[ When Gojo gets home again that evening, approximately around dinner, he is entirely soaked in blood. He looks as though someone upturned a bucket of it over his head. It's fortunate that they live not too far from the city gates and that the guards there now know Gojo, accustomed to him coming back carrying entire dead animals to be given away as meat, so there hadn't been too much fuss at the gate about the condition he was in and they were still willing to let him back inside the city. It helps, too, that he tends to wear black, so it's not as obvious on the clothed parts of his body, but his white hair is red, drying to rusty brown. He's dried enough to no longer be dripping with it, but he still absolutely looks like a reason for public outcry.
Pausing on his way into the house when he encounters Choso, Gojo flashes him a somewhat-strained smile, teeth white against the red-smeared mess of his face. The two additional eyes on either side of his cheekbones gleam cerulean through red-dyed lashes. He's been hiding those extra eyes, wearing full-face bandages the past week and coming up with excuses about it, but his bandages also got soaked and re-wrapping blood-wet bandaging (and trying to breathe through that?) sounded even worse than actually dealing with the horror of his own face. So those are also a bit of a revelation. ]
( cooking isn't something that comes easy to him, and not something that he's ever thought of before: but being in a house with two other men who refuse to take care of themselves, he's felt his own personal desire to at least provide some kind of meal, when he can, when they're home. ironically, he's almost certain that none of the three of them necessarily even need to eat; still, it just doesn't feel right. cooking rice is easy, and grilling fish is easy, and the sparse amounts of foodstuffs around the city lately makes it easier to adapt them to japanese recipes. so he's seated at the little nook of a table, chopsticks poised to his lips, when he hears the door open--and smells the blood.
with a rough swallow, he pushes the chopsticks down, letting them clatter on the table--by the time gojou rounds the corner from the entrance, he's less concerned about the look of him and more concerned about the stench; true to his words, however, the blood--from what he can sense--isn't his.
with a wrinkling, displeased frown: ) You didn't bring your friend home for dinner.
( it's mostly a joke; after that kind of warning over their devices, he doubts that the wolf augment would have come in, taken his shoes off, apologized for the intrusion and sat down for a meal.
rather than let gojo move past him entirely, for the stairs, he reaches out a hand, clamps it down--if he can--around his upper arm. )
I'll come with you. ( not to the shower, which he clarifies-- ) Your clothes need to be put in the washing.
[ There's only the brief flicker of a pause before Gojo drops Infinity enough for Choso's hand to curl around his arm. He keeps moving, though, since the shower seems like an urgent priority and if he is still dripping at all it should probably not be in the middle of the hallway. Choso can just get dragged along. ] Oh, you've gotten bolder. I like it. Sure, cutie, you can join me.
I figured from the state of me that the clothes would be better off going a first round straight into the shower with me. They can go through a washing with soap after the worst of the blood gets rinsed out.
Johann agreed to be better behaved, anyway. I messaged you because I didn't want to forget, later--I tend to get distracted when I go out to play with him. But I got him to agree not to ambush a very short list of people who are important to me.
[ He turns on the shower in his bathroom, looks back to Choso while he waits for it to warm up. Warm and cheery, even fond. Maybe all the blood came with a concussion? ] Basically just you and Fel.
[ And Suguru. ]
If he wants to play with you, he can ask politely. Sorry [ He knows that word? ] for worrying you, but yeah. Didn't want to forget and then have you ambushed.
( there's no need to clarify: gojo is clearly teasing him, which means there's just a disgruntled, displeased sort of rumble in the back of his throat as he's dragged along. still, the break in infinity means he's at least touching him, really; that says something. )
Then I'll wait and take them from you when you're done.
( agreeing, at least, to hover around in the bathroom long enough to accept them. they take the stairs, and gojo leads them to the bathroom; he releases him then, standing there like a bodyguard in the doorway--his arms fold, almost immediately, in against his chest.
rather than listen, intently, he watches gojo's face. he looks--different, a little cheerful, but a little dazed, and the words i tend to get distracted when i go out to play with him likely has more meaning than just heading out for a run or to find some hobbled playground to enjoy together. just another periphery in the circle of those around gojo; judging by the blood, their play is something more like training.
at least with this johann, gojo can protect himself. there's a faint shake of his head. )
I appreciate the warning. ( it's not snide--it's honest. ) You've made a lot of interesting connections, in this place.
( so far, no one that he has to keep a firm watch on, at least that he knows about. besides--well, but he's mostly agreed not to get in the way of that one. he's not sure he has the stomach to see "kenjaku's" face, yet. )
I do that. [ He collects people. The weirder the better. Anyone who catches Gojo's interest gets caught up in his gravitational pull, whether they want it or not.
What's more surprising to him are the romantic connections he's made. For years he's been so good at keeping his flings casual and at arm's length. And now he's messily involved with several relationships.
Blame it on the imprint. (Or take the imprint as an excuse.)
Stepping into the shower fully-dressed, Gojo rubs his hands through his hair, starting to rinse off the first layer of blood. He makes a disgusted noise. Fighting is the one way in which he'll sometimes let himself get messy. If it's for a fight, he doesn't care how muddy and blood-soaked he gets. But as soon as the active fun of that fight is over, Gojo starts itching to be clean and comfy again. ] Ugh, I've gotta find a way to clean blood off outside of the city. Maybe a farm with a well? Dump a couple buckets over my head before coming back inside? That'd probably work.
[ He hauls his shirt over his head and wrings it out once, torrenting bloody water down around his feet. Then he just drops the shirt on the shower floor to get a little more rinsed by being ignored for a minute. ] Dinner smells good.
( the thought of all that blood running into farmland makes his mouth twitch in displeasure, but he doesn't say anything--better to let gojo work through those thoughts himself, and he isn't here to give his opinion. instead, he's here to watch as that shirt hits the shower floor; annoyed, he wants to reach in and try to snag it and wring it out, but he might as well wait for the rest of the clothes to go and gather them up all at once. he'll have to get gojo clean clothes, too.
so much to deal with, and he wonders if gojo had some kind of maid, back home, or if he just let his home get this messy all the time. hard to say, given that he doesn't think gojo really had much of a 'home' to speak of. the world needed him too often to give that to him.
maybe that's the thought that softens him, a little. ) It's nothing fancy. I'm not advanced enough yet.
( --meaning that he's still dutifully poring over cookbooks to learn more than just grilling and seasoning fish. )
But there's wine, and tea. ( a small, thoughtful pause, readjusting his arms against his chest. ) You don't drink. Is that right?
It's better than that shit at the Valentia. [ He hated that food from day one, hated it exponentially more when it forced him into a couple of imprints and some vulnerable confessions, and then that hatred had a few months to simmer. The bite of his disdain is clear in his tone.
Choso may still be learning, but he's applying Japanese sensibilities and his own intelligence and creativity to the food, not just regurgitating the local recipes. Gojo's enormously appreciative. Even though he only lets a little of that warmth actually slip into his tone, it's still sincere: ] I'm grateful.
[ He scrubs himself quickly, making a couple of soft whining noises as his hair rinses out still pinkish after the first application of shampoo, and dealing with all the fluffy fur of his tail is a further annoyance, even though that's less blood-soaked than his front. His black lounge pants and underwear are dropped to the floor of the shower along with his shirt until he gets his actual body clean. ]
That's right. [ His tone is firm and certain. Possible that there's a hint of approval in having his preferences noted, but the firmness of the delivery is a shut door. He will not be taking follow-up questions. ] I'll have the tea.
[ When the rest of him is clean, he picks up the shirt again, wrings it out with another noise of disgust when it still runs pink. Soaks it, twists it again, then drapes it over his shoulder. The pants and underwear get the same treatment before he turns off the water, wrings everything one last time, and steps out of the shower, offering the soggy mass toward Choso. They're all still dripping faintly pinkish water, but at least he cared enough to rinse out the worst of it. ]
( easy to read the tone there, that there will be no questions asked--and he doesn't have any to offer, anyway. whatever gojo needs to do to maintain his body, or his abilities, he only knows briefly; for a curse, it's quite easy to engage in RCT to heal damage, but for a human brain, does that make things better, or worse? does alcohol simply get in the way of gojo's physical abilities, or is there some kind of personal dislike for it? on his end, he still hasn't tried any of it--a part of him isn't sure if he should.
his gaze slides, patient, as gojo shifts away from the shower: but his displeasure is immediately on his face, a tugging of his mouth into a frown, as he reaches forward to take the bundle of wet clothes from gojo's arms. hard to say whether his gaze wants to skim, or if it just does it out of habit--a small swallow, a nod of his chin, and while he hoists the wet mass up against his chest, his free arm moves, a firm palm that pushes, gently, at gojo's wet chest. )
Towel yourself off. I'll bring you clothes. ( a beat. ) If you're cold, get in the shower again.
( best to turn away before he's caught staring, so he moves disgruntled towards the doorway, already dutifully working his way down the hall to the washer. fascinating machine, really: he gently loads in gojo's clothing, adds a bit of soap, and turns it on; it means that he's now the wet one, a big damp splotch on his chest, but he still goes down the other end of the hall to--
no, detour. he doesn't want to go inside gojo's room without him there, and they're a similar size. so he takes a pair of dark underwear, a pair of sweatpants, and a crisp white t-shirt from his own room, carrying them back to the bathroom so that he can tuck them, gently, onto the counter. )
Do you need anything else? ( he waits there, hovering in the door frame, just in case. )
[ Gojo's pretty sure that Choso was checking him out just then, but that's not new news. They've been flirting. Choso kissed him back. The attraction is obvious. (It helps, of course, that Gojo is gorgeous and could shift anyone's Kinsey scale by a couple of points, so that makes it all the easier for him to assume that Choso has the good sense to appreciate his looks.)
Scrubbing the towel through his hair to finish drying it as Choso returns, Gojo flashes him a grin in thanks and goes to put on the clothes, then pauses in confusion. ] These aren't mine.
[ There's no reason to reject them, though, so Gojo pulls on the shirt as his brain continues connecting the dots. It's not like strange clothes are a trap, but why didn't Choso fetch Gojo's clothes? ] These are your clothes. [ He's amused as his brain finishes making connections, though his conclusion is slightly off from Choso's intentions: politeness is so antithetical to Gojo's nature that it would have been one of the last theories to occur to him. ] You didn't want to go in my room. Scared of finding weird sex toys and porn?
You know, I don't think I've ever worn another guy's underwear before? Kinky. [ He is fully aware that is likely to send Choso into a panic either because of the sexual implication or having done human behavior wrong, but he's already stepping into the underwear before Choso can take them back, and then pulling up the sweatpants. ]
Now you're all wet. [ He hooks an arm over Choso's shoulders, leaning into him as he raps his knuckles lightly against that wet spot, then plants a kiss on his temple. ] Go change your shirt. I'll make that tea.
( his mouth opens, then shuts, but it's obvious that nothing he says here is going to get him out of this feeling of embarrassment--no explanation is going to help him, and worse, may just add fuel to gojo's teasing flames. so he shuts his mouth again with a disgruntled sound, rumbling in his throat, and rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling.
does it matter, sharing clothes that are clean? it would have been something else entirely if he had brought gojo a pair of used underwear, that would have been worse, that would have been downright--well, perverted in a way. so then gojo's just teasing him about this. right? he's racking his human logistics to try to find the answer when that arm drapes over his shoulders, and he looks down.
right. his shirt is wet. his head tilts with the pressure of the kiss, but the hand that he lifts up to nudge at gojo is only mild, gentle. )
Fine. ( he drags himself sidelong, just to give gojo a once-over: as though reassuring that he looks okay, before he trudges out the door again, returning back to his room. it's quick and easy, really, peeling out of his shirt, shrugging into a new one, and then as an after thought, retreating back to the washing machine to drop his damp shirt in with the rest of gojo's clothes.
--surely that isn't some kind of perverted thing, either? is he going to have to do everyone's laundry separately, because if their clothes mix, it's kinky?
glumly, he heads back down the stairs towards the kitchen, where presumably gojo is making the tea--or if he's not, he'll elbow in to do it for him. as the person responsible for the meal, it would only make sense. )
[ Gojo does make the tea. It's terrible, but that's not his fault. He can only find terrible tea in this city. This is the least terrible he's managed to find, but it's hard to say that definitively out of the various flavors of awful available. Maybe this region once had decent tea fields, but he doubts it. Maybe one of the other islands once had decent tea fields. Maybe if they're unbelievably lucky there are still fields of tea growing somewhere they can access it, if Gojo can just find them. Until then: these stale black shreds of unidentified leaves, contained within little paper tea bags.
He sets the tea cups down, offers Choso a smile as he comes back in. Easy, for once. A simple and domestic moment, making dinner and tea for each other, laundry tumbling in the other room. Almost possible to forget what a disaster Gojo had been mere minutes ago, and no doubt will be again. The calm in the eye of the storm belying the fact that Choso's caught up in a hurricane.
But there's still a slight tilt to Gojo's lips to turn that smile into a smirk. A sharpness in his eyes both wary and predatory. Ready to turn everything into a joke--or a challenge. ]
I want to ask you something. [ Now, Gojo? he demands of himself. When he's so clearly been reminded that you're a burden and a hazard?
Especially now. Better to have the clear warning.
Crossing the space to Choso while they're both still standing, he rests one arm on Choso's shoulder again. Only the one arm on one shoulder, keeping his body turned away, somehow managing to keep his body language closed off even while he drapes on people. Never really embracing people, only taking up space inside of their boundaries. Always maintaining an infinity between himself and others, even without the use of his powers. ]
And you really ought to have the sense to say no. [ A grin like a shark as he leans his weight heavier on Choso's shoulder.
( A burden and a hazard. )
But he keeps leaning in, bringing his lips close to Choso's ear. ] Date me.
[ The words are soft and warm, playful and inviting. ] Actually. Literally. [ Important to specify, especially when he knows that the laughter laced through his tone could so easily sound like mockery. ]
Call me Satoru.
[ Then the weight lifts away and he steps back, dropping into his chair at the table with his legs splayed, posture reckless enough that it's a miracle he stays in the chair at all. He's aware that everything about that little stunt was unfair. He's unfair. But he's aware, too, that it would be too unfair to make Choso answer him while he was still being a shoulder devil with all the weight of a stone gargoyle, whispering temptation in Choso's ear. ]
( there's at least tea being made, so he doesn't have to scold him for anything. rather, he wants to move around him and ensure that the meal still looks okay: that he doesn't need to swap out the rice, or try to reheat the fish, or any of the other smaller dishes of vegetables that are mostly seasoned but still not quite as good as he'd like them to be. he's too distracted by the thought of taking care of gojo that he doesn't readily realize he's being blocked off until it's too late; then there's that arm on his shoulder, where gojo crowds into his space without really taking up space at all.
it's a strange thing he's noticed. maybe it's just the effect of always counting for the limitless barrier between himself and others--or maybe it's that he never really wants to get too close to people after all.
the words feel like teasing, murmured into his ear, and a part of him wants to scoff, to rub at the shell of his pinkened ear and scrub the embarrassment off his face and sit down in a huff--a part of him feels confused, conflicted, as though now he has to try to contend with whatever feeling it is that brought up in him, and whatever feeling it is that's been percolating, as though not wanting to be understood but rather just to exist without worry.
boneless, he gently slips himself down into his chair at the table, but his palms land on his thighs, and his knees press together, and his gaze goes to the table. )
...Satoru. ( he starts, then stops--is that too soon? he can't take it back now; it's out of his mouth. )
When you... ( there's a slight wince of his gaze, like he hates saying the words out loud at all. ) ...I know that I'll never be that person. The person you... Getou Suguru. He's your most precious person. I understand that.
I think I accepted that meant I would never be able to be anything similar, either. That I...I could never be seen like you see him, or like you see Felwinter, now, or your wolf, maybe, or anything. An imprint, or someone you keep around you--that's easy, and it's easy to see myself wanting to take any little piece you might give me, because any tiny piece of something precious is equally precious.
But there's...an important person to me, here, who might want to give me everything, and I might want to take that, but I don't know if...that will happen.
And so I think I can't accept your offer now, because I think I...need time to figure it all out with myself. I would be a poor date, the person I am now. That, and... and other things. I jumped into so many things when I was incarnated without thinking them through, and I made big mistakes. I want... ( a slow swallow, like it's hard to finish that sentence with anything; it's all jumbled. ) ...to learn you, a little more. Is that wrong?
[ Satoru's posture goes still and tense when Choso starts to speak of Suguru, and his eyes flick down to the side when Choso names him. He's entirely right, that no one would ever be able to take Suguru's place in his heart. No one would ever be able to take any part of what was reserved for Suguru. He would always be an exception, and all other relationships would forever be weighted with that caveat.
Satoru had made clear to his romantic interests here that he would not offer exclusivity. Only Suguru could ask that of him, and with the way thing were ... he doubted that Suguru ever would.
But his gaze snaps back to Choso as the topic moves on, though he keeps quiet and still, listening attentively because Choso's words are important to him.
Surprise lifts his brows for an instant at the mention of someone who wants to be Choso's everything, but his face evens out a moment later, gaze intent but expression unreadable.
Nodding once Choso finishes, Satoru sits forward and picks up his chopsticks. ] That's not wrong. I'm proud of you--that was very well-said and earnest, and you're being mature with how you approach the situation.
[ He takes a bite and chews, mulling through some of Choso's as he formulates his reply. ] I'm a bit jealous of whoever your 'important person' is--though, to clarify, it's a ... I'm jealous because it sounds like 'everything' would be exclusive, so I'm jealous that there's something that might rule me out. I'm immensely happy for you getting to have something special, and someone who values you. If that turns out to be an and situation where you get to have that and date me, I'll be thrilled. But I'll be happy that you have that joy in your life either way.
I want to make sure you know, too, that you belong here. [ He gestures with his chopsticks to point down at the table. Here, in this home they've made together. ] Not like you can't belong anywhere else, if you want to, but just that there's a place here for you. You fit here. With us. You've brought me a lot of joy, and I know Fel also values you immensely. Pretty sure he wants you, too.
[ It's all a lot of soft, warm honesty from Satoru, a lot more gentle and earnest than his usual shameless front--like the showy, challenging way he'd just asked Choso out. ]
I've got such a crush on you, Choso. [ His smirk flashes briefly across his face, but it's a wry thing, and any edge to it has already been turned inward so that it will only cut himself. ] The cute aggression is intense.
[ A part of him wants to make an argument that he needs Choso, and he does. Choso has become an anchor for him, emotionally and morally. Choso provides domesticity and safety for him, taking care of Satoru in ways that he deeply struggles to care for himself--he keeps up a front that the reason he doesn't help with chores is because he's lazy and selfish, hiding the signs of a depression where he would simply not eat for days if left to his own devices, much like the way that he avoids sleep. Choso provides a buffer and a balance between him and Fel, and Satoru's not sure if the two of them are capable of not destroying their own relationship out of stubbornness and pride, without Choso creating a point of compromise. They end up talking about Choso in most of their arguments. Even without being physically present, he reins them in because they both care enough to want to keep from displeasing him.
Saying any of that feels like it would lay chains on Choso, and that isn't fair to him, if he has a chance at happiness.
Satoru's smirk fades, and he gazes into his food, taking another couple of bites and trusting that Choso will let him work through his thoughts a little bit more. ]
You're incredibly valuable to me, Choso. [ That feels like the most he can fairly say. It's true, and Choso deserves to know that he's valued. Satoru's expression remains faraway and sad, and he doesn't look up. ] But you're right. You'll never be my one and only.
If you have a chance at having that, you should take it.
( it feels like a cue, when satoru picks up his chopsticks, and numbly, he follows suit: the food is less interesting, with the knot in his stomach, and at best, he tips them down into the small bowl of soup, lukewarm now, mildly stirring up the contents of it with less desire to consume it and more desire to have something to fiddle with. his blurry reflection in the surface of it moves with the movement, and he only notices then that he's frowning; he tries to smooth his expression out again, tries to reason with it there.
what kind of feeling is this? it's hard to understand, since it feels like it hits so many different places. disappointment, hurt, embarrassment, worry--he soaks them all up but can't quite make sense of them, and satoru's words only seem to make the edges more blurry, only seem to make it all swim together.
it's important to let satoru speak. important because he knows that for all that he's terrible with emotion, himself, satoru has lived like this around people for much longer--and yet still struggles, it seems, with getting things out. to avoid putting any pressure, he mechanically works at some rice, a little fish, small bites that get him nowhere, but give satoru the time to speak.
by the time he's finished, there's a faint pink hue over his face, but it's hard to say whether he's feeling shy, feeling praised, feeling embarrassed or feeling uncomfortable. )
...I know. ( you'll never be my one and only. he knows it, knew it from the beginning, but it still hurts a little to hear it, no matter how well he understands--understands, and doesn't blame satoru for it at all. ) I know my place, and I know where he belongs. I wouldn't challenge that.
I don't know if...I don't know what will happen. I don't know if this person will want me, entirely, like that, or...I just don't know yet. It's early, I think. Nothing has been really defined, or asked for. I just...wonder, for now.
And I... don't want to go anywhere else. ( soft, his chin turned down to stare at his dishes, instead. ) Even if it becomes something. This is home, to me. I want to be here with you, and Lord Felwinter.
( still hasn't decided whether he should drop that title or not, but he respects felwinter too much to accidentally be rude. )
I don't know where I belong, or who I belong with. I've never known that. I had my brothers to think about, and I only did whatever I thought would give them a place to be. I never...
( a short swallow. ) Mmm.
But this is the first time I've had space of my own, and felt...warm, somewhere. Wanted, a little. And I want to stay, like this, no matter what happens... That's not trouble, is it? To want...to be close to...Mm.
I don't think you do know your place. [ It sounds horrible, for a second, with the cool tone and the slight lift to his brow, but Satoru isn't done talking. (Is he ever?) ] I think you devalue yourself.
... And I think you can probably stop calling him 'Lord' Felwinter. We live together. I know he likes you a lot. He's very protective of you.
[ Satoru warms with relief and gratitude when Choso says he'd want to stay no matter what. It lifts a heavy weight off of him, and makes it easier to confess how much he needs Choso, if it's not an obligation upon him. ]
Choso, I wasn't eating before you started cooking for us. That's how much I hated the food at the Valentia. It was more tolerable to just starve and heal myself.
You're more than just wanted here. You're keeping me functional. I don't know why doing laundry is so stupidly, unbearably difficult for me, but I've always been so bad at doing ... that stuff. [ Maybe because he was raised rich and spoiled, but he doesn't think that's it. He can cook, actually. He's pretty good at it. But it exhausts him in a way that fighting a stadium full of curses somehow doesn't. ]
And I feel ... [ Uncertain little shrug, eyes on his food. Satoru pokes at it a few times while he tries to figure out what to say. ] Safe. When you're around. Not physically--though I know you're completely ready to fight for me if needed. Infinity still works great. I'm untouchable.
Emotionally safe. [ It's basically just a mumble. Admitting anything emotional is hard, especially emotional vulnerability. ] However that works.
If you're here, then the whole place feels safe.
And I think you're kind of a balance and an anchor for me and Fel.
( there is a small click of his tongue against his teeth, a 'tch' of embarrassment--because he sort of enjoys felwinter's title, the way it rolls off his tongue, but that's something to be shared between the two of them. stubbornly, for now, he'll drop the title even if he feels it should be recognized.
slowly, he puts his chopsticks down on top of his rice bowl: mostly so he'll stop fiddling with them or threatening to push them down into his lap. )
...I think I'm not devaluing myself. ( --is the first thing he seems to want to start with, stubborn, but it's replaced by a more pointed sigh, his gaze lifting up to look at satoru, eyes narrowed. )
I think that you really need to start eating more than just dinner, too. You need breakfast. I can't be with you all the time, so I can't force lunch down your throat.
You don't take care of yourself because you don't see yourself as a person. So if anyone is devaluing anyone, I think it's that you're putting all of your thought and effort into being the great sorcerer, Gojou Satoru, or here, being some leader, some teacher, than you are being a flesh and blood body that hurts and bleeds and needs sleep, and food, and a hot bath sometimes, and someone to hold you close.
( it feels like all of that came from somewhere inside of him that he wasn't supposed to let out; his lips press shut, frustrated with himself, but if he's already there-- )
L-- Felwinter is your equal. He would have killed me, the same way you wanted to, because of what I did. What I participated in. He told me. I don't think I can fix...that. It's... He sees me differently, and you two are...
( no, on second thought, he can't really say it. which means moving on, but then he stumbles there, too: )
Your ego knows how I feel...about you. Right? I don't need to put it into words.
( --unfair, really, and logically he knows it, knows that he can't just preach about the way that satoru, and even felwinter, deserve so much more and to be treated as so much more than just tools for the battlefield, when he's deflecting to doing the same thing. but feelings hurt, it seems, and that hurt makes decisions all on its own; quietly, without having touched much of his food, he pushes up out of his chair. )
You are safe. ( softly. that's important. ) And I won't leave.
( not the house, at least, though he does start gathering up some of his own dishes to take them to the sink. )
[ Satoru stares from the words you don't see yourself as a person, chopsticks going entirely still. He feels his throat close and can't even swallow. His cheeks hurt, and he's pretty sure it's because he just turned white.
No one's ever called him out quite that specifically. Every word of it is true, and it's so much worse than a knife in his gut. He feels like no one sees him or treats him as a flesh and blood body that hurts and bleeds and needs sleep, and food, and a hot bath sometimes, and he thinks that maybe why he acts so lazy and spoiled and can't do those things for himself is partly because he can't treat himself as human and partly as his way of carving out some respite for himself. If the entirety of the jujutsu world is going to demand that he be the strongest, that he burn himself at both ends to keep the world warm, then he can't be expected to also do his own laundry. He's exhausting himself too much with enormous things, so the minor, insignificant things of his own needs are just ... too much effort. He doesn't have the energy to spare.
When Choso turns away, Satoru rises fast, chopsticks clattering as they hit the bowl, and he crosses the room in a couple of quick strides, slipping his arms around Choso's waist and hugging him tight, face tucked into Choso's shoulder.
He needs a moment before he can lift his head to answer. When he does, his eyes are sharp and cool, that inhuman intensity in them--the way he looks at the world like he's just running the calculations of how easy it would be to take it all apart, like he's trying to remind himself why he should care. ] My ego knows that I'm gorgeous and charming. Everyone desires me. I'm a genius, I'm good at everything ... [ And yet this list makes him hate himself.
He pushes Choso back against the counter, braces one hand against it and keeps the other on Choso's waist, fisted into the fabric. ]
I don't see myself as a person, Choso. [ His voice cracks as he says it. It's so hard to acknowledge what Choso just identified. ] You think I believe anyone else does? [ He has no idea what Choso's feelings for him are. He assumes Choso desires him physically: everyone does. And he knows that Choso feels protective of him, even if that's only for Yuji's sake. ]
( he doesn't have to protect himself from gojou satoru. he knows that. he knows, and knows that the days of wondering just how long he would have to wait to be exorcised on the spot are gone, that they've gone past that now, despite the depth of satoru's emotional wounds. but he hears the dishes and his shoulders flinch anyway, just the tiniest movement, because he doesn't expect it: because the sink is already on, because his bowl and his plate are there in the basin, because satoru's arms wrap around him like he's squeezing some kind of precious childhood teddy bear, something that he doesn't want to have to part with.
silence reigns there, for a moment, interrupted only by the soft trickle of water, the slick squeak of his damp hands against the edge of the sink, leaning into it. he doesn't want to face satoru. he doesn't want to look at his face and find him angry with him, for what he said: for his brash honesty, whipped there in the moment.
even without turning to look satoru in the face, he knows what expression goes with those words. and at first, they're annoying: a genius, good at everything, gorgeous enough to make head turns anywhere. the usual egotism, but is it really egotism if it's true? he's always wondered that. and he moves like he might just busy his hands with the dishes anyway, except that in the end, he's reaching to turn the water off. )
...When I see myself, I'm not a person. Not really.
She may have said that I have a choice. That a part of me can die, to let the other part live. But even now, even after all that, even after giving up my life for someone else...This body isn't mine. It's mine, but it's not really. I am only here because I was created to be something worth experimenting for. A weapon.
( softly, patiently, as he stares down into the sink, doesn't try to move away from satoru's embrace, or escape him at all. )
When I saw you, you were that to me, too. Just a name, attached to a greatness, attached to an enemy that I didn't much care about. A part of the plan. A sorcerer that needed to be out of the way, to make my brother's lives easier. I didn't know you. I didn't care. But I didn't much care, either, about getting rid of you anyway. I went along with things, but it was never personal.
You might be the same physical person, here, but you're not just a tool or a weapon, to me, now.
I think that the people who truly see you would be disappointed that you don't trust that they see you. ( a soft breath. ) But I think they would understand, too.
You laugh at stupid jokes like a child. You throw your clothes around everywhere. You eat around anything that isn't coated in sugar unless someone is there to tell you to stop. You laugh, and I think you cry, you get tired, you have dreams, you wish for unrealistic things. Like people do. You are just as much that as anything else.
( a slow swallow: like he can't tell if he's getting the words out well at all. )
But I don't mind, having to remind you. It's okay. I don't see myself as a person, but I see you.
[ Satoru listens to all this, then just keeps standing there, in silence, head against Choso's shoulder, letting him finish cleaning up. He processes all of that, mulling it over, thinking about what he wants--in general, but mostly just at the moment.
And he thinks about Choso. Thinking about his own grief and exhaustion and emotional needs is too difficult, and he thinks about how tragically funny it is that neither of them can see themselves as people, but they can see each other that way.
All three of them.
When Choso shuts off the water, Satoru loosens his grip and steps back. ] Will you come to my room? I'd like to be held. [ Something he needs, like Choso said, and he's pretty sure Choso will provide that.
He goes back for the food, since he is still hungry, picking up his bowl to take to his room.
For now, he sets the bowl on the nightstand while he gets situated. Settling close against Choso's side on the bed, Satoru tangles their legs together, leans back against Choso's shoulder and tugs Choso's arms around his waist.
But then he reaches for his device instead of the bowl, and ... calls Felwinter. Hey. Can you come home? Quick as you can, please. Living weapon support group.
Then he sets the device aside and picks up his food. ]
You are a person, Choso. [ Looking at his food, not at Choso. ] I'm sorry I spent so long being angry enough that I wanted to make you feel otherwise.
It was cruel. I was lashing out, and in return you've taken care of me.
( for a moment, it feels like he's said something wrong--but it's more just that the pause is thoughtful, rather than irritated, and when satoru slips back away from him, it's only because he's retreating back for his food. he can't complain about that; it actually makes him feel a little better, oddly enough.
and the request is easy. easy to follow him, to towel off barely damp hands before that, to awkwardly stand there for a moment in satoru's doorway before he acknowledges to himself that he's been invited to come inside, and so it's not strange. he should likely swap the laundry out, but that can wait. for now, he eases onto the bed, pliable, and settles himself back against it, letting satoru lean up against him, arrange his arms, settle himself down, too.
of course, there's the embarrassed click of his tongue again, when satoru calls felwinter, but there's nothing he can do about it, and this is home, anyway. nowhere else for him to go. maybe it's just that satoru needs the safety of the both of them, for now; he can understand that.
for a moment, he doesn't say anything--just lets his eyes go to the ceiling, instead. )
...It's understandable. ( he says, a quiet reassurance, because it's true--it does hurt, thinking that both satoru and felwinter would have both reacted in similar ways, but only because he knows that he did something terrible, regardless of the reasons behind it.
with a soft breath, he lets his eyes close; his head rests back, comfortable, arms dutifully loose around satoru's waist. )
I know anger. It doesn't just melt away. It needed to go somewhere. ( and then still, with his eyes shut-- ) Keep eating. You're skinny.
[Felwinter's arrival is heralded by a sudden commotion from his bedroom. Thuds and clatters, scrapes and scratches and heavy footsteps. When the door nudges open, what pokes through it is a very large beak, followed by a birdskull face with hollow eyes. It tilts this way and that, listening, searching, but it's already shrinking, melting away until the man it's attached to can fit through the door without causing any more damage than he already has.
Gojo had said quick as you can. He'd assumed it was something urgent.
But he's called to Gojo's bedroom, and finds him there with Choso, and everything seems... fine? At least outwardly. So he pauses, a little bemused, in the doorway, somehow looking ruffled despite his typical impassiveness.]
What happened? [Looking to Choso for answers, because Choso is the sensible one, because Gojo is a Light-damned liability he'd just flown across the city at top speed for.] I got here as quickly as I as could.
[ Gojo smiles at Choso scolding him to eat, because that care is exactly what he needs. He relaxes into Choso's embrace, allowing himself to feel safe and accepted, cared for. ]
No danger. I just need you. Sit with us, please? [ With us, because he has no intention of releasing Choso. He'd very intentionally entangled Choso before calling Fel, preventing Choso from being able to politely excuse himself, and he stays relaxed against Choso now, weight against Choso's shoulder and legs entwined one over and one under Choso's legs. ]
I apologized to Choso. [ Which is the first most important thing. He knows how upset Fel was by how he spoke to Choso, specifically with dehumanizing him, and Gojo almost never apologizes for anything. ] We were having an interesting conversation about how neither of us see ourselves as people. I think it applies to all three of us. We think of ourselves as living weapons, not as people.
I did like that Choso said he likes living here with us, though. That this is home for him. [ Gojo smiles, warm and fond, then tips his head back against Choso's shoulder, a playful stage whisper. ] I'm tattling.
But he also said some things I wanted you to respond to. I need attention and comfort right now, but I also need Choso to know that he matters. That he's equal to us both. And that we both want him here. So it's Living Weapon Support Group Time.
( the sound draws his attention, tired, rimmed eyes batting open at the slight commotion--and even if satoru doesn't, he has the grace to look guilty; his gaze drops, lines itself up with satoru's shoulder, and though he'd been willing to answer, he lets satoru go ahead with whatever he wants to say instead.
that is, until the tattling--which has him fitting his mouth into a frown, bashful, a little uncomfortable. he trusts felwinter just as much as he trusts satoru, feels comforted just by being in his presence regardless of whether he's directly involved or not, and had felt all those things previously that feel a little embarrassing, now, like he's supposed to push them down, but he's also oddly desperate not to have felwinter think ill of him. maybe it's just the feeling he's had ever since their talk about the past.
nothing he can do about it now. instead, there's a faint glance up towards felwinter, a little nervous, like he's not sure what he should say; his arms loosen a little, like he might pry himself away from satoru if he can. )
It's not... ( a soft swallow. ) You don't have to say anything, about me. I'm sorry for the...urgency.
Do you want to come sit, here? To give him the attention, and comfort.
( he didn't miss out on satoru saying that, and to him, that's a little more important. it's honestly part of the reason why he assumes that satoru called felwinter to begin with. )
[I apologised to Choso. That certainly is the most important thing, and something in Felwinter's body language — in the set of his shoulders, and the sharpness of his eyes — immediately softens.
They both want him to sit with them, apparently, so he moves to the bed, taking a moment to figure out where he should sit. Since Gojo has crowded mostly onto Choso's side, he takes the opposite side, though he makes no effort to move in close, leaving space between them.]
Did you "tattle" about our argument? [(Which argument, there have been so many—) He looks sideways at Choso, trying to catch his eye.] I was angry at how he treated you. I wanted him to at least use your name when he spoke to you. I hope that's... resolved, now.
[Gojo seems to want him to reassure Choso as much as he wants reassurance for himself. The problem with that is that Felwinter has no idea how to go about it. He'd taken a liking to Choso very quickly, that much is true, and he cares for him in his awkward, reserved, Felwinter kind of way. But that's it. They live together, but he's not sure they're all that close. He's not sure if Choso wants to be close.
Gojo is a demanding brat, but at least that means Felwinter (mostly) knows where he stands with him.]
I want to hear them. Whatever these things are that were said.
[At least so he can have a better idea of what he's missed that led to all of this.]
[ Satoru blinks at him, genuine bewilderment at, yeah, mostly which of their various arguments Fel is referencing. ] Oh, that one. I thought you talked to Choso after that. [ He shrugs, unconcerned, especially since Fel provides the context for it.
His hands curl over Choso's arms, light but still certain, encouraging him to stay. Trying to reiterate in every way that he can that Choso has a place here and he's wanted, even though Satoru's aware that he's made the situation a little more awkward by bringing Fel into it. But he makes no effort to bring Fel closer, content to have him near and not going to insist on cuddles (yet). ]
Felwinter is your equal. [ This is the real tattling--he'd said it earlier mostly as a warning, because he'd already been intending to repeat Choso's words. He makes no attempt at doing any kind of impression, just delivers them plain and serious, eyes on Fel's as he does so. His hands are ready to tighten on Choso's wrists if he tries to back away or clap a hand over Satoru's mouth--though he doesn't think Choso will. Even though in a way this is as cruel as pinning him like a bug and making him squirm. ] He would have killed me, the same way you wanted to, because of what I did. What I participated in. He told me. I don't think I can fix that. He sees me differently, and you two are...
[ He lets it trail off, as Choso had, but he doesn't let the silence hang. (Does he ever?) His head turns back toward Choso, blue eyes intent. ] You are equal to us both. I will not accept otherwise. Because if the two of you--both of you--cannot be counted as my equals, then I have no equals, and that is an excruciatingly lonely thing. [ He doesn't think that Choso will be willing to ever consider himself the equal of Gojo Satoru. But he hopes that, after today's conversation, perhaps he can understand just how desperately Satoru needs equals. If Choso can't consider himself equal for his own sake, perhaps he'll be able to accept it for Satoru's sake. ]
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Pausing on his way into the house when he encounters Choso, Gojo flashes him a somewhat-strained smile, teeth white against the red-smeared mess of his face. The two additional eyes on either side of his cheekbones gleam cerulean through red-dyed lashes. He's been hiding those extra eyes, wearing full-face bandages the past week and coming up with excuses about it, but his bandages also got soaked and re-wrapping blood-wet bandaging (and trying to breathe through that?) sounded even worse than actually dealing with the horror of his own face. So those are also a bit of a revelation. ]
It's not mine.
[ Does that make it ... better? ]
I'm gonna ... take a shower.
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with a rough swallow, he pushes the chopsticks down, letting them clatter on the table--by the time gojou rounds the corner from the entrance, he's less concerned about the look of him and more concerned about the stench; true to his words, however, the blood--from what he can sense--isn't his.
with a wrinkling, displeased frown: ) You didn't bring your friend home for dinner.
( it's mostly a joke; after that kind of warning over their devices, he doubts that the wolf augment would have come in, taken his shoes off, apologized for the intrusion and sat down for a meal.
rather than let gojo move past him entirely, for the stairs, he reaches out a hand, clamps it down--if he can--around his upper arm. )
I'll come with you. ( not to the shower, which he clarifies-- ) Your clothes need to be put in the washing.
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I figured from the state of me that the clothes would be better off going a first round straight into the shower with me. They can go through a washing with soap after the worst of the blood gets rinsed out.
Johann agreed to be better behaved, anyway. I messaged you because I didn't want to forget, later--I tend to get distracted when I go out to play with him. But I got him to agree not to ambush a very short list of people who are important to me.
[ He turns on the shower in his bathroom, looks back to Choso while he waits for it to warm up. Warm and cheery, even fond. Maybe all the blood came with a concussion? ] Basically just you and Fel.
[ And Suguru. ]
If he wants to play with you, he can ask politely. Sorry [ He knows that word? ] for worrying you, but yeah. Didn't want to forget and then have you ambushed.
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Then I'll wait and take them from you when you're done.
( agreeing, at least, to hover around in the bathroom long enough to accept them. they take the stairs, and gojo leads them to the bathroom; he releases him then, standing there like a bodyguard in the doorway--his arms fold, almost immediately, in against his chest.
rather than listen, intently, he watches gojo's face. he looks--different, a little cheerful, but a little dazed, and the words i tend to get distracted when i go out to play with him likely has more meaning than just heading out for a run or to find some hobbled playground to enjoy together. just another periphery in the circle of those around gojo; judging by the blood, their play is something more like training.
at least with this johann, gojo can protect himself. there's a faint shake of his head. )
I appreciate the warning. ( it's not snide--it's honest. ) You've made a lot of interesting connections, in this place.
( so far, no one that he has to keep a firm watch on, at least that he knows about. besides--well, but he's mostly agreed not to get in the way of that one. he's not sure he has the stomach to see "kenjaku's" face, yet. )
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What's more surprising to him are the romantic connections he's made. For years he's been so good at keeping his flings casual and at arm's length. And now he's messily involved with several relationships.
Blame it on the imprint. (Or take the imprint as an excuse.)
Stepping into the shower fully-dressed, Gojo rubs his hands through his hair, starting to rinse off the first layer of blood. He makes a disgusted noise. Fighting is the one way in which he'll sometimes let himself get messy. If it's for a fight, he doesn't care how muddy and blood-soaked he gets. But as soon as the active fun of that fight is over, Gojo starts itching to be clean and comfy again. ] Ugh, I've gotta find a way to clean blood off outside of the city. Maybe a farm with a well? Dump a couple buckets over my head before coming back inside? That'd probably work.
[ He hauls his shirt over his head and wrings it out once, torrenting bloody water down around his feet. Then he just drops the shirt on the shower floor to get a little more rinsed by being ignored for a minute. ] Dinner smells good.
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so much to deal with, and he wonders if gojo had some kind of maid, back home, or if he just let his home get this messy all the time. hard to say, given that he doesn't think gojo really had much of a 'home' to speak of. the world needed him too often to give that to him.
maybe that's the thought that softens him, a little. ) It's nothing fancy. I'm not advanced enough yet.
( --meaning that he's still dutifully poring over cookbooks to learn more than just grilling and seasoning fish. )
But there's wine, and tea. ( a small, thoughtful pause, readjusting his arms against his chest. ) You don't drink. Is that right?
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Choso may still be learning, but he's applying Japanese sensibilities and his own intelligence and creativity to the food, not just regurgitating the local recipes. Gojo's enormously appreciative. Even though he only lets a little of that warmth actually slip into his tone, it's still sincere: ] I'm grateful.
[ He scrubs himself quickly, making a couple of soft whining noises as his hair rinses out still pinkish after the first application of shampoo, and dealing with all the fluffy fur of his tail is a further annoyance, even though that's less blood-soaked than his front. His black lounge pants and underwear are dropped to the floor of the shower along with his shirt until he gets his actual body clean. ]
That's right. [ His tone is firm and certain. Possible that there's a hint of approval in having his preferences noted, but the firmness of the delivery is a shut door. He will not be taking follow-up questions. ] I'll have the tea.
[ When the rest of him is clean, he picks up the shirt again, wrings it out with another noise of disgust when it still runs pink. Soaks it, twists it again, then drapes it over his shoulder. The pants and underwear get the same treatment before he turns off the water, wrings everything one last time, and steps out of the shower, offering the soggy mass toward Choso. They're all still dripping faintly pinkish water, but at least he cared enough to rinse out the worst of it. ]
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his gaze slides, patient, as gojo shifts away from the shower: but his displeasure is immediately on his face, a tugging of his mouth into a frown, as he reaches forward to take the bundle of wet clothes from gojo's arms. hard to say whether his gaze wants to skim, or if it just does it out of habit--a small swallow, a nod of his chin, and while he hoists the wet mass up against his chest, his free arm moves, a firm palm that pushes, gently, at gojo's wet chest. )
Towel yourself off. I'll bring you clothes. ( a beat. ) If you're cold, get in the shower again.
( best to turn away before he's caught staring, so he moves disgruntled towards the doorway, already dutifully working his way down the hall to the washer. fascinating machine, really: he gently loads in gojo's clothing, adds a bit of soap, and turns it on; it means that he's now the wet one, a big damp splotch on his chest, but he still goes down the other end of the hall to--
no, detour. he doesn't want to go inside gojo's room without him there, and they're a similar size. so he takes a pair of dark underwear, a pair of sweatpants, and a crisp white t-shirt from his own room, carrying them back to the bathroom so that he can tuck them, gently, onto the counter. )
Do you need anything else? ( he waits there, hovering in the door frame, just in case. )
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Scrubbing the towel through his hair to finish drying it as Choso returns, Gojo flashes him a grin in thanks and goes to put on the clothes, then pauses in confusion. ] These aren't mine.
[ There's no reason to reject them, though, so Gojo pulls on the shirt as his brain continues connecting the dots. It's not like strange clothes are a trap, but why didn't Choso fetch Gojo's clothes? ] These are your clothes. [ He's amused as his brain finishes making connections, though his conclusion is slightly off from Choso's intentions: politeness is so antithetical to Gojo's nature that it would have been one of the last theories to occur to him. ] You didn't want to go in my room. Scared of finding weird sex toys and porn?
You know, I don't think I've ever worn another guy's underwear before? Kinky. [ He is fully aware that is likely to send Choso into a panic either because of the sexual implication or having done human behavior wrong, but he's already stepping into the underwear before Choso can take them back, and then pulling up the sweatpants. ]
Now you're all wet. [ He hooks an arm over Choso's shoulders, leaning into him as he raps his knuckles lightly against that wet spot, then plants a kiss on his temple. ] Go change your shirt. I'll make that tea.
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does it matter, sharing clothes that are clean? it would have been something else entirely if he had brought gojo a pair of used underwear, that would have been worse, that would have been downright--well, perverted in a way. so then gojo's just teasing him about this. right? he's racking his human logistics to try to find the answer when that arm drapes over his shoulders, and he looks down.
right. his shirt is wet. his head tilts with the pressure of the kiss, but the hand that he lifts up to nudge at gojo is only mild, gentle. )
Fine. ( he drags himself sidelong, just to give gojo a once-over: as though reassuring that he looks okay, before he trudges out the door again, returning back to his room. it's quick and easy, really, peeling out of his shirt, shrugging into a new one, and then as an after thought, retreating back to the washing machine to drop his damp shirt in with the rest of gojo's clothes.
--surely that isn't some kind of perverted thing, either? is he going to have to do everyone's laundry separately, because if their clothes mix, it's kinky?
glumly, he heads back down the stairs towards the kitchen, where presumably gojo is making the tea--or if he's not, he'll elbow in to do it for him. as the person responsible for the meal, it would only make sense. )
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He sets the tea cups down, offers Choso a smile as he comes back in. Easy, for once. A simple and domestic moment, making dinner and tea for each other, laundry tumbling in the other room. Almost possible to forget what a disaster Gojo had been mere minutes ago, and no doubt will be again. The calm in the eye of the storm belying the fact that Choso's caught up in a hurricane.
But there's still a slight tilt to Gojo's lips to turn that smile into a smirk. A sharpness in his eyes both wary and predatory. Ready to turn everything into a joke--or a challenge. ]
I want to ask you something. [ Now, Gojo? he demands of himself. When he's so clearly been reminded that you're a burden and a hazard?
Especially now. Better to have the clear warning.
Crossing the space to Choso while they're both still standing, he rests one arm on Choso's shoulder again. Only the one arm on one shoulder, keeping his body turned away, somehow managing to keep his body language closed off even while he drapes on people. Never really embracing people, only taking up space inside of their boundaries. Always maintaining an infinity between himself and others, even without the use of his powers. ]
And you really ought to have the sense to say no. [ A grin like a shark as he leans his weight heavier on Choso's shoulder.
( A burden and a hazard. )
But he keeps leaning in, bringing his lips close to Choso's ear. ] Date me.
[ The words are soft and warm, playful and inviting. ] Actually. Literally. [ Important to specify, especially when he knows that the laughter laced through his tone could so easily sound like mockery. ]
Call me Satoru.
[ Then the weight lifts away and he steps back, dropping into his chair at the table with his legs splayed, posture reckless enough that it's a miracle he stays in the chair at all. He's aware that everything about that little stunt was unfair. He's unfair. But he's aware, too, that it would be too unfair to make Choso answer him while he was still being a shoulder devil with all the weight of a stone gargoyle, whispering temptation in Choso's ear. ]
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it's a strange thing he's noticed. maybe it's just the effect of always counting for the limitless barrier between himself and others--or maybe it's that he never really wants to get too close to people after all.
the words feel like teasing, murmured into his ear, and a part of him wants to scoff, to rub at the shell of his pinkened ear and scrub the embarrassment off his face and sit down in a huff--a part of him feels confused, conflicted, as though now he has to try to contend with whatever feeling it is that brought up in him, and whatever feeling it is that's been percolating, as though not wanting to be understood but rather just to exist without worry.
boneless, he gently slips himself down into his chair at the table, but his palms land on his thighs, and his knees press together, and his gaze goes to the table. )
...Satoru. ( he starts, then stops--is that too soon? he can't take it back now; it's out of his mouth. )
When you... ( there's a slight wince of his gaze, like he hates saying the words out loud at all. ) ...I know that I'll never be that person. The person you... Getou Suguru. He's your most precious person. I understand that.
I think I accepted that meant I would never be able to be anything similar, either. That I...I could never be seen like you see him, or like you see Felwinter, now, or your wolf, maybe, or anything. An imprint, or someone you keep around you--that's easy, and it's easy to see myself wanting to take any little piece you might give me, because any tiny piece of something precious is equally precious.
But there's...an important person to me, here, who might want to give me everything, and I might want to take that, but I don't know if...that will happen.
And so I think I can't accept your offer now, because I think I...need time to figure it all out with myself. I would be a poor date, the person I am now. That, and... and other things. I jumped into so many things when I was incarnated without thinking them through, and I made big mistakes. I want... ( a slow swallow, like it's hard to finish that sentence with anything; it's all jumbled. ) ...to learn you, a little more. Is that wrong?
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Satoru had made clear to his romantic interests here that he would not offer exclusivity. Only Suguru could ask that of him, and with the way thing were ... he doubted that Suguru ever would.
But his gaze snaps back to Choso as the topic moves on, though he keeps quiet and still, listening attentively because Choso's words are important to him.
Surprise lifts his brows for an instant at the mention of someone who wants to be Choso's everything, but his face evens out a moment later, gaze intent but expression unreadable.
Nodding once Choso finishes, Satoru sits forward and picks up his chopsticks. ] That's not wrong. I'm proud of you--that was very well-said and earnest, and you're being mature with how you approach the situation.
[ He takes a bite and chews, mulling through some of Choso's as he formulates his reply. ] I'm a bit jealous of whoever your 'important person' is--though, to clarify, it's a ... I'm jealous because it sounds like 'everything' would be exclusive, so I'm jealous that there's something that might rule me out. I'm immensely happy for you getting to have something special, and someone who values you. If that turns out to be an and situation where you get to have that and date me, I'll be thrilled. But I'll be happy that you have that joy in your life either way.
I want to make sure you know, too, that you belong here. [ He gestures with his chopsticks to point down at the table. Here, in this home they've made together. ] Not like you can't belong anywhere else, if you want to, but just that there's a place here for you. You fit here. With us. You've brought me a lot of joy, and I know Fel also values you immensely. Pretty sure he wants you, too.
[ It's all a lot of soft, warm honesty from Satoru, a lot more gentle and earnest than his usual shameless front--like the showy, challenging way he'd just asked Choso out. ]
I've got such a crush on you, Choso. [ His smirk flashes briefly across his face, but it's a wry thing, and any edge to it has already been turned inward so that it will only cut himself. ] The cute aggression is intense.
[ A part of him wants to make an argument that he needs Choso, and he does. Choso has become an anchor for him, emotionally and morally. Choso provides domesticity and safety for him, taking care of Satoru in ways that he deeply struggles to care for himself--he keeps up a front that the reason he doesn't help with chores is because he's lazy and selfish, hiding the signs of a depression where he would simply not eat for days if left to his own devices, much like the way that he avoids sleep. Choso provides a buffer and a balance between him and Fel, and Satoru's not sure if the two of them are capable of not destroying their own relationship out of stubbornness and pride, without Choso creating a point of compromise. They end up talking about Choso in most of their arguments. Even without being physically present, he reins them in because they both care enough to want to keep from displeasing him.
Saying any of that feels like it would lay chains on Choso, and that isn't fair to him, if he has a chance at happiness.
Satoru's smirk fades, and he gazes into his food, taking another couple of bites and trusting that Choso will let him work through his thoughts a little bit more. ]
You're incredibly valuable to me, Choso. [ That feels like the most he can fairly say. It's true, and Choso deserves to know that he's valued. Satoru's expression remains faraway and sad, and he doesn't look up. ] But you're right. You'll never be my one and only.
If you have a chance at having that, you should take it.
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what kind of feeling is this? it's hard to understand, since it feels like it hits so many different places. disappointment, hurt, embarrassment, worry--he soaks them all up but can't quite make sense of them, and satoru's words only seem to make the edges more blurry, only seem to make it all swim together.
it's important to let satoru speak. important because he knows that for all that he's terrible with emotion, himself, satoru has lived like this around people for much longer--and yet still struggles, it seems, with getting things out. to avoid putting any pressure, he mechanically works at some rice, a little fish, small bites that get him nowhere, but give satoru the time to speak.
by the time he's finished, there's a faint pink hue over his face, but it's hard to say whether he's feeling shy, feeling praised, feeling embarrassed or feeling uncomfortable. )
...I know. ( you'll never be my one and only. he knows it, knew it from the beginning, but it still hurts a little to hear it, no matter how well he understands--understands, and doesn't blame satoru for it at all. ) I know my place, and I know where he belongs. I wouldn't challenge that.
I don't know if...I don't know what will happen. I don't know if this person will want me, entirely, like that, or...I just don't know yet. It's early, I think. Nothing has been really defined, or asked for. I just...wonder, for now.
And I... don't want to go anywhere else. ( soft, his chin turned down to stare at his dishes, instead. ) Even if it becomes something. This is home, to me. I want to be here with you, and Lord Felwinter.
( still hasn't decided whether he should drop that title or not, but he respects felwinter too much to accidentally be rude. )
I don't know where I belong, or who I belong with. I've never known that. I had my brothers to think about, and I only did whatever I thought would give them a place to be. I never...
( a short swallow. ) Mmm.
But this is the first time I've had space of my own, and felt...warm, somewhere. Wanted, a little. And I want to stay, like this, no matter what happens... That's not trouble, is it? To want...to be close to...Mm.
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... And I think you can probably stop calling him 'Lord' Felwinter. We live together. I know he likes you a lot. He's very protective of you.
[ Satoru warms with relief and gratitude when Choso says he'd want to stay no matter what. It lifts a heavy weight off of him, and makes it easier to confess how much he needs Choso, if it's not an obligation upon him. ]
Choso, I wasn't eating before you started cooking for us. That's how much I hated the food at the Valentia. It was more tolerable to just starve and heal myself.
You're more than just wanted here. You're keeping me functional. I don't know why doing laundry is so stupidly, unbearably difficult for me, but I've always been so bad at doing ... that stuff. [ Maybe because he was raised rich and spoiled, but he doesn't think that's it. He can cook, actually. He's pretty good at it. But it exhausts him in a way that fighting a stadium full of curses somehow doesn't. ]
And I feel ... [ Uncertain little shrug, eyes on his food. Satoru pokes at it a few times while he tries to figure out what to say. ] Safe. When you're around. Not physically--though I know you're completely ready to fight for me if needed. Infinity still works great. I'm untouchable.
Emotionally safe. [ It's basically just a mumble. Admitting anything emotional is hard, especially emotional vulnerability. ] However that works.
If you're here, then the whole place feels safe.
And I think you're kind of a balance and an anchor for me and Fel.
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slowly, he puts his chopsticks down on top of his rice bowl: mostly so he'll stop fiddling with them or threatening to push them down into his lap. )
...I think I'm not devaluing myself. ( --is the first thing he seems to want to start with, stubborn, but it's replaced by a more pointed sigh, his gaze lifting up to look at satoru, eyes narrowed. )
I think that you really need to start eating more than just dinner, too. You need breakfast. I can't be with you all the time, so I can't force lunch down your throat.
You don't take care of yourself because you don't see yourself as a person. So if anyone is devaluing anyone, I think it's that you're putting all of your thought and effort into being the great sorcerer, Gojou Satoru, or here, being some leader, some teacher, than you are being a flesh and blood body that hurts and bleeds and needs sleep, and food, and a hot bath sometimes, and someone to hold you close.
( it feels like all of that came from somewhere inside of him that he wasn't supposed to let out; his lips press shut, frustrated with himself, but if he's already there-- )
L-- Felwinter is your equal. He would have killed me, the same way you wanted to, because of what I did. What I participated in. He told me. I don't think I can fix...that. It's... He sees me differently, and you two are...
( no, on second thought, he can't really say it. which means moving on, but then he stumbles there, too: )
Your ego knows how I feel...about you. Right? I don't need to put it into words.
( --unfair, really, and logically he knows it, knows that he can't just preach about the way that satoru, and even felwinter, deserve so much more and to be treated as so much more than just tools for the battlefield, when he's deflecting to doing the same thing. but feelings hurt, it seems, and that hurt makes decisions all on its own; quietly, without having touched much of his food, he pushes up out of his chair. )
You are safe. ( softly. that's important. ) And I won't leave.
( not the house, at least, though he does start gathering up some of his own dishes to take them to the sink. )
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No one's ever called him out quite that specifically. Every word of it is true, and it's so much worse than a knife in his gut. He feels like no one sees him or treats him as a flesh and blood body that hurts and bleeds and needs sleep, and food, and a hot bath sometimes, and he thinks that maybe why he acts so lazy and spoiled and can't do those things for himself is partly because he can't treat himself as human and partly as his way of carving out some respite for himself. If the entirety of the jujutsu world is going to demand that he be the strongest, that he burn himself at both ends to keep the world warm, then he can't be expected to also do his own laundry. He's exhausting himself too much with enormous things, so the minor, insignificant things of his own needs are just ... too much effort. He doesn't have the energy to spare.
When Choso turns away, Satoru rises fast, chopsticks clattering as they hit the bowl, and he crosses the room in a couple of quick strides, slipping his arms around Choso's waist and hugging him tight, face tucked into Choso's shoulder.
He needs a moment before he can lift his head to answer. When he does, his eyes are sharp and cool, that inhuman intensity in them--the way he looks at the world like he's just running the calculations of how easy it would be to take it all apart, like he's trying to remind himself why he should care. ] My ego knows that I'm gorgeous and charming. Everyone desires me. I'm a genius, I'm good at everything ... [ And yet this list makes him hate himself.
He pushes Choso back against the counter, braces one hand against it and keeps the other on Choso's waist, fisted into the fabric. ]
I don't see myself as a person, Choso. [ His voice cracks as he says it. It's so hard to acknowledge what Choso just identified. ] You think I believe anyone else does? [ He has no idea what Choso's feelings for him are. He assumes Choso desires him physically: everyone does. And he knows that Choso feels protective of him, even if that's only for Yuji's sake. ]
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silence reigns there, for a moment, interrupted only by the soft trickle of water, the slick squeak of his damp hands against the edge of the sink, leaning into it. he doesn't want to face satoru. he doesn't want to look at his face and find him angry with him, for what he said: for his brash honesty, whipped there in the moment.
even without turning to look satoru in the face, he knows what expression goes with those words. and at first, they're annoying: a genius, good at everything, gorgeous enough to make head turns anywhere. the usual egotism, but is it really egotism if it's true? he's always wondered that. and he moves like he might just busy his hands with the dishes anyway, except that in the end, he's reaching to turn the water off. )
...When I see myself, I'm not a person. Not really.
She may have said that I have a choice. That a part of me can die, to let the other part live. But even now, even after all that, even after giving up my life for someone else...This body isn't mine. It's mine, but it's not really. I am only here because I was created to be something worth experimenting for. A weapon.
( softly, patiently, as he stares down into the sink, doesn't try to move away from satoru's embrace, or escape him at all. )
When I saw you, you were that to me, too. Just a name, attached to a greatness, attached to an enemy that I didn't much care about. A part of the plan. A sorcerer that needed to be out of the way, to make my brother's lives easier. I didn't know you. I didn't care. But I didn't much care, either, about getting rid of you anyway. I went along with things, but it was never personal.
You might be the same physical person, here, but you're not just a tool or a weapon, to me, now.
I think that the people who truly see you would be disappointed that you don't trust that they see you. ( a soft breath. ) But I think they would understand, too.
You laugh at stupid jokes like a child. You throw your clothes around everywhere. You eat around anything that isn't coated in sugar unless someone is there to tell you to stop. You laugh, and I think you cry, you get tired, you have dreams, you wish for unrealistic things. Like people do. You are just as much that as anything else.
( a slow swallow: like he can't tell if he's getting the words out well at all. )
But I don't mind, having to remind you. It's okay. I don't see myself as a person, but I see you.
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And he thinks about Choso. Thinking about his own grief and exhaustion and emotional needs is too difficult, and he thinks about how tragically funny it is that neither of them can see themselves as people, but they can see each other that way.
All three of them.
When Choso shuts off the water, Satoru loosens his grip and steps back. ] Will you come to my room? I'd like to be held. [ Something he needs, like Choso said, and he's pretty sure Choso will provide that.
He goes back for the food, since he is still hungry, picking up his bowl to take to his room.
For now, he sets the bowl on the nightstand while he gets situated. Settling close against Choso's side on the bed, Satoru tangles their legs together, leans back against Choso's shoulder and tugs Choso's arms around his waist.
But then he reaches for his device instead of the bowl, and ... calls Felwinter. Hey. Can you come home? Quick as you can, please. Living weapon support group.
Then he sets the device aside and picks up his food. ]
You are a person, Choso. [ Looking at his food, not at Choso. ] I'm sorry I spent so long being angry enough that I wanted to make you feel otherwise.
It was cruel. I was lashing out, and in return you've taken care of me.
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and the request is easy. easy to follow him, to towel off barely damp hands before that, to awkwardly stand there for a moment in satoru's doorway before he acknowledges to himself that he's been invited to come inside, and so it's not strange. he should likely swap the laundry out, but that can wait. for now, he eases onto the bed, pliable, and settles himself back against it, letting satoru lean up against him, arrange his arms, settle himself down, too.
of course, there's the embarrassed click of his tongue again, when satoru calls felwinter, but there's nothing he can do about it, and this is home, anyway. nowhere else for him to go. maybe it's just that satoru needs the safety of the both of them, for now; he can understand that.
for a moment, he doesn't say anything--just lets his eyes go to the ceiling, instead. )
...It's understandable. ( he says, a quiet reassurance, because it's true--it does hurt, thinking that both satoru and felwinter would have both reacted in similar ways, but only because he knows that he did something terrible, regardless of the reasons behind it.
with a soft breath, he lets his eyes close; his head rests back, comfortable, arms dutifully loose around satoru's waist. )
I know anger. It doesn't just melt away. It needed to go somewhere. ( and then still, with his eyes shut-- ) Keep eating. You're skinny.
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Gojo had said quick as you can. He'd assumed it was something urgent.
But he's called to Gojo's bedroom, and finds him there with Choso, and everything seems... fine? At least outwardly. So he pauses, a little bemused, in the doorway, somehow looking ruffled despite his typical impassiveness.]
What happened? [Looking to Choso for answers, because Choso is the sensible one, because Gojo is a Light-damned liability he'd just flown across the city at top speed for.] I got here as quickly as I as could.
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No danger. I just need you. Sit with us, please? [ With us, because he has no intention of releasing Choso. He'd very intentionally entangled Choso before calling Fel, preventing Choso from being able to politely excuse himself, and he stays relaxed against Choso now, weight against Choso's shoulder and legs entwined one over and one under Choso's legs. ]
I apologized to Choso. [ Which is the first most important thing. He knows how upset Fel was by how he spoke to Choso, specifically with dehumanizing him, and Gojo almost never apologizes for anything. ] We were having an interesting conversation about how neither of us see ourselves as people. I think it applies to all three of us. We think of ourselves as living weapons, not as people.
I did like that Choso said he likes living here with us, though. That this is home for him. [ Gojo smiles, warm and fond, then tips his head back against Choso's shoulder, a playful stage whisper. ] I'm tattling.
But he also said some things I wanted you to respond to. I need attention and comfort right now, but I also need Choso to know that he matters. That he's equal to us both. And that we both want him here. So it's Living Weapon Support Group Time.
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that is, until the tattling--which has him fitting his mouth into a frown, bashful, a little uncomfortable. he trusts felwinter just as much as he trusts satoru, feels comforted just by being in his presence regardless of whether he's directly involved or not, and had felt all those things previously that feel a little embarrassing, now, like he's supposed to push them down, but he's also oddly desperate not to have felwinter think ill of him. maybe it's just the feeling he's had ever since their talk about the past.
nothing he can do about it now. instead, there's a faint glance up towards felwinter, a little nervous, like he's not sure what he should say; his arms loosen a little, like he might pry himself away from satoru if he can. )
It's not... ( a soft swallow. ) You don't have to say anything, about me. I'm sorry for the...urgency.
Do you want to come sit, here? To give him the attention, and comfort.
( he didn't miss out on satoru saying that, and to him, that's a little more important. it's honestly part of the reason why he assumes that satoru called felwinter to begin with. )
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They both want him to sit with them, apparently, so he moves to the bed, taking a moment to figure out where he should sit. Since Gojo has crowded mostly onto Choso's side, he takes the opposite side, though he makes no effort to move in close, leaving space between them.]
Did you "tattle" about our argument? [(Which argument, there have been so many—) He looks sideways at Choso, trying to catch his eye.] I was angry at how he treated you. I wanted him to at least use your name when he spoke to you. I hope that's... resolved, now.
[Gojo seems to want him to reassure Choso as much as he wants reassurance for himself. The problem with that is that Felwinter has no idea how to go about it. He'd taken a liking to Choso very quickly, that much is true, and he cares for him in his awkward, reserved, Felwinter kind of way. But that's it. They live together, but he's not sure they're all that close. He's not sure if Choso wants to be close.
Gojo is a demanding brat, but at least that means Felwinter (mostly) knows where he stands with him.]
I want to hear them. Whatever these things are that were said.
[At least so he can have a better idea of what he's missed that led to all of this.]
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His hands curl over Choso's arms, light but still certain, encouraging him to stay. Trying to reiterate in every way that he can that Choso has a place here and he's wanted, even though Satoru's aware that he's made the situation a little more awkward by bringing Fel into it. But he makes no effort to bring Fel closer, content to have him near and not going to insist on cuddles (yet). ]
Felwinter is your equal. [ This is the real tattling--he'd said it earlier mostly as a warning, because he'd already been intending to repeat Choso's words. He makes no attempt at doing any kind of impression, just delivers them plain and serious, eyes on Fel's as he does so. His hands are ready to tighten on Choso's wrists if he tries to back away or clap a hand over Satoru's mouth--though he doesn't think Choso will. Even though in a way this is as cruel as pinning him like a bug and making him squirm. ] He would have killed me, the same way you wanted to, because of what I did. What I participated in. He told me. I don't think I can fix that. He sees me differently, and you two are...
[ He lets it trail off, as Choso had, but he doesn't let the silence hang. (Does he ever?) His head turns back toward Choso, blue eyes intent. ] You are equal to us both. I will not accept otherwise. Because if the two of you--both of you--cannot be counted as my equals, then I have no equals, and that is an excruciatingly lonely thing. [ He doesn't think that Choso will be willing to ever consider himself the equal of Gojo Satoru. But he hopes that, after today's conversation, perhaps he can understand just how desperately Satoru needs equals. If Choso can't consider himself equal for his own sake, perhaps he'll be able to accept it for Satoru's sake. ]