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The cold air nipped at Geto's skin. His pale cheeks tinged red, his lips cracked and dry. He gazed up at the bright sky, the sun burning his retinas as he stared. The bright light reflected off the freshly fallen snow, blinding anyone who dared look at it. The blankets of white were left pure for the most part. Still, a single set of footsteps ruined the otherwise perfect view.
"Suguru, you're here," the all too familiar voice called. Geto tore his eyes from the sky, looking towards the sound. There stood Gojo. His white hair was messy, as if he had just woken up from a long slumber. He looked to be in rough shape compared to his usual demeanor. Even his usually striking blue eyes appeared to be dull and lifeless.
"Satoru are you," Geto paused, his words stuck in his throat, "are you all right?" The truth was, Gojo hadn't said a word on why he had reached out.
A few months ago, around graduation, he had disappeared without a trace. His stuff was gone, almost as if he had never gone to jujutsu high in the first place. There was no note, no message left to indicate where he had gone off too. Geto was left alone to pick up the broken pieces left behind. The higher ups were in shambles without their strongest to help do their bidding.
Then, on this fateful winter day, a short letter arrived at his doorstep. All it asked was that he come visit a small residence outside of town. The handwriting was obviously Gojo's and he found himself unable to refuse. He wanted answers, he deserved the truth.
So here he was, standing outside in the snow, looking at his one and only best friend after months of nothing.
"Come in," Gojo said calmly, avoiding the question. Geto obliged, stepping by Gojo in order to enter. As he entered the residence it became clear how homely it was. The house itself was small but every piece of furniture, every decoration had a purpose. It felt like he had stepped into the home of an average man. But Gojo was not an average man, which made this all the more bizarre.
Gojo stepped in behind him, guiding Geto towards the living room. It was completely silent besides their soft breaths. Not even the clock made a ticking noise as it counted the seconds. They sat on the couch, Geto's eyes drawn to the older man once more. Now that he was closer, he could tell Gojo hadn't slept in a while. He had dark bags under his eyes and his clothes looked as though they needed to be washed desperately.
"Satoru," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. Gojo met his eyes, the two of them looking at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time. After a few minutes, it became clear Gojo wasn't going to speak first. Geto wanted to confront him. He wanted to scream at him. Yet when he spoke, all he could utter was-
"Let me help you."
He was upset, sad, and confused. But in the end, he wanted Gojo to be okay. Answers didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered as much as the pathetic looking man in front of him. Gojo was quiet, too quiet. Still, Geto stood and moved in front of him. He reached his left hand out, gently touching the other's cheek. Gojo's infinity was off which allowed for Geto's warmth to caress his cold skin. It was an intimate gesture, something they had never done before. Yet it felt right in the moment. A minute passed before Gojo spoke, breaking the painful silence.
