"As cool as my techniques are," He says, blue eyes greeting you from under his shades. "You really shouldn't stick around for the action next time, sweets."

There's a boyish smirk on his face as he slides an arm around your shoulders and tugs you to his side. As you brush shoulders with a passerby, you realize you would have walked into them head-on if Gojo hadn't tugged you out of the way.

"What do you mean? I'm grade 1," You bite back defensively, a hand swatting the arm that hangs over your shoulders.

"When was the last time you did any fighting?" He says it so casually that you can't even be mad – he isn't even mocking you. "None of your techniques are offensive."

You eye him curiously as you wonder where he's going with this. "What, do you think they arbitrarily assigned me grade 1? Are you calling me weak? I don't know if–"

Your heart jumps into your throat when he flicks your forehead, but an indignant grunt leaves you instead.

"No, I don't," Gojo says, tipping his fully opaque sunglasses even lower, forcing you to make eye contact. "That's my point. Can't you see what they're doing?"

"What do you mean?" You ask, voice sounding thin and weak. "I don't understand."

"The higher grade they assign you, the further you should stay away. They know you can't handle these curses alone, but they'll keep assigning them to you," He says, not answering your question directly. "Your grade is an excuse for them to send you in to almost any mission. Pretty disgusting, isn't it?"

You can only blink as you consider his words.

"It's annoying to take care of the weak," He says. "So don't go near the curses. Collateral damage wouldn't look good on my record, y'know. They hate me as it is."

You open your mouth to spit out a sharp retort, but he interjects before you can get a single word out.

"Oh! About that cute hearing ability of yours – wouldn't let that one slip to the higher-ups. They'd like it too much."

You stop dead in your tracks. "What? How do you...? You can't tell anyone, Satoru."

"Don't sweat it," He says almost blithely, unbothered as always. "My eyes are all-seeing, but I promise these lips are sealed."

"I'd seal them myself if you said anything," You growl. You're trying to appear mad, but you can't deny the wave of relief that floods you. You've held this secret in for so long, never telling a soul upon your parents' request; a bit of guilt curls in your stomach at the fact that you are glad he knows.

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrows, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "Is that right?"

"With my fists," You clarify with a glare. "Just turn off your Infinity for a second and you'll be done for."

"That won't do, sweets," He grins. "'Might have to call Geto if you want any chance of that."

Geto.

Geto .

You wake up with a gasp, and instantly wince from the intense morning light. You are surprised that the rays of citrine light that spill across your still form didn't rouse you earlier. The brightness causes your eyelids to flutter – your eyes are desperate to disperse the stark light that's currently blinding you. You groan as the light coaxes your throbbing headache into full force.

The dream dissipates quickly as you wake up. Not that it was truly a dream – rather, the shadow of an old memory from when you were both still students. A wave of adrenaline buzzes through you. Gojo has warned you so many times over the years, yet you have continued to naïvely believe in your abilities. You're not invincible, and your injuries prove that.

You are scared to move too much, scared to discover how hurt you truly are, so you first just trace the ground underneath you with a light skimming motion. Your fingertips brush against smooth, cool rocks – it feels nice, even relaxing. This comfort musters up your courage enough to turn your aching head to the side. Your eyes scan the landscape looming over you: the outcropping is steep, and many jagged rocks speckle the mountainside. Ah, so that would be why the fall crumbled the pain tolerance you used to believe was high.

Feeling disturbed by the harshness of the land above you, you turn your head to the other side. You summon a small burst of cursed energy, casting your hearing beyond the point which your eyesight can reach, and only then does the gentle gurgle of a stream trickle into your ears.

As you release your technique, an object glinting in the sunlight catches your eye. You squint and raise a hand to shadow your eyes, and then you are able to identify the reflective object as your phone. Your phone is dead, that much is obvious even without further investigation. You can only wonder how long it held out before its battery drained fully.

Your phone is dead, and although it's upsetting, you're not surprised by this fact. How you aren't, however, is a pleasant surprise. Although your cursed energy is at a low point, it is definitely present – how the curses haven't managed to track you, or even just stumble upon your location, is beyond you. Again, you surmise that it's a pleasant surprise, at least until your aches and pains come rushing back to you once you try to sit up.

You brace yourself against the pain, and force yourself to whisper out, "It's okay."

You have to convince yourself that you can push the pain down, you can bear it, you can stifle it until you can afford to collapse. You take a deep breath. "I'm okay."

You inhale deeply again, breathing in the fresh breeze that gently rustles your unkempt hair. Goosebumps quickly ripple down your limbs, and you now sorely regret casting your jacket away as you had. You hadn't realized just how biting the morning air was; the night's chill must have numbed you.

Frowning, you rub your hands together, attempting to kindle warmth between your fingertips. When the effort is futile, you shift them to under your arms, relishing in the natural heat in the cramped space. As soon as you can feel your fingers again, you move your hands the rest of your body as you encourage your blood to circulate in order to warm you up.

You swallow the lump in your throat. You're hurt, you're cold. You want to go home, but you can't.

"How the hell am I going to get out of here?" You mumble to yourself, the realization that you're in the middle of nowhere with no way to communicate with the rest of the world slowly sinking in.

You shakily rise to your feet. It's difficult, and causes the scab that stretches over the burn on your calf to crack. You grit your teeth at the pain, but do your best to shake it off. "I-I'm okay."

Your head is so full to the brim with pain, questions, and concerns that it's about to burst, so you carefully pick out one thought at a time to consider:

"Does anyone know I'm here?" You wonder aloud, then proceed to answer your own question. "Yes, the higher-ups must. They sent me back here after I told them the curses were in this area, after all."

"Can I get in contact with anyone?" You frown. "No, my phone is dead. If I could borrow one, though, then..."

A sardonic snort escapes you – what a stupid thought. Realistically, there's nobody around for miles and miles. But it's this silly notion that causes an idea surface in your mind. You're near a National Park, you remember that from the mission debrief –there must be someone around making noise.

You sigh, muttering to yourself tiredly, "Time to stretch my energy even thinner, huh? Is that what I'm really going to do? I barely have any left as it is."

You shake your head, a mirthless laugh passing your lips. "Psh, he'd call me reckless for this, but he'd be exactly the same if he didn't have an endless supply of cursed energy."

You cast out your cursed energy, analyzing the sounds bouncing back to you to try to find any sign of humanity. It takes much more effort than it usually does, and by the time you're able to focus your technique enough to hear from a few miles away, a few stray beads of sweat trickle down your forehead. You push yourself further, expanding your search, but only the sounds of nature ring back.

Frustrated and disheartened, you retract your energy and settle back on the riverbed, trying to hold back the tears that prick your eyes. What if there's nobody around? Is anyone even looking for you? Is he–

No. You can't afford to think like that right now.

You lay down on the smooth rocks, imitating the pose you had risen from at dawn. Your eyes train on the soft azure sky, and you are reminded of his brilliant, glittering eyes. His eyes that you always find yourself lost in – you wish you could be lost in them instead of in this remote place.

Guilt pricks at your chest. This is all your fault. You're in this situation because of the choices you made. You'd been careless earlier, and made irrational decisions. If you had just left the scene carefully like you always did, you'd be fine right now. Instead, you had let yourself drown in shock, landing you in harm's way. When you had frantically called Gojo, all you had managed to tell him was that you were pursued by two special-grades and that someone had supposedly come back from the dead. You hadn't managed to relay where you were or how dire the situation was.

"You were right!" You cry, your words meeting silence. "You were right! If I wasn't so stupid, if I had just told you, then...th-then everything would have been okay. I wouldn't be stuck here. You wouldn't have to bother with me."

You feel unbearably pathetic, but you can't stop the tears from trailing down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

. *. ⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ｡･:*˚:✧｡*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:.・。＊*✩*.・✭ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:✧ ˚ ⋆*  ☾⋆

It has been hours, and hours, and hours, yet your feet won't stop.

You were eventually able to convince yourself to stop wallowing in your own pity and keep moving, to follow in the direction you vaguely believed led to a National Park the forest bordered. It went against all and any training you had on being lost that you could remember: you had always been taught to stay in place and wait for help to come to you, not the other way around.

But, to be honest, your cognitive function is questionable. Thinking is hard, and your thoughts are jumbled and sometimes blur together. Maybe you're not thinking straight, but you're hardly aware of that. You just need to keep moving, to find something that can help you. You are definitely being stupid, but you feel pulled to the direction you are following, and you just can't stop.

Maybe there is some justification for your restlessness. You highly doubt anyone has been sent to search for you. It hasn't even been a full 24 hours, and the higher-ups don't value your wellbeing enough to care for your comfortability in an unknown place – maybe not even your life. It is difficult to gauge their indifference to your life or death status – are you useful enough for them to care even a little?

In any case, you've made good progress on your own – to what or where exactly, you're not quite sure – as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. You haven't left the stream's side, even as it slowly thinned to nothing more than a gurgling brook, and then faded altogether. You've been sipping from it every so often, savoring the cool water as the sun beat down on your back. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn't have swallowed a drop, as many diseases lurk below in the depths of the unpurified water, but your addled mind pushed those thoughts to the backburner.

You still feel weak: you're dehydrated despite your unsafe sips, and your stomach cramps from its emptiness. You've eyed many berries by the river bed, but even in this state, you have been able to stem your temptations.

You're in the middle of eyeing another bush, your mouth salivating despite yourself, when you sink to the ground. You are exhausted and in dire need of food, but you can't eat the juicy berries lying in front of you.

"No," You say firmly. "I have to keep going. Someone...something might be there...maybe...please."

Your head is in your hands by the end of your sentence. Hope is slipping through your fingers; doubt and fear slink in as faulty replacements.

You have to do something. You can't let fear fog your mind.

You force yourself up, your arms shaking from the effort, as a desperate sort of determination fills your aching body. You summon what little remaining cursed energy you have left and stretch your hearing as far as you can, filtering the noises with as much care as you can. When you can't hold out much longer, you give one final push, and then you almost cry tears of joy. A voice.

It's not just any voice – it's a voice that's usually oozing with playfulness and nonchalance, but is now tight and frantic. Distraught, even.

"-where are they? Are they...-ever find them?...-have to-"

You've never heard his voice this way – you almost doubt that it could be him. He never loses his cool in front of you.

Your feet are taking you to the source before you can even think. You are hobbling along as fast as your body allows – it shouldn't be possible, with how drained you are physically and mentally – but a part of you persists.

Even as your cursed technique slips away, his voice only becomes clearer and stronger.

"-cursed energy is so faint, could it be theirs? It's never...residuals so faded, how do they do this?"

"Satoru!" You yell, even though he's still well out of range to hear you. The next time you say his name, you whisper it. "Satoru."

Your vision is blurry, the edges smudged like an oil painting; it's all finally catching up to you. But you can't stop now, not when he's here, when he's just out of reach. You're slowing despite your wishes to keep going, so you do what you know he'll see: you release a burst of cursed energy, and pray it was large enough to be detectable by his special eyes.

You hear him again, this time much closer, within the range of your natural hearing. "Sweets? You there?"

Between labored breaths, a cry rips from your throat, "I'm here, I'm here!"

There's loud rustling from the patch of forest in front of you – the crashing of someone fighting through the dense undergrowth. Your mind flashes back to when Jogo was pursuing you, and you can almost feel the red-hot heat behind you, but the sight in front of you tears you from your recent memory.

He emerges from the undergrowth – white hair tousled, iconic purple jacket crinkled, blindfold resting above his eyebrows. His mouth is parted to accommodate his quick breathing, and his hands rip off his blindfold entirely.

The eyes that drink you in are wild – wide and flicking to every inch of your body. Starry eyes that shift at every new photon of light are even more beautiful than you recall – glittering wildly with each graze across your skin.

He approaches you, long strides quickly bridging the distance between him and you. He's trembling, you realize. He's shaking. You've never seen him look so unsteady, so rattled. You're almost disconcerted by his state, but the relief that pours through your body just from his presence overtakes every other emotion.

He looks uncharacteristically out of his element as he reaches out to you with shaky hands, looking unsure about how to proceed. "God, sweets, you...Y-you alright?"

You stare at him for a few moments, processing his existence, your brain not fully comprehending that he's actually here, only an arm's length away. You open your mouth to bite back a witty reply like you always do, but no words leave you. Instead, something unexpected happens.

You just collapse. Your knees give in without warning; you're falling to the ground and you're unable to stop it.

He reacts immediately, catching you before you can hit the ground, wrapping his strong arms around your deteriorating form.

Rough, painful sobs rip from deep within your chest. He holds you tightly, so tightly it's bordering on uncomfortable, bracing you against his firm chest. You bury your face in his shirt as you cry, feeling so small and weak in the arms of the strongest.

"You fucking scared me. God, (Y/N), fuck–" He admits breathily, his own sharp exhale cutting him off. "I thought...I-I thought that..."

Your name falls from his lips as he clutches you to him more firmly; it spills out again, and again, trance-like. It catches you off guard – your heart thumps loudly in your chest, and then squeezes painfully.

"I'm sorry," You whimper, lifting your head to look at him. "I'm an idiot. You were right, I should have told you what was going on, but I didn't listen and I almost–"

You're cut off by your own heaving sob. He gently pushes your head into him, cradling your head back to his chest. "Shhh, listen to me. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? It's not your fault."

"But it is!" You whine, wiping your tears away desperately. "It is my fault!"

"Shhh, no, no it's not," He reassures, thumbs chasing more tears that leak out. "They forced your hand, didn't they? It's not your fault."

You pause, then nod slowly. Your eyes never leave his, even as his drift to the distance. They turn stormy, dark, scary. One of your hands raises to his cheek, brushing gently, wanting nothing but to clear his expression. His eyes are always so full of life, so playful and cheerful, reminding you of a cloudless sky; they are so far from their usual that it draws shivers down your spine.

At your contact, they snap back to your face, tracing the wound on your forehead. A scowl contorts his soft lips.

"Those bastards," He says darkly, jaw clenching. "I should...I should kill them all."

A surprised, disbelieving cackle wracks your body. "You can't do that!"

Gojo doesn't even crack a smile; his expression remains dark and clouded. "For you, I would."

Your breath catches in your throat. You're almost scared by the look on his face. Does he really mean that? Do I want him to mean that?

"You're injured," He says softly, tracing the bruises and cuts littering your arms. "I should have found you sooner. I'm sorry."

"That volcano curse really did a number on me," You sigh, truth finally slipping from your lips. "I'm just glad he didn't come any closer."

Automatically, sparks of adrenaline shoot through you as you realize what's left your mouth – information you've been withholding for weeks – before you remember that you meant to tell him this.

He freezes, pupils blown wide. "Don't tell me– no. (Y/N), that's– oh God sweets, please tell me those two aren't the ones you've been tracking."

You smile guiltily. "I won't say anything then."

Gojo's mouth is set in a firm line. He looks far more serious than you've ever seen him – stony-faced, with features hardened. It gives way just a smidge when his takes note of the more serious injuries scoring your body.

"These are from Jogo, aren't they?" He mumbles, fingers hovering over your scaly burns. "How do they feel?"

You're about to respond, but his hand makes contact with your leg. When his fingertips brush the burn on your thigh, you gasp out in pain. It's as though your flesh is singed a second time; your vision starts to swim, and the ringing from earlier worms its way back into your ears.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm so sorry, sweets," He says softly. "I didn't mean to touch you. Hey, you still with me?"

His voice sounds far away even though you can feel his body supporting you from underneath.

"It hurts," You whine weakly. "It hurts a lot."

"I know, I'm sorry," He reassures, fingers brushing back the strands of hair that obscure your face. "Can you do something for me? Just one thing?"

You nod your assent, not trusting yourself to form words.

"Just don't let go," He asks of you. "That's it. Then everything will be okay soon."

"Wait..." You say worriedly, knowing what's about to happen.

"I know you don't like this, but it'll be over fast. I promise," He says gently, voice dripping with genuine remorse. "I'll be by your side when we get there."

You nod tiredly. "Okay. Okay. Let's...let's go."

His squeezes one of your hands, then secures his grip on you. You scrunch your eyes close, knowing what's coming next.

Even with your cursed energy toned down, it's so loud. The wind that rushes through your ears is almost deafening, and the extraneous noise that you can't distinguish makes your head want to explode. It's so much, it's too much, you're going to–

And then it's done. Your eyes are still shut, but the hallmark artificial light of fluorescents peeks through your eyelids. You shy away from it, hovering a hand over your eyes to block it out. You can't hear anything other than the painful ringing in your ears – your ears are still overstimulated.

But there's one sensation to anchor you: the tight grip on your left hand that doesn't waver. His hand envelopes yours completely as he stays by your side as promised.

You focus on his presence and the warmth of his hand as the ringing torturously persists, fading away so slowly you can barely tell it's going away at all.

You can hear two voices intermingle as Gojo talks to someone – the other voice is high-pitched and sounds feminine; you gather it's your friend and colleague, Ieiri Shoko. Their voices almost sound underwater to you – you can't distinguish between words or sentences.

After the ringing lessens its toll on you, you begin to make out their conversation.

"-at happened to them? Where's their cursed energy?"

"I don't know exactly, but I think they're making it smaller to offset their sensitivity from teleporting. I hate making them do it, but...they needed to see you."

You brave yourself against the light, removing the arm covering your eyes and finally opening the again. You can now see your two friends, confirming the mystery woman's identity: Shoko stands a few feet away, shuffling some tools around on a tray.

Noticing your improved state, Gojo turns back to you. You notice his blindfold has returned to its normal position over his eyes, and find yourself feeling a bit disappointed.

He rubs the back of your hand with soothing circles. "Hey there sweets, I know it's probably still painful, but don't suppress your cursed energy anymore, okay? You're getting Shoko here all stirred up."

"But I'm not," You blurt out. "I'm not doing anything."

Gojo then swivels around, exchanging worried glances with your best friend and doctor. A whine escapes you before you can register that you're scared, and both of their heads snap back to you.

"Hey, hey, don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you here," He soothes, a large hand caressing your head. "You're okay."

Shoko pulls a pair of gloves over her hands as she approaches your bedside. "Satoru, why don't you take a seat over there, yeah? Give (Y/N) and I some space so I can properly examine them."

He is hesitant – unmoving for several moments, and the only way you know he heard her is by the tight squeezing of your hand. He doesn't say anything as he slowly releases your hand, only nodding at her before he retreats to the chair in the corner.

She smiles gently at you as she begins to probe at different areas. "Hey."

"Hi," You breathe. "Fancy seeing you here. Don't smoke after this."

She chuckles. "You're really making me itch for one, cutie."

You groan – partly because she prods one of your burns, partly from the exasperating nickname. "Would you two knock it off with those names?"

"Oh no, you're making them scold us," Gojo sing-songs. "Careful, Shoko. Next they'll make one back – did you know they call me 'Discount Jack Frost'?"

"Yeah, yeah," She snorts. "Nice one, cutie. That name is well-deserved. It suits him."

You hum in agreement, a smile pulling your lips up, but you feel too tired to give an actual response.

"You guys are so mean," Gojo pouts. "Ganging up isn't fair."

"Says the strongest," You whisper under your breath, but you make sure it's audible.

"Wow, sweets, you're still so spicy even when you're tired. Wasting your energy to insult me, I see how it is," Gojo chuckles. "Maybe 'spicy' suits you better than 'sweets', hm?"

You stick out your tongue. "Only for you."

"Okay, that's enough, you two," Shoko fake-scolds, as if she's your mother, but it captures both yours and Gojo's attention.

Shoko's tone turns more serious and doctorly. "You need to rest, (Y/N). Your cursed energy isn't recovering like it should. Honestly, it's a bit worrisome. Some of the injuries you've sustained are more serious than you think, too – so, I'm going to put you under for a bit, okay?"

You don't give her any time to finish her thought. "For surgery? Is it that bad?"

The fear on your face alerts Gojo, and he assumes a standing position as he waits for Shoko's answer.

"Sadly, no, your organs are safe from my harvesting for another day," She smiles, teasing. "Just gotta stick some tubes down your throat, and I don't think you'd let me do that if you were awake."

"Oh," You sink back into the bed, relieved. "Okay. Wait, tubes–?"

A needle has expertly found your vein before you can say another word. You blink a few times, and then you're out cold.

*. ⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ｡･:*˚:✧｡*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:.・。＊*✩*.・✭ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:✧ ˚ ⋆*  ☾⋆