Chapter Text
Gojo Satoru was many things.
The Strongest.
The head of the Gojo Clan–
Which, in his opinion, was less of an achievement and more of an exhausting administrative curse.
Most of all, he was a man of culture–of luxury, indulgence and entirely necessary materialism.
Tonight, that had all been shoved into an unlabeled box and promptly chucked down thirteen flights of stairs.
Satoru slouched so low in seat F-12 that his knees practically pressed against the row in front of him. He was tall enough that the extra space promised on his ticket meant virtually nothing. His sunglasses were shoved into his leather jacket’s pocket, his hair tucked down under a dark beanie, and a massive bag of sweet toffee popcorn and a large paper cup of Pepsi Max was clutched to his chest.
For the first time in three weeks, nobody was screaming his name, asking for him, or demanding he head overseas for a random mission.
Well. If they were, Ijichi could deal with them.
Tonight, he was just a regular guy, sitting in a dark, mostly-empty indie cinema, waiting for a terrible movie to start.
Specifically, an after midnight screening of Sharkenstein 4: Deep Blue Gore. Satoru loved trashy creature features. The stupider the plot, the less he had to think.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by an upbeat voice.
“Hey, dude, really sorry to do this, but–“
Satoru blinked, looking up.
He really hadn’t expected to be disturbed.
Standing in the aisle was a teen with spiky pink hair, wearing a massive yellow hoodie and jeans. He was holding a greasy bucket of popcorn in one hand and squinted at a crumpled paper ticket in the other.
Even in the dim light, Satoru's eyes caught the odd, vibrant spike of vitality rolling off the kid.
“–I think you’re in my seat,” the kid said, flashing a bright, completely unapologetic smile. “Row F, seat twelve.”
Satoru scoffed and pulled out his own ticket. “Check again, kiddo. I bought this online yesterday. Row F, seat twelve. You’re out of luck.”
The teen leaned over easily, studying Satoru’s ticket. “Huh. Double booked. The cashier lady looked super tired, honestly.” He looked around the theatre.
It was mostly empty, but instead of moving to a different row, the kid just shrugged and sat down right into seat F-11. “I’m Itadori Yūji, by the way. Since we’re seat-buddies now.”
Satoru opened his mouth to tell the kid to scram, but the main lights slammed off, and the opening credits rolled.
Whatever. Companionable silence it was.
He inconspicuously adjusted his beanie and settled in for roughly ninety minutes of pure cinematic nonsense.
Within twenty minutes, Satoru realised Yūji was the absolute best—and worst—person to watch a bad movie with.
He didn’t sit quietly. He leaned in eagerly, completely invested in the ridiculous plot.
“No way,” Yūji whispered loudly as a CGI shark with stitched-together limbs leaped out of a radioactive swamp. “Why does it have a human chainsaw arm? How does it even pull the cord underwater?”
Satoru let out a sharp snort, completely forgetting he was supposed to be hiding. “It’s a mad scientist shark, Yūji. Don’t look for logic. Look at the budget. They clearly spent all of it on the fake blood.”
“It’s awesome!” Yūji grinned, shoving a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. “My grandpa hates these movies. He said they rot your brain, but I think they’re artistic.”
“Your grandpa lacks vision,” Satoru murmured back, offering his own bag. “Sweet for salty?”
“Deal.”
They swapped their snacks just as Yūji gasped with enough force to rattle his bucket of popcorn. “He just axed the street vendor that gave him food when he was starving!”
“Well, that guy was gonna be axed or shot eventually. At least it was by someone he knows.” Satoru chirped back.
Yūji just stared at him with a wide-eyed look of betrayal.
For the next hour, they continued to swap snacks and whispered terrible commentary.
Satoru found himself genuinely laughing—not his usual masked, polite laugh, but a real one. Yūji was bright, completely devoid of malice and oddly easy to exist beside. He didn’t look at Satoru like he was a myth or a weapon. Just a tall guy who liked bad cinema.
A few stragglers at the front gave them a look, but a single, icy glare was enough to stop them.
Somehow, they devolved into a debate on whether Sharkenstein 5 should be a musical and Satoru had ‘accidentally’ flicked a stray piece of popcorn that landed right in Yūji’s pink locks.
The teen looked flabbergasted for all of two seconds before he scooped up a fistful of his own popcorn in retaliation.
“Oh, it’s like that then?” Satoru teased, letting Infinity hum faintly, but not fully engaging it. He was ready to reinforce It if Yūji decided to throw a punch instead of popcorn. It was somewhat careless, but he had the feeling that it wouldn’t come to that.
Satoru shook his bag threateningly.
“You bet, dude!” Yūji whispered back.
Five minutes later, they’re both covered in popcorn kernels and Satoru laughs in delight as Yūji shakes himself off like a puppy that just took a swim.
He can’t remember ever laughing like this, especially with someone he’d just met.
“Guess you won, uh…” Yūji trailed off, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask! What’s your name?”
Satoru ran a hand through his hair and gave Yūji a charming smile, “Gojo Satoru, the tallest, most handsome man in existence.”
Yūji went red at the warm smile directed his way–then immediately bursted out laughing.
“Alright then, tall and handsome, nice to meet you!”
With introductions out the way, they slowly returned their attention to the screen.
Their shared quips continued up until the ending credits. Satoru stretched languidly before he stood up with a sigh.
This was exactly what he needed, a trashy film to numb his brain, an ending so bad it was funny and treats so unhealthy they’d give Nanami an aneurysm.
He glanced over at Yūji who was fixated on every name rolling by and felt his lips twitch.
Not bad company.
“Well, Yūji, I’m headed out. Make sure to throw the trash away.” Satoru smirked as he began to walk away, leaving Yūji with the mess of popcorn they had made.
Instead of chasing after him, Yūji yells back with just as much cheeriness as earlier, “More for me anyway, Gojo-san! Your loss!”
Satoru chuckled into his palm because this kid was really something else.
He raised his hand in response which earned him a hasty call of, “get home safe!”
He paused for half a second.
Then left.
Outside, the bright smattering of stars in the sky that–now served to remind him of a brighter smile–glowed softly.
You, too, Yūji.
The Next Day.
“…Gojo-sensei?” Okkotsu Yuuta asked pensively.
Satoru’s gaze lifted from the sakura tree in full bloom outside the window.
“Yuuta! Got a question for your dear Sensei?”
“I don’t, actually. You just stopped talking mid-sentence and stared at that tree.”
“Yeah, what the hell’s up with you, you blindfolded psycho?” Maki added, less scathing than curious.
Did I?
Hm.
“Aw, kids! Are you worried about me?” Satoru purposely pitched his voice higher and that did the trick of distracting them.
Panda and Yuuta winced instantly. Maki looked ready to pull out Playful Cloud.
“As if! Focus!” Maki snapped.
“I was just admiring the windows. They’re so clean they’re making me sparkle more than usual!” Satoru gushed blithely.
A collective groan echoed through the classroom.
“Okay, Sensei.” Yuuta nodded, unconvinced.
“Great! Back to learning!”
The next three weeks passed in a blur of standard Jujutsu bureaucracy. Satoru exorcised a handful of tedious Grade 1 and Special Grade curses, endured three separate screaming matches with the higher-ups, and casually annoyed his students until Maki threatened to dye his blindfolds neon pink.
It was exactly the kind of routine he usually ignored without a second thought. Except this time, a stray thought kept pulling at the edge of his mind.
After a particularly taxing mission, Satoru arrived back at Jujutsu Technical College grounds late one Thursday evening.
He touched down with a soft groan.
The court was quiet, shadows faint and overcast. All the lights were out and his Six Eyes detected no disturbances. He decided then that the mission report could wait.
Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through the listings and clicked on the showing of Zombie Sim II.
It had been three weeks since his last midnight movie escapade. Perfect timing.
And if he happened to think about a certain pink-haired kid—
No. He didn’t.
It was just a plus.
Three weeks wasn’t long.
He’d gone longer without seeing people he actually liked.
Not that he liked the kid.
He was just… entertaining.
Refreshingly normal in a way most people weren’t.
That wasn’t the same thing.
Besides, buying almost the whole row wasn’t some grand romantic gesture.
It just meant nobody would complain when he laughed too loudly.
Seat eleven remained untouched.
Entirely because buying every seat would’ve looked strange.
Satoru arrived in time, the trailers had just started and soon the lights would dim.
Despite this being a busier showing than Sharkenstein 4, Satoru was successfully able to buy out the entirety of Row F–excluding seat 11.
Just in case.
It would be wildly coincidental, after all.
If it could happen to someone though, it would definitely be Gojo Satoru.
The trailers came and went.
The lights dimmed.
No pink hair.
Satoru didn’t look at the screen.
Instead, his gaze drifted to the left, fixing entirely on the empty cushion of seat eleven.
Beneath his sunglasses, the Six Eyes passively mapped out the space. He could feel the exact density of the fabric, the faint, lingering scent of stale butter from some previous stranger, and the absolute, echoing absence of the vibrant vitality he had encountered three weeks ago.
Satoru let his head drop back against the headrest. The movie audio swelled—a loud, obnoxious chainsaw revving over a techno beat—but it felt flat without a loud, energetic teen whispering questions into his ear about structural logic.
Satoru settled lower into his seat with a quiet click of his tongue.
Figures.
It had been a coincidence the first time.
He wasn’t—
“Uh… excuse me?”
The voice cut through the cinematic gunfire, somewhat questioning and entirely unmistakable.
He looked up.
Pink hair.
Oversized red hoodie.
Slightly out of breath, clutching an aggressively oversized bucket of sweet treats to his chest like a shield.
Yūji blinked down the length of the empty row before looking back at Satoru. “Did somebody seriously buy this entire row?”
Satoru didn’t even think to hesitate. “I like the leg room.”
Yūji looked at the dozens of empty seats. “All of it?”
“Growing boy.”
Yūji’s nose scrunched up like he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. “…You’re a grown man, though?”
Satoru pouted almost on cue, “I’m twenty six.”
“Oh.”
A beat.
“…That’s still not growing.”
Satoru gasped dramatically. “I can’t believe you’d attack me like this.”
Yūji threw his head back and laughed joyfully. “There he is.”
The words slipped out so naturally that Satoru almost missed them.
“So, you did come back.”
“Yep! I’ve been waiting to see this!” Yūji plopped into seat eleven, balancing the aggressively oversized bucket of sweet treats on his knees.
“So…”
“Hm?”
“I’ve been wondering something.”
Satoru smiled. “Dangerous pastime.”
Yūji pointed in his general direction. “Do you always wear sunglasses indoors?”
Satoru paused. “Not always. I wear blindfolds, too.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Talk about over sharing.
Yūji openly stared. “That somehow raises more questions.”
“It should.”
“You gonna answer any of them?”
“Nope.”
“Huh.” Yūji shrugged with alarming ease and reached into his pile of chocolate and candy. “Cool.”
That…
Wasn’t the reaction Satoru had expected.
Most people either pried, got nervous, or recognised him on the spot.
Yūji had accepted “I wear blindfolds sometimes” with the same energy someone might reserve for hearing a stranger preferred Pepsi over Coke.
Somehow, that was infinitely stranger.
Satoru liked strange.
The first time the poorly constructed, looks-like-a-soleless-shoe zombie gorilla-ostrich showed up on screen Yūji laughed so hard that he doubled over, nearly dropping his sweets.
It wasn’t polite laughter.
Or restrained.
It was loud enough that the two people in the front row turned around with matching looks of annoyance.
Yūji noticed immediately, ducking his head with an apologetic grin before whispering an exaggerated, “Sorry!”
Satoru found himself smiling before he realised he was doing it.
The teen laughed with his entire body.
It was… nice.
“So, Gojo-san, you came back, too?” Yūji asked, shifting so his body was angled towards Satoru.
“Well, yeah.” Satoru cleared his throat. “Guess I did.”
Funny.
Three weeks ago, he’d come here to avoid thinking.
Now, there was someone worth thinking about.
Satoru hated how ridiculously pleased that made him.
“Doesn’t coming to these late shows make you tired for school, Yūji-kun?”
Satoru wasn’t prying per se–just making small talk. As you do in a cinema, of course.
“Nah, I just turned eighteen, so school’s basically over anyway!” Yūji shrugged again, giving him a quick thumbs-up. “Besides, I’ve always got way too much energy. Late shows are the best.”
“Hmm, if you say so."
“What about you? Don’t you get tired? You’ve got an important job, right? It seems like it.”
Huh.
That would be an understatement. Sure, he’s only responsible for the entirety of the world of Sorcerors.
“You could say that.”
Yūji stared like he was waiting for more so Satoru opted to extend a branch this once.
“I’m a teacher.”
“A teacher?” Yūji repeated, looking Satoru up and down with exaggerated suspicion.
“Mm.”
“You don’t seem like one.”
Satoru placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “That’s incredibly offensive.”
“I’m serious!” Yūji chuckled quietly. “You look like the kind of guy that gets banned from amusement parks for encouraging kids to jump over safety rails.”
“That was only once."
Yūji furrowed his brows.
“Fine, it was twice.” Satoru sniffed and tilted his chin up like a particularly disgruntled bird.
“Wait, seriously?”
“No.” The sorcerer deadpanned. He attempted to hold in his laughter at the teen's guileless expression.
A beat of pure silence stretched between them.
Yūji let out a weak huff and rubbed his forehead. “I genuinely couldn’t tell."
“I get that a lot.”
There was an obnoxious explosion on the screen that was more smoke out of fans than actual combustion that gripped their attention for a second.
Yūji popped another chocolate into his mouth before he glanced sideways. “If you’re a teacher…”
“Mhm.”
“Do your students know you wear sunglasses during midnight zombie movies?”
Satoru smiled lazily. Megumi definitely knew and Satoru has had to endure countless judgmental glares because of it.
“Better than wearing a blindfold.”
“Fair.”
“Besides, I have an image to maintain.”
“Cool?”
“Exactly.”
“I wasn’t agreeing.” Yūji paused, a gummy snake held up to his lips.
“You will.”
The conversation drifted naturally after that.
Yūji somehow managed to spend five uninterrupted minutes passionately explaining why bad movies were more fun than good ones.
Satoru wasn’t entirely sure when he’d stopped watching the movie.
According to Yūji, good films wanted to make you think.
Bad films wanted you to cheer when a zombie exploded because someone hit it with a surfboard.
“They’re honest,” Yūji concluded with complete conviction.
Satoru chuckled under his breath. “That…”
“Yeah?”
“…might actually be the smartest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Yūji beamed. “I know.”
Satoru grinned back softly, stealing a surreptitious glance at the half empty box on Yūji’s lap.
Yūji reached over without looking, his knuckles lightly brushed against Satoru’s sleeve. He held out his palm, offering a few vibrant blue gummy sharks. “Peace offering,” Yūji whispered.
“For what?” Satoru raised an eyebrow, looking from the candy up to Yūji’s profile.
“You looked like you wanted one.”
Satoru hadn’t.
At least, he didn’t think he had.
But looking at the small offering in the dim light of the theatre, his chest felt oddly light.
“Thanks, Yūji-kun.”
Yūji simply shrugged before stealing one back out of Satoru’s hand.
“Actually, never mind.”
“Hey.” Satoru pursed his lips before he thought better of it. It would probably be better to not start another food fight, so he’d take what he could get.
Yūji leaned back in his seat, still smiling at whatever ridiculous scene was playing on the screen.
His laughter had already settled into the easy sort that came from feeling comfortable around someone.
Satoru looked at him for a second longer than he probably should have.
Weird kid.
It had been a long time since someone had made ordinary feel this fun.
Then the lights flickered.
Somewhere near the front of the theatre, something wet dripped onto the carpet.
Satoru’s attention sharpened instantly.
It wasn’t unusual for old cinemas to collect curses.
Usually, they were interested in feeding on stale fear than causing trouble.
This one…
Felt hungry.
Then, right as a plane-filled with zombies from Mexico was about to crush the White House, the atmosphere in the theatre shifted.
The air grew heavy, freezing, and thick. Normal people wouldn’t notice the change in pressure, but Satoru’s Six Eyes flared to life.
Definitely a curse.
It wasn’t a strong one—maybe a Grade 3. It slithered out from beneath the front row, a shambling knot of moldy popcorn bags, spilled soda cups, and far too many teeth. creeping up the wall toward the screen.
Satoru sighed internally, lifting a single index finger to flick a minuscule spark of Blue to obliterate it before the teen next to him noticed.
But Yūji was already moving.
"Whoa, watch out!" Yūji yelled, his voice echoing over the movie audio.
Before Satoru could even process the sheer speed of the movement, Yūji lunged out of his seat. He didn't run toward the exit. He bolted toward the screen where the curse was anchoring itself.
The lone man in the middle row raised an eyebrow, but like everyone else turned back to the movie which was reaching it’s peak.
However, Satoru’s jaw went slack. The kid’s body wasn’t radiating the deliberate, controlled cursed energy of a sorcerer. He had already concluded that Yūji couldn’t fully see curses.
But maybe he could sense them.
Yūji didn't have a weapon. He didn't know Jujutsu or any techniques. But he had an empty, grease-stained cardboard bucket of popcorn.
With a terrifying burst of pure physical strength, Yūji launched himself off the back of a front-row seat, soaring through the air. He slammed the cardboard bucket directly over the curse’s main cluster of eyes like a makeshift muzzle, channeling a raw, instinctual pulse of cursed energy right through the cardboard.
CRUNCH.
The bucket crumpled. The curse didn't even have time to shriek before Yūji’s fist followed, aiming wildly at a curse he couldn’t perceive.
Missing the core didn’t deter him in the slightest and he punched in whatever direction he thought the creature was hiding.
That shouldn’t be possible.
Satoru finally stopped watching. A silent flicker of Blue erased the curse before it could fully form, leaving absolutely nothing behind.
Yūji landed gracefully on his feet in the aisle, shaking his hand out. He looked down at his ruined bucket, completely devastated. "Aw, man. I didn't even get to eat the ones at the bottom."
Satoru sat in row F, staring intently at the pink-haired teenager. “Interesting.”
Who the hell was this kid?
Yūji turned back around, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he looked up at Satoru. "Sorry about that! Thought there was a massive bug or something. Or maybe it was just some real high tech CGI. Did any of the snacks get on your clothes?"
Slowly, a massive, brilliant grin spread like a paint spill across Satoru’s face. He pulled off his beanie, letting his stark white hair spill out and his vivid blue eyes locked onto the boy with predatory interest.
The kid didn't have a drop of proper training as a sorcerer, but his physical prowess was monstrous.
Well, the white-haired sorcerer thought, a slow, dangerous spark of excitement lighting up his chest, My night just became a lot more interesting.
“Yūji,” Satoru all but purred. The name felt heavy on his tongue. He paused, tilting his head to catch the boy’s gaze. “What exactly have you been doing that makes you so…” He leaned in close, letting the silence stretch for dramatic effect.“…athletic?”
His heart was racing at the sheer novelty of it all—at meeting this kind, deceivingly normal teenager who possessed the physical power to rival a Grade 1 sorcerer while being completely untrained.
Yūji flushed at his tone and looked down at his own hands. "I've always been kinda strong. I broke a world record in middle school for the shot put, but my coach thought the machine was broken so they didn't count it."
Satoru let out a loud, delighted bark of laughter, slamming his hand on the armrest. "They thought the machine was broken! Oh, that's priceless."
He leaned back, crossing his arms and looking at Yūji with a deeply intrigued expression. The higher-ups would absolutely lose their minds if they found a kid like this. They’d want him cataloged, monitored, or worse.
But Satoru had found him first. And Satoru had absolutely no intentions of letting them get their hands on him.
"Tell you what, Yūji," Satoru said, his voice dropping into a tone that was entirely too playful for a man talking about monsters. "How would you like a second job? You keep watching bad movies with me. I’ll teach you exactly what kind of monsters lurk in the dark."
Yūji stared thoughtfully at the ending credits for a second, then turned back to Satoru. "Only if you offer to pay for the snacks every second movie.”
"You’ve got yourself a deal, Yūji-kun." Satoru grinned.