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Clothes torn and disheveled in appearance, his feet slowly drag along the corridor that meets the entrance of Jujutsu Tech. Having no more strength in him, Suguru still urges himself on each step of the stairs, bits of his hair coming undone and flying across his face, hot sweat clinging to the sides of his uniform.
He palms the side of his head forcefully.
His head feels heavy, he realizes. It’s been that way for days, days when time only seemed so fast whenever he was sent to places for missions he’d do alone.
It doesn't seem to make sense
Everything was going well
When it was him and Satoru returning to headquarters, they’d allow themselves the privilege of taking short breaks before going back, a quick snack or smoke. Of course, Satoru would be complemented with sweets while Suguru took his time with his cigarette. They worked under a spontaneous routine, something Suguru came to terms with from the fixed and organized household he grew up in. It was a change he embraced.
Guess that was just the surface
'Cause underneath I couldn't tell
But those were memories that he can only look back to.
He walks back alone now, carrying home the souvenirs that he promised Satoru that he’d bring with him after every mission, a set reminder that he knew someone waited for his arrival. But there were times that he arrived without seeing the boy he bought the souvenirs for, so he leaves it where Satoru could see it at first glance: his room. He bought those souvenirs, so it’d be a shame if they remain unseen and probably stolen by someone else who chanced upon it. Satoru would sulk, he imagined, and he’d complain to him and ask for more sweets, and Suguru would comply.
He was my brightest star
In the night I couldn't ignore
Fuck, it’s painful, and the searing pain from his side starts wetting the dark fabric of his uniform, and the bloodstained color wasn’t still too evident under the night’s gaze.
So he begins to lean on the wall, holding one side of him to keep himself hoisted upright. The night carried a looming presence, but he knew there were no curses left for him to exorcise.
He felt horrible.
It wasn’t every day that he could feel as relaxed as Satoru once he’s finished with his own solo missions; coming back barely with any scars or even scratches on his uniform, Suguru never doubted the ability of what his infinity can do. Suguru looks at him differently nowadays, they all do. Satoru’s abilities improved day by day, and a week wouldn’t pass by without him reporting to the team of his new accomplishments. This, they knew, too, that the Gojo clan’s pride has never lacked in accomplishments once Satoru bore the title of being the strongest, a badge never ridden and only ever polished since his birth.
‘Who cares about that stuff?‘
Satoru once said, grabbing the dango-flavored juice box from the vending machine. He had asked Suguru at the time to help him with his combat training even when Yaga permitted him to rest. Suguru thinks the area where his feet met the other boy’s hip from his roundhouse kick still stung, with his slightly obvious limping.
‘Everyone, Satoru. Even the higher-ups do,‘ He said with a hint of irony in his tone at the mention of the elder men. ‘You alone changed the reality of our world when you were born.‘
‘Do you care, Suguru?‘
He raises an eyebrow while combing the front of his hair. His mouth opens with a ready response before Satoru interrupted him.
‘About what they think,‘ He added.
The question hung above him. It needn’t even be a question, he thought it was obvious at point-blank; he sees Satoru as Satoru, even if he may be the strongest. Even when the world weighed upon his shoulders, he was still just a boy figuring out how everything works, a boy who knew how to throw jokes at the most inappropriate times.
In the grand scheme of things, Satoru was the biggest part of it all, and he still held Suguru to the same standard; his equal.
‘You wouldn’t let me live a quiet life if I did. I'm nothing like those sleazebags.‘
Satoru tore the straw from the back of the carton, pricking through the foil of the box. He takes a sip of the dango, eyeing Suguru. Suguru observes him back, recognizes the eyebags that already gathered beneath his eyelids when his pitch-black glasses revealed a pair of aquamarine eyes looking back into his own purple ones.
He ponders the things that Satoru couldn't tell him. Maybe there were things he held close to his heart too well, that if Suguru went too close, he wouldn't get not so much of a glimpse but another vague answer.
Suguru thinks, and thinks, until the curse that lives in his head consumes him.
‘Then what’s a bunch of tasteless old men have to do with how I live?‘
He laughs, and the injury he held pulsated through his palm. It reminds him how human he is. That he could still somehow manage to feel and bear the pain alone.
Shoko eyed him from the sides in worry as he soon walked the hallways of their dorm, even going as far as lending him her lighter for one cigarette once his hand shifted the doorknob to Satoru’s room. Shoko doesn’t question why Suguru chooses Satoru’s room instead of his, just accepts it the way it is.
He knows exactly where to go
He takes the lead and I follow
He turns down the offer, didn’t want to inhale the tobacco when the taste of vomit lingered in his taste buds, recently from another errand to take out a horde of curses from a neighboring town.
You’ve been visiting him even when he’s not there, she blurts out, but Suguru’s mind had already been elsewhere.
Aimlessly I follow
He vaguely remembers the aroma of the takoyaki food stall, the memory of what it tasted slowly warping into the curse’s decapitated form; what resembled a human grotesquely shaped in the form of a centipede. One of its heads rolled its way to the side of the road, away from the swarm of people that mindlessly crossed the streets. Not a care in the world, just another ocean filled with fish waiting for more bait.
He ingested the cursed spirit, remnants of its energy fading once a pair of lips engulf it whole.
Bitter. Sour.
He figured he’d be nauseous at the pungent aftertaste, how he might’ve even allowed himself to puke in public. To exorcise, to consume, it’s become a routine that was innate to him. But the sensation had already worn itself down, and Suguru forgot what it’s like to even feel disgusted.
It wasn’t the first time Suguru had eaten something so horrid. This wouldn’t be his last either.
But he doesn’t forget how Satoru knows exactly what to do every time Suguru was in his unpleasant state; Satoru, whose hands immediately finds Suguru’s to hold onto, rubbing his thumb against the skin that turned harsh as days passed, who would tilt his head in worry, voice loud and clear enough for Suguru to hear him.
And he was all he could hear, apart from the white noise, the nausea settling at the bottom of his stomach. This boy, who he loves, who made life look so sublime.
He smiles at Shoko, turning away from her and entering the room without wasting another breath.
He feels he’s wasted enough of it; enough cigarettes, enough time.
What’s left for him is the space left by the boy he loved. His hands reach out to cool sheets, rumpled and undone, but the smell of musk was still there, still welcoming and familiar. He wraps them around his frame, lies his tired body onto the soft mattress, and pretends that the space wasn’t so big for him alone to occupy, pretends that he had someone near him, lulling him to sleep with only one presence.
In a parallel universe
Just one presence, even an hour’s worth of time. But Suguru hasn’t stocked up on it, and he hasn’t considered that the ticking bomb inside him was soon to go off. It was almost ridiculous. He can stop the appalling thoughts and let his uncertainties waver, bury it in the sand, letting them wash away ashore. He might allow himself to live like this without giving it so much thought.
Would I rather live a miserable life?
The carried weight that flooded inside him disagrees. And he thinks of Satoru once again, and he recalls the days when they were quiet, not from lack of words, but a quietness that comforted them both that they were okay. And if unspoken words couldn’t comfort them, it was the silence that stood in its place.
The lump in his throat stills, the air around him stiff and desolate.
Oh, this universe is a curse
Nauseosness sets in, and Suguru decides to sleep, decides to dream that the world still favored him. That the world isn’t cruel and having a heart wasn’t so heavy as it used to be.
For god-knows-what, he knew he needed one, being the one who’s almost got nothing left to live with a heart that’s almost dead with the convictions he grew up with.
And if he loses himself, will this world still accept him as he is? Will the descent become unbearable? Will he still be needed? Will he care?
Would you care, Satoru?
He held onto it, knew that it still had meaning to it.
Where's timing so cruel to us
I don't know how to be alright
Sound of light footsteps draw near, and when Suguru had already succumbed to a deep slumber, the door creaks open. Satoru watches Suguru, his Suguru, sleep on the same bed where he spent most of his nights alone for the past few weeks. So without giving it much thought, he climbs on top of the mattress, gently pulls the blanket over them both, then squeezes his eyes shut. Shuts the world around him, releases his infinity, and allows himself a peaceful night.
You're the only one I have, the only meaning that still makes sense.
Then Satoru wakes up, alone, from a dream that wasn’t his to recall.
Don't want to live in a world where you are not mine