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Yuuta jogs back towards their base under the light of the moon. The rush of blood in his veins is enough to numb the quiet thrum of anxiety in the back of his throat, the nervous thing that's been growing with every passing day that brings them closer to December 24.
He's only a few minutes out when Yuuta spots him. Gojo-sensei isn't making any attempt to hide, his long arms sprawled out across the back of a sidewalk bench. His head is tipped back, angled up towards the sky, and the pale white of his hair lends an otherworldly aura to his figure in the dark of the night, straddling the line between here and not.
Gojo waves a lazy hand in his direction just as Yuuta takes a breath to call him. The air leaves his lungs slowly, and he makes his way over to the man with unhurried steps.
"Couldn't sleep?" Sensei asks when he draws close enough. He's still gazing upwards as Yuuta starts his stretches to cool down, though whether the man is looking at the moon or the stars or the blank background of space is anyone's guess.
"No," Yuuta answers honestly. "Not tonight." He notes the dark circles under Gojo-sensei's eyes, almost as bad as his own, and doesn't manage to bite back his curiosity in time. "You?"
Gojo's smile is wry. "Not at all," he says, frivolous and cheerful and still somehow missing the mark of what Yuuta remembers of him from before—before Shibuya, before the Prison Realm, before everything went to hell in a handbasket. Gojo gestures to the side with a jerk of his head. "Sit down. I've got something for you."
Yuuta sits with cautious interest. "For me? Really?" He's seen this man's idea of souvenirs before, so his expectations aren't high. "It's not something weird, is it?"
Gojo ignores his questions as he rummages around in his pants pocket, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. "Aha! Here we are!"
The item that he waves triumphantly in the air is small and wrapped in talismans, and he immediately starts picking away at the papers before Yuuta can get a better look. It's obvious when the seal begins to break, as the cursed energy that oozes from the object is nothing but pure evil.
Familiar pure evil.
Yuuta's hand curls into a fist against his thigh as the wrappings come undone. "Is that...?"
"Yep." Gojo uncovers a wrinkled lump of red flesh, tipped at the end with a sharp, black nail. "Sukuna's finger. Probably the last one now, knowing that guy."
Yuuta rubs a hand against the back of his head. He says, "Admittedly not the best present I've ever gotten."
Gojo gasps with exaggerated offense, and he uses the finger to repeatedly jab Yuuta in the chest.
"Ow! Hey, that's sharp!"
"This is for you to Copy, you know! Because your Great Teacher Gojo is always thinking about his students—"
Yuuta snatches the thing away before it can poke any more holes in his shirt. "This is really about Itadori-kun, isn't it?" he accuses.
Gojo freezes.
"Ah." Oops. As obvious as Gojo-sensei's blatant favoritism may be, there are still some things that are better left unsaid. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Forget I said that." Awkwardly, Yuuta clears his throat. "Thank you for the finger, Sensei," he tries, taking care to be extra polite. "I'm sure this will be very useful in—"
"No, you—" Gojo's sigh explodes out of him, long and loud. "You're not wrong."
Yuuta watches in silence as Gojo digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Exhaustion settles heavy on his shoulders, something Yuuta's only seen melt away in the presence of his last remaining kouhai.
"There's a part of me," Gojo says, "that can't help but hope." His fingers slide up into his hair, gripping tight. "Even when, time and time again, the world shows me that I shouldn't. That I should be practical. And I am. But still I..."
"I don't think that's wrong," Yuuta offers. "Having hope. Especially in our line of work."
Gojo's hands drop to his lap. He nods his head at the finger. "I picked that up the day Yuuji died, maybe just a few hours before I got the call. I remember thinking then that I could keep his execution on hold, indefinitely, if I just—I don't know—kept that hidden in my pocket or something." He laughs once, a short exhale of air, humorless. "Even knowing exactly who I was dealing with. Even after they proved to me how little their words mattered. I still hoped."
He raises a single index finger, and the discarded talisman papers start to converge at his fingertip, coalescing smaller and smaller. "Sometimes," Gojo says, and his voice is low and shaking with unmistakable fury, "I really think I should've killed them all that day."
Yuuta wonders if clearing out the last of the higher-ups—all Kenjaku's lackeys—had helped, or if the act had only weighed on Gojo as another regret. "Sensei..."
Eventually the little ball of talismans disappears into nothing, and Gojo's finger retreats. "Even now," he murmurs, "I hope."
There's a lot to hope for, Yuuta knows, about their upcoming battle and their numerous backup plans. And he knows just as well that none of that is what Gojo's talking about now.
"You're right," Gojo says, and he turns to meet his gaze. The direct, full force of the uncovered Six Eyes is a shock of cold water down Yuuta's spine. "This is about Yuuji. Because like hell am I going to give anyone a chance to fuck over his life again when all of this is over with."
Yuuta looks down at the finger in his grasp, waxy and foul. Honestly, he has no earthly idea how Itadori managed to swallow over a dozen of these things. But this is the last one, and it's a burden that Yuuta can easily shoulder.
"Sorry, Yuuta-kun," Gojo-sensei says, soft. "I have to ask for your help one last time."
Yuuta shakes his head. There are words stuck in his throat that he doesn't quite know how to say, about how Gojo Satoru's singular strength doesn't mean he has to do everything alone. But the words never form, so instead he says nothing, nothing at all. At last, he slips his ring off the chain on his neck and onto his finger.
"Come, Rika."