Sugusato oneshots!

Bruised and battered

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the dense forest. Shadows danced beneath the thick canopy as Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto trudged their way through the underbrush, leaves crunching underfoot.

"This has to be the worst mission ever," Gojo muttered, brushing a branch out of his face. His uniform was torn, his usually pristine hair disheveled. The air smelled of sweat and blood.

"Maybe if you'd actually paid attention to the briefing, it wouldn't have been so bad," Geto shot back, wincing as he pressed a hand to his side, where a deep cut was slowly oozing blood. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, every step sending jolts of pain up his ribs.

Gojo turned to give him an indignant look, adjusting his crooked blindfold. "I was paying attention. It's not my fault no one told me these curses could split into a dozen copies."

"They did," Geto deadpanned, wincing as he limped beside Gojo. "You were busy trying to balance a pencil on your finger."

"Hey, I was practicing precision control," Gojo said, flashing that grin that usually got them both into trouble. But even his playful tone couldn't hide the concern in his voice as he glanced at the blood seeping through Geto's fingers. "You sure you're okay?"

Geto rolled his eyes, though the pain was clear in the tightness around his mouth. "I'll survive. It's not like I can leave you alone to finish a mission properly."

"Rude," Gojo huffed, though he moved closer, almost instinctively shifting his position to shoulder more of Geto's weight.

It had been a routine mission—or so they'd thought. A cluster of curses infesting a small village on the outskirts of Tokyo, nothing the two most powerful sorcerers in the world couldn't handle. But somewhere between exorcising the curses and realizing they were multiplying faster than they could eliminate them, things had gone sideways.

Now, the once-quiet forest was littered with exorcised curses, and the remnants of their explosive battle hung in the air like a ghostly echo. But they were alive. Bruised, bloodied, and exhausted, but alive.

After what felt like an eternity of stumbling through the trees, they finally emerged into a small clearing bathed in moonlight. Geto's legs buckled, and he sank down to the ground with a grunt, pressing a hand harder to his side to staunch the bleeding.

"Okay, you're definitely not fine," Gojo said, crouching down beside him. His joking demeanor melted away, replaced with a rare look of seriousness. "Let me see."

"Gojo—"

"Satoru," Gojo corrected, his voice softening. "Come on, let me help."

Geto hesitated, but the warmth in Satoru's voice made the tension in his shoulders ease. He relented, letting Gojo move his hand aside. The gash was deeper than it had seemed, a dark stain spreading across Geto's shirt. Gojo's expression hardened, and for a moment, Geto could see the fury beneath that carefree exterior.

"He's so annoying," Geto muttered, shaking his head. "He never listens when I tell him to back off."

But Gojo didn't answer.