When he and Maki find Shoko, she 's leaned back in an old office chair, eyes closed, looking tired, just tired. Suguru hesitates at the entrance, weight leaning against the doorframe, wrist throbbing hotly against the cold air. She looks so

tired

. Maki, however, doesn 't harbor the same concerns.

'Oi, ' she says, 'stopping just a couple steps from Shoko 's desk, 'some of my ribs are fractured. '

Shoko sighs, cracking open her lids. Her gaze lazily surveys Maki 'the hand that 's hovering over her chest, the loose mess of her hair 'before settling on Suguru. Immediately, Shoko straightens with a jolt, almost jerking with the force of it. Her eyes flick between him and Maki. She 's never been the most expressive person, but Suguru can easily read alarm in the lines of her shoulders, and his chest sinks with the cold dread of it. What did his counterpart

do?

'...Fractured ribs? '

'Yeah and they 're painful as fuck so can you, ' Maki makes a vague motion, 'y 'know. '

'Yeah, ' Shoko says, 'rubbing eyes and haphazardly gesturing Maki over. 'Sure, just 'come over here. Why 's Geto here? '

'Fractured wrist, ' he offers, 'maybe broken. And a sprained ankle. '

A half best.

'You

walked

here on a sprained ankle? ' Shoko presses her fingers into Maki 's neck. The effect is almost immediate 'Maki 's whole form relaxes, hand dropping from her chest, posture becoming more natural.

Suguru shrugs, lifting himself from the doorframe and half-limping across the room. 'So? '

Shoko groans, withdrawing her hands and waving Maki to the side. Suguru takes her place. 'What do you mean

so?

'

'It doesn 't matter, ' Suguru says, eyeing the way Shoko 's hands abruptly hesitate over his skin, 'I didn 't feel like ' '

Shoko 's 'skin finally presses against his own, and her touch is as it always is: cold and smooth and careful, if not gentle. Reverse cursed technique multiplies for positive energy, and Shoko controls it flawlessly. It 's warm and soft when it flows through him, familiar and reassuring as hojicha on a cold wet day and his mother 's fingers through his hair, and Suguru presses into the touch before he 's realized it. The pain in his ankle fades entirely, and the throbbing ache of his wrist leaves with one final pulse, warmth lingering in the flesh.

The touch 'drops. 'How 'd all, ' she makes a vague motion to them both, 'that happen, anyway? '

'Just a friendly spar, ' Suguru says, hand reaching up to fiddle with his piercing, and only catching himself halfway through the movement. He shoved the hand back to his side. He didn 't lie, exactly. Probably.

'A...friendly spar, ' she says, flatly. Her gaze turns to Maki. Ouch.

Maki shrugs. 'We sparred. '

Shoko 's brows 'rise. '

Friendly

sparred? '

Maki makes a face, but shrugs. Shoko 's eyes flick to Suguru. Helpfully, he matches the shrug. This is, apparently, enough for her to groan and give up. 'Fine, fine. Whatever. Get out of here. '

'Yeah yeah, I 've got better things to do anyway! ' Maki waves laxly and leaves just like that.

Suguru hesitates a moment, two, and stays.

'What? '

'Ah, ' he shifts weight onto his newly healed ankle. Runs his tongue along his teeth, hard enough to hurt. The infirmary is always cold, although not so much as the morgue, and it raises goosebumps on his skin. 'I have a request? '

She sighs, deep and exhausted, and guilt pricks uncomfortably at Suguru 's fingertips. Or maybe that 's just the tingling return of proper blood flow. 'What? '

'I passed by my room 'my old room, earlier, ' he says, and it feels too loud against the quiet, 'it was locked. And so is the filing room. So. '

'You want me to get the key, ' she says.

'Yeah. '

A beat.

'Okay, ' she says, and her tone is still so

tired

. Shoko rises from her chair like a ghost, pale and skeletal. Suguru 's own eye bags have noticeably faded even after only these couple days in the future, without missions or work at all, but hers seem like a permanent, innate thing. They 're not, he knows; she barely had them in first year, and they grew in tandem with her smoking issue towards the start of third. 'Let 's go. '

'That easy? ' Suguru hurries a couple steps to follow her brisk pace.

She snorts. 'You 're only asking because it 's the easiest way. If I declined, you 'd just find a way to bypass security on the 'filing room, right? '

'Probably, ' he admits.

'So I 'm saving us all some trouble. Yaga 'd 'get a migraine if he had to repair a newly-installed security system on top of everything else. '

'On second thought, ' Suguru mutters without really meaning to, 'maybe I

should

just break in. '

There 's an irregular gap in her footsteps 'almost a falter, but not quite. When Suguru refocuses his attention on her, she 's still walking brisky. Their steps echo coldly in the deep underground halls.

Finally: ' 'Got something against him? '

'If you 're trying to be casual, you 're doing a terrible job. '

'And you 're avoiding, ' she responds without missing a beat, and when he doesn 't reply, she lets out a breath that could be a sigh. Then, quiet and 'under-the-breath in a way that means he probably isn 't supposed to hear: 'Why do I even bother... '

Guilt.

'It 's not like he 's even come to see us 'or at least, me, ' Suguru mutters, shoving a hand in his pocket and tucking hair out of his face. He locks his jaw and glares at a wall, and his cursed energy roils with his mood. He feels it, coiling and snappish, hard to control. 'Eleven years apparently hasn 't changed that all he ever does is

look away

. '

'I mean, ' Shoko says, then stops. Doesn 't continue. Of course.

They stop outside an old metal door. There 's a card-slot. That 's new, and also the only reason Suguru didn 't pick the lock yesterday.

'Who convinced the higher ups to update the security on this thing anyway? '

'Satoru. ' There 's a faint click, and the door unlocks. She slips the card back into her pocket, and presses her hands against the metal. Steps in without looking to make sure Suguru follows. He does.

Dust is the first thing that hits him. 'The whole room is dim and gloomy. It 's one of Jujutsu Tech 's older rooms, lit with caged onibi. Their blue glow produces an eerie effect against the rows of gray metal filing cabinets. It 's a small, cramped room that borders on being claustrophobic. In it, all the college 's records are stored. The room is sorted every decade, irrelevant documents discarded, and important ones 'student files, graduation records, special incident reports 'are stored away into the archives, kept indefinitely.

Also in this room is kept keys to every dorm room.

Shoko is already opening the key drawer. 'You sure you want it? '

He raises a brow. 'Is there a reason I shouldn 't? '

Something gleams brass between her fingers. She still hasn 't closed the cabinet. 'There 's not much to see. '

He sticks out his hand, and tries to ignore the coldness that bites his fingertips. It 's

his

room. There 's nothing to be afraid of, nothing he should be

dreading

. 'I 'll make that judgment myself. '

Silently, she drops the cold brass key into his open palm, and the rough metal clunk of the drawer sliding back into place echoes in his ears even as the filing room 's door closes behind them.

-

Despite now possessing the key, Suguru doesn 't go immediately to his dorm room. It weighs heavy in his pocket, burning through the fabric of his pants, but before making use of it, he eats lunch with Satoru. Laughs at Satoru 's recounting of a recent mission. Wanders around. Takes a shower.

It 's late afternoon by the time he finds himself walking up down the 'hallways, traveling a familiar route to the building 's far corner. To his room. He stands there for a moment, staring at the plain unmarked door and dull brass knob. Presses his jaw tight, and slips the key into the lock. Pulls open the door.

Inside...it looks just like it always does. Just like the room Suguru left behind.

Nothing is cleared. The bed has the same blankets, the same books are on his shelf, no new souvenirs decorate the dresser.

Surprise fails to 'rise in Suguru 's mind. On his first night here, Shoko said he and Satoru were from shortly before

'

something. Shortly before. Something. Not death, because his counterpart died last year, and after death, student 's rooms are always cleared. But Suguru 's isn 't. This 'this looks like the room of someone that was expected to come back. Someone that was hoped to come back.

Suguru steps past the threshold with heavy feet. Dust tickles his nose, thick and itching. The air is stale. The door clicks softly shut behind him. It 's dim in here, lit only by 'light filtering through the large bedside window. Outside, the blue sky from earlier has clouded over, and everything is dusted a little gray as consequence.

He breathes in a shaky breath. Walks to his desk. Opens the drawers. Everything is there, but not in order. Like someone dig through it and put it back together wrong. The bookshelves are the same. 'Who rummaged around here? What were they looking for? He thumbs the spine of a book 'the one he 's reading right now, actually. Takes it off the shelf. Flips the old pages. Stops at the bookmark. It 's only thirty pages further than he last left it.

Soon

.

Bile edges the back of his throat. He puts the book back. Everything is too old, too stuffy, too dusty. He crosses the room to the window. It takes some effort to wretch the old thing up, and he almost stumbles at the sudden give, but it shoves up with a nasty grating sound. Before-rain scent wafts in, sweet and fresh. He breathes in, and out. Flops on the bed, stifles a cough at the dust that springs up, and closes his eyes.

Soon, soon, soon

.

Now, what could he have

possibly

done for his room to be left abandoned like this, but him to only die last year?

Hah.

Suguru stares into the darkness of his eyelids, and tries fruitlessly not to listen to the chattering hum of his own cursed energy. Of all the curses within it. All the warped, grotesque reflections of his will. Maki '

There 's a sudden slam. A familiar noise. Suguru groans and cracks open his eyes.

'I

told

you to stop slamming my door open. '

'Yeah whatever, ' Satoru says, 'pausing in the door frame and lifting his opaque glasses for a moment. His eyes flick around. His lips press thin. The glasses drop back. His fingers twitch, flexing and unflexing. Suguru 's chest clenches tightly, and for a moment, all he wants to do is hold Satoru 's hands between his and tell him not to worry, but he doesn 't. A beat, two, and Satoru sighs, loud and obnoxious. 'Older-me lied about you dying last year, huh? '

'No, ' Suguru says, 'he wasn 't lying. '

Satoru 's face scrunches. 'This is literally like, your current room. '

'Yeah, ' Suguru shifts to the side of the bed, making room, 'but if I died way back then 'or like, soon, you know, my room would just be cleared like dead student dorms always are. '

Satoru closes the door behind himself, haphazardly flings off his shoes, and flops onto the bed next to Suguru. The mattress bounces. 'I dunno, ' Satoru says, head half buried into a pillow. He shifts, turning to face Suguru. 'Maybe I just never allowed it to be cleared. '

'Maybe. '

'Ughhhhhhh. '

Suguru snickers. Satoru makes a face. 'I still don 't think older-you was lying, though. '

'Yeah? '

'Yeah, ' Suguru says, 'You 're a shit liar. I 'd be able to tell. '

'Excuse

you

, ' Satoru says, face scrunching again.

'Your posture always straightens out, ' Suguru says, 'and you

always

smile, or if not, your face goes stiff. And your fingers twitch. '

A beat, two.

'Oh, ' Satoru says, 'really? '

'You have a lot of tells, ' Suguru says. 'You 're aware of the hand one, though, or at least future-you is. He shoves his hands in his pockets to avoid showing it once he notices he 's doing it, but he hasn 't been able to stop the habit. ' Pause. Suguru 's gaze wanders the dimly lit room. 'But when he told us 'my counterpart died last year ' ' fingers pressed white around the pen, lips pressed thin, 'he wasn 't lying. Just upset. '

'Seriously? ' Satoru 's voice is a mutter. Then, 'Man, this sucks. '

'What, you 'd rather my counterpart

did

die in high school? '

'What? ' Satoru scowls at him, lifting up from the mattress, just a little. 'Are you stupid? Of course not. '

Suguru pauses. 'That was a bad joke, ' he admits, 'sorry. What sucks? '

'Everything! All this stupid shit! That you 're dead at all! ' 'Satoru drops fully back down to the mattress, pale cheek pressing into the black blankets, knees drawing up and bumping with Suguru 's.

'Oh. ' Suguru 's lips quirk. 'You said that before, too. '

'It 's

true

. '

Breeze wafts in from the open window, fresh and sweet like summer leaves and autumn soil. Satoru looks softer, in this cloudy lighting. It sands his sharp edges and dusts his colors into something more pastel. The black of his uniform shades gray, and the snowy white of his hair becomes less stark. Even the worried line of his frown looks soft like this. His lips are dried-rose pink.

And Suguru wants simultaneously to hold him close and push him away. 'Because, because '

Maki met his counterpart, and she hated him. Because Suguru knows how close he was, is, to the edge. Because this room is untouched, because this is the room of someone that was expected to come back. That was

hoped

to come back. Because Gojo is still upset over Suguru 's counterpart. Because Suguru told Itadori that Satoru 's weakness is other people, but Suguru doesn 't want to be Satoru 's weakness.

Suguru doesn 't want to be Satoru 's weakness. He doesn 't want, he doesn 't want, he,

'I want to be alone, ' Suguru mutters, quiet, words feeling too large for his mouth. 'Go away. '

'What? '

'I want you to go away, ' Suguru says, not looking at Satoru 's face and settling on the window, instead. Outside, the sky is gray and stormy. It 's sprinkling. Small, soundless drops of water slick Suguru 's windowsill.

A beat, two. Suguru listens to his heartbeat, and Satoru 's breaths, and the rustle of leaves through the open window.

'Too bad, ' Satoru finally says, and Suguru hears 'the shift of fabric against fabric when Satoru presses himself harder into Suguru 's bed. 'I 'm not leaving. '

It feels like first year again, almost. Suguru picked this room because it was on the opposite side of the dorm from Satoru 's in order to minimize contact with him. This backfired, later, when Satoru would press himself into Suguru 's bed and refuse to leave because

my room is so far away, you 're not gonna make me walk all the way there, are you? You jerk!

Although, by that time, Suguru no longer minded. They would fall asleep atop Suguru 's blankets, listening to the creak of the walls and rain against the roof. It would remind Suguru of his first home, the house of his childhood. Mostly, that was a comfort.

'Satoru, ' Suguru says, and the tightness of his throat is painful, '

go away

. '

He just needs 'needs time to think. Alone. There 's a picture in the back of his mind, a half complete puzzle. And despite himself, even though he doesn 't want to, Suguru keeps adding to it. So it 's too painful, being with Satoru right now, like this.

But Satoru ' 'No. '

Frustration blooms behind Suguru 's teeth. 'Go away! '

'No! '

It feels childish, it

is

childish, but they 're allowed to be childish sometimes, right? Shouldn 't they be?

'

Yes!

'

'

No!

'

'Oh

fuck you

, ' Suguru snaps, drawing his knee up and shoving it into the tender area below Satoru 's ribs. The other boy yelps, falling off the side of the bed. There 's a loud thump, and '

'

Ow!

Shit, what the fuck, Suguru!? '

'I ' ' his frustration hasn 't dissipated, and he wants to tell Satoru to get out, again, because boundaries are important and Suguru said he wants to be

alone

even if that 's only half the story, but there 's a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, splintered shock and hints of fear. Like breaking a cup as a child. And when he moves across the bed and looks over the edge, looks at Satoru on the floor, hand clutched against his stomach, what ends up coming out is ' 'Why didn 't you turn on your infinity? '

Satoru 'squints at him. 'I don 't fucking know, ' he says, 'You 're...you. '

God fucking dammit. Suguru

doesn 't want

to be Satoru 's weakness.

The frustration doesn 't leave, but the prickling irritation, the

anger '

that drains. Its absence leaves Suguru hollowed. His chest is so tight. 'Sorry, ' he mutters, stretching out a hand, 'are you okay? '

'Still hurts, ' Satoru grasps Suguru 's hand, 'but whatever. It 's fine. '

Suguru pulls him up, cold skin against cold skin, and Satoru settles back into place. He doesn 't let go of Suguru 's hand. 'Their pulses beat against one another. Stormy light splays lazily over the floor, the walls, edges all hazy. Satoru 's glasses gleam dully.

'Hey, ' Suguru says, voice sounding too small against the rustling of leaves and hollowness of the room, 'can you take off your glasses? '

'Huh? Sure. ' Satoru uses his free hand to shove off his glasses, haphazardly discarding them on the bedside table. His eyelids are closed, but they blink once, twice, and then his eyes are properly open.

Just like the first time he saw them, Suguru feels punched in the gut. It 's unfair to describe Satoru 's eyes as sky blue; it makes them too flat. More accurate would be

all of the ocean, all at once

, or:

a blue galaxy

. His eyes are multilayered, made of reflections and refractions, fragmented shades of blue. Honed. Intense. Unlike every other part of him, his eyes are not softened in the cloudy lighting, they remain severe as ever, bright and sharp as the edge of shattered glass.

These are the eyes that mark Satoru a human weapon.

'Yes yes, ' Satoru says, eyes rolling, 'pretty, I know. I 'm so pretty, I know. '

Towards the start of first year, after a particularly nasty fight, Suguru had finally snapped and dropped all tact. Had callously told Satoru that his position as a human weapon 'groomed for it the moment he opened his damn eyes 'was a

blessing

. Suguru said Satoru should be happy about it, that he had the ability to save so many people. Even though Satoru never had a choice, still doesn 't have a choice.

'...Suguru? '

And eleven years in the future, Satoru is still

here

, still at this fucking hell-school, still running the marathon of shamanism, still acting his part as the human weapon he was made into. Because it 's Gojo Satoru 's job to be Atlas, to hold up the sky, but Satoru isn 't a god and the sky isn 't a holdable thing.

'Hey? Hello? Suguru? '

The rain slicking Suguru 's windowsill begins to spill over. It 's no longer just a sprinkle. Above them, the roof

tap-tap-taps

with droplets. The sky isn 't a holdable thing, it 's liquid, it 's storms and rain. Satoru can shield himself with his infinity, can try to extend his umbrella to others and delay the inevitable, but Suguru can 't. Suguru is drowning. He wants the storm to

end

, he wants to end the storm. He '

'Suguru I 'm gonna

bite you

. '

Suguru scowls. 'If you bite me I 'll

lick you

. '

Satoru grins victoriously, all smug and arrogant and happy. Like he should be. 'Yeah right. No you won 't. '

'Oh yeah? ' Suguru raises a brow. 'Fucking watch me. ' And he pulls on their intertwined hands, jerking Satoru closer. As

if

Suguru wouldn 't. He darts forward and licks Satoru, right across the face. Satoru makes a pathetic high pitched noise in the back of his throat. Hah. 'Not so confident now, huh? '

Satoru 's cursed energy lingers on his tongue, all iced-cucumber isolation and rotten-strawberry anger. Satoru.

'I ' ' Satoru 's head stuffs into the pillow. His free hand frantically wipes at his cheek. 'That 's so gross! You 're gross! Hey, no 'stop

laughing!

'

Suguru holds back another snicker. His lips tremble with the effort. 'I 'm not laughing, ' he says, and manages to hold out maybe two more seconds before a wheezing noise escapes his mouth and he chokes on a laugh. And then another, and another, until his face starts hurting because

seriously

.

'

Stop! Suguru!

' He doesn 't stop laughing. Satoru's whole face twists with something that 's not quite embarrassment, but is ' 'fine! Fine! You wanna be like that, huh? You think you 're

s

o-

o

funny! Well ' ' and now it 's Satoru pulling him close, and it 's Satoru 's mouth against Suguru 's skin, and because Satoru is never one to be outdone, he leaves wet trails of saliva on both of Suguru 's cheeks, and his forehead, and his jaw, and his

eyelids

, and '

Suguru pushes Satoru away. 'What are you a

dog?

' But he can 't quite manage to sound irritated, with the way his voice is all breathy and laughter still shakes his shoulders.

'You started it! '

There 's a pink dusting on Satoru 's pale skin, a soft dried-rose color, matching the shade of his lips, and Suguru 's heart feels so full. They 've spent countless night together on this very bed, talking, playing games, doing homework, and 'memories spill out on the blanket between them. This intimacy is warm and familiar and easy to slip into, even after all these months spent mostly apart. Suguru 's chest is knotted and his throat is tight, but not necessarily in the bad way, and he 's so, so happy.

Ah

, he thinks,

I love you; I am in love with you

.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

It 's not

fair

, he thinks, happiness cracking in two. None of this is fair, none of this has ever been fair. He thinks, briefly, of Fushiguro. Thinks of Itadori. Thinks of Maki. Thinks of

Riko

.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

'I think, ' Suguru says, voice thick, 'that you 're kinder than you get credit for. '

It 's just who you are.

'What? ' Satoru 's expression furrows with confusion, puzzlement. And yes, it 's a completely abrupt topic of conversation, but Suguru hates that tone of genuine bemusement. 'Suguru? What ' '

'You 're kinder than you think you are, too, ' he tells him, and clutches Satoru 's hand like a lifeline. His eyes prick. 'You 're so kind, Satoru. '

You 're just that type of person.

Satoru just

is

kind. Whereas Suguru makes a conscious effort to be good, to be

right

, to be

correct

, and sometimes that overlaps with kindness, Satoru is just kind. He doesn 't spend sleepless nights agonizing over

the right thing to do

, and

the correct moral framework

, and all that manner of ethical things. He just ' he 's kind. Does that make him

good?

Maybe. Does it make him

right?

No. But the fact remains that he 's

kind

, that he 's just that type of person.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

It 's not fair, Suguru thinks, again, looking at this old, dusty room. It 's not fair. They 're not fair. This world isn 't fair.

Satoru still hasn 't responded. His eyes are flicking around uncertainly, and his fingers are twitching around Suguru 's knuckles.

That 's okay. Suguru can do all the talking.

'Honestly, ' he says, 'I 'm glad you 're the one who 's still alive. '

Satoru jerks like he 's been shocked, eyes honing in on Suguru 's face, grip tightening almost painfully. 'Don 't

say

that. '

'But it 's true, ' 'Suguru says, even though really, probably, he should stop talking. 'If only one of us could live, it should always be you. ' If only one person in the whole world could live, it should always be you, too. If one of us has to die, it should always be me. If one of us has to dirty their hands for the sake of the other, it should always be me, too. And if one of us has to kill ' 'You know? '

'

No

, ' Satoru says, and the force of it is startling. '

No

, no I don 't fucking 'what are you

on?

Neither of us has to 'we can

both

live. '

A beat, two.

'...Maybe, ' Suguru says, murmurs, really. It 'd be nice. 'Maybe. '

'Not

maybe

. '

Suguru 'stays silent. His eyes wander the abandoned room. (Someone hoped he 'd come back.) Rainwater is steadily dribbling from the windowsill to the floor. Satoru 's grip tightens painfully, and their knees knock together, and when Suguru 's gaze returns to Satoru 's face, he 's glaring at him. All angry and determined with his bright, human-weapon eyes.

Suguru could just agree, save them both the trouble, but he really, really doesn 't want to lie to Satoru. Not ever, but especially not now. Suguru is still uncertain, still doesn 't know what 's right. He doesn 't have to share the fate of his counterpart.

Maybe is better than

no

, Suguru wants to tell him, but doesn 't. Instead, he presses the tip of his forehead into Satoru 's, closes his eyes, and sighs.

'I 'm tired, ' he 'says.

A beat.

'...

Fine

, ' Satoru spits, and it 's not agreement, merely acknowledgment that Suguru won 't continue this conversation. Suguru tries not to pay it mind.

He wants, desperately, achingly, to slot their bodies together. To press himself into the ridges of Satoru 's form, and stay there until he can 't tell where he ends and Satoru begins. Wants to feel Satoru 's warmth against every one of his edges, wants their pulses to beat 'in tandem and their breaths to match. Wants to love him freely, wants, wants, wants,

I love you I love you I love you

Suguru 's heart aches.

(It 's not fair; it never has been.)