I don't let people pay for healing."

"Well, whose fault is that?" Satoru sniffs, accepting his coat and swinging it around and over his shoulders before Yuuji's words register. "Wait, for real? You don't charge? For healing? Yuuji! You should be making a fortune!"

"Sure, I guess," Yuuji answers carelessly, and Satoru is so stunned by his nonchalant attitude that he doesn't put up a fight as the other man begins to usher him back up the hall towards the main part of the store. "But the people here can't afford that kind of thing, and they need healing as much as anyone." His voice darkens. "Maybe even more. Besides," he continues, lighthearted again, "what would I do with a fortune?"

"Uh, whatever you want. That's the point of being fabulously wealthy."

Behind him, Yuuji hums thoughtfully. "Yeah? How's that working out for you?"

"Great!" Satoru insists, resolutely ignoring the glaring emptiness the past hour with Yuuji has brought into light. "My life is amazing! It'd be even better with you in it, though," he finishes, dropping his voice suggestively and trying to hide his hope.

Yuuji laughs, which isn't promising. "You might not have learned anything from this whole curse incident, but I know when to listen to magic. I don't have time to let you break my heart, Gojo-san."

The curtain gives way to the front of the shop, but Satoru barely notices. He feels like the world is slipping out from under him again, but this time there's no spell involved—it's been a long time since he's genuinely wanted anything, and longer still since he's had to watch it slipping through his fingers. "Yuuji-kun, that's unfair! You're blaming the victim."

There's no answer for a long moment, and Satoru stops by the counter and turns, a complaint on his lips. It withers and dies when he finds Yuuji's eyes on him, not glowing with magic anymore but no less intense for it, peering at Satoru like they can see past all the layers of guile and charm he's spent a lifetime cloaking himself with. It's shockingly vulnerable and Satoru shifts his feet, uncomfortable and trying to tell himself that it's ridiculous to feel more naked here, under Yuuji's gaze, than he had been modeling in his briefs two weeks ago.

He still doesn't know what Yuuji's seeing. All he can do is hope that the other man likes it enough to want to see more. He's been doing a lot of hoping since he'd come through that front door.

"Yuuji-kun?" he asks when the silence goes on too long, trying to sound bolder than he feels.

"You didn't deserve to be cursed," Yuuji says slowly. "I wanna be clear about that. Nobody deserves to die like that, and what was done to you was wrong." Satoru nods, but he can hear the 'but' coming. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat to hide the way they curl into disappointed fists, feeling a little like he's waiting for the executioner to bring the ax down. "But you can't even tell me the name of the guy you cheated on. I don't have any reason to think that I'd be any different, you know?"

"You would! Yuuji-kun is special," Satoru insists, the words tumbling out so fast they run together. "We just met, but I can tell. I'd be stupid to let you get away, and I'm a lot of things, but Yuuji, I am not an idiot." His voice is strong and sure, the words too loud in the quiet of the room, clumsy but earnest. "I'd treat you right."

Yuuji blows out a sigh, tugging off his headband to rake his hand through his hair. He mutters something that might be, "I think I'm the idiot," before he straightens and steps closer, into Satoru's personal space. "Give me your hand," he says, the words clear this time, and Satoru doesn't hesitate, shoving his hand towards Yuuji so fast and so forcefully he smacks into his chest. Yuuji huffs out an oof, but his eyes are smiling as he cups his hand under Satoru's, fingers warm and sure as they trace over the lines in his palm.

"Are you going to do a, uh…" Satoru trails off, not familiar with the lingo.

"A reading?" Yuuji asks. "Nah, I suck at palmistry." He leans into him, so close Satoru can smell his cologne, a hint of sweet spice, and his entire body lights up, his heart tripping over itself as it rushes into a frenzy because oh, oh, is Yuuji wanting him to kiss him? He's already moving, closing the height between them, when Yuuji abruptly leans back again, free hand curled around a round glass bottle.

Ah. He'd just been reaching for something on the counter behind Satoru. Right. Of course.

Satoru clears his throat, but if Yuuji notices anything strange about his behavior he doesn't acknowledge it, instead digging his teeth into the bottle's cork and pulling it free with a faint pop.

"It's a guidance charm," he explains, dipping his fingertip into the jar. It comes out gold and glittering. "Easy magic."

Given his recent experiences, Satoru should at least be a little wary about having strange spells performed on him without any explanation. He is not. If there was even the smallest chance it would help him get with Yuuji, he'd let the guy who cursed him cast on him, no questions asked.

The charm is oddly tingly when Yuuji dabs it on his hand, drawing a swirly little sigil and then breathing into the open cup of Satoru's palm, hot and open-mouthed.

A heated flush works its way under Satoru's skin, up into his cheeks and down his spine to pool, low, in his belly. He coughs, shifting his feet, trying to hide his reaction, but Yuuji doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are glowing, a faint light peeking out in the gaps between his lowered lashes, and Satoru's struck, again, by the urge to kiss him, to feel all that power under his lips and over his tongue. He holds himself back with every bit of willpower left to him.

He can't screw this up.

They stand there like that, Satoru's fate literally cupped in the palm of Yuuji's hand, for several long minutes, before Yuuji blows out a thoughtful noise, so sudden it startles Satoru into pulling his hand back. He immediately regrets it, wants to offer it to Yuuji again immediately and maybe beg him to never let go, but Yuuji opens his mouth to speak before he can.

"Okay," he says, resolute, and Satoru's heart, still slumped somewhere around his knees, flutters back up into his chest and then his throat so that he can barely breathe, waiting for Yuuji's verdict. "One week. I'll give you a week to think about it, about if this is actually different from Whatshisname, and if so then how, and what that means for you. A week to decide if different is what you want."

Satoru nods rapidly, not trusting himself to speak. Yuuji's eyes sharpen.

"And if you decide to come back here, then you better be single, Gojo-san. That means un-attached. I don't share, and I don't play that 'we weren't really dating' game. I'm not asking for the rest of our lives, but if you come through my door next week, you better be serious about wanting to get to know me for real."

"Yuuji-kun," Satoru breathes out around his hammering heart. "I'll be here. I mean it."

"Yeah, well." Yuuji smiles, and the seriousness drains from his demeanor, leaving him relaxed and teasing and just a little rueful. "I hope so. And if you fuck around on me, I won't curse you, but I'm not above dosing you with Boner-Be-Gone. I've got a lifetime supply."

Satoru shudders theatrically, but despite the shift in atmosphere, he can't quite bring himself to joke back. "That won't be necessary. I'm serious about this. And—and I'll think about it. That stuff you said. About what I want from this. I won't mess this up."

"Yeah," Yuuji says again, smiling still, and it's so sweet and so earnest, Satoru knows, at the very core of himself, that he'll do anything he has to to earn it again. "Then I'll see you then?"

"Are you sure it has to be a week?" Satoru wheedles, mostly for the laugh it earns him.

"I'm sure. Now get out of my shop. If my brother sees you here he'll curse us both."

"Oh?" Satoru asks. He backs towards the door, unwilling to turn away from Yuuji a second before he has to. "Doesn't like the idea of his precious brother getting a boyfriend?"

"Doesn't like you, specifically," Yuuji replies, leaning his hip against his counter and crossing his arms. The fabric of his shirt strains against his biceps again and Satoru manfully swallows a whimper. "He thinks you're overrated."

Satoru gasps, offended, and stops, the metal push-bar on the door digging into his back through his coat. "Yuuji-kun! That's cruel!" And then—"Wait. You know who I am?"

Yuuji laughs at him, radiating fond exasperation even from across the shop. "Did you really think I wouldn't? This might be a run-down part of town, but I still have a television. And a smartphone. And a movie theater right down the street. I know who Gojo Satoru is."

Satoru's braced for disappointment, for the crushing realization that Yuuji's only interested in his persona and not the real, actual person Satoru had been so sure he could see, but it doesn't come. Of course it doesn't come; Yuuji had literally turned him down. If he only cared about dating a celebrity, there would be no need for all of…of everything he'd done, really.

Yuuji wants something real from Satoru. Something real with Satoru. There would be no reason to press for more if he only cared about being seen on Satoru's arm, and if he wanted money, all he'd have to do is add a Healing sign to the line-up on his back wall. At his power level, he'd barely even have to work for it.

"That's…" Satoru tries, unsure how to respond. He doesn't remember how to navigate these waters without the life raft of his fame and fortune to carry him along.

"We can talk about it next week," Yuuji says gently, his smile softer. "We'll have plenty of time, since talking is all we'll be doing."

"Yuuji can say that now," Satoru purrs, taking the out he's offered, leaning back against the bar and pushing the door open behind him. "But you'll be begging for my kisses once I sweep you off your feet." It's cold outside, the wind catching the ends of Satoru's coat and tugging, like even the weather is urging him away from Yuuji.

"You better bring your A-game," Yuuji calls as Satoru steps back, arm extended to hold the door open just a little tiny bit longer. "I'm not easy to sweep anywhere!"

"I'm strong enough," Satoru promises him, and finally lets the door close on his broad, threatening grin.

The flickering neon sign casts red across the darkened glass, Yuuji finally hidden from view, but the store's rundown front doesn't feel so threatening now. Even the seedy street seems almost welcoming, though Ijichi clearly doesn't feel the same, hustling around to open the car's door for Satoru and ushering him over with sharp, jerky movements.

"D-did you get what you needed?" he stutters once Satoru is safely buckled in and they've pulled away from the curb, earnest in that nervous way of his.

"Oh, Ijichi-kun," Satoru crows, kicking his legs up across the back seat and digging out his phone to text the group chat with his momentous news. "I got something even better. Upgrade the locks on this thing and make sure the windows are bulletproof. I have a feeling we're going to be spending a lot of time here."

He barely hears Ijichi's terrified squeak over his own love-struck sigh, leaning his head back against the window and replaying every single minute he'd spent with Yuuji. The week can't pass quickly enough; Satoru is ready to get started on happily ever after.

The next time Satoru gets cursed, he doesn't even notice. True Love's Kiss cures him the moment he gets home.