#heartinhands : gojo.

[necrosin]

IT FEELS AS IF THE WORLD IS TRYING TO EAT HIM ALIVE —— or, is he trying to eat the world alive? ( could he eat the world whole? no, no of course not, but —— ) the discrepancy is there, somewhere, it must be because the world cannot be something so amorphous and vile and yet —— the lines have become blurred, marred, massacred somewhere along the way, leaving behind a macabre mess soaking the hem of his school uniform. soaking up to the knees. higher and higher and higher and ——

exorcised / ingested. exorcised / ingested. EXORCISED / INGESTED. and it's never enough.

you've been spending a lot of time alone, lately, shouko had said to him once or twice or maybe even thrice, again and again and AGAIN : an undercurrent of concern in her voice, a tilt to her head, a slight pinch to her mouth, and he ( ... ) HE'S SO —— FUCKING ——

did you know infinity has gravity? or maybe it's that suguru knew @heartinhands instinctively, absolutely, by fleeting presence alone ; but then, didn't everyone? know the both of them? by presence alone? cursed energy pouring off of them in droves, in waves / the weight that satoru bears is SOUL CRUSHINGLY IMMENSE, it always had been, and suguru has always —— has always ——

❝ you're back, ❞ when was the last time he had seen him, face to face? ages, it felt like. long enough that the world was eating him alive, long enough that he had glutted himself on a psuedo—eternity and disgorged it and did it again and again and AGAIN / did you know curses have a taste? YOU'RE BACK feels both vast and small the the mere sight of satoru caused something dislodged in his chest to writhe ; had it always done that? yes, of course. in a way. not unlike a curse thrashing in his body.

❝ it went well? ❞ phrased a question but not : of course it had gone well. the world devours / satoru is the strongest / suguru is —— suguru looks into infinity and finds himself / WANTING.

( you've been spending a lot of time alone, lately. )

[spirestar]

"Yo!" He waves coyly from his seat, a ( mostly ) untouched crepe and drink waiting on his table. That same grin is on his face again--Familiar and wide. "Satoru! Nobody else believed me when I said you'd come." Somewhere a camera shutter snaps / A girl--Mimiko--slips out of the seat across from him to sit by her sister on another acrylic chair. Geto leans back in his seat to face them, passing her plate over, his chin on his shoulder: "Delete that, Nana-chan," the gyaru girl in question glares past him at Gojo like he killed her dog. "You know we won't need it." Mimiko taps on the bunny ears of Nanako's phone case and steals some of her twin's crepe to distract her. Aside from the four of them, the shop is empty. The rest of the family present at Jujutsu High only a little while ago are absent now. Some evidence of their presence remains--Messy tables and chairs askew.

Suguru stretches out a leg to toe the now-empty chair from his own table out. Years ago, he would've kicked it away as soon as Satoru made to reach for it. Now, he pushes his plate to the center of the small circular table. To share? "C'monnnn," leaning, sprawling, he rests his elbow on the table so he can prop up his chin. Some of the act he put on before is gone along with his underlings--Not that Satoru should be able to tell anymore. It's not an act Suguru made any attempt to keep up when it was the two of them. For just that split second, it was like no one else in the world existed / Like time would stop forever if the others didn't have to ruin it all. Always, always. "I got your least favorite." ( Hard to do at a place that makes mostly sweets--It's an old joke on repeat. ) He doesn't seem to be particularly proud or gloating about it. This is just them; Even if Satoru hates him, wishes he'd killed him ten years ago, only came to see if there's really nothing of his friend left anymore--Suguru can't say that it bothers him. It's been this long. Suguru has come to terms the best he can. With his own forever curse. He's here, is what matters, is what Geto finds so pleasing, is why he smiles. He's here, he's here.

"You didn't bring Okkotsu-kun, though..." A casual shrug, eyes closing as his cheeks bunch with his typical 'oh well!' smirk. "Too bad."

@heartinhands

[necrosin]

irritation pricks just beneath his skin —— yuki is very aware that he tends towards peculiarities and habits that are considered strictly picky to the point that it seems absurd to most outsiders who don't understand his quirks and the tiny minutiae of how he needs things to be. what can he say? he's like a composition of music, demanding to be played properly in the right key, with the correct cadence, with the correct instrument. you could hardly play a piece of mozart in the style of vivaldi, it simply didn't WORK THAT WAY.

he works best when left well alone, within the perfect circumstances, under the just right conditions.

gojo satoru knew that perfectly well / which is why he's HOVERING, yuki supposes, purposefully intending to pry and poke and prod and frustrate as THE STRONGEST is wont to do. yuki tries his best to avoid giving in to the clear goading, continuing with restringing his cursed guitar, his other varying instruments laid besides him, but ——

orikasa yukito has his limits. extreme cold, extreme heat, eating meat, being dragged into excessive physical activity, being watched closely while he's tuning his instruments, et cetera.

❝ do you mind? ❞ he says around a sigh, not bothering to look at his previous senpai in school, because if he does it'll feel like HE'S LOST / which is a thoroughly juvenile thought process, but beggars cannot be choosers and when it comes to gojo he feels strangely immature, as if they were still teenagers and the unthinkable had recently occurred, getou lost to the wind, and ——

‘  i’d like to stay like this for awhile,  ’ he says, a broad smile on his face / the one that so very many want to PUNCH last yuki checked, and considering how many people talked about gojo satoru on a near-constant basis, yuki was sure that was still accurate.

of course he would. yuki's hand twitches and he draws the string a touch too taught / not tight enough to cause it to snap, he's a professional after all, but tighter than he would have liked. he can feel his brow spasm as he, quite carefully, loosens the string again before, at long last : deigning to look at @heartinhands properly / offering him a politely charming smile, the one that he knows people quite adore from him. ❝ ah, are you trying to learn from me, gojo-san? i admit i'm not sure if my musical cursed technique would combine harmoniously with infinity. ❞

[spirestar]

@heartinhands : i've got everything under control. ( gojo + geto )

Of course he does. Of course you do. He stays firmly planted several feet away, the pungent scent of decay wafting from his previously summoned curse -- the fear of entropy, of rot, of becoming meaningless food for worms -- as its spore-like form curls back into the nothingness that is its home in Suguru. "Yeah," he says, feigning boredom in the face of the campus's latest threat. It's not as if he expected to fight today: Being sent after the Gojo Satoru is the same as being asked to sweep up before clocking out. "So hurry it up, huh, Satoru?" As if he's just impatient to be done. As if they're working together.

He's getting better at keeping things from Satoru.

Not always on purpose. But even now the poisonous frustration in his gut / along with every other curse he's bested and consumed / that weighs him down like a bag of rocks doesn't seep into his sarcastic, casual tone. Who is he even angry with anymore? Non-sorcerers or Jujutsu Sorcerers? His teachers, his family, his classmates? His best friend? Himself? Whoever deserves it most; Suguru suddenly wants to be as far from Satoru as he can be. Just getting close enough to breathe the same air might give him away to the one person who knows him so well. Before the fight even ends, he turns on his heel to return with a report of victory: Curse exorcised, Gojo intact, Jujutsu High secured. Suguru rubs at one of his aching eyes.

To be the best is to have no equal. To be strong is to hold more power than those beneath you. He's starting to think he may just be the lowest of the low -- Taking his gaze off Satoru's back here and now feels the same as abandoning him to escape with Amanai / the same as losing them both again. Still, he shrugs, nonchalance an easy act to put on in the face of the one person whose opinion he still cares about, and starts back the way he came. Maybe, if he's lucky, his hands will stop shaking long enough for him to wave goodbye and avoid speaking. But Suguru has never been very lucky.

[spirestar]

@heartinhands : gojo + nanami

Ever since returning to his alma mater for work, Nanami sleeps worse. It's not because of any real purpose--Restless sleep plagued him during his school years, too--or, at least, not one he plans to name for himself. His body simply doesn't enjoy reminders of his own mortality. Every close scrape or move that leaves his body aching from metaphorical rust is enough to make his mind toss and turn when he tries to rest. Nightmares usually leave him feeling drained as it is; Both restlessness and those combining are exhausting. He knows it will pass like the rest of the growing pains of readjusting, just like summoning his cursed energy returned as muscle memory. Everything takes time and, though being patient with himself is even harder than being patient with others sometimes ( something he's already not the best at ), Nanami is willing to give it a little longer.

Well. Maybe. Or maybe not, if it means that anyone else will notice and--"Look at you!" Gojo buzzes around him like a fly when there's time, and, for some reason, it seems a little like his former senpai makes time just to bother him. Nanami has to blink several times to really wake up from his daze; Having an office protects him from having *most eyes on him and his temples are throbbing, as if the curse he fought in his sleep has decided to punch back in time with heartbeat. "You're spilling coffee!"

Shit. The swear only slips from his mouth soundlessly as he scrambles to right his cup, a veritable flurry of movement following as he shuffles paperwork around his personal desk to avoid the coffee puddle forming on his desk. Two reports are the victims of the deluge and Nanami can't help pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Thank you very much," he intones with obvious annoyance. Smoothly, Nanami untucks himself from his desk and skirts around Gojo, avoiding a brush with Infinity, to head for one of the nearby facility kitchens. Of course he was too tired to grab napkins--The one time he needs them.

Since he has nothing better to do than scare sorcerers awake, Gojo is sure to follow, Nanami knows this, but his aching back and head steal away further complaints he might aim toward him / He can't look great, even if he's dressed to the nines per usual and hiding the squint of his eyes against the fluorescent lights behind his sunglasses. Just as irritated looking, too, but it's almost, ALMOST, less targeted. Somehow. Nanami grumbles to himself as he stalks down the empty hall, silently hoping no one else spies them both and passes off yet another mission that nobody wants to do. Not today. Please.

*( Of course, this doesn't apply to the Six Eyes. Unfortunately. )

[spirestar]

@heartinhands : ∗ 55﹕ sender and receiver cross paths in the kitchen late at night . (gojo and shoko)

Out of cigarettes. Shoko can't say it happens often--usually she has more than an extra pack in her desk, especially if Utahime's given into her requests--but when it does, and it's too late for any store to let her in, coffee is the next thing she reaches for. Only, she's had her morgue pot confiscated again. ( How many times will her habits be called disgusting before people just leave her alone? Nobody would ever do this to-- ) The nearest kitchen is her best bet and she can't say she minds whether anyone is woken up: It's unlikely to happen, though. Shoko knows she's become nearly invisible unless she's needed. She can't really complain, though, can she? Who would be there to listen to her talk about the woes of never fighting and being left behind? Oh, how sadddddd. Just the idea is pretty hilarious--Shoko smirks to herself despite the exhaustion as she pushes the door of the dark kitchen open.

As her eyes adjust, she stops in her tracks / Wishes she had a cigarette. Her fingers twitch. "Hm." They're used to sharing a space, Gojo and Ieiri, a tale as old as time, or at least high school, so she skirts around his seated silhouette-form by the counter and digs out a spoon from a drawer blind. If the lights aren't on already, then the lights won't be turned on. It may have been years ago now that they've been near each other in a state like this--Tired, overworked, maybe even overwhelmed, but that doesn't happen to Gojo, does it--but Shoko doesn't forget important things. Her friends favorite drinks, the cues of when they want to talk vs. when they need to but won't, how every conversation she's had with Gojo has been awful and heavy since last Christmas. Yeah, you don't forget that kind of shit. Or, Shoko doesn't. She sort of figures that's not something that exists the other way around. That's just how they are.

"Cocoa?" is what she asks, because she's turning on the stove to boil water and already knows she's adding more than enough water to the sad, old kettle than she needs for herself. They may have taken Geto's throat lozenges off the shopping lists years before he died, but she's never had the heart to hear Gojo complain about not having sweet drinks because she cut cocoa, too. Buy it yourself then, she'd have said a few years ago, laughing. What does it matter now, though? He's the strongest. The school couldn't care less if he wracks up grocery expenses. Maybe Shoko thinks of it now because it would be an excuse for them to see each other. They're here now, though. What does it matter? "One of your kids bought whipped cream, I think," she adds quietly, like she's trying to coax a cat out from under a bed / Like this might remind him to answer her if he's really lost in thought. She shakes a plastic jar that she has to squint to see. "And--Sprinkles? Eugh."