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“Why did you lie, Suguru?” Satoru murmurs, gently brushing his knuckles against Suguru's bruised cheek. He’s crouched in front of Suguru's form. His body lies still against the mouth of the alleyway.
He isn’t slumped. Even now. His back is flat and tall against the wall. He looks like he’s at the most peace he’s ever been in his entire life.
“Why did you lie to me?” Satoru asks again, another question that goes unanswered.
A single tear slips down his cheek. The Six Eyes weeps as it drinks in the everlasting expression on Suguru’s face.
“Goddammit Suguru. Why?” He whispers, kneeling down to hold Suguru's body close to his own. He cradles his head against his shoulder. A cruel reminder of the way Suguru used to soothe him from nightmares when the reminders of his failure would replay in his mind over and over again.
This close he can almost pretend that Suguru is still alive. He’s a solid weight against Satoru’s chest. He’s always been there. A heavy weight against Satoru's ribs. A heavier weight in his heart.
Now that Suguru is gone he can feel himself begin to crumble underneath the hollow space that’s left behind. He can feel his chest begin to cave in to reveal the depth of his worship and sorrow. A catacomb of adoration and remembrance, of understanding and guilt.
It feels like an open wound that has no remedy, no cure. Like a poison that threatens to rot him from the inside out. Like he’ll be left as nothing more than the husk of a body that used to say, I love you, that used to say, I’ll never love someone else the way I love you.
He doesn’t even think grief captures what he feels. He doesn’t think that there is any word to describe the feeling of the gaping maw where his soul is supposed to be, where Suguru is supposed to be.
He used to think that he and Suguru were cosmically destined to be together. That they would always be the strongest, together. He thought he would marry him one day. Grow old and die a natural death, slowly, together. Sometimes Satoru would dream about being buried next to Suguru.
That’s how it felt with him. When Suguru would come into his room, chain-smoke a pack of cigarettes and lay next to him on his twin bed. It felt like death. Calm, quiet, surreal.
Satoru lays Suguru’s corpse back against the wall and collapses beside him. He looks at him. Looks at the pallor of his skin, the sharp line of his nose, the sunken space beneath his almond-shaped eyes, the softness of his close-lipped smile. Satoru commits it to memory one last time.
He feels himself die just then, next to Suguru. Just like he used to dream about. It feels exactly the way he thought it would. Calm, quiet, surreal.
He gets up after some time.
Gojo gently picks up Suguru from the alleway and leaves himself behind.