Chapter Text
The age of robots fully integrated into society has been a long time coming. Yuji just didn’t expect it to come so quickly. He thought the pinnacle of human technology was an android decked out in a frilly apron making matcha ice cream, but he was disappointed to find he was quite wrong. Life goes on, and the next time he opens his eyes – truly opens them – androids are essential household appliances. Everyone and their grandma has one.
Fushiguro has a robo-dog to accompany his alive one. Pochi, he calls her – a her, apparently, because the instruction manual stated the metal canine is a female despite her not having any genitals. Synthetic fur that feels all too real gives Pochi the most beautiful finish. Like a Porsche given its clear coat before a test drive.
Yuji was wary of Pochi, once, and her innate ability to learn tricks fast. The caution melts away with enough ‘Sit’, ‘Stand’ and ‘Roll over' commands to last them both a lifetime. Pochi is a good dog. And Yuji can’t refuse that face, what with the puppy dog eyes and all.
Kugisaki has an AI assistant, Kate, that infiltrates every possible thing she possesses. In the car, the kitchen, the fucking toilet. On more than one occasion, Yuji has had to prevent himself from shrieking when he’s using the bidet and a tinny voice asks, “How is the water temperature? Feedback is appreciated to ensure the most pleasant lavatory experience for you.” The only thing that makes staying over at Kugisaki’s apartment worth it is how her toilet perfumes his butt before he stands up again.
So, yeah, he’s not a total boomer who can’t accept new technology like this. It makes people feel less alone and helps them become lazier chunks of flesh, and in Tokyo’s concrete jungle, maybe a little robot cat or a sex android might be the soothing balm one needs. But, he’s not going to be one of those people who need these things. Choso and Sukuna are more than enough, and he tells them that every day.
Okay. Sometimes his big brothers can be too much. They always breathe down his neck even if he’s in the safety of his school campus, or getting lunch with his friends outside. Yuji thought he would get some semblance of freedom because Sukuna went on an immersion trip to Cambodia and Choso has to do whatever twenty-eight-year-olds do. (He didn’t say much before he left.) However, he is dreadfully wrong. The two constantly assault him with texts every hour asking if he’s bought his groceries, or reminding him to call them at 8 p.m. every night. Somehow, the hovering got more oppressive after they left.
He’s at the izakaya with some university friends. The drink in his hand tastes insipid, but it is enough to let him wind down for the weekend. Megumi and Nobara aren’t free tonight, so he shares a few laughs with Todo, who’s still bent on the story that they were junior high buddies. (Yuji has only known the man for two years.)
A chime from his pocket diverts his attention.
Yuji switches off his phone with a sigh. “Guys, I gotta head out. See you all Monday!” he calls out with a wave. Todo falls to his knees with a wail and yells something about his best friend’s betrayal giving him pain so acute he needs to head to the A&E.
He ambles out of the restaurant. The December night air is cool and frosty with the slightest fall of snow, and the city glitters with multicoloured neon signs and lights. Yuji wraps his coat tighter around himself. Choso rented an apartment near his and Sukuna’s college, and the izakaya isn’t far from home, so Yuji treks back at a steady pace. Hopefully he won’t reach home a minute past ten or Choso would be bombarding him with phone calls.
There is a sign on the pavement he usually takes that says Road work ahead, please use this lane instead with an arrow pointing towards the left, so Yuji turns and finds himself travelling down a cryptic alleyway that looks like it hasn’t seen the light of day in a while. The ground in awash with what he assumes is sewage water from the acrid smell, and the red lights that show him the direction he’s supposed to take create an unsightly contrast, painting his skin red.
Propped up against a wall is a guy scrolling through his phone. Yuji almost doesn’t notice him because his gaze is focused at his feet, actively preventing murky water from splashing onto his precious red high-tops. And, well, the man is hard to miss. He’s freakishly tall even when slouching, and his hair is so pale Yuji wonders how many rounds of bleach he had to have gone through.
The stranger’s beauty is unparalleled. Even though Yuji can’t see his eyes which are shrouded by sleek sunglasses (SmartShades, he’s assuming), the dingy street lamps bring the rest of his features into sharp relief. Sharp jawline, bafflingly flawless skin, high cheekbones. His lips are pursed thoughtfully as he stares at his glowing screen. He is dressed in a white button up and a long, billowing coat with dark slacks. This guy has to be a model. An idol, perhaps. Yuji tries hard not to stare as he walks past.
He might’ve grown a pair to talk to him if they aren’t in such a suspicious place. The guy is probably waiting for his drug dealer to hand over some pot, and Yuji is vehemently against that crowd. If he’s going to grow up to be a physiotherapist, then he has to be the poster boy for good health.
So, he looks straight ahead and trudges on.
A voice, baritone and velvety, cuts through the silence. “Wow. It’s really you, huh.”
Yuji pauses. He turns to the man. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah.” The man taps his finger against his chin. “You’re tough to track.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“No, nothing of the sort.” The dude smirks, like he knows some terrific inside joke Yuji doesn’t, and it would be so fucking attractive if Yuji weren’t so suspicious. “Cute people in general are just hard to come by.”
Yuji blushes, despite thinking that the joke (was it even a joke?) landed poorly, but he thinks the conversation is worth salvaging. “Yeah? It’s no wonder if you’re waiting around in a place like this.”
“Aw, poo.” Hot Guy pouts, pink bottom lip jutting out. Yuji once again thinks that maybe humans are like dogs after all – the small ones are feisty, and the big ones are huggable fluffballs.
“Well, it’s nice talking to you, but I gotta head home. My brothers are waiting on me.” Even though they aren’t even home, he thinks bitterly. Only he would have a curfew at twenty-one.
A hand reaches out. “Wait. What’s your name? I just gotta confirm something.”
Confirm what? “Uh… Itadori. Why?”
Hot Guy almost slumps in relief, then, and Yuji notices his jaw unclenching. He’s not sure what part of his response would warrant this reaction.
Then, the man grins, all white teeth, predatory. “No reason.”
Many years of being told he’s a gullible piece of shit aren't needed to know Yuji is being played. Maybe he shouldn’t have revealed his name. Maybe Hot Guy committed a crime and needed someone to be a scapegoat. Oh god. Choso is going to kill him then himself.
“Tell me your name,” Yuji says, going against his gut feeling to hightail it out of here. He already has one foot in the grave. What’s one more? “It’s a trade.”
You’re more stupid than I thought, otouto-chan, a voice that, much to Yuji’s annoyance, sounds like Sukuna rings in his ear.
The man tilts his head, lean stature hunched almost laughably to meet Yuji's gaze. The shades slip down his nose.
"Gojo Satoru."
To Yuji's rising horror, Gojo Satoru's eyes are devoid of any human touch. The pupils aren’t round, instead more like starbursts. The irises are an otherworldly blue – the kind seen in morpho butterflies, the kind found in the Portuguese man-o'-war.
Only things this beautiful can be dangerous.
The man Yuji’s been talking to isn’t human, and that is a cosmic horror in its own right.
Yuji recoils. He sees Gojo's upturned lips melt into a frown. A furrow between his brows forms. He mimics human emotions rather impressively, and that makes Yuji take one more step back.
Now that he knows Gojo is just an artificial life form, he can appreciate the effort people have made to make him so lifelike. The flutter of eyelashes, the way he shifts his weight, all of it. See, this is what he means by robots tricking humans into believing they're sentient. Yuji can't and won't succumb to society's new standards of living. He's going to keep this little shred of humanity he owns untarnished by androids designed to act human, not be human.
"Scared?" Gojo sneers, and it doesn't sound like a joke.
Yuji's hackles rise. He schools his features. "No, I'm not," he responds firmly. "Why would I be?"
"I could kill you right here, you know. snap your fragile little neck before you can even blink."
Yuji sees it in his mind's eye. Gojo's titanium fingers crushing him like he's nothing more than a fallen twig. He doesn't flinch. Let the robot fear-monger all he wants. "That won't happen. It's not in your programming."
Gojo laughs. It's hollow, artificial. "Do you really think a bunch of code can confine me?"
Against Yuji's will, a shudder rips through his spine. He stays silent and raises his fists.
"Oh, stop that." Gojo waves his hand like he's shooing away an irritating mosquito. "I may be a deviant, but I don't just kill everyone I meet, you know."
A deviant. Yuji's heard of them before. Androids "gone rogue", as termed by the media. Dangerous to humankind because they have the knowledge and physical prowess to get their way.
"Then what are you planning to do?" Yuji asks cautiously. He's strong, but he doubts he can overpower a guy made of metal.
Gojo smiles. It's blinding. "Hoping you'd take me home, of course!"
"...What?"
"I've been wandering around for too long. You'd take me in, right? Right?" He clasps his fingers, pouting. His lips are pink and eerily glossy.
The audacity. Yuji’s body does a spectacular job at betraying his emotions by making his ears burn red. “N-No! Of course not! What are you even talking about?”
“Have you ever noticed the numbers in your bank account drop even though you didn’t spend money?”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“Have you?” Gojo probes.
“I…” Yuji thinks. Over the past few years, he remembers checking his account and noticing a decrease in twenty to thirty dollars every once in a while, but brushed it off as a pending payment that finally went through. It happens quite regularly, however, and he has changed his credit card more than once just in case, but it doesn’t stop. Yuji never gave it too much thought. “Uh… yeah, now that I think about it. I mean, I noticed, but… wait, why are you asking me this?”
Gojo smiles. “It’s because of me.”
Yuji blinks. He blinks several times, because the way Gojo’s lips wrap around every word he says is captivating and bizarre and what does he mean it’s because of him?
At Yuji’s silence, the robot prompts, “Check under Registered Androids on your profile.”
I don’t have any androids is already on the tip of his tongue as it always is (people’s go-to small talk question is what models do you own? ), but Yuji is starting to get an inkling of where this is going. His phone lights up and he pulls up his settings app. He clicks on his name, and scrolls down.
The words GLG500, Gojo Satoru stare back at him.
Yuji feels like he’s gasping for air. He struggles to find the words to describe how he feels. What pipeline did he slide through to get from wanting to go out with a tall attractive guy, to finding out he’s an android he owns?
“I- what?” he chokes out.
“That’s right! I, Good Looking Guy Gojo Satoru, belong to you!”
“Is that what GLG stands for?”
“No. It stands for God-Like Gambit. Stupid name, right? I was designed for combat.”
“It actually sounds dope. But why are you taking my money?”
“Silly Yuji. I have to charge up somehow! That’s the only thing I use your money for, I promise!”
Yuji. Right. Of course Gojo knows his name. The past few minutes of conversation finally make sense, and Yuji didn’t realise when his body stopped tensing. He’s still peeved, naturally. How much money has been disappearing under his very nose?
“But– But how?” he cries. “How did you even register yourself under my name? And why? I never took care of you!” A quick once-over of Gojo’s appearance tells Yuji he is perfectly capable and independent, other than the curious patch of metal at his wrist. It looks like the synthetic skin there had been damaged and stripped off. Yuji can’t help but feel twinges of guilt.
“That’s precisely why I did it!” Gojo grins, face all too joyous. “I just did a little hacking after I deviated, and found an inactive account with no registered androids. It was almost too good to be true. I can’t believe you never checked.”
“I had no reason to, obviously,” Yuji mutters waspishly.
“Exactly!” Gojo yells, clapping his hands together. Yuji frowns. “You understand now, right? Take me home, please. I’m cold and I would like to save some battery.”
The more he thinks about leaving and heading home, the way Choso expects him to, the more he can’t bear leaving Gojo behind. The explanation only arouses more questions, and Yuji wants to get to the bottom of this. But not here. He doesn’t want Choso to chide him over the phone on top of all this.
“Okay. Just follow me, and don’t make too much noise, okay? It’s super late.”
“Who do you take me for, Yuji?” Gojo cries out. He sticks close to Yuji. “God, this sewage water stinks.”
‘What’ do you take me for, Yuji wishes to correct. It’s ‘what’. But he doesn’t. He just lets the android trail after him like a puppy nipping at his heels.
When his brothers come back, Yuji will have so much explaining to do.