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Gojo returns to the common rooms of Jujutsu Tech after a few long, busy hours, sliding the door open with a shove of his shoulder while he adjusts the knot of the bandages covering his eyes, the white fabric contrasting against the dark of his uniform.
Across the room, Shoko is slumped comfortably on the worn couch. She nurses a cup of coffee in her hands while only half-paying attention to a small television playing at low volume in the corner of the room. Nanami occupies one of the armchairs set perpendicular to the couch, his back straight and glasses low on his nose as he browses through a newspaper.
And then there is Megumi.
He’s accompanied Gojo a lot more recently since the beginning of Summer break.
The boy sits curled up in another armchair next to Nanami with a book open in his lap. His small shoulders are drawn in while he pretends to read, but the page he's on hasn’t been turned in a while. His eyes track the lines without absorbing them, attention caught somewhere else entirely.
Gojo pauses just inside the room, fingers hovering near the buttons of his high collar. He doesn't need the Six Eyes to feel the waves of irritation radiating from the boy.
Yeah. That tracks.
Earlier today, or more exactly - where Gojo had been the past hours - the current third years dealt with a curse that didn’t dissolve cleanly. One of the uglier ones, the kind that screams loudly and doesn't stop until it's fully exorcised. Gojo pushes Megumi hard during private training, he always does, but he still draws a line when it comes to certain exposure. He’s also been a teacher for only a few years. There are things an 11-year-old doesn’t need lodged behind his eyes just yet.
“I’m home!” Gojo cuts through the silence, clapping his hands together. "Did everyone miss me? Don’t speak all at once!"
Shoko doesn’t bother lifting her head. “We weren’t.”
"Liars," Gojo grins. He shrugs out of his uniform jacket, tossing it aside revealing the dark, fitted short sleeve underneath. His attention focuses on the smallest, most quiet presence in the room. “Megu~mi,” he sings lightly.
The boy doesn’t look up, eyes not even flickering.
Gojo hums to himself, unbothered - or atleast pretending to be - and crosses the distance between them in two long strides. He leans down until his face is level with the boy's profile.
“Earth to Megumi," he says. "You know, most people say hi when their beloved teacher returns from risking life and limb.”
Still nothing.
Gojo chuckles under his breath and pinches the fabric of the boy's sleeve between his fingers, giving it a few gentle tugs. “What's this, huh? Silent treatment? At least hit me with a ‘welcome back, Gojo-sensei, you look devastatingly handsome today.’”
Megumi shifts away sharply, turning his face the other way. His grip tightens on the book.
Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be.
"Oh, we’re going for the long silence," Gojo muses. He reaches out and begins rhythmically tapping the top of Megumi's head with a single finger, his touch light but incessant. “Hello? Anyone home? I brought back stories. Cool ones. But they’re strictly for kids who acknowledge my existence.”
One of Megumi’s hands come up to slap his hand away. Gojo exhales through his nose, amused despite himself. He scratches at the back of his head, glancing briefly at Shoko like help me out here, but she just smirks into her coffee.
Fine. New tactic.
Desperate for the boy to acknowledge him he decides to squeeze himself into the armchair, slotting his tall frame awkwardly between Megumi and the armrest. The chair creaks under the added weight. He groans and starts to slump immediately. “Wow. Exhausted. Think I’ll just… rest here.”
He slouches his entire weight sideways, leaning against Megumi on purpose. The pressure rises inch by inch as Gojo's dead weight drapes over him. The book starts slipping in his lap and Megumi is forced to quickly put it aside before it crumples. And starting to feel claustrophobic he plants both hands against Gojo's broad shoulders and braces against the increasing weight.
"Stop-", he grits out through clenched teeth.
The man only exhales lazily in response, deliberately letting his body go even limper as he slumps further.
“Did the chair say something?” he drawls at the ceiling.
“You're crushing me!” Megumi snaps, voice tight. He pushes harder, arms shaking. “Get off.”
“There it is,” Gojo grins and finally straigthens back up. “I knew you were in there. Mind explaining the cold shoulder? You know that actually hurts a bit.”
Megumi glares up at him, dark eyes sharp and simmering before looking away again. “You didn’t let me go. Again.”
He doesn’t like when Gojo leaves him behind. Not because he doubts the man will come back safely - he has far too much stupid, bone-deep faith in him for that nowadays - but because every time Gojo draws a line and steps past it alone, it feels less like protection and more like confirmation: 'not yet' equals 'not good enough'.
Gojo’s grin softens a fraction. He stands, freeing Megumi, and drops into a crouch in front of him instead. He reaches out and ruffles the dark hair but the boy jerks away scowling.
"Aw, c'mon, Gumi," voice stripped of earlier theatrics. "It was third-year stuff. Messy, boring, and smelled like a landfill. There’s plenty of time for you to see the ugly side of this world. Trust me, Sensei knows best."
“You always say that,” Megumi mutters, his gaze dropping to his own hands. “But you never tell me when ‘plenty of time’ is. You just decide. And I don’t get a say.”
“Well that’s just the perk of being the adult,” Gojo answers, his tone light. “I get to do the boring, heavy lifting so you can focus on actually growing up. And besides, you’re still my little shadow who only comes up to-” he pauses for dramatic effect, “-right about here.” His hand hovers right below his sternum.
“Stop saying I’m little,” Megumi mutters. "...And I could’ve handled it.”
Gojo's brows shoot up behind the bandages.
“Oh?” he stands up, mischief flaring back to life. “You think you’re ready for the big leagues? Prove it!”
He gives Megumi a quick, playful shove to the shoulder, enough to catch him off-balance and fall backwards into the cushions before he catches himself.
That does it.
Megumi lunges, pre-teen frustration boiling over, and he shoves both hands into Gojo’s stomach. Though he doesn’t expect the man to budge. He just needs something to burn the feeling off. And of course Gojo just laughs in response. He catches Megumi by the wrists, and in one smooth motion, hauls him off the couch, spins him, and locks an arm around his neck, pulling him into an unyielding headlock.
"Whoops! Looks like the 'big league' candidate is currently trapped by a simple arm!"
Megumi grunts, twisting uselessly as his face presses into Gojo’s side. The scent of Gojo’s cologne - clean, expensive, almost absurdly pleasant - fills his nose.
"See? This is why you sit out the big leagues," Gojo teases, his voice edged with laughter as he noogies Megumi's head. "Gotta build up that stamina!"
“Let. Go!” Megumi growls, his nails digging into the solid arm around his neck, cheeks burning in frustration.
Nanami sighs from where he's sitting in one of the armchairs. "Gojo, it is generally considered poor form for the strongest sorcerer in the world to use a child as a wrestling dummy."
Gojo turns his head toward him, Megumi still trapped and squirming, and beams at him. "You're just jealous of our bonding time, Nanami! Want a turn? I have two arms!"
"I would rather die."
Shoko finally looks up. "He’s being unfair, isn’t he, Megumi? Go for the shins! He’s too arrogant to keep Infinity up for nonsense like this."
Megumi doesn’t hesitate.
"OW! Okay, okay! That actually hurt!" Gojo yelps, releasing him and hopping back. He clutches his leg, laughter bubbling out of him despite the protest. "You’re supposed to be on my side! Not listening to the bad influence in the lab coat!"
Megumi stumbles back, boots scuffing against the floor as he regains his balance. His chest heaves as he frantically smooths out his clothes and tries to regain some shred of dignity.
And as if the fight has already ended, as if Megumi has been dismissed from relevance, Gojo turns his back on him. Just like that. He pivots toward Shoko, posture loose, hands already lifting to gesture as his voice slides back into that infuriatingly casual, professional register.
“Anyway,” Gojo says, waving a hand, “the site was worse than expected. The curse had nested in the old subway tunnels, layers of rot, bones everywhere, and the air was so thick with residue you could practically chew it. Third-years handled it, but someone definitely let it fester for way too long.”
Shoko hums. “So the higher-ups lied again.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Gojo replies cheerfully. “I’d be offended if they didn’t. It’s the only consistent thing about them.”
Megumi’s fingers curl into fists.
The sting in his chest has dulled, just a little. The rough edges sanded down by the usual banter and simple fact that Gojo is here now - loud but safe, and irritatingly present. The room feels warmer than it did a moment ago. But still.
Megumi throws himself forward, arms locking around Gojo's waist in a rough, desperate hold, shoulder digging hard into the man's middle as he tries to drive him back the way they practice during sparring.
Gojo lets out a small huff - but as one would expect - doesn’t stumble. He barely shifts.
He doesn’t even stop talking.
“—and if that curse was there for as long as I think it was,” Gojo continues calmly, glancing down at the boy clinging to him with an amused, crooked smile, “then someone’s been covering it up. Probably to avoid paperwork amongst other things. Wouldn't really blame them if that'd be the case though.”
One of his hands come up to halfheartedly peel Megumi’s fingers loose, his touch almost absent-minded as he looks up at Shoko again. “Really foul stuff. You should have seen the walls."
Megumi grits his teeth and drives forward again, shoes skidding against the floor as he pushes. His breath coming faster with the effort he puts in. This isn’t about winning anything. It’s about being seen.
Gojo feels the shift - the quiet desperation beneath the stubborn push - and something softens in him. Perhaps a spark of guilt or simply finding the effort endearing, he decides to surrender, sensing Megumi's raw, burning need to be taken seriously right now.
He allows his knees to buckle and collapses onto the floor, Megumi going down with him. They hit the floor with a thud and Megumi is quick to scramble forward, planting his knees on either side of Gojo’s waist and pin his broad shoulders down.
“There you go,” Shoko encourages him from where she's sitting above them on the couch. “Nice work, kid.”
"I let my guard down for one second and I'm defeated," Gojo sighs dramatically, arms spread wide. “Guess this means I live on the floor now. Megumi, you’re the strongest now. Does this also mean you’re doing my paperwork?”
“Like I’d touch your mess,” Megumi grumbles, pressing down harder on Gojo’s shoulders.
Gojo chuckles fondly at the persistent scowl still fixed on the boy's face. “If you’re gonna pin me, at least look happy about it.” He presses his thumbs into Megumi’s cheeks until the scowl breaks into an unwilling smile. “See? Much better!”
Megumi huffs and shoves Gojo’s arms away, but the man just laughs and pushes back playfully, their forearms locking in a mock struggle. Megumi doesn't let up, although he knows Gojo is humoring him of course.
In the heat of it - driven by a petty urge to get one over on him in some way, anything, that might actually throw Gojo off for a second - Megumi's hand shoot up, fingers snagging the edge of the man’s blindfold. He tugs and the bandages slip free and pools onto the floor.
Even in a situation like this, the reveal of the Six Eyes is heavy. The sheer amount of information Gojo is processing ripples outward, a silent pressure that makes the hair on Megumi’s arms stand up.
“Hey! You've got some real nerve, huh?” Gojo chuckles, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as if easing the faint ache from a long day of constant input.
Megumi, still on the offensive, can't help but flick his gaze over Gojo's unprotected torso while his attention is still split. Without the blindfold, the man's senses are turned all the way up. Megumi knows this, and playing fair has never worked with his mentor.
He jabs his fingers sharply into either side of Gojo's ribs.
Gojo yelps, body jerking as his knees draw up in genuine surprise. In a flash of motion that reminds everyone in the room just how fast he is, his hands shoot down to lock Megumi's wrists in a firm grip to prevent a repeat assault.
"Oh no, don't you dare! You know I'm ticklish there, you little brat!" His laughter is edged with real alarm, revealing just how much it had rattled him. "If you keep that up, I'll have to call in reinforcements."
“You’re the one who say to use everything at my disposal,” Megumi says flatly, trying to yank his hands free. “Targeting a weakness is basic strategy.”
Gojo blinks. For a split second he looks genuinely caught off guard like he’s recalculating something fundamental about reality. And then he laughs, letting go of Megumi's wrists.
“Oh wow. You really are listening.”
Megumi looks down at him defiantly, satisfaction sparking in his chest. “You deserved it.”
Gojo's eyes narrow.
“Deserved it?” he repeats thoughtfully, blue eyes shimmering as they track Megumi. “I don’t know about that... I think-”
He calmly laces his fingers behind his head and stretches out, sprawling across the floor like he hasn’t just allowed himself to be toppled by a kid. He even crosses his ankles.
“I think someone’s getting a little too confident.”
Shoko watches the maneuver with a mix of pity and amusement and lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Now you’re just asking for it, Satoru.”
Gojo tilts his head, peering at her upside down from where he's lying. “What? Who, me? I'm just lying here, minding my own business. If someone's feeling confident, maybe they should prove it."
Shoko rolls her eyes, but her smirk widens. “Oh please. You talk big, but we both know you couldn't last three seconds."
Gojo huffs. “Only three? Do I really have that little credibility?”
"Yes."
Megumi chimes in dryly. "You do."
Gojo's laughter vibrates through the boy’s palms where they're resting on his stomach. “Hey now, don’t team up on me. I see how it is, ganging up on your poor, defenseless Sensei.”
"It's because you're sensitive,” Megumi deadpans.
Gojo barks out a laugh at the direct remark. "Going straight for the jugular, huh? It’s called having a finely tuned nervous system. Elite sorcerer problem.”
“Mm,” Shoko hums. “Sure.” Her grin turns into something more calculating. “Speaking of being ‘a little too confident’... it's funny, because right now that sounds exactly like you. If you’re such a master of self-control, let’s put it to the test. A challenge if you will.”
Gojo’s eyebrows shoot up. He loves challenges. “I’m listening.”
“Let the kid try. If you can count to, what - shall we say ten? - without cracking up, like real, can't-breathe laughing, we'll all admit you're as tough as you claim.” She knows what she's doing. Gojo has never been able to turn down a dare, even when it's for his own good to not engage.
There's a beat.
“...And the stakes?” Gojo then asks, his voice dropping into a lower, playful tone.
Megumi stiffens, he looks from Gojo to Shoko.
“Hmm,” she ponders, before a smile returns to her face. “If Megumi wins - which he will - you skip the theory portion of tomorrows lesson." She looks at Megumi, though she still speaks mostly to Gojo. "No charts, no diagrams, no sitting in the classroom listening to you get distracted halfway through and start explaining something else entirely.”
That part lands hard. She knows that the theory lessons are Megumi’s personal nightmare. Gojo’s mind moves too fast, his explanations spiral outward, skipping steps Megumi needs, looping into tangents that somehow still end with pop quizzes. Megumi understands the concepts eventually, but sitting through them feels like trying to drink from a firehose. The chance to skip it is like being handed a Get Out of Jail Free-card.
Megumi’s eyes snap back down to his teacher, and catches how the icy gaze flick warily to his hands still resting lightly on the man’s stomach. Megumi feels a quiet satisfaction at the sight. “So... no fighting back?” he asks Shoko, voice flat but with a hint of smugness. She shakes her head.
“Nope. Those arms stay right where they are.” She glances down at Gojo, who seems a little lost in thought, his lips pursed like he's mentally calculating his odds. "Behind your head, no cheating. No Infinity. You hear that, Mister?"
Gojo blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. He rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he glances up at Megumi. "Alright, alright, you got me hooked. A bet's a bet, and I'm not one to back down from a challenge I guess." He lifts one hand to wag an index finger. "You two are evil, you know that?"
Shoko nudges his elbow with her foot. "You scared?"
“Not at all. I just recognize a well-laid trap. You’re dangling a bribe in front of the kid just to watch me suffer, see how he's looking at me already?" He flashes Megumi a wide, toothy grin.
Nanami lowers his newspaper just enough to look over the edge. He glances at Shoko. Even his own mouth twitches, as if he’s placing a bet too, but mentally.
Megumi thinks. He knows this territory. He’s crossed into it before, but it never stops feeling strange - that weird thrill of doing something you probably shouldn’t to someone you’re supposed to respect. Gojo is his teacher. And his guardian, in all the ways that matter. But Gojo is ridiculously ticklish, especially when not blindfolded, when his senses sharpen instead of diffuse. He remembers those early days with Tsumiki, when they’d finally gotten brave enough to get back at him - during movie nights when he dozed off, or ganging up on him in play fights. It was one of the things that made Megumi first realize that the “Strongest Sorcerer” wasn't a god. His face flushes faintly at the idea of tackling this solo now, but seeing the less confident signs in Gojo's demeanor eases it.
He looks up at Shoko again. "...Deal,” he says, already calculating angles in his head. He’s not going to half-ass this, especially if it means genuinely winning in something against Gojo.
Gojo lets out a long-suffering sigh, acting with exaggerated resignation, though in reality he seems fond of being challenged. "Fine, gang up on me then. I'll endure this injustice - for the sake of proving you all wrong, of course."
He looks at the boy on top of him. “You ready for this, Gumi?” he asks, voice turning low and playful. “Last chance to back out before I start counting.”
Megumi stares down at him. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” he replies.
Gojo lets out a bright, surprised laugh, clearly delighted by the comeback. “Fair point,” he says, still grinning.
Megumi watches as the man takes a deep breath, chest rising beneath the dark fabric of his shirt as if he’s preparing to face a Special Grade curse rather than the consequences of his own arrogance.
“Alright,” Gojo says solemnly. “Here we go. ...One-”
Megumi barely lets him finish. His arms lunge, grabbing Gojo’s waist while his fingers flutter rapidly along the sides.
Gojo jolts sharply, his back arching off the floor. His face breaks into a wide grin, eyes squeezing shut and nose scrunching at the sensation.
“Tw- haha- Two!” The word comes out broken.
"You're already laughing!" Megumi points out, feeling Gojo's muscles jump under his fingertips.
He knows the man’s defense is paper-thin right now, his sensitive nervous system overstimulated by the lack of the blindfold. There’s a strange, mischievous thrill in it, this sudden power he has. Without warning, he shoves his fingers straight into Gojo’s armpits, aiming purely for surprise.
"THREEhehehahaHA!" Gojo's arms, which had been laced so confidently behind his head, clamp down around his torso immediately. He abandons the count entirely as he curls up, knees drawing up as much as allowed with Megumi still straddling him.
“That-!” Gojo gasps between laughs as he collects himself. “That was- you-!”
“You didn't even make it to four!”
“Because you played dirty!” Gojo protests. He pushes himself up onto his elbows. “I wasn’t expecting such a ruthless surprise attack. I think that deserves a rematch. For fairness!”
“I knew you’d try to change the terms,” Megumi mutters.
“‘Change’ is such a harsh word, I prefer ‘adjust.’”
“Unbelievable,” Shoko sighs from the couch. “Satoru, he’s half your size and already got you renegotiating.”
Nanami doesn’t look up from his newspaper. “It is a staggering lack of dignity,” he adds deadpan. “Since you couldn't finish the count I would suggest you surrender what’s left of your reputation.”
"Half my size? Those tiny fingers of his are dangerous!"
"You're a cheater," Megumi retorts.
“I am no such thing!” Gojo says, his attention back to Megumi. His voice drops, almost pleading. “Please? Just one more time? I’m even asking nicely! Come on, that has to count for something, right? The great Satoru Gojo is literally begging here.”
Megumi stares at him, narrowing his eyes. He doesn't have the energy to argue against Gojo’s persistence.
“…Whatever,” he says after a beat. He’s also certain that Gojo won't be able to make it to ten this time either.
Gojo clears his throat as he lies back down, his fingers accidentally brushing the discarded blindfold lying nearby as he settles. He shoots Megumi a quick glance, like he already knows the answer but can’t resist testing the waters with a faint, hopeful grin. “Wait- can I at least put this back on..?"
Megumi almost rolls his eyes. “No! Stop trying to change the rules!”
Shoko laughs outright. “Oh, this is painful.”
“You don’t get a handicap,” Megumi continues. “You agreed.” He snatches the bandages and throws them over his shoulder.
Gojo looks at him for a long second. Then he amusedly exhales through his nose. “My goodness, you’re turning into a little tyrant, you know that?” He doesn’t argue further though, just settles back fully, lacing his hands behind his head again. His jaw tighten as he steels himself for the second round, but the corner of his mouth quirks. “Just, go a little easy on me, will ya?"
He clearly doesn’t realise, or is willfully ignoring the fact, that asking for concessions now is only going to make Megumi more merciless. The boy is already fed up with his teacher’s endless advantages in every other part of life - watching Gojo try to stack the deck even in something this silly just fuels his quiet determination.
“…One,” Gojo starts again, his voice already a little strained with anticipation. Again, Megumi barely gives him a second to breathe, his fingers returning to Gojo's waist.
The man jolts again, laughter already bubbling up as he forces out, “T-two!”
At the count of 'three' Megumi starts raking his fingertips against Gojo's lower ribs. It makes the man arch sharply, and break into an even wider grin that he tries to hide against an arm. Megumi’s eyes narrow in quiet, devilish satisfaction and he presses in more firmly against the spot.
”Fou-heheher…! N-noho you little-!” A helpless flush spreads across Gojo's face.
”Don’t forget to count now, Satoru!” Shoko teases from above.
"Fi- ive!" he manages to choke out, his hands flying up to grip the air, refusing to grab Megumi’s wrists - because that would be an admission of defeat - before slamming into the floor on either side of his head. He grips so hard that his knuckles go white.
“S-six!” he forces the word through clenched teeth as Megumi decides to shift targets, squeezing each rib going upwards.
Gojo almost crawls out of his skin at the feeling, and throws his arms over his face, burying it as if the simple barrier of his forearms could somehow block it out. At the same time his long legs kick out, heels drumming desperately against the floor boards.
Megumi is confident enough to bet on the fact that Gojo won't last much longer.
“Se-heheven!” Gojo’s whole body bucks from the small fingers pressing into the sensitive spaces between each bone, knowing that he can't take his arm's down making it just more ticklish.
The Six Eyes is truly a curse in this moment.
Gojo’s composure shatters completely at the count of 'eight' despite really trying to last through the two numbers left. But Megumi's fingers have reached his underarms again and he can't stand holding his arms up any longer, finally clamping them down against his sides.
"NOHOHOHAhaha, not thahahahat!!" His head tips back against the floor, throat exposed as bright, unrestrained laughter pours out of him.
Shoko claps her hands. “And we have a winner. 'The Strongest' has been dethroned by a middle-schooler.”
“As expected,” Nanami says, finally folding his paper. “Though I didn’t think he’d make it past five.”
Megumi keeps wiggling his fingers into the hollows, his rough, boyish tickling as messy and unrelenting as you'd expect from a kid testing his limits. Caught up by the thrill of having free rein to make his teacher come completely undone for once, he dares to continue. And now that the sound of Gojo's real laughter is spilling out, he actually likes being the one who causes it.
Through uncontrollable fits, Gojo finds it in himself to tug the boy's hands away from him after a few moments.
“Ohohokay, alri-hihi-ght-!” He sputters, immediately starting to relax, thinking that would be the end of it. But the second he lets go of Megumi, the boy goes straight back to attacking him.
“NO! Wai-hihihi-it! What is this- Hahahaha!!” He’s forced to shield himself again, caught off guard by how the tickling continues.
Inside, he marvels at the rare, ruthless spark of mischief that he catches in Megumi’s eyes. He's in fact so charmed by the boy's uncharacteristic playfulness that he almost doesn't want to end the moment, this glimpse of the kid being a kid, of letting loose without overthinking everything as he usually does. Gojo feels a warm, almost dizzy rush of fondness, even as the sensations threaten to short-circuit his brain.
Still - he’s only human (mostly), and the tickling is quickly becoming unbearable.
He catches Megumi’s hands again, pinning them against his stomach to buy a desperately needed break. He pants, voice bright with amusement. “Okahahay! Okay, you win! Now could you be a dear and please stop digging for my spleen? I’d quite like to keep it!”
But Megumi isn’t ready to let him off the hook yet. He squirm-fights against the gentle grip, using his momentum to stay on the offensive. He doesn't care about the usual hierarchy or the consequences right now, since he can see the genuine amusement dancing in Gojo’s eyes and knows he’s hit a rare vein of vulnerability. “You tried... to cheat,” he gets out, breathless but stubborn. “Twice!”
Gojo lets out a pained, delighted groan. Me and my big mouth, he thinks, ruefully recalling his failed negotiations. He could end this in a second, but he’s far too captivated by this unusual, outgoing spark in Megumi to shut it down. Besides, he’s genuinely curious to see just how far the boy will take this, how long he’ll push before the seriousness creeps back in.
He lets his hold remain soft - too soft - and Megumi takes advantage of the weakness, darting his hands around the reflexive barrier of Gojo’s arms wherever there’s a gap. Gojo breaks into a fit of fresh, helpless giggles.
"Oh come ohohon-! I ohohonly-! Hahahaha oh god, not therehehe!!"
"Admit that you tried to cheat!"
That, is something Gojo won’t do though, and far too caught up in simply withstanding the onslaught to form any coherent defense, all he can manage through his laughter are half-formed protests. ”Ihihihi refuhuhuhuse!”
He wails through a fit of giggles, face buried against his shoulder as Megumi’s fingers reaches his neck. "Guys hehehehelp!"
Shoko just takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Sorry! I don't treat self-inflicted injuries."
Nanami simply leans back into his chair. “I believe the term you used earlier was ‘bonding time,’ Gojo. Enjoy it.”
“Stohohop teheheasing mehehe!”
"Way to go, kid!" Shoko calls out, a genuine laugh escaping her as she watches her friend lose his mind. "He’s finally being held accountable for his huge ego!"
The tickling has gone on long enough though, and Gojo’s endurance finally snaps, his affection for the kid’s rare spirit boiling over into a need to strike back. He snags both of Megumi’s wrists in one large hand.
"Ohohokay, tihihime out! You're going to kill me with that!"
"I will if you don't admit!" The boy tugs on his hands.
Gojo snorts as he raises his free hand. ”Sure you will!" Suddenly, his fingers dart to scribble along Megumi’s sides in teasing retaliation, targeting the spots he knows from years of play fights will get the biggest reactions.
Megumi squirms and laughs from where he’s still straddling him, trapped in Gojo's much larger reach, trying to fight free even as giggles spill out. “A-admit i-hihi-t! You’re a cheater!”
Gojo eases up a little to let the boy catch a breath. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
“Dohoho it!” Megumi commands, breathless.
“Nooo~,” Gojo sings back as he starts another round of counter-attacks.
He’s so focused on teasing Megumi that Shoko has the time to move. Having decided that Gojo hasn’t suffered enough, she leans down and skitter her nails against his neck.
Gojo lets out a snort in surprise, his shoulders shooting up to his ears instantly. The shock is so great that his grip on Megumi’s wrists falters, and he’s forced to let go to try and shield the spot.
“GAH! Shoko, you- AHAHAHAHA! NO! Not both of you!!”
Soon Shoko joins them on the floor, kneeling beside Gojo and adding her own scribbling fingers to the chaos. Gojo’s powers flare noticeably through the room - a sudden, crackling ripple of cursed energy that makes the air hum and the lights flicker for a split second. With two people now attacking him at once, he simply can’t handle it. Even so, a part of him loves it - the rare feeling of being treated as something other than his role in the jujutsu world.
Desperate to flee the tormenting fingers, Gojo defensively rolls over onto his stomach, his arms bunching up under himself and one cheek pressed to the floor. The shift forces Megumi off, but he recovers in an instant - adrenaline buzzing - and throws himself half across Gojo’s back while he digs his fingers into the newly exposed ribs from behind.
“IHIHIHI’M BEHEHIHING TOHORTUHUREHED!!” Gojo's laughter turns hysterical as Megumi’s fingers find a devastating spot below his shoulder blades which drives him crazy.
“That’s what you get, Sensei!” Megumi taunts, voice breaking dangerously close to a laugh.
Shoko keeps up the assault along his sides, grinning wickedly. “Come on, Satoru. You gonna admit you tried to cheat against the kid, or should we keep going?”
Gojo’s laughter has gone almost silent, reduced to a series of involuntary hiccups as his boots kick against the floor. Shoko’s nails are the final straw - they feel horribly ticklish, no less because they're far more experienced than Megumi's young hands.
"ALRIHIHIHGHT FIHIHINE! I'M A CHEHEHEATER!" His voice cracks with desperation. "A HORRIBLE, NO-GOOD CHEHEHEATER! PLEASE, YOU TWOHO- NO MOHOHORE!"
The tickling eases shortly after the confession. He goes limp against the floorboards, one boot thudding dully against the wood as his leg falls flat. His laughter dissolves into breathless inhales, the residual flicker of cursed energy fades from the room like static settling after a storm.
Megumi is barely containing a smile, and glances at Shoko on the other side of Gojo. She gives the man's shoulder double-pat before standing up and smoothing out her lab coat. "There, there, big guy. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Megumi, who's still half-draped across Gojo, stays where he is for a moment, the adrenaline slowly cooling. Curious, he braces his palms against Gojo and leans forward, peering over the man's shoulder to get a look at his face. Gojo’s back rises and falls heavily under his hands as he breathes.
“…Sensei?”
"Mhm..?"
Megumi holds back a smile at the muffled sound. “No theory tomorrow. That was the deal.”
Gojo lets out a long, dramatic sigh that turns into a tired laugh. “Yeah, yeah… a deal’s a deal.”
Shoko takes her coffee cup and goes over to the sink with it. “I've told you before, Satoru. You have the defensive capabilities of a wet paper towel when it comes to that kid.”
Gojo lets out a breathless chuckle, eyes still closed as he catches his breath. “I’m not sure if I should be proud or concerned about how much he gets a kick out of torturing me.”
Megumi pushes off Gojo’s back and stands up, brushing himself off. “Can we go home now?” he asks, bending to retrieve the bandages that have somehow avoided becoming tangled around Gojo’s legs during the chaos. “Tsumiki’s probably waiting for us.”
Gojo answers with a tired but fond hum, slowly rolling over and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He rubs both hands over his face as if trying to push the lingering sensations away. With a grunt, he gets up, standing to his full height and once again towering over the boy. The "Strongest" is back, but as he looks down at Megumi, his icy blue eyes are incredibly fond.
Megumi holds the bandages out to him, his expression back to its usual neutral mask. “You can have these back now.”
Gojo smiles, holding his hand out so Megumi can place the fabric in his palm. His other hand come up to ruffle the boy's hair and Megumi huffs, but doesn’t pull away - he’s used to the "Gojo Tax" by now. The hand slides down from his head so the arm can hook around his shoulders. Gojo pulls him into a lopsided half-hug, tucking the boy against his side with a proprietary warmth. It’s a quiet way of reclaiming his role as the guardian, shifting the energy from the chaotic floor-scuffle.
“You heard the kid,” Gojo says, turning his head toward Shoko with a tired but fond grin. “Tsumiki’s waiting, and I think I’ve had enough ‘bonding’ to last me a lifetime. Or at least until the next time you two decide to gang up on me.”
“Don’t count on it being the last time,” Shoko calls out, already walking back to the couch from the small sink where she’d rinsed her coffee cup. “We’ve got a new favorite pastime now.”
Right on cue, the door opens. Ijichi steps in, briefcase clutched in his hands, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he scans the room.
“G-Gojo-san,” he stammers, bowing once. “The car is ready downstairs. And… uh… the higher-ups sent another message about yesterday's mission report. They want it by tomorrow morning.”
Gojo groans but doesn’t let go of Megumi. “Tell them I can't. I died heroically on the common room floor.” He looks down at Megumi, giving him an affectionate little shake. "Was tickled to death, you see. Tragic, right?"
Ijichi blinks, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I… I don’t think that will suffice, sir.”
Gojo snorts and finally releases Megumi’s shoulders with a gentle squeeze. “Fine, fine. Coming.” He reaches over to grab his discarded jacket from the chair he’d tossed it on earlier, slinging it over one shoulder.
Megumi takes the opportunity to slip away, crossing the room to retrieve his abandoned book from the armchair. As he passes Shoko, she leans toward him, her voice dropping into a low tone, meant only for his ears. “Keep him in line, kid. He’s hopeless without you.”
Megumi’s mouth twitches, just the tiniest hint of a smile, as he picks up the book and tucks it under his arm. He doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to.
Nanami’s watch suddenly beeps and he stands up from his chair, adjusting his tie.
“Good work today, Fushiguro,” he says, stopping briefly to place a steady, grounding hand on the boy's shoulder as he passes. “Try to ensure he actually completes that report tonight. For Ijichi’s sake.”
He catches Gojo’s gaze as he walks past him towards the door. “It suits you.”
“Being defeated?”
“Being human.”
Gojo blinks once, something unguarded flashing across his face before he smooths it away. "Love you too, Nanami~!" He calls out after him.
Nanami doesn’t answer, but his shoulders stiffen as he walks out.
Megumi returns to Gojo’s side.
The man looks down. “Ready to face Tsumiki's interrogation about why you're covered in floor dust?”
“I'll just tell her the truth,” Megumi replies dryly. “That I won.”
Gojo laughs, a warm and vibrant sound. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” He lifts one hand to wave Shoko goodbye. ”Later, doc!”
"Bye, Ieiri-san!" Megumi gives her a shy smile.
“See ya,” Shoko waves back lazily from the couch as the pair exits, Ijichi following them out into the hallway.