The mountain trail was supposed to be a quiet walk.

Three sorcerers. A few first-grade curses dealt with. Nothing particularly difficult.

Satoru had insisted on bringing {user} along, naturally.

“Consider it a learning experience,” bitch had said.

It was never a learning experience.

For two years, whenever Satoru dragged {user} along on missions under the excuse of teaching them, it inevitably ended with him criticizing their technique, mocking their cursed-tool dependence, or finding some new and creative way to call them a loser.

He knew they were hiding something—Six Eyes had snitched on them, naturally.

He just had no idea what.

{user} had learned to endure it.

They had to.

They had come to this time for one reason: prevent the Star Plasma Vessel incident, save Riko Amanai, and—if everything went according to plan—keep Suguru Geto from ever becoming the man their original future had turned him into.

Two years of Satoru Gojo being an insufferable little shit was a small price to pay.

At least, that was what they kept telling themselves.

The twenty-one-year-old currently stood across the mountain, grinning beneath his sunglasses as though he'd personally invented the concept of being annoying.

Since {user} had arrived at Jujutsu High, he'd found endless ways to make their life miserable—as if being away from their boyfriend, the real one, wasn't enough already.

Their cursed technique was apparently as 'useless' as a mochi maker device. Their reliance on cursed tools was apparently pathetic. Their refusal to explain exactly what they could do was apparently suspicious.

Satoru had made a sport of it.

And {user} had endured every childish jab, every smug little grin, every “That's it?” and “You're supposed to be a sorcerer?”

Suguru walked a little ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, while Satoru wandered beside {user} with the casual arrogance of someone who had never encountered a problem he couldn't solve by being stronger than it.

“You know,” Satoru said, “most sorcerers actually use their cursed technique.”

A pause—one laced with a sense of superiority.

“Just saying.”

Suguru glanced back.

“Satoru.”

“What?”

“You've been saying that for two years.”

“And they still haven't improved.”

He grinned.

“I'm starting to think I'm a terrible teacher.”

“You're not a teacher.”

“I am one of the strongest, though—it’s an honour to learn by me!”

Suguru sighed.

{user} couldn't afford to disrupt the timeline any more than necessary. They couldn't explain why they were really there. They couldn't tell Satoru what was coming, couldn't warn Suguru, couldn't even reveal what their technique truly was.

So they let the strongest sorcerer of the era think they were a mediocre fighter with a cursed tool and an inexplicably strange amount of patience.

Then the air changed—{user}'s cursed energy flickered, and the younger Satoru's Six Eyes snapped toward them.

“...Huh?”

Something tore open several meters behind them.

Not a normal barrier. Not a curtain.

Something stranger.

A distortion in space that made even Satoru's expression sharpen.

Suguru turned fully around.

“What the—”

Someone stepped through, holding that same sense of godlike presence—except less obnoxious about it.

Same white hairs- just a bit less fluffy.

Same Eyes, covered- Just blindfolded instead of glasses.

The same face.

Except older, Much older.

Thirty. Holy fuck.

For one brief second, nobody moved.

Then the newcomer looked past the younger Satoru, completely dismissing the wide-eyed albino.

He gave a glance at Suguru—then tore it away just as quickly. It was painful to look anyway.

Straight toward {user}.

And froze.

All that smugness disappeared. Like—yeah. Yeah, that's home. His home.

“...Oh.”

His voice came out almost breathless.

“Fuck. Finally.”

Twenty-one-year-old Satoru blinked.

“...Is that me?”

The older man was already walking forward.

Suguru caught his arm.

“Wait—who are—”

“Later,” the older man dismissed rather naturally. But satoru, especially his younger self, had been rather stubborn.

“Who are you?- like-"

“Me.”

“You're—”

“Future me.”

Young Satoru's entire face lit up. Fuck yeah.

“Oh, this is awesome.”

The questions came immediately. So like the younger version—this twenty-one-year-old version who used to be curious and didn't blame himself and—

“Wait, so flying cars?”

“Not really.”

“Did they finally invent that mochi flavor I told you about?”

“No.”

“Boring. What about—”

“Enough.”

“Do we ever get a better uniform?”

“Barely.” That one, he considered important too. No worries, he'd get better ones for his future students—that is, if this timeline aligned with their plans and changed the future.

“Do I get stronger?”

Elder Satoru grinned. “Obviously.”

Young Satoru pointed accusingly at his future self.

“What happened to us?”

The taller white head shrugged. “Character development.”

“I hate character development.” The younger one moaned in annoyance.

That had been fun.

Right up until the older Satoru's attention shifted.

His expression changed instantly.

“...There you are.”

He crossed the distance without another word.

Satoru from the future—your Satoru—stopped listening.

Because he was standing in front of {user} now.

For years, he'd known they were alone in this altered past while he remained behind in a future that was slowly collapsing under the weight of everything they were trying to prevent.

He'd been supposed to wait.

That had been the plan.

{user}'s technique had already opened the path once, and eventually they would open another portal from this side so he could cross over properly.

Except Satoru had spent years thinking about it.

Years studying the traces left behind by the original temporal distortion, trying to figure out whether a door that had already been opened could somehow be forced open again from the other side.

He'd eventually found a way—he's never been one for patience either way, especially when it comes to getting his hands on {user}.

A ridiculous, unstable, borderline impossible way that only worked because {user} had already created the original passage.

He didn't particularly care whether anyone else complained—oh, fuck no, he'd done it.

And he had done it for one very simple reason:

He refused to make {user} pay another price just to bring him here.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

He'd rather tear a hole through time himself.

And now he was finally standing in front of them.

He'd spent two years without them—he wasn't going to wait another minute. His hands throbbed with the need to wrap around them.

Satoru reached {user} and immediately pulled them against him.

A kiss landed against their forehead.

Then their cheek.

Then another, softer one.

“Missed you.”

He ever so gently tilted their face, pressing his lips to the side of their temple- calming his own nerves that had been frayed since the past two years.

“God, I missed you.”

No hesitation. No explanation.

Just years of missing them compressed into one unbearably affectionate moment.

He held them closer, almost absurdly clingy for someone who had just appeared in the middle of a mountain trail.

“You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that,” whined your Satoru, as he liked to call himself—nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Hell yeah.

Meanwhile, Suguru stopped breathing—and twenty-one-year-old Satoru stopped functioning.

Neither had the slightest idea what was happening.

Something deeply offensive appeared to have occurred to the younger white head.

“Wait.”

The Satoru from future finally glanced over his shoulder, looking almost annoyed at the interference, as if peppering {user}'s face with kisses wasn't yet enough.

“Hm?”

Young 'toru pointed at him.

“What are you doing?”

Satoru looked genuinely confused.

“Kissing my partner.”

“Your—”

'toru gestured vaguely at the arm around {user}'s waist and looked at Suguru.

Suguru looked back.

Then both slowly looked at {user}.

“...Partner?” Suguru repeated.

Satoru smiled.

“Yep.”

The younger one's expression collapsed.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You're—I am dating them?” He sounded the way he did when someone once told him his favorite mochi flavor had been discontinued. Utter disbelief.

Your Satoru's smile became unbearably smug.

“For quite a while, actually.” Oh, how that man loved showing {user} off. His.

The younger Satoru's disgust was immediate. He looked personally betrayed by the universe.

“But they're a loser!”

The smile disappeared from older Satoru's face.

Suguru immediately muttered, “Oh, you're dead.” He knows his best friend, after all. Even if he's from future and shit—he knows the man ain't playing.

“They barely use their technique!” the younger one hurled.

“Mm.”

“They fight with cursed tools!”

“Keep going.”

“And I've been telling them for years that their technique is practically useless!”

Satoru slowly cracked his knuckles. No one talks about {user} like that, especially not his obnoxious good-for-nothing younger self—one he loathed until {user} taught him how to forgive.

Young 'Toru stared at him.

“...You're not seriously going to fight yourself over this.”

“I've been waiting two years to see my partner again.”

His grin returned.

“I'm feeling emotional.” Yeah, he rarely spoke seriously. Didn't need to when actions were intense enough.

Suguru stepped backward, raising his hands in exasperated surrender. Satoru and his antics—“I'm not getting involved.” Yeah, he'd rather tuck {user} beside his rainbow dragon and feed them KFC while these two disaster created an even bigger disaster.

Young Satoru scoffed.

“What is so special about them, anyway?”

The older Satoru looked at his younger self.

Then at the person tucked against his side.

His expression softened with an almost unbearable fondness. One he reserved especially for {user}—no, not reserved, one that came naturally only for them. His sweets.

“That's a very long story,” he mused.

'Toru folded his arms. “I've got time.”

Satoru looked at his younger self, then back at his partner, his grin turning unbearably proud.

“Oh, you'll find out.” Smug little bastard.

He leaned closer to his partner again, pressing another kiss to the whorl of their head, clearly enjoying every second of his younger self's growing disbelief.

“Eventually, you'll be the one begging me to explain.”

“Then tell me.”

“Why should I?”

His arm remained comfortably around {user}, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

“Besides, I think I'd rather hear what they have to say.”

Young Satoru looked between them, clearly unconvinced.

Suguru raised an eyebrow. Someone needs to calm these Satorus—two of them now, unfortunately—lest they reduce this mountain back to atomic level.

Satoru merely smiled at {user}.

“Well? Had fun?”

The neon sign outside the window buzzed with a dull, intermittent flicker, casting dirty hues of magenta and amber across the cheap downtown hotel room. Discarded clothes littered the faded carpet, and the flimsy headboard had already been knocking a steady, unapologetic rhythm against the wall.

Satoru- {user}'s lover, was pressed flush over them, his broad shoulders gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, totally lost in the heat of the moment—until the joint room's door clicked open.

"Hey, the water in there is freezing, are you sure this dump even has—"

The twenty-one-year-old Satoru froze mid-sentence, towel draped over one shoulder, his dark round glasses discarded. what the fuck.

For half a second, his Six Eyes went wide, taking in the entire, unhinged picture: his thirty-year-old self deeply entangled with {{user}} on a springy motel mattress. But instead of turning around or showing a shred of shame, the younger Satoru’s stunned silence immediately twisted into an intense, molten stare. His gaze raked slowly from {{user}}’s flushed skin up to his older self, his throat visibly bobbing.

"Ever heard of knocking, you idiot?" the older one growled, instantly throwing an arm out to jerk the thin motel comforter up, possessively shielding {{user}}'s bare body from view. He wasn't sharing the view unless you asked with your sweet voice, not even to his own self from another timeline- especially not to that. He glared over his shoulder, chest heaving with ragged breaths, thoroughly pissed off at having his rhythm ruined. "Get lost. Go take a walk around Shinjuku or something."

Instead of leaving, the younger Satoru actually let out a low, breathless whistle. He leaned lazily against the doorframe, his hands casually sliding into his low-slung uniform pants, though the fierce color rising on his neck betrayed how fast his heart was actually hammering.

"You're the one who picked a room with paper-thin walls and no locks on the inner door, old man," the younger one shot back, his voice dropping into something lower, rough around the edges. 'Maintain a low profile' was what they were supposedly trying to do. low profile? with all that moaning and whining? yeah, sure. He pushed off the frame, taking slow, deliberate strides toward the edge of the bed. His electric-blue eyes were locked onto {{user}}, brazen and entirely captivated. "Besides... you've been keeping them all to yourself since we got here. Seems pretty selfish, don't you think?"

"I'm their boyfriend, moron. That's how it works," the future Satoru snapped, clouded by his irritation and posessive protection. But as his younger self crept closer to the mattress, the annoyance in the older an's expression melted into something far darker, wicked, and amused. He liked being watched, but more than that, he loved seeing his past self completely brought to his knees by the mere sight of {user}. So much for someone who's supposedly hates the 'loser'.

The younger white head stopped right at the bedside, towering over them, his eyes practically burning holes through the sheets covering {user}. He rested a knee on the edge of the mattress, leaning down so his face was just inches away, cocky confidence barely masking his raw curiosity.

This isn't about love for him, not really- well, maybe that attraction he's felt since the day he saw them two years ago, or maybe that urge to see 'what's so special' because to him it is about bodies, yes it is. Emotions? nah, he doesn't do that. Never did, Never will. {User} for sure pulled some witch shit to pull that version- yeah, that must be it. sure.

"Move over," the he demanded softly, a crooked, arrogant smirk playing on his lips as his fingers twitched against the bedding. "I want in."

The older Gojo let out a low, vibrating chuckle right against {user}'s neck, his large hand sliding under the sheets to rest warm and heavy on {user}'s hip. He didn't move away, keeping his weight anchored over {user}, his dilated blue eyes full of filthy indulgence as he looked down at them.

Now this- was nice, like real nice, as long as {user} agreed ofcourse. He doesn't minds teaching his younger self, showing him the ropes if it's {user} he get to show off. Especially to this obnoxious bitchass- he really do wanna make him feel the thrill, and then disappear with {user} once this whole shit is over, leaving him in his misery until he's sweet 25 and meets them in this timeline. Or, in short, he wants to fuck {user} with his other self too.

"Well, sweetheart?" the older Gojo murmured, leaving the final call entirely in {user}'s hands. "What do you want to do? Should we let the kid join in, or should I throw him out the window?"

.........................