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He must be over two meters tall. Trying to guess how much he might weigh makes Satoru dizzy, especially when he wonders how many kilograms of it are pure muscle. He has pink hair—who even has pink hair? Natural pink hair, Satoru can tell. Two rugged deep scars slice his face, and the hard look they should give him is lost on the big warm brown eyes he’s gifted with.
No. His eyes are red, as dark as blood.
Are those a second pair of eyes?
Satoru blinks, and there’s only one pair, sweet as honey. He blinks again, and this man’s face—Satoru’s new senpai—becomes a whole lot more monstruous. He shoves his glasses up his head and secures them on his hair and promptly loses his breath.
“Hi,” Itadori repeats in the weighted silence, a hand coming up to push his hair back. His biceps must be bigger than Satoru’s head. Satoru doesn’t know whether to stare at them or at the guy’s inside, butchered and strangely hollow. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. “Uh. I’m Itadori Yuuji.”
The words trail off questioningly, a response to their continued silence. The other third-year Satoru doesn’t care to remember the name of stares at them like they’re stupid, and from the edge of his vision, he can see Shoko turning to him like she expects him to carry the conversation like normal. To that, Satoru tries to telepathically send her the message that this is absolutely not a normal situation and keeps staring.
Shoko rolls her eyes. “Hi. You’re from the Kyoto branch?”
“Independent studies,” Itadori answers, looking weirdly relieved.
Shoko hums understandingly and says no more, and the silence returns. It’s only broken by that other stupid student, who turns to Itadori and says, “Ignore them, they’re just like that. Let's go to our dorms, come on. You have plenty of rooms to choose from.”
“Thanks,” Itadori says, tone muted, and with one last glance back at them, he disappears up the stairs.
Silence swallows the common room. Satoru follows Itadori up the stairs, past the second floor, into the third floor reserved for the scarce third-year students. He cranes his neck up to the ceiling, watching as Itadori enters the first room he sees and stays there, sitting down on his new bed once their annoying classmate finally leaves him alone.
“Really?” Shoko says, deadpan.
“You didn’t see him,” Satoru answers distractedly. Somehow, alone, Itadori becomes more.
“I saw him,” Suguru says, voice low.
“’Course you didn’t,” He dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand, swallowing the excess saliva that unexpectedly pooled in his mouth. “He’s like—like—”
“Hot?” Shoko sarcastically guesses.
“Like a slaughterhouse,” Satoru finishes heavily and tilts his head, still stretched toward the ceiling. “Hot, too.”
“I saw him.”
Satoru rolls his eyes. “Not like me, Suguru.”
“Who cares? I saw him.”
Shoko suddenly snickers. “You too, Suguru?”
“Dibs.”
Satoru yanks his eyes off Itadori and finds Suguru, who blinks placidly at him. “Huh?”
“Dibs,” Suguru repeats, calm as you please.
“What do you mean dibs?”
“Do you not know the meaning of that word? You should read more.”
“Of course I know the meaning of that word,” Satoru scoffs, pushing his sunglasses back down on the bridge of his nose. “I’m just confused as to why you’d say it, seeing as I saw him first.”
Suguru shrugs. “You didn’t see him first.”
“Yes, I did,” He insists petulantly.
“Hm, I think we all saw him at the same time,” Shoko cuts in amusedly, but neither of them turns to her.
“I could see and feel him coming from a mile away, and I can see him better than you can,” Satoru says.
“Who cares?” Suguru rolls his eyes deeply. “I called dibs first.”
“It doesn’t work like that!”
“It works exactly like that.”
Satoru turns to Shoko, betrayed. “Whose side are you on?”
“I think you’re both being stupid,” Shoko drawls, not batting an eyelash. “And whatever Cupid’s arrow landed on you definitely didn’t land on him, so whoever called dibs first doesn’t matter.”
“Shoko, I know these things fly over your head all the time, but he was definitely, definitely staring back at me,” Satoru confidently says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“He was staring at me.”
“I didn’t know you to be so self-absorbed that you’d lie to yourself about that, Suguru,” He gasps, frowning. “How could you—”
“He was staring because you were being fucking weirdos, refusing to say anything to him,” Shoko snickers. “Our new senpai probably thinks you hate him. Especially you, Satoru.”
“Me?”
“You took off your glasses to look at him and didn’t say a word,” Suguru says, sounding amused. “If your reputation somehow hadn’t reached him before, I’m sure he’s been filled in by now.”
“Oh,” Satoru mutters. Maybe their first interaction could have gone better, but who could blame Satoru? Face to face with something new and exciting and electrifying and seductive, Satoru’s brain could barely do more than take it in. Shoko and Suguru saw Itadori and saw a strong, probably impressive sorcerer. Satoru saw him and saw an open wound that doesn’t stop bleeding, with jagged edges that can make everything around him bleed with him. “Well, that can be redeemed easily.”
“If you say so,” Shoko sighs. “I suppose even you can have an unattainable crush.”
“Like you with Utahime?
She throws him a cushion that isn’t able to hit him, despite her good aim, and ignores his words. “He’s our senpai, you idiot.”
“So, like you with Utahime.”
“There’s no me and Utahime, idiot,” She snaps at him.
“Oh, good. I never said it before, but you have such a bad taste sometimes.” Satoru allows the cushion to hit him this time, laughing. “What does it matter if he’s our senpai? That means he’s supposed to take care of us and guide us and teach us, doesn’t it? I can think of a few things he can teach me. I’ll be a very willing student.”
Suguru scoffs.
Satoru turns back to him, eyes widened innocently behind his sunglasses, pats him in the leg, and empathetically says, “Don’t feel bad, Suguru. You wouldn’t know what to do with him, anyway.”
Suguru stares at him for a long moment. Then, he shakes his head, a strand of hair falling out of his bun, and laughs and laughs.
“What?” Satoru asks, smiling curiously.
“I just love making you eat your words,” His friend says, eyes crinkled up into half-moons.
“Oh?”
“Hm.”
“If this is a bet, I bet neither of you’ll win,” Shoko chimes in, seemingly happy at the prospect.
Satoru looks up at the ceiling, at Itadori, who hasn’t moved an inch, and sighs contently, already excited for what’s to come. There’s no competition to be had in this, but if Suguru wants to believe there is, what else can he do but indulge his best friend?
Next to the new student, Nanami looks smaller than usual. He even looks softer than usual, his frown less pronounced, though Satoru doesn’t know if that’s because of the size difference or Itadori’s earnest expression as he speaks to him. It’s an oxymoron of the best kind, Itadori’s body language screaming gentleness when everything else about him screams at Satoru’s senses like a big, blaring alarm.
“Nanami!” Satoru appears in the space next to them and rocks back into his heels. Itadori, interestingly enough, doesn’t startle even a little. “I see you’ve met our new senpai.”
Nanami’s face spasms, shoulders drawing up to his ears. He’s cute, Satoru can admit it. “Yes.”
“I know how he looks, but you don’t have to be afraid,” Satoru coos, reaching out to pat his arm.
“I’m not,” Nanami grits out, shaking him off violently.
“Oh, well. You looked like it. There’s no shame in admitting it.”
Nanami begins to blush, two bright red spots high up in his cheeks. Suguru always gives him shit for riling up the first years, but it’s just so easy. “I’m not. He’s not that—No.”
Satoru gasps. “So you do find him scary.”
“No!”
“I’m sorry about this, Itadori-senpai.” Satoru turns to him, hand on his chest, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. “You know how first years get.”
“I’m not—”
“It’s okay,” Itadori says, clearly pressing down a smile. His eyes are warm as honey, crinkled around the corners, and Satoru would fall for it if he didn’t see the second pair, red as blood and not so warm. “I was only introducing myself to Nanamin. I think I ambushed you on your way to class, right? Sorry about that.”
“Nanamin?”
“It’s Nanami,” The aforementioned rolls out, looking like it’s not his first time correcting him.
“Right.” Itadori cringes. “Sorry.”
Nanami’s frown is back with vengeance, but the effect is lost on the blush that’s still there. Eyes narrowed, he observes them for a few short seconds and then sighs heavily. With a curt nod, he says his farewell, “Gojo-senpai. Itadori-senpai.”
Satoru watches Itadori as he watches Nanami vanish back inside the school and leans closer to him, lowering his voice conspirationally. “I think it’s the scars.”
“You think?” Itadori says, touching the scar on his lip.
“Uh-huh. They give off ‘scary, don’t touch’ energy. Or, 'scary, don't come close or I'll bite' energy,” Satoru nods sagely.
“Nanamin isn’t afraid of some scars,” He says amusedly.
Satoru tilts his head, curious. “How would you know?”
“Um.” Itadori freezes and then laughs nervously. “He just doesn’t look the type.”
Satoru hums and tries to calm the buzzing in his veins. This close, Itadori’s cursed energy feels magnetic, makes him want to come closer and closer to feel it in his body. It’s strange, no matter how attractive he may be. Historically, when faced with people who are categorized as ‘too much’, Satoru has always wanted to be as far away as possible, even if he learned to force himself to be indifferent towards them. Itadori makes him want the opposite; he wants to stick his hand inside his chest and feel it directly on his skin. Would it burn him? Itadori looks like he’d burn people if they got too close.
“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He says, and reaches out to wrap his hand around his arm. “I was very rude yesterday, wasn’t I? Shoko bet me I couldn’t stay quiet for more than five minutes at a time, and I had to prove her wrong.”
Itadori blinks down at his hand, then back at his face, and hesitatingly mumbles, “It’s fine.”
Satoru smiles, pressing his fingers into hard muscles. It’s unfortunate that he’s wearing his uniform jacket. “And you’re my new senpai. Independent studies, you said?”
“Yeah,” Itadori answers. It sounds like a question.
“I wouldn’t say that too often if you don’t want to be interrogated about it. People here are very nosy, you know?” Satoru tugs on his arm. “Not me, of course. How about a tour around the school?”
“Ah. That’s not necessary,” Itadori says, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
“I insist.”
“Really, Yaga already showed me around. And, uh. My classmate.”
“I insist, senpai,” Satoru repeats, his smile widening to show teeth.
Itadori’s eyes widen.
“That’s,” He says faintly. “So weird.”
“What is?”
“The—I guess I’m not used to—Um. Nothing.”
Independent studies can mean a wide plethora of things. Itadori is not a sorcerer name, but it’s a strange world they’re part of. He can imagine all sorts of scenarios that explain why Itadori isn’t used to being referred to as senpai, each wilder than the last. None of them would explain why he only reacted when Satoru used the honorific with him and not when Nanami did.
Poor Suguru, Satoru thinks gleefully. He lost before it even began.
Itadori winces at whatever he sees on his face.
“Not to worry, I’ve always been known as a generous person,” He begins, dropping his hand.
“Really?” Itadori asks disbelievingly, scrunching up his face.
“Yes!” Satoru laughs and rocks back on his heels. “I’ll strive to help you in everything you need, Itadori-senpai.”
Itadori reels back and unsuccessfully tries to hide his reaction. Then, he pauses and stares at Satoru with a sudden intensity that wasn’t there a single moment ago. Satoru lets him stare contently, wondering at what he sees. Everyone loves to have their own interpretations on who Gojo Satoru is; hardly any is ever accurate.
A gust of wind throws pink strands of hair over his forehead. He really is handsome. And big. And tall. Satoru, who has always been too tall for his age, has to crane up his neck to be able to look at his eyes, and what eyes they are. The question is at the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken: what is Itadori Yuuji? Certainly not human. No sorcerer is human, not truly, but he’s further away from it than most. He’s further away from it than even Satoru.
“That’s not necessary, Gojo-san,” Itadori says, low.
It’s not, but Satoru has an itch that he wants to scratch and a bet he wants to win. Having him as a prize will be a victory sweet enough to rot teeth.
“What grade are you?” Satoru asks curiously, tilting his head. “Grade 1, at least.”
“I’m a Grade 4 at the moment.”
Satoru scoffs. “Bullshit.”
“It’s true,” Itadori insists, serious.
“You don’t have anyone to vouch for you?” Satoru guesses skeptically. He understands that not everyone can see what he does, but how could they believe he’s anything less than a Grade 1? “I’ll do it.”
Itadori’s face does a strange thing: his eyebrows draw up in a minute frown, and then his whole expression grows slack, softer than it was with Nanami, his eyes—the brown pair—somehow warmer in the wake of it. Out of everything, this is what makes Satoru want to step back and put some space between them.
Of course, Satoru doesn’t move.
“That’s really, really not necessary. I don’t care much about my ranking. It’s not what I’m here for, you know?” Itadori shrugs.
“What’re you here for, then?”
Itadori hesitates and then says, “Killing curses.”
“They won’t use you to your full potential if you stay a Grade 4.”
“Use me?” Itadori echoes blankly.
“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Satoru asks, smile on his face.
“I’m here because free food and board in return for killing curses seems like a nice exchange,” Itadori counters, pushing his hair off his face. “I don’t need someone to point out curses for me to be able to find them. Whatever grade they believe I am is irrelevant.”
“Ah, I see. You were in that kind of independent studies.” Satoru nods, toying with the edge of his glasses. “You know, if I only relied on the Six Eyes to see, I’d have already tried to exorcise you.”
“What?” Itadori says, startled.
“Senpai, has anyone ever told you that you’re more curse than sorcerer?”
There are no remnants of the previous softness as Itadori takes a wary step back. Satoru mourns its absence at the same time he admires Itadori’s stance, seemingly ready to fight him if it came down to it.
“Yes,” Itadori says, his expression guarded.
“Yeah?” He echoes, licking his teeth. “It couldn’t have been someone who knew it as well as I do, but that’s alright.”
“I think he knew pretty well.” The words are soft enough to get lost in the wind. Satoru barely hears them.
“Mm. I’d like to meet that guy one day.”
Itadori stays silent, and Satoru thinks about people used to burning away everything around them. The man in front of him doesn’t look hurt at being compared to a curse, doesn’t look surprised beyond that Satoru said it out loud, if that.
“Don’t worry,” Satoru smiles at him. “I won’t try to exorcize you. You’re my new senpai; how could I ever do it? Besides, believe it or not, I like you very much.”
“You don’t know me.”
He taps the edge of his glasses with his pointer finger. “More than you think.”
Itadori fixes him with a stare he became used to a long time ago, the one where someone is wondering what exactly is wrong with him. Then, an outlier in the pattern:
Itadori exhales heavily, dragging his hand down his face. “Fuck, my life.”
“I don’t think I warrant that response,” Satoru pouts.
Itadori drops his hand, revealing warm, fond eyes. “You just called me a monster.”
“No, I said you feel like one.”
“Is that not the same thing?”
“Are you not a monster?” Satoru counters, lifting his chin.
“I am,” Itadori says simply, unrepentant in his admission.
Satoru takes a deep breath through his nose, exhales out of his mouth. “So, I already said no to the exorcism. How about a spar?”
“Not a chance,” Itadori retorts disbelievingly. “You’d wipe the floor with me.”
“I’d let you win the first one.”
Itadori laughs and somehow looks both surprised and not at the sound. Satoru rocks back on his heels, not bothering to hide his satisfaction at it. Itadori has a nice voice. Nice laugh. Nice smile, even with that scar on his mouth. Now that he thinks about it, and with Itadori so close, he realizes the scars might actually add something to his appeal.
“That confident, huh?” Itadori asks. “Aren’t you supposed to show some respect to your seniors or something?”
Satoru shrugs, grinning back. “You’re the one who said I’d win, senpai.”
“You might be used to easy opponents, Gojo-san, but I’d make you work for it."
“You wouldn’t be able to touch me.” Not if Satoru doesn’t want him to, at least.
“You sure about that?” Itadori says gently, as if he doesn’t want to hurt Satoru’s feelings with it.
“Why don’t you show me?” Satoru shrugs again, taking another step closer, and lets his glasses slide down his nose to reveal his eyes to the man in front of him. “Make me work for it.”
Itadori’s facial expression spasms before it settles into something indescribable. Satoru can’t help but feel smug at the effect he has on him and opens his mouth to keep having those reactions to himself, but then Itadori raises his hand, slow and intent as he pushes glasses back up the bridge of his nose, fingertips touching his skin.
Satoru freezes, unsure if he wants to back away or come closer. Infinity was up. He’s sure it was up. All his senses scream at him around Itadori, and of course Infinity is included in that, unconsciously or not.
Itadori drops his hand, and all the heaviness in his face melts off. He smiles, small and achingly genuine, tilts his head close, and says, voice lowered conspirationally, “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you all my ways. That’s what a senpai should do, right?”
“Right,” Satoru answers, heart pulsing in his throat.
“Just maybe not today.”
“Huh?”
Itadori’s smile widens, and he fully backs away, walking backwards. “It was nice meeting you, Gojo-san.”
“Now, hold on—”
“I have a meeting with Yaga,” Itadori explains, not one ounce of regret in his words. “He won’t take it well if I’m late. He, uh, doesn’t look the type.”
“Who cares?” Satoru retorts.
Itadori laughs and raises his hand in farewell. “I do. See you around, Gojo-san.”