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Chapter Text

A searing heat blazes across Aizawa's cheek, crisping a few hairs and narrowly missing him as he dodges out of the way of the flamethrower-swinging villain and leaps atop a low wall.

"That was a warning!" the man shouts, as if his arms aren't visibly trembling and his voice quaking in exhaustion. Aizawa releases his quirk for a second just to roll his eyes. The villain has barely been holding out against him this whole time, and Aizawa's been going easy on him too. It would be easier for both of them if he came quietly, but no, no-one wants to make things easier for Aizawa and the bastard had pulled out a flamethrower on him after he'd cancelled his quirk. It was something pretty basic: teleportation, Aizawa thinks. Anyway, where the hell had he gotten a flamethrower? If he could get his hands on a flamethrower, couldn't he just get a gun?

Fucking idiot villains, ruining his morning. He'd gone out for some milk.

"Last chance! Back off and let me go and I won't have to hurt you!" 

With a smooth flip, Aizawa jumps off the wall and lands in a crouch beside the man, who swings around with the flamethrower pointed at him. Before he can let the flames loose on him, Aizawa sweeps his legs out under him, and watches boredly as he tumbles down, slamming the back of his head nastily and laying there, utterly burnt out (haha). Wasting no time, the flamethrower is pulled off of him, and his wrists are fastened together.

Getting to his feet and brushing himself down, Aizawa eyes the villain, lips turned downwards in disdain. 

"My daughter is waiting for me to bring home milk so she can eat her Coco Pops," he says flatly, feeling no pity as the villain groans and squirms in pain. "You wasted my whole morning."  

He dials Tsukauchi's number, eyeing the man on the ground. The detective picks up on the fifth ring. 

"Hello?"

"It's me, Aizawa. Got a villain on my hands, I'll send you my location. Found him trying to smuggle what look like quirk-related drugs, and apprehended him and he pulled a flamethrower on me."

"A—" Coughing ensues, followed by what sounds suspiciously like stifled laughter. "Sorry, my coffee went the wrong way. Great start to your day, huh?"

"Choke on your coffee and die," Aizawa deadpans, and Tsukauchi laughs again. 

"Alright, Eraser. I'm sending people your way right now. I'm assuming the villain's secure?"

Aizawa glances at the man, who's curled up, looking very sorry for himself. "Yeah."

"Great. We'll be with you in a bit." The call turns off. 

Sighing, Aizawa shoves his phone in his pocket. A couple more minutes, then he can go down to the store and get that damn carton of milk. Hizashi was supposed to buy groceries this week but he'd been really busy with some project planning for the radio, and between that and Aizawa's equally busy schedule and problem children, no-one had bought the groceries. He'd woken Eri up, brushed her teeth, plopped her down in her seat, poured Coco Pops into a bowl, then opened the fridge to be greeted with half a head of lettuce and a pungent box of whatever leftovers Hizashi had thrown in there and forgotten about. Delightful. 

He's considering whether to call Hizashi and tell him to take Eri to a nearby cafe for breakfast when the man groans, louder than before. 

"Shut up," Aizawa snaps, pulling his phone out once more and scrolling to find Hizashi's number. The man doesn't, and this time the noise he makes is guttural and coarse.

A sliver of confusion slips in, and Aizawa frowns at the man, before doing a double take at his rapidly reddening face and the veins bulging in his forehead. 

"What the fu—" he begins, capture tape rising on reflex, when the man darts up, catching Aizawa off guard. His outstretched hands, still tied together, reach for his exposed wrist and grip down. 

Pressure builds in Aizawa's skull and he gasps, yanking his hand back and cancelling the villain's quirk. But the damage has been done. The man grins maniacally at him and kicks a small syringe where he had been lying. 

Quirk enhancer, Aizawa realises, much too late. He'd probably had a couple stashed in his pockets. 

The man laughs as Aizawa stumbles and falls on his knees, the pressure in his brain making his vision white out. His face burns: it feels like his skin is melting off like hot wax, his eyes are bleeding, brain fluid gushing out his nose and ears—

Teleportation? Enhanced teleportation? Is he about to be teleported to the bottom of the sea? He tries to get to his feet, his head weighing a ton, but the man kicks his chest hard, enough to slam him back into the wall that crumbles behind him. 

He coughs and a feels a glob of spit (blood? both?) stick to his chin. An agonising breath in, his head swims, and—

Darkness.

Gojo Satoru is out shopping with his students today. Hey, they deserve it! The trio have been through a bunch and need some well-deserved relaxation time!

Though what with Nobara terrorising the other two (check: Yuuji. Megumi isn't one to let himself be bullied into manual labour) into holding her bags, maybe he should find something else that's entertaining for all his students.

"How about we go see the new Spiderman movie, guys?" he calls, clapping his hands together and grinning at the trio. Megumi gives him a dead glare, Nobara squints suspiciously, and only Yuuji gasps in excitement despite his face being obscured by the twenty or so bags he has balanced in front of it.

"No Way Home? Hell yeah, I've wanted to watch that for ages, but jujutsu stuff keeps coming in the way!" he yelps, jiggling the bags around so he can stare wide-eyed at Gojo. "Do you know how hard it's been avoiding spoilers?! I even unfollowed a bunch of accounts just in case!"

"Well then, what do you say, Megumi, Nobara?" 

Megumi shrugs noncommittally, and Gojo has to hide a smirk (unsuccessfully. Not that he was really trying), knowing the boy would fall over himself to see Yuuji smile for any reason. 

A slow smile crawls onto Nobara's face, eyebrows rising up her forehead, and in that moment, no power on Earth, not even Gojo, could have stopped her as she turned sweetly to Yuuji and said, "Aunt May dies."

A beat. And then all the bags in Yuuji's arms drop down to the ground, and he follows, head bowed, shoulders shaking. 

"Nobara!" Megumi shouts, just as Nobara screeches, "My stuff!"

She dives down to grab her bags up, and Megumi slaps the back of her head sharply, ignoring her angered yells to bend down awkwardly next to Yuuji and pat his back.

"Don't worry, they're just fictional characters," he says earnestly, and even Gojo winces when Yuuji stares wildly at him, eyes glistening. 

"Just fictional characters, Fushiguro? Just—"

He buries his face in his hands as Megumi's face falls and he looks pleadingly up at Gojo, who's been spectating the chaos like a newly-crowned king would his begging citizens, or like, well, like a father would watch his children, slowly losing hope in the rose-tinted ideal of raising children he'd had.

"Do you not wanna see the movie then, Yuuji?" he prods, hoping to bring the broken boy back to life. "You don't know how she dies, do you?"

Yuuji wails incoherently, and Gojo spectates in mild amusement. "I'll take that as a 'yeah, I wanna see the movie'." Throwing his arms out, he waves them brightly over his disaster students who he's embarrassingly fond of, in all honesty. "C'mon, grab your things. There's a cinema inside, I checked the movie times this morning. If we hurry we can catch the 3pm showing."

Nobara huffs, stuffing the last skirt into a bag, and hoisting them all over her own shoulder. "Sure, I haven't actually watched it yet."

Yuuji, still crumpled on the ground, looks up at her slowly. Megumi edges away, recognising murderous intent when he sees it. 

"Kugisaki," Yuuji says, voice low. "I'm gonna send Maki-senpai screenshots of last night's conversation."

Nobara tenses, and whirls round, hair falling out of place. "Itadori. You wouldn't."

Yuuji gets to his feet and brushes his knees down, head still lowered. 

"Itadori!" Nobara barks, beginning to look frantic. 

Even though he could probably take a pretty solid guess as to what was said—Nobara's sickeningly lovestruck sighs every time Maki was nearby didn't leave much room for question—she did just give Yuuji spoilers for a movie he was excited for. She deserves to squirm a little. "What did she say, Yuuji?" Gojo inquires, feigning innocent curiosity and convincing no-one.

Yuuji doesn't turn from Nobara, who's taking all her bags off carefully before she beats up Yuuji. "Should I start with the G-rated stuff or get straight into the detailed—" 

Nobara screams and propels herself onto him, and the two start scrapping like strays in the middle of the shopping centre, fists flying everywhere. Megumi ducks away, face bright pink, while Gojo immediately pulls out his phone and starts recording, adding a couple hollers for effect and waving away all concerned passer-bys.

He lets them exhaust themselves then strides in and grabs them both by the scruffs of their necks, pulling them apart. 

"Done?" he says cheerfully. Nobara wipes the blood trickling out her nose with her sleeve and sticks her tongue out. Yuuji kicks her shin and she makes a choked noise in her throat before trying to lunge forward for him again, restrained by Gojo's unrelenting grip. "The movie starts in 10 minutes, guys. This is hilarious and all, but I don't wanna miss seeing that hot Andrew Spiderguy, okay? Finish this later."

He dumps them both down, and brushes his hands together, starting briskly in the direction of the cinema. 

"Gojo-sensei," Megumi calls tiredly once he's gotten a short distance away. He turns and sees the other two apparently having made up, skipping in the opposite direction to him. "The cinema is the other way."

They get there eventually, after taking a small detour to buy snacks. They shove them inside their jackets and pass into the cinema easily, settling down, and trading snacks as they wait for it to start. 

The movie's in full swing (pun absolutely intended) when Gojo feels the first twinge behind his eyes. It's so small he hardly notices it himself, fully absorbed in the movie, until it happens again, sharp enough that his eyes twitch. He furrows his brow and tugs his blindfold up, rubbing them with the heels of his hands. It doesn't help and only serves to worsen it. He squirms in his seat, avoiding touching his eyes but unsure how to make it stop. He's used to pain, of course, but usually he locates the source and fucking destroys it as quickly as he can, be it a person, curse, or anything else. He just can't figure out what the issue is right now. 

Nobara is the first to notice him fidgeting.

"Gojo-sensei?" she frowns, looking at him carefully. "Are you alright?"

Gojo smiles brightly at her, but the act alone makes two knife-sharp stabs strike from within, and he flinches violently, hissing despite himself. The other two look at him too, concern written over their faces. They aren't supposed to be concerned about Gojo, they're supposed to be having a good time.

Gritting his teeth, Gojo shoots them another tight-lipped smile, flapping his hand both to urge them to watch what's onscreen and to stop worrying about him. They lean back unsurely, glancing at him every few seconds, and Gojo's on the brink of threatening them to leave the cinema, when the pain increases tenfold without warning and his skull feels like it's being squeezed like a soda can. He gasps shakily, clutching onto the armrests with white knuckled fingers. At this point, none of them are focusing on the movie, alarm only growing with the growing torment.

"Gojo-sensei!" Yuuji whisper-shouts, and Gojo opens his mouth to reply when the pain swallows his head whole and he feels himself drop.

Did he shove the flamethrower down my throat? is the first thing Aizawa thinks when he's capable of stringing more than two thoughts together that aren't AAAAAAAAAAAAA. It sure feels like he did. Pinpricks of pain scuttle under his skin, a curious sensation to say the least. What exactly had the man done? He's probably in a different continent or something.

Sighing deeply, Aizawa rubs the bridge of his nose, too tired to face whatever he's going to see when he opens his eyes. 

Or he tries to. His hands are tied behind his back. 

He opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the darkness. Darkness? He'd been in an alley, but it had been mid-morning. Has he been moved somewhere? How long has he been out, even? 

"What," he hears, and he turns sharply in the direction where the voice came from. "What the fuck. Who the fuck are you." 

A young voice. Female. Accomplices? 

No. They'd know who he was in that case, surely. 

The girl is back-lit by a very bright light source. In fact, there's two others beside her, fists raised uncertainly. He can't see their faces, but their body language displays confusion rivalling Aizawa's own. 

He decides to answer. He doesn't know how strong they are, how old and experienced they are, what their quirks are. He focuses Erasure on the girl, just in case. 

"I could ask the same," he says flatly, working on the bonds behind his back as discreetly as he can. If it comes to it, he'll fight them, get out of here, wherever here is, and work from there. 

One of the figures beside the girl moves forward, light falling across his features. He's young, around the same age as his students, with black hair spiked up in smooth curves. Wearing a uniform? He can't recognise it though. 

"Answer properly," he says, and Aizawa is momentarily taken aback by the tone of his voice and his expression. It's nothing like how he'd expect a kid his age to act. It's way too mature, way too controlled. 

Reminds him a bit of Todoroki. 

He sighs and shrugs. "Listen, I don't know anymore than you seem to. I—" 

The boy interrupts him, voice somehow becoming deadlier than before. "Lie and I'll take your arm off." Not a hint of threat. It's a fact. "Where's Gojo-sensei."

He has to keep this situation under control. They may be kids, but there's something very off about them. None of them had reacted in the slightest when hit with his quirk. Usually they feel the absence and react, whether they're using their quirks or not. 

He doesn't like this. Something's wrong. He shifts, focusing on himself. He can feel his phone in his pocket, and his capture tape is still around his neck. They hadn't even gotten rid of them. Are they amateurs? But everything about them screams the opposite. 

"Listen, kid," he says calmly, relaxing his shoulders to appear less threatening, but fingers still moving deftly behind his back. "I went out to get milk. Ended up fighting a villain. Thought I'd had him secured, but he broke out and hit me with his quirk. It knocked me out, I passed out presumably, and now I'm here. I have no reason to hurt you, unless you intend to hurt me. Maybe you could fill in the blanks for me, because I'm really not sure what happened in between."

The third figure finally moves forward too, and the first noticeable thing about him is his peachy-pink hair. He also has some deep-looking scars under both his eyes. Could be to do with his quirk. Or not, and these kids are victims. 

Whatever it is, he can't figure it out from where he's sitting. Rough carpet rubs his knuckles and a musty sweet smell permeates through the air. It's a familiar smell, but Aizawa can't place his finger on it. His eyes have begun adjusting to the dark, enough for him to see the deep frown on the girl's face, eyebrows lowered and arms folded imperiously. 

The peachy haired kid speaks up, eyes not leaving Aizawa's. "I think we should call Nanami-san."

"Let's knock him up a bit first, hah?" the girl snarls, pulling out some nails and a hammer from her pocket, which is incredibly unnerving. All these kids look like they're very capable. Aizawa doesn't know how or why, or what they're planning, what's happening, but he certainly isn't staying here and expecting the answers to run up to him. 

He tugs sharply and the ropes rip off, and without hesitating, he activates his capture tape and swings up to the closest high point he can find. 

He's totally disoriented for a second, blinded by bright light. Where the hell—

The light source… is a huge screen. He's right next to some massive, currently off speakers. He stares at the screen, paused on a snapshot of a teen in a bright, skin-tight suit, bewilderment only increasing. 

He's in a cinema. Why is he in a cinema? 

His thoughts are cut off by the pink-haired kid practically teleporting in front of him and slamming a fist straight into his face. 

How fast— Aizawa barely manages to think before he flies into the wall, leaving a him-shaped dent in it and only just managing to swing himself up before he leaves another him-shaped dent in the floor too. 

He takes a moment to readjust his estimations of the strength of the trio. "I didn't want it to come to this," he coughs, wincing as the metallic taste of blood spreads within his mouth. "I don't like hitting kids."

The black-haired kid stands in front of the screen and raises his hands, making a series of quick movements. Aizawa doesn't hear what he says over the distance, but he tries to cancel his quirk. Fruitless, again. A large owl forms out of thin air and swoops towards Aizawa, who barely manages to escape in time, so thrown by his quirk failing him. 

They're immune to his quirk? What are they? 

The peachy-haired kid darts out, but Aizawa spots him in time, and shoots his capture tape towards him, encircling his arm and dragging him into the air. The kid yelps, but grabs onto the tape and in a single, sharp move, rips it straight down, freeing his arm and landing perfectly on the edge of a seat.

What. The fuck. 

The momentary distraction from that raw display of power is enough for the owl to claw across his legs, spurting blood out. He stumbles in shock, aiming his quirk at it again.

The bird swoops closer but this time goes for his head. He rolls out of the way and quickly looks around himself. Peachy-haired kid is standing just below him, fists raised and face neutral. The black-haired one is still where he was when he created (spawned? where did the owl come from?) the owl. He can't see the girl. Peachy-haired kid is obviously good at close-range, he's not too sure about the girl and what her quirk or power is, but the black-haired one seems more suited for fighting further away. 

Aizawa shoots his capture tape out and swings directly towards him, aiming to get a hit to the head, hopefully incapacitating him, and then he can deal with the others. 

The kid doesn't move, only grins, and Aizawa only has a moment to feel his stomach sink before agony rips through his body for the second time that day, muscles clenching and contracting out of his control. He releases his capture tape and thuds heavily onto the floor at the black-haired kid's feet, fighting the urge to roll up. Biting his tongue so hard it bleeds, he snaps his hand out and catches the kid in surprise. He trips and falls over, and Aizawa takes the chance to grab him and face the peachy-haired kid with a threatening hand around the other one's neck, and one hand holding his other two behind his back. 

The neutrality in the kid's face disappears, replaced with sheer rage that seems to bleed into their environment. 

"Let him go. I'm only saying it once!" he yells, getting into a fighting stance and glaring at Aizawa. Once more, Aizawa is struck by the level of power and experience these kids appear to have. What the hell have they been through? 

"I didn't start this," Aizawa grunts, pain still coursing through him. Outside source. Where's the girl? Is this her quirk? "Let me go and I'll leave him without a scratch."

"Kugisaki!" the peachy-haired boy calls, and another harsh twist of agony stabs into him. He takes a shaky breath in and stares the kid down. 

"I don't want to hurt kids. I'm a teacher. I don't know how I got here, but I need to return. This isn't fun for either of us." 

"What did you do to Gojo-sensei?" the black-haired boy growls, not bothering to struggle in Aizawa's grip. It's clear they all think they have the upper-hand. And to be perfectly fair, even if Aizawa hadn't been holding back and confused by the situation, he certainly wouldn't have come out of the fight unharmed. 

"I don't know who your Gojo-sensei is. My name is Aizawa Shouta, I have no intentions to hurt you, and I just need to get back to where I came from." 

The peachy-haired kid falters for a moment. This will either work, or he'll get beat up again, but Aizawa doesn't have many choices. Mentally crossing his fingers, he releases the black-haired kid and moves back, hands up in a sign of trustworthiness. The kid throws a cold glance over his shoulder and steps next to the peachy-haired one, arms folded. Peachy-hair chews his lip, eyes darting between Aizawa and the other kid unsurely, knees slightly bent in the tension of the room. Aizawa doesn't move from where he is, hands open next to his shoulders like they're easily frightened animals.

There's a crash in which all three flinch, and then the girl—Kugisaki?—suddenly leaps out from behind the entrance. She strides over, eyes locked with Aizawa's, and holds up a doll with one hand, and a nail with the other. 

"You got one chance to explain yourself," she spits, standing on the other side of Peachy-hair. "If it's a stupid explanation I stab you. How about that?" 

Teenagers. The same wherever you are. Resisting the urge to scoff a little, Aizawa talks slowly. "As I said, I was fighting a villain when—" 

"The fuck is this villain shit?" she interrupts, pressing the nail against the doll's neck. An involuntary shiver passes through Aizawa, and he stops, not sure how to carry on. 

"You don't know what villains are," he states. The others stare at him blankly. "What about quirks?" 

Nothing. 

"Shit. Well." Sheltered, maybe? But this sheltered? And they're clearly well-trained, impressive kids. And whatever the owl, the unnatural strength, and the thing with the doll is, normal isn't the word for them. "I guess I'll go from the beginning."

The girl clicks her tongue. She does a lot of the talking out of the trio. "We don't wanna hear your life story, Aizawa."

"Okay. But you don't know what a quirk is, which is a pretty big part of this—" 

Oh. Oh. Quirks. Quirk enhancers. Enhanced teleportation. But it couldn't— 

That strong? 

"Fuck," Aizawa breathes, frozen in spot. "Did he— is this my universe?" He's embarrassed even blurting it out but it's seeming more and more true by the second.

The kids don't stop staring at him as his world collapses around him. 

"What year is it?" he asks, keeping his breathing under control. It's fine. This can be fixed. Surely. "Where am I? And how are you so powerful?" 

Kugisaki laughs maniacally and raises the nail. "Okay, you've done it now. I told you to explain and you came up with universe hopping. I was expecting better, man, not gonna lie." She squeezes a hand around the doll and thrusts the nail towards it, grinning madly. 

Black-haired kid grabs her arm and holds it, expression hard. "Calm down, Kugisaki."

"Calm down?" Kugisaki scoffs, tugging her hand out the boy's grip but no longer attempting to kill Aizawa through her quirk (or whatever it is. He's pretty sure it works through inflicting damage on the doll). "Considering the fact that Gojo-sensei poofed out of existence to be replaced with this hobo who claims he's from another universe, I think my reaction is justified." 

Aizawa raises his eyebrow. "Poofed out of existence?" 

Peachy-hair nods, glancing at his friends or accomplices or whatever they are. "You've explained how you got here so I guess we ought to explain what happened on our side? Maybe we can figure out what's going on?" 

"You believe him, Itadori?" Kugisaki protests, giving Aizawa another once-over. "You believe he came from another universe? Seriously?" 

Peachy-hair, or Itadori even, scratches his ear. "It's because you're right. Switching universes is a stupid excuse. The kind of stupid excuse that can't be untrue because no-one in their right mind would say it unless it really was true."

"Or he just believes it's true," Kugisaki scoffs, but she scrutinises him suspiciously. "Fine. Itadori, explain." 

Itadori nods. "We came here to watch a movie, because we went out to shop, I mean, it was mostly Kugisaki, really, and I was supposed to be holding her bags, which isn't fair! Why do I always have to hold her bags? She never makes Fushiguro hold her bags. But I was, so then Gojo-sensei said we should go watch a movie so we could all chill, but mostly me I'm guessing, because I'd been holding the bags for so long…"

Aizawa's eyebrows crawl slowly up his forehead as Itadori keeps rambling, and judging from the other two's tired looks, they're used to this and know to just wait it out. 

"... yeah, but anyway, after I'd cried a bit, which is kind of funny in hindsight but still sucked, we came here and were watching the movie—which you ruined for me, by the way, thanks for that—when Gojo-sensei started looking really pained? Like he was trying to hide it, but we realised, and then he just, he slumped down. And we all panicked because, holy fuck, Gojo-sensei passed out for no reason! Gojo-sensei! That's fucking terrifying, dude! And then there's just a massive bang, and we all jump back, and then you were just there, as passed out as Gojo-sensei, and we postponed our panic attacks to tie you up and got everyone else to leave, just in case you were a curse user or something, trying to trick us. And then you woke up and we started fighting. You were there for that though, hah." 

Aizawa blinks languidly. "... Thank you for that detailed explanation." 

Itadori beams. The other two sigh, and he turns to them, oblivious. 

The black-haired kid, Fushiguro, steps closer, narrowing his eyes. "So. Do you have an explanation?" Like Aizawa had planned this. 

He does have an explanation though, oh well. "I was facing a villain with a teleportation quirk. It wasn't very powerful, he could move anything except for himself from one spot to another. Not sure about the spread, but he didn't try to move himself at any point."

"You're gonna need to explain what a quirk is, man," Itadori says apologetically. "I'm lost."

"What else is new," Kugisaki mutters. "But yeah. What the hell is a quirk?"

This might take longer than Aizawa had originally expected. He allows himself the nose-bridge-rub he'd needed before opening his eyes to be faced with this shit, and looks at them blearily. 

"Let's have this conversation somewhere else. I'm exhausted, and that light is burning my eyes. I'm never leaving the house before 12pm when I get back."

If I get back, he doesn't say. 

The trio glance at each other and nod, and Aizawa gets his first genuine show of friendliness from Itadori, who shoots him a bright smile. "There's a bunch of cafes nearby. We can go to any one of them!" 

"I could do with a coffee," Aizawa mutters, and from the looks in the kids' eyes, they think he could too.

The jiggling wakes Gojo up, and he smacks his lips a few times before stretching and sitting up straight, already alert. Bright lights flash around him, making him wince. He realises with a start that he isn't wearing his blindfold.

Confused, he glances down, and discovers he's laid across a stretcher. Two people hold it between them and stare dumbly at him. Paramedics presumably, though their attire is unusual. 

He swings his legs off the side and hops off, ignoring their cries, and strides over to find the nearest authority figure. His eyes are beginning to burn from the sun already, so he digs into his pocket, hoping to find a spare blindfold. Of course there isn't. He'd never expected it to be taken off him, had he?

If he knocks into more people than he usually would, it isn't a problem. He's still a little disoriented from passing out. 

Everyone keeps gathering around a man in a long khaki coat, so Gojo too makes his way towards him. The man turns around before he even reaches him and smiles warmly, if not a little surprised.

"Ah, you're awake, Mister...?"

"Gojo. Where are my students? They were with me."

The man frowns a little, inspecting him curiously. "Sorry, we only found you passed out near the villain. No students. Would you describe them so I can have these guys looking round in case they see them?"

"Villain?" Gojo asks blankly. The man nods. 

"He's been contained now. In fact, we wanted to ask you a few questions, if that would be fine with you. You see, one of the heroes has gone missing while with the villain, and you're the only one who was on the scene, albeit passed out, but maybe you saw something before?"

Gojo's still trying to catch up with his racing thoughts because he can't comprehend half of what's being said here, and that's irritating him highly. He's the one who's supposed to confuse others. He doesn't like being on the receiving end. And there are also the pressing issues of where the fuck is he, where the fuck are his students, what the fuck happened.

"Who's the villain?" he ends up asking, accidentally letting too much of his bewilderment slip through. The man (Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa, his nametag reads) gives him a worried look and glances towards the paramedics, still awkwardly shoving the stretcher away, seeing as Gojo's not coming back.

"Are you sure you don't want to get checked by the doctors once?" he asks, voice laden with concern. It's uncomfortable. Gojo's missing something huge here, and he hates the feeling.

"I'm fine," he snaps, before taking a quick breath in and pasting his usual grin over his face. "You had questions? Should we go inside somewhere so I can answer?" A chance to gain information without revealing too much, hopefully.

Tsukauchi smiles, and it's so genuinely friendly it makes Gojo's skin wriggle. "Great! I'll escort you in the car to the police station, and we can talk there!"

Gojo hums and climbs into the car when directed. Whatever's happening, he's at the very least figured he isn't in the same place he was before. But this feels different. Too different. The air tastes different, the sky isn't the same shade, the ground rumbles under his feet at a different frequency than he's used to. He presses his hands into his thighs as Tsukauchi finishes talking to someone, gesturing towards his car, then gets in. They drive to the station in silence, broken only by the detective as he hums along to the radio under his breath.

They've only just entered when a blond man careens into Tsukauchi, grasping his arm and ignoring Gojo completely, and pants, "Did you find him?"

Tsukauchi shakes his head slightly, and the man wilts, letting go of him and drifting back towards a small girl perched on the edge of a tall seat, feet dangling down. She pulls the edge of the blond man's shirt when he gets near enough and whispers, "Did they find Dadzawa?"

The man smiles at her and sighs, "No, but they will soon enough." He picks her up and cradles her to his neck, finally noticing Gojo and doing a double take when he meets his eyes.

"W—Wow," he stammers, taken aback. Which tends to be the usual response to seeing Gojo's eyes. It's not easy looking straight into infinity without breaking apart.

"This is Gojo-san," Tsukauchi introduces, holding a hand out in Gojo's direction. "He was also found unconscious at the scene. We're hoping he saw or heard something that could help us find Aizawa."

The blond man turns to Gojo, shaking his hand firmly while noticeably avoiding his eyes. "I'm Yamada Hizashi," he greets, looking at his cheek rather than into the icy-blue pools above. "I'm Shouta—Aizawa, I mean, the hero at the scene—I'm his husband."

"Nice to meet you, Yamada-san," Gojo says, as if he has the slightest inkling who his husband is and can help him in any way. He's only here to figure out what the fuck happened/is happening to him.

"I'll get someone to get you a coffee," Tsukauchi says, summoning a passing intern and ordering three coffees and on a second glance at the room's occupants, a small cup of milk. He shuffles them all into a relatively spacious office, and they sit down, Tsukauchi behind his desk, Gojo on an offered sofa, Yamada on a seat with his daughter (presumably) perched on his lap. 

"I'll cut straight to the chase and not waste any more of your time than I have to," Tsukauchi chuckles, tapping on his laptop then facing Gojo pleasantly. "This isn't a formal interview obviously. We just need to gain any information that could help us find the missing hero, and then you can leave." 

Gojo reclines back, throwing one leg over the other and an arm behind the seat, and hums. 

"First thing's first, how did you pass out?" 

"Can't remember," Gojo replies, which isn't true, but he doesn't want to reveal too much at this stage, unsure as he is of his surroundings. He's not scared of any of these people, but he isn't going to give them information that easily either. 

Tsukauchi blinks, smile faltering almost imperceptibly, but returning full strength a millisecond later. "Alright." 

But his back stiffens a little, and he's looking at Gojo differently than before. He has no idea what just changed. 

"Were you passing by? How did you find yourself there?" 

"Do I get to ask questions too?" Gojo inquires, which makes it look like he's avoiding the question. Which he is, by the way. He doesn't like the look on Tsukauchi's face. "This isn't a formal interview, right? I want to ask some questions." 

Okay, now both Yamada and Tsukauchi are giving him weird looks. "What? Is there a problem?" 

Neither of them get the chance to respond before the intern hurries into the room, balancing three steaming mugs of coffee and a smaller cup on a tray. He places them down and exits the room, bowing low.

Tsukauchi sighs as he takes a mug and takes a sip. "God, I wish they were all like these interns. They'll do anything you ask without a word." 

Gojo takes a mug and gulps the blisteringly hot liquid down in one go. The other men stare at him, mouths open. "It's nice coffee! Thanks." Placing the mug down, he leans forward, forearms resting on his thighs and fingers pressed together. His electric blue eyes lock on Tsukauchi then Yamada, and he weighs up his options. He can't do anything without any further information. The best course of action is to be upfront about it, it appears.

"Gojo-san, would you like—" Tsukauchi begins again, but Gojo interrupts him smoothly. 

"I'm going to be clear with you guys. I haven't the slightest idea what's happening right now. I don't like that, but I don't really know where to begin from either."

Both men stare at him. Yamada's eyebrows lower and he looks at Tsukauchi, who appears as surprised as him. His eyes flick towards Yamada's and he shakes his head. Gojo considers ignoring it, but you know what? He can start figuring out what's happening from here. 

"What's that head-shake mean, detective?" he asks pleasantly, fixing him with his gaze. 

Tsukauchi huffs, eyes widening. "I'm not sure what's happening here, Gojo-san, but—" 

"And neither am I! We can help each other out! You looked disbelieving when I said I couldn't remember why I had passed out. Honesty is key for building relationships isn't it? I won't keep anything else from you, and you figured it out anyway. I do remember why I passed out. But I really don't know how I ended up there." He holds his hands out. "There, I've shared my bit. Not as hard as I expected. Now you tell me. How did you figure me out so quickly?" He leans further forward, smile never wavering. "I'm dying to know."

Tsukauchi stands up suddenly, fists clenched by his side. "Gojo-san, I think I'll have to restrain—" 

Gojo groans loudly, throwing his head back. "Don't bother. You'll never manage to. All I'm asking is you help me out here! I need to find my students, you need to find Yamada's husband—" He suddenly perks up, snapping his fingers. "How about this? You answer all my questions, help me out, and I'll find the missing hero."

"We can't—" Tsukauchi begins, before Yamada bursts hopefully, "You could find him?" 

The detective glares at him, betrayed, but Yamada is focused on Gojo, whose smile widens. 

"Piece of cake." 

"Yamada, we can't—" Tsukauchi repeats hurriedly, but Yamada gives him a fierce look. 

"Shouta has disappeared after fighting a drugged-up villain, and the only thing left is a patch of blood on the ground. Let's hear Gojo-san out, at the very least."

Tsukauchi hesitates, and Gojo takes that moment to clap his hands together, perfectly aware his overpowering confidence is infuriating the detective. You either love Gojo or you hate him. Yamada and Tsukauchi are examples respectively. 

"Glad that's settled! I know we're gonna be best friends, Tsukauchi-san! Can I call you Naomasa?" He doesn't wait for a reply, standing and stretching his legs before grabbing the detective's hand and shaking it. He pulls him forward sharply, Naomasa grunting in surprise as his eyes cross on his nose. "You're a very attractive man. I hope you've been told that before."

The detective flushes and yanks his hand away, looking faintly panicked as the situation falls out of his control, but Yamada once again stops him from acting, standing and placing his daughter down on the seat before coming over to shake Gojo's hands warmly. 

"Call me Hizashi," he grins. His eyes peer out over the top of his glasses, a vibrant, sparkling green. They're creased with underlying stress—his husband is missing in action, after all—but Hizashi seems fun, Gojo has to admit. Okay, he's in what seems to be a totally different world! How often do you get an opportunity like that? Maybe once he's figured out what's up and is sure Nobara, Yuuji, and Megumi are safe, he can take some time to fuck around, cause some chaos. He's decided Hizashi will be his partner-in-crime.

Hizashi's eyes drift down to his cheek again. 

"Naomasa!" Gojo calls, turning his head in the man's direction but still looking at Hizashi. "You wouldn't happen to have a blindfold around here, would you?"

Chapter Text

Itadori is the only one who speaks after Aizawa finally finishes, draining his iced coffee, and breathing, "Woah."

"Mhm." 

He leans forward, chin propped up on his hands. "You're all just born with powers, huh?" 

"Quirks, yeah."

"What quirk would I have if I were from your universe?" 

Aizawa rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his regretfully delicious coffee. Regretful because he has no reason to complain, and he needs something to complain about to regain some control of his bizarre situation. "I don't know, kid. In case you haven't noticed we're not in my universe."

Kugisaki picks out an ice cube from her own coffee and pops it in her mouth, crunching it as she maintains unwavering eye contact with Aizawa. "So Gojo-sensei is in your universe and you're in ours. How quickly can we switch that back?" 

Aizawa sighs and burrows his face further into his capture tape so only his eyes are visible. "I'm probably going to have to wait for them to fix that. If my universe is what caused this, it'll be the one to fix it."

The others glance at each other, and he can see his own stress reflected back in their eyes. What if he can't go back and he's stuck here forever?

"Well… what you gonna do 'til they fix everything?" Itadori frowns, opening his empty bottle and dropping an ice cube on his own tongue too. 

Aizawa shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. 

A buzzing cuts through the low background chatter of the cafe. Aizawa glances around himself, half-distracted, before realising the buzzing is coming from him. 

It's his phone. 

He almost jumps out his seat before scrambling for his pocket and pulling it out. He'd forgotten all about it. Fumbling to turn it on, he presses it to his ear, keeping his voice as level as possible as the kids stare at him, wide-eyed. 

"... Hello?" 

"Good morning, sir. Have you been in an accident recently that wasn't your fault? We here at—" 

He turns the call off and lays his phone face down on the table, eyes shut. The kids' looks bore into him, and he grunts before squinting at them, daring them to comment. 

"How is your phone working in a different universe?" Fushiguro asks, a tinge of accusation in his voice. 

"As if I fucking know," he grunts, frustration causing his voice to sound harsher than it needs to be. 

"Try calling someone from your contacts," Kugisaki suggests, tilting her head. "Who are you closest to? Call them."

No need to get hopeful only to have his hopes dashed. He picks his phone up, deliberately refusing to rush his actions, and finds Hizashi's number, pressing call and holding it to his ear. The kids watch him in trepidation as he chews his lip, brow furrowed. 

"The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please hang up and try again."

Sighing, he turns the call off and places his phone down again. "Nope." He'd expected it, but still his stomach sinks. 

He looks at the trio, only to realise Kugisaki and Itadori are both leaned over his phone curiously. 

"Are those your cats?" Kugisaki asks, pointing at the two intertwined furry bodies on his homescreen, one a fuzzy-looking white kitten, and the other a ginger cat without a tail. They're both nuzzled up together in their bed, and the ginger cat's arm rests across the kitten's body.

"They're so cute, Aizawa-san!" Itadori gasps. He pokes Fushiguro and pulls him forcefully forward to look at them too, which he does, albeit with a fierce scowl directed towards the peach-haired boy. "What are their names?"

Aizawa points at the ginger one, then the white one. "That's Jelly. We got her first from a shelter, and then later I found Small Might while I was out on patrol and we took him in. Jelly adopted him pretty quickly after. We were thinking of getting a new bed for him but he wouldn't move from Jelly's side so we didn't bother."

"'We' meaning Jelly and you," Kugisaki snorted. "Bit weird the way your cat is involved with your household decisions."

Aizawa gave her a dead glare. "By 'we', I mean my husband and I."

"Hus— You're married?!"

The very specific emphasis does not evade Aizawa. "Why, is there something about me that makes you think I wouldn't be?"

All three of them glance indiscreetly at each other which is answer enough for Aizawa. Rolling his eyes, he picks his phone up to pocket, before Itadori holds a hand out.

"Wait, wait!" he exclaims, leaning forward eagerly. "Do you have more pictures? Can we see? Can you show us some quirks? Or the people from your universe? I wanna see some actual fighting, techniques across universes—" 

"Geez," Aizawa sighs, raising a hand to stop Itadori from going into another excited ramble. He squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It'll sate some of their curiousity, so what's the harm? "Fine, I'll show you. I reckon my gallery is still here."

Fushiguro and Kugisaki both shift in interest too, peering over as he unlocks his phone and opens his gallery. He turns the phone towards them, scrolling through slowly as they ogle and point things out. 

"Is that your husband?"

"Yes, Yamada Hizashi." He pulls out a few more photos of him from Snapchat and shows them. Kugisaki and Itadori wiggle their eyebrows at the suggestive captions, while Fushiguro looks at them with genuine intrigue, eyes narrowed.

"He's kind of good-looking. Like, a little bit," Itadori says, nodding sagely.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Do you have kids?" Kugisaki this time, eyebrow raised.

"Aside from my class? Yeah, I have a daughter. Eri." He pulls up a video of Eri talking animatedly as she plays with her dolls, Hizashi sitting cross-legged next to her and slipping high heels onto tiny plastic feet with his tongue sticking out in focus. Kugisaki and Itadori coo over her, and even Fushiguro's expression softens a little. 

"She's cute," he says, and the other two voice their agreement loudly. 

Aizawa hums, the warmth at seeing them pierced with fear that these might end up being the only memories he has of them if he never gets back. 

Itadori senses his mood dropping, and quickly scrolls down again, laughing a little. "Who are these guys?" 

Aizawa's brow creases as he takes his phone. He scans over the photos, confusion increasing. There's thirty or so selfies taken by his class that he definitely wasn't aware of. "Looks like my class got my phone and decided to have a photoshoot."

He puts the phone down and they all lean over to look at them together. There's an assortment of images and videos, most of them taken by the Bakusquad as they've coined themselves, what a surprise. Uncomfortable close-ups, a couple photos of Kaminari in heels, some candids of other members of the class too. Aizawa just doesn't check his gallery very regularly, luckily for them, or he'd have made sure they'd regretted it for the rest of their school years. And he'd obviously have shown them to Hizashi and Eri too.

"Are they all friends?" Itadori asks, pointing at a photo of the Bakusquad posing around Bakugou as he tries to eat. Aizawa smiles slightly at it, Bakugou's miffed face too swollen with noodles to yell at them.

Maybe it's a good thing they took these photos. He didn't have many of them. 

"Yes. That's Bakugou Katsuki in the middle. His quirk is Explosion. He sweats nitroglycerin, and can ignite it."

"Who's the redhead?" 

"Kirishima Eijirou. His quirk is Hardening. He can harden any part of his body." He looks at Itadori's openly fascinated expression, face way too close to the screen. He has that same boisterous, passionate streak that Aizawa associates with his student. "You remind me of him. The two of you would get on."

He goes through the rest of the group and their quirks, much to the envy of the other three.

"That Momo girl is pretty," Kugisaki comments, eyeing a photo of her creating paper hats and passing them to the girls surrounding her. "Right, Fushiguro?"

Fushiguro shrugs. "Sure."

Itadori hums, and presses on a video with a blurry red thumbnail. 

"Watch this, watch this," a voice whispers, followed by some giggling, and then Kirishima appears in the frame, walking over to the couch which Bakugou's lying on, hands behind his head, eyes shut and earphones in. Kirishima gets nearer, leaning over the back of the couch, and after a dramatic moment, pokes Bakugou's cheek. Bakugou's eyes snap open, burning with inhuman levels of rage only he can somehow harness, before they land on Kirishima and almost immediately, the anger simmers down.

Not completely of course. It's Bakugou.

"You wanna die, you bastard?!" he howls, ripping his earphones out and lunging for Kirishima. He tackles him to the ground behind the couch, and the camera shakes as the person holding it cackles and runs over to continue videoing. The two are scrabbling on the ground, little explosions going off every couple seconds, Bakugou screaming profanities while Kirishima wheezes in laughter. The video cuts off there, Kirishima's arm wrapped unintentionally around Bakugou's waist as the other boy presses him down on his back triumphantly.

"Hoo, boy," Kugisaki whistles, sitting back. "That's pretty gay."

Aizawa had noticed, obviously. It was kind of gross watching some of his students pining for each other. 

He can almost hear Hizashi's voice laughing, What, like you didn't pine after me for five years? He brought that up at least once every two weeks, to Aizawa's eternal embarrassment.

He clears his throat and randomly scrolls through the next few photos: Midoriya and Uraraka making bracelets together, Sero giving Mineta a ride on his shoulders, Jirou and Kaminari having an arm wrestle. 

"They all look nice," Itadori smiles. "You care about them, huh?"

And because they're not here to see him, Aizawa nods. "They're good kids." 

"His hair is a cool colour." Kugisaki is pointing at a photo of Hitoshi colouring with Eri. "What's his name? Is he your son?"

Aizawa snorts to hide the rising pinkness in his cheeks because he totally hadn't been considering that forever, nuh-uh. "Nope. A student. Shinsou Hitoshi. I train him regularly, and he'll be joining my class soon."

"That's him too?" Itadori asks, pointing at a photo of Hitoshi lying on the ground, wrapped in his capture tape and staring into the camera with a deadpan look on his face.

"Yeah. I train him to use the capture tape, like my own." He taps on and plays a video of Hitoshi struggling to control the tape and instead tripping over it and landing head first in a bush. His legs flail behind him, and Aizawa's laughter can be heard. 

"Woah, that sounds strange," Itadori blurts out before covering his face in embarrassment. "No, I didn't mean you laughing— Okay, I did, but only 'cause you don't. Uh. Look like...?" His voice peters off and he scratches his neck, mortified. 

"Changing the subject," he says hastily, wary of Kugisaki's growing grin. "I meant to ask!" He points at Hitoshi's capture tape and then the one around Aizawa's own neck. "How's that thing work?! 'Cause you were swinging round like Tom Holland, man!" He gazes at the tape, starry-eyed. 

"It adapts to the user," Aizawa explains, tugging on it with his thumb. "With practice, you can use it to swing, attack, defend. It's also incredibly strong, made of carbon fibre, and near impossible to rip." 

He gives Itadori a meaningful look. The boy doesn't clock that he's being complimented, and only stares back at Aizawa, mouth falling open. "... Please could I try?"

"Try? Try the capture tape?"

Itadori nods eagerly.

"Sorry, kid. It adapts to the user, as I said. It won't work if you use it."

Itadori's face falls so quickly that even Aizawa feels a twinge of guilt. "Look, I'm sorr—"

"Grab him and give him a fucking ride," Fushiguro grits out, eyes locked on Itadori. The others blink and look at him in surprise. He slumps lower down into his seat, ears red. "Just a suggestion."

"'Just a suggestion'," Kugisaki repeats mockingly, grinning evilly, eyes crinkled in mirth. "God, Fushiguro, at least try to be less obvio—"

Fushiguro slaps a hand over her mouth. Without hesitation, Kugisaki bites down on it. 

"Never try that again," she whispers menacingly as Fushiguro gasps in choked-back pain, glaring at the marks in his palm and then Kugisaki's smug smirk. Aizawa raises an eyebrow and Fushiguro covers his warm face with his hand.

"What happened, guys?" Itadori asks, totally oblivious. 

And Aizawa had thought he'd be safe from stupid, pining teenagers in a different universe. He decides to be kind and rescue Fushiguro as well as preserving his own will to live by changing the subject.

"Your Gojo-sensei. What's he like?"

All three of them perk up unconsciously. Whatever they say, he clearly means quite a bit to each one. 

"Gojo-sensei's the best jujutsu sorcerer!" Itadori says excitedly, taking his own phone out and searching through it before turning it towards Aizawa. His eyebrows shoot up. Gojo is grinning at the camera, silvery smooth hair pushed back by the blindfold covering his eyes, and Itadori is grabbing his finger and... pretending to bite it. 

"...Interesting." Itadori beams at him and pulls up another photo.

"He's the best, y'know, he's so cool!" Gojo squatting in a skirt, with his hands held together in prayer like Tokoyami sometimes does. "He wanted to send that to Kugisaki so he asked me to take a pho—"

"What?!" Kugisaki yells, slamming her hands down on the table. "You knew he kept stealing my skirts to spam me with those pictures and you didn't stop him, you helped him? You lied! You said you didn't know—"

"It was funny—" Itadori chokes out as Kugisaki grabs him by the front of the shirt and shakes him like a ragdoll. She really enjoys inflicting violence on her friends, apparently. Love languages are interesting things.

"So what school do you go to?" he asks, above the two's arguing. Fushiguro is attempting the headless look, face slowly burying deeper and deeper into his high collar. Itadori immediately stops shouting to smile brightly.

"Jujutsu High Tokyo. A school for jujutsu sorcerers. Don't tell anyone though."

"Are you graduating? You look a similar age to my students, but did you start earlier?"

"We're only first years, man," Itadori laughs. He must see the expression on Aizawa's face because he grins wider. "Aw man, you think we're strong? If only you could see Gojo-sensei. He's the strongest."

"And that's not even a compliment," Fushiguro huffs, raising his head to sip his hot chocolate while trying to pretend it's not hot chocolate. "It's literal. He is the strongest. You can't call him out on showing off because it's not like he's lying. He wants everyone to know it too, annoying bastard."

"You sound fond of him," Aizawa says dryly. 

"Gojo-sensei's basically his dad, right Itadori?" Kugisaki smirks, dodging Fushiguro's swing at her. 

"Our dad," Itadori replies. Unfortunately for him, Fushiguro doesn't miss a second time. He flops down into Kugisaki's lap, crying out in pain, and she pinches his ear, none too lightly.

"Speak for yourself. Gojo-sensei's a weirdo."

"You guys are mean," Itadori squeaks, shooting up and rubbing his reddening ear fiercely. Aizawa senses the cafe staff's cold looks in their direction, fair considering how long they've been sat here and how much noise they're making. 

"Maybe we should leave," he mutters, letting the capture tape cover his nose. 

"And go where?" Kugisaki shoots back, which is honestly a fair question. "We have to take care of you now."

Aizawa bristles at that. "Take care of me? I'm a professional hero. I don't need to be taken care of."

"Okay, but you're not getting yourself home, are you? You're counting on people back at yours. You know nothing about our universe and have nothing to help you get round." This girl could be bitingly straightforward. 

"How exactly could they theoretically get you home?" Fushiguro asks, leaning forward on his arms.

Aizawa runs through the situations in his head. "I'm guessing I just have to wait for them to figure out if the quirk is reversible and if it is, how long until it reverses, if not, finding someone with a quirk that could switch us back." 

"We can't leave you to wander the streets 'til then though," Itadori says.

"I've faced worse."

"You've switched universes before?" Kugisaki bites.

"... No. But I've had my arm disintegrated."

"Which has literally nothing whatsoever to do with your current situation." And then a moment later, "But tell us about that arm later."

Itadori's brow creases thoughtfully and he shrugs. "Only idea I have is that you come back to Jujutsu High with us while you're waiting to be saved."

Fushiguro turns on him sharply. "Are you serious—"

Kugisaki snaps her fingers. "That's a great idea, we can keep an eye on him there."

"I don't need you watching over me," Aizawa says tiredly.

"But you do need somewhere to stay. You don't have money, relatives, friends, food, shelter, information, and we do."

It pains him more than having his face beaten to a pulp at USJ had, but he swallows down his pride and nods. 

"Great!" Itadori punches the table. "Let's go right now!"

"'Right now'—" Fushiguro hisses, grabbing Itadori's arm as the boy begins to get out his seat. "We need to ask Nanami-sensei at the very least if this is fine!"

Itadori shakes his hand off. "Hey, if Aizawa-san tries anything funny he'll be taken down in no time."

A shiver goes down Aizawa's spine at that but he ignores it resolutely. He can't, however, ignore the quiet voice in his mind whispering, If first-year students are this strong, how strong are their teachers?

Kugisaki seems to find this logic equally as sound as Itadori. "Okay, Jujutsu High it is."

Fushiguro glares at them, torn, before relenting and pushing his chair back to stand up. "Fine. Fine. We're seeing Nanami-sensei first thing, though."

Itadori punches him lightly on the shoulder. "Yep. And for what it's worth, personally I trust Aizawa-san." He winks at Aizawa, who rolls his eyes.

Collecting their stuff—including Kugisaki's many shopping bags—they make their way out the cafe.

They pay for train tickets, including Aizawa's, and soon enough they're rattling through the city, back to this school of theirs. Whichever universe he's in, he still has to end up at a school, huh? Give him a break. 

Once they're at their stop, the trio again insist on buying snacks, despite having just come from a cafe, and once that's done, they walk together through a foresty part of the land. 

Itadori offers him some gummy bears. "Hhnm?"

"I'll pass."

They walk in companionable silence, interjected with birdsong, the rustles of wrappers, and the occasional crunch from whatever unhealthy crap they're stuffing themselves with. Eventually, the trees fall away and they're looking down on a group of buildings the opposite of what Aizawa had expected of a jujutsu high school. 

They trek down the path to the gates, Itadori unable to control himself from throwing his hands out and yelling, "Tokyo Municipal Jujutsu High! School for up and coming jujutsu sorcerers!"

"This isn't an anime. Stop being so overdramatic," Fushiguro tuts, walking past Itadori still in a starfish pose. Itadori laughs, throwing an arm round his shoulder and ruffling his hair. Fushiguro's bright red ears could be a light source of their own. 

"Let's go inside, we can raid the fridge while the others are still out!" Itadori calls over his shoulder, unaware of the gay struggle occurring right under his nose. 

The doors are so close. They're so close. And then the sound of nearby footsteps alert them.

"Who's that?" Kugisaki asks, shoving Fushiguro, who shushes her and listens as they get closer. Itadori grabs Aizawa and tries to drag him along, but Fushiguro shakes Itadori's arm off and holds his hands out.

"That's Panda-senpai!" he whispers. Aizawa momentarily muses on what kind of parent would name their child 'Panda' when an honest-to-God panda jogs out of the doors and pauses at the sight of Aizawa and the trio. 

"Hey guys! Who's this?" So the panda. The panda. Can talk. And even though Aizawa is nothing but accepting, especially in a society where humans merged with animals are no longer anything to blink at, the fact that he is in a quirkless universe and this panda is an actual huge panda that talks trips Aizawa's brain up and he huffs in surprise and steps back. Unfortunately, this doesn't escape the panda's notice, and it (he?? do pandas use pronouns???) frowns at him.

"Bit rude," he huffs, placing his hands—or rather, paws—on his panda hips. 

"Heyy, Panda-senpai!" Itadori calls cheerily, walking over to him and slapping him on the back. "You wouldn't happen to know where Nanami-sensei is?"

"He's busy. A curse report came in. But he should be back in a couple hours." He looks at Aizawa curiously. "What do you need him for? And who's that?"

"Ah, him?" His eyes dart to Kugisaki and Fushiguro who both stiffen, eyes widening slightly. "He—uh, he's a friend."

Panda eyes Aizawa critically. "You guys, he's a grown adult man, and he doesn't look very friendly to me. Tell me the truth. What did he say to you?" He blinks suddenly, frown deepening. "And where's Gojo-sensei?"

Fushiguro steps forward, cutting Itadori off as he begins to ramble an explanation. "It's complicated, Panda-senpai. We'll explain later, but for now, we'll just wait for Nanami-sensei to arrive."

They start walking in, Aizawa fighting the urge to swing off over the indignity of needing protecting by teenagers, but Panda stands ahead of them and holds a paw up seriously. 

"I'm sorry you three," he says gravely. "I can't let you bring someone in without first explaining who they are and for what reason they're here. It's not safe."

They all look helplessly between themselves, unsure how to go on from here. Aizawa's done with being taken care of.

"Gojo-san has switched universes with me," he pipes up, ignoring the kids' frantic looks. "Until he returns, I've been offered space here."

Panda stares at him. And stares a little longer. Then he turns to the other three.

"What."

"Listen," Itadori begins placatingly. "I know it sounds stupid, and he doesn't look very—uh, friendly, as you said—"

"I'm right here," Aizawa says irritably. 

"—but he's telling the truth. We were with Gojo-sensei when it happened, and we've talked to Aizawa-san for a while, and he's safe. Trust me."

"What exactly happened? Are you saying Gojo-sensei is missing?!"

"We'll explain all of this inside," Kugisaki says firmly. "For now, let's stop hanging round where anyone could overhear us."

Panda considers it seriously. "How much of a threat could he be if he tried?"

Kugisaki snorts. "Ah, don't worry. Nothing with everyone inside."

Aizawa chews the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from getting defensive. It's not like he owes them a display of his skills, and he knows he was holding back while fighting them, but after only seeing how skilled the students are, he's unsure where he falls in comparison to those stronger than them. Add to that a new universe, his quirk being useless here, and his dependency on a bunch of kids, and he really isn't comfortable with how easily he's being dismissed.

Whatever. He doesn't need to get into any more fights. It'll just be like a hotel stay. 

Panda looks at him carefully, eyes narrowing slightly, before nodding sharply. "I'll trust your judgement on this. Bring him inside."

They finally cross the short remaining distance and enter the building. Aizawa looks around at the architecture curiously. He wouldn't take it for a high school for young sorcerers from first glance. They walk briskly, the trio hanging close to him while Panda leads the way and gestures for them to enter a large room that looks like a common room of sorts. Once inside, Kugisaki and Itadori both slump down onto a large couch, sighing in relief. Panda sits on the floor, and Fushiguro stands, leaning against a wall. Aizawa looks around and decides to take a small couch for himself. It sinks down when he sits in it, holding him in its poofy clutches. 

"Now," Panda says, still at eye level with him. "Explain everything."

God, he's tired. He starts talking reluctantly, explaining his side of the story as briefly as he can before Itadori once again takes over and carries on. He closes his eyes as the boy rambles.

 "... So, yeah, we thought, 'why not have him come with us?' And it makes sense, right, 'cause we can watch out for him this way, and also if Gojo-sensei comes back we want him to come back here and not somewhere far away. Though Aizawa-san obviously wouldn't be able to survive somewhere far away. I don't know about survive, actually, he'd probably survive but it wouldn't be fun for him. He'd have to eat out of dumpsters or steal. And he's a hero, you know as he said, in his universe, so he wouldn't wanna resort to that. Anyway, point is, it makes sense if he stays here, at Jujutsu High! We should give him a room and stuff! He's really not a bad guy, see?"

Panda rubs his eyes. "Thank you, Itadori, as always, for making that four times as long as it needed to be."

He looks at Aizawa now, eyebrows drawn close together. "Nanami-san will be back in a couple hours. You can talk to him then. In the meantime, if you could stay in this room, it would be much appreciated."

Demeaning as hell, but what can he do? He grunts in reply and shuts his eyes. A few hours. He's been awake way too long anyway. "I'm taking a nap."

Ignoring the chatter that begins again, Itadori and Kugisaki explaining all Aizawa had shown and told them about his universe, he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

"Hello, class 1-A!" Hizashi screams at the top of his lungs the moment he steps into the classroom. He grins maniacally at the shaken students and throws a pose, pointing directly at them. "I'm your stand-in homeroom teacher! You're lucky to have me!"

The class breaks out into confused chatter, turning to one another, before a blond kid with a black lightning streak through his hair raises his hand and asks, "Where's Aizawa-sensei?"

Hizashi's surprisingly apt at acting, Gojo notes from where he's stood with his arms crossed outside the classroom. He can see why he's a popular pro-hero. He has a weird reliability about him when he's acting like this, an unshakeable optimism. 

He also has that stupid-ass hairstyle that Gojo had spent five minutes laughing at when he'd first seen it, and then spent another ten placing items of different weight on top of it to see how much it could take. Hizashi had tried waving him off but had eventually given up, drinking his coffee and scrolling through his phone with a tape dispenser and three water bottles balanced atop his head. Gojo had left the room and returned stealthily, freezing when Hizashi narrowed his eyes at the box of Jenga in his hands. Needless to say, there was no Jenga tower built any time soon. 

Right now, Hizashi claps his hands, still smiling brightly. "He won't be here for a while. I'll be filling in while he's not, so you've no need to fear for your grades!"

A blue-haired, bespectacled boy stands up stiffly, sticking his hand out and chopping it up and down. "With all due respect, Yamada-sensei, we are more worried for Aizawa-sensei's health than our grades!"

Hizashi curls his fingers into a fist and holds it in the air, somehow managing to make tears stream down his face in the two seconds it took for him to do that. "You kids are so honourable! It gives me great hope for the future, really!"

There's an awkward silence while Hizashi holds that pose, and everyone in the room stares at him.

"Well?" a spiky, pale-blond boy asks, looking furious for no reason. He looks like what a resting bitch face would be personified. "You haven't answered the question. Where is he?"

Hizashi laughs loudly in a transparent attempt to get time. "I can't tell you that unfortunately, but we know he's—"

"Just tell us what's up," Resting Bitch Face snarls, looking like he badly wants to get up and say his mind unfiltered but respects his teacher enough to not do that. "You're not saying he's well, but you're not saying he's not either."

"I have to agree with Bakugou here!" Glasses says, waving his arm around robotically for emphasis. "As his class, we are rightfully concerned and would appreciate being filled in! We are future heroes after all!"

"Listen guys," Hizashi says, not dropping the hero act completely, but toning it down suitably. "We're not sure ourselves what the situation is yet. But trust us! He'll be back in no time! If it gets more serious, we'll let you know the situation, otherwise it's better for you to focus on your studies so you don't make more work for him when he's back."

Gojo can sense the dissatisfaction rippling across the classroom, but nothing more is said, an uneasy agreement to hold their peace.

Hizashi seizes the chance to distract them as quickly as possible.

"Now, I'd like to introduce you to a teacher who's going to hang around in our lessons for the time being!" 

That's his cue. Making sure his smile is as charmingly insufferable as always, Gojo saunters into the room, eyes travelling over students of all different shapes and sizes, and waves at them. "Hiya. I'm Gojo Satoru."

"Hi," a pink-haired and pink-skinned girl waves. "I like your sunglasses." No-one else says a word. 

This is probably the weakest response to his name he's ever gotten. Maybe it's the universe trying to humble him a little but fuck that: by the end of this day, all these students are gonna have a reaction, good or bad, at the mention of his name.

Hizashi talks to them about uninteresting school things while Gojo leans against the wall, eyeing the students. He's been told they're the best of the best, the kids most likely to reach the top of the hero boards in future. Maybe he's biased but he thinks his students are cooler. These ones look like they couldn't even commit murder. Except for that spiky blond, whatever the fuck is up with him. He has the same vibes as Nobara. God, he'd love to shove them in the same room and see what happens. 

Hizashi scribbles stuff on the board that the kids copy down and discuss. Gojo's mind wanders, and he ends up going back over the events of the last twenty four hours.

Last night, Gojo had sat with the other men for a further fifteen minutes as they rattled through everything they could tell him about quirks, their universe, the drugs and the villains. He tapped his fingers rapidly on the edge of his seat before clicking them decisively.

"Okay," he hummed, resting his chin on his hand. "I see."

"See what?" Hizashi asked eagerly. 

"I think I'm in the wrong universe."

Silence. 

"You… huh?" the blond murmured, mystified. 

Gojo puffed his cheeks out thoughtfully. "Drugs that make these quirks stronger? So Yamada-san's husband gets hit with it, and it makes him teleport not across distance, but time. The universe has to balance it out, I guess, I don't know how the universe thinks, and swaps him out with me."

They stared at him, lost. But Gojo had done his job. 

"You can figure it out from here, right Nao?" Gojo yawned, stretching his arms. "Reverse the quirk thing, find a quirk that can, whatever. I'm exhausted, seriously. Is it the effect of being thrown across universes? What's the time?"

"Six pm," Hizashi told him, picking Eri up and balancing her on his hip. 

He groaned and rubbed his eyes through the tie now wrapped around them. The detective didn't have any blindfolds lying around. To be fair, it would have raised some eyebrows if he had.

"Okay. Where am I staying?"

Naomasa frowned at him, hand going up to fiddle with his tie before remembering it had been taken off him.

"Staying—? Oh." A brief look of panic flitted over his face, and it was delightful enough for Gojo to smirk, prepared to sacrifice a comfortable and welcoming place to stay just to frustrate the ever-loving fuck out of the detective. 

"Nao, you wouldn't mind if I—"

"Gojo—"

"Satoru. Since I'm calling you Hizashi."

"...Satoru will stay with me," Hizashi interrupted, placing a firm hand on Gojo's shoulder. "We've got a guest room. You're staying with me, okay? Give Tsukauchi-san a break."

Ah, his new best friend wanted him to stay at his place. How could he refuse? "If you insist, Hizashi." Naomasa looked like he wanted to take Hizashi's hand and kiss it. Rolling his eyes, Gojo stepped back.

"Well, can we go now? I'm tired as fuck."

A short car ride later, they were at Hizashi and his husband's house. Hizashi lent him some of his clothes and prepared the guest room for him, and after they'd ordered and eaten takeout—there was no food in the house for some reason—they'd all gone to bed. Gojo had really never been this tired. He passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. 

He woke up the next morning to a cacophony of noise from Hizashi's room. A little bit concerned but not prepared to leave the bed unnecessarily, Gojo yelled, "Hey, 'Zashi, you good?"

There were some more sounds of struggle and cursing before Hizashi replied unconvincingly, "Yeah!"

Welp, if he said so. Gojo turned over and was almost out like a lightbulb when there was a light knock on his door. "Hey, Satoru, can I come in?"

"Yuh-huh," Gojo mumbled in reply. The door opened. Gojo squinted blearily to look at the man before doing a double-take at the gravity-defying curve of hair behind his head, ignoring the costume underneath. He looked like those annoying yellow birds, the idiot, did he think it was cool? "Pfffft— what the hell is that—"

Hizashi watched him unamusedly as he almost strangled himself in his blankets in his laughter. "In your own time."

Rubbing the tears out of the corners of his eyes, Gojo hiccuped his last few laughs out and flipped his legs out the blanket. "You look dumb," he grinned. "Suits you."

"I reserve the right to kick you out at any time, let me remind you."

"No problem, Nao will always be waiting for me."

Hizashi's lip twitched and he dragged a hand down his face. "Fuck, what did I come here to say."

"You came to give me your bank account details."

"Shut up." He squeezed the bridge of his nose, an action quite remarkably un-Hizashi-like from what Gojo has seen so far. Hizashi had a husband who was currently hanging round in his universe. He probably picked up unconscious habits from him. Gojo wondered what he was like. "Oh! Yeah! I'm going to work after dropping Eri off!"

"Work?" Gojo complained, tying the tie around his head before facing Hizashi, shoulders drooped. "What? Why? What do you do?"

"I have a daughter," Hizashi sighed. "And so I need to work. I'm a teacher at UA high school—"

"Teacher? Oh, so am I! I'll go with you." He got up and started picking his discarded clothing off the floor. 

Hizashi paused. "You're... a teacher?"

Gojo would have given him a Look if he hadn't had his shirt halfway down his head. "Yes. And a good one. My students love me."

He finally got his shirt on and looked around for his jacket. Hizashi was leaned against the doorframe, eyebrows raised. "If this is a lie to get me to take you with—"

Gojo clicked his fingers. "Excellent point. But as I'm me, I'll tell you now that I can't be trusted on my own. At all. Now, if you want to leave me here, out of your sight for the next couple hours and with complete access to the rest of your universe, go ahead."

Hizashi scrutinised him, then his face dropped. "Hey, tell me you're kidding, man."

Gojo shrugged, smiling enigmatically. Hizashi ran a hand down his face, then pulled his phone out. "I'm gonna... call someone. Get dressed."

Hizashi exited the room and Gojo composed himself. Hell yeah, he was gonna be in a school. High school kids were fucking hilarious. Breeding grounds for chaos. He rubbed his hands together in glee and quickly grabbed his pants and pulled them on. Oh, and his phone was still in there, though it was shut. He needed to figure out some way to get it charged. 

He joined with Hizashi in the kitchen a few minutes later. He passed him a plateful of toast and quickly ran him through the talk he'd had with the headteacher, who had said it was fine for him to come as long as he got a chance to speak to him at some point. 

"'Kay," Gojo nodded, stuffing another slice in his mouth.

"I'll be there the whole time."

"What, when I talk to the head? Have a little faith, Hizashi."

"First of all, I meant when you're gonna be around school. Secondly, considering the way you were behaving with Tsukauchi, I think it's fair."

"Hey, me and Nao were bantering."

"Bullying. You were bullying him."

"I would never, as a teacher and a father."

Hizashi turned to him excitedly. "Wait, you're a father too?"

"Well, there's my students!" 

Hizashi groaned. "You're just like Shouta, dude. I really thought—" 

"And I'm Megumi's legal guardian," he added, resting his chin in his palm and placing his toast down. "So I guess I'm a father figure to him."

Hizashi didn't immediately bombard him with questions, which was what Gojo had expected. The man looked searchingly at him, then said lightly, "That's nice. How long has he been under your care?" 

"Ah, years. He was seven when I took him in." He picked a breadcrumb up and flicked it off his finger. "I was nineteen."

There was a pause as Hizashi took that in. "You were… nineteen when you adopted a kid?" 

"Two, actually," Gojo hummed, making breadcrumbs float just above the table. Hizashi continued when he realised Gojo wasn't going to. "And… do you enjoy taking care of them?" 

"Megumi's a cool kid. Tsumiki's... sick," Gojo murmured. He opened his mouth to say more, then closed it. 

This was the quietest he'd been for at least two weeks, holy shit. Hizashi had his hands tightly clasped together, looking unsure faced with this side of Gojo. Oh well. Save the gloomy silence for when he was alone in his room. 

Stretching his arms out and yawning deliberately loudly, Gojo changed the subject to the first thing he could think of. 

"D'you have any sunglasses, by the way? I don't wanna look like an idiot with a tie wrapped round my head."

"Oh, I was thinking about that earlier," Hizashi said, brow still slightly furrowed. The pity from before is replaced with embarrassment, however, which is all Gojo needs. "But uh, I only have one pair that's dark enough for you. I bought them as a joke for Shouta, but he actually really loves them, so you can't ruin them."

"Let me see them then."

Hizashi scratched his head before reaching behind himself to open a drawer and pull out a black-tinted, heart-shaped pair of sunglasses.

"Um." He placed them down on the table. "Look, man, I tried to find some others—"

Gojo raised a hand, silencing Hizashi. He unknotted the tie and picked the sunglasses off the table reverently.

"These," he whispered, balancing them on his nose and looking in the mirror in admiration, "are perfect."

Hizashi grinned.

Never has Gojo been as gutted as he is right now that his phone isn't charged, not even that time he got stuck in the washing machine and spent the next three hours whirling round in it to sate his boredom until Nanami came to visit and had to wrench him out. The selfies taken would have been golden. He doubts anyone in this universe has the right charger for his phone though. Wasted opportunity. 

Gojo's daydreams are punctured by the buzzing of Hizashi's phone. The low-level chatter in the classroom almost covers it up, the students all busy and distracted by some set task. Hizashi takes his phone out quickly, glancing at it, then makes a strangled noise and gapes at the screen.

Gojo frowns and leans over to read the message. "What's wrong?"

"Shit," Hizashi whispers, turning panickedly to Gojo. "Eri's school is shutting down early because of some ventilation problems. I can't leave now, none of the other teachers are free. I was the only one who could cover this class."

Gojo grabs Hizashi's shoulder. This is his chance. "You go. I'll watch over your class."

A variety of expressions race across Hizashi's face, settling on scepticism. "No offence, Satoru, but—"

"I think you're forgetting that I am a teacher," Gojo grins, slapping him on the back. "Now scram. I got this."

Hizashi doesn't look totally convinced, but he glances at his phone, then the class, and bites his lip. "...Fine. I'll leave Iida in charge, you just... stay here and watch them. Nothing else."

Gojo salutes. "Aye aye, cap'n."

Hizashi narrows his eyes at him, but then faces the class and calls out, "Guys, I have to leave. There's been a problem. But Gojo-sensei will be right here, so behave yourselves. Iida, you're also in charge."

Iida shoots up off his seat, ramrod straight. "Yes, Yamada-sensei!" Gojo kinda likes him. He's like Nanami but more energetic. How cute.

Hizashi leaves the room quickly and Gojo listens as his footsteps recede down the corridor. As soon as they disappear, he swivels round and eyes the students, smiling widely. 

"Hehe," he chuckles, rubbing his hands together. "This. Is exactly what I need. Child army."

The alarmed looks passed round just make his grin grow. 

"Yamada-sensei left me in charge and I say—" Iida begins, arm raising to chop down before Gojo cuts him off. 

"Yes, but I'm the only adult in the room, Iida-kun, so by default, I'm more in charge than you," Gojo tuts, causing the boy's arm to falter. He opens his mouth before shutting it, clearly unsure what to do against Gojo's logic. Gojo uses his momentary silence to clap his hands together twice, hip jutted out. 

"Let's do introductions to start with!" He throws up a peace sign and points at himself. "I'm Gojo Satoru, but I said that before! I'm from a different universe, but I'm stronger than everyone in yours."

The class still stares at him, shell-shocked, until a freckled green-haired kid finally speaks up, eyes wide.

"Di—different universe?"

"Yep!" He pops the p and ruffles Green's voluminous curls for no other reason than he feels like it. "I swapped out with Aizawa-san, and now he's in my universe most likely."

That spurs them back to life. 

"What do you mean, you swapped with Aizawa-sensei?" a totally invisible girl says, who Gojo has no struggle seeing of course, but it's interesting nevertheless. "Did you force him?"

Gojo crosses his arms as the class glares at him in suspicion. "Really don't like this energy. C'mon, I'll explain after you all introduce yourselves too, that's just uncourteous."

"Why should we trust—" a girl with insane earlobes begins, before Gojo cuts her off with the loudest fake cough he can muster.

"Almost choked there." She stares at him incredulously and he rolls his eyes. 

"Why should you trust me? Maybe because Yamada-sensei trusts me, and enough to leave me with you guys." He adds under his breath, "Though the second bit was a huge mistake, I warned him too."

He strolls across the room and hovers right above what looks like a rock with eyes, cowering under his gaze. 

"Now, now, don't be scared! Introduce yourself, name and a fact or two."

The rock blessed with sight shuffles lower into its seat. This isn't off to a great start. The redhead sitting in front turns around and waves his arm out. 

"Gojo-san, he doesn't like talking much." He taps the rock's table. "Koda-kun, should I introduce you?" 

Koda nods hurriedly. 

"This is Koda Koji," he smiles, and it's so familiar Gojo wants to rub his eyes. Every universe has to have a Yuuji to balance out the evil in the world, probably. "Uh, Koda-kun, should I tell them about the time you saved a baby bird from a fox?" 

Koda shakes his head, embarrassed, which is too bad because there isn't much else to add to that anyway. 

"Cool! Redhead kid, since you're talking, you go next." 

The kid grins and points at himself. "Kirishima Eijirou! Fact about me… I make a mean blueberry smoothie, but that's as far as my cooking skills go!" 

"Your blueberry smoothies are mediocre," Resting Bitch Face tsks, staring out the window, trying to look bored and aloof but Gojo knows this type of kid.

"Resting Bitch Face," he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Are you any better?" 

The kid looks around in amusement, realises he's the one being talked to, and the smile is wiped off his face immediately. "The fuck did you just call me?" 

Gojo tilts his head. "Never mind that. I bet you're the class cook. You look like it." 

Smoke practically pours out of the kid's ears as he slaps his hands down. "I don't cook for these bitches, you kidding—" 

"Whaddya mean? You made an omelette for me this morning," Kirishima frowns. His eyes widen as the whole class faces him. 

"He's never cooked an omelette for me," Lightning Bolt says flatly. Kirishima leans away from him and stares around the class. "Wait, really? Who's had an omelette from Bakugou?"

Bakugou shoots up out of his seat, eyes burning. "Say a word. Any of you. I dare you."

"Gayyy," Pinkie hoots. Bakugou flushes the same colour as her skin, but before he leaps over his table to end her life there and then, Gojo looms over him, smile wider than usual. 

"Bakugou, what's your full name?" 

The kid edges out of his shadow and squints at him. "Don't want to tell you."

Kirishima leans back in his seat. "Don't be like that, Katsuki."

"Yeah, Katsuki, babe," Lightning Bolt echoes, making kissy faces and getting a firm punch on the top of his head from Kirishima.

Bakugou's eyes burn more and more with barely contained feral instincts, but he takes a deep breath, scrunches up a piece of paper and hurls it at Lightning Bolt's head. He turns back to the front, Lightning Bolt still giggling in his seat. "Bakugou Katsuki. I'm gonna be Top Hero when I'm older."

"Top Hero, huh?" He taps his chin. "Who's Top Hero now?"

All eyes turn on a kid with half red, half white hair. In a voice devoid of emotion, he says, "My dad, Endeavour."

Depending on how huge this Endeavour guy is, Gojo would look cooler kicking his ass. "You got a photo of your old man? I'm curious."

"No," the boy says coldly. "I don't have any photos of him. You can search him up on the Internet though."

Daddy issues? Looks like it. "I'd search him up but my phone's dead."

Lightning Bolt sits up. "Your phone's dead? Want me to charge it?"

"There aren't any cables that—"

He gives him a thumbs up. "No worries! Leave it to me."

Momentarily distracted, Gojo takes his phone out and hands it to him. The boy searches for the charger port, then sticks the tip of his tongue into it.

"What the fuck," Gojo says politely. The kid grins and stops suckling Gojo's phone to reply.

"I've got an electricity quirk, dude. This'll charge your phone in no time."

You know what, if it results in access to the World Wide Web and his camera, Gojo can take his phone getting eaten out or whatever. "I'll come back to you then." He looks back at Peppermint. "Never mind your dad, I'll search him up later. Name and fact about you."

He gets a look that's an unusual cross between sour and deadpan. At least he graces him with a reply. "Todoroki Shoto. My quirk is Half Hot, Half Cold." 

Gojo gets that same look and tone of voice from his sort-of son too. So maybe he takes an instant liking to the kid, who can blame him?

"Ah, your hair colour! I see." He bends a little lower, tipping his head to inspect Todoroki's face. "And how'd you get that scar?"

Todoroki's fists clench and he ducks his head, hair falling over and covering it. "That's none of your business." 

Oh. His knuckles are white and trembling slightly. Everyone's attention is on him, because Gojo had directed it there. A mistake. He's a teacher, he should know better. 

Straightening up, Gojo turns back to the class. "Well, Todo's answered his qu—you know, I have a student called Todou. He's obsessed with people's types. As in, romantic types."

The students blink at the sudden change in subject, but the distraction works. "What do you teach?" Earlobes asks, apparently no longer wary of Gojo. 

"I'm a jujutsu sorcerer, and I teach at a school for jujutsu sorcerers," Gojo explains, walking down the rows. "And I'm not just any sorcerer." He smiles, light glinting off the sunglasses' frame. "I'm the best."

"We haven't seen any other sorcerers to compare you to, kero," croaks a girl who clearly shares some frog-like characteristics. "Perhaps you're weak in your universe."

"And Endeavour-san is way bigger than you, I can't see how you can say you're the strongest in our universe too," Invisible Girl retorts. Gojo's eyes flick to Todoroki, who has unclenched from earlier, but his brows knit again at the mention of his father. 

Todoroki really seemed to dislike his dad. Gojo's gaze strays to his scar again. A thought to explore later.

"Because I am." He waves away other remarks and his eyes rove across the classroom, choosing the next student. "Green."

Green jumps. Gojo points at him, the kid's eyes crossing on the end. "Introduce yourself, name and a fact or two."

Green pushes his chair back, nervously looking round the class and stammering, "I'm, um, I'm Midoriya Izuku! I like... katsudon, All Might, and—and my friends?"

A couple students aww. Gojo's spots Bakugou scoff. He's about to comment when Lightning Bolt calls, "Can I introduce myself? I have a really funny story from—"

Gojo whips around and glowers at him. "No. Charge my ph—"

In one breath, Lightning Bolt yells, "My name's Kaminari Denki, I once almost murdered all my cousins when my quirk went off in a paddling pool!" He immediately pokes his tongue back into the port, and gives Gojo another thumbs up. 

"Aren't there laws preventing you from getting close to large volumes of water?" Gojo asks, his annoyance overpowered by curiousity, until Kaminari moves his tongue to reply, then he cuts him off. "Actually I don't care. Phone."

He returns to introductions, and soon, he's got every student's name down, and some interesting facts too. Some that aren't extremely interesting, but downright bizarre. Yaoyorozu accidentally created a highly radioactive duck-shaped rock in her sleep once and emergency services had to be called to deal with it. Ashido's mom buried her budgie in their garden without telling her when he died so she wouldn't try digging him up, but it backfired when she dug up the whole garden trying to find his corpse. Sero used to make money in lower school by cleaning people's erasers.

"My mother bathed me in cheese sauce once," Twinkles aka Aoyama tells, flicking non-existent lint off his sleeves. "It's where I get my love for cheese from."

"Love," Gojo says disbelievingly. "Not, like, trauma."

"Two sides of the same coin, non?" the boy sighs, which has him receiving many looks across the class. 

Now that they've introduced themselves, they all turn to Gojo expectantly. 

"So what were you saying about a different universe?" Ashido asks eagerly, leaning across her desk. "What's it like? And I love your sunglasses but why are you wearing them indoors?"

"Last I was there, it—"

Kaminari interrupts him again, which is honestly getting kind of irritating. "Which universe is better, ours or yours?" He wipes the phone's charger port as he talks, then sticks it back in his mouth in resignation. Oh well, Gojo can put up with it for now since the kid is doing him such a favour.

"Yours, because I'm here. Duh."

A couple students snicker. Midoriya raises his hand nervously.

"Do you—uh. Could I, if it's okay, could I take some quick notes?"

Gojo doesn't bother hiding his delight. Okay, he likes attention, is it so bad? "I'm not gonna stop you! You got any questions of your own?"

Bakugou groans loudly as Midoriya perks up, eyes sparkling. "Don't fucking encourage him."

"Yeah I do!" Midoriya whips out a notebook and poises a pen over it. "How did you get here? Was it from our universe's side or yours? Or neither, just something we don't understand? Is it reversible? Was it a quirk? Do you have a quirk? Why are you wearing those glasses? To protect your eyes? What from? Does the—"

He keeps babbling question after question, scribbling things down before Gojo has even said a word. A look around the classroom confirms that the class have been through this before. Gojo wants to interrupt him, but he also gets the feeling that the kid will lose all his confidence if he does, which would be a shame. Maybe something gentler but just as effective. 

He digs his fingers into Midoriya's hair again and musses it up. His voice immediately chokes off and he goes pink. 

"Starting with how I got here," Gojo begins, smiling as bit by bit, the kid leans into the touch. Poor thing looks like he needs a hug or fifty to make up for a life of touch-starvation. "Yeah, it was a quirk. They're figuring out how to fix it. In the meantime, I'm hanging out here."

The rest of the class are looking sharply between Gojo and Midoriya, intrigued by what he's saying but unnerved. He'll win them over in no time.

"Glasses?" Midoriya mumbles, relaxing more and more by the second, but reaching for his notebook all the same. 

"Oh yeah! I can 'see' through all my other senses. They're really heightened, and having my eyes open to the light too long hurts. Also, they unsettle people. Which is technically a pro, but the pain that comes with it isn't worth it."

"So having heightened senses is your quirk?"

"Oh, no. We don't have quirks. My 'powers' come from human energy alone. I guess I'm... d'you have a word for that? Unquirked?"

The atmosphere in the room switches. Midoriya stiffens under his hand.

"... Huh," Sero says, scratching his head. "No offence, but I don't really think you can compare without a quirk?"

Gojo laughs. "Wanna bet?"

The kids all glance at each other. Midoriya hasn't moved a muscle for a while now. Gojo's eyes flick down, but he can't read his expression.

"If all of you together can beat me," he declares, "I'll accept I'm inferior and will never match up to you quirked guys. If I win... well, I'll think about that and tell you later."

Bakugou suddenly speaks up. "Nah, this ain't about quirks." Everyone turns to look at him, and the surprise is more than evident. Midoriya jolts, head shooting up. "This is just 'cause you think you're the shit, and you ought to be put in your place, quirk or not."

"Bakugou, you can't talk like—" Iida begins, clearly appalled a so-called teacher would behave like this as well as one of his fellow classmates, but he never gets to finish. Bakugou sets off an explosion, standing up and leaning over his desk with a grin on his face. 

"So bring it on."

Most of the class looks alarmed by how quickly the situation is escalating but they'll join in soon enough. Lips curling into a smile, Gojo says, "Move those tables to the edges of the room. We'll be fine in here."

Bakugou grabs a table and starts shifting it but sees no-one else making any moves. "You heard him!"

Everyone startles, and then Kirishima takes his desk and hauls it over to the side too. Kaminari drops the phone out his mouth and waves an arm, throwing it at Gojo.

"Leave it for a while then turn it on, else it can overheat," he explains, picking his own desk up and moving it. Nodding, Gojo stuffs it back in his pocket.

"I refuse to partake in this!" Iida bellows as everyone clears the room in the middle. "I will stand at a side in protest!" He stands firmly against the wall, eyeballing the others. Yaoyorozu steps next to him, rubbing the back of her neck.

"I don't think this is a good idea either," she murmurs, shuffling her feet.

"They're righ—" Midoriya begins unsurely, but his arm is grabbed by Sero. 

"Hey, loosen up, Mido," he whines, pulling him alongside him. "We need you to win!" Midoriya lets himself be pulled away, mouthing an apology to Iida. 

It takes a couple minutes, and then eighteen students are on one side, and one man is on the other.

"Okay," Gojo smiles lazily, crooking a finger at them. "Come at me."

Without a second's hesitation, Bakugou yells and runs straight at Gojo, fists popping with sparks. The kid's got spunk, Gojo'll give him that. The room may be large, but he's over in a second, and turning his palm towards Gojo, he lets off explosions large enough to rattle the walls.

Gojo coughs and flaps his hand, the other one still hooked in his pocket. The smoke clears, and Bakugou, crouched down low a safe distance away from him, blinks in disbelief. 

"What, you thought that was all it would take?" Gojo chuckles. All the other students are looking at him in respect, and with a newly sparked determination glinting in all their eyes. 

Good.

He spots a little huddle of them communicating near the back. Mineta breaks off from them and runs towards him, throwing some of his purple balls at his feet before booking it right back.  

"What're they?" Gojo says curiously, tilting his head to look at his feet. A sudden noise alerts him and he looks up to see Sero swinging directly towards him, leg stuck out. He waits until he's close enough, timing it exactly, then grabs his leg and tugs it behind him, causing him to fall right past and heavily onto the ground with a yelp. In the blink of an eye, half the room is covered in a thick, black mist emitted by Tokoyami, seemingly sentient from the way it flows and lashes.

"Your powers are neat," Gojo comments, batting the black mist away with ease and kicking the purple balls at Jirou and Satou, who stick together and tumble into Shoji, fastening him to them. At the same time, he grabs Kaminari, who's been trying to get the sneak on him through the distraction of the mist. 

He suddenly snaps back, dodging a kick that appeared from nowhere, and grabs an invisible leg and a thick tail attempting to swoop his legs out under him. He twists them both down to the ground and knocks them together. Hagakure lets out a strangled gasp as Oijiro's tail slams into her chest. "Underestimating me, huh."

Something wet and pink wraps around his waist and Gojo follows it to the girl clinging to the ceiling. Tsuyu's tongue. Oh God, he feels bad about what he's gonna do. But also morbidly curious if he's honest. He reaches out to wring it when another explosion goes off near him, and a green blur cuts through the smoke, hitting him solidly on the shoulder. There's power in the kick—that's a Yuuji-level kick—but Gojo easily twists their positions, the stretch around his waist also releasing, and uses the kid's momentum against them to slam them into the wall. To his surprise, when he gets a look at them, it's Midoriya.

"I didn't expect that of you of all people, Mido! No offence."

Midoriya coughs. "My... my kick didn't touch you. It didn't touch you."

Gojo winks and casually wipes the acid dripping off the side of his face. "Nice observation." Ashido stares at him, palms still dripping, mouth open. "None of you who—"

"Move," a flat voice says. Gojo grits his teeth. Look, he's done with being interrupted.

"Todoroki, d'you mind?" he snaps. "You can have your badass moment, just let me finish mine."

The rest of the class has all shuffled away from Gojo and behind Todoroki, even a grudging Bakugou dragged by Kirishima.

"What's happening?" he asks curiously, before a tidal wave of ice encases him from the top of his mouth to the bottom of his feet.

Huh, he thinks, watching in amusement as the kids all high-five each other or panic about attacking a teacher even if Gojo incited it. Aoyama remerges from behind a small desk fort, dejected. Gojo hadn't noticed he was missing. What was his power? Whatever it was, apparently it wasn't useful here. Midoriya pats him sympathetically on the back. Iida marches over and starts lecturing them, but then takes Oijiro by the shoulder and runs through how he thinks he could have taken Gojo down with a different approach. 

Bakugou stomps over to him, smirking. "So how's it feel to be inferior, hah, sensei?"

"This is quite comfortable actually," Gojo says conversationally, the ice around his mouth cracking and splintering into miniscule pieces. "I'm just offended you covered my mouth, Todoroki-kun. Am I that annoying?"

The students freeze simultaneously, turning to stare at him in stunned silence.

"Wait, nevermind, I can't feel my fingers," he continues, wincing. "I'm gonna break out now. Don't mind me."

"You're—" Mineta begins, face scrunched up, but Gojo never finds out what he is because he spreads infinity between every atom in the surrounding ice, and there's an explosion of icy shards and water raining down on them.

He's fucking awesome is what he is, he thinks to himself as he pushes the sunglasses up on his head and reveals his electrifying eyes to the students. 

"Woah," Midoriya breathes, fingers twitching in the air. Everyone else just stares at him in undisguised awe.

Yeah, that's more like it.

"It's not over yet," he sing-songs, shaking his finger at them, then folding his index and middle finger into position. What the hell, might as well let them swing round his domain for a trip. He's trying to leave an impression, right?

"Domain Expansion: Infinite Void."

The classroom and its occupants are swallowed up.

Now, surrounded by an expanse of blackness that glows with the souls of dying stars and abandoned galaxies, Gojo holds his arms open. "Welcome to infinity."

He's toned it down a little for their young brains—he doesn't want them to go insane or anything—but the wonder in their eyes as they look around at crammed emptiness, trying to understand what is impossible to understand in its very nature makes warm satisfaction curl in his chest. He's a teacher, at the end of the day: feeding curiousity is his job (regardless of what the higher-ups think education should be about).

Anyway, who the fuck cares about deep thoughts? His domain is fucking rad, and he knows it.

The students have completely forgotten about fighting and after their initial shock, they start exploring the area despite there being nothing there at first glance. A group are touching the air and gasping every time mandalas of colour burst beneath their fingers, disappearing the moment they focus on them. Jirou sings quietly and blushes as her voice carries across the area at the same volume. Tokoyami looks utterly at peace, managing to have melded himself into the middle of the area, eyes closed, body hardly visible. 

It's the first time Gojo has had so many people freely wandering in his Domain, but it isn't a bad experience. Midoriya is probably loving this.

Talking of Midoriya. He isn't anywhere in sight.

Gojo focuses on locating him, and senses him standing far to a side and trembling, which is strange. His domain has a calming effect on whoever he wishes, the surrounding infinity a supremely comforting presence. Unless Gojo hated you. Then it had the same effect of having an infinite amount of enemies in every infinite direction you looked. He goes over by foot, as warping might be a little startling, and walks in front of him, smiling lightly. 

"You okay, Mido?"

Midoriya nods, then grimaces as a tear slips down his cheek. "Yikes."

Gojo's smile slips off. "Is it uncomfortable? D'you wanna leave?"

"No, no!" Midoriya stresses, shaking his head and scrubbing at his face. "This is so cool! I wish I'd brought my notebook with me, though." He laughs wetly, not meeting Gojo's eyes. 

Gojo has seen the many different reactions to his domain before. He recognises this.

He hooks his thumbs in his pockets and looks over at the other students, currently wrapping Uraraka in tape and releasing her to see how far in the air she can go. "So what are you holding in?"

Midoriya scratches his green curls and blinks at Gojo, brow furrowed. "Holding in? What... do you mean?" A single raised eyebrow from Gojo. Midoriya huffs and rubs his forehead with his sleeve, clearly trying to hide his face. The drip of tears hitting the area they're standing on is no louder than it normally would be, but Midoriya flinches and squeezes his fists over his eyes. "What the hell?"

"You're not sure why exactly you're crying, you can't stop crying no matter how much you try, but you also know exactly why you're crying," Gojo states. Midoriya looks at him, green eyes wide and wet. 

"Y—Yeah. Exactly."

"So?" Gojo folds his arms. "Why are you crying?"

Midoriya wilts, giving up on wiping away the never-ending tears and pulling a face. "I need to get over it. That's the problem. I'm trying to, but I can't m—"

"That's why you're crying," Gojo says simply. "Infinity is open, it's everywhere. Infinity is infinity. And infinity forces you to focus. It's bringing back up everything you're trying to suppress because it's inescapable. It's therapeutic in a way, because here, letting it all out is safe; infinity keeps your secrets because they'll always be just out of reach."

Gojo glances at the boy as he sniffs. "It doesn't feel bad, does it? Sometimes I bring my own students here. It's the securest place in the universe, and you can feel it." 

Midoriya sucks a breath in, then nods. "It's… it's nice." His eyes drift towards Bakugou, meeting his red gaze for a moment before the other boy tears away. 

"Feels like—like losing a weight I didn't know was there," he whispers eventually, shuffling his feet. "Wait, no. Like, one I'd… squished up." 

Gojo says nothing. 

Eventually, Midoriya's tears dry up ("Does infinity have any water? I'm thirsty.") and he shoots Gojo a quick, thankful look, beginning to jog towards his friends, before pausing. 

"You wouldn't mind repeating and explaining everything you just said again later so I can write it down?" he asks meekly. 

Midoriya's his favourite, he's just decided. "Anytime! No-one listens to me when I do, you're a nice difference."

The kid beams, then runs off, joining his friends and waving their concern off.

A pair of sharp eyes are still focused on him. Gojo tilts his head as Bakugou stares at the now perfectly happy Midoriya. The blond's eyes catch Gojo's, and with a scowl, he looks away. Curious.

Gojo ends up making a quick round to check none of the other students have had a similar reaction to his Domain. He hadn't noticed Todoroki earlier, but he was also sitting alone, knees drawn up with his head resting on them. Gojo doesn't disturb him. Aoyama, Kirishima, and one or two others also make little alarm bells ring in his head, but for now, he leaves them, letting them relax fully without his interference. He could drop a note for their actual teacher, Aizawa. A little check-up on them would do them good.

Gojo gets bored quickly after. Usually he's busy beating someone up in here. "That's all, guys, let's get back before Hizashi returns," he announces. Everyone groans, and he gives himself an internal high-five. 

"Hold on tight. Thank you for visiting my Domain, and do come again!" 

And in the blink of an eye, they're back. A lot of them stretch or yawn, the calming effect wearing off and leaving them tired. Gojo sneaks a look at Midoriya. He's rubbing his eyes, and after dragging a chair out from the pile, slumps down on it. Bakugou as well as a couple other students are doing the same. 

They start talking amongst themselves, and Gojo catches a lot of appraising looks. He smiles to himself. Yep, first impression went well. He's gained their respect. Wiping some water off the desk, Gojo hoists himself onto it and settles, waiting for Hizashi to return. To his intruige, Bakugou speaks briefly to his friends, then gets up, dragging his chair over to Midoriya. He kicks the other boy's chair a couple times until Midoriya opens his eyes. He does a double-take at the sight of the blond, but then smiles and starts talking. It was the last thing Gojo had expected but it appeared that the two did somehow get along, though there was something to be said about the distance between their chairs being just a little too large. Bakugou replies to something Midoriya says, and Midoriya snorts and laughs into his sleeve. They get the occasional look from their classmates, but this isn't so out of the ordinary that everyone is talking about it. 

Gojo wonders again why Midoriya was crying.

A half hour later, the door handle jiggles.

Hizashi hurries in, fumbling with his headphones and momentarily distracted by them. "Sorry about that guys, I'll—"

He looks up. Then his mouth drops open and he screeches, "What the hell?!"

The desks are still piled high on the edges of the classroom, extra tape and some purple balls stuck in random places, and the whole floor is sopping wet. The class is strewn about on chairs they've dragged out, but their idle chatter stops abruptly. 

"What— what—" Hizashi stammers, pressing his fingers into his temples. "Iida. What happened here."

Iida shoots to his feet guiltily. "We introduced ourselves to Gojo-sensei, and then the others fought against him. He then took us to his domain, which we returned from a short while ago."

"You fought... wait, what's a domain?"

Gojo pats him firmly on the back. "Forgot to tell you about the extent of my powers, sorry. I can create a domain around myself, fully in my—"

Hizashi slaps him on the head with a rolled up piece of paper, shutting him up. "You fu—why did I trust you." He smacks him again, ignoring Gojo's indignant squawk. "Go to my office and sit there until Principal Nezu calls you. Eri's there too, and if she isn't still there when I return, heads will roll."

The students stare incredulously at Gojo the self-declared Strongest, has his own domain, harnessed infinity, fought a whole hero course class on his own, as he flips his sunglasses down and trudges out the room with a pout. He flips Hizashi off once he's out the room and out of the students' sights. Some gasps follow him. Okay, maybe he wasn't completely out the room.

The rolled up paper hits the back of his head. He whirls round but the door to the classroom has been slammed shut. Groaning unnecessarily loudly despite the grin on his lips, Gojo ambles through the empty corridors, whistling a song to himself. 

He'd memorised the route from the teachers' offices this morning, and walks there on autopilot, breaking out into dance as he goes down the corridor, now singing under his breath.

"... night and day are fading out, hmm hmm yeah yeah," he mumbles randomly, twirling neatly in front of the door, ready to kick it open, but halting his raised foot at the last second. Hizashi had said Eri was in there too. He lowers his leg, pushes the door open slowly and peers round. The room's empty at the moment, except for Eri sitting primly on the couch, gazing out the window. She jumps when the door creaks (thank God he hadn't smashed it open), looking at Gojo silently as he waves at her and enters the room.

"Eri-chan, did your school shut early?" he asks, sitting down next to her and patting her head. She blinks at him, fiddling with the front of her dress. "Don't wanna say? That's okay."

They sit in silence. Gojo doesn't mind silences—in fact, he thinks it's a rare and precious thing to find someone with who he can sit silently in mutual understanding, the urge to spout something constantly released for a while. But that's not kids. Kids should be spouting stuff at the same speed as him. What kind of kid is silent? It doesn't sit right with him.

If she won't speak, he'll make her comfortable enough to. He slaps his hands down on his thighs and grins at Eri. "You wanna play a game? Nod if you do."

Eri hesitates, then nods once.

"Cool!" He holds his hand up and points at it. "Punch my hand!"

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. "I don't wanna hurt you," she mumbles.

"Don't worry," Gojo laughs, ruffling her hair and raising his hand again. "You can't hurt me. C'mon. Try."

Eri looks at him uncertainly, then fisting her hand, she aims a weak punch at Gojo's palm. It never makes contact. She stares wide-eyed as her fist hovers just above Gojo's palm, refusing, or unable to, go any further.

"How are you doing that?" she asks, pulling her hand back and trying again, delighted when it once again doesn't reach. "How do you do that? How do you grab things if you can't touch them?"

"Try one more time," Gojo grins. She stands up on the couch, eye-level with Gojo, and swings her arm again. This time it hits Gojo's palm with a soft smack. She steps back, face colouring in alarm. 

"Sorry! Sorry—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" she squeaks and raises quivering arms in front of her face when Gojo reaches for her. And boy does that make Gojo's blood boil, because no kid should be reacting like that. Ever.

"Hey, hey, hey," Gojo whispers, gently taking her by the elbows. "It's okay, Eri-chan. It didn't hurt, and I told you to in the first place."

Her trembling subsides and she lowers her arms, embarrassed. He may only have known her for a day but Gojo won't take that, no way. He boops her nose to get her attention. "You're a very brave girl."

"No I'm not," she mumbles, sitting back down with a thump.

"Why?"

She tugs at a thread on the hem of her dress. "I cry so much."

"What's wrong with crying?"

"Only babies cry, my friend Jun said."

Who the hell is this Jun bitch? He doesn't care if it's some preschooler, Gojo won't hesitate to throw hands. He pulls a face. "Am I a baby?"

"No!" Eri gasps, affronted that he would even suggest that. "You're big! You're taller than Dad and he's so, so tall!"

Gojo leans closer conspiratorially. "But I cry sometimes." That's a total fucking lie, by the way. He hasn't cried in years; maybe he's forgotten how to. Fuck, it would be nice and most likely healthy if he did cry once in a while! But he's just... empty, mostly. He's been acting so long he wonders whether he's even real sometimes. It scares him a little, to be honest. He could probably have done with a therapist a while ago. Too late for him now.

Not too late for Eri though. She's staring at him, mouth slightly open, and pudgy fists clenched. If a little white lie is what it takes, he doesn't think there's anything wrong with it.

"It's a secret, don't tell anyone!"

She nods, hair bobbing up and down, and whispers back, "What kind of things make you cry? Scary things?"

Gojo swallows. "I'm scared of monsters." Is he a monster? "They're ugly and yucky." Isn't it better to feel fear than to feel nothing at all? "So I cry when they come but I fight them anyway." 

She gapes at him. "You fight the monsters?"

"Yep! And when I fight them, sometimes they go, but sometimes they don't." Another lie, because he's never lost a fight. "But it's brave because I fight them even if they're scary." Which is the important thing, isn't it? He's never been brave because he's never felt fear. He's not brave for replacing a lightbulb and he's not brave for killing a curse. 

Fuck, he made this personal way too fast. What happened to the Gojo who was scrapping with teenagers less than an hour ago? He might even be experiencing real emotions! Gross. Back to the apathy.

Eri looks glum again. "I didn't even fight 'cause I was scared. Chisaki hurt me lots of times and I didn't do anything." She pulls up her sleeve slightly, and shows Gojo raised pink lines, half-faded and criss-crossed, climbing up her arm. "He did this and I didn't stop him. I'm not brave."

Gojo has to pinch his leg to distract himself from the blood rushing through his ears. Eri is safe now. That's what matters.

But fuck, he's gonna find out if this Chisaki guy is still alive, and if so, make sure that that's not the case before he gets back. 

He holds her fist lightly, marvelling at how small it is, and shakes it up and down. "That's not true. Fighting isn't just about punching someone. You're happy with Hizashi and Aizawa, right? Chisaki didn't want you to be happy. By being happy, you're fighting him."

She frowns at her wiggling fist, a crease forming between her brow. "Does that count?"

"Yeah."

"So... I'm brave if I... get happy? Like when Dadzawa does singing with Dad?" 

"If that makes you happy, you're being brave. Because you could easily stay sad from all the bad things that happened to you, but you don't! That's so cool, Eri-chan!"

There's rising hope in her ruby-red eyes. "I'll be more happy then," she beams. Gojo musses her hair fondly. Hizashi won't mind if he unofficially adopts her too, surely. 

"Try to touch my hand now," he says, letting go and turning his hand, palm up, towards her. She reaches out an oh-so-small hand and tries pushing down. Again, it never reaches. 

"Now watch this." Something changes and a second later her hand is flat on his. 

She flaps her free hand, still patting his palm with her other hand. "How?!"

"Imagine this," Gojo says, holding the index fingers of either of his hands with roughly a foot's distance between them. "What's half of this, Eri-chan? Push my fingers together and show me."

Eri grasps his fingers and pushes them together until she's satisfied. 

"Okay, now do that again." 

Three more times, and she's struggling, tongue sticking out as she maintains her precision. 

"Keep going." 

"It's too hard!" she complains, pushing his fingers together a miniscule amount. 

"But you could half it if you could see, right?"

"Yeah!"

"And then half that too?"

"Uh-huh."

"But then if I keep halving, when do my fingers touch?"

Eri opens her mouth then shuts it. "Umm... I don't know?"

Gojo moves his fingers away from each other and winks at her. "Never. That's infinity. For everyone else, they will touch, but I can make it so infinity comes in between and stops it."

He puts his hand out again and Eri tries to touch it, dazzled when she can't. "Woah," she whispers. "No-one can touch you if you don't want them to." She stares at the gap between their hands then adds quietly, "I wish I could make infinity too."

Forget killing Chisaki. Gojo's gonna drag it out and enjoy every second. "No-one should touch you if you don't want them to, Eri-chan. If they do, you punch them then tell me so I can punch them too but harder."

Eri jumps up to her feet. "Can I practise punching? If you turn on infinity, can I try punching?"

With a grin, Gojo sits up and faces her. "I'll teach you some punches, how about that?"

She's a quick learner, and happily lays punches on Gojo now, knowing they can't hurt him. Every time she lands a particularly good hit, Gojo collapses on the ground, whining in feigned pain as she giggles in delight.

The door swings open, and Gojo pauses in the middle of his sixth dramatic death to check who's there. It takes him a moment to spot them and when he finally does, he sees...

... an abnormally large rat in suit.

"Huh," he says blankly. 

"You must be Gojo-san!" the rat says in a pleasant, level voice. "I've been hoping to meet you! I'm Nezu, principal of UA."

Chapter Text

"Aizawa-san!" a voice whispers, and his eyes snap open instantly. "Woah, that was easy." He's disoriented for a second, staring at the bright face in front of him blankly before the memories come rushing back at once. He screws his eyes shut to clear his sight, then glares at Itadori.

"Ah, sorry! Nanami-sensei is gonna be here in like, three minutes," he apologises, rubbing his neck and stepping back. Two people Aizawa doesn't recognise stand on either side of Itadori, ogling him. He glowers at them—have they been watching him sleep? For how long?

Itadori continues. “And um. These guys wanted to meet you too.”

Aizawa blinks slowly at the duo watching him curiously. “Okay.”

Itadori grins and points at the two new faces peering down at him, one wearing glasses and with green hair, the other with his jacket zipped up to his nose. "This is Maki-senpai, and that's Inumaki-senpai."

"You got rid of Gojo-sensei, huh?" Maki grins, folding her arms as she looks down at Aizawa, who’s half-buried in the couch now. It was like the thing was trying to absorb him into it. "Did us all a favour."

"Oi, don't be like that!" Itadori yells indignantly, looking like she'd insulted his grandmother.

Maki tuts and side eyes him. "Why? He was annoying as hell. Aizawa looks less irritating."

"Oh my God, chill out, Itadori," Kugisaki says, cutting Itadori off as he splutters and gapes at Maki. Maki snorts and winks at Kugisaki, leaving her pink, flustered and hastily trying to cover it. She looks at the corner of the room in fascination and hurriedly asks, "Inumaki-san, you wanna say anything to Aizawa-san?"

The boy blinks at him for a full ten seconds before finally speaking. "Kelp." 

World-changing stuff, really. 

"Inumaki-senpai's cursed technique works through speech," Itadori interjects, once Aizawa has stayed silent for double the time Inumaki had. "It's actually not safe for him to speak casually like the rest of us. A single word from him and we could all be dead!" He laughs like that wasn't utterly terrifying. 

"Salmon," Inumaki nods, still staring at Aizawa without a single regard for social etiquette. Aizawa says nothing in reply because, well, what the hell are you supposed to say in reply to a food item? It must be how the kid gets around his cursed speech. Seems like it would be easier to learn sign language.

Maki tilts her head and looks at Aizawa more closely. "Itadori, are you sure he isn't drunk and homeless?" Itadori drags his hands down his face and turns away from Aizawa, embarrassed. "What? I just can't see this guy Spider-Man swinging round like you said."

"It's what I do for a living," Aizawa says tiredly.

Maki gives Itadori a look and then shrugs. "If you say so."

Inumaki is still staring at him. 

"What is it, kid?" asks Aizawa, getting a little antsy. He'd been awoken from his nap to be insulted and gawked at?

"Salmon," he repeats. 

Fushiguro, who's been scrolling through his phone, leant against a wall, sighs. "He's saying it's nice to meet you."

Aizawa looks at him incredulously. "You can understand him?"

"Hey, he's right here!" Itadori frowns, as Inumaki mumbles, "Bonito flakes." 

This feels like a fever dream. But Inumaki's awkwardness and disappointment makes guilt twinge inside him regardless. "My intention wasn't to be rude, Inumaki. I was just surprised."

"Tuna mayo," the kid says, perking up a little. Aizawa looks towards Fushiguro, but he's distracted by his phone again, biting back a small smile. 

"Okay," Aizawa replies, with no idea what Inumaki meant. Whatever it was, the kid looks satisfied. Or as satisfied as he can look with half his face obscured and no change in expression. 

The sound of a sliding door saves him from having to figure it out. Itadori pokes his head out into the corridor. "Oh, Nanami-sensei is here!"

A man walks into the room, and instantly Aizawa knows he is a kindred spirit. He can see it in the tired way he doesn't even look at any of the others in the room, not in a condescending way but in a 'I'm not ready to deal with this shit' way. It's a teacher sense. He just knows.

"You must be Aizawa-san," he says, standing in front of Aizawa with his arms by his sides.

Aizawa peers up at him from his spot within the couch. "Yes."

"Gojo is in your universe?"

"Most likely, yes."

The man rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. "How did this happen again?"

"An enhanced teleportation quirk."

"Quirk?"

It's Aizawa's turn to sigh to himself. "Powers that most of the population is born with. They can be strengthened through drugs."

Nanami gives him a sharp look. "And how do I know you're not making all of this up?"

Aizawa shrugs. "I can't prove my quirk here if none of you are quirked. So, you don't really know. But one of your people went missing and I was found in their place in front of those three." He gestures towards the couch which Fushiguro is now also sitting on, squeezed between Itadori and Kugisaki, their arms holding on to him in a way that makes it look like it wasn’t entirely by choice. "So it's not a massive jump."

Nanami turns to the trio questioningly. Itadori and Kugisaki nod. 

“Yeah, first Aizawa-san wasn't there and Gojo-sensei was there, then he wasn’t and Aizawa-san was,” Itadori says, wiggling on the spot to get more comfortable. Kugisaki elbows him, and he squeaks in pain and indignation. 

Nanami frowns. "This wasn't planned at all?"

"No."

"And you have nowhere else to stay?"

"Obviously." 

"Why were you in contact with these kind of drugs in the first place?" Now they're all looking at him like he's a junkie. Not that his general appearance helps. 

"I went out to get milk," he mutters, narrowing his eyes as his head throbs. "All I wanted was some milk, and then a drugged-up villain teleported me and now I'm here. I didn't ask to be dragged into this. If I'd slept five extra minutes, maybe I wouldn't have been."

Nanami purses his lips, and his expression shifts into one that could be called sympathetic. "Hm."

"I vote we let him stay at Jujutsu Tech," Itadori declares, putting his hand up. Inumaki also raises his hand. "Fushiguro! Kugisaki!"

"It's Nanami-sensei's decision, we don't have—"

"We do have a hand in it!" Itadori shouts, grabbing Fushiguro's hand and raising it. He reaches out for Kugisaki's hand too but a single, deadly glare from her and he hastily pulls it back. Everyone stares at him. "We—hand," he laughs awkwardly. "Do you get—"

"The decision is obvious." Nanami pushes his glasses onto his forehead and massages his eyes with a hand, the other folded across his chest. Everyone watches in trepidation as he finally fixes Aizawa with his gaze.

“It would be unfair of us to make you leave," he admits, "so you can stay here for as long as we can support you. Hopefully your universe will have this sorted sooner rather than later. In the meantime, you can take one of the empty dorms, and during the day, stay within the school unless supervised. That’s so if anything happens to you, your universe switches you back, for example, someone will be nearby to inform us.”

Aizawa doesn't say anything, but Nanami takes it as an agreement.

"Itadori, find Aizawa-san a room. Any of the ones on corridor C should be empty."

Itadori nods and jumps up. Nanami raises a finger at Aizawa as he battles to extract himself from the couch while still maintaining his dignity. "Would you like a coffee first? I heard you... were forced to engage in combat with the first years." 

That's sympathy in Nanami's eyes. Aizawa was right. Teacher sense.

"No, I've already had some, but thank you."

Nanami nods, waiting for him to leave. Aizawa clenches his jaw and doesn't move.

"He's stuck," Fushiguro explains kindly, not looking up from his phone. 

Nanami offers him a hand and Aizawa takes it, fighting the embarrassed flush crawling up his neck. With a muttered thank you, he follows after Itadori, waiting outside the door.

They walk out the room and up some stairs, down a corridor with open balconies overlooking the school grounds. The warm evening glow throws shades of orange and red across them, making it look like it's on fire. It might not look like a jujutsu school but it suits the sunset perfectly. The tops of the buildings sparkle with passing sunlight, like stars captured on the ends. The rest of the light flows down the sloped sides and pools in the open courtyards, tall shadows drawn into the otherwise clear circles of sleepy sunlight. Aizawa looks at the sight appreciatively. It's beautiful.

They continue walking down the corridor until they have to turn right to go further in, leaving the open balcony behind. Aizawa marks it down for if he ever struggles to sleep and needs somewhere to stand quietly to himself. 

They finally reach a corridor that Itadori slows down at, pressing on each door handle as he goes along. Each one opens easily, so he walks a bit further on and ends up in front of the room second last from the next corridor. He opens it, giving it a sweeping glance before widening the gap and holding it for Aizawa.

"This can be your room!" Aizawa steps inside, but Itadori stays holding the door open. He points with his thumb down the corridor. "Mine, Kugisaki, and Fushiguro's rooms are around the corner. So, you know, if you need anything, come round!" 

"And vice versa," Aizawa can't help adding, because he's a teacher, okay, it's instinct at this point.

Itadori smiles at him and nods. "Alright. If that's all fine then I'll be off! You can get settled. See you tomorrow!” He slams the door shut. Then he reopens it, apologises, and shuts it again, gently this time.

With a sigh, Aizawa sits down on his bed. He runs his hands over the sheets. See, there’s a reason he takes naps whenever he can, because back in his universe, he’s an underground hero. He works primarily at night, and then he teaches during the day, and that doesn’t leave a lot of time for him to. You know. Sleep. He mostly runs off of power naps across the day, and occasionally maybe half the night asleep if his shift starts in the second half and he doesn’t have any homework to mark. And on the rare occasions he does just have time to sleep, it’s always with Hizashi’s arms around him, whispering sweet nothings against his ear.

His throat clenches, and he huffs, massaging his temples. Hizashi isn’t here right now. He unwraps his capture tape and heaps it onto a chair, then tugs his socks off and removes his overshirt. Sitting down on the bed, he pushes his hand down, testing its softness. It springs back up under his touch. After a thoughtful moment, he falls back onto it and stares at the ceiling thrown into a soft, golden yellow light from the bedside lamp. As much as he loves his naps, he knows he won’t be able to sleep easily.

He turns onto his side, propping his head up on his palm, and takes his phone out again. It had been fully charged this morning, and since he hadn't used it much except to show the kids his gallery, it still has plenty of charge. It'll finish soon enough. He taps the black screen absently, then switches it on anyway. He doesn't have anything particularly interesting on it. He can't even access the Internet. He flicks through his folders just so he has something to do, smiling at the occasional photo. He finds he can still access his chats on some apps as well. The teachers' group chat is sadly still visible. He exits it after squinting at Nemuri's last message ('enjoy your chicken period <3') and deciding he wants no further context.

He slips his head off his arm, wrist starting to burn, and scrolls randomly one last time, ready to shut his phone out of boredom, when he notices a number one next to his music folder. It should be empty. Aizawa had definitely never downloaded any music on his phone. He taps it and furrows his brow at the single folder inside it, titled 'husband feels', with the number sixty nine next to it.

A little playlist. He blinks and presses it. He hadn't been aware it was on there. Definitely Hizashi's work.

He scrolls through it, glancing over some of the song names. He's not really into music too much himself, but Hizashi's obsessed. He has his own cabinet filled with records and CDs he's collected over the years. He'll sing all the time, and if Aizawa is in an extremely good mood—he doesn't make it a habit, mind you—he'll hum along.

Stupid Hizashi, making a playlist for Aizawa when he knows he doesn't even listen to music. He stares at the list of songs, then shuts his phone and throws it to a side, pulling on the duvet and getting under it. He switches the lamp off and lies on his back in silence.

The minutes tick on. He turns over. His phone lies innocuously on his sheets. The silence doesn't get any less loud.

... If he turned the volume really low and left it on his bedside table, it would be fine. It was just, he wouldn't be able to sleep at this rate anyway.

He grabs his phone and opens the playlist again. Making sure the volume is low but audible, he presses play and puts it on the table, watching it expectantly. The music begins and he recognises it immediately. Hizashi has sung this one to him many times before.

"It's you, you're all I see," Freddie Mercury croons, and Aizawa puts his arm over his face. "Ooh, you make me live now, honey..."

"Seriously?" Aizawa can't help mutter, embarrassed even in the loneliness of his room.

The song finishes soon and the next one starts, and he continues listening, eyes closing naturally. The music washes over him, and as each song finishes, he finds himself relaxing muscles he hadn't realised he'd tensed. 

He listens hazily, another Freddie song playing. It's the sixth one so far. Or seventh? He might not know the band name but he can recognise that voice. Hizashi adores them.

"When I'm not with you, think of me always..." 

His mind drifts and his breathing levels out.

"I love you..."

In the middle of the night, Aizawa's eyes fly open, heart thumping. He squeezes the blankets between his fingers, levelling his breathing, but not a sound passes his lips. He's trained himself to wake up silently, as well as deal with the nightmares that plague him from time to time. Used to be every night when he was younger. They came with the job if you were a hero. He reaches out a shaky hand to flick the bedside lamp on, hesitating for a moment as he thinks, Hizashi will wake up, then grits his teeth and turns it on when he remembers where he is.

His phone has turned off. He'd had a sleep timer set on it in case he fell asleep in his sleeping bag at any time. Wincing at the aches from old wounds, he sits up a little straighter and leans back against the headboard, breathing deeply. 

The nightmare is fading already, but the fear lingers. He keeps his eyes open, the pale memory of bloodied faces screaming soundlessly in front of him enough to make him grip his biceps painfully. God, why now? He hasn't had one of those in a while. 

He sits there like that until he can finally bring himself to shut his eyes without seeing dead people crying out for him. Too many lives lost. Too many times he wasn't quick enough. The sunny smile of a boy with sky blue hair plays in his mind, and try as he might, he can't remember what he looked like without blood dripping down his forehead, nose, chin, skull crushed in, eyes branded with the terror he felt in his final, dying moments. Alone.

Aizawa can feel himself going fuzzy around the edges. He forcefully drags his mind out of that well-explored pit and does some grounding exercises he's picked up over the years. He's always horribly vulnerable after a nightmare. Once he's aware of the blankets wrapped around him, the quiet hum and warmth of the lamp, the wind whistling under the windowsill, he slumps down, tugging the sheets over his head. He reaches out to flick the light off, but ends up curling his hand back in and refusing to allow himself long to think about it. He wraps his own arm around himself in a moment of weakness which embarrasses him, but he figures is okay since no-one can see him, and shuts his eyes again.

It takes a while, but eventually he begins drifting off, disconnected thoughts to do with his students, Eri, Oboro, Hizashi, all flitting through his head. Distantly, he hears quick footsteps go down the corridor, around the corner, followed by knocks, doors opening, and quiet conversation.

He still doesn't think much of it, falling in and out of wakefulness, until someone slams a door shut, startling him so much he jerks up in his bed.

Crossly, he drags his legs out of bed. A glance at the small wall clock tells him it's three in the morning. Footsteps continue tapping outside in the corridor, multiple people by the sounds of it. Determined to shout at someone before he goes back to bed, Aizawa stalks to the door and pulls it open sharply. 

Fushiguro stands outside, which surprises even an exhausted Aizawa because if he'd expected anyone to be making a ruckus in the middle of the night, Fushiguro wasn't the one. He turns to Aizawa, eyebrow raised. 

"Did we wake you up?"

We? 

Itadori comes clomping round the corner, making the ridiculous amount of noise make a little more sense, and halts when he spots Aizawa. "Oh... shoot, sorry."

"What's going on?" Aizawa asks, cutting to the chase so he doesn't need to be dragged into a tedious conversation to discover at the end they're off to drink in the woods or do some other equally dumb teenage thing.

"Curse report!" Itadori explains quickly. "It's nothing we can't handle, just a grade 2, so it's only me and Fushiguro. Kugisaki would usually be with us too but she's on her period so we're letting her chill. Only this time though, 'cause usually she's more of a menace on her period, which is bad news for curses but good for us! It's wild, I swear she gets powered-up then. You know once as a joke she made a tampon ad out of clips of—"

"Okay," Aizawa says loudly, cutting Itadori off. "Okay, Itadori." 

He turns to Fushiguro for a semblance of clarity. The boy rolls his eyes. "He basically covered it in the first two sentences. Curse report, it's an emergency, we're going now."

"Curse report?" Aizawa asks, sleep wearing off. "What do you have to do?"

"Exorcise a curse. It's kinda gory to be honest, but, eh."

"How dangerous is it?"

Itadori huffs. "Very, I guess. But someone has to do it."

"We're gonna get late, Aizawa-san," Fushiguro interrupts, and grabs Itadori's wrist to march him on. Aizawa watches as they leave. Itadori winces at Fushiguro's tight hold on him, and looking over his shoulder, he smiles at Aizawa. 

The peachy-pink of his hair turns red for just a second, a trick of the light most likely. Or maybe Aizawa imagined it. Red, soaking red.

They're at the end of the corridor when he finds himself calling out, "Wait."

They look at him. Aizawa blinks, then powers on. "Let me come with you."

The two frown and glance at each other. "Why?" Itadori asks, then waves a hand. "Not rude, just..."

"Is it bad to have one more person helping?" Aizawa replies. Fushiguro shifts, something to do with differences in universes and power levels probably on the tip of his tongue, but Aizawa continues before him. "If I'm going to be here, I might as well help. I'm a trained hero, and while I can't use my quirk, I'm still one of the best pro-heroes in my universe. I've got my capture tape. I'm trained with knives and most weapons. Give me one and I can help."

"No," Fushiguro says firmly. "Curses aren't like whatever you think. We can't let you run in without any previous experience. It's dangerous for all of us."

“I’ve spent my whole life fighting humans with inhuman strengths, humans that barely look human, criminals who've lost all sense of humanity and have no limits to what they'll do. Curses no doubt aren't the same, but I'll be able to handle them."

"It’ll be your first time facing curses, it won’t—” Itadori begins doubtfully.

"If I think I can't handle it, I won't fight. I'd only endanger you two as well if I did then."

Fushiguro tilts his head, looking over Aizawa appraisingly. There's an uninterrupted minute, and then he asks, “You’re good with knives?”

Aizawa nods. "And most other weapons."

Fushiguro folds his arms and gives Itadori a significant look which the other returns. 

"Does that mean... glasses too?" Itadori whispers.

"I think so," Fushiguro mutters back.

"Which corridor? A?"

"Yep."

"And I'm guessing, I have to..."

"Sorry."

"You owe me so hard, dude. If I even make it out alive."

"That would be preferable. Boba?"

"Depends where from."

Aizawa doesn't interrupt, watching as they barter between them. Finally, they turn back to him.

"Fine," Fushiguro declares. "You can come with us." He lifts a finger. "But if we tell you to back off, you have to."

"Got it." 

Itadori punches the air. "Oh, man, this is gonna be so fun! Not fun, like, because of the curse, but 'cause you're gonna see how we work!"

Aizawa's not gonna lie, he's actually pretty curious to see them in action doing what they normally do. Last time they'd been fighting he hadn't really had a chance to stop and appreciate their training and talent. 

"Yeah, but we're not going until you get the glasses," Fushiguro says, and Itadori wilts visibly.

"Oh yeah. Wish me luck."

He hurries down the corridor, somehow managing to be relatively quiet. Fushiguro turns in the other direction and looks at Aizawa over his shoulder. "Get ready, then we'll go."

Once he's dragged his clothes on and wrapped his capture tape around his neck, they go downstairs. Fushiguro walks ahead of him, his footsteps almost completely silent. He glances behind himself a few times, checking Aizawa's still there. Well, Aizawa is an underground hero. Stealth is one of his strengths. 

They get to a room with a door identical to the rest. Fushiguro unlocks the door, dust swirling up in the air, and flicks the light on. The room is bare save for a large cupboard taking up a large part of the back wall. Flapping his hand in front of his face, Fushiguro goes to it and throws it open.

"Here they are." He waves a hand, showing Aizawa its contents. "All these are infused with cursed energy, so they can harm curses the way normal weapons can't. Choose one, or a couple, if you want. Knives are in that box."

Aizawa pokes around, picking different ones up and trying them out. Nunchucks, knuckledusters, clubs. There's a variety. He picks out the box Fushiguro had pointed at and rummages within the carefully wrapped knives. 

"Nanami-san's knife is similar to this one," Fushiguro says, picking one up and removing its cover to reveal a large, black meat cleaver.

Aizawa takes it from him and hefts it from palm to palm. He swings it around, getting used to its weight. It's unusually heavy for its size, but not uncomfortably so. "I like this one."

Fushiguro picks the box of knives up and returns it to its shelf. "Okay. The curse will only die if you kill it with that."

Aizawa looks it over, holding the blade to the light and turning it around. It has a weird... aura to it—which Aizawa hates saying, sounds wishy-washy—but it's the only way to describe it. He holds it a little away from him, then brings it closer. Yeah, he could swear it was emitting some kind of heat, energy, or something.

His thoughts are interrupted by loud footsteps running down the corridor. Itadori jogs into the room, putting his hands on his back to catch his breath, then shakes his head and rushes forward.

"I was holding my breath the whole time so she wouldn't hear me," he pants, grinning ruefully. "Anyway, have you chosen a weapon?"

Aizawa shows him the knife, twisting it round deftly in his grip a few times to get used to it as well as amusing Itadori. The boy dutifully oohs and aahs, then snaps his fingers. Digging into his pocket, he takes out a purple case and clicks it open.

"Put these glasses on," he says, holding out a pair of familiar glasses. Aizawa sheathes and attaches his knife to his belt, then takes the glasses and turns them over in his hands.

He raises an eyebrow. "These are Maki's glasses."

Itadori laughs awkwardly, rubbing his neck. "Yyyeah, they're the only curse glasses we have. I had to risk my life to get them from her room."

Curse glasses? They look pretty ordinary to him. "What's so special about them?"

Fushiguro tilts his head. "Have you ever seen any murderous, misshapen blobs eating humans in your universe?"

"... No?"

"Well then you can't see curses, and you're gonna need those glasses to be able to."

"How do you know if there are curses in my universe or not?"

"Because there's humans in your universe," Itadori scoffs. "Humans create curses through negativity. Just 'cause you haven't seen them, doesn't mean they're not there. You probably have jujutsu sorcerers there too, you just haven't come across them."

And the possibilities that raises. If they've harnessed cursed energy, does that mean they're as strong as these guys? Are there people stronger than major top heroes who fight threats most of the population doesn't even know exist? Does using or having cursed energy affect your quirk? Does it make it stronger? 

His brain is buzzing with this new information. This must be what Midoriya feels like all the time.

Fushiguro's phone buzzes, interrupting Aizawa's racing thoughts. He glances at it, then shuts the door to the cupboard. "Ijichi-san is here. Let's go."

They leave the room and make their way quickly outside, crossing the lamplit school grounds and going through the trees, the moonlight just enough for them not to trip over and injure themselves before they even get to the location of the curse. Once they're out the trees, they walk towards a pair of bright headlights, covering their eyes as Itadori knocks on the window to get the driver's attention. 

The man pulls the window down. "Hello, boys," he greets. "Get into the car and we'll be off." He squints at Aizawa. "And who've you got with you?"

"This is Aizawa-san, he's coming with us."

"To fight?"

"Yeah."

"I've not seen him before."

Itadori shrugs.

The man looks at him unsurely then shakes his head. "Fine. I'll ask Nanami-san later."

Fushiguro climbs in, followed by Itadori and Aizawa, and without further ado, they drive off.

"You fine, Aizawa-san?" Itadori asks, nudging Aizawa. "You excited or scared or something?"

"I'm prepared," Aizawa replies drily, looking out the tinted windows to the dark streets that blur past. He may not have planned this originally, but he has no doubts about it. He wouldn't have been able to go back to sleep knowing they were fighting for their own and others' lives as he lay there doing nothing.  

"You gotta expect the unexpected with curses," Itadori says wisely, and Aizawa can practically hear Fushiguro's eye roll. "Don't go in with any expectations, except 'it will try to kill me very painfully'."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Itadori spends the rest of the drive chatting about random things, and the other two listen, not adding much themselves but not minding his constant babble either. Very soon, the car slows down and parks. 

"Here's the location," the driver says unnecessarily, as they get out of the car and face the looming building. It looks like an old factory, grey and ugly to behold. 

"Thanks, Ijichi-san," Itadori calls through the window, then waves as they walk away. 

They walk onwards and to a car park, glancing around themselves and taking in the eerily still atmosphere. Aizawa takes out and settles the glasses on his nose. They're tight around the sides of his head, but they'll have to do.

“Divine Dog,” Fushiguro mutters, followed by similar hand movements to the ones he’d made the first time they’d met. Out of the ground, a large black dog arises, and Aizawa doesn’t even have it in him to be surprised because he’s already seen a walking talking panda and he’s sure he’s about to face worse. “Find the curse.”

The dog starts sniffing the ground and trots off, the three of them following along briskly. It scratches and whines at the door of the building, so Itadori kicks it open and they all file in.

Obselete, clunky machinery clutters up every part of the building. They work their way around it, reaching a wide, open area that must have been for the conveyor belt back when it was functional. It's now as dusty and noxious as all the corridors leading up to it, and it's where the dog stops, sitting down and pawing at the floor.

"In the floor?" Fushiguro asks, scratching the dog's ears. It growls, body tensed, unresponsive to the petting. Its head suddenly twists round, following an invisible route on the floor, until it stops on a nearby wall and barks at it.

Itadori leaps over the trashed, graffitied machines, clambering over jutting corners and rusted pipes. He presses his head to the wall, brow creased in focus. 

“I can hear a slight disturbance nearby,” he says, when the wall blows up and broken bricks topple down onto him. Fushiguro’s mouth drops open and he panickedly calls out for him, trying to scramble up the path Itadori took. Aizawa quickly shoots his capture tape out, winding it around the pipes covering the ceiling, and swings over to where Itadori fell. The boy has already gotten up, rubbing his head but otherwise looking fine.

"Don't worry, don't worry!" he grins, brushing Aizawa's concerned hand away. "Curses can get the jump on us first 'cause we don't yet understand how they attack, but we'll overpower it in no time."

The bricks next to them shift and the ground bubbles. Aizawa immediately grabs Itadori and swings them down to where Fushiguro is anxiously waiting, hands poised, ready to summon another... jujutsu creature if needs be.

"Are you okay?" he asks Itadori urgently, grabbing his shoulders as he checks him over.

Itadori puts his hands out and steps back. "Yes, mom." He looks at where the bubbling has intensified and started rising out of the ground. "Let's focus on the curse for now."

It's the smell that hits Aizawa first. Decaying flesh. He fights down his gag reflex, eyes widening as he takes in the thing that had just broken the wall. It's an odd, spherical shape, with a similar, smaller sphere on top of it that had a single large eye in the centre. Eyes of different sizes dot over every part of its lower body, and they move around on its crusted skin like it's liquid. Two disproportionately thin arms and legs protrude from below it, somehow holding its body up. 

Itadori spots his uncharacteristically shocked look and calls out, "That's a curse!"

"Never could have guessed," Aizawa replies through gritted teeth, raising his capture tape as it peers down at them, making strange warbling noises despite having no mouth.

Just as suddenly as it appeared, it disappears. 

"I think it can travel through the ground," Fushiguro observes, as his dog starts walking round in circles and whining, nudging him with its nose. "Its body looked—"

The curse interrupts by bursting through the floor in a splattering of black-brown liquid, lunging for Fushiguro as soon as it does.

Itadori moves so quickly Aizawa almost misses him. The curse is a foot away from Fushiguro, and then it's pummelled into the opposite wall so hard it leaves a dent in the bricks. Enraged, it shrieks and hurls a brick at them that Aizawa redirects with his capture tape, then melts back into the ground.

"Oi, Fushiguro, be careful, man!" Itadori scolds, not looking remotely affected by the strength of the punch and the speed at which he had to move to get there. Aizawa doesn't bother commenting. Itadori will probably just be confused in reply and think it's normal. "So, quick plan, how we taking this loser down?"

"Curses aren't limited by physics since they're created by abstract feelings in the first place, but even they have limits and weaknesses of their own," Fushiguro explains quickly for Aizawa's sake. "This curse's weak spot I'd say is its head, since it's the only part of its body where it doesn't have multiple eyes. Even that one eye looks fixed in place unlike the lower body ones."

"So we aim for the main eye or the head or its neck?" Itadori asks.

"We can't go for the eye because it'll see us coming, the head is probably protected in some way since it has such an important part of its body there, so I think we should go for its neck."

"Right," Itadori directs. "You guys get somewhere where it can't see you as fast as you can, and I'll distract it. Go for its neck when it isn't looking at you so it can't slip away. Even if it doesn't kill it, it should be easier to take down then."

They nod. Itadori runs forward, waiting for the curse to reappear. 

"Pipes," Aizawa says, pointing at the ceiling, covered in a maze of rusting pipes that they can easily hide themselves in. Also great for movement with his capture tape. 

"Yes," Fushiguro replies, making a quick hand gesture that causes his Divine Dog to disappear, then glances around himself. "It'll be difficult to get there quietly with Nue—"

Aizawa grabs him around the waist tightly. "Hold on."

"What the he—?!" 

The capture tape shoots out, and Fushiguro grabs onto Aizawa as they fly into the ceiling. He swings them round and up with ease, and places Fushiguro down. The kid immediately punches him.

"Don't try that again!" he hisses, fists shaking slightly. 

Aizawa decides to let the punch pass, just this once. "Sorry for not warning you. 'As fast as you can', Itadori said."

Fushiguro glares at him but doesn't add anything else as the curse suddenly propels itself out the ground behind Itadori.

They watch as he lays punch after punch on the curse, but it returns them, dodging and turning on its seemingly fragile, weak limbs, and attacking back equally as hard with puny fists that still send Itadori staggering back.

“Grade two?! This isn’t—” Duck. “—a damn—” Swing. “—grade two.” He throws a kick that sends the curse flying back, but it contorts its legs and lands on its feet, destroying the floor it crashes into when it does. "Curses can't fight! They just—bleh, try and eat you!" He goes for its neck when it next nears, but at the last second, it slips into the floor and reappears right behind him, sweeping his legs out under him. With a yelp, he crashes onto the floor, knocking his chin on the ground. The curse cackles, all its eyes fixed on him as it reaches out for him.

Aizawa readies himself to swing down, but Fushiguro puts a hand on his arm. He hisses a word under his breath, hands gripped together, and an owl bursts into being next to him, similarly to the dog. So that's where the owl from that day came from. Aizawa would be lying if he said he hadn't pondered it at all.

It swoops down silently, claws outstretched, and the fight might have ended right there and then if it weren't for a single one of the curse's many eyes sliding absently across its back and widening when it lands on the owl rushing in towards it. It releases Itadori immediately and drops into the ground, and the owl's claws grab at the empty air where it was moments ago.

Fushiguro thumps the pipe next to himself in frustration, then leans over so he can see Itadori throwing his hands up. He waves them both down. 

With Fushiguro willingly holding on to him this time, Aizawa drops them down, but before they can even make it fully to the ground, the curse bursts out, spitting and snarling, and starts taking on Itadori again, this time with eyes focused on the back of its body too. Aizawa and Fushiguro don't pause and go straight for it. Who cares if it can see them if it can't fight all three of them at once anyway?

Aizawa shoots his capture tape out, tightening it around all its limbs. It might prevent it from—

Nope. It leaves its fight with Itadori and melts into the ground immediately, capture tape falling off uselessly. Just great.

It's getting braver now, returning closer to them and disappearing before they can hurt it. Teasing. It's obviously more on the defensive than attack, but its defence is irritatingly good. It's impossible to get close to it. Its eyes guarantee it sees all around itself, and it can disappear into the ground the moment it chooses to.

Aizawa grunts after his attempt to take out all its eyes fails once more. It can regenerate them much faster than he can slash them. He'd gotten one nick near its upper eye, and at that point it had roughly kicked at him, missed, and disappeared. Maybe it can't regenerate that eye. Maybe it controls its other eyes.

Fushiguro is using the owl to both keep the curse from being able to rest, and to flap right in its eyes to confuse it, and Itadori is still punching and kicking it, movements as smooth and controlled as a dancer's. It tries to back away but the owl drops lower and claws at its head, so it melts away once more, popping up a few metres down, eyes wild.

Aizawa can take advantage of its current preoccupation and aim for its head. He climbs up into the pipes, watching and waiting for the right moment. The owl drags its claws across the top of the curse's head and it screeches, turning around and slapping at it. Itadori punches it in the back of its head and it stumbles forward, neck exposed. 

This should work. 

Jumping down, Aizawa sails silently towards the bent over curse, raising his knife, until it melts into the floor before he can reach it.

"Oh, come on—" he grunts, when it bursts out again, hovering high in the air, meeting a hundred eyes with Aizawa's two. He stares, still only halfway to the ground and falling. This isn't good.

The curse reaches a hand out, gripping the tape, and slams him into the ground. Through the tears of pain pricking his eyes, Aizawa realises Maki's glasses have fallen off. He looks around himself urgently, until a severed half of a machine comes flying towards him. Barely managing to dodge before it smashes just above where he had landed, Aizawa swings himself up to a dusty windowsill cursing under his breath. Objects are flying around, but he can no longer see who's throwing them.

"Aizawa-san! Try now!" Itadori yells, dodging and twisting in the empty air. "There's gonna be—"

"I can't!" he calls back, willing his eyes to see, furious when they couldn't. "I lost the glasses!"

"You—?!" Itadori starts, then goes tumbling onto the floor, clutching his stomach. Aizawa readies himself to swing down when he hears a rush of air, getting closer, and he has no way to dodge what he knows is coming. 

The air in his lungs is suddenly knocked out of him as wet hands he can't see grab onto him. He loses his balance, foot slipping on the condensation-wet sill, and he trips forward off it, weighed down by the curse clamped around him. He tries to reach the pipes with his capture tape as he falls, but it's grabbed out of midair by the same creature clamped onto him. The ground rushes up to meet him. 

So this is how I die, he thinks as he closes his eyes, just before his stomach flips and he's swooped back into the air. His eyes fly open. The owl is clasping onto a large patch of air, which in turn is still crushing his chest. The curse is screeching and digging its fingernails into his sides, until the owl drops both of them back onto the concrete. He scrambles back to his feet immediately, searching around himself for any sign of the curse so he can try attacking it anyway. Debris on the ground shifts without any apparent cause, so Aizawa tugs his knife out, holding it in front of him. 

A tinkling sound comes from the air, almost as if the curse is laughing at him. Teeth gritted, Aizawa doesn't move from his spot, squarely facing where he thinks the curse is stood. He needs to be sure that that's where it is. He could shoot his capture tape towards it, but it might grab onto it and pull him over. Maybe he could throw something at the place where—

There's a loud scratch, and he hears Fushiguro yell his name before he's knocked onto the ground, head thudding back on the concrete. Ears ringing, he tries to move the hand still holding the knife, but it's pinned down, and though he can feel the weight of the curse on him, can smell its stench burning his throat, all he can see is the stretch of grey ceiling above him. The curse cackles, pressing down on him further. It's enjoying this. It knows he has no cursed energy.

Aizawa wants to kick its stupid, cackling head off.

He does it by instinct when it happens. Not because he expected anything to happen. He glares up at where the curse should be, hair rising, giving it his deadliest look that's shaken students to tears, and just like that, he can see—

The curse in all its filthy, deformed glory, warbling some centimetres away from his face.

He can see the curse. He can see it. 

He blinks firmly then deactivates his quirk, hair falling back down. It's gone. Totally disappeared. He reactivates it. It reappears, blurred for a moment before sharpening, just as clear as when he was wearing the curse glasses.

"A lot to unpack," he murmurs to himself, not sure what else there is to say. The curse is getting bored of messing with him, and locks eyes with him. Baring its teeth, it screams once, blowing all of his hair back with the rush of air.

"Aizawa-san!" he hears Fushiguro shout, followed by a loud hoot. 

Aizawa raises his capture tape and goes for the curse's arms, managing to force it to move its grip on his chest. He pulls his arm out of its hold so he can flip the knife still clutched tightly in his hand, and point it towards the curse. Without hesitating, he stabs the knife through its arm and twists it, making it scream in agony. It stumbles, leaning onto one side, leaving an opening for the owl to scratch at its eyes. Howling as blood spurts out from the damaged eyes and leg, it bends over and melts into the ground, managing to slip out of the capture tape's grip, cries still echoing behind it. 

Aizawa shoots across to where Fushiguro is, and the boy stares at him, stunned.

"Why's... why is your hair floating?" he asks faintly. "And your eyes are red."

With a sigh, Aizawa releases his quirk. The itch in his eyes stops, and his hair falls down around his shoulders. "Effect of using my quirk. Vision-based, eyes go red when I activate it. Hair goes up so it doesn't block my sight. I could just cut it but I don't want to."

"I thought you couldn't see the curse." There's suspicion beginning to line Fushiguro's voice again. 

"I can't. But apparently when I activate my quirk I can." Fushiguro gives him a sceptical look. "I'm as lost as you, kid."

Before Fushiguro can say anything else, Itadori runs to them, still clutching his stomach. "Ai—Aizawa-san. How'd you..."

"No idea." He looks around the room. The silence after the curse's nonstop sounds is oppressive. Silence like waiting for the thunder after a flash of lightning. "Be on your guard."

"I can't get close to its neck, man," Itadori complains, scratching his head. "Whenever I try it... goos away." He grins, ridiculously proud of that lame pun. Aizawa rolls his eyes, glancing around himself, when he feels the floor wobble. He looks down, fists curled, but nothing is there.

"The curse is below us," he says loudly. The other two look down too. 

"Yo, Fushiguro?" Itadori starts questioningly, when Fushiguro stumbles up to him and pushes him back.

“Ita—” he blurts, before an arm slams into his side, throwing him across the floor. He lands badly on his head, a strangled cry forced out of him as he collides with a half-crushed machine and falls still. His owl melts into a black goo.

“Fushiguro!” Itadori yells, sprinting towards him unthinkingly. An arm slithers out of the cracks in the floor, and Aizawa shoots his capture tape out and grabs it, pulling it away from its course to Itadori’s ankle. It struggles against it, then disappears, but Aizawa keeps his capture tape poised, making sure Itadori is okay as he rushes to Fushiguro’s side and falls down beside him.

He doesn't get to see if Fushiguro is fine or not, because the curse leaps out the ground and bounds towards him, limbs and eyes healed, taking the chance to get him alone.

He snaps his capture tape at it again, slashing with it at the same time as his knife. It darts around him, sinking into the ground and bursting back up at a speed that has Aizawa twisting round faster than he thinks his back can really handle, and blocking hits with his knife just moments before it takes off his head. It suddenly grasps his still-floating hair and sharply tugs it backwards, then smashes him in the stomach while he's gasping in pain. He buckles over, retching, eyes watering so much he can't keep his quirk up. He crawls backwards, wheezing for breath, trying to recover as fast as he can. 

The sound of the curse slithering closer is faster. He dropped his knife when he was punched. He won't be able to get up in time. 

It halts all of a sudden, then screams, sliding into the ground and reappearing far away from him, near the edge of the room. Aizawa stares at where Itadori stands, hands black with the curse's blood, letting the knife fall from his hand as he looks over his shoulder at Aizawa. 

"Fushiguro passed out. He's just bruised though. I think he'll be fine."

He turns back to the curse, face blank of emotion. "I'll kill it."

He winds his fist back, but it’s different to the last few punches. There’s a black energy behind it that Aizawa thinks he can smell. It’s acid, burning plastic, raw meat. His fists clench unconsciously as the curse shrieks and rushes towards Itadori, face contorted in what could be interpreted as a grin. Itadori stays in his spot and faces it unflinchingly, and as soon as it’s close enough, smashes a fist right into its leering face. For a heartstopping millisecond, it looks like nothing has happened, its rolling eyes frozenly fixed on Itadori whose fist is half buried in its skin. And then it flies across the building, crashing through steel machines like they’re wet paper and landing in a mangled heap on the opposite side. 

Itadori’s eyes are dark, locked on its moaning body. The scent of burning flesh stings sharply at the back of Aizawa’s throat. He doesn't know if it's coming from Itadori or the curse. Itadori is still standing there, just staring at the curse, so Aizawa struggles to his feet, taking a few deep breaths, before climbing over a collapsed conveyor belt and swinging over. Once he's behind Itadori, he reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder, but the boy flinches violently when he does, and in a heartbeat, Aizawa is trapped in his grip with the same, burning fist pulled back, ready to hit. His eyes widen in shock, but before he can say anything, Itadori's eyes clear and his mouth falls open.

"Oh! Aizawa-san!" He puffs out a breath and lets go of him, brushing his clothes down awkwardly. "Geez, warn me next time!"

Aizawa is pretty sure that he narrowly avoided being killed there. He swallows, ripping his gaze away from Itadori to see—

He tackles Itadori as the curse leaps at them, missing them by centimetres. It's incensed now, howling at them from a little bit afar, wary of Itadori.

"Ah, shit, I was about to exorcise it properly!" Itadori huffs, rubbing away some blood dripping off his chin. "It must be strong if it survived. Well, I'll try again."

"We know we have to go for its neck," Aizawa rushes, as the curse huffs and snorts impatiently. "But it can see us if we try to come for it and then it disappears. It's intimidated by you right now so get in close and try to keep it from disappearing. Keep its attention. I'll go for the neck."

"Got it," Itadori says, racing forward. The curse jumps back and screeches, eyes darting between him and Aizawa, but it clearly sees Itadori as a bigger threat than him because most of its eyes are locked on him. Aizawa shuffles backwards, utilising his stealth the best he can, and when he spots a moment where Itadori circles around it and all its eyes focus on him, he shoots his capture tape up and gets high above again. It seems to remember him suddenly and two of its eyes slide into its back. But they can no longer spot him. A couple more eyes begin to gather around, the curse becoming more agitated, but Itadori runs towards it, and it melts down and re-emerges a couple metres away. Further from Itadori, but perfectly positioned for him. 

Itadori steps towards it, and all its eyes gather at the front again, a single stray one still darting around on its back, but not spotting him above. When it looks the opposite way and he knows it won't catch him in its peripheral view, Aizawa takes a deep breath and unsheathes his knife. Here he goes. 

He jumps off the ceiling and swings in a perfect arc towards the curse.

“Get it, Aizawa-san!” Itadori yells, and the curses eyes all lock on him, then where his gaze is turned. All its eyes widen at once, and it tries to escape, it tries, but it's too late. With one smooth slice, Aizawa decapitates the curse, black blood spattering over his face as the thing keens and flails, fingers scratching at the gaping wound, all of its eyes rolling wildly. The head sails towards Itadori and he kicks it away from himself, wiping his face. It twitches and wails inhumanly, the sound scraping at the inside of Aizawa's skull, and after a few seconds, bubbling and frothing into a sticky liquid, it can’t make any other noise. 

The two of them stand in the loud silence, the only sounds their panting breaths. Aizawa’s ears are ringing. He rubs them on his shoulders. 

Itadori moves first, going back down to where he'd placed Fushiguro. He's already awake, struggling up into a seated position as he gets there.

"Is it dead?" he grunts, putting a hand out. Itadori grabs it and hoists him up.

"Yep! Aizawa-san killed it!"

It's startling how he says it, grinning while talking about what they'd just done. Aizawa's a pro-hero and he's seen similar things, yes, but not like this. This is normal for them. Just another day.

He glances back. The spot where the curse's body lay is still steaming.

“I’ll call Ijichi-san, " Fushiguro says, wincing a little as he moves his arm but otherwise showing no sign that he fell so hard he passed out. It's like he's not even aware he's in pain. He dials a number and turns around as it rings. Aizawa's eyes are drawn once again to the damp spot where the curse’s body had been only a minute ago.

“Are you okay?” He looks up. Itadori has come closer, head tilted. “They’re not… it can be disturbing fighting some—”

“I’m fine,” Aizawa interrupts sharply. Itadori’s face falls a little, which sends a sharp pang of guilt through Aizawa. These are kids. Jesus. 

“I’m fine,” he repeats, more quietly than before. “I’ve seen disasters before. And people dying.” Itadori nods slowly. Aizawa can't stop imagining his own students having to watch something as graphic as this regularly. Sure, they see violence and crime a lot, all heroes do, but death should be avoided at all costs and this level of horror every day would be scarring. He looks Itadori in the eye. “How do you handle this? I’d never want my students to have to see this kind of thing regularly at this age.”

“I’m not scared of curses,” Itadori says simply, which in any other circumstance, Aizawa would take as arrogance or boastfulness. After what he’s seen, and Itadori’s neutral, calm expression, Aizawa can tell that it’s just plain fact. “They’re not human. They hurt humans. Exorcising them saves human lives.”

“You’re not scared of them?”

“Nah. I’m not scared, I’m not scared of curses or fighting them or… dying.” He looks away from Aizawa. “My death is inevitable, y’know? There’s—there’s a countdown, and I’m basically working to make it go down faster.” He laughs joylessly, then presses his lips together. “I just want—to make things better before I go. Even a little bit.”

And Aizawa doesn't even know where to begin with that. "Countdown? What?" 

Itadori blinks, and his mouth forms a small o. "You don't—oh yeah."

"Why the hell is there a countdown to your death?" 

"It's, ah, complicated." 

"So there's a literal countdown?! Your death is pre-planned?" 

Itadori looks more and more overwhelmed by the questions, but before he can answer a single one, Fushiguro comes over. "He's on his way."

"Fushiguro," Aizawa says, and sees Itadori shake his head desperately. 

"Hm?" He puts his phone away and looks between Itadori and Aizawa. "Yeah? Is everything okay?" 

Itadori is still giving him a pleading look.

“... Never mind,” Aizawa says grudgingly. Fushiguro narrows his eyes, but says nothing more.

“Okay, if that’s all, let’s go.”

He strides off. Aizawa goes to follow but Itadori grabs his sleeve. 

“Look, it…” He groans and rubs a hand down his face. “It’s not that he doesn’t know. He gets, he gets upset if it’s brought up. But there’s no way around it. I don’t wanna stress him out so I don’t—don’t like talking about it more than I have to?”

Aizawa’s frown deepens, watching the boy carefully. He hasn't answered any of his questions, but blood is still dripping steadily down his forehead and the hand rubbing his face is blistered and raw. This isn't the time to make him talk. He nods once, then turns around, following Fushiguro, who’d stopped and was watching them a short distance away.

“Are you two sure everything’s okay?” he asks as soon as they’re closer.

Itadori laughs and waves. “Totally! We just had to find—”

“Then walk quicker,” he deadpans, turning away from them. Itadori sticks his tongue out at the back of his head, then grins at Aizawa and keeps walking.

They spot Ijichi’s car rolling in as they walk towards the same spot they’d been dropped off at. He rolls the window down and smiles at them.

“Glad to see you’re all well!” 

Exhausted, all three of them climb into the car and slump down. “Let’s go,” Fushiguro mumbles, rubbing his eyes. 

They drive off, and Ijichi turns the radio on, keeping the volume low and humming along to the song. Itadori keeps shifting until Fushiguro sighs loudly. 

"What's wrong, Yuu—Itadori?" he asks, jaw clenching at the accidental slip. Itadori doesn't seem to notice, sliding down his seat. 

"I'm sorry, I just, something sharp stabbed my lower back and I can't, it hurts to sit," he mumbles in embarrassment. Fushiguro turns to him, brow furrowed. 

"Really? Oh." He fidgets with his jacket, then clears his throat. "Uh, do you—um? Do you wanna lean on me? It'll reduce some of the weight, maybe."

Itadori opens his mouth, a surprised huff escaping him, then shuffles back and slowly nestles his head on Fushiguro's shoulder. "... Thanks."

Fushiguro grunts.

After a couple minutes, Itadori whispers, "Hey, Aizawa-san. Would you wanna come with us again, or not? Your first curse experience, huh?" 

"Yeah. I'd come again," Aizawa replies immediately. 

"Really? Why?" 

"Because I'm capable of helping. If any of you died and I hadn't helped just because this isn't my universe so I didn't take it as my responsibility… you can see why that's wrong." 

Itadori hums thoughtfully. "See, I said you were a good guy."

Somehow, it's so simple and genuine coming from Itadori that Aizawa can't help but give him a small smile. The smile fades when he remembers Itadori's earlier words. Inevitable death? What could he mean by that?

Yawning, Itadori nuzzles closer into Fushiguro's neck, making the boy jump. 

"Yo, Fushiguro, you got… a little blood on you," he says, frowning up at his jaw from his spot. Fushiguro, despite his obvious struggle, shrugs his free shoulder. 

Narrowing his eyes in focus, Itadori licks his thumb and wipes the smear off of his jawline. “My grandad always did that.” The other boy makes a small noise in his throat and lowers his head into his jacket neck. Itadori’s eyes suddenly widen and he covers his face, mortified. “Wait, was that weird?! I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I didn’t mean it! Like, that wasn’t a—no, that wasn’t like a, a kiss, was it? I—”

“Please shut up,” Fushiguro says in a muffled voice, and Itadori shuts up, moving his head off of Fushiguro's shoulder, face as red as the other boy's ears.

Why does Aizawa always have to be near this shit. 

The rest of the drive is silent, and Aizawa thinks it’s because Itadori had decided to stick to the silent order, until he hears a quiet snore. The kid is slumped down awkwardly, head lolling onto his chest and bouncing everytime they go over a pothole. Fushiguro is watching him, nose scrunched up, then after shooting Aizawa a quick glare that comes across a little desperate, he maneuvers Itadori’s head onto his shoulder. 

Aizawa can hear Itadori snoring and mumbling random words right next to Fushiguro's ear, but Fushiguro is unbothered. He tentatively rests his own head on top of Itadori's, stiff at first with nervous energy that seeps out bit by bit.

By the time they get back, he looks the most relaxed Aizawa's seen him so far. Ijichi parks the car and looks expectantly back at them. Reluctantly, Fushiguro moves his head and nudges Itadori.

"Itadori," he whispers, shaking him. "Wake up. Get up. We're back."

Itadori groans quietly and pulls his sleeve. "Mmhuh."

"Itadori," Fushiguro repeats, poking him once more.

Itadori pulls a face but opens his eyes blearily. "'M up." He struggles out of the car and stands, swaying on the spot, before trudging down towards the trees. Fushiguro quickly says goodbye to Ijichi and jogs after him, bumping his shoulder when he's next to him.

The duo walk slightly ahead of Aizawa in silence. They reach the building soon, without the friendly chirping or background noise that there was during the day. There's lamps dotted around, but they only give an overall more desolate effect than warming and light. 

They make a beeline for the common room as soon as they've entered. Fushiguro collapses down on a sofa, sighing loudly. He lets out a low oof when Itadori falls down right next to him and gets comfortable with his head resting on his stomach. 

"Jus' lemme lie here, man," he moans when Fushiguro tries to push him off. "You shut up and sleep too."

Fushiguro sits there, tensed up, until Itadori fists his hand and thumps it gently on his chest. "Stop. Loosen up. Flexed abs aren't comfy to lie on."

Fushiguro flushes, hands going up to cover his face, before stopping and forcing himself to relax. Itadori yawns and wriggles more into place. "Better." He pauses, then sighs. "And you can put your hands down, dude. I don't care."

When Fushiguro doesn’t move his hands from where they’re hovering awkwardly over Itadori, he grabs the closest one and pulls it down onto his back. “Cool?”

"Y—" Fushiguro clears his throat. "Yeah." He gingerly lowers his second hand too, both hands now lying on Itadori's back. His eyes meet Aizawa's, who gives him a knowing look, making him scrunch his eyes shut, cheeks still pink.

"Aren't you hurt?" he asks, patting Itadori to get his attention. The other boy groans.

"Deal with that later. I'm tired."

Aizawa himself has been blessed with a blanket folded neatly on the edge of the seat, almost as if it were waiting for him. He waits no longer, ignoring his bruises as he wraps himself into it like a little worm and closes his eyes. Sleep comes much faster than it had before, exhaustion easily winning out despite everything that had happened.

He sleeps solidly for the next three hours and wakes up of his own accord, feeling infinitely better. Fushiguro is already awake, gazing down at Itadori who's nestled on his chest, dribbling onto his shirt. Aizawa closes his eyes again. Let him have that moment. 

He slips in and out of wakefulness, enjoying the peace immensely, when the door to the room slams open. He squints his eyes, ready to stare down whoever it was, when he sees it's Kugisaki in her pyjamas, with a more frightening scowl already fixed on her face. 

"Why the hell are you downstairs? I went to your rooms and you weren't—" She stops, taking in the sight of a bloodied, bruised Fushiguro with an equally bloodied, bruised Itadori wrapped around him, snoring. Fushiguro looks at her blankly, arms now tightly held around the other boy to keep him from rolling off onto the floor. Only reason. His hand in Itadori's hair meant nothing. "Did. Did you go on a mission? Without telling me?"

Fushiguro hesitates, then nods. 

She stares at him, waiting for further explanation. Fushiguro goes back to pulling lightly on strands of Itadori's hair and drawing circles with his fingers on his back.

Kugisaki marches forward and grabs Itadori, shaking him violently before Fushiguro can furiously slap her away.

"The fu..." Itadori mumbles, jerking awake and raising his head to blink half-asleep at his friend. Fushiguro's hands mysteriously disappear off of him. "Kugisaki? Hi, you okay?"

"No," she says loudly. "You went on a mission without me!"

"Oh." He thumps his head back down onto Fushiguro's chest. "Yeah. I didn't wanna wake you up."

"What?!"

"You were complaining yesterday evening, you said—"

"What grade?" she asks, fighting to keep her calm.

"Well, it was supposed to be a two but I think it was definitely higher," Itadori replies, voice muffled from where he's snuggled into Fushiguro. Apparently this is too much for Fushiguro who hurriedly straightens up, face red, and stands up. Itadori groans and puts a hand on the armrest.

"I'm gonna... take a shower in a bit," he sighs, sitting up straight. His eyes start sliding shut anyway. Kugisaki walks over and slaps his head.

"If you go without me again, I'll kill you," she threatens, voice low. He hisses and rubs his head gingerly, and Kugisaki's lips purse. She doesn't look ready to apologise however, and still glowers at them. "What if you'd died and I'd been asleep? You two need me, we're a team!"

"Aizawa-san was with us," Fushiguro frowns, stepping over to Itadori and takes a hold of his head with gentle fingers. He presses it carefully, wincing with Itadori when he touches a sore spot. "You hurt your head?"

"Uh, yeah, when the. When the wall fell on me."

Fushiguro's jaw tenses. "Oh. Sorry I didn't get there—"

"Don't be dumb, Fushiguro," Itadori snorts. "That's my job. I'm basically fine, dude." He punches Fushiguro lightly on his stomach. "If you're tryna stop me from ever getting hurt, you got a big job ahead of you."

Fushiguro's eyes soften, and he faces away from Itadori so he can't see the painful levels of affection in them. "Hm. Well, I'm getting something cold. It's a bit late but it'll still soothe the pain." He ignores Itadori’s insistences and leaves the room. 

Kugisaki crosses her arms once he's gone and turns her glare on Aizawa instead, still cocooned in the blanket. "Why did they take you and not me? Do you think I can't handle it? Is that what it is? You think 'cause I'm from the countryside I'm not—" 

"Kugisaki, we thought you wouldn't wanna come because of your period," Itadori says, making himself smaller as Kugisaki tightens her fists. "Just—we didn't want to—" 

"I work better on my periods," Kugisaki growls. "And you could've asked me. And since when did my period become a discussion point? Curses don't care if I'm on my period, they'll kill me anyway. So fuck them, I'll do the same."

Itadori nods quickly, ears red, but Aizawa doubts it's from the period talk, more from facing the terror of an enraged, betrayed Kugisaki.

She finally flicks her hair over her shoulder and sits down, crossing one leg over the other. She rests her head on her palm, glaring out the window, before side-eyeing Itadori. "Is your head okay?" 

Itadori blinks then grins at her. "Yeah! Fushiguro's worrying over nothing. I hit a wall and some debris fell on me? Maybe I got a bruise. But I'll be fine." 

Kugisaki huffs and turns back around. After a moment, she adds under her breath, "Good."

Fushiguro returns, bag of peas in hand. "Sit still." He perches on the side of the couch, leaning over Itadori and presses the bag to his head. "There?" 

Itadori hums, closing his eyes. 

For a while, there's a quiet that's almost peaceful. The sliding door is open, and a cool breeze flows lightly across the room. Birds sing from the trees outside the window, and the odd leaf falls inside the room, balancing on the edge of the doorway before slipping onto the wooden floor. Aizawa's eyes droop, and he lets himself relax for just this moment. 

Footsteps trudge down the corridor and the door opens. Maki stands in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and squinting at everyone in irritation. 

"Where are my glasses?" she asks, giving them all a death glare. On second thoughts, it looks like she's just struggling to see anything. "I put them on my desk and they're not there."

Fushiguro, Itadori, and Aizawa glance at each other, then look away.

"Maybe you left them in here," Itadori says lightly, not meeting her eyes. Not that she could see anyway. "Do you want help looking?"

She crosses her arms. "Itadori."

He gets up slowly, pushing Fushiguro and the bag of peas away from him. "I'll, uh, I'll look around, okay?"

"Itadori!" 

Itadori bolts. In the ensuing chaos—Maki going to chase him and crashing into Kugisaki; landing on the floor on top of her and giving her a nosebleed; Fushiguro not-so-discreetly locking the door that Itadori just escaped from; Panda walking in and being attacked by Maki who assumed Itadori was hiding behind him—Aizawa feels a small smile ghost across his lips that he quickly flattens. Stupid children. 

He's glad he was able to fight with them today. If they'd escaped even a single injury because of him being there, it was worth it.

Chapter Text

"Why are we here?" Fushiguro deadpans, looking around himself. Looks like a waiting room, though a lot more colourful. 

"Bonito flakes," Inumaki replies, and they all glance to a side where the author sits, embarrassed as she herself types the characters judging her. "Cod."

"Meeting some people, right?" Itadori grins excitedly. "It'll be so cool! They have quirks."

"And tastes in women," Todou adds, grinning toothily. Itadori feels a little bad for the new people.

"It'd be cool if they ever arrived," Kugisaki groans, pulling Itadori from side to side to sate her boredom. Itadori shoves her back as a joke, until she pinches him and then they're brawling again.

"Seriously, why are we here," Fushiguro grits, glaring at his shameless friends. Maki scoffs and elbows him.

"Just through here!" Iida orders, gesturing his classmates through. 

"Iida-kun, are you sure—" Midoriya begins, but Bakugou has already stomped through, surveying the room. 

"Nope," he tuts, stomping right back out when faced with another empty room. "You had one fucking job, Glasses." 

"I—Well, I did not intend—" Iida starts spluttering, but Kirishima slaps him on the back. 

"Don't worry, man, we'll find our way!" he beams, leading the group down another corridor. "Eventually," he adds under his breath when the walk yields only another locked janitor's closet. 

"You're only forty-five minutes late," Fushiguro says flatly. "Don't even worry about it."

"That sounds kinda sarcastic," Kaminari blinks. Everyone stares at him.

"No shit?" Kugisaki grunts. Bakugou smacks the back of Kaminari's head. 

"Dunce Face, you're an embarrassment to this class."

"Hey, I'm the one who finally found the room—"

"Let's... split into our groups," Midoriya interrupts.

The two sit opposite each other, Kugisaki with her arms folded and leg folded imperiously, Bakugou with his legs spread, boredly eyeing the other. 

He breaks the silence first. "Who the fuck are you then?" 

"Kugisaki Nobara," Kugisaki replies, wrinkling her nose. "You wanna try smiling a bit? I don't like boys who think they're all it."

Bakugou snorts. "Yeah, and I give zero shits. I'm Bakugou Katsuki." He laces his fingers behind his head and eyes her. "Heard you kill curses or some shit. You look like you cry when you break a fingernail."

She narrows her eyes at him. "I do. What about it?"

He rolls his eyes and she leans forward across the table. "Listen, child, I've killed people. Have you?"

"Sure you have, bitch."

Kugisaki slams her hands down on the table. "Let's have an arm wrestle."

Raising his eyebrows, Bakugou shrugs. "You're gonna lose." 

He leans forward and they clasp hands firmly, eyes locked in challenge. 

"Itadori Yuuji. You?"

"Kirishima Eijiro!"

"Nice name, dude!"

"Thanks, man, back at ya!"

"So what's your quirk?" 

"Oh, you wanna see?"

Silence. Fushiguro is content to stay like that. So is Todoroki. But the author has had her face pressed to the window these last few minutes, hands pressed together pleadingly, and it's irritating as hell so Fushiguro sighs. 

"What's your name?" he asks, trying to sound more enthusiastic and not as out-of-place as he feels. 

"Todoroki Shoto," the other boy replies. Silence falls once more.

"I'm Fushiguro Megumi," Fushiguro tries. 

The boy startles almost imperceptibly, surprising Fushiguro. He'd thought he was being difficult intentionally, but it seemed he was just as awkward as Fushiguro, if not more. "Oh. Yes."

Silence again. Fushiguro fiddles with his fingers in his lap. Todoroki has obviously taken out his phone and is tapping on it under the table. Annoyed, Fushiguro lowers his face into his collar and watches the clock.

A little cough interrupts his thoughts. The phone is gone and Todoroki is making eye contact with him.

"Do you have any pets?" he asks monotonously. 

Fushiguro perks up.

"You don't talk?"

"Bonito flakes."

"I'm... not totally sure what you mean."

Inumaki takes the notebook and pen helpfully placed on the table, writing in it before pushing the book over to a curious Shinsou.

my cursed speech is rlly dangerous :( so i just talk in rice ball ingredients..... BC I LIKE RICE BALLS //>u<//

"Huh," Shinsou mumbles, brow furrowed. "Have you ever... unintentionally hurt someone with it...?"

Inumaki's face falls a little. Shinsou sits up and shakes his head urgently. "No, no, I shouldn't have asked that without—like, it's a touchy subject, I get it." Inumaki still looks slightly upset. Shinsou might as well explain. 

"Ugh," he sighs, embarrassed and guilty. "It's because... my ability also works through speech, and I've always been taught I'm dangerous a—and I sorta hurt some people once or twice, by accident though, and no-one believed—"

He clamps his mouth shut when Inumaki pokes his arm. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Inumaki scratches out a note and after only a moment's hesitation, pushes it to him. it's ok i understand :(

Kugisaki cackles as she slams the back of Bakugou's hand into the table. 

"Rematch!" he bellows, vein jumping in his forehead.

He's being ogled at but what the hell, he's used to it.

"You're a panda," Kaminari says, awed. 

Sero nears and holds a hand out to his furry stomach, unabashed. Panda slaps his hand away, frowning at him, but his crestfallen expression makes guilt poke at him.

"Just once," he sighs begrudgingly. The two of them beam and descend on him gleefully with outstretched hands.

"You can't even see curses and you fight them?" Mina asks, eyes wide. 

"These glasses help," Maki answers, tapping them with her finger, "but even then I have to use cursed weapons because I can't put cursed energy into the weapons I use."

"But you're still at a disadvantage though," Jiro says, tugging on her funky earlobes. "Why d'you endanger your life like that?"

Maki grins, eyes sparkling. "Pure spite."

The girls ooh, starry-eyed.

"Dude, that's so manly!" Kirishima gapes, as Itadori steps back from the wall he just obliterated with his bare hands. "I can harden my skin, but you did that anyway?"

"You punch that wall," Itadori says excitedly, pointing to the one opposite the dusty remains of the other wall. "I wanna see your quirk in action!"

"Aw, hell yeah!" Kirishima whoops, hardening his fists.

Midoriya backs away, arms held up. "Listen—"

"I'm just asking, what's your type?" Todou continues insistently, towering over him. Midoriya gulps. "Boobs? Ass? Girls? Guys?"

"I—I just don't think I want to ans—" 

"Cut out the excuses, broccoli boy!"

"Have you named all of these?" Todoroki asks, shifting carefully so he doesn't crush any of the rabbits swarming around him. 

"They're all pretty much identical," Fushiguro admits, picking one up off his lap and placing it on the table. They're both on the floor, which is currently invisible under the layer of Rabbit. "I wouldn't remember their names anyway."

"You can make a list of names and pick a random one whenever you're holding a rabbit," Todoroki suggests, raising one up to his eye level. It paws viciously at his arm but he creates a layer of ice over it to protect it. "The first name could be Judy."

"Judy?" 

Todoroki looks at him like he's an idiot. "The police bunny from Zootopia."

"Zoo... you mean Zootropolis?"

"It's Zootopia."

"Zootropolis."

"Zootopia."

They both pull their phones out and Google at the same time, then frown at the same time too. They're both right.

"Why would they change the name for British people," Fushiguro mutters, scratching behind the ears of the Judy in his lap before she hops off. "Stupid."

Todoroki nods, then lifts up another rabbit. "Nick."

"Sure."

"Let's take some selfies, can we please take selfies?"

Puppy dog eyes and all.

"Sure," Panda hums. Kaminari turns his camera on and they squeeze themselves into frame with him. He throws two peace signs up, and Kaminari slaps a hand over his mouth, phone falling out his hand.

"You okay?" Panda asks, voice laced with concern as he picks Kaminari's phone up for him.

Kaminari shakes his head then gives him a thumbs up. "That was so cute, dude," he chokes out. "Do it again."

"Huh?"

"The, the peace signs."

Hesitantly, Panda does it. Kaminari squeals and Sero slaps him on the back.

"Let's get the selfie, let's—"

Kugisaki grits her teeth. They've been at a deadlock for a couple minutes now. A bead of sweat rolls down her forehead, and she chuckles as she spots the same on Bakugou. 

"Call it even?" she huffs, arm shaking with the effort. Bakugou grunts negatively in reply, opposite fist curled up as he pushes back just as hard. "We can try something else."

He glances at her, then their hands, still unmoving from where they'd started, shifting a centimetre or two either way before being pushed right back to the centre. Kugisaki's palm suddenly twinges sharply in pain, and she gasps and pulls her hand back. Bakugou's fists crackle and he smirks at her.

"Not bad," he says non-committally, eyeing her from a side. 

"Like I need your judgement of me to know I'm fucking awesome," Kugisaki sniffs, rubbing her sweaty palms on her legs. "How many push ups can you do in a minute?"

"More than you," Bakugou spits. Without another word, they both jump off their chairs and onto the floor.

"Sit back down."

Inumaki does, and then his eyes snap back into focus. "Tuna mayo," he says, shaking his fists up and down in excitement before snatching the notebook up and scribbling in it.

that was SO COOL!!!!!!!! my abilities are limited bc it hurts me to use them too but you can do that stuff w/o danger to yourself?? you could do so much with that!!!

Shinsou scratches the back of his neck a little self-consciously. "That's why I've always been called a villain, man. I could do anything I wanted to people. It's just that kind of quirk."

no way??? that's stupid >:(

Shinsou flashes a smile at him, doodling cat ears over the angry face Inumaki drew. "These guys are... nicer. But people still say stuff sometimes."

all i have to do is tell them to explode and— he draws a stickman with Xs for eyes and scribbles over him, adding an unsettlingly detailed mass of intestines a short distance away from him. sorted! :)

"You're kind of scary, Inumaki," Shinsou laughs, quiet chuckles hidden behind his hand. "But I appreciate it."

"Character?" Midoriya squeaks, one hand grasping the door handle. "P—Personality's important. Someone who's kind and strong?"

A darkness descends over Todou's face, and Midoriya waits no longer, pulling the door open and bolting.

"Your clan didn't deserve you, Maki-san," Uraraka sniffs, and all the other girls nod in agreement. "If you were at UA, you'd be the coolest person in school!"

"You sure?" Maki replies, pursing her lips. "It's just how people are in this world. At your school, I'd be the equivalent of a person without a quirk. You think I'd be treated the same?"

The girls hesitate. 

"I never thought about it that way," Mina breathes, eyebrows creased in a frown. "But you're still so, you're just naturally—"

Maki shakes her head. "Naturally stubborn, that's all. I slaved for where I'm at now. Don't want it to be put down as something that just came to me when it was the complete opposite."

"And you could—"

A loud splintering noise distracts them, and they stare at the wall as powerful thudding noises come from behind it. They all jerk away as it's demolished before their eyes, tumbling down to reveal two sweaty boys high-fiving.

"What the fuck."

"Oh, hi guys!" Itadori and Kirishima say at the same time, then yell jinx.

"What did you do to the wall," Maki says flatly. 

Itadori holds his fist out and Kirishima bumps it with his own after wiping his forehead with his shirt. "Destroyed by our combined manpower."

The girls don't get to comment before a sweaty Midoriya bursts into the room and slams the door shut. "The—tall, chunky muscles, the guy is threatening—" he pants, cut off when the door is kicked off his hinges, throwing him into the crumbled bricks on the ground. 

"Midoriya," Todou growls, eyes landing on first the girls, then the gap where the wall should be, and finally the two boys standing scratching their heads next to it. "Oh—brother!" 

"Uh, hi, To—oof." Todou picks Itadori up and hugs him tightly, placing him back down and brushing his shoulders. 

"I was just talking to Midoriya here!" He gestures to the boy currently attempting to escape into the other room, and goes over, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. "Midoriya, I won't lie, I didn't have high expectations from you to begin with. But I will still break your ribs as necessary for that disappointing answer."

"Todou, are you doing that again?" Itadori sighs as everyone else in the room aside from Maki stares at him in horror. 

"Put Deku-kun down!" Uraraka shouts, storming over to Todou, one hand on her hip, the other pointed at his face. "He could fight you easily but he's not because he doesn't like hurting people unnecessarily!" 

"So manly," Kirishima whispers, apparently not worried for Midoriya's health if Itadori trusts Todou. 

Todou narrows his eyes, ignoring all she'd just said. "What's your type?"

Uraraka flushes bright pink, eyes darting between everyone in the room, before fiercely lifting her chin. "My type? Well—looks don't matter to me! Personality does! Someone—someone strong! And... kind!" 

"Uraraka," Midoriya squeaks in a choked voice, and her cheeks get redder. 

"It's okay, Deku-kun." 

"Not that, he's gonna—" 

Todou sighs. "Disappointing. So disappointing."

"Todou..." Itadori says warningly. Todou's brow creases, then he scoffs and lets go of Midoriya midair. He yelps, but Itadori catches him, making a face at his so-called brother and putting Midoriya down. "You good, man? Don't worry about punching him if he gets too annoying." He pauses. "Though you'll definitely get punched back. And might end up dead."

"What part of that wasn't I supposed to worry about?" Midoriya asks faintly.

"Ugh, what the fuck is that?" Jirou winces suddenly, putting her hands over her ears. "That sounded like... an elephant?"

Mina snorts. "It definitely wasn't an elephant, I don't think we need to worry about that."

"Did you think this was a good idea," Todoroki deadpans, as both he and Fushiguro press against the wall. Max Elephant has crushed the table and chairs, and is now shuffling around in the claustrophobic confines of a room barely able to contain it.

"It's in the wrist movement," Kugisaki explains, flicking the nail sharply. It flies across the room and lodges itself in the centre of the cross burned into the wall. "Snap your wrist forward, not downward, and keep your arm moving with it." 

"That's what I'm doing, shithead, it's still—"

"You're too used to keeping your—"

The door creaks open and the two of them break apart, glowering at the person who just entered.

"Bakugou?" Iida begins, astonished. "I wasn't expecting..."

"Fuck you too," Bakugou growls, marching to the door and shoving Iida back out. "We're busy, find someone else to piss off."

"Wait, Bakugou," Iida continues hurriedly. "I've not been able to talk to anyone yet. As class rep, I felt it was my duty first and foremost to make sure everyone else had somewhere to be, and once that was sorted, to make sure everything was fine in everyone's rooms, and yours happened to be the first in the corridor. You two seem fine, but may I join in with you for a short while before—"

"Basically you don't have a partner or group and you feel left out."

Iida deflates. "...Yes."

Bakugou eyes him for a second, then starts shutting the door. "Go find Deku and his shitty friends. We're busy."

"Let him join in, Bakugou," Kugisaki calls, shoving him to a side and pushing the door wide open. "You deal with this guy on a daily basis, dude? Must suck."

Iida braces himself for Bakugou's inevitable explosion, but it never comes. "Ah, shut the fuck up, you know I can floor you in ten seconds."

"Only once," Kugisaki grits out, walking back in the room with Iida following. He clicks the door shut and stands to a side as she repositions herself opposite the cross on the wall. "And it was 'cause my skirt rode up. So it didn't even count."

"Uh huh."

Iida glances at Bakugou and almost gasps. He's... he's smiling. A genuine smile that isn't ruined by the murderous glint in his red eyes. By some miracle, these two got on like a house on fire. Iida finds himself relaxing inexplicably. 

"I'll go over the nail-throwing technique again because someone can't figure it out even though I've explained it, like, thirty times—"

"You're a goddawful teacher then," Bakugou snorts, snatching up a nail from the table and clenching his jaw, getting into position and throwing it. It shoots into the wall at an odd angle, leaving Kugisaki shaking her head.

"How many times, you're clutching the nail like old women clutch their pearls. Keep your fingers loose."

"Shut up," Bakugou says with no bite. He digs the nail out the wall and returns to his position. Kugisaki rolls her eyes at the back of his head as he narrows his eyes at the cross again. She catches Iida's eyes and smirks at him, lips curled in amusement.

"Your turn next...?"

"Iida Tenya."

"Iida-kun. I won't go easy on you."

"Panda-san, are you enjoying yourself?" 

Panda hums. The boys continue artfully karate chopping his back as he lays down on his stomach. 

A buzz suddenly shoots through his body followed by a squeak, and he jolts, looking back at them with a frown. "What was that?"

"Sorry," Kaminari wheezes, tears in his eyes. "My quirk does that. B—By the way, your fur."

It's all stood on end. He looks like a ginormous panda-themed pom-pom. 

He catches the looks in both boys' eyes. "What?" 

"Tuna mayo!" Inumaki whoops, drawing a line through six crosses in a row. 

"Oh, c'mon, just pretend to let me win once." Shinsou squints at the paper. "Noughts and crosses with six rows is too easy?"

"Salmon."

"I think we should add another level to this. Up the ante."

Todoroki and Fushiguro stare at the door as it slowly swings open. A head pops around the corner.

"Yo, did you guys hear—" Itadori stops and gasps, throwing the door open and rushing in, taking a bunch of rabbits into his hands and nuzzling his face into their fuzz-soft fur. "Rabbits! Fushiguro! Rabbits!"

"Yes, rabbits, Itadori," Fushiguro mumbles, looking down a little to hide the dusting of pink on his ears. Itadori always managed to catch him off guard. Todoroki blinks at him but says nothing.

"Rabbits?" Mina asks, eyes widening as she takes in the sea of bunnies swarming across the floor, climbing over each other, nestled in little bundles. "Holy... holy shit. Rabbits."

The rest of them follow in, having similar reactions. Todou gets to the door, takes one look at the rabbits, and immediately turns back around, slamming the door shut. 

"I don't think he likes them," Itadori shrugs, unaware of the silent sigh of relief going across the room.

"Where did these come from?" Jirou asks, laughing as one she's lifted up whaps at her face. 

"I made them," Fushiguro replies, and the non-sorcerers all ooh in amazement.

"How do you create them?" Yaoyorozu questions curiously, smiling as a couple rabbits bump into her and then scamper over her folded legs. 

"Shikigami," Fushiguro explains briefly. "Made of shadows and cursed energy."

Yaoyorozu nods. "I can create things too, though not anything living." Brightly coloured toys start dropping off her arms and she gently pushes some rabbits aside to place them on the floor. "Here."

Fushiguro and Itadori are left briefly speechless. 

"That's wild," Itadori whistles, taking her arm and inspecting it. "Try making something else?"

Looking a little abashed at the attention, she creates a small plastic figurine of Itadori. Itadori snatches it up and gawks at it, mouth wide open. He thrusts it in front of Fushiguro. "It's me! Oh my God! Thanks, Yaomomo-san!"

Yaoyorozu blushes at the nickname and nods again. Fushiguro in the meantime, has taken the figurine off of Itadori and is staring at it intensely. 

"Look how cute it is!" Itadori exclaims gleefully. "Wait— Yaomomo-san, could you make one of Fushiguro?"

Fushiguro looks up at him, confused. Itadori takes the figurine offered by Yaoyorozu and shows it to Fushiguro. "You can keep my one and I'll keep yours! That way we always stay with each other!"

Fushiguro fights his blush valiantly, jaw clenched, and grunts instead. "If you want."

Itadori laughs and ruffles his hair. "Aw, man, this is so cool, Kugisaki is missing out. Who's she with anyway?"

Mind blank, only hand in hair, Fushiguro doesn't reply. Jirou does, blowing her lips out. "She must be with Bakugou? Poor her."

"Poor Kugisaki? Why?"

"Bakugou's got... a lot of personality. Very overpowering."

"So has Kugisaki!"

"Nah, I'm sorry to break it to you, dude. Bakugou's probably at her throat right now. She might come out crying or dead."

"I've figured throwing out," Bakugou says, rotating his wrist while Iida takes his turn. "I'll get accuracy down in a couple tries."

"You use your hands for making explosions usually, right?" Kugisaki notes. "That's probably why you're finding it a little difficult to adapt. This is more precise. You got the hang pretty quickly though, you know. I'm impressed. Iida-kun, that was a nice shot."

"Thank you," Iida bows, then goes to retrieve the nail. "I'm really enjoying this, Kugisaki-san."

"Thanks! Bakugou, control your explosive power and time it precisely. You can put more power behind the throw."

"I'm trying, woman. Have some patience."

"Get on with it, bastard."

Bakugou rolls his eyes and focuses on the throw.

"Kugisaki won't go down without a fight," Itadori chuckles. The students glance at each other doubtfully but leave the subject. They go back to mollycoddling the bunnies. Itadori takes another rabbit and plops it in his lap, stroking its head and humming happily, when a mouth sprouts out his palm and tries to chomp the rabbit's head off. It hurriedly hops out his lap, barely escaping with its ears intact, and Itadori grabs his wrist, shaking it viciously.

"You bastard," he hisses. The others have noticed him, and a few of them scream at the leering lips cackling from his palm.

"Felt forgotten," Sukuna rumbles, running his tongue wetly across his lips. Itadori winces and slaps his other hand onto his palm. Sukuna appears on the back of that hand, unhindered. "What's going on here? Who are these pathetic bunch?"

"Itadori-kun?" Kirishima begins, shaken. 

"What?" Sukuna replies, disdain audible. "And what's with your hair? Compensating for something?"

There's a stunned silence. Itadori growls and gets up. "Ignore him. I'll be right back."

He walks out the room. The rabbits pop out of existence as Fushiguro jumps to his feet and runs after him.

"Is that... normal?" Midoriya asks Maki.

Maki, laid down on the floor where she was letting rabbits trample over her, makes an affirmative noise.

They wait for an explanation that doesn't come. Mina clears her throat.

"Anyway, Todoroki, did you guys hear the really loud noise? Like, elephant loud?"

Todoroki shakes his head, face a mask. "No."

"Just! Stay shut up for like, a little while more!" Itadori pleads, trying to keep his voice from rising too much. Sukuna sighs loudly. 

"I'm bored. Messing with you scum makes the time pass."

Itadori grits his teeth, racking through his mind. "Hey, you liked those chicken nuggets you snatched off me that day, right?"

There's a thoughtful silence. "... Continue."

"I'll buy a family bucket and you can have all of them."

Sukuna considers it. "Hm. You shouldn't start offers so high, boy. It reveals how desperate you are. Work your way up. I want one for every fifteen minutes you want me gone."

"You want—?! I don't have that kind of money, man!"

"This time I'll take a bite out of one of your friends' flesh."

"Fu—fine."

Teeth bared in a smug grin, Sukuna melts away. Itadori checks the time and sighs.

"Is he gone?" Fushiguro asks, coming up behind him. Itadori turns to him and grabs his sleeve. 

"You gotta help me, I can't afford that many family buckets of chicken," he rushes desperately.

Fushiguro frowns in confusion. "What, why—"

"Let's collect everyone and leave." He starts dragging him along with his arm. 

"I can walk myself," Fushiguro mutters drily, not doing anything to remove his arm. Itadori ignores him anyway and shoves open the first door he sees.

"Ah, Pan—" Fushiguro knocks into his back when Itadori halts, and peers over his shoulder in bewilderment.

"What's..."

"Aw, hi, nice to meet ya!" Sero waves cheerily, going back to securing a purple bow onto a clump of Panda's fur. "Yo, Denks, pass me a... yellow one."

"One sec," Kaminari mumbles, tongue sticking out as he ties a green bow right on top of Panda's head. "Nice." He digs through a box and throws a yellow one at Sero.

Panda gazes up at Itadori and Fushiguro, smiling ruefully at their expressions. "Hey, do I look cute, guys?"

Fushiguro and Itadori take in the multicoloured sea of delicate bows covering his back, hair spiked up like spines, and glance at each other.

"Where'd you even get those?" Itadori asks, instead of answering the question.

Panda scratches his ear with a paw. "These guys asked someone? I think that writer girl outside? Where did she get 'em from, I don't know."

"Take a photo, Denks," Sero says, stepping back to take in the full sight.

Kaminari snaps a photo, eyes narrowed. "Sick," he whistles, showing Itadori and Fushiguro the photo too. Honestly, it's not much better, but the duo's enthusiasm is applaudable. 

Itadori shakes his head and quickly rushes in, grabbing Panda's arm. "C'mon, Panda-senpai, we gotta go. Sukuna's ripping me off."

Panda gets up unquestioningly and strolls out the room after Itadori, bows and all. He's tailed by Sero and Kaminari, groaning in complaint and pleading him to stay a little while more.

"What more do you even want to do?" Panda sighs in exasperation, and Sero immediately whips his phone out and shows him a picture of a cartoon panda in brown, tatty looking shorts, and standing in a martial arts pose. 

"We wanna recreate scenes from Kung-fu Panda, Panda-san, we're begging you, just—"

"No time!" Itadori interrupts, pushing doors open to check if the rooms are occupied. "I'm saving up for new Jordans, I can't afford to buy more chicken than avoidable."

Ignoring the looks everyone gives him at once, he shoves open another door.

Shinsou stares at them, eyes wide, Inumaki strung up from the ceiling with his capture tape. "Um. This... is not what it looks like."

"Tuna mayo," Inumaki mumbles, voice a little choked from his upside down position. "Seaweed, salmon caviar."

"Yeah, I'll—I'll get you down, hang on."

He loosens the capture tape, and Inumaki drops, almost slamming his skull into the floor before Shinsou catches him around his waist and Panda grabs him by the legs. 

"Careful, dude," Panda scolds, straightening Inumaki and placing him down. The boy blinks hazily before shaking his head and looking as apathetic as he usually does.

"Salmon?" 

"Yeah, we're leaving." 

Inumaki nods and Itadori runs back out the room, spotting Todou prowling outside. Inumaki grabs his notebook, writing out a message for Shinsou.

it's been great chatting w you! it's nice having someone who actually understands what it's like yknow? and whatever anyone says, you'll make a rad hero, you're my favourite one already ;D let's stay in touch! here's my number! 

Shinsou takes it, eyes scanning over the words and crinkling in an embarrassed pleasure. He grabs a piece of paper and writes out his own little message, adding his own number at the bottom.

"Only fair since I'll have a copy of yours," he explains as Inumaki reads it. He grabs Shinsou's sleeve happily, making his ears pinken. "God, this is so sappy. I'm not a sappy person. Don't judge me from this."

"Inumaki-senpai! " Itadori interrupts, waving a hand. "We really gotta go! We're just collecting everyone, so meet us at that main, big room!"

He ducks back out into the corridor, glancing over everyone in front of him and counting them mentally.

"Anyone left?" 

"Kugisaki."

"Oh yeah!" He hurries down the corridor, pushing doors open as he goes along until he finally finds a room where three people are stood, heads together, backs facing the door. They jump apart the second Itadori enters, faces red.

"Kugisaki, we're going," Itadori calls, eyeing them curiously.

"You coulda knocked," Kugisaki growls, shoving her phone indiscreetly in her bra.

"What?" Bakugou huffs, lifting his chin at the others.

"We didn't say anything," Fushiguro replies, eyebrow raised. 

"Wait," Kaminari gasps, grabbing Sero's arm and shaking him. "Were you guys taking a selfie? Bakugou! Was taking a selfie with a girl and Iida—"

Bakugou gets up to his face, eyes locked with Kaminari's. "If you tell anyone. I'll kill you." 

"Chill, Bakugou," Kugisaki snorts, tugging him back from the neck of his shirt. "Geez, you're like a rabid dog sometimes."

Kaminari slaps a hand over his mouth and looks between the two, but Bakugou only shoves her hand off, clicking his tongue and stalking out the room. 

"You saw that too?" he whispers to Sero, breathless. "You saw that?" He stops Iida as he goes to leave the room. "Iida-kun? How was he?"

Iida straightens. "Bakugou is a surprisingly decent person when he isn't breaking any rules or imposing violence upon anyone."

"Huh," Sero and Kaminari say at the same time, thrown as Iida leaves. 

"Let's go, let's go," Itadori claps, marching out the room.

They go back to the first room they'd met in, exchange numbers and promise to stay in touch, then go their separate ways. 

"They were nice, right?" Midoriya hums warmly, swinging his arms a little before they falter. "Except for Todou. I don't. I don't wanna see him again."

Uraraka pats him on the back.

"Yeah, they weren't all as shitty as I'd expected," Bakugou adds casually, scrolling through his phone. Everyone stares at him. "What?"

"That's not small coming from you, Bakubro!" Kirishima beams, punching him lightly on his arm. Bakugou feigns a punch at him but stops it at the last second, flicking his hardened shoulder. 

"I was comparing to you bastards, it wasn't hard to impress me," he snorts, slapping Kaminari's hand away when he tries to pat his head. 

Iida chops his arm down. "I feel I've gained an unexpected skill today from Kugisaki-san. I will remember it and see if it can be utilised in my hero work."

Bakugou rolls his eyes. "What, you wanna throw nails at a villain? Save it for a bet with darts."

"Maki-san was really cool," Jirou interjects. "But what she said got me thinking. It's kinda weird."

"Oh, about quirklessness and no cursed energy?" Mina scratches her neck. "Yeah, I was thinking too. It's kind of changed my perspective a little."

"Hm?" Midoriya looks at them, eyes wide. "What did she say?"

"Well, she's basically the cursed version of quirkless, and got treated trash her whole life for it. But, like, she's so powerful though. She's worked harder than the others to get where she is."

Midoriya has frozen in spot. "Wait, really? Wh—who's got her number, I wanna talk to her too!" He's already craning his neck behind him, looking on the verge of sprinting back after the other group.

"I got it!" Jirou calls, sending it straight to him. 

He saves it and then looks up, smiling. "She seems inspirational! I wish I'd talked to her a little longer."

"Hold on, that reminds me," Sero begins, brow furrowed. "Shinsou, how the hell did you understand what that white-haired kid was saying?"

"I don't know," Shinsou shrugs, wrapping his capture tape around his wrist and then unwrapping it repeatedly. "First I couldn't and then I realised it made more sense after a while."

"... Right."

There's a short silence which Kaminari breaks. "Anyone else got anything to add? Anything interesting?"

Kirishima puts his hand up. "Me and Itadori are gonna video call each other at the gym!"

"What, you got yourself a new gym buddy?" Bakugou huffs, rolling his eyes as if he couldn't care less despite his jutting chin speaking otherwise.

Kirishima throws an arm around him and rubs his shoulder placatingly. "Never, bro. Would never do you like that, don't worry."

"I wasn't fucking worried," Bakugou replies, looking mollified. "Get your sweaty hands off me."

Kirishima laughs and doesn't move his arm. "Anyway, Itadori had some mad punching power. I reckon he coulda taken Deku down."

Voices raise as they argue between themselves on that. They never reach a unanimous answer, but that's only because none of them had actually attempted to fight Itadori. 

"So... do you like Todoroki?" 

Fushiguro's eyes bore into Itadori's. "What."

"Hey, hey, it's not a—I'm supportive of whatever, man, if you wanna do that long distance—"

"Stop talking," Kugisaki interrupts, rubbing her nose. "Please. I think I'm losing braincells, I feel physically ill. Fushiguro, I don't know why him of all people, and I'm never gonna understand."

"Him?" Itadori frowns, looking between a smug Kugisaki and Fushiguro with his jaw tensed. "Who's him? Me? Wait, what about me? Me? Who?"

"Never mind, Yuu—Itadori. Let's just... Ijichi-san will be waiting for us."

"Wait! But who's—"

"Do you want ramen? I'll pay."

Itadori straightens up, everything else immediately expelled from his brain. "Oh, hell yeah! No taking backsies, you're paying for me!"

"Yep."

"And me," Kugisaki adds, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"No."

"Itadori, did you know Fushiguro has—"

"Fine! Fine! Shut your—shut the fuck up!"

Chapter Text

As weird as it is that this school is run by a rodent, Gojo has to admit his tea-making skills are commendable. He sips his third tiny cup delicately, watching the ever-smiling rat over it as he refills his own cup. 

"I see you had a lot of fun with class 1-A," Nezu says, the tone of his voice as warm as before. "I was watching from the cameras! Very interesting, the way you fight. The cameras shorted out at the end. Was that part of the display?"

Gojo takes another long sip. While he doesn't yet trust Nezu, he could tell from the way Hizashi spoke of him that he's a good… person? Creature? He's a bit thrown. 

"Yep," he replies nonchalantly. "My powers don’t mix well with electronics.”

“Of course,” Nezu nods. “Infinity, I heard you say. Extremely impressive.”

That was all? Gojo had expected to be lectured or something. Maybe this Nezu guy was cooler than he seemed. Though he did still leave Gojo feeling on edge.

“With abilities like that, you could be a great asset to this country. Perhaps you could aim to become a hero while you’re here.”

A hero? Gojo hides his amusement. “I’ll pass.” Imagine having hero as a job title. Embarrassing. 

Nezu tilts his head as if he’d read his mind. “I imagine this is all very unusual to you, coming from a universe where these titles are used purely for exaggeration, and not officially.” Gojo shrugs a shoulder. “Our world was like that, around a century ago. Things have changed massively, in so little time.”

Gojo places his cup down and wipes his mouth with a finger. Nezu leans over to refill for him but he raises a hand to stop him. 

“I’m going to be frank with you, Nezu-san. I don’t have much interest in what is or isn’t normal in your world,” he says, crossing one leg over another. “It’s annoying, seeing as how a combination of ‘ normal’ powers and drugs are the reason I’m here now, against my will. But still, I don’t care as long as you can get me back. I’d like my time here to pass smoothly, if not quietly, and while I’m sure you have lots to offer, I have my own students to get back to.”

“I understand completely,” Nezu replies serenely, unaffected by Gojo’s calculated attempts to faze him. “And if it is any comfort to you, I’ve been contacted to aid with the research being done to get you back to your world. In the meantime, I trust that you are in safe hands with Yamada-san.” He folds his paws together primly. “I do have an offer for you, however, if you’d like to consider it.”

An offer? Oh, that’s interesting.

Nezu’s eyes gleam. “You are welcome to stay and help at UA. I can tell you’ve taught before, and the students like you. I think there’s a lot they can learn from you. Unfortunately, I will have to place some rules upon you, as there are on all teachers, to ensure student safety." 

"I don't like rules," Gojo replies, but it’s not serious. Nezu is small but there's something in his beady black eyes that has Gojo unwilling to prod him further… for now. Anyway, he wants to stay here, and getting kicked out isn't in his plans. 

“What’s in it for me?” he asks, because he isn’t letting Nezu think he’s a pushover either.

“Protection,” Nezu replies. “You will have the school on your side if anything ever goes wrong during your time here. Unless of course you commit a blatant crime. Although that can also be dealt with quietly under certain conditions.”

It’s good, Gojo can’t help acknowledging. An added bonus. He can see in Nezu's glittering gaze that he knows Gojo will comply. He'll let him win this one, but there's no way Gojo will let himself fall into the trap of being predictable, no way. “I’ll accept your offer.”

“Wonderful!” Nezu claps. "I'll let all the teachers know you're here too! By tomorrow, you’ll know where you’re needed and at what times. The code of conduct and other information will be sent to you through Yamada-san, so do have a read through. We'll enjoy having you around!" Nezu beams, sticking a paw out. Gojo stands up and takes it, shaking up and down firmly. 

With a final wave, Gojo leaves the room. That went better than he'd expected. 

A tiny body knocks into him the moment he leaves the room. Eri looks up at him, hand clutching his trouser leg, eyes wide. "Did he say you can stay?" 

"Yep." He fixes a bow that's come loose from her hair. "I can't fight anyone though. Isn't that sad?" 

"Mmhm," she replies unthinkingly, starry-eyed as she looks up at him. "Are you gonna live with me and Dad?" 

"I'll be staying with you guys for a while 'til I can get home, yeah."

A smile breaks across her face and she hops along with him as he goes back to the couch. "I wanna show you my dolls! They're really cool and pretty and some are bad and dangerous and some are both !" 

She clambers up on the couch, legs folded, and Gojo sits down next to her. "You'll have to show me all of them, Eri-chan."

Beaming, she chatters about her dolls and other toys, explaining the intricate lore behind each one. She suddenly stops mid-sentence, and crosses her legs. 

"I have to pee," she mumbles guiltily. 

"Uh," Gojo begins nervously. "Should I call Hizashi—" 

"Wait for me, I'll come back," she says, jumping off the couch and running out a door at the side. 

A little too late, Gojo remembers Hizashi's promise to destroy him if Eri wasn't in the room when he returned. He doesn't want to piss Hizashi off too much, as amusing as it is. Hizashi manages to be disappointed in Gojo in a way that someone like, say Nanami, never was. Nanami didn’t really expect any better from him—in fact, nobody really did. He was Gojo. He got away with pretty much everything. The people here were different, his reputation doesn’t precede him here. The idea that he can be a different version of himself here is a strange one. Gojo still isn’t entirely sure how he feels about it all.

Whatever. Hopefully Eri will be back before Hizashi. 

He crosses a leg over the other, boredly taking in the room. There's not much to say about it. He could go over and look at each teacher's desk; they look more interesting than the room as a whole. 

He weighs up how awkward it would be getting caught against the alluring call of photos tacked up, tapping a finger against his thigh, then looking down when he feels something solid in his pocket. He frowns, then his eyes widen and he takes it out. His phone. It was charged. He switches it on, grinning at his stupid lockscreen background: Yuuji and Megumi halfway towards smashing into the ground, wearing twin looks of shock, opposite ankles tied together. The one and only time Megumi had participated in one of Gojo's team-building exercises —excuses to see the students embarrass themselves, obviously. Panda and Toge ended up winning the three-legged race. Nobara and Maki hadn't fallen for his trap. Shaking his head, he checks the battery bar. It's on full charge, yes, but he has no Wi-Fi. And there's no way the Wi-Fi in this universe will work for his phone. Of course it won't. 

He checks the clock again, and exhales loudly, flapping his lips. Eri’s taking her time. He glances at the teachers' desks again, then gets to his feet, which is when the door suddenly bursts open. 

A blue-haired woman dressed in a skin-hugging suit stares at him, mouth slightly open. Gojo stares back, keeping his face as innocent-looking as he can. 

"So you're the guy!" she yells, bouncing into the room. She stops right in front of him and tiptoes up to study his face, giving Gojo a riveting display of everything her costume does nothing to hide. And is that a whip? Is she even allowed to be within a hundred metres of a school? "My eyes are up here, sucker."

"Appreciating the view," he grins. The woman leans back, hands on her hips, absolute delight growing on her face.

"You're that kinda guy!" she gasps. "How'd Nezu bag someone like you, holy shit—" She pauses then reaches for his glasses, taking hold of them but not removing them. She raises an eyebrow in question. 

"Go ahead."

She pulls them up slowly, her actions stuttering when she meets his gaze. "Woah," she breathes, eyes flicking from one eye to the other. She shakes her head, resting the glasses on top of his head, then points at him. "Sit down."

"Make me," Gojo pouts, and can practically see fireworks going off behind her eyes.

"I'm gonna send a letter of thanks to Nezu, you're the best one yet," she mutters, then grabs Gojo around the waist and lifts him up over her shoulder, moving towards the couch and setting him down on it. 

Gojo, who had turned Infinity off the moment he'd seen what she was about to do, sighs sultrily. “I love a woman who’ll bully me into submission.”

The woman looks him slowly up and down, biting her lip, then clasps her hands together. "You're extremely hot."

Gojo is very aware, actually. "Hitting on me? We don't even know each other's names."

She snaps her fingers. "Damn, you're right. You ought to know the name that you'll be screaming—"

They both notice the person standing in the doorway a little too late, looking shaken to the core. "I'll—I'll leave you two—"

"All Might!" the woman yells, sprinting across the room and grabbing him by the arm before he can escape. "Have you met… wait, Nezu mentioned it but I really don’t remember your name."

"Gojo Satoru," Gojo says, flipping his glasses back down and smiling widely at the skinny skeleton of a man standing in front of him. He's a stark difference from someone Gojo would expect to teach at a top hero academy. 

The woman screws her eyes shut and flaps her face with a hand. "His name is so hot too, what the hell."

"N—Nemuri, if you want me to go..." the man—'All Might', apparently, though Gojo thinks it's woefully misrepresentative—says shakily, but she throws her head back and laughs. 

"Ah, don't worry about that, we're just playing," she grins, looping her arm around All Might's and pulling him back into the room. "Gojo-san, this is Yagi Toshinori, aka All Might. He was Top Hero before Endeavour-san, and now he teaches here!"

Gojo tries not to raise his eyebrows. Nemuri's snort of laughter means his attempt at politeness failed.

"Doesn't look it, does he? Sit down, I'll show you some pictures."

Yagi is dragged along with her, resigned and awkward as she seats him between her and Gojo, and pulls out her phone, searching him up and showing Gojo photos directly off the Internet. 

"That's you?" Gojo asks incredulously, looking at the healthy, brightly grinning man onscreen and then back at the twig sitting next to him. "Not to be rude, but what happened, man?"

"He defeated the most dangerous villain we've encountered in almost a century, that's what happened," Nemuri says proudly, tugging on a sad tuft of Yagi's hair. 

"And almost died in the process," Yagi mutters, rubbing his hands on his thighs. 

"Almost," Nemuri smiles cheerily, "makes a big difference!" 

Yagi scratches his neck. “Uh, I still don’t know who Gojo-san is? Are—”

The creak of a door alerts them all again, and they all look up. This time it's Eri, blinking at them, hands held loosely in front of her. 

"All Might!" she smiles, running over and patting her wet hands on his leg. "Have you seen Gojo-san? He's so cool, he can make infinity! Try touch him!" 

"What were you doing in there?" Gojo asks, while Yagi keeps his hands very much to himself. "You've been gone ages."

"I was using all the soaps to clean my hands," she explains, holding her hands out to him. "Smell them!" 

Lifting his sunglasses, he leans forward and sniffs the offered hands. Tears spring in his eyes at the torrent of different smells that assault the back of his nose. 

"Did you marinate your hands in the soaps by any chance?" he asks, coughing. 

"Marinate?" Eri repeats, brow furrowing. 

"Soak," Nemuri explains. "Hold them in there."

"Oh. Yeah, I wanted to smell nice!" Her face falls. "Does it smell bad?" 

"No, it's just very strong," Gojo assures her, half-lying. The half being 'no'. "Next time put a little less and then you'll smell nice—" and flowery, fruity, spicy, musky all at the same time, "—but at a tolerable level."

She nods and then looks at Nemuri, pouting. "You stole my spot, Midnight-san."

Nemuri pats her lap. "C'mere." She lifts Eri and plops her down. "We were just showing Gojo-san some cool top heroes." 

"He doesn't know any?" 

"Nope! Tell us your favourite and we can show him."

Eri's nose crinkles in thought, and then she exclaims, "Dadzawa's my favourite! Not 'cause he's my dad but 'cause he's actually cool, promise." 

"Don't let Hizashi hear you say that," Nemuri grins, jiggling Eri on her leg. She taps her phone, searching through it and talking at the same time. "Shouta's an underground hero, unlike us guys, we're mostly daylight heroes. It's much harder to find photos of underground heroes online since the point is that they're outta the public eye and so the villains don't have the advantage of knowing their quirks and fighting styles." She shows Gojo a blurry photo of a man standing on a distant building, a glint of yellow on his face the only colour in his costume. "One of the few photos of him online." She goes onto her gallery. "I've got loads of photos of him though. Insider intel."

After a few moments, she shows him a video, unpausing it when he's looking. His eyes rove over it, unsure what he's seeing. A large yellow bag? 

The camera moves and then the bag has a face, one with an expression sour enough to rival Nanami's. 

"That's…" 

"Aizawa Shouta and his sleeping bag, yep."

"... Hizashi's husband?" 

She passes Eri to All Might, who sits her on his leg, and searches through her phone, brow creased. With a pleased hum, she shows him a selfie with Hizashi and Aizawa both. Aizawa is in the centre, with deep eye bags, scruff across his chin and cheeks, and dark, knotted hair reaching his shoulders. Hizashi is on one side of him with his arm strung around Aizawa's neck, and Nemuri is sticking her tongue out on the other side, holding the phone up. "Oh yeah, they've been married well over ten years now."

Gojo stares. "Hizashi and that guy."

"Why, does it seem weird?" 

He peers at the photo. For the life of him, he can't imagine Hizashi canoodling with this guy who looks like he hasn't bathed in months and lives off of energy drinks. They're like complete opposites. 

But Aizawa's a teacher, and has a daughter who obviously loves him to bits. There must be something about him. And now Aizawa is most likely with Gojo's students in his universe. He needs to gauge just what kind of a man he is. He'll ask Hizashi about him. Who doesn't like talking about their significant other? Unless they were dead, or evil, or both—hypothetically. 

He starts asking Nemuri for more photos, when the door opens once again. Hizashi stands there, arms by his side, surprised. 

"... Eri?" He catches sight of his daughter, waving from All Might's lap, and relaxes slightly. "Ah, she's still here. I expected worse."

Gojo waves his phone at him as he walks over, taking in the way the trio are squeezed in together. "I've been looking at photos of you and your husband." 

"Huh?" he looks between the three adults, zeroing in on Nemuri. "Which ones?" 

"Your sex tapes," she replies, shoving her phone down the top of her costume. The outline is visible through the fabric. Gojo has no idea how it's staying there. "I keep copies."

Seemingly not in the mood to mess around with her, Hizashi lifts Eri from All Might's lap and puts her down, taking her hand. "It's lunch now, let's get something to eat." 

“Ooh, I’m hungry too,” Gojo says, getting up but Hizashi puts his hand out. 

“Stay here or I will punt you, Satoru.”

Gojo gasps, fluttering his eyes. “I beg your pardon, Hizashi. Why exactly am I being threatened?”

A muscle jumps in Hizashi’s jaw. “I trusted you.”

Yagi and Nemuri are watching the exchange with open mouths.

“Sorry, what tea did I miss and can I immediately be brought up to date,” Nemuri blinks.

Hizashi points a finger at Gojo, his quirk slipping in as he yells. “This mother—this prick blew up my classroom! All I left to do was pick Eri up! And I come back to find the room in two inches of water!”

“Hizashi, it was for educational purposes—”

“What educational purposes, huh? Was it to teach them you’re boss?”

Gojo opens his mouth to snap back before realising… yeah. Pretty much.

Hizashi must see it on his face because he clicks his tongue, expression softening as he turns to his daughter. “Let’s go, Eri.”

“But I’m hungry too,” Gojo whines

“Get some food from the kitchen. You're not allowed near my students. Nezu will have seen everything on the cameras."

Oh ho ho. So he doesn’t know. "Actually," Gojo replies smugly, "I am. Nezu said so."

Hizashi freezes. "Wha—did he see what you did?!" 

"Yep. He said the students got on well with me, and I can keep hanging round here. As a member of staff. He's told all the teachers. Check your phone."

“He’s right,” Yagi pipes up, looking torn between being sympathetic towards Hizashi and being helplessly amused by Gojo’s antics. He seems to settle for both, a painful smile pinned on his face.

For once, Hizashi looks lost for words. He takes his phone out, and regains his voice as Gojo makes his way to the door. 

"Everyone’s betraying my trust today," he mutters behind Gojo, Eri skipping alongside him in undisguised glee. Nemuri laughs and waves at them as they swagger out the room.

Since he has no way of stopping him, Hizashi follows and directs him to the canteen. They collect their food and Hizashi starts making his way back to the staffroom when Gojo stops him.

"Can I sit with them?" he asks, pointing at the student seating. 

"No, Satoru, you can't." 

"I want to get to know them more as individuals so I can cater to their personal needs better in the classroom setting and ensure each student is as comfortable as possible."

Hizashi narrows his eyes at him. "Where did you memorise that."

Already walking away, Gojo winks at him. 

"Can I go too?" Eri asks, pulling on Hizashi's sleeve. 

"But I'm gonna be sitting in the office, Eri," Hizashi sighs. His shoulders are already slumped in resignation. 

"I'll go with Gojo-san!" she beams, grabbing Gojo’s leg. 

"Why does my daughter love you more than she loves me?"

Gojo snorts, patting Eri’s head. "Kids are great judges of character."

She waves at Hizashi, and they both carry their trays over to the nearby tables. Heads turn as they arrive. Gojo spots Bakugou already giving him the stink eye from his table with Mina, Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima, and decides that that’s the table he’s going to sit at.

"Hey! You don't mind if we sit here, do you?" Without waiting for a reply, he picks Eri up and plops her down, shuffling next to her. 

“Why the fuck—” Bakugou begins, but Mina cuts over him, cooing over Eri.

“Eri-chan, you look pretty happy today! Did something good happen?” 

Eri beams at her, swinging her legs. “It’s ‘cause Gojo-san is my friend now too!”

Kirishima and Kaminari both aww too. “What did he do to be your friend?” 

“He taught me how to fight and punch and I punched him.”

Sero raises an eyebrow. “No offence Gojo-san, but do you have any alternative ways to introduce yourself that don’t involve violence?”

“Violence is a good bonding method,” Gojo shrugs. The others start disagreeing before Bakugou interjects, “True.”

They all turn on him incredulously.

“C’mon, Bakubro, you’re better than that,” Kirishima says, voice laced with disappointment. Bakugou bristles as the others nod sagely in agreement.

“Oh, shut the fuck up! Shitty Hair, what the fuck’s the point of all our sparring sessions then? You’re always going, this is so fun, this is so rad , that’s violence!”

“That’s—!” Kirishima pauses as Kaminari hoots giddily. “No, but that’s not violence for violence’s sake! That’s… that’s spending time together and improving ourselves together. We’re not bonding because of the violence, we’re bonding because—” He suddenly stops, staring at Bakugou. “Wait. You see our sparring seshes as bonding time.”

“I th—what?” Mina joins in with Kaminari’s hooting, banging her fists on the table. Bakugou looks with growing alarm between them. “No— no? I don’t—oi, shut the f—”

“Can I book a bonding sesh too, dude?” Sero asks, already prepared for Bakugou’s explosion by hiding behind Kirishima. 

“I hate all of you— ”

“Oh my God, let’s have a group sparring-bonding sesh!” Kirishima exclaims excitedly. “We should like, pair up and fight each other!”

“It’s not a bonding—”

“I love that, but there’s five of us.”

“One of us can referee, we’ll rotate round.”

“Is anyone listening to—”

Kirishima flattens Bakugou’s threateningly raised fist between his hardened palms. “It’ll be so fun, man! It’ll be like our game nights but we fight! Seriously, why didn’t we think of this before?”

Bakugou tugs his hand back, throwing it between his thighs. “Fine! Fine! Once! And if it’s dead as hell, which I bet it will be, we never talk about it again!”

"Okay!” Kirishima chirps, going back to his sushi. The others keep staring at Bakugou, grinning at the colour rising from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He flips them off with his other hand, and catches Gojo’s eye, which only makes him flush darker.

“What,” he growls, coming out weaker than he’d expected. Gojo holds his hands up and shrugs.

“I can do much more than being violent,” Gojo continues, giving the red-faced kid a break. “The domain, for example.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t get a choice to enter that,” Sero points out, which is very true, so Gojo pretends he said nothing.

“And sometimes when I sneeze, I create black holes.”

“Okay, but that’s just inconvenient,” Mina says, rolling her eyes. “What if you’re holding your phone and you sneeze on it? What then?”

Gojo did not sit here to be questioned instead of gasped over. Hell, he’d never even considered that phone thing and now he’s annoyed about it because he also wants to know what happens then. 

“Oh, now that you mention phones, can anyone figure out how to connect my phone to the WiFi? I miss Instagram.”

“Oh, let me!” Kaminari says excitedly, snatching Gojo’s phone out his outstretched hand. Gojo peers over to check what he’s doing.

“How will it work if your phone is from a different universe?!” Kirishima asks, arms thrown out in scepticism, though one finds its way onto Bakugou’s shoulder through sheer coincidence . 

“It won’t,” Bakugou huffs, doing nothing to shake off Kirishima’s arm. “Dumbasses just want to mess with his phone and feel useful and he thinks they can actually—”

“Done!” Kaminari sings triumphantly, placing the phone flat on the table. “You’re connected to school WiFi!”

“I fucking hate you,” Bakugou snaps, grabbing the phone and staring at it. “How the fuck— how? That doesn’t make any fucking—”

Sero snatches it off Bakugou, looking it over in awe as Kirishima stops Bakugou from bonking him on the head. “Are there any other talents you’re hiding, Denks?”

"Watch this." Kaminari screws his eyes shut and they all stare at him. 

"What are you—" 

His hair suddenly bursts up like a pom pom. Eri squeals. Grinning smugly, Kaminari bends his head over the table so she can paw at it. 

“Match that.”

Gojo takes his phone off Sero, going over his different socials happily. None of them have updated since he got here, but still. He puts it back in his pocket, pleased. "Thanks, Kaminari. And I can't do that with my hair but I can float this sandwich.” And he does. 

"So manly," Kirishima mumbles, though which part of floating a sandwich is manly in any way is beyond Gojo. 

"Ha, I can float food too," Mina proclaims proudly, picking her bento up and holding it high in the air. "I can float this! With no visible force holding it up! Just floating by itself in the air!" 

She pauses dramatically, looking between all of them and giving her friends a firm look. Sero, Kirishima, and Kaminari immediately drop their lunches and start up a drumroll, while Bakugou rolls his eyes at them but watches silently regardless. 

"This bento will start floating… all by itself… in three… two… one…" She moves her hand away and, indeed, it does stay in the air. 

The boys start screaming in amazement, Kaminari and Sero grabbing and shaking each other, Kirishima punching the table. Mina crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow smugly at Gojo. 

"You're not so special, Mr. Strongest In The Universe."

"Right," Gojo hums, taking a bite of his sandwich. "That's pretty neat. Try without Hagakure's help this time."

The three yelling boys immediately stop. Mina's face drops. So does the bento. 

"How'd you know?" Hagakure yelps, the air from her flapping arms blowing strands of Mina's hair up. "Can you see me?!" 

"Nah, he probably guessed it was you," Sero replies, removing his hands from Kaminari's shoulders. 

"No, I can see her," Gojo says, taking the slice of tomato Eri has taken out her sandwich and eating it. 

There's a deafening silence after his words. 

"What."

Gojo looks around at their matching expressions of shock. "I told you guys I usually wear a blindfold. I only noticed she's supposed to be invisible 'cause I have these sunglasses on." 

Kaminari starts talking but Hagakure interrupts, leaning towards Gojo. "Wh—What do I look like?" 

Not the first question he'd expected. "A description?" 

She nods, face lit up with hope. 

"I’ll do better. Kaminari, a piece of paper and pen."

He sketches, tongue sticking out his mouth in focus and leaning over it so the others can't see. When he's done, he flaps the paper and slaps it down on the table. 

They crane their necks eagerly over it and inspect it. 

Unsurprisingly not mincing his words, Bakugou speaks first. "It's shit." 

The others glance at each other, not agreeing out loud, but not disagreeing either. 

"Does shit mean it's bad?" Eri asks, looking at Gojo. 

"Yeah," he sighs, before jumping and putting a finger over his mouth. "Eri, don't you dare say that in front of your dad."

"Shit?" she repeats innocently. Gojo glares at Bakugou. 

“Yes, that. Please?”

She smiles and there’s a crafty hint to it. Kids are evil creatures. 

“This is your fault,” Gojo hisses at Bakugou. The kid smirks, flipping Gojo off. Gojo almost returns the gesture before he spots Eri looking down at her hands and practising slowly lifting her middle finger, mouth slightly open in thought. Ohh, Hizashi is gonna have him hanged, drawn and quartered.

Gojo picks up a slice of tomato that Eri took out her sandwich and flicks it at Bakugou. It sticks to his face, sliding down comically with a wet trail. He cackles at him, until the boy stands up, throwing a boiled egg at Gojo. It bounces off infinity and splats onto Sero's shirt, who gets up, yelping. He picks his orange up. 

This is about to go downhill very fast. Gojo decides to give it another helpful push by pointing at Bakugou encouragingly. Sero wastes no time, throwing the orange like a missile at Bakugou, who dodges it effortlessly, instead whacking into Kaminari’s hand and spilling his noodles.

“Oh my God! ” he wails, clattering to his feet and pushing his container away. He gives Sero a betrayed look, but his friend’s guilty yet amused face is too much for his fragile teen ego to handle, and he snatches a fistful of warm noodles and unhesitantly flings them at him.

Everyone falls silent as Sero blinks, noodles sliding sadly down his cheeks.

“Well.” He opens his as-of-yet untouched bento and takes out a couple grapes, crushing them in his palms. “This is war.”

The following events don’t last long, but are ridiculously entertaining nonetheless. Mina gets involved just for laughs, and in no time at all, the food fight has spread beyond just this table and across the lunch hall. The other members of 1-A aren’t even interested in the fight, only dragged in reluctantly because the other classes seem to have some vendetta against them and are weirdly invested in the fight. Especially this one blond kid who screams above everyone else, brandishing half a baguette like a sword. Aoyama was still weeping about it even after the teachers rushed in, ending the fight disappointingly fast.

“We were just getting to the good bit,” Gojo protests, hiding the chicken wings he’d been aiming at the annoying blondie behind his back. 

Hizashi grips his shoulder uncomfortably tightly. “I am going to murder you.”

“Heh.”

He’s banished to the staffroom. Cementoss is placed in charge of watching over him until the end of the day. They end up watching some memes together and have a good time until Hizashi comes to collect him, dampening the mood with his serial killer look.

“ Thaaat’s my cue,” Gojo beams, patting Eri as they leave together. Hizashi says nothing as they leave the school, nothing as they get into the car, nothing as they start their journey home. In fact, he says nothing at all until they’re almost halfway there when he indicates and parks the car on the sidewalk abruptly.

“Hizashi?” Gojo braves. Hizashi smacks his forehead on the wheel and groans.

Gojo and Eri both choose to keep it zipped.

Hizashi inhales deeply, straightening up and staring straight ahead into the road with glazed eyes. "Is this how Shouta feels every day? I'm never making fun of him again. Please, God, send him back to me, I've never felt this continuously stressed in my life."

Even Gojo feels a little bad. He leans forward so Hizashi can see his face. "I'll be outta your hair in no time, man. Will you feel better if I apologise?" He puts his hands together and dramatically lowers his head. "Sorry for making things difficult for you, Yamada-sama. I won't even assault your students again! I mean I'll try not to."

Hizashi scoffs and stops gripping the steering wheel like it's the only thing tethering his sanity to this realm. "How meaningful."

Gojo grins. "Accepted?" 

"You won't shut up if I don't."

"You're not wrong."

"Accepted then."

Eri giggles from her seat and Hizashi looks over his shoulder and smiles wearily at her. "We're going home now anyway, thank God."

“Yeah, going home will make you feel not shit,” she says, swinging her legs, happily unaware of Hizashi turning slowly towards Gojo, stony-faced. 

“What?” Gojo chokes, throwing a second and third slice of tomato at Bakugou in his head. “I didn’t teach her that. I would never—”

Hizashi turns back onto the road, turning the volume on the radio up, and Gojo decides to take the escape for the blessing it is. He amuses himself on the rest of the ride by throwing more tomatoes at the imaginary Bakugou.

Once they’re at the front door, Hizashi pushes it with his shoulder, groaning loudly as he does. 

Gojo flumps down on the couch as soon as he gets in, stretching himself out despite Hizashi’s eyebrow raise. He smiles cat-like at him.

“Good to be home?”

Hizashi glowers at him tiredly. “Yes, no thanks to you.”

“Mhm. Gimme the WiFi password. Please.”

While Hizashi types it in, Gojo lays languidly, inspecting a stain on his sleeve that caught his eye. Probably from the lunchtime incident.

Hizashi notices him looking at it too as he hands his phone back. Apparently too tired to stay mad, he asks, "Don't you wanna change? You've been in those clothes since you got here."

Gojo looks down at his Jujutsu High assigned jacket and trousers and shrugs. "I don't have anything else on me."

"You're in my house, man," Hizashi assures, clapping him on the shoulder. "You’re more of a pain in the ass than any of my students, caused me more stress than a whole villain attack did but…” He pauses, mulling over what the ‘but’ is. He doesn’t continue the sentence. “I've got clothes. You go in your room, I'll pass you some. We're about the same size anyway."

Sure, he'll be more comfortable. Gojo nods, and Hizashi leaves to find some. Gojo opens his phone and goes on Google. Since he’s in this universe, he’ll have this universe’s web. He thinks for a moment then searches up the word ‘quirk’. Millions of pages load in seconds, and he goes through them, reading page after page, marking down interesting concepts to look up later and articles to read. Fascinating stuff. He can't imagine what it would be like to have this in his universe. Imagine jujutsu sorcerers with extra, unnatural powers on top of that. It would certainly help with exorcising curses. What kind of negativity was borne from the existence of quirks alone? Didn't that affect the curses as well? 

Come to think of it, he's yet to see a single curse in this universe. 

He doesn't get very long to ponder that because Hizashi returns, carrying a pile of clothing. He dumps it down on Gojo's lap and waves a hand over it. "Just take whatever you want from here. Let me know if it fits you fine. We can go buy new clothes later anyway."

Hizashi really likes his colours, huh. Especially neon. Gojo winces internally at a cornea-burning yellow hoodie with hot pink bubble font declaring Yogurt! Seriously, what the hell.

"Hey, it suits you!" Hizashi beams. Gojo glowers at him and throws it onto the floor. He searches for a little while more, picking at shirts with increasingly random English words and phrases pasted over them, and colours bright enough that he'd see them through his blindfold if he were wearing it. 

"Your wardrobe is atrocious," he proclaims, once he's gone through all of the various items and rubbed his eyes to clear them of the lingering spots of colour. "I prefer more professional colours. And shirts that don't say Rescue Bag on them for literally no reason."

"They're trendy," Hizashi sniffs, wounded, but gets up nonetheless. "We can check Shouta's clothes if you like."

Remembering what the man had seemed like in the photos, Gojo agrees, following Hizashi as he leads him towards him and his husband's shared room and throws the wardrobe open. "Luckily for you, he's unadventurous in his style."

A sigh of relief escapes him as he's faced with blacks and whites, nice and simple. It is a little plain, but at least it isn't walking flamingo garish. 

"Will they fit you?" Hizashi asks, pulling out a plain white T-shirt and handing it to him. "He's a little shorter than me."

Gojo unzips his jacket and throws it down, pulling the shirt on. "It's fine. A little tight."

Hizashi takes his phone out again and snaps a quick photo, before guiltily pausing. "You don't—uh, you don't mind if I send pictures to Nemuri, right? I should have asked first."

"No, it's fine," Gojo says, then leans over to peer at the photo. "Oh, you can tell it's tight, huh? Let me pose a little."

They end up taking a couple carefully choreographed photos and sending them to Nemuri, snorting to themselves when she immediately replies with a hundred or so moaning emojis.

Gojo takes a few of Aizawa's shirts, and snatches a pair or two of the most normal-looking jeans Hizashi has, returning to the kitchen once he's showered and dressed. Hizashi’s hair is down now, long and silky, hero suit replaced with a green and white stripy shirt and a grey tracksuit that doesn’t reach his ankles. Gojo gets the feeling the tracksuit doesn’t belong to him. 

"Should I help?" Gojo asks, not because he wants to, but because he knows Hizashi won't want him in the kitchen anyway and offering will put him in his good books. 

As expected, Hizashi hurriedly replies, "No but thanks. You just sit here and don’t… destroy my house?”

“I think I can manage that,” Gojo yawns. He’ll just read up more for now. He’d found some articles on quirk theory that he wanted to check out. He’s about to go back to the couch when he notices two cats he hadn't seen earlier perched on either end. 

"Hey, I didn't see these guys yesterday!" he yelps in surprise, bending down to gawk at them. 

"You must've missed them." Hizashi points at them, one a roughed-up ginger, and the other a minuscule white fuzzball. "That's Jelly, that's Small Might."

Gojo leans in closer and taps on a pillow. For good measure, he makes the pspsps noise. Memes have taught him it should work.

The cats pay him no mind. Embarrassing. 

Hizashi snorts and walks over, picking Small Might up and holding him in the air. "Get over here."

The moment he straightens up, the white kitten is dropped unceremoniously into his hands. Hizashi puts his hands on his hips as he eyes them critically. "I'm getting my phone. Don't drop him."

Gojo cradles the kitten like he's holding a newborn, not that he's ever held a newborn, no-one trusted him with theirs, and so this is even more nerve-wracking because how is he supposed to hold such a terrifyingly fragile looking thing? It's so small. He gingerly pokes its cheek with his finger and the kitten nips at it, smacking a paw against it and holding its paws wide expectantly when he pulls it back. He brings it forward again and it jerks forward, trying to grab it, making him laugh under his breath. He scratches its belly gently, heart bumping when it purrs quietly.

Hizashi laughs, and Gojo almost jumps, so deeply focused on holding the kitten still that he hadn't heard him. He's taking photos of them, grinning to himself before tapping on his phone and putting it away. "You can hold onto him while I finish dinner. It’s reheated leftovers."

Gojo nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the cotton ball in his hands as he shuffles over to the dinner table and sits on a chair. The kitten doesn't move, seemingly content to lay there. If he cupped his other hand over it, it would fit with maybe a few protruding limbs.

Eri comes running into the room, bag of dolls in hand, and clambers onto the chair next to Gojo. She unzips it and takes her dolls out, showing each one to Gojo and describing them in case he can't already see exactly how they look. 

"Hey, Eri-chan," he finds himself whispering. "Look how tiny Small Might is."

Eri gives him a confused look but nods. "Yeah, he's always been that size!"

It's... a strangely childish moment. He'd never held a baby animal before, or did Fushiguro's shikigami count? He'd held them when they were younger, but they were bright and energetic and rough, not lazy and relaxed like this kitten. This kitten that trusts him completely not to just wring its neck in a single movement. 

He shakes his head. He had thoughts like that sometimes. He just ignored them.

"Eri, come in here once!" Hizashi calls from the kitchen, and Eri hops off her seat to patter in barefoot. He says something and Gojo hears the fridge open and then shut. She comes pattering right back a few seconds later. 

"Do you like pasta?" she asks in a squeaky voice, moving her doll's head along with her words. "I'm a chef! I can make pasta for you!"

"Good thing pasta is my favourite food," Gojo hums, running two fingers down the back of Small Might's body. 

"Coming right up!" She jumps off her seat again and runs back into the kitchen, doll clutched in one hand. Gojo brings the kitten a little closer to his face, squinting at it. Is he asleep? He looks asleep. Oh God, what if he died in Gojo's hands? Hizashi will blame him. He nervously raises the cat's body to his ear and listens. Ah, never mind. He can hear a heartbeat.

"Satoru?" Hizashi asks, making Gojo jump again. He's far too relaxed. His guard is low. 

The kitten startles awake, and with a miffed scratch at his wrist, hops off his hands and onto the table. Hizashi places down the dishes he was carrying and grabs him, plopping him back down on the couch. He takes a plate and passes it to Gojo, beginning to spoon out steaming hot pasta before Eri waves at him to stop and passes him her doll so he can pretend it's the one putting it in the plate.

"Bon appe-teeth," she says dramatically, pushing the plate towards him. Gojo ruffles her hair and takes Hizashi's offered fork.  

They make idle conversation as they eat. Eri asks for Gojo's opinion on the food every two bites and beams when he makes obnoxiously loud chewing noises and pats his stomach. Hizashi rolls his eyes, grinning. 

God, this feels so domestic. Imagine living this life with someone every day. 

He's not sure whether he means that in a contemptuous or longing way.

"I'm gonna go marinate my dolls in the sink," Eri declares, standing up and taking her dishes. 

Hizashi snorts, then hastily covers it up by pretending to cough into the crook of his wrist. 

Once they've eaten, Hizashi picks up the dishes and goes to wash them. Gojo stands up, feeling like he should probably offer to help, when Eri tugs on his sleeve. "Let's play with the dolls?"

He immediately sits back down, grinning at her. Kids come first, right?

They proceed to go on a quest to escape the evil mommy doll who ties up her children and rolls them down hills. Eri is responsible for balancing the pillows into a hill shaped pile, and Gojo is responsible for making the agonised noises of the terrified children, which he does with full gusto. The plot deteriorates from there, with an unexpected romantic side plot and a twist at the end too. 

Gojo holds up the doll who Eri has drawn whiskers on with markers. "So her mommy was a dog the whole time?" 

"Yeah," Eri nods seriously, picking up the dolls still lying on the ground where they were thrown by the mommy/dog. "'Cause she wanted to marry the other evil dad but he didn't wanna marry a dog."

"Ah. Makes sense."

This time, he does sense Hizashi when he enters, and gives him a thumbs up from where he's sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. Crossing his arms, Hizashi leans against the doorframe, eyes creased with warmth. "I didn't take you for someone who was good with kids, Satoru."

"Reminding you again that I'm a teacher and sort of raised two kids?"

Hizashi comes over and picks up a totally pliant Jelly, placing her in his lap. She hardly blinks, stretching out in her new spot without a hint of bother. He watches Eri and Gojo as they drop the dolls down the hill again for fun, trying to see which doll falls the furthest. 

He suddenly groans quietly and rests his head on the side of the couch, shutting his eyes. "I miss Shouta," he sighs, stroking his hands down Jelly's back. 

Gojo might be able to comfort kids, but adults are a totally different matter. He scratches his chin, wondering what he's supposed to say in response—sorry for your loss might not be the one, but he's heard people say that a lot, and well, Aizawa is lost—

"Do you have a partner or someone like that waiting for you, Satoru?" Hizashi asks unexpectedly, squinting his eyes open. 

No-one misses me , he thinks. Instead he replies, "I'm not really looking for anything like that."

Hizashi nods quickly. "Fair enough. But friends, colleagues, your kids? What about them?"

Hizashi's only asking so he can get to know him better but the urge to close off on instinct, to evade the question, is as strong as ever. So he does, with a smirk at Hizashi. "Your husband's been gone two days, Hizashi, that too long? Need someone to use as a stand-in f—"

Hizashi shoves him with his foot, glaring significantly at him and then Eri, who’s looking at them with her mouth slightly open.

"A stand-in father figure!" Gojo continues sweetly, tapping Eri's horn. "For Eri-chan whose other father isn't... yet here."

"Dadzawa?" she asks quietly, then fiddles with the buttons on her dress. "I wanna see Dadzawa again. I miss him too."

They both fall into a melancholy silence, and Gojo feels stuck in between. He was trying to make a joke, not get them all depressed. At least they're not talking about him now?

Just keep veering the subject. "Dadzawa is a... unique nickname you have for your dad, Eri-chan. Why d'you call him that?" 

Hizashi puffs out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair. "It was a joke his class had between them, and they taught her to call him that. He hated it at first but eventually gave up when she didn't change it."

"Dadzawa," Eri mouths, rocking on her heels. "Daaad. Zawa." She climbs on the couch between Hizashi and Gojo, resting her head against Hizashi’s arm. “Gojo-san looks like him ‘cause of his clothes.”

“That’s because I am wearing his clothes, Eri.”

She looks at him, shocked. “Why? Are you replacing him?”

Gojo laughs, but his mood is steadily lowering. “Nah, don’t worry, Eri-chan. I can’t replace him.”

His eyes meet Hizashi’s, and there’s a little crease between his eyebrows. “But seriously, Satoru, aren’t you worried about your kids?”

Man, can’t he see how hard Gojo is working to deflect? “They’re in safe hands.”

“But you hardly talk about them.”

“Maybe I’m just a personal guy.”

Hizashi snorts. He strokes Eri’s hair thoughtfully as she wiggles closer to him to pet Jelly. “Actually, now I think of it, for all you say, you barely talk about your family or friends.”

“Hm?” He could pretend he’s really tired and leave. “As I said, I’m a personal guy.” But it would be really obvious. It might stop Hizashi asking. But it could do the opposite and make him more nosy.

“Satoru?” 

Gojo blinks, looking at Hizashi. He’s staring back at him uncertainly. “Are you… okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Why?” His voice is totally level, and there’s no external sign he’s bothered, and he knows that because he’s kept himself like this for years. 

“You seem—deflated,” Hizashi says. He looks as surprised as Gojo feels. 

Unlike Hizashi, Gojo doesn’t let his surprise show, instead dialling his grin up a little and shaking his head. “Hey, I get tired too. Someone shoved a whole icicle down my back during lunch. It’s probably something to do with that.”

Hizashi doesn’t believe him. Gojo can tell. He holds eye contact regardless, mask not cracking for a moment. Hizashi looks away first, moving his leg so Eri so can snuggle into him more comfortably. “If you’re tired you can go to bed. Shout if you need anything, okay?”

“Will do,” Gojo nods, stretching as he gets up. “G’night.”

He goes down the corridor and into his room, shutting the door without turning the light on. He stands against it for a few seconds, staring at the opposite wall. What a weird conversation. 

He lies down on the bed, hands behind his head, and stares at the ceiling for a little while more, repeating the conversation a few times. Why did Hizashi care anyway? He doesn’t need to pry. He was unusually interested in Gojo’s personal life, and Gojo didn’t like that. Hizashi must have an ulterior motive.

He feels silly as soon as he thinks so. Hizashi? Everything he’d learned about the man so far said the exact opposite. If not that then he must just… want to know Gojo better. It seems so simple, so obvious, that Gojo wants to brush it away without further consideration, but he can’t think of another reason Hizashi would have. And then he thinks again, when was the last time someone had been interested in Gojo for Gojo rather than his powers?

A boy with black bangs smiles at him from years before and Gojo’s chest pangs. He stops that train of thought before it can get too far.

He turns on his side, taking his phone out and opening some of the articles he’d saved and reading them. He hears doors opening and closing down the hallway. Probably Hizashi putting Eri to bed. The house is silent. Hizashi must be tired too. He hadn’t had an easy day. 

Gojo reads the same paragraph on an article about a villain four times before turning it off. The photo of Megumi and Yuuji glows in the dark room. He looks at it. There’s an ache inside him that he’d lived with for so many years he sometimes forgot it was there, but since he’s come here, it’s gotten more intense, making his throat heavy.

He opens his gallery and scrolls through it until he reaches the end and it’s far past midnight. 

—

Gojo has a nagging worry the next day that Hizashi will want to chase the subject from their previous conversation. However, at the breakfast table there isn’t a moment of peace, let alone time for an emotional unburdening.

"I gotta run," Hizashi rushes, tying Eri's hair deftly and planting a quick kiss on her head. He grabs his own jacket and her smaller one off the coat rack. "I'll meet you at UA when you're ready. You can get there right? Grab a taxi or find a bus route, I'll send you them. Money—oh dammit, I didn't leave any money, let me—"

"Why're you in such a rush?" Gojo asks, bewildered. They've still got an hour. Eri's school hasn't even opened yet. 

Hizashi rootles through his pockets, clicking his tongue when he can't find any spare change. "I need to go grocery shopping first. There's no food in the house. Also need to take Eri to eat, because there's no food in the house. Then drop her off." He pauses, flipping open his wallet and tipping out a bunch of coins on the table. "Count that. That should be enough for a bus ticket, right?"

"Hizashi," Gojo says patiently. "I can teleport."

Hizashi exhales deeply, then starts picking the coins up again. "Alright. Okay. So that should be fine." He pauses, then worriedly mumbles, "But just in case...?"

Gojo kicks Hizashi's shins lightly under the table. "Your husband would usually be here to help you, huh."

Hizashi rubs his eyes wearily. "I—he's the calm one. There's just a lot—I'm freaking out over nothing."

"Yeah," Gojo agrees, raising an eyebrow behind the glasses. "Considering I'm literally here. I'll deal with Eri, you go grocery shop."

Hizashi visibly winces, which, ouch. "Satoru, not that I don't trust—scrap that, I don't trust you after what you pulled yesterday—"

"Hey, Nezu was fine with it! If he's over it, why aren't you?"

Shooting a glare at him, Hizashi goes back to buttoning up Eri's jacket. "Because he didn't walk in to see the whole classroom trashed and half the students asleep in exhaustion?!"

Gojo switches tactics. "Let's ask Eri-chan." He leans over the table and beams at Eri. "Eri-chan, d'you wanna go eat at a cafe with Uncle Satoru?"

Eri perks up but glances nervously at Hizashi. "I dunno."

Hizashi’s face scrunches up and he turns accusingly towards Gojo. “I don’t even—stop using my daughter to guilt trip me!” 

Gojo raises his hands up to his shoulders. “I’m not forcing her to say a word.”

Hizashi continues fumbling with the last button, cursing under his breath until Gojo pushes him over and closes the button himself. 

"You think I'd let any harm come to Eri?” he asks, hands on his hips. “C'mon, I'm trying to make your life easier here!"

Hizashi bites his lip, looking between them, then slumps forward and groans. "I hate you."

Gojo grins. He's won. "Join the queue."

Once he's told Gojo where to go, given him money, and forcefully downloaded a phone tracker on his phone, Hizashi leaves the house, a little calmer now that he doesn't have to rush everything. They still have a while, so Eri and Gojo loll around the house, watching a few cat videos on Gojo's phone before eventually getting their shoes on and leaving.

They march down and eat at the cafe Hizashi directed him to. Eri chomps down a stack of pancakes, swinging her legs, chattering about her friends at UA and school, offering Gojo bites of her pancakes which he happily takes. He buys himself a smoothie, chugging it down in record time and buying another two to drink on the way back.

Once they're done, they catch the bus and travel down to Eri's school. There's still a little time, so Gojo gets off the bus a couple stops early when he spots a park. He pushes her on the swings and they play a couple rounds of hide and seek before they have to run the way to Eri's school or risk getting late. Eri squeals in laughter as Gojo grabs her and hauls her over his shoulder, racing past confused passer-bys and dropping her down in front of a shaken teacher who's standing at the gate.

"Take care of her!" he calls, taking his second smoothie out of the paper bag and sucking half of it down in one go. The teacher merely turns around and walks slowly into the school, Eri following behind them and turning every few seconds to wave at him. Gojo waves back every time, waiting until she's entered the school before going back down the street, smiling to himself. 

He decides to hop back on the bus instead of teleporting. He still has another smoothie to finish.

Once he gets on and sprawls into a seat, he pulls his phone out. His gallery is still open from when he'd taken a photo of Eri with syrup smeared across her mouth, beaming and putting her thumbs up at Gojo. He smiles at his phone. All of this reminds him of taking care of Megumi when he was younger. Megumi had never been as visibly impressed by Gojo as Eri was, but the rare, small smiles he'd spot on his face sometimes when Gojo bought him a snack after school and detoured to the duck pond before going home, reminded him that he was just a child. 

He kind of misses Megumi, he realises, and his chest constricts at the thought. It surprises him, and he wonders why it surprises him. It's only normal that he miss his charge of ten years.

Right. Because he doubts Megumi misses him.

Gojo closes his gallery and opens his contacts, finding the number he'd been very reluctantly given by Detective Tsukauchi when they'd talked. He calls and waits for him to pick up. 

"Hello, Tsukauchi Naomasa speaking."

"Nao!" Gojo exclaims. Look, he's beginning to feel a bit trash and wants some amusement, which the detective unwillingly provides. 

"Ah. Gojo-san," Naomasa replies weakly. Gojo hears him thump down in his chair. "To what do I owe the... pleasure?"

"Pleasure," Gojo purrs, right against the mic. "Such a sweet word, especially from your mouth."

"Gojo-san, please—"

"That's right. Beg. I wanna hear—"

"This is harassment," Naomasa hisses, sounding close to tears. "Was that all you wanted or—"

"No, I did actually need something," Gojo interrupts, switching his tone to serious. "How far have you got with figuring out how I can get back?"

The relief is palpable in Naomasa's voice. "We've been doing some quirk tests on the villain who transported him. Voluntarily, of course. His sentence will be shortened after it."

"What have you found?"

Naomasa sighs. "So far, we haven't figured out any way to transport back anything he transports away. It only works if he touches whatever he wants to transport. Obviously his quirk was also drug-enhanced when he used it on Aizawa-san, so we have to factor that in too."

"Can't you just drug him and try?"

"No!"

"So otherwise, no luck."

"Not yet."

Gojo frowns and looks out the window at the passing cars and people. "Okay. Keep me updated."

"I will."

Audibly changing the lilt of his voice, Gojo adds, "And keep me updated on anything else you do without me. I wanna hear it all."

Naomasa turns the call off without saying goodbye. Snickering, Gojo pockets his phone and leans his arm against the seat, still looking out the window. Okay, so not a lot of progress there. But work was being done. Gojo would keep trying to get back at any rate, regardless of police support.

A short, feathery woman runs across the street, distracting Gojo with her flapping arms as she does. The people here are strange. Gojo's intrigued by the misshapen humans, or the ones who don't look human at all. He'd even seen a police officer with a dog's head. If he'd had more time he would have thrown a stick and seen what the officer did instinctively. Probably would have landed him in custody though. 

Talking of weird-looking creatures, Gojo still hasn't seen a single curse, even in all these crowds. There should be curses, because where there are humans, there are curses, so where are they? It's unsettling him. An aspect of familiarity that should be there and isn't. 

He's so embroiled in these thoughts that he doesn't notice the three people who board the bus until someone screams. 

"Shut the hell up!" an abnormally tall woman yells, taking out a deadly-looking gun and pointing it at whoever screamed. Their voice chokes off abruptly, like they'd covered their mouth. Gojo's head whips around and he takes the scene in. 

One of the woman's accomplices strides forward, mask covering their face and head. Small spines poke out of the top of the mask having ripped their way through. The third person is at the front, pressing a gun to the driver's head and urging her to keep driving. A bus hijacking. 

"Take off your valuables and drop 'em in the bag!" Spines bellows, gun leaned against their shoulder as they stroll down the middle of the bus, shaking the bag under cowering passengers' noses. "C'mon, cough up."

The bus driver's intercom crackles to life. "Yeeeeaah!" The other two turn around and look disbelievingly at the woman holding a gun to the driver's head. Her glowing yellow hair swirls liquidly around her head as she covers her mouth. "Oh, sorry. Got excited. Always wanted to try one of those."

The tall woman sighs and focuses back on the passengers. "We're taking y'all hostage. If the heroes pay up, you live. If not..." She flips the gun over and points the barrel at an elderly man backing away from her. "Ya get it."

This is so cringey. Gojo can't help scoff at them. Acting like they're in some kind of gangster flick. If he could make a spectacle of them he would, but he can't publicly—

His eyes widen. Oh shit. This is normal. Powers are normal here. He doesn't have to hide them. He laughs at them again, slowly getting louder until his head is tipped back and he has to wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.

Everyone, hijackers and hijackees alike, is gawking at him. 

"Something funny, man?" Spines questions, the threat audible in their voice. Pfft. 'Threat'. 

"Don't mind me," Gojo smiles, getting up and smoothing his shirt down. "I must have gotten on the wrong bus. I'm not here for the clown convention."

Spines' eyes widen visibly, and they laugh incredulously, pointing at him and then their companions, who look at him equally shocked. "W—Wow. I wasn't—" They laugh again, pulling their mask up and shaking their head. "Wasn't expecting that!"

"Jas—" Stilts begins nervously, reaching out for them, but they knock her hands back and grin at him, a crazy flicker burning in their eyes. Sharp nubs litter their face, tiny dots all over like maggots trying to break out of their skin. Thin strands of string from the mask still cling to some of them, waving lazily in the air.

"You think you're funny?" they whisper lowly, raising their gun and holding it to Gojo's forehead. Gojo stares right back at them, an easy smile on his lips. "You can't tell jokes when your smartass brains are wiped across the floor."

"Jas!" Stilts quavers, desperation slipping in. "We ain't killing no-one, we said—" She grabs their arm and they swing the gun around, hitting her round the head. She stumbles and trips, pressing her hand to her forehead. It comes back red. Canary Hair jumps in shock and looks frantically between the driver and the woman, hands shaking.

"Ya think I won't kill you?" Spines whispers through their teeth, pressing the barrel of the gun firmly against Gojo's head. "Ya think I'm predictable?"

"Yeah. I can read you like a book," Gojo smirks. He points at their face and pretends to focus. "'Chucklefuck'. I'm fluent in Braille." 

Spines blinks, the jab taking a moment to catch up to them, and when it does, Gojo can see the fury clouding their eyes over. They cock the gun and point it at him. 

"Everyone here is going to die because of you," they say flatly. Without further hesitation, they pull the trigger.

A couple people scream, dwindling off to a confused halt when nothing happens. Gojo yawns. 

"The gun's fine, don't worry," he says helpfully, as Spines opens it to check the bullets and jumps when an empty shell falls out the barrel and tinkles on the floor. 

Gritting his teeth, Spines shoots at him three more times in quick succession, ignoring the panic of the passengers, but once again, not a single one has touched Gojo. The bullets lie crumpled on the ground at his feet. He kicks them away. 

"Done?" he asks, hands stuffed lazily in his pockets. "I'll go then."

Spines steps backwards as Gojo nears them menacingly, then their eyebrows go up, and they leer at Gojo.

"You're bulletproof, but are they?" 

Gojo only gets a split second to act before Spines shoots at a man sitting in the back. The man screams, eyes screwed shut, hands covering his head. After a couple seconds, when he doesn't feel particularly dead, he squints his eyes open. Bullet shells lie on the seat next to him, and all three of the hijackers are unconscious.

Gojo gives them all a brilliant smile, dusting his hands off. "It's fine. You're all safe."

He goes over to the bus driver, telling her to park the bus, then taps a young woman clutching her phone tightly in trembling hands.

"Call the police. They'll handle it from here." 

She nods hastily. As he gets up to leave, she suddenly calls out again. 

"Um, Hero-sama—sorry, which hero are you? I've never seen you before."

Gojo chuckles and shakes his head. "I'm not a hero. But thanks."

She gapes at him, then gasps and bows her head. "Thank you for saving us all!"

Gojo isn't used to being thanked in his line of work. Other humans will never know what he's done and his colleagues expect nothing less of him. He gives her a blinding smile. "You're welcome."

He gets out of the bus quickly after that. Everyone will be fine. He's getting late now too. Clicking his tongue, he teleports himself directly outside class 1-A, ignoring the shrieks of unsuspecting students behind him as he swaggers in. 

Hizashi raises an eyebrow at him. "Satoru. You're late."

Gojo shrugs and falls down in his chair, waving at the class, who wave back. "Got held up. No big deal. I'm here now." He calls out Kaminari's name, making him jump to attention, and throws his phone at him. "Charge, please."

"You can't use my student as a human charger!" Hizashi squawks in his annoying hero voice as Kaminari finds the charger port and jabs his tongue in, leaning on his free arm comfortably.

"He doesn't mind. Denki! Do you mind being used as a human charger?" 

Denki blinks at the use of his first name, but throws a thumbs up and shakes his head. He knows not to talk while charging by now. 

Hizashi drops his act for a second to rub his forehead, then perks back up. "Okayyy, distractions aside! Satoru, don't talk to my students! They've gotta get this stuff down or Shouta's gonna chew my ear off!" 

The students sigh in collective understanding but settle down easily. The rest of the lesson goes fine, and Gojo doesn't really help with anything but oh well. Hizashi assures him there'll be more time to do that in practical exercises. 

The day passes like this. Nemuri brings him a snack in the middle of a lesson, saying she was worried he was bored. Hizashi has stopped commenting on anything Gojo does anymore, so he chomps it down, wondering how to quell his boredom. Just something happen. Jujutsu High was more fun than this. 

They can't do practical lessons today due to some dumb reason that Gojo zones out. By the end of the day, he's more than a little annoyed. Nezu had said he could do more. 

"Tomorrow," Hizashi promises in the car. "You'll be so useful in practical lessons."

They pick up Eri and go back home. The evening passes the same as the one before, except for dinner being a little tastier.

Soon enough, he's back in bed. God, he hopes tomorrow is different. Or he'll be forced to take drastic action. If there was no chaos, he'd make some. 

He's nodding off when his phone starts going crazy. 

Huffing, he silences it and turns over, almost asleep when Hizashi slams his door open. Startled, he straightens up, eyes glowing blue in the dark. Hizashi scrambles for the light switch and flicks it on.

"Satoru—" He pinches the bridge of his nose and raises his eyes to the heavens. "Check your phone."

With a groan, Gojo pats around for his phone, mistyping the password four times before getting it right. The teachers' group chat has more than five hundred messages and counting. He clicks on it, blinking blearily. The first few messages are just some keyboard smashes sent by Nemuri, and then a video—

His mouth forms a small o.

"You were late because you got held up," Hizashi says, voice strained. "Failing to mention it was a bus hijacking by a notorious band of villains."

Gojo presses the video, posted to someone's Instagram, having racked up half a million views since this morning. The point of view... he squints at the profile picture and huffs. Yep. It was the woman he'd talked to. He'd assumed she’d had her phone out to call the police but she'd been filming. The first ten seconds are just audio of gunshots and screaming, but the phone suddenly swings back up to capture Gojo dusting his hands off with the three villains at his feet. He turns and walks towards the camera, and the video stops.

The caption reads 'some hottie who said he wasnt a hero saved us during a bus hijacking today ?!?!?!?! please find him he was ssooo fffiiinnnee istg 😩😩😩💦💦💦'

Gojo squints at the profile picture again. Yes, definitely the same girl. Funny world. 

Hizashi snatches the phone off him.  

"You've gone viral and now everyone wants to know who you are," he says flatly.

"It wasn't on purpose!"

"Won't this create issues for you?"

"Why would it?" 

Hizashi throws his hands up in frustration. "I don't know? Isn't that what always happens in movies? You're not supposed to attract attention to yourself when shit like this happens?" 

Gojo reclines back against the headboard. "Who made that rule anyway?" 

Hizashi's hands drop against his side. "It's inconvenient if people know you're from a different universe. There'll be loads of questions. People will freak out."

"They don't have to know that."

Hizashi blinks. "What? How?" 

"I'll say I'm a hero, this is my rise to fame," Gojo explains, a plan forming rapidly in his mind. "Nezu wanted this anyway. I can use this as a chance to do something like…" He needs a distraction , a good one, for reasons he doesn’t want to admit to himself. Anyway, his first intention had been to mess around in this place, right? But he can only prank kids for so long. Something on a bigger scale. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity after all. He casts his mind back to conversations since he got here, and one thing that kept coming up again. Wouldn't it be absolutely wild if before he left, he could… "Become Top Hero."

“Satoru, be serious for a minute—”

“I am.”

Hizashi’s brow furrows and he narrows his eyes. Gojo stares back levelly although his mind is racing through a thousand different ideas. So much for hero being an embarrassing job title. Honestly, sorcerer isn’t much better, so who is he to get picky?

Hizashi sits down on the bed, clearly struggling massively between looking disapproving and awed. "You’re kidding." 

Yeah. This could work out nicely. "You don't think I could manage it?" 

He takes great pleasure in the following pause in which he can see Hizashi mulling it over and coming to a realisation. 

"If anyone could do it, it would be you," he mutters. "But how the hell are you gonna pull off something like that?" 

"What, like it's hard?" 

Hizashi rolls his eyes. "And what about when you go back to your universe?" Gojo lets himself enjoy the smug satisfaction of Hizashi easily accepting that he'll be able to do it. And he's barely seen Gojo use his powers so far. 

"Then the person in second place can take over! I'm feeling motivated now, you know."

"You're gonna leave the hero world quaking."

"I intend to." 

"It's been two days since you got here, Satoru."