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Satoru had dreams, way back when, before the world seemingly ended.
Satoru had people he loved before he fell and lost them all to his own shortcomings.
But dreams are nothing more than dreams, and his love is a curse.
His death has been written in the history book since the day he was born, but history is bound to forget his name. His sacrifices will leave their impact on the world and the people who used to be in his life, but he can't help but think that it must be better to forget the face and the name tied to those sacrifices.
Why spend time wishing for something that was never meant to be?
Why agonize over the death of some guy who had no other purpose in life than to live for everyone else rather than himself?
Satoru should've found peace in that airport; even having died with regrets, he is content with all he managed to accomplish in the short amount of time he was alive. His students are alive, happy, thriving in a world that wants them dead. What little of his dreams he saw for himself now live on in his students, and that should've been enough for Satoru to board the plane and leave behind the cruel shadow of his existence.
But Satoru can't grab onto that peace he longs to hold onto; it slips through his fingers every time he tries to grab on for dear life, forever a taunt for something Satoru can’t help but want more than anything.
Staring out the airport window now, he can't help but feel that it all ended too early, that his chance of finding peace, chasing foolish dreams, and loving regardless of how much it hurts isn't here in this airport, leaving him alone with the lotus flowers and the memories, that will eventually get lost, that speak of the people that have changed him irreparably.
For better and for worse.
He can hear Yuuji's laughter, light and carefree, and Satoru's eyes grow warm. He can hear Nobara yelling profanities and insults, and Satoru's hand grabs at his chest. He can hear Megumi sigh fondly, and Satoru fights back that budding sob.
It all left him so fast.
And he only tries all the harder to convince himself that it's better to be forgotten now that everything is over.
Why agonize over his name when he was only ever meant to be a means to an end?
He doesn't want his students to mourn him, to grow sad when they look to their side when they expect him to be standing with them, to enter a room and wait to hear the sound of his voice calling out to them like he never left, to watch the only photo they have left of him and wait for it to move so they can remember what his voice sounded like, what he looked like, the mannerisms as he spoke with boundless joy for those he loves.
He'd rather they forget his name, his voice, his face, forget he was ever a part of their life because it's easier to live without him with no memory of what he tried to do for them.
"You're torturing yourself," Satoru hears from behind him, but he doesn't turn to meet Suguru's gaze. His eyes are still burning with the tears he refuses to let slide down his cheeks.
If he doesn't cry, then he can continue to convince himself that it never hurts from the very beginning.
Satoru laughs to hide how broken he truly feels, but Suguru always knew him better than Satoru knew himself. A hand presses against the small of his back, warm and grounding, but Satoru finds it nearly impossible to find comfort in Suguru's presence as he watches how his world begins to move on without him.
Why does it hurt even if it's exactly what he had hoped for?
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Satoru tries for casual, but his voice trembles, and the hand along his back presses all the harder along his spine. "Can't I just watch the planes as they take off?" Satoru asks, but he knows the answer is 'no, it's not that simple'.
Suguru sighs and comes to stand at Satoru's side; can he see Satoru's students too? Can he see how happy they are as they stand together at the end, Sukuna no longer a threat to the rest of their lives?
Can't Suguru see how happy Satoru is knowing that his students have finally surpassed him?
Did they get the chance to live a life that Satoru could never have for himself?
"No," Suguru echoes, "because we should've been on that plane." A pause, and Satoru swallows past the lump beginning to choke him. "Haibara, Nanami, and Riko have already left." He can feel Suguru's heavy gaze boring into the side of his head, but Satoru can't stand to face him. That hand on his back slips to rest around Satoru's waist and pulls him closer, but he finds he can't move even with Suguru's help.
It had never been this hard before.
Suguru always made everything seem so easy.
"Do you have regrets?" Suguru asks, voice soft; those tears in his eyes make his sight blur and grow fuzzy, and he knows Suguru can see the shining of his tears from where he is standing at his side. Satoru's sunglasses were never a barrier that Suguru had to cross; he has always been laid bare for Suguru to see every wounded and broken part of him.
Laughing sharp and bitter, Satoru feels bile rising in his throat. "Of course I do! Don't you?" Satoru swivels on his feet to face Suguru, lips pinched where he fights back the urge to scream in Suguru's face about how unfair this all is!
But isn't this what he wanted?
The hand on his waist squeezes, and instantly Satoru wilts. There's a sadness in Suguru's eyes that he remembers having not seen clearly in what felt like a lifetime ago, right before his whole world fell apart for the first time. Suguru holds Satoru's gaze, pinning him in place.
It is currently the one thing that is keeping Satoru on his feet right now.
Suguru smiles, so soft, so young, but still having died by Satoru's hands because he couldn't save the one person who became his entire world. "Of course, I do, Satoru," he whispers as if speaking too loud will cause the floor to shatter beneath their feet. This space and time that have come together will wipe away and become another memory that is meant to be forgotten with the passing of time.
"I regret leaving you, hurting you, letting you stand by yourself all along for all those years." Suguru takes a step closer, and Satoru blinks furiously to clear his eyes, to stop himself from screaming at Suguru why can't I be happy too!
Lifting his hand, Suguru cradles Satoru’s cheek in the palm of his hand, gently guiding him forward until their foreheads press together, only an inch of space left between them; there is no warmth ghosting along his face when Suguru breathes, as all the blood coursing through his body has gone still, leaving his body to grow cold as the earth swallows him whole.
Suguru's hand is cold against his cheek, and Satoru feels just as frozen, knowing that his body is destined to be cremated the moment it's no longer of any use.
But Satoru has no right to be upset knowing that he was the one who told his students that he never cared what they did with his body after he passed.
And it's true even as the worst has come, but it's still hard to swallow regardless.
Satoru squeezes his eyes shut, and a tear escapes and slides down the curve of his cheek; Suguru pulls Satoru as close as possible with a hand on his waist and the other cradling him in his palm. Suguru is the only thing holding Satoru together right now. "And most of all, I regret not loving you like you deserve."
Having lost what little hold he has on his emotions, getting torn from his hands before Satoru can think to hold on tighter, he lets out a choked sob that echoes all the messed-up feelings Satoru has been harboring and holding close to his heart. Satoru grabs onto Suguru with desperate hands, silently begging for something to hold onto so he doesn't slip away. Finding the jacket of Suguru's school uniform, Satoru holds on tight, knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.
That hand on his cheek slides to hold the back of Satoru's neck, gently guiding his head to hide his teary face in the nook of his neck. It's only there that Satoru feels like he is finally safe enough to cry like he has been denying himself for so long, to feel all those buried emotions he convinced himself he was never worthy of feeling because he was and always has to be the monster his students needed.
Satoru did everything for his students; he loved and laughed, lived and breathed, fought and died for them.
What Satoru regrets most of all is not allowing himself that chance to stand by their side in the very end, for fate's weaving his end forcing him to be the one to lay down his life in favor of those more deserving to see the end.
But even now, he can't convince himself why he isn't allowed to be selfish just this one time.
Thick fingers card through Satoru's hair as he weeps for a life lost in that empty airport. There are no more eyes watching him break and fall apart in the arms of his one and only, ready to jeer and criticize that he is no longer anything more than the weapon he was born as and shaped into.
Suguru and Satoru stand alone, and Satoru is allowed this brief moment to cry until there are no more tears left to shed.
Satoru heaves a trembling sigh, turning his face from Suguru's neck to gaze back out the big window; another plane takes off, heading for the high clouds in the endless blue sky.
Are his students happy without him there?
How long until he becomes just another forgotten face and name to the ones he loves?
Do they care that he has left them?
Satoru's hands tighten on the back of Suguru's jacket, pinching his lips as the despair that is choking Satoru squeezes his chest, squeezing until his heart is just about ready to burst and leave him bleeding out.
Was he only around because he was only useful to them?
The thought hurts more than it should, and it hurts knowing that he will never know just how much he meant to the people he gave his life for.
Even if it turned out to be that he was only ever seen as a weapon in their eyes, he finds that he could never harbor any resentment towards them; saying that everyone else did so it makes sense that his students would too feel wrong to stew on, but it's a thought that Satoru has begun to linger on, the worry stuck to his skin like a disease.
But maybe if that's how they chose to view Satoru as a means of giving him that one last thing he asked for, if only to forget and move on, then maybe it doesn't have to feel like he is getting a knife through his chest.
"You know," Suguru sighs, turning his head to follow Satoru's eyes outside the window. His chin rests on top of Satoru's head; the jut of his chin is sharp and digs uncomfortably into his skull, but Satoru says nothing and simply enjoys the touch while it lasts. "You've always had the option to go back."
"They don't need me,” is Satoru's automatic response. It's too painful to even entertain such a hopeful thought. Satoru takes a steadying breath and steps closer until he and Suguru are flush; there is no warmth burning underneath Suguru's skin, and Satoru only leans as close as possible to chase the embers. "Besides, I want them to forget what it used to be like with me around."
Satoru lets out an indignant yelp at the sudden pinch at the nape of his neck, tearing himself away from Suguru's arms to stare at him, offended, as he rubs at the tender spot on his neck. Backing away, Satoru makes sure to keep a distance lest Suguru make any more attempts. "What was that for?" Satoru shouts, almost outright stomping his feet in lieu of his once more juvenile tendencies.
Suguru lets out a long-suffering sigh as if Satoru was the one to have wronged him, bringing his hand up to rub away the tension building up in his head; Satoru watches him carefully, noticing the moment his lips quirk up in the beginnings of a smile. Satoru lets his shoulders drop at the sight, but his pout remains, crossing his arms over his chest in faux irritation.
Still, Suguru's amusement is infectious, even when Satoru feels like he has finally been pulled as thin as he can go, having lost every last piece of himself.
"I always knew you were dramatic, but you're taking it to a whole new level right now," Suguru groans.
"What are you talking about?" Satoru demands, shuffling on the balls of his feet as he feels about ready to start jumping out of his skin with non-existent nerves.
Hand falling to his side, Suguru looks up to level Satoru with a stare that urges him to pay close attention to everything he is saying, to stay quiet and listen before butting in and decreeing that Suguru is completely wrong while Satoru is always right. "Do you really think that you meant nothing to your students?" Suguru asks, and Satoru can't help how helpless he feels when he shrugs.
The answer on his tongue is an immediate and resounding yes, but Satoru is quick to bite down on it to keep from blurting it out; it feels unfair having such a thought, knowing it's the grief Satoru feels that is twisting his thoughts and emotions into painful knots he can't so easily undo.
But Suguru doesn't need any verbal confirmation from Satoru, seemingly already knowing the answer without Satoru having to say it himself; his shoulders falling, and the budding irritation slips away, leaving Suguru staring at Satoru with a stare that feels far too sad and depressing, even more than it feels like being dead.
"Satoru," Suguru eases out, and Satoru can't stop how he instantly lashes out, control slipping through his fingers like water.
"I don't want to mean anything to them!" Satoru shouts, waving his hands widely in the air. His voice breaks, but he pushes on, desperate to get this off his chest before it crushes him, knowing he may never get another chance like this again.
As soon as he boards that plane, it's all over, and all his love and dreams will be gone in the wind.
Satoru laughs harshly through a sob, and it's like he is splitting apart at the seams. "I can't fathom the thought that they would rather mourn who I was for the rest of their lives than forget me and move on!" Satoru cries to the only person who ever bothered to listen to him, but it feels like every time before, when he screamed and cried at a wall that never had any ears to listen to his sorrows, to yell into the void that was truly the only place Satoru felt resembled how it felt standing at the top. "All I ever was to everyone was something to be used when it was convenient before being tossed away like I never mattered!
"How the fact that I also had dreams and people to love never mattered to anyone but me!" Satoru screams until his voice goes hoarse; yet Suguru hears him all the same.
And maybe remembering what he said at a later time will bring forth a nasty taste up the back of his throat, knowing much of his fear and anger comes from being the one at fault, having not allowed people close enough to understand what Satoru wanted most out of life.
His students have only ever been a gift to Satoru while he still walked the same earth as them, and he knows he has no right to be so cruel.
It's only then that Satoru sags, that crushing weight of his stark reality only settling more weight onto his trembling shoulders. His hands fall to his side - the fight rippling through his bones is sapped by the cold expanse of his death - now becoming useless, just as it was the moment the world cut him in half. "What right do I have to go back when there's no place for me anymore?"
Never has Satoru felt more defeated than he does at this moment, and it feels like a second death coming to claim him. While he knows the possibility of him rising from the earth for the second time is nothing more than a fever dream encapsulated in something to make it an easier pill to swallow, it's knowing that Satoru must move on from all the regrets that are bound to haunt him until he is nothing more than dust mixing with the dirt lining his grave.
There is a silence that festers between them. Suguru left watching Satoru carefully with a shared pain that leaves his eyes glistening with Satoru's tears, feeling all the pain that Satoru never bothered to share when he still gave breath.
Even so, Suguru smiles and takes a step forward, cold hands reaching out to take Satoru's, holding tight like he is bound to get ripped away from him one final time. Suguru sweeps his thumb over the back of Satoru's hand, and he feels himself go boneless, succumbing to the ease and comfort Suguru always provides, even when he slowly lost all hope in himself and Satoru.
"Do you trust me?" Suguru asks, and Satoru nods without a moment to hesitate; Suguru notices, and his cheeks flush, eyes flitting between Satoru's bright blue eyes like he can't stand to stare into his bared soul for long. "Ok," Suguru says, slowly pulling Satoru back into his space. He goes without complaint.
"Then trust me when I say that you mean more to people than you could ever comprehend." Satoru goes breathless at the look Suguru gazes at him with, pinned in place, left gripping his hands like it's his only lifeline left.
"Trust me when I say that your students love you just as much as I do." A lone tear falls, and Suguru slips a hand free to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. With more insistence, and a gentle squeeze of Satoru's hand, he keeps going as if he refuses to fall quiet until his truth is drilled into Satoru's heart and mind; "Trust me when I say that your students want you at their side, that they always have.
"Not as the strongest."
Satoru can't breathe, his throat having closed long ago. But it's fine because he's dead anyway. There is no breath of life in his lungs, there is no blood pumping through his veins. Satoru and Suguru may be standing here together in an airport that serves as a pitstop before their final resting place, but they stand here in the memory of one another.
"But as Gojo Satoru."
The hand on his cheek is cold, but Satoru doesn't twist away from his hand, only tilting his head further into Suguru's palm; Satoru closes his eyes and cherishes this last moment they will have together, knowing that right now, he will have to wait another lifetime to feel Suguru's touch.
At least that is what Satoru hopes for.
"Ok," Satoru chokes out, nodding his head and letting these last few tears fall for the one love Satoru ever had. Eyes fluttering open, Satoru takes one last long look at Suguru before taking the first of many steps back, their linked fingers testing the growing distance between them that shows no sign of stopping. Satoru fights back the need to lurch forward and stay stuck at Suguru's side, but he has a life to go back to.
Their hands part, and only their linked fingers hold, but with another step, they break free, and Satoru feels something tighten in his chest.
"Will you wait for me?" Satoru asks tentatively, but he already knows the answer the moment Suguru smiles kindly, eyes looking at Satoru like he still feels the love that had bloomed back during their blue spring; Satoru feels his whole world brighten.
"Always."
"Goodbye, Suguru."
"See you later, Satoru."
Turning his back, Satoru doesn't bother chancing another look at the window, even if it's still hard to believe, to accept wholeheartedly that what Suguru says is true, Satoru knows it's not his time yet to take a seat on that plane and watch the world slip away as his eyes shut one last time, for the light to dim and encase Satoru for the rest of his existence.
"Are you really going to leave without saying goodbye?" Satoru freezes where he stands, his shoes squeaking along the tiled floor, staring down the endless hallways where his past life waits for him.
No longer does Satoru stand before him as a student, bratty and feeling as if he is standing on the top of the world, harboring enough confidence that he continuously defies all odds as he is granted day after day, long when he should've been killed long ago. No longer does he stand as a student before his teacher, both unwilling to acknowledge how the world has slowly been caving in, where it's bound to crush them both.
Now, here in death, Satoru stands there as an equal, just like as he stared his certain death in the face before it greeted him with a gentle knock on the door, coming in to welcome Satoru to whatever afterlife awaited him; Satoru stands with his back to his former teacher, broad shoulders tense in genuine surprise, having not noticed him standing in the entranceway of the hallway, surely waiting for the moment Satoru passed by.
"I thought you left with the others, Yaga," Satoru says, unable to turn on his heel to face him directly.
"And I thought you would have gone back ages ago, but here we are, both wrong," Yaga says, voice gruff and mirroring the disapproval Satoru got familiar with hearing very quickly as a student. Even now, at 29 years old, Satoru can't help but shy away from such a tone, even when he knows Yaga is anything but.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Satoru spins on his heel and faces Yaga head-on, standing on equal ground for the last time in a long time. "Why haven't you left already?" Satoru asks, curiosity getting the best of him even as every part of Satoru itches to make what few steps remain down that hallway, ready to finally open his eyes.
It feels like the clock is running down as Satoru stands in the hallway, holding his haori by the flaps to pull it tighter; there's a tick tick ticking sound ringing in Satoru's ears, and he glances anxiously behind him.
His time is running out.
But Satoru can't remember the last time he and Yaga had come to any sort of understanding between them; it truly has been a lifetime ago. So Satoru stays put where he stands, even as his hands begin to itch with the need to cross through that final door.
Yaga huffs and crosses his arms, but he decides to entertain Satoru. "Figured I should stick around in case Suguru wasn't able to talk some sense into you." Yaga pauses, watching Satoru with sharp eyes, looking at him from over the rim of his sunglasses. "But sometimes I forget how close you two were back then."
Right...
Close...
Not necessarily the word Satoru would use, but that's beside the point.
"What, you thought I would mess this up?" Satoru can't help but press, starting to wonder how much he really has been ignoring in favor of sparing his own feelings.
Yaga sighs and takes a step forward, laying a head on Satoru's shoulder. It's heavy and bears down on him, but it's a touch that Satoru finds he missed the moment it disappeared. "No, Satoru. I just know you better to know that you get caught up in your head sometimes."
Satoru scoffs, ready to shrug away the hand and follow the pull that urges to guide him down the hallway before he's too late, but the ticking goes silent when Yaga squeezes his hand, rendering Satoru completely still.
"And I'm sorry for not being there for you like you needed me to," Yaga admits, and Satoru is dumbstruck seeing the sincerity in Yaga's otherwise hard and unwavering eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Satoru gapes, throat scratching uncomfortably as he speaks, looking at Yaga as if he's never seen him clearly before now. Yaga may have been one of the few people in Satoru's life that he knew he could fall back on, to trust implicitly.
But it's baffling to hear Yaga apologize for something that Satoru had never put any thought into because, in his mind, Yaga has done more than he ever needed to in making sure Satoru lived long enough to see his dreams come to fruition; instead, it's Satoru that should apologize, knowing that he only ever pushed Yaga away the moment things got too hard for him to deal with, more than content to suffer in silence and turn his back on someone who has done far too much for Satoru's sake.
Even though Satoru's dream did come true, all it cost was his life; shouldn't Yaga be angry at Satoru for being careless and setting his students up for the same fate Satoru was given?
Yaga's brows furrow at Satoru's visible confusion, bringing him closer by the hand on his shoulder, close enough to envelop Satoru in a hug that he didn't think he ever really needed or deserved.
"I'm sorry that I saw you were hurting, but did nothing to help."
Satoru stares, eyes wide as he gazes blankly over Yaga's shoulder, arms limp at his sides. There should be a fierce protest spilling from Satoru's lips, a snide remark about how Satoru never needed anybody's help and that all it would've done was drag him down.
But Satoru isn't Yaga's arrogant student he taught a lifetime ago; Satoru is just that arrogant teacher who didn't know how to ask for help until it got to the point that it got him killed.
Satoru can't move where he stands, throat dry as he stands stiff as a board in Yaga's arms; Yaga must think that Satoru got replaced with his corpse, what with how rigid and cold he must be.
A hand leaves Satoru's back to gently guide his head down to Yaga's shoulder, being the one thing that is holding Satoru together as he slowly starts to fall apart.
The tears start back up at a slow and steady pace, but Satoru clutches to Yaga's shirt when his despair becomes too much to bear alone, chest heaving with the forces of his reawakened sobs,
"You deserved so much better than what you were given."
Satoru cries for a memory of what all he lost, knowing that it's only when his eyes close that he will then see what he had to give away for that better world he always dreamed of.
Every sob echoes off the walls, and Satoru wonders in the deep recesses of his mind if Suguru can hear him, if he can feel how Satoru's poorly bandaged heart weeps for everything lost, and everything they will never have together.
Satoru doesn't need to open his eyes to know that he is lying in the morgue.
He can feel how the heat from the cremator makes the air almost suffocating when he begins breathing life back into his body; he can smell the disinfectant permeating in the air and can feel how it just about bleaches his nose hairs; he can hear the clattering of tools in the background as the ringing in his ears slowly starts to tamper out as awareness slowly wakes him up.
The surface Satoru is lying on is frigid along his naked back and legs, and the sheet pulled up to his neck scratches along his skin like sharp nails; even with the absence of all of Satoru's cursed energy and inherited power coursing through his veins, every sensation that is coming back to him in waves is almost too much.
When Satoru does eventually open his eyes, it's to the bright luminescent light shining over his head. Biting back a hiss, Satoru winces and squeezes his eyes shut, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the offending light.
Satoru pushes himself up from the table, movements slow and deliberate as his bones and joints creak, as if a decade has passed since Satoru last had control over his body.
Placing his palms flat on the cold table to steady himself when his balance wavers and the world shifts, Satoru takes a better look around the morgue; there are no tables holding up what remains of Satoru's students, no bloodied rags and sheets, no pile of clothes - besides the pile that he recognizes as his during the fight with Sukuna - can be found.
This can only mean that Satoru truly was the only casualty during the final showdown against Sukuna.
Satoru shifts, and the sheet slides down his bare chest, coming to pool at his hips; the chill in his bones doesn't waver in the face of the endless heat emitting from the cremator.
Turning his head to the side, Satoru smiles when he sees Shoko standing with her back towards him, hunched over a metal tray that holds either a mountain of paperwork or tools that were meant to cut Satoru open for that promised dissection Shoko always threatened him with.
Swinging his legs over the table as silently as he can, Satoru tosses the sheet to the side, uncaring for his blatant nudity. Even though his skin feels like ice, the sheet is only lighting Satoru's nerves on fire right now.
Besides, it's nothing Shoko hasn't already seen before.
"Yo," Satoru calls out, and Shoko jumps a couple of feet in the air at the sudden sound of his voice. Biting his lip in amusement, Satoru watches as she stumbles forward and the metal table clatters to the floor, a variety of sharp and invasive objects scatter across the tile.
Dissection it is then.
Without allowing herself a moment to gather her wits, Shoko spins on her heel and looks at Satoru with a wild look in her eyes, an unlit cigarette dangling from his chapped lips, those trademark eyebags stark and darker than Satoru's ever seen before. It may also have to do with how concerningly pale her face has grown in the few seconds that she spends gaping at Satoru.
Leaning back into his hands like he didn't just rise from the dead for a second time, Satoru smiles with an ease that feels artificial, letting his legs swing from where they hang over the edge of the table. Satoru holds Shoko's stare, unable to stop how a laugh bubbles in his chest as she simply stares at him, unmoving.
Satoru nods his head to the tools lying on the floor, but Shoko doesn't bother following his gesture. "Guess you'll have to keep waiting to finally dissect and pick me apart like you've always wanted," Satoru says, tone lighthearted, hoping Shoko will be able to eventually rip herself from her stupor and properly acknowledge Satoru.
There's a tight feeling in his chest as he watches her closely, realizing now that he has missed Shoko terribly.
He waits for her eyes to narrow in irritation and for her posture to relax as she brushes Satoru off with disinterest, for her to accept that this is apparently just something that Satoru does now, before throwing a spare set of clothing at his head, before she kicks him out so she can get back to work.
But nothing has been happening the way Satoru expects.
Instead of glaring at Satoru, tears well up in Shoko's eyes, and Satoru freezes, shock rippling through his body. Her lips tremble and her fists clench at her sides before she reaches out blindly for a pencil that lies on a table only inches away. She throws it with pinpoint accuracy at Satoru's forehead, and there is no infinity to come up and block the offending object; the eraser hits him square in the forehead before falling to the tile with a clatter, and Satoru frowns.
"You idiot!" Shoko hollers, voice shrill and tearing at the seams as she begins to cry, large tears spilling down her cheeks. Satoru watches her, frozen and eyes wide in surprise as Shoko breaks down in front of him; never in all these years of knowing Shoko has he ever seen her break down like this before.
Not when she learned of Satoru's death at the hands of Toji Fushiguro, not when Haibara came back with his lower half eviscerated, not when Suguru defected and left them all behind, and not when Nanami turned his back on the school and walked out of their lives.
Not once has Satoru seen Shoko shed a single tear.
She has always been so careful in the ways she has expressed herself, keeping her emotions guarded so closely to her chest.
Despite how stoic and uncaring she always seems to come across, he knew she had simply grown jaded from loss and from constantly having to bury the bodies of everyone she knew personally or those she only knew by name.
It's bound to wear a person down to their very core. Satoru just never expected that it would be he who would cause Shoko's neatly constructed walls to crack and crumble at their feet.
"Y-you fucking-“ Shoko chokes on a gasp as a sob rips through her. Tears continue to stream down her face, cheeks growing blotchy as she looks at Satoru as if she's never seen him before. She stumbles when she tries taking a step forward towards him, but she has to lean against the table to steady herself.
Leaping off the table, Satoru makes quick work to close the distance between them, almost frantic in the way he pulls Shoko close, guiding her to bury her face in his chest, and she cries openly, digging her nails in his back and shoulders, clawing at him and trying to get as close as she can.
"H-how fucking d-dare you!" Shoko cries out, only holding onto him tighter; Satoru drops his face into the crown of her head, hiding his own tears that have begun to build. His fingers rake through her hair as a means of soothing Shoko and himself as he cries silently in tandem.
"I'm sorry, Shoko," Satoru chokes out, almost unable to speak as his throat starts to close. His heart twists at the agony that has stripped Shoko down and left her crying out for the last thing she had that tied her back to those better times, and Satoru aches knowing that he is the reason she feels this pain now. "You know that I never wanted to leave you behind."
Shoko sniffles and wipes her nose on Satoru's chest, and he laughs softly even though it feels disgusting; he knows she is only doing this out of anger and fear because of the sacrifice he made.
Her head turns so her ear is pressed to his chest, and the hand clawing at his back relaxes, coming to slide around his waist to hold him properly. "You better be sorry," she snaps, voice hoarse; her hand dips and pinches Satoru harshly on his bare ass, and he jolts, yelping in pain as he tries to pull himself away.
Shoko snorts and refuses to let him slip through her arms, but Satoru does nothing more to leave.
It feels like some sort of second awakening, standing here, naked, in the infirmary with Shoko; much of the pain he harbors was always meant as a reminder that everything he had was short-lived, and he isn't allowed to have people that make him happy for longer than the fates allow.
With Shoko plastered to him and the blasting waves of heat from the cremator flowing through the room, Satoru feels the frigid grip death had on him start to thaw, and he sighs, ruffling Shoko's already mussed hair.
He almost misses the voices coming from behind the heavy doors of the morgue; the voices are quiet, and from what little he is able to pick up, sound almost somber. The words spoken are nothing more than a distant sound to Satoru, and with the loss of his technique, it's next to impossible for him to parse out who is coming down the hallway by cursed energy alone.
There's one thought of who it could possibly be, but Satoru refuses to hold onto that hope that has bloomed and spurred him to crawl his way out of his grave.
Shoko perks up from where she is holding onto Satoru when she feels how he shifts as those voices grow closer, recognition crossing her face as she pulls away. "I almost forgot I told them all to come down around this time," Shoko says to herself, and Satoru stands in the middle of the morgue as Shoko starts cleaning up the mess made when the table fell, along with shutting off the cremator.
"Who did you tell to come down?" Satoru asks, hands resting uselessly at his sides as he waits for Shoko to turn back around to fill him in.
When she does, there's something that flashes in her eyes, a blink-and-you ll-miss-it sort of thing, and Satoru doesn't know what to make of the look. It's a very apprehensive look, but she doesn't allow Satoru a moment to stare her down as she wipes the tear tracks from her cheeks and the remaining tears in her eyes, shifting to turn away from Satoru.
"It's yo-"
The rest of his answer comes in the form of the doors getting pushed open, and he looks over and watches as all his students - a little worse for wear - start to filter through and into the morgue, eyes downcast and faces speaking heavily of sorrow, wholly unaware that Satoru is alive and breathing before them.
Satoru, eyes wide and heart in his throat, watches as his first, second, and third years all come to gather in the morgue; Yuuji, Yuuta, and Megumi carry bouquets of flowers, and his throat closes when he recognizes the flowers in the bouquet - pink carnations, lilies, and forget-me-nots.
Oh.
As much as Satoru hates to admit it, maybe Suguru had a point.
It's almost like a record scratch the moment they realize that Satoru is standing, alive and breathing, not lying dead on the metal table or as a pile of ashes dumped into an urn as he should be right now.
Neither student nor teacher says a word; Shoko clears her throat, and Satoru rips his eyes away from his students' baffled and teary-eyed faces to shift his attention to Shoko, meeting that same blank look that she always dons. But Satoru knows Shoko better than to know that she's doing it only as a means of holding back the grief she must still be feeling, regardless that she no longer has to bury her last classmate and friend.
"We were planning to cremate you this afternoon before spreading your ashes," Shoko says, voice monotone as if this isn't slightly horrific to be openly talking about like one would the weather.
He thinks he should be more horrified knowing that if he had taken a second longer, his chance really would have been ripped away.
It's a morbid thought, but Satoru finds that he doesn't really care all that much about stewing on it. There's no sense in weighing in on all the specifics of a situation that he narrowly avoided.
Turning back to face his students, all staring back at him like they can't believe what they are seeing, Satoru does the only thing he knows how, smiling wide as if he is simply walking in late for the class he is meant to be teaching.
"Sorry I'm late," Satoru says, stepping back to take a seat at the table, and he waits for his students to just brush him off with an irritated roll of their eyes, griping how irresponsible he is, before turning and walking out the door.
But none of them do.
The first to break out of their stupors is Maki as she turns her back to Satoru, but she isn't fast enough to hide how her eyes have welled up or how her shoulders begin to shake. Hakari lets loose a joyous and almost disbelieving laugh, bounding forward to slap Satoru on his back. Kirara follows behind without breaking eye contact with Satoru, coming to stand by his side. It's almost like she's too afraid to move, to reach out, or look away from Satoru. He drapes an arm over her shoulder and pulls her close, and she hangs on tight, breaths shaking as she breathes into his shoulder.
"G-Gojo-Sensei," Satoru hears, and he looks up to meet Yuuta's tear-filled gaze, flowers clutched tightly in his hands as he stumbles forward. Each step is heavy, and Satoru would walk those few steps Yuuta is struggling to take, but he is rendered immobile with Kirara hugging and Hakari's heavy hand resting on his shoulder.
But Yuuta manages it anyway, all but throwing himself into Satoru's arms, body shaking as he presses close; he feels how Kirara shifts to move away, making more room for an inconsolable Yuuta. "I-'m s-s-so sorry!" he sobs, his voice cracking and bouncing off the walls of the morgue. "I tried-" Yuuta pauses as he is cut off by a cry. "I tried to stand by your side! I didn't want you to have to stand alone anymore..."
Satoru shushes Yuuta softly, hand coming up to rest on the back of his head. Looking up, he sees that Inumaki must have gotten over his initial shock, having slinked closer to stand at Satoru's side without him noticing, clutching Panda in his arms, who smiles up at Satoru with tears filling his eyes.
"Gojo-Sensei," Satoru hears again, but it doesn't come from Yuuta this time around. Turning to look back at the door of the morgue, Satoru meets Yuuji's distraught eyes, his hand having found the wall to hold onto in a tight grip to seemingly steady himself. Stumbling forward to the table Satoru is perched on, Yuuji looks at Satoru with something akin to fear in his eyes, and he wonders how many deaths now weigh on his students’ shoulders.
Satoru's chest squeeze painfully, but he can't stand to let this building emotion build up inside him much longer; as Yuuji slowly stumbles forward, Satoru raises his hand just like months ago when Yuuji rose from the dead, echoing a time when things felt more secure and stable, even on the cusp of the world crumbling the moment the scales tipped out of their favor. Satoru waits for that wide smile to overtake Yuuji's face as he bounds forward to high-five Satoru; he would rather his death be brushed aside with nothing more than a brief acknowledgement because it hurts more than he could ever imagine seeing his students in pain from something he had done.
"I hope you didn't think I was leaving you all behind for good, Yuuji," Satoru says with as much false enthusiasm as he can manage; a shiver racks down his spine as his body works to warm up after having been officially dead for who knows how long had passed since the fighting stopped.
Satoru crosses his legs to preserve what little modesty he is able to hang onto, suddenly becoming increasingly aware that he is sitting in the morgue with his ass out in front of all his students. He grabs onto the sheet that Kirara wordlessly drapes over his lap, flushing slightly in embarrassment as he sends her a thankful smile.
Yuuji freezes where he stands, staring at Satoru's raised hands like it has personally offended him. Satoru's eyes soften, letting his smile dip as he lowers his voice, "I can't have you all forgetting about me, now can I?"
Apparently, he sucks at reading the room; what may have worked all those months ago when Yuuji was resurrected by Sukuna isn't going to cut it this time.
Satoru grunts as the entirety of Yuuji's weight slams into his chest, almost enough to send Satoru careening back onto the cold table. It's only Maki's hand on his shoulder - which he never even noticed when she moved away from the door - that keeps him from tipping over.
"Wha-" Satoru mutters in a daze, his mind unable to process how quickly Yuuji had moved, but it's not even a second that passes before two other bodies slam into either side of him, and he knows it can't be anyone other than Megumi and Nobara. Their arms squeeze tightly around his waist, and he hates how much they tremble, the sound of muffled sniffling, and how his skin grows damp with what can only be tears.
He is unsure where to put his hands, and Satoru looks up at Shoko helplessly, but she only smiles as she steps to the side to make more room for his students to gather around him. Satoru instead turns to his second and third years when he realizes Shoko isn't going to help, but they only look at him with those same teary-eyed and relieved looks.
"We could never forget about you, Gojo-sensei!" Yuuji vehemently decrees in between sharp gasps and cries. He pulls away enough to look up at Satoru, and his heart breaks seeing how distraught he is. Megumi grumbles into Satoru's shoulder, hands desperate as he refuses to let him go, throwing aside any regard to seem as unfazed as possible.
Nobara does pull away, eyebrows furrowed and her single eye narrows in anger, but he knows her well enough to know that it's all just a mask.
Spitting out a curse Satoru definitely didn't teach her, Nobara socks Satoru on the shoulder as hard as she can; "Everyone always tells me how dense you are, but I didn't think you were this bad!" Nobara hollers, and Satoru's cheeks burn. Crossing her arms over her chest, Nobara pouts as she looks off to the side, "Besides, you totally one-upped my comeback. Even if you showed everyone your ass and vag," she grumbles under her breath.
Satoru snorts a laugh, lifting his arm from where it had curled around Yuuji's shoulders to ruffle her hair; she squawks in indignation, batting his hand away. "Well, I can't let you guys have all the glory," Satoru snarks, shifting the blanket more securely over his lap.
He should really harass Shoko into finding him some pants.
Megumi is the next to pull away, but he doesn't slip far from Satoru's side; pushing himself next to him on the table, Megumi leans his head on Satoru's shoulder, simply resting there. His hair tickles Satoru's neck, and he tries brushing it away, but Megumi only pushes further to continue to torment Satoru.
"Yuuji told everyone what you said,” Megumi grumbles. "I hope you know how stupid you are.”
Satoru has half a mind to be offended, but he finds he can't outright rebuke what Megumi says.
Yuuji is less than willing to part from Satoru, but he does eventually pull away, however reluctantly. His hands fall at his sides, fists clenched tightly like he's afraid that Satoru truly will only ever be a figment of his imagination.
Satoru finds that same fear plagues him, waiting for the next time his eyes close and he is going to wake back up and left staring out that airport window until he is ready to move on to the next life, left watching as his students move on from him.
Trust me when I say that your students love you just as much as I do.
Smiling with sadness, pulling at the corners of his mouth, Satoru blinks back the tears, Suguru's voice echoing in his mind; he will have to be content with having this last part of him for the rest of his life, for however long he has it.
Yuuji takes the spot at Satoru's other side, mirroring Megumi in the way he falls into his side.
"You've done so much for us, Sensei," Yuuji chokes out, and Satoru has to bite his lip to stop anything embarrassing from slipping out. "We always wanted you here with us at the end."
Satoru laughs, sharp and fragile, throat closing as tears start to trail down his cheeks. He tries to lift his hands to wipe them away, but he finds he can't as his students surround him, holding him close and refusing to let him fall apart, to stand alone in a crowd of people.
Trust me when I say that your students want you at their side, that they always have.
"I never wanted to leave you guys," Satoru admits, and he feels Maki drop her head against the nape of his neck as she presses against his back. Yuuji and Yuuta wrap their arms tightly around Satoru's waist, Megumi hugs Satoru's arm tightly to his chest, Nobara's hand on his shoulder as she scoffs good-naturedly. "I never wanted to be forgotten," Satotru cries silently as he turns to look at Hakari, Kirara, Panda, and Inumaki, smiling as grief twists inside his chest.
"I only ever wanted to stand at your sides, as your equal, and watch you do more than I ever could." Satoru lets his head drop, forehead resting on Yuuta's crown and crying into his hair, as it has grown far too heavy to carry alone.
Not as the strongest.
He feels Shoko ruffle his hair, but he doesn't bother to look up and give her a stink-eye. "You're an idiot, Satoru."
"So you've told me."
"You've already done more than enough for us," Maki mumbles into Satoru's neck, and Satoru sags, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.
But warm.
He feels warm.
"We'll take it from here," Yuuji declares, and Satoru hears his students all agree as they hold him up.
But as Gojo Satoru.