Chapter Text
Yuuji didn’t see Megumi again all weekend.
Despite living in the same house, the place remained strangely quiet. The front door would open at late hours of the night, and again at early hours of the morning. Always before and after Yuuji woke up and went to sleep.
He tried not to take it personally.
Tried not to assume Megumi was avoiding him.
Even though it certainly felt that way.
So Yuuji distracted himself the best way he knew how.
The blue orchid in his room became a small, comforting ritual. He watered it carefully, turning the pot slightly each morning so the petals caught the sunlight spilling through the paper window.
He set a routine for himself. Morning stretches. Push-ups. Practicing the taekwondo holds his grandfather had drilled into him years ago.
The quiet house gave him plenty of room.
And he saw Shoko a lot.
The woman always seemed to be around. Usually in her office, sitting with one leg crossed over the other while she smoked and watched him with a look that was somewhere between mild curiosity and clinical interest.
Today was no different.
Yuuji sat on the edge of the medical bed while Shoko flipped through a clipboard. The thin sheet of hospital paper beneath him crinkled every time he shifted.
“Megumi isn’t the social type,” she said casually, like it was obvious.
“But he’s never at the house?” Yuuji asked.
Shoko hummed softly while scanning her notes.
“He has missions.”
“Oh.”
The word sat awkwardly in the air.
Shoko scribbled something down before glancing up at him. The cigarette hung lazily from the corner of her mouth, smoke curling toward the ceiling.
“Listen,” she murmured. “Megumi might be a little socially stunted, but he’s not the type to go out of his way to avoid someone. Especially a starry eyed, pink haired boy like you.”
Yuuji blinked.
Then straightened a little.
“Really?” he asked. “What do my looks have to do with it?”
“Nothing,” Shoko said, shrugging.
But it felt like something.
She tapped ash into a small tray on the desk before looking back at him, her tired eyes sharp despite the lazy posture.
“I assure you,” she continued, “Megumi is just busy. When he has time, you’ll see him more than you might want to.”
Yuuji didn’t really believe that.
Still, the other boy had been on his mind far more than Yuuji was willing to admit.
“…okay.” He accepts finally, nodding.
Shoko gave a small approving hum as she stood.
“Good.”
She set the clipboard aside and stepped closer to the bed.
“Now take off your shirt,” she said. “I’m going to document the mark on your neck.”
Shoko waits patiently.
Yuuji hesitates only a second before pulling his shirt over his head. The air of the room feels cooler against his skin without the fabric there.
Shoko gestures lazily.
“Turn around.”
The paper beneath him crinkles as he shifts. His feet dangle slightly off the edge of the medical bed while he twists his body, offering the back of his neck.
For a moment there is only the quiet scratch of Shoko setting something down on the metal tray beside her.
Then silence.
Long enough that Yuuji starts to feel self conscious.
“…Is it bad?” he asks.
Shoko doesn’t answer right away.
Instead she steps closer.
He feels the faint brush of her fingers as she moves aside the short hair at the base of his neck. Her touch is cool and clinical.
“Hold still,” she murmurs.
Yuuji tries.
The mark has always been there. At least as long as he can remember. His mother used to brush his hair away from it when he was younger, fingers lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.
Just a birthmark, she had said.
Nothing special.
Shoko hums softly.
“Interesting.”
Yuuji tenses.
“That’s not a very comforting word… does it look weird?”
“You’re alive,” she says calmly. “That’s comforting enough.”
Something cold presses briefly against the back of his neck. Metal. Probably a small measuring tool.
Then the quiet click of a camera.
“Documentation,” she says when he flinches slightly.
“Right.”
Shoko moves away for a moment, scribbling something down on the clipboard.
“Does it ever hurt?”
Yuuji blinks.
“Hurt?”
“Burn. Tingle. Feel warm.”
He thinks about the training yard.
About the strange flicker of heat that had crawled up the back of his neck when he and Megumi collided.
“…Maybe once,” he admits slowly.
Shoko’s pen pauses.
“When?”
“Yesterday,” he says. “During the spar.”
Her eyes flick up briefly.
“Mm.”
That small sound is the only reaction she gives before continuing to write.
“So it reacted to proximity,” she murmurs to herself.
“Reacted to what?”
“Nothing you need to worry about yet.”
That answer does not help his nerves.
Shoko taps the pen against the clipboard once before setting it down.
“You can put your shirt back on.”
Yuuji turns around, tugging the fabric over his head again. The warmth of it feels grounding somehow.
“What does it look like?” he asks.
Shoko considers him for a moment.
“Not like a birthmark,” she says simply.
“…Great.”
“But it’s stable,” she adds. “No active cursed energy output. No tissue damage.”
“Those were concerns?”
She shrugs lightly.
“I’m a doctor. Everything is a concern.”
Yuuji slides off the bed.
“Well. Thanks, I guess.”
“Try not to scratch it,” she says as she picks her cigarette back up. “And if it starts burning, come find me.”
“Burning?” he repeats.
She waves a hand lazily.
“Just a precaution.”
That is somehow worse.
-
The walk back to the house is quiet.
Late afternoon sunlight filters through the cedar trees, scattering soft gold across the gravel path. Yuuji follows it slowly, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his hoodie.
The routine is already starting to feel familiar.
Wake up. Train. Visit Shoko. Water the orchid.
Wait for a boy who never seems to be home.
The thought makes him sigh softly as he reaches the front door.
He slides it open and steps inside.
The house greets him the same way it always does.
Still.
The air inside carries the faint scent of polished wood and old incense. Dust floats lazily through the light spilling from the tall windows. Somewhere deeper in the house, a floorboard creaks softly as the building settles.
Quiet.
Always quiet.
Yuuji slips off his shoes and steps further inside.
Then he hears it.
A small sound.
Metal lightly touching stone.
Not loud.
Just enough to break the stillness.
Yuuji pauses.
His head turns slowly toward the kitchen.
For a moment he thinks maybe Yaga stopped by. Or maybe Megumi actually came home during daylight hours for once.
But the figure leaning against the counter is neither of them.
Tall.
Broad shoulders draped lazily in black.
One long leg crossed casually over the other as he rests against the marble countertop like he owns the place.
White hair catches the light pouring through the kitchen window behind him. It glows faintly, almost silver where the sun touches it. Dark glasses sit across his face.
But even without seeing his eyes, something about him feels wrong.
Not dangerous. Not exactly.
Just… too much.
Too sharp.
Too perfect.
Like someone took the idea of a person and polished it until every edge gleamed.
Yuuji stops walking. And the man doesn’t move.
He simply stands there, long fingers loosely wrapped around a tall glass resting on the counter. Ice clinks softly inside when he shifts his grip.
For a strange moment, the entire room feels different.
Heavy as the air from the AC presses faintly against Yuuji’s chest.
And he feels like he’s standing too close to something enormous. Something powerful.
His heart picks up without permission.
Without understanding why, Yuuji’s gaze drifts upward again.
White hair.
Tall frame.
Relaxed posture that somehow still feels overwhelmingly present.
This must be him, right? The strongest sorcerer.
The name from the book.
The one Shoko mentioned so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal.
Except standing here now, in the quiet kitchen of the house Yuuji has only just started to relax in, the man looks nothing like the vague descriptions he had imagined.
He looks…
Inhuman.
Beautiful in a way that feels unnatural. Like looking directly into sunlight or staring too long at something bright and impossible.
The man tilts his head slightly.
Noticing him.
A slow smile spreads across his face.
And before he even opens his mouth, something warm flickers sharply across the back of Yuuji’s neck.
The mark pulses once like it recognizes him.
Yuuji freezes halfway through the doorway.
“…Hi?”
Gojo straightens slowly, tilting his head as he studies him. The dark glasses block out his eyes, but Yuuji could read his expression. How his body turns slightly to face Yuuji.
He was atleast a foot taller than the boy as he moves his head down and then up again, sizing Yuuji.
“Oh wow,” he says lightly. “You’re even cuter than I expected.”
Yuuji blinks. And the word cute on his lips doesn’t sound the same as the older ladies in his neighborhood who used to gift him week old caramels from their pockets.
Gojo pushes himself away from the counter and walks closer, hands slipping into his pockets like he has absolutely nowhere else to be.
“So,” he continues cheerfully. “You’re the little orphan whose started living with us.”
He says it like it’s not offensive.
Or that it is, but he doesn’t care.
And something warm flickers at the back of Yuuji’s neck again. It’s subtle at first, then sharper.
He lifts a hand automatically, fingers brushing the skin there.
And Gojo notices immediately.
Behind the dark lenses, his gaze sharpens.
“Ah,” he murmurs.
Gojo’s smile widens slightly. And he crosses the room in large wide strides. Long legs stopping a few steps away from him. And sleek black shoes that look far too expensive for the tatami mats on the floor.
He’s close enough that the strange warmth at Yuuji’s neck pulses erratically.
Stronger over time. Like something beneath his skin was begging to break out.
Gojo tilts his head.
“Your mark,” he says casually. Like talking about the weather.
His voice smooth like honey.
“Wow.” He whistles, grinning like a wolf. “It really doesn’t like me, huh.”
Then he tilts his head, studying Yuuji with obvious interest.
“You’re… Itadori Yuuji, right? I’m sure that’s what Megumi told me over the phone.”
Yuuji finds himself stuck between answering and staying quiet beneath the adult sorcerer’s attention. His fingers twitch at the mention of Megumi, and Gojo seems to catch it instantly.
His eyes miss nothing.
Every shift in Yuuji’s posture. Every small movement.
“…mhm.” He hums.
Words seem to fail Yuuji in this moment. His tongue heavy in his mouth like lead as he swallows shallowly.
Gojo straightens, nodding once. Then he pulls out a chair from the table. He drags another one out for Yuuji, patting the seat lightly.
“Well, don’t be shy. I won’t bite.”
Yuuji doesn’t believe him. Not like this.
Warm summer sun spills through the large window across the room as Yuuji takes a few hesitant steps forward, his heart racing inside his chest.
When he finally sits down, Gojo’s legs slide around his on either side. Clothed black clad legs spread out on either side.
The man leans forward slightly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.
Endless blue engulfs Yuuji like a body of water.
“Wow,” Gojo murmurs. “You really are cute, huh. Your hair natural?”
And Yuuji blinks.
His… hair?
“Yeah.” He nods slowly, shifting in his seat as his knees bump against Gojo’s.
The man doesn’t move at the contact.
Meanwhile Yuuji feels like the back of his neck is on fire.
“You… you’re Gojo?” He asks hesitantly. The name slipping from his mouth in a whisper.
The man inhales, humming softly as he nods. A bright, almost playful smile spreads across his lips.
“Yup. Gojo Satoru in the flesh.”
Yuuji shudders.
Gojo notices that too.
Interest flickers across those endless blue eyes as he reaches forward, brushing a finger lightly against Yuuji’s pink-tinted cheek.
“Sorry I wasn’t here when you first arrived,” he says easily. “I wanted to be, but they needed my help.”
“They?” Yuuji asks, voice a little unsteady.
Gojo leans back in his chair, legs stretching forward slightly.
“The villagers from that mission I got sent on.”
“Oh.”
The conversation falls into an awkward silence.
Yuuji stares down at his lap.
“Are you scared of me?” Gojo asks suddenly. His deep voice almost sounds like he’s pouting.
Yuuji glances up, sitting a little straighter as he shakes his head. Pink hair brushes against his cheeks.
“…No,” he murmurs. “Just nervous.”
Gojo’s smile grows wider.
“Good boy,” he drawls.
Yuuji’s ears ring instantly. His lips part in surprise, his already wide eyes somehow growing even bigger.
Gojo laughs.
“God. You’re so cute, I just want to eat you.”
““Eat me?” Yuuji asks softly. The words come out uncertain, a small nervous squeak in his voice.
And suddenly Megumi’s voice flashes through his memory.
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
“Or eaten.”
“Not actually,” Gojo murmurs lightly. “Although your cheeks look like mochi.”
He removes his glasses completely, setting them on the table without looking away from Yuuji.
Or Yuuji’s cheeks.
Yuuji drops his head instantly, pink bangs falling forward to hide his face. His shoulders curl inward, shrinking under the attention.
The mark on the back of his neck throbs harder.
Heat pulses beneath his skin, sharp and insistent, making his shoulders tremble.
“You crying?” Gojo asks.
They both know he isn’t.
But Gojo sounds almost like he hopes he is.
“Don’t cry. Look at me.”
Yuuji feels like crying.
He feels a lot of things.
Things he’s never felt before. Not as a boy who spent his childhood running across fields, playing tag with friends, choosing roughhousing over sitting and talking with the girls in class.
This feeling is different.
Overwhelming.
Gojo reaches forward.
One long, pale finger hooks gently beneath Yuuji’s chin, lifting his head.
Yuuji’s face tilts upward.
Glossy pink eyes. Flushed cheeks. Lips parted as he exhales small, uneven breaths.
Up close, those endless blue eyes study him with open fascination.
Yuuji’s gaze grows hazy.
Gojo leans closer.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Yuuji watches the movement like the world has slowed down. Like everything outside this moment has faded into the background.
Gojo’s mouth opens slightly as he leans in.
Closer.
Closer.
And just as his lips brush the soft curve of Yuuji’s cheek—
A voice cuts through the room.
“Pervert.”
The word lands like a stone dropped into still water.
Yuuji jolts.
Behind him, Megumi stands in the open doorway.
His school shoes hang loosely from one hand. The front door is still wide open behind him, evening air drifting into the house as the breeze ruffles his dark hair.
His eyes are narrowed into sharp slits.
Tired.
Unimpressed.
Gojo immediately pulls back, settling into his chair again like nothing happened.
A Cheshire grin spreads across his face.
His hand drops casually into his lap as he leans back with exaggerated innocence.
“Megumi,” he says brightly.
“Welcome home.”
Yuuji’s breath stalls in his chest.
For a moment, nobody moves.
Then Megumi sighs.
It’s long.
Tired.
The kind of sigh that suggests this is not the first time he’s walked into something like this.
“Seriously?” he mutters.
He drops his shoes beside the door with a dull thud and steps inside, sliding the door shut behind him. Evening air disappears with a soft click.
Gojo beams at him.
“Megumi! Perfect timing.”
Megumi doesn’t even look impressed.
“Get away from him.”
Gojo places a hand dramatically against his chest.
“Ouch.”
“You were about to bite him.”
“I was not.”
“You literally said you wanted to eat him.”
“You heard that, huh.” Not a question. “How long have you been hiding there, Megumi?”
And Megumi’s expression has barely hidden disdain all over it.
“I wasn’t hiding. You knew I was standing there.”
Gojo tilts his head, considering. And Yuuji sits frozen between them.
His face still burning.
His neck still throbbing.
The mark pulses again under his skin, heat crawling down his spine.
Gojo notices immediately.
Those bright blue eyes flicker back to Yuuji.
“Oh, there it goes again,” he says lightly.
Yuuji flinches as Megumi’s gaze snaps toward him.
“…What goes again?” He asks suspiciously. His eyebrows furrowing.
Gojo grins.
“That thing on his neck.”
Megumi goes very still.
Slowly, his eyes move to the back of Yuuji’s head.
And Yuuji suddenly feels very aware of himself.
Of the heat beneath his collar.
Of Gojo’s legs still loosely trapping his own.
“…Sensei,” Megumi says flatly.
Gojo hums.
“Move.”
Gojo sighs dramatically like he’s been asked to perform an impossible task.
“But I’m comfortable.”
“Move.”
Gojo finally shifts his legs away, stretching lazily as Yuuji practically scrambles back in his chair.
Megumi walks closer now.
Up close, he looks worse than before.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Uniform slightly wrinkled. He looked like he hasn’t slept properly in days.
And Yuuji feels concern swirl in his chest.
Before it breaks as Megumi’s gaze drops to Yuuji.
“…Did he touch the mark?”
Yuuji’s brain short-circuits.
“I— uh—”
Gojo answers for him.
“Not directly.”
Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Gojo says cheerfully, “I’m still your favorite teacher.”
“You’re my only teacher.”
“Exactly.”
Yuuji watches the exchange like someone watching two trains collide.
He doesn’t know where to look.
Megumi exhales again, then finally looks at Yuuji properly.
“…Sorry,” he says.
The apology is quiet, almost awkward.
Yuuji blinks.
“For… what?”
Megumi gestures vaguely toward Gojo.
“For him.”
Gojo gasps like he’s been personally wounded.
“Megumi, that’s so mean.”
Megumi ignores him.
Yuuji stares at the floor, still flushed.
“…It’s okay,” he murmurs.
“No it’s not.” Megumi grits out. His body language uncomfortable.
Infront of him, Gojo leans forward again.
Immediately interested.
“Wow,” he says. “He’s still shaking.”
His head tilted down as he stares at Yuuji like he’s the most interesting things since the discovery of curses.
Megumi’s eyes flash with barely concealed irritation.
“Stop staring at him like that.”
Gojo finally glances up.
“Like what?”
“Like he’s a new toy or something. He’s not an object.”
Gojo smiles wider.
“Well, he is new.”
Yuuji sinks a little further into his chair.
Megumi exhales slowly through his nose.
“He’s not staying here for your entertainment.”
“Oh relax,” Gojo says lazily. “I’m just getting to know him.”
“That’s worse.”
Gojo chuckles.
Yuuji’s gaze flickers nervously between them.
The room feels strangely smaller now.
Megumi finally looks at him. Like, really looks.
Like he’s checking something over.
Then he straightens again.
“…You should go rest,” he says. Looking away almost dismissively.
Yuuji blinks. And the mark aches more than it burns.
“Oh. Uh… okay.”
He stands quickly, nearly knocking his chair back in the process. His face is still warm as he gives a small, awkward nod. Glancing between them
“Uhm… Goodnight.”
Gojo waves cheerfully.
“Sleep well, Yuuji.”
Yuuji makes a small choking sound in acknowledgment and escapes the kitchen.
The moment his footsteps disappear down the hall, the room falls quiet again.
Gojo leans back in his chair.
Grinning.
Megumi doesn’t look amused.
“…Don’t start,” he mutters.
Gojo raises a brow.
“Start what?”
Megumi grabs a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water.
“That soulmate nonsense.” He mutters. Sipping his water before he looks down into the glass with frustration.
“It’s hard enough to get Sukuna to shut up about it. Not you too.”
Gojo’s grin only grows.
“Oh?”
Megumi takes a long drink before answering.
“I’m not interested in an orchestrated fate.”
He sets the glass down with a quiet clink.
And Gojo watches him carefully, his eyes amused as he stands up. Grabbing his glasses off the table.
“Megumi,” he says lightly.
“You say that now.”
Megumi doesn’t respond.
But somewhere down the hallway, a bedroom door closes.
Gojo laughs quietly to himself.
Megumi’s fingers tighten around the glass in his hand.