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Waking up is always a perplexing experience for Satoru.

He blinks a few times behind his blindfold, the sound of a boy’s voice drawing him from the depths of what must have been sleep.

“And what do you need from me, Yuji?” he says as airily as usual, finding his voice after a moment. Satoru tilts his head in Yuji’s direction, letting his mouth curl up a little in amusement to hide his slight unease. 

Yuji stops short and stares at him for a good, long moment. “You really were sleeping!” he exclaims, sounding delighted. He grins brightly. “Fushiguro and Kugisaki said there was no way! Ha!”

Without waiting for Satoru’s response, he turns and bolts off towards where his classmates are standing and leaves Satoru alone to think about what exactly had transpired.

When had he fallen asleep? Satoru doesn’t even need to sleep; he’s long since figured out how to keep going past normal human limitations. It’s necessary, considering his job and his less than stellar relationship with certain important people.

As he reorients himself, he also takes the time to observe his surroundings. The bench he’s sitting on is hard and uncomfortable, but it seems he’d somehow managed to doze off leaning against the back of it. 

Satoru thinks back a little. What had they been doing here? He recognizes this street as being quite popular as a shopping district, which means… Right, he remembers now. He’d taken Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji here to relax. After the Shibuya Incident, they all needed something to do that preferably isn’t related to exorcism.

Given Satoru had managed not only to fall asleep, but in public, he’s starting to figure he himself might need a break too.

In the second it takes for Satoru to sort himself out again, Yuji’s bounded back to Megumi and Nobara, crowing victoriously. The three of them are talking animatedly, and even if Megumi doesn’t look like it, he’s the happiest Satoru’s seen him.

“You look happy,” says a familiar voice from behind him, echoing his thoughts aloud.

It takes every bit of self control in his body to stop himself from jumping. Satoru tilts his head up, perhaps a little too fast, to look up into Suguru’s face, peering down at him. There’s a gently amused tilt to his lips, dark eyes fond.

It hasn’t even been a week yet. Satoru still feels like he’s looking at a ghost every time he looks at Suguru, the image of his best friend’s lifeless body still burned into his memory. The eidetic memory the Six Eyes bestowed upon him has always been more a curse than a boon.

But it shouldn’t bother him anymore. Suguru’s alive now. Nobody, not even Suguru himself, is totally sure how, but Satoru isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Satoru’s smile, which he embarrassingly hadn’t even noticed, transforms into something sharp and playful, a grin with a few too many teeth. “Well, of course I am,” he drawls, with more sincerity than he intends. “My cute little students are having the time of their lives. How was your checkup with Shoko?”

Suguru chuckles knowingly. Most people are aware that Satoru’s mostly full of shit, but Suguru’s the only one who understands him so intimately that he knows what he means even through all the smoke and mirrors. Even after so many years apart, after their falling out, after death had done them apart, that still holds true.

“It’s still just me here,” Suguru assures him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of the bench. “No need to worry, Satoru.” He drags each syllable of Satoru’s name unnecessarily, just to get under his skin.

Satoru snorts, flipping him off because he’s a mature adult. “I’m a responsible teacher,” he proclaims, deliberately missing the point. “Of course I’m worried for my students.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to call you responsible,” says Megumi as the three said students come into earshot. Despite his flat tone and harsh words, there’s definitely a glimmer of concern in his expression. That concern turns into stony neutrality when his gaze moves over to Suguru, still sitting right next to Satoru.

“Megumi is always so cruel,” Satoru laments, drawing Megumi’s attention back to himself. While he’s been criticized a lot for being unable to read the room–which Satoru thinks is ridiculous, just because he ignores the tension doesn’t mean he’s unaware of it–Satoru’s not particularly keen on having his back-from-the-dead best friend get into it with his kids.

“The truth hurts, Sensei,” Nobara chirps rather cheerfully. “Hey, hey, were you really sleeping?”

“Of course,” Satoru says blithely with a guileless grin. He may be speaking the truth, but nobody ever believes him whenever he says anything, so he may as well lean into it. Satoru loves honesty. “It’s such a lovely day out.”

Nobara and Yuji both stare at him suspiciously, exchanging glances with each other, while Megumi just studies him for a long moment like he’s trying to figure out it all out under all of Satoru’s layers. Suguru’s expression is unreadable in a way that is in of itself a tell; looks like Satoru’s not fooling him, not that he’d been expecting to.

“Well, it’s about time for dinner, anyway,” Satoru announces, not giving any of them a chance to really think too hard about it. He stands up, ignoring the odd stiffness that apparently comes with sleeping on a park bench. As expected, Yuji and Nobara’s attention is successfully diverted, both of them cheering at the prospect of eating their poor sensei’s wallet empty. 

Megumi is a little more difficult, but Satoru just continues to smile at him until he looks away. Satoru might have his eyes covered, but even the implication of eye contact is more than enough to unnerve Megumi. 

Suguru comes around the back of the bench. “I suppose I ought to get going as well,” he comments. “I just came here to say hello, since I’m sure Satoru missed me oh so dearly.”

That hits a little too close to home for Satoru to find more funny than heartfelt, but Satoru dislikes the very concept of emotions and showing them is even worse, so he just laughs it off. “Speak for yourself,” he sniffs. “Well, I’m going to treat my students to dinner. I’m sorry, Suguru, but my precious attention can’t be lavished on you solely anymore.”

Suguru just chuckles at his melodrama, looking at Satoru’s students. “Have a nice meal, then,” he mocks. “Don’t come crying to me when your wallet’s empty.”

Satoru does the grown-up thing, which is to flip Suguru off again and stick his tongue out as he and his students make their way to the sukiyaki place they agreed on earlier. Suguru waits until nobody’s looking before he reciprocates the action. Then, he’s gone. 

Satoru catches a glimpse of Yuta and Toge when the former gives Satoru a short wave before trailing after Suguru. Looks like they’re on Suguru duty.

“You two are really close, huh?” comments Nobara, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

Satoru almost says something glib on automatic, but he decides against it at the last second. “Yeah,” he agrees, letting himself soften a little. The thought of it being in present tense still doesn’t feel totally right, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make him happy. “We are.”

Satoru’s heading home after having delivered his students safely to their dorm rooms–after recent events, everyone’s feeling a bit frazzled, Satoru included, even if he won’t admit it out loud–and comes to a stop when he sees a black-clad figure standing outside his door.

“Now who’s crawling back to who?” Satoru says as soon as he’s in earshot.

“If you want me to stay over at Shoko’s place, I’ll head over right now,” Suguru replies, lips quirking upward. It’s an empty threat and they both know it. Satoru is the only person capable of keeping Suguru in line. 

“I’m not that cruel,” Satoru says, playing into the joke and unlocking his door to let Suguru in. He has no doubt that Suguru could’ve just picked the lock, and his chest warms against his will at the idea that Suguru had waited for him.

Satoru doesn’t really want to think about what that means, so he busies himself with removing his outdoor shoes and slipping into the pair he has indoors.

Suguru smirks at him. Satoru’s missed that stupid expression so much it hurts. “How’s your wallet?” 

“It’s doing fantastic, thank you very much,” Satoru huffs, not really offended. Both he and Suguru know that, coming from an old clan, Satoru’s never really had to struggle with money. One of the few things he can thank them for, he supposes.

Suguru looks around at Satoru’s apartment, dark eyes revealing nothing about what he might be thinking. It hasn’t really changed much at all since… well. Before. Satoru’s never really had much he wanted in a home, so he hasn’t bothered furnishing it more than the bare necessity. He’s always spent more time at the Fushiguro apartment anyway.

While Suguru acquaints himself with Satoru’s apartment, Satoru rummages in the closet for spare blankets and pillows, but he comes up empty. He’ll probably go and get a spare futon since Suguru’s staying with him, but as it is, he doesn’t have one on hand. Why would he? It’s not like people visit him often. It’s usually the other way around.

“Couch is yours,” Satoru announces, coming back with empty hands, grinning a little at Suguru’s nonplussed expression. He’ll probably just give Suguru his own blankets; Satoru generally doesn’t sleep, anyway. 

“Host of the year, you are,” Suguru comments dryly, looking at the bare couch.

“You did come on such short notice,” Satoru reminds him as he loosens the cloth around his eyes, letting it fall around his neck. He blinks a few times to get used to the sudden flood of information. 

Suguru snorts, looking over at the couch briefly before his gaze goes back to Satoru. His dark expression softens a little, something reserved only for Satoru and sometimes Shoko. Satoru finds he can’t look away.

“I missed you too, Satoru,” Suguru admits, oddly honest.

Satoru’s at a loss for words for a moment, content to just let the moment last, but he breaks into a smile. “Of course you did,” he scoffs, because whether he’s fifteen or twenty-eight, emotions give Gojo Satoru hives. Changing the subject with the approximate smoothness of sandpaper, Satoru gestures to the bathroom. “There’s the shower if you need it.”

And then, with all the grace he can muster, Satoru flees to his own room to get some blankets.

“My Six Eyes tell me you’re Geto Suguru,” Satoru snarls, struggling uselessly against the Prison Realm’s grip. The man standing so close to him grins emptily, the expression so, so wrong. “But my soul knows otherwise! Who the hell are you?”

The man wearing Suguru’s body chuckles. “Oh, wow,” he says, head tilting slightly as one hand comes to his head. “How did you know?”

Hatred boils deep in Satoru’s chest. He’s never been powerless before, never been so furious at something in his entire fucking life.

The top of Suguru’s head comes off. There’s a brain there, exposed, and Suguru’s face is still twisted in that horrible, disgusting smile. 

How fucking dare he, how fucking dare he, how fucking dare this piece of shit take Suguru’s body, how fucking dare he use it to get to--

“Satoru.”

Satoru sits up with a sharp gasp, eyes blown wide, and suddenly information is pouring in way too fast despite the darkness of the room. Immediately, he screws his eyes shut, his heart pounding loud in his ears, breathing rapid and sharply cold in his chest. 

“Satoru,” repeats Suguru, more insistently this time. Something touches his shoulder-- actually touches, not repelled by Infinity--and Satoru jolts at the sudden contact, instinctively opening his eyes again.

He doesn’t shake off Suguru’s hand. He’ll never admit it, but in the moment, he leans into the contact, craving human warmth to a degree he hasn’t let himself think about since… 

Suguru’s hand is grounding, and the spinning in his head comes to a gradual stop. The panic and fury and anguish in his chest are seeping out of him as he orients himself, leaving him suddenly more exhausted than before.

He feels the bed shift a little as another weight joins him. Satoru lets out a shaky exhale as he lifts his head to look up at Suguru with a poor imitation of a smile. He’s glad to find no pity in Suguru’s expression. “Better?” Suguru asks simply. Anyone else might find his curt response lacking, but for Satoru, that’s all he needs.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, because at this point there’s no reason for facetiousness. It’s Suguru; even if he hadn’t seen Satoru in the throes of a nightmare–a memory–he’s already seen Satoru at his lowest. Satoru hesitates before he lets his chin drop on Suguru’s shoulder. Suguru stiffens a little at the contact but relaxes quickly, letting his own cheek rest against Satoru’s hair; it’s what they used to do, and it’s frighteningly easy to fall back into that. 

“Oh, wow,” the impostor had laughed. “How did you know?”

Satoru’s breath hitches just a little at the thought. He bites his tongue, suddenly furious, but he can’t tell what he’s mad at. Is it the memory? He doesn’t think so, not entirely. His fingers clench into a fist to stop the shaking.

He’d been so helpless. Right now, he still is.

What happened to being the strongest?

“What’s going on in here?” Suguru asks, lightly knocking his knuckles against Satoru’s temple, tone sounding disinterested. Despite himself, Satoru chuckles, letting his eyes flutter shut again. He can’t handle the influx of information that the Six Eyes offer him right now. 

“Well, you know how it is,” Satoru says airily, and doesn’t elaborate. Suguru will get it anyway. For all that Satoru loves the sound of his own voice, he’s scarcely good at talking any sense.

“I’m here,” Suguru tells him, because he knows Satoru so well, it scares him. Satoru inhales deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of his best friend, the person closest to him. He smells like Satoru’s shampoo, and his eyes prickle dangerously.

He doesn’t know how to tell Suguru that that’s why he’s so scared.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Satoru complains loudly as Shoko pokes and prods at him. His blindfold is around his neck, letting her get a better look. “I’m the strongest! Do you actually think I get hurt?”

“Trust me, I’d rather be dealing with literally anyone else right now,” Shoko says dryly. “But if you don’t like it, just don’t get boxed like a fish next time.” She leans back, giving Satoru his space, and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. 

“Is it really him?” Satoru asks, becoming serious. 

Shoko sticks the cigarette in her mouth and takes her time lighting it. It’s not exactly proper bedside manner, but right now, it’s just the two of them, and neither of them care. “All traces of whatever it was possessing him are gone,” she answers slowly after taking a deep drag. “It’s him, alright. But you knew that already.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything to that. Everything about Suguru is exactly that: Suguru. He hadn’t needed Shoko to confirm it, not really, but it makes him feel a bit better, knowing it’s not just a delusion. 

“The higher ups are going to call for his execution again, you know.”

Satoru sighs, drumming his fingers over his knee. “Yeah.” Because what more is there to say? Suguru’s crimes happened independently of whatever it was possessing his body. Even if he’d broken free of its control, released Satoru from the Prison Realm, and was instrumental in cleaning up the mess in Shibuya, it doesn’t erase what he’s done. 

“They’re going to make you do it again. They already have Okkotsu keeping an eye on him when you’re not around.” Shoko sounds so matter-of-fact when she says it, no pity in her expression or tone. But she’s not looking at him, dark gaze settling on the cigarette in her hand. “Do you think you can do it?”

“I…” Can he do it? Satoru knows he doesn’t want to; he just wants his best friend back. That doesn’t mean he’s not willing to raise his hand against him again, especially if he decides to continue with what he’d started. “I don’t want Yuta to do it,” is what he settles on in the end. 

“You better go support Yaga, then,” Shoko says. She takes another drag of her cigarette. “He’s been arguing on your behalf with the higher ups since it happened.”

Satoru feels a twinge of unease in his belly. “Right…”

Shoko’s sharp gaze moves to him. “What?”

Satoru resists the urge to chew on his lip, unsure if this is something he should bring up. Not just to Shoko; to anyone. If he has to tell someone, Shoko would make the most sense, but…

“It’s nothing,” Satoru decides in the end. He’s not fooling Shoko, but he also knows her well enough that she won’t push. Regrettably, after Suguru’s defection, the two of them always kept a certain distance between them. It’s a line Shoko wouldn’t cross. 

Shoko stares at him for a long moment before shaking her head and looking away like he’d known she would. “As long as it’s not life-threatening. I’d never know peace if I let you suddenly drop dead.”

Satoru laughs at that. He slides his blindfold back into place, building another barrier between them. “If there’s something wrong, you’ll be the first to know.”

Suguru is waiting by the gate when Satoru exits. Yuta isn’t too far away, sitting on a park bench. Although he looks removed from the situation, Yuta’s watching Suguru carefully. He relaxes when Satoru shows up, his expression softening some as he waves. 

Satoru returns the greeting with his whole arm, plastering a cheerful grin to his face before he turns to Suguru. “You were waiting?”

“Do I have anything better to do?” Suguru asks with a roll of his eyes, but Satoru can tell he doesn’t mean it. Satoru bumps his shoulder with his own, not holding back much, but Suguru doesn’t even stumble. 

“Of course not!” Satoru proclaims, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they approach Yuta. He can feel Suguru’s body heat through the jacket he’d borrowed from Satoru’s wardrobe—it’s a massive improvement over those stupid monk robes—and he can’t help but press closer. There is no Infinity between them. “There’s no better use of your time than waiting on your favorite person in the world!”

“But I wasn’t waiting on Shoko.”

Satoru gasps, clutching his chest. “How dare you!” he cries, ignoring the stares his melodrama is attracting. “Yuta! Suguru’s mortally wounded me!”

“I’ll be sure to avenge you, Gojo-sensei,” Yuta says with a smile, but when his eyes settle on Suguru, they freeze over. Suguru doesn’t seem to be bothered, just resigned. 

Though he’s loath to do so, Satoru peels himself away from Suguru, gesturing to Yuta to stand. “Well, time to get going,” he says brightly, and inserts himself between the two of them. Who he’s protecting, he’s not entirely sure. “Let’s go rescue Yaga from the higher ups.”

The meeting is already underway when the three of them finally make it. Satoru opens the door loudly without any regard for the people inside, Suguru and Yuta only a few paces behind.

“Yo!” he calls cheerfully. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long!” Satoru knows for certain that they are exactly five minutes late. He’d intentionally taken the scenic route.

“A normal person would be punctual to talks about their best friend’s pending execution,” Suguru remarks blandly, but there’s a hint of amusement on his face. He nods at the circle of higher ups, completely unafraid. He doesn’t do anything particularly rude, but his body language makes it obvious he doesn’t give a shit. “It’s been a while.”

Behind him, Yuta stands guard at the door, arms crossed. Truth be told, Satoru would prefer if he weren’t here; this isn’t something he should have to be involved in, but Yuta is also likely the only other choice in executioner if Satoru is unable to.

“Insolent as ever, I see,” one of the old men says distastefully as Satoru comes to stand next to Yaga while Suguru wanders to the center of the room, where all the attention falls to him naturally. “Geto Suguru. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Suguru shrugs, horribly nonchalant. “I can’t exactly defend myself. I’d rather not lose my head, but it’s not like I can deny what happened or what I did.” He looks over to Satoru briefly. “But there are some people who like me alive, and one of them happens to be someone you can’t do anything against.”

The atmosphere in the room turns even more tense, which Satoru hadn’t thought possible. “Watch your tongue, whelp,” spits another, venom dripping from his voice. “Don’t be so certain in your safety.”

Suguru splays his hands. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says with a faux smile, one that Satoru recognizes as an expression of thinly veiled disgust. “If you chose to execute me, I wouldn’t fight it. I know when I can’t win, after all. It’s–”

“Gojo Satoru we have to worry about, is that it?” interrupts the first old man with a sneer. “Even the supposedly strongest sorcerer isn’t infallible, Geto Suguru.”

Suguru’s eyes narrow. “What do you…”

A cold weight seems to settle over Satoru’s bones, shocking the air out of him for a moment and he inhales painfully sharply. His fingers suddenly go numb, his heartbeat picking up as though to make up for the beat it had skipped, and a faint buzzing at the back of his head grows louder until it’s pounding at the inside of his skull.

That bastard, Satoru thinks distantly, but his rage is drowned out by the shock and, embarrassingly, fear, wrought by the deceptively simple object the old man had set on the table in front of him.

It’s not Suguru who moves first, or even Yuta; to Satoru’s surprise, it’s Yaga who steps forward with rage. “The Prison Realm?” he shouts, with more furious intensity than Satoru’s ever heard from him. The novelty of the situation at least manages to snap Satoru back to reality, but the headache persists, pounding behind his eyes even after he tears them away from the cube. “You’re willing to sink that low?”

“No lower than a man willing to protect a criminal such as Geto Suguru,” the old man retorts. 

Suguru’s face is carefully blank, which is how Satoru knows he’s pissed. “You saw how much it took to get him in there,” he says coldly. “Do you really think you lot have a chance–”

“Forgive me for speaking,” Yuta cuts in, which is the biggest surprise thus far. Evidently, the higher ups weren’t expecting the usually taciturn Yuta to speak, let alone interrupt someone. “But if you were to try anything of the sorts against Gojo-sensei, I won’t raise a hand to stop Geto Suguru from razing you lot to the ground, either.”

That, Satoru decides, might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about him, albeit in the most terrifying way ever. He loves his kids.

The old man with the Prison Realm looks like he isn’t sure if he should be angry or embarrassed first, making for quite the amusing expression. It’s almost enough for Satoru to forget what the old coot’s holding as the higher ups all burst into frenzied muttering and whispering.

Satoru clears his throat, finding his voice at last. “Now, there’s no need to jump to anything that drastic,” he says, putting on some fake cheer to mask the headache and ugly emotions that have risen up. “Suguru won’t do anything stupid because I won’t let him, and neither will Yuta.”

“You expect us to believe you?” scoffs one of the higher ups derisively. “You? We all know you’re compromised, Gojo Satoru, and you defy us at every tur–”

“In the end, I was the one who killed Geto Suguru, wasn’t I?” Satoru asks, letting all pretenses of cheer melt from his face. The room goes silent, and he can feel Suguru’s eyes on him. He exhales. “If it comes down to it, I’ll do it again. I’ll even let Shoko dispose of the body properly this time.”

This whole shitshow might’ve been called for Suguru’s execution, but it had never been for Suguru after all. It had always been about making sure Satoru knows his place.

The old man’s fingers tighten around the Prison Realm. Satoru can’t help but stare at it. “As long as that’s clear,” he says, but his voice shakes a little. At that, Satoru allows himself a small smile. Neither of them are coming out of this winning; Satoru, with an old burden he has chosen to shoulder again, and the higher ups, with an accidental and shaky truce between their target and the only other choice for executioner. 

As the meeting adjourns, Satoru furrows his brow slightly, the facial shift covered up by his blindfold. Even after he’s free of that wretched room, the headache persists even if the buzzing fades, and he only manages to suppress the urge to rub at his temples because he walks out with Yaga, catching up with Suguru and Yuta.

“Sorry for speaking up, Sensei,” Yuta says as soon as they’re out of the room. “I know you can take care of yourself, but…”

“You did fine in my books,” Suguru drawls, but there’s a darkness to his expression that Satoru doesn’t like. It’s gone as soon as he notices Satoru looking. “Looks like we have some things in common.”

Yuta’s expression flattens a little. “That wasn’t approval. I’m still keeping an eye on you.”

Yaga sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair, and Satoru’s reminded of his former teacher’s age in that moment. “Once troublesome, always troublesome,” he grumbles under his breath. Louder, he turns to Satoru. “Sorry for calling you out here for that bullshit.”

The tension between the four of them is thick enough to cut with a knife, and it makes Satoru’s skin crawl. He’s not used to open concern like this, and he’s not a fan of it either; there’s a reason he deliberately makes himself as annoying as possible.

“Yaga!” Satoru exclaims, putting a hand to his chest in an exaggerated motion and gasping loudly. “What filthy language! What are you teaching my student?”

Suguru thankfully plays along, and snorts. “Nothing worse than what you’ve taught them, surely. Your horrible way of speaking hasn’t changed at all.”

Satoru smacks his arm. “Awful! Mean! Suguru is always so terrible to me!”

It’s not particularly convincing, Satoru can tell, because Yaga and Yuta exchange concerned glances. “Satoru,” Yaga begins, frowning.

“I am hungry,” Satoru announces, speaking right over him like he hadn’t heard. It’s only partially a lie. Maybe sugar will help this headache; his Reversed Cursed technique isn’t doing anything to it, worryingly enough. “And I want a crepe. Yuta, do you want a crepe?”

“Why aren’t you asking me?” Suguru complains, with a slight laugh.

“Because Yuta is my precious little student, and you are my bastard roommate who doesn’t even pay rent,” Satoru tells him. “So? Crepe or no crepe?”

Yuta hesitates, but ultimately seems to give in and let it go. “Okay,” he relents. Satoru lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Crepes it is!” Satoru announces with cheer he doesn’t feel. He’s about to put so much goddamn chocolate on this crepe, and it better clear up this headache.

Lying in bed later that night, Satoru groans into his pillow, scrubbing at the side of his face roughly. He resists the urge to scream–Suguru is sleeping in the living room, on a futon Satoru had ordered online–and instead settles for suffocating himself in his pillow.

The sugar had not helped. The pounding in his head hasn’t ceased, and the only silver lining Satoru can find here is that it hasn’t gotten worse.

There aren’t any painkillers in his apartment either. Satoru never gets hurt anymore, and although he used to get splitting migraines as a child when his Six Eyes got to be too much, after he learned Reversed Cursed Technique, he could stop those, too.

It’s one in the morning, but he’s pretty sure the convenience store is still open at this hour. They should have painkillers, surely… but Satoru is strangely tired. He rolls onto his side, tugging his blanket over his shoulders. 

It’ll go away after he gets some sleep, probably. He’ll pick up some painkillers from the convenience store in the morning, just in case, after he meets with his students. It’ll be fine.

Satoru dreams of nothing.

He floats in absolute darkness, unable to move, unable to access his Six Eyes, but he’s strangely aware of his dreaming state.

It’s not pleasant, but it’s not… awful, either. 

He’s not sure how much time passes; it could be a couple of seconds or a thousand years, and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

Suddenly, something warm touches him, a startling change from the nothingness he’d been in. He’s moving, somehow…

“Satoru!”

Groggily, Satoru opens his eyes, blinking a few times. Belatedly, he realizes someone is shaking him roughly, the pounding in his head returning with a vengeance. He squints and recognizes Suguru leaning over him.

“Satoru!” Suguru repeats, an edge of franticness to his voice. As his vision clears, Satoru can see the worry in Suguru’s face. “Satoru, are you awake?”

“S’guru?” Satoru slurs, his head spinning. Why does Suguru sound so scared? “Wh’s wrong?”

Suguru lets out an explosive sigh of relief. “Your kids are calling, you know,” he says with an exhausted smile. “They’re accusing me of many horrible things right now.”

Satoru frowns before he sits bolt upright, his heart going into overdrive. Suguru’s holding Satoru’s phone, and he can see Megumi’s caller ID, open on speaker, but more importantly: the time on the phone reads 2PM.

He was supposed to meet the first years for training an hour ago. Satoru is often fashionably late, but not this late.

“Easy,” Suguru murmurs, hand coming to rest on Satoru’s shoulder, warm and grounding.

“Gojo-sensei!” shouts Yuji from the phone. “Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?”

Satoru will have to apologize somehow–unfortunately–but for now, he needs to do some damage control. His tongue feels like cotton in his mouth, but he swallows once and hopes he sounds relatively functional.

“I’m fine, don’t worry!” Satoru says with cheer he doesn’t feel. “Sensei just stayed up late and overslept.”

“You don’t oversleep,” Megumi accuses. He sounds angry, but Satoru doesn’t take it personally; Megumi’s always expressed his concern for Satoru through annoyance. “We’ll come over.”

“You don’t have to,” Satoru says hastily. Suddenly, he’s incredibly aware of how he must look and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll come out and meet you, if you’re really that worried.”

“Who said you get to make decisions now?” Nobara demands. “He said we’ll come over! Sit tight and we’ll meet you there!”

Before Satoru can say anything, the other end hangs up. The resulting beep sounds somehow aggressive. 

“Your students care a lot about you,” Suguru remarks, sounding oddly wistful, as Satoru buries his face in his hands. His voice turns serious, however, as he adds, “Are you alright, Satoru?”

“I’m fine,” Satoru groans into his hands. “I just didn’t think I’d have to set an alarm for one PM!” Especially since he’d fallen asleep around one AM. Had he really slept over twelve hours? Satoru rarely gets more than six if he sleeps at all.

It’s clear Suguru doesn’t fully believe him, so Satoru lets go of his face and snatches his phone out of Suguru’s hands. “Go! I need to get changed!” he says, shooing him out with more energy than he actually has.

“Glad to see you’re as demanding as usual,” Suguru says, but there’s no heat in his voice. “No thanks for coming into wake you up?”

Just as he’s shoving Suguru out of his bedroom, he hears a knock at the door, but Satoru can tell it’s not Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara. Yuta. Satoru winces; in his panic, he’d forgotten he’d also asked Yuta to trade babysitting duties with him while he trained with the first years. 

“Go answer the door,” Satoru tells Suguru, because Yuta can handle himself, and quickly shuts the door in Suguru’s face. He hears Suguru’s footsteps receding and lets out a shaky breath, holding the side of his aching head as he leans against the door for just a moment.

What is wrong with him right now?

The sound of Yuta’s voice, quiet but audible, from the doorway snaps Satoru out of his daze. It’s been only seconds since Suguru had left to open the door and he’s already drifting off? Thoroughly unnerved, Satoru forces himself to stand up straight, and quickly gets dressed before quietly slipping into the bathroom.

Satoru stares at himself in the mirror. He… doesn’t look great. Satoru’s already pale complexion seems almost ashy, and his eyes are almost wild. Taking a deep breath, he splashes water on his face, hoping to wake himself up properly. He’s the strongest, dammit; he shouldn’t be this much of a mess.

It seems to do the trick. It’s blessedly cool against his headache, and he’s almost regretful when he has to wipe it off to slide his sunglasses in place. His blindfold would feel out of place in his own apartment, so he decides to forgo it.

“Yo, Yuta,” Satoru greets his student, and he’s pleased with how steady his voice sounds. “Sorry for not calling you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” Yuta says, still standing in the doorway. His eyes move to Satoru from where they’d been almost glowering at Suguru. “Are you feeling alright, Sensei? You seemed tired yesterday.”

Satoru opens his mouth to respond but pauses as he sees his first years charging into view, Yuji reaching the door first, Nobara not too far after him. Megumi’s the only one walking at a normal pace, but he shows up a few moments later.

“Sensei!” Yuji calls, his face lighting up with relief when he sees Satoru, more or less unharmed. “You’re okay! You weren’t picking up your phone.”

“All three of us called you, you know,” Megumi sighs, glaring at Satoru. He sheds his shoes and steps into the apartment like he owns the place while the other two first years hover in the doorway with Yuta. Yuji and Nobara are standing a little farther away from Yuta, but they seem to recognize him, so they must’ve met at some point. 

Satoru has the ridiculous urge to pinch Megumi’s cheeks like he used to, but he’s too far away, so Satoru copes by imagining Megumi’s angry squawk. It might just be his imagination, but his headache abates a little at the thought. “What are you guys doing outside? Come in.”

That does the trick, and soon the other three join them inside the apartment, door closed behind them. “He didn’t do anything funny, did he?” Nobara asks, staring suspiciously at Suguru, who holds his hands up in surrender but doesn’t speak, probably recognizing nothing he can say would mollify any of them.

“He didn’t,” Satoru answers, laughing. “Suguru wouldn’t do anything to me. I really did just oversleep.” He grins. “Aw, don’t tell me you were worried about your sensei.”

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” Megumi reiterates with a slight frown, shoulders hunching a little. “Once isn’t that weird, but we all called you twice. And then he picked up.”

That gives Satoru pause. He’s normally an incredibly light sleeper; it’s something he has to be, after all. He sleeps with his phone charging on the nightstand next to him, and clearly the incessant ringing had been enough to either rouse or alert Suguru.

How had he missed it? 

But for now, more importantly: how does he clean up this mess? He glances over to Suguru before smiling sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “Ah, I left my phone on the coffee table,” he says, gesturing to the table in question, out in the living room. It’s by Suguru’s futon, which is still laid out on the floor. “It must’ve been on vibrate, because I didn’t hear it.”

“It definitely woke me up,” Suguru says dryly, speaking for the first time, and relief floods through Satoru. He can always rely on Suguru to cover for him, even now. “I considered making you call again.”

Nobara sputters, pointing an accusing finger at Suguru, who just smiles in that annoying way Satoru used to hate. “You! You!” she shouts indignantly. “It’s two PM and it’s just waking you up?”

“We were both up late together,” Satoru rushes to add with an awkward smile. “Very late. So we both woke up late.” Beside him, Suguru stiffens a little, casting a wide-eyed look at him.

Nobara has gone silent, a calculating gleam taking over her eyes. Both Yuta and Megumi’s expressions have gone startlingly flat, while Yuji looks around like he’s not sure what’s been said wrong.

Then, Satoru realizes, and he can’t help the color that burns in his ears.

“Not like–”

“So it’s like that!” Nobara shouts triumphantly, slamming her fist into her open palm like she’s solved one of the world’s great mysteries. Satoru is going to have to apologize to his neighbors too, which is fantastic. “I knew it!”

“Like what?” Yuji asks.

Satoru moves to stop Nobara from filling his head with even more nonsense, but Yuta and Megumi are looking one step away from murder, and cleaning Suguru’s remains off his floorboards is not something he wants to be doing today. Or ever. His head throbs at the thought.

“Gojo,” Megumi says, aghast, and ridiculously enough, that makes Satoru’s ears burn harder. 

“I–nothing happened,” Satoru manages, gesticulating wildly like that’ll get his point across any better. “Suguru and I aren’t–we’re not–it’s not like that!” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose; to Satoru’s surprise, his face is a little pink too.

“You are the world’s shittiest liar,” says Megumi, perfectly convinced in his false truth.

“I’m not lying!” Satoru cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

“So if you weren’t doing… that,” Megumi says it distastefully, “what, exactly, was keeping you up so late?”

Satoru flounders for a moment. He wasn’t actually awake, but he can’t exactly say that, now can he? Nobara is whispering loudly into Yuji’s ear, and understanding dawns on Yuji’s face, but he’s coming to all the wrong conclusions. 

Maybe Satoru should’ve just told the truth.

“Talking,” Satoru stresses, but his voice cracks, because this is actually a lie, and he is just in too deep. His head is not feeling any better from all this. “Drinking tea!” Suguru is saying absolutely nothing to help him here. He just looks like he wants to sink into the floorboards, and Satoru can’t say he blames him.

“Sensei, we don’t have a problem with it being another man,” Yuji says earnestly. Gods bless him, but this is not helping. Yuji shoots Suguru a dirty look, who’s moved on to cover his eyes completely with a hand. “We’re just worried, since you didn’t show up today.”

Okay, topic change. Satoru jumps on it, because he never wants to think about this again. “I am sorry about that,” he says, genuinely contrite even if the only reason he’s apologizing at the moment is so he doesn’t have to talk about his nonexistent relationship with Suguru. “It won’t happen again. We can go train now, since we’re all up.”

Satoru glances over at Yuta, who’s dangerously silent and looking at Suguru like he’s already picked out a coffin, and smiles nervously. “Why don’t Yuta and Suguru join us today?” he says, because he’s not sure leaving those two alone is going to end bloodlessly. 

 “Sure, Sensei,” says Yuta, frighteningly calm.

Satoru gives in to the urge to rub his temples.

True to Satoru’s word, it really doesn’t happen again. For the first time in something like ten some years, he’s setting alarms for everything he needs to wake up for, terrified of missing something else again. His dreams are always of that same dark nothingness, dragging him deep into slumber until the alarm wakes him up. It’s the alarm that snaps him awake every time, without fail. It’s not like that’s abnormal, but it terrifies Satoru.

The persisting headache definitely is abnormal, though. Satoru considers talking to Shoko, but if he can’t deal with it himself, it’s unlikely she can either. The painkillers he’s been taking don’t do much, either, so he’s given up entirely. 

Satoru’s just been so tired lately, finding himself dozing off at inopportune moments. Thanks to his blindfold, nobody notices except maybe Suguru; it’s easy to pretend he just isn’t paying attention. Suguru just gives him a concerned look and checks on him, but never brings it up, which Satoru’s grateful for.

What he’s less grateful for is the misconception that’s spread among his students. No matter how many times Satoru tries to clear it up, it always somehow ends up with a worse misunderstanding, and he’s more or less given up on salvaging the situation, resigning himself to suffering through his students threatening bodily harm on Suguru. So far, only Maki’s actually acted on it.

Satoru’s the only one suffering here, too. After the initial embarrassment, Suguru’s begun to think it’s funny, the sick fuck.

Of course, the rumor doesn’t stop with the students, because that’d be too easy. 

“Oh, if it isn’t the lovebirds,” Shoko calls as Satoru walks into her office for Suguru’s biweekly checkup. She laughs at Satoru’s sour expression. “Congratulations on the sex!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Satoru grouses, his face heating up again. “We did not have sex, are not having sex, and will not have sex.”

“Why? Because it’d be necrophilia?” Shoko drawls, crooking a finger at Suguru to beckon him onto the patient bed. Satoru chokes on his spit, but Suguru actually laughs at that, going easily. 

“You’re horrible,” Satoru says through his coughing. “Awful. I hate you. You’re going to hell.”

“I’m not the necrophile here,” says Shoko, and Satoru considers throwing a scalpel at her. 

“I’ve never met anyone who gets more excited over dead bodies than you,” Satoru seethes. Shoko snickers at him but doesn’t deny it. He hates her so fucking much.

“You know we’re not actually like that, right?” Suguru asks, sitting down and shedding his jacket. Not Satoru’s jacket anymore; they’ve gone out to get him some proper clothes. Satoru’s not mourning the loss at all. 

Shoko shrugs. “You two are stupid,” is all she says before shooing Satoru out of the room.

Suguru’s out within fifteen minutes, but before they can head out, Shoko stops them, grabbing onto Satoru’s wrist. She blinks, her surprise showing briefly on her face when she likely realizes she’s not encountering Infinity.

“Come here for a second,” she tells him, thankfully not bringing up the lack of Infinity. Satoru trusts her, and she knows this, but it’s not something either of them wants to put into words.

“What, why?” Satoru complains. “I’ve got a clean bill of health! You’re the one who wrote it!”

Shoko arches an eyebrow at him, and Satoru relents, entering the office and shutting the door behind him while Suguru waits outside.

“What’s going on?” she asks in a low voice, her expression turning serious. Satoru’s stomach flips; he knows what she’s talking about, but… 

“I told you, Suguru and I aren’t–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Shoko says sharply, her hand tightening slightly around Satoru’s wrist. “You know you look awful, right?”

“You really know how to flatter a girl,” Satoru sighs, but he doesn’t deny it. He looks away so he doesn’t have to meet her eyes. He should’ve worn his blindfold instead so it wouldn’t be so damn obvious. “I’m fine, Shoko. Really. I just haven’t slept well recently.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a really shit liar?”

Satoru makes a noise of frustration, looking back at her desperately. “I’m not lying, I swear.” Please let it go, he doesn’t say.

Shoko studies his face for a long moment before she shakes her head slightly, releasing his wrist. “Nanami’s coming back from his mission tonight,” she says after a long moment of silence. “Come over tomorrow. Movie night.” She smirks. “Bring your boytoy with you.”

Satoru splutters. “He’s–he’s not my–Shoko!”

Sometimes, his dreams are more vivid than usual. Sometimes, the smell of rot and death fills the air, almost thick enough to choke the breath from his lungs. Sometimes, he tries to move and comes into contact with walls pressing in on him. Sometimes, he can make out vague shapes in the darkness.

It’s terrifying, and Satoru hates it, but it is, at the same time, oddly soothing, and he almost misses it when the alarm under his pillow drags him into wakefulness.

“Nanamin!” Satoru shouts cheerfully, throwing himself at the man in question the second the door opens. It’s worth aggravating his headache for. 

“Please get off of me,” Nanami says, his polite speech belying the flatness of his voice. Satoru grins and decidedly does not do that, only hugging him tighter. Nanami, surprisingly, doesn’t react externally upon seeing Suguru, only inclining his head slightly.

“Nanamin, why don’t you love me?” Satoru wails dramatically, moving to rub his face against Nanami’s like a cat, just to be obnoxious. As predicted, Nanami stops him before he can, shoving a hand in his face. Satoru considers licking it.

“Disgusting,” Shoko remarks as she pads to the couch, a bag of chips and a bottle of cola under her arm. “In front of your boyfriend, too.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Satoru protests, detaching himself from Nanami just to glare at Shoko, who’s moved to sit next to the “boyfriend” in question. There’s a weird expression on Suguru’s face that’s gone before Satoru has time to parse it. 

“Just stop bitching and sit down,” says Shoko, rolling her eyes. For a moment, it feels like he’s a teenager again, like Haibara’s about to join them at any moment, like they have to keep the alcohol Shoko smuggled into the dorms quiet, like… Amanai Riko is still alive, living as a happy middle schooler, like Suguru hadn’t gone on to do what he did, like everything is… normal.

“Alright, alright,” Satoru grumbles instead of voicing all of that aloud. He climbs onto the small couch, shoving himself against Suguru’s side so there’s space for Nanami on his other side. “Nanamin, stop taking so long.”

“I can just leave instead, if you prefer,” Nanami offers, like he’s not in the middle of taking off his outdoor shoes. 

“Suguru,” Satoru sniffles dramatically, clutching his arm, “why doesn’t Nanamin love me?”

“Probably because you keep calling him that,” says Suguru, strangely stiff. “And also you’re annoying.”

“The most annoying,” Shoko agrees cheerfully, opening her chips before the movie’s even started. “Although… did you know he only agreed to come over for movie night because he was so concerned about you, Satoru.”

“You are the worst,” Satoru hears Suguru mutter.

“No matter how irritating Gojo can be, he’s still a coworker and has had a traumatic experience,” Nanami says, as clinical as ever. “Being concerned is basic decency.” As he sits down on Satoru’s other side. Satoru grins and puts his feet on Nanami’s lap, fully expecting to get shoved off, but to his surprise, Nanami just sighs and does nothing.

“Do you hear that?” Satoru asks, because being annoying is the only way he knows how to process people giving a damn. “Nanamin really does care!” He pauses. “Hey, where are Utahime and Mei Mei?”

Shoko turns on the TV and switches it to whatever movie she’s queued up. “On missions,” she says, leaning her head on Suguru’s shoulder. “Why? Did you want a big reunion?”

Satoru frowns a little at that. It’s not that he wants to be worked like a dog, but… it’s been strangely silent from the higher ups recently. He hasn’t been asked to go on any missions as of late, and while it might be because of Suguru, they hadn’t exactly stopped making him work before… before the Prison Realm, despite Yuji being his student.

The thought of the Prison Realm makes his headache flare up, a wave of dizziness washing over him and he presses his cheek into Suguru’s shoulder to balance himself while disguising it as an act of annoying affection. 

“One day, maybe,” Satoru says cheerfully instead. “What are we watching?”

It winds up being pretty bad, which is typical of Shoko’s choices. Back when they were students, she always picked the worst fucking movies, specifically to fuck with everyone else watching with her. While Satoru always found them hilarious, it was Suguru’s arguing with Shoko that made everything worth it. Back then, Haibara used to laugh with Satoru about it, while Nanami complained about the quality. 

Haibara’s long gone now, and Nanami’s mellowed out enough that his comments are less scathing and more dry, but Suguru and Shoko’s bickering has remained the same. It’s… oddly comforting, and while Satoru would normally have more to say, the exhaustion that seems to have become a permanent fixture in his life weighs him down. He’s warm, surrounded by people he loves, and he’s so, so tired…

It’s a vivid dream, this time.

He can’t move, but that’s not new. Neither is the scent of death, nor are the skeletal hands reaching for him in the darkness.

But this time, he can hear something. Something like… someone calling for him? Satoru wants to turn his head, find the source of the sound, but he can’t move.

The calling fades into the rest of the nothingness, and Satoru seems to sink deeper and deeper and deeper and…

Satoru comes to slowly. His face is still pressed into Suguru’s jacket, but it feels like something’s changed. He’s… lower, now? There’s a hand running through his hair, gentle and warm, and although his headache is still there, he can forget it for a moment, hovering between sleep and wakefulness.

“He’s really asleep?” Shoko’s voice murmurs from what sounds like far away. Satoru feels like he’s floating in warm water, the sounds around him distant. The movie seems to have ended, the credits theme fading in and out of Satoru’s consciousness.

Not really, Satoru thinks sleepily, but his body doesn’t seem to want to respond when he makes to do so. It should be scary, feeling so out of control, but it’s oddly comforting instead, especially with deft fingers combing through his hair gently. 

“Yeah,” Suguru confirms from above him. It must be his fingers in Satoru’s hair, and a warm, syrupy feeling fills his chest at the thought. “He’s been tired lately.”

“Is he still suffering aftereffects from the…” Nanami trails off, seemingly unwilling to say the word, but Satoru knows what he’s talking about. If Satoru hadn’t been drifting, he might’ve shivered, but he’s too far away from his own body.

“If he is, he hasn’t…” Shoko’s voice fades out with the rest of the room, Suguru’s jacket and the sound of the movie going with it.

The world seems to shift and Satoru is helpless to do anything about it. Everything touches him; Infinity won’t come when he calls for it. He can’t see anything in the darkness, but the voice calling for him is louder, enough that he can make out some words if he strains his ears.

“-ei… up… can… help… up…”

“–up! Wake up, Satoru.”

Satoru blinks slowly, the world spinning violently when he wakes up this time. The pounding in his head is back with a vengeance, but worse than before. Suguru is leaning over him, his expression pinched. When Satoru lets his gaze wander, he sees Nanami and Shoko, hovering not too far away. 

“Suguru?” he mumbles. “Sorry. Was I sleeping?”

“There you are,” Suguru says, a little breathlessly. “Can you sit up?”

It takes a few moments, but Satoru’s clarity returns. He does as Suguru asks wordlessly, casting a quick glance about the room. The TV is off now, and Nanami seems to have left. Shoko, on the other hand, is in another room, leaving Satoru alone with Suguru.

“Aw, I missed the movie,” Satoru laments, but it’s hard to put any real feeling behind it. “Did Nanamin leave?”

“Awhile ago. Shoko’s setting up a room for us.”

Satoru frowns. “Why? I can just teleport us home.”

Suguru’s lips twitch. “Just humor her,” he says. “She’s worried about you.”

“Who’s worried?” Shoko calls, poking her head out of the room in question. “Room’s set up, by the way. Don’t get up to any funny business in my apartment, got it? If I find any suspicious stains on those sheets, you’re buying me new ones.”

Satoru picks up one of Shoko’s couch cushions and throws it at her. She ducks under it, grinning. It’s such an easy expression, one so achingly reminiscent of their high school years, Satoru falters for a moment. 

“We’ve got more class than that, come on,” Suguru says, smiling widely. “We’ll wait until we get home.” While Shoko bursts out laughing, Satoru punches Suguru in the arm and does not hold back.

Sometimes, when Satoru dreams, he thinks he hears someone crying. 

Sometimes everything shakes. Sometimes someone is calling for him–Sensei! Gojo-sensei! Gojo!, but never Satoru–and sometimes someone is talking about him. 

There are voices he doesn’t recognize, some he does. Yuji’s voice comes through the clearest. He sounds so sad, so terrified, so young, that Satoru wants to reach out, wants to leave this black nothingness, to protect him, but he can’t do anything.

He can’t do anything but float, and dream, and wake up when Suguru calls.

Shibuya is remarkably intact, Satoru notices.

He’s not sure why this crosses his mind as he follows after his first years, a few paces behind. After a day of grueling training, they’re heading out for dinner. The city around them is bustling with activity, and although it should be normal, it feels odd.

Maybe Satoru’s what’s wrong here.

Nobara and Megumi are arguing over something silly–mochi flavors, last time he tuned into the conversation–with Yuji interjecting his neutral opinion every so often. It makes Satoru smile, seeing Megumi act his age for once. Almost like Megumi can sense his thoughts, he glares at Satoru, who just grins wider and wiggles his fingers at him.

Suddenly, Satoru feels prickling at the back of his neck, like something is watching him. Immediately on alert, Satoru looks around surreptitiously, pretending to be relaxed so his students don’t sense anything wrong.

When he looks across the street, his heart skips a beat. For just a moment, his vision flickers, and the people on the other side of the road become lifeless skeletons. Then, a car drives past, and they’re just people.

“Sensei!” Nobara’s voice snaps him back into the present and realizes his students have wandered a little too far ahead. “Don’t think you’re getting out of paying for dinner!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Satoru replies cheerfully, closing the distance with a few long strides. “Just thought I saw someone I recognized.”

“Where is Geto, anyway?” Yuji wonders, making an incorrect but fair assumption about who Satoru had supposedly seen. “We haven’t seen him all day, but he’s usually with you, isn’t he, Sensei?”

“He’s with Tsukumo right now,” Satoru answers easily. Tsukumo had come back to Japan for once, swooping in to babysit Suguru so Yuta doesn’t have to. She’s a flighty, troublesome woman and not particularly close to Satoru, but she’s trusty enough. “One of these days I’ll have her teach you three a thing or two.”

Satoru’s headache intensifies for a moment. It takes a lot of strength for him to not react visibly as they enter the ramenhouse Megumi had picked out. He can’t help but look over his shoulder one more time, but there’s nobody there. While Nobara and Yuji get themselves seated, Megumi hangs back, watching him with poorly concealed worry. “Gojo?” he asks, uncertain.

Satoru starts; he hadn’t wanted Megumi to notice. He smiles fondly, an expression he barely has to fake, and ruffles Megumi’s hair, eliciting an indignant noise from him. “Let’s go eat,” he says cheerfully, throwing his arm around Megumi’s shoulders and dragging him along. Megumi makes a noise of complaint, but he doesn’t fight it, even if the worry in his face doesn’t dissipate completely.

The sensation of being watched doesn’t fade throughout dinner, and Satoru finds himself on edge even as he participates in his students’ banter. But there’s no malevolent cursed energy that Satoru can sense. Is his exhaustion truly getting to him that much?

It’s a miracle none of them notice Satoru’s spaciness–or maybe they’re too kind to call him out on it–even as they exit the ramenhouse to head back to the dorms. At this hour, the sun’s already set, casting Shibuya in shadow. The crowd has thinned out, and the cold streetlights turn pale skin bone white.

Like skeletons, piled up around him, wrapped around him, pressing into him, with no layer of Infinity between Satoru and them.

“–ve Gojo-sensei–”

Satoru stops fully. That had been Yuji’s voice, full of grim determination, with a bitter undercurrent of anger, but Yuji is… Yuji is up ahead with Nobara and Megumi, chattering excitedly about something. 

His headache flares up in full force. Around him, the world spins dangerously, and Satoru stumbles. The edges of his vision swim, and it feels like he can’t move, invisible walls pressing his limbs to his body.

Ridiculously, all Satoru can think is that he wants Suguru.

“Gojo?” Megumi asks, sounding alarmed, but he sounds so far away. Satoru takes a shaky step forward, to get closer, but it’s like his entire body is made of lead, like he’s moving through honey.

His heart is pounding. Skeletons are grinning at him at the corners of his vision.

“Sensei!”

The ground is a lot closer than Satoru remembers. And then there’s nothing.

He floats for something like eternity, but he can’t escape, can’t drift away, when there are bones rooting him to the nothingness.

Someone is calling for him. Is it Yuji? Is it Suguru?

Who should he answer?

“–you wake up for me, Satoru? Please.”

Suguru. He sounds worried. He’s sounded like that a lot, recently.

As Satoru’s senses slowly come back online, he finds he’s lying somewhere soft. It smells like antiseptic, and the walls are an awful beige. There’s a familiar, grounding presence next to him, Satoru’s hand clasped in both of Suguru’s.

“If you hold my hand like that,” Satoru croaks, his tongue thick in his mouth, “people really are going to get the wrong idea.” Suguru just chuckles and squeezes Satoru’s hand between his, helping him sit up against the pillows.

“You’re the only one who has a problem with that.” Shoko walks around Suguru to sit on Satoru’s other side. Her usually apathetic expression is twisted with concern as she chews on the unlit cigarette in her mouth. 

Satoru’s stomach turns when he realizes that concern is directed at him.

“I’m,” he winces when his voice breaks, “I’m fine. I’m just–”

“Tired recently?” Shoko finishes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Satoru, your kids called us in a panic because you passed out on the side of the road and wouldn’t wake up. What’s going on?”

Satoru stills, suddenly cold. “I don’t know,” he says, unsure of what else to say. 

“You have to know something,” Shoko snaps, sounding angrier than Satoru’s heard her in years. Not angry, Satoru realizes after a moment. Scared. “What happened?”

What happened?

“I,” Satoru starts, but stops. His ears are starting to ring. “I don’t. I don’t know.” Yuji’s voice from his dream echoes in his ears through the pounding in his head, and a fresh wave of nausea and dizziness hits him hard enough that his head falls forward.

“Satoru!” A hand grabs onto his shoulder, stopping him from falling entirely. “Satoru?” Shoko’s voice is softer now. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

The first thing that comes to mind is afraid, but Satoru is the strongest; he can’t be afraid. “Dizzy,” he manages after a moment to steady himself. “Tired.” He hesitates; he should tell Shoko about the headache, too, but she’ll get mad again.

“What else?” Shoko prods, clearly picking up on it. She’s bent down, her hands on his face, and Satoru can feel her cursed energy poking around at him.

“Head hurts,” Satoru admits quietly. “Has been for a while.”

Shoko’s lips thin, and Satoru expects her to say something scathing, but she keeps her voice and words surprisingly gentle. “How long is a while?”

Satoru’s head throbs at the thought. “Since talking with the higher ups,” he answers. He has a good idea of what caused it, too; ever since that old man had brought out the… 

The hand on his shoulder tightens. “The Prison Realm,” Suguru realizes, upset coloring his voice, and the words may as well have been a cracking whip for the pain that it brings Satoru. Satoru jerks away from Shoko’s hands and curls in on himself with a sharp inhale, his vision going black for a moment.

“Sensei!”

It sounds like Yuji calling for him.

“Satoru!” 

Suguru. Suguru’s voice is real, grounding; the cry from his dreams is just… it’s just that. It’s a dream, a figment of Satoru’s imagination.

Why… does that seem wrong?

“What’s wrong with him?” Shoko demands urgently. “Suguru, what did you mean by the Prison Realm?”

It hurts. Satoru’s barely aware of his fingers tangling in his hair, pulling sharply at the white locks. It hurts. Breathing is a chore; suddenly all he can smell is rot and death and the walls are pressing in around him on all sides. It hurts.

“The higher ups. They threatened–”

“Stop,” Satoru rasps, dragging the word out of his throat, and the other two fall silent. “Stop. I can’t–I can’t fucking remember.”

Shoko’s hands pull at Satoru’s wrists. He lets her extricate his fingers from his hair, replacing them with her own. Her cursed energy doesn’t do anything to soothe his headache, but it gives him something to ground himself with. But is it even real? “What can’t you remember?” she asks steadily.

“I…” Satoru breathes in. Breathes out. Closes his eyes. His voice threatens to crack as he nearly sobs, “I can’t remember how I got out.”

That’s not all Satoru can’t remember.

Suguru broke free of that impostor’s control. Because it was his body that sealed Satoru into the Prison Realm, he had the authority to let him go, too. After he let Satoru out, they… they… cleaned up the fake Suguru’s mess by killing his curses.

He knows these things logically, because they’ve been told to him, but Satoru doesn’t have a single memory of them.

Satoru’s Six Eyes have given him an eidetic memory, so why can’t he remember a damn thing?

His head hurts.

Shoko confines him to bed, which Satoru doesn’t have the energy to fight, nor does he think she’s wrong for it. He’d passed out in front of his first years, which is both embarrassing on an entirely different level, and also terrifying in a way he doesn’t want to think about.

They come to visit him in the infirmary. Yuji’s open with his worry, while Nobara hides hers poorly with false bravado. Megumi shoves a gift from Tsumiki into his arms instead of verbally expressing his, but he fluffs Satoru’s pillows when he thinks nobody’s watching. It’s adorable. His second years come by pretty often too, smuggling in snacks and games that Shoko pretends she doesn’t see, the same way Satoru pretends he doesn’t see the bones piled up on the floor. 

Nanami visits too, which is surprising. He brings Satoru something sweet to eat, but isn’t any less harsh with his rebuttals than usual. Satoru appreciates it, because it gives him the illusion of normalcy, letting him pretend he doesn’t feel the world pressing down on him, binding him. 

Shoko and Suguru are constants, though. They’re almost always there, Shoko checking on him and trying to puzzle out his symptoms in between making violent threats toward the higher ups while Suguru watches and laughs. When Suguru is there, Satoru doesn’t hear the skeletons rattling in the closet. 

One day, though, while Satoru is drifting off again, Suguru is sitting by him, lacing their fingers together. The action is so tender it aches somewhere deep in Satoru’s chest, and not for the first time, Satoru wonders if being in love could’ve stopped Suguru. 

(He knows it wouldn’t have.)

“Satoru,” Suguru murmurs as Satoru drifts off. He sounds sad. “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

The worst part, though, is Yaga.

“Satoru,” says his former teacher. He sounds grave, and Satoru winces. 

“Save the lecture,” Satoru groans, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. Instead of looking at Yaga, he counts the ribs on the skeleton hanging from the ceiling. “I know, I’m an idiot for working with a debilitating health issue, I should’ve told Shoko, I worried you all, don’t I know– ”

“Satoru.”

Yaga sounds so tired, Satoru shuts up.

“I didn’t come here to lecture you,” Yaga says quietly, taking the seat Suguru usually occupies. “I’m here to apologize.”

Satoru blinks. The absurdity of that statement renders him momentarily speechless. “For what?” he asks, completely nonplussed.

“I’m not your teacher anymore,” Yaga begins, clasping his hands together in his lap. “I don’t have the right to call myself that. I don’t think I ever did. You’ve shouldered more than you should’ve had to for a long time, Satoru, and a lot of it is because of me.”

Discomfort crawls over Satoru’s skin like skeletal hands, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. “I’m more than capable of handling it,” Satoru says, unsure of what Yaga wants him to say. “It’s fi–”

“It’s not fine. That’s why I’m apologizing.” Yaga heaves a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been keeping the higher ups off your back recently, since it’s the least I can do. After the whole… Shibuya Incident and the Prison Realm, you needed a break.” 

The Shibuya Incident. The Incident. Never what happened. Nobody will tell him, because nobody can. The higher ups would never let what Satoru and Suguru did go. They would never allow Satoru to go on leave for so long, no matter what Yaga does or says, and they would hunt Suguru to the ends of the earth for his crimes.

Everyone’s been so impossibly patient with him.

Satoru wants to be sick. His eyes burn. Something’s lodged in his throat. The world goes blurry, and his lashes are wet. 

He doesn’t know why this is his wake-up call.

(Nobody did this for him. Nobody will. Because Satoru’s the strongest, after all.)

His senses tell him that the walls are an ugly beige, that Yaga is sitting in a chair next to his bed, that there’s a soft white comforter Panda had brought him draped over his legs, that the air smells like antiseptic and cigarette smoke, that sunlight is filtering through the blinds Suguru had opened this morning for him.

But Satoru knows better. That doesn’t mean it hurts any less when he speaks the truth.

“Sensei,” Satoru says. He hasn’t called Yaga that in a decade, and his voice cracks on the word. His lips tremble as he smiles, tears falling freely for the first time since Satoru’s fallen asleep. “This isn’t real, is it?”

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Satoru doesn’t turn even as Shoko approaches him nonchalantly. The breeze blows cigarette smoke in Satoru’s face, but he doesn’t flinch, letting her join him in leaning against the railing. Down below, Satoru can see cars and people, moving along like a line of ants.

None of them are real.

“You’re not real either,” Satoru says to her, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground below so he doesn’t have to look at her expression. Just because it’s not real doesn’t mean it won’t have an effect. “You haven’t given this much of a shit about anything in years.”

“Now that’s hurtful,” Shoko drawls. She smokes quietly. “Your kids are looking for you, you know. After you disappeared, everyone freaked out.”

Satoru’s mouth twitches. “Are you trying to guilt trip me?”

“No, just telling you the truth.” Shoko exhales smoke out of her mouth. “You’ve got people who care, Satoru, myself included.”

“Now I know for certain this is all in my head. The real Ieiri Shoko would never say that.”

That makes Shoko crack a smile. She chuckles, and a strangely comfortable silence falls over the two of them.

“What’s got you so convinced it’s not real?” Shoko asks. She actually sounds curious. 

“None of you can tell me how I escaped the Prison Realm,” Satoru says. He ignores the now familiar headache just saying the words brings, forging ahead. “I can’t think of the damn thing without a headache.”

(Nobody’s cared this much before.) 

“It’s also a highly traumatic event,” Shoko points out. “And none of us actually know how the Prison Realm works. It’s taboo, remember?”

Satoru closes his eyes. He can see the grinning skeletons now, trapping him in a cage of bone he can‘t break free of. “It makes sense that Shoko would be my voice of reason,” he says. “She’s never been afraid to be blunt.”

“I’m right here,” says Shoko, but Satoru knows that if he were to reach out to her, he’d only touch dry, brittle bone.

“No, you’re not,” Satoru tells the nobody next to him. He is alone, not on the rooftop, but within the Prison Realm. “Thank you, though.” He stands up from where he’d been leaning against the railing, absently scuffing his shoe against the ground. Shoko watches him out of the corner of her eye. 

“Where are you going?”

Satoru thinks for a long moment. He can’t really go anywhere. He’s trapped in a box, in a hell that he doesn’t want to leave. But no matter how tired he is, no matter how much he wants to stay in this fake, beautiful world, Satoru can’t sacrifice his reality for a cheap replica.

“Suguru,” he says at last. “I’m going to Suguru.”

Satoru finds Suguru standing in that alleyway. He’s no longer wearing the casual clothes Satoru’s grown accustomed to seeing him in, dressed instead in the robes he’d died in.

“Hey, Satoru.”

Satoru swallows. “Suguru.”

Suguru sits down, right where Satoru had killed him. There is no blood on the wall, but Satoru can imagine it clearly, the memory burned into his head. Patting the ground across from him, Suguru looks at Satoru expectantly.

Satoru sits.

“Interesting choice in place to meet,” Suguru muses, rubbing his chin. He looks around, amused in a way that only Suguru could be. Satoru tamps down on the instinct to say he’d found Suguru here, but he knows better than that. This is Satoru’s hell, after all, not Suguru’s.

“Does it bother you?” Satoru asks. It’s a waste of time, talking about things like this, but Satoru finds himself stalling anyway. 

“Satoru,” Suguru chides gently, because he’s always known Satoru better than anyone else, even Shoko. And here, in this moment, Satoru knows that Suguru is undeniably real.

“I know.” Satoru takes a deep breath. “I know.”

A silence falls over the both of them. Satoru can hear his students calling for him, shouting his name, looking for him, but, as much as it hurts to admit it, they aren’t real. They don’t need him, and Satoru can’t need them, either.

Satoru reaches for Suguru’s hand, taking it in both of his. He lets himself hold it, committing the feel of it to memory. “Would you change any of it?” Satoru asks, but he knows the answer already. He brings Suguru’s hand to his throat. There is no Infinity between them, and Satoru’s pulse remains steady under Suguru’s fingers.

Suguru is quiet, and doesn’t answer.

“The bastard wearing my body is called Kenjaku,” says Suguru, after a long moment. “When you’re released, you’ll be at the bottom of the Japan Trench, countless curses caught between you and the surface. Think you can do it?”

Satoru grins, a watery thing. “Easy. Who do you think I am?”

Suguru smiles at him, painfully fond, even with his hand around Satoru’s unguarded throat. “You’re Gojo Satoru,” he tells him. Nothing more, and nothing less.

“Thanks, Suguru,” Satoru murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. The cries of his dream fade into the background as, on the outside, the Prison Realm loosens its hold. Something ghosts over his lips, the suggestion of a kiss.

“Goodbye, Satoru,” Suguru says. “Find a good place to bury me, okay?”

Something snaps, and Satoru wakes up, eight thousand meters under the sea.