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Choso would like to say he is surprised, but he’s lived far too long (read: a little over two decades, but enough that it weighs heavily over his bones), to be any more than a little bemused at the cursed energy that permeates his home in droves. It, consequently, does not belong to Yuuji, who owns slim to none of cursed energy. His hackles rise as he tugs his boots off and slides his slippers on. In any other situation he would be bursting through the small, humble home, in search of his kid brother—but as it stands, he can hear Yuuji’s childish giggles embrace the content air and at the very least, his brother is enjoying himself.
He suspects it is someone from his clan—perhaps wishing to discuss further matters regarding his promotion to clan heir in the stead of the former successor running off to the USA, but when he slips past the foyer and saunters into the tearoom, puzzlement fills him at the sight before him.
It isn’t to say that Yuuji is the first to notice him, as more so, he is the first to acknowledge him. “Choso!” He cries out, in that delightful cheer of his, when he’s overcome with joy and struggles to contain it—any other time it would burn through Choso’s chest like molten lava, the fierceness of his love and devotion for his little brother but this is not that time. As soon as Yuuji is within reach, he takes him by the forearms and drags him behind him until he is all but shielded from prying eyes. Eyes, because he can feel the multitude of them, dense in the air and ever watching; their power is nearly papable as Choso levels his unyielding, stony glare on the singular figure that drapes himself along the back of Choso’s couch, as though he owns everything he touches. “What’s wrong?” Yuuji, not necessarily naïve but hopelessly confused, asks. For his age, Yuuji is remarkably perceptive. It’s a trait that Choso admires and often gloats about to those who will lend an ear—but it does not mean his brother is infallible. A child can be easily swayed, and by the cluster of candy discarded along the table in the centre of the room, he suspects his brother was bribed.
Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Choso casts a penetrating glance at his unexpected—and largely unwelcomed—visitor.
Gojo Satoru, is all his tall, lithe glory, grins provocatively through his shaded glasses. Despite his inability to do so, how Choso wishes he could wipe the smug look off those sharp features. Under the warm lighting of the dregs of sunlight, pouring in from between the gaps of billowing curtains, gleams alabaster skin and tousled snowy hair. He’s clad in typical jujutsu high uniform and distantly, Choso recalls that the young clan head had recently graduated. In any other circumstances, a begrudging congratulations would be in order, but Choso does not feel particularly friendly to the inheritor of not only the Six Eyes but Limitless, as well. Quite the heavy burden to bear, but Satoru wears it as though it is merely a fashion accessory rather than one of the most powerful techniques in existence.
“Kamo Choso,” Satoru greets, all wide smiles and muted too-blue eyes. “You’re late.”
Gritting his teeth, Choso bites out a clipped, “I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.”
Something like amusement curls Satoru’s smile into a smirk as he sinks into the plush cushions of Choso’s sofa. Those damn eyes, ever analyzing, watching, fall to a timid Yuuji, who cowers in his big brother’s shadow. “We didn’t—call this... a business offer, of sorts.” Choso frowns, attempting to recall any and all information he’s not only gathered on the Gojo clan (besides the obvious), and the politics related to meeting with the highly esteemed clan head. Yet, his position as clan heir is a fresh thing—to where it has hardly made it to the farthest side branches of the Kamo clan, and yet, here Gojo Satoru sits in his tearoom, unbothered and evidently here for a reason. As far back as Choso can recall, when he wasn’t skipping his tutoring lessons, the Gojo clan’s interactions with other clans have always been rather... stilted. The only genuine connection shared amongst the three being their status, and that they reluctantly deferred to the Gojo clan as the strongest when a child was born with the Six Eyes and Limitless.
There is no buried string between the Gojo and Kamo that could warrant this impromptu meeting, and Choso feels awfully skeptical as to the clan head’s ulterior motivations.
Right. Politics—a nasty thing, but a necessary evil in a world so rampant with vain traditionalists and those clutching pathetically at the practices of ancient times. Elders and their insistences—no, demands, that they maintain a level of civility between clans is the only reason Choso offers a firm but begrudging nod. “Let me put my brother to bed, then.” It’s not exactly politically correct to abandon his guest so abruptly, not without entertainment, but Choso takes it as a minor victory; a quiet defilement of what is to be expected—demanded of him for the entirety of his life, even as clan head. For Yuuji, he tells himself, and hopes it is enough. In a broad gesture, Satoru throws his hand out, universally recognized as, be my guest. Glowering, Choso silently ushers Yuuji away from the tearoom and down the hall, strolling past his bedroom adorned in childish decor and to where Choso’s bedroom remains, the farthest in the house away from the tearoom. Carefully, he picks up his suspiciously silent brother and settles him along the comforters of his king size bed, watching as its sheer size dwarfs Yuuji. It would be an amusing sight any other night, but tonight, he finds that he feels oddly solemn. “Did you eat the dinner I left in the fridge?” His first priority will always be his brother, and if Yuuji has not yet eaten, then he supposes Satoru will just have to wait longer.
Yuuji nods shyly, with tears teeming along the corners of his eyes. Choso frowns, and with a tender hand, brushes them away, silently asking why. Yuuji’s frown vandalizes his round features in that instant. “Am I in trouble?”
A pain resounds throughout Choso’s chest, settling deep within him and making a place for itself within the cavity of his chest. Another failure he adds to his growing list. “No, never.” It’s hard to feel genuine anger regarding Yuuji—he has known too much heartache, too much loss for a child so young, so unaware—how could Choso ever deny him childish innocence? He brushes a hand through soft, sakura-pink locks and watches in amazement, as Yuuji’s eyelids flutter in content. For Yuuji, he would do anything, even sell his soul to be a clan heir. If it meant garnering Yuuji a permanent place in the clan—a means to support him until he no longer needs Choso, then so be it. No longer will Yuuji be overlooked as a non sorcerer—no longer will he be the dirt beneath a man’s foot. He will be the clan heir’s little brother—the clan head’s little brother, he amends. “It’s not your fault our... guest has no manners. You were only being nice.” He sighs, born of exhaustion so deep he fears it sits with the marrow of his bones. “In the future, however, please refrain from allowing strangers in our home, no matter what they say. Even the ones we trust,” very few of those exist, but it should be mentioned. “Your safety is my priority, Yuuji. Please remember that.” With that, he brushes a chaste but kind kiss along Yuuji’s temple. “Sleep,” he tucks his brother in and watches as the boy practically sinks into the cushiony mattress. “You’re safe.” He promises. Yuuji’s smile as he falls into slumber is a small thing, but one he relishes in and uses a shield as he vacates his bedroom and locks the door behind him.
If things were to truly go south, he knows a lock will not stop a man with both Limitless and Six Eyes, but it’s the thought that counts.
Gojo Satoru sits where Choso left him, lethargic in nothing but appearance. “You’re back,” he mindlessly comments, his eyes tracking Choso’s every movement.
Choso briefly considers preparing a kettle of tea but then decides that the effort is not worth it for a man who all but invited himself in to Choso’s abode. “You mentioned a business offer.” The clan heir says without preamble as he takes a seat across from Satoru, taking in his utterly relaxed posture and for a moment, he envies him. He has nothing to fear, nothing to truly lose because he is the strongest—he can take and take, and never has to give. He has not known what it is to sacrifice, and Choso burns with jealousy so hot it is blinding.
Like most things that are too overwhelming to conquer with just his will, he shoves it into the recesses of his mind that he dutifully ignores. It’s better to be calm, not relaxed—always prepared, always ready for the next shoe to drop; but a facade of serenity goes a long way, Choso has learned. Satoru’s smile dims for all but a moment, yet Choso’s keen eye catches it and files it away for later evaluation. “I suppose, first things first—a congratulation is in order for your recent ascension to clan heir.” Ah, so he does know, then. Fantastic, he thinks grimly. “I hear the former—what was the rumour? Bastard son turned clan heir—that’s quite the story; talk about climbing the ladder. Then again, I suppose it doesn’t matter—I hear he’s run off to America.” He shakes his head in a faux show of disappointment. His words sower Choso’s mood.
All pretenses of civility forgotten, Choso levels a glare upon the man, allowing it to simmer and burn in a manner that he knows to be uncomfortable—yet Satoru does not so much as squirm, much less appear unsettled. As to be expected for the strongest—Choso isn’t sure what he thought would happen. Perhaps his anger is truly getting the best of him. He had known Noritoshi—although not anymore than a passing acquaintance—he was strict and overbearing regarding his duties, but he was not without his attachments. He had a fondness for the children of the clan, and at times, his generosity extended itself to Yuuji. Any bad-mouthing of the circumstances of his birth would not be tolerated, no matter any titles that should supposedly be respected. After all, Choso’s own situation bore a similar resemblance to Noritoshi’s and that could not be ignored further in this decidedly less than friendly chat.
“If you came to disrespect my relative—disowned or not—and thought I would join in on the bastardization, you are sorely mistaken.” Choso admonishes with a scowl. Unconsciously, he itches the strip of black along his nose—he suspects soon that the tattoo will fill the gossip mill once more, just as it did when he had first garnered it during his rebellious teenage years. A clan heir with a tattoo. How scandalous, truly.
A hum of amusement, or perhaps, acknowledgement. “Is it talking ill or merely stating facts?” Satoru wonders aloud. He shrugs. “I can see it’s a touchy subject,” he says in a cheeky manner that has Choso’s hackles rising to an all-time high. “So I’ll let it rest.” Choso suspects it will not be the last time he is hearing of it, much to his misfortune.
Barely restraining an eye roll that would scandalize the most lenient of his teachers, Choso forces out a terse, “Your business offer?”
Satoru swats his words away as though they are nothing more than a bothersome fly. “You didn’t attend Jujutsu Tech, right?”
Crossing his arms, Choso says, “No. I was largely self taught... due to unfortunate circumstances.”
“Right,” Satoru replies in a way that Choso knows to mean he has gleaned all this information already and is only prodding Choso for any weak points. He will be disappointed to find that his past, although painful and draped in gloomy shadows, is not something Choso chooses to cower from. “There’s an interesting rumour that the Kamo clan was unaware of your existence for a while—it was only until a sorcerer with the blood manipulating technique unique to the Kamo clan showed up on their radar that they located you. And with a kid brother, with no cursed energy to boot in tow. Imagine that.”
Choso frowns at the mention of Yuuji. “I fail to see the relevance. The past is the past, for a reason. As you can see, I’m generally accepted by the majority of the clan.” Largely in due to the fact he had inherited the Kamo clan technique and had become shockingly proficient at it, with no official training. His prowess could not be neglected by the elders for longer, who—unlike the great sum of rumours surrounding Choso would suggest—were always aware of his existence but had chosen to ignore the homeless boy and his fumbling, kid brother who was only a babe.
“That you are,” for whatever reason, this sparks a laugh out of Satoru. “Real pieces of shit, aren’t they?” It startles Choso enough that he outwardly blinks, bewildered. “Clan elders, I mean.” Despite his grin, his eyes are unmistakably dark. Pure, unfiltered loathing encompasses those larger-than-life irises. Choso finds that he cannot blame him, and on this, they agree. Clan elders are nothing but the lowest of the barrel; a bag of bones desperately grasping on the remnants of what once was.
Despite quietly agreeing, Choso is growing impatient. “Again, what is the point of this meeting?” I don’t appreciate your interacting with my brother. I would prefer he remains as separated as possible from the jujutsu world, if circumstances allow.”
Satoru sighs, something resigned, if only a bit reluctant. “See, I don’t get that. I mean, why accept the promotion to clan head? Wouldn’t that put little Yuuji in the centre of this mess?” Rather blithely, Satoru rests his chin on the back of his hand, propped up by the arm of the sofa.
This, he finds, he can be honest about. It’s no secret that Choso's motivations are terribly selfish at heart. “I’m guaranteeing Yuuji’s success in life—with a clan’s backing, he can attend any schools he wants; anything he wishes for, any place he dreams to see, is his. It’s unavoidable, yes, that he would be caught up in the politics of it,” how Choso loathes to admit it, but it is the damning truth. Another failure among many, but an unavoidable one. “But it’s for his future success. It doesn’t mean I wanted him conversing with the clan head of the Gojo clan, however.” He narrows his eyes pointedly at the man sat across from him. He garners a sheepish smile in return.
“He’s cute,” Satoru decides on, humour filled. “Good head on him—although he has quite the sweet tooth.” He glances dance to the table in between them, where various colourful wrappers are discarded. “I would keep an eye on that.” He chuckles, “Then again, I shouldn't talk.”
Despite everything—largely because of Satoru’s unwanted presence, Choso preens at the slight praise, because, yes, Yuuji is cute and yes, he has a good head on him! Finally, someone recognizes that. “I rarely give him candy so close to bedtime,” he mutters, regretfully. It’s a miracle that he went to bed at all, but he suspects it will be a short slumber—he will probably awake once the sugar truly sets in.
“Guilty,” Satoru chortles, the sound light and uniquely memorizing, as it embraces the gentle air of the room. “I can’t help it. There’s something hilarious about a kid high on sugar.” He shrugs. Abruptly, he leans forward and rifles through the candies littering the surface of the table until he finds a bright yellow wrapper and carefully tears it apart, popping the gummy candy into his mouth with a pleased groan. Choso shifts, unsettled. “Can’t go wrong with honey,” he glances up, making eye contact with Choso as he licks his lips and asks, “want one?”
Choso, with a slight flush to his cheeks, quietly shakes his head in dissent. As if that didn’t get the message across, he says, “No, thank you.” His grandfather, before his death, had instilled the importance of proper manners into him in all ways but beating it into him. The image of a pink tongue darting between glossy lips, trailing saliva along their plump surface, flashes through his mind, traitorously, and Choso fights the image down into the convenient recesses of his mind.
“Not a sweets guy?”
“I prefer the taste of salt,” really, what has his life come to that he would be debating sweet VS. salty with the head of the Gojo clan? Has he finally lost it?
Satoru purses his lips. “That just won’t do, y’know.” Bemused, Choso cocks his head in question. “I guess now is as good as any time; I have an offer, and if you accept, I think you would find it to be mutually beneficial.”
Choso, who had relaxed, only slightly, stiffens at the earlier mentioned business offer. He squints and taps his fingers idly along his biceps in impatience. “And what would that offer be, exactly?”
“To put it simply, a proposal, and I mean that literally.” Choso’s brain short circuits, as he fails to truly grasp the meaning of Satoru’s words. “You see,” he sounds deeply pained to admit this. “The Zenin haven’t been content with recent standings in terms of clan hierarchy. They’ve deigned to branch out and arrange a marriage between their heir and the heir of another smaller but prominent clan, in hopes of spawning stronger, more powerful successors.” Choso’s fists fall to his lap, clenching, unconsciously. “I don’t really care for it—I can’t be bothered with the politics of this clan shit, to be honest. But my clan elders are getting antsy. They feel threatened—for whatever reason. Maybe it’s the show of power, I couldn’t care less. It would be easier to do away with them all, but that doesn’t fix anything, y’know? They would just replace them.” He shakes his head, “They want me to marry a girl from a clan I can’t even recall the name of.” He shivers in disgust and Choso fails to stop the raising of his eyebrow at the childish display.
“And how does this involve me?” Choso shoves off of his tongue with great reluctance.
“Besides our obvious romantic chemistry,” Satoru retorts with heavy sarcasm. “I figured it’s a great way to fuck over my elders while still technically fulfilling their orders.” He grins and adjusts his glasses until they fall to the bridge of his nose and the full weight of Six Eyes rests on Choso. It’s unsettling to know he is being watched and picked apart by something he will never quite fathom. “After all, what’s the point of a marriage that can’t spawn an heir?”
“You want to use me, then.”
Satoru clicks his fingers. “Yes! Exactly that, now you’re getting it. When I heard about your ascension to clan heir and, subsequently, Noritoshi’s defection, it couldn’t have been better timing. I had settled with having him as my future husband, but you’re definitely easier on the eyes.” He cocks his head, his glasses slipping further until the entirety of his eyes are visible. They are a jarring rainbow of blues, swirling and bleeding together, bright and charged with such power that it is near tangible in the air, like currents of electricity wafting through Choso’s veins. He straightens on instinct, knowing in that moment he is prey to something larger than his own eyes can perceive. “You’re strong, and I like that. Your special grade status is not unsurprising, I’ve read your files.” Choso doesn’t bother to question how he managed to obtain his confidential files—he’s almost certain this man has connections at the ripe age of nineteen that Choso could never dream of. “I can’t have somebody who has their head up tradition’s ass, but I can’t have someone weak—with no momentum to change anything.”
Beneath all of his word vomit, there is an underlying question, one that Choso is suspecting means more than the flashier marriage proposal. “What do you really want?”
Satoru grins, and it is then that Choso realizes that all his previous smiles were nothing but facades upon masks; this, this is the real him. Shark-like and cunning. A man of strength and intelligence—the deadliest of combinations. “On the surface? A marriage that will unite the Kamo and Gojo clan, and therefore get the elders off our backs—even if I’m sure they will nag about the lack of an heir. Privately, between you and me?” The way he says it—it’s almost... intimate. Choso finds that he is earnestly conflicted about how to feel about the low cadence of Satoru’s voice, and how it doesn’t immediately repulse him. “I want to change our current society—make a world where the young can experience youth. Strength will be crucial. I want them to protect each other.” There’s an unspoken story there, one he is itching to know, despite himself.
It’s... an admirable dream, admittedly. One, regrettably, Choso could find himself subscribing to. It’s all he wants for Yuuji, after all. “Then why come to me?” Choso asks, and watches the minute tick of Satoru’s mind, how the cogs turn as he contemplates his next thoughts.
“I think you’ll find our goals align. You want to shape a worthy world for Yuuji, and I want to create a world where we are not burying our youth prematurely.” Choso inclines his head in assent, finding it difficult to disagree. “I can’t do it by myself—I may be the strongest, but changing a society takes more than just strength. I intend on joining Jujutsu Tech as a teacher in the coming years to teach the students, to ensure their individual strength and consequently, survival.” He crosses his arms as he leans into the back of the sofa. “It won’t leave me with much time to watch over the elders and their actions, not when I’m moulding young minds.” He sounds amused at the notion, but utterly devoted. “I need someone, a partner, of sorts, to keep an eye on the clans. On a purely professional level, of course.” Choso finds the most apt word to describe the perpetual look in Satoru’s eyes, despite their intensity, to be distant. There is hardly any real emotion that fuels his words, barring his conviction and it isn’t all that surprising that the man infamous for his ability to create infinity between him and the entire world, is also as emotionally detached as the chasm between him and any other person on the daily.
“And what do I have to gain out of this?”
“You wish to guarantee success for Yuuji? With the Gojo clan backing him, he can reach the moon, if need be. Our assets are extensive. We are in no shortage of funds.” A bribe, then. And one that is greatly alluring. The Kamo clan is by no means poor, but in contrast to the Gojo clan, they are a pebble. It’s tempting, so, so, tempting. Satoru is right—with the backing of the Gojo head, Yuuji would never worry about a cent in his life; it would no longer be survival, it would be living. And what more does Choso want than that?
“You wish to arrange a marriage between you and me—I can only assume this is to explain away rumours of our closeness, in the event that I would agree—and then have me keep an eye over not just my clan’s elders, but the Gojo’s, also? While you... mould young minds...” It’s a such a funny thought that it ignites the tiniest of smiles along his face. “I have to agree. It would be easier to do away with them all, instead.”
Satoru barks a laugh at the confession. “I knew you weren’t all stoicism and overprotectiveness!”
Choso, not bothering to restrain his eye roll, crosses his arms once more, defensively. “I have other traits.” He murmurs, rather childish in nature.
Satoru's gaze roams appreciatively down his frame, leaving goosebumps in his wake that rack through Choso’s body. “I can only imagine,” and Choso is most definitely not missing the innuendo in his words. “So, what do you say?”
Shifting uneasily, he thinks of Yuuji, curled up in his bed, nestled in the thick blankets. Young, unaware, but never naïve, but achingly loving, regardless. He deserves so much—and if it is within Choso’s grasp to give him everything, shouldn’t he? Consequences be damned, if this brings the eventual fall of the Kamo clan and their elders, through whatever convoluted plan Satoru has devised, then let it be his revenge—and the threshold to Yuuji’s future.
“I accept your proposal.”
In the grand scheme of things, his life is forfeit always, when it comes to his little brother. And Satoru, the bastard, who sees everything and knows too much, has surmised this from the start. Mutually beneficial, he had said—and he understands now, that this is nothing but a partnership of using each other. Yes, purely professional, even as Satoru’s weighted gaze remains on him, far too heavy to be anything other than scheming. “I look forward to working with you, fiancé.” Despite his lack of reservations, Choso cannot help but feel as though he has made a grave mistake in that moment—and he can take it back; with no contract, it’s entirely possible to pretend none of this happened, but he won’t. Choso doesn’t fall back on his word, and in what seems to be a forever law sewed into the fabric of the universe, Choso will not waste away an opportunity for Yuuji even if it means his eventual downfall, too.