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“You’re late again as usual, Satoru.”
Satoru took in the sight before him. Suguru was leaning against the wall, hands clutching his gaping wound. His hair was a mess, with unkempt locks cascading across his face.
He looked like a painting. A beautiful tragedy.
“Are they safe? My family?” Suguru asked.
“Every last one of them.”
“I’m glad.“
Silence, accompanied by the wind gently ruffling Suguru’s hair. The same way Satoru used to.
The most striking part was that, despite the blood and mangled cloth on Suguru’s body, he looked so much better than he did when Satoru last knew him. Pale skin peeked out from the hole in his yukata - it was a healthier shade than the mottled and pallid skin Satoru remembered Suguru having in his last Jujutsu High days. The eye bags were gone. He was a healthy weight again.
The words he was reaching for died in his throat.
Suguru was the first to break the silence. “I’m a kind person.”
Satoru could’ve laughed.
“Unlike you, it seems,” he continued. “You sent those two on purpose, right? So that Okkotsu would be angry enough to lash out…”
“Maybe I did,” Satoru shrugged, eyes glued to Suguru’s wound and the blood seeping through his fingers. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing at all,” Suguru’s smile made him shiver. “I just wouldn’t say that sacrificing two students is like you, Satoru.”
A shaky breath.
“I trusted you. I knew you wouldn’t kill young Sorcerers for no reason.”
Suguru laughed - a strained, painful laugh. Satoru felt the blood rush to his head.
“You trusted me?”
“I always have.”
‘I always will,’ remained unspoken.
“Return this for me,” Suguru retrieved a plastic card from his pocket, beckoning Satoru to come closer.
Their fingers brushed in the exchange. The sparks spoke a thousand words.
Satoru had Suguru’s blood on his hands as he examined the card. Yuta’s ID.
“So the elementary school was you as well?” Satoru flicked the card in between his fingers, switching his gaze between the crimson staining his hands and the growing pool on the floor.
Suguru stuck out his tongue.
Pure nostalgia.
“You’re a lost cause.”
“Always have been.”
Satoru wanted to point out that it wasn’t true. Suguru had always been the light in his life, his moral compass. Despite swallowing horrors day after day, Suguru remained principled. He protected the weak.
He was Satoru’s faith. His northern star.
Until he snapped.
Satoru couldn’t even blame him.
Haggard breaths could be heard. A cloud of darkness spread across the floor.
“Do you have any last words?” Satoru asked absentmindedly.
Suguru contemplated. Satoru watched.
“I hate those monkeys,” he sighed, fingers curling into a flimsy fist.
A cold gust.
“But… I never had anything against anyone from Jujutsu High.”
Anyone.
Satoru couldn’t breathe.
“It’s just that, in a world like this, I can’t laugh from my heart.”
If that was all, Satoru thought that he was overreacting. At least he had a heart left, deep inside. Satoru wasn’t sure he could say the same.
“Suguru…”
Memories were flooding his brain. Lessons, missions, excursions. Hearty laughter, soft smiles. Tousled hair, creased uniform. Midnight whispers and afternoon naps.
Amanai’s lifeless body in his arms.
“You’re still my best friend.”
An amused chuckle, and direct eye contact for the first time in the whole conversation. Satoru clenched his fist.
Suguru wore a wistful expression. His lips stretched as far as his weary, bloodless body allowed, offering his best impression of a smile.
“At least curse me a little at the end.”
He couldn’t even if he tried.
-
Eight thirty-one. Satoru arrived.
He watched as the people mingled like ants. He knew it was a trap. An ambush. He dared them to try.
And they did. Jogo, Hanami, Choso. Irrelevant. He exorcised them without a sweat.
It was becoming tiring, the weakness amongst the ranks of curses. Satoru was entirely numb. He couldn’t hear anything except his own steady breaths, and his vision was tunnelled. He was roused only by the prospect of a worthy opponent, and then repeatedly disappointed.
Nine twenty-two. It all changed.
After defeating one-thousand transfigured humans in two-hundred and ninety-nine seconds, Satoru saw it. The prison realm.
He jumped away instinctively, sensing kicking into overdrive.
“Yo, Satoru.”
He short-circuited.
It couldn’t be.
But it was. His Six-Eyes told him so.
The same soft voice that called his name all those years ago. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of flowing black hair and purple eyes.
Suguru.
Something was wrong.
“It’s been a while.”
His best friend. The very person he killed with his own hands a year before.
Rationality said it couldn’t be him. Logically, it had to be a transformation technique but, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fight the memories of his youth.
Love is the most twisted curse of all.
Hope gets you killed.
In an instant, the box opened and Satoru was captured.
“Who are you?” Satoru yelled, enraged.
“Suguru Geto, of course. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about me.”
It was precisely because he couldn’t forget Suguru that he knew the truth. He could never forget those eyes, that smile. An imposter could never do it justice.
“My six eyes tell me that you’re Suguru Geto… but my soul knows otherwise. Hurry up and tell me who you really are.”
He watched as a grin broke out on the man’s face. Horrified, Satoru’s eyes followed his best friend’s fingers as they plucked the thread and tugged, removing Suguru’s skull. It was a grotesque sight, but Satoru wasn’t one to be squeamish. He found it sickening for another reason.
“How’d you know?”
How could he not?
It was clear that man was getting bored. “Goodnight, Satoru Gojo.”
Satoru smirked at that. “Maybe it’s ‘goodnight’ for me, but it’s about time for you to wake up.”
Hope gets you killed.
“How are you going to let yourself get used like that, Suguru.”
But he had to try, anyway.
It was so quick that he couldn’t even register what he was looking at, but upon further inspection he realised that the imposter was being choked by his own hand.
Suguru couldn’t let himself be disrespected even while dead. He was always too stubborn.
Satoru couldn’t help but laugh.
Hope helps you live.
“Well, this is a first,” the fake Suguru grinned.
Satoru could say the same. There was nobody quite like Suguru.
“Let’s just get this over with. This is nauseating,” Satoru grimaced.
That was the truth - he was sure that looking at the body of someone he cared about being treated so degradingly was a fate worse than whatever was about to come.
“Gate… close.”
He should have fought harder. He should have alerted the others, told them to run, warned them that the threat was bigger than they could have ever imagined. He should have thought about Nanami and the kids.
Satoru was just too tired.
Maybe a little bit of rest would be okay. He was sure he’d need a lifetime to recover from the moment of hope he allowed himself. Truthfully, a million years wouldn’t heal the wound that the sight of Suguru was sure to leave.
There was no use thinking too heavily - Satoru was slipping out of consciousness. No matter how hard he tried to grasp onto a coherent thought, he could only think of one thing.
If this was where it ends, he’d be happy. At least he got to hear his one and only’s voice, one last time.
-
Satoru isn’t sure how he ended up here, waiting for the train.
There’s a dull ache in his legs as he wanders around the station. The bright white lights are exacerbating the pounding in his head. He wants to sit down.
Sukuna, Mahoraga, Yuta, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara. The names float through Satoru’s mind, a distant memory. He can’t quite piece together what it means, but he feels like it was important to him at some point.
It must be a long time ago now.
He plops himself down on a bench. The train timetable board is empty, but he knows it’s coming. He’s not sure where he’s going. Home, presumably.
He’s sure there was something he needed to do, but it feels so good to let it all go. For once, the weight on his shoulders has been lifted. He feels like he can sleep for a million years.
It’s warm. A slight breeze ruffles Satoru’s hair gently, like the last spring of youth.
He senses the figure before he sees him. He’s adorning a familiar black uniform and a familiar heart.
Satoru laughs at the angry expression on his face. He knows why - he’s late. He should have been here years ago.
They’d never been able to stay mad at each other, so Satoru watches as the furrowed brows soften and the figure breaks out into a soft smile that he can’t help but reciprocate.
“Yo, Satoru.”