Chapter Text
2006
When Satoru comes to, he’s sitting on the ground in a room. There are multiple men towering over him, each one of them older than him, buff and clearly well trained. His wrists are bound by what Satoru is guessing are ropes, and his legs are sore, his ankle hurts. The last thing he remembers is being hit by something while on a solo mission - how that something managed to breach through Infinity, he doesn’t know - and then being ambushed by what he’d had barely the time to classify as non-sorcerers. Which brings him here; bound, sitting cross-legged on the ground of some old building with his ankle bruised and pulsing. He can’t find his glasses.
Even now, Satoru’s eyes can’t detect any sign of cursed energy that indicates a sorcerer in the room with him, which means that these people are all just non-sorcerers playing smart. He has experience with people trying to kidnap him or kill him, and it’s already shameful enough that he’s let these people succeed with that first point. Satoru is stronger than them, can break through these ropes binding his wrists any time he wants; in no time, he will be free and teach these guys what happens when you dare to try keeping a sorcerer like Gojo Satoru as some kind of pet.
All he has to do is concentrate his cursed energy on the bindings, and snap them with a strong tug of his wrists.
He focuses on his cursed energy, feels it build up inside of him and flow to his arms, strengthening them. He closes his fists, then, and he tugs on the ropes.
He fails.
He tries again, struggling against them until his wrists burn— nothing.
“It’s useless, Six Eyes. Your strange powers can’t save you here.”
Satoru lifts his gaze to meet the eyes of one of the men surrounding him. Arms burly and stance imponent. Satoru is not short in the least, but this man is a span taller than him minimum - and he looks especially intimidating now that Satoru is sitting at his feet.
There must be some kind of barrier neutralizing cursed energy, Satoru figures, because as much as he feels it still flowing through his veins, he can’t seem to release it in any way that matters. He knows he hasn’t trained nearly enough in close combat to match any of these men in a fight if it came down to it - and Satoru had already been beaten and made unconscious once by these very same people. Without cursed energy, he’s just a useless sixteen-year-old kid with no defenses. He realizes, with a shiver, that he’s got no ace up his sleeve, no tricks he can use; he’s at the mercy of whatever these men want from him, and, for a moment, it scares him.
“What do you want?” he frowns, rude in an attempt at keeping the fear at bay. Behind his back, he keeps struggling against the ropes. To no avail. “If you want to kill me then just kill me. Why wait?”
The man leans down towards him, and grabs his hair in a strong grip, baring Satoru’s throat for everyone to see. He’s staring right into his eyes. “You’re pretty famous, aren’t you? These beautiful eyes of yours…” he slurs, “… they’re going to make us rich.”
Satoru swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing uselessly in his throat. If they want to sell him to some black-market curse user, still bound as he is with these ropes and devoid of cursed energy, he’s done for. Not to mention that everyone in this room looks way stronger than he is, physically speaking. He should have trained harder, should have built a stronger physique, but hell, cursed energy has always sufficed. There was no Earth in which Satoru wasn’t the strongest. Anxiety twists his insides.
He has to stay calm. Keep his breathing in check.
Satoru figures it’s not been long since they’ve struck him down, and if not even a day has gone by, then it’s unlikely that anyone from Jujutsu Tech will be looking for him any time soon. Fuck. Fuck. He has to get out of here, and fast.
“Once they come with the ransom, maybe we’ll let you go.”
That makes Satoru perk his ear. “Ransom?”
“We sent a messenger to your little school up in the mountains. If they’re willing to give up the money, then we could consider giving you back to them. Maybe.” The man smiles, baring his teeth at him. “Just pray that they want you enough to give us the sum. If not, don’t worry, we’ll find other ways to make use of your pretty face.”
Satoru just stares at him with a stunned expression on his face. He blinks, keeping silent for a few seconds. After a while, he feels his stomach clenching, and he bursts out laughing in his face.
“Oh, man! You guys are stupid, alright!” he cackles, feeling tears well up in his eyes.
Hell, he was about to panic over nothing.
The man strengthens his grip on Satoru’s hair, but the latter can’t stop laughing even as he does.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks, seriously. “If you think anyone’s going to come here and save you, then you’ve got it wrong. The meeting point is far enough from here that it would take at least a day to reach us if they weren’t flying.” He snickers, “But you’d be dead or elsewhere by then, anyway.”
Satoru tries catching his breath to speak, but he’s still giggling when he does. “You even think you’re smart. That’s hilarious.” He sniffles. “You should have killed me when you had the chance. Now, all you’re going to be known for is how you had the chance to kill the Six Eyes user and you handled him back to his school with a fucking red bow on his head, idiots!”
That earns him a punch on his nose. Luckily, it doesn’t crack or anything, but Satoru can feel blood trickle from it all the way down to his cupid bow. He doesn’t mind it that much; his tongue licks the red off his lips, and he holds the other’s gaze with a grin still on his face. “Shut your mouth! There’s no way they’re going to get through us anyway! Even if they knew the location, your allies can’t even use cursed energy here!”
The man releases his grip on Satoru, and Satoru cackles, loud and obnoxious even through the pain numbing his face. “Oh, that’s even better.” He flashes a smile, teeth pinkish from the blood. “Suguru is going to beat the shit out of you.”
As if on command, the door to their little hide-out blows to bits, splinters flying out. A middle-aged man rushes inside, hair disheveled and appearance overall scruffy. It looks like he’s taken quite the beating.
“What’s going on?!”
“There’s been an intrusion, sir! We have to—”
The man doesn’t have any time to finish his sentence before he’s sent flying to the opposite side of the room. Another man has taken his place on the doorstep— a boy. Black uniform, figure lean, leg still held half-way high in a kick. His face is serious; there’s a smudge of red blood on his cheek, bangs hanging over his eye; his dark hair is tied in a loose bun. Upon seeing Satoru, the boy merely lifts an eyebrow.
“Seriously?”
Satoru shrugs, a smug smile on his face. “Took you long enough, idiot.”
Behind the new-comer, there’s utter silence. But that shouldn’t be right, because there should have been at least fifteen men blocking his way in. Even so, the boy looks unharmed, expression nonchalant on his face as he lowers his leg to stand back on his two feet. Everyone is frozen before him, taking in his confident stance and his relaxed demeanor. Suguru clenches and unclenches his fist a few times. “Wow, cursed energy really doesn’t work in here.” The boy looks around, seemingly counting the men in the room in his mind. When he’s done, he smiles, amused by something, and he lifts his arm halfway, his fingers bending in an open invitation for his enemies to come closer. “Not that it’s a problem. So, who’s next?”
The men come rushing all at once. They don’t go one-on-one, and it’s unfair, but the boy just avoids their blows like he’s moving on a meticulously built choreography. Satoru watches as one of the men falls to the ground, then two.
“Damn brat!” a man throws a punch at Suguru, but he docks it easily, hitting the guy under his chin with his palm open.
“Now, that’s not very nice.” he smiles cockily, knocking another enemy out on the ground.
Satoru finds himself smiling as well. He loves watching Suguru like this. He’s so strong, and unapologetically so. The lack of cursed energy doesn’t stop him, so diligent as he is with training and his studies. Always striving to be the best; shining with confidence and what is but a natural tendency to stand out in the most beautiful of ways.
Suguru is having fun.
And Satoru trusts him. He trusts him with a fire so strong and so warm it threatens to consume him entirely at times. After the kidnappers had mentioned going to the school, Satoru knew Suguru would’ve come for him. The others at Jujutsu Tech would have stalled, maybe; Yaga himself would have preferred to check for solid proof of Satoru’s captivity, before contacting the other clans, and coming up with a plan; he would have made a big deal out of this, honestly, but Suguru is a different story. Suguru thinks fast; acts even faster. Suguru is strong, Suguru is capable, Suguru isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty, if it’s for a righteous cause. More importantly, Suguru cares about him. When it comes to Satoru’s safety, he knows Suguru doesn’t joke around, even when Satoru doesn’t strictly need it. And when he does need it, Suguru is always by his side, lending him a helping hand.
No matter the situation; if Suguru is there, then everything is bound to turn out fine. He’s just that strong. Strong for the weak and the strongest alike.
“Suguru!” he shouts, and Suguru turns just in time to see one of the men trying to stab him. Suguru lets the man’s offending arm slide underneath his armpit instead of colliding with his chest, and he grabs at it, bending it in an unnatural position until his shoulder pops out with a loud crack. The man shouts, writhing in pain, and Suguru picks up the knife from the floor, kicking the same guy in the nose soon after. The latter loses consciousness immediately.
Focused as he is on Suguru, Satoru’s eyes barely notice a man moving to stand behind him. He turns his head to see the same burly man that had punched him earlier with a knife in his hand, crouching down behind his back to use him as a human shield, probably; or maybe threaten Suguru with Satoru’s life. He doesn’t want to guess. Satoru can feel the man’s warm breath on his nape, his hands getting closer to his skin already covered in goosebumps.
The man would have grabbed him again if a dagger hadn’t flown right at his shoulder, digging in deep and making him shout in pain.
“Don’t fucking touch him.” Suguru almost growls, and Satoru pushes himself upward to head-butt his assailant on the nose. He succeeds, apparently, because his head does collide with something, and he hears a thump of someone’s body hitting the ground a moment later.
“Hell yeah! Suguru, did you see it?! One shot!”
“What do you mean ‘one shot’ ? I hit him first.” Suguru groans tiredly, dusting his hands on the large legs of his trousers. The room is silent now. The men at Suguru’s feet are clearly not getting up any time soon. “The knife, remember?”
“It’s not like you knocked him out. I did that.” Satoru sticks out his tongue at him, raising his head so that his nose is perpendicular to the roof, in an act of defiance.
Suguru sighs, then shrugs, getting closer, finally. “It’s whatever, I guess.”
Suguru unties the ropes at his wrists, and Satoru brings his hands back to his chest, clutching at them in pain. The red marks sting. Satoru hopes the burns won’t leave a scar or anything like that; he doesn’t get hurt often, and he’s not sure he knows what kind of wound would be enough to cause a scar. Either way, Shoko will fix it for him, so it’s not a problem. She will scold him for making her work more than necessary - probably - or she’ll make fun of him - surely - but she will still heal him in the end. He just has to make it to the school, and then everything will have been only a bad dream. Something for Satoru to either forget or tuck in his mental drawer of experiences he doesn’t want a remake of.
“I’m tired. Glad to see you still have the energy for this kind of idiocies, though. You could have used that to save yourself.”
“And rob you of the opportunity to play prince in shining armor? I would never do that to you, Suguru-chan.” he smiles.
Suguru chuckles under his breath, shaking his head and walking back around Satoru to sit on the ground in front of him. He scans him carefully, up and down, and his tone is unusually soft when he speaks next. “Are you feeling alright? Any critical wounds?”
Satoru looks down at himself, still clutching at his wrist. “My wrists hurt and my right ankle is busted. But nothing that Shoko can’t fix back home. It’s alright.”
Suguru nods at his words, still seemingly deep in thought.
They stay there in silence for a few seconds, Suguru’s eyes fixed on Satoru’s hands, and Satoru just staring at him. He wants to ask Suguru if he’s alright, if there is anything that he needs to tell him. It looks like Suguru is stalling for something— or maybe he’s waiting? Does Satoru have anything he needs to tell him? He can’t remember. His head is a little fuzzy. His vision, slightly blurry.
A moment later, he sees Suguru reaching out to his face, and Satoru lets him— just before he feels his thumb sliding across Satoru’s upper lip slowly, carefully tracing the bumps of his cupid bow.
Satoru’s breath hitches. He gulps, feeling his heartbeat quicken instantly. He can’t stop staring at Suguru’s amber eyes, his focused expression.
He wants to kiss him.
Satoru wants Suguru to kiss him, just so he can kiss him back.
It’s only once Suguru’s hand leaves his face that Satoru realizes his nose is still bleeding. Suguru was just wiping the blood off his face.
“Oh. Fuck.” he curses, pinching the soft part of his nose with two of his fingers.
Suguru scowls, watching him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”
Satoru just shrugs with a reassuring smile, licking his still bloody lips. “Nah, it’s alright. It hadn’t been that long anyway.” he says. “And what matters is that you’re here, now.”
Suguru still frowns, still looking at him with a pained expression on his face. Even though the fight had been easy, his hair is slightly disheveled now, and he still has that smudge of blood on his cheek. Satoru is afraid it might be inappropriate to say such a thing now, but Suguru looks extremely handsome like this; delicate features heightened by the strands of hair escaping his hair-tie, the thin layer of sweat shining on his cheekbones.
Suguru sighs, deflating like a balloon. Nervous energy seems to leave his system, finally, and he reaches out to place a hand on Satoru’s nape this time, pulling him close until their foreheads bump lightly against each other. It’s a soft headbutt, probably meant to hurt a little bit in reproach but not enough that Satoru doesn’t want the contact to linger. “You should train more. Are you stupid?”
“I know, I know, stop being a pain in the ass about it.” Satoru rolls his eyes at his words, but it’s a half-assed annoyance. He loves Suguru’s fingers on his nape, loves feeling him scratch lightly at the skin there and tangle his fingers through his hair. From so up close, he can see Suguru breathe - his chest going up and down rhythmically - and the frown on his face smoothing out in a serene expression. Satoru loves watching him fight; he loves watching Suguru being confident and cocky and sure of what he’s doing; but nothing ever comes close to this - to the peace on his face when they’re in each other’s arms, like they both belong there. “You don’t need to tell me twice, actually. Can’t have this kind of people thinking they have the upper hand. What a world this has become.”
“I’m serious, Satoru. Those guys were small fries. You have to train more. I’ll even spar with you. That’ll give me a valid reason to beat your lazy ass, at least.”
Satoru gasps, falsely offended. “You’re so rude! I should remind you, I’m injured! Be gentle!”
Suguru rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move from where he’s resting against Satoru’s forehead. He closes his eyelids. “What if it happens again— what if they’re smarter, quicker, what if I can’t come in time, what if I’m not here—”
“What are you talking about? I knew you’d come.” Satoru blinks. “You always do, when I need you, don’t you?”
Suguru sighs again. “Of course I do. But what if—”
“Suguru.” Satoru places both his hands on Suguru’s jaw, cupping his cheeks - silently rejoicing in how they seem to fit perfectly there. He pulls their bodies apart, and Suguru’s motions on his nape come to a halt. Satoru misses his fingers’ light brushing instantly, and he’s almost regretful to have moved at all. Still, he locks his eyes with Suguru’s own, and he speaks, careful to get his message across. “It’s okay, I’m alright. You came to get me, and I’m fine.” he says. Suguru still doesn’t look convinced, looking side-ways at Satoru’s red wrists, and Satoru leans in, giving him a light peck on the lips. “We’re the strongest for a reason, aren’t we? The two of us, together. We cover for each other’s fuck-ups.”
Suguru seems startled at the gesture for a moment - they still have to get the hang of this whole dating thing - but he hushes a little laugh finally, closing his eyes as the corners of his lips curl upwards. “And when have I ever fucked up?”
Oh, Satoru remembers them all. Small, trivial instances that don’t matter in the great scheme of things, but that matter to Satoru. That time Suguru had tripped and fallen face first to the ground, for example; or that time a can of coke had exploded right in his face, soaking him wet, and Satoru had lent him his jacket; and so on. That’s what he tells him, and he laughs obnoxiously both at the memories and at Suguru’s bewildered expression.
“These are like— what do these have to do with anything?! We’re talking about mission related fuck-ups here!” Suguru snaps, incredulous, and Satoru just keeps on giggling, putting up an air of wiseness that clearly doesn’t fit his personality.
“What is life, if not a constant mission”
Suguru deadpans, suddenly looking ten times more tired. “Would you shut up?”
“You know you love it!” Satoru sticks out his tongue again, leaning in to rest his head on Suguru’s shoulder, and that’s it for the day.
After a while, Suguru gets up with a sigh, turning around and crouching down in front of him so that Satoru can climb easily on his back; Satoru does just that, putting his arms around Suguru’s neck and feeling the other’s grip adjusting underneath his thighs. Satoru can smell his shampoo; he can feel the warmth of his body against his own chest. Suguru starts walking, careful not to jostle him too much, and Satoru exhales, resting his head against his shoulder.
“Suguru.”
“Mh?”
“Can we make it so that when you came I had already defeated them all? I don’t want to get a scolding from Yaga.”
Satoru feels more than hears Suguru laugh.
“Absolutely not.”
Satoru sighs.
When they get outside this godforsaken building banning cursed energy, Suguru will probably summon one of his curses, and take them both back to Jujutsu Tech in the blink of an eye. For now, though, Satoru can bask in the comfort of Suguru’s body against his own; he can close his eyes, and listen to him breathe. Satoru takes a deep breath as well, feeling all the accumulated adrenaline fade away.
Finally, he feels his consciousness threatening to slip away, and he lets it; knowing himself to be safe under Suguru’s care.