Chapter Text
Looking back, Yuuji would say he’s disturbed at how orchestrated everything turned out to be. There’s still a large chunk of him that feels like he is responsible for Gojo-sensei’s deviant behavior towards him. With Gojo’s pleading eyes and wobbly lip, he feels like he’s performing a dishonor to the Gojo Clan by saying no. Afterall, he can admit that he liked the attention Gojo-sensei gave him.
That warm, bubbly feeling of having his teacher’s attention on him brought him this unique feeling of belonging, because no adult gave him that attention he yearned for, albeit subtly. Yuuji is used to not being on the receiving end of it. Admiration does not count. His strength has always been a point of conversation growing up, but that is different than it being on him. It’s similar to enjoying the meat of a dish, but not the sides that compliment the meal. Picking and choosing, yet not enjoying the whole craft.
Then entered Gojo-sensei. Up on that rooftop, Fushiguro’s expression of anguish and horror over ramifications Yuuji had yet to learn at that moment in time, and the feeling of icky darkness that quickly envelopes him from the inside, like black ichor crawling over each of his organs and soft tissues like that alien from the Venom movies.
He’s getting distracted.
Gojo appeared on the rooftop rather suddenly. One moment, Yuuji was trying to orient himself as this voice— Sukuna’s —roared loud enough it drowned out any coherent thoughts. He’s learned to drown them out and pull them up when needed, but at that moment it was overwhelming. But he remembers that feeling of want. Gojo had his gaze fixated on him. His top torn, chest haphazardly tucked behind a tattered sports bra, and his nerves starting to buzz with excitement, the prospect of this man’s attention being on him.
It’s exciting and new. Gojo had approached him with a challenge which he took up without a second thought. Prove himself in control, and he gets to live a little longer. At that moment in time, he did not grasp what Gojo-sensei had meant. The world of sorcery was still not something he could fathom. It’s something out of an anime, and yet it was real.
Sighing, Yuuji tucks his head into his hands, squishing down the uncomfortable pinpricks that stab at his skin. He was so stupid.
———
“Yo! Yuuji!”
It’s a hot June afternoon. Sweat makes his jacket stick to his skin, yet he refrains from taking it off. Afterall, his sensei gave it to him, and he does not want to give the impression he did not like his specially customized uniform. Excitement worms its way into his stomach, and Yuuji turns with a smile already on his face.
Approaching him coolly with a gentle wave and a relaxed posture is Gojo-sensei. He’s still got that blindfold on. Yuuji wonders if that thing gets sticky like the rest of his uniform does during humid moments like today. It would make sense. “Gojo-sensei!” He greets, waving back as he meets him halfway. Sweatbeads trail down his neck, and Yuuji grimaces uncomfortably.
“What are you up to? Just walking around? The campus is quite big, so don’t be afraid to come to your precious sensei for any help. I’d love to lend a hand to my student,” Gojo’s questions fire at him rapidly, and Yuuji barely has enough time to process the last one before the next gets thrown his way. Blinking, he laughs awkwardly to fill the empty silence as he figures out how he wants to respond.
Really, he does not have a reason as to why he’s out here in the hot June air. Scratching the back of his neck, he glances around him. The trees are in full bloom and casting a comforting shade across the sun-heated pavement, and faintly he hears the trickle of water from streams that run across the school grounds. Looking back to Gojo, he sees the older man tilt his head, almost as though he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. Yuuji blushes, embarrassed at spacing out.
“Haha, uh, nothing much. I think I’m just in shock over everything,” Yuuji replies finally, some truth to his words. The transition from being a ‘normie’ to a sorcerer has been a little jarring. And it isn’t because the curses are gross to look at, but it’s more so the physical aspects that come with it. After Sukuna’s cursed energy flooded his body, he fell ill with the flu. Shoko, the nurse or doctor at the school, he doesn’t know which one, told him it is probably his body’s response to the drastic change in his anatomy.
The flu he does not remember much from. He knows Gojo-sensei came in a few times to make sure he was eating and drinking plenty of fluids, and dropped off medicine when Shoko could not do it herself. Once the flu cleared up, Yuuji realized he gained this new sense. When he first realized that’s what he was feeling, it blew his mind! It is like having this intuition on how others are feeling, and whether or not they are malicious.
Gojo-sensei helpfully filled in the blanks and told him what he was sensing is cursed energy. Isn’t that so cool? He thinks it is!
Gojo looks at him for a couple of seconds before he smiles, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he snickers. Yuuji is not quite sure what is so funny, but he laughs along with him. “I forget that you are so new to this.”
Is that a jab or a compliment? Yuuji is not sure. There are a lot of things he is not sure about, actually. Like why does he have white hair? Why does he need a blindfold, and coinciding with that question how does he even see? What is that feeling he senses around Gojo? It’s crackly, like touching TV static, and makes him have a brief moment of being a deer in headlights. Everything about him is so mysterious, and he wants to get inside and taste the fruit. Sweet, sticky, and addictive.
Clapping a hand on his lower back, Gojo gives him a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, Yuuji. That’s not a bad thing. It shows how I need to desperately step in and show you the ropes. After all, I am your sensei! Your super cool, awesome, and kind sensei.” Yuuji’s stomach flutters, and he swallows the lump in his throat. “Speaking of which, would you like to come with me real quick?”
His heart jumps, and he almost does too. Vibrating at the idea of spending time with Gojo, Yuuji nods, enthusiastic. His composure nearly melts when Gojo-sensei pulls him against his side and squeezes him. Now, that action, despite it making him want to run to Kugisaki and tell her all about it, is a little odd. Not like a bad odd, but it falls under the category of unwarranted.
But then he remembers how Gojo-sensei is with the rest of his classmates. He’s always in their space and business. It’s almost comical, watching how Fushiguro always grimaces and leans away, protesting every bit of the way, and how Gojo always listens. He backs away, putting a comfortable distance between them, and respects the boundary set. It shows how respectful of a sensei he is.
So as Gojo’s hand rests hot and heavy on his hip, Yuuji chalks it up to him simply doing as he pleases because he has not expressed otherwise. And Yuuji can admit that it feels nice! His grandpa was never that affectionate with him, only hugging him when needed or warranted, sparing sappy talks for when he’s too buzzed off the bottle, and that was rarely.
His grandpa was not a drinker.
“Sure! Where are we going? Is it a lesson? You did just mention how you would teach me more about the mysterious world of sorcery, but I’m pretty sure you were going to do that either way.” Gojo’s hold slips from his body and lays limp by his side. Yuuji watches curiously as he types something out on his phone, his sensei appearing oddly unreadable to him. Yuuji supposes that it does make sense. Gojo-sensei is The Strongest, so having a guarded expression checks out. He may have to use it to keep others from knowing what he’s feeling and thinking, but Yuuji does not know why Gojo is using it on him.
For a moment, hurt flashes through him. Maybe it’s because of Sukuna.
But then Gojo quickly smooths out his worries and slides his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close as he slides his phone back into his pocket. Yuuji blinks, startled, and cranes his neck to meet where he thinks Gojo’s eyes are. “Nope!” He chirps, steering them into the main building. “We are going to see Shoko! You remember Shoko, right? The tired lady who helped you through the flu?” Back to the bombardment of questions that Yuuji is open to answering.
“Yes I remember her! She works in the morgue, right?” If he recalls correctly, the room was surprisingly lit and expectantly cold. It smelt strongly of chemicals, but all of that blurred through the haze of the flu.
Gojo nods, having the two of them take a right and down a narrow hall. The wood flooring transitions abruptly to tile, and the walls eventually follow a similar path the further they walk. Less windows break up the wall, so it starts to give off a stuffy, almost suffocating atmosphere. Yuuji thinks it’s psychological due to the close quarters and the end destination, the morgue.
They walk down the stairs, Yuuji conscious to not miss a step and make a fool of himself in front of his sensei. That’d be embarrassing. He sneaks a peek at Gojo’s face and finds himself growing giddy. God, he’s just so cool! And he wants to hang out with him! Pausing his train of thought, Yuuji wonders if this would be considered hanging out.
Gojo stops him from walking face first into the door by gently squeezing his shoulder. He grows red out of embarrassment and awkwardly rubs his neck. The older male laughs at him teasingly. “Yep, that’s her! Actually, we were supposed to do this with you a while ago, but you got sick. So we are doing it now!” Gojo drops his arm from his shoulders and opens the door.
White light blinds him, and Yuuji squints and walks in. He eyes Gojo warily. “Do what?”
“Your physical,” Shoko responds coolly, her back turned to the both of them as she finishes preparing the exam table. She pulls a sterilized white paper overtop the cream colored leather, walking to the sink to wash her hands.
Yuuji blinks, confused. Physical? Why would he need one? It’s in his files at his old school. Dread starts to claw its way up his gut as Yuuji turns to Gojo, then back to Shoko, and lastly to the exam table. “Why are we doing it here?” Gojo shuts the door behind them and chooses to sit on a chair off to the side.
“Well, we usually do it upstairs in the infirmary. But because of your situation we have to do it down here," explains Gojo, crossing one leg over the other.
His fingers pick at the sleeve of his hoodie. He feels small, and actually really fucking nervous. They’re going to know. It’s never been something he’s been outwardly sensitive about. People will be ignorant, and that is not something he can control. What he can control is his reaction to their bigotry. Fists and words seem to work just fine, but this is Gojo-sensei!
“Didn’t you get my file from my old school?” Yuuji tries weakly. Trust him, he is trying to convince them that he does not need it. He’s fine! Anytime he went to a new school he did not need a surprise physical like he does now. But then again, the ‘new school’ he was going to was just the middle school building since he had moved up a grade.
Shoko nods, motioning for him to sit on the exam table. He hesitates, eyeing the table like it will burn him like a vampire entering the sun the second he sits on it, but he pushes past his godawful fear in favor of keeping a favorable attitude. He did not want to appear disobedient to both of his teachers, but every fiber of his being does not want him up there on that table. It’s to save his perception that others have on him.
The paper crinkles under his weight, and he folds in on himself.
“We did, but it is no longer up to date since you consumed Sukuna’s finger. We need to check you for any abnormalities. And if things get dicey…” She trails off, eyes sliding over to Gojo, who has moved significantly closer to the two of them. While she did not say it directly, it’s obvious what she is implying. If he loses control, Gojo is here to kill him. Yuuji swallows the lump in his throat.
“Oh.” Yuuji finds that her reasoning is valid. It doesn’t mean that he wants to comply.
“Mhm. Nothing to be worried about though. I have faith that you can keep things under wraps.” Her words are comforting, but it does not erase the feeling that he’s done something wrong by simply existing and being a host to this parasite. Glancing to his left, he spots Gojo watching him with that same unreadable expression. Why does he have that on right now? He knows what’s going on so he doesn’t have to be so guarded. Yuuji desperately wants to know what he’s thinking.
“Ever smoked before?” She’s right to the point, and Yuuji is grateful for that. He does not want to drag this on.
“No.”
“Have you ever drank?”
“No, unless you count the few sips that my grandfather gave me. But other than that, no.”
Shoko nods, typing something on her computer. Two clicks later, the questionnaire resumes.
“How often do you exercise?”
“Whenever I could before I came here. But now, everyday.”
“What does your diet consist of, not including Sukuna’s fingers.”
He hears Gojo-sensei chuckle behind him, and his cheeks heat up a little. “Fruits, vegetables, anything really. I’m not picky.”
“That’s good. Are you sexually active?”
That question gets a reaction out of him. Yuuji jerks back in surprise as his cheeks grow hot all over again. “No,” he stutters.
Shoko nods, and Yuuji turns his head to the side to take some tension off of his shoulders. His eyes slide from the wall and straight onto Gojo’s interested form. Or at least, that’s what he perceives it as. It’s hard to get a good read, but Yuuji thinks he can confidently say that Gojo is listening. He’s not sure if that should be as mortifying as it feels.
“Alright, that concludes that portion of the questionnaire. Let’s move onto…” She hums, biting absentmindedly on her nail. “Medication.” Shoko flicks her eyes up to meet his.
“Any medication you are on that we should know of? Inhaler, insulin, blood pressure med, things of that nature?”
The question weighs heavy on his conscience. It is not like he hasn’t got this question before, because he has. It is just that it was kept between him and his primary care physician. His teacher is in the room with him! It’s hard for him to comfortably say it, but it is important. He bites his lip, weighing the pros and cons before he ultimately bites the bullet and gives in with a deep sigh.
“Testosterone.”
Shoko raises one of her eyebrows, prompting him to elaborate. “Testosterone?”
“Yeah. Testosterone.” Yuuji burns his honey gaze onto his thighs. His pants are navy blue and stop above his ankle. The material is thick and sturdy, yet surprisingly soft. It does bother him that stirrups underneath his pants stop so high up his thighs. From what he observed with Fushiguro’s uniform, his stop below the knee.
It seems to click for the two of them, Gojo catching on first judging by the soft ‘ah,’ Shoko following shortly after with an understanding nod. “Alright,” She hums, typing it into the system. “How long ago did you start it?”
“This past October when I was fourteen.”
“Any other medications that we need to know of?” And, she moves on just like that. Much to Yuuji’s amazement, she does not linger on the topic or badger him on whether or not he knows the effects that testosterone has on his body. And from there, she moves on with the exam. His heart rate is normal and there are no abnormalities with his lungs. Laying on his back, there’s no pain in his abdomen, and no lumps on his neck.
The depression test, for a lack of a better word, goes well too. Shoko dings him for possible anxiety, but she comments how it’s to be expected because of the drastic change in his lifestyle, plus the literal omen of death living behind his ribcage.
“Alright, take off your uniform and fold it on the table to your right. I need to check for any anatomical abnormalities since Sukuna hijacked your body. After this, you are free to go. Maybe treat yourself to a nap and a snack, this exam has been stressful for you, I can tell.” Yuuji watches as she stands from her desk and opens a new box of latex gloves.
He grimaces at her request, looking down at his uniform, then to his sensei seated on his left. God, this is so awkward. Yuuji complains internally, exhaling sharply through his nose. If he had known that this was going to be an annual physical, he would have turned down Gojo-sensei’s offer. Maybe he should start inquiring about Gojo's intentions before he blindly agrees.
A warm hand lays on his thighs and squeezes, and Yuuji snaps his head down to find the offending appendage. It’s Gojo’s hand, and it's squeezing securely around the thick muscle of his thigh. His thumb rubs the fabric, and Yuuji is frozen with shock. It’s not like Gojo hasn’t touched him before, he is surprised that Gojo is attempting to comfort him. Or at least, that’s what he reads this as. It fits the context, and his nerves have significantly settled. Sure, the ever present buzz underneath his skin continues, but it always does so when Gojo-sensei is around.
His index finger taps his thigh to get his attention, and using his other hand Gojo motions for him to lean forward. Yuuji listens, albeit a little confused, and Gojo smiles warmly. He laughs through his nose, and he can feel the air brush his cheek. “Relax, it’ll be okay. Your Gojo-sensei is here. There’s no secrets between us, you can trust me.” Although he wears a blindfold, Yuuji can make out the shape of his eye and the crest of his browbone and gentle curve of his nose. He thinks he can make out Gojo’s eyes tracing his body like he’s observing something behind thick glass, like at a zoo, before they settle back on his face.
Yuuji feels guilty, but he can feel his heart rate steadily rise, a gentle thump thump thump in his chest. He blinks, then a grateful smile spreads across his pink lips. Relief can’t even describe what he’s feeling. Yuuji is not sure what he would have done with himself if Gojo-sensei did not understand or care to do so about him being transgender. It’s not something he talks about very often because he passes enough. Of course, he wonders about the roof and if that exchange went right over Gojo’s head. Maybe he was looking for some confirmation of his suspicions and this physical gave that to him, but looking back he never picked up on any weird treatment.
“Hey,” Gojo leans in close and whispers in his ear. Yuuji shivers involuntarily. “You should probably start to strip. Can’t give you a pat down if you’re still clothed, yeah?” Shameful can’t explain how guilty he feels when his probing words make his body heat up.
Leaning back, Yuuji nods dumbly. Gojo looks satisfied, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms across his chest, legs spread. Yuuji dares to look down them, just to sedate his curiosity, and he is not disappointed. Thick, strong, and long. He swallows the lump in his throat. His fingers push the sturdy golden buttons through their slits, pointedly choosing to not think about anything so he doesn’t freak himself out.
His navy blue overcoat slides off his shoulders easily, Yuuji folding the garment in his lap before setting it on the table. His red jacket is next. The fabric is thick and wooly, perfect for the winter climates but not so much for hot June afternoons. It made him feel like a hunk of meat cooking in a slow roaster. It slides off just as easily as easily, but he does not take the time to fold it. He wants it back on as soon as he can.
For lack of a better word, Yuuji is exposed. He embraces the cold air rapidly cooling his feverish skin, but other than that he does not appreciate being so open and bare to everyone else in the room. Listen, he was never overly curvy before he transitioned, but he has just enough to show that he is anatomically female. His curves are gentle slopes, pinching at his waist and spreading back out at his hips. His tummy is lined with solid toned muscles, his legs, although still concealed, following the same muscular pattern.
Made of a soft black silky fabric, his chest is securely held in place by a sports bra. A new one, not the same one he wore the night he met Fushiguro, but it’s of a similar style. Mesh on the back for airflow, yet two-finger width straps hold it together and in place over his shoulders. He would not say he has a large chest by any means. He’d say they are C cups at the biggest, but are most likely a comfortable B. Well, as comfortable as one can be while being transgender.
He’s getting off track. With her back still to him, Shoko is busy getting things ready for the exam. He is not sure why she needs that many items, but it does very little to calm his already screaming nerves. Swallowing, he turns to Gojo to see if he is disgusted or off-put by his appearance. Sure, he already went through the mental gymnastics to convince himself that Gojo-sensei does not think he’s some confused freak, but he needs to look for that confirmation.
Gojo is relaxed, still holding the same pose that he was before, thick arms secured across his chest and long legs spread before him. It is his face that gets him. It’s open and clear, like shallow pond water. See through enough for him to make out the aquatic life swimming through the water, and the plants that sway gently with each disturbance. Gojo’s eyes, although concealed by black fabric, appear wide, and his jaw is slightly elongated to show surprise.
Yuuji will admit, it’s mildly off-putting. But this is his sensei so he won’t rag on him too much. He knows that he is an enigma in the world of sorcery. A non-sorcerer turned sorcerer, the one in a million chance vessel for Sukuna, and his already present inhuman strength and speed without any cursed energy. Maybe being transgender on top of it is the candied cherry on top of the sugary vanilla sundae.
“Alright Yuuji, I need you to take off your pants too.” Shoko startles him, Yuuji whipping his head around at neck breaking speeds to meet her gaze, nodding dumbly as he fumbles with his pants before realizing halfway through pulling them down that he needs to take off his shoes. The fall with a dulled clatter on the tile, his pants following suit before Gojo smoothly picks the garment up from the floor and folds it in his laps.
“You can keep on your stirrups. I don’t really think anything will be down there anyway.” Her gloved hands gently cup his jaw, turning his head from side to side as she examines the two small slits that lay underneath each of his eyes. Her thump brushes the texted line, a curious hum rumbling in her throat. Yuuji shivers as a chill runs up his spine, hands going to grasp his trousers before he realizes he is not wearing any. He opts to play with the hem of his boxers.
Her thumb rubs the slit one more time, but more firmly than the previous, and he shivers again. “Are you sensitive here?”
Is he? Yuuji touches the other one, and he is surprised to find that he is. It’s comparable in feeling as having his tummy gently scraped by nails. “I think so.”
“Interesting.” Shoko murmurs, then pulls away to write something down on her notepad. The invasive exam continues. She pokes at his arms, putting extra focus on his hands since Sukuna likes to appear on them. Yuuji thinks she’s looking to see if there’s any subtle changes in his skin that Sukuna can sprout from, like the skits on his cheeks. He wonders if he should tell her that there is nothing there because he’s gone through the process of searching. No subtle scarring, no awkwardly meshed flesh, simply smooth and seamless skin.
“Do you bind your chest?”
Yuuji shakes his head. “Nope! I used to, but I outgrew my binder when I started to build more muscle. I haven’t had the time to get a new one.” He runs his finger over the ribbed band of his bra.
Shoko nods, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. “If you ever think about getting a binder again, come to me. I want to make sure that it won’t interfere with your missions. I’d almost recommend top surgery, but because you’re still fifteen you may not be finished developing on your chest. It’d be a shame if we did the procedure on you, just for them to finish growing in and it does away with what we performed on you.”
Ah, he did not really think about that. Yuuji glances down at his chest. It’s small, but has been growing very slowly as he ages. After getting testosterone, he assumed that his chest growth would stop, but it makes sense that it will continue to grow in a bit more. He still gets his period, though it’s irregular and light. So, he nods. “Ah, I did not know that could happen.”
“That’s fine. You’re young and can’t know everything. I’m just thinking about your overall health and safety. It’d be a shame if you’re running away from a particularly nasty curse, and you can’t get your lungs to expand to their fullest capacity so you die, because you weren’t fast enough.”
That’s rather gruesome. Grimacing, uncomfortable, Yuuji rubs the back of his neck as he laughs nervously. “Yeah, I guess that would suck.” How does he even respond to that? Digging through his filing cabinet of responses, he comes up with nothing. What he slid to the table was the best he could offer.
Gojo claps his hands together and stands, then placing one on Yuuji’s shoulder. It’s warm, and Yuuji instantly feels calm. “I think that’s enough for today, Shoko. You got what you needed from him and look! There’s no weird abnormalities on his body, so put your clothes on Yuuji and let’s get out of here.”
Squeezing him briefly, Gojo tosses him his pants and hands him his hoodie and overcoat from the table, waiting patiently off to the side as he dresses himself. The room is silent as he slips on his shoes, and he can’t help but notice the tension in the room. Shoko is looking at Gojo-sensei weirdly. It’s like she can’t quite place her finger on his behavior. Hopping off of the table and standing by Gojo’s side, Shoko bids him a farewell as he follows Gojo out of the morgue and up the stairs.
The walk is silent besides the gentle taps of their shoes. Gojo’s shoe size is bigger than his. His legs are longer, like never ending muscular trunks. Subtly touching at his own waist, sliding his hands up and down his sides, Yuuji looks at Gojo-sensei’s torso comparatively. While his is soft and curved, Gojo’s is broad at the top, tapering down the further he goes, narrowing at his hips. It's hard to determine Gojo’s actual body shape through his school issued uniform, but Yuuji imagines that Gojo’s body is what every teenage boy dreams to be.
Humming inquisitively, Yuuji tilts his head to the side. “Gojo-sensei, what were you like as a teenager?” Listen, he is curious! All he knows about sensei is what he hears from word of mouth and from what he observes. To him, Gojo is nearly flawless. Though he is sure that Gojo does have flaws. Everyone does. Yuuji hopes rather inappropriately that he and Gojo could become more than student and teacher. It’d be cool to hang out and be friends with him. He has enough sense to know that it couldn’t happen, and shouldn’t happen, but he holds out this hope that he is the exception. Please, Gojo-sensei, don’t you see how eager I am to know you?
Gojo’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he smooths over with a sly grin. His hands slip into his pockets, a relaxed posture replaced his previously rigid and irritated one. “Awh, my dearest Yuuji wants to know about sensei?” He teases, sticking his tongue out at him.
Yuuji gapes, a little annoyed at his question being taken as a joke. He huffs, curling in on himself self consciously as he puffs out his cheeks. They’re rosy and pink, like mochi. They stand outside near a shaded tree. It’s hotter now than it was an hour ago, and Yuuji is dying to take off some layers.
“Yeah, of course I do. I want to know what you were like. ‘Cause if you’re this childish now then I can’t imagine how childish you were then!” Yuuji shoots back. Friendly fire, if you will. He’s feeling a little mischievous. Smiling cheekily, Yuuji eagerly awaits Gojo’s response. He’s not willing to back down now. Any self doubt goes out the window, all caution to the wind.
Minty smelling breath fans his face while Gojo-sensei leans into his space. He’s close enough that Yuuji can make out the tinted gloss on his lips, and the faint coloring on his otherwise pale skin. Excitement buzzes under his skin as he realizes he’s got what he wanted, which is Gojo’s undivided attention. There’s no ulterior motives like that damn physical, or something school related. It’s just Gojo and him in the courtyard, Gojo so close Yuuji can smell the cool, wintery cologne he wears. Yuuji would drink it from him if he could. Cold on his tongue, yet hot down his throat. So thick it coats his teeth like a fine hard candy.
“Let’s just say that I wasn’t the most mature, and did not know how to take no for an answer. Afterall, I was used to getting anything I wanted as a teen,” Gojo hints with an equal amount of mischief.
His heart thumps in his chest, and Yuuji immediately jumps to seize his next move. “But would he like me? You like me, I think. You’re always super nice. I think we would have gotten along if I was a teenager the same time you were.”
The older man pauses then makes a funny face. Yuuji would have if he suddenly did not feel so insecure. Is his judgement poor? Does Gojo-sensei think otherwise?
Instead, Gojo ruffles his hair and steps out of his space, shaking his head with a smile. “Don’t worry your little head off, Yuuji. He likes you.”
———
Yuuji looks forward to his classes because that means he can be around Gojo. Being completely honest with himself, he’s starting to think that this is becoming a problem. There are nights where he tosses and turns in bed wide awake because he’s so excited to see Gojo in the morning. Then as the sun leaks through his sheer curtains and warms the exposed skin that it hits, Yuuji wakes up and finds himself immediately smiling. He feels restlessly giddy, hopping out of bed as he oozes energy. He could be dead on his feet from little sleep, but just the idea alone of seeing Gojo-sensei is enough to be his energizer. It’s nuts, and he’s starting to recognize it.
During lunch periods, he finds himself looking at the door each time he hears it slide open, desperately hoping that it’s Gojo. Disappointment is what he feels when he realizes it is not Gojo, but rather someone else. It’s not like he doesn’t want to see that person! It’s just that he really likes to be around Gojo. Even being in the same room as him is enough. Or knowing that Gojo is on campus, hoping by some miracle that their paths will cross and they will get to talk.
God, he’s hopeless.
He has a strong liking for the guy. Afterall, he’s The Strongest!
Each pink tuff styled perfectly, Yuuji proceeds to spray some cologne on his neck and chest, rubbing it into his skin to make sure it sticks. He sets the bottle aside in favor of slipping on his sports bra, adjusting things as needed, then putting on the rest of his uniform. He sprays a couple more squirts over top of his clothes, checking himself out in the mirror, then leaves.
You claim you’re a boy, yet you act like that.
Yuuji frowns at the rude comment. “It’s not like that. I can be a guy and still care about my appearance. I have to look nice for others.” Wedged deep inside the crevices of his body, he can feel Sukuna smirk tauntingly.
Oh, I see what’s going on here. You’re dressing up for Six Eyes.
A shock of embarrassment sears through him when he’s caught. It’s not like he’s doing it just for Gojo-sensei. “That’s not true. Just be quiet, will you?”
He’s no man. He’s more of a monster if anything. He and the people he associates with are sleazy scumbags.
“Who are you even talking about? Shoko is not a scumbag, and she certainly is not sleazy either.”
Not her, brat. Though she falls into a similar category for a different reason. Don’t you find it concerning that he returns the same attention you pour into him like some starved dog? You talk about him too much. It’s obsessive. Quit it. It annoys me.
Sukuna’s snarky response dim into a faint murmur as he successfully tunes him out. To be frank, he does not want to hear it. Sukuna takes any opportunity he gives him to trash his sensei. Gojo is a good guy. He cares about him and his classmates, he cares about the civilians, and he likes to be involved. Not to mention, Gojo treats him like a person, not some cursed object that needs to be exorcized. Refreshing is the best way to explain it. Gojo gives him the chance that many sorcerers refuse to throw his way because of what he holds inside.
Sitting at his desk, Yuuji notes how he is the first one to arrive, besides Fushiguro. Nails tap on the wood as he balances a pencil haphazardly on the edge of the desk, quickly catching and adjusting it every time it looks like it’s about to fall. That’s how he occupies himself while waiting for his sensei to arrive. Restlessness swirls in his chest while he frowns. Being late is something that is not new with Gojo-sensei. The difference is how late he is. It’s been almost fifteen minutes, and he’s starting to think Gojo is never going to arrive. Maybe he got sick and someone is subbing for him?
Disappointment gets thrown into that nasty mixture stewing in his chest. Yuuji’s cheek rests in the gentle cradle of his palm, tapping his pencil on his desk as he flits his eyes every so often to the door, then to the clock.
“Hey, can you quit that?”
Huh?
Yuuji takes his attention from the clock and meets the irritated sneer on Kugisaki’s lips. She looks two seconds away from taking his pencil and snapping it in front of him. Not like that would upset him much. He can easily get another.
“Sorry, I’m just so bored! Where’s Gojo-sensei? He’s never this late!” Yuuji whines, smushing his head into his folded arms, extending his legs forward while he groans, loud and exaggerated.
“Hopefully he forgot about us. That means we could send in a complaint and get him fired,” Kugisaki fantasizes, and Fushiguro unfortunately seems to like that suggestion. He nods his head, making a pleased sound, similar to one he’d make when eating a tasty dish.
Big warm eyes bug out of his skull, Yuuji gaping at the two with a look akin to shock that they would even say something like that. “What! Gojo-sensei wouldn’t do that. He probably got caught up with stuff, he is super busy, y’know!”
Kugisaki and Fushiguro share a look.
“Eh? Why are you guys looking at me like that, stop!”
Their bickering comes to a halt when the door slides open and an enthusiastic Gojo walks in. Much to his relief, the older male explains that the printer stopped working and how he had to travel all across the campus to find a working one, just to realize they are all out! So, he made, in his words, “…an unfortunate trip to Kyoto just to use their printer…”. He would go on to say how it was in use when he arrived, so he bullied poor Utahime until she gave up and left the room to give him full rein over it.
Yuuji feels bad for her. He’s never met her, but he has seen how Gojo-sensei can be with others, especially Ijichi.
Raising his hand, Yuuji waits patientally for Gojo to call on him. He is curious to know what the stack of papers in his arms are. Luckily he does not have to wait too long. He’s called on almost immediately! Smiling, he leans back in his seat and ignores the way the wood groans in protest to his assault.
“Sensei!”
“Yes, Yuuji!”
“What are the papers in your hands?”
“Your exam of course!”
His what?!
Funny story. So, apparently, a few days ago Gojo had told them they have an exam coming up over the history of the sorcerer clans, and that chunk of class conveniently escaped him because he does not recall Gojo telling that whatsoever! Forget dread, Yuuji feels downright horrified right now. As he stares at the neatly stapled packet in front of him, Yuuji can’t help but stare at the mess of words with a defeated look in his eyes.
He wonders if he would be better off turning it in with nothing answered. Maybe Gojo-sensei would grant him some mercy and excuse his blank exam because of his lack of knowledge about the clans prior to his enrollment at Jujutsu Technical College. Afterall, three days is very little time to catch up on centuries of political beef.
But, Yuuji does not want Gojo to view him as a quitter. He wants him to see him as someone who tries regardless of his hand poor cards. Biting his lip, Yuuji straightens his back and scoots his chair in a little closer, picking up his pencil and begins to write.
———
If Gojo’s barely concealed grimace is anything to go off of the second his eyes land on his test, Yuuji knows right then and there that he’s failed it. That hot bubbling shame does not quell, in fact it grows in intensity as his friends turn in theirs. Stealing a few glances at their answers, he can tell right away that his are way off the mark. How embarrassing.
Rubber soles scuff at the hardwood as Yuuji nervously kicks at the ground. Big puppy eyes are sad, his bottom lip jutting out as he hits the decreshendo of his mood, which is defeat. That exam was tough! How is he supposed to know about the secret supposed love affair child from the Zen’in clan? Only a month and a half ago he was a non-sorcerer playing a one-sided game of cat and mouse to avoid his PE teacher. Now he’s got an unwanted constant opinion barking in his head and an execution date hovering over his head like some sorry excuse of a gamertag.
Much to his displeasure (or pleasure, he has yet to decide,) Gojo seems to take notice. Whether it be some form of mercy or maybe even pity, Gojo sets his exam aside and sends him an obviously fake unassuming smile. It’s so fake that Yuuji wishes Gojo did not even bother. At least be transparent with your disappointment, sensei!
“How about we go over these exams after your guys’ mission?” He says finally as some kind of peace offering for the brutalizing he’s going to enwrath over his exam.
A confused cry comes from his right and Yuuji turns just in time to see Kugisaki’s despaired expression. Her well manicured hands slide her phone back into her pocket before she points accusingly in Gojo-sensei’s direction. “We didn’t have a mission earlier! What’s the big idea? Pushing your dirty work onto us, ehh?”
While he does not deny it, he does not confirm it either. Instead, he leans against his desk and laughs at her, jabbing his thumb in her direction while he looks at him as if there’s some big joke that he’s missing. “You’re not entirely wrong—“
“So I’m right!”
“—no, I simply had a more pressing mission shoved into my schedule. Soo…” He mimics a drumroll on his thigh, allowing for the appropriate buildup to bubble before he slaps that same leg and points at all three of them. “You guys are taking it over! It’s something you three can handle it.” Dark colored fabric bunches as Gojo pulls down his sleeve to check his watch, which, by the way, Yuuji has no idea he even had!
Sighing, Gojo hangs his head low in mock defeat before perking right back up like a coiled spring. “Alright, I am off! Ask Ijichi for the deets, your lovely and reliable sensei has a mission to finish. Afterwards let’s all hang out!”
Snickering, Yuuji can’t help but laugh as Gojo-sensei exits the room in a dramatic manner, leaving behind an irritated Fushiguro and a hollering Kugisaki.
They learn that it is at a Juvenile Detention Center.
And during that same night they learn that they can’t handle it by themselves.
————
“Is everything up to your comfort, Yuuji?”
Time is hard to measure in the basement. For starters, there are no windows, not a single clock other than the one on the stove (which Gojo-sensei helpfully supplied is not set,) and he is not allowed upstairs. Judging by how everything looks surprisingly put together, Yuuji is led to believe that Gojo has had plenty of time to set things up.
An olive green three-seater is sat in the middle of the room, two throw pillows adoring each far cushion with a lovely shade of cream. His finger runs experimentally across the top of the couch, internally approving of the soft texture that greets his skin. He’s always been particular on his fabrics, and he is grateful that Gojo took that into account when planning for his indefinite stay in his basement.
Settled in front of the sofa is a sturdy wooden coffee table with a wide variety of movies stacked on top. He recognizes some titles, but others are not ringing any bells as he grazes the spines. The TV has nothing he can note about since it looks like an older model. Judging by the thicker border around the screen and the Sony branding, Yuuji makes an educated guess that this TV is from the early 2000’s. He takes a stab and guesstimates it was bought either in 2005 or 2006.
Moving on from the tiny ‘family room,’ he observes the kitchen. Nothing too remarkable here, a simple kitchen that actually kind of resembles a bar. It looks like a refrigerator, sink, and stove were installed later on. Pulling open some cupboard doors and drawers, he’s surprised to find them stocked with dishes and silverware, as well as other necessities like spare dish soap, wash pads, drying wrack, towels, and other bits and bobs he may need.
“Wow, haha,” Yuuji is a little startled by how much stuff Gojo has prepped. Even the fridge is full of food, and all of it is stuff that he likes! How did Gojo-sensei even find out about his favorite soda?
Probably during the physical, his brain helpfully supplies. Running to Gojo’s defense, he did say that he eats almost anything and everything, including 1000 year old mummified fingers, so his favorite soda being in there is a lucky guess. Shutting the fridge, Yuuji nods. “Yeah! It’s up to my comfort levels. I actually think this way surpasses them. Keep this up and I may not wanna leave, Gojo-sensei,” He jokes, laughing behind his hand with rosy cheeks.
Gojo takes it in stride, laughing alongside him while he leans in the doorway. “You’re welcome to stay as long as needed. And judging by your circumstances, you’ll be here for a long while. So get comfortable!” The older man gasps, snapping his fingers as though he suddenly remembers something. Yuuji watches with piqued curiosity as Gojo hops over the island/table thing, and motions for Yuuji to follow. “Come, come! I forgot, you have a bedroom in here. So don’t fret a thing over your poor vulnerable neck aching when sleeping on the couch.”
Okay, now he’s super curious. Sock covered feet barely keep up with the heavy thuds of Gojo’s dress shoes as he scrambles, Yuuji shocked by the sheer excitement the man is exhibiting. When he finally does catch up to him, the light is on and it reveals a stupidly large bed.
Blinking, dumbfounded, Yuuji’s mouth falls slack as he stares at what had to be a king sized bed stuffed in the middle of the room. Two bedside tables like either side of the headboard, lamps adorning each. The bedsheets are this light grey fuzzy fabric akin to throw blankets, a black and rather plush comforter laid out overtop with one corner pulled to reveal the sheets, and a dark grey throw folded and laid horizontally across the expanse of the bed. The pillows, yes plural, litter the head of the bed.
Summarizing all of that in one simple sentence, the bed is massive and comfortable looking. He bets it’s comfortable to lay in too.
“Gojo-sensei! This is incredible. How long did it take you to plan all of this?” Scrambling onto the bed and laying flat on the mattress Yuuji sighs in relief, the aching in his bones ceasing their screaming. Cold wintery cologne floods his nostrils as he inhales. He thinks he can pick up minty undertones. Cracking open one of his eyes, he’s pleasantly surprised to see Gojo laying down next to him. Well, as close to laying down as he can get. While he is laid perfectly flat on the bed nearly getting suffocated by the blankets in the process, Gojo is holding his upper half upright using his elbows. His head is laying mostly limp on the side facing him.
What he finds most shocking is the fact that his sensei removed his overcoat at some point between him crawling onto the bed and him closing his eyes. God, Gojo’s arms are thick. Yuuji thinks if he were to wrap each of his hands around his biceps his fingers would not touch. Practically glued to his torso is this black skintight shirt that has the air effectively vacuumed from his lungs.
The reddening of his cheeks is completely involuntary, Yuuji’s eyes betraying him as he takes in all of the visible body served to him on a silver platter. Just as he thought, Gojo’s torso starts off broad and thick, narrowing the further down he goes. His mouth goes dry as he swallows the stubborn lump in his throat. A small flame ignites in his lower gut and the warmth spreads from his tummy to his groin and legs, worming its way up and spreading through his entire body like food coloring dripping into a glass of water.
It dawns on him rather suddenly that he has what he has always yearned for, which is Gojo’s undivided attention. There are no ulterior motives, no surprise mission or assignment, just the two of them alone and in the same room. Gojo’s blindfolded gaze holding his wide and hazy honey one. His sensei shifts his weight to one of his elbows, his now free arm leaning in close to gently cradle his cheek.
His heart thumps uncontrollably in his chest. This is the type of fantasy teens think about before going to sleep about their crush, but Gojo-sensei is not his crush. He can acknowledge that he does find the man attractive, but he does not think he wants anything romantic with him. Yuuji thinks it’s okay for him to think sexually of the man, but he does not want it to actually happen to him. He wants to be able to space off in class and wonder what Gojo’s lips would taste like if he were to suck on them.
But, he lets himself listen to the siren song of his emotions and leans his cheek into Gojo’s palm. The older man smiles, seemingly satisfied with his reaction, and brushes his thumb over the closest slit under his eye. As expected, he shivers in response as his eyes fall shut. It’s a surprisingly pleasing sensation. When Shoko did it, he found it to be shocking and uncomfortable, but when Gojo-sensei does it, he welcomes it like a warm hug. It’s anticipated, and therefore he likes it.
“If I’m being honest with you Yuuji, it did not take too long for me to get ready for you,” He whispers, whispers! His voice is so rich in flavor that it soaks his teeth and makes him hunger for more. His cologne is so strong it feels like it’s pulling him under with desperate hands. He’d let it, too. “I want to make sure you’re safe and protected, so I’m willing to do this just for you.”
Slowly, his eyes flutter open. For the third time in the night, he’s astonished. Instead of being greeted with the normal blindfold he’s become accustomed to, he’s finding himself falling into rich, deep pools of blue. It’s as though someone took a section of the sky itself and slathered the gradient onto his pupils, Gojo’s eyes are that blue.
“Your eyes, they’re beautiful,” Yuuji breathes, unable to pull his attention away from the ever-absorbing eyes. Chuckling softly, white eyelashes flutter shut as a bashful blush rises to his cheeks. They remain like that for a few seconds before they open again, meeting his golden gaze with this look of… adoration?
His cheek is released temporarily as Gojo shuffled higher up on the bed to lay down. Yuuji follows without having to be told to do so, worming his way up the bed but leaving an appropriate amount of space between the two of them. It seems Gojo has other plans since he wiggles his arm underneath his head, letting Yuuji rest his head in the crook of his arm, and he resumes holding his cheek.
Today has been exhausting, from dying to being brought back to life from the outside (inside, if you’re getting technical) influence of Sukuna, Yuuji finds his unavoidable exhaustion quickly catching up to him. The warm flesh rubbing his cheek is certainly not doing him any favors, Yuuji’s eyes fluttering shut every few seconds. He feels safe. Gojo-sensei is someone trustworthy, someone who would never hurt him in any way. Maybe that’s why he feels so comfortable laying in bed beside him. They are still student and teacher, and that line he wants blurred in fantasy only still holds firm.
Gojo chuckles wryly, eyes crinkling at the corner as he peers down at him. His intent is hard to grasp, hidden behind layers of more recognizable emotions. Joy, surprise, adoration, and then that one emotion he can’t quite figure out. “Oh, Yuuji. I wish you knew how special you really are to me.”
Those words make his heart ache. “I’m special to you?” Words slur together as the warm blanket of sleep continues to creep up his body. His bones feel like they turn to mush as he finally gives in and embraces the welcoming arms of sleep. It’s because of that, that he misses the loving croon of adoration and confirmation.
“The most special to me.”
———
Grief is a weird feeling. It is different from person to person, but even the type of grief that decides to visit each day is also different. Most surprising to Yuuji is that grief can feel completely different depending on who dies. He thinks that maybe age plays a factor in how he responds to it. Answering the call is like picking up the phone and having to talk to that one relative that he does not care for, but having to do so just for pleasantries sake. It’s unavoidable and drags on forever.
The call he picked up for with his grandpa was long since anticipated. It was a short phone call that had plenty of distractions that helped him shake off the exhaustion of it. The phone hung up, and for the most part he has been able to move on besides the occasional texts that ding in his conscience.
The grief he feels for Junpei is comparable to a blaring alarm that he cannot turn off. It’s like the sirens for incoming typhoons. It’s loud, wails, and echos off of every corner of his skull. He can’t shut it off and it’s out of his control. His death caught him so off guard that for the first few minutes of watching his transfigured body thrash and twitch on the floor, his brain could not process what he was seeing. And god, when the call connected, he felt his entire world shatter.
He knows that each mission brings a chance of death to him or others, but having it happen to him despite the overall bad nature of the mission was still so jarring for him. His brain scrambles to think of anything different he could have done to prevent it, postpone it at the very least. But no, Junpei’s death occurred out of his control and right in front of him. Crackle, snap, and a squelch.
His wails bounce from wall to wall in the bathroom, Yuuji not finding the energy nor the care to taper down his cries of despair. Fuck, he tried so hard. Pleaded all that he could. Begged for all that he had in him. Reasoned until he sounded like a broken record. And yet nothing changed the outcome. Curling in on himself on the floor, Yuuji claws and pulls at his hair, thumping his head against the tile as some self-inflicted punishment for his own shortcomings. He hears the gentle snaps as his fingers tear tuffs of hair from his scalp, tiny piles of pink coating the otherwise pristine white tile.
His body is still battered from his fight with Mahito, yet he chooses not to see Shoko. The leaky wounds are his punishment for failing to save him. Cuts and bruises and abrasions are nothing compared to the anguish Junpei felt before he died. If he can’t handle that kind of pain then can he really call himself a sorcerer?
He’s so stuck in the icky pit of his self wallowing that he does not even register the bathroom door lock being picked and the door almost slamming open, had his haphazardly thrown off shoes not break the full momentum of the swing. Large hands wedge themselves under his armpits and pull him upright, Yuuji barely having enough time to protest before Gojo pulls him into his lap. His bottom sits in the circle of his lap, legs thrown across one of Gojo’s thighs as strong arms hold him close securely to his chest.
His hand rubs firm circles on his back and Yuuji turns his cheek and buries it into the crook of his neck, wailing loud cries. He’s conscious enough to know that his tears are streaming down his cheeks in an unflattering way, he’s always been a messy crier, and is no doubt soiling Gojo’s shirt. However the older man does not push him away and instead pulls him in close. He’s talking to him, Yuuji thinks, if the gentle rumble of his chest is anything to go by. Hiccuping, Yuuji utters his first words since he came barreling back into the basement.
“It’s all my fucking fault—“
“Breathe. No it’s not.”
“Yes it is. He died because of me. I’m weak!”
“You’re just a child. You can’t save everybody, Yuuji.”
“I-I need to— I need to, or how else am I going to prove myself as a good person?”
“Some things are out of your control, but those shortcomings are not your burden to bear.”
Weeping, he tucks his body in as close to Gojo’s as physically possible, and Gojo-sensei lets him without a single thought. Gently shushing him, the older male presses a gentle kiss to his temple, and Yuuji freezes, something akin to discomfort worming into his gut and quickly pulling him from his hysterics.
The room starts to fade into his vision, and the gentle hum of the fan registers in the forefront of his mind. Hiccuping, the younger boy pulls back from Gojo’s neck and takes the time to look around the room at his surroundings. He spots bits of his hair on the floor and no doubt his blood smeared like jam across toast on the tile. Bottles of soap are knocked from their place on the countertop, having rolled from their positions and rest haphazardly on their side. Some are hugging the far wall while others decided to not stray far from their original placeholders.
His heart rate is still high and his lungs are still screaming at him to breathe, but Yuuji is finding it easier for him to ground himself. Hands clenching and unclenching in Gojo’s shirt, Yuuji finally realizes that he’s seated in his sensei’s lap, hugging him like he’s an emotional support teddy bear. His sensei is big, he knows that from simply observing him during their day to day life, but being in this position really brings it to light. Yuuji feels like a little kid in his lap. The backs of his heels barely touch the cool tile, and his entire body is engulfed in the strong and secure arms of Gojo.
Mint and wintery fresh scents flood his nose once more, a constant occurrence he realizes whenever he’s around sensei, and that’s what sends the final nail into the coffin to let Yuuji know that he’s way too close to Gojo for comfort. Blushing from mortification, Yuuji moves to pull away but Gojo-sensei does not let him, much to his confusion. “Sensei?” He squeaks uncertainly. “What are you doing?”
“Welcome back, Yuuji. You had a bit of a cry there,” He says instead, using his head to gesture towards the mess that he can clearly see. Yuuji’s warm eyes bounce from the mess he made to his fingers, face twisting as he starts to pick stray pink hairs from the webbing of his digits and under his nails. Wet tears continue to leak down his cheeks. “Did you want to talk about it? We can always talk about it later if you’d like. Act now, think about the consequences at a later date.”
Raising one of his eyebrows inquisitively, Yuuji wonders why Gojo-sensei words it the way he did. But, the older man is giving him an out, one that he desperately wants to take. He does not want to seem like a quitter, though if he’s being completely honest with himself he does not want to talk about today right now. He wants to plant the hatchet into the woodblock and return at a later date. Sighing, Yuuji nods his head slowly against his chest. “Yes please, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Although he can’t see it, he is assuming that Gojo is smiling at his response if the flex in his jaw indicates anything. “That’s okay. You can come to your sensei for anything. Your troubles, your interests, your hobbies, your free time, your desires,” he shifts their position, wrestling the younger boy so his back is pressing against his chest, legs awkwardly splaying out over his thick muscular thighs. Yuuji makes a sound of protest as Gojo’s arms hold his midsection steady, his cheek nuzzling against the side of his head. “The world is your oyster, and I’d love to help you.”
Don’t get him wrong, he’s all for hugs with Gojo. They’re warm and bring him that feeling of want that he was unintentionally denied in his upbringing, but this feels different to him. It feels oddly personal, oddly intimate. But, craning his neck back to meet Gojo-sensei’s concealed gaze, he examines him. He can feel no malice in the gentle, static-like nature of his cursed energy. He bounces from Gojo’s open expression to the busted lock, the wide open door, and finally to the warm arms holding him still. Sensei wants to make sure he’s okay. This is coming from a place of concern.
Afterall, isn’t this what he has wanted from the start? Gojo-sensei’s unwavering attention. He’s got it, and he hopes giddily that this flavor of attention is for him and him only. Something akin to jealousy twinges in his chest when he thinks about Gojo holding Fushiguro like this; he decides he does not like that. Soft white strands nudge his cheek and Yuuji turns to meet the suddenly bare and pleading blue eyes boring into his own. Girls at his old high school used to tell him that his eye color looked like warm honeypots, such a rich golden color that they were a little jealous. He wonders if blue and gold look good together. Maybe if it is the base color, but their shades are unique to them. Maybe it’ll look good together that way.
“Can you please hold me for a while longer?”
“Of course, Yuuji. Whatever you want, I can do for you.”