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Chapter Text

Around a month into her stay at Jujutsu High, Maki awoke to a dull ache in her lower abdomen. It was subtle (barely noticeable if she tried hard enough to ignore it), but even despite that, Maki knew exactly what it meant.

“Fuck,” she whispered into the quietness of her dorm room. I’m a whole week early, she observed.

Suddenly alert, Maki tossed her comforter aside and quickly got to her feet. She rummaged through her closet for her uniform, thankful for its dark color, and then wandered out into the hallway. Being the only female student, she had the hallway of girls’ dorms all to herself, which was perfect for a day like this.

In her slippers, she quickly walked to the end of the hall, entering the girls’ bathroom. She changed fast, confirming her suspicions and quickly securing herself for the day.

As she walked back to her room, she silently thanked whatever higher power had accounted for her body’s miscommunication and sent her a mission-free day. All she had to do was get through class.

She could do this. After all, she’d have to get used to it anyway. This wouldn’t be her last time with her cycle on campus.

She took a deep breath, gently rubbing her cramping lower belly. She’s been through this before. 

She’ll be fine.

—

Maki is not fine.

Just an hour into class, her cramps had only amplified. She’s sweating with a hot flash and yet shaking from the pain. Her legs feel weak and are starting to go numb. 

It’s never gotten this bad before, her mind supplied. Nausea rose in her chest, and she quickly swallowed it down.

They were supposed to be taking an exam on domains, and while Panda and Inumaki both seemed to be almost done, Maki had barely finished the first ten questions. Her hand was shaking in her clammy palm. 

Gojo kept glancing at her from his desk at the front of the classroom, where he appeared to be filling out a mission report. He had chosen to wear his sunglasses today, meaning that every time he adjusted his vision towards her, she knew.

Question 12, she read. Which of the following is the domain known to be held by select members of the Gojo clan (aka, your ultra-powerful, super good-looking sensei ;D)?

Maki bit her lip as a particularly strong wave of pain past through her, and she shifted in her chair. She quickly circled c. Unlimited Void before taking a moment to breathe. She pushed her glasses up further on the sweaty bridge of her nose. 

To her left, Inumaki stood up to hand Gojo his test, and the man smiled at him widely, dismissing the light-haired boy with a thumbs up.

After a few more questions, Maki could feel a headache behind her eyes. Sometimes she wished she wasn’t the only girl (it wasn’t like she could just explain to her male teacher what was going on). Besides, after she finished, she could always go to see Ms. Ieiri - she’d know what to do.

Question 20, Maki read. It was the last question. Name the domain used by the king of curses, Ryoumen Sukuna.

On her right, Panda stood from his place to submit his test, as well. Gojo dismissed him, as well, and Panda wished his sensei well as he exited the room.

Maki scratched out a shaky answer, unsure of what she was even writing. She knew that she knew the answer, but she couldn’t remember what it was at the moment. Her brain was all muddled, the pain making her thoughts fuzzy.

On shaky legs, Maki walked her finished test over to Gojo, who regarded her with an uncharacteristically gentle smile. “All done?” He confirmed, holding his hand out.

She handed him the test as she nodded, not daring to open her mouth out of fear that she might throw up. She was starting to feel a little dizzy where she stood.

Gojo placed the paper on his desk, and Maki moved to leave the classroom. Now that she was done, she could just stop by the infirmary, grab some pain medication, and finally lay down in bed-

“Maki?” 

Leave it to Gojo to ruin all of her plans. Typical. Stiffly, Maki turned back around. She felt uncomfortably hot in the remaining specks of summer heat. 

“Yes, sensei?” Maki replied, hoping that her discomfort wasn’t too visible. Her skirt was painfully tight. She should change into pajama pants or something softer.

Gojo eyed her with acute concern. “Are you feeling alright?” He asked, cocking his head to the right slightly. “You’re looking a little pale,” he observed.

Maki swallowed thickly and nodded, shifting her weight slightly as her right leg started going numb with pain. “I’m okay, Gojo.”

With a hint of what appeared to be hesitation, Gojo nodded and relented, bidding her farewell as he, too, stood to leave the room.

—

Knocking on the door to Ms. Ieiri’s main office, Maki was surprised to find it empty - the lights were off completely, and there was no sign of the woman being there.

She tried the infirmary next, and as she approached the door, she noticed a handwritten note on the door: 

Currently on a business trip - will be back in a few days. If urgent, see principal Yaga.

Thanks, 

Ieiri Shoko

Well, crap.

Maki didn’t think her… issues counted as “urgent.” She certainly didn’t feel like explaining anything to the principal, either. As nice as he was, he wasn’t exactly the type of person she wanted to go spilling her womanly secrets to.

Sometimes she wished her sensei was female, like Iori-sensei. Not that Gojo wasn’t a good sensei. He was silly, overconfident, and not the best at explaining things, sure, but he wasn’t a bad sensei. He was great at physical training, and he always treated them to nice meals after missions.

But he wasn’t a woman, and he wouldn’t understand what Maki needed right now. He was immature most of the time, anyway. Who knew how he’d even handle a situation like this?

Maki’s legs were shaking.

She should probably lie down.

The walk back to her dorm was long and slow - she couldn’t go very fast out of fear that she’d collapse altogether, which she’d very much like to avoid. 

The second she made it back, she barely had the common sense to remove her shoes before she plopped down onto her bed and curled up into a tight ball. She hadn’t even changed out of her uniform. 

Her head pounded and spun around in circles like a fish in a tiny pond, and so she weakly released her hair from its ponytail. Her lower abdomen cramped painfully, and where she had been hot before, she was now freezing cold, wrapping herself up in her previously discarded comforter.

Her uniform was itchy and uncomfortable against her over sensitive skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She let out a small groan. She should remove her glasses before they break.

Slowly, she raised a shaking hand to take them off and place them onto the nightstand. She retracted her hand and wrapped both of her arms around her stomach. 

She’d never had cramps this intense before. Not only that, but her whole body was ablaze with pain and a shaky weakness that she couldn’t quite describe. Maki was miserable.

As much as she hated admitting her pain, she had always been a dreadful sick person, craving attention and human interaction. She hated being alone when she felt like this.

Closing her eyes, Maki allowed the pain to wash over her. She let out another small moan, shivering with coldness. Of all times for Ms. Ieiri to be away…

After ten minutes of quiet struggling, Maki was taken by unconsciousness.

—

By the time she awoke, Maki had barely slept. She’d been trapped in a fitful state of half-sleep, hugging her throbbing lower belly pitifully. She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt so restless.

Tears sprung to Maki’s eyes pathetically as the pain overwhelmed her entirely. She needed to get out of her uniform, now sticking to her skin with dried sweat.

…She should probably get help. 

But with Ms. Ieiri away on business… its not like she could go to her classmates, and she hardly knew the principal…

Slowly, Maki sat up, bracing herself against the nausea that threatened to expel her stomach. After putting in her glasses, she leaned against her desk as she reached over to her closet, sluggishly procuring some more suitable clothes. 

The pain was slowly subsiding to a slightly more tolerable level, and so Maki walked tiredly to the bathroom again to change. Each tiny shift of movement sent a spike of pain through her again, causing her to wince. It took her five whole minutes to change. 

Once she was done, she took a look in the mirror above the counter full of sinks. Her face was pale and greasy with old sweat, her eyes glassy with discomfort. There were bags under her eyes, and her hair was disgusting and unwashed.

She was starting to see why Gojo was so concerned about her. If she was being honest… she looked terrible.

After a few moments, Maki turned on the sink and washed her face, hoping that maybe she’d feel at least a little better, but all it did was wash away the greasiness and wake her up a little. It did nothing for the pain or the numbness.

She sighed as she brought her dirty clothes back to her dorm - she’d definitely have to wash her uniform later. 

For a solid two minutes, Maki stood leaning against her door in a staring match with her bed, contemplating whether it was worth it to go look for help or if she should just crawl under the covers to die alone. 

It was only after a particularly sharp cramp twisted through her, bringing tears to her eyes, that she decided that she didn’t want to be alone any longer. Her miserable state had her sniffling with sobs now, and Maki would’ve felt embarrassed if not for how utterly miserable and exhausted she was.

She wished Ms. Ieiri we’re here, or at least any other woman. Unfortunately, Jujutsu sorcery was a highly male-dominated profession. She’d just have to go to the least… embarrassing option.

Surely, Gojo-sensei has had female students before. She can’t be the first student he’s had who’s struggled like this… right?

Fuck it, Maki told herself, wiping the tears from her eyes and glasses as she swung the door open. One arm by her eyes and the other around her aching middle, she made the (painfully) long trek to the staff offices.

She’d been in Gojo’s office before. It was a nice room, painted in a soft off-white color. There was a desk and file cabinets in one corner and a brown couch on the other side of the room across from it facing a coffee table. Maki had noticed early on that Gojo’s windows were surrounded by black-out curtains (she didn’t know why, but it probably had something to do with the fact that he always covered his eyes). Contrary to his personality, Gojo’s office was actually fairly tidy.

Maki’s hand hovered over the door. She didn’t know why she hesitated to knock considering that he probably could already tell that she was there, but she still felt reluctant.

How does she explain to her teacher, a man, that she is pathetic and doesn’t want to be alone because she’s high on hormones and pain from the cramping in her stomach?

With a shaky hand, Maki knocked.

“Come in!” Gojo called, his voice its normal, pleasant self. Maki would never admit how much better if made her feel to hear a familiar voice.

Sniffling around another tear, Maki opened the door with a trembling hand, ignoring another violent stab of pain rushing through her abdomen and her back. Her legs shook slightly as she entered.

“Maki! What’s up?” Gojo was smiling, looking over at her from where he’d been at his desk, writing on something Maki couldn’t see. His smile faded the moment he saw her - hair down, face pale flushed with pain, one arm clutching her cramping belly, and eyes glassy and wet.

His protective instinct must have kicked in, because he wasted no time in standing and crossing the room to her. His eyebrows creased as he made his way over. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Maki immediately felt guilty as another wave of pain and embarrassment flooded through her, opening the floodgates yet again and sending tears rolling down her cheeks.

Gojo startled a little, flinching back slightly as the girl erupted into sobs. Everything just hurt so much. Maki could hardly stand.

I’ve made Gojo worry about all of this. He probably thinks it’s something serious, her brain told her. Stupid hormones.

He had his hand on her forehead, feeling for fever as his eyes scanned for injuries or causes of pain. Maki’s chest twisted as she realized that Gojo, normally a silly, non-serious, honestly childish man, was making his best effort to help her in her time of need.

It was possibly the first time any adult had cared this much about her well-being.

“You don’t feel warm…” he told her, his eyes locked with hers as he reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. He gestured for permission before helping her wipe her face. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

It was possibly the first time Maki had seen the man so serious, but not the first time he’d been gentle. She might have laughed if she didn’t feel so nauseous. A harsh lick of pain gripped at her, and she winced a little.

“G-gojo?” She stuttered out as she heard him close the door to his office. 

“What is it, kid?” He urged, his voice low and soft. He was gently pushing her to the couch, and she sat down, silently praying that she wouldn’t end up staining it.

“I-“ Maki’s voice stopped, and she suddenly felt as though she didn’t know what to say. It was embarrassing enough that she was a physical and emotional wreck in front of him, let alone the reason why. Periods were taboo in the Zen’in clan - they were to stay private, and only if help was absolutely necessary was she to go to a clan member, and that clan member was to be strictly female.

She cursed herself for being so weak and giving into her pain so easily as to demand help from her teacher. Its just that they’d never been this bad before, and she absolutely hated being alone when she felt so bad. 

She spoke as quietly as she could, almost whispering. “M-my cramps are really bad this month.” 

Maki prayed that he got the message without her having to explain further. She barely looked him in the eyes as she saw him process her words. 

“Ah,” he responded, nodding. He walked over to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle of water and a small white pill bottle. He shook out two, handing both to her along with the water.

What? Maki thought, confused. Wasn’t he weirded out by this? Wasn’t he going to ask why she didn’t just “suck it up, it can’t be that bad” because she was just “being dramatic” and it would all go away in a few hours?

With clammy hands, she took both pills with water, taking a few extra sips. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she’d had something to drink. It landed in her stomach weirdly, but she knew she should drink it. 

He grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch. “Why don’t you take your shoes off and lie down?” He suggested, and she nodded tiredly, doing both as slowly and painlessly as she could. She felt a stab of guilt in her chest at the prospect of wasting his time.

As soon as she was horizontal, she curled up, and he draped the blanket over her shivering body. The blanket was soft and smelled like him, making her wonder distantly how many times he’d fallen asleep in his office.

“You know,” he said, not unkindly, and Maki was ready for him to berate her. “It might hurt a little less if you don’t curl up so tightly,” he told her.

It wasn’t what she was expecting, but she did it regardless. The medicine had yet to kick in, and so her body was still aching and cramping up. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders a little tighter. She was freezing.

Gojo knelt down so that he was closer to her eye level, and he gently removed her glasses from her nose. He drew the curtains, engulfing the room in darkness, which helped to lessen her headache a little. How does he know exactly what to do? Maki thought. I thought he was gay… or at the very least single!

“I’ll be right back. Will you be okay on your own for a minute or two?” He asked, eyebrows still creased with worry. Maki nodded a little before she groaned as a particularly powerful wave of agony tore through her. Bile rose in her throat, and she was suddenly in a heat wave.

Maki gagged and sat up, and her teacher was quick on his feet as he reached for the empty trash can beneath his desk. He shoved it quickly under her chin as she retched up bile. She hadn’t eaten today, which made it so much more painful. Each retch sent a new stab of pain through her cramping lower abdomen. 

There was a warm hand on her back, holding her weak body steady as she hunched over the waste bin. Gojo was quiet, occasionally muttering out a tiny “you’re okay,” or “it’s alright.” Even if he’d said nothing, his presence alone was enough to make her feel even the tiniest better.

Even if it was embarrassing, she found mind eased at the thought that Gojo was there to help her. 

It was better than suffering alone.

After a few minutes, she seemed to have calmed down, and her sensei took the trash from her. He gently helped her lay back down, her head resting on a pillow he’d just placed on the arm of the couch. 

Now that the nausea was gone, Maki was shivering with cold again, and Gojo pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders. The vomiting had left her feeling completely drained, but at least it had lessened the pain a little.

Gojo handed her another tissue to wipe her face with, and then he stood and picked up the trash can. “Drink some water, please,” he instructed. “I promise I’ll be back in a moment.”

Maki did as told, watching him leave the room as she sipped on the bottle of water, the taste of bile swishing around in her mouth. 

A painful moment later, Gojo returned holding a few different items. Firstly, he handed Maki a towel-wrapped heating pad, which she carefully situated over her cramping abdomen. She was in light shock at the fact that he even knew to get one of those.

Gojo also placed a bottle of red Gatorade on the coffee table, as well as a box of thin crackers. “You don’t have to eat right away but the electrolytes are important since you threw up,” he said intelligently. Sometimes Maki forgot that her sensei was a literal prodigy and genius - or maybe he was just experienced. Maki couldn’t tell the difference.

Gojo’s exposed eyes were glowing blue in the dark room, and Maki found it comforting that she could tell where he was. She took a small sip of the Gatorade, thankful for its taste washing out the sourness of the bile she’d expelled earlier.

Her eyes felt heavy, and she let them fall shut, her previously stiff breathing evening out a little bit more.

“Gojo,” she whispered into the dark room. He replied with a small hum, he himself sounding tired as the sound of a scratching pencil filled the quietness.

“Th-thanks,” Maki said quietly, listening as the pencil sounds faded and Gojo went quiet. She fell asleep before she could hear his reply, but she knew for a fact that he was smiling. 

Despite all that she teased him, he was really the greatest sensei Maki could ask for. He made the whole group feel welcome - even the only girl on the team.

Later, she’d find out that Megumi had a sister, and suddenly everything would make more sense.

Chapter Text

Toge had a sore throat.

Granted, that wasn’t unusual for him considering his technique. He often woke up after missions to find that he could hardly speak even if he wanted to. Today, however, felt different.

It wasn’t just a sore throat that was ailing Toge today. 

He’d noticed it about halfway through class - the heaviness in his limbs, the swirling of his stomach, the relentless pounding in his head. It had been a long time since he’d gotten seriously sick, and so he almost hadn’t noticed it at first. Gojo was babbling, which wasn’t doing anything for his headache.

“-and that’s why we need veils!” Gojo’s voice faded into Toge’s awareness as the world came back into focus. Toge hadn’t picked up on whatever anecdote he’d gotten lost in.

Maki scoffed. “How does that even remotely relate to reversed cursed technique?” She questioned, an eyebrow raised. Yuta seemed confused, as well.

“I mean… he mentioned Ms. Ieiri?” Panda attempted, shrugging. 

Gojo looked offended. “It shouldn’t matter how relevant they are! Don’t you all like to listen to my amazing stories-?”

“No.”

“Nah.”

“Not particularly…”

That last response was definitely Yuta’s, but Toge couldn’t distinguish between the other two. His head was hurting too much, the sounds around him slightly muffled, sounding as if they were underwater.

Someone nudged him in the arm. “What do you think, Toge?” It was Yuta, asking him what he thought. Obviously, Toge had no valid answer. He hadn’t been paying attention.

He decided on a shrug - it was neutral enough, and didn’t require him any more effort than he had available. Hopefully, that would suffice. His throat burned as he swallowed. 

“Don’t drag Toge into this,” Panda told them. “He can’t tell you what he thinks even if he wanted to!”

Toge would never admit how much that statement stung - he knew Panda didn’t mean to be rude. If he could, he’d tell them everything. He had so much to tell, but just no way to communicate it without potentially destroying an entire nation. It was unfair, really.

Toge really hated his cursed technique, sometimes. It was all part of being a Jujutsu sorcerer, he supposed. Nobody really enjoyed their technique, not even Gojo (who Toge had found passed out in his office high on painkillers a few too many times), but it was their job to learn how to use them.

Gojo halted the conversation, resuming the lesson. Toge continued to zone out, only taking in about half of Gojo’s words. He just couldn’t focus over the pounding in his swirling head or the waves in his stomach.

He wanted nothing more than to just go back to his room to sleep, but he knew that he should at least try to get through class, first. There were only a few minutes left, anyway.

“Let’s finish a few minutes early, today,” Gojo informed them. Toge smiled a little and relaxed at the prospect of his bed. He couldn’t remember the last time his body had felt so weak. “This way, we have time to get in some last-minute training before the exchange event next week!”

Immediately, Toge’s entire body deflated. He didn’t think he could walk, let alone train in his current condition. Well, he’d just have to suck it up and try to get through it. After all, as Gojo had said, the exchange event was next week - the whole group needed practice. 

Hopefully, this wouldn’t end too terribly.

—

This was a bad idea.

A very, very bad idea.

Maki was coming at him with attacks that he’d never seen her use before. She was handy with her weapon as Toge fumbled, struggling to get a grip with the way his head spun. 

Gasping for breath, Toge decided to just keep dodging. If he couldn’t land a hit, at least he could avoid them. That plan wasn’t proving very effective, as his feet were hardly cooperating with him. He stumbled and almost fell to the gymnasium floor after he tripped over his own feet.

“Get a grip, Toge!” Maki shouted as she advanced on him, her weapon going for a jab at his side as he stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding the tip of her polearm. 

I’m trying! He wants to say, but he knows that the second the words are willed into existence, he’ll lose control over himself. He sticks to dodging and stumbling, trying to ignore the blurriness of the room.

To the right of them, in the other half of the gym, Yuta and Panda were sparring, and it sounded like Yuta had the upper hand, as Toge would expect from a special grade. Yuta had always been more skilled with a blade than he’d ever given himself credit for.

Toge wielded his own weapon, though it felt uncomfortable in his hands. He was used to wielding words, not sharp blades of iron. He came to the conclusion that he liked the words a whole lot better.

Gojo was surveying from different places around the gym, walking around as he watched both matches carefully, waiting to see which would burn out first and reveal its victor. It was looking like Maki and Yuta would come out on top.

It wasn’t that Toge and Panda weren’t good in a fight. Toge was a grade two, for crying out loud! It was just that Yuta was unrivaled with a sword, and Toge wasn’t in top shape.

He’d taken Maki down in sparring matches before, but physical combat was Maki’s specialty, seeing as she didn’t have any cursed energy or technique. It was rare that he or Panda would beat her, and Yuta was pretty evenly matched by her proficiency.

Maki got a hard hit in, and Toge was sent tumbling backwards onto his backside, earning himself a nice bruise as he fell. His weapon was sent scattering across the floor. He winced a little as the force of the fall sent a wave of nausea trickling through his system.

Toge choked on a cough, sending him into a whole fit of coughs, and he spluttered and gasped. He was fully choking, now. The force of each cough sent a surge of nausea up through his chest, and he was pretty sure he’d vomit if he couldn’t get it to stop soon.

Toge pressed a hand to his chest as he continued to struggle for air, and all three of his classmates were dropping their weapons to help him. Gojo had warped, and was already by his side.

The man knelt down next to him, one hand on the boy’s chest and the other on his back. He shook his head as Toge’s classmates attempted to approach him, signaling for them to stay back.

Toge couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe! He gripped his chest tighter as it sharpened with pain. His throat was growing raw from coughing. 

“Toge,” Gojo said softly. “I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

Gojo tried to pry Toge’s hand from his chest, and the boy clung onto the larger hand, instead. Gojo’s hand twitched a bit in surprise at the boy’s contact. He wanted Gojo’s hand, he needed it to ground him.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, hecouldntbreathe!!!  

Gojo ordered something, and both Maki and Panda left the room, followed by Yuta a few moments later. Toge couldn’t hear anything clearly through the ringing in his ears. Everything was blurry, and nothing made sense.

His vision was getting spotty, black spots fading in and out as the lack of oxygen took over. Gojo was patting his back, though not harshly.

“Breathe with me, kid,” he said, placing Toge’s hand on his chest. Gojo did what Toge couldn’t - he breathed. 

The kid did his best to mimic his teacher’s breaths, inhaling and exhaling around rough, throat-tearing coughs. Toge’s chest hurt with each breath, but he knew he had to keep going in order to calm down. He followed Gojo’s breathing enough to quell the coughing, his breaths coming out in wheezy gasps.

Gojo placed a gentle hand on his forehead. “That’s it, kid. Just keep breathing for me,” he assured. “You feel pretty warm…”

As his awareness returned, Toge’s face flushed (even more so than it already had) with embarrassment as his mind replayed the events of the past few minutes. He was wasting Gojo’s time. 

His body went weak, and as he began to sway and tilt, Gojo held him steady with strong arms. “Woah, buddy,” his sensei warned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Toge didn’t know why that one simple statement made him ease up as much as it did, but his muscles unclenched and his eyes slipped closed. Gojo shook him lightly, forcing his eyes back open.

“Don’t go to sleep yet. Shoko’s on her way,” Gojo told him. “Can you point to where it hurts so I can tell her what’s wrong?”

Toge had never heard Gojo speak so gently. It was… nice. It was nice knowing that somebody seemed genuinely interested in his well-being. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised that it was Gojo, but on the other hand, it also didn’t seem too out of the ordinary.

Toge knew from experience that Gojo was a deeply caring person when it came to those close to him. He’d put in the effort to offer them extra training, one-on-one tutoring, and even took them out to eat after missions. Gojo did a lot for them that most teachers wouldn’t even dream of trying.

Still, it was weird to see Gojo acting so responsible.

Toge raised a hand, his finger pointing towards his various ailing body parts, which pretty much boiled down to all over.

“Everything hurts?” Gojo questioned. 

“Your head?”

A nod.

“Throat?”

A nod.

“Arms and legs?”

A nod.

“Stomach?”

A nod.

“What about your eyes?”

That one was a head shake.

Gojo nodded this time. “Okay. So it's not a migraine, at least. Possibly the flu, though.”

The flu, Toge thought. It could be contagious, then… WAIT-

It suddenly dawned on Toge that Gojo was touching him. Gojo was touching him - no infinity, unfiltered. What if he got sick, and it was all Toge’s fault? 

“Don’t worry, Shoko will fix you right up,” Gojo told him. “You’ll be good as new in no time, all better and ready for the exchange event.”

Toge coughed once again and slumped down against Gojo. He couldn’t be bothered to sit up anymore, and his sensei didn’t seem to mind. The man chuckled softly.

“I wish you’d said something- er, come to get me sooner. I feel bad that you had to suffer through Maki in silence,” he explained. Toge’s heart clenched. He wished he could’ve said something, too.

Like thank you.

Gojo sighed. “Well, what’s done is done. But for next time, just come and get me and tug on my sleeve or something. Write it down if you have to, okay?” Toge could hear the smile in his voice.

The boy nodded in confirmation and smiled a little. For now, at least, he no longer had to suffer in silence.

Chapter Text

There was a hand on Yuta’s forehead, pulling him out of his slumber.

He couldn’t tell who it was that was hovering over his face, but whoever it was, their hand was warm and calloused. Yuta opened his eyes, squeezing them shut again when the slight light sent pain shooting through his sore head.

“You’re burning up…” the voice was masculine and distantly familiar, but Yuta couldn’t pinpoint who it belonged to. He tried opening his eyes again, more slowly this time, and he caught a glimpse of the man above him.

He had a pale face and wild white hair, interrupted in the middle with a black cloth over his eyes. With his vision so blurred, Yuta couldn’t pick out his specific features. 

The voice spoke again, gently. “You’re in pretty bad shape, Yuta.” 

Feels like it, Yuta agreed as a cough tore through him, rough and painful. He groaned as his throat swelled with pain at the cough’s force. The man above him appeared to grimace.

He couldn’t recall who the man was. He didn’t even know if he knew the man. He probably did, considering that the man knew his name. He hoped that, whoever he was, he’d still be around when Yuta was more aware so that he could thank him.

Yuta shivered with a fever so high he could feel it in his aching bones, and a gentle hand pulled his covers up a little bit higher. 

“It’s a good thing I came to check on you,” the man told him. “Otherwise, who knows how bad this could’ve gotten.”

Ah, so it was definitely someone who knew him considering that they came to check on him. Could it be his father? No, his father was…

There was a long, stick-like object pressed into his mouth. It made a weird beeping noise before it was removed from his face yet again. 

The white-haired man hummed and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “If your fever gets any higher, I’m going to have to get Shoko,” he said.

Who’s Shoko? Yuta wondered, his eyes growing heavy. The name sounded distantly familiar and yet, at the same time, Yuta felt like he hadn’t ever met someone named Shoko. 

Blindfold - Yuta was getting tired of referring to him as “the man,” so he’d decided on a nickname - placed something cool and wet onto his forehead. It felt nice on his hot face, but his body was so cold that the low temperature of the object made him shiver. He attempted to grab it and reject its iciness. Blindfold stopped him, and Yuta groaned. Why couldn’t he see that Yuta was cold? Maybe it was the blindfold…

“Please leave that there,” Blindfold ordered. “I know you’re cold, but I need to get your fever down. Trust me - you’ll feel a lot better.”

Trust him? Yuta didn’t even know his real name! However, Blindfold was kind enough to help him, and he did give him a bunch of blankets, and now he was urging Yuta to drink a nice, big glass of water-

Yuta hadn’t realized how parched he was until the water entered his mouth - cold, clean, and thirst-quenching. He kept gulping down mouthfuls of the clear liquid, unable to stop himself.

Unfortunately, the glass was pulled away. “Not so fast. You’ll upset your stomach,” Blindfold warned him, and Yuta was suddenly realizing why. The water landed heavily in his empty stomach, causing it to twist and turn uneasily.

Yuta let out a tiny groan as he rolled onto his side, clutching at his tossing middle. Pale hands thrusted what seemed to be a trash can under Yuta’s chin, catching the thin strings of bile and water as they exited his system.

Tears sprung to his eyes, blurring his vision even more furiously, leaving him almost blind. One of the hands on the supposed trash can moved to rub circles into Yuta’s back, and the boy leaned into the affectionate touch.

He felt better after throwing up, and he rolled back onto his back, his body aching with the movement. His throat burned even more from the force of his retching. He coughed a few times, aggravating it more. Blindfold was helping him sit up and then the now half-empty glass was pressed to his lips again. He shivered as the blankets fell off of his frame.

“Small sips, Yuta,” Blindfold reminded him, as if he needed any reminder. He was hesitant to drink any at all, but when he turned away with a small moan, the glass persisted further. Yuta took a timid sip, only managing two before he became too afraid to go further. 

Yuta’s eyes dropped a little as the tiredness of his illness set in. He let them close, ready to succumb to a much-needed rest. He opened them back up when a set of large hands shook him a little. He whined at the movement. Let me sleep, he thought. My body wants to sleep.

“I’m sorry, Yuta. I promise you, it’s just one more thing.” 

Blindfold pressed a small cup similar in size to a shot glass into Yuta’s hand. Examining it, Yuta found its contents to be a reddish-pink thick-looking liquid. Reaching into the depths of his childhood memories, he realized that it looked an awful lot like cold and flu medication.

Blindfold helped him to guide his shaky hand to his mouth, and Yuta downed the medicine like a shot. He hacked and coughed as the taste hit his tongue and got stuck in his throat, and the water was pushed back into his grasp. 

Yuta gulped a few sips down, focused solely on removing the foul taste from his mouth. Blindfold took away the glass after a moment to slow Yuta down.

A hand on Yuta’s chest urged him back down onto the mattress, and Yuta obliged willingly. He didn’t think he could sit up for much longer, anyway. His muscles ached. 

Gentle hands pulled the covers up over his shivering shoulders, and Yuta relaxed as the chill in his body eased up a bit. He let out a small yawn as his eyelids drooped again.

Blindfold chuckled, muffled in Yuta’s fading awareness. “Sleep tight, kid.”

Yuta could hear footsteps as he felt Blindfold’s presence leaving the room. 

Don’t leave me alone, Yuta thought. Almost desperately, he reached out, and his hand caught onto the sleeve of what he assumed was Blindfold’s shirt.

“S-stay,” Yuta slurred, his voice raspy and almost inaudible.

 He heard Blindfold sigh. “Alright, Yuta,” he said.

“I’ll stay.”

—

Yuta slowly blinked his eyes open. He couldn’t remember what had happened in the past few hours, but all that he knew was that he felt a lot better than when he’d fallen asleep. 

Slowly, Yuta allowed his awareness to come back to him. The room was calm and quiet, save for the soft sounds of gentle breathing. The boy turned his head to the side to find the source of the sleepy breaths. 

He was slightly surprised to find that it was Gojo, his head propped uncomfortably on his shoulder as he dozed, upright in a rickety wooden chair. He’d fallen asleep with his arms crossed and his legs spread out in front of him. It looked as though he’d been watching Yuta.

Had Gojo been taking care of him?

Yuta had a vague sense that he’d not been alone during his time of need, but he hadn’t remembered specifics. Maybe it had been Gojo who’d been there.

Regardless, Yuta was thankful that he hadn’t been alone as he’d laid in bed with a raging fever and blurry vision.

Gojo was a good Sensei, Yuta knew. 

Chapter Text

Nobara should’ve stayed home.

Blood gushed from her open side, spilling from her wound like a waterfall. She hid behind the fragment of a half-collapsed wall, trying to stay as quiet as she could as she pressed one hand to her red-stained uniform.

She had been sent on a solo mission to exterminate a supposed grade three curse. It was meant to be easy and simple, and would prove her independence. If she was successful, it would mean that she was a capable sorcerer on her own - without a team to rely on.

Unfortunately, the plan to get it quickly and inconspicuously had gone awry when the curse had turned out to be much more observant than she’d initially assumed. This led to her current situation - a bleeding wound in her side, all alone with nothing but her phone, hammer and nails.

Luckily for her, she didn't need a veil. The location was far away from any people and discreet enough that she was free to exorcize the curse in the open air. The lack of veil allowed her to contact help. 

This posed another issue, though - if she contacted help, her independence would be called into question. She hadn’t been able to get the curse on her own, which meant that she couldn’t be allowed on solo missions until she was able to do so.

She cursed under her breath as a harsh stab of pain shot through her, originating from her oozing wound and permeating into her bones. She grit her teeth.

Her hand shook as she drew her phone out from its place in her pocket. Her head was starting to feel fuzzy from blood loss, and her brain was slowing down. She leaned her head back against the wall.

She didn’t have a choice - pride be damned. 

Her phone rang only once before the recipient picked up. It didn’t come as a surprise, as Gojo had been very interested in monitoring her on this mission.

“Hello~!” Gojo mused, his voice cheery and laced with a wide smile. Nobara swallowed, guilt blooming largely in her chest.

“G-Gojo-sensei?” Her voice was shaking more than she wanted it to, fear that she’d been convinced she didn’t feel taking up residence in her pounding heart. “I-I need your h-h-help, p-please…”

She heard movement on the other end, and when Gojo spoke again, the brightness was gone from his voice. Nobara heard him curse. “Be there in a minute,” he told her, and Nobara hated how much she relaxed at the sound of his voice. 

The phone clicked as the call ended, and she remained there, bleeding into the dirt. Just a moment and a tiny flash of blue light later, a tall black tower topped with white spikes stood in front of her.

The man cursed as he knelt down beside her, checking her pulse and searching for her wound. Her chest bloomed with warmth as he softly asked for permission to touch her, and he grabbed her hand and pressed it to her wound, causing her to hiss slightly. Anxiety formed in her chest as she could feel her warm blood coating her hand. It was flowing fast, and she panicked slightly. 

Gojo withdrew his other hand from her wrist, and Nobara felt slightly anxious as it left her, unknowing if the contact would return. “Keep that hand pressed to the wound, okay?” Gojo told her, taking his hand away from hers. As much as it hurt, she kept her hand against her injury.

The man stood up, and Nobara watched as he surveyed the situation. He must have seen the curse, because his fist clenched and his mouth twitched in dissatisfaction. 

“I’ll wrap this up quickly. Don’t move,” he said sternly, though she knew his frustration wasn’t directed towards her. With long strides, Gojo disappeared from her line of sight, and the explosions of his attack sounded through the air. 

Nobara was grateful that he was here, helping her. Screw the higher-ups. They gave her a hard mission on purpose, didn’t they? They probably tried to sabotage her! Gojo had been prepared to show up, too. Maybe this had happened before, to other students. 

She was growing dizzier by the second, blood still gushing quickly from her wound. Her limbs felt weak and shaky with blood loss and remaining fear, but she continued to keep pressure on the gash in her side. She resisted the slight urge to sleep, knowing that nothing good would come from passing out while bleeding so heavily.

She was just so tired, the adrenaline of the battle wearing off as her limbs turned to lead and the distant pounding in her head faded in full blast like a high-volume car stereo. She started to shake, a coldness settling into her limbs as she listened to the sounds of swift battle behind her. Her sensei’s familiar cursed energy boomed behind her protectively, a faint red light reflecting onto the ground. 

Gojo-sensei was here. He’d take care of it. Everything would be alright now. 

Nobara’s head sagged against her chest as her body went limp, her eyes drooping as she swayed exhaustedly. It occurred to her distantly that she didn’t know where her hammer had disappeared to.

Oh, well. She could worry about that later.

For now, her eyes slipped shut as Nobara was engulfed in a hazy pain.

—

“-ay with me, kiddo!”

Nobara’s head felt stuffed with cotton, and she forced her eyes to focus, but her vision was hazy. Someone was holding her, his low voice sounding in her ear, which was pressed to his chest.

She let out a groan as a stab of pain shot through her right side, which was jostled by the quick movements of whoever it was that was carrying her.

“-you know Itadori would have my head!”

Itadori Yuji.

Fushiguro Megumi.

Gojo Satoru.

Those were her reasons to live, and she’d live for them. Yuji and Megumi did not deserve to lose a classmate just as Gojo didn’t deserve to lose a student. She didn’t want to leave them. There was still so much left for them to do together - too much left to do. It was decided, she told herself. This wound would not kill her. She would not die today.

—

The next time Nobara gains awareness, everything is less hazy and hurts a lot less. Her side and head are no longer throbbing, and the coldness that had settled in her limbs seems to have disappeared. 

Upon further observation, Nobara discovered that someone had brought her to the infirmary. She could smell antiseptic and feel a needle in her arm, both telltale signs of her presence in the infirmary. From her left, she could heart the quiet speaking of a female voice.

“Satoru,” the voice, which sounded like Ms. Ieiri, said, and there were quiet noises of shuffling. “Come on, Satoru, don’t fall asleep on me. Kugisaki should be waking up soon.”

Nobara heard her sensei give out a soft groan, and more shuffling sounded as he seemed to stir. Had he stayed here the whole time…? How long have I been out…?

Gojo yawned. “S-sorry. Long day,” he said, and Ms. Ieiri reassured him that it was okay. Nobara took this as her cue to open her eyes, slowly blinking as the vibrant white aura of the infirmary flooded her vision.

She let out a groan as her sight was bombarded with light, and both figures in the room shifted their attention to her. She could feel relief flood through their bodies as she continued to blink as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She turned her head slowly to her left to face her two saviors.

Ms. Ieiri looked tired as usual, her under-eyes lined with a purple tint. Her face looked pleased with the fact that Nobara was awake. Gojo looked tired as well, his usual blindfold replaced with blacked-out glasses, allowing Nobara to get a glimpse of the darkness under his eyes and his even-messier-than-usual mane of white hair. His frame began tense, but slowly eased up as Nobara’s consciousness came back to her. He sighed with relief.

Gojo smiled. “Good morning, Kugisaki,” he greeted. “Glad to see you alive and well.”

Nobara stared back at him, watching as the paleness of his face flushed with fondness, and she smiled back at him. He looked both exhausted and refreshed as he saw her awake. He’s definitely been here the whole time… 

“Me too,” she replied, voice cracking from the dryness of misuse. “I’m glad I had a trustworthy backup plan.”

She listened to every word of Gojo’s rant about the higher-ups’ incompetence, and with each passing bit of anger in his tone, she realized just how much he cared for her.

Chapter Text

Really, Megumi’s first mistake was trusting Yuji.

After a long but successful mission, all three first years had been “nothing less than starving to death,” as Nobara had described, and so Yuji had taken it upon himself to find somewhere to get some food.

The place he’d found hadn’t looked too bad and had decent reviews, so they’d all decided that it would be worthwhile (though, if Megumi was being honest, their hunger might have clouded their judgment a little).

It was not worthwhile.

Not one bit.

Megumi groaned loudly as another cramp shot through his stomach, an angry growl escaping from the bothered region as he propped himself back up over the toilet bowl. Heaving once, and then twice, and then again a third time, Megumi’s knuckles paled as his grip on the white porcelain grew impossibly tighter.

He let out a groan in a moment of breath, sweat caking his white-washed body, cheeks a vibrant red. Even despite his incessant sweating, Megumi was shivering almost dangerously, and he panted like an overworked dog as he leaned over the toilet.

Another upset rumble passed through his belly, and more bile spilled from his lips, the sounds echoing in the quietness of the boys’ dorm restroom.

It had been a little past eleven when his stomach started to cramp up painfully, and he’d stumbled into the bathroom a few minutes before twelve, clutching his sickly, distended stomach.

It was fast approaching one in the morning, now, and he only felt worse, stomach churning at the terrible concoction of untrustworthy cooking brewing inside. The nausea was so intense that it made his head spin and his limbs weak.

Another retch escaped him, his stomach groaning in protest. Megumi resisted the urge to break out in sobs. He’d dealt with pain before - broken bones, deep cuts, bleeding wounds, chipped nails - but ever since he’d been a little kid, he’d never been able to handle stomach pain or throwing up.

He recalled a time when he’d been around nine or ten years old and a bad stomach flu had been going around his school. Inevitably, he’d woken up a few days after the start of the outbreak and immediately sprinted to the bathroom. Megumi had been so upset that Gojo was forced to cancel a mission to take care of him.

Of course, both Tsumiki and Gojo had ended up catching the bug, and according to Ieiri, Gojo had found out not-so-pleasantly during a mission, vomiting all over an abandoned playground, almost passing out and hurting himself.

Megumi wasn’t quite as bad at handling it anymore, but it was still a struggle for him every time he got a stomach ache or felt nausea coming on. He wouldn’t immediately freak out anymore, which he took as a win, but he still found it embarrassing how much a little belly pain could render him completely useless.

Another ripple of pain raced through his stomach, and he groaned. He didn’t have anything more to bring up, instead slumping against the stall’s wall, soaking in its coolness as heat surged through him.

He hated how much he wanted Gojo right now.

Megumi’s whole body shook with anxiety, and he wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. He felt feverish, and his head was pounding, probably from dehydration. He didn’t want to drink anything out of fear that it wouldn’t stay down.

His breathing picked up, and he anxiously rubbed at his sore stomach, a tiny whine echoing through the empty restroom. He wanted Gojo. He wanted his sensei. He wanted his guardian. He wanted his dad.

Megumi’s legs shook as he shakily pulled himself up, flushing the toilet. He kept one arm around his burning middle, which let out another moan of discomfort as a particularly sharp cramp tightened in his slightly protruding belly. Megumi winced, leaning heavily against the stall door.

He quickly unlocked the stall with shaking fingers and shuffled his way over to the sinks to quickly splash some water across his greasy face. Upon glancing into his reflection, he found that his eyes were glassy with pain, face pasty and white. His cheeks were flushed, and his usually distressed hair was even more chaotic. 

In short, Megumi looked about as rough as he felt.

He made his way out of the boys’ restroom, continuing past his bedroom and out of the boys’ dorms, ignoring the sharp pains in his middle. Eventually, he ended up where he wanted to be: the adult living quarters.

Continuing down the hall, he stopped at the door all the way at the end and to the left, standing there plainly for a moment as his insides continued to torment him.

He’s probably sleeping, Megumi told himself, still shaking. He craved Satoru. He didn’t want to be alone. He felt terrible. 

Fuck it. 

Megumi took a stiff breath in, raised the arm that wasn’t around his stomach, and quietly knocked on the door. He heard shuffling and noise coming from inside, now that he bothered to listen. He heard voices, and then swift footsteps.

The door swung open, revealing Megumi’s savior. Bedraggled white hair and tired eyes covered with sunglasses greeted him, beckoning him inside. There was already a light on in the mini-apartment.

“G-Gojo…“ Megumi’s voice was unstable and hoarse, throat torn up by the previous hour of puking. Before he could finish, he was overcome by his childish need for comfort, and he trust himself into his sensei, arms wrapped around the tall man’s torso.

He felt an arm wrap around him, though not tightly enough as to further disturb his stomach. Gojo shushed him, bringing his other arm up to pet Megumi’s hair.

He spoke softly and kindly. “You too, huh, ‘Gumi?” He guessed, the inflection of a frown in his voice. Megumi could picture his guardian’s furrowed brows and slightly squinted eyes. “I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it.”

Gojo pulled away, guiding Megumi further into the small room and depositing him into the bed in the corner. Upon further inspection, he found Nobara and Yuji on the couch, the former asleep with a sickly complexion and a hand on her stomach, and the latter waving at him rather guiltily.

Gojo tucked Megumi in, and the boy’s stomach was already starting to feel better. The older man brought over a full glass of water, a bucket, and two pills that Megumi recognized as antacids.

Megumi, too exhausted to protest and too relieved to care, dutifully drank a few sips of water and downed the pills. Both landed a little uncomfortably in his roiling belly, but he knew that they’d help in the long run.

Gojo placed the bucket down beside the bed, though Megumi was pretty sure there was nothing left (better safe than sorry). He curled up on his side, though not too tightly as to relieve the pressure on his stomach. Yuji glanced at him from his place on the couch, looking just about as bad as Megumi and Nobara. His glassy eyes were guilt-ridden and sad.

“M’so sorry, Fushiguro!” He apologized quietly, almost whispering. Tears pecked at his eyelashes, and Megumi resisted the urge to march over and hug him.

He stared forward at the rose-haired boy. “Don’t blame yourself, Itadori,” he told him. “You couldn’t have known.”

Megumi couldn’t bring himself to be angry. After all, it wasn’t Yuji’s fault. Even despite that, however, Megumi found it difficult to harbor any sort of hatred for his finger-eating friend. Perhaps it was the way that Yuji burned with righteousness and good intention - Megumi didn’t want to douse water on that.

The room fell silent besides the sound of Gojo rushing around the room, grabbing items and putting things away. He looks tired. He looks stressed.

As if summoned by Megumi’s thoughts alone, the white-haired man wandered over to the ailing boy balancing a thermometer, two blankets, and three wet washcloths in his arms. He placed the thermometer down on the coffee table in front of the couch and then grabbed one of the blankets. He unfolded the fluffy purple blanket and then draped it carefully over Nobara. The girl stirred slightly as Gojo worked on preparing the red blanket for Yuji.

Megumi watched Gojo, allowing the man to distract him from his own pain. He watched as Gojo gently shook Nobara awake and stuck a thermometer between her drowsy lips. He clicked his tongue at the beeping result, and then took off to rinse the device off.

Megumi watched Gojo do the same for Yuji, who kept apologizing for all of the trouble he’d caused, to which Gojo responded that he had nothing to worry about, and that everyone makes mistakes.

He’d told seven-year-old Megumi the same thing when he’d accidentally broken Gojo’s sunglasses during a temper tantrum and bawled apologetically.

Gojo shook his head when the thermometer beeped this time. He spoke to them as he wandered back to rinse the thermometer again. “You kids have caught a pretty nasty case. Drink plenty of water and rest, and when you’re feeling a little better, we can try some dry foods.”

Yuji nodded, face still carrying a saddening guilty expression. Nobara had already nodded back to sleep after burrito-ing herself in the fluffy blanket. Megumi nodded as well, watching as Gojo returned yet again, heading over to Megumi this time.

His stomach was still rumbling with pain, but he felt well enough now that he could at least be aware and not completely hazed by pain. The nausea was gone, too, meaning that the medicine that Gojo had given him must be working. He obediently obliged as Gojo offered him the thermometer.

Yet again, Gojo was unimpressed by his temperature, sighing before placing the device down on the bedside table and handing Megumi the glass of water.

“Drink some of this, please,” Gojo instructed, helping him hold the glass as his hands shook. Yet again, Megumi did as he was told. When it came to stomach pain, he did whatever he had to in order to find relief.

The water landed uncomfortable again in his stomach, and he could feel it as it sloshed around. Another harsh cramp past through him. He was grateful as Gojo took the glass away.

“Bucket?” He asked, and Megumi shook his head. He wasn’t nauseous, mostly just in pain and severely uncomfortable. Gojo helped him lie completely down and pulled the comforter up under his chin, easing his tiny shivers.

Yuji’s snores were coming from the couch, and Nobara was breathing softly. Both noises were comforting to Megumi as he closed his eyes. Gojo clicked off the light.

Megumi slurred one final thought into the quiet room. “Where’re you sleeping?” He asked his teacher, already half asleep as his stomach started to calm down for the night.

Gojo chuckled. “Don’t you worry about me, Megs,” he replied, and Megumi felt a warm breath on his forehead, followed by soft lips. 

“You’re still just a kid.”

Megumi fell asleep under the comfort of his guardian’s words. He could hardly even feel the pain anymore.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for the food, Gojo-sensei!”

Yuta’s voice was drowned out by the sounds of his classmates chowing down. Nobara and Yuji were fighting over what seemed to be the last piece of a sushi roll, and Maki watched with mild amusement as Nobara won. Toge quietly urged more food onto Yuta’s plate, and Megumi reprimanded his classmates for their noisiness. Poor Panda was left behind to draw less attention, though they’d promised to bring home leftovers for him.

Satoru wasn’t sure what they meant, exactly, by “draw less attention,” though. Yuta and Maki were carrying weapons in their cases, Yuji and Toge had unnatural hair colors, and Satoru himself was six-foot-too-many-inches, had hair whiter than a sheet of paper, and wore a goddamn blindfold in public. Not to mention the absolute chaos that was his students, and the fact that they all were covered in tiny cuts and scrapes.

“My pleasure, Okkotsu! You kids deserve it for all the hard work you do!” He responded, watching as the dark-haired boy blushed. Toge placed a sushi roll onto his plate, and Yuta ate it gratefully. If not for the food-loving speech-user, Satoru didn’t think Yuta would remember to eat at all.

Satoru took a bite of his own food, almost just as bad as Okkotsu when it came to remembering to eat. This meal was just as needed for him as it was for his students. His food tasted a little different than the last time he’d ordered it, but he shrugged it off. Restaurants change their dishes all the time. Maybe they just mixed up the measurements.

He took another bite, looking over his students and making sure they didn’t set the place on fire. He really was proud of them. They’d all just finished up their last missions for the week, giving them all four-day weekends, and so Satoru (who didn’t have a four-day weekend, but also didn’t care about the higher ups) had taken them out to eat as a reward.

Maki, being the last one to finish, got to pick the place, and Satoru had been pleased when she’d picked somewhere he’d been before. They’d made it out with minimal injuries, as well. 

Nobara had a slightly sprained wrist and a cut on her cheek, but was otherwise unscathed. Megumi had pulled a muscle in his shoulder, and Toge had his usual sore throat. There was also the underlying exhaustion, but everyone was pretty much okay.

Satoru placed his chopsticks down as he yawned, suddenly a little dizzy as he leaned back into the booth. He must be more tired than he’d originally thought. He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

Yuta eyed him worriedly. “Are you okay, sensei? You’re kind of pale and your hands are shaking. You must be exhausted,” he blurted, word-vomiting his concerns. Satoru waved a lazy hand at him to calm him down.

“Ahh, Okkotsu! Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine! After all, I’m the strongest,” he told his panicky student. It wasn’t really a big deal, Satoru had to remind himself. It was probably just the lack of sleep and the heavy use of his technique the past few days that was coming back to bite him. It was nothing to worry about.

Except for the fact that I felt completely fine a few minutes ago, his mind supplied, and Satoru swallowed to push the thought away. His saliva was especially thick in his mouth, and so he swallowed again.

Yuta’s anxious gaze didn’t leave. It stayed on Satoru, firm and warning. He really wished his student would stop paying so much attention to him. It was making him feel cold, and he suppressed a shiver.

He sighed. “Okkotsu! Kid, you’re gonna go gray before you reach your twenties! Don’t worry so damn much!”

He reached forward to gently pat his judgmental student on the shoulder, smiling as nonchalantly as he could while hiding the shaking in his movements. Yuta didn’t look convinced, but dropped it anyway, turning back to the pile of food Toge had bestowed upon him.

Satoru turned his attention to the kids on his left. Nobara and Yuji had seemingly forgotten about their sushi debate, because they were now roped into a ruthless match of competitive rock, paper, scissors (Satoru really had no idea where they got these ideas from). Maki seemed to be keeping score while cheering Nobara on (which meant that Nobara was most definitely winning), and Megumi just looked plain bored, munching mindlessly on his food as he watched the match unfold. 

Satoru sighed, content with the scene before him. His students were doing their job - being kids - and that’s all that he could ask for. At the end of the day, they were just normal teenagers with supernatural abilities and a bad hand of cards.

After a few more minutes of their meal, Satoru paid and they left, his stomach beginning to turn and his head reeling. It must have been that something he ate wasn’t agreeing with him. Hopefully nobody else had eaten any, if it was food poisoning of some sort. Maybe it was just overexhaustion. He did occasionally get dizzy and nauseous when he overused Six Eyes.

Something about the suddenness of it, though… it didn’t sit right with him. Normally exhaustion or food poisoning took more time to set in, but these symptoms had only appeared within the span of a half an hour.

As they walked back to the school, Satoru trailed behind the others, who were all chatting and laughing with each other. Satoru smiled, but couldn’t bring himself to find out more about their amusement. His head was starting to pound, and his head spun so much that he could barely see where he was going, just simply following the blurry balls of color that were his students.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

Panic lit up in Satoru’s chest at the thought of such sudden illness. He shivered, and yet his whole body felt alight, sweat forming across the back of his neck. His knees were getting weak, and Satoru was suddenly grateful for how close they were getting to the school.

“-jo?” 

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking until Megumi’s panicked voice came into focus. He shook himself into awareness, finding that his students stood around him, worry etched into their faces. Yuta stepped forward tentatively.

Satoru opened his mouth to speak, finding it dry. He tried to appear nonchalant. If he could just make it back to his room, he could take some painkillers, go to sleep, and then hopefully wake up feeling good as new.

His voice came out in a rasp. “What is it, my dear students?” The shakiness of his voice didn’t help him appear any more fine than he was.

Yuta was the next one to speak, his voice timid and almost fearful. “G-Gojo-sensei,” he said, stepping a little closer. “Your nose is bleeding…”

Satoru raised a hand to his nose, finding that it was, indeed, covered in thick, salty liquid. The world turned, and he stumbled, finding himself leaning against a nearby wall. Where was he? 

“O-oh, would you… would you lo-look at… that…” his voice came out breathy and woozy. He was having trouble putting his thoughts together. 

His knees shook, and Yuta and Maki were at his sides, terrified voices ringing through the air as the two lowered him to the ground. Blood continued to pour from his nose, almost alarmingly fast, and he was grateful when a Nobara-colored blob pressed a handkerchief against his nose. He wanted to reach up to hold it, but his arms were limp.

Out of nowhere, a violent cramp stabbed through his stomach, and he groaned, leaning against the student to his right - Maki, he later figured out. He found the strength to wrap one arm around himself, and the soaked-through handkerchief was removed from his nose as he harshly gagged and coughed.

He didn’t know what was going on. He could hear voices, but not what they were saying. He could see people, but couldn’t distinguish the differences between them. There were so many sights, smells, and sounds, and it was all so overwhelming. He could feel his own cursed energy, pulsing erratically through the air. There were hands all over him, pushing and pulling and prodding. 

There were fingers on his wrists and his neck, another on his forehead, and yet another on his back, all searing touches on his burning skin. He coughed and retched again, his throat tight as he brought something up into the dirt. His mouth filled with the taste of salty copper.

Blood.

He’d thrown up blood.

His consciousness was waning fast, ebbing and flowing in inconsistent waves. He groaned as he was moved, hoisted up above the ground and carried. He wanted the hands to leave him alone, but his mouth was like rubber and his limbs wouldn’t follow his command.

Voices continued, and he tried so hard to focus on them, but pain surged through his stomach and his body and his head, and he couldn’t control his own body, and what the hell is happening to him?! Why can’t he move?!

He didn’t even have time to panic before the tug of sleep called to him, and he descended into the abyss.

Chapter Text

“Satoru.”

He blinked at the blinding whiteness surrounding him, interrupted in the center by a single figure. Black hair fell off of his thin, broad shoulders in a waterfall, each strand meeting another at the ends other than the few short strands hanging over his left eye.

“Suguru.”

Satoru’s body was numb, and he had a feeling that somewhere, in some other world, he was in excruciating pain, but not here. Here, in the everlasting chill of blank white surrounding, Satoru felt nothing.

“It’s not your fault.”

Suguru’s face was blank, devoid of feelings Satoru knew he was capable of feeling. If he was truly devoid of feeling, then he wouldn’t have shared gentle adoration with Satoru - wouldn’t have blessed him with love in the darkness of the night, wouldn’t have graced him with shared warmth and a bed long since gone cold.

“I’m sorry.”

Satoru wasn’t crying. He’d cried before, in the same clutches of helpless, white, unfeeling coldness. He didn’t shed a single tear this time, just stood still, barely even breathing as he stared straight forward, clutching the remains of his slaughtered other half in trembling, blood-coated palms, the crimson of his murdered affection slipping through his parted fingers.

“Why?”

Suguru knew why. They’d been through this. Almost every time Satoru closed his weary, all-seeing eyes, he parted reality into this pale expanse of light. 

“You’re dead. I killed you.”

Suguru continued to stare, expression unchanging. Blood dripped from his eyes, and then his mouth, and then his arm fell from its socket, and the white transformed into an alleyway. If this was real, Satoru would vomit - he had before, several times in the clutches of reality, curled up on a cold bathroom floor early in the morning when nobody was awake to hear.

“It’s okay.”

This exchange was all too familiar. Back and forth, never more than five or six words at a time. Sometimes they would talk for what felt like hours. Sometimes it was merely minutes. 

“I love you.”

Love. Not loved. Because truly, he’d never stopped, had he? Suguru was gone, but love never died. True love survived beyond the fragility of human mortality, everlasting and never dying. It was Satoru’s only weakness, this undying declaration of eternal togetherness.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.”

Sorry. Even after all he’d done, Satoru still loved him. It was never a matter of apologizing, because Suguru had already been forgiven. It had never been Suguru that had made him angry, but the world that had wronged him, stretching Suguru thinner than the strands of his dark river.

“Suguru…”

Why are you sorry? The world was never sorry. The world never apologized to you.

“Wake up, Satoru.”

No, don’t leave me again. Come with me! Wake up, Suguru. Wake up!

Wake up!

WAKE UP!

—

“Wake up, Satoru!”

Shoko had her hands pressed against Satoru’s stomach, her powers grasping at every thread of poison that remained in him. Whoever had poisoned him had intended to kill him, and kill him fast.

Even in sleep, Satoru wasn’t able to stifle his reactions. Nanami and Maki held him steady as he thrashed, back arching with each surge of pain. Loud moans and whines of pain escaped him, each one tugging at Shoko’s heart. 

He’s never been in this much pain before…

He’d vomited almost five times in his sleep, each time more and more blood. He had wires sticking out of all stretches of his left arm - IV’s, general antidotes, pain medication. Nothing seemed to be of any help.

Yuta, with tears prickling at his eyes, desperately dabbed at his sensei’s pale, clammy face with an icy cold towel, doing all that he could to ease Satoru’s fever. An hour ago, his temperature had reached dangerous heights, peaking to almost 41 degrees. 

Whatever poison this was, it was ruthless, enough to bring even the strongest to a state of terrifying agony. 

Satoru choked out a hoarse, heart-shattering scream as he regained consciousness, eyes opening the slightest before closing again. He coughed and choked, and Yaga was quick to bring over a basin as maroon poured from Satoru’s already-bloody lips.

He whined and gasped out something incoherent, and his former teacher tried to calm him down, whispering sweet nothings.

Shoko resisted the tears that burst into her ducts as she focused even harder, willing her technique to repair attacked tissue, rebuilding organs and redirecting the deadly substance up through Satoru’s digestive system.

She winced, knowing he’d be awake for this unfortunate part of the process. Yaga was quick to replace the basin with something deeper, and Maki and Nanami held Satoru up, shooing Yuta away.

Purple and red mixed with bile, and Satoru gagged violently, struggling to breathe as Shoko continued to send the poison back up through his system. Eyes closed, Satoru’s arms jerked forward to his stomach, pulling Maki and Nanami along with them. 

None of them could even imagine the kind of pain he was in. Shoko watched helplessly as her friend heaved and retched poison out of his system, doing her best to keep the blood inside of him. This was the last of it, she knew, the final stretch of poison before he would be in recovery.

Satoru let out one final heave, Yuta covering his ears and eyes in the corner of the room as the final drops of poison spilled into the basin Yaga, who looked a little pale himself, was gripping. 

Once he was done, Satoru opened one eye a crack, panting and coughing, clutching tightly at his stomach. He let out a few weak moans as Nanami wiped his mouth clean with Yuta’s wet cloth. He slumped to the side, and Yaga caught him with his now-free hands.

“You’re alright, Satoru. The worst is over now,” he told his former student, ruffling his hair a bit. Satoru stared ahead with his one minutely opened eye, which was glazed over and unfocused.

He mumbled almost incoherently, but his words indicated that he was at least present. 

“W-who tried-tried to… k-kill me this- th-this time?” His words were as slurred as they were choppy, coming out between desperate gasps for air. Shoko shushed him quietly, coming to quickly run a hand through his hair and wipe his tears before she checked on his vitals.

She spoke quietly and a little shaky. “Your first years are looking into it, Satoru. For right now, just focus on staying alive.”

Shoko’s words seemed to seep into Satoru, registering and settling comfortably in his brain. His eyelids started to droop, and his exhausted body slackened. His students were helping him. 

He’d be okay.

—

There were voices around him when he awoke next. There were still needles pricked into his arm, and a cool towel laid over his forehead, just above the cloth wrapped around his eyes. Upon evaluating his condition, he found himself feeling quite sick, but not nearly in as much pain.

His head pounded with the force of a milder migraine, and his stomach felt uneasy and sore. His limbs were shaky and he felt overly cold, but at least they weren’t burning as much as before. He felt immensely better than he had last time he’d been awake.

He registered the several cursed energies of his students, buzzing with anxiousness and eagerness, and the subtler, more serious cursed energies of Shoko and Yaga. Nanami was lingering in a room nearby.

“But I don’t get it,” Yuji’s voice said. “Why would they wanna kill sensei? Wouldn’t that be really bad for jujutsu society?”

It was Megumi who clicked his tongue. “Satoru’s rare and powerful. His eyes alone are up for a high price. People are greedy and desperate for money - so much so that they’d kill someone like him for it.”

“Fushiguro’s right,” Yaga confirmed. “Under the drive of money, his assassins don’t care about the potential repercussions that his death might have, as long as they get their money.”

The older man sighed, and a hand made its way through Satoru’s hair. “These attempts used to happen all the time when he was younger, during his high school.”

Shoko’s cursed energy rippled angrily at that statement. “Yeah. One too many close calls,” she agreed, her heels clacking across the floor as she approached Satoru’s bed, her hand finding his.

Maybe now was a good time to “wake up.”

Satoru groaned a little, attempting to sit up, signaling his awareness. He was met with a cold hand on his chest, urging him back down onto the mattress. The blindfold obscured his regular vision, but he could see Shoko’s cursed energy burning with agitation in front of him.

“Stay down, you idiot. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Shoko warned, keeping her hand on his chest. Her gentle voice betrayed the bite of her words. 

Satoru’s head pounded as he strained his eyes to be open, despite how they shouted at him to close them. His migraine had him gulping down nausea, and Satoru took a deep breath.

His voice was hoarse when it came from his throat, probably from the force of expelling the poison. “Wh-who did it?” He asked. “-the kids okay?”

“We’re all perfectly fine and healthy,” Nobara assured him, and Yuji confirmed. “Although Fushiguro broke his hand punching the guy we caught.”

Satoru blinked. Huh. 

Fushiguro’s cursed energy rippled with embarrassment at Nobara’s recollection, and Satoru could imagine the tiny blush dusting across his face as he scowled. Yuji bounded over to him, jostling Satoru slightly as he wrapped his arms around the tall man’s shoulders.

“Gojo-sensei, we were so worried! We made sure that the guys responsible were dealt with!!” Yuji’s loud voice sent strikes of pain through Satoru’s head, but he could hardly care. The boy’s enthusiasm and worry was enough to warm his heart.

Shoko pried Yuji off, and Satoru felt slightly disappointed at the less of contact. “Let’s be quiet, Yuji. He’s probably got a killer headache right now.” 

Satoru smiled lightly, reaching for Yuji again. “It’s okay, Shoko,” he told her, gratefulness in his voice. “I’m feeling well enough for cuddles.”

Yuji returned, a giggle in his voice. Nobara and Megumi also approached, their warm energies a calming presence. They surrounded him with their affection, Yuji up by his chest while the other two hung around his legs.

“It’s okay, sensei,” Yuji told him. “We’ve been weak for you, and you’re always strong for everyone, so… it’s okay to be weak for us.”

Satoru’s heart expanded with appreciation, Yuji’s words washing over him in a wave of validation and acceptance.

He could be weak for them, even just this once.