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In the beginning, there are three.
They make an exceptional trio when they become a team at Jujutsu High. In fact, everything about them just fits, melding together in ways that don’t need explaining.
There’s the Sensitive One, with a soft voice and quiet logic. A kind heart that’s just a little too vulnerable, too easy to harm. Strong enough to hold his own, to protect those that need protecting- and the desire to do so. An innate want to save and to only kill for significance. An idealist that wants things to be better.
They’ve also got the Insensitive One in their little group. Every trio needs an asshole. High-strung, high-maintenance, oozing arrogance out of every possible pore. Too proud, too vain. Too much all at once, all fire and kerosene, with no desire protect those in need, only a desire to punish the wicked. Oh, and his moral compass is broken at best, but that’s what Sensitive Friends are for.
…and, naturally, there’s the Reasonable One. The laid-back old soul who brings the balance, who doesn’t get pulled into all the drama, and can see clearly in any given situation. The space between the Ying and Yang. The sensible one at the base of the pyramid, the buffer, the one who feels the weight of both counterparts keenly on her shoulders. If the boys are the heart and the ass respectively, she is the head full of sense.
They all have big dreams for their future, but sometimes big dreams shatter and crumble under the ugly weight of reality. Horror, disenchantment, and soul weariness are their crosses to bear, when all is said and done.
In the end, there are still three, but all of them are alone.
~
They’ve been graduated for years.
Things don’t get better for any of them.
Where they once were so close, now only ashes remain of their bonds. Burnt out and broken, limping along through life. It’s different from being told that friends can eventually grow out of each other. That’s organic, that’s perhaps, natural.
What Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru did? Well. It wasn’t organic and it wasn’t natural. It was an excruciating self-disembowelment. It was Suguru, consumed by his own built-up trauma, that snapped and killed a village of people. Suguru who determined the only way to save the world from curses was to end all of non-sorcerer humanity itself. To destroy the root cause. He jumped straight to genocide and never looked back, no, not that one.
He broke, he broke, he broke, heart cracked in pieces, and never once did he ask anyone to glue him back together.
Shoko remembers exactly, in keen detail, how Satoru sulked for ages after that and no, he didn’t want to be pitied. He wanted to soak in his fury and his pain and betrayal, as if Suguru leaving was a personal affront to his very existence. He ignored the execution order, as if it never existed, and Shoko knows it’s because he could never kill Suguru. Satoru proceeded to throw himself into other endeavours, as if trying to make up for this failure in his past, taking on students, teaching them up, as if this would prevent them from becoming another future disappointment like his oldest friend.
Losing Suguru changed him in a way it didn’t change Shoko. Or, perhaps she’s still in denial after all these years, trying to believe Geto Suguru didn’t wound her just as deeply.
She saw Satoru, after he was given the execution orders. It was the first time she thinks she’s ever seen an honest emotion on his face. Pain, hidden by anger. Disappointment, twisted by betrayal.
If he had a heart to break, you might have done it, Suguru, she found herself thinking. Dead center. Right on the mark. You won the prize.
In the wreckage of it all, where did that leave Shoko, the one who was never ‘the strongest’? Well, her mastery of the Reverse Cursed Technique made her especially useful in dealing with blood, gore, and the aftermath of destruction.
Becoming a doctor made her into someone new. Someone who hides all her pain under a mask of stoicism. Everyone thinks she’s a well-adjusted adult, but that just means they aren’t looking under the hood. Bodies and bodies and bodies, that’s all she gets some dark nights. Corpses to understand. To pick apart.
She has seen too many colleagues die horrible deaths. It weighs on her shoulders, keeping her up at night, haunting her dreams with blood and shattered bones. Her shifts are late and she often sleeps her days away, waking up next to empty bottles of liquor and multiple packs of empty smokes.
Pfft. They all say Satoru is the ‘troubled adult’, but have they seen Shoko? Not close enough.
“Still smoking like a chimney, are you?” Gojo will say offhand whenever he sees her, which isn’t often. She doesn’t need his nonchalant, cheery attitude rubbing up against her macabre, morbid aura.
They are so different, the pair of them. She’s opposed to that cheesy facade he often wears. She prefers the icy, vaguely feral asshole that she knows is buried underneath, the one that’s cold-blooded and powerful enough to wipe out everyone if his moral compass tips for the wrong second. When Satoru snaps, he snaps hard. And, no one wants to be in the vicinity when he does.
But, yeah. He’s right about her. She’s got her own vices. They sure ain’t good.
The first thing she does when she wakes every day is light up again, tasting the familiar tang of nicotine on her palate, staring out at the daylight through her lonely windows. These moments remind her, sometimes, of Suguru.
It makes her dwell on old memories, like sipping a perfect wine that’s gone sour.
{She loves him for always having a zippo lighter on hand. He always lights her cigarette first, then his, if he bums one off of her. Sometimes, they share, and she likes to think that it’s an indirect kiss.
It’s often just the two of them these days.
The stronger Gojo Satoru gets, the more often he is sent alone on missions. Shoko and Suguru remain the halves of the same apple, except, if the apple had a bite missing from it.
“He hates when I smoke these.” Suguru is examining the cigarette with a critical eye. “Says it’s like eating ass.”
“Well, he would know,” Shoko replies with a wicked glint in her brown eyes, smiling up at her friend. His broad frame towers over her, but he always makes her feel safe, the softness of his voice soothing.
Suguru is no Satoru; he doesn’t need to be, not with her.}
It isn’t like the higher ups don’t know where Geto Suguru is; it’s just that no one wants to confront him if Gojo Satoru won’t be there to back them up.
She’s not sure why she does it. The visit. Perhaps she’s being maudlin. Perhaps she simply misses him, misses the sound of his voice. Misses the friendship they once had, and how he represents when times were a bit better than they are now.
So, yes. Head Jujutsu Doctor Ieiri Shoko drags her ass out of bed, ignores her lingering hangover, smokes her token morning cigarette, and then marches herself off to the temple where The Big Bad resides. How daring, how maladjusted of her.
She walks into the building, casually pretending to be nicer than she actually is as she asks a helpful woman where the Leader of the group might be.
“Oh! Are you new to the flock?”
Shoko fakes a smile and it feels worn and tired on her face. “Yes.”
To be honest, after all the injured and the killed, she sometimes wonders if maybe Suguru is on to something. But nah, he’s taking it too far.
~
She’s escorted to a receiving room with a stage.
There he is, the mass murderer himself, carelessly lounging with a beautiful sprawl of midnight hair cascading down his shoulders. He’s elegant, lovely even. Age has suited him well. She wishes she could hate him; she can’t. “Look at you,” she breathes out, taking in the space, the writings on the walls speaking of enlightenment and all sorts of religious fervor, all a lie so Suguru can acquire more curses.
He is careful about his expression, keeping it neutral still, trying to figure out her angle. Wondering, has she come to cause trouble or is this a social call? It’s the first time they’ve met since his defection years ago, when he last approached Shoko in the streets. Just before she sicced Satoru on him, like unleashing a rabid dog.
Naturally, she is quick to alleviate his concerns; he should know by now that she would never fight him- that’s not her style. She smiles with amusement, gesturing to him. “Love the Buddhist Priest look, by the way. Are you very convincing? I hear you’re popular with the troubled masses.” She wiggles her fingers in his direction. “Being in your presence is like, a holy experience, or so they say.”
“Shoko,” he says softly when he finally speaks. He rises up to stand, his intimidating form filling the space. Suguru’s presence has only grown in the past few years, carrying power in his broad shoulders. Perhaps it is the weight of all the curses he has consumed, power boiling under the surface, held in check. “This is a surprise.”
Her smile shifts into a dry smirk and Shoko slowly approaches his welcoming aura.“A good one, I hope?”
He sighs, long suffering. His demeanor is becoming more relaxed, eyes thawing. “Well. It’s better you than having to endure being in the presence of a monkey.”
Shoko blinks at him as he gestures for her to follow him around to the back of the temple, outside, to stare at the trees. “...do you often get monkeys here? Like, is that a thing or…?”
Suguru laughs charmingly, and he looks so mature now in this new, awful life he’s made for himself. He looks great, Shoko thinks. She doesn’t feel the same for herself; her line of work has been wearing her down, the shadows under her eyes telling a thousand tales.
“I meant non-sorcerers.” Suguru offers apologetically to her. “Those that must be removed from this earth in order to save Sorcerers from continuing to die needless deaths.”
The words are stated so innocuously, as if he hasn’t just stated he’d like to see the end of an entire people. Shoko shakes her head. “You know I find this ‘mission’ of yours to be absurd. It’s mad of you to consider it. But you do you, as always. I won’t interfere.”
He gives her a sideways glance as they walk side by side, speculative. “I would think you would understand; no one sees more sorcerer’s die needless deaths than you, Shoko.”
Well, he’s right about that and it stings. “People die. That’s life, I guess.” She glances up at him coyly, trying to keep him from finding a button of pain to press. To keep him from finding her weak points, even though he’s familiar with them well enough. “Keeping tabs on me?”
“I keep tabs on you both.” A simple answer, with deeper emotion underneath.
{a memory of the three of them laughing, arm in arm, kicking it around the city}
When they get outside behind the building, they lean against the temple as they stare out at nature, listening to the birds chirping. It’s peaceful here and pieces of Shoko start to unfurl, the darkness in her mind softening.
“Do you remember when we used to go to the park, just the two of us?” She asks him with a hint of mournfulness. “He would be gone, as always, and it would be just us. The way we are now.”
“I remember,” his voice is gentle, revealing nothing. His eyes trace her face, seeing the her of years ago. Remembering them. Suguru has always been good at that; hiding behind a mask. Satoru is good with masks, too. Oh hell, all three of them have things to hide.
All their ugly, broken emotions, like a bed of nails.
“Is it bad that I miss those days, sometimes?” She has no one to talk to about this. She can’t talk to Satoru about Suguru, that’s a garbage hot mess. Satoru shuts down and gets icy and standoffish. Hell, if you want to rid a room of Gojo Satoru, just mention Suguru’s name and watch him vanish like a bad joke.
“It doesn’t have to be like this. You could be my family, here with me. Join the one I’ve built.” Suguru’s serious. He reaches out tentatively, touches a lock of her long dark hair. “We could be together again. All of us.”
Unable to help herself, she leans into his touch; she’s missed him so much. His eyes soften. It’s so hard for her to imagine the things he’s done.
His offer is a pipe dream. Smiling bitterly, she shakes her head when she gets a hold of herself. “You know Satoru and I can’t abandon what we protect. And…well, you know how he is.”
She always made herself scarce when those two fought. Shoko knows how to read a room, dammit.
His dark chocolate eyes go half mast. Cunning and speculative. Ah, there’s the villain in her oldest friend. “Does he know you’re here?”
That brings a scoff to her lips. “Satoru? Please. He’s so far up his own ass, I’m surprised he even breathes,” Shoko says drily.
Suguru smiles, eyes squinting up with genuine mirth. “Another of his many talents, I’m sure.” He seems lighter, as if honestly happy. Finally at peace with himself, even if being at peace means he’s determined to end the lives of all humans on earth in the effort to save Sorcerers.
Why did you choose to drown yourself in trauma instead of asking us for help, she wonders, looking at him. It didn’t have to be this way.
Suddenly, Shoko feels the need to smoke rise, the pain of her thoughts making her hands shake. She brings out a cigarette and as if on autopilot, Suguru reaches deep into his fancy robes and produces a lighter.
That familiar act makes her heart feel floaty, breath catching in her lungs.
Smiling with fond delight, Shoko croons, “Aw, look at you. Some things never change.” She leans closer to him and he leans down to her, brings the flame to the edge of her cigarette as she inhales. She puffs, the edge burning red. Exhales smoke, “Always down to rescue a girl in need.”
Of course, he is. That’s who he always was.
But, perhaps that isn’t exactly the right thing to say out loud, too soon still, maybe. A shadow flickers in his gaze, there and gone, perhaps remembering Amanai’s premature death and how he couldn’t save her as she took a bullet to the skull right in front of him. Or how he rescued his two young adopted daughters from their cages in a remote village, where they were being tormented for being sorcerers. All before he slaughtered everyone there. “You really should stop this habit, being a doctor.” He’s teasing her now, she knows he is. Deflecting the discomfort her words brought him. Hiding from the painful memories. They are both so good at that.
He pulls her around a pillar secretively, making sure they’re alone. He’s so large beside her, broad and hulking. She feels like a teenager next to him again. She wants to rest her head on his shoulder to see if he still feels the same. “What are we doing?” She asks with cool amusement, watching him.
“I don’t want my daughters to see me doing this if they happen by. They are impressionable.” Those elegant fingers take the cigarette from hers and he inhales, eyes fluttering shut. Smoke flutters from between his lips. He smiles in a bittersweet fashion, looking at the cigarette. “These always remind me of you. Of rainy days and punk music.”
Shoko chuckles softly, taking the smoke back from him. Remembers how she used to imagine this was the closest she would ever get to kissing him; a shared cigarette. She was young then. Eventually, they did do more. With Satoru...and sometimes without, when they were both feeling lonely in his absence. “Those were the days. Shit was a lot simpler.”
“They were.” He’s looking at the dark circles under her eyes. “I can see it, you know. The way you hold all of it inside, where you think no one will notice. The way I used to. You shouldn’t. It’s not healthy for the soul.”
“Who is the doctor now?” She replies with sarcasm. “Save your holy psychobabble for someone other than me.”
They smoke together in silence for a time, staring off into the distance. Lost in memories long since past. They will never be the same, not as they were. Eventually, Shoko tells him that she should be getting back-
He pulls her close, so close that she can smell the temple incense on him. That’s different. She blinks up at him, her back against the solid pillar of the temple. His bulk cages her in, one hand resting heavily beside her head.
“What are you doing, Suguru?” Shoko asks him suspiciously, not quite nervous, but not entirely trusting. Her fingers curl in the folds of his robe, feeling the strength underneath. “I have a knife and I’ll stab you if you make me. Don’t make me.” She’d love for this to end on a positive note.
“I’d never willingly harm you,” Suguru tells her softly, eyes warm and serious. He pulls her closer, so close that their noses almost touch. The teenage girl she used to be would be screeching with excitement right about now. “I have a message I want you to give to our mutual friend.”
Head craned backwards, staring deep into his gaze, Shoko whispers, “I can do a message, so long as it doesn’t include dying.”
A soft smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I think we can manage.”
He closes the distance between them and-
Oh, she thinks, heart racing hard in her veins, mouth and hands busy. Everything goes slow and warm, alive and uncoiling inside as if her feelings never went to sleep after all. He still tastes of my cigarettes. Satoru always hated that.
~
She’s not an alcoholic. Not really. But even she can see that she takes more drinks than her counterparts. That she can’t seem to stop. That she feels better the more she sips, the harder she goes.
When she sees Satoru later, at the bar where all the alumni hang, she considers telling him what she did. Who she saw. Giving that message to him in front of all these nice people. Hah. What a sight that would be, she’s almost drunk enough to do it.
But she doesn’t. He’s using his pretty eyelashes to hit on some woman, Shoko’s not going to get in the way of that. It doesn’t exactly hurt to see him like this anymore, but there’s a twinge of something unpleasant, a dull ache. She dismisses it, ordering another glass instead.
Besides, if Shoko were to tell him she saw Suguru now, he would absolutely obliterate the vibe in the whole damn bar. She’s never seen such a pretty man throw such hideous tantrums before in her life.
The reality is, Suguru is probably the only thing in this world to actually hurt Satoru, and that’s precisely why Satoru can’t get over it.
So, she watches him with a critical eye, the way he never drinks, too high and mighty to lower himself. How easy it is for him to smile his way between someone’s legs, all while there’s nothing in his gaze to say he even cares.
They aren’t close these days, but then again, no one can get close to Gojo Satoru.
…and that’s just how he likes it.
~
She’s got this damn message to relay and she’s going to do it, dammit. It’s later when she makes her way to his place, knocking on his door after he’s kicked out the poor tramp he brought home to dull his pain with.
He lets her in with a raised eyebrow, wordless, eyes painfully blue, face unmasked. Nothing needs to be said. Shoko steps around him with a neutral expression, hoping he can’t smell the alcohol on her breath. She knows her way around, so she passes by his bedroom where the bed is still messed she pretends not to see because he's still hers and Suguru's isn't he and goes out the back to stand on the balcony.
The night air is chilly, but she doesn’t feel its bite. The moon casts down its light, soft and sorrowful.
She needs a smoke for this. She’s lighting up just as Satoru comes to stand with her, his pale eyes looking out at the stars. He smells of sex and his own spruce-scented cologne. She smells of her favorite vices. She wonders if the scent of Suguru’s incense is still in her hair.
“Was she any good?” Shoko asks coolly to break the silence, still coasting on her alcohol buzz. She’s not nervous, but this is Satoru. He can be ridiculous.
He shrugs, hair mussed, eyes crystal clear. All lanky and animal-like. He definitely notices the alcohol on her breath. The amount of it, from the way his gaze briefly sharpens. He never says anything, because that’s how he is. “Let’s just say she probably should have paid me for my services.”
“Ouch! Gojo!” Shoko laughs with good humor. His ego knows no bounds. “You poor thing. Send her a bill.” She playfully elbows him.
A ghost of a grin plays about his mouth.
“So. What’s wrong?” He asks her directly, toned down from his usual bluster and obnoxiousness. “Has something happened?” He sees her state of inebriation, clear as the moon above. He should darn well know she’s not here on official business.
They aren’t what they used to be. They’ve drifted from each other, just a bit, despite how well they know each other. He’s a political pawn that people want to curry favor with and Shoko simply doesn’t give two shits about that.
To her, he’s always going to be that outrageous, arrogant teenage boy that could never see anyone else as his equal. The boy who had it all and lost the one thing he took for granted; his best friend.
Oh, fine. Speaking of said best friend, time to get this message over with.
“I saw an old friend of ours today,” she manages to say without slurring, but unfortunately sways on her feet just a touch. Shit. The booze is catching up with her.
He doesn’t steady her. Not like Suguru would have. That’s why Suguru is her favorite. Suguru is the sort that would take her home and hold her hair while she vomited into the toilet, but Suguru isn’t what she has and that fucking sucks.
“Oh.” He’s smirking a bit, sharply handsome. Almost painful to look at. “Who?” Satoru’s feigning pleasantness, that annoying habit of his. Stop being nice, you aren’t nice, Shoko wants to shake him. He knows how to behave in public now, to appear like he’s actually a decent man, but she remembers how he was a few years ago, bullying and being mean to those he deemed as weak.
That sort of mentality doesn’t just vanish. Nah, it just gets hidden by prettier manners. And lucky him, he’s fucking pretty.
Tilting her head to the side in a mocking fashion, Shoko whispers, “Who do you think?”
Silence falls between them. Shoko’s face is warm, flushed from the alcohol. She briefly touches her face, because it’s more than just a bit numb. Stupid witch, why does she do this to herself…
Because the dreams keep you up. All the lost lives. All those sorcerers that could have lived. If she thinks about it hard enough, Suguru is definitely starting to make sense. Which is bad, stop thinking about that.
Satoru must see something on her face. The hint of dreamy fondness in her eyes, the look she gets when she looks at Suguru. Satoru would recognize it anywhere. There’s a flash in his celestial eyes, ugly in nature.
“I see. Still making neat bedfellows, aren’t the pair of you?” His sharp mouth twists. He’d always been jealous of what Shoko and Suguru had while he was out alone on missions, being the strongest, leaving his other halves behind. Not that he would admit to it, no, not the great and powerful Gojo Satoru. “Lie with dogs, catch their fleas. You know how it goes.”
{She remembers lying between them on lazy afternoons in Suguru’s tiny-ass bed, doing homework, listening to them pleasantly bicker in their low, male voices over her head. The way Satoru would lean over her, his fingers ghosting through Suguru’s hair playfully. The heat of their bodies. The scent of their skin. The warm, comfortable feeling of companionship; of being understood so entirely that nothing else mattered.
Often, it was the three of them. Sometimes, just pairs.
Satoru and Suguru. Shoko and Suguru.
Rarely did Shoko and Satoru meld in the same fashion, but that never bothered them at all.}
Her brow lifts at his dramatic reaction, the one she completely expected. Shoko chuckles quietly. “Oho. Hi, ‘toru. Jealousy has always been ugly on you.”
“Why would I waste my time being jealous when I can be disgusted?” Satoru waves a hand at all the smoke in the air. He’s always hated her smoking habit. “You know what he is now. He’s a defector. You shouldn’t have even seen him. The executives could have your head for that.”
…but not yours. No, they fear you too much for that.
“I just thought you should know. He looks much better than he did back then. Before it happened.”
“He was fine.” Satoru says, nose wrinkled with distaste and an overwhelming amount of denial. This is the Gojo Satoru that no one else gets to see. Perhaps she is privileged. “He chose to snap and betray everything we stand for.”
She stares at him, the end of her cigarette limp in her fingers. Pain, in her chest, disappointment mixing there like a wilting flame. You never saw how he struggled. You never could see beyond yourself and your own wants. You thought that he had to be perfect, because you wanted him. That someone you desired could never be so weak as to have flaws. “For someone with such incredible eyes, you see very little.”
{she remembers all the times Satoru said cutting words to one of their classmates, mocking them for their weakness. The way he didn’t care that his words hurt. She always picked up the pieces. She knew how the aspiring sorcerers felt diminished in his unsympathetic presence.}
“I miss nothing,” Satoru says flatly, ice in his pristine clear gaze. Oh, is she going to see his claws tonight? Hidden behind that stupid nonchalant playful bullshit?
“You couldn’t see through his lies,” she counters, remembering all the times Satoru asked after Suguru, about his weight, about his sleep, how he was feeling. Suguru hid his pain, not wanting his perfect counterpart to see him as less. Worried that Satoru would be disdainful, wouldn’t respect him anymore.
“Yeah, well. It turns out he’s a good liar,” Satoru replies with poison in his tone. Oh, the knife in his heart is twisting, delving deeper. Shoko can see it plain as day.
“He was hurting. You didn’t look close enough. But neither did I.” Alcohol makes her tongue loose. “We’re both to blame.”
Satoru’s eyes flash and something like a hiss emits from between his clenched teeth. For a moment, Shoko is certain he might just flip her off the edge of the balcony in a temper tantrum. Thankfully, he doesn’t.
“Are you done verbally eviscerating me yet?” It’s the only way she can eviscerate him. He wants her to leave, his patience is fast vanishing and she’s seen what he does to people that get in his way. It’s not pretty.
“Almost, Prince Charming. I have a message for you.” Here goes nothing. She leans forward and his cursed technique allows her close, allows her to touch him. Shoko presses her lips to his, her hand tentative and gentle on the back of his head. His hair is still so soft, like the fur of a rabbit, and he tastes sweet. She hates sweet things.
He flinches at her touch and so she digs her fingernails into his neck and shoulder, keeping him in place, kissing him so hard that it hurts. They were together only once after Suguru left them and it never felt right. It just felt like bitterness.
She whispers against his mouth, “Suguru says hi.” She runs her tongue across his lips, the way Suguru had done to her for this message. “He still misses the way you taste.” Satoru emits a soft groan directly into her mouth, his lips moving against hers slowly. She kisses the sound away, digging her nails into the nape of his neck even harder. She needs him in order to keep standing, her legs are shaky. His large hands go to her waist on reflex, holding her.
This act took all her damn nerves. Breathlessly, she finishes with, “He also said, that when you come down from your throne in the clouds, you should see him.”
When she stumbles back, panting for air, his eyes are stormy and dark, as if all the light has been snuffed out from within. A fire gutted. He remains unmoving, breathing harshly, tension in his shoulders. His lips are swollen and for a moment, she thinks he might grab her and kiss her again out of vicious spite.
They could pour their pain into each other and it would hurt.
Instead, his expression goes neutral and he looks away from her, running a shaky hand over his face. He won't look at her, doesn't want her to see the pain in his eyes. They stand in a thick silence until he softly says, “You can’t go home like this. Sleep on my couch, Shoko.” He won’t answer what she said.
Oh please. Is he for real? “I’m fine-”
“Don’t argue with me,” Satoru says with that stiff politeness of his that hides his claws. He gestures with his head towards the interior of his home. “I know what’s best. You’re safer here than walking this late at night.”
He blankets her up on his oversized couch, with a bottle of water and pills in reach, almost reminding her of Suguru. Almost. She tousles his hair before he leaves her, muttering, “Still soft as a bunny.”
He bumps his forehead against hers with a snort and a pained grin.
~
They both lie awake in separate rooms, lost in the past.
They both know that he’ll never take Suguru up on that offer, no matter how tempted he is.
If he were to be one of the seven deadly sins, Gojo Satoru would be Pride.
…and Pride does not bend.