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Geto was doing perfectly fine.
His go-to response was apparently convincing enough to get most people who weren’t all that close to him, to let his slightly concerning behavior over the past few months just be a fluke. The system that was set up by his friends after his semi-public breakdown kept him from losing it completely and pulled him from trying to maim others or himself. Even if the latter seemed awfully difficult these days.
He would regularly be checked up on by Satoru or Shoko each day or more like multiple times a day. In turn he would try to do the same. He made sure Shoko was sleeping enough and lightly nagged her when she took out her smokes, despite knowing she wasn’t about to break the habit. Caring for Satoru was harder as he refused to be open about his struggles, only allowing Geto close enough to make sure he wasn’t about to rip himself to shreds.
It hurt more than he would care to admit because it was proof that things had changed drastically after his brush with death and no matter how much he tried, the most he could do at times was sit next to Gojo in silence or exchange light jabs. A chasm had grown between them and repairing it was painfully humiliating but they would keep trying to reach out until they could be Satoru and Suguru again. All this left behind a dull ache but it was better than an open wound he would be dealing with without him.
Still, he felt his composure slipping sometimes.
He’d be in an unknown city on another tedious assignment; problem was he was utterly alone. On one of those nights a few weeks ago he finished his work and was left stood in a stench filled alley. There was liquid still dripping off of the narrow walls. The floor had trash littered all across along with small puddles that he’d stepped in, on his way into the dead-end.
The bin at the end of the alley was mangled from the curse’s final stand, with thrash spilling from it. There was a full moon in the already darkened sky and the soft glow of it provided ample lighting. It made the swirling orb in Geto’s hand look aglow while he glared at it uselessly.
He had tracked and fought the somewhat powerful curse for the better part of his day without fail but in the present, he was dealing with his actual least favorite part of the job.
He stared deeply at the patterns dancing inside the ball. Maybe he could convince his brain that it wasn’t gross purely by the way it looks? No, that would be silly. Still, his hand shook as he held it and the tremor didn’t leave him until he was already pushing the filth into his mouth. There was no strain behind swallowing it, yet his eyes watered nonetheless when his mind supplied him with the taste.
Immediately his nerves were alight. He doubled over, gasping for air that did nothing but burn his raw throat. His head and body felt completely disconnected and he finally fell forward on his hands and knees.
Raw sewage. That’s what the puddle he landed in might have been made out of judging by its smell and color. His palms were wet with it and so were his pants, growing damp right over his knees.
The taste of a curse alone was one thing but paired with all of this… He had worked hard over the past few weeks trying not to seek comfort in the feeling of an empty stomach that proved curses weren’t actually what he was eating. He hadn’t noticed how food averse he had become until something as simple as a salad was placed in front of him.
It was an awful time. Satoru had sat next to him, trying to pretend like he wasn’t observing him like an insect he was about to dissect. Silver forks seemed too fancy for him and the one resting in his hand felt more like lead. He tried his best but his mind was whirring faster than he could follow. Little green leaves were already sitting on the tip of the fork and they never went further than that.
There were weeds growing in his head and no matter how hard he tried to pry them out they kept on growing and growing.
Polluting his splintering mind with images of thrash, rot, mildew, maggots and curses, all in an effort to dissuade him from taking a bite. He wished he could decidedly rebel against them, gorge himself on all his favorites but the salad before him could contain wriggling worms that would taste just like the curse he absorbed in the gardening center. The meat from the day before could have gone bad and would taste just like the one he fought at the mall. The chocolate he was offered by Satoru days prior could contain feces that would be no different to the curse expelled at the daycare he saved.
And so on and so forth.
Logically it didn’t make any sense but he couldn’t do it. He was too scared.
In a moment of weakness, he had asked his partner, if he thought this was his punishment in some way. Like this was a sign that the universe had known he had doubt in his heart and was going to defect. It would confirm that his worse impulses would, no matter if he acted on them or not, come back to bite him in the end.
To his surprise and dismay, Gojo replied by saying that the universe was full of bullshit and then added that it wouldn’t go after good people anyway.
Good people
He couldn’t help but echo him when he thought to himself that the statement was a load of crap.
Was he a good person? Would a good person really be dealing with a relentless stream of unsavory thoughts like his? Would they hate themselves? Would they be crouched in and alley like a drunkard barely keeping themselves from vomiting?
No, they wouldn’t.
Just like that his progress was undone as he gagged all over the concrete. It wasn’t like his usual control seeking sickness but a desperate anxious disgust filled one. He made an effort to try and keep his clothes clean or he might even be denied public transport or stared at by fellow passengers. Of course, as his luck would have it, he felt the vomit reach his outstretched palms.
He recoiled but couldn’t stop his body from exerting its will over that of his mind. It meant he stayed firmly on the ground with tears dripping down his cheeks.
When even the dry heaving finally ceased, he wiped his chin on the already soiled uniform he had on, before staring up at the sky and down towards the open mouth of the alley. Distressed eyes quicky darted around making sure nobody had seen what had transpired and he sighed in relief when he was sure he was alone before slowly getting up.
Water ran down his pants while he shook his hands trying to get as much muck off as possible. Catching a disease would be as easy as bringing his hand too close to his face and bam, sick for a year.
He had to stop the sickness that had taken hold of his life, of his mind, that was now spilling from his every pore and proving over and over again that he was damaged good.
His teeth felt off in his mouth, his hands shook and his mind was jumping through different horrifying conclusions. It led him to feel even further self-conscious and he decided to run towards the apartment he was staying at, taking care to stick to alleyways with little to no people loitering so as to save his already bleeding battered ego from collapsing in on itself.
The keys jangled as he fit the key into the lock of the brown worn door in front of his face and twisted it sharply. The moment the creaky door swung open he pushed through, not bothering to turn on the lights, already shrugging of the upper part of the uniform and beelining for the bathroom with a tub.
It took a long time before he felt his hands were clean enough to finally clear the tear tracks still on his face by splashing himself with the crisp water that dripped consistently from the tap. With his shirt already missing and his pants in a corner somewhere, he got the water in the tub running as well. This time around setting it scalding hot.
His temples throbbed, his feet ached and he felt his knees were going to buckle at any moment. The blue travel bag with all his necessities sat neatly on the sink counter when he reached for it hastily.
He ruffled through it, moving things out of the way or just stacking them on the shelf next to the counter only for them to clutter to the ground unceremoniously seconds later, which, if his feeling were to be believed wouldn’t matter anyway. His mess would outlive him as his only legacy.
Finally finding what he was looking for, he turned the bottle with painkillers that dulled the ache and allowed him to find rest, right into his palm, swallowing the three that fell out.
It took him a second before he caught on to the fact that so little pills fell out. Three. But he could have sworn the bottle had been full... Fine, it didn’t matter.
Steam wafted from the bathtub before he got in. It burnt at first but started to feel enjoyable when he got adjusted to it.
Eerily peaceful were the exact words that he would use to describe the hollow space he found himself in. There were no windows that one could see out of. Even so, they probably would have matched the rest of the worn bathroom with its big light not working, meaning he found solace in the small mirror light illuminating everything. It almost managed to conceal the slight sickly yellowish sheen that clung to the wallpaper.
A needling pain was spreading through his heavy limbs that fell to the bottom of the tub immediately upon stepping in, making it awfully hard to stay above water when his mind didn’t want him too either. Giving up the fight all too easily, he allowed himself to hike up his knees to make space for his torso and start submerging his head.
His hair was still tied but slowly creeped out of the already loose bun it was in, till it splayed out like a dark halo. It waved around his face when he let it inch under water slowly. Liquid tried to force itself into his ears, mouth and nose. Suddenly the thought of dying this way didn’t seem so foreign anymore.
Someone would find him sooner or later and drag his waterlogged body to a grave. A cheap gray stone would be stood over his final resting place with something oh so poignant written on it. He thought of the flowers that would be placed neatly around it. Probably some chrysanthemums that would be traditionally white brought by his loved ones.
Although, Satoru’s never cared for tradition. Maybe he’d bring those with light pink petals instead and Shoko would be stood by his side when they dropped them off. Would they visit him when he’s gone? Would they be stood tearful as they said their last goodbyes or would their features be hardened when they thought of how hard they tried to help him and prevent this exact scenario?
It was common for sorcerers to lack a proper burial or none of all due to their bodies returning mangled beyond recognition or just because of the fact that it wasn’t out of the ordinary to lose many companions in a short amount of time.
Suddenly his hypothetical Gojo was alone next to his final resting place, Shoko nowhere to be seen. He was the only one who had showed up. The pink flowers in his hands looked like they were weeping as they tilted their heads towards the ground. It made Gojo look like one of them when he hung his own head low. His fist clenched and the bouquet shook lightly. The hues started shifting like a slider was being dragged across the color wheel and the vibrant pink turned pitch black when the first sob tore through the air.
Geto couldn’t watch the scene any longer.
Resurfacing was difficult and he only let his features poke out when he was completely out of air. His breaths were short puffs and he imagined them turning into steam when they left his parted lips.
Sounds were dull when his ears were full of water and colors that previously made him nervous, didn’t seem as bright when his eyes cracked open bit by bit. The terror of his mind was still gripping his heart just as tightly as it did while he was underwater and it occurred to him that there was no way out of this spiral on his own.
His foot slipped the first time he tried to push upwards and get a grip on the smooth edge of the tub. The splash sent water over the ledge right onto the tiled floor. It felt upsetting that he was making an even bigger mess than before for some poor soul to deal with.
Slowly and painstakingly, he pulled himself from the bottom on his second try and his world swam when he tried to straighten up. It caused him to sway like a newborn deer trying to find its legs.
He reached out, trying to find purchase on any neighboring surfaces that looked like they would offer him the support he needed without failing him spectacularly seconds later. Gaze traveling all over the room he ended up remembering that he had left his phone somewhere in the pile of discarded clothes.
The floor met his bare knees when he dropped and started ruffling through the dirty laundry without a care for the pain that shot up his thighs from the impact. His temper was short and his teeth ground together when he didn’t find what he was looking for immediately. Nausea was setting in again and he still didn’t have his phone or clean clothes on.
Buzzing alerted him to the lost item’s whereabouts. Seconds later he was clutching the gray rectangle to his chest and padding over to his bag full of clean clothes.
After he pulled on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of loose pants, he stood silent while he contemplated his next actions.
It was late, much later than anyone would be awake unless they were pulling an all-nighter, partying or plain begging for their sleep schedule to be thrown off. Still, he could try his luck and see where that took him.
His fingers flew across the keypad while he slid the glass door to the room balcony open, never bothering to look up.
There was a chair that looked rickety and a table in even worse condition with an ashtray in the middle. The whole layout was quite comforting by being so awfully plain. He elected to ignore them in favor of a spot on the floor right by the balcony railing.
Sliding his legs in between the gaps he managed to push himself right up against the bars with his feet dangling over the ledge. Moreover, the fencing groaned when it was forced to support his full weight. A soft breeze ruffled his hair and made his garments dance in the wind.
The drop below wasn’t all that impressive given that he was only on the fourth floor of a twelve-storey building. Despite the relatively short way down, Geto felt vertigo when he looked down at the street under him. Whether from the excessive medication coursing through his veins or not wasn’t really a concern anymore.
Surely the sight of a young man hugging the railing while peering over the edge would worry passersby during broad daylight but he wasn’t visible to all those people right now. He could watch the few late-night travelers go about their own lives. Some were quick and rushing desperate to get to their final destinations as quickly as humanly possible, while some took slow deliberate steps without a care in the world.
The gray phone is his palm was staring at him, his lifeline. The number he was planning on dialing written out for him. The pad of his finger was feeling up the greenish call sign before finally pressing down.
He brought his busy arm upwards till his ear clearly heard the dial tone while his other arm rested limply in his lap.
Beep… beep… beep…
“Hello?” Sounded hoarsely from the other line and Suguru’s breath hitched before he swiftly covered his mouth.
“Suguru? Why are you calling me this late? You know I need my beauty sleep.” Satoru was already joking and it hadn’t even been a minute despite being woken up in the middle of the night. However, he received no answer as Geto struggled to speak up.
The voice became a bit clearer and a hint panicked when it came out again. “Suguru, is everything alright? You’re on an assignment, right? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do I have to go get Yaga or Shoko? Should I come get you?”
The barrage of questions set him off balance. Leave it to Satoru to sus out something was amiss in a split second and immediately start looking for a solution. It was obvious a second round of questioning was already being lined up.
“I’m fine.” An overly obvious lie that was second nature to him at this point. “I- fuck, I’m sorry for waking you up but I couldn’t be sat in the dark by myself anymore.” He didn’t give his partner the opportunity to answer instead opting to go on.
“Do you…remember what you said about good people? I’ve been thinking about it. Haibara said something a bit similar before he was sent off.” Silence fell over him and he had hesitated before having said the last sentence. It was clear to his listener that he was distraught just by how much he was jumping between topics like he had had this conversation in his head before and everyone was supposed to already know how it went.
“Is this you continuing your moral crisis? You know I don’t care for moral arguments” His tone was far from harsh, being gentle despite the chosen topic. The question thrown in was purely rhetorical and made it clear that Gojo would carry the conversation on his own if Geto couldn’t manage clear enough answers.
There was movement heard over the speaker as Satoru got up and headed toward the covered window next to the balcony door. He fiddled with the knob before managing to pull it open and let the fresh breeze hit his face. He nestled into the crook of it right on the windowsill and gazed far outside.
“Would you believe me if I told you ‘you are a good person’?” Again, they both knew the truth.
“You wouldn’t.
It stung to have somebody say it so clearly without trying to make it sound pretty. Geto curled into himself and looked up at the sky above him. The moon was still beaming just as brightly as it did before and stars were twinkling over him steadily. They would do this no matter what happened to him. His death would be meaningless in the long run and just a blip in the life of someone like his friends.
At the same time, his other half sighed deeply before assuring him: “You’re not a bad person for struggling, you know.”
Deafening silence
“Look, I’ve got this friend, right, and this friend is suuuper hard on himself. He’d jump in front of a bullet for almost anyone but he doesn’t take care of himself.” He theatrically whispers the next part. “He’s a bit dumb for that but don’t tell him I said so.”
“Still, he’s the only one who keeps me grounded when I’m surrounded by only yes-men and … I wouldn’t be able to live in a world without him. My head would get too big and my ego would just explode. Isn’t that a curse?”
All these nice words were meant for him, he knew as much, but why did they sound so foreign, why was he feeling empty.
“Shoko can do that just as well as I can.” What an absolute blunder, all he had to say was ‘yes, we wouldn’t want that hairline to recede further due to your inflated head’, but he was not able to banter.
He wanted to lie down, close his eyes and hope the earth would swallow him whole. That’s what he wanted to do, erase his existence and all traces of it.
Tasting copper made it obvious that he had been chewing at the inside of his cheek for minutes at this point and the skin was of his lip was starting to be speckled with the faintest traces of red blood while he fiddled with it. The urge to bite harder washed over him. He was backsliding rapidly. This call wasn’t what he had hoped for.
“I’m not getting better Satoru. What if I never get better and I stay this fucked up forever? I’ll be weak and I’ll be useless. I can’t even absorb curses without losing it anymore and a thing without its purpose is of no value to anyone.”
The best thing it can do for everyone is disappear
He covered his mouth when he heaved shakily. If only he had gotten his hands on more pills, he could have-
A bang came from the previously silent line. It was so loud that it hurt his ears and startled him right out of his thoughts, making him retract the fingers that were slowly but surely pealing the skin of his lip.
“I don’t care if you get better or not. I love my bestfriend more than anyone in the world. I don’t care if you never use your technique ever again.”
“You don’t mean that Satoru” Was this guy being serious?
“You’re my equal because you are yourself, not for some birth given thing. You match my pace, you know me and you taught me how to be better. You taught me that by trying to get better yourself. You taught me how to see people for what they are. Please tell me it wasn’t bullshit.” Allow me to be something more than the honored one.
“What? But…” When did his friend get this misguided, he couldn’t even argue back.
“I want to see your dumb face every day. I want to go out on stupid excursions or on walks, anything you’d like. I just want you to come home. I meant what I said. I don’t need sorcerer Geto who tries to save me, what I need and want is my friend Suguru back here with me.”
Cheesy line after cheesy line. Where did the white-haired menace get these? Tears streamed down his face shamelessly while he wasn’t observed and he wiped them off with the back of his arm, but a smile had cracked the icy surface along with them.
Gojo could hear the sniffling coming from the other side of the speaker and doubt kept creeping in before…
“Did you practice these lines with Shoko or something? Or were you just hiding that you were the equivalent of a genius when it comes to emotions?”
Gojo definitely wasn’t or he wouldn’t have been hiding how nervous he had been since the call started and had been hiding it behind half-assed jokes.
Of course she had helped him. She had been doing so for weeks now. Guiding him like a child to be more honest and making it clear that he was pushing his partner away by acting like he wasn’t struggling. She also told him to find a therapist and that she wasn’t doing this for free.
“He needs Gojo Satoru, his friend and not Gojo Satoru ‘The honored one’”
Right, to be honest he stole her lines completely but Suguru didn’t have to know about that.
He got up from his resting spot, glancing back to make sure that window didn’t slowly close. Only after it was clear that he didn’t have to worry about it, he shuffled over to his bed. The covers seemed so soft and were strewn messily across the mattress.
He plopped himself right down before sighing dramatically and saying: “I’m a genius alright. Now do me a favor and go to bed. Spare me the fear that you might not make it home.”
Geto stiffened when he registered the words. The three pills wouldn’t kill him; at worst he would probably feel groggy in the morning. It led him to store the thought in his ruminating mind for later examination and took a final look at the street.
He couldn’t see anyone as he dragged his body up until he was upright, still leaning on the rail. Wind had picked up from when he had first stepped out onto the balcony and a chill passed through him. The thought of jumping off paid him a visit for the last time as well, before he heard Gojo ask him if he was laying down already.
He didn’t bother answering, already having felt all too overstimulated and headed for his own resting spot.
Was the bed always so heavenly? The muscles of his body screamed in relief after the day he had and before long he was speaking with clarity and purpose.
“My bottle of painkillers was full while I was packing for this trip.”
And he knew for a fact Satoru had been sneaking around his room at the same time. There was no reason for it to be unusual. He had been bothering him from the couch before he started messing with his things. Meaning, he was given ample time and opportunity to-
“Guess this means you’ve laid down.” Even a subtle tone shift was picked up and he took a pause.
“It was full when you were packing, yes.”
“I’m glad you’re coming back.” Whispered like a prayer yet to come true. Something screamed in his chest, that he should thank him for making sure he would make it home.
“Me too.” Said Suguru and closed his heavy eyelids.
The call kept going without anyone cutting the line and Geto slept peacefully as the upsetting thoughts made space for an image of Satoru carding through his hair ever so delicately.
He smiled sleepily and let darkness pull him under.