Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hi, you’ve reached Ieiri. I’m probably up to my elbows in something nasty right now, but if it’s a medical emergency, call me right back. If it’s not, leave a mes—”

The recording cut off abruptly as Tsumiki slammed the receiver back into the cradle, only to immediately pick it up again and redial with shaking fingers. A sticky note with a phone number and “In emergencies call Ieiri Shoko !!” scrawled beneath a crooked smiley face crinkled in her other hand as she punched the call button for the second time.

“Come on,” she whispered hoarsely, squeezing the phone to her ear. “Please pick up.” She turned back to where her brother was crouching over the figure lying in a crumpled heap on their kitchen floor, her pulse pounding along with the rain as it beat relentlessly against the windows. The line rang five times, then six, and Tsumiki’s heart sank lower and lower. “Please.”

Just as she was about to hang up and try again, a voice crackled through the speaker, and Tsumiki nearly sobbed with relief.

“For Christ’s sake, Gojo, I’m on a date. Someone better be dying or so help me…”

“Ieiri-san!” Tsumiki choked out. “I’m so sorry to bother you. This is Fushiguro Tsumiki, I’m Gojo’s…” She floundered for a moment, realizing with a start that she had no idea how to define the relationship she and her brother had to the man lying motionless a few meters away. Was he their friend? Their guardian? Their eccentric long-term babysitter? Nothing felt quite right as she cycled through the options in her mind. “Gojo looks after my little brother and me,” she settled on at last. “He gave us your phone number for emergencies.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Ieiri seemingly apologized to her company and excused herself. The background chatter faded away until it was silenced altogether by the familiar sound of a door sliding shut. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

Tsumiki’s breath caught before she could answer as she watched Megumi lift Gojo’s hand and let it thud unceremoniously to the floor, eyeing his face intently for any sign of a reaction. The man didn’t so much as twitch. Her hand, clutching the phone, faltered.

“Hello? You still there, kid?”

Tsumiki’s heart was pounding so loudly in her ears as she raised the phone back to her cheek that she was almost certain the woman on the other end would be able to hear it. “Yes. Sorry. It’s Fushiguro. Fushiguro Tsumiki.”

“Okay, Tsumiki-chan. It’s nice to meet you. Now, take a deep breath and then tell me what’s going on. Are you hurt?”

“N- no, ma’am.” 

“And you said you have a brother? Is he hurt?”

“No, we’re both fine.” Tsumiki swallowed. “It’s Gojo. We haven’t seen him for a few days and when he finally came back this morning he seemed really out of it. And then he told me he wasn’t feeling very well and that he was going to go lie down and that he was sorry he couldn’t take us to school, but it’s Sunday so we don’t have school, and the way he was talking was all weird and slow, like he was drunk or something even though he doesn’t drink, and then he just fell down in the middle of the kitchen and he—”

“I need you to slow down,” the woman on the other end interrupted. Tsumiki realized with a start that she had begun to hyperventilate; The words tumbled out of her mouth in a series of barely intelligible gasps. “I’m going to need some details, so just breathe nice and deep for me, okay? You said Gojo fell down? When? Is he awake? Did he get hurt when he fell?”

Tsumiki bit her lip and exhaled slowly as her vision began to blur behind a veil of unbidden tears. “It just happened a minute ago. He’s not bleeding or anything, but he's not waking up and I don’t know what to do!” 

“Well, you did the right thing by calling me. I can help. Can you tell me where you are?”

Tsumiki rattled off the address, her voice shaking. Then a horrible thought crossed her mind. “Dr. Ieiri-san, is he… going to die?” she croaked around the growing lump in her throat, twisting the phone cord around her hand until the tips of her fingers began to tingle. Megumi’s head shot up at the question, his eyes growing stormy as they met her own—wide and tear-filled and stuck staring straight ahead. “What are we going to do if he doesn't wake up? Our parents are both gone; he’s all we have right now. What will happen to me and my brother?”

“Listen, to me. That’s not going to happen. Alright?” The woman’s voice was softer now as it crackled through the speaker. Gentle. Reassuring. The sound of a car door opening and closing punctuated the brief silence before she continued. “Gojo’s tough, and I’m… well, I’m like a magical doctor. Just make sure he’s lying on his back and keep his feet elevated until I get there, okay?”

“Okay,” Tsumiki said miserably, hating the childish fear that lingered in her voice. 

“Just sit tight. I’m close by, so I’ll be there in just a few minutes. If he wakes up, don’t let him move around. Talk to him. Keep him comfortable.” And with that, the woman ended the call, and Tsumiki was left frozen, the phone clutched in a white-knuckled fist, her eyes fixed on the pair in front of her and her thoughts spinning at a million miles a minute. 

“Tsumiki?” The uncertainty in her brother’s voice quickly snapped her back down to earth, and she unwound the cord from her hand to return the phone to its cradle before pushing off the counter towards where Megumi waited with Gojo. When she reached them, she dropped to her knees and leaned down to press an ear to Gojo’s chest. Only when she found the familiar ka-thump of a heartbeat pulsing lightly beneath his sternum did she release a shaky sigh of relief. Megumi scooted closer and tugged on her sleeve. “So, what did she say?”

She glanced over at him, then back to Gojo. “She said he’ll be okay. That he’s tough. And to keep his feet elevated until she gets here.”

Megumi’s brow furrowed. “What’s that mean?”

God, it was so easy to forget just how young he was sometimes.

She reached out to smooth down his hair and offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Her efforts were futile as always—the unruly black spikes just sprang right back into place as he scowled and nudged her hand away. “It means we need something to hold his feet up. Can you go find a few pillows we can use?”

He nodded once, his green eyes sharp with resolve, then scampered away, leaving Tsumiki alone with their—well. Their Gojo. 

She couldn’t resist the frown that crept onto her face as she swept the man’s bangs back from his forehead to press the back of her hand to it the way her mother had when she’d been sick as a child. Her jaw tightened, both from worry at the burning heat beneath her knuckles and a mild, nagging agitation at the way her brain seemed desperate for a way to label the fragile thing that had grown between the siblings and this strange man.

It was impossible to define it. She knew it was. There wasn’t exactly a fitting legal term for an almost-adult who comes around when he can but who is also the most busy person you’ve ever met, so sometimes—more often than not—you’re left on your own. Sometimes, whole days will go by without a visit, but for some reason, you still believe him when he says he’ll always come back. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you do anyhow. 

But what do you call someone like that?

What should you call the person who gives you a beautiful new place to call home that doesn’t even have any mold on the walls or rat droppings in the cabinets after barely a week of knowing you, and who, for some reason, doesn’t expect anything from you in return? Who pays all the bills and buys all the groceries and replaces all the old sneakers that made your socks turn soggy when it rained with new ones that you don’t even want to think about how much they cost? Someone who tucks you into bed at night, or who knows a hundred thousand terrible jokes and never stops trying to make your grumpy little brother laugh even though he knows it’s hopeless, or who peels clementines for you to eat while he helps you with your homework, or who knows to add a pinch of ginger to Megumi’s rice, or—

“Will this work?”

She blinked, looking up at her little brother as he leaned over her with a throw pillow and a bunched-up quilt spilling out of his arms. It took her a moment to remember the context of the question, then she snapped back to awareness, pulling herself up and taking the bundle from him. “I think so. Thank you.” She moved to Gojo’s feet, lifting his legs gingerly as she arranged the pillow and blanket into a small pile beneath them. As she eased him back down, she glanced up towards his face, hopeful for any sign of awareness. Nothing. 

Beneath the thin sheen of sweat that shone on his forehead, he was noticeably paler than usual, but despite that, he looked peaceful. His long, snow-white lashes fluttered almost imperceptibly against his ashen cheeks. If Tsumiki didn’t know any better and if it weren’t for the shattered sunglasses and the orange juice she’d spilled when she’d heard him hit the ground, she could almost convince herself he was merely taking a nap. 

She pursed her lips. Seeing him like this felt weirdly invasive. It wasn’t right for someone so consistently strong and lively to suddenly appear so vulnerable. Plus, it was always strange to catch him in the rare instances he was without his sunglasses. The things stayed on near constantly, even when he was inside. The thin, circular frames had taken some of the impact when he’d fallen, shattering one of the pitch-black lenses and cracking the other irreparably. A dismayed Tsumiki had found them when she’d rushed over after he’d collapsed and moved them aside, worrying at her lip and hoping he wouldn’t be too mad that they were broken when he woke up. 

If he woke up. 

“How long do you think it will take her to get here?” Her chest tightened at the way her brother’s voice trembled just a little, the way it always did when he was scared but trying with everything he had not to show it. She knew the act was mostly for her sake—not that he’d ever willingly admit it. 

“She said she was close by, so hopefully that means soon.” Tsumiki cast a worried glance toward the short hallway that connected the kitchen with the rest of the apartment and pursed her lips. “It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Exactly six minutes passed before a woman with shoulder-length brown hair and deep circles beneath her eyes arrived at their door, armed with a small medical bag and soaked to the bone from the storm raging outside.

Six minutes, and still, Gojo hadn’t stirred.

“Alright,” the woman—Ieiri Shoko—said when she entered, twisting her sopping hair into a loose bun with practiced efficiency. “Where’s our idiot?”

“In the kitchen,” Tsumiki told her as she led her towards the other room. “Megumi’s still in there with him. We kept his feet up just like you said,” She flushed suddenly. “It’s a bit of a mess. I was pouring juice for Megumi when it happened. I haven’t tidied up yet. Please excuse me.”

Ieiri waved a dismissive hand. “You should see my office. A little mess never hurt anyone. Good job keeping his feet up.” 

The pair turned the corner into the small kitchenette where Megumi sat with his legs curled beneath him, still vigilant at Gojo’s side. 

“Hi there,” Ieiri said as she approached. “You must be Megumi.”

“He’s a little shy sometimes,” Tsumiki said apologetically when Megumi didn’t so much as glance at the woman in return. 

Ieiri shrugged as she, too, took a knee beside Gojo and pressed two fingers to the inside of his wrist. “No skin off my back.” Her other hand disappeared into her bag and brought out what looked like a thick, black pen with a button on the side that made it light up at one end—a flashlight. “I’m just making sure he didn’t bust his head when he fell,” she explained as she thumbed open the man’s eyelids one at a time and shone the light into them. Tsumiki watched over her shoulder, a little fascinated, as his pupil constricted beneath the light even as his gaze remained eerily vacant. “A concussion would be bad news for him. Fortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case.” She tucked the flashlight back into the bag, then lifted his head, gingerly feeling around the circumference of his skull with experienced hands. 

“Alright,” she pronounced after a moment, seemingly content with the results of her initial once-over. “His skull still seems to be in one piece, thank god. Now let’s see if we can get this big oaf back on his feet, yeah?” 

“Yes, please,” Tsumiki said meekly.

Ieiri smiled and leaned forward, pressing both palms flat against his abdomen. Instantly, the pressure in the room shifted almost imperceptibly, and goosebumps began to prickle on Tsumiki’s arms. It was the same odd feeling she got every time Megumi or Gojo used their cursed energy. She couldn’t ever see what was happening, but she could feel it, like the smell of ozone before a lightning strike. “I’m applying my technique,” Ieiri told the kids. “I don’t know how much you two know, but basically—”

Without warning, Gojo’s entire body jolted, stiffening sharply enough for several of his joints to pop, startling the woman into silence. Even as his face remained serenely blank, his fingers suddenly splayed wide, trembling sporadically at his sides. Then, just as abruptly, his spine arched upward, his head snapping back to press hard against the floor. 

Ieiri snatched her hands away. “Fucking—”

And then the convulsions began. 

“Gojo!” Tsumiki surged forward just as Megumi staggered back, grabbing onto one of the man’s arms as it jerked to fold against his chest, its wrist bent awkwardly.

“Tsumiki, don’t,” Ieiri ordered sharply, catching Tsumiki by the shoulder and pulling her away. “You can’t hold him down. You'll only get him or yourself hurt.”

Tsumiki turned back to her, her eyes wide. “But he’s—”

“He’s having a seizure.” The woman moved quickly, reaching to tug the pillow from beneath his feet and replacing it firmly against her folded knees instead. Just before his head could collide again with the floor, she heaved him so his head was cushioned against the pillow. His teeth audibly ground together as his entire body strained, his eyes cracking open just enough for Tsumiki to catch a glimpse of his bloodshot sclera rolling back beneath quivering eyelids. A strangled, broken whimper tore its way from his throat as the spasming grew worse. 

Tsumiki’s mouth felt unbearably dry as she watched the scene unfold with wide eyes. Her breaths came and went so quickly that she was starting to grow dizzy. Her grip on her elbows tightened enough for her nails to bite mini crescents into the tender skin beneath her sleeves—grounding, but not enough to keep the panic that was welling within her chest from nearly choking her. “What do we do?!”

 “There’s nothing we can do but wait it out and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or aspirate.” She looked to Megumi, who had backed away into the wall to witness the situation from a safe distance, his gaze uncharacteristically stricken. “Megumi, right? I need you to start counting slowly. If you reach 300 and he still hasn’t stopped, you run to call 1-1-9. Do you understand?”

The boy gave a stiff nod and began dutifully reciting the numbers under his breath. His wide green eyes never strayed from the scene. All Tsumiki could do was stand statue-still behind the woman as she leaned over Gojo, her face grim.

“Come on, Gojo,” Ieiri murmured as another soft, shuddering cry broke at the back of his throat. She swept a featherlight hand over his head, brushing bangs damp with sweat back from his brow as the convulsions suddenly crested. His head strained back against the pillow, the tendons in his neck visibly taut from the effort. A thin trail of foamy saliva traced a path down his cheek towards his ear at the same time as silent, frightened tears broke free at last to dampen Tsumiki’s own cheeks. “Come back to us.”

Minutes passed like hours, until finally, the seizure began to ebb, the convulsions dulling to small, fitful twitches, then an almost unnerving stillness punctuated by the occasional spasm. A shaky sigh was the only sound Gojo managed as he went limp in Ieiri’s arms, his chest rising and falling, to Tsumiki’s relief, albeit shallowly.

“234. 235. 236—”

“You can stop now, Megumi. It’s over.”

Tsumiki hiccuped as her crying began to subside, drying her cheeks with the back of her sleeve as Ieiri guided the lanky man onto his side with a grunt of effort. Her heart was still pounding so heavily against her ribs that it almost hurt. 

“Will he be alright?” Tsumiki whispered once she’d regained control of her voice. There were about a dozen other questions pinging around her head that she wanted to ask next, but Ieiri didn’t turn to look at her, nor acknowledge the question at all. Instead, she leaned over Gojo, where he lay on his side with one arm still tucked awkwardly against his chest and the other stretched out in front of him. His fingers were still curling and uncurling fitfully, involuntarily, where they lay against the ground.

“Gojo. Hey. You still with us?”Another thin groan came in response, and Ieiri’s shoulders visibly loosened. “Thank god. There you are.” She took a small cloth from her bag and gently began wiping the sweat and saliva from his face. “Welcome back. You’re okay, just breathe.”

“Wh… Sh- Shoko?” The voice was so raw and broken that at first, Tsumiki didn’t register it as his. It was nothing at all like the boisterous presence Tsumiki had grown used to from him. “Is that you… being all… nice to me?”

“Yeah, it’s me, you big dummy. You just scared the shit out of me, you know that? Can you remember anything that just happened?”

He looked confused. “Sure. I felt… a bit dizzy. Said bye. To the kids. Went to go lay down for a bit.” He let out a wheeze that might have been an attempt at a chuckle. “Some r- real scary stuff. What are you doing here, Sho?”

She withdrew her hand from his face and sat back on the balls of her feet with one hand on her hip, the other still carefully braced against his back, keeping him upright. “It was scary, you asshole. I’m here because you didn’t ‘go lay down’—you collapsed in front of poor Tsumiki and then you had a seizure. You know I never pass up an opportunity to say ‘I told you so’, especially when it’s you, but god, please don’t ever do that again. Because that really, really sucked.”

He was quiet for a moment. Which then stretched into two. Tsumiki’s heart skittered in her chest, thinking he’d gone and passed out again. Then, finally, in a voice so soft everyone had to strain to hear it: “I had a seizure?”

Ieiri’s posture drooped, the hand on her hip slipping down to lie loosely in her lap. “Yes. A bad one. Almost four minutes. Any longer and you’d be having this conversation from a hospital bed. Jesus, Gojo, for a minute I thought—”

“The kids?” he interrupted, rolling—well, more like falling—halfway onto his back to catch her eye. “You said… Tsumiki. Did they…?”

“They saw the whole thing. Smart kids you have here—called me as soon as it happened. Say hello by the way.” The woman sighed deeply as he raised his head to glance around with wide eyes, like he was just realizing where he was and who else was in the room with them. Tsumiki waved meekly as Ieiri patted him on the shoulder. “But, it’s over now, thank god. So? How are you feeling?”

He hummed low in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he let his head drop back against the pillow. “Kinda like I passed out and had a seizure. Tired. Sore. Still dizzy. Am I… on the floor?”  

“Yes, you’re on the floor. Focus, Gojo. How’s your head?”

“Hurts.” Then slowly, shakily, he began to push himself upright, catching Ieiri’s arm for support. 

“Easy there, big guy. You shouldn’t be—”

“I'm fine.” He gritted his teeth. “Just gotta—” Then his face twisted with pain. He dropped backward onto one forearm, his other hand pressing firmly against his eyes as he cursed. “Fuck, Shoko. I think I'm gonna… I’m…” The arm supporting him wobbled beneath him, then gave out, and he collapsed, his chest heaving and eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

Ieiri looked up sharply at Tsumiki. “Where are his glasses?”

Tsumiki shrank back, her lower lip trembling. “They broke when he fell.”

“He needs to cover his eyes or he'll just end up passing out again, or worse. His brain has already been pushed way past its limits. Now it’s coming back online and it’s overloading itself. Those stupid eyes of his…” Her eyes darted around the room. “Just get me something—a sleep mask, a necktie, bandages—anything I can use.” 

Tsumiki nodded numbly and sped off to where she knew they kept a first-aid kit that held a roll of thick, white gauze. She’d never had to use anything from it before, other than a band-aid or two for Megumi, so she knew it’d still be stocked. God, what a day this was shaping up to be. She found the kit quickly, upending its contents onto the ground and snatching up the roll of bandages. Her feet slapped loudly against the tatami floor as she hurried back into the kitchen, pressing them into Ieiri’s expectant hand.

“I'm going to wrap this around your eyes,” the woman told Gojo after nodding her thanks to Tsumiki, pulling his head into her lap once more. He’d gone still again, his face now a sickly shade of green, but his chest continued to rise and fall evenly as Ieiri brushed back his hair and began to wind the roll of gauze around the top of his head. It looked a little funny, the way it made his shock of white hair stick straight up as she crossed the gauze over his eyes again and again. Tsumiki imagined he’d probably look about the same if he stuck a fork into an electrical socket. But as the tension slowly bled from his face, Tsumiki couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but relieved. “Better?” Ieiri asked once she'd finished knotting the bandages at the back of his skull. 

Gojo exhaled shakily, a bit of his normal color seeping back into his face. “Oh, yeah. Way better. Thank you.”

The four of them sat in silence for a moment, letting the man catch his breath. To everyone’s surprise, it was Megumi who broke the silence first. 

“Is that going to happen again?” The other three’s eyes all snapped to the small boy standing pressed against the wall, his tiny fists clenched at his sides. It wasn’t like him to show much barefaced emotion beyond his usual bored disinterest, but now, the boy looked positively shellshocked, his eyes wide and lips pressed into a thin line as he leveled a concerned stare at Gojo. 

When the novelty of hearing him speak wore off, Ieiri scooted out from under Gojo, resituating his head on the pillow before standing and crossing the room. She knelt down to meet the young boy’s eyes and settled her hand on his shoulder. Tsumiki was surprised when he didn’t immediately shrug her away as he was so prone to do with her and Gojo. “I don’t know for sure,” she admitted in a low voice. “But it might.” She looked back at Tsumiki. “The good news is, now you both know what to do if it does. Clear the area, protect his head, start a count, and then call me. And if it goes longer than 5 minutes, call an ambulance.”

“But what even caused it?” Tsumiki asked, still feeling a bit breathless and shaken from the whole ordeal. “How can we know when it’s going to happen?”

Ieiri seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. “My best guess? This dummy keeps his technique running all the time. That kind of thing will do a number on your brain, even if he’s also using reverse—”

“It’s not that.”

The statement was delivered so bluntly and so coherently that when everyone’s focus turned back to Gojo, Tsumiki half expected to see him leaning casually against the counter. He wasn’t. He had managed to haul himself back up onto one elbow, though, the other hand rubbing absently at his throat. 

Ieiri sighed. “It almost certainly is that, Gojo. What else—”

“You remember that one time last year when I got stabbed in the head? Almost died? That ring any bells?”

Tsumiki’s breath hitched. Huh? Stabbed in the head?! What was he talking about? And so casually!

He frowned before he continued without elaborating, the bandages crinkling at his brow. “Well, it turns out my first time ever using reverse cursed technique to heal myself wasn’t exactly the prodigious achievement I’d thought it was.”

Ieiri’s lips pursed. “What are you saying?”

“Just that maybe I didn’t manage to perfectly fix up all the damage from my fight with To—” he grimaced. “With that guy. I kinda suspected something wasn’t right for a bit. I’ve been getting migraines again—bad ones. As bad as that hangover I had back in our first year. Lately they’ve been getting even worse, and way more frequent, like to the point where the sunglasses just aren’t gonna cut it anymore. Probably because of how busy I’ve been the last few months. I thought I could handle it, but, well. Guess my body wasn’t having it after all.”

“Hold on,” Ieiri said, raising a hand and leveling him with a stare that could melt ice. “This has been going on since then? Why is this the first I’m hearing of it? Are you fucking with me?” 

With some effort, Gojo pushed himself up fully until he was sitting cross-legged and raised his hands defensively. He looked almost back to normal again, Tsumiki realized with a jolt of surprise. The healing powers he’d mentioned having before must have started back up. “Whoa, hey. It’s not like I’ve been having full-blown seizures since then. That was a new one for me; usually it just hurts. Here.” His hand came up to push aside the bandage, revealing a divot about the size of a 50 yen coin right on the edge of his hairline. “And here,” he continued, tracing down to the side of his throat, then on toward his hip. “And here,” he said once more, gesturing to his right leg. “All the places he got me, every time. That’s how I know it’s not just a byproduct of my automated technique. I just… messed up. Didn’t think it’d lead to anything this bad.”

“I specifically remember you telling me you didn’t need me to look you over after all that,” Ieiri said coldly, folding her arms over her chest. “Mr. Bigshot Sorcerer swore up and down that he had it all handled. You said you’d never felt better in your entire life and I could tell you meant it. That’s why I didn’t push.”

“Yeah, well.” He rubbed the back of his neck and offered a sheepish smile. “Mr. Bigshot Sorcerer was high off adrenaline and a lapdance with death and thought that on-top-of-the-world feeling meant he’d fixed himself up perfectly. And then when I realized something wasn’t right, well. You know how I am. Asking for help’s never really been my style.”

“You are so unbelievably dumb, you know that?” 

“So you’ve told me. Pretty much every day since we were fifteen.”

With an exasperated sigh, Ieiri stood and crossed the kitchen, inspecting a glass from the dish rack beside the sink before filling it halfway. She returned to Gojo’s side, pressing the glass into his hands. “Drink,” she said flatly. “I’m getting tired of hearing your voice.”

“That’s kind of rude.”

“Fucking drink, Satoru. Slowly. I don’t want you throwing up on me.”

She watched him closely as he tipped back the water in slow sips, then handed back the empty glass with a petulant scowl. “I’m leaving you a bad review on Yelp the second you leave.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, flicking him lightly on the shoulder as he chuckled at his own comment. The flick made contact, Tsumiki noticed. Meaning his barrier was still down, even though his technique seemed to be working. “You’re the one with no sense of self-preservation. If you’d just take care of yourself I wouldn’t have to be so mean.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “And speaking of which. Don’t think I didn’t notice the bags under your eyes. When was the last time you slept?”

Gojo gave her a nervous grin. “You’re one to talk. But uhh, define ‘slept’? I don’t exactly have time for a cat-nap with all the shit I’m picking up for them these days.” He scratched his arm, absently. “Sometimes I close my eyes when I warp if that counts.”

Her eyes flashed angrily. “Of course it doesn’t, you idiot!” She swatted at him until he yelped, making a big show of raising his arms over his head protectively. 

“Ow! Hey! You’d hit a guy who just had a seizure?! What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass for real,” she gritted out. “Newsflash asshole: sleep deprivation is a major trigger for seizures. What’s wrong with you?” Pinching the bridge of her nose like the conversation was giving her a migraine of her own, she took several deep breaths, then continued. “Just let me get all of this straight. You healed yourself after that fight last year that almost killed you, and you did a shitty job of it because it was your first time ever doing something that took me years to perfect. Then you refused to let me help, even after you realized you fucked up because of your enormous fucking ego. And now, it’s getting worse, and why? Because you’re too arrogant to admit to anyone that you need a break? Too busy being the big hero, running around saving the world?” Then, her voice dropped, bringing the temperature in the room with it. “Do you want to die? Is that it? Because honestly, Gojo, that’s how it looks from here. If that’s the case, I can get you help, but not unless you talk to me.”

For a moment, the question hung heavily in the air between them, turning it sour until he finally spoke. “Can we maybe not do this in front of the kids?” 

Ieiri’s face softened, but not yet enough to call her expression anything milder than irate. “All I’m asking is that you be honest, Gojo. Why are you doing this to yourself? Why push so far past your limits? Why in god’s name do you take on so much that you collapse in the middle of your apartment at eleven in the fucking morning?”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” he snapped, and the tension that filled the room, curdling the air and choking Tsumiki where she stood with her hands clasped and her breath held, shattered like glass. For several moments, the kitchen was silent, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge and the wind and rain still thrashing in sheets against the windows. Then, Gojo exhaled, a deep, quivering thing that made him seem so painfully human to Tsumiki that it made her heart ache. When he spoke again, his voice was unnervingly calm. “Who else is going to do it if not me? Hmm? Who else even can?” 

Ieiri opened her mouth to say something, but Gojo raised a hand, effectively silencing her. “I know what you’re going to say. It doesn’t change the fact that Yu died because I wasn’t there to help. And Suguru—” he stopped suddenly. Swallowed. Inhaled and exhaled deeply. Then continued with a new edge in his voice. “Suguru left because of that. I’m not letting anything like that happen to anyone else ever again. Not when I know I can handle everything on my own now. Not when I’m the only one strong enough to carry all of this so no one else has to.”

“Listen to yourself,” Ieiri murmured, reaching out to touch his shoulder. She was stopped just short of brushing against the white cotton undershirt, her fingers skittering against open air. At some point, his shield had come back up. The hand fell silently back into her lap. “You don’t really believe that, do you? About Haibara and Geto being your fault?”

Gojo wouldn’t face her, his expression an impassive mask behind the bandages. “I don’t want to do this right now. Not in front of them.” He tilted his head toward Megumi, who was fiddling with a loose string at the hem of his shirt, pretending not to listen, and a blushing Tsumiki, whose gaze had become glued to the floor the moment the conversation began to ramp into an argument. “Right now… I think I just want to rest.”

Ieiri softened. “Well, good. Because I’m serious—you desperately need it.” She hauled herself to her feet with a grunt, then offered her hand. For a moment, Tsumiki wondered how he’d see the extended hand through the bandages. Somehow, he must have been able to, though, because the subtle static of his shield melted away, and he took it. He gritted his teeth as she helped pull him upright and held him steady as he swayed and nearly stumbled.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he released her hand. “And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry for scaring you and the kids. And for dragging you out here in the middle of a storm. And for spouting off a whole lot of really angsty shit just now.”

“You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.” A wan smile crept over Ieiri’s face, then faded just as quickly. “Don’t think this is the last you’ll be hearing from me about this, though. I’m not about to lose another friend, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.” She sighed for what might’ve been the dozenth time in as many minutes. “Just… Don’t let yourself forget that there are people other than Geto who still care about you, Satoru. And not only that, but people rely on you, too. And not just as a sorcerer. These kids were terrified when they called me, asking what they were going to do if you didn’t wake back up. Don’t do that to them. Don’t do that to me.”

“I hear you, Sho. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, and a strand of chestnut hair came loose from her bun, curling delicately along her jaw. “I don’t want your apologies. I want a promise. Give me your word that you’ll stop pushing so damn hard all the time. Because if you end up on a slab in my morgue before we reach our thirties, I’m never going to forgive you.”

The smile he offered in return was tinged with something heavy, and Tsumiki had the impression there was much going unsaid when he softly told the woman, “I’ll do my best.”

Only hours later, long after Ieiri had packed up her supplies and left, and the mess in the kitchen had been cleared away, and Gojo had been tucked away in bed while the storm outside melted into a quiet drizzle, did Tsumiki finally sink to her knees alone in her room and sob.