Chapter Text
Gojo’s eyes flickered open, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps, each exhale sharp and uneven. His fingers gripped Ijichi’s ankle, pulling it up to his shoulder with a controlled urgency as the muscles in his arm strained with the motion.
He tried to block out the world around him, narrowing his focus to the sensations building deep in his abdomen. It was a slow, tight coil, growing more intense with every passing second, a sharp contrast to the frantic pulse of his breath as he struggled to hold on to the feeling.
Ijichi looked at him, his eyes barely open, a soft haze clouding his vision. His cheeks were flushed with a deep red that matched his swollen lips, still trembling from their earlier exchange. There was a vulnerability in the way he gazed at Gojo, like he was both present and lost in the intensity of the moment.
Ijichi smiled weakly, the corners of his lips lifting in that familiar, soft way that always made him look so happy, almost in love . Slowly, he raised his arm, extending it toward Gojo in a quiet, hesitant gesture—one he always made when he wanted more. It was the kind of reach that asked Gojo to hold him closer, to treat him like he was something more than just a fling, like he was his boyfriend.
Gojo returned the gesture with a thrust that made him arch his back, the sudden shift causing him to abandon his attempt to seek affection. Instead, a soft whimper escaped him, a sound that was equal parts frustration and longing.
At times, Satoru indulged him, yielding just enough to those desperate gestures from Ijichi, fully aware that it was understandable that the assistant would crave something somewhat closer to romance in that particular situation—something that Gojo had no intention of offering outside of their hookups.
His quiet desperation amused Gojo, almost to the point of being endearing.
Ijichi trembled slightly, staring at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused—perhaps because he wasn’t wearing his glasses, or because the overwhelming flood of sensations clouded his mind.
Gojo didn’t soften his words—he was blunt, abrasive, sometimes outright rude. But he wasn’t a liar. He had always been upfront from the beginning. Yet, when Ijichi was like that—needy, looking for more—he couldn’t bring himself to be truly cruel. It wasn’t out of compassion; it was simply easier not to be.
He gave in because it was easier to let Ijichi have his way than to deal with the fallout of refusing. It wasn’t out of affection—it was simply a way to avoid conflict, to keep things running smoothly without any drama. And when Ijichi complied with his requests as a result, Gojo couldn’t help but feel a sense of control.
He watched him quietly from above, his gaze intense at the sight of Ijichi’s flustered state. He lowered himself gently, his lips pressing a soft, almost tender kiss to Ijichi's ankle, the touch lingering longer than expected.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
Ijichi let out a choked cry, teetering on the edge—his mind a haze, thick and heavy, as if stuffed with cotton. Coherent thoughts slipped through his grasp. All he could do was stare at Gojo’s bright blue eyes, faintly glowing in the low, uneven light cast by the bedside lamp.
He wasn’t supposed to feel that way. And yet, every time Gojo offered him one of those almost-affectionate gestures—when his usual arrogance softened into something dangerously close to tenderness—Ijichi felt something stir. Lately, those moments weren’t so rare. A lingering glance, a softer tone, a touch that hovered just long enough to be noticed.
It was subtle, maybe even unintentional, but it was enough to make his chest tighten and his heart bloom in ways he tried—unsuccessfully—to ignore.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
Gojo let out a soft yawn, his mind sluggish as he realized he'd drifted off. The room was dark, although he could see everything perfectly with his senses heightened by his Six Eyes, it was still early morning.
The clock on the nightstand beside Ijichi's bed confirmed the time—far earlier than he had expected.
Ijichi, completely unaware, was sound asleep beside him, curled up against his side. His dark hair fanned out across his pale arm, the strands soft against the skin, while his cheek rested gently on Gojo’s torso, a peaceful expression on his face. The warmth of his body pressed so close was a contrast to the cool, still air in the room.
He looked at the watch again glowing amidst the darkness. His eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for his blindfold. Maybe from sleeping too much, but he didn't even remember taking it off.
Winter made Gojo tense and irritable, his patience wearing thin with the cold. But Ijichi remained unfazed by his bad days, always trying to be of service, matching Gojo’s fluctuating moods without hesitation. He was quiet and unobtrusive when Satoru didn’t feel like talking, yet he would laugh along with his playful remarks when Gojo was in a lighter mood.
He turned his head slightly and stared at Ijichi sleeping peacefully, with a neutral expression. Through his Six Eyes he was able to see his cursed energy, revealing the comfort that the physical contact elicited.
Ijichi seemed to be attached to him constantly throughout the winter, following him everywhere he needed to go, bringing him his favorite meals without fail, and waiting for him with an almost unsettling patience. Every time Gojo threw him a compliment or offered some form of recognition—one that had no ulterior motive beyond simple politeness—Ijichi would blush, as if the warmth of the gesture was something he hadn’t expected.
He got up without a second thought, pushing Ijichi aside with minimal effort to wake him. They didn’t usually cuddle afterward—Gojo didn’t mind either way, but it always seemed to stir things up for Ijichi. He could already imagine the aftermath: Ijichi looking for meaning in something that was never meant to be more than it was.
Gojo didn’t have the patience for that.
It was simpler to just ignore it, to avoid the mess of unnecessary feelings. No reason to complicate things when he had no intention of giving anything more.
Gojo watched as Ijichi stirred, a frown creasing his forehead, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he clung to his arm with a soft, almost desperate grip, burying his face in the crook of Gojo’s shoulder, as if unwilling to let go of the moment, adjusting himself to fall back asleep.
He’d never made any promises to Ijichi—because he didn’t owe him anything. From the very beginning, Gojo had made it crystal clear that they were nothing more than convenient bed partners and colleagues.
No illusions, no commitments.
He never cared enough to soften the blow or pretend they were anything more than a casual arrangement.
The sorcerer exhaled sharply, irritation bubbling beneath his skin at the unexpected clinginess. He reached over, tapping Ijichi’s cheek with his fingers, the action quick but firm, pulling Ijichi out of his drowsy state.
The confusion that flickered across Ijichi’s face was almost amusing, but Gojo didn’t show it.
Ijichi touched his cheek, blinking in surprise before meeting Gojo’s gaze. He pulled away, almost reluctantly, as if unsure whether to cling or let go
“You weren’t waking up,” Gojo muttered with a trace of annoyance, watching as Ijichi sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
"My jacket, please," Gojo’s voice came from the other side of the bed, casual yet carrying a quiet demand.
Ijichi turned his head, not fully facing him, as he processed the request. His eyes landed on Gojo, who was already dressed—his black school uniform back in place, looking as effortless as ever. But then Ijichi caught the shift in Gojo’s gaze. His eyes dropped to Ijichi’s torso, tracing the lines of his body slowly, almost deliberately.
Ijichi’s stomach clenched.
“Oh.”
A flush spread over Ijichi’s cheeks, sharp and intense, as the awkwardness of the moment hit him all at once. It wasn’t just the request for the jacket; it was the way it felt—like somehow, this act was his doing, his idea, as if he were the one trying to be clingy and needy, rather than simply following Satoru’s request. It felt like everything had twisted, like this small action was being read in a way that made him look more desperate than he ever intended.
“Sorry.”
His hands moved mechanically as he slid the jacket off his shoulders, the fabric sliding against his skin like a reminder that the fantasy was over. He handed it to Gojo, the simple exchange leaving him feeling strangely exposed, as if he were the one creating some kind of tension by being too much.
“Thanks,” Gojo said, his tone casual, almost dismissive, before giving a quick wave of his hand in farewell and vanishing from the room, as if he had never been there at all.
Ijichi sat there for a moment, staring at the empty space where Gojo had been, the sudden silence settling around him like a heavy weight. He wrapped his arms around himself, the cold of the winter air seeping through the room, adding to the chill that had already settled deep inside him. It wasn’t just the cold from the season—it was the emptiness left behind, the quiet reminder of how quickly Gojo could disappear, leaving nothing but the lingering echo of his absence.
When Ijichi lay down on the bed, his fingers brushed against Satoru’s forgotten black blindfold tangled among the sheets. He picked it up carefully with both hands, the fabric smooth and familiar in his grip. It was just a piece of fabric, a simple item, but was a reminder of Satoru’s presence that lingered even after he was gone.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
Ijichi woke up in an empty bed for the thousandth time.
He rubbed his eyes, exhaling sharply as he tried to shake off the grogginess and fully wake himself up. Lately, especially over the past year, it had become increasingly difficult for him to stick to the agreements they’d made. Satoru was nothing if not direct in every aspect of his life, and this was no exception.
From the very start, he had made it clear that he meant nothing to him, and Ijichi had understood that this would never change with time. But despite knowing this, despite the clarity of those words, he couldn’t pretend that a part of him didn’t long for his affection, for the warmth of his gaze, for some sort of acknowledgement—not just as a colleague, even if only for a moment.
The problem was that strange feeling he got when the moment ended, when that imitation of affection faded away, just like Satoru himself. It drove him crazy, almost as if he were imagining everything, as though none of it was real. The fleeting warmth, the brief moments where Satoru’s attention seemed almost genuine, would vanish in an instant, leaving him with nothing but emptiness and the haunting question of his own sanity.
He dragged himself out of bed, drained by the thought of wasting more hours catching up on the endless pile of overdue reports. His office had become little more than a dumping ground, a place where sorcerers tossed their papers onto any available surface and scurried off.
He took a shower, feeling the hot water wash away some of his troubles, then made a mediocre breakfast that tasted like cardboard and boredom with a sprinkle of something akin to desperation.
As he wrapped a red scarf around his neck—the one Gojo had given him—he couldn’t help but feel a pang. The scarf was meant to hide the marks Gojo had left on his skin, now faded into dark purple and red patches against his pale complexion, too noticeable for comfort.
He had asked Gojo to keep those marks hidden, to spare him the embarrassment of others seeing them. But Gojo had only chuckled softly, brushing off his concerns with a playful smirk, and silenced him with a kiss.
Just like always.
He hadn’t said anything afterward because he was too weak in Satoru’s arms, completely powerless under the weight of his touch. Satoru’s kisses had a way of making him forget everything—his doubts, his worries about their relationship—all of it vanished as he trembled beneath him, consumed by the overwhelming sensation of it all.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
Ijichi entered the assistants' break room, hoping to find it empty so he could avoid interaction, especially when his mind was a mess, tangled in the complexities of his personal life and the frustrations of his stressful job.
He forced a weak smile when he spotted Nitta greeting him near the coffee machine.
"Good morning!" Nitta called cheerfully, her voice upbeat and full of energy, filling the space as soon as he crossed the threshold.
"Good morning, Nitta," Ijichi replied.
"I was just telling the others that this year, it looks like there are a lot of recruits," she explained, her enthusiasm matching her words, while another assistant, Masato Ikeda, nodded eagerly in agreement. "Once the season ends, we’ll be drowning in work."
"Then we’ll need to prepare ourselves," he said as he fiddled with his employee badge.
The aftermath of the peak curse season always meant an avalanche of bureaucratic work once the sorcerers were needed less. Just the thought of it made him feel exhausted—he was already sleep-deprived, buried under the weight of his responsibilities as the head of the department.
At least there was a sliver of peace in those fleeting moments he shared with Satoru between missions, or in the small pockets of time he could carve out from the overwhelming busy schedule of the world’s strongest sorcerer.
"By the way, I was discussing your idea with Nitta about bringing in some sorcerers."
The idea had come from hearing Satoru complain about the rigid structure of the sorcery schools' education system. While being an assistant wasn’t exactly the same, Ijichi couldn't help but think that Satoru's argument—that a strong emphasis on theory, when their work was primarily practical (only moderately applicable to assistants)—was utterly ridiculous and only served to heighten the chances of failure.
"Oh, yes. I think it could be highly beneficial in terms of demonstrating the way we collaborate with them."
He would definitely ask Nanami, who was the epitome of professionalism within the sorcery branch. After that, he could bring in other sorcerers who were a bit less... traditional in their approach to the job.
"Yes, I'll need to check with a few of them, assuming they’re available," Ijichi explained.
“You could ask, Gojo-san,” Masato suggested, almost shy.
Nitta didn't even attempt to hold back her amusement.
Masato Ikeda was a newly transferred assistant from Kyoto's sister school in early winter. Therefore, he had neither taken the training in Tokyo nor had he had the opportunity to meet Satoru Gojo himself. Ijichi suspected that he likely had not met Utahime Iori either, otherwise he would not be making such a suggestion.
“Did I misspoke?”
“No, you didn't,” Ijichi assured Masato, ignoring the mocking expression of Nitta, who was trying not to laugh in the poor recruit's face.
“I don't follow, Nitta-san.”
“It's just Nitta, we're the same age,” she chided him She looked at him, as if expecting him to say something on the subject, but when he was silent, she only went on and in a serious tone added, ”Satoru Gojo is a special grade nuisance.”
“Nitta.”
“Don't be upset, Ijichi-san. You know it's true.”
Ijichi fell silent, the weight of the conversation settling heavily in his chest. He didn’t like it when people complained about Satoru, not one bit. Yet, defending or justifying his actions always left him feeling like a servant trying too hard to please.
“Gojo-san's work is very important,” he said with a tone bordering on shyness. Nitta seemed to restrain the urge to roll her eyes and Ijichi grabbed his employee badge with both hands in a nervous gesture. “He takes on the most dangerous missions, which has lowered the mortality rate since he joined Jujutsu Tech.”
Nitta, like many others, had told him that he didn't have to justify Gojo all the time, but it was inevitable for him to defend him when they just wanted to point out his less than flattering qualities.
“Anyway, let's just say he's quite the character, plenty of managers can't stomach his... style.”
“Oh, I didn't know.”
“Ijichi-san is practically the only one who can handle him, a skill for which we should all be grateful.”
“Which is code for 'he's completely unhinged’,” Kusakabe intervened, passing by. “Ask Nanami if you don't believe me.”
The three assistants watched the sorcerer place his cup on the table and top it up with hot coffee.
“Kusakabe-san,” Ijichi said.
Kusakabe gently raised his palm, offering a quiet gesture to Ijichi.
"You know what I’m saying is true."
“This is a sorcerer-free space.” Nitta pointed to the sign hanging on the door that read “No sorcerers allowed”. She had placed the sign after Kusakabe finished off the cookies in the cupboard without putting more.
“Our coffee machine broke. Nanami is trying to fix it, but if I don't have coffee right now, I'm gonna get withdrawal symptoms. ”
Nitta scoffed and Masato looked at Ijichi, trying to understand the situation at hand.
Kusakabe took a sip, humming in delight at the bitter taste of the cheap coffee.
“And he is like that all the time?”
Kusakabe looked at the new boy as he took a long drink of coffee.
“He's the reason you have a job,” the sorcerer explained, staring at the coffee in his cup. “He made the last person quit out of rage.”
“Hey, don't scare him off,” Nitta complained. "We don’t need any more resignations."
"Tell that to Gojo. I'm just stating the obvious."
“Don't listen to him.... well, not too much. Not all sorcerers are like that.”
Masato nodded, clearly swayed by the warnings.
“By the way, Gojo is looking for you.”
Ijichi let go of his badge and nodded. His heart skipped a beat—according to his schedule, there wasn’t any mission he needed to take Gojo to. So he had no idea what to expect, not even a vague clue as to why he was being sought out.
“I think I should go,” he said, stepping out of the room and leaving the conversation hanging.
He caught sight of Nitta letting out an exasperated sigh, the sound heavy with frustration, but he brushed it off, giving it no further thought.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
Ijichi left the break room and made his way to his office, already mentally bracing himself for the mountain of reports awaiting him.
On the way, he couldn’t help but glance around discreetly, hoping to run into Satoru.
He didn’t.
He knew he had more pressing tasks too—managing mission requests, coordinating with the sorcerers, making sure everything ran smoothly. Still, he was wasting his time thinking about him, even though they were nothing, and that was perfectly clear.
He exhaled. The energy slump, a result of his lack of proper sleep during the season, only fueled his confused emotions.
He was exhausted, worn down. He knew he had brought this on himself, though. He'd insisted on picking up Satoru from the airport after his long mission in South Korea—a task that hadn’t been assigned to him, and that Satoru hadn’t even asked for.
He had ended up looking like a bootlicker, pestering Nitta non-stop, insisting he could handle it. She’d told him to get some sleep instead, because he looked like a trainwreck, and it wasn’t helping his migraines at all. He’d kept pushing, throwing out weak and desperate arguments until she finally gave in, her face twisted with pity and secondhand embarrassment.
He hadn’t even bothered to hide how happy it made him.
When he arrived at his office, he exhaled upon seeing that the pile of papers was still there. He sat down in his chair with a sense of reluctance and began working to push his thoughts aside.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
It turned out Gojo had only been looking for him to ask him not to pair him with Usami in field research—or, to be more precise, not pair him with him for anything at all. The higher-ups had assigned them to work together on tracking a cursed object, and Ijichi had simply copied and pasted the assignment into the system as instructed.
Usami had only raised an eyebrow in boredom at the prospect, but politely thanked him and left.
Instead, Gojo had kicked the door to his office wide open while he was talking to Masato, who had questions about the Tokyo campus forms. Ijichi inhaled, holding back the urge to point out that Gojo could’ve appeared in the middle of the room, leaving no trace of a dramatic entrance or a dent in his poor white door.
“Gojo-san!” exclaimed the new assistant, a bit scared by the dramatic entrance and the overwhelming aura of Gojo’s immense cursed energy.
"Ijichi! This is a full-blown catastrophe!"
Ijichi noticed the new guy flinch slightly at those words. Maybe later, he’d realize that dealing with the world’s strongest sorcerer’s flair for the dramatic was just part of the daily routine at the Tokyo campus.
“What happened?”
Gojo looked at the guy for a moment after he asked, trying to assess the situation, before ignoring him completely and turning back to Ijichi, diving right back into his dramatic act.
“I’m stuck with Usami for the Nagoya mission," he said, his voice dripping with fake concern, making it sound like the world was about to end.
Gojo then shoved his phone in front of Ijichi’s face with an over-the-top, scandalized flourish, practically begging for a reaction, which made Ijichi cringe with secondhand embarrassment as Masato just stared, clearly wondering what was happening.
"The higher-ups made the assignment, Gojo-san.”
Receiving a lukewarm reaction from Ijichi, Gojo let out an exaggerated sigh and grabbed him by the arm, pouting like a spoiled child. Masato quickly stepped aside, giving Satoru space, which only increased Ijichi's embarrassment.
"Can’t you just put me with Nanami, pretty please?"
“Nanami-san is busy,” Ijichi explained, almost apologetic.
"Please," Gojo whined, dramatically yanking off his bandage and giving his best 'puppy-dog eyes.' "I cannot deal with that suck-up. He’s, like, the absolute worst. Can’t you see I’ll die of boredom?"
Nanami would murder him if he forced him to spend more than an hour with Satoru on a mission. Besides, he still needed to check if he could help out when the new recruits from the admin department showed up. That mission probably wouldn’t leave him any time for that, and the higher-ups hardly ever gave in on important matters—this was definitely one of those times.
"Enough, Gojo," came Nanami's calm voice from the doorway as he stepped in, a folder tucked under his arm. "That's not how a sorcerer, let alone an adult, should behave."
"Nanami," Gojo whined, still clinging to Ijichi's arm. "You wouldn't be saying that if you were in my position."
"I doubt it," Nanami replied flatly, giving Masato a quick, formal nod.
Masato, clearly surprised to be acknowledged, stammered, "Good afternoon, Nanami-san."
“Our mission downtown is in an hour.”
Ijichi nodded.
He hadn’t forgotten, but he’d definitely gotten sidetracked talking to the new guy and dealing with Gojo’s theatrics.
Nanami stood there, observing Gojo who still hadn’t let go of Ijichi. Ijichi saw Nanami glance at his wristwatch and raise an eyebrow, silently telling Gojo to knock it off because he was running late.
"Whatever, it doesn’t matter," Gojo said, releasing Ijichi with a little more force than necessary, then dramatically brushing past Nanami before strutting over to stand next to Masato. The poor guy stiffened, looking completely lost and a little freaked out, sneaking glances at Gojo like he was a walking disaster. "I’ll survive. I mean, I’m the strongest, after all."
Gojo gave Ijichi a serious look, a sharp contrast to all the theatrics he had just performed in front of both a subordinate and a superior. The sudden shift in his demeanor was almost jarring. Ijichi had to fight the urge to blush from the overwhelming secondhand embarrassment.
Ijichi couldn’t help but watch as Gojo’s piercing blue eyes shifted toward Nanami. There was something in that gaze that he couldn’t quite decipher—an odd blend of disappointment and irritation that flickered before it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
It left Ijichi with a strange feeling, unsure of what had just happened or whether he was just imagining it.
Without saying a word, Gojo adjusted his blindfold with an almost nonchalant motion and, just as suddenly as he had appeared, vanished into thin air.
Masato stood frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief. He had just witnessed the casual use of one of the most powerful techniques in history, and it had left him speechless. For Ijichi and Nanami, however, it was just another day in their life—nothing to raise an eyebrow at.
They’d seen it all before.
"What... what was that?" Masato asked in a hushed tone, still trying to process what he’d just seen.
Ijichi stared at the spot where Gojo had been standing just moments ago, silently asking himself the same question.
Nanami, however, remained unfazed, his expression flat and emotionless as ever as he glanced at the younger assistant.
"I’ll meet you at the entrance," Nanami said simply, before turning to leave, leaving Masato to ponder the bizarre encounter.
⟣ ♡ ⟢
Although Kento Nanami used to be quiet and distant during car rides, Ijichi found himself genuinely enjoying the silence that stretched between them.
It was a comfortable kind of quiet—reassuring, even. In a life surrounded by chaos and unpredictability, those moments of peace were a rare luxury. Nanami’s company, even without words, offered a kind of normalcy that Ijichi rarely got to experience in his line of work.
The world of sorcerers, with its eccentric personalities and constant upheaval, didn’t leave much room for such simplicity. But with Nanami, there was a grounded calm that Ijichi found oddly comforting—like a brief escape from the madness that seemed to define the rest of their lives.
“You shouldn't allow Gojo to treat you like that.”
Ijichi blinked, momentarily lost for words, unsure how to respond.
“Huh?”
Ijichi glanced up at the rearview mirror, noticing Nanami’s gaze on him. After a few moments of silence, Nanami’s voice broke through—firm yet gentle. “The way he talks to you, it’s unprofessional and rude.”
"I don’t think that’s Gojo-san’s intention," Ijichi replied, his voice hesitant, though he genuinely believed it.
Despite the abrasive, sometimes downright rude way Satoru acted, Ijichi knew he wasn’t a bad person.
It was just that his life had been so different from everyone else’s—nothing like the normal struggles or challenges that most people faced.
At his core, Satoru had always been the same: playful, mocking, arrogant, and self-assured. But over time, Ijichi had witnessed something shift in him. He’d seen Satoru evolve, in his own unique way, into someone more serious, even responsible, though still very much himself.
He wasn’t like Usami, Kusakabe, or especially Nanami, but he also wasn’t that same insufferable sixteen-year-old who took pleasure in making fun of everyone weaker than him.
"Even so, that’s no way to treat others," Nanami insisted, his gaze fixed on the window with an air of quiet disapproval.
The rest of the drive passed in silence.
It wasn’t that Nanami had never voiced his disagreement with Gojo’s methods—even with Gojo himself present—but to specifically point out how Gojo treated Ijichi was something he had never done before.
Ijichi had long since stopped taking Gojo’s words to heart—or at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself, because it was part of their unspoken agreement. But it wasn’t as simple as just letting it go.
Lately, an unsettling feeling had been creeping in, one that was difficult to ignore. More and more people in his life—people who had no idea about the true nature of his relationship with Gojo—had started offering unsolicited comments about it, particularly about the way Gojo treated him.
Those comments made him feel like nothing more than a subservient, desperate fool.
A lackey.
None of them knew the real story, the complexities of their connection—which, in truth, wasn’t really a relationship at all. Still, the repeated jabs at his role in Gojo’s life made Ijichi wonder, for the first time, if maybe, just maybe, they were seeing something he couldn’t—or perhaps didn’t want to see. Maybe there was truth in their words, something he had been blind to, something that made him feel even more uncertain of his place in Gojo’s world.
If he even had a place.