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Satoru takes a deep breath as the dust of a new world settles around him. He opens his mouth and the song pours out of him, a candied liquor- sweet but dangerous. It coats his throat like blood after a battle, a feeling that by now he's gruesomely fond of. Satoru has never considered himself a singer, but right now he feels as though he was born to be.
Do you think
Heroes look back on their origin stories
Or is that just a villain thing?
‘Cause I look back at ours all the time
When we lived on the same side of history
Did I miss the signs
Did I grow too fast
When I built up a world on the brink of collapse
Now I just hope it lasts for the next generation
All I have now
Is more than I could hope for
And all I care about
Is all that I’ve lost
Oh, I would walk right into
The prison in your hands
And still wonder where your head’s at
A slow clap rings through the bar, pulling Satoru out of his moody, lyrical haze. The smokey room he’d been singing to has cleared out to reveal an assortment of empty leather seats and freshly wiped tables adorned with neat little salt and pepper couples. He thought he’d been singing to a crowd, but the only person in sight is the desperately unamused blonde behind the bar, cocking his head with annoyance as he doles out long, annoyed claps.
“So I’m a songwriter now?” Satoru ventures with a smirk, leaning into the hot mic in front of him. It reverberates back through the speakers with a satisfying crackle.
“It’s your delusion,” Nanami sighs, humorless as always. “Not mine.”
At this point, Satoru knows better than to question the guitar in his hands, but he takes some time to inspect it anyway. Though he’d never learned to play, when he looks at the silver strings and the weighted maple wood, it really does feel like an instrument he might wield. Sturdy and somehow sacred, not so different than a weapon or a cursed tool.
Then he remembers Gakuganji’s red stratocaster and shudders, placing the guitar gently on a stand and joining Nanami at the bar.
“I mean, I would make a good poet, so I guess this isn’t so far off.” He contemplates, sliding onto a stool and perching his head lazily onto his balanced elbows. Nanami doesn’t even look up, too busy polishing a glass to pristine perfection to give him the time of day.
That was what Satoru had grown to hate most about these little dream worlds- everything inside of them could be completely unrealistic, sometimes even downright laughable, but the cast of characters never once diverted from their regular behavior. In Nanami’s case, it was sort of a comfort, but in others… god forbid he had any fun while he was trapped in here- any relief.
“So who’s watching the kids tonight?” Satoru muses, trying childishly to steal Nanami’s attention back from the glass. Their students never showed up in these little daydreams for some odd reason. Maybe it was Satoru’s mind's twisted way of protecting him. If he couldn’t see their faces, it wouldn’t be as easy to worry about them.
“They’re practically adults, Satoru.” He shoots back, not looking up. “They can handle themselves.”
That’s not true, Satoru wants to tell him. Gojo had learned that about them over time- not that they couldn’t handle themselves, but that they were still in fact kids. They still needed guidance, still needed protection. Even Megumi, who would deny it to his dying breath, needed Satoru. Yuuta and Yuuji, arguably the strongest two of the bunch, had needed him more than anyone else- they’d be dead without him, long since executed.
But Nanami liked to brush it off. Satoru liked to think that it was an attempt to make him feel better, but then again, Nanami had hardly ever been the type to mince words. He can sense Satoru’s uneasiness though, because he sighs and looks over.
“They’ve got Shoko and Utahime, not to mention all the managers.” He reasons. “More importantly, they’ve got each other.”
“And they’ve got you.” Satoru adds. It’s one of the only thoughts that brings him comfort.
Nanami clears his throat and goes back to the glass.
“The song wasn’t terrible.” He admits.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Satoru teases. “I never do anything half-assed.”
“I’ve heard better.” Nanami says, putting down the glass and staring thoughtfully at the array of glass bottles in front of him. “I got the feeling there was more you wanted to say, but instead you decided to keep it to yourself. There was something selfish about it. Songs are supposed to be revealing.”
“Well I’d hardly want to show all my cards.” Satoru frowns, unable to hide the pouty tone in his voice. He doesn’t like being criticized, even for something as random and inconsequential as this.
“If you plan on playing tonight, you’ll have to.” Nanami threatens. Heat rises in Satoru’s chest, straightening his spine as it radiates in tingles. “Say what you mean to him, while you can.”
“So he’s coming?” Satoru asks casually, as if everything didn’t depend on his answer.
“Doesn’t he always?” Nanami groans. He doesn’t sound thrilled about offering this information, but he does it anyway. A door behind the bar swings open and reveals a tuft of black hair.
“Shipment just came in. Mind helping me out?” Haibara asks Nanami sunnily. He looks over to Satoru and offers a bright smile and a small wave. “Oh, hey Gojo! You playing tonight?”
“Only if he works on his song while I’m gone.” Nanami says with a cocked brow. Haibara looks a little confused but his smile doesn’t waver and he doesn’t ask any questions.
“Yeah, yeah. Go on already.” Satoru tells him, throwing up his hands in defeat.
Satoru was always a little surprised to see Haibara, but he seemed to be a fixture in whatever strange reality he’d concocted whilst stuck in the prison realm. Wherever Nanami was, Haibara was sure to follow, the two of them always a pair. Nanami was different around him, quieter and more considerate. Satoru couldn’t bring himself to tease him about it, not that he ever got much of a chance. He’d realized the pattern pretty quickly- if Haibara came around it meant that two things were about to happen: Nanami was about to leave and he was about to show up. He always came alone, like he and Nanami and Haibara had to exist in completely separate worlds.
So despite not having thought about Haibara in years, his presence was always a welcome one. It stirred Satoru’s blood with anticipation, frenzied his mind with possibilities. With things being as bleak as they were, it was a marked change. It made Satoru forget that he wasn’t trapped for all of fucking eternity unless someone but him actually managed to do something for a change, at least for a little while. Besides, he’d forgotten how much he’d liked the boy before he’d died, and he’d certainly forgotten about how fond Nanami was of his fallen classmate.
He watches the two of them leave, not missing the way Nanami’s eyes scrupulously follow Haibara as they go, before wandering back to the stool on the makeshift stage he’d found himself on earlier. On the off-chance that Nanami was coming back and had meant what he’d said, Satoru picks up the guitar and starts thumbing at the strings gently. He doesn’t want to miss a chance to see him, even the fictitious version of him he’d invented in his own head, especially this time around. There are worse ways to see your lover than across a smokey barroom- and perhaps no better way to express how you feel about them than hiding it within the coded words of a song- so he keeps playing. The words come easily, like Satoru had recited them a hundred times before.
High, mighty
And how far we’ve fallen
Good, evil
And being the strongest
A broken trust that rules my cosmic mind
How dare you
Make me doubt myself when I’m all that I have left
An unchecked god
A double cross I still pray to
‘Cause all I have now
Is more than I could hope for
And all I care about
Is all that I’ve lost
Oh, I would walk right into
The prison in your hands
And still wonder where your head’s at
“Don’t you think that’s a little on the nose?” A sarcastic rasp interrupts him before he can continue to the bridge.
The voice alarms him, but he quickly realizes his error when he spots the face hovering by the door. It wasn’t Maki like he’d thought, but instead her twin sister Mai. She makes her way to one of the tables, disturbing the equilibrium Nanami had no doubt spent hours creating by pulling out one of the chairs and sinking into it.
What was she doing here? Besides Nanami, Haibara, and the obvious one, the only other person he’d seen in the duration of his time here was Principle Yaga, and that was… well, who knows how long ago. Time didn’t exactly pass in an orderly fashion here. Perhaps it had been hours ago, perhaps days, perhaps years. The two of them had talked for a long time while assembling matching floral arrangements, musing about their students as their hands were busy. But Satoru hadn’t seen Yaga since and had considered the whole thing a fluke before moving on to the next world.
He hops off the stage and strides over to her. She rolls her eyes, not particularly happy to see him.
“How’s Maki?” Satoru asks her, bracing himself for the impact of a snarky response that doesn’t come. Instead, her eyes lower to the table as she lets out a breath.
“Strong.” Is all she says. But then, after a long pause, she scoffs. “You’d probably be disgustingly proud of her.”
Satoru can’t say he knows what that means, but he’ll take it. Mai wasn’t jumping straight down her sister’s throat like usual, and that was enough of a win.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks, genuinely curious. “Another devoted Satoru Gojo fan?”
“Hardly.” She bites back, a venom that stings but never kills. “I’m just passing through.”
“Well, you’re more than welcome here. I’m just a little surprised, is all.” He tells her, stopping himself from wishing Maki was here instead- that wouldn’t be fair to her. Still, it is his mind. He assumes that all of this is the elaborate work of six eyes- a way to keep him occupied until this nightmare is finally over and he can personally scrub the prison realm permanently out of existence- so why couldn’t he choose his own imaginary companions?
She leans across the table and eyes him cautiously.
“You don’t know why I’m here.” It’s a statement, not a question. There’s something mystical about how she says it- as if she were all-knowing and Satoru was unlucky and unenlightened, a mere mortal. It doesn’t sit right with him. When he doesn’t answer her, her eyes flicker back down and she pulls away with a throaty chuckle. “Well. I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Satoru asks. She just shakes her head, not giving in. “Hmm. Maybe Maki will tell me when she comes to visit.” He taunts, hoping to tempt her.
“She won’t.” Mai says shortly, standing up from her seat hastily. Clearly, Satoru has struck a nerve with the second mention of her twin. “Come visit, I mean. I made damn sure of that.” She turns on her heels and throws the last bit over her shoulder with a wink. “Go finish your song. And keep an eye on her for me, would you?”
Satoru turns to stand up and see her out, but when he looks back for her she’s already gone, vanished into thin air. Very strange- but what about this place was normal in the first place? He walks back to the stage. There aren’t any clocks in the room, but he gets the sense that he’s running out of time to finish his song before his guest arrives.
Mai has distracted him though. He can’t remember where he was or what he had left to say, so instead he closes his eyes and strums the guitar cradled in his lap.
Whoa, oh oh
Whoa, oh oh
Whoa, oh oh
Whoa, oh
When he opens his eyes, the lights have dimmed and a single spotlight is trained on him. The show has started. Squinting, he looks out to find that the audience is empty, save one lone figure leaning against the wall in the back of the house, illuminated by flecks of flickering light. Satoru’s heart lurches. There is a world between them and yet here they are, eye to eye. Suddenly he knows exactly what he wants to say.
When I look at you years pass
In the blink of an eye
But I would’ve just given you my time if you’d asked for it
I would’ve just given you my life if you’d asked for it
But now, you’ve given up yours
Your ship’s sailing in
But I can’t find the captain
You’re dead to the world
But I’m still your captive
So take me into your arms again
Just take me into your arms again
My friend
My one and only
All I have now
Is more than I could hope for
And all I care about
Is you
Oh, I would walk right into
The prison in your hands
And still wonder where your head’s at
Can you tell me where your head’s at?
There’s a breath, a lilt of silence where Satoru feels his whole being hanging in the balance, but then the applause breaks through. There’s only one person clapping of course, but it was the only person who mattered.
Satoru knows somewhere in the back of his mind that this should be a tragic occasion, that they should be crying and aching after the words he’s just shared, not beaming at each other like headlights. It does nothing to stop the rush, the thrill of getting it all off his chest- like singing about their infinite problems could instantly solve them. In any case, Suguru is smiling and that meant everything would be okay, at least for now.
Abandoning the guitar he’d been brandishing so carefully, Satoru jumps off the stage and closes the distance between them. From the instant their bodies touch, they waste no time. Hands are on cheeks, lips are on lips, and arms are desperately pulling one another in- they couldn’t get close enough if they tried.
This. Why does his mind insist on making him work so hard for it?
He tries not to dwell on it, which is easy considering the company he’s in. Usually his mind was trying to do a million different things at once, but Suguru had a way of pointing it in one singular direction: his. The relief of being with him was complete and all-consuming, a safety that made the rest of the world- however small it currently was- fall away. This was the only person who truly knew him: secrets, weaknesses, and fatal flaws as well as curves and edges. He doesn’t have to say that for Suguru to know it’s true. The kiss says it all for them.
“Of all your tries, I’ll admit- this one is my favorite.” He says gently, their lips still centimeters apart. Satoru can’t resist, so he leans in and closes the distance between them again and brushes him softly. After, he swallows hard and leans his forehead against Suguru’s, hands still touching. It’s bliss until Suguru closes his eyes and starts speaking, shutting him back out again. “But of course, it doesn’t change anything.”
“I don’t accept that.” Satoru tells him firmly, ignoring the ache that starts nagging at his heart. He’s trying to be strong. He could do that, for him.
Suguru laughs bitterly, his breath grazing Satoru’s cheeks warmly. He gives a slight shake of his head before looking deeply into Satoru’s eyes.
“Why can’t you see…” He murmurs. “That this is the exact kind of pain I was trying to end?”
No. No, no, no, no, no. Not this again. This was always where the shift started, and once it began Satoru could never do anything to stop it, a boulder rolling wildly down a hill that he’s chasing after. They would have this, this one fleeting moment of pureness between them that perfectly echoed the simple haze of their youth, and then it would dissolve into the same fight, over and over again.
Satoru shakes his head. He can’t stop himself. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening again. This time it was supposed to be different. Hadn’t he played the game well enough? He wrote the song like Nanami asked. Against all his better judgement, he’d gotten on a stage and shared the most pitiful parts of himself. He’d cracked his famous exterior and let Suguru into the darkest, most private thoughts in his head. So why hadn’t it worked?
His oldest friend places two hands on his shoulders and begins to gently rock. To anyone else, it would look like the two of them were dancing. Satoru feels seasick.
“Nanami and Haibara- don’t they look so happy together? I used to see a little bit of us in them, back then.” Suguru says quietly, the faintest of smiles wisping across his delicate face. Satoru feels a familiar weariness settling in. “I wanted to stop us from meeting the same fate. If only you’d waited, I’d have created a world for us.”
“But at what cost? ” Satoru chokes in response. Torturous words. It’s a question he wishes more than anything he didn’t have to ask, but some unknown force snatches it from his throat and savagely tears it to the surface. Satoru wants to bury his head in the folds of their shirts and forget that any other world besides theirs had ever even existed, but he just can’t. No matter how exhausted he is, and he is, his will does not bend. Suguru was right about one thing, and one thing only: nothing had changed.
“One I would have paid. Happily.” He coos. He says it with such buoyancy, such joy, that Satoru can almost make himself forget how awful it is. He feels his heart flutter traitorously, his skin buzzing from the magnetic pull between them instead of prickling with the sharp shock of electricity. An apocalyptic-intentioned admission of love was still an admission of love, if you looked closely enough- and Satoru had always been doomed to look at things too closely. “And that’s the difference between us. You weren’t willing to do that for us.”
“Don’t say it like that.” Satoru argues, knowing how pointless it is. “Like I didn’t love you enough.”
“Maybe you didn’t.” Suguru says, smiling serenely. The pain is worse than if swords had suddenly pierced through every inch of him, inside and out. It only gets worse with each word that comes out of his mouth. “Is that what you thought about, when you put an end to me? How much you loved me?”
“I didn’t want to.” Satoru cries pathetically, not caring how bare he is laying himself. Suguru has to know that’s true. Suguru was his best friend, his everything.
“But you still did.” He whispers, leaning in close to place the words softly in Satoru’s ears before pulling away. “You have no one to blame, no one to blame for any of this, but yourself.” And with that, he starts walking backwards, taking chunks of Satoru with each step until he feels totally hollow, completely void of anything useful. “For both of our sakes, you need to accept that and move on.”
“Please don’t go.” He calls out, one last desperate and shameless attempt. His feet are rooted to the floor, same as always. He can’t chase. He can’t extend the encounter. He can’t do anything, and that just isn’t right. He’s Satoru Gojo. He’s the strongest. Why, why, does he have to be powerless now of all times? Suguru opens the door to the bar, revealing a stunning and excruciating flash of daylight behind him. Up until that moment, Satoru had been absolutely sure it was nighttime.
“Satoru, my love.” He says sweetly, just an outline in the daylight. “I’m already gone.”
“Please.” Satoru begs, but it’s already too late.
The door shuts and the bar is bathed in darkness again- and not just the dim candlelit softness it had before, but a slow, creeping darkness that starts at the edges and fuzzes your whole world till the last bit of oxygen runs out and the flame is smothered.
And there it is: that one moment of blankness between worlds where Satoru remembers what all this is. This isn’t the work of six-eyes. This isn’t a harmless distraction, a place for his mind to go till it got back to the real world.
This is the prison realm.
A unique brand of torture, having to watch the person you love most walk out on you a hundred times in a hundred different ways, under the guise of believing that each time things will finally turn out differently. It’s something so sick that Satoru couldn’t have come up with it even if he’d tried. They’d found his worst case scenario, his greatest weakness, and planned to exploit it till the end of time.
How many times had they done this? How many times had he forgotten and been hooked back in, only to have his heart ripped out of him and stitched shakily back in for the next round? And how many more times?
Hurry up. He thinks, wishing he could call out to Yuuta, Yuuji, Megumi, Maki, Nobara, Toge, Panda, Hakari, Nanami, anyone- anyone who was looking to free him. The idea of if, of their rescue, is the only thing that keeps him going in the sliver of darkness he’s been briefly left in.
The respite doesn’t last very long. The revelation has faded from Satoru’s mind before the light has even started filtering back in, like waking up from a dream that you’ve already forgotten- the more you think about, the more distant it feels.
“Satoru.” A voice calls as his lids flicker back open. “Satoru. We’ve been paging you for fifteen minutes, wake up.”
It’s Nanami. Who else would it be?
He’s wearing a dashing pair of blue scrubs, but as it turns out, so is Satoru. He runs his fingers against the fabric, knowing better than to question it. The thick make of the fabric isn’t entirely unlike their sorcerer uniforms- a little hint of normalcy to ease him into this new reality he’s found himself inside of.
“Ah, sorry about that.” Satoru says, brushing it off. “Guess I fell asleep.”
He hops off the top of one of the bunks in the on-call room, landing easily on the linoleum and shaking off the sleep from his skin. He’s more tired than he usually is, which is a little weird- like the wear of the day had seeped into his bones and the cavities of his brain as well. He wasn’t used to this kind of exhaustion, and it bothered him a little that he couldn’t place it. Perhaps it had something to do with this other world- doctors were supposed to be tired, right?
Nanami reaches out a hand to steady him. He takes Satoru’s shoulder and squeezes it tightly.
“Your shift is almost over, okay?” He says with a quiet intensity, looking deeply into Satoru’s eyes. “Just make it through for a little while longer.”
“Hah. You forget who you’re dealing with!” Satoru laughs, hoping to break the serious tone the conversation had taken. “Just tell me where you need me. But I have a date tonight, so I can’t stay late.”
Satoru doesn’t know how he knows that last bit, but he’s hardly going to question it. There’s only one person who could be taking him out and the thought of it makes him giddy, suddenly entirely awake. Nanami takes a clipped breath, his eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he leads Satoru out of the room and in to an elevator at the end of the floor.
As the doors close behind them, Satoru notices a jazzy piano arrangement playing softly from the tinny speakers overhead. He recognizes the melody somehow, and even though there are no vocals, he knows the lyrics.
I would walk right into
The prison in your hands
And still wonder where your head’s at.