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lazarusawakens · 11 months ago

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“Like a Moth to a Flame.”

Pairing: angel!gojo x barista!geto

Summary: In a world where celestial beings influence the balance of life on Earth, Gojo Satoru is an angel assigned to protect Geto Suguru, a coffee shop owner whose existence is more crucial to the cosmic equilibrium than either of them realizes. What begins as a mission quickly spirals into a tangled web of secrets, emotions, and forbidden desires. as Gojo'd divine nature clashes with his growing attachment to Geto, he's forced to make choices that put both their lives, and the very fabric of reality at risk.

Credits: banners @cafekitsune

Wc: 25.6k

Rating: Mature

Cross-Posted on Ao3 (Wandamaxipad) and Wattpad (lazarusisnotwriting)

The gentle hum of the coffee grinder on the counter blended seamlessly with the soothing strains of soft jazz emanating from the above speakers. The tranquility of the shop was such a rarity of a place, nestled in a quiet corner of Tokyo. Suguru Geto, the owner, moved gracefully behind the counter, his hands deftly crafting each cup of coffee with the touch of an artisan. The rich aroma of freshly brewed teas and coffees wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of warm pastries.

Getos shop, aptly named “Cursed Brew,” was a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city–a place where time seemed to slow down, allowing patrons to savor life's fleeting moments. Shelves lined with mugs and teapots adorned the walls, the floor a deep oak with few feeble scratches from various chairs and tables.

The shop was bustling with customers, regulars, and newcomers throughout the day. He had even made a small name for himself in the industry and was even considering hiring more staff.

“Morning, Mr. Nakamura,” Geto greeted an elderly man who had been a regular since the shop had opened. “The usual?”

Nakamura nodded, his wrinkled face breaking into a soft smile. “Yes, thank you, Geto. It’s always been a pleasure to start the day here.”

As Suguru worked, he glanced at the clock on the wall. The shop would close in an hour, and he began to prepare for the end of the day. He wiped down the tables and restocked supplies, his thoughts occasionally drifting off.

The bell above the door jingled, and Geto looked up, expecting another late customer. Instead, a strange man stepped inside, his white hair almost glowing under the soft lighting of the shop. He was dressed casually but exuded an air of effortless confidence.

“Good Evening,” the man said, his voice smooth and resonant. “I hope I’m not too late for a coffee.”

“Not at all,” Geto replied, his curiosity piqued by the man's striking appearance, “What can I get you?”

“An oat milk latte please, extra brown sugar and whipped cream,” the man said, taking a seat behind the counter. His eyes, though concealed by dark sunglasses, seemed to twinkle with an unreadable emotion.

Geto prepared the coffee with care, occasionally glancing at the mysterious man. There was something oddly familiar about him as if he were a figure from a dream rather than reality.

As he handed the steaming cup to the stranger, their fingers touched briefly. A shiver ran down Geto’s spine, and he felt a sense of comfort mixed with unease.

“Thank you,” the man said, taking a slow sip. “It’s perfect.”

Geto nodded, watching as the man settled into a quiet corner of the shop. The minutes ticked by, and Geto busied himself with closing duties, unaware that his evening was about to take a drastic turn.

The shop's lights dimmed as Geto prepared to lock up. He double-checked the doors and made sure everything was in order. Just as he was about to turn the key a sudden, sharp pain pierced his side. He staggered, clutching his chest as a feeling of dread washed over him.

Outside, a figure lurked in the shadows, their intentions clear. They had been watching Geto, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Amid his struggle, Geto caught a glimpse of the white-haired man from earlier. The stranger was moving with an unexpected speed, his presence radiating a protective aura. Without a word, he intervened, stepping between Geto and the man who stabbed him.

A burst of light filled the shop, and the attacker was thrown back, their weapon skittering across the floor. The man in white approached Geto, his blue highlighted eyes now visible, filled with intensity and concern.

“Are you alright?” the man asked, his voice soft but urgent.

Geto, breathing heavily, could barely manage a nod. “I��I think so. Thank you.”

The man’s gaze lingered on Geto, a mix of relief and sorrow in his eyes. “You’re safe now. But you should be careful. There’s more danger out there than you realize.”

Suguru called out to the man, to ask him who he was, his name. “Just call me Gojo. Satoru Gojo,” he responded. But when Geto looked back, he was gone.

As the immediate threat was dealt with and the police arrived to investigate, Geto found himself sitting at a table, a blanket draped over his shoulders. An officer took notes as he recounted the events.

“Can you describe the man who saved you?” the officer asked.

Geto shook his head, still dazed. “He had white hair, and he moved so fast. It was like… like he wasn’t human.”

The officer raised an eyebrow but nodded. “We’ll do what we can to find him. You’re lucky he was here.”

As the interrogation concluded, Geto was left in stunned silence. The mysterious stranger had vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving behind only the faintest trace of warmth and the lingering sense of longing.

He didn't even realize his stab wound ceased to exist.

—-

The celestial realm was a place beyond human comprehension–a world where time flowed like an endless river, unbound by the constraints of the mortal plane. This heaven, a domain of the divine, was a vast expanse of light and color, filled with a beauty that defied description. The skies were not the blue we often see on Earth, but a blend of iridescent hues, shifting and shimmering like the surface of a pearl. The ground beneath Gojo’s feet was not one of dirt and grass but a translucent substance that glowed with a soft, inner light as if it were living.

Towering above him were grand structures, each one radiant and unique, built from materials that did not exist in the mortal world. Crystal spires pierced the sky, their tips glowing with a holy fire. Great halls of golden marble and silvered glass floated through the air, connected by bridges of light. Waterfalls of liquid luminescence cascaded down from unseen heights, their music a constant, soothing melody that filled the air.

Angels moved through this realm like living stars, their forms shimmering with the purest light. Each angel is a unique expression of divine energy, their appearances reflecting their roles and attributes. Some of them were towering figures with wings of flame, others slender and graceful with wings that resembled delicate gossamer. They conversed in a language more of a sound–a telepathic connection of pure understanding.

Among them, Gojo was a striking figure. In his celestial form, he was a being of pure, radiant, energy. His hair, normally white while in the mortal world, now glowed in an ethereal silver light, flowing like liquid moonlight. His eyes were orbs of a brilliant blue, each one a gateway to the infinite, reflecting the boundless knowledge and power that he possessed. His skin was almost translucent, revealing the light that coursed through him like blood. His wings, six of them, great expansive things, were a binding white, with feathers that shimmered with every color of the spectrum when they caught the light.

Gojo moved with a grace that could only be said as effortless and precise, his presence calm, but commanding. He was a warrior of light, a guardian in the celestial order, and had been called upon for a new mission.

Gojo went to the grand hall, a convergence of divine governance. The hall itself was a masterpiece of architecture–a vast, open space with walls of shimmering light that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The ceiling was a mosaic of stars, each one representing a soul under the protection of the heavens. In the center of the hall was a great platform, suspended in midair, surrounded by pillars of purity that pulsed with the rhythm of the universe itself.

Here is where the Celestial Council convened. The council was composed of the highest-ranking angels, beings of immense power that oversaw the balance between both the mortal and celestial realms. Each of them is a distinctive expression of divine will–Cassiel, the angel of Temperance and Patience; Uriel, the Angel of Wisdom and Justice; and Metatron, the voice of God, whose presence is a light so bright that even other angels dare not to look directly at him.

Gojo stepped onto the platform, his wings flying behind him as he bowed his head in respect. The light from the pillars dimmed slightly as the council turned their attention towards him.

Cassiel, the first to speak, was a figure of serene beauty. “Satoru Gojo, we have summoned you for a task of great importance,” she began, her voice calm and measured.

Gojo lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes with a steady, unflinching stare. “I am ready, Cassiel. What is my assignment?”

Uriel, ever the stern and authoritative figure, leaned forward. His wings were blades of pure energy, and his eyes glowed with the light of a thousand suns. “There is a human, Suguru Geto, who has come to our attention. He is a being of immense potential–potential that could either tip the balance of the earth or stabilize it.”

Gojos' brow furrowed slightly. “Potential for what, exactly?”

Metatron’s voice resonated through the hall, a sound that was felt more than heard, vibrating through every fiber of Gojo’s being. “That is yet to be determined. Geto possesses a unique soul–one that is both a beacon and a target. Dark forces are drawn to him, seeking to exploit this potential for their ends. Your task is to protect him from these forces and guide him, if possible, towards the light.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing with possibilities. “And what of this potential? Is he aware of it?”

Cassiel shook her head, her expression one of concern. “No he is unaware, and that is both his protection and vulnerability. If he were to awaken his true nature without guidance, he could become a danger to both himself and others.”

Uriels voicecut through the air like a blade. “You are to remain vigilant. The forces that seek Geto are not to be underestimated. They are ancient, cunning, and relentless. Your attachment to the mortal world, while beneficial in understanding their plight, must not cloud your judgment.”

Gojo’s lips curled into a faint, almost defiant smile, “You know me, Uriel. I always keep my emotions in check,”

Metatron's light flared briefly, a silent acknowledgment of Gojo’s words. “Your confidence is well placed, but remember—this is not a mission to be taken lightly. The balance between light and darkness is fragile, and your actions could have far-reaching consequences.”

Gojo bowed his head again, this time more deeply. “I understand. I will protect Geto and make sure the balance is maintained.”

As the council's light dimmed signaling the end of the meeting, Cassiel spoke once more, her voice soft but firm. “Go with our blessing, Gojo. May your wings carry you swiftly and your judgment remain clear.”

Gojo straightened, his wings spreading wide as he prepared to leave. The platform beneath him began to descend, carrying him down the levels of heaven. As he passed through the layers he felt the weight of his mission settle upon him.

—

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Curses Brew as Geto Suguru unlocked the front door, pushing it open with a sense of unease that clung to him after the recent events. The café had been closed for a few days—a necessary break after the robbery attempt. His memory was still hazy, fragments of confusion and fear mingling with the strange sense that something crucial had slipped from his mind. He remembered the knife, the fear, but beyond that, there was a blank—a blinding light he couldn’t fully recall.

He sighed and stepped inside, the familiar aroma of coffee beans and freshly baked goods wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. This was his sanctuary, his safe space, and today he would reclaim it.

Geto was dressed in his usual attire: a dark, long-sleeved button-down shirt tucked into black trousers, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a tattoo that snaked up his forearm—an intricate design that seemed to shift and move with the play of light. Over his shirt, he wore a dark green apron, slightly worn from years of use but still functional. His long black hair was tied up into a high bun, though a few strands had escaped and framed his face.

He walked behind the counter and began the familiar routine of opening up the shop—grinding coffee beans, preparing the pastries, and setting up the equipment. The motions were automatic, almost meditative, and for a while, he was able to lose himself in the rhythm of the work.

As the morning progressed, customers began to trickle in, and soon enough, the café was bustling with activity. The sound of laughter and conversation filled the air, blending with the clinking of cups and the hum of the espresso machine. Geto found himself smiling as he moved between customers, taking orders, and preparing drinks. It felt good to be back in the flow of things, to see his regulars again, and to enjoy the small moments of connection that his shop fostered.

He was in the middle of preparing a particularly complex order, a double-shot espresso with a

hint of vanilla and a swirl of caramel, when the doorbell chimed again, signaling a new arrival. He glanced up and felt his heart skip a beat.

Standing in the doorway, looking as relaxed as if he owned the place, was the man from that night—the one with the striking white hair and the confident, almost arrogant grin. Gojo.

Geto’s pulse quickened slightly, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Part of him was grateful to see the man again, to have the chance to properly thank him for his intervention. Another part of him was wary, remembering the strange way Gojo had handled the situation as if he’d been expecting it all along.

“Morning, Suguru!” Gojo called out, strolling up to the counter with his hands in his pockets, his sunglasses perched casually on his nose even indoors. “Looks like you’ve got the place back up and running. I was starting to get withdrawal symptoms.”

Geto couldn’t help but chuckle at the theatrics. “Good morning. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

“Me? Oh, I’m a creature of habit,” Gojo said with a wink, leaning on the counter. “You’ve got the best coffee in Tokyo, after all.”

Geto raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Is that so? Well, what can I get for you today?”

Gojo pretended to think, tapping his chin. “Hmm, surprise me.”

Geto rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face as he turned to start preparing something special. He decided on a latte with a hint of hazelnut—simple, but with a depth of flavor that he thought might suit the mysterious man.

As he worked, Geto reached for a knife to slice some lemon zest for the garnish. His hand was steady, but his mind wandered, still caught in the haze of the past few days. Just as he was about to make the first cut, the knife slipped, the blade veering dangerously close to his fingers.

Before he could even react, a hand shot out and grabbed the knife mid-air, stopping it just inches from his skin. Geto blinked, stunned, and looked up to see Gojo standing next to him, holding the blade between his thumb and forefinger as if it were nothing more than a toy.

“Careful there, Suguru,” Gojo said, his voice light and teasing. “Wouldn’t want you to lose a finger. How would you make my coffee then?”

Geto’s breath caught for a moment, his mind still processing how quickly Gojo had moved. “You… How did you…?”

Gojo released the knife, letting it clatter harmlessly onto the cutting board. He gave Geto a mischievous grin, his eyes hidden behind those ever-present sunglasses. “What can I say? I’m quick on my feet. Comes in handy when someone’s about to make a mistake.”

Geto shook his head, unable to suppress a smile. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I try,” Gojo replied, leaning back against the counter with an air of nonchalance. “So, tell me, Suguru—are you going to thank me properly this time, or do I have to save your life again?”

The playful tone in Gojo’s voice was hard to ignore, and Geto found himself laughing softly. “I was just about to thank you. For that night, I mean. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

Gojo shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Oh, that? Don’t worry about it. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Geto’s expression grew more serious. He had been replaying that night over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it. “It didn’t feel like a coincidence. You were there so fast, and you knew exactly what to do…”

Gojo tilted his head, his smile never fading. “I’m just good at what I do, Suguru. You don’t need to worry about the details.”

Geto studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was something about Gojo that didn’t quite add up, something beyond the cocky attitude and the effortless charm. But he couldn’t put his finger on it, and for now, he decided to let it go.

“Right,” Geto said, still unconvinced but not wanting to press the issue. “Well, I do owe you one. How about I make it up to you? We could go out for a drink or something, maybe grab dinner? As a thank you.”

Gojo’s grin widened, and he pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, revealing those striking blue eyes that seemed to see right through him. “Dinner with you, Suguru? Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

Geto felt a flush rise to his cheeks, but he managed to keep his composure. “Great. I’ll finish up here, and we can figure out a time that works.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Gojo said, his voice warm and inviting. He leaned closer, his tone dropping to a playful whisper. “But you better bring your A-game. I have high standards, you know.”

Geto chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll do my best, Gojo.”

Gojo gave him a final, lingering smile before stepping back, his casual demeanor never wavering. “I’ll hold you to that. See you soon, Suguru.”

With that, he turned and made his way to a table by the window, casually flipping through his phone as if the entire conversation had been the most natural thing in the world.

Geto watched him for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around the enigmatic man who had walked into his life so unexpectedly. There was something about Gojo, something that set him apart from anyone Geto had ever met.

He shook his head, turning back to the counter to finish the order. Whatever it was, he would figure it out in time. For now, he had a café to run and a promise to keep.

—

The evening air was crisp as Geto Suguru left his shop, locking up for the night. The day had been long and exhausting, but there was a certain peace in the stillness of the night. His motorcycle, usually parked right outside of the cafe, had refused to start this morning–yet another inconvenience in this already chaotic week. He would have to fix it sometime shortly. With a resigned sigh, he decided to walk back to his apartment. The city was quieter now, the bustling energy of the day replaced by the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional footsteps of other late-night wanderers.

As he walked, the events of the day replayed in his mind. The café had been busier than usual, and Gojo’s visit had added an unexpected twist to the routine. There was something about that man that lingered in Geto’s thoughts, a presence that felt both familiar and unsettling. The way Gojo had caught the knife earlier, so effortlessly, still replayed in his head. It wasn’t just quick reflexes; it was something more, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He didn't have time to dwell on mysteries tonight. He just wanted to get home, take a hot shower, and forget about everything for a little while.

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease, but as he turned into a narrow alleyway, a shortcut he often used, an inexplicable sense of dread settled over him. The shadows seemed thicker here, more oppressive, and the familiar sounds of the city faded into an eerie silence. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and Geto couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

What the hell is this? he thought, his pace quickening. It’s just an alley, nothing to be scared of. Get a grip, Suguru.

But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, the feeling only grew stronger, like an invisible weight pressing down on his chest. His heart pounded in his ears, and he could feel the cold sweat forming on his brow. Just as he was about to break into a run, a strange light flickered ahead of him, illuminating the alley in an otherworldly glow.

He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. There, in the middle of the alley, stood a figure—tall and ethereal, surrounded by an aura of light that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The figure’s back was turned to him, but even from this distance, Geto could see the sheer impossibility of what he was witnessing.

The figure had six wings, each one a different shade of white, silver, and gold, their feathers shimmering as they moved slightly in the night air. The wings were enormous, spanning out behind the figure and casting long shadows that danced on the walls of the alley. The light that emanated from them was both blinding and mesmerizing, making it difficult to look directly at the figure.

But what struck Geto the most was the presence that radiated from the being—an overwhelming sense of power and divinity that made his knees weak. This was no ordinary person. This was something… more. Something beyond human comprehension.

As he stared, frozen in place, the figure raised a hand, and with it, a blast of light shot forward, illuminating the alley like a midday sun. His body wreathed with energy, and faint and strange symbols flickered across his skin. The light struck something in the shadows—a dark, twisted shape that writhed and hissed as it was engulfed in the radiant energy. The creature, a grotesque amalgamation of shadow and malice let out a horrifying screech as it was torn apart by the light, its form dissolving into nothingness.

Geto’s eyes widened in horror as he watched the creature’s destruction. The sheer power that the figure wielded was terrifying, yet there was an undeniable beauty in the way the light danced around them as if they were a living embodiment of the divine.

What… What is this? Geto’s thoughts raced, panic rising in his chest. This can’t be real. This has to be a dream…

The figure turned slowly, and for the first time, Geto saw their face—or rather, what should have been a face. Instead, there was a mask of light, an indistinct visage that shifted and changed, making it impossible to discern any features except its eyes. But those eyes, those piercing, blue eyes, shone through the light, locking onto him with an intensity that made his blood run cold.

At that moment, Geto knew he had to get out of there. His body finally responded, and he spun on his heel, sprinting back the way he had come, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t look back, didn’t dare to, as if the mere act of glancing over his shoulder would confirm the nightmare as reality.

The city streets blurred as he ran, the cold air burning in his lungs, his mind a chaotic swirl of terror and disbelief. He barely registered the distance he covered, his only thought was to get as far away as possible from whatever it was he had just witnessed.

Finally, he reached his apartment building, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the keys. It felt like an eternity before he managed to unlock the door, bursting into his apartment and slamming the door shut behind him. His breath came in ragged gasps as he leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor, his legs giving out beneath him.

Geto sat there, hunched over with his head in his hands, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. But the images kept flashing in his mind—the wings, the light, the eyes. The sheer power that radiated from the figure, the way they had annihilated that creature with such ease.

I’m losing it, he thought, his hands digging into his hair, tugging at the strands as if the pain would bring him back to reality. This isn’t possible. None of this is possible.

He could still feel the oppressive weight of that presence, the way those eyes had looked right through him as if seeing into the depths of his soul. His mind struggled to process it, teetering on the edge of a breakdown as he tried to rationalize the impossible.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. I’m just… I’m just going insane.

But no matter how much he tried to convince himself, he knew that what he had seen was real. The terrifying truth gnawed at the edges of his sanity, threatening to unravel everything he thought he knew about the world.

I can’t do this, he thought, his body trembling as he rocked slightly, his breath coming in shallow bursts. I can’t… What the hell was that? What the hell is happening to me?

The apartment was silent around him, the only sound was his labored breathing as he sat there, trapped in the darkness of his mind. Hours seemed to pass, or maybe it was only minutes. Time had lost all meaning as he spiraled deeper into his thoughts, haunted by the image of the divine figure and the power they wielded.

Finally, exhausted and defeated, Geto’s body gave in, and he sank fully to the floor, curling in on himself as if trying to shield himself from the truth. His eyes burned with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall, clinging to the last shreds of his composure.

I’m not insane , he told himself, a mantra that did little to calm the storm raging inside him. I’m not insane. I’m not…

But even as he repeated the words, he knew they were hollow.

—

It had been several days since the incident in the alley, but the memory of that night still lingered in Geto Suguru’s mind, a constant, unsettling presence. He’d tried to push it aside, immersing himself in his work, but the encounter with that divine figure haunted him, filling his thoughts with wings and blazing light.

Early this morning, Geto stood in his small garage, crouched beside his motorcycle, trying to fix the machine that had been giving him trouble for days. The engine had been making strange noises—nothing too serious, he’d hoped, but enough to warrant some attention. He frowned as he tinkered with the engine, his hands smeared with grease. The culprit seemed to be a faulty spark plug and a loose chain, nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a bit of patience and effort. Yet, as he worked, his mind kept drifting back to the alley, to that figure with six wings and eyes that seemed to pierce through his soul.

Shaking his head, Geto wiped his hands on a rag and stood up. Focus, he told himself. You’re just tired. It was dark, and your mind was playing tricks on you. Even as he thought this, a sliver of doubt remained.

Later that day, after closing up the café, the familiar bell above the door jingled. Geto looked up from wiping down the counter, his eyes widening in surprise as Gojo Satoru strolled in, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Miss me?” Gojo’s voice was light and playful, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made Geto pause.

“Satoru,” Geto greeted, trying to mask his surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Can’t help it,” Gojo replied with a grin, moving closer to the counter. “Your place has a charm, you know?”

Geto didn’t respond immediately, trying to read the man in front of him. The easy banter was typical of Gojo, yet there was something different in the air today, something Geto couldn’t quite put his finger on. Still, there was no connection in his mind between Gojo and the strange figure from that night. To him, Gojo was just the same cocky, carefree man who’d been frequenting the café for weeks.

“So,” Gojo continued, leaning against the counter, “about that dinner tonight… Still on?”

The question caught Geto off guard, dragging him out of his thoughts. He had almost forgotten about their plans, considering everything that had happened. The idea of going out to dinner with Gojo felt oddly surreal now, given the chaos of the last few days, but it was also a welcome distraction, something normal amidst the confusion.

“Yeah,” Geto replied, nodding as he finished wiping down the counter. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Where should I meet you?”

Gojo’s grin widened, and for a moment, Geto thought he saw something in Gojo’s eyes, an unreadable glimmer, quickly gone. “Let’s keep that a surprise,” Gojo said with a wink. “I’ll find you.”

Geto chuckled, though curiosity tugged at him. “You’re always full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You could say that,” Gojo replied, taking a sip of the coffee Geto had poured for him. “But that’s what makes life interesting, don’t you think?”

As Geto prepared to close up for the night, Gojo hung around the café, his presence a strange mix of comfort and unease. Geto couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to their conversation than met the eye, but he pushed the thoughts aside. Whatever the evening held, he’d deal with it when the time came.

“By the way,” Geto asked casually, his curiosity getting the better of him, “Where are you staying? You never mentioned it.”

Gojo’s grin turned almost mischievous. “That’s for me to know and for you to keep wondering about, Suguru. Don’t worry, I’ll be around when you need me.”

Geto raised an eyebrow, his intrigue deepening, but he didn’t press further. “Alright, Gojo. I’ll see you at seven, then.”

“You bet,” Gojo said, giving a mock salute before turning to leave. “And don’t be late—I’m looking forward to it.”

As Gojo walked out, Geto couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth lingering in the air. There was something about Gojo that put him at ease, despite the oddness of their interaction. But as he locked up the café and got on his bike, the memory of the figure in the alley resurfaced, filling him with doubt once more.

—-

Geto Suguru stood outside his apartment building, locking the door behind him as the evening air settled around him, cool and quiet. The day had been long, and the thought of dinner with Gojo was a welcome distraction from the persistent unease that had been gnawing at him since the incident in the alley. He was just about to head down the stairs when a familiar figure caught his eye.

There, leaning casually against the lamppost at the edge of the street, was Gojo Satoru. His white hair was unmistakable, glowing softly under the dim light, and his tall frame was relaxed as if he had all the time in the world.

“Going somewhere?” Gojo’s voice broke the silence, his tone unmistakeable.

Geto blinked, his steps faltering. “Gojo? What are you doing here?”

Gojo pushed off the lamppost and strolled toward him, a smirk playing on his lips. “Thought I’d save you the trouble of picking me up. Figured I’d meet you here instead.”

Geto’s brow furrowed slightly, suspicion creeping into his voice. “How did you know where I live?”

Gojo shrugged, his grin widening as if the answer was obvious. “Look it up, of course. You’re not that hard to find, Suguru.”

Geto gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press further. Gojo had always been an enigma, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done something unexpected. Besides, there were more pressing matters to attend to, like getting to the restaurant.

“Alright,” Geto said, turning towards the street where his motorcycle was parked. “We’re taking my bike.”

As they approached the motorcycle, Geto noticed Gojo eyeing the machine with what could only be described as mild curiosity. “Never been around one before?” Geto asked, his tone laced with a bit of amusement.

Gojo tilted his head slightly, examining the motorcycle like it was some alien contraption. “Can’t say that I have. Didn’t really peg you as a biker type, Suguru.”

Geto chuckled, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Gojo.”

“Apparently,” Gojo quipped, still staring at the bike as if it might suddenly transform into something else.

“Wait here,” Geto said, shaking his head as he turned back towards his apartment. “I’ll grab you a helmet.”

As Geto disappeared into the building, Gojo remained by the bike, hands in his pockets, still studying the vehicle. It wasn’t just the machine that fascinated him; it was the insight it gave him into Geto’s life. There was something intensely personal about it, something that felt grounded in a way Gojo rarely experienced. The mundane act of riding a motorcycle, the freedom and control it symbolized, was so… human.

When Geto returned with a helmet in hand, he found Gojo still standing there, deep in thought. “Here,” Geto said, holding out the helmet. “Safety first.”

Gojo took the helmet, turning it over in his hands before sliding it on with an exaggerated flourish. “How do I look?” he asked, striking a mock-heroic pose.

“Like a complete idiot,” Geto replied, unable to suppress a laugh as he handed Gojo his own helmet.

They both mounted the motorcycle and as Geto started the engine, he felt Gojo’s arms wrap around his waist, holding on just tight enough to be secure. There was a momentary pause as Geto adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation of someone else on his bike, the closeness making him acutely aware of Gojo’s presence.

“Ready?” Geto asked over the roar of the engine.

“Always,” Gojo replied, his voice carrying that usual confidence, though there was an undertone of genuine excitement that Geto hadn’t expected.

With that, they were off, the motorcycle roaring to life as they sped down the streets of Tokyo. The city lights blurred around them, a cascade of colors against the night sky. Geto maneuvered through the traffic with practiced ease, the wind whipping past them, carrying away the tension that had built up over the past few days.

For a moment, Geto allowed himself to relax, the sensation of the road beneath them and the steady hum of the engine providing a strange sense of comfort. The streets were busy but not overcrowded, and he weaved through the lanes with a confidence that spoke of years of experience. Gojo, for his part, seemed completely at ease, though Geto could feel his grip tighten slightly every now and then as they took sharper turns.

As they rode, Geto couldn’t help but steal glances at the buildings they passed, the city alive with its usual energy. But despite the noise and the movement, there was a calm that settled over him, the rhythm of the bride pulling his thoughts into a steady cadence.

They finally pulled up outside a restaurant, the soft glow of its sign illuminating the street in front of them. Geto parked the bike and removed his helmet, running a hand through his hair as he glanced over at Gojo, who was already grinning.

“Not bad for a first ride, huh?” Geto asked with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Not bad at all,” Gojo replied, taking off his helmet and shaking out his hair. “I could get used to this.”

Geto smirked, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Maybe next time, I’ll teach you how to ride it.”

“Careful what you offer,” Gojo shot back with a wink. “I might just take you up on that.”

With that, they headed inside, both of them oddly aware of the unspoken connection that had formed between them during the ride. The Italian restaurant they chose had a quaint, rustic charm. It was tucked away in a quieter part of Tokyo, with dim lighting and a warm, inviting atmosphere. The smell of fresh pasta and herbs wafted through the air as Geto and Gojo were led to a cozy table by the window. A candle flickered softly between them, casting a gentle glow over their faces.

As they settled into their seats, the hostess handed them menus with a polite nod before leaving them to peruse the options. Geto glanced over the menu, his eyes scanning the various dishes while stealing occasional glances at Gojo, who seemed completely at ease, his eyes casually roaming the restaurant.

“So,” Geto began, breaking the comfortable silence, “Any favorites?”

Gojo looked up from his menu, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I have to admit, I’m not exactly a connoisseur of Italian cuisine. I’m more of a ‘go with the flow’ type when it comes to food. What about you?”

Geto chuckled softly, lowering his menu. “I’ve always had a soft spot for classic dishes: lasagna, spaghetti carbonara, that kind of thing.”

“Well,” Gojo said with a wink, “I’ll trust your judgment. You pick something good for us.”

The decision was made, Geto signaled the waiter and ordered for both of them. “We’ll have the lasagna and the spaghetti carbonara,” he replied. Gojo watched him with a curious smile, noting how naturally Geto took the lead in such simple matters.

As they waited for their food, the conversation began to flow easily between them, a back-and-forth rhythm that felt almost effortless. They talked about their pasts in a way that felt more like peeling back layers than simply sharing stories.

“What do you think it all means?” Geto had asked, his voice almost a whisper in the dim light of the restaurant. “Life, destiny, the choices we make… Do you think it’s all connected? Or are we just drifting through it all, searching for something that may not even be there?”

Gojo had smiled then, a small, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. How could he explain to Geto that he had spent lifetimes pondering these very questions? That he, too, was adrift in a sea of uncertainty, despite the divine role he had been given?

He had answered carefully, choosing his words like one might choose stones to skip across a still pond, each one creating ripples that would spread out far beyond the initial touch. “Maybe it’s not about finding the answers,” Gojo had said, his voice soft, contemplative. “Maybe it’s about the journey, the search itself. Perhaps the meaning lies in the questions we ask, in the connections we make along the way.”

But even as he spoke, Gojo’s mind wandered back to his beginnings. His "siblings," other fledgling angels, had once been his entire world. Together, they had learned, played, and grown, each one a spark of divine light, each one a piece of the celestial puzzle that made up the universe. They had been his family, his responsibility, and in their laughter and innocence, he had found a kind of purpose.

But that was long ago, in a place far removed from the mortal plane, and those memories, though cherished, now felt like echoes from a distant past. He had watched his siblings grow, watched as they took on their roles within the grand design, and as they did, the space between them had widened, leaving him increasingly isolated, even as he fulfilled his duties.

As they sat, Gojo found himself glancing at Geto, at the way his dark hair fell into his eyes, at the way his expression seemed perpetually caught between curiosity and contemplation. There was something about Geto that resonated with him, something that stirred a feeling deep within, a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until now.

Perhaps it was Geto’s unyielding search for meaning in a world that often seemed devoid of it. Or perhaps it was the way Geto moved through life with a quiet strength, a determination to find his path, even if that path led him into the unknown.

Gojo had seen many souls in his time—had watched them rise and fall, had guided them through trials both seen and unseen—but there was something different about Geto. Something that made Gojo’s celestial nature tremble with a feeling he had long since forgotten. A connection, a bond that he had not sought, but now could not deny.

Geto’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing him back to the present. “You said you had a lot of siblings,” Geto began, his tone casual, though Gojo could sense the underlying curiosity. “What was that like?”

Gojo’s smile returned, this time tinged with something that could almost be called sadness. “Chaotic, mostly,” he replied, the words light, almost playful. “There were so many of us, all with our ideas of how the world should be. I was the oldest, so I had to keep an eye on everyone, make sure they didn’t get into too much trouble.”

He spoke of his siblings as if they were still children, still under his watchful eye, though the truth of their existence was far more complex. In his mind, Gojo could see them as they had been—small, bright beings of pure light, each one full of potential, each one a reflection of the divine.

“They must have driven you crazy,” Geto said, a small smile on his lips.

Gojo chuckled, a sound that held both amusement and a hint of something deeper. “They did, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was… lonely, sometimes, being the one who had to take care of everyone. But it also made me who I am.”

He left it at that, not delving into the memories of heaven, of the way the light had seemed to dim when his siblings had gone their separate ways, each one taking on their duties, leaving Gojo to shoulder the weight of his responsibilities alone.

Geto seemed to sense that there was more to the story, but he didn’t press. Instead, he nodded, a quiet understanding in his eyes. “I guess we’re all shaped by the people around us, in one way or another. Even if we don’t realize it at the time.”

“That’s true,” Gojo agreed, his voice thoughtful. “We’re all connected, in ways we can’t always see. And maybe that’s the point—to find those connections, to understand how we fit into the larger picture.”

They continued eating, their conversation flowing like a river, carrying them deeper into the night. The city around them seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them, their words weaving a tapestry of thoughts, ideas, and unspoken truths.

And in that moment, Gojo realized that he was no longer simply a guardian, no longer just a watcher from above. He was part of this world now, part of this connection, this bond that was forming between them. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t want to let it go.

“There's beauty in the unknown,” Gojo said quietly, almost to himself. “I don't know what’s out there, what the future holds. It keeps us moving forward, even when we’re scared, even when we’re unsure.”

Geto nodded, feeling the weight of Gojo’s words settle into him like a comforting warmth. There was a wisdom in Gojo that belied his playful exterior, a depth that drew Geto in, making him want to know more, to understand the man sitting across from him.

As they finished their meal, the waiter returned to clear the dishes, and in a moment of casual inquiry, he smiled at the two of them. “I hope you two enjoyed your date tonight?”

Geto’s eyes widened in surprise, and a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck, turning his cheeks a faint shade of pink. He quickly glanced at Gojo, who simply grinned wider, clearly enjoying Geto’s reaction.

“Uh… it was great, thank you,” Geto managed to stammer out, trying to recover his composure. Gojo, meanwhile, gave the waiter a knowing wink.

“Best company I’ve had in a while,” Gojo added with a teasing tone, earning an even deeper flush from Geto.

When the meal was over, and the plates were cleared, Geto reached for his wallet. “This one’s on me,” he said, waving off Gojo’s attempt to contribute.

“You sure?” Gojo asked, though there was a teasing note in his voice.

“Positive,” Geto replied with a smile. “Consider it a thank you for saving my life—or whatever it is you did back in the café.”

Gojo chuckled, a soft laugh that seemed to carry more meaning than Geto realized. “Alright, if you insist. But next time, it’s on me.”

They left the restaurant together, stepping out into the cool night air. As they walked side by side, a comfortable silence settled between them, both of them lost in their thoughts. As they reached Geto’s motorcycle, Gojo paused, his gaze lingering on Geto. Without thinking, he reached out and took Geto’s hand in his own, his touch gentle but firm.

Geto looked down at their joined hands, a soft smile playing on his lips. There was a warmth there, a silent understanding that words couldn’t capture.

“You know,” Gojo said quietly, “tonight was… nice.”

“Yeah,” Geto replied, squeezing Gojo’s hand lightly. “It was.”

Finally, Geto reluctantly pulled away, a small smile still on his lips. “I’ll give you a ride back. Where to?”

Gojo grinned, his usual playfulness returning. “Surprise me.”

Geto laughed softly, putting on his helmet. “Alright then, hang on.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this human.

—

In the heart of this celestial realm, a council convened. Their forms, radiant and formless, hovered around a great, translucent sphere that floated in the center of their gathering. Within the sphere, images flickered, scenes from the mortal world, fleeting glimpses of lives intertwined by fate, by purpose, by destiny.

One image held their attention, glowing brighter than the rest, a figure draped in the mortal guise of a man, his silver hair a cascade of light even in the dim world below. It was Gojo, his every move watched with keen interest, every word scrutinized by those who resided in the higher realms.

“He is growing too close,” one voice murmured, a sound like the rustle of ancient parchment. The angel’s form pulsed with a soft, golden light, its eyes fixed on the sphere. “The bond between them strengthens, and with it, his attachment to the human realm. This was not part of the plan.”

“Perhaps,” another voice interjected, this one deeper, resonant like the toll of a distant bell. “But we cannot deny that this connection is what draws Geto closer to the precipice. His soul teeters on the edge, and Gojo’s presence might yet sway him in the direction we desire.”

The sphere shifted, the image changing to show Geto’s face, his expression one of quiet contemplation, the weight of recent events etched into his features. His tattooed arm rested on the counter of his café, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. The council watched in silence, the air thick with unspoken concern.

“He does not know,” a third voice said, this one softer, almost hesitant. “Geto remains unaware of Gojo’s true nature. But if the bond deepens… if Gojo’s feelings continue to grow…”

The voice trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished, hanging in the air like a question that none dared to answer.

“The risk is too great,” the first voice insisted, its tone firm. “Gojo was sent to guide, not to fall into the same trappings as those he was meant to protect. He is straying from his mission, letting mortal emotions cloud his judgment.”

“And yet,” the deep voice countered, “it is these emotions that have brought Geto to this point. The plan was always to bring him to a choice—a choice that would tip the scales. Gojo’s involvement has merely accelerated that process.”

The light within the sphere dimmed, the image of Gojo and Geto fading into the background as the council considered the implications of these words. There was a silence, one that stretched out across the heavens, heavy with the weight of their collective deliberation.

“We must tread carefully,” the soft voice finally said, breaking the silence. “Gojo’s actions are unpredictable, but they may yet serve our purpose. We cannot intervene directly, but we can… observe. We must ensure that the balance is maintained.”

“Agreed,” the golden light pulsed, the decision made. “We will watch. But should Gojo stray too far, should he forget his duty… we will have to act.”

And in the heart of it all, Gojo moved ever closer to the line that separated duty from desire, his celestial nature battling against the very emotions he had been sent to manipulate.

—

Gojo stood on the edge of the celestial realm, where the heavens met the boundary of Earth. He gazed down at the earth below, his eyes searching for a figure that had become all too familiar to him. Geto. The name itself now carried a weight, an anchor that pulled at the edges of his thoughts, that rooted him in the world he was meant to simply watch over.

Gojo had been in the mortal realm many times, had walked among humans, and observed their lives with a detached curiosity. He had fulfilled his duties with precision, guiding, protecting, and sometimes even correcting the courses of those under his watch. But this—this was different.

When he first met Geto, it was supposed to be just another mission. Another life to guide, another soul to influence. Yet, as the days passed, Gojo found himself drawn to Geto in a way that he had never been drawn to any human before. There was something in the way Geto spoke, in the way he questioned the world around him, in the way he moved through life with an unspoken grace, that captivated Gojo.

And now, as he stood on the precipice between heaven and earth, Gojo could feel the laws of his kind pressing down on him, heavy and suffocating. The celestial laws were clear, angels were forbidden from forming romantic attachments with humans. It was an ancient decree, one that had been etched into the very fabric of their existence since the beginning of time.

Romantic love, with all its complexities, was considered a distraction, a weakness that could compromise an angel’s judgment, and that could lead to actions that disrupted the balance they were sworn to protect. To love a human was to invite chaos into the order of the universe, to open the door to consequences that could ripple out far beyond the mortal plane.

Gojo knew this. He had known it since the moment he became aware of his existence. But knowing and feeling were two very different things.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself against the turmoil that roiled within. The image of Geto flashed in his mind, his smile, the way his eyes softened when he spoke of things that mattered to him, the quiet strength that seemed to emanate from him even in his most vulnerable moments.

Gojo’s heart, an organ that should have remained untouched by such emotions, clenched in his chest. The love he felt for Geto was something he couldn’t control, something that had grown and taken root without his consent. It wasn’t just a simple fondness or affection, it was deep, profound, and utterly consuming.

And it terrified him.

He had always been in control, always able to maintain the distance necessary to fulfill his duties. But now, that control was slipping. Every time he was near Geto, every time they spoke, Gojo could feel the boundaries of his existence blurring, the lines between duty and desire becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish.

What was he to do? The laws were absolute, and the consequences for breaking them were severe. To act on his feelings would be to betray everything he had been created to uphold. Yet, to deny those feelings, to push them away, was a pain unlike any he had ever known.

The internal conflict tore at him, pulling him in two opposite directions. On one hand, there was his duty, his responsibility to maintain the balance, to ensure that Geto’s path led him to the choices he needed to make. On the other, there was this overwhelming need, this yearning to be close to Geto, to protect him, not just as a guardian, but as something more.

Gojo opened his eyes, staring down at the world below, at the city where Geto lived, where he ran his small café, unaware of the storm that raged in the heart of the one sent to watch over him. Gojo’s mind raced with thoughts of the future, of what would happen if he continued down this path. Could he truly ignore the laws, the risks, the potential fallout? Or would he find a way to reconcile his duty with the love that had taken hold of him?

Gojo clenched his fists, the glow of his celestial form pulsing faintly around him. He knew he would have to make a choice, and soon. The council would not remain silent forever; they were already watching, waiting to see if he would falter. The pressure was mounting, and with it, the fear that he would have to choose between Geto and the duty that defined his existence.

But for now, all he could do was continue. Continue to protect him, to be by his side, and to wrestle with the conflict that threatened to consume him whole. And in those quiet moments when Geto’s presence was near, Gojo allowed himself the smallest indulgence—a fleeting thought of what could be, if only things were different. If only the laws that bound him could be rewritten if only the stars themselves would align in his favor.

But the heavens were not so easily swayed, and Gojo knew that in the end, the path he walked was one of solitude, where love was a forbidden fruit he could never truly taste. Yet, despite this knowledge, despite the inevitable heartbreak that loomed on the horizon, Gojo couldn’t help but hope—hope for a miracle, hope for a way to reconcile the two parts of his soul that were now at war.

And so, with a heavy heart, he descended once more to the world below, to the place where his love and his duty collided, knowing that whatever came next, it would change him forever.

—-

The morning sun streamed through the windows of Curses Brew, casting a warm, golden glow over the small coffee shop. The usual bustle of the early crowd had died down, leaving the space in a quiet lull that marked the transition between the morning rush and the slower pace of the afternoon.

Geto was behind the counter, meticulously cleaning the espresso machine. His movements were precise, almost ritualistic, as he wiped down the surfaces and checked the gauges. The hum of the machine and the occasional clink of dishes were the only sounds that filled the room.

The bell above the door jingled, and Geto glanced up, expecting to see one of his regulars. Instead, his gaze landed on Gojo, who was standing in the doorway with his usual carefree smile.

“Morning, Geto!” Gojo called out, striding into the shop with easy confidence. “Need any help today?”

Geto blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. Gojo had become a familiar presence at the café, often stopping by for a chat or a quick cup of coffee, but this was the first time he had offered to help.

“Help?” Geto repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You? In a coffee shop?”

Gojo feigned a look of mock offense, placing a hand over his chest. “What, you don’t think I can handle it?”

“It’s not that,” Geto said with a smirk, setting down his clothes. “I just can’t picture you behind the counter, that’s all.”

“Well, picture it now,” Gojo shot back, walking over to the counter and leaning on it with both elbows. “Come on, Geto. Let me help out. I promise I won’t break anything.”

Geto studied him for a moment, trying to gauge how serious he was. Gojo’s expression was playful, but there was a genuine eagerness in his eyes that made Geto pause.

“Alright,” Geto finally said with a small sigh. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “You won’t regret this.”

Geto rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he handed Gojo an apron. “First things first, you’ll need to put this on.”

Gojo took the apron and stared at it for a moment before awkwardly tying it around his waist. “How do I look?” he asked, striking a ridiculous pose.

“Like a natural,” Geto replied dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “Come on, I’ll show you the ropes.”

He led Gojo behind the counter, pointing out the different sections of the workspace. “Alright, this is where we keep the coffee beans,” Geto explained, opening a cabinet to reveal rows of jars filled with various blends. “Each one has its flavor profile, so you need to know what you’re working with.”

Gojo peered into the cabinet, nodding seriously. “Got it. Coffee beans.”

Geto shook his head, unable to suppress a chuckle. “You make it sound so simple. But trust me, there’s an art to it.”

They moved on to the espresso machine, and Geto gave a brief rundown of how it worked. “This is the heart of the operation,” he said, patting the machine. “You need to be precise with the measurements, the timing… everything has to be just right.”

Gojo listened intently, his usual lighthearted demeanor giving way to a surprising focus. He asked a few questions here and there, and Geto found himself impressed by how quickly he picked things up.

“Now, let’s see how you do,” Geto said, stepping back and gesturing for Gojo to take over. “Make me an espresso.”

Gojo looked at the machine, then at Geto. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Just give it a shot,” Geto replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

Gojo took a deep breath, as if preparing for some great task, and then got to work. He carefully measured out the coffee grounds, tamped them down, and locked the portafilter into place. His movements were a little awkward, but he followed God's instructions to the letter.

As the espresso poured into the cup, Geto watched with a critical eye. The shot was slightly off, the crema a bit too thin, but it was better than he expected for a first attempt.

Gojo held up the cup with a flourish, presenting it to Geto. “Your espresso, sir.”

Geto took the cup, inspecting it before taking a sip. It wasn’t perfect, but it was passable. “Not bad,” he admitted, handing the cup back. “You might have a knack for this.”

“Of course I do,” Gojo said, taking a sip of the espresso himself and grimacing slightly. “Okay, maybe not my best work, but I’ll get there.”

Geto laughed, shaking his head. “You’ll need a bit more practice, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

They spent the next hour going over the basics, with Geto showing Gojo how to make different drinks, handle the cash register, and interact with customers. Despite his initial skepticism, Geto found that Gojo was a quick learner. He was clumsy at times, and his overconfidence led to a few minor mishaps, but his enthusiasm was infectious.

At one point, while Geto was showing him how to steam milk for a latte, Gojo leaned in a little too close, and their arms brushed. It was a small, innocent touch, but it sent a jolt through Geto, making him suddenly aware of how close they were standing.

Gojo didn’t seem to notice, his focus entirely on the task at hand, but Geto found himself feeling oddly flustered. He quickly stepped back, trying to shake off the strange sensation.

“Alright, I think you’re ready to try serving a customer,” Geto said, nodding toward the door where a new customer had just walked in.

Gojo flashed a confident grin. “Watch and learn.”

Geto watched as Gojo approached the customer with his usual charisma, taking their order and chatting them up with ease. The customer, a middle-aged woman, seemed charmed by his friendly demeanor, and Geto couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the café was busier than Geto had anticipated. Gojo was thrown into the thick of it, but he handled the rush with surprising competence. There were a few minor hiccups, spilled milk, a misplaced order, but nothing catastrophic.

As the last customer left and the shop began to quiet down again, Geto finally allowed himself to relax. He looked over at Gojo, who was wiping down the counter with a satisfied grin.

“Well, how’d I do?” Gojo asked, tossing the cloth onto the counter and leaning back against it.

“You did better than I expected,” Geto admitted with a smirk. “I’m impressed.”

“See? I told you I’d be good at this,” Gojo said, his grin widening. “So, does this mean I get the job?”

Geto chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t quit your day job just yet. But if you ever need a backup career, you might have a future in coffee.”

Gojo laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They stood there for a moment, the easy camaraderie between them settling into a comfortable silence. Geto felt a strange sense of contentment, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Thanks for helping out today,” Geto said after a while, his tone sincere.

“Anytime,” Gojo replied, his smile softening. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” Geto admitted, surprising himself with the honesty of the statement.

As they began to close up the shop, Gojo continued to joke around, making light of the day’s events and teasing Geto about his perfectionism. Geto found himself smiling more than he had in a long time, the weight of the past few days lifting, if only for a little while.

As they finally stepped out into the evening air, locking the door behind them, Geto couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was something special about this strange man with white hair and a playful smile

—

The hallway of Geto’s apartment building was eerily quiet, the silence thick and suffocating in the dead of night. Gojo sat slouched on the floor, his back resting against the cold, hard wall. His legs were stretched out in front of him, one crossed over the other, and his head was tilted back slightly, gazing up at the dim ceiling lights that flickers intermittently.

In his right hand, he lazily tossed a small object, a coin, letting it spin and twirl in the air before catching it again in his palm. The soft clink of metal was the only sound in the empty corridor, a monotonous rhythm that kept him grounded as his thoughts wandered.

His usually vibrant eyes were dull with exhaustion, heavy eyelids drooping over them as he fought against the overwhelming urge to sleep. His celestial form, so often filled with boundless energy and light, now felt burdened by the weight of his duties. The toll of the night’s events pressed down on him like an invisible force, dragging him deeper into weariness.

He glanced down the hallway, and the sight that greeted him would send a shiver down the spine of any mortal—a grim tableau of death. The bodies of those who had come after Geto lay scattered like discarded dolls, their lifeless forms twisted in unnatural positions. The blood pooled around them, seeping into the worn carpet, and staining it a deep crimson.

Gojo’s gaze swept over the scene with a detached sort of indifference, his expression unreadable. These were not the first lives he had taken, nor would they be the last. Yet, as he sat there, surrounded by the remnants of his actions, a gnawing sense of discomfort twisted in his chest.

He tossed the coin again, watching it spin through the air before catching it absently. The repetitive motion did little to calm the storm brewing inside him.

He had been tasked with protecting Geto, an assignment given to him by forces far greater than himself. But the methods he employed, the violence he unleashed… it felt increasingly like a contradiction to the very nature he was supposed to embody.

As a celestial being, he was meant to be a guardian, a protector. Yet here he was, drenched in the blood of those he had judged unworthy of life, their deaths justified in the name of duty. Was this truly justice?

The faces of the fallen seemed to haunt him, their empty eyes staring up at him in silent accusation. He knew what they were, who they were—assassins, cursed beings sent to end Geto’s life. But in the stillness of the night, as the adrenaline faded and his senses dulled, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was another way, a better way, to fulfill his mission.

He looked down at his hands, the coin resting in his palm. These hands, capable of both immense creation and destruction, now felt tainted. The power he wielded was absolute, but it came at a cost—a cost he was increasingly unsure he was willing to pay.

Why Geto? The question echoed in his mind, a question he had asked himself countless times. Why was he assigned to protect this man, this seemingly ordinary human who was so blissfully unaware of the danger that surrounded him? What made Geto so special that the forces above deemed him worthy of angelic intervention?

And why, despite all his efforts to remain detached, did Gojo find himself drawn to Geto in ways that defied his very nature?

Gojo sighed, a long, weary exhale that seemed to carry the weight of his doubts. He let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment as he allowed himself to drift, just for a little while, in the quiet darkness of his thoughts.

He opened his eyes again, the reality of the hallway returning to him, the bodies, the blood, the silence. This was the result of that bond, a bond that had already begun to change the course of his mission in ways he could no longer control.

The coin slipped from his fingers, clattering softly to the floor as Gojo’s hand fell limp beside him. He stared at it for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and tinged with self-mockery.

What a mess you’ve made, Satoru, he thought, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. And it’s only going to get worse.

—

The ascent to heaven was not something Gojo did lightly. As he crossed the threshold between the mortal realm and the celestial, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders, replaced by the heavy, expectant silence of the heavens.

He landed on the marble steps of the Council Hall, a grand structure suspended in the sky, its columns stretching endlessly into the heavens. The hall was a place of solemnity and reverence, where decisions were made, and destinies were woven. But today, Gojo had no intention of bowing to that reverence.

He strode through the towering doors, his wings trailing behind him, leaving a faint trail of light in his wake. Inside, the Council of Elders awaited him, their forms indistinct, shrouded in a misty glow that concealed their features. They were ancient beings, each one an embodiment of divine wisdom, their voices a chorus that echoed through the hall.

"Gojo Satoru," one of the Elders spoke, the voice soft but commanding. "You have returned earlier than expected."

Gojo didn’t bother with pleasantries. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he addressed the assembly. "I need answers," he demanded, his voice steady but laced with frustration. "Why was I assigned to protect Geto Suguru? What is so special about him that warrants celestial intervention?"

The Elders were silent for a moment, their presence imposing and inscrutable. When they finally spoke, their tone was calm, almost indifferent. "Geto Suguru is crucial to the balance of the world," Uriel replied. "His life, his choices, will ripple through time, affecting both the mortal and celestial realms."

Gojo’s frustration bubbled over. "That’s what you keep saying," he retorted, his wings flaring slightly as his agitation grew. "But he’s just… ordinary. There’s nothing about him that suggests he’s capable of affecting anything on such a grand scale. I’ve been watching him, protecting him, and yet there’s nothing, nothing, that indicates he’s anything more than just another human."

Another Angel spoke, their voice gentle but firm. "It is not for you to question the will of the heavens, Gojo Satoru. You must protect, to ensure that the balance is maintained."

Gojo clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "You don’t understand," he argued, his voice rising. "Every day, I’m risking everything, my life, my soul, to protect someone who shows no sign of being important. How am I supposed to fulfill this mission when I don’t even know what I’m protecting him from?"

The hall fell silent again, the tension thick in the air. Gojo’s wings trembled slightly, his emotions raw and unfiltered in the presence of beings who were supposed to be above such things.

Finally, Cassiel spoke, her tone more compassionate. "We understand your frustration, Gojo. But you must trust in the plan that has been set in motion. There are forces at play that you cannot see, that even we cannot fully comprehend. Geto Suguru is a thread in a much larger tapestry, and your role is to ensure that thread remains intact."

Gojo shook his head, his expression one of disbelief. "How am I supposed to trust a plan that doesn’t make sense? Geto has shown no signs of being anything but an ordinary man. I’ve been following him, guarding him, and there’s nothing—no powers, no hidden abilities, no destiny that I can see."

The Elders remained silent, their lack of response only fueling Gojo’s frustration. His wings flared again, and for a moment, the light in the hall dimmed as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

"Tell me something," Gojo pressed, his voice quieter but no less intense. "Am I protecting him because he’s meant to change the world… or because he’s meant to change me?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged with meaning. The Elders exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable in the misty glow that surrounded them.

"We cannot answer that," Metatron finally said, their voice soft. "Some things are beyond even our understanding. But know this, Gojo Satoru—whatever the outcome, your actions will shape the future of both realms."

Gojo closed his eyes, his frustration and confusion warring with his sense of duty. He had always been a loyal servant of the heavens, unwavering in his commitment to the greater good. But now, for the first time, he felt lost, uncertain of his path.

He opened his eyes, his gaze hardening. "I’ll protect him," he said, his voice low but resolute. "But I won’t do it blindly. If Geto Suguru is truly as important as you say, then I’ll find out why. And if there’s something you’re not telling me… I’ll find that out too."

With that, Gojo turned and strode out of the hall, his wings trailing behind him, the light they emitted now tinged with a darker, more determined hue. The Elders watched him go, their expressions unreadable, their thoughts hidden behind the veil of wisdom.

—-

As Geto locked up Curses Brew for the evening, he felt a familiar presence before he even turned around. Sure enough, there was Gojo, lounging against the brick wall outside, his signature grin firmly in place.

“Closing up early?” Gojo asked, his voice playful as he strolled over.

“Yeah,” Geto replied, flipping the keys in his hand. “Thought I’d take it easy today. You?”

“Just hanging out,” Gojo said with a casual shrug. “Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab something to eat.”

Geto chuckled softly. “You read my mind. Fancy another ride on the bike?”

Gojo’s eyes lit up with that mischievous glint Geto had come to recognize. “You know I can’t resist a ride with you.”

They walked over to where Geto’s motorcycle was parked, the engine still warm from its earlier use. As they approached, Gojo reached for the helmet but hesitated, turning to Geto with a mock-serious expression.

“So, are you going to warn me again about holding on too tight?” Gojo asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Geto smirked, handing him the helmet. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that you mention it... You nearly cut off my circulation last time.”

Gojo laughed, a sound that was as carefree as the wind that whipped through the alleyway. “Hey, I was just making sure I didn’t fall off.”

“Uh-huh,” Geto replied, shaking his head. “Well, just remember, I like breathing.”

Gojo grinned as he climbed onto the bike, settling in behind Geto. “I guess I’ll just have to hold on differently this time.”

Get started the engine, the powerful hum reverberating through them both. As they sped off into the city, Gojo wrapped his arms around Geto’s waist—not too loose, but not too tight either. Just close enough to feel the warmth of Geto’s back against his chest.

“Is this better?” Gojo called out over the roar of the engine, his voice laced with laughter.

“Perfect,” Geto replied, glancing back with a soft smile. “But if you want to hold on tighter, I won’t complain.”

Gojo’s grin widened as he tightened his grip just slightly, leaning in closer. “Well, in that case, I might just hold on forever.”

Geto felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the wind or the speed. “Careful, you might make me blush.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Gojo quipped, his tone light but his words carrying an underlying sincerity.

They continued, the city lights blurring around them as they rode together through the streets. The sensation of Gojo’s arms around him was comforting, grounding in a way that Geto didn’t often let himself acknowledge. Despite the teasing, the closeness felt natural—like this was how things were meant to be.

As they approached their destination, a conservatory looming ahead, Gojo loosened his hold slightly but stayed close enough to keep the connection. When they finally came to a stop, Geto dismounted the bike and turned to face him.

“So, how was the ride?” Geto asked, holding out a hand to help Gojo off.

“Best one yet,” Gojo replied, taking his hand with a smile that was equal parts playful and genuine. “But next time, maybe I’ll drive.”

Geto raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’ll think about it. But for now, let’s see what this place has to offer.”

As they approached the entrance to the conservatory, the soft glow of the building's lights bathed the area in a warm, inviting hue. Geto stepped up to the ticket counter, reaching for his wallet. Gojo, however, was quicker.

“I’ve got this,” Gojo said, flashing a charming smile at the attendant as he handed over the money.

“You know, I can pay for myself,” Geto protested lightly, though the smile on his face showed he wasn’t truly upset.

“I know,” Gojo replied, his voice softening as he took the tickets and handed one to Geto. “But let me treat you this time.”

They exchanged a brief look, the simplicity of the gesture carrying more than either of them expected. With tickets in hand, they entered the conservatory, the air inside cool and filled with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers.

The path before them was lined with vibrant greenery, the plants reaching out as if to welcome them into a world that seemed almost separate from the bustling city outside. They walked side by side, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the thick foliage underfoot.

As they continued, they found themselves in a room dedicated to butterflies. The space was alive with color and movement, the air filled with the delicate flutter of wings. Sunlight streamed in through the glass dome above, casting soft, dappled shadows across the floor.

Geto slowed his pace, taking in the sight of the butterflies as they danced through the air. One fluttered past him, brushing against his arm before flitting away. He watched it go, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Geto murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Gojo replied, his eyes following the same butterfly. He watched it hover in the air, the delicate wings reflecting the light. The sight stirred something within him, something he didn’t often allow himself to dwell on.

His thoughts turned inward, to the wings he bore in his celestial form. They were nothing like these delicate, fragile things. His wings were immense, radiant with a light that could blind mortal eyes, each feather a testament to his divine power. They were symbols of his purpose, his duty, and yet, as he watched the butterfly flit from one flower to another, he couldn’t help but think of how similar they were in one fundamental way.

Both his wings and the butterflies were designed to carry, to lift, to take one from one place to another. But where his wings were a burden, the butterfly seemed almost weightless, moving without the heavy responsibility that his own carried. The butterfly’s flight was a dance, effortless and beautiful, while he was a march, necessary and unyielding.

“You seem lost in thought,” Geto observed, breaking the silence and pulling Gojo back to the present.

Gojo smiled, pushing his thoughts aside. “Just thinking about how fleeting beauty can be,” he said, his words layered with a truth that Geto couldn’t fully grasp. “It’s here one moment, and gone the next. But that’s what makes it precious, don’t you think?”

Geto nodded, his eyes following a pair of butterflies that had alighted on a nearby flower, their wings beating in perfect harmony. “Yeah. It’s like love, I guess. You never know how long it’ll last, but that doesn’t make it any less real.”

Gojo watched the butterflies, his thoughts drifting back to his nature. Love, like wings, was something that could lift you, and carry you to heights you never imagined. But it was also delicate. It could be easily torn, easily lost. And yet, it was always there, even when you couldn’t see it.

The silence between them grew comfortable, filled only with the soft hum of the conservatory and the flutter of wings. As Gojo observed Geto, he realized that this connection, fragile and fleeting as it might be, was something worth

holding onto, even if it meant breaking the celestial laws he was bound to.

“So, love is like a butterfly’s wings—fragile, but capable of so much,” Geto said, breaking the silence with a thought that seemed to echo Gojo’s internal musings.

“In a way,” Gojo continued, his voice growing more introspective. “Love, like wings, is something that can lift you, carry you to heights you never imagined. But it’s also delicate. It can be easily torn, and easily lost. And yet, it’s always there, even when you can’t see it.”

They watched as the two butterflies took flight together, their paths intertwining in the air before they separated, each going its way. The sight sparked something in Gojo, a realization that had been slowly taking root within him.

“Love is eternal in that it leaves a mark on you, changes you,” Gojo said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. “But it’s also fleeting because the moments that define it are so brief. It’s that paradox that makes it so powerful—and so terrifying.”

Geto nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. “So, love is like a butterfly’s wings—fragile, but capable of so much.”

Gojo smiled at that, a faint but genuine smile. “Exactly. And it’s something I’m still trying to understand. For so long, I’ve seen it from the outside, detached. But now... now, I’m beginning to see it in a different light.”

Geto was quiet for a moment, considering Gojo’s words. “You’re saying love is something that you can’t fully grasp until you experience it?”

Gojo turned to look at him, his gaze intense but not unkind. “Yes. You can observe it, study it, and even appreciate it from a distance. But until you’ve felt it yourself, lived it... it’s like trying to describe the color of a butterfly’s wings to someone who’s never seen them.”

The silence that followed was filled with the soft hum of the conservatory, the flutter of wings, and the distant murmur of water from a nearby fountain. In that silence, something profound passed between them, an unspoken understanding that words alone couldn’t capture.

Geto broke the silence first, his voice thoughtful. “Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to define love—because it’s different for everyone, and no two experiences are the same.”

Gojo nodded slowly, his thoughts mirroring Geto’s. “Exactly. And maybe that’s why it’s worth pursuing, despite the risks. Because even if it’s fragile, even if it’s fleeting, it’s the most real thing there is.”

They continued to walk, the conversation trailing off as they both became lost in their thoughts. The butterflies danced around them, a living metaphor for the conversation they had just shared.

The conservatory’s warmth lingered on their skin as they stepped back out into the crisp evening air. The city had taken on a quieter tone, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional murmur of passersby creating a tranquil atmosphere. The stars had begun to peek out from the darkening sky, casting a gentle light over the streets.

Geto walked beside Gojo, hands tucked into his pockets, his mind still turning over the conversation they’d shared inside. He felt lighter as if the weight of their words had somehow lifted something off his shoulders. Gojo, meanwhile, was lost in his thoughts, the evening’s events blending with the emotions he was beginning to find harder and harder to suppress.

As they made their way down the street, the two of them were enveloped in a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps. They passed by dimly lit shops and closed storefronts, the city’s pulse slowing as the night deepened.

But as they turned a corner, something changed.

A sharp rustle from an alleyway caught Gojo’s attention, his senses instantly on high alert. He instinctively shifted closer to Geto, his eyes scanning the shadows. Before he could react, a figure lunged out of the darkness, the glint of a weapon catching the dim light.

“Geto, watch out!” Gojo shouted, his voice cutting through the still night as he moved in a blur, putting himself between Geto and the assailant.

Geto barely had time to process what was happening before Gojo was there, his movements swift and almost inhumanly precise. The attacker, a dark-clad figure with a menacing snarl, swung a knife toward Geto, but Gojo was quicker. He grabbed the attacker’s wrist with a force that made the man’s eyes widen in shock.

The air seemed to thicken, tension mounting as Gojo twisted the attacker’s arm behind his back, disarming him with brutal efficiency. The man let out a strangled cry of pain, but Gojo didn’t let up. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, something almost otherworldly as if he was on the brink of revealing a part of himself that he desperately wanted to keep hidden.

“Who sent you?” Gojo’s voice was low, dripping with an authority that made even Geto, who had been frozen in shock, take a step back.

The attacker struggled, trying to break free, but Gojo’s grip was like iron. With a swift motion, he knocked the man out cold, his body crumpling to the ground. The street fell silent once more, the tension lingering in the air.

Gojo stood over the unconscious attacker, his chest heaving as he tried to calm the storm raging within him. He’d acted without thinking, his instincts taking over to protect Geto, but now that the threat was gone, he realized just how close he’d come to revealing too much.

Geto, meanwhile, was staring at Gojo with wide eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe what had just happened, couldn’t wrap his mind around how Gojo had moved so quickly, so powerfully.

“Gojo…” Geto’s voice was barely above a whisper, the words catching in his throat. He took a hesitant step forward, his mind reeling from the sudden violence. “How… how did you do that?”

Gojo turned to face him, his expression softening as he saw the confusion and concern in Geto’s eyes. “I’ve picked up a few tricks,” he said with a forced smile, trying to brush off the incident as nothing more than luck and skill.

Geto wasn’t convinced. He could see that there was something more to Gojo, something deeper that he wasn’t sharing. But before he could press the issue, Gojo closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from Geto’s face.

“You’re okay, right?” Gojo’s voice was softer now, the intensity from before replaced with something more tender.

Geto nodded, still trying to find his voice. “Yeah… thanks to you.” His breath caught as Gojo’s hand lingered on his cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down his spine.

The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the sounds of the city fading into the background. Geto could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline from the attack mixing with something else—something he wasn’t sure he was ready to name.

Gojo’s eyes searched Geto’s as if looking for some sign of what to do next. His hand slid down from Geto’s cheek, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw. The tension between them was palpable, a silent question hanging in the air.

Before either of them could think, Gojo leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from Geto’s. There was a moment of hesitation as if Gojo was giving Geto a chance to pull away, to stop this before it went any further. But when Geto didn’t move, when his eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, Gojo closed the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative as if they were both testing the waters of something that had been building between them for far too long. But it quickly deepened, the unspoken emotions they’d been holding back spilling over as they clung to each other.

For Gojo, the kiss was both a revelation and a curse. It was everything he had wanted, and everything he knew he shouldn’t have. But in that moment, with Geto’s warmth pressed against him, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences.

Geto’s hands found their way to Gojo’s shoulders, gripping him tightly as if afraid to let go. The world around them seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them in the darkness of the street, lost in each other.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, the reality of what had just happened crashing down around them. Geto looked at Gojo, his eyes searching for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to find.

Gojo’s hand was still resting on Geto’s cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against his skin. He knew this was dangerous, that he was crossing a line he could never cross. But as he looked into Geto’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gojo said softly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Geto nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He could still feel the lingering warmth of Gojo’s lips against his, the memory of the kiss seared into his mind.

As they walked away from the scene, Gojo’s arm slipped around Geto’s shoulders, pulling him close. And for the first time in a long time, Gojo allowed himself to forget about the mission, about the celestial laws, and just be in the moment with the man who had somehow, without even trying, begun to unravel everything he thought he knew.

——

The faint glow of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft light across the small apartment. Gojo stirred on the couch, the unfamiliar surroundings pulling him from a restless sleep. He blinked up at the ceiling, the events of the previous night slowly coming back to him. His mind replayed the kiss, the intensity of it, and the warmth that had settled deep in his chest. But with the morning came a sobering clarity that left him feeling conflicted.

Sitting up, Gojo rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering sleepiness. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions, none of them easy to pin down. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to get involved, wasn't supposed to feel anything for Geto beyond the duty he had been assigned. But the kiss had crossed a line—a line that he wasn’t sure he could uncross.

As if on cue, Geto emerged from the small kitchen, two steaming mugs in hand. He was dressed casually, the tattoos on his forearm peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his shirt. His expression was guarded a stark contrast to the vulnerability they had shared the night before.

“Morning,” Geto said, his voice quiet as he handed Gojo one of the mugs. He took a seat on the edge of the coffee table, close but not too close, as if he were afraid of what might happen if he let his guard down again.

“Morning,” Gojo replied, accepting the coffee with a grateful nod. The warmth of the mug seeped into his hands, grounding him slightly. But the tension in the air was undeniable, a heavy weight pressing down on both of them.

They sat in silence for a few moments, neither of them sure how to begin. The coffee remained untouched in Gojo's hands as he stared down into the dark liquid, searching for the right words.

“What happened last night…” Geto started, finally breaking the silence. His voice was careful, and measured, as if he was choosing each word with painstaking precision. “It was a mistake.”

Gojo’s heart sank at the words, but he knew Geto was right. They both knew it. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was.”

The room fell into silence again, the weight of the unspoken lingering between them. Gojo wanted to say more, wanted to tell Geto that it hadn’t felt like a mistake at the time, that it still didn’t feel like one now. But he couldn’t. The rules he lived by, the boundaries he had sworn to maintain, were already frayed beyond repair.

Geto sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Gojo. But we can’t… I can’t do that again.”

Gojo nodded, even though every fiber of his being rebelled against the idea. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Geto looked at him, his gaze softer now, but no less conflicted. “You don’t have to apologize. We just… need to keep things clear between us.”

Gojo managed a small, sad smile. “Yeah. Clear.”

But clarity was the last thing on Gojo’s mind as he sat there, the reality of his situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He had allowed himself to feel something for Geto, something deep and powerful, and now he was paying the price.

Suddenly, a familiar, unsettling sensation washed over Gojo. It was like a pull at the very core of his being, something he couldn’t ignore. His heart skipped a beat as he realized what it meant.

“They know,” Gojo whispered, more to himself than to Geto.

Geto frowned, not understanding. “Who knows?”

But before Gojo could answer, the room around him began to blur. The pull became stronger, more insistent until it was impossible to resist. A wave of panic washed over him as he realized what was happening—he was being summoned.

“Geto, I—” Gojo started, but the words caught in his throat as a blinding light enveloped him, pulling him away from the apartment, away from Geto. The last thing he saw before everything went white was Geto’s confused and concerned expression.

When the light faded, Gojo found himself standing in a vast, ethereal space. The air was thick with otherworldly energy, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to shimmer with an iridescent glow. The space was both infinite and confined, a paradox that only made sense in the celestial realm.

The tribunal chamber was vast, its walls shimmering with a soft, silver luminescence. The air was thick with an otherworldly chill, and the space seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. At the far end of the chamber, an elevated platform held the Elders. Their eyes were unerringly focused on Gojo.

“Gojo Satoru,” intoned Cassiel, her voice echoing with authority and disapproval. “You stand before the Celestial Council to answer for your grievous breach of duty.”

Gojo’s heart pounded in his chest. He stood tall, trying to mask his unease, but the gravity of the situation was undeniable. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with desperation. “Geto… he’s different. I—”

“Silence!” Metatron’s voice cut through his words, sharp and commanding. “You were entrusted with a mission of paramount importance. To protect the balance between realms, and you have allowed your personal feelings to undermine that mission.”

The figures’ eyes flared with intense light, and Gojo felt a shiver run down his spine. The atmosphere grew colder, and the chamber seemed to close in around him. “This is a serious infraction,” Metatron continued. “You have placed both your status and the stability of the realms at risk. Such disobedience cannot go unpunished.”

Gojo’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to disrupt the balance. I was only—”

“Only what?” Uriel interrupted, their tone harsh. “Only allowing your emotions to dictate your actions? You were warned of the consequences of such behavior.”

Before Gojo could respond, the air around him shifted. A series of translucent, glowing restraints appeared, wrapping around his wrists and ankles, and binding him to the ground. The sensation was cold and unyielding, and Gojo struggled against the restraints, but they held fast.

“No,” Gojo said, his voice rising in fear and frustration. “Cassiel, Uriel— This isn’t fair! I was doing my best—”

“Your best is not enough,” Cassiel replied, their voice laden with finality. “You have jeopardized the very fabric of the celestial balance. Such a breach demands recompense.”

Gojo’s eyes widened as the chamber began to fill with a shimmering, pulsating light. The light was not warm but searing, and it seemed to carry a force that pressed against him, like an unbearable weight. It wasn’t physical pain, yet, but it was a precursor to something far worse.

The figures regarded him with cold, unfeeling eyes. “The punishment for such transgressions must be severe,” one of them said. “To ensure that you understand the gravity of your actions.”

Gojo gasped as the light intensified, creating a sensation akin to a thousand pinpricks all over his body. It wasn’t quite physical pain, but it was agonizing, an incessant pressure that seemed to penetrate every corner of his being. His mind raced with thoughts of Geto, the moments they had shared, and the overwhelming sense of loss that threatened to consume him.

Amid the torment, Gojo tried to hold onto his resolve. He had always been a warrior, unyielding, but the emotional and mental strain was pushing him to his limits. The celestial realm’s punishment was not just physical; it was psychological, a relentless assault on his sense of self.

“Do you now comprehend the consequences of your actions?” one of the figures asked, their voice cutting through the haze of pain.

Gojo clenched his teeth, his face contorted with agony. “Yes,” he managed to choke out. “I understand.”

“Good,” the figure said, its tone softening slightly. “Then you will remain here until you have been judged worthy to return to your duties. Your attachment to the human has clouded your judgment. Only by demonstrating unwavering commitment to your mission can you hope to regain your status.”

The light began to fade, leaving Gojo drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. The restraints loosened, but the pain lingered, a reminder of the tribunal’s judgment. Gojo slumped to the ground, his strength sapped by the ordeal. His mind was a tumult of conflicting emotions—guilt, anger, and a profound sense of loss.

—-

Gojo descended into the heart of Tokyo, his celestial form dissolving into the familiar, mundane world. A powerful curse had emerged, threatening the balance of both the human world and the spiritual realm. It was his duty to neutralize this threat, and he knew he needed to show his superiors that he could uphold his responsibilities without faltering.

The curse’s energy was thick in the air, a malignant aura that seeped into every shadow. Gojo arrived at the designated alleyway, where the curse was wreaking havoc. The air was heavy with the stench of fear and despair. He could see the curse's form, a roiling mass of darkness, its shape constantly shifting and writhing.

He took a deep breath, centering himself. As he raised his head, a pair of wings, iridescent and majestic, unfurled from his back. The wings glowed faintly, casting a serene light that contrasted sharply with the darkness of the curse. With a powerful thrust, Gojo launched into the air, his wings propelling him effortlessly above the ground.

The curse hissed as it sensed his presence, tendrils of shadow whipping through the air toward him. Gojo maneuvered with fluid grace, evading the dark, sinewy attacks with ease. His movements were precise, his body a blend of agility and power. He focused his energy, gathering it into his core, preparing for his most devastating technique.

“Hollow Purple,” he intoned, the air around him crackling with immense energy. A sphere of violet light formed at his fingertips, pulsating with raw, destructive power. He hurled the sphere toward the curse, and it expanded into a massive wave of purifying energy. The Hollow Purple wave surged forward, slicing through the darkness and obliterating the curse’s twisted form.

The curse screeched in agony, its dark essence unraveling under the sheer force of Gojo’s attack. Despite its resistance, the curse was unable to withstand the overwhelming power. Gojo’s wings beat slowly, keeping him aloft as he observed the results of his technique.

As the curse’s form dissipated into nothingness, the oppressive atmosphere lifted. The alleyway was now eerily calm, the malevolent energy that had once pervaded it now gone. Gojo descended gracefully, landing softly on the ground. His wings folded back into his form, their glow fading to a faint shimmer.

He surveyed the area, ensuring that the curse was fully eradicated and that the threat had been neutralized. The battle had been intense, but Gojo had performed with the precision and power expected of him. His body was tired, but his resolve remained strong.

Returning to the celestial realm, Gojo felt the familiar pull of divine energy. The transition was seamless, though the weight of his actions and their consequences was ever-present. He entered the tribunal chamber, his demeanor composed despite the fatigue.

The celestial council awaited him, their forms radiant and imposing. “Gojo Satoru,” one of them spoke, their voice resonating with authority. “You have completed the task. The curse has been vanquished, and the balance has been restored.”

Gojo stood tall, his expression serious. “I have fulfilled my duty. I hope this demonstrates my commitment.”

The Elders exchanged glances, their light reflecting a mix of approval and scrutiny. “Your actions have been noted. You have proven that you are capable of fulfilling your duties with the required dedication. However, your emotional involvement with the human remains a concern. You must continue to adhere to the celestial laws. Any further breaches will be met with severe consequences.”

Gojo nodded, understanding the gravity of their words. “I will uphold my duties with the utmost diligence.”

With that, the figures began to fade, their light receding into the vast expanse of the celestial realm. Gojo was left alone, once again.

——

The clock on the wall of Curses Brew ticked away the final moments of the day. The last customers had left, and Geto was moving through the motions of closing up, but his mind was elsewhere. It had been days since Gojo had disappeared from his apartment, and vanished into thin air, without a word or a trace. And now, after radio silence, Gojo showed up at his shop like nothing had happened.

Geto was fuming.

He heard the bell above the door ring and turned sharply, half-expecting another stray customer. Instead, Gojo stood there, looking uncharacteristically tense. His usual demeanor was missing, replaced by something closer to… anxiety. Guilt?

“Hey,” Gojo greeted, his voice unusually soft as he stepped inside.

“Hey,” Geto replied coolly, wiping his hands on a rag and tossing it aside.

Gojo hesitated near the door, glancing around the empty shop like he was searching for something—an escape, maybe. “I, uh, wanted to talk.”

“Is that what you wanted to do the other night? Before you decided to just vanish in the middle of my apartment?” Geto’s tone was sharp, the anger he’d been holding onto slipping out.

Gojo winced, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I can explain that.”

“I’m listening,” Geto said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not here,” Gojo said quickly, almost too quickly. He forced a weak smile that did nothing to alleviate the tension in the room. “Maybe we could go for a walk?”

Geto eyed him warily. “You can’t just walk back in here like everything’s fine, Gojo. You disappear on me, with no explanation, and then show up whenever it’s convenient for you. That’s not how this works.”

“I know,” Gojo said, his voice dropping. “But I’ll explain everything. I promise. Just… not here.”

Geto stared at him for a long moment, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, though his irritation still simmered beneath the surface. “Fine. Let me finish up.”

As Geto moved around the shop, locking doors and shutting off lights, Gojo stood by the door, his mind racing. He knew this conversation was inevitable, but he hadn’t imagined it would feel so impossible. How could he explain something so monumental?

The night air was cool as they stepped outside, but it did little to cool the anger burning in Geto’s chest. They walked in silence, side by side, the usual easy rhythm of their steps now awkward and strained. Gojo was usually so full of life, so at ease in any situation, but now he was quieter, almost subdued.

They walked for a while, aimlessly, until they found themselves back in Geto’s apartment. The same place that hell had unfurled the last time.

“Geto,” he began, his voice heavy with something Geto couldn’t quite place. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve been keeping from you.”

Geto turned to face him, his irritation flaring up again. “You’re starting to piss me off, Gojo. Just spit it out already.”

“I—” Gojo hesitated, his usual confidence shattered by the weight of the moment. He looked down at the ground, struggling to find the right words. “I’m not who you think I am.”

Geto’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re starting to sound like a lunatic.”

Gojo winced at the anger in Geto’s voice, but he pushed on, knowing he couldn’t back out now. “I’m not just Gojo Satoru. I’m… I’m something else. Something I’ve been hiding from you.”

Geto’s anger was quickly turning into frustration. “If you don’t start making sense, I’m walking away. What the hell are you talking about?”

Gojo looked up, meeting Geto’s eyes with a raw, vulnerable expression that Geto had never seen before. “I’m an angel, Geto. A guardian angel. I was sent here to protect you.”

Geto blinked, staring at Gojo in disbelief. “An angel? That’s the best you’ve got? You disappear for days, and now you’re some kind of divine being?”

“I know how it sounds,” Gojo said quickly, his voice pleading. “But it’s the truth. I didn’t want to lie to you, you have to believe me! I had no choice.”

Geto took a step back, shaking his head. “This is insane. You expect me to just believe that? You’re saying all this was some kind of… that I was just what? A mission? A job?”

Gojo flinched at the word, guilt washing over him. “It’s more complicated than that. But yes, I was sent here to protect you, to watch over you. And I did—at first, that was all it was.”

Geto’s anger flared again, his fists clenching at his sides. “So everything between us, all of it, was just part of your job?”

“No!” Gojo’s voice was sharp, desperate. “That’s not what I’m saying. It was real, Geto. Everything we did, everything I felt… it was real. But I couldn’t tell you the truth because I was afraid, you don’t understand what they would have done, what they are going to do.”

Geto was silent, his mind racing, trying to process what he was hearing. He wanted to walk away, to laugh it off as some ridiculous joke, but something in Gojo’s eyes told him it wasn’t a lie.

“If you’re an angel,” Geto said slowly, his voice laced with disbelief, “then prove it.”

Gojo hesitated, the laws ringing in his ears. But he had already come this far, and there was no turning back now. With a reluctant sigh, he extended his arms, and from his back, his wings began to unfurl.

The wings were enormous, glowing with a soft, ethereal light. They shimmered in the night, each feather more beautiful and otherworldly than the last.

Geto started, his mouth dry, as the reality of what he was seeing sank in. His anger mixed with shock, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You’re serious.”

Gojo’s heart ached at the sight of Geto’s disbelief. “I didn’t want to hide it from you anymore. I couldn’t keep lying.”

Geto reached out a hand, trembling slightly as he touched one of the feathers. The sensation was almost too much, the reality of it all crashing over him like a wave.

Geto walked away towards his room, his mind spinning, but the further he went, the more the anger in his chest bubbled over. He stopped abruptly, his fists clenched and turned back toward Gojo, who was still standing in the entryway, his wings folded behind him.

“Was it you?” Geto’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and accusing. Gojo looked up, startled by the sudden change in Geto’s tone.

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked cautiously.

“That night in the alley,” Geto snapped, his eyes narrowing. “The night I saw that… thing. Was it you?”

Gojo’s heart sank. He had hoped to avoid this part of the conversation, but there was no escaping it now. He took a deep breath, his eyes filled with regret.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “That was me.”

Geto’s expression twisted into something raw, a mix of disbelief and betrayal. “So it’s true. You’ve been lying to me since the beginning, watching me, controlling everything.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Gojo protested, stepping forward. “I was protecting you, Geto. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Geto’s voice rose, his anger spilling out unchecked. “You’ve done nothing but hurt me! You watched as I suffered, you stood by and did nothing, all because it was your ‘job’? You’re the one who’s caused all this pain!”

“Geto, please, you have to understand—”

“Understand what?” Geto cut him off, his voice trembling with fury. “That you’re some kind of celestial puppet master, playing with my life like it’s a fucking game? That everything we’ve been through, everything I’ve felt, has all been a lie?”

“It wasn’t a lie!” Gojo shouted, his own emotions boiling over. “I never lied about how I felt about you. Yes, I was sent here to protect you, but what happened between us was real.”

“Real?” Geto’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “How can anything be real when you’ve been hiding who you are from me this entire time? You’ve been manipulating me, keeping me in the dark, and now you expect me to just… what? Forgive you?”

Gojo’s wings flared slightly behind him, a reflexive response to the pain he felt. “I didn’t choose this, Geto. I didn’t choose to be an angel, to be bound by these rules. But I did choose to care about you. I chose to stay, even when I knew it could get me in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Geto sneered. “Is that what this is about? Are you afraid of getting in trouble with your heavenly bosses? Is that why you’re here, telling me all of this now? To cover your ass?”

“No!” Gojo shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m here because I couldn’t keep lying to you. Because I care about you more than anything. But I can’t change what I am, Geto. I can’t change the fact that I was sent here for a reason.”

Geto stared at him, the weight of Gojo’s words crashing down on him. For a moment, he was silent, the anger in his chest replaced by a deep, aching hurt.

“Maybe you can’t change what you are,” Geto said quietly, his voice trembling, “But you could have told me the truth. You could have trusted me with that, instead of letting me find out like this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be in the dark, to be used like that?”

Gojo’s eyes softened, his pain reflected in Geto’s. “I know I’ve hurt you, Geto. And I know I can’t take back what I’ve done. But I need you to know that I never wanted to deceive you. I… I was afraid of losing you.”

Geto’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He looked away, unable to meet Gojo’s gaze any longer. “You already have.”

The words hit Gojo like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him. He had feared this moment, dreaded it, but hearing it spoken aloud made it all too real.

“Geto…” Gojo’s voice was barely a whisper, full of desperation. “Please, please don’t say that.”

Geto shook his head, his emotions a tangled mess of anger, hurt, and something he couldn’t quite name. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. I don’t know what’s real and what’s just part of your mission.”

“It’s all real,” Gojo said, taking a step closer, his wings fluttering anxiously. “Every moment, every feeling, none of that was a lie. I know I’ve messed up, but I’m still me. The same person you’ve always known.”

Geto looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and sorrow. “How am I supposed to believe that, when everything I thought I knew about you is a lie?”

Gojo didn’t respond with words. Instead, he surged forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. His hands gripped Geto’s shoulders, pulling him close. Geto’s eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, Gojo’s lips crashed against his in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was raw, intense, fueled by all the anger, betrayal, and confusion that had been simmering between them. Geto’s hands instinctively came up to push Gojo away, but the moment he felt the heat of Gojo’s mouth on his, something inside him snapped.

The rage that had been bubbling within him morphed into something more primal, more desperate. With a growl, Geto fisted his hands in Gojo’s shirt, pulling him even closer as he kissed back with equal fervor.

Gojo’s hands slid from Geto’s shoulders to his waist, fingers digging in as if he needed to anchor himself, to feel something real in this whirlwind of emotions. Geto’s breath hitched as Gojo’s hands moved lower, gripping his hips and pulling him flush against his body.

Every touch, every movement was charged with the tension that had been building between them for so long. It was chaotic and messy, a clash of teeth and tongues as they both tried to assert control, to release the pent-up frustration they couldn’t put into words.

Geto bit down on Gojo’s lip, drawing a low, guttural moan from him. The sound sent a shiver down Geto’s spine, fueling the fire burning in his veins. He pushed Gojo backward, slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the picture frames hanging nearby.

Gojo responded in kind, his wings flaring out behind him as he grabbed Geto by the collar, pulling him in for another searing kiss. The world around them faded, leaving only the heat of their bodies, and the desperate need to feel something other than the pain and confusion that had consumed them both.

For a moment, nothing else existed. Not the lies, not the betrayal, not even the consequences hanging over Gojo’s head. There were only two of them.

But as the intensity of the moment began to die down, the reality of what they were doing started to seep back in. Geto pulled back slightly, his chest heaving, lips swollen from the force of their kisses. His eyes were dark, clouded with a mix of emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle.

Gojo’s breath was just as ragged, his eyes searching Geto’s for something—some sign that this hadn’t just been another mistake, another layer of confusion and hurt added to the mess they had already made.

For a long moment, they just stood there, chests heaving, their bodies pressed together as they stared at each other.

Geto didn’t want apologies, he didn’t want explanations or excuses. He just wanted to feel something. He needed to drown out the confusion and betrayal that swirled in his chest. Without another word, he moved, his hands sliding under Gojo’s legs, lifting him effortlessly. The sudden movement caught Gojo off guard, but he didn’t resist; instead, he wrapped his arms around Geto’s neck, pulling him closer as they moved toward Suguru’s bedroom.

The journey felt like an eternity with the weight of emotions Gojo bore. When they crossed the threshold into the bedroom Gojos' wings unfurled on instinct, the soft, luminous feathers brushing against the doorframe. They were a reminder of everything he was, everything he’d hidden from Gojo until now. His wings wrapped around Geto as if trying to shield him, but the gesture felt more like a desperate attempt to hold onto something slipping away.

As they reached the bed Geto didn’t bother with gentleness. He let Gojo fall back onto the mattress, his wings splaying out beneath him like a halo of light. The sight was almost too much–an angel fallen from grace, laid bare before him. But Geto wasn’t thinking of divinity or redemption. All he cared about was the man in front of him, the one who had lied, who had hidden his true self, and who, despite everything, still managed to stir something deep within him.

Gojo’s breath hitched as Geto climbed over him, their bodies aligning with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. There was no room for hesitation or second thoughts, only the overwhelming need to love or to be loved.

“Is this what you wanted?” Gojo’s voice was a strained whisper as Geto leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Gojo’s ear. “To have an angel at your mercy?”

Geto’s answer was a low, guttural sound, his hand fisting in Gojo’s hair, tugging just enough to make his point. “You’re not an angel tonight,” he muttered, his voice rough and edged with something dangerously close to desperation. “Not to me.”

Gojo’s wings tightened their grip around Geto, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them, only heat and the frantic beating of their hearts. His usual bravado faltered, replaced by the intensity of the moment, the reality of what they were doing.

Geto’s hands moved with purpose, exploring the expanse of Gojo’s body with a fervor that left no doubt about his intentions. There was no tenderness in the way he touched, no softness in his kisses, just a raw, unfiltered need to claim, possess, to make Satoru feel every ounce of the anger and confusion he put him through.

And Gojo took it all, his own hands finding a place on Geto’s back, his nails digging in as he fought to keep herself grounded from his emotions. The sensations were overwhelming, like nothing he had ever felt before. Every touch, every kiss was a reminder of everything they had lost and everything they still stood to lose.

By the time they finally collapsed into each other, exhausted and spent, there was nothing left to say. The room was filled with the heavy silence of things that could never be taken back, of truths that had been laid bare and could never be hidden again. And as they lay there, tangled together in the sheets, Gojo’s wings wrapped protectively around them both, the only thing that remained was the undeniable pull that had put them there in the first place.

—

The morning light seeped through the thin curtains of Geto's apartment, casting a soft glow across the room. Gojo woke up slowly, his senses gradually returning to him. The sheets felt cool against his skin, but there was warmth beside him—Geto, still half-asleep, his breathing even and calm. For a moment, Gojo just watched him, the lines of tension from the night before softened in sleep.

As the minutes passed, Geto began to stir, his eyes slowly opening to find Gojo already awake, watching him. There was a flicker of something in his gaze—confusion, maybe even regret—but it was quickly replaced by something colder.

"Satoru," Geto muttered, his voice rough from sleep. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

Gojo sat up, leaning back against the headboard, feeling the weight of the question. "Didn't think you'd want me to just disappear after last night."

Geto scoffed, pulling the covers closer to himself. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Gojo winced at the truth of the statement. "I know I’ve screwed up, Suguru. I didn’t handle any of this the way I should have."

"No, you didn’t," Geto agreed, his tone sharp. "But here we are, anyway."

Gojo hesitated, unsure of how to navigate the conversation. "I never meant to lie to you. I just—"

"You need to do your job, right?" Geto interrupted, turning his head to look at Gojo. "To protect me. That’s what all of this has been about. So why didn’t you just tell me from the start?"

Gojo let out a slow breath, struggling to find the words. "Because it’s more complicated than that. I wasn’t just protecting you from some random threat, Suguru. There are things at play that you don’t understand, things that go beyond what’s happening here on Earth."

"Like what?" Geto demanded, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "You keep saying that, but you never explain anything. You just expect me to trust you while you keep all these secrets."

"It’s not about trust," Gojo replied, his voice strained. "It’s about what I’m allowed to say. What I’m allowed to do. There are rules, and I’ve already broken so many of them just by being here with you."

Geto’s eyes narrowed. "Rules? What kind of rules stop you from being honest with me?"

"The kind that keeps the balance between our worlds," Gojo said, his tone growing more intense. "The kind that keeps everything from falling apart. I’ve been trying to protect you from that, from the consequences of getting too close."

Geto shook his head, disbelief written across his face. "Too close? You’re the one who got too close, Satoru. You’re the one who made this something more than just a mission."

"I know," Gojo admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. But I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer, knowing that I could do something to help."

Geto’s anger flared again, his eyes flashing. "Help? How exactly have you helped me, Satoru? By bringing more pain and confusion into my life? By making me question everything I thought I knew?"

Gojo looked away, guilt gnawing at him. "I thought I was doing the right thing. But now... I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what the right thing is."

They fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their emotions pressing down on them. After a moment, Geto spoke again, his voice softer, more vulnerable. "Why me, Satoru? Why did you have to protect me? What makes me so special?"

Gojo hesitated, the truth lingering on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not now, not when everything was still so raw. "It’s not something I can explain easily. But you’re important, Suguru. More important than you know."

Geto closed his eyes, the exhaustion of the night before catching up to him. "So what happens now?"

Gojo shook his head, the uncertainty weighing heavily on him. "I don’t know. But whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you, Suguru. I don’t want to leave things like this."

As Gojo moved towards the door, Geto’s voice stopped him. "I think you should go, Satoru. It’s too complicated. Too much."

Gojo paused, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to argue, to stay and work things out, but he knew better than to push when emotions were still raw. "Alright," he said quietly. "I’ll go. But please, take care of yourself, Suguru."

Geto’s gaze was firm, a mixture of finality and sorrow in his eyes. "Just go."

—

In the shadowy depths of a cavern twisted with malevolent energy, the dark force seethed with anticipation. Its minions, grotesque and silent, knelt before it, awaiting their orders. The atmosphere crackled with a sinister tension as the dark force began to speak, its voice echoing like a distant storm.

"The time has come. Geto Suguru is the key to everything—a human with the potential to tip the balance of all realms. His connection to the fool, Satoru Gojo, is our greatest weapon."

The minions stirred, their eyes gleaming with malice as the dark force continued.

"Geto will be ours. We will push him to the brink of despair, and when the moment is right, we will strike. We will twist his pain, his confusion, and his anger into a weapon. We will make him ours."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the gathered minions. The dark force coiled tighter, its presence darkening the already dim cavern.

"Geto’s trust in Gojo will be his undoing. We will exploit his doubts, his fears. We will whisper lies that will fester in his mind, twisting his perception of Gojo. When the angel who swore to protect him falters, Geto will be vulnerable. He will question everything."

One of the minions, its voice a rasp of sharp metal, dared to speak.

"But master, how will we turn him? Geto is strong-willed, not easily swayed."

The dark force pulsed with a wicked, knowing energy.

"He is strong-willed, yes. But even the strongest can be broken. Geto’s trust in Gojo will be his undoing. We will show him that the only way to survive is to join us, to embrace the darkness within himself."

The force's voice deepened, resonating with a terrible certainty.

"Once his trust is shattered, we will offer him a new path—a path where he can reclaim power, where he can escape his pain. And when he takes that path, he will no longer be the man he once was. He will be ours."

The minions grinned, their forms shifting eagerly in the shadows. The dark force loomed larger, its malevolent intent clear.

"Go now. Prepare the way. When Geto is left adrift in his despair, we will move in. He will join our side, not because he wants to, but because he will see no other choice. His fall will herald the end of the celestial order and the beginning of our reign."

The minions dispersed into the darkness, their shapes melding with the shadows as they set out on their mission. "Satoru Gojo... you may protect him now, but soon, you will watch as the one you swore to protect turns against you. And with his fall, the world will be mine."

—

Gojo Satoru materialized in the celestial chamber, the same grandeur and imposing presence of the realm that had greeted him countless times before. Yet today, the light seemed harsher, the silence heavier, as he faced the Celestial Council. Uriel, Cassiel, and Metatron were seated in their resplendent thrones, their forms radiant yet menacing.

Uriel's fiery eyes burned with authority as he addressed Gojo, his voice resonating through the chamber. “Satoru Gojo, your recent actions have violated the fundamental laws of the celestial order. You have let your desires cloud your duty, and this breach cannot be overlooked.”

Gojo’s face hardened with defiance. He had expected reprimands but not this level of condemnation. “I did what I thought was right. Geto needed me. I was there for him. If that’s a crime, then I’ll face it.”

Metatron's gaze was piercing, his voice filled with an unsettling calm. “Your actions have exposed a mortal to dangers beyond his understanding. The dark forces seeking to disrupt the balance now see him as a target due to your connection. You have made him vulnerable.”

A surge of anger flared within Gojo, his eyes narrowing. “I was protecting him! I didn’t think my actions would endanger him. I was trying to save him from whatever threat was out there!”

Cassiel, usually the contemplative and wise, now spoke with a steely resolve. “Your emotions have led you astray. By binding yourself so closely to a mortal, you have breached the celestial laws that maintain the balance between realms. The consequences of your actions are grave.”

Gojo’s fists clenched, his frustration boiling over. “So you’re going to strip me of everything? Just like that? I made a mistake, yes, but does that mean I should lose everything I’ve worked for?”

Uriel’s expression grew stern, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “You have allowed your emotions to overshadow your duty. You have slept with a mortal, breaking the divine code. This is not a mere lapse; it is a fundamental violation of our laws. To preserve the balance and uphold our decrees, you will be stripped of your powers.”

The chamber trembled with the intensity of the council's collective anger. The light around them grew fiercer, almost as if reflecting their displeasure. Gojo’s face flushed with a mix of shock and rage. “You can’t do this! You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed, what I’ve given up to protect him!”

Metatron's eyes gleamed with an unsettling light. “This is not about your sacrifices. It is about the greater good. Your powers will be taken from you, rendering you mortal. This is the consequence of your actions. Only by demonstrating true repentance and understanding will you have a chance to reclaim what you have lost.”

Gojo’s anger flared into a near-fury, his voice echoing through the chamber. “Repentance? Do you think I can just accept this? You’re punishing me for trying to do what I believed was right!”

Cassiel’s voice cut through the tension, a mixture of sadness and resolution in his tone. “You have created a ripple in the cosmic balance. Your actions have far-reaching consequences, not just for yourself but for the realms beyond. You must confront the repercussions of your choices.”

Gojo was led through a corridor that was narrow and dimly lit, contrasting sharply with the earlier splendor. Its walls, adorned with ancient runes, glowed faintly, casting long, twisted shadows in the gloom.

The echoes of Gojo’s footsteps reverberated through the cold stone passage as he was accompanied by two celestial guards. Their faces were impassive, reflecting only their duty. Gojo’s mind swirled with a mix of anger, frustration, and betrayal as he struggled to contain his tumultuous emotions.

At the end of the corridor stood a heavy door, bound with iron and etched with runes that seemed to absorb light. The guards exchanged a brief, silent communication before one of them produced a key that shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly glow. The door creaked open to reveal a small, stark cell.

Inside, the cell was austere and bare. The walls were of cold, unyielding stone, and a narrow window high up on the wall let in a minimal amount of light. The floor was bare except for a rough mattress pushed against one wall. The cell was a harsh contrast to the grandeur of heaven; it was a place of isolation and punishment.

Gojo was pushed into the cell, stumbling slightly as he crossed the threshold. He surveyed the space with a mixture of defiance and frustration. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang, and the heavy lock engaged with a finality that echoed through the small space.

He began to pace the cell, his frustration growing with each step. The cold stone walls seemed to close in on him, their chill a stark reminder of his current predicament. His mind was turbulent with thoughts of Geto, the love he had tried to protect, and the cruel irony of his fall from grace.

One of the guards, remaining outside the cell, spoke with a voice that was both calm and detached. “You will remain here until your judgment is decided. This cell will be your confinement. Reflect on your actions and await the council’s decision.”

Gojo’s hands clenched into fists, his anger boiling over. “You can lock me up, but you won’t break me. I’ll find a way to make this right. I have to.”

The guard’s expression remained unchanged. “This is not about breaking you. It is about ensuring that you understand the seriousness of your actions and the importance of maintaining cosmic balance.”

With that, the guard turned and walked away, leaving Gojo alone in the cell. The door closed with a final, echoing thud, and silence settled over the corridor.

Gojo sank onto the rough mattress, staring up at the narrow window that let in the faintest light. The reality of his situation began to weigh heavily on him. Not just the physical confinement, but the emotional burden of his decisions.

As the minutes turned into hours, Gojo’s thoughts drifted back to Geto. The love he had fought so hard to protect was now a source of deep anguish. He knew he had to find a way to make things right, to save Geto from the encroaching darkness.

Suddenly, the door to his cell creaked open, and a trio of Angels beings entered. He did not recognize them but their presence was commanding, and the air seemed to thicken with an invisible tension. The lead figure, an imposing figure clad in robes of shimmering silver, gestured for the guards to step aside. The guards, with their usual detachment, complied and left the cell, closing the door behind them.

Gojo's gaze met the lead angel's, his face set with a mixture of defiance and resignation. The angel's expression was stern, lacking the warmth of grace.

"You are summoned for the final stage of your judgment," the lead angel intoned, his voice resonating with an echo that seemed to come from both the celestial and the infernal realms. "Prepare yourself."

Gojo stood slowly, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and resolve. He had braced himself for this, but the reality of the moment was more daunting than he had anticipated. The lead angel extended a hand, and a bright, ethereal light began to gather around it.

"Is this necessary?" Gojo's voice was strained, a hint of desperation threading through his words. "I've done everything I could to protect him. Isn't that worth something?"

The angel's gaze remained unyielding. "Your actions have disrupted the balance. This is the consequence of your defiance."

A shimmering, opalescent light surrounded Gojo as the angel’s hand approached him. The light was not warm but cold, a biting chill that seemed to pierce through his very soul. As the light intensified, it began to unravel the essence of his angelic being. Gojo staggered, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the energy started to strip away his powers.

The process was agonizing. It felt as though his very essence was being torn from him, each fragment of power wrenched away with excruciating force. The light flared and pulsed, a blinding intensity that made it difficult for Gojo to focus on anything but the pain. His body convulsed, his hands grabbing at his shoulders as if trying to hold himself together.

He could feel his connection to the celestial realm slipping away, the once-familiar presence of his wings receding into a void of emptiness. The light seemed to devour his powers, leaving him weak and vulnerable. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhaling a struggle against the searing pain.

The lead angel’s face remained impassive, a cold observer of the process. "This is the price you pay for your actions. Your powers are being stripped from you as a final measure to restore balance."

As the light finally began to dim, Gojo fell to his knees, the last vestiges of his celestial energy dissipating into nothingness. The once-great angel now knelt in a pool of his exhaustion, his strength and grace reduced to mere memories.

The lead angel nodded, satisfied with the process. "Your powers are now fully removed. You will remain in this state until further notice. Reflect on the consequences of your defiance."

With that, the lead angel turned and departed, leaving Gojo alone once more. The cell, now colder and more oppressive, seemed to close in on him as he lay there, defeated and bereft.

Slouched against the wall he fell truly asleep for the first time, as a human.

—

The city of Tokyo had fallen into a quieter rhythm since Gojo’s sudden disappearance. The once-bustling streets now seemed to hum with an undercurrent of tension, a reflection of Geto's turmoil. In the stillness of his café, Geto’s movements were mechanical. Each day was a struggle between the routine of work and the relentless chaos brewing within his mind.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the café’s tiled floors, Geto began to close up. The café’s usual hum of activity was replaced by an unsettling silence, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the building settling. But this silence was not comforting, it was a void filled with murmurs that only Geto could hear.

The whispers began softly, like the distant rustling of leaves. They grew louder, more insistent, their voices entwining in a sinister chorus. Geto wiped down the counters, his movements increasingly frenetic, trying to ignore the cacophony in his head.

"…you’ve been wronged…”

“...power is within your grasp…”

“...they took him from you…”

Each whisper seemed to tug at his heartstrings, playing on his feelings of betrayal and loss. The voices grew louder, more demanding as if trying to drown out the remnants of his thoughts. Geto clenched his fists, trying to silence them, but the murmurs continued unabated.

“You deserve more,” a voice hissed, clearer than the others. “You’ve been cast aside, left alone. Take control. Reclaim what’s yours.”

Geto’s eyes darted around the empty café, searching for the source of the voices. “Stop it!” he shouted into the silence, his voice echoing off the walls. “Just stop!”

The whispers didn’t cease. Instead, they intensified, blending into a discordant symphony. The voices painted vivid pictures of power and revenge, coaxing him with promises of control and retribution. He could almost see the images they conjured—a vision of himself rising above the pain, of taking back what he had lost.

“Think of the power you could wield,” another voice whispered. “Think of the change you could bring. You don’t have to be a pawn in their game.”

The café’s doorbell chimed, startling Geto from his thoughts. He turned to see a figure standing in the doorway, a tall man with a dark, unsettling aura. The stranger’s eyes gleamed with intensity, and his presence seemed to cast a shadow over the already dimly lit space.

“Good evening, Mr. Geto,” the man said smoothly, his voice a velvet caress with a hint of menace. “I couldn’t help but notice you seemed distressed. May I offer my assistance?”

Geto’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to maintain his composure. “Who are you?”

The man stepped inside, his presence pressing against the edges of Geto’s consciousness. “A friend,” he said, his smile unsettling. “I’ve heard of your troubles. The voices you hear, they are not mere figments of your imagination. They are echoes of a truth you have yet to fully grasp.”

Geto took a step back, his heart pounding. “What are you talking about?”

The stranger’s eyes glinted with dark amusement. “You are at a crossroads, Mr. Geto. You can continue to suffer in silence, or you can seize the power that is being offered to you. The path you choose will determine your future.”

Geto’s resolve hardened, despite the turmoil within. “I don’t need your help. I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing.”

The man’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly masked it with a polished veneer. “Very well. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

As the stranger left, the whispers in Geto’s mind began to recede, though their presence lingered like a shadow.

—

The stillness of the night was abruptly shattered by frantic knocking on Geto’s apartment door. It was well past midnight, and Geto, groggy from sleep, stumbled to the door, wondering who could be disturbing his peace at this hour.

When he opened the door, he was met with a sight that took him by surprise. Gojo stood before him, his usual pristine white attire now rumpled and stained, his normally impeccable hair in disarray. His face, usually so composed, was marred by exhaustion and distress.

“Gojo?” Geto's voice held a mix of shock and irritation. “What’s going on?”

“Geto, please,” Gojo pleaded, his voice strained and urgent. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Geto hesitated, a thousand questions racing through his mind. The last time he saw Gojo, things had ended in chaos. His irritation flared, but seeing Gojo’s desperation, he reluctantly stepped aside and allowed him in.

Gojo stumbled into the apartment, his demeanor a stark contrast to his usual confident self. He slumped into a nearby chair, visibly worn out. Geto closed the door and stood by, observing him with a mix of concern and suspicion.

“What’s happened?” Geto asked, crossing his arms. “Why do you look like you’ve been through hell?”

Gojo took a deep breath, struggling to find his words. “I’ve… I’ve been stripped of my powers,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “The Celestial Council found out about my… involvement with you. They took everything from me. I’m no longer an angel.”

Geto’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re telling me you’re not…How did this happen?”

“The council saw my attachment to you as a threat,” Gojo explained, his face etched with guilt. “They couldn’t allow my feelings for you to interfere with their cosmic balance. They stripped me of my powers as punishment.”

Geto’s mind raced, trying to comprehend this new reality. “And what about me? Why are you here now?”

“There’s something you need to know,” Gojo said, his gaze intense. “Even without my powers, I’m still connected to this situation. The dark forces that have been targeting you… they’re here. They’ve found us.”

Geto’s heart pounded in his chest. “What? How do you know?”

“I saw them,” Gojo said urgently. “They’re closing in on this location right now. We need to get out of here before they find us.”

Geto’s frustration and confusion were palpable. “So all this time, I’ve been in danger because of you? And now, you’re telling me they’re here?”

“Yes,” Gojo confirmed, his voice urgent. “I’m here because I want to protect you, and right now, we need to move. If we stay, they’ll find us. We don’t have much time.”

Geto ran a hand through his hair, his anger still simmering but now overshadowed by the immediate danger. “Alright. Where do we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Gojo said, rising to his feet. “I’ll lead the way. Just trust me and follow closely.”

Geto nodded, his expression a mix of determination and anxiety. As Gojo moved towards the door, Geto quickly grabbed a few essentials and followed him out into the night.

Gojo and Geto made their way through the winding streets of Tokyo. The chill of the night air seemed to follow them, an eerie prelude to the confrontation that awaited.

Gojo walked with a determined stride. His mortal form, once so vibrant and imposing, now bore the weight of fatigue and worry. Beside him, Geto was equally resolute, his face set in a grim expression as they approached their destination.

The old, abandoned warehouse loomed ahead, its structure bathed in the faint light of the moon. The place seemed to exude an unsettling feeling, a stark contrast to the city that surrounded it. The air was thick with anticipation and a sense of foreboding.

As they reached the entrance, Gojo paused, glancing at Geto. “This is where it all leads,” he said, his voice low and serious. “The presence that’s been haunting us, that’s where it resides.”

Geto nodded, his eyes scanning the darkened entrance. “Let’s get this over with,” he replied, a mixture of determination and apprehension in his voice.

They entered the warehouse, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the vast space. The interior was a maze of shadows and abandoned debris, with only the occasional shaft of moonlight piercing through the broken windows.

A sudden chill ran through the air, and a low, rumbling sound reverberated through the warehouse. Gojo and Geto exchanged tense glances, their senses alert to the malevolent presence that seemed to envelop the area.

From the depths of the shadows, a figure began to emerge. It was an entity of swirling darkness, its form constantly shifting and undulating. It was neither fully corporeal nor purely ethereal, an unsettling amalgamation of shadow and chaos. Its eyes glowed with an intense, ominous red light, cutting through the darkness like a predator's gaze.

“So, you’ve come,” the entity’s voice resonated through the warehouse, a deep, throaty rumble that seemed to echo from every corner. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Gojo stepped forward, his stance firm despite the vulnerability of his current state. “We’re here to put an end to this. You’ve caused enough harm.”

The entity’s laugh was a chilling sound, filled with contempt. “You think you can stop me? Your struggles are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The cosmic balance will be upset, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Geto’s eyes narrowed, his resolve hardening. “We won’t let you continue your reign of terror. This ends now.”

Gojo pulled out the sword he had kept hidden behind him, the blade strong and gleaming. He looked towards the danger and gripped onto the hilt, stronger than he ever had before.

Geto watched in awe and fear. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure how. He moved closer to Gojo, trying to offer moral support, but his hands trembled slightly. “What can I do?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Gojo, already deeply focused on the entity, didn’t answer immediately. He moved with precision, his sword cutting through its form. “Just stay close,” he called out over the clash of energy. “Don’t get near him. I’ll handle it.”

The darkness let out a guttural growl, its form coiling and shifting aggressively. It surged toward Gojo, sending a wave of shadows crashing down. Gojo braced himself, his sword flashing as he deflected the attack. He recoiled momentarily, but it quickly regrouped, its tendrils reaching out again.

As Gojo fought, Geto’s anxiety grew. He felt a surge of helplessness and frustration. He wanted to do something, anything, to make a difference. Desperate, he reached out toward the entity, his hands clenched into fists. A strange energy began to build within him, a sensation he couldn’t quite understand.

Suddenly, a burst of light erupted from Geto’s outstretched hands. It was a concentrated beam of energy that shot toward the dark entity, striking it with surprising force. The entity shrieked, its form fragmenting slightly under the impact. Geto stared in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

“What the—” he muttered, looking at his hands in disbelief.

Gojo glanced over, his eyes widening as he saw the energy burst. “Geto! Did you just—”

Before Gojo could finish, the entity, temporarily stunned, began to recover. Its darkness surged more violently, and the tendrils lashed out with renewed ferocity. Gojo gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain his footing.

Geto, still reeling from the sudden surge of power, realized that he had inadvertently discovered something about himself. “Gojo!” he called out, trying to focus. “I—I don’t know what I did, but I think I can help!”

Gojo, struggling to keep the entity at bay, nodded with a mixture of relief and urgency. “Focus! Use whatever you can. We need to finish this!”

Geto concentrated, trying to harness the strange energy he had felt. As he focused, another burst of energy erupted from his hands, striking the entity again. The dark mass recoiled, the light from Geto’s energy cutting through its form with increasing effectiveness.

Gojo seized the opportunity, his sword flashing in determined arcs. He moved with renewed vigor, slicing through the weakened entity. The combined assault of Gojo’s sword and Geto’s energy bursts was relentless, tearing through the darkness with growing intensity.

With a powerful swing of the sword and a final, concentrated burst from Geto, the entity’s form shattered into dissipating shadows. But right before its body lay waste, one last tendril shot out straight at Gojo. The arm pierced him through his stomach and out his backside.

Gojo, exhausted and wounded, collapsed to his knees. His clothes were stained with blood, and his breathing was labored. Geto, still stunned by the revelation of his newfound abilities, rushed to Gojo’s side.

“Satoru!” he cried out, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay? What just happened?”

Geto picks Gojo up and lays him in his arms, his body battered and frail. The intensity of the recent battle had left him weakened, his once-mighty presence now reduced to a faint whisper of its former self.

Geto, eyes red and face streaked with grime and tears, held Gojo close. His breathing was uneven, ragged even. He looked down at Gojo, the man who had been there when he finally needed him.

Gojo, barely able to speak, met Geto’s gaze with a mixture of tenderness and resignation. His voice was a mere breath, but it carried the weight of their shared moments and unspoken truths.

“Suguru,” Gojo began, his voice cracking but steady. “I know this isn’t how we imagined our story would end. But... here we are.”

Geto’s grip tightened. “Don’t talk like that. There must be something we can do. This isn’t right.”

Gojo’s hand, weak and trembling, reached up to touch Geto’s face. His touch was a gentle reminder of the strength and warmth that had once been so palpable. “There’s nothing more to be done. I gave everything I had. But... if there’s one thing I want you to know, it’s that our time together was everything. It meant more than you could ever understand to me.”

Geto’s eyes were filled with anguish. “I don’t know how to live without you. How can I face the world knowing that you’re gone?”

Gojo’s gaze was steady, though his strength was waning. “You’ll find your way. You have to. Remember that even in my absence, I’ll be with you in every moment of your life. I’m a part of you now, just as you’re a part of me.”

As Gojo’s breathing became more labored, he tried to offer one last semblance of comfort. “This isn’t the end of our story. Just think of it as... a chapter closing. The love we shared will endure. It will be your guide, your strength. I wish I could be there to see you through it.”

Geto held him close, tears flowing freely as he whispered, “I promise I’ll remember. It will be my strength to keep going.”

Gojo’s eyes closed, his body growing cold. His last breath was a quiet sigh, his final moments marked by a serene acceptance. “You’ve always been my light, Suguru. Even now, you’ll carry that light forward.”

As the dawn light fully enveloped the alley, Gojo’s breathing ceased. The stillness of the morning seemed to absorb the weight of their final moments together.

Geto remained there, holding Gojo’s lifeless body, the enormity of their shared past and the depth of their final moments settling heavily in his heart. In the quiet of the morning, amidst the broken remains of their battle, Geto sat there and sobbed.

—

One Year Later…

The crisp autumn air carried a sense of melancholy as Geto walked the familiar path to the small, serene cemetery on the outskirts of Tokyo. The trees, adorned in hues of gold and red, whispered in the gentle breeze, their leaves rustling softly. He moved with a somber determination, each step echoing the weight of a year filled with longing and heartache.

The coffee shop, once known as Curses Brew, had been renamed. The new title, Satoru and Suguru's, adorned the entrance with an elegant script. Each morning, the café’s patrons enjoyed their coffee, unaware of the reason behind the rebranding.

Geto reached the cemetery and approached the modest grave, a simple stone marker inscribed with Gojo's name and date of death. It was unlikely he would ever find out when he was born. The grave was surrounded by a well-tended garden, and Geto had taken to visiting regularly, finding solace in this quiet place. Today, he carried a bouquet of fresh lilies, their delicate fragrance reminding him of Satoru.

As he knelt beside the grave, he carefully arranged the flowers, his movements gentle and reverent. His fingers lingered on the cold stone as if trying to bridge the gap between the living and the dead. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over as he whispered into the stillness.

“I miss you, Satoru. It’s been a year, and I am still sorry.”

The cemetery was silent, save for the distant hum of the city and the rustling of leaves. Yet, in the stillness, something came from behind the shadows of his grave. Two butterflies, their wings painted in iridescent shades of black and white, danced around each other in a delicate ballet. They fluttered close to Geto, their movement almost ethereal as they seemed to celebrate a fleeting moment of beauty.

Geto watched them with a mixture of awe and sadness, the butterflies’ graceful dance evoking a memory of their time together at the conservatory. He felt as though the butterflies were a symbol of the love that still existed, transcending even the boundaries of life and death.

“You would have loved this,” Geto murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. “It’s so beautiful, just like you were.”

As he rose to leave, Geto placed one final, tender kiss on the flowers, his tears mingling with the autumn air. The butterflies continued their dance off into the sunset.

Fin

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fanfic #stsg #satosugu #gojo x geto #romance

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