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Bruised and battered-part 2

The clearing was silent except for the steady sound of Gojo's breathing as he inspected Geto's wound. Despite his usual carefree attitude, Gojo's hands were steady and focused as he pressed down on the injury. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting a soft glow on his furrowed brow.

"Hold still," Gojo murmured, his tone uncharacteristically serious. For once, there was no teasing or sarcasm—just a quiet intensity that made Geto's heart ache in a way he couldn't quite explain.

"Since when did you turn into a nurse?" Geto quipped, though the words came out more strained than he intended. The pain was starting to blur the edges of his vision, but he refused to let it show. Not in front of him.

"Since I realized you can't take care of yourself," Gojo shot back, but his voice was softer than usual, his hands gentle as he worked to clean the wound with a cloth from his pouch.

The air between them was filled with the familiar tension of words unspoken, the kind that lingered in the quiet moments after battle. It had always been like this—balancing on a knife's edge between camaraderie and something far deeper, something neither of them dared put a name to.

Geto watched him in silence, the way Gojo's silver hair caught the light, the crease between his brows as he concentrated. Even in moments like this, when exhaustion hung heavy in the air, Gojo was still... radiant. It was almost unfair.

"Stop staring," Gojo muttered, not looking up. But there was a hint of pink dusting his cheeks, barely visible under the moonlight.

"Can't help it," Geto replied with a faint smirk, the pain momentarily forgotten. "You're an eyesore."

Gojo snorted, but there was a softness to his expression, a warmth that made Geto's heart twist. "Yeah, yeah. Save your flirting for after you're patched up."

Geto opened his mouth for a witty retort, but it turned into a hiss of pain as Gojo tightened a bandage around his ribs.

"Sorry," Gojo said, though his hands were gentle as he finished securing the bandage. His eyes were hidden behind his blindfold, but Geto knew him well enough to see the worry etched in the lines of his face.

"Stop looking like that," Geto whispered, trying to sound annoyed but only managing a weak laugh. "It's not like I'm dying."

"You better not be," Gojo muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I didn't sign up for this job to be the last of the strongest sorcerers."

There was a pause, a beat of silence where the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, sitting in the moonlit clearing.

Geto's heart was still racing, but it wasn't from the pain anymore. There was something else, something raw and vulnerable in the way Gojo's hands lingered on his arm, as if afraid to let go.

"Satoru..." Geto said softly, the name slipping from his lips without thinking.

Gojo's breath hitched, and for a moment, all the bravado, the jokes, the cocky grin—everything that made Satoru Gojo who he was—seemed to fall away, leaving just a boy who was scared of losing someone he cared about.

"You scared the hell out of me," Gojo admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You're not allowed to die on me, got it?"

Geto's lips twitched into a tired smile. "You think I'd leave you to handle all this on your own? Please."

Gojo let out a choked laugh, his hands tightening briefly around Geto's arm before he pulled back, the moment slipping through their fingers like sand. "Yeah, well... don't get any ideas. I still need someone to keep me in check."

"You mean someone to drag you out of trouble?" Geto teased, the words coming out softer than he intended. "Face it, you'd be lost without me."

"Maybe," Gojo murmured, and for a moment, his voice was so quiet, so genuine, that Geto's breath caught in his throat. "But... I'd rather not find out."

There was something about the way he said it—something raw and honest, a rare crack in Gojo's usual carefree façade—that made Geto's heart stutter. He wanted to reach out, to pull Gojo closer, to close the distance between them that always seemed to exist no matter how close they were.

Instead, Geto just leaned back against the tree, letting the exhaustion seep into his bones. "You worry too much, Satoru," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

Gojo's lips twitched into a soft smile as he sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Good," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "Because I'd have to drag you back if you tried."

The two of them sat in the moonlit clearing, the chaos of the night fading into the background. For a moment, it was just the two of them, bruised and battered, but together.

And for once, that was enough.

Gojo reached out, hesitating for just a second before letting his fingers brush against Geto's. He didn't pull away, and neither did Geto.

In the quiet of the night, under the watchful eyes of the stars, they allowed themselves this one, small moment—two hearts beating in unison, two souls finding comfort in each other's presence.

"Let's go home," Geto murmured, his eyes still closed, his hand warm against Gojo's.

"Yeah," Gojo agreed, his voice soft. "Let's go home."

And for once, the journey back didn't seem so daunting. Not as long as they were side by side.