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“You should at least curse me at the end.” Suguru breathed out. He was dying, painfully so. There was a bloodied stump in the space his left arm once occupied. He was dying, achingly so, but he would not succumb to the wounds of battle. Gojo Satoru would deliver the last blow.
He stared up at the man, entranced by the sight before him. Satoru stood haloed by the setting sun fading behind the clouds. His white hair aglow with the soft light of sunset. What a blessing to be able to see something so heartbreakingly beautiful in his final moments.
Suguru realized in their decade apart, even after leaving him alone on Memory Lane in Shinjuku, his love for Satoru never faded.
How was he ever supposed to let go of fond memories of their youth? He had no other place to keep the memories of a boy who held the sky in his eyes besides his heart.
“Asking me to curse you, Suguru? Isn’t my grief enough?”
Grief was a curse preserving, it sat like rot in the pit of his stomach
If Suguru had it his way, he would be buried six feet deep with the man who carried his devotion. If Suguru was allowed, Satoru and he would create two complete parentheses buried in dirt for their bones to collect dust. He would gladly let his body rot if the residuals of who they once were could be intertwined for eternity. Finally allowed to rest together for once in their hopeless lives.
Suguru didn’t think it was particularly fair, that Satoru would be left to remember their love by himself when he left this world. He hoped Satoru would not be tormented by the loneliness of loving a dead man.
Did Satoru love him anymore? He wondered idly before the wall behind him became soaked in his blood.
…
Instead, Geto Suguru’s body was defiled by a creature far more wicked than he.
He was now a walking carcass.
He felt his consciousness smothered by the evil that now occupied his body. The imposter infected his skin like a parasite. It gleefully invaded his memories, excavating the years of his precious youth to be brandished as a weapon. He knew his flesh was chosen purposefully. His cursed technique would offer power. His body would be the only weakness for the strongest.
“He should have cursed you,” the imposter taunted, “I wonder if his grief was worse.”
What was his body like before this poison?
He could not remember what it was like to hold what held loved. He did not remember what it was like to touch something without ruin.
He heard the imposter utter Gojo Satoru over and over. Planning with the other cursed spirits. The imposter knew to stay out of sight during their schemes. He lurked in the shadows of all their dealings, pulling the strings from behind the scenes. It worked, Gojo Satoru would be lured alone to the depths of the Shibuya subway. The imposter would use his flesh to stun Satoru, to trap him. No matter how he raged against what his body did, his consciousness was buried underneath the sickening evil parading his former shell around.
He was buried deep within himself, left alone to collect dust. The residuals of the person he once was rotted from the inside.
This was not his body anymore.
…
It only took the sight of his flesh to paralyze the strongest.
The imposter used his voice and body as a weapon. Satoru’s name was uttered with malice, thinly veiled as a greeting to a long lost friend.
He stirred when Satoru’s voice fell within reach, asking who exactly stood before him. The imposter mocked him.
“Geto Suguru, of course. Did you forget?” the imposter sneered with delight, “How sad.”
He was lost. He was lost within himself.
“You didn’t have Ieiri Shoko get rid of Geto Suguru’s body, did you?” the imposter taunted, holding the peeled back flesh of his skull like a prize. He tied it back on with a sickening squelch, continuing his conversation unphased.
What was left of him was trapped in the darkness of evil, left to rot alone.
“How are you going to let yourself get used like that… Suguru.”
Suguru
When his name was uttered by the man who held the sky in his eyes, it was like a ray of sunlight breaking through the cover of darkness. Satoru braced himself on his knees, trapped within the disgusting muscle of the prison realm. The fluorescent light haloed his white hair and Suguru remembered.
With what remained of his fleeting soul, Suguru used his left arm to grip the imposter by the throat. Using the same limb that was absent when Satoru killed him. His grip tightened around the parasite.
I’m here, he raged beneath his own skin. I’m here