we'll laugh until our ribs get tough

IN THE MOST RECENT century, the jujutsu world had known two phenomena. One, the birth of Satoru Gojo, the inheritor of the Gojo clan's innate techniques: Limitless and Six Eyes. Two, the birth of Senju Akashi, the inheritor of the Akashi's clan cultivated technique: Absolute Manipulation of Light.

Two sorcerer protégés.

Two powerful beings.

The world is placed on their shoulders— a burden. You must use your powers for the greater good. You must protect the weak.

Only one obeyed. Another rebelled.

This, my dears, is not Satoru Gojo's story; rather, it is the story of Senju Akashi. His fated soulmate. One piece of the three.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Two individuals sat at singular, wooden desks. They were dressed in their high school uniform, customised to their preference. "How long do we have to wait here?" one of them groaned, a white-haired male with a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. He laid his upper body on the desk's surface, arms sprawled out in front of him. Fingers (that were six fucking inches— what the actual fuck) grazed each other, picking the tough skin beside the nail's cuticle.

"Until Yaga-sensei says we can leave." The other student in the classroom sat with his back straight, leaning idly on the back of the chair. He had one leg thrown over the over, a book flipped open in his hands. Gojo leant his head on the desk. He stared at his best friend— no. As his eyes followed the red string attached to his pinky, he corrected himself.

His soulmate.

"I can feel you staring," Geto told him.

"You're pretty."

Geto turned to him. He stared at the boy with the pretty crystal-blue eyes and the gorgeous white hair and that beautiful face (with a grin so infectious that sometimes he would forget to keep up his stoic facade)...and Geto wondered how on earth someone that looked like him could call him pretty.

"I beg to differ," he laughed.

He turned away from his soulmate, eyes returning to the words in his book. Geto remembered meeting the boy in their first year of high school, when they were both fresh with youth, adrenaline and a desire to do more. He remembered how their fated string tightened with each step forward, the red glow a shimmer in a monochrome world.

Heat crawled up his neck, inch by inch. It reached his ears, blowing hot air on him as if to mock him. Geto was sure Gojo could see it.

He always could.

"I'm obviously prettier," Gojo corrected, waving his hand around nonchalantly. "But–" he looked at him with a wide grin, head tilted down to show off his eyes (they never failed to snatch Geto's breath away)–"I'd say you're a close second." He moved his thumb and index finger, creating a tiny gap between them. "Like this close."

"Wow. What a compliment."

"I know. You know, Suguru, you should be thankful that—"

A hand clamped over his mouth, and shock propagated through Gojo's body, a sort of ricochet that had him lurching back. His lips moved, and Geto could feel the shift. He stared into his eyes and placed a finger to his lips, shushing his soulmate. Geto pointed to his ears, and suddenly, Gojo understood what he meant. He listened to the silent cue.

Muffles echoed through the door. Geto tilted his head to the side, attempting to better his hearing. Gojo copied his actions.

"Why can't they do it by themselves?" they heard someone say, a voice that sounded like the slow drift of sakura blossoms falling from a tree. It was laced with irritation, and the two couldn't help but think those sakura blossoms were edged with thorns (tiny and undetectable). "They're second years."

"It'll be a good learning experience." That voice was obviously Masamichi Yaga, the next-in-line principal of Jujutsu High— the Tokyo branch, to clarify. "You'll get to see your upperclassmen and learn from them."

"I work better alone."

"Sorcerers need to work in teams, Senju." Geto and Gojo glanced at each other. Senju. Now that was an interesting name. Geto, who adored everything to do with literature and the empathy of words, understood what it meant. The curse of a thousand. "This is an opportunity to better your teamwork skills."

"D'ya think that's our new teammate?" Gojo asked. Curiosity churned within him.

Geto shrugged. "Probably."

The footfalls took a quick pause. "Yaga-sensei. What did you say their names were?"

"Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo. Why?"

They didn't need to know. That lone string around their pinkies glowed brighter as the voice neared. It grew taut, pulling their souls to the metaphysical— closer, it whispered. You're almost there. You're all almost complete. And it was only until the door slid open that a flash of red blinded their sights momentarily. Their eyes fell upon a girl.

Wow.

Satoru Gojo wanted to say he knew everything there was to know about astronomy, but he would be lying. He knew how stars were made, the reason why space was silent, and how planets formed—the basic facts and whatnot—yet, in his entire life, Satoru did not expect to see a star bloom in front of him. Piercing sea-green eyes bore into him, accompanied by a face sharp with experience. Strands of white hair lingered just above her shoulders, and Satoru realised that stars were strangely similar to flowers.

They both blossomed.

"Suguru," he whispered to his soulmate. "I take it back. I'm the close second."

Geto inquired, "Does that make me third?"

"Yeah."

He understood what Satoru was saying. He understood his feelings— one look towards the last piece of their bond, and Suguru could feel the dark curl of attraction twist inside him, a sort of comfort that came with the knowledge they were whole. It was a bit frightening in its own right, knowing there was such an entity out there who fate deemed suitable for them. Suitable to love and care for them. Suitable to walk the same path as them. The world knew that Suguru and Satoru were the strongest (together), and as Suguru watched this unknown girl clasp her hands behind her back, a scowl on her lips, he wondered just how she could complete them.

"Suguru, Satoru, this is our new transfer student," Masamichi Yaga introduced, their high-school teacher. He stood beside the front desk, watching the trouble-making duo with a laser-like stare. Gojo and Geto could see the warning in his eyes— just try and challenge me with this. I'll beat both your asses. They knew better than to do that (their teacher was a powerful force to be reckoned with, and the two would rather not suffer through another day with a bunch of wounds and bruises). "She will be accompanying you both on your next mission." He turned towards her. "Introduce yourself."

They saw a moment of apparent disgust on her face, her head shifting to the side as she mumbled grudgingly, "Senju Akashi."

The air in the room was thick with tension. Three soulmates stood inside, looking at one another. Two were curious. One was appalled.

Senju looked at Yaga. "Are you sure I can't do this by myself?"

"No." The Jujutsu sorcerer directed his attention to his students, raising his hand and introducing them, "Satoru, Suguru. They're second-years. There is another, but she won't be partaking in this mission." Yaga turned his gaze towards Senju, who was staring at her shoes with disinterest. He could feel her disappointment and irritation before he even spoke again. "Take a seat," he told her.

Gojo and Geto watched as their soulmate chose the one furthest from them. She sat right next to the entrance, and their eyes remained on the string linking her to them.

It glowed an effervescent red, propagating something deep within their chests. Neither knew what the feeling was; they didn't know how to explain it. It was a sort of tremble along their nerves, a calculation of the entropy surrounding their souls. Suguru felt it envelop him like a cool blanket. Satoru felt it pump adrenaline into his bloodstream.

"Now, down to business." Yaga placed his hands on the edge of the teacher's desk, leaning forward. "There's been a sighting of a special grade curse in Nagano. You've been requested to handle it. Additional information will be mailed to you later."

Gojo shrugged. "Seems easy enough."

"I wouldn't say that right now. This is a request from Master Tengen." The name of the infamous sorcerer had the three students tensing up. It rose waves of confusion and suspicion. Why was Master Tengen involved in something so trivial as this? Handing out mission assignments was the duty of the higher-ups in their society. The foundation of Jujutsu didn't need to be involved with this.

"What does Master Tengen have to do with this?" Geto asked, folding his hands in his lap.

Like a victim of Medusa's rage, Yaga's face contoured into a stern expression. The look in his eyes was hesitant, almost tentative, as if he was afraid of approaching a subject that may or may not lead to a punishment.

Senju caught it.

"What is it?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing, almost analytically.

With his chin resting on his palm, Gojo looked at Senju from the side of his vision. His glasses sat lower on his nose, adding a dark tint to his sight. The sun was high up in the sky, filling the world with sweet yellows and pale oranges. He pulled his pinky closer to his palm, watching as the string only three could see followed. If he could hear it, Gojo would imagine it sounded like the bells on a collar or perhaps gentle wind chimes.

"There's another reason," he heard Senju say, "for this mission, isn't there?"

Yaga steeled his nerves. "Officially, it's a request mission filed by Master Tengen."

Geto picked up on the pretext. "And unofficially?"

"You three are the youngest sorcerers to be graded as special grades," Yaga explained.

Realisation poured into his head, and Gojo snapped his head over to their soulmate. He heard the rustle of Geto's hair moving swiftly and knew he did the same.

"That's why I thought you sounded familiar!" Gojo exclaimed, his eyes wide with mirth as he brought his fist to rest in his palm, a resounding slap echoing throughout the otherwise silent room. "You're from the Akashi clan; its greatest tool!" He clicked his fingers, and Senju could hear the mockery in his voice. She saw the glint in his eyes. It gave light to a flame in her mind.

Her heart beat erratically. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but it felt stiff. Fake. Gojo knew it wasn't genuine. His soulmate didn't want this conversation to continue. This was an invitation, an opening for him to take whatever he wanted, but she wasn't going to let him use her as bait.

And like hell was he going to let this chance to crack the mask she put on escape him.

Gojo saw the way Senju's expression turned livid. It was not often that people dared mock her family and its history— its purpose and duty. And for someone to do it oh so blatantly? Senju's hands began to twitch with an unshakeable urge to wrap themselves around the throat of a man revered to God. An urge that she barely managed to rein in.

Fate just happened to be kind and pair her with an asshole who would.

"I am not some tool," she told him, her tone monotone.

Gojo saw the flash of danger cross her eyes. He felt her cursed energy begin to bubble in the air, an energy so potent it threatened to burn him alive. Elation spread across his chest like wildfire, a kitten lick of crossing boundaries and exposing Senju's true nature.

He smirked. "Really? I've heard different."

"You've heard wrong."

All-seeing eyes spotted the way her fists balled. She was fighting herself, trying to keep from showing any more emotion than what needed to be shown in this meeting with Yaga. Gojo could see it all in her shoulders, the tense shift, the slight delectable quiver.

"Ignorance doesn't look good on you, sweetheart," he told her.

"You could say that about yourself."

Gojo rose his brow lightly. "What's that supposed to mean?" He sat straighter in his chair, looking down at the shorter girl. Gojo couldn't help but feel some sort of amusement travel up his spine. Watching her was like watching an animal trying to stand on its own two legs for the first time. Like that Disney film, he thought, Bambi.

"Don't think I don't know anything about you," she shot back, meeting his eyes for the first time. Gojo felt his interest pique when she didn't react to their colour (he knew they were beautiful, knew that many fawned over them, so it was a surprise when one of his soulmates seemed to not give a shit). "The great Satoru Gojo, strongest sorcerer alive–" Gojo didn't know what she was getting to, but her words only served to inflate his ego, and he grinned–"The Gojo clan's rebellious little shit. A boy who can't tell his lefts from his rights, whose only destiny is to live in isolation because he can't understand how the world works unless it's through violence."

Ah. There it was.

Senju took a needle and tore his ego to shreds.

"The fuck did you just say?"

Never in his entire seventeen years on this planet has anyone had the audacity to insult Gojo to his face. Not when he could kill them in a second, not when his morals were all over the place. And yet, this girl, this fucking stranger who knew absolutely nothing about him, spoke as if she knew the sorcerer's biggest secret. It pissed him off. Gojo felt his eye twitch, irritation sparking through him. In retrospect, Gojo had no idea why he got so annoyed. Her words shouldn't have affected him as much as they did. She was nothing to him— just some person tied to his soul. Confusion slapped him on the face, and the whiplash only served to get on his nerves.

The legs of the chair scraped against the floor.

Gojo stood to his full height.

Senju met him with no fear.

"Want me to repeat it?"

They were meters apart, roughly two or so, but it felt as if they were almost chest to chest. The ghosting touch of each other brushed over their skin, and the hairs on the back of their necks prickled upwards. The energy in the room was steadily spiking, volatile in its innate nature. Yaga didn't even bother moving; he watched the two like an owner watched his two puppies growl and yap at one another. He knew their fangs were sharp— their bite held more poison than a snake's. The aura they emitted burned into his soul with a vicious ferocity that made him think he would much rather cross hellfire than get in the middle of the two strongest sorcerers (as young as they may be) known to man.

"Both of you, tone it down." There was a gentle tug on their fate-made string. It had them halting their next moves, the energy in the air coming to a standstill— guns pointed to the air and fingers laid off the triggers.

Gojo could feel the pull like waxy wings soaring through the sky to meet him.

( did you know that the sun is a star, too?)

He knew where it came from. No one could ever touch fate's string, not unless they could see it. And only soulmates could see one another's strings. "Yaga-sensei hasn't finished," he heard Geto say.

"Thank you, Suguru. Take your cat fights outside," Yaga addressed the two, watching as they sat back down in their seats with great reluctance. "If I hear that you've destroyed any part of this school, I will personally see you out. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Gojo replied.

Yaga nodded his head, accepting that his warning was heeded. "Your train heads off at 11:30," he explained. "That leaves you with two hours to pack your things. It'll take roughly four days if you're quick, so pack as much as you think you need. Do not be late, and for goodness sake, do not expose yourselves through petulant fights." With one final pointed glare, Yaga continued, "You're dismissed. Go prepare your stuff."

Senju was the first out of the room, leaving with, they realised, quiet footsteps that faded into a dull hush. It was an odd feeling to have someone so young, a child in their eyes (well, in Yaga's eyes), leave with nothing but the sound of retreating feet and soft breaths.

Though, Yaga supposed trauma can be
seen in even the most obvious of places.

The rest of them waited. Gojo looked down at his desk, paying attention to creases in the weathering wood. His mind was filled with confusion— the interaction earlier left him with feelings he didn't believe existed.

Gojo was the strongest; he could easily have beaten the girl in a fight had it come down to that. And yet, when he stared into her fiery eyes, Gojo recalled thinking for a moment it was such a contrast to the sea-like colour. Senju's eyes looked as if someone had spilt gasoline into the sea and dropped a lit match, igniting a blazing flame on its surface.

It really pissed him off.

"Satoru." His teacher's voice ripped him away from the vexation circling his mind. He glanced up, presenting a bored facade (somewhere inside him, Gojo knew it wasn't believed). "Senju does not understand the truth of this world. She has been sheltered and moulded into a weapon her whole life. You must understand this. Do not provoke her because, without a doubt, she will lash out— her loyalty is tied to her clan."

A scoff echoed from his lips. "Her clan are nothing but greedy bastards."

"To her, they are her family."

"How strong is she?" Geto asked.

Gojo watched as Yaga's face let out a slip of amusement (that bastard knew something they didn't). "Find out for yourselves," he said and then dismissed himself.

When the door to their classroom slid shut, it was just Gojo and Geto, alone, together.

They looked at each other.

The silence only lasted a few seconds until Gojo slumped over his desk, planting his cheek on the surface and looking at Geto. "This is going to be soooo annoying."

Geto regarded him with a softness only he was privy to see. "She's still a child, Satoru."

"Suguru," he started, scrunching up his face, "you're making us sound like a bunch of pedos. She's a year younger. Stop it."

Geto rolled his eyes. "Let me correct myself; her awareness of the world is at the same level of a child's. Approach her slowly."

"What is she, a stray cat?" He laughed— Gojo thought it was the prettiest thing he had heard (he'd never say it to his face). Gojo stretched his arms, his usual grin returning to his face. "I know how to approach a girl, Suguru. She's our soulmate, for god's sake."

"How? With insults on the tip of your tongue?" he heard the teasing tone in Suguru's voice, knew it was coming before he even spoke his next words. "Gonna tell her, oh yeah, this is my way of showing affection? It's nothing personal?"

Gojo played on, "There's no harm in that. 'Least I'm being honest." He stuck his tongue out, childish as always.

"Satoru, you truly prove my point that your lack of brain cells is the reason why you're so strong. It makes up for the stupidity."

"Hey!" Gojo bellowed dramatically. 

"Although–" Satoru felt the air in his lungs take a pause to revel in the small grin on his soulmate's pretty face (it was such a rare sight, and it only served to cause a palpitation in his heart)–"I suppose you'd need to have a brain first for that."

A pout tugged at his lips. "Suguru, you are so fucking rude, you know that?"

Geto shrugged. "I'm sorry if the truth hurts."

"I take it back. You're not pretty."

"Oh, then I guess your eyes aren't working either." There was an audible gasp of outrage, and Geto bit his lips to hide his smile.

"They're working fine!"

"You sure? We can always go get them checked out. I'm sure Shoko knows someone."

"I don't need to see an eye doctor, thank you very much!"

"They're called optometrists, idiot."

"Same thing!"

"It really isn't. You're undermining the hardworking doctors that bust their asses off to specialise in different fields."

"Suguru."

"Yeah?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"And give you the pleasure of my silence? No fucking way." Geto leant over, reaching to grasp the front of Gojo's shirt and pull him close until their faces were just a centimetre apart and Gojo was sitting on the edge of his seat. "You're stuck with me forever, pretty boy. I'm not going anywhere."

Geto's gaze bore into him. It was intense, almost hungry, as if he were studying Gojo's mind, body and soul. Goosebumps travelled up and down Gojo's skin from the force of it. The sexual tension in the air was palpable, and Gojo realised that if there was one person on this forsaken earth he would bow to, it would be this boy right in front of him. This boy who held a third of his soul in hands that treated it like something precious (with a grip that reassured him it was safe).

He glanced down at Suguru's lips. A metaphysical force pushed him closer.

Gojo heard Geto whisper under his breath, "Only one. We gotta go pack."

"Five," he tried.

"One."

"Three?"

"One."

"Two?"

"Fine."

Gojo's lips spread into a smile, and he pressed their lips together, letting them slide over each other like the smooth tides on an open shore. He moved from his seat, his body low so their lips would not move. Geto's arms called to him, and he answered.

Gojo slipped onto his lap, straddling his hips, one leg on each side of him, and wrapping his arms around his neck. His fingers inched under his jacket, snaking under his shirt and pressing flat against his back. It was damp with sweat, no doubt from their earlier training session and the tension of his and their other soulmate's potential outbreak.

He kissed him once. Then twice.

Both were long and sweet.

And when he pulled away, his body yearning for one more, Geto wondered, "That was the original goal, wasn't it?"

"Yup." Gojo beamed, grinning widely. Contentment coursed his veins; it burrowed itself in his bones. "Now, let's go pack!" He got off his body, standing up and extending an arm out. "Can't keep our beautiful soulmate waiting for us, now can we?"

Geto took his hand. He followed his movements, smiling stupidly.

"No, we can't."

( people follow the stars blindly,
ignorant to the consequences )