Shit

, Suguru thinks, coldness dousing his whole being. Molten heat still crawls on his skin and his heart won't stop

beating

but his stomach drops with ice.

Across from him, Geto's expression shutters, going utterly blank. His lips smooth out and his brows lose their furrow 'his face slots back into place. And it hurts,

aches

, that Geto won't show himself sincerely even for Gojo Satoru. It hurts

so

much, even as Suguru feels his own expression meld itself to the unreadable shape of a hastily plastered face.

Just '

"So," Gojo drawls, voice all lax and even despite the telling twitch of his fingers against Suguru's nape, "'either of you gonna explain what the hell is happening here?"

Geto's brass-gold eyes slide to Gojo. One of his hands lifts to touch against Gojo's hand around the collar of his robes. "Satoru, let go."

A beat.

Silently, Gojo releases his grip on both of them. Suguru falls in a heap on the ground; Geto rises smoothly to his feet. His gaze fixes on Suguru, halfway to a glare. An unspoken question.

Suguru breathes in, and out.

"Sorry," Suguru says, giving Geto an apologetic look and pulling himself into standing, too. He hikes up the sleeve of his shirt and thumbs the cursed object still wrapped around the skin. Wrinkles his expression with performative dissatisfaction. Slides a nail under the paper's edge, and rips it off. "'Totally forgot about this thing."

"...Whatever," Geto sighs, brushing dirt from his robes and fixing back his hair.

"Hey," Gojo says, petulant note in his voice, "stop ignoring me! I asked a question, y'know!"

"Nothing's happening here," Suguru answers, at the same time that Geto says: "None of your business."

A half beat.

Geto glares at Suguru, and Suguru glares right back.

"...Right," Gojo says, all doubtful and sarcastic. He shoves his hands in his pockets. Pale morning light casts him sharp. His sleek black uniform makes him out of place against the old Japanese garden. "I'm sure."

"...It doesn't matter," Geto says, expression tightening ever-so-slightly. There's a small ripple of cursed energy, and Geto reaches into the void of his technique, into the mouth of a curse. Pulls out something harsh and white. Throws it on the ground between them. "There are more important things to focus on right now."

It's a bright cube, hard edges digging past the pebbles and into the dirt when it rolls once, twice, before settling on a side on the ground. Familiar. Suguru has seen it drawn in an old textbook.

Prison Realm

, Suguru recognizes, after a moment, and clearly so does Gojo because his whole posture stiffens, shoulders straightening.

"Shit," Gojo mutters.

"The thing that desecrated my corpse was planning to seal you with that," Geto says, voice almost-but-not-quite flat. There's a thread of anger. Disdain. "Destroy my body properly this time."

"Yeah," says Gojo, tone odd. A wince. "I 'yeah. Sorry. I should have dealt with your body properly in the first place, huh? Shit. Those stitches 'are you '"

"I'm fine," Geto cuts. "It's fine. It wasn't fine, but it is now. I'll elaborate later. We should go."

"Right," Gojo says, then, "right. Right, we should." An audible breath. "So, uh," he stretches out his hands, offering one to each of them, "hold my hands?"

"We're not leaving this

moment

," Geto scoffs. "I have to tell the girls, dumbass. They'll panic if I just disappear."

"Oh," says Gojo, retracting his hands and looking inexplicably awkward. "Right, your girls."

"Mimiko and Nanako."

"I know."

Geto hums, already on his way back towards the engawa and through the open door back into the house. Suguru glances at Gojo. The man is staring, still in the same place that he was before. Stuck there, maybe. Suguru looks away, feeling invasive. Follows Geto. After a moment, Gojo follows, too.

When they reach the front door, Geto pauses. Reaches a hand up to his neck, traces the marks left by Suguru's fingernails. Little incisions into pale pink, bloodless flesh that would be hard to notice without deliberately searching for them.

The moment passes. Geto slides open the front door. Mimiko and Nanako are right where they left them.

"Mimiko, Nanako," Geto says, and they whip around.

"Master Get '" Mimiko's eyes land on Suguru and Gojo hovering just a step behind in the doorway, and her voice falters, " 'o? Why's 'why's

he

here?" and she sounds so lost.

Geto's eyes flick to Gojo. His lips press, briefly, but his expression morphs into reassurance. "Don't worry about it."

This time, it's Nanako. She glares at Gojo. "But he '!"

"Shh," Geto bends down, pulling them both into his arms. "You trust me, don't you? Don't worry about it. I trust him. I'm gonna go to Jujutsu Tech, alright?" At that, there's the beginnings of another protest, but '"You two can catch up by train. I'll be there when you come, promise."

A beat.

"...

Promise?

"

"Of course," Geto says.

"Okay," says Nanako, pulling back. She gives Gojo a practically smoldering look, distrustful. "But what about

him?

He has to promise to."

And it hurts, too, that the sisters are so distrustful of Gojo. Satoru.

"Sure," says Gojo, and the flippancy of his voice only makes Nanako's expression scowl. An awkward beat. "I mean, yes. Definitely. Suguru'll be there and alive when you get to the college. That's fine. Of course. I'll '" he clears his throat. It sounds rough. It's odd, seeing Gojo so clearly off kilter. "I'll make sure of it."

"Okay," Nanako says, clearly unhappy, "but only because Master Geto trusts you."

So things wrap up. Once again, Geto presses a kiss to each of the sisters' foreheads, and Suguru feels out of place, intruding. His anger, all those exhausting emotions 'they're not gone. Just suppressed. Shocked into momentary silence.

The sky is hazed flesh-pink and pale yellow when they finally leave. Gojo hoists Suguru onto his back and takes Geto's hand in his, fingers entangling. Gojo's breath hitches, so quiet Suguru barely hears, and something clenches in his chest. Cursed energy gathers in the air, and the world blinks, pulls, pops.

Ugh

.

One location switches to the next, sensation all wretching and disorienting. Suguru's head is dizzy with vertigo. Bright white florescent lighting splotches clarity back to his vision, and just like that, they're in the college infirmary.

Suguru presses into the warmth of Gojo's shoulder, against his neck. Watches, almost morbidly, the way Gojo and Geto's hands linger a moment before breaking apart. That hesitant, unspoken desire. And all at once, he wants to cry.

He doesn't, though. There's a loud clatter, a clipboard against hard tiles, and he snaps his attention away.

Shoko is staring, perfectly still where she's standing by her desk. Suguru can't read the expression on her face.

"Ah," says Geto, eyes flicking to the wall, then back to Shoko. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Seriously," she mutters, and grimaces. "You're

so

troublesome."

"Hey," Geto says, but there's no heat in his tone, "it wasn't even my fault this time."

Shoko just sighs. The stillness leaves her frame, and she picks her clipboard off the tiled floor. Shoves it onto the desk without even looking. "How'd that even happen? I didn't think I'd see you alive again."

"I mean," Geto says, ghost of a smile pulling his lips, "you're not wrong."

"Let me guess: one of your creepily devoted followers animated your corpse?"

"Mm," he hums noncommittally, settling onto the edge of a plain white infirmary bed, "not quite."

"No?"

"Nah." Geto raises hand raises to his temple and digs around for a moment before pulling abruptly away from his skull. There's something between his tightly pressed fingers, long and thin and silver in the florescent lighting. "On the subject, though," and just like that, he lifts the whole lid of his skull. "I need to you take this out, soon. It's not mine."

The brain nestled on his head is a flush color, rose pink and pulsating oddly. Writhing, almost. A toothed mouth is set within its gnarled flesh. Suguru grimaces.

Geto waits a moment before fitting the lid of his skull back on and resewing the stitches.

Quietly, Suguru slips from Gojo's back and settles on the opposite end of the bed from his counterpart. Misses the sturdy warmth. Eyes things on the bedside table. There's a bottle of sleeping pills. Suguru fiddles with it absently.

"Okay," Shoko eventually says, and her voice is thick. "Okay. Yeah. Sure. When?"

"Not for a few more days at least," Geto answers. "I need to sort out some things before dying again."

Suguru's fingers and cold and numb. The sensation of digging nails into unbleeding flesh lingers in the skin. He tilts the plastic bottle. It rattles with that distinct sounds of

pills

. He grimaces. The noise grates on his frayed nerves. It's a sound that, even after this long, he despises.

He turns the bottle. Up, down. Up, down. Listens to their conversation through a veil. Up, down. Up, down. Watches his counterpart. Thinks of ten different antiphsychotic prescriptions. Up, down. Up '

"Will you

stop

it already," his counterpart finally snaps, voice all thin and sharp.

Suguru pauses his hands. Tilts his head. Smiles an entirely fake smile. Thinks of the lingering touch of Geto's hand in Gojo's. Thinks of the reason it had to guiltily pull away. Vitriolic irritation prickles on his skin, under his veins, itches like insects.

"I wasn't doing anything though?" Suguru plasters on confusion. "Shouldn't you have learned not to react to

nothing?

"

It's a deliberate provocation. A prod at therapy rooms and doctor offices and stark pills under florescent bathroom lights. There's no real meaning in this aimless dig to get under his counterpart's skin, but apparently Suguru is bad at doing things with meaning. So. Well.

"Wow," says Geto, "that's real mature."

"Ah," Suguru feigns surprise, "Sorry, sorry. I didn't realize you were still sensitive to that. Honestly, I thought you'd have grown out of it."

Geto's face darkens, ever-so-slight. His mouth opens to reply, but '

"Hey," Shoko says, slowly, eyes languidly studying them both, and her scrutiny pricks uncomfortably on Suguru's skin. She's always had a gaze like that; dissecting. "Those marks around your neck. Where're they from?"

Ah. The skin is probably starting to bruise purple, now. Suguru's gaze flicks between her and Geto. Neither he nor his counterpart answer. The air wafts with antiseptic scent and lavender essential oils. Suguru can taste it.

"...Seriously?" Shoko sounds so exasperated. Or maybe just tired. "Geto, you're strangling teens now? I mean, I guess it's expected, after last Christmas, but."

"In fairness," Geto says, after a moment, "he started it."

"Did

not

," Suguru denies, mostly from principal. If you think about it hard enough, Geto

did

start it. A decade ago. When he massacred a village and then decided to stick with the decision and make a mess of everything.

(Which 'well. Maybe Suguru did start it, after all.)

(

I hate you

, he thinks, quiet and under his tongue.)

Gojo has been leaning quietly against Shoko's desk. Watching, like always.

"Oh, really." Geto raises a brow, tilts his head at Shoko. "He acted like someone with a death wish, honestly."

"Big words," Suguru snaps, and it's impulsive, words feeling sticky on his tongue, like something that shouldn't be spoken, but he's already started, so '"from someone who harbored a fantasy of Satoru killing you for 'what, a decade?"

Geto's expression freezes on his face. His whole

body

stills, Suguru notes with a terrible sort of satisfaction. From the corner of his eye, he can see Shoko fumble with her pen. He doesn't look at Gojo; he doesn't want to look at Gojo.

A beat, and '

"We are

not

doing this here," Geto tells him, all hard and icy.

A bitter taste curdles on the back of Suguru's tongue. "Bet it was nice," he says, "bet he was

kind

about it. He's still a total utilitarian about justice and retribution, right? God, that's disgusting."

"Hey," Gojo starts, and Suguru doesn't fucking care.

"You have no damn sense of proportional punishment," he snaps, twisting his head towards him and looking away just as fast. "If I had killed my counterpart I would've skinned him alive and it still wouldn't have been enough to pay for even a

fucking fraction of '

"

"Shut

up,

" Geto bites. "We're not

doing this

here."

"What, being

honest?

" He rolls his eyes. "Oh no, 'guess I forgot for a moment there that you'd literally rather

die

than quit lying for like, two damn seconds!"

Something complicated flicks over Geto's expression. "You're such a

brat

."

"Takes a two faced manipulative habitually

lying bitch

to know one!" All false-cheer, thinly veiled vitriol.

Half a moment. Suguru resolutely does not look away from Geto's face.

"That," Geto says, "is

not

what I said."

"It wasn't?" Do not look at Gojo and Shoko do not look at them do not look at them '! He tilts his head. Pulls his ear. Makes an apologetic expression. "'

So

sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of your massive superiority complex."

Geto's eye twitches. "That literally doesn't

even

make sense."

Well, yeah. It doesn't, but it

feels

good 'or maybe fucking terrible 'to say. So whatever, right?

Suguru swallows. Breathes in, and out. Tears his eyes from Geto and looks over at Gojo for realthis time. He's in the same position as before, against the desk. Lips set thin. His hands are white around the metal edge. It's crushed under his fingers. Oh. When did that happen?

God, Suguru really hopes Gojo's not upset. He's definitely upset.

"It's not your fault if you don't understand us," Suguru tells him, because Gojo

has

to understand this, he has to. "It's not like you can read minds. I lied to you last night, y'know? Or at least, I was dishonest. The whole 'you can't understand me because you don't know hatred' or whatever. You were right to call me a drama queen. It's not that at all. If you don't know something about us it's because we don't tell you shit. Cause '"

"Stop," Geto interrupts, and his voice is tight, and Suguru scoffs.

"Point proven!" Suguru presses his fingers against the now-warm plastic of the pill bottle he still hasn't dropped, and shifts his gaze from Gojo to his counterpart. Steadies himself. "He deserves honesty, you know. He

does

, no matter how much we don't wanna give it to him."

His counterpart's face falters, and he's probably the only one who recognizes it. Geto looks away.

It's good enough.

"The only one we hate lying to more than you is ourself," Suguru tells Gojo, and tracks the small twitches of his fingers on the desk's broken edge. "So instead of, y'know, talking to you and feeling that inevitable need to be

dishonest

, we just avoid talking to you altogether. Honestly '" and he pauses, there, looks away, "I shouldn't even be the one telling you this. It should be my counterpart, but, well. Sorry. He'll say what he needs to, eventually, maybe."

And you're not the person I should be telling this to, either

, Suguru thinks, but doesn't say.

I should be telling my own Satoru.

Geto's face has slipped into something that's not quite a scowl. He's unsmiling, eyes fixed somewhere that's not Gojo, jaw resting against his palm. He doesn't respond.

"...Okay," says Gojo, after a long moment. "Right."

"Right."

A few awkward beats. Geto's hand presses hard against the mattress. Suguru's eyes wander the room's edges. Exhaustion tugs at his limbs. The last time he slept was yesterday evening, and that was only a short, couple-hour nap. It's been a long night. Shoko looks like she badly needs a cigarette.

"Y'know, I'm grateful and all that you and your counterpart don't get along," Shoko says, after the silence really becomes stifling. "But honestly, this is really fucking awkward."

"Of course we don't get along," Suguru says, scowls. Looks pointedly at his counterpart. "His idea on what I should do in the future somehow manage to be even worse than

his '

" and he points to Gojo, "suggestion."

Geto opts to ignore almost the entirely of Suguru's words, and instead quirks a brow in interest. "He had a suggestion?"

"Yeah," Suguru says, "he was all like

maybe you should go start a flower shop

. It was ridiculous."

The corners of Geto's lips raise, just a little. His gaze strays to Gojo. "A

flower shop

, really?"

Gojo huffs. "It wasn't

that

bad a suggestion."

"Yes it was," they say at the same time, and then snap over to stare at each other. It's 'it's

annoying

(nerve wracking) to be reminded how similar they are. That they are the same person.

"Ugh," Suguru makes a face. "You know what, I'm ignoring you."

"Fine by me," Geto says, "I'm ignoring you too."

Their lack of interaction lasts maybe three seconds before Geto reaches out his leg and steps on Suguru's shoe. Suguru stares for a moment, scooches over, and grinds the heel of his shoe on Geto's socked foot. Geto responds in kind. Back and forth. Stepping on each other's feet.

This

lasts maybe eight seconds before Shoko groans.

"Are you two

children

."

"He started it," Suguru tells her.

"Oh my God," she mutters pinching the bridge of her nose. "I need a light."

Suguru huffs. Resists the urge to fiddle with his earlobe. Lets his eyes once again wander the infirmary. It's chilly in here, but Suguru feels more numb than cold. He feels '

tired

. He feels tired. Idly, he wonders what time it is, if Satoru's awake, and how long it'll be till he find Suguru here. Pauses on the thought.

Shit. He doesn't 'doesn't want to see Satoru right now. Doesn't want to deal with it all. In fact, he realizes, he doesn't want to deal with

any

of

anything

right now.

He wonders how long it'd take him to fall asleep, and almost grimaces.

"I'm going to sleep," he announces, moving almost violently to the opposite side of the bed from Geto. Grabs the bottle of sleeping pills. Pours 'well, honestly, a probably-dangerous amount into the palm of his hand. Whatever. He downs them all dry without even counting. "Night."

"It's early morning," Geto says, because of fucking course he does.

"I am

ignoring you

." Pointedly, Suguru lays on his side, far away from his counterpart as he can manage. Closes his eyes. Breathes in, and out. Antiseptic. Lavender.

He falls asleep easily enough.

-

Awareness comes back heavy and aching. His head feels of cotton, and for a moment he thinks he's being weighed down by something, but the smooth infirmary blankets are

under

his skin, not over, and that heavy feeling is his own limbs. It's an unnatural sort of aching, one pressed upon him by more than simple sleep.

A memory rises. Pills. Sleeping pills. How many?

Ah

. Must have overdosed after all, huh? Could have been dangerous were it not for his cursed energy burning it out. What even...

The blurred fuzziness of his ears breaks. A voice comes through. Two. It's too loud. Suguru holds back a groan and presses his lids tighter.

"...a few days, huh?" Satoru. Not Satoru? Too mature. Gojo?

"It'll be cruel to us both if I stay for long." Quiet, measured. Himself. His counterpart.

Small pause, and, "You're asking me to kill you again."

Oh. That's what this is about. Suguru wants to 'to not be here. Is too heavy for anything beyond the barest twitches of movement.

"Technically," says his counterpart, "it mostly wouldn't be you this time."

The mattress dips. Suguru feels it just so much as he hears it. "You're asking me to watch you be dissected alive. Slowly taken apart. Alive."

"I'm not alive."

Pause. "Still-conscious, then." Tone flat.

A noncommittal hum. "You don't want to?"

"Are you stupid?"

"You don't have to be there if you don't want to," says Geto, tone unreadable. Considering, maybe. "You don't have to be the one to properly exorcise my cursed energy afterwards, either. Someone else can do it."

"...That's not a real choice," Gojo says, "you're forcing my hand, again."

"As if you wouldn't have done it anyway?"

"I would have, but... I still wanted to choose when and where and how, y'know?"

"How selfish."

"I know."

A beat.

"The first time," Geto says, and there's an almost hesitant pause, "I didn't think 'well. In the first place, it's not like I

planned

to die on the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, but I guess '" and this is the first time Suguru has heard his counterpart so unsure with his words, "I didn't think you'd really 'care. That much. About doing it."

"...Suguru."

"...Yeah?"

"You're so stupid."

"What," and his tone has switched, now, edged with something not-quite mocking, but isn't exactly teasing, either, "are you

sorry

about killing me the first time?"

"Are you expecting an apology?"

"Nah," Geto says, "'course not."

The sound of fabric against fabric. The mattress shifts again.

"Good," Gojo says, after a moment, "'cause I'm not sorry. Just so you know."

"I know."

"But it still

hurt

, y'know?" And Gojo's voice has a whine, all childish with offense. "And now you want me to do it

again!

You're such a jerk!"

"It has to be done," Geto says, "we both know that. I already explained the condition of my body, and the brain in my skull... that individual has too much knowledge to destroy the organ and be done with it." Small sigh. "Besides, I want to die with you two."

"Ugh," says Gojo, "this is gonna be hard on Shoko, too."

"...I know."

A couple beats. The longest stretch of silence yet. Suguru feels vaguely sick.

"Hey," Gojo says, "what mini-you said earlier, about your fantasy..."

Another long silence. The air conditioning is whirring. Suguru thought it was his own head's fuzzy static.

"...It wasn't untrue," Geto finally answers. Oh, being honest, huh?

A beat, and Gojo groans, a long, drawn out, dramatic sound. The mattress shifts again. "This sucks

so

much."

"Mm. But you'll do it."

"Yeah," Gojo agrees, tone all odd and distant and

sad

, "of course I will. I'd do it even if you didn't ask, y'know? Cause I can't stand the idea of anyone else doing it. But you're still an ass for asking."

"You're the one who's always saying it's fine 'good, even 'to be selfish," Geto reminds.

"You're

such

an asshole," Gojo repeats.

It's something morbid, Suguru thinks, that is making him listen to this instead of letting their voices sink beneath the fuzzy haze of cotton in his skull. That's making him focus on them instead of the lavender or antiseptic or uncomfortably tight clothing on his skin. It's an active effort to keep himself conscious, now. God, it's so

nauseating

.

"Y'know," Gojo says after a while. "It's been hell watching them interact for the last few days."

"'Them'?"

"The cute, mini versions of ourselves."

"Oh," then, "hah."

"Yeah."

"Mm."

"...'You think it would've changed anything if we 'if I said anything, back then?"

"Nah," Geto answers without much delay, then, "I think it would've made it worse, actually. Would've hurt both of us more. I would've made the same decisions; I care about my ideals more than I do you. More than I do anything."

Dishonest

, Suguru thinks, bleary. Not a lie, exactly, but dishonest. Satoru is

part

of their ideals. Satoru's well-being 'a world that deserves him, a world that doesn't demand he be a god 'is

part

of their ideal. No matter which one.

Because Geto Suguru '

Gojo laughs, short and sharp and ear-grating. A headache throbs through Suguru's skull. "For the guy who complained so much about

my

callousness, you can be pretty fucking brutal with your words, huh?"

"Mm, maybe."

A huff. "

Jerk

."

Geto doesn't respond. Suguru listens, but Gojo doesn't continue, either. Heavy limbs drag Suguru back to uneasy unconscious.

( 'because Geto Suguru loves Gojo Satoru; will always love Gojo Satoru.)