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"He's in pain most days, Nanami."
"I know," he says, gritting his teeth. He cards his fingers through Gojo's snow white hair— his lashes fluttering closed as he leans into the touch. His breathing calms down little by little, until the only sound Gojo makes is a low hum of what Nanami chooses to assume is contentment. "I know, it's not easy for him."
"I—" but Ieiri stops, no doubt trying to carefully pick her words. "I don't think he would've wanted to live like this."
Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, would have not wanted to live this way. Ieiri knows it as well as Nanami does, but she doesn't say that— she doesn't express how certain she is about this fact, she doesn't call him out on his selfishness. She doesn't tell him to let Gojo go, because Nanami knows she doesn't want to do it either. Let Gojo go, he means. She doesn't want to let go of Gojo Satoru.
Nanami understands.
This man— this man lying on a bed that is neither his nor Nanami's— he may look like Gojo Satoru, and he may be him in flesh and bones— but who he used to be is no longer present. This one could be seen as a shadow. A resemblance. Someone that could be but is not.
"Did you ask him, Ieiri-san?" Nanami says at last. It's unfair, he knows that. Ieiri is trying to reason with him and all he wants of her is to be gone— to go away, to stop trying to get him to agree to this nonsense. "Do you know for sure that this is not what he'd want?"
"Don't be cruel, Nanami." And she doesn't sound hurt, but Nanami knows better. He knows her better than that. "Satoru wasn't free when he was at the top, but I doubt he feels free the way he is now."
"We can't be sure, though." Smoothing one of Gojo's eyebrows with the pad of his thumb, Nanami leans down and places a kiss on his forehead.
The way Gojo reacts— how he moves his head to follow Nanami's touch as his arms spasms the tiniest bit, how he blinks rapidly when Nanami pulls away, how his breath quickens and his mouth moves around words he will never be able to say— isn't this who Gojo is? Isn't he who he's always been? "Ieiri-san— Shoko," he breathes out, looking at her over his shoulder. "He's alive."
"Nanami—"
He sighs. "Gojo-san is alive. He's breathing and he's well— I know. He's hurting. I can tell he is, but— he's breathing on his own, he knows who we are, he's happy when he sees us. He's alive. Does it really matter if he's like this? Do you really think he'd hate it so much he'd prefer to die?"
Can they be sure?
There are times when Nanami thinks they won't ever be.
Gojo Satoru was the Strongest. He was The Strongest Sorcerer— the smartest, the more skilled, the one who was head and shoulders above the rest.
He never figured out if Gojo was happy about that. Was he okay with being alone at the top? Was he okay with going about life with a target on his back? Was he okay with protecting not only the ones without cursed energy but the ones who were able to help him lessen the burden but actively choose not to?
What does Nanami know about Gojo Satoru? What does Ieiri know?
They can argue— she can insist on doing what she thinks Gojo would want and Nanami can tell her no. He can tell her it should be fine like this— he can insist on Gojo being fine like this as long as he's alive. But they don't know. They don't know for sure.
What would Gojo want? Nanami wishes he had asked when he had the time— now all the answers Gojo can give him are grunts and the occasional sound that could be mistaken for laughter if the timing is right.
Gojo was the strongest, and both Nanami and Ieiri thought— he would survive, and he would do it without a single scar on his body. He would survive the way Nanami couldn't— unscathed. No damage taken or no trace of it ever affecting him in any significant way.
Nanami thought Gojo was safe, now all he has is a shell in the form of his body. And still, he isn't able to let go.
"He's alive," he repeats when Ieiri says nothing. He's not sure if she has finally stepped out of the room or if she just simply fell silent.
Gojo grunts next to him, an arm spasm moving his hand forward. His fingers meet Nanami's, they're cold to the touch.
He takes Gojo's hand on his own as the older man makes another meaningless sound. He seems to be in a good mood today, Nanami realizes. He almost looks as if he's smiling.
"I don't think this is right," Ieiri finally says, taking a few steps towards Gojo. She puts a hand on his shoulder— he moves his head a bit as another sound comes out of his mouth. Nanami thinks it means he's happy. "He isn't the Satoru we know— he's not the one you and I love."
"But he is," he retorts, trying and failing to hide how displeased he is with Ieiri's words. "He is. He can't talk, but Ieiri-san, how can you not understand him? We are all he needs, it's okay."
From the corner of his eye, he sees Ieiri frown.
"We are all he has, Nanami. The Gojo clan wants him dead as much as the school does. And to be frank, sometimes I wish I could just end it for him. Or let other people end him for me. It'd be the best— for all of us."
There's a part of him that understands what Ieiri is talking about.
Gojo's condition is delicate— he can barely move his head and eyes, maybe some other parts of his body if he's having a good day. He can't talk— sometimes he chokes on his own spit, other times he whines because he's aching and he can't say where or how much.
Sometimes there are tears running down his face, and when Nanami tries to wipe them away, Gojo doesn't let him.
He understands that it's possible that Gojo hates the life he has now.
But does Ieiri really think that's enough for him to let go?
Nanami whispers sweet little nothings in Gojo's ear on his bad days. He kisses the back of his hands and his forehead on okay days. He steals a kiss, once in a while, when he feels like life is unfair for making them survive war.
"I want him to live," he confesses. It's selfish, he knows. But seeing Gojo go for a second time will destroy whatever is left of him, and he also knows that. "For as long as he wishes to stay in this world, I want him to live."
Ieiri sighs, no doubt fed up with Nanami's attitude. This is hardly the first time they have had this conversation. And maybe there will be a time when Nanami finally agrees with what she wants to do.
There will be a time when he realizes— Gojo might be better off dead than alive. Today is not that day, however.
Today is the day Gojo does his best to smile, and Nanami leans down to steal a kiss from those lips that used to be so rosy and shiny.
This man may not be the Gojo he has come to know and love, but there are traces of him on his face and the noises he makes— and so, Nanami loves him. And he takes care of him. And he will keep on loving him for as long as he's allowed to.