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He killed him.
Satoru fumbled with the lock of his door room.
He killed him.
Satoru was hyperventilating now, slamming the door behind him.
He killed him. His best friend. His one and only.
He sunk to the floor against the door, desperately trying to draw breath into his uncooperative lungs.
Dead. Suguru was dead and it was all his fault.
Satoru's hands clawed at his head, nails digging and burrowing into his hair.
Suguru was dead and it was his fault. It was his fault.
Tears were streaming down his face as he silently shook, sobs wracking his body as he fought to stay quiet.
He was the strongest. He was supposed to be the strongest.
Satoru had started to scratch as his arms, tearing at the exposed skin.
He was a failure. He was the strongest. He had to protct everyone. What good was he if he couldn't protect everyone?
Gasping for air, he dragged himself to the bathroom.
Love is the most twisted curse of them all.
It was pathetic. He knew it was pathetic.
Curse me a little more at the end, won't you?
He didn't want to remember - if he didn't remember, it could be real. It couldn't be real, right?
He had killed the only person who really saw him and it was all his fault.
He loved Shoko - he really did - but there was always this little nagging feeling that he was bothering her, that she could barely stand him; that he would overstay his welcome and she would realise how annoying he was.
The strongest. He was the strongest.
They saw him as a tool. A weapon. An annoyance.
He was the strongest and it didn't even matter. He couldn't save Suguru.
Gojo's hands gripped the porcelain of the bathroom sink, knuckles turning white as he tried to breathe.
Suguru left him. He promised he wouldnt leave. He promised he wouldn't leave, but he did and h e's gone, he's dead, he's-
The glass of the mirror shatters as Satoru's fist smashes into it, infinity off. Shards of glass dig into his hand and blood trickled into the sink.
His head ached in a way he hasn't felt since he was a kid and they wouldn't let him cover his stupid blue eyes; his six eyes that had cost him so much. He remembers the training, the constant staring, the curses they would send to attack him as he screamed that he didn't want to fight - didn't want to hurt them, didn't want to use his ability.
They told him he was special. They told him he was the strongest, that he had to keep everyone safe and that that was what he was for. A weapon to be utilised by the higher-ups.
Satoru wrapped his shaking fingers clumsily around a larger shard.
He didn't want to remember.
The jagged edges pulled against his skin and beads of blood began to gather, much to quickly turning to pool of warmth that dripped onto the white tiles.
He couldn't feel anything.
Gojo tore more and more of his skin open, searching for that rush of adrenalin that came with it, the reminder that he was alive, that he was human.
Why couldn't he feel anything?
His thoughts were slowing to an incoherent jumble of words and his blood continued to leak from the cuts that lined his arm. He was laughing.
Why was he laughing?
Nothing made sense.
He didn't want to do this.
Staggering backward, Satoru turned the tap to the bath on and slumped, fully clothed.
He didn't want to do this anymore.
His body ached dully, though his mind felt suffocatingly numb.
He couldn't do this.
He turned off the tap, water having filled the tub.
He just wanted to see what it would be like.
Satoru let himself slip below the surface, hollowly looking up and out of the water, an outsider looking in to a world he could never be a part of.
He would always be separate from the others. They only saw him as the strongest.
He just wanted to feel it - wanted to let his lungs fill with water, let the darkness seep into his bones and soften the pain.
Dully, he let the last of his cursed energy slip into his reversal technique.
He breathed in.
Someone was shaking him. The soft red glow that accompanied his technique was fading and he vaguely registered that his door was open and he'd been pulled out of the water.
"Please," someone (Shoko?) whispered, "Please be okay. Please don't leave me; not you too. Not today."
Shoko. Gojo felt her technique begin to sort through the wreck that was his body, stopping the blood and warming him back up. He coughed, twisting onto his side and desperately trying to expell the last of the water. Shoko gasped next to him, tears falling down her face.
He was so selfish.
"I'm sorry," he choked out between breaths, "I'm sorry."
She had pulled his head onto her lap and was slumped over him. "You're a dick, Satoru. You- I-"
He could hear the pain in her words, not meant as and insult, just an attempt to convey the feelings behind them.
"You weren't answering the door, and I thought you were just being stubborn and I used spare key and the blood-" she paled, "It was leaking out from under the bathroom door and it was so quiet, Satoru."
She shook, turning away to try to hide her face.
"You were so still. The water- the water was red. It was red and you weren't moving and I couldn't find a pulse-"
"I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes.
"What were you thinking?"
What was he thinking?
"I'm sorry," he felt stuck on that those words. "I'm so sorry, I'm so-"
"Satoru."
He couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying.
"I just- I wanted to feel it. I wanted to feel anything. I'm so sick of being numb. I killed him. I should be sad- I should be hurt- I should be-" his words words were cut off by Shoko drawing him closer to her. She held him and they grieved their best friend. He doesn't know how long they stayed like that.
What if the numbness didn't go away? What if he went back to how he was before Suguru, before his one and only?
"I can't do this."
"You have to." Shoko seemed adement, though he couldn't see why. She would get over it.
"I can't."
"Promise me, Satoru. He was my best friend too. You have to stay with me, you have to stay here. I still need you. Please."
She would get over it.
"Saturo?"
"I promise."
They would all get over it. Someone else could be the strongest.
Someone else could be the strongest, but not that night. That night he lived. He cried and he talked and they slept through the next day, talked through the one after that. She stayed with him until they were ready to face the world, their world without Suguru.
Someone else could be the strongest, but for now he would stay. For now he would live.