Satoru threw a stone into a lake, once. Watching as the water rippled across the once calm surface. A tranquil peace shattered. He found it interesting, back then. When he was a brat and everything was new and shiny.

This? This was precisely that.

He could feel the shimmering curse energy spark. His words lighting it into a flame. The curse 's blinks have gone disrupted, it doesn 't blink at all. Instead, it stares and stares. Its rhythmic breathing has also ceased. Becoming a thing of the past as it stills completely.

Satoru thinks the wall has been cracked. The tranquil surface of the water was disrupted. And what is before him now are the ripples. The stone he casted is now sinking in and letting him take a peek at what is below the surface.

It stares and stares. It is something unsettling and passionate. Practically confirming for him the answer to the question.

He can see the answer on the tip of its tongue. A name ready to be called out. But lost between the last breath it took and the one it's taking now.

It blinks again. Its pattern is rattled. Nowhere near as uniformed as before. But it blinks regardless. It 's energy a blaze, now nothing but a spark. Quelled back into silence by its sheer will as it coils beneath the curse 's skin, itching to be let out again.

It is a series of mere moments, Satoru recognizes. Between then and now. Between when the pond rippled and when the stone sank and when it returned to form again.

But during those moments, he thinks that he has gotten his answer.

Normal sorcerers wouldn 't. They can 't see the blinking pattern of a curse, nor would they care for the rhythm of its rising and falling chest. It wasn 't important, curses weren 't alive, after all.

But this one was. Once, a lifetime ago. Like all cursed sorcerers were.

It barks out a laugh. A dry thing that was almost convincing if Satoru didn 't recall how its blinking had gone off kilter.

'You shouldn 't be so curious, sorcerer, ' it says in lieu of an answer.

It is no answer, at all, really. They both know that.

'Are you going to say curiosity killed the cat? ' Satoru replies cheerfully. Leaning against the railing as its legs swing and swing.

'You won 't gain any satisfaction from my answer. ' It sounded confident. So, so sure. 'So don 't even try. '

But, oh, Satoru thinks he wants to regardless.

It is in the way he is Gojo Satoru and the world is under his fingertips.

'Mhm, we 'll see about that, ' Satoru says, still cheerful as can be. 'I 'm the strongest, you know? '

It stares at him for a moment and then barks out a laugh again. It is a much harsher sound, this time. Like nails on a blackboard. Satoru thinks it's the painful kind of laughter. The kind that shakes your frame so that you won 't be able to notice the tremors beneath. The kind that sounds offensive to the ears to distract you from the quiet shakiness of it all underneath the nails and blackboard.

It is a laughter that hides its weakness in plain sight.

'What if I say no? ' the curse hedges.

It stares at Satoru, challenging him to call it out on the lie it just made.

It is a bold face lie. It is blunt and sharp and daring you to question it. It is saying:

Yeah, I 'm going to lie straight to your face, can you do anything about it?

'I 'd say you 're lying, ' Satoru replies. Matching the curse 's gaze.

There is a brief moment in which neither of them speaks. The passing wind the only sound whistling in Satoru 's ears amidst the currents of life beneath them. Regular humans idling their lives, safe and ignorant to the curses that lurk in the shadows.

'And what then, what if I was lying? '

They know that Satoru cannot really force the truth out of it. He cannot force things to speak. He can shape mountains and destroy curses but he can 't quite make them speak if they really, really do not wish to.

'Nothing, I guess, ' Satoru concludes lightly. It 's one thing to take a peek at what is beneath the currents of the still waters, it 's another thing entirely to define its shape and know what makes it tick. It makes him want to dig even further and cast another stone into the faultless waters. 'It 's just- ah, well, you should be careful who you gaze at like that. '

The curse doesn 't blink, it doesn 't say anything at all other than raise a fine eyebrow. It is a practiced motion. Almost noble.

'You look at me like you know me, ' Satoru continues. The curse 's breath hitches quietly. Its rhythm disrupted. As though it is waiting for his next words. It doesn 't glance away from him, though. Its eyes still locked onto his face. 'Like you 're familiar with me. ' He tilts his head slightly. There is a sly grin on his lips. He doesn 't feel nearly as playful.

'Like you care for me. '

The curse 's eyes bleed red. Spinning and spinning.

'But you don 't even know me, ' Satoru says. A faint indignance there. 'But you look at me like you do and you care. '

The curse doesn 't say anything at all. It is a tense silence. It 's eyes are fetching and it gazes at him with that age old familiarity. The one that says decades worth of something but all that 's left now is grief and

why, why, why.

It stares at him like it cares and it makes Satoru feel cared for. Not because he was Gojo Satoru, holder of Six Eyes and Limitless, but because he and it had a

something

that spanned a decade and then some more. Like there was something between them that was built upon years and years of talking and chatting and ribbing and

oh, Satoru, what am I to do with you?

It wasn 't for him, though. It was for someone a lifetime away and now all that 's left is Gojo Satoru standing in that man 's place.

Satoru was- is- the strongest. His shadow looms over the entire jujutsu world and then some.

And yet, here he is, having someone else 's shadow overlap over his own.

It is one thing to have some dead, strange person 's shadow over his own. It is another thing entirely for that dead, strange person to be his ancestor. It makes him feel insulted, somehow. It makes him feel like he was being overcasted by some dead, strange clansmen from centuries ago.

Wherein that dead, strange stranger was the strongest and Gojo Satoru was no one.

Gojo Satoru 's eyes aren't special to this curse. It isn 't the unique singular marvel that it is heralded as. Instead, it is a remnant of a stranger. It is just the nostalgic artifact that once belonged to another. Satoru wonders, briefly, how his eyes compare. Whether it was stronger or weaker. Whether it's shade of blue was brighter or darker than the previous, or whether it was the same, in the end.

He didn 't know which option he liked less.

He wonders if that was why it locked eyes so often with his blindfold. Whether it wanted to seek the same shade of blue.

It looked at him like it cared, like he was a treasure lost, and then found again.

He is the one reflected in its eyes, but it isn 't looking for Gojo Satoru.

'You really shouldn 't get a man 's hopes up, ' Satoru drawls playfully. 'It 's awfully cruel of you. '

He thinks he feels a bit bitter. It is the bitterness that comes with being the strongest and having his shadow eclipsed anyway.

It is the fact that he is being overlooked for some strange, dead man. It is the fact that he is Gojo Satoru but he is being eclipsed by some long dead Gojo that was probably just as strong.

The curse scoffed, almost involuntarily. 'I have standards. '

Satoru doubts it. If it really has standards it would be looking at Satoru instead of searching for a dead man in Satoru 's figure.

But here they both are.

'I think we 're done here for today, sorcerer, ' the curse continues. Its eyes had returned to coal black once more. Mundane and human. It clashed horribly against its white hair. But those were the eyes of a human, nonetheless.

Satoru wonders if this was how it was before. If its white hair and coal eyes are entirely natural.

It stands precariously on the railings of the rooftop before it's figured blurred.

From a faraway building, Satoru thinks he can still make out its features.

It had looked back.

Standards, hah.

What a liar.

Nanamin,

Satoru texts.

What to do if someone sees your dead, probably way uglier and way weaker, ancestor when they look at you?

It takes several minutes of Satoru standing alone on some cold, strange rooftop for Nanami to reply. Satoru would prefer it if Nanami was quicker on his toes. But unfortunately, it was after Nanami 's working hours and the man had a firm

No, I won 't answer your texts, especially yours, after working hours

policy. Fortunately, Satoru knows precisely what kind of texts would garner a response.

And he was right.

What.

Was Nanami 's eloquent reply.