we're a bit late for ego

“You’re late... Satoru.”

For someone meeting his executioner, Geto seemed remarkably calm, leaning back against the dirty wall as if he was seated in a fine armchair, not cross legged on the ground of a dingy alleyway.

“To think you’d checkmate me...” His expression was at ease as he asked a question he already knew the answer to. “Is my family safe?”

Gojo didn’t look at ease. Then again, he didn’t look much of anything. He was no longer wearing his bandages, but he might as well have been, his eyes blank as he took in the way blood oozed out of the jagged wounds of the man before him. “Yeah, they all ran away. Those girls…”

Geto beamed. “Didn’t they grow up to be so talented?”

“They’re your family…” His tone was level, uncharacteristically so. No performative displays of curiosity or flamboyant taunts. You could say that he spoke with all the enthusiasm of someone reciting an encyclopedia, but Gojo Satoru was usually the kind of man who could make even that theatrical.

“Among others yes.” Geto didn’t seem bothered by his monotone, responding with his voice soft and gaze fond as he watched his old friend from the corner of his eye.

“You said that when I last saw you in Shinjuku. You said your parents weren’t your only family.”

He nodded understandingly. “Yes I did. If nothing else, I managed to prove that part true.”

And just for a second the monotone slipped. Just for a second a glimpse of something that hadn’t been seen for a decade crossed Gojo’s face. “Is it egotistical of me to say I wanted to think I was part of that?”

Geto broke out into a laugh that was more of a cough really, harsh and guttural, blood splattering as his body shook with each cackle. But even as the sound was jarring, it was just as warm.

“Satoru... Since when have you cared about having an ego?”