Chapter Text
At first came raging confusion.
"Suguru, explain yourself." Yes, an explanation. To make him understand, to calm him and make him stop the bleeding of his palm at the squeeze of his friend's pin. It just didn't make sense. Yaga Masamichi handed him Geto's pin along with the news of him dropping out of school. Unreal.
And then he got a call from Ieiri Shoko saying she met with Geto at Shinjuku. He ran nonstop, scowering the area for the one boy who was his all, one he found admist the many people.
"There's nothing much else to it." He spoke empty, already knowing what Gojo wants to know. It only angers the other further.
"So what, you're just going to drop out of school?! That's it then?!" He yells, tunnel vision making him unaware of those who stared. Geto's silence encourages him to say more. "What.. What are you trying to do?! Stop standing there acting like there's a meaning to this!" Seeing Geto stay silent fuels his tone, exasperated.
Geto smiles, but he doesn't look at him. Hasn't properly looked at him in weeks. "..A meaning, huh?" It's better this way. If he looks at Gojo, he'll break. "There is one. A purpose, even."
"No there isn't!" Gojo screams, silencing his friend and arousing mumurs around them. "Just what are you trying to do?" He knows something is wrong, something has been wrong from a while. He's not angry, he's not. He doesn't want Geto to think he is. He's confused, he's worried. So worried, but his mouth is betraying his mind. "You wanna become famous or somethin'?!" Stop. Stop talking. "Dropping out of school won't help you achieve that!"
"That's pretty arrogant." Gojo flinches. "It'd be possible for you, wouldn't it?" Geto stares at the floor, a small frown touching his worn out face. "If it's possible for you.. can you really go around telling people that it's 'impossible'?"
Gojo blinks. "..The hell are you trying to say?" He opens his mouth to speak again, only to be cut short by the other's voice."If I could become you then..." And he doesn't continue. Or maybe he does, but Gojo couldn't hear what he said. Geto turns and begins to walk off. He's leaving. He's leaving and Gojo watches.
All his life being told he's special. Enough. Where does that come into play now? Those praises, do such words have any meaning now? Enough he is not, he realizes, such lies are the reason he stands as he watches his sun set, flowing through seas of faceless humans.
There's a hand blocking his view. His hand, it's his hand, and it trembles with violent desperation. Reaching and reaching, stretching for known warmth. "Listen to me!" A selfish approach, truly. "Don't think of anything strange, just come here." Hushed melodies stir in lonely manner, unheard and only acknowledged by his pumping heart. "Because I'll listen to you," A dropping hand. Understanding. In this flash of a moment, he realizes his ways were wrong. "So please," He doesn't want to loose him. "Say something."
All for nothing because thoughts were not verbal. His light swims further out, barely recognizable in between many souls, until soon he disappears, unknowingly becoming the last time he would be seen in the vibrant light of day.
✬
It's quite unforgiving, the weather. Gloomy. Rainy. It felt as if the skies took a bite of his melancholy, throwing it back out in mocks of stinging rain. He feels ridiculed with cold agony swimming through his lungs, punching through his bones the closer he is to his destiny. Loveless mist surrounds the area around him, dampening him and the brittle flowers he carries.
With no fault, in the past eleven years, Gojo Satoru suffers the same events of the day. Whoever said it gets easier each time was wrong. Why is it that, with each step, it only gets harder? Had Gojo Satoru not have such a heavy heart, would it be easier?
Millions of silenced souls are all what he walks upon, disturbing their peace all but again. Heavy limbs drag him forward toward the tomb of his friend, uncaring of his fatigue. It gets harder to sleep the closer it gets to the day it all ended. He's barely able to muster the strength to look at the withered stone.
The stone which belongs to his best friend, his one and only Geto Suguru.
A horrendous fate. Cruelly torn from eachother's blood, the sight never vanishing from darkness. He who became nothing in front of him. If only he knew, back then, he will visit the grave of his secret lover for years on...
His first and last everything was as beautiful as it was deceiving. Gentle, full of color—at least to him. Truthfully, his partner was an excellent liar. Geto, for better and for worse, knew how to trick the world and distract the eyes that watched him with his sweet acts. Like a flower, he would begin to rot once the heavenly hands of the rough beings above yanked all he loved. Rotting and rotting until it dissolves slowly, and with it's fallen petals falls the soul.
It was an unfortunate ending, but God was never nice to either of them. From the start, their story was already written out. Nothing, not even Gojo's intense love, could help save Geto from his heartache.
After all, no matter how strong one may be, no amount of water can save a dying flower.
The cold has his legs buckling under such intensity. He squats, setting down the beautiful bouquet of flowers that had captured droplets of God's tears. Humidity wraps around him, drowning him with hateful nausea.
Poor Gojo Satoru, alone in this terrifying storm. Raising a hand, he shelters his friend's tombstone with all his might from the crying stars. Years caused the stone to shatter little by little. It was never sturdy to begin with, and just like it's owner it began to scream back in silence. Longing, wanting, needing just a pinch of care. Fine cracks bleeding— always bleeding. A constant reminder of the horrific truth.
Such a lonely stone. It's suffering was taunting; displaying everything Geto Suguru once was and everything he will never be again, it reflects what Gojo currently feels.
He feels disgusting. It's been eleven years. Eleven years and he has still not found the nepenthe, so he can't find surrender.
His sticky fingers reach for contact with his cold friend—he briefly wishes for Geto's hand to somehow reach back and grasp his own—and trembles at their touch. Rough and soaked, but he did not dare remove his skin. This was all he has left of his souls companion.
How could they start over again?
Where did everything go wrong?
Questions as such were nothing to the Gods. Never has he received an answer, and maybe it's better that way. Some sort of mercy, perhaps, or since he's a pathetic excuse of a man, he is not worthy of care.
Gojo rises to his feet, brushing away the remnants of his best friend's presence. He wishes he could do the same with these haunting memories that cling to his mind like shadows, to be able to wipe away the unshed tears that linger on the precipice of his emotions. To be able to exorcise such curses... it would be a gift from God.
It's at this precise moment when Gojo Satoru's insticts began to tingle with ominous foreboding. The fine hairs at his nape tickle, stiff and prickly like cacti in a desert, pleading for his attention. His robotic body, trained to react swiftly in face of danger, echoes this silent alarm. Unsettling, such a sick feeling washing over him makes his blood scream. An acute awareness of something, or rather someone, watching him. Today, in this sacred space, for the first in decades he is not alone.
A sudden, almost instinctual jerk of his head, Gojo's sharp azure eyes locks onto an enigmatic figure with obsidian attire, as if composed directly of the shadows. Unwavering. Direct. It's gaze bore into him, as though peering not just at his exterior but delving deep into the depths of his very soul. Raw. Naked. He shivers. Being stripped bare by the piercing scrutiny of a solitary pair of eyes, he does not move.
To muster a reaction would be an exercise in futility; the shadowy presence decides to break it's silence. Perhaps, it senses the profound guilty grief that had taken root within Gojo, a grief that has become a near constant companion in his tumultuous life.
"Would you like to save him?" The voice inquires, words carrying weight that transcends material realm. Each syllable wove an eerie, entrancing melody that soothe his jangled nerves. Gojo's core resonates with raw emotions long held captive, struck by such a wavering sentence. As if aware of his lingering hesitancy, the voice continues, "Your friend."
Emotions swirling within him like a tempestuous sea, Gojo's gaze remains fixated on the figure before him. How marvelous. A few moments ago, was he not whispering fervent pleas to the universe yearning for his desires to be filled? Did the celestial guardians finally cave?
It was funny, in a way.
All he ever wanted was to live beside Geto Suguru for the rest of his life. His happiness drowned out Geto's silence, and such actions had consequences. Memory of cradling his friends decaying corpse began to swarm his brain. Desperate, overwhelming helplessness, such guilt never left him– but now it's stronger than ever.
This... fragile thread kept him connected to this world. A way of coping, of grappling with the pain and regret that consumes him. A ridiculous question. No such thing is possible. He's no clue why such a question was able to stump him.
From the start, Geto's fate has been decided by a higher power. Such a kind and empathetic heart, would always be his doom no matter what. To save Geto Suguru? It was nothing if not a fantastical dream. Hell if it was possible, saving him would mean venturing into uncharted territory of uncertainties. A leap of faith, an invitation to a future cloaked in shadows.
An opportunity he'd seize without hesitation, a race against time to reunite with his cherished friend. To hear the infectious laughter, to relish the sound of his voice, to feel the warmth pulse of existence.. A tragedy, he's beginning to forget. Cruel betrayal of his own mind, slowly erasing vivid images of his beloved friend.
The creature, long vanished in between silence, left behind particles of faded love. Said particles fly onto his face, spooking him out of his enchantment. Looking around, seeing the haunting shadow gone, he strides away, allowing the enigmatic encounter slip from his consciousness. Maybe the exhaustion is finally eating at him.
Gojo journeys back is.. unremarkable. As he travels the dimly lit streets, where the rain has finally relinquished its relentless assault, leaving behind only the faint, ethereal echoes of departed raindrops. It's evident how late it is, cold world appearing desolate, devoid of its usual bustle of life.
Tomorrow is a work day, one burdened by the added weight of being Monday. As a teacher, he looks forward to seeing his students. To see their excitement, to share dreams and ideas, hoping to inpsire youth in forms of art– the sole reason he became an art teacher. He sucks at his job, though, seeing as he doesn't have any lessons planned out. But it's his only source of joy.
Arriving at his front door- not his, it actually belonged to Geto, Gojo only moved in to keep his memory close- he fumbles for his apartment key. With a soft click, the door yields and he steps inside the quiet stillness of a broken home. Maybe it's because of the earlier encounter, but for a second he imagines Geto welcoming him back with his charming smile.
Yet again he's greeted with nothing but silence. Door slamming shut with a resounding thud, a testament to his weariness (he briefly hopes it wasn't loud enough to wake his kid up), he drags himself to the bedroom. Steps, heavy and laced with fatigue, his days of restlessness affecting his eyes, and he collapses onto the bed. Wooden floors groan in protest, awakening deeper pleas for slumber. Laying flat on his back, he makes no move to remove his shoes and instead simply eyes the area while sinking into the bed's comforting embrace, alone with the ghosty warmth of who once layed in the very same spot.
In Geto's room, once a barren space filled with only a framed group picture, is now covered with a plethora of portraits of Gojo's late lover. Capturing the essence of his being, some paintings hung meticulously on the wall, while others lay crumpled or scattered on the floor, each depicting Geto in various moods and moments. The room had become a sanctuary of memories, every corner echoing with Geto's presence. From the gentle smile to a deep frown, from the hearty laughter to serene moments of peace, Geto's essence was immortalized in every brush stroke.
Until he wasn't. These paintings were an attempt to grasp onto fading memories because he has started to loose the vivid image of his beloved. He loathes his mind for betraying him, for erasing the visage he held dear. Evidence of his forgotten memories glare at him always; the paintings, once precise, now appear wonky and distorted, a cruel reminder of his fading recollections. A battle against time, a struggle against his own thoughts, Gojo's heart aches and he yearns to cry in frustration.
His consciousness begins to slip through his fingers like grains of sand as fatigue overcame him. In a haze of drowsiness, a fleeting distraction surfaces: thoughts of his student, Yuuji Itadori, and the chaos he might unleash tomorrow. The mere contemplation of his students provides a brief respite, a momentary escape from overwhelming grief. With a bittersweet smile, he surrenders to the beckoning arms of slumber, where dreams offer a temporary heaven from pain that plagues his waking hours.
✬
As he slowly emerges from the dephs of sleep, the first sensation which envelops him is an unsettling heat curving through his body- an inexplicable phenomenon, given the time of the year, as winter should have reigned. The warmth presses on his skin like thorny rose petals, making him intensely aware of the increasing comfort of the persistent stickiness of a clinging blanket.
He sits up, sweat reaching the last of his nerves and forcing him to rise. Yawning dramtically, Gojo rubs his eyes and fights the remnants of sleep that cling to his lashes, vision gradually sharpening. He can't digest the unusual brightness permeating his surroundings, sunlight streaming in with a relentless vigor.
It's in this moment that realization struck like lightning—he is not in his home anymore.
Gasping for breath, he freaks, and panic surges through Gojo like a tidal wave as he tumbles out of bed. Disoriented, with blankets twisting around him, he trips over his long legs in a chaotic dance. His head collides with a shelf, a solid thud resonating through the air, and he winces in pain as a sharp ache shoots through his skull.
"Ow, ow!" he exclaims, loud voice echoing off the walls, his hand instinctively reaching to soothe the throbbing pain at his temple. The aching sensation spreads all over, tendrils of discomfort traveling down his spine and branching out all over. Gritting his teeth, Gojo kicks the stubborn blanket off, freeing his legs from its grasp.
The rush of panic subsides and bewilderment replaces his core. Looking around the room, at many paintings and supplies and posters, a rush of emotions sweeps through him. Both alien and haunting, Gojo Satoru recognizes where he is.
Okay. What?
Confusion hangs heavy in the air as he tried to make sense of his surreal surroundings. The relentless sun pierces it's way through the curtains, stabbing his sensitive eyes and intensifying his disorientation.
Is this the afterlife? Did I die? Shit, did I eat too many sweets and had a heart attack?!
His arms fell limply to his sides, fingers curling and uncurling as if searching for an anchor in this bizarre reality. "Should I pinch myself?" he wonders aloud, voice obnoxiously loud. He's on the verge of unraveling when, for some strange reason, the memory of the cemetery visit flashes in his mind.
His mouth opens to protest, but before he's able to gather his thoughts, three distinct knocks echo from the entrance.
"Satoru?" a distant voice, followed up with an extra knock. "I'm coming in." There's a bit of noise before the door creaks open and shuts quietly, careful steps roaming around the living space. "You awake?" the voice, with a bit more volume, calls out. Gojo listens to the figure getting closer to his bedroom.
Recognition dawns like a thunderclap, and his breaths became loud and shallow, his pulse echoing the rapid rythym of his ringing ears. Time freezes for Satoru Gojo. "Huh?"
With a slow, deliberate turn, Gojo's rigid bones ground against his tissues, a cacophony of discomfort accompanying the movement. His eyes widen in disbelief as he looks back, locking eyes with the cruel apparition of his nightmares and waking hours alike: Geto Suguru.
"Oh, you're up," Geto chimes, his smile as haunting as a ghost. "Good morning." His voice, a tune Gojo was only able to listen through voice mails, a melody that resonates with life and beautiful warmth. It sends shivers down his spine.
Gojo can't tear his eyes away, his gaze a mix of distress, horror, relief, and an inexplicable surge of happiness. His lips twitch, as if attempting to form a smile amid the whirlwind of emotions. In a single moment, the passage of years flash before his eyes, a montage of youth, of shared laughter and bitter tears, both good and bad memories etching themselves into his very blood.
This... is it really him? Gojo questions himself internally, his mind a chaotic battleground of conflicting thoughts. No. Geto Suguru is dead. Why is he here? He took his own life, why is he here? It's really him, it's actually really him.
"You alright?" Geto's voice, laced with concern, cut through Gojo's internal turmoil. The genuine worry etched on Geto's face contrasted sharply with the memory Gojo held of him. His body operates on autopilot, unaware of his own actions, he trips forward. His hands, trembling with a mix of fear and longing, reach out for his friend, a desperate attempt to grasp the reality of the impossible.
Geto, bewildered, watches as his best friend's behavior became increasingly erratic. Failing to react as Gojo's sweaty palms came in contact with his cheeks, as if verifying his existence, he blinks in confusion. It's strange. Did something happen?
He tries once more to get through the taller boy. "Satoru," he begins, voice soft and filled with worry as he stares into Gojo's shaking eyes.
Before he can utter another word, he finds himself pulled into an embrace, with Gojo's trembling body pressing against his own. The rythym of their hearts combine together, able to finally beat in union once again. Geto isn't sure what to make of this sudden outburst, but he hugs him back with delicacy.
Such a careful touch. Tears well up in Gojo Satoru's eyes, his vision blurring with the intensity of his emotions. This moment is real; it's not a figment of his imagination. Geto Suguru, his everything, is in his arms again, breathing, warm, and undeniably alive. As if the last eleven years have been erased, the pain and heartache fading into insignificance. Geto is here, no longer a painting or a memory but a living, breathing being, and the magnitude of that truth overwhelms him.
Supressing a sniffle, determined not to let go of the tangible reality in his arms, Gojo Satoru lets himself get lost in the warm touch. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Geto gently patted his back twice, signaling for him to release the embrace. Reluctantly, Gojo complies, his face vulnerable and raw, exposed in the dim light of the room.
He needs to change the subject. If Geto continues to stare at him this way, with such care, he really might burst into tears.
"What happened?" Geto's voice carries genuine concern, question hanging in the air like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.
"Good morning!" Gojo blurts out simultaneously, his voice drowning out Geto's inquiry. To avoid delving into the depths of his confusion and fear, with great effort, he forces a smile, though his mind still in great struggle to process the impossible reality before him.
Geto stares back at him, his eyes narrowing as if attempting to analyze the truth in Gojo's smile. Undeterred, Gojo smiles even wider, ignoring the burning behind his eyes, refusing to let his vulnerability show. There will be time to freak out later.
And maybe this is only a dream. Maybe Gojo will wake up in a matter of seconds, back in his lonely bed. No time to question- being able to feel Geto so vividly is more than he could ask.
With a weary sigh, Geto closes his eyes and settled on the edge of the bed, his backpack rattling against the movement. Gojo's eyes follow him intently, his gaze fixated on every subtle shift, as if he were witnessing something fragile and precious, something he was afraid might slip away if he were to blink too hard.
It's silent. Unspoken words and unexpressed emotiond wrap around them like a string. How weird. Geto is able to hear his own shaking heart—can Gojo hear it too? His sudden outburst caught him off guard, he's worried, but Gojo doesn't seem like he'll talk anytime soon. It's fine, he'll respect his silence. As he opens his eyes, his gaze fixates back on his best friend, a bit surprised seeing Gojo's azure sight still focused on him. Unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, Geto breaks eye contact with an awkward smile, sitting up from his spot on the bed.
Geto walks towards the room door, turning back around to pitch in a few words. "Can you like, hurry up? Let's not be late this time."
"Yeah! Totally!" Gojo replies too quickly with a snarky smile, sounding untruthful and receiving a doubtful look from his best friend in return.
The weight of the truth comes crashing upon him as soon Geto closes the door behind him. With trembling legs, he collapses onto his knees, the shock and disbelief making his entire body feel like lead.
Placing his hands on his face, he drags them down as if trying to smear the surreal reality away. A low, guttural groan escapes his lips.
"This is actually happening," he whispers, words barely audible as they escape his lips. For the millionth time in these last ten minutes, his mind is a jumble, thoughts a chaotic mess.
His gaze flutters around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His eyes fall upon his school uniform, splayed out on the floor, reminding him of what he was told to do moments earlier.
With a deep breath, Gojo pushes himself up from the floor, movements slow and deliberate. The room spins around him, air heavy and uncertain. He reaches for his uniform, a newfound resolve circling him as his fingers brush against the fabric. He begins to dress himself as quickly as possible, adjusting his collar in the end, already beginning to sweat.
With a mix of urgency, Gojo hastily tosses his shoes on, only to realize he wore them on the wrong foot. Frustration fills him up as he swiftly corrects his mistakes. He rushes to the door and flings it open, it's force causing Geto to jump in surprise, the sound of the door hitting the wall reverberating through the place.
In a blur of motion, Gojo sprints to the bathroom, his footsteps echoing in the corridor. He splashes cold water on his face, the sensation grounding him momentarily. He pats his face dry and returns to his room, snatching his pair of shades off the stand. It's weight provides a semblance of normalcy, comforting him in a sense.
His vision darkens as he slides the glasses on, the light no longer harming his eyes. He sprints back to the hallway, eyes meeting with Geto's, melting a little at the sight of the genuine smile curved on his lips.
"Ready when you are!" Closing the remaining distance between them, Gojo gives a toothy grin.
His best friend, in return, rolls his eyes slightly. Rather playfully, actually, already used to such silly antics in the early morning. If it was any other day, Geto would have snapped back a remark, but he's too tired to do so today.
Taking the lead, Gojo walks out of his home first. Geto lags behind slightly, though he ends up getting pushes forward by Gojo before he shuts the door.
As they walk side by side, the weight of unspoken words hang heavy between them.
And for the first time in years he looks at Geto, really looks at him.
Looking at him hurts.
Geto's eyes, once vibrant, now bore the burden of exhaustion and silent suffering. Gojo can't shake off the guilt that gnaws at his conscience. How had he failed to notice the signs? How could he call himself a friend when he had failed to be there for him? He must've felt so alone.
Driven by an instict to bridge the gap, as if to lessen his guilt, he musters the courage to ask, "How've you been?" The question hung in the air, genuine and unexpected. Geto's eyes widen briefly, caught off guard by the sincerity of it. He manages a smile, a mask Gojo sees through now, but choses not to challenge.
"I'm good," Geto replies, his voice a practiced facade, though the truth lingered beneath the surface.
Liar.
The rest of their walk is shrouded in silence, a chasm of unspoken emotions continuously stretching between them. As they approach school, Gojo feels a mix of anticipation and dread. The chance to stand beside Geto again is both a blessing and a curse, a reminder of their fragile nature of their second chance.
Despite the fear that clings to the edges of his mind like a plague, determination wells within him.
He knows he can't change the past, can't erase Geto's haunting last words from that night. The tingling feeling in his tummy, a mix of anxiety and hope, carries him on. Geto is within reach, and Gojo refuses to let him slip away again.
Their shoulders brush against eachother as they walk into school together. Gojo makes a silent vow. This time, he will be there for Geto. He will fight against fate, as cruel as it may be, and protect his friend no matter the cost. The terrifying echoes of the past may linger, but Gojo is ready to carve a new path where Geto can live. Where he can be happy.
There will be no regrets this time. He's been honored with the blessing of a second chance. He'll cherish their friendship, nurture it, and ensure that Geto knew he was never alone again. The weight of responsibility settled on Gojo's shoulders, but he bears it willingly.
This time, he'll make sure it was different.