Archive of Our Own ^beta

     I had a ballpen within my sweaty palms, a small blessing at the face of my forsaken loss, and now my wrists, down to my sculpted chest and weary legs are etched with fleeting repetitive numbers. 

    The vibrant sea of nestled flowers does not sway me into eternal bliss. They are sickening. The unclouded azure sky reminds me of another dreaded soul, the sun is tragically pale and I am endlessly wandering around like a stray balloon trying to escape this heavenly maze. 

    I could not sleep, eat or speak. My lips are clamped shut like two fabrics knitted together to weave between tears. I do not miss talking at all. I have nothing less to say to myself other than 'it's over now', and I don't need words to paint the idea in my mind. 

    I don't care if my flesh rots into ember, the pain would not be in vain. I don't care if my sanity crumbles into blinding madness, as long as I don't have to breathe in this fabricated paradise. I say 'fabricated' because in truth–if this is Paradise, then by all means, throw me in Hell. 

    Throw me in Hell because if luck strokes me one last time, it would be there with Gojo. That snow-haired blue eyed bastard who towers over mortals like a Greek God. That sly cat. 

    I know him well enough to know that he won't end up anywhere near the damned kingdom of suffering, but I also know him well enough to know that he would dread paradise as I do and would stand with me in hell if it means starting anew. Regret would purge his soul like a haunting knock on the door, loud and relentless. 

    Still

    Perhaps, I am painting his supposed misery in the wrong light. Perhaps, I am transcribing my own buried emotions as his, when it is entirely possible that my name is erased from the tip of his tongue. I am the one who walked away at the face of the universe, turning my back on all that I stood for to shape a better world to fight for.

    Gojo chose not to walk alongside me–no, he did not chase my shadow anymore. I made sure he didn't. Only I alone can risk everything at the face of what might be nothing. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself if he abandons everything for me. For nothing.

    Sometimes, I wonder if he resents me. I can't seem to resent him no matter how much dirt I try to coat his soul in. It's hard to despise rain when you know how much water matters, even though you're soaked like a wet tissue ready to wilt.

     Although I unapologetically stripped myself away from the pure shackles that bound us together, a piece of him is still curled within my grasp. A petal. Pearly white like the strands of his hair.

    Is it a goodbye gift? A peace offering?A way to make me yearn for him, think of him like a song that refuses to fade away? Who knew the waves of emotions this dull petal drowned me in. I could only think 'why' but deep down, I did not wish to hear the answer from him, so I crafted my own.

    Like a fool, I keep the petal in hopes that it would lead me to him. To Gojo Satoru, my friend.

  The strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer.

   The protector, never the protected. 

   Would he laugh at me? If I still cling to the light I want to see, will it come to me? 

     The tender breath of wind blows me out of my trance, and the petal I once so strongly held slithers from the cage of my fingers to be carried by the mellow breeze. It sails the air like a drifting ship, leaving me to rot on shore.

    But not now. Not this, no– I can't lose the petal yet. 

   Never would I imagine myself running across this endless field, eyes pinned on the petal as I chase for the sole remnants of him. I am running, running till my feet grow sore, my knees bruise and my bones rattle with every desperate step. 

    Wafts of air slip from my parting mouth. It's difficult to catch my breath when the reason I breathe is fleeting away. 

    The dancing flowers around me swirl around my legs that relentlessly carry itself across the glowing meadow, and for some reason the sky is brighter this way. I run, I run and sweat dries off my nape from the gust of wind.

    Closer

    Just a little bit more

   Though it hurts, it's the only thing he left me with. I'd go insane without it.

      There's a reason I still cling to the things he held. His touch. He touched this petal too, didn't he?

     Yes, him. Satoru. It's you, isn't it?.

    The light behind him could blind anyone.

     The petal melts away.

     The grass beneath me falls into silence.

     I stopped running. I have no reason to chase after a piece of him.

    There's no reason to chase after something that's already in front of you. Right, Satoru?

    There's no mistaking his ocean gaze.

    He stands there with eyes hooked to the sky, but as soon as my footsteps whisper in his ears, he is anchored back to earth. 

     He turns to look at me. He looks at me like he knows my name. He looks at me like I'm alive, and strangely enough, I do feel alive. 

    I am more alive now than I was back then.

    I am more alive now that I am dead, not because of the lack of people, but the presence of one. Gojo. My best friend. My one and only.

     I spread my arms with sickly love. I spread my arms because I trust him to envelop me with the same arms that tried to kill me even though he knew he couldn't.

     I close my eyes and hear his thudding footsteps echo louder. Then, a familiar weight latches itself onto my chest, knocking me down on my back as we both fall against the soft patch of grass. Both his arms lock around my neck, and his legs cross themselves around my waist. Rosy paint spreads across his cheeks and he is bubbling with laughter. 

     My lips quiver but I smile as well, fingers burying into the fabric of his clothes to prove he's real. I watch the stream of sunlight pour from behind, casting the curves of his shadow below me. He is real. He is here, with me, and he is real. He is also dead, but I've gotten so used to death that it doesn't faze me anymore. 

     He peels himself away from me and ruffles his hair, brushing away the stubborn leaves. He said nothing as he bore his deep gaze into me. He just smiles, longingly so with a deep aching in his heart. He sits there and glows. That alone strung the stiff strings of my emotions, playing a crooked chord from this aged harp. All he does is exist and I am forever undone.

    "Suguru," my name rolls down his tongue. He says it as if it comes as easy as breathing, while I'm here still trying to tether my breath. "Did you wait for me? Am I too late?"

   'No' I wanted to say, but I couldn't. 'This is enough. Now is perfect than never'

    As much as I try to unseal my lips, no words could leave me, but the look in my sunken eyes tells enough sorrowful tales to know that there is light swimming in the voids now, and that light resembles the twisted smile on his face.

     I did not utter a word because no words were needed for him to understand that his presence meant the world to me. Ironic, as we no longer belong there. I don't miss it, though. Not once.

    I could sit here and look at him for eternity. I could sit here and do nothing.

     I can't believe that only after 6 years, 72 months, 52,696 hours, and 3,161,779 minutes, this is the day 'Paradise' became Paradise, and I never want to go to Hell. 

    Anywhere without him is hell.

    Paradise is where we stand, together, laughing, skin to skin with such a familiar warmth it feels so much like home.

   Like mozzarella pasta after a day playing in the mud, sweaters under Christmas trees, sharing an umbrella with shoulders sandwiched against each other's body and it's so cold yet firecrackers are bursting inside your chest like midnight skies above music festivals and it's love.

    This is love

    If it isn't, then maybe love isn't all that magical after all, because what I'm feeling right now could make a dead man feel alive. And that's magical. That's better than any emotion, any paradise and promise. 

°°°

   "Suguru?"

   "Yeah?" I hum, eyes smiling.

   "You smell like old people."

    I chuckle. "What do old people smell like?" I ask, half-amused, half-curious. 

    A playful grin plays on his lips and he nuzzles his chin on the crook of my neck, relishing the air. "Soap and death."

    Interesting pair.

    I don't think I mind.