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Chapter Text

The polished floors of the Sorcerer Assembly Hall gleamed like glass beneath the weight of tradition and blood. Every clan head, every elder, every major player in the jujutsu world was seated in a circle of judgment. The air was thick with incense, reverence—and panic.

Gojo Satoru adjusted the collar of his formal Gojo clan robe, the deep indigo silk trimmed in silver. It felt stifling compared to his usual uniform, but this wasn’t a mission. This was a war council.

To his left sat Yuuta Okkotsu, eyes sharp and anxious, and behind him, the stiff posture of the Zenin and Kamo heirs, already bristling at the summons.

At the far end, Gakuganji cleared his throat. “The cursed spirit known as Ame-no-Kagami has taken seven lives in the last two days. It has mimicked clan techniques—Zenin, Kamo, even Gojo.”

A murmur ran through the crowd.

“Which is why,” a government official cut in, “we are enacting the Emergency Sorcerer Coalition Treaty. All recognized jujutsu institutions must collaborate.”

Gojo’s eye twitched beneath his blindfold. “You mean—”

“Yes,” the official said with deliberate weight. “Even Lotus Academy.”

The grand doors opened.

Enter Geto Suguru.

Clad in layered black and plum silk robes, a Gojo kesa draped regally across his shoulder, Suguru glided in like smoke. Half his hair flowed loose, the rest tied in a graceful bun. He looked divine.

Gojo’s chest clenched.

Yuuta whispered, “That’s him, isn’t it…?”

Suguru inclined his head politely. “Apologies for the delay. Kyoto traffic is quite something.”

He took his seat—across from Gojo. The room shifted like a tectonic plate.

One elder sneered, “Aren’t you the one harboring cursed users?”

Suguru smiled, unbothered. “Reformed curse users. Many of whom now serve the country better than your own dropouts.”

Gojo swallowed a smirk.

The Zenin heir scoffed. “And how do you plan to deal with a special-grade that can mimic Limitless? Diplomacy?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Suguru said lightly. “I plan to feed it to my arsenal.”

Dead silence.

Suguru sipped his tea. “Assuming, of course, I’m allowed to help.”

The government officials exchanged glances. “We’re assigning both Lotus and Jujutsu Tech to investigate the cursed spirit jointly. You will report to us directly.”

Gojo spoke for the first time, voice calm and cool. “Understood.”

Suguru’s gaze flickered to him. “How obedient. You’ve changed.”

Gojo’s mouth twitched. “And you haven’t.”

They stared at each other for just a moment too long.

---

Later, in the corridors outside the Assembly—

“Still wearing my clan’s kesa?” Gojo asked, voice low as they walked side by side.

“It’s comfortable,” Suguru replied, smiling. “And it still smells like you.”

Gojo stopped walking.

Suguru didn’t.

Chapter Text

After The second assembly meeting,

The assembly chamber had long emptied. Political heavyweights and clan heads dispersed, still reeling from Suguru’s calm dismantling of their arguments. The polished floors gleamed under cold white lights, and the tension in the air had settled—but not between the two remaining figures.

Gojo stood by the window, arms crossed, the blindfold covering his eyes doing nothing to hide the sharp angle of his gaze. Suguru approached slowly, robes rustling softly like whispers in an ancient shrine. The Gojo clan’s kesa still draped over his shoulders—a quiet, unmissable insult and tribute all in one.

“I see you still dress like a relic,” Gojo murmured. “Didn’t realize Kyoto temples had a fashion line now.”

Suguru gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And you’re still letting black polyester define your personality. How modern of you, Satoru.”

They stood across from one another, the silence between them heavier than cursed energy. Decades of history condensed into one unbearable moment.

Suguru tilted his head, dark eyes gleaming. “I must admit. I didn’t expect you to stay with them. After what happened. After everything.”

Gojo’s jaw twitched. “Not all of us get to run away and build pretty sanctuaries in the mountains.”

“Pretty?” Suguru’s lips quirked. “You’ve seen Lotus?”

“I was briefed. It’s like a flower arrangement had a baby with a fortress. Suits you. Smells like incense and passive rebellion.”

Suguru stepped closer, a little too close. “You should visit. It might teach you how to unclench.”

Gojo’s voice dropped, low and cutting. “You think building a gilded cage makes you a saint?”

“And you think refusing to move on makes you a martyr?”

Their cursed energies flared, invisible but pressing—Gojo’s Infinity thrumming with suppressed force, Suguru’s calm presence like a lotus pond masking deep, devouring spirits. Still, neither moved to attack. They were far too civilized for that. For now.

Suguru turned away first, walking past him, brushing his shoulder as he whispered, “Careful, Satoru. Keep looking at me like that and I’ll think you miss me.”

Gojo grabbed his wrist—not harsh, but not gentle either. “You haven’t left my mind in ten years. Don’t flatter yourself thinking that’s a good thing.”

A beat.

Suguru's breath caught. Gojo let go.

Silence again. Suguru rolled his sleeve back down with practiced elegance. “Well then. Let’s lead this farce together, shall we?”

Gojo didn’t answer. He just watched him walk out—half hair up, robes gliding, scent of lotus and regret lingering in the air.

Chapter Text

The golden afternoon sun slanted through the high windows of Jujutsu Tech’s grand foyer, casting long shadows across polished marble. Word of the emergency alliance reverberated through both campuses like a shockwave. In clusters, students—both from Lotus Academy and Jujutsu Tech—gathered, exchanging nervous whispers and awed glances.

Nanako and Mimiko, Lotus’s fierce young protégées, stood at the edge of the crowd. Their wide eyes fluttered between Gojo Satoru’s stoic form and Suguru’s lithe silhouette, already halfway absorbed in conversation with Shoko. Mimiko tugged at her sister’s sleeve. “He’s… different,” she murmured, voice trembling with excitement. Nanako nodded, equally breathless. “He’s like a story come to life.”

Across the hall, Yuuta Okkotsu and Megumi Fushiguro leaned against a marble pillar. Yuuta’s cheeks still burned from the tension he’d witnessed between their two leaders. “I mean, come on,” he said, voice pitched low, “they could cut the air with a knife right now.” Megumi only raised an eyebrow. “Just focus on the mission.” Yet even he couldn’t hide the flicker of interest as Suguru passed, the kesa over his shoulder swaying like a pendulum of danger and grace.

---

Later, when the hall fell quiet, Shoko beckoned Suguru into a side corridor, its walls lined with tapestries depicting long-forgotten exorcisms. As the others dispersed, their voices a distant rumble, Shoko paused under a single lantern’s glow.

“Suguru,” she said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “tell me why you chose Lotus. Why abandon the system you once vowed to protect?”

Suguru’s dark eyes shone in the half-light. He folded his hands in front of him, the Gojo kesa slipping slightly. “Because protection isn’t just elimination,” he began, voice measured. “Every curse lies dormant in someone’s fear, their anger… their grief. Jujutsu Tech’s execution system breeds more fear than it calms. At Lotus, we give those spirits—and those students—a chance to change the narrative.”

Shoko nodded, absorbing each word like scripture. “A philosophy of mercy,” she whispered. “No wonder people believe the myth of Lotus.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Myth is easier than truth.”

---

Their private conversation ended abruptly when distant shouts rang down the corridor. Word had come in: a grade 1 sorcerer—one of the clan heirs sent to scout the outskirts—had been found dead, his body grotesquely preserved and transfigured. Worse still, reports insisted the killer moved and fought exactly like him.

Within minutes, the foyer filled again, this time with urgency. Jujutsu Tech’s Matrons and Lotus’s senior instructors carried a covered stretcher into the assembly room. Gojo and Suguru took their places at the head table, faces grim.

“His cursed technique was Copied,” announced Nanami, voice tight. “Ame-no-Kagami is learning. And hunting us.”

The covered form was unveiled. The sorcerer’s calm expression remained untouched, but his eyes—vacant, unseeing—seemed to glare accusingly at them all. His arms were splayed, twisted at odd angles, as though he’d both embraced death and defied it. Lotus students gasped. Tech students pressed back.

Yuuta swallowed. “He… looks like he’s warning us.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched. Suguru’s hand hovered near his kesa. Between them, the air crackled.

---

Once the body was respectfully taken away, Gojo and Suguru remained, alone now, the students drifting back to the corridors. Gojo broke the silence, voice low and rough. “We can’t treat this like a normal purge. If Ame-no-Kagami’s mimicking techniques, our front line is compromised.”

Suguru folded his arms, tilting his head. “Then we shift the battlefield. If it copies brute force, let’s give it something subtler—barriers, negotiations, feints. It won’t know which technique to steal first.”

Gojo’s blindfolded gaze fixed on Suguru. “Negotiations? You really believe you can talk down a mirror demon that just slaughtered one of our own?”

“Not talk it down,” Suguru countered. “Distract it long enough for a domain fusion trap. Then—snap it shut.”

Gojo’s lips curved in a ghost of a smile. “Creative. How many reformed curse users does Lotus have again?”

“Five hundred,” Suguru said easily. “Half grade 1. Each one a perfect decoy.”

Gojo leaned forward. Their faces were inches apart. “You’re insane.”

Suguru’s smile deepened. “Right back at you.”

---

Outside the empty chamber, the first real bond of the uneasy alliance had formed—not in trust, but in shared purpose. As the pair strode to the planning room, their footsteps echoed in lockstep, two equal forces converging on a single, perilous goal. And somewhere deep beneath the hum of fluorescent lights, the spark between them flickered—dangerous, irresistible, and utterly unstoppable.

Chapter Text

The sacred mountains of Kyoto stood wrapped in mist that morning, a veil of cloud clinging to the trees like the breath of gods long asleep. Gojo Satoru stood at the edge of the ancient barrier, one hand resting in the pocket of his formal Gojo clan robes—white with navy trimming, tailored to perfection, traditional in cut but undeniably regal. His blindfold was off. In its place, a pair of dark-lensed shades.

The moment he stepped forward, the barrier shimmered open—not with force, but invitation.

Lotus Academy, hidden from the eyes of even the most seasoned jujutsu sorcerers, unfurled before him like a mirage. A sprawling temple-school hybrid, carved into the mountainside and framed by koi ponds, flowering lotuses, and elegant bridges of lacquered red wood. Prayer bells chimed faintly in the wind. The scent of incense—rich sandalwood and something floral—curled through the air like a spell.

It was stunning. Ethereal.

He hadn’t expected this.

He’d expected rugged walls and chaos. Instead, it was serenity incarnate—precisely Suguru’s style.

A low whistle left his lips.

“You’ve been busy, Suguru.”

**

Inside the Lotus bathhouse, steam rose in silver threads from natural hot springs carved directly into smooth black stone. Lotus petals floated lazily on the water's surface. Pale blue light filtered through hanging charms strung across windows, giving the room a dreamlike hue.

Geto Suguru, hair half-down and the rest pinned in a neat bun, sat on a cushion near a polished vanity, humming softly to himself. A thin robe—translucent when wet—clung to his shoulders and thighs, droplets trailing down the hollow of his throat. His skin glowed, damp and flushed from the bath.

He had sensed Gojo's cursed energy breach the barrier ten minutes ago.

Now he waited.

Purposefully. Shamelessly.

A second passed. Then two.

Then—

Creak.

The door slid open with a quiet swish. A breeze followed, stirring the incense smoke and the wet strands clinging to Suguru’s neck.

He didn’t turn around.

“I was wondering how long you'd stand outside like a ghost.”

A pause.

Then the familiar low timbre of Gojo’s voice. Unimpressed. Cool.

“And I was wondering when you’d stop trying so hard.”

Suguru smiled, still facing the mirror.

“If I was trying hard, Satoru, I’d have worn less.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Gojo stepped inside. The door clicked shut.

The temperature in the room didn’t change, but Suguru could feel the heat. His reflection caught Gojo in full—broad-shouldered in those ceremonial robes, white sleeves pushed back casually, that perpetual air of annoyance tempered only by the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

Their eyes met through the mirror.

“So,” Suguru said lightly, picking up a small porcelain jar of cream. “Care to help me with my skincare routine? My hands are slippery.”

Gojo’s brow twitched. “You’ve got three dozen cursed spirits who’d do it for you.”

“None of them have your touch.”

That earned him a slow exhale. Gojo didn’t answer, but he moved forward, stopping directly behind him. His shadow draped over Suguru’s figure like a second robe. He took the jar, dipped two fingers into the cream, and—without warning—touched his neck.

Suguru bit the inside of his cheek.

The cream was cold. Gojo’s hands were warm.

With deliberate slowness, Gojo rubbed the cream into the curve of Suguru’s shoulder, working it in small circles up the base of his neck. His fingers moved unhurriedly, maddeningly careful.

“Still using this cherry blossom formula?” Gojo asked flatly.

Suguru gave a breathless chuckle. “I thought you hated the smell.”

“I do,” Gojo said, voice low. “But it suits you.”

The pads of his fingers trailed along Suguru’s collarbone, then dipped lower. Too low. Just a little. A thumb brushing under the fold of the robe. Not enough to cross a line, but enough to ignite the line’s existence in Suguru’s mind like wildfire.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Suguru whispered.

“You started it,” Gojo replied simply.

He reached for more cream.

This time, when he touched Suguru’s chest—bare, flushed—he lingered. His fingers moved slower. One slid upward, skimming the hollow beneath Suguru’s throat, pausing where his heartbeat trembled just beneath the skin.

Suguru shivered.

“You can stop now,” he said, trying for nonchalance. It came out thin.

“I could,” Gojo replied.

He didn’t stop.

One hand braced lightly against Suguru’s hip as the other smoothed down the slope of his shoulder. And Suguru—usually so poised—flushed. A vivid, rising pink spreading across his cheeks, the tips of his ears, his chest.

Gojo leaned in, mouth near his ear.

“You should’ve worn less,” he murmured, echoing the earlier comment.

That did it.

Suguru stood up abruptly, the movement sending a few water droplets splashing to the floor.

“I think that’s enough skincare,” he said briskly, pulling the robe tighter around himself and fleeing toward the hallway. “Thank you for your help, Satoru.”

Gojo didn’t stop him. Just watched.

And smirked.

“Next time,” he called after him, “don’t pretend you don’t want me touching you.”

The door slammed shut.

Outside, Suguru leaned against the hallway wall, chest rising and falling, hands trembling slightly at his sides. The robe was practically useless now—Gojo’s hands had been too warm, too gentle, too possessive.

And worst of all?

Suguru loved every second of it.

———

The moment Suguru slipped out of the bathhouse, robe fluttering behind him like a wisp of silk smoke, Gojo stood frozen for just a second—then moved.

“Geto,” he called, voice deceptively calm as he stepped barefoot into the garden’s stone path, water still dripping from his sleeves. “You’re not seriously running again, are you?”

Suguru didn’t stop. Not until a hand gripped his wrist and pulled him back—not harshly, just firmly enough to make him freeze under the whisper of bamboo leaves and the temple’s shadowed eaves.

They stood in silence for a beat, breaths curling in the evening air like mist.

Gojo’s hand moved from his wrist to Suguru’s chest, laying flat over damp fabric. “You know what’s funny?” he murmured. “Your heartbeat hasn’t changed one bit.”

Suguru’s lips parted, breath catching. “And what would you know about my heartbeat, Satoru?”

Gojo didn’t answer. He just stared at him, unblinking behind the edge of his blindfold, as though seeing him completely. The world narrowed to that moment—bamboo creaking, wind slipping past, the heat of Gojo’s palm through wet silk and thudding ribs.

Suguru, despite himself, lifted his own hand and pressed it lightly over Gojo’s chest in return.

Still. Solid. That infuriatingly calm rhythm of someone who could tear the world apart without breaking a sweat.

“You never change,” Suguru whispered.

“You did,” Gojo replied, just as softly. “But not where it counts.”

The tension was electric—raw and close enough to burn. Suguru could feel his own skin betray him, warming beneath Gojo’s touch. For a fleeting moment, he didn’t want to move.

But then—“Master Geto,” came a voice in the distance. “The introduction assembly is beginning.”

Suguru blinked. The spell shattered. He pulled away—fast, too fast—and stepped back with a practiced smile. “Duty calls,” he said, slipping back into silk and distance. “Do try not to scandalize my students, Gojo.”

Gojo only gave him a wry smirk. “Can’t make promises.”

---

Lotus Academy – Great Hall

The grand lotus-carved doors parted to reveal the hall, lit with glowing paper lanterns and perfumed with sandalwood. Students from both Lotus and Jujutsu Tech sat in organized rows—curious eyes flicking between the two legends now standing side by side at the ceremonial dais.

Suguru stood graceful and poised in his ink-black kimono, hair tied into his signature half-bun. Gojo stood beside him in formal Gojo clan attire—elegant, imposing, white and silver like a winter blade.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Gojo began flatly, “but we’re working together.”

The hall was silent.

“Temporarily,” Suguru added with an impish smile. “Until this curse is dealt with. Then we can go back to pretending we don’t know each other.”

“Pretending?” Gojo turned to him, deadpan. “You texted me last week.”

“You called me first, Satoru.”

“I hung up.”

“You still called.”

The students stared, slowly becoming more horrified with each exchange. Yuuji looked like he was about to faint. Megumi was rubbing his temples. Nanako leaned over to Mimiko and whispered, “Are they flirting or fighting?”

“Both,” Mimiko replied with the tired precision of someone who’d seen too much.

Finally, Shoko stepped in from the sidelines, casually lighting a cigarette. “Boys,” she said, exhaling a puff, “maybe save the bickering for after the peace talks?”

Suguru cleared his throat. “Right. Welcome, everyone.”

---

Later — The Garden of Still Waters

The sun had dipped low by the time Suguru took Gojo on a personal tour of the Lotus grounds. He didn’t say it, but he wanted Gojo to see this—what he’d built, what he’d bled for.

The stone paths wove between koi ponds and meditation groves, thick with flowering lotus trees. The air smelled like heaven—tea leaves, blossoms, and incense.

“Your taste got prettier,” Gojo said quietly, fingers brushing a falling petal from his shoulder.

“You noticed,” Suguru replied, lips curving smugly.

“You wore that robe on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

They reached the heart of the garden—a hidden grove flanked by ancient trees. Suguru turned, ready to say something, but Gojo’s hand shot out.

One firm shove, and Suguru’s back hit the tree bark with a soft thud. Gojo leaned in, eyes burning behind the cloth.

“Don’t run this time.”

“I’m not—”

Gojo’s mouth was on his neck before he could finish, lips hot, slow, unrelenting as they dragged down to the collarbone. He bit just once—enough to leave proof. Suguru gasped, nails digging into Gojo’s shoulders before he realized what he was doing.

He shoved at him, breathless. “You—You know I have to speak with government envoys in an hour!”

Gojo licked his lips, satisfied. “Guess you’ll need a scarf.”

Suguru’s face was bright red as he turned sharply on his heel and stormed off again, muttering curses beneath his breath.

Gojo watched him go.

“Still mine,” he murmured, just loud enough for Suguru to hear.

Chapter Text

The air buzzed with restrained energy as the students of both academies filtered into the Lotus training courtyard—a pristine expanse nestled beneath a curtain of sakura trees and the soft trickle of water from koi ponds lining the edges. Even the light filtering in through the invisible barrier was tinted gold, giving the entire grounds a serene glow.

But serenity died the moment Jujutsu Tech’s students stepped foot into it.

“Why does it smell like incense and… responsibility?” Nobara scoffed, fanning herself with exaggerated flair. “This place looks like a damn spa.”

“Quiet,” Megumi murmured, eyes narrowed as his gaze swept across the Lotus students standing in perfect formation, their expressions unreadable. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword.

“Don’t be so tense,” Yuji said, giving his friend a quick grin. “They don’t look like they want to kill us. Yet.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Maki muttered, adjusting her glasses. “They’ve got perfect posture. That’s always a red flag.”

Before the tension could thicken, footsteps echoed across the flagstone.

Suguru Geto appeared.

Grace incarnate in a layered black and lilac kimono, his long hair tied half-up into an elegant bun. His haori billowed gently with each step, sleeves slightly tucked to reveal the intricate cursed seals inked into his forearms. Behind him followed Mimiko and Nanako—flanking him like loyal sentinels. Silent, watchful, eerily calm.

The Lotus students bowed in perfect unison.

“Suguru-sama,” they murmured in reverence.

Jujutsu Tech’s group straightened at the same time Gojo stepped forward, arms crossed loosely over his chest, blindfold hiding the flash of restrained energy in his eyes.

“Suguru,” he greeted, monotone. “Didn’t expect a fanfare.”

“I didn’t expect you to still be wearing that dated uniform,” Suguru replied smoothly, lips curled into a barely-there smirk. “You’re practically fossilized.”

Gojo’s jaw ticked. “Funny. You’re still acting like a brat playing house in the woods.”

The tension pulsed through the courtyard like a struck chord.

Yuji leaned toward Megumi. “Are they gonna fight or—?”

“Make out?” Panda offered.

“Probably both,” Maki deadpanned.

---

Training Begins

The groups were paired up, interspersed between academies. Maki was paired with a Lotus girl wielding twin scythes; Inumaki was matched with a silent cursed speech user; Panda was sparring with a reformed curse user who moved like liquid shadow.

But it was Gojo and Suguru who stole everyone’s attention.

Their sparring wasn't officially scheduled. But of course, it happened.

They circled each other in the clearing near the lotus pond. Not a word was spoken. Not at first.

“I thought you said you were too ‘busy’ to entertain petty rivalries,” Suguru said, tilting his head.

Gojo’s blindfold gleamed as he lowered it slowly to hang around his neck, revealing piercing eyes that burned like the sun. “I make exceptions for stubborn exes.”

A collective cough-choke-snort erupted from the students watching nearby.

“You flatter yourself,” Suguru said smoothly, already moving. His cursed spirits whirled from behind him like a blooming storm—low growls and laughter echoing as a swarm of miniature curses surrounded Gojo.

Gojo didn’t even blink.

In a flash, the air distorted. A shimmer of Infinity snapped into place around him, and the curses shrieked as they halted mid-air.

Suguru darted in, fast, hand raised—and Gojo caught his wrist mid-motion.

“You're still predictable,” Gojo murmured, his voice low, nearly fond.

“And you still like it,” Suguru answered, leaning in closer than necessary.

Their faces were inches apart now. The strain of power, of pride, of ache stretched taut between them.

“You didn’t even burn the button,” Gojo murmured suddenly.

Suguru froze.

Gojo’s fingers brushed down his collar, pushing the edge of his kimono slightly open. The students watching practically leaned in as one.

There, glinting faintly in the light, was a small silver locket tucked just beneath Suguru’s robe.

Gojo gently tugged it free.

It wasn’t fancy. Just an old, battered uniform button—polished but obviously worn.

The Second button from Gojo’s high school uniform. The one he had yanked off in a silent moment of teenage vulnerability and tucked into Suguru’s hand the day he said, “If you ever leave me, keep this.”

Now it gleamed between them.

“That’s not training,” Yuuta whispered, horrified. “That’s foreplay.”

Suguru wrenched back a step. His hand closed around the locket and stuffed it back beneath his robes, breathing just a touch too sharp.

Gojo didn’t move. His gaze followed every twitch of Suguru’s fingers, every flicker of discomfort under practiced grace.

“Still running?” Gojo asked, voice low and razor-sharp.

Suguru’s eyes flashed with something unreadable. “Still waiting for you to catch up.”

He turned, robe swirling behind him as he strode off toward the inner gardens.

Gojo exhaled slowly and followed.

---

Back in the Lotus Gardens

Suguru stood alone beneath the massive lotus tree in the academy’s inner courtyard. The petals of the white blooms curled gently in the breeze. Incense smoke wound around the trunks like silk.

He didn't turn when he heard footsteps.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said, voice soft but heavy with weight.

Gojo didn’t answer.

He simply reached out and placed his palm flat against Suguru’s chest.

Suguru inhaled sharply.

The warmth of Gojo’s hand seeped through the thin layers of silk and into his skin, settling right over his racing heart.

It was thundering. Wild. Undeniable.

After a long beat, Suguru slowly lifted his own hand and mirrored the motion—placing it over Gojo’s chest.

Steady.

Rhythmic.

Like Gojo hadn’t changed. Like he had waited. Like something inside him had never stopped believing.

Neither of them spoke. The garden held its breath with them.

Until—

“Suguru-sama!”

Mimiko’s voice shattered the moment.

Suguru blinked and stepped back, hand falling from Gojo’s chest. “They’re calling for the secondary briefing,” he muttered.

He turned without another word.

This time, Gojo didn’t follow.

He just watched the sway of Suguru’s robes as he disappeared into the temple corridor—his heart, for once, no longer so steady.

Chapter Text

The moon hung low over Kyoto’s sacred mountains, casting a pale glow over the veiled shrine of Lotus Academy. The incense still burned from evening meditation, scenting the wind with sandalwood and lotus, curling like memory through the silent walkways.

Suguru had been avoiding him all day.

Not overtly, not childishly—but in that infuriatingly graceful way of his. Every time Gojo entered a chamber, Suguru was leaving it. Every time they were meant to debrief, Suguru conveniently had other “headmaster duties.”

But Gojo knew him. Knew every tick behind that perfectly composed smile.

And he had had enough.

So when he caught Suguru alone, in the inner cloister near the prayer hall, he moved fast.

“Suguru,” Gojo said, voice low, steady.

Suguru didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn, just continued to light a small offering candle by the wooden alcove, his fingers elegant, deliberate.

“You’ve been dodging me.”

“I’ve been busy,” Suguru replied, placid as a still pond. “Unlike Jujutsu Tech, my school runs on actual grace and structure—”

“You’re still wearing it,” Gojo interrupted. His voice dropped, a bit hoarse.

That made Suguru pause. His hand hovered over the flame. Slowly, he turned.

“What?”

“The button,” Gojo murmured. “From my uniform. You stitched it into a locket.” His eyes narrowed, pale lashes glinting beneath the blindfold’s edge. “Still trying to pretend it means nothing?”

Suguru’s smile returned, brittle and biting. “Maybe I just liked the way it matched my robes.”

Gojo’s jaw tensed. “Bullshit.”

Suguru turned away. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

He started to walk past him—but Gojo moved. Quick as a whip, hand catching Suguru’s wrist and pressing him back, firmly, against the temple’s wooden wall. The smooth lacquer chilled against Suguru’s back.

Suguru inhaled sharply, eyes wide, lips parting. “Satoru—”

“You still know how to rile me up,” Gojo said, leaning close. “Still wearing my button like a fucking keepsake. You really miss me that much?”

“You wish I missed you,” Suguru whispered, and yet—his pulse leapt beneath Gojo’s fingers.

They were close. Too close. Their breaths mingled. For a moment, the tension between them became thick enough to drown in.

Gojo didn’t kiss him. Not yet. But he stared at Suguru like he could.

And Suguru—damn him—looked flustered. His poise cracked, just slightly, like silk slipping over a blade.

“Come with me,” Gojo said, voice quiet but firm.

Suguru didn’t resist when Gojo took his hand. He let him lead him down the stone path, past the moonlit walkways and hanging bells, until they reached his private quarters tucked behind the Lotus Garden.

The moment the screen door slid closed behind them, the air changed.

Gojo didn’t say a word. He stepped forward, hands moving slowly—methodically. He undid the silk tie around Suguru’s waist, letting the dark plum robe slide open.

Suguru’s breath hitched.

The haori slipped from his shoulders next, revealing the pale skin underneath. Then the inner robe. Piece by piece, Gojo peeled him down until Suguru stood bathed in moonlight, wearing nothing but the locket.

Gojo’s hands stilled. His gaze roamed over him like a prayer.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Suguru said quietly.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m still yours.”

Gojo stepped closer. “You always were.”

Suguru’s knees gave slightly as Gojo guided him down onto the silk floor cushions that overlooked the glowing pond. The garden was quiet, except for the soft rustle of lotus leaves in the breeze.

Gojo didn’t kiss his lips. Instead, he pressed reverent kisses along Suguru’s collarbone, the slope of his shoulder, the curve of his ribs. His hands moved gently, but firmly—holding him, grounding him.

Suguru melted beneath him.

His back arched as Gojo kissed the inside of his thigh, his chest, his wrists. His eyes fluttered shut, and for once, he didn’t flirt, didn’t tease—he simply let himself be seen.

“I hate you,” he whispered, voice thick.

“No, you don’t,” Gojo said softly.

Suguru’s hands threaded into his hair, clinging—not to pull, but to anchor. His breaths were shallow, eyes bright with something raw and old.

Gojo didn’t rush. He worshipped.

And still—he didn’t kiss him on the lips. That line hadn’t been crossed. Yet.

Outside the sanctuary of the garden, in the trees above—

A flicker of movement.

A figure. Watching.

Gojo. Or rather… something wearing Gojo’s face. A perfect mimic, down to the blindfold, down to the curve of his jaw.

It crouched silently, its mirror-skin glinting under moonlight.

Ame-no-Kagami. Watching. Learning. Waiting.

Because even gods can be imitated—if one watches long enough.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the shoji panels of the temporary government safehouse in Kyoto, casting a dappled warmth across the papered walls. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. Not strained. Not yet.

It was simply… suspended. Like a breath held just long enough to ache.

Gojo stood at the window, blindfold already on, posture stiff. A porcelain cup of untouched tea steamed quietly beside him. Behind him, Suguru was fussing with his obi, sliding it into place with practiced ease. His robes were deep green today, embroidered with golden threads forming lotus blossoms. Elegant. Regal. Far too formal for fieldwork.

Neither mentioned what had almost happened last night.

Neither dared to touch the name of it.

Not when the taste of it still lingered on their tongues, sharp and unfinished.

“Tea’s getting cold,” Suguru said lightly as he stepped toward him, his voice carrying that ever-playful cadence. “Though I suppose bitterness is your preferred flavor these days.”

Gojo didn’t turn. “I don’t need tea to deal with your nonsense. I’ve built immunity.”

“You say that now,” Suguru murmured, brushing past him to retrieve his own cup with a flick of his sleeve. “We’ll see who survives the day.”

—

The mission had brought them northeast of Kyoto—to a rural village nestled in the forgotten crags of the Wakayama border, where reports of vanished civilians had escalated to sightings of a shifting, mirror-like creature. The same one. Ame-no-Kagami.

The villagers were quiet. Eyes watchful, mouths tight. The dirt roads were narrow, damp from a morning mist that hadn’t yet burned off.

Gojo walked ahead, shoulders squared. Suguru trailed behind just enough to be contrary. Yuuta, sandwiched between them, looked like he’d aged a decade in thirty minutes.

“Are you seriously wearing silk to a cursed spirit hunt?” Gojo asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Again?”

“You wound me. This isn’t silk. It’s a hemp-silk blend,” Suguru said, almost proudly. “Traditional, breathable, and woven by a blind artisan in Arashiyama. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Should’ve worn hiking boots,” Yuuta muttered as he ducked beneath a low branch.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Suguru replied. “The moment I start dressing like you two is the moment I lose all will to live.”

Gojo huffed. “You’re going to ruin those robes when you trip over your own drama.”

“Oh please. I walk with—"

Crack.

The mossy stones beneath Suguru’s feet shifted, slick with dew. His foot slid.

In one swift, instinctive movement, Gojo turned just as Suguru tipped forward. A sharp intake of breath, the rustle of fabric—and then—

Impact.

Not the earth.

But Gojo.

He had caught him mid-fall, strong arms bracing around Suguru’s waist, turning their bodies so he cushioned the blow. The weight of Suguru’s body settled onto his own as they landed in the dirt path—Gojo beneath, Suguru above.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled.

Suguru’s hair had come loose again, strands brushing across Gojo’s collarbone. Their chests pressed too closely. Their noses were inches apart.

“You did that on purpose,” Gojo said, voice low.

“I really didn’t,” Suguru breathed back, and cursed himself when it came out too soft, too genuine.

Yuuta stood a few feet away, horrified, as if he’d just witnessed the first scene of a very bad adult film. “Do I... leave? Or throw something? What do I do here?”

Suguru flushed faintly and pushed himself up off of Gojo with a graceful scoff. “You’re welcome for the dramatic flair,” he murmured as he straightened his robes, fussing with the sleeves.

Gojo stayed on the ground for a second longer, eyes unreadable beneath his blindfold. Then he stood and brushed off his uniform.

“Next time, fall alone,” he muttered.

“Next time, catch me faster,” Suguru shot back with a flicker of teeth.

—

Later That Evening
The only inn for miles was small and old, clearly family-run, with tatami mats and sliding doors that creaked like they were whispering secrets.

“We have one room left,” the innkeeper said kindly. “And only one futon.”

Yuuta looked between the innkeeper and the two sorcerers beside him.

“...We’ll take it,” Gojo said before Suguru could open his mouth.

And that’s how they ended up in a room that smelled faintly of sandalwood and regret, standing beside a single futon that was far too small for the distance they pretended to need.

“This feels rigged,” Yuuta muttered from the hallway, arms crossed. “I can feel it in my soul. You two are going to do something unspeakable and I’m going to have to purify the hallway.”

“Relax,” Suguru said smoothly as he untied his sash. “We’re professionals. We’re adults. And if I steal the blanket in my sleep, that’s Gojo’s problem.”

Gojo, who had already shrugged off his jacket and folded it neatly beside the futon, raised a brow. “You snore. Loudly.”

“You grind your teeth.”

“You kick.”

“You cling.”

“Shut up,” Yuuta groaned from the other side of the door. “I’m going to sleep in the broom closet.”

—

Night fell with a gentle hum. The lamp in the corner flickered faintly, casting golden light across the small room. Gojo lay on his back, blindfold off, eyes staring at the ceiling. Suguru lay beside him, hair loose again, only a few inches of futon separating them.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

The space between their bodies hummed like static.

“You never stopped caring about them,” Gojo said quietly.

Suguru didn’t answer at first.

Then—“And you never stopped caring about me.”

Gojo turned his head. Their eyes met. Even in the dim light, that look—aching and restrained—burned.

“I hate you,” Gojo said softly.

“I know,” Suguru whispered.

And still, neither of them moved.

Just longing. Just silence. Just heat in the space between them.

The kind of tension that could only hold for so long before breaking.

But not tonight.

Tonight, they both stayed still.

Tomorrow could break everything.

Tonight, they remembered what it was to be near.

Chapter Text

The forest was still.

Too still.

Birdsong had ceased some ways back, and the only sound left was the crunch of leaves underfoot as Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, and Okkotsu Yuuta moved in silence beneath the canopy of Kyoto’s sacred mountains.

“This is the third site with similar readings,” Yuuta murmured, holding up a compact monitor glowing faintly with cursed energy flux. “Same spikes in cursed residue. It’s fresh.”

“Not fresh,” Suguru corrected smoothly, his voice low and composed. “Calculated. This place wasn’t just attacked—it was chosen.” He bent down, robes brushing the moss as he ran gloved fingers along the charred remnants of a ceremonial ring. “This was a shrine. Not affiliated with any known clan. Likely an independent, rural sect.”

The trees surrounding them were cloaked in thick mist, and at the center of the clearing lay the desecrated shrine—a ring of blackened stone, the torii gate fractured clean down the center. What should have been a serene place of worship was now marred by claw marks and bloody sigils.

Suguru traced a smear of ink-black blood along the altar, eyes narrowing.

“It’s practicing,” he said finally. “Ame-no-Kagami… it’s not just mimicking form anymore. It’s perfecting behavior. Ritual cadence. Technique layering. This shrine wasn’t destroyed—it was used.”

Gojo leaned slightly against a crooked tree, arms folded, blindfold still on, but his gaze unseen and razor-sharp beneath. “That thing’s evolving.”

“And learning,” Suguru replied, rising to his feet, dusting ash from his haori sleeves. “Faster than we thought.”

Gojo studied him—there was something inherently magnetic about watching Suguru slip into academic precision. His hair was half up in that elegant bun again, obsidian locks spilling down his back like black silk ink. The way his voice danced between command and mystery reminded Gojo too keenly of old days at Jujutsu Tech. Suguru had always known how to make being the smartest person in the room look seductive.

“Some things never change, huh,” Gojo murmured, the words escaping before he realized he’d said them aloud.

Suguru paused mid-sentence. He turned to him, dark eyes catching light through the mist like wet ink. “Like what, Satoru?” His voice was teasing, but quieter, laced with something far older. Sadder.

Gojo didn’t answer.

Yuuta, politely sensing tension thickening, stepped back. “I’ll finish securing the perimeter,” he offered quickly, disappearing through the trees before either man could respond.

Now alone, the silence between them deepened.

Suguru turned back to the altar. “This isn’t over. Ame-no-Kagami is looking for something.” His tone hardened. “A technique worth stealing.”

Gojo pushed off the tree, stepping close. “You think it’s after you.”

“Or you,” Suguru said without turning. “We’re both appetizing prizes, aren’t we?”

Gojo’s voice dropped. “You’ve always been more appetizing.”

Suguru froze—not from fear. From the raw honesty. And the proximity. He could feel Gojo now, standing behind him, heat bleeding through the barrier of his robes. He dared to look back, lips parted.

“You’re in a mood today.”

Gojo raised a brow behind the blindfold. “Just remembering.”

A pause. Then Suguru turned and walked away, his sandals soft over the shrine stones.

“Come,” he called over his shoulder. “You’ve been tense all day. The mountain spring’s still flowing, unless Ame-no-Kagami’s gotten thirsty.”

—

The bath was nestled deeper in the forest, fed by a natural hot spring that Lotus Academy kept shrouded in layers of barrier talismans. The steam was thick, rich with the scent of moss and clean minerals.

Suguru stepped into it with practiced ease, robes discarded and folded neatly beside the stones. He sank into the warmth with a pleased sigh, his long hair untied and slicked back, the ends floating around him like ink in water. Eyes closed, he let the mountain silence sink into his bones.

And then—footsteps.

He opened one eye.

Gojo stood at the edge, still fully clothed, half-shadowed by the trees. “Didn’t expect this to be a co-ed mission.”

Suguru arched a brow. “You’ve seen worse. You’ve done worse.”

A beat. Then—

“Come on,” Suguru said, lips twitching. “Unless you’re shy now.”

Gojo stared. Then, with infuriating slowness, he peeled off the black layers of his Jujutsu Tech uniform, each piece discarded without urgency. When he stepped into the water, the steam curled around his tall frame, turning him half-myth under moonlight.

Suguru didn’t look away.

Gojo moved closer. Close enough their knees brushed beneath the water. Suguru’s breath hitched as Gojo raised a hand and brushed a wet lock of hair from his face.

“You’re still beautiful when you’re annoying,” Gojo said quietly.

“And you’re still pathetic when you’re sincere,” Suguru whispered back, though his voice betrayed a tremble.

Their chests met, bare and steaming. Gojo slid an arm around his waist and pulled him gently in. Suguru resisted—just barely—before letting his forehead drop against Gojo’s collarbone, the world finally quiet again.

They sat like that. Breath against breath. Heat against heat.

No words.

Just weightless, aching proximity.

Later, when the moon was high and the water had cooled slightly, Gojo helped Suguru tie up his hair again. He worked in silence, fingers threading through long, thick strands with the tenderness of someone who remembered how to do this from a lifetime ago.

Suguru didn’t speak. Not even when Gojo’s hand lingered at the nape of his neck.

The knot was neat. Functional.

But the silence between them was not.

And as they stepped out of the spring, water dripping from their skin and memories clinging like wet silk, one thing was certain—

The spirit they were hunting wasn’t the only thing perfecting mimicry.

Because Suguru and Gojo?

They were both experts at pretending this wasn’t love.

Chapter Text

The light inside the government assembly room was sterile—white-hot and buzzing overhead like it resented every syllable uttered beneath it. Seated around the obsidian horseshoe table were clan heads, higher-ups, and officials in crisp uniforms. They spoke in clipped, precise tones, sipping lukewarm tea while hiding sharp knives behind their smiles.

Suguru Geto leaned back in his seat, robes rustling like whispering silk. He wore a layered indigo haori today, embroidered with silver lotus along the hem. His hair, as always, was half up in a neat bun, the rest spilling down in a soft, dark curtain. He looked out of place in this cold room—too serene, too composed, too untouchable.

Exactly how he liked it.

Across from him sat Satoru Gojo—arms crossed, legs stretched slightly forward, blindfold in place. He didn’t bother hiding the way he was watching Suguru. Not openly hostile, not entirely warm—just that unreadable stillness that clung to him lately like armor.

Gojo didn’t trust this meeting. Not the sudden request from the government to “discuss alignment,” not the odd absence of a few elders, and especially not the behavior of Clan Head Kamo Tsuyoshi, who sat far too quietly at the head of the table.

Suguru had noticed it immediately.

The real Kamo Tsuyoshi never kept quiet. He was a man of lectures and finger-wagging, always too eager to uphold “tradition.” But today… he had barely spoken. And when he did, he said nothing.

“You’re rather quiet today, Clan Head Kamo,” Suguru said smoothly, folding his hands on the table. “No lengthy condemnations about the Lotus Academy? No poetic rants about ancestral shame?”

The man tilted his chin stiffly. “There is no need. The situation speaks for itself.”

“Hm.” Suguru tilted his head. “How very… unlike you.”

A few murmurs rose around the table.

Gojo raised an eyebrow beneath his blindfold. Suguru was playing it slow. Testing. Satoru knew that tone—silken words hiding surgical analysis.

“You said earlier,” Suguru continued lazily, “that the cursed spirit outbreak near Nara Temple is being handled by the Zen’in unit. And yet…” He tapped a lacquered finger on his notepad. “I received a report from Maki Zen’in an hour ago. Her unit is still stationed in Kyoto, with no orders dispatched. Isn’t that a contradiction?”

The fake Kamo blinked once. “Maki Zen’in is not authorized to send official reports to Lotus.”

“No, but she is authorized to send them to Shoko Ieiri. Who, if I’m not mistaken, copied me in.” Suguru smiled—small, sharp. “Would you like to see the transmission timestamp?”

Now the murmurs turned to side-glances. Government officials leaned forward. Even the tight-lipped elders began to shift in their seats.

Gojo said nothing, but he uncrossed his arms slowly. His fingers flexed once. His cursed energy spiked—just barely.

The man posing as Kamo stood abruptly.

“I grow tired of your insinuations, Geto Suguru,” he said. “This is a meeting, not a circus.”

Suguru stood too—slowly, deliberately. The room dimmed as his cursed energy began to simmer outward, elegant but lethal, the scent of incense suddenly stronger in the air. His voice was still soft, but it carried through the room like a bell:

“If you were really Kamo Tsuyoshi… you’d know that he never uses my full name. Not unless he’s about to have an aneurysm.”

A hush fell.

The false Kamo snarled—and then cracked.

Glass split down his cheek like a fracture, and in a flash, the illusion dropped. A mirror-like surface shimmered where the human skin had been, and within seconds the cursed spirit revealed itself—Ame-no-Kagami.

A flurry of movement followed.

Gojo was already on his feet, Limitless flaring like a solar pulse. Suguru didn’t move—he didn’t need to. Five thousand cursed spirits writhed beneath his skin, whispering at the edge of reality, ready to devour.

But he held them back. Instead, he smiled, lifted a single finger, and said, “Kamo was never here, was he?”

The spirit hissed.

“Where is he?” Gojo growled, stepping beside Suguru without needing to speak a plan. They moved like magnets now—repelled and drawn, circling the same purpose.

The spirit didn’t answer. It twisted its form—became Shoko, then Nanami, then Satoru—and paused there. It looked at Suguru with Gojo’s face and smirked.

That was its mistake.

Suguru’s eyes darkened. “You're not worthy of that face.”

With a flick of his sleeve, he summoned a cluster of bound cursed spirits—tiny and needle-like. They pierced the mimic’s chest before it could shift again.

Pinned to the wall, the cursed spirit wailed in its true form—glass-like body cracking further.

Government officials fled in a panic. The elders barked orders. Chaos erupted—but Suguru and Satoru stood still, side by side, unmoved.

“Now that,” Suguru murmured, dusting his sleeve, “was rude. Impersonating a clan head? At a meeting like this?”

Gojo tilted his head. “You could’ve told me earlier.”

“I wanted to be sure,” Suguru said, voice laced with satisfaction. “And I enjoy watching you get nervous.”

Gojo didn’t reply. Not with words.

Instead, he reached forward, gripped the front of Suguru’s robes, and tugged him forward—close enough to smell the lotus oil on his skin.

His voice dropped low, dangerous and quiet. “You’re reckless.”

“I’m efficient.”

Gojo didn’t let go. His hand slid up, fingertips grazing Suguru’s cheek.

A soft kiss—just a brush—pressed to his cheekbone.

The world didn’t stop, but Suguru did.

He blinked. For a moment, just a heartbeat, his breath caught.

“…That wasn’t strategic,” he whispered.

“No,” Gojo said. “It wasn’t.”

They didn’t kiss. Not yet.

But the war drums between them quieted—for a moment—as if both sides remembered the peace that once existed.

Suguru stepped back with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Careful, Satoru. You kiss me too sweetly, and I might remember what it felt like to love you.”

Gojo’s smile was empty. “You never forgot.”

The cursed spirit cracked again—and vanished into mirrored dust.

And the meeting was over.

But the game had only just begun.

Chapter Text

The meeting chamber at Lotus Academy was perfumed with incense and quiet tension. Delicate shoji screens filtered the soft afternoon light into golden slivers, casting ethereal lines across the polished floor. Seated at the center of the circular room, Suguru Geto looked entirely at home—legs folded beneath him, hands resting gracefully in his lap, his robe of deep violet trailing like ink around him.

Miguel sat beside him, leaning back with one arm propped on the edge of the cushion, his other hand gesturing animatedly as he offered insight about the cursed spirit’s mimicry patterns. "—and if it copied Nanami’s Ratio Technique, then we have to assume it has some method of observing technique origin points. My suggestion is—"

“You’ve always been brilliant at strategy,” Miguel said smoothly, voice dipped in velvet, "but you’ve become even more elegant with time, Suguru."

Suguru smiled lightly, tilting his head. “You flatter me, Miguel. I might start thinking you missed me.”

Gojo, standing silently by the sliding door with his arms crossed, didn’t move. Not even when the candlelight caught the edge of his jaw in sharp relief, or when Suguru’s hand briefly brushed Miguel’s shoulder as he leaned in to peer at the map they’d drawn on parchment.

But his cursed energy spiked—just slightly. Enough that the Lotus mentors lining the back of the chamber turned their heads, sensing the shift.

“Gojo,” Shoko murmured from the side, “Your murder aura is showing.”

“Mm,” Gojo replied, deadpan. “That’s just my resting aura now.”

Suguru’s gaze slid toward him, amused, and lingered a second too long. “Something wrong, Satoru?”

“No,” Gojo said. “Just fascinated by how quickly you weaponize your charm when you want something.”

Miguel blinked. “Are we—still talking about the mission?”

“Barely,” Suguru said with a mischievous hum, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. “We’ve covered enough for now. The curse sighting’s west of the mountain range, yes? I’ll be scouting tonight.”

“I’m coming with you,” Gojo said immediately.

Suguru didn’t look surprised. “Of course you are.”

———

The lotus garden shimmered under twilight, dotted with glowing lanterns and the soft rustle of trees. A koi pond rippled quietly in the distance as night deepened. Suguru stood alone by a cluster of stone steps, fingers trailing over a bloom.

He didn’t turn when Gojo’s footsteps approached, though his voice came light as ever. “You gonna scold me, or kiss me?”

“You think those are my only options?” Gojo said, low.

Suguru chuckled. “The way you looked at Miguel, I thought you might vaporize him.”

Gojo stepped close—too close—and grabbed Suguru’s wrist, firm but not rough. “Stop playing games.”

“Make me.” Suguru’s voice dropped, breath hitching slightly as Gojo tugged him in, close enough that their chests brushed. Close enough that the incense still clinging to Suguru’s skin filled Gojo’s nose. His half-up bun had loosened, strands falling to frame flushed cheeks.

“Don’t test me,” Gojo warned.

“Oh, but it’s so fun,” Suguru whispered. “You haven’t changed at all. You’re still the same Satoru, pretending you don’t want to pin me to every wall between here and Tokyo.”

Gojo’s expression didn’t falter. But his grip tightened—and his other hand reached up, fingers brushing Suguru’s cheek, then threading into his hair.

Suguru’s breath caught.

Their lips were a breath apart.

“You’re unbelievable,” Gojo murmured.

“And yet—”

A scream shattered the stillness.

Both heads snapped toward the northern slope.

Suguru was the first to move, hand already summoning cursed energy. Gojo released him with a curse.

“Looks like Ame-no-Kagami’s ready to play,” Suguru said, voice flat.

Gojo’s jaw clenched. “Then let’s finish this so you run out of excuses to keep dancing around me.”

Suguru smiled as they vanished into the darkness together.

Chapter Text

The ancient forest surrounding the Kyoto outskirts stirred unnaturally. Wind cut through branches like razors, a low hum of cursed energy seeping into the roots, leaves, and soil. The air shimmered—unsettling, warped, as though reality itself trembled in anticipation.

They stood at the boundary of a ravaged shrine site, where charred earth met fractured stone. Jujutsu Tech sorcerers had fallen here days ago—wiped clean with surgical precision. Now, Gojo and Suguru stood side by side, the unspoken tension between them sharper than any cursed technique.

Suguru inhaled slowly, lotus incense still clinging to the folds of his dark violet haori. “It’s still here,” he murmured, golden eyes narrowing. “Ame-no-Kagami.”

Gojo, still cloaked in black, blindfold obscuring his eyes, tilted his head just slightly. “You’re sure?” he said coolly, but the subtle flex of his fingers betrayed anticipation. “It hasn’t moved in days.”

“It doesn’t need to,” Suguru said. “It’s waiting to copy something stronger.”

Then the world shattered.

A mirror split the air in front of them with a glassy shriek. From its rippling surface, a perfect replica of Suguru stepped out—identical in face, in grace, in voice. But wrong in the eyes. Hollow.

Ame-no-Kagami wasted no time.

Suguru’s doppelgänger moved first—graceful and swift, flicking its wrist to summon a trio of cursed spirits from thin air. Gojo’s senses spiked. The mimic had absorbed some of Suguru’s arsenal. One of the curses it threw bore the telltale shriek of a special grade.

The battle became a blur. Suguru and his replica clashed mid-air, talismans flashing like embers. Their movements mirrored so perfectly that even Gojo—Six Eyes or not—had to pause for half a breath to tell them apart.

The real Suguru summoned his own cursed spirits to counter the mimic’s, sweat beading along his temple. “Can’t let it keep copying,” he muttered, ducking as a cursed centipede’s tail swung at his throat.

Gojo activated Blue, erasing the insect in a single step, voice low beside Suguru’s ear. “Then stop pulling your punches.”

Suguru grinned, breathless. “Trying not to destroy the forest.”

“You’re adorable when you’re idealistic,” Gojo said, tone flat. His hand lingered at Suguru’s waist just a moment longer than necessary before vanishing in a streak of motion.

A flash—glass shattered in a spiral above them.

The mimic leapt—blades of curse energy arcing from its fingers. And then Suguru moved.

No hesitation. No restraint.

"Uzumaki."

The word dropped like a spell from his lips—low, commanding, divine.

A vortex of cursed spirits exploded into existence, swirling with deafening force. Thousands of curses screamed and spun around Suguru as he levitated mid-air, arms open as though welcoming damnation. The sky warped violet and red, the air metallic with spiritual density.

Gojo stood below, unmoving. Watching. Breath caught.

The mimic staggered—confused, terrified. Even as it mirrored Suguru’s shape, it could not replicate command. Not soul. And it certainly couldn’t survive what came next.

The spiral closed.

A scream. An implosion. Silence.

When the dust settled, Suguru fell to one knee, breath ragged, eyes blown wide. His cursed energy was almost entirely drained—his technique had devoured too much too fast.

Gojo was already beside him before Suguru could blink.

“Don’t move,” Gojo said softly. His hand slid beneath Suguru’s robes, pressing firmly against his bare abdomen, palm radiating cursed energy.

Suguru gasped—sharp, unbidden. His body shivered under the contact, heat blooming across his cheeks. “You could’ve warned me,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

Gojo didn’t speak. His other hand slid up behind Suguru’s back, wrapping around him in a secure, grounding hold. Their bodies pressed close. The only sound now was the soft whisper of cursed energy transferring from one divine soul to another.

Suguru bit his lip when Gojo’s fingers pressed just a little harder. His abdomen clenched. He buried his face in Gojo’s neck, hair falling like silk across Gojo’s shoulder. “Satoru,” he whispered. It was barely audible. Fragile.

“I’ve got you,” Gojo said, voice gentler than Suguru remembered. It made his chest ache.

The cursed energy kept flowing, humming between them like a vow unspoken. For all the chaos around them—the fallen shrine, the shattered mirror, the mimic’s remains—the world had narrowed to two people and a promise still burning beneath silence.

Gojo’s palm lingered even after Suguru had stabilized. His voice, still low, broke the hush: “Don’t use Uzumaki unless I’m there to catch you.”

Suguru lifted his head slowly, lips parted, eyes too full of something Gojo refused to name.

“I always counted on you,” he said quietly.

Gojo didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

Because Suguru was already home in his arms. And Gojo wasn’t letting go. Not this time.

Chapter Text

The moon hung high and cold over the Kyoto outskirts, silvering the mist as Gojo walked steadily through it with Suguru in his arms.

Suguru’s head rested against his shoulder, his long hair undone and trailing like ink over Gojo’s arm. His breathing had evened out, soft and warm, but his cursed energy still flickered faintly—depleted, unruly. The process of Gojo refilling it earlier had left them both rattled, even if neither would admit it aloud. Skin against skin, that quiet hum of Gojo's limitless energy pouring into Suguru had stirred things long buried.

Now, the streets were still, the fight behind them, but the heat between them hadn’t faded.

The nearest inn was nestled just off the mountain road, a humble, wooden thing with paper lanterns glowing orange under the eaves. Gojo didn’t bother asking for two rooms. One look at the frazzled old keeper, one flash of his Jujutsu Tech emblem, and they were handed a single key.

He carried Suguru all the way to the second floor, not trusting his own resolve to break contact just yet.

---

The room was small and quiet, just one futon spread across the tatami floor and a single oil lamp flickering in the corner. Incense burned faintly—lotus-scented, of all things. Gojo gave a soft, sarcastic huff as he gently lowered Suguru onto the mattress.

“Of course,” he muttered to himself, straightening Suguru’s robes and brushing his damp bangs from his face. “Smells like you even when you’re unconscious.”

Suguru stirred.

“Mm…Satoru?” His voice was low, still hoarse from the battle.

“You’re lucky I’m still soft for you,” Gojo said dryly, settling down beside him with his back turned. He didn’t add because I never stopped being soft for you. That would have been too honest.

Suguru chuckled, tired but amused. “Satoru, you’ve never been soft. Just insufferably sweet in moments you think no one notices.”

Gojo didn’t rise to the bait. He kept his eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling, hands folded over his stomach. His blindfold was still on, even though there was no one here but the man he used to dream about every night.

The silence stretched.

Suguru shifted behind him, the rustle of his kimono brushing against Gojo’s back.

“…Thank you,” Suguru said eventually, voice low and sincere. “For earlier.”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, tension rising in the pit of his stomach.

He could still feel Suguru’s skin under his palms. Could still see the moment his cursed energy had run dry mid-battle and the panic in his eyes before Gojo had stepped in—without hesitation, without demand.

He’d poured himself into Suguru then—his energy, his lifeline. For a moment, it had felt like the old days. Like they were unbreakable again.

Gojo’s voice was rough when he finally spoke. “You really shouldn’t push yourself like that.”

“Are you worried about me?” Suguru teased, but softer this time.

Gojo rolled onto his side, still facing away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, so quietly it could’ve been lost in the wind outside:

“I stayed because I wanted to build something too, you know.”

Suguru didn’t reply at first. But Gojo could feel the shift in the air, the soft inhale behind him. The way Suguru was staring at the back of his head like the truth was written there in ink.

He turned slowly, just enough to meet Suguru’s eyes across the darkened room.

Suguru was lying on his side too now, black and gold eyes unreadable, strands of hair framing his face. The lamplight painted his features in amber and shadow. He looked…peaceful. But Gojo knew better.

Gojo hesitated. Then, without a word, he reached out and pulled Suguru into his arms.

It wasn’t graceful or calculated. It was an instinct.

Suguru didn’t fight it.

There was a split second of tension—of surprise, of something tender laced with panic—before Suguru melted into him. Their bodies aligned with too much familiarity: Suguru’s head tucked against Gojo’s chest, one hand pressed to his collarbone; Gojo’s arm slung securely around Suguru’s waist.

They breathed in sync for a long moment. Like they’d done this before. Like they hadn’t lost a lifetime in between.

“…You smell like winter,” Suguru murmured.

“And you smell like lotus,” Gojo replied, lips barely moving. “What a pair.”

They both chuckled, faint and dry, but it felt like a thread stitching something back together.

Gojo’s fingers curled tighter against Suguru’s hip. “You could’ve stayed.”

“And you could’ve come with me.”

Gojo didn’t reply.

Not with words.

Instead, his nose pressed to Suguru’s temple, his breath soft against his skin. Suguru sighed, almost inaudibly, and his fingers clenched slightly in Gojo’s shirt.

Nothing more was said. Nothing more happened. But the air was thick with everything unspoken.

They stayed like that through the night—two broken leaders tangled in quiet reunion, hearts beating too fast, bodies too close.

And in the quiet stillness of that little inn, the world held its breath.

Chapter Text

The morning haze clung to the mountains like a stubborn dream refusing to end.

Suguru stood barefoot in the lotus garden behind the inn, dew collecting on the hem of his black hakama. The sound of distant wind chimes mingled with birdsong and the quiet lap of the koi pond at his feet. Yet none of it brought him peace.

He could still feel the cursed energy—foreign and wrong—humming faintly in the edges of his senses. They hadn’t exorcised it. Ame-no-Kagami still lived.

Behind him, he heard footsteps—measured, deliberate, impossible to mistake. Suguru didn’t turn.

“You feel it too,” he said.

Gojo’s voice was quiet, deeper in the morning. “Yeah. That bastard played us.”

They exchanged no more words. The moment of peace broke as a young Lotus student came rushing out of the main path, bowing quickly.

“Master Geto! A message from Mimiko—she says the wards around the eastern forest were disturbed. It’s confirmed… Ame-no-Kagami wasn’t exorcised. It left a mimic behind.”

Suguru closed his eyes for a moment. “Ready the elders. And tell Nanako to bring the mirror fragment to the summit chamber.”

The student bowed and sprinted off.

Suguru turned to Gojo now. The early sun cast soft golden light over his pale skin, painting his features in watercolor. His blindfold was still on, but Suguru knew his eyes were watching him—sharp, thoughtful, never missing a single detail.

“You’ll want to be there,” Suguru said. “The summit’s about to get ugly.”

---

Lotus Academy – Summit Chamber

The summit hall of Lotus Academy was a circular, incense-drenched room with open wooden beams and high paper windows. Delicate brushwork painted across the ceiling told stories of balance and chaos—of ancient beasts, dragons, and twin figures locked in combat and union alike.

The clan heads were already gathered when Suguru entered—half of them stiff with suspicion, the other half tense with awe. Some had once been allies of his old life; most were power-hungry parasites given grace under the guise of second chances.

Suguru took his place at the center of the circle, robes flowing behind him like dark ink.

Gojo stood beside him.

That alone made the room whisper.

“The spirit is not gone,” Suguru said plainly, holding up a thin shard of mirrored glass, corrupted with dark pulses of cursed energy. “This was all we found after the battle. We were deceived.”

One of the older heads—Tsukigane, from the weakened Glass Crane Clan—scoffed. “Deceived? Or incompetent?”

Murmurs followed.

Suguru smiled—cold and sharp. “If you’d like to test my competency personally, I’ll happily demonstrate Uzumaki using your lineage as an example.”

Gasps.

But no one moved.

Gojo’s voice rang out next—casual, but carrying brutal precision. “I’d advise against it. I’ve seen what’s left of people who mistake Suguru for weak. It’s never a flattering view.”

More gasps.

Suguru side-eyed him. “Are you defending me, Satoru?”

Gojo shrugged. “Nah. Just hate cleaning up after arrogant bastards.”

Suguru didn’t show it, but his heart cracked open in a breathless flutter.

The summit continued—tense, bureaucratic, filled with resistance. But Suguru held his ground, slicing through each objection with logic, strategy, and veiled threat. And Gojo, the strongest, let it all play out in silence—until the final vote was called and the temporary alliance was extended.

The clan heads filed out, some bitter, some wary, all silenced.

---

Rooftop of the Lotus Hall – Midnight

Suguru sat cross-legged beneath the stars, his haori draped over his shoulders like a robe. A single incense stick burned beside him. From here, the entire academy lay quiet below—still, sacred, untouched by the ugliness of the world.

He heard the rustle of cloth, a quiet step behind him.

“You’re back to wearing black,” Gojo noted, sitting beside him.

“I never stopped,” Suguru murmured. “You just stopped looking.”

Silence stretched between them like the space between stars—vast, ancient, aching.

“I hated you,” Gojo said finally. “For leaving. For making me stay behind.”

Suguru looked down at his hands. “I hated myself more. I still do, sometimes.”

The wind brushed through his hair, lifting the strands that weren’t tied up. A single lotus petal drifted between them and landed on Gojo’s knee.

“I wish I hadn’t left you,” Suguru said quietly.

Gojo didn’t respond. But he didn’t leave.

He stayed beside him all night.

Until the stars faded.

Until the incense burned out.

Until Suguru, who never let himself fall asleep near anyone, tilted just enough to rest against Gojo’s side, eyes fluttering closed.

And Gojo let him.

He didn’t move.

Not even when dawn broke and bathed them in gold.

Not even when his heart ached like it was finally starting to beat again.

Chapter Text

The sun filtered down through the high trees, speckling the training grounds of Lotus Academy with dappled gold. The morning air was crisp, smelling faintly of sandalwood and burning incense. Despite the serenity, tension crackled in the air like static.

For the first time in Jujutsu history, the students of Jujutsu Tech and Lotus Academy stood face to face on neutral ground, poised to train together under the joint command of the two most infamous sorcerers of their time.

Suguru Geto stood beneath the sloping roof of the Lotus courtyard, robes flowing like dark ink over still water. His hair was half-up in a delicate bun, the rest cascading over his shoulders. As usual, his expression was unreadable—equal parts serene and calculating—as he addressed the assembled crowd.

“To improve is to understand what makes another strong,” he said, voice smooth and clear. “So today, you’ll train not against your classmates, but against those you know the least. May this challenge both your technique and your perception.”

From the other side of the courtyard, Gojo Satoru leaned lazily against a cedar pillar, arms crossed over his chest, blindfold shading the subtle twitch of his jaw. His Jujutsu Tech uniform was sharp and tight as ever, but there was something slightly off-kilter about his posture—like every muscle was alert, ready to move.

“Or in simpler terms,” he drawled, “try not to get your asses handed to you by kids in prettier outfits.”

Suguru didn’t even look at him. “That coming from a man who accessorizes with a blindfold?”

A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the students.

Yaga, watching nearby with a deeply put-upon expression, raised his clipboard and slammed it shut with a sigh. “That’s enough. If the two of you can’t behave like adults, I’ll assign you both to latrine duty.”

Gojo tilted his head. “You’re assuming Suguru knows what a mop is.”

“I don’t,” Suguru said, with a beatific smile. “I delegate.”

---

Training Ground One: Megumi vs. A Lotus Prodigy

Under the open sky of a lower garden terrace, Megumi stood across from a lithe young sorcerer draped in flowing green. She bowed first—sharp and formal. He nodded back.

Her name was Asuka. She moved like water, wielding conjured spirit vines with whip-like speed and control.

Megumi activated his Ten Shadows technique, twin shikigami flickering into the clearing. The battle began in a flash of cursed energy—silent, precise, a contrast of fluid elegance and calculated strikes.

From the side, Suguru watched with open interest, arms folded inside his sleeves.

“Your ward is talented,” he murmured toward Gojo, who now stood beside him.

Gojo didn’t respond at first. His focus was sharp, but his tone stayed cool.

“He’s not mine. He’s himself.”

Suguru smiled faintly. “Still the proud father figure.”

Gojo looked at him sideways. “Coming from the man with two teenage fangirls calling him ‘Papa.’”

---

Training Ground Two: Maki vs. Lotus Mentors

Maki was already drenched in sweat, her glasses cracked, her katana chipped—but her grin was wide and wild. Across from her, three reformed curse users moved in tight formation. They bore no weapons, only raw cursed energy forged into claws, talons, and blades of light.

Suguru had personally trained them.

After her third victory, she finally stood upright, panting hard. One of the mentors offered her a towel and a flask of sacred lotus water. She accepted without hesitation.

Suguru approached, arms loose, posture relaxed.

“You’ve trained against raw power,” he said. “But not against adaptability. These three were once your enemies. Now, they serve peace. What do you think of that?”

Maki looked him straight in the eye. “I think I’d follow a leader who believes in that more than one who executes on principle.”

Suguru blinked once, slowly. “And yet you stay.”

“Maybe I believe in Gojo changing the system. But if he fails…” Her fingers curled around her blade. “I want to know where to go next.”

---

Courtyard Center: Suguru and Nobara

Nobara had been assigned to group sparring drills with Lotus instructors, and she was already huffing with exhaustion and indignation. She stood, bruised and sweating, when Suguru stepped forward from the sidelines.

“You fight like you have something to prove,” Suguru noted calmly, offering her a lotus-blossom wrapped compress.

She stared at him like he’d grown another head. “You trying to flatter me or pity me?”

“Neither,” he replied. “You remind me of myself at your age. Except prettier.”

Gojo’s voice rang out from across the training circle. “Flirting with my students now, Suguru? You really are bored.”

Suguru didn’t miss a beat. “Your students keep looking at me with hearts in their eyes. I’m only being polite.”

Nobara turned bright red. “W-We do not!”

Suguru smiled. “It’s alright. He used to look at me the same way.”

That shut everyone up.

---

Later That Day: The Incident with the Sparring Rings

Yuuji was tangled in vines, Megumi was arguing with Asuka about terrain advantage, and Nobara was threatening to hammer a smug Lotus second-year for calling her “spunky.”

Shoko arrived late, holding two cans of coffee. She handed one to Gojo and sipped the other while watching the chaos unfold.

“Looks like a success,” she muttered.

Gojo snorted. “Define success.”

“I mean, no one’s dead.”

“Yet,” he muttered darkly, eyes flicking to Suguru, who stood on the edge of the field like a high priest, giving quiet, elegant orders to his students with a touch to their shoulders or a subtle glance.

Suguru sensed him watching. Their eyes met.

For a moment, the world dimmed. Wind rustled through the garden trees. Neither moved. Neither blinked.

Then Suguru tilted his head slightly and smirked—mischievous, unreadable, and undeniably teasing.

Gojo looked away first.

---

Final Scene: Yaga’s Office

“Explain this,” Yaga snapped, holding a sheet of paper between his fingers like it was cursed.

Gojo and Suguru stood side by side, both of them too tall for their own good.

“It’s a request for co-habitation during the next mission,” Yaga read, tone flat. “One shared room. Two futons. No partitions.”

Suguru hummed innocently. “It’s more efficient, isn’t it?”

Gojo raised a brow. “Didn’t know you needed me that close, Suguru.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t slack off.”

“You snore.”

“You grind your teeth.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

Suguru leaned in, voice like silk. “Only when you’re in my dreams.”

Yaga groaned and whacked both of their heads with an folded paper.

Chapter Text

The forest hummed with cursed energy. Twisted shadows pulsed through the trees, thick and cloying, as if the very air was watching them.

Suguru stepped lightly across the mossy stone path, his black haori fluttering behind him, half of his hair pinned up while the rest flowed like ink. His golden eyes flicked sideways.

They weren’t alone.

“Formation B,” he ordered softly, voice laced with calm authority. Behind him, Mimiko and Nanako adjusted their stances, eyes sharp, weapons raised.

Across the temporary alliance’s perimeter, Maki and Yuuta bristled as identical clones of themselves stepped out of the woods—perfect, mirrorlike copies down to every twitch and breath.

"Ame-no-Kagami," Suguru muttered under his breath. "It’s learning faster."

“Geto!” came a shout from the east perimeter. It was Shoko. “It’s split again—two Gojo copies on my end. I’m pulling out!”

Suguru’s lips pressed into a thin line.

The cursed spirit’s mimicry had evolved. Earlier, it had mirrored attacks. Now it was mirroring souls. It split its form, each one armed with a stolen technique—and one of them had copied Gojo.

Which meant—

A thunderous explosion cracked the trees to the north.

Suguru didn’t hesitate. “Mimiko, Nanako—fall back to the shrine. Seal the inner barriers. I’m going.”

“Wait—Suguru-sama—!”

But he was already gone, a blur of black robes, cursed energy curling like smoke behind him as he raced toward the source.

---

Gojo Satoru hit the ground hard, teeth gritting as another blast of cursed energy ruptured the soil. Before him stood… himself. The mirror copy had not only taken his form but mimicked the Six Eyes and Limitless to terrifying precision.

He wiped blood from his lip, gaze sharpening.

“Tch. You're even more annoying than the real me,” he muttered, flicking a hand through the air. “Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

But just as he surged forward—

“Satoru!”

A blur of black struck the clone from the side. Suguru’s cursed spirits poured out in a cyclone, crashing into the mimic-Gojo and slamming it against the tree line.

Gojo blinked, breath catching.

Suguru stood between him and the copy, eyes burning, hands steady.

"Geto," Gojo said, stepping forward, voice low. "You didn’t have to—"

But then he saw it—blood dripping down Suguru’s side.

“You’re hurt.”

“I saved your stupid ass,” Suguru shot back, smirking despite the strain. “A ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

Gojo didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.

He simply moved.

In a blink, they were gone from the battlefield—teleported into the hidden inner sanctum of the Lotus shrine. A room veiled in golden charms and old barrier ink, its lotus-shaped candles flickering gently.

Suguru stumbled, hissing softly. Gojo caught him by the waist and guided him to the raised tatami mat.

"Off with it," Gojo ordered, kneeling beside him and tugging at the blood-soaked fabric.

Suguru’s smirk returned. “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

“I’ll have Shoko poison it if you keep talking.”

“Ooh, you’re back to being fun,” Suguru drawled, but the breathiness in his voice betrayed him. The wound was deep—grazing his ribs.

Gojo’s fingers glowed with reversed cursed technique as he pressed against Suguru’s side, slow and deliberate. His touch was firm, clinical—until it wasn’t.

A beat passed in silence, just the sound of the crackling incense in the room.

“You’re still wearing it,” Gojo said suddenly.

Suguru blinked. “Wearing what?”

Gojo’s hand moved, brushing aside the edge of Suguru’s robe until it revealed the button locket.

Gojo leaned down slowly.

Pressed his lips to it.

A kiss not to flesh, but to memory.

“You’re still mine,” he whispered against the metal.

Suguru’s eyes widened, a sharp breath catching in his throat.

“You don’t get to say that,” he whispered. “You—”

But he couldn’t finish. Gojo was already looking up, lips ghosting a smirk, Six Eyes glowing faintly under the blindfold he had tugged halfway down.

Suguru flushed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, hiding his face behind his palms.

Gojo chuckled softly.

“You attacked a clone of me, injured yourself, and hid me in your shrine. Then you blushed because I kissed your locket. You’re—” He paused. “Still ridiculous.”

“You’re one to talk,” Suguru said weakly, peeking through his fingers.

For a moment, their eyes met.

It wasn’t the battlefield. It wasn’t a meeting room. It wasn’t a strategy session.

It was them.

Raw. Unarmored.

Gojo leaned closer, not quite touching, his lips hovering near Suguru’s jaw.

“I meant it,” he murmured. “You’re still mine. Even if you never say it back.”

Suguru’s throat bobbed. His fingers curled into the hem of Gojo’s uniform.

The tension thickened, electric and fragile all at once. A hair’s breadth apart.

“Then don’t move,” Suguru whispered, voice trembling. “Just… stay here a little longer.”

Gojo nodded. He stayed.

Chapter Text

The first threads unravel at dawn.

Lotus Academy always stirred slowly with the morning incense, silence stretching across its moss-laced courtyards and winding stone paths. Wind chimes clinked from the wooden eaves like soft laughter, and light spilled between the temple’s pillars in gold stripes, catching on the pale petals of blooming lotuses in the koi pond.

Suguru stood there, just at the water’s edge, robe sleeves gently moving with the breeze. He didn’t look like a battlefield commander or the founder of a rebel academy. He looked like a ghost in sunlight—half divine, half undone.

From the shadows of a nearby alcove, Gojo watched him.

“You’re always the first one up,” Gojo muttered, not really intending to be heard.

Suguru turned anyway. “Habit. Discipline.” He turned back to the pond. “Also, it’s the only time the place is quiet enough to hear myself think.”

Gojo stepped closer, arms crossed loosely, blindfold traded for his round black shades. “Funny. I always thought you liked chaos. You certainly caused enough of it.”

Suguru smiled, too serene. “Only because someone had to challenge the natural order. You know how much I love balance.”

“And yet you left me behind to tip it.”

There it was.

The quiet shattered like a cracked mirror.

Suguru exhaled, long and slow. “You’re still holding onto that.”

“I’m allowed to.” Gojo’s voice was steady but low, dangerously close to unsteady. “I let you fall. I thought I could fix it all later. But there was no later, was there?”

Suguru didn’t reply. Not immediately. He looked over his shoulder, gaze sharper than before, darker than before.

“I didn’t fall, Satoru. I walked away. Don’t rewrite the story just because it hurts less that way.”

Gojo’s jaw tensed.

The weight between them pressed like gravity.

“Are you going to run away again?” Gojo asked quietly.

Suguru’s smirk curved, slow and curved like a blade sheathed in silk. “Only if you chase me.”

He turned on his heel and sprinted.

Gojo blinked once. Then—“You’ve got to be kidding me—Suguru!”

But Suguru was already flying down the garden path, robe fluttering like ink across parchment, laughing like a brat. Gojo cursed under his breath and took off after him, long legs crashing through the serene elegance of Lotus’s perfectly trimmed paths and curated zen.

They darted through the quiet grove behind the meditation halls, past startled birds and confused students who parted like reeds.

---

Meanwhile, behind a veil of trees…

Megumi squinted, arms crossed. “…Are they seriously playing tag?”

Nobara, chewing on an apple, looked scandalized. “No, this is flirting. This is advanced, unhinged adult flirting.”

Yuji tilted his head. “I thought flirting was like… winking?”

Maki deadpanned. “Only if you’re normal. These two? Emotional repression meets sexual tension. The results are catastrophic.”

Even Nanami, standing at a dignified distance with Shoko, let out a sigh that hinted at soul-deep resignation.

“Idiots,” Nanami muttered.

Shoko chuckled, eyes glinting. “Mm. But you can’t deny the chemistry.”

---

Back in the grove, Suguru ducked behind a curved arch of stone, chest heaving. His hair had started to slip from its neat bun, strands clinging to his cheek. He peeked back, eyes glinting.

A second later, Gojo slammed him into the stone pillar.

Not hard—just firm enough to catch, to pin, to hold.

Suguru gasped at the impact, not from pain but from proximity.

Gojo loomed close, one hand braced beside Suguru’s head, the other gripping his wrist. His shades had fallen crooked on his nose, giving Suguru a partial view of the bright blue eyes that used to look at him like the world. Now they looked like the world was on fire.

“You ran,” Gojo said, voice low.

“You chased,” Suguru murmured, breath ghosting across his jaw.

The distance between them was a heartbeat.

Suguru’s lips parted—something teasing on the edge of being said. But Gojo’s hand moved, fingers curling around his chin.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say something clever to push me away again.”

Suguru’s heart was pounding. Not from the run.

“You hate me,” he whispered. “And yet here you are.”

“I don’t hate you,” Gojo snapped. “I hate that I still—”

He stopped himself.

But the sentence hung there, raw and reverberating.

Suguru’s smile broke. For the first time that morning, it was real. It was soft.

“Then stop pretending you’re immune to me.”

Their breath mingled. The air between them shimmered. One tilt forward, one irrational movement, and their lips would’ve touched.

Gojo let go.

The spell snapped.

“You’re exhausting,” he said flatly, turning and walking off.

Suguru watched him go, smile creeping back. “Mm. But you’re still chasing.”

---

Elsewhere, far below Kyoto’s crust…

In a shadowed cavern where no sunlight reached, something in the dark mimicked Gojo’s shape.

And then Suguru’s.

Its mirror-like skin rippled. Its voice flickered between tones, a perfect echo of Gojo’s earlier whisper:

“Don’t say something clever to push me away again.”

It repeated the sentence in Suguru’s voice next.

Again. And again.

Until it sounded like them both.

Chapter Text

The rain had started again—soft and rhythmic, soaking the charred soil of the abandoned temple grounds where the cursed spirit last attacked. Water dripped from broken stone lanterns and shattered shrines. The remnants of the brief but brutal skirmish steamed in the humidity, mingling with the burnt scent of talisman paper and rotted curse-flesh. The forest around them remained eerily still.

Suguru stood in the center, black-and-gold haori damp against his skin, breathing shallowly as steam curled from his fingertips. His long hair clung to his neck, one half still secured in a neat bun, the other loose and wild from combat. Lotus roots had torn up the earth moments ago, summoned from the writhing spiral of Uzumaki—a mere taste of his fury.

Across the battlefield, Gojo landed beside him with a clean thud. His blindfold was gone, replaced by his usual dark sunglasses. No words. Just the echo of that familiar cursed presence—his cursed presence—but warped, too wrong to mistake now.

“Another one?” Gojo asked, voice sharp and measured.

Suguru’s eyes narrowed as the air shimmered again.

A second Gojo stepped out from behind the remains of a torii gate.

He looked identical—sunglasses, snowy hair, same cocky grin—but the smirk twisted just slightly too wide. Its presence was heavier than before, not just mimicking form, but essence. The cursed spirit, Ame-no-Kagami, had begun copying more than appearances—it now mimicked memory, speech, emotion. Even desire.

The mimic sauntered forward. “Suguru,” it said in his voice—calm, low, intimate. “You’ve missed me. Haven’t you?”

Suguru didn't flinch. But something in his jaw tightened.

The real Gojo didn’t move. Watching, waiting. A thread of cursed energy coiled behind his back like a razor-thin leash, ready to snap taut.

The mimic stepped closer.

“I never got to say it before,” it murmured. “But I wanted to kiss you. Right before you left me.”

It leaned in. Its breath was warm. Real. Familiar.

Suguru’s hand twitched—fingertips glowing with curse script.

“I still do.”

And then—

The mimic closed the final inch between them, lips brushing his.

Suguru moved.

With a hiss of kanji and wind, Uzumaki flared in his palm. He didn’t even chant.

The cursed energy exploded point-blank—tearing through the mimic like a holy lance. The fake Gojo disintegrated mid-air, body splintering into shards of mirrored light, dissolving into the storm.

Silence followed. Rain pattered. His breath came fast.

Suguru didn’t turn around when he spoke.

“It wasn’t you.”

The real Gojo stepped forward, slow, deliberate. His voice, low and rough: “Would you have let it?”

Suguru's shoulders stiffened.

He turned.

Gojo was barely a breath away, water clinging to his lashes, his soaked Jujutsu Tech uniform clinging to his broad chest. His face was unreadable—lips parted slightly, pale skin luminous in the haze.

Suguru swallowed, carefully.

“I knew it wasn’t you,” he repeated, softer this time. “You… wouldn’t say it like that.”

Gojo stared for a long moment.

Then something in him cracked.

The next second, Suguru was pinned—hard—against the stone pillar behind him. Gojo’s hand on his chest, other braced beside his head, their bodies flush. Water ran in rivulets down their faces, between them.

Gojo’s voice was quiet, but deadly certain. “I’m real now.”

Their eyes locked. Blue like shattered glass. Gold like firelight in a storm.

“So,” Gojo asked, “would you kiss me now?”

Suguru opened his mouth—but Gojo didn’t wait.

He kissed him.

No warning. No room for teasing or dodging or games. Just a bruising, breath-stealing crush of lips that cracked open every sealed corner of Suguru’s heart. He gasped against it, one hand fisting helplessly in Gojo’s uniform, the other pressed flat to his chest, trying—failing—to push him away.

Gojo’s mouth was searing and sure, angled just right to own him completely. His fingers slid up Suguru’s neck, tilting his head, deepening it. No finesse, no slow burn. Just the raw, furious weight of want.

Suguru moaned—betrayal from his own mouth. His knees buckled under him. Gojo caught him effortlessly, strong arm wrapping around his waist, lifting him a fraction from the ground.

When Gojo finally pulled back, Suguru was panting, lips red and parted, eyes glazed and stunned.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then—panic hit.

Suguru squirmed out of his hold with a choked sound, stumbled backward two steps, nearly tripped over a root, actually tripped on the next, and turned on his heel in a swirl of silk.

“I—I need to check on Nanako—”

“Nanako’s not even on this mission,” Gojo said, deadpan, but amused.

“I mean, I need to check if she—if I left the incense burning—goodbye!”

Suguru vanished into the mist with a swirl of cursed energy.

Gojo exhaled slowly and licked his lips once.

“Mm.” He smirked to himself. “Still taste like lotus.”

Then he turned toward the direction of the curse’s trail.

But even as he walked away, his fingers twitched at his side—remembering Suguru’s shape, his gasp, the way he melted for him even after all these years.

And somewhere deeper, something fragile and aching whispered:

He didn’t say no.

Chapter Text

The courtyard of Lotus Academy was quiet.

It always had been. Even now, with the murmurs of wind brushing against the temple’s lacquered wood and the soft rustle of the lotus leaves fluttering around their pond, silence hung between them—weighted, almost sacred. The last mission had shaken their group. A civilian town laid in ruin. Another sorcerer lost to the cursed spirit’s mimicry. And in the fallout, something had finally broken between Gojo and Suguru. Or perhaps, clicked into place.

Neither of them brought up the kiss.

Not when they returned from the forest clearing bruised and breathless. Not when Shoko raised an eyebrow at their disheveled appearance, or when Mimiko and Nanako gave Suguru knowing looks that made his ears flush pink. Not even when Gojo, without his blindfold for once, looked straight at him as they stood before the others and said only, “We’ll handle it.”

Now they stood across from each other in the inner sanctum of Lotus Academy, surrounded by the old, blessed stones and spiraling incense smoke, ancient seals glowing faintly on the walls. The shrine’s barrier was engaged, not to keep threats out—but to keep something in. Their cursed energy.

“We’re going to need domain fusion,” Suguru said quietly, arms folded into his sleeves. He stood like a painting—composed, lithe, his black and gold haori slightly undone at the collar from the day’s training.

Gojo leaned against the old wooden pillar beside him, blindfold draped lazily around his neck. His pale blue eyes were unreadable. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I should be asking you that.” Suguru tilted his head, lips quirking into a smirk. “Fusion requires synchronicity. Trust. You’re not exactly famous for playing nice.”

“I play nice with people I don’t want to strangle,” Gojo muttered. “You’re different.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Gojo’s gaze lingered, but he said nothing. Suguru’s smile faded, just slightly.

They stepped into the training grounds deeper within the academy—an open, polished stone arena surrounded by flowering trees and cascading paper talismans, each fluttering like prayer flags in the breeze.

No words were needed. They stood at opposite ends and raised their hands.

Cursed energy surged like lightning across the space.

Suguru's aura was floral, smooth but deceptive, spiraling with thousands of unseen spirits, coiling around him like silk. Gojo’s energy cracked like thunder—overwhelming, suffocating, precise.

They clashed.

Again. Again.

Each time closer. Each time stronger.

Their domains flickered briefly—Suguru’s “Womb Profusion” casting a blood-red glow beneath the cherry trees, Gojo’s Infinite Void bending light and space itself in fractured blinks. But full activation wasn’t their goal. Fusion was. Something new. Something only they could do.

And it required more than skill. It demanded proximity. Trust. Vulnerability.

Which was far more dangerous than cursed spirits.

“Again,” Gojo called out, pushing forward.

Suguru obeyed, narrowing the gap. Their energy snapped together like magnets pulled to one another, but then—dispersed violently, sending both men skidding back, dust rising beneath their feet.

“Tch.” Gojo adjusted his gloves, annoyed.

“We’re resisting each other.” Suguru exhaled slowly, chest rising beneath his robes. “You’re holding back.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Suguru stepped forward, into Gojo’s space. His eyes were sharp now, serious. “Stop pretending you don’t want this. Stop pretending you don’t still feel it.”

Gojo said nothing. His jaw was clenched.

Suguru stepped closer until his robes brushed Gojo’s uniform. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I know what your energy feels like, Satoru. I’ve known it since we were children. I can sense every tremble, every hesitation. Don’t lie to me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was molten.

Gojo’s hand shot up—not in attack, but to grasp the back of Suguru’s neck, rough and trembling. The movement was abrupt, desperate. Suguru didn’t flinch. He leaned into it.

“You’re right,” Gojo said, voice low. “I do still feel it.”

They didn’t kiss.

Not this time.

But Gojo leaned down and let his lips brush the skin right above Suguru’s collarbone—softly, deliberately, right where the ornate button locket hung. His breath was warm. The kiss was fleeting but searing, like a brand. Suguru’s eyes fluttered shut as his fingers curled into the fabric of Gojo’s uniform. His breath hitched, his graceful composure faltering just enough to show how deeply it shook him.

He wrapped his arms around Gojo’s shoulders, almost instinctively.

“Come on,” Gojo murmured, his voice gentler now, quiet in a way he hadn’t sounded in years. “We’re going back.”

He picked Suguru up without another word.

Bridal-style.

Suguru made a small noise of protest, but didn’t resist. His cheeks flushed warm, pinking the tops of his ears, and he buried his face into Gojo’s shoulder in silent surrender.

No words were spoken as Gojo walked them down the lantern-lit path winding back to the main temple. The night was silent, but not cold. The scent of lotus hung in the air, thick and sweet.

Suguru’s heartbeat thudded steadily where it touched Gojo’s chest.

In that moment—just for a while—they didn’t think of cursed spirits, or politics, or the world that would rather see them as enemies.

In that moment, there was only the steady rhythm of steps, the warmth between them, and the unspoken truth that they were no longer walking in opposite directions.

They were finally beginning to meet in the middle.

Chapter Text

The forest groaned as if aware of the cursed energy warping through its sacred soil.

Lotus Academy’s outer sanctum—normally silent, cloaked in barrier spells and blooming lotus—was now split down its middle. Roots, stones, and lanterns trembled, fighting against the unbearable pressure pouring from the two most powerful sorcerers of the modern era.

Above the shattered garden bridge stood Ame-no-Kagami—its body a liquid, glistening mirror. Shimmering fragments of Gojo and Suguru’s faces twisted in its form as it shifted, flickering between shapes and cursed techniques it had stolen across its rampage.

Right now, it wore a half-masked version of Suguru’s face, wielding a mimicry of Uzumaki in one palm, and Gojo’s red-hued Hollow Purple flickering in the other.

“Cursed spirits aren’t supposed to use both,” Gojo muttered, the blindfold gone. His eyes were wide open, glowing with lethal calculation.

“You just had to jinx the laws of nature,” Suguru muttered beside him, one hand trembling slightly. “Do you think it mimics arrogance, too?”

Gojo didn’t smile. But his gaze flicked sideways—brief, intense, clashing with Suguru’s.

The moment was brief. The battlefield allowed no more.

---

"This is the end."
Ame-no-Kagami’s voice was many layered—like dozens of distorted voices whispering at once. “I am the sum of your sins. I am your reflection.”

Suguru’s lips parted in a cold smile. “You’re a bad one. I’ve seen better cheekbones.”

Gojo exhaled, his tone like ice.

“Enough.”

And then—everything exploded.

---

Gojo moved first, his form becoming a streak of silver light. Infinity warped the battlefield, twisting the cursed spirit’s Hollow Purple mid-air and sending it off-course. The impact sheared half a mountainside clean off. Clouds screamed overhead, thunder rolling like drums.

Suguru, already mid-chant, unleashed a torrent of cursed spirits from behind Gojo’s blind spot.

“Swarm the false god,” he murmured. “Womb Profusion.”

The barrier cracked open above them like a divine egg splitting its shell. 10,000 cursed spirits—roaring, screeching, ancient and eldritch—poured from the rift above. They didn’t descend in chaos, but in careful formation, drawn to Suguru’s commanding presence like bees to their queen.

Gojo didn’t turn, but his jaw tensed as cursed spirits tore across the battlefield behind him, sparing him with precise control. That was Suguru’s doing.

Always elegant. Always in control. Always making him feel everything at once.

---

Ame-no-Kagami shrieked.

Dozens of new faces burst from its mirrored surface—mimics of Nanami, of Yuuji, of even Suguru himself—all unleashing techniques simultaneously. A chaotic mess of copied powers rained down.

Gojo countered first.

He floated upward, hand raised.

“Domain Expansion—Infinite Void.”

The world shattered into absolute stillness. Silence descended like snowfall.

---

Inside the Infinite Void, time dissolved. The cursed spirit writhed, its copies failing to retain their shape. It began to overload—too much information, too many cursed techniques, too many stolen selves fracturing under the weight of Gojo’s pure, unfiltered void.

Suguru, outside the boundary for now, trembled. His domain pulsed in response to Gojo’s. He pushed more cursed energy into the Womb Profusion from the outside, feeding his spirits into Gojo’s Domain to strike while their prey was stunned.

It was like blending fire with ice. A fusion of contradictions.

And for the first time since they were teenagers—

They were in sync.

Suguru stepped into the void. His skin began to bleed from the sheer pressure.

Gojo turned instantly. “Suguru—”

“I can handle it,” he grit out. “I just need to get close.”

He reached the cursed spirit’s heart as it screamed in fractured voices. As Gojo held the domain steady, Suguru began to weave cursed energy between his fingers. Spiraling. Converging.

“Uzumaki.”
His voice cracked with strain. “Final—Compression.”

The air twisted into a roaring spiral—a churning, consuming whirlpool of every cursed spirit Suguru had summoned. It became a singularity.

Then—

Detonation.

---

The fusion of Infinite Void and Uzumaki broke the world.

Light and darkness intertwined, and the cursed spirit, for all its mimicry, couldn’t withstand the purity of real power—their power. Gojo and Suguru together.

Its body fractured like stained glass. Every copied face shattered. Every stolen technique returned to the void.

It was absorbed into suguru's arsenal.

Not with a scream—but a whimper.

---

Suguru stumbled.

Blood spilled from his lips, his hands, his nose. His entire body trembled as if every muscle fiber was being unraveled.

Gojo’s world returned to normal.

The domain dropped.

And he caught Suguru mid-collapse, arms wrapping tight.

“Suguru—hey. Look at me.”

Suguru’s eyes were glassy but conscious. He smirked, even as he coughed blood. “Did I look cool?”

Gojo’s face was blank—but his jaw clenched. He gently touched Suguru’s forehead.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re—really warm.”

“Shut up.”

---

Gojo didn’t wait.

He shifted Suguru into his arms bridal-style and teleported. Space warped—instantaneous travel from scorched battlefield to sanctuary.

---

Lotus Academy.

The scent of lotus, incense, and old paper filled the air. Water trickled from nearby fountains. The peaceful calm returned—but tension lingered in the wind.

Shoko met them at the gates, already in a white coat.

“Put him down. Now.”

Gojo obeyed instantly, kneeling and easing Suguru onto the tatami mat of the healing wing.

Suguru blinked up at Shoko, a crooked grin on his bleeding lips. “Don’t scold me. I had a moment.”

“You look like a haunted futon. Shut up and stay still.”

Gojo stood back—eyes unreadable, arms crossed, shoulders still trembling slightly from the adrenaline. Watching Suguru’s chest rise and fall. Still breathing.

Still alive.

---

Outside, Mimiko and Nanako waited at the garden’s edge, tears in their eyes but restrained.

Inside, Shoko worked.

And Gojo…

Gojo finally allowed himself to look down.

Suguru, resting. A soft glow of reversed cursed energy around him. His long hair splayed over the pillow. His fingers still twitching as if summoning spirits in his sleep.

Gojo knelt beside him, brushing a thumb across a blood-smeared cheekbone.

“You’ll be the death of me, Suguru.”

The man didn’t stir—but the corner of his lips curved just slightly.

Chapter Text

The scent of lotus and sandalwood was thick in the air. Incense curled lazily into the morning light, floating through the delicate paper screens and wooden latticework of the Lotus Academy’s inner sanctum. It was a place of stillness—where even the wind seemed to soften its breath.

Suguru Geto lay nestled on a raised futon in a secluded wing of the temple, swathed in pale silk sheets, his breathing shallow but steady. His hair, now loose from its usual tie, fanned across the pillow like ink spilled in water. For the first time in days, the furrow between his brows had eased. His wounds, deep and laced with cursed energy, were mending slowly—far slower than he would admit aloud.

The door slid open with a faint shhkt.

Gojo Satoru stepped inside.

He was out of uniform for once, dressed in a simple dark yukata that clung to his tall frame like shadows to dusk. The blindfold was gone; instead, a pair of lightly tinted glasses perched on his nose. His usually arrogant gait was subdued as he approached the bedside, a quiet solemnity anchoring him.

He sat beside Suguru without a word. The golden morning light spilled across Suguru’s skin, illuminating every bruise, every scar. Gojo’s jaw tensed.

He reached forward and gently brushed a stray lock from Suguru’s face.

“You look like shit,” he murmured, his tone soft as silk.

Suguru’s lips curved faintly. “You’re one to talk. You're not exactly radiating charm today.”

The usual playfulness was dulled by pain, but it was there—Suguru’s way of grounding himself.

Gojo’s lips quirked. “Don’t worry. I’m still prettier than you.”

Suguru opened his eyes slowly, pupils dilated from the painkillers Shoko had administered earlier. He blinked, adjusting to the light, and looked at him. Really looked at him.

And for a moment, there was silence—thick with unsaid words.

“…Would you have come with me?” Suguru finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Back then?”

Gojo stilled.

The question had waited years to be born, hovering like a ghost between them.

Gojo didn’t look away.

“I would’ve followed you anywhere,” he said.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. But it hit Suguru harder than any cursed technique could.

His throat bobbed, and he turned his face away—not to hide pain, but to hide the overwhelming relief that his heart still betrayed him with.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Gojo agreed. “But I’m your idiot. Still am.”

——

Later that day, the tension in the Imperial Assembly Hall could’ve shattered glass.

It was a sprawling room of lacquered wood and gold trim, where traditions weighed heavier than logic. All the clan heads were present—Zen’in, Kamo, and the newly rising forces from government reform sectors. The jujutsu higher-ups sat coiled like snakes, their eyes fixed on the two men standing at the head of the hall.

Gojo Satoru stood tall and still, draped in the new ceremonial black robe of Jujutsu Tech. His glasses glinted under the chandelier’s light, his presence demanding attention without a word.

Beside him, Suguru was a vision in indigo and silver—an elegant Kimono flowing around him like water, his long hair tied half-up, adorned with a single lotus pin. He radiated grace and power, and he met every gaze head-on, unfazed.

Behind them, a detailed projection played—showing surveillance footage, cursed technique simulations, and a layered analysis of Ame-no-Kagami’s mimicry abilities. It displayed how Suguru had coordinated cursed spirit diversions to weaken the entity while Gojo laid the final blow and how Suguru absorbed it into his inventory.

As the lights returned, one of the higher-ups cleared his throat.

“It is evident,” the elder began, voice laced with condescension, “that this operation would not have succeeded without Jujutsu Tech’s discipline and Gojo Satoru’s might. The absorption of Ame-no-Kagami is, therefore, a testament to our traditional methods.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Suguru’s eyes, but he said nothing.

Gojo’s voice cut through the air like steel.

“Wrong.”

The room stilled.

“I didn’t plan this mission. I didn’t lure the cursed spirit. I didn’t build the strategic barrier traps. I didn’t protect the civilians with a mirrored counter-barrier system.” Gojo turned slightly, eyes still hidden behind his glasses. “He did.”

Gasps murmured through the crowd.

Gojo stepped forward, his presence searing.

“Suguru Geto predicted every move Ame-no-Kagami made. He created the containment plan. And when I was about to get my ass handed to me? His cursed spirits shielded me.”

Suguru’s expression flickered—not surprise, but something softer. Something older. The ache of shared history.

A younger government official, clearly from the reformist wing, stood up. “Then I motion to commend Lotus Academy formally in the records. The strategic leadership and integration of curse user techniques under Geto Suguru has proven vital. This collaboration saved lives.”

The higher-ups visibly flinched at Suguru’s name spoken with reverence.

Another elder tried to interject. “But the man is a former renegade! His methods—”

“Are the reason we’re all standing here today,” Nanami Kento said, voice low and firm as he entered the room from the side. “He deserves credit. Not suspicion.”

Shoko followed behind him, nodding. “We saw it ourselves. Lotus Academy didn’t just save civilians—they healed and protected them after.”

Mimiko and Nanako stood at the rear, eyes shining with pride.

A silence settled once more.

The government official nodded. “Then it’s settled. Suguru Geto will be formally recognized as the lead strategist in the Ame-no-Kagami incident. Lotus Academy will be awarded interim alliance status for further collaboration.”

A quiet victory.

Suguru bowed low, precise and elegant. “I accept.”

Gojo watched him—not with rivalry, not with envy.

But with pride.

——

Back in the Lotus temple gardens that night, Suguru stood alone beneath the full moon. The wind stirred his robes, and the lotus pond shimmered with silver light.

He sensed Gojo’s presence before he spoke.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Suguru said.

“Yes, I did.”

Suguru turned, eyes soft in the dark.

Gojo stepped close—too close.

“Your plan worked. You saved them. You saved me. That matters. Let them choke on their traditions.”

Suguru smirked, amused. “You’ve changed.”

Gojo met his gaze. “You changed me.”

The words hung in the air.

Suguru’s heart stuttered, unguarded for a split second.

Gojo raised a hand, brushing a thumb along Suguru’s jaw, slow and deliberate. “You still fluster this easily?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Their faces were inches apart. The wind carried incense and memory between them.

Suguru’s lips parted slightly. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then stop me,” Gojo said, voice rough.

He didn’t kiss him. Not yet.

But he stayed there, breathing his air, watching his control fray.

And Suguru didn’t stop him.

——

Chapter Text

The scent of lotus incense hung in the air like memory—warm, bittersweet, impossible to forget.

Suguru Geto stood before the sliding mirror in his quarters, the soft rustle of silk and paper walls the only sound in the otherwise silent room. The kimono lay across his bare torso like a secret. Midnight black, touched with patterns of wisteria and silver flame, it shimmered with a muted elegance. The six-eyed emblem of the Gojo clan rested on the collar, and pinned beside it was a set of ancient jewels—heirloom accessories once worn by the wives of Gojo clan heads.

It was an offering. A gift. A demand.
From Satoru.

The package had arrived with no note, no messenger—just the whisper of intent. Suguru knew Satoru wanted him to wear it, to show the world something unspoken. A declaration. A warning. A tether.

He ran his fingers over the embroidery slowly. The fabric was impossibly fine. Luxurious.
Of course he’d have something like this tucked away. Rich bastard.

Still, he didn't hesitate. He tied his hair half-up, leaving long strands to fall down his back. A faint touch of plum perfume at the base of his neck. The ceremonial white tabi. Then he slid the robe over his shoulders, tied the sash, and stepped into his sandals with all the grace of a temple priest stepping into moonlight.

He allowed himself a glance in the mirror. Elegant. Deadly. Glowing with a softness that belied his strength.

Satoru better be watching.

---

The courtyard of Lotus Academy had been transformed.

Paper lanterns floated overhead like stars pulled down to earth. Bamboo arrangements framed the paths, woven with threads of golden string and amulets. Gentle wind chimes rang across the garden trees, and students from both academies mingled in cautious peace—awkward at first, then slowly easing. Jujutsu Tech uniforms clashed with the flowing robes of Lotus students, but laughter echoed. The lines blurred, if only for a night.

Then he stepped in.

Everything fell quiet.

Suguru walked into the courtyard with the composure of a king. Every eye turned to him—the way the lanterns haloed his figure, the movement of his silk robe brushing the floor like water, the unearthly calm in his gaze.

Even the wind paused for him.

At the far end of the courtyard, Gojo stood.

Gone was his usual uniform, He wore the traditional ceremonial robes of the Gojo clan—white layered silk, laced with silver threads and dark blue obi cords. His blindfold was replaced with his black shades, reflecting nothing. He stood under a flowering sakura tree, the blossom petals catching in his hair, waiting as though he’d been standing there all his life.

Their eyes locked across the lantern light.

Suguru’s breath caught.

And Gojo… Gojo’s fingers curled ever so slightly at his sides. His mouth twitched—half-smile, half something aching. His eyes, behind the shades, were searing.

When Suguru reached him, the crowd parted.

No words passed.

Gojo reached into his sleeve and pulled out something small—a delicate kanzashi hairpin, shaped like a silver six-petaled lotus with six eyes and infinity charms dangling from it. Without speaking, he reached up and gently slid it into Suguru’s hair. His fingers brushed the nape of Suguru’s neck, lingered a fraction too long.

Suguru flushed, helplessly.

"You’re staring," he murmured, eyes flicking up.

"You wore it," Gojo said. His voice was low, reverent.

"You asked nicely," Suguru teased.

But his hand slipped into Gojo’s all the same. And neither let go.

---

Later that night, the music began.

Traditional drums thumped soft and rhythmic, and a stringed shamisen hummed to life from the stage. The crowd made way as Suguru stepped to the center of the courtyard, his robes billowing like storm clouds woven from silk. He moved like flowing ink across parchment, each motion deliberate, echoing centuries of ceremonial dance passed down and forgotten.

His sleeves fluttered like wings. His arms stretched in arcs. And his smile—gentle, serene, unearthly—left even the cynical Tokyo students breathless.

Gojo watched, unmoving.

He had fought wars, leveled cities, killed gods. And yet nothing—not even Limitless—felt as terrifying as the swell in his chest now. He was looking at everything he ever wanted and everything he let go. All at once.

When Suguru’s dance slowed, he extended a hand toward Gojo.

Challenge. Invitation.

Gojo stepped forward.

His movements were less graceful, more restrained—but powerful. Together, they moved as two storms colliding. Lotus and void. Soft and sharp. Suguru spun into Gojo’s space and Gojo caught him by the waist, steadying him before releasing him again. A laugh bubbled from Suguru’s throat. Gojo’s lips twitched into something dangerously close to joy.

People watched, stunned. No one dared interrupt.

---

Later, under the stars, they slipped away.

The sky stretched above them like velvet. Lantern light cast shadows on the temple walls. They stood close—too close—in the silence beyond the courtyard, barely breathing.

Gojo was the first to speak. "You looked…" He trailed off. His voice was hoarse. “Like a dream.”

Suguru tilted his head. "Still dreaming, Satoru?"

Gojo stared at him. “Every night.”

Suguru’s heart stopped.

And for the first time in years, he closed the distance. Gentle, slow, cautious. Their foreheads brushed. Suguru’s hands trembled just slightly as he cupped Gojo’s jaw.

“I hate you,” he whispered. “For making me remember how this feels.”

Gojo’s voice was a breath. “Then remind me.”

And Suguru kissed him.

Soft. Lingering. Full of things neither of them had ever said aloud. It was tentative at first, but Gojo leaned in—hands anchoring Suguru by the waist, pulling him flush—and deepened it, devoured it, consumed it. But still let Suguru lead.

The kiss ended with Suguru gasping, forehead pressed to Gojo’s chest.

Gojo held him there.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t have to.

Not tonight.

Not when the stars above bore silent witness to a love neither death nor distance could kill.

Chapter Text

The storm had passed.

The victory festival still echoed faintly across the moonlit peaks of Kyoto, faint sounds of distant laughter and dancing bells fading into the hush of midnight. Lotus Academy stood bathed in silence now, its lantern-lit corridors veiled with the scent of lingering incense and night jasmine. The soft rustle of wind stirred the blossoms in the courtyard, petals drifting like quiet thoughts on the breeze.

Within the heart of the sacred temple, past barrier-woven corridors and carved sliding doors, lay Suguru’s private quarters—a sanctum untouched by time, its walls lined with scrolls, calligraphy, and the glow of amber oil lamps.

And standing at its center—still wrapped in the shimmering folds of a Gojo clan kimono, his back to the room, his fingers unfastening his half-bun and taking off the Gojo clan kanzashi pin—was Suguru.

Gojo had presented it with that maddeningly neutral voice of his earlier that evening. “A peace offering,” he had said. “Or maybe just penance.”

Suguru had let him put it in anyway.

He heard the door close behind him, and didn’t need to turn around to know who entered. He felt it in the shift of the air, in the pressure of Six Eyes gazing through him from across the room. Suguru closed his eyes as he tugged the last pin from his hair, letting it tumble down in a waterfall of raven-black silk.

“So,” he said softly, voice teasing but brittle at the edges, “you finally decided to come to bed.”

“I’m not sleeping yet,” came the answer—low, quiet, far too composed.

Gojo.

Suguru turned slowly, one hand at his waist. “Then what are you here for, Satoru?”

A pause.

Then the soft shuffle of feet against tatami, and Gojo was standing before him. Still in his Gojo Clan head cloths, collar loosened just enough to betray the thrum of a pulse. His shades were gone. Those eyes—those damned, blinding, honest eyes—watched Suguru in utter silence.

“I came to undress you,” he murmured.

Suguru’s lips parted—but no words came. His heart stuttered, a flicker of heat climbing his throat. “So direct,” he whispered. “What happened to your stoicism?”

Gojo stepped closer. “You’ve been hiding in those silks all night. Time to come out.”

Hands touched fabric—rough, calloused fingers brushing the collar of the Gojo crest kimono, slow, deliberate. With each fold released, Suguru exhaled. Not from desire—not only—but from weight, from memory. From a tension older than years. Gojo’s touch was reverent. Almost devotional.

One layer slipped down to reveal the slender lines of Suguru’s collarbone. The next exposed his shoulder, where faint, thin scars traced old battles. Gojo’s fingers paused there.

“They tried to kill you,” he said quietly.

“They tried to kill us,” Suguru corrected, voice distant. “I just left before they succeeded and you've seen these scares before.”

Silence stretched.

Gojo continued. Another layer down, then another. Until Suguru stood bare-chested in the dim light, skin glowing like pearl beneath the lanterns. The last of the robe pooled at his feet.

But Suguru didn’t move.

“I thought I could do it,” he said suddenly, voice trembling despite himself. “Make a place that didn’t need you. That could exist without being crushed by what you left behind. And I did. I built something real.”

“You did,” Gojo replied, eyes locked on him.

“But it never stopped hurting.” Suguru’s voice cracked. “Not once. I would wake up thinking of you. I still do.”

Gojo’s jaw tensed. He took another step forward, closing the gap between them. One hand reached up, cupping Suguru’s jaw.

“You think I sleep easy?” Gojo whispered. “You think I walk through those halls and don’t see you in every corner? You left me, Suguru. You took the part of me that still knew how to breathe.”

Suguru’s breath hitched, and his fingers curled around Gojo’s wrist. He leaned into the touch, into the warmth he’d denied himself for far too long.

“I’m scared,” he confessed. “Of you. Of this. I don’t know if we can exist together without breaking again.”

“You don’t have to know.” Gojo dipped his head, kissed Suguru’s bare shoulder with a reverence that made his knees buckle. “Just stay. Stay with me. Let me hold you tonight.”

Suguru nodded.

Gojo gently guided him down onto the futon, lying back against the cushions as Suguru curled into his side, skin bare and warm beneath the sheets. Gojo’s arms wound around his waist, pulling him close until their bodies pressed chest to chest, breath to breath.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gojo said against Suguru’s hair.

Suguru closed his eyes. “Then don’t make me wake up alone.”

He felt Gojo’s lips press to his temple, his cheek, then lower—brushing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone—before settling on the dip of his abdomen. A kiss soft as prayer.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Gojo whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

Suguru’s fingers dug into his back, clinging—not like a tease, not like a brat—but like a man who had finally stopped running.

That night, no words were needed beyond that.

They fell asleep tangled together in the hush of the Lotus temple, where moonlight painted the sheets in pale silver, and two hearts—long torn apart—began, at last, to mend in silence.

Suguru lay naked in his lover’s arms, breathing steady, body warm.

And Gojo held him closer than he ever had, like something sacred. Like something eternal.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the high, arched windows of the Government Assembly Room, casting solemn golden rays across polished floors and lacquered wood.

It was a rare sight—members of Jujutsu Tech, Lotus Academy, and the clandestine government council all seated under one roof.

Suited officials murmured amongst themselves, papers shuffling and monitors flickering. The atmosphere was heavy, but the victory against Ame-no-Kagami—the cursed mirror spirit—was undeniable.

Suguru sat poised, legs crossed with the grace of a shrine-born aristocrat, dressed in deep violet hakama and a silver-lined black haori, the delicate embroidery of lotus petals shimmering subtly at the sleeves.

His hair was half-down in soft waves, the top gathered neatly into a bun. Every inch of him radiated composed elegance, like he belonged in a painting instead of a battlefield.

Beside him stood Gojo Satoru—tall, unreadable behind his blindfold. Clad in his sleek black uniform, he had his hands in his pockets and an expression like carved ice, save for the occasional twitch of his mouth when Suguru leaned just a little too close. His presence alone made even the most jaded councilmen sit straighter.

A high-ranking official cleared his throat at the podium. “We owe our gratitude to the combined efforts of Jujutsu Tech and Lotus Academy. The threat of Ame-no-Kagami has been neutralized, and civilian casualties were… significantly lower than projected. This unity marks a new era for sorcerers—”

Suguru muttered under his breath, “They talk like they weren’t ready to throw me to the wolves two weeks ago, didn't even wanna credit me properly.”

Gojo didn’t look at him. “Take the win, brat.”

Suguru’s lips curled. “You like calling me that now, huh? Compensating for something?”

The official continued, unaware. “—and so, the Higher-ups have voted, by narrow margin, to extend provisional recognition to the Lotus Academy, under the condition of continued cooperation and transparency.”

Suguru’s gaze dropped slightly. Despite everything, it meant something. Lotus—his people—were no longer shadows in the mist.

Then Gojo’s voice cut through the stillness, firm and low.

“I stand in full support of Lotus Academy’s recognition.”

Heads turned. The press scribbled frantically.

“And its leader,” Gojo added, jaw tight, “is someone who deserves a seat at this table.”

Suguru looked up at him, eyes wide for the briefest second before he masked it with a sardonic tilt of his head. “Awfully sentimental for the ‘strongest.’”

“Don’t get used to it.”

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur—handshakes, bows, documents signed. But tension curled between them like smoke.

---

Later.

The Lotus Academy delegation had already departed, and the Assembly Room had been vacated.

Gojo lingered.

So did Suguru.

They didn’t speak as they walked down one of the empty government corridors, their footsteps echoing off the tiled floor. The silence buzzed with friction, with every unsaid word and every longing glance they refused to acknowledge.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” Suguru said quietly.

Gojo stopped. “You thought I’d let them treat you like shit?”

“You’ve done it before,” Suguru said, with a bitter little laugh. “Stood silent when I walked away.”

Gojo turned, grabbed Suguru by the wrist and pushed him against the hallway’s edge, hard enough to make his breath hitch.

“I didn’t walk away,” Gojo said, voice rough. “You did.”

Suguru’s breath caught in his throat. “I had to. You know I had to.”

Their faces were inches apart.

“I didn’t need saving,” Suguru murmured. “I needed someone to believe in me.”

“I always did,” Gojo whispered. “That’s what made it worse.”

Then he kissed him.

Fiercely. Desperately.

Suguru gasped, one hand fisting into Gojo’s collar. Gojo pressed him further against the cold wall, large hands gripping his waist like he could mold him back into his life. Suguru’s lips parted willingly, his body trembling as he arched into the contact.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender.

It was years of longing, guilt, rage, lust—all crashing into each other in one heated, reckless collision.

---

They broke apart only long enough for Gojo to mutter, “Office. Now.”

---

The room was some council bureaucrat’s private study—empty, unused, and blessedly soundproof.

Gojo shoved Suguru inside, locking the door with a flick of cursed energy. Suguru climbed onto the edge of the ornate desk, robes parting slightly at the legs.

“Couldn’t wait, could you?” he teased, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Gojo didn’t answer. He stepped between Suguru’s legs, kissed him again—hot, punishing, wet. His hand slid beneath the folds of Suguru’s outer robe, gripping his thigh hard enough to bruise. Suguru moaned softly, fingers tugging Gojo’s blindfold off.

Their eyes met. Pale blue crashed into smoldering gold.

“Still letting me be a brat?” Suguru whispered, lips flushed and swollen.

Gojo growled, “Only if you know who’s in control.”

Then Suguru was hoisted up onto the desk fully—Gojo pressing him down with a hand to his sternum, their hips grinding together through layers of fabric. It was all friction and heat—Gojo’s teeth at Suguru’s neck, Suguru gasping and clutching at his back, legs wrapped around his waist.

One of them knocked over a paperweight. Neither noticed.

Gojo’s hand slipped beneath Suguru’s layers, palming hot skin. Suguru whimpered, grinding harder, more desperately.

“Still think I’m compensating?” Gojo rasped, biting down on Suguru’s shoulder.

“You’ll need to prove otherwise,” Suguru shot back, barely coherent.

Gojo pinned both wrists above his head and leaned down, lips ghosting over Suguru’s.

“I plan to.”

And then—

click.

The door creaked open.

“Sensei—?!”

Yuuta froze.

Suguru’s eyes widened in slow horror.

Gojo, mid-kiss and half-undressed, didn’t even flinch. He turned his head slowly, deadpan. “Yuuta.”

The boy dropped his file folder, face crimson, eyes wide with trauma.

“OH—MY—SORRY—SORRY—SENSEI—I DIDN’T—THERE WAS A REPORT—”

Suguru groaned and shoved Gojo off him, hiding his face behind a sleeve.

“Yuuta,” Gojo said dryly. “Close the door. And get therapy.”

Yuuta bolted. The door slammed.

Silence.

Suguru sat upright slowly, robe disheveled, cheeks pink. “You just traumatized your favorite student.”

Gojo looked smug. “I said get therapy. Not die.”

Suguru smacked him with a file.

They sat there for a long moment—half dressed, flushed, and breathless.

Then Suguru laughed.

Soft. Real.

Gojo turned to him, heart cracking open a little more.

“Balance restored?” Suguru asked, smiling.

Gojo nodded. “Not yet.”

His fingers found Suguru’s again, entwining.

“But we’re getting there.”

___
Outside

Yuuta Okkotsu stood frozen in the hallway, pale as a sheet, mouth agape.

He had seen things. Things no cursed spirit could ever inflict upon a man. Things that defied the natural order. Things that—he wasn’t even sure—should be seen.

A strangled, haunted sound escaped him as he stumbled backward, banging into a wall.

They didn’t even stop right away, he thought numbly. Gojo-sensei made a sound. Suguru-sama answered it. Then—

He didn’t even remember how he got to the common room.

But now he was here, slumped between Yuuji and Maki on the couch, wrapped in a weighted blanket that Panda had retrieved from somewhere. He clutched a cup of tea like it was the last tether holding his soul to his body.

Yuuji looked at him with deep concern. “Yuuta-senpai…you’re not blinking. Do you need a reverse cursed technique? Or, like, an exorcism?”

“Did someone die?” Megumi asked flatly, crouching in front of him. “Do I need to tell Gojo-sensei?”

Yuuta’s pupils dilated. “No. No! Don’t call him. Don’t ever call him again. Ever.”

Nobara leaned forward with a glint in her eye. “Okay, you definitely saw something spicy. Spill. On a scale of one to fanfiction, how bad was it?”

“I—I saw a haori on the floor. Gojo-sensei’s blindfold was off.” Yuuta’s voice cracked. “Suguru-sama—he was on the desk. The DESK.”

“Oh my god,” Panda whispered, scandalized. “That’s sacred furniture.”

Yuuta shivered. “Gojo-sensei lifted him. Like he weighed nothing. There was tongue. Hands. Moaning. There was smirking.”

Silence fell.

Then, slowly, Maki reached over and placed her hand on Yuuta’s shoulder. “You poor bastard.”

“They were enemies!” Yuuta wailed into his tea. “They hated each other! There was a press conference!”

“I thought they were flirting this whole time,” Yuuji muttered.

“You think everyone is flirting,” Megumi deadpanned.

“Okay, but like… weren’t they? The wall-pinning? The bickering? The 'I’ll handle this alone' thing every five minutes?”

Nobara sighed dreamily. “You know what? I’m just mad I wasn’t the one who walked in, I could have taken a pic and later blackmail them with it.”

“I’m going to therapy,” Yuuta said hollowly. “Forever. My eyes need cleansing. My soul needs cleansing.”

Panda patted his head. “You’re valid.”

Meanwhile, from the hallway, Shoko sipped her coffee, leaned against the wall, and chuckled softly. “Damn they traumatized him fr”

Chapter Text

The Lotus Garden shimmered under the full moon, its stone lanterns casting elongated shadows over still ponds and pale blooms. The air carried a lingering scent of sandalwood and jasmine, laced with the faint hum of cursed energy barriers that kept this place sacred—untouched.

Suguru stood beneath the flowering sakura tree that marked the center of the garden, his haori billowing slightly in the cool Kyoto wind. Half his hair was tied up, the rest cascading freely down his back like ink over silk. He looked like a painting brought to life—serene, unreachable. Until he heard footsteps behind him.

He didn’t turn, didn’t need to.

“You came.”

Gojo’s voice was low, quieter than usual. Controlled.

“You invited me,” Gojo replied, approaching slowly, his blindfold hanging around his neck. His eyes were bare now, piercing in their clarity. “It would’ve been rude to ignore a summons from the great headmaster of Lotus Academy.”

Suguru smiled faintly. “Even ruder to make me wait.”

Gojo stopped beside him. For a long moment, they stood in silence. The breeze rustled the lotus leaves nearby. The water rippled as if even the pond held its breath.

“You’ve changed,” Gojo said at last.

Suguru hummed. “You haven’t.”

Gojo turned his head toward him. “Haven’t I?”

Suguru finally looked at him. Really looked. Gojo’s jaw was sharper now, tension etched into every line of his face. His shoulders carried the weight of expectation, leadership, loss. But his eyes… they were still the same.

Suguru felt his throat tighten. “No,” he said softly. “You’re still the boy who tried to change the world with me.”

“And you’re still the one who walked away from it.”

That stung. Suguru didn’t flinch, but his smile faltered. “I didn’t walk away from you.”

Gojo stepped closer. “Didn’t you?”

The air between them pulsed—thick with tension, grief, want.

Suguru looked away. “I thought... if I stayed, I would break.”

“You think I didn’t?” Gojo’s voice cracked, raw for a fraction of a second. “You think it was easy watching you disappear while I had to clean up the rot you left behind?”

Suguru’s gaze dropped to the pond. “You were always the stronger one, Satoru.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Suguru looked up, sharply this time—and Gojo was right there, inches away, towering like a wall of cold fire and moonlight.

“You’re stronger than all of us,” Gojo murmured. “You built all of this—” he gestured around, to the silent temple nestled in the mountains, to the lights flickering within the Lotus dorms, “—out of pain. Out of hope.”

Suguru swallowed hard. “You sound impressed.”

“I am,” Gojo said. Then: “I’m proud of you.”

Suguru’s breath hitched. “Don’t say that. Not unless you mean it.”

“I do,” Gojo said. “And I’m tired, Suguru. Tired of pretending I don’t miss you every goddamn day.”

Suguru’s mask cracked. “Then why didn’t you come find me?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

They were close now—too close. Breath to breath. A single misstep away from something dangerous.

Suguru’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I never stopped wanting you.”

Gojo moved first.

It wasn’t soft. It was years of rage and ache and desire crashing into one desperate kiss. Suguru’s hands clutched at Gojo’s collar, dragging him closer, while Gojo cupped the back of Suguru’s head, tilting him into the heat of it.

Their lips moved like they were starved—tongues clashing, breaths short, Gojo biting Suguru’s lower lip until he gasped. Suguru's hands slid down his chest, desperate, almost trembling. Gojo backed him against the sakura tree, one hand gripping Suguru’s hip, the other cradling his jaw like something fragile.

“You’re mine,” Gojo growled, voice rough in his ear.

Suguru let out a breathy laugh, flushed and breathless. “Then take what’s yours.”

They didn’t make it to a bedroom.

The Lotus garden shielded them, its barriers humming with protective energy. Gojo laid Suguru down on the moss-soft earth beneath the flowering tree, kissed his throat while slowly parting the folds of his kimono. Suguru arched, head tipping back in offering, soft gasps catching in the night air as Gojo worshipped him like a man who had waited too long.

Suguru’s hands roamed—over Gojo’s back, into his snow-white hair, nails raking lightly when Gojo entered him slowly, deliberately, mouth never leaving his skin.

It was both soft and rough.

Gojo took his time, but made Suguru tremble. Suguru wrapped his legs around him, clung to his shoulders, whispered his name over and over like prayer.

Satoru.

Satoru.

Satoru.

And when they both shattered—bare skin pressed tight, stars overhead—they did so with Suguru biting back a sob and Gojo kissing it away.

———

Afterwards, they bathed together in the hidden onsen behind Suguru’s quarters. The bathhouse was dimly lit, steam curling like incense smoke around their bare bodies.

Suguru lay against Gojo’s chest, head tucked under his chin, while Gojo lazily trailed fingers down his arm.

“Did you mean it?” Suguru murmured. “What you said earlier?”

“All of it,” Gojo answered. “I’m done fighting you. Let’s build it. A new world. Together.”

“And for us?” Suguru whispered, vulnerable for once.

Gojo pressed a kiss to his temple. “Especially for us.”

Suguru closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, let himself believe in something better.

In them.

In balance.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the thick canopy of trees, casting long shadows on the pristine path that wound through the lotus gardens of Lotus Academy.

The air was fresh, heavy with the scent of flowers and incense that seemed to linger in every corner, a soft reminder of the peaceful world that Suguru had painstakingly built. It was a world that now felt like his own again, free of the bitterness that had clouded it for so long.

Suguru stood at the edge of a koi pond, his fingertips grazing the water's surface. The koi swam beneath his touch, their bright scales shimmering in the early light. His mind drifted, thoughts still hazy from the night before. He could still feel the heat of Gojo's body against his, the way their kiss had deepened, their bodies had moved together, slow but frantic, as if the years of separation had finally caught up with them in that one moment.

It had been messy, beautiful, raw, and full of longing—a reflection of everything they had never said.

Beside him, Gojo leaned against a stone pillar, his sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He was watching Suguru with that quiet intensity he seemed to reserve only for him.

His usual carefree demeanor had softened, but the flicker of something intense remained behind his eyes.

“You’re quiet,” Gojo said softly, his voice a low hum in the morning stillness.

Suguru looked at him, a small, content smile pulling at his lips. He didn’t speak immediately, savoring the weight of the moment.

The sound of the water, the faint rustling of the wind through the trees, the distant calls of birds—it was all so... peaceful. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt truly at peace.

“I was just thinking about how far we’ve come,” Suguru murmured. “From where we were… to this.”

Gojo’s smile, barely perceptible but there nonetheless, tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You think we’ve come far? I think this is just the beginning.” He took a step closer, his presence warm and encompassing. “You really want to do this? Build it together? A world for them, for everyone… for us?”

Suguru met his gaze, his heart pounding against his chest. For a moment, all the walls he had carefully constructed, all the fears and uncertainties, fell away.

There was only Gojo, only the two of them, standing on the precipice of a future that could be whatever they chose to make it.

“I think... we already have,” Suguru whispered, his voice steady. “And I think we can make it even more.”

Gojo didn’t need to say anything else. He stepped forward, his hand sliding into Suguru’s, a perfect fit.

The world around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them in the quiet morning light, connected by more than just their shared past—by something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable.

Suguru’s heart fluttered as Gojo leaned in, pressing his forehead to his gently, a soft but sincere gesture of affection. “Then let’s make it count. Together.”

And for the first time in years, Suguru allowed himself to fully relax, to trust in the path ahead, to trust in Gojo. His heart swelled as Gojo's warmth surrounded him, a warmth that was no longer filled with regret or unspoken tension, but with a quiet understanding.

There, beneath the flowering lotuses, amidst the towering trees and the quiet hum of the academy that they had built together, they knew—there was nothing left to fear. They had found what they needed, not just for the world they were shaping, but for each other.

As the sun continued to rise, casting golden light over the gardens, Gojo pulled Suguru closer, his lips brushing the side of his neck, sending a shiver of warmth through his body.

“Let’s take our time with this,” Suguru whispered, his fingers tightening on Gojo’s. “We’ve earned it.”

Gojo’s smile was a slow burn as he drew back just enough to meet Suguru’s eyes, those familiar, intense eyes. “Always. But don’t think I’m letting you get away that easily.”

Suguru chuckled softly, his heart full. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And together, they watched the day break, knowing that no matter what challenges came next, they would face them as equals. As partners.

As something more.

The lotus petals bloomed around them, their colors vibrant, their fragrance sweet—a symbol of the new beginning they had found. A new dawn.