The library is located deep within Jujutsu Tech's winding labyrinth of interconnected corridors that twist and run into each other underground. It's designed specifically to disorient. Inevitably, Itadori gets completely lost in the scramble. Suguru slows them down and directs them in the

right

way.

"By the way," starts Suguru, when they're just outside the library, his hand resting on the door, "why were you in such a rush to leave?" Granted, it wasn't exactly pleasant in the kitchen, with Fushiguro and both Gojo's combined drama, but '

"You wanted to leave, right?" Itadori grins at him, smile like sunflowers.

Suguru sort of, stares, for a moment. Thinks of denying. Doesn't. "How'd you know?"

"I dunno you just 'seemed like it?" Itadori looks away for a moment, almost shy. No 'not shy. Self conscious? Not that, either. Slightly embarrassed at the lack of better explanation, probably.

"I see," Suguru says, letting a small sigh out between his teeth. "You're good with people." Not good with people in the way that Suguru is: with carefully calculated series' of actions based around observation and analysis, trading faces depending on what's needed in the circumstance. No, Itadori is the natural kind.

"Ah, I guess?" Itadori laughs a little.

Suguru smiles in turn, finally pushing open the library door. "It's a compliment, don't worry."

"Thanks!"

They step into the library together: Suguru holds the door, Itadori pauses a half moment before stepping past, and Suguru slips in after him. Behind them, the heavy wood closes with a dull, echoing slam. The library is just as it was when Suguru initially saw it in first year, and, he imagines, just as it was centuries ago. Cold shivers down Suguru's skin. He breathes in, and out. Dry. Old-paper.

"...Wow," says Itadori, and his voice is not harsh against the library's not-silence. It's quiet, but not silent; never silent. There's a low hum of curse energy, constantly maintaining this library, keeping it clean and dry and free from imperfection. "I've...never been here."

Suguru hums. "First years aren't usually allowed here without escort. The college is one of the pillars of Jujutsu in Japan, and by extension, the world. You're looking at the globe's largest shaman library."

Itadori peers into the lantern-lit darkness. Stone-carved shelves twisting and turning, further than Suguru can see. The library is a maze in itself, incomprehensible to anyone that doesn't know the organization of it. "Are there, cursed books in here? Like the kind in movies?"

Suguru snorts. "Yeah, but they're kept under heavy bindings and in the restricted sections."

"Woah..."

"Just stick by me," he says, rolling his shoulders and starting towards the unrestricted section on high profile curses. His steps are brisk against the library's hard stone floor. "Be careful: penalties for stepping into restricted sections can range from simply setting off alarms, to physical injury."

"That's very reassuring," Itadori says with a bit of playful cheek, but his footsteps are steady when he follows Suguru, curiously glancing around.

"It's a serious matter of safety, preservation of important records, and trust between the college and everywhere that has generously entrusted their documents for safekeeping here." He sharply turns a corner. "Satoru messed with the Zen'in clan's restricted section, and it caused such a shitshow that a week-long national shaman meeting was called among the higher ups and Satoru got banned from the library for half a year." It was hilarious.

"Oh..."

Suguru stops in front of an aisle of shelves, traces the spines with his eyes, and finally finds what he's looking for. He twists to look at Itadori, and 'ah. "Is something wrong?" The boy is frowning.

"No," Itadori says, "just 'Sensei isn't that bad, you know? I

have

been learning a lot of things. Mostly combat. I'm still alive, and if Sensei wasn't there..."

"You're trying to defend him," Suguru says, "you're saying that learning about the curse you act the vessel of isn't strictly necessary information 'at least when measured against everything else you have to deal with."

"I 'yeah," says Itadori, wincing, "I guess."

Suguru pauses for a moment.

"You're right," he finally admits, "I hadn't properly considered that, although it's still ridiculous that he didn't immediately tell you about the grade system and at least pick out some books on basic shaman knowledge. I'm not, I'm not trying to say he isn't looking out for you." It's 'strange, is all, to think of Satoru in a nurturing role, to think of him doing

well

in that sort of role. "Don't worry, I'm not offended."

"Ah, okay! I just wanted to mention it!" Itadori smiles, eyes returning to the shelves.

Suguru traces a ledge with his fingertips, before settling on the spine of a hardcover book and pulling it out. "This is a compilation of all known historical records of Ryomen Sukuna, translated into modern Japanese." He offers the book, and picks out another. "And this one is a more general book on him. It should be a good start, at least."

Itadori takes the books tentatively. "Thanks!"

"No problem."

Itadori makes some remark about the amount of reading. Suguru hums, only half listening. His eyes have drifted to the section right over. Lanterns line the aisles, little glass structures, barely larger than Suguru's fist, each one containing a carefully caged and eerily glowing onibi. Their blue light dances shadows over the stone, over the angular spines of books. Suguru aimlessly trances the shapes with his fingertips, skimming titles, before his fingers finally settle and smoothly slide an old book into his palm.

A history of Japanese 'Shaman and Nonshaman relations 'by Kamo Yutaka.

Suguru thumbs the old, weathered pages.

"What's that?"

He almost startles at the sound of Itadori's voice.

"A book I read a couple months ago," Suguru answers, "it's about the history between shamans and nonshamans."

"Cool!" And Suguru almost laughs at that, short and mean. Itadori wouldn't say that if he had

any

idea about that history. "Why's it in this aisle?"

"Bleed-over from a neighboring section," Suguru answers, gesturing around the corner, "it's likely been placed this close to the Sukuna subsection because of how this book touches on the subject of Sukuna."

Itadori's brows furrow. "Why?"

Suguru leans against a stone pillar. Its hard ridges dig into his back. "You've heard of the Golden age of Jujutsu, right?"

"Yeah," Itadori nods, "kinda. It was during the Heian Era, right?"

"Mhmm." Suguru slowly flips through the book's introductory phase, past chapter one... "It wasn't a golden age simply because there were a lot of geniuses 'although there were 'it was because there were simply more shamans in

general

."

Itadori nods. "Why?"

"Don't get me wrong," Suguru says, "shamans have

never

been large in number. We've always been a small minority, but there were substantially more of us back then. It can be said that Sukuna himself ended the Golden Age of Jujutsu. He set off the decline."

Itadori's hand travels to the slit marks beneath his eyes, and retreat just as quickly. "Did he really kill

that

many...?"

"He did," Suguru says, "he killed

many

shamans himself, but that's not what caused the drastic population decline. Sukuna ended the Golden Age because of the

cultural

shift that resulted from his carnage."

Suguru feels 'simmering. His cursed energy is beginning to churn, hum, buzz and coil. The library's coldness curls around his skin, raising goosebumps. He grinds his teeth.

Itadori squints, nonunderstanding. "A...cultural shift?"

"Among nonshamans," Suguru explains, and his fingers press white against the pages of his book. "Sukuna was a shaman before he was a curse, and to them, that meant 'shamans become entities like Sukuna.'"

The

ignorance '

"So they targeted shamans. There has always been an unbridgeable rift between shamans and nonshamans, but this... At first, it was a disorganized movement, a general hatred and fear in the populace of nonshamans, but then the Emperor ordered purges of shamans."

Itadori stills, straightening. "But... aren't shamans... how would they even '?"

"You're completely right." It's ugly, this feeling bubbling to the surface. It's grotesque in a way Suguru

knows

he shouldn't show, but his heart is beating against his ribs and his blood has gone molten, and he can't help the sneer that twists on his face. "In normal circumstances, a nonshaman trying to kill a shaman would be laughable. It would be so

easy

to kill the nonshaman. And the nonshamans of that era knew that, so take a guess, Itadori, what did they do?"

Itadori takes a small step back. Suguru relaxes his face into something more placid. Eventually, Itadori says: "...Poison?"

"Good guess! There was that, too." And he really just can't help the odd tone that enters his voice, the dangerous edge. "Did you know shamans aren't actually so rare as you'd believe? The mutation that gives a human access to their curse energy isn't terribly uncommon. The reason there are so few of us... it's our

mortality rate

. Shamans have an extremely high mortality rate in general, but it peaks between ages three to seven, and fourteen to eighteen." Three through seven because curses become aggressive when observed and children that young still haven't learned not to look and don't have the power to defend themselves. Fourteen through eighteen, because this is when shamans generally begin fighting curses, and they are still inexperienced. "In other words: we are vulnerable as children. So, what did the nonshamans of that era do?"

The realization dawn on Itadori's face. It's a horrible look, the way his eyes widen and his skin pales and his lips twist. "They..."

"Rounded them up and butchered them," Suguru provides, and perhaps it could be a kindness, to say it himself instead of prying the words from Itadori's mouth, but there's nothing kind in the way Suguru spits them. "Targeted teenage shamans while they were exhausted from curse-hunting, killed toddlers in the cradle." Ignorance isn't a sin, but the result of it is, so really. Same difference.

Itadori looks queasy. "Does that kind of thing still...?"

Suguru swallows a mean laugh. "That dramatically? No. The sentiment remains in rural areas, though. Details are lost to time, but shaman children are still killed because of superstition."

No matter how hard Suguru looks, he can't find good in nonshamans. They're terrible now, just as they were a millennium ago, just as they are when he presses the disgusting manifestation of their rot between his teeth. Bathing his soul in the worst of humanity. How is the shaman world

still

defending them? It's a world of lies, of gold-leaf platitudes about duty and

protect the weak

and under all that shine, it's all

rotten

. And Suguru is living this lie, is walking this Penrose triangle of shaman bodies as if there's any

meaning

in that '

"Oh," Itadori says, and looks like he is going to say more, but can't find the words.

"It's not as if it was entirely foolish of them 'it's true: only shamans are capable of becoming the sort of curse that Sukuna did. Perhaps, were it true that the creation of curses like Sukuna is

inevitable

if you allow a shaman to develop into their potential, there would have been justification for the slaughter," he hears himself, say, and it's mean, this tone. His curse energy is becoming a hungry, alive thing, writhing and gnawing. "Their fallacy lay in assuming inevitability. Sukuna was a special case, a sorcerer of almost unparalleled power and malice. His becoming a curse was a deliberate, and preventable thing. And it's ironic, isn't it?" He should stop speaking, he really should, but ' "That they would slaughter on the assumption that shamans create curses, when

they '

"

Abruptly, the book that he's been clenching hard between his fingers is tugged away. Suguru startles, jerking around, and '

"Fascinating conversation," Gojo says blithely, holding the book between his fingers and closing it with a sharp

snap

. He tilts his head at the two of them. The dark makes him look sharp, dangerous, blue light deepening the shadows of his thin smile. "Yuji, what were you two talking about, again?"

Suguru's whole chest feels cold with horror.

Itadori is visibly relieved at Gojo's arrival. "Um 'Geto was just telling me about some Jujutsu history! That's all! He picked out some books on Sukuna, too!"

Gojo hums, snatching the books right out of Itadori's arms, scanning the covers and skimming the contents, and handing them back. "Great! Sounds fun!" Gojo peers at the book he took from Suguru. "Shaman nonshaman history, huh? That stuff can get nasty on both sides. The Zen'in clan, and to a lesser degree, the Kamo, are infamous for considering nonshamans as nonpeople."

And he says it like he

knows

.

Satoru 'Gojo 'neither of them are supposed to know the disgusting (justified) thoughts that swirl in Suguru's head. He hates lying, hates living a lie, hates it all so much, wants to be honest with Satoru more than anything, but '

"He's right." Suguru finally puts a face back on, calm and mature. Carefully, he steadies the flow of his cursed energy, wrangling it into something smooth and placid. "It hasn't been entirely pretty on the shaman side either. I'm sure there's a number of books on it. You can find them, if you want."

Gojo hums and tucks Suguru's book into his pocket. "That's a little heavy, though.

You

, Yuji, just focus on reading those books on Sukuna, hmm?"

Itadori nods, then grimaces. "I will, Sensei."

"Great!" Gojo claps his hands with false cheer and none-too-subtly starts herding Itadori towards the exit. Suguru stares, for a moment, and decides not to follow. It only takes a couple minutes for Gojo to come back, alone.

Suguru eyes him.

This version of Satoru 'in this timeline, Suguru died a decade ago, right? It doesn't make sense for Gojo to

know

. Suguru isn't planning to tell Satoru anytime soon. It doesn't make

sense

.

Finally, Suguru drawls: "Is there something you wanna say to me?"

Gojo's hands are shoved in is pockets, and he takes a couple moments before responding: "Nope." and he pops the 'p'.

"Wonderful," Suguru says, flatly. "Why are you still here?"

"This library is big, you know! What if you got lost? I'm a very responsible adult, I can't let children get lost in libraries! Think of it! Poor little Suguru, dying of starvation in a library, cold and alone! How terrible!"

Suguru resists the urge to sigh and press a nail to his forehead.

"If you don't want to tell me, then just say it, asshole."

"Hmm? Tell you? Tell you what?"

In response, Suguru gives his best smile 'mostly to press a point, because he knows Gojo sees right through it 'and says: "Pretending to be stupid isn't a substitute for subtlety." He sighs, and walks right past Gojo. "I'm leaving. See you."

-

He finds Satoru near the vending machines. He's across the courtyard, on a bench, and Suguru lets his gaze linger for a moment before tugging his head back to the machines and punching in numbers. A smoothie (for himself) and two packs of anpan (for Satoru). When he jogs over, though, Satoru doesn't even look at him.

It's another hot September day, sun too-warm on the back of Suguru's neck, but the mountain breeze is chilly. Satoru is splayed laxly over the bench, shoulders slumped, legs spread wide, head angled at the sky. Light glints sharply off the edge of his glasses.

"Hey."

No response.

Suguru frowns, slipping easily onto the bench beside him. Above, the sky is shaded blue-raspberry, and the sun is a white blotch. Cloudless. It's too bright, burns his eyes, and Suguru averts his gaze back to Satoru after barely a few moments.

"Satoru."

This time, Satoru abruptly jerks his body straight, and looks at Suguru, glasses falling out of place. He's not smiling. Unease brews in Suguru's stomach. "Ughhh," Satoru groans, body slumping just so quickly as it had straightened, "

you're

being weird, too!"

Suguru raises his brows. "Fuck are you talking about."

"Everything's weird! This sucks! This is the worst ever!"

Oh. "Yeah," Suguru agrees, because this would-have-been (could-still-be?) future has been putting him on edge, too. Ah, but '"Wait, what do you mean

I'm

being weird too?"

"Because you

are

!

" Satoru's voice is whiny, complaining. "You've been doing the stupid fake smile but, like, not in the

I'm messing with you

way, just in the

I'm upset

way, and your curse energy keeps going all eye-searing, and you're not even playing along with me! Ugh."

"...Oh," says Suguru, and he's not sure why it takes him aback; he can read Satoru, why should it surprise him that Satoru can read him? "Sorry."

Satoru scowls. "Shut up."

"You shut up."

"This sucks."

"You already said that."

A beat.

"It's just weird, you know?" Satoru's voice is quiet, and now he's sort of...curling into himself. He places a shoe on the bench and brings a knee to his chest, resting his chin on it and crossing his arms. "I'm here, and you're not."

Suguru's chest clenches. He thinks of Shoko, of Gojo,

I just forgot he was so young '

and of course it would come up eventually, but...

I think I'm dead in this timeline

, Suguru wants to say, but can't quite force the words off his tongue,

I think I am going to die soon

.

"Maybe I went to Kyoto," is Suguru's weak attempt at consolation. It's easier, to divert like this.

Satoru's face scrunches. "Gross."

Suguru shrugs. "Life happens."

The other's fingers twitch. "You're such a shit liar."

"No," I just don't want to lie to you, I am so tired of lying to you, "I'm a great liar."

That gets a huff. "Then why can I tell that every word out of your mouth right now is

bullshit?

"

Suguru shrugs. "Maybe I'm just not trying, hm?"

"So you admit it!"

"Well," says Suguru, "technically I didn't even say any concrete statements."

Satoru grumbles something unintelligible, and doesn't respond beyond that. The sun shines too-bright against the sky, and too-warm on Suguru's skin. He unscrews the lid to his smoothie, and passes the anpan. Satoru takes them, shredding almost angrily through the plastic packaging, and biting into the bun. A speck of the sweet red bean filling smudges by his lips. They don't talk.

Quietly, Suguru wonders if Satoru knows what Suguru does. This quiet, unspoken truth of Suguru's fate. Even quieter, Suguru wonders if he would be gone, anyway, even if he weren't dead. Wonders if Satoru suspects

that

, too. He shouldn't, but Gojo spoke like he

knew

, and...

"Hey look," says Satoru, suddenly.

Suguru snaps from his reverie. Halfway across the courtyard, Gojo and Shoko are emerging from one of the buildings, talking to each other. Beside him, Satoru doesn't hesitate to hop off the bench and stride towards the two adults. There's determination in his steps. Uh-oh.

"Satoru wait," Suguru says, leaving his smoothie behind and stepping some steps to catch up. His words go unheeded.

"Yo!" Satoru pulls to a stop in front of the pair, rocking on the balls of his feet. Suguru settles beside him, smoothing his face and suppressing a frown.

"Yo," Shoko lazily greets, tucking a clipboard under her arm and passing a pen to Gojo. "What do the timetravel idiots want with me?"

"Not much!" Satoru grins, and it's the kind that means trouble. "Just a question!"

Shoko hums. "Oh?"

Suguru absently fiddles with his earlobe and stands by Satoru's side. Studies Shoko, who looks tired, but no different from normal, and Gojo, who has one hand shoved in his pocket and the other spinning the pen Shoko handed him.

"Yep!" Satoru stops rocking, and leans onto Suguru's side. "Sooooo,

basically

, when does Suguru die?"

The pen spinning around Gojo's finger's abruptly snaps to a stop. Shoko doesn't even look phased. Suguru feels rooted in place.

"What gave you that idea?" Her tone is bland.

"Come

on

," Satoru makes an exaggerated movement of exasperation, and this close, Suguru can see the way his eyes roll. His weight presses heavy on Suguru's side, and he adjusts his stance so that they don't both tumble. "We're not stupid, you know!"

Shoko raises her brows. "What if he's just in Kyoto?"

"It's September," Satoru says, tone entirely impatient, "which means the Goodwill Exchange was only a few months ago, and I can see residuals from it

all

over the place. If he taught in Kyoto he would've still come by then, but there's not even a

trace

of

his

residuals

anywhere!

And if he was overseas or something you would've just said that instead of suggesting Kyoto. And no one has mentioned him. And Yaga is

still

avoiding us. So he's dead."

Never mind, Satoru

doesn't

know. He treats this conversation like there were only ever two options: Suguru is with Satoru (a shaman, fighting curses, on his side), or Suguru is dead. He doesn't for a second consider the possibility of Suguru being not-here because of cutting ties with the shaman-sacrificing college. And Suguru

is

dead, of course, because what else could

I forgot he was so young

mean, but '

"Hm." Shoko tilts her head at Gojo. "I'm not doing this."

Gojo makes a face at her. "You're gonna abandon me? Cruel!"

Shoko shrugs. "It's your mess anyway."

"What?" Gojo's face grows genuinely sour. "Now

that

's '"

"C'mon!" Satoru's voice is a whine. "Answer the question already! When does Suguru die?"

There's a small pause. Suguru shifts weight between his feet, and gold mountain air brushes his forehead, and Gojo's face goes flat. Unease curls in Suguru's gut. Satoru doesn't move, staring hard at the pair of adults, almost like a glare. Suguru wants badly to break this silence, to drop the subject, but...

It's morbid curiosity, maybe.

Finally, Gojo sighs. "It was just before Christmas. Last year."

What.

Last year?

A lie, he wants to think, but nothing in Gojo's posture or tone is lying. His fingers aren't even twitching, although they're white around the barrel of his pen. Shoko isn't giving a disapproving look, either. Her face is perfectly bland. It's not a lie.

What do you mean LAST YEAR

, Suguru wants to ask, but Satoru is already '

"How?"

Gojo hums. "Why do you wanna know?"

Suguru feels his eyes narrow, at that. Lips pressing thin. There shouldn't be any reason to withhold that information. Not unless '

"To prevent it," Satoru says, with one of the most

duh, are you stupid?

tones Suguru has ever heard him wear. Satoru slips his weight off Suguru, standing straight and rocking on his feet again. "

Obviously

. If it's a curse then I'll exorcise it, 'n if it's a human then I'll kill 'em."

The pen between Gojo's fingers snaps in a splatter of plastic and ink. Gojo doesn't even look at it, just lets the mangled item drop to the ground. They click when they hit the tile-stones.

That sort of reaction '

Suguru feels sick.

"Don't be so casual about that sort of thing," he mutters, and watches the way Shoko is staring at a random wall. Like she doesn't want to look at them; like they're painful to see. His throat feels tight. "I don't want you killing people for me."

Satoru frowns, expression pulling. "Yeah whatever," he grumbles, and then, looking back at Gojo. "You still haven't answered the question."

And Suguru '

If future-him died only last year...

He thinks of Gojo constantly watching him. Interrupting him in the library with the counter side. The monkey 'nonshaman 'Maki's mix of caution and aggression in the kitchen.

You got a problem with that?

Shoko is still staring at the far wall. Just a few minutes ago, she called the issue of Suguru's death

Gojo's mess

. And sometimes, lately, Suguru has felt unrecognizable, but he tries to know himself, he does. And he knows this current version of himself well enough to know '

"It's fine," Suguru hears himself say through the chatter of curses in his blood, and then, louder, "It's fine, whatever. We'll find out eventually. Let's just '" he tugs Satoru's sleeve, and starts pulling him away.

"What? No." Satoru breaks Suguru's grip, but Suguru doesn't even turn around. He continues on his fast walk

away '

he doesn't know where he's going. He just wants to be

not here

. "Wait!"

Suguru just shakes his head and waves, gesturing Satoru to follow him. Behind him, there's a growled noise of frustration, and Satoru says

this isn't over!

But his footsteps hurry after Suguru's all the same.

He breathes out a sigh that he didn't even know he was holding.

He only stops walking 'jogging, actually. When did that happen? 'when they're halfway across the entire college.

"What the

fuck

," says Satoru. In canopy's shifting shade, he looks looks fairy-like, flickering like a mirage. Like something Suguru could lose.

"I '" what does he even say? How can he explain this? "Sorry."

"

What?

"

Suguru shrugs.

Satoru groans and leans against the tree's trunk, sinking down against the roots. After a moment of debate, Suguru follows. Hard roots and soft grass press against his legs. Satoru's fingers play with the grass. "What is

up

with you?"

"I just '" Suguru fiddles with his earlobe, rolling the piercing between his fingers. "I didn't want to know how it happened." It's not untruth, but the words feel gross when they slide from his tongue, anyway. A lie by omission is still a lie.

I was 'am afraid of knowing how I happened. I think I already know, 'maybe. I know you don't even suspect it, though; it's inconceivable to you, isn't it?

"...Okay," Satoru responds, after a moment. "That makes sense, I guess. It'd be sorta creepy to hear about my own death. But '"

"We

will

find out," Suguru assures, "just give me a moment, 'kay? Promise."

"...

Promise?

"

"Promise."

"Okay," Satoru concedes, again. "Fine. But only for a little bit."

It's horrible how easily he trusts him. Suguru leans his head against the tree trunk and watches Satoru from the corner of his eye, and with an aching chest, wishes it were a trust that couldn't be broken.

-

Sunset bathes Jujutsu Tech in amber, rosy pink blushing against orange-washed stones, shrines and statues casting long inky shadows over courtyards. Suguru sees it all as he climbs the college's tallest building, pulling himself onto the roof with a heave. And from up here '

he can see an odd figure across the slope of color-reflecting tiles. A small form sitting atop the very peak, on the end of a ride. He squints, thinking for a moment that it's a newly installed shibi, or an oddly placed shisa, but then the figure

moves

. He almost laughs at himself; this hell-school balks at the very notion of any change at all, of course the higher-ups wouldn't suddenly decide on new aesthetic additions.

But that still leaves the question of what it

is

.

Suguru rises to his feet, carefully picking his way across the cracked-tile slope. The figure '

Ah.

Suguru finally reaches the ridge. It's thick and sturdy, and provides just enough of a level surface for Itadori to sit. The boy's knees are drawn to his chest, back against the onigawara, head dipped, and he still hasn't noticed Suguru. One of the books from earlier is laying pages-open on the surface beside him,

A moment of deliberation, and, "Hey."

Itadori startles, almost losing balance and slipping to the side. Suguru is quick to steady him, leaning down and putting a hand against his shoulder.

"G-Geto!? What are you doing here!?"

"I climbed up for a moment alone," Suguru easily answers, "but that doesn't matter. Are you alright..?"

Itadori glances away and visibly shivers, drawing further into himself. "...Fine," he mutters.

It would perhaps be most polite to drop it. This high in the mountains, and with the sun sinking as a molten ball of gold across the horizon, it's cold. Chilly wind tugs at Suguru's hair and threads through the fabric of his clothes. He could simply offer to get Itadori a sweater, and they could both pretend Itadori's curling posture is because of the temperature. But for all Suguru pretends to really care, courtesy is only a tool, a convenient method of navigating interactions with least difficulty.

It's fine, he figures, to press. He has good intentions, after all. He

is

concerned.

"It's alright," Suguru assures, "you can talk if you'd like. I won't tell."

Itadori's eyes flick away again, and he looks like he's going to say something, but a mouth manifests on the back of his hand, and '

Itadori flinches so violently that Suguru thinks he's going to fall. The very next moment, he slams his hand against the roof hard enough to crack a trio of tiles.

"That was '!" Itadori shoves his hand into the pocket of his uniform. Suguru catches sight of some blood. "Sorry, he hasn't...done that in a bit."

"...Ryomen Sukuna?" Suguru cautiously sits down on the ridge, legs hanging down over the tiled slope. "Is he bothering you?"

"I can control him," Itadori says, but his lip is trembling, "he won't take over, or anything."

"I'm not doubting that," Suguru says, tone gentle as he can make it. "I asked if he was bothering you."

Itadori shifts restlessly. "It's not..."

Conversations like these can be thought of as a give and take, sometimes. Weakness for weakness, vulnerability for vulnerability, truth for truth. Itadori is the one person in the whole world that has also taken a curse

inside

of himself, felt the worst of humanity slip down his tongue. Suguru presses his shoe into the hard tiles, and makes a decision.

"Do you remember how Satoru described my technique?"

Itadori peeks at him, some confusion on his face. "Yeah."

Breathe in, and out. The air tastes of dry leaves and frost and lingering summer. Mountains. "The curses I take in bother me sometimes," Suguru admits. "I've never taken in anything close to the King of Curses, of course, but while my curses are stripped of will, they aren't fully rid of consciousness." Or, perhaps it's more accurate to say that they become quasi-autonomous, warped reflections of Suguru's own will. The mangled patchwork of their collective selves dwell in his technique's stomach, his cursed energy, somewhere not quite physical, but not distant enough nonetheless. "It's not always easy."

"...Really?"

"Mhmm."

Itadori shudders, biting his lip. Then, small, "I guess 'he isn't really liking me reading about him."

"He talks to you?"

"Sometimes." Itadori winces, bringing a hand to his head and grimacing. "Sorry he's just 'being particularly awful right now, you know?"

"Don't apologize," Suguru says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Do you want to talk about it?" Itadori shrugs, but doesn't speak, so ' "Is he telling you to hurt yourself? Or others?"

"It's not '" Itadori makes a vague motion, drawing one knee closer to his chest, but letting the other dangle freely down the roof's slope. "It's not that. He's '" a bite of the lip, "he's going on about the execution. This time. Did you know his original death was a botched execution? The one when he was human, I mean, where he turned himself into a curse."

"Yeah," Suguru says, pausing for a moment to place the first bit of Itadori's words. The execution 'ah. Right. Itadori's execution. "Are you worried about your execution also being botched? And the both of you turning into something worse?"

"I don't know," Itadori says, and he's not meeting Suguru's eyes. There's shame in his face. He's biting his lip again. "Maybe."

Oh.

"You're afraid of the execution happening at all," Suguru realizes, and then, quickly: "Sorry, that was rude."

"No it's 'it's okay!" Itadori shifts a little, briefly meeting Suguru's eyes before his gaze flicks around again, then finally settles on the hard clay tiles beneath them. "It's a little scary, I guess. But I've known it's gonna happen for months. It's for the best, right? And I mean, Sensei is gonna be there, he's gonna do it, so... that's nice."

Do it? Do it. Ah. The execution.

There's a beat of silence. Somewhere in the mountainous expanse around them, a pair of birds exchange loud calls that echo distantly. The horizon bleeds gold and orange and crimson, reflecting its colors onto the shiny roof tiles. Shaded in the sunset, Itadori looks like a burning thing.

"Ah!" Itadori lets his other leg drop, rubbing the back of his head self consciously. His smile is bashful. "Sorry, that's a weird thing to say, huh?"

That there's comfort in the knowledge that Gojo will carry out his execution. That Gojo will be the one to do it. That he will be

there

. That it'll be him.

"No," Suguru says, thinking of Shoko saying

your mess

, and his throat feels tight, "I know what you mean." Understand it, even.

There's comfort in it, huh?

Itadori's hand drops. He looks hopeful. "Really?"

If Suguru did something terrible, he would bare his neck for Satoru, he thinks. There wouldn't be any question about it. And Shoko said

your mess

and Gojo spoke like he

knows

and maybe Satoru doesn't suspect anything, but '

"Really," Suguru confirms, and Itadori sighs, relaxing somewhat. Suguru digs his fingers into the cold material beneath them, so hard that it hurts, and feels numbness begin to set into the skin. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. He feels raw. "Itadori," he suddenly says, "you're speaking about your execution like it's inevitable."

Itadori's expression furrows with confusion. "...Well, yeah?"

The air feels thin and sharp in Suguru's lungs. "You know it doesn't have to happen, right?"

Now, Itadori just looks uncertain. Lost. Like no one has said this to him 'and that's probably right. No one has told him this, and it's almost laughable, because to Suguru it's so

obvious

. "What?"

"It's Satoru," Suguru says, "you said Satoru is going to be the one who executes you, right? Realistically, no one else really could."

"...Yeah." Itadori bites his lip again. Looks like he wants to curl back into himself. Suguru doesn't give him the opportunity.

"You really think that

Satoru

would do that? Execute you even if you didn't want it?" And he can't quite keep the bitterly bubbling amusement from his tone.

Really

, it's all so '"That he would drag you down to a ritual chamber regardless of your feelings and be done with it? That he'd splatter your blood on the stone? That he'd put duty over you? That '" and 'oh, Itadori's lip is trembling again, and he looks like he's going to cry, and abruptly, Suguru realizes that he's being mean. Getting carried away, again. "He wouldn't."

Itadori jerks his head to look away, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "How do you know?"

It really is just fucking 'fucking '

laughable

. Not the nice kind of laughter.

Of course, not everyone knows what Suguru knows. He thinks of Toji's son, and thinks of Riko, too. Itadori wasn't there when Satoru said

If the star plasma vessel refuses the merger...then we call it off!

Wasn't there when Satoru declared he'd fight Master Tengen himself, that he'd compromise the security of the whole country, just to save one girl from the fate that'd been determined since her very birth.

"You didn't know the consequences when you swallowed it. It's not your fault that you care about others. Satoru doesn't kill innocents for things outside their control," Suguru says, and the words taste oddly bitter on his tongue. "He's just that kind of person."

He's the kind of person that

hates

pinning any sort of role on people that haven't chosen to take it on themselves.

Since the very start, that has been the deciding wedge between their moralities. Near the beginning of first year, it caused them to

hate

each other; Suguru saying it was morally obligatory for a shaman to exorcise, regardless of their personal feelings or wants, and Satoru despising that notion with obnoxious disregard of the larger picture. And even now, this fundamental difference remains between them. It's this very divide that assures Suguru that Satoru will

never

agree with these grotesquely burgeoning thoughts on nonshamans. The only difference...

"Oh," Itadori says, quietly.

Before, Suguru's morality was something he was completely certain in, something he was

proud

of, and now his own mind feels like a foreign, terrible thing. Now he's certain of nothing at all.

"It'll be up to you," he says. "Whether you want to be executed or not."

"Oh," Itadori says, again, and shivers. Dusky purples and blues are beginning to set into the sky. Shadows yawn in the spaces between each tile of the roof. "...That's a lot of responsibility."

A beat.

"Well," Suguru says, gaze slipping from the sunset to the campus far below, "it's your life."

"Right," Itadori says, and then, quieter, "right."

A stretch of silence. Slight wind. The far-off rustling of leaves. The call of distant birds. Suguru's pulse in his ears, breaths awkward against the quiet. The ruffling of Itadori's clothing.

And then, "What do you think?"

Suguru tilts his head at the other, bangs brushing his nose at the angle. "About what?"

"If you were me..." a bite of the lip, "or if you were my executioner; if you had to choose whether I lived or died. Would you...?"

Would you sentence me to death?

Oh.

And Suguru doesn't

know

.

It's true, that executing Itadori is the safer option, that it gets rid of that large, yawning possibility for harm. And it

is

a large possibility, and it is a

lot

of possible harm, but it's not inevitable.

N

o,

of course not

.

Suguru's stomach churns. Before becoming a vessel, Itadori was a nonshaman, was another part of those ungrateful masses polluting the world with curses. Is there a point, Suguru wonders, when the enormous possibility of harm from hosting the King of Curses outweighs the relatively small, but far more inevitable, harm from leaking cursed energy?

"I..." and there's something disgusting about saying

no

, because if Itadori didn't host Sukuna, it could '

not would, not yet, maybe(hopefully?) not ever

'be

yes

, "I'm not the best person to ask," he finally answers.

"...Okay," Itadori says, after a moment.

"Sorry," Suguru offers.

"It's alright." Itadori's exhale is loud against the quiet. Both his legs dangle over the ridge, down the tiled slope, and he leans back on the palms of his hands. Another breath, and he smiles, bright like sunflowers and tiger lilies. The strangest thing is that it seems

genuine

. "It's getting late, huh? We should probably head back down."

Suguru jerks his gaze away. It's hard to breathe through the tightness of his throat. Through this bitter feeling of helplessness. "Yeah," he agrees, "we probably should."

They stay there a while, until the sky speckles with stars and the moon hangs brightly. When they finally descend, Itadori returning to the dorms and Suguru making his way towards one of the college's many empty bedrooms with Satoru, that bitter taste still lingers on his tongue.