Work Text:
"Did you know whales know when it’s time for them to die?”
The question hung in the air, unexpected. Megumi reluctantly raised his head, the soft glow of the sunset casting a warm hue across the room. He blinked a few times to himself before turning to face his guardian.
“Do they now?” Megumi replied, his index finger and thumb rubbing a page of the manga he had planned to turn. The sun illuminated the swirls of ink on the pages.
Satoru nodded, lounging on the two-person couch with his legs dangling off the edge. The common room for students was empty except for the two of them. It was a Monday afternoon, and the distant murmur of students engaged in their own conversations drifted through the slightly ajar windows. Satoru didn’t feel like teaching, and Megumi didn’t feel like learning.
“I learned this from a YouTube video I saw,” Satoru continued, biting his nails in thought. The room was filled with the soft rustle of pages being turned by a breeze that had found its way inside. “It’s actually really sad.”
Megumi nodded once again, his gaze lingering on the posture of the man on the couch. Satoru lay back, his head tilted upward, and his legs swung about carelessly. The sunglasses, once perched on his face, now rested on his chest. His left arm disappeared into the crack of the couch, while the other rested casually on his stomach. Distant eyes and a subtle smile painted a sad picture. Megumi closed his manga, folding the corner of the page and tossing it onto the coffee table in front of him.
“What happens when whales die?” Megumi asked, bringing his legs up to fold beneath him. The soft rustle of fabric against fabric accompanied the movement, the itchiness of his socks against the bottom of his feet went unnoticed.
“Well first, they just know death is approaching.” Satoru raised his arm, his hand gracefully mimicking a whale navigating the vast ocean. “They notice when they’re swimming slower than usual,” he explained, the motion of his hand slowing down in sync with the imagined whale's pace. “Or they won’t be as hungry,” he continued, miming the closing of the whale’s mouth. “Or they just don’t feel like themselves anymore, you know?”
“Do whales feel like that? Like humans?” Megumi asked.
Satoru shrugged, “They’re thinking animals too, right? They probably do. Anyways, they’ll start seeing their signs of death, and they’ll notice it’s time to go.” The room, once indifferent and quiet, now echoed with the subtle sadness of a conversation.
“Do they communicate that to the other whales?”
Satoru shook his head, “Nah, whales don’t usually swim in pods. They swim alone. Lone wolves type of thing.”
Megumi couldn’t help but frown, a crease forming between his brows. “So whales die alone then?”
Satoru nodded sadly, the gravity of the truth hanging in the air. “Whales die alone,” he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.
Megumi stared at him for a moment, the phrase “Whales die alone” echoing in his head. The distant look in Satoru’s eyes seemed to be detached from the common room. Instead, his gaze was fixed on an unseen place… maybe the ocean. The expression on his face held a mix of sadness, but there was also something unsettling that made the pit of Megumi’s stomach turn unpleasantly. It was an odd combination of awe and wonder as if the idea of whales dying alone fascinated Satoru.
It made Megumi uncomfortable, but not in the way he expected. More so in a worrisome manner, as if he should call someone and express concern over Satoru's fascination with the solitude of whale deaths. But, he hesitated, caught in the strange grip of listening to a sentiment that both disturbed and intrigued him.
So he didn’t call anyone, and he listened instead.
The snowfall hits Megumi’s dark hair perfectly, each delicate flake landing with precision. His black hair, so dark it looks blue, twinkles as the snowflakes fall atop his head, melting from the warmth generated by his body. It's a rare occurrence for snowfall during this time of the day, and Satoru almost finds solace in witnessing it.
Almost is a strong word to use. Because how can a father feel almost happy to see his son in pain?
It’s not obvious, but Satoru knows. He knows Megumi like no one else. Yes, like no one else. Because no one else is like Megumi, and no one else has stayed like Megumi has. Or maybe had is the right word. He isn’t too sure anymore. But he feels the pain of his child deep in his soul.
The snowfall hits Satoru’s forehead, a cool contrast against the warmth of his thoughts. He sighs to himself, finding a gentle relief in the cold against the thousands of cuts across his face. The sting is a reminder, yet it's pleasant enough to keep him awake until he won’t be able to.
Because Satoru knows he’s dying.
He watched as a being who looked like his son but wasn’t summoned something he knew he couldn’t dodge. He wanted to. He really really wanted to. But he couldn’t. It sucked, and it sucks now. But he can’t do anything about it. It all happened so fast.
So instead, he stares up at the snowfall. The world around him blurs, the individual snowflakes becoming a dance of delicacy. The air is filled with the hushed whispers of winter, the cold biting at his exposed skin. He can feel the blood seeping through his clothes, the wetness gradually spreading as if merging with the ice beneath him. His senses are dulled, but each snowflake seems to carry weight, falling gently like the minutes slipping away.
His legs aren’t attached to his body, and his lack of a lower half feels wet and somewhat sopping. The reality of his condition is gruesome. The dampness creeps through the fabric, it adds to the numbness already consuming him. It's gross but manageable, a stark contrast to the ethereal beauty unfolding above him. The Monday afternoon takes on an eerie stillness, broken only by the soft crunch of snow underfoot and the distant echoes of the world moving on without him. Of Megumi moving on without him.
Satoru doesn’t feel like closing his eyes, but he hopes and prays that Megumi did the entire time.
But Satoru isn’t sure Megumi did. The boy never liked listening to him before, so why would he now? Satoru can’t help but tick his lips upward just a bit. Because it’s funny, in a weird and deranged way. Parents are always right, and the kids end up learning that the hard way.
The world around Satoru becomes a haze. The pain is there, but it’s distant, like a fading echo of something that used to matter. The snowflakes fall, each one a tiny universe, and Satoru finds strange comfort in their silent descent.
So instead, Satoru lets his right fingers twitch because he can’t feel his left arm. The numbness extends. It might be cut off. He isn’t sure. He also isn’t sure if he wants to find out. The uncertainty lingers in the air. Because if he’s dying, he doesn’t want others to know. It’s kind of embarrassing.
The snow continues to fall, an oblivious witness to his struggle. Satoru has always been a lone wolf. He doesn’t like bringing other people into his battles and fights. Especially if it involves Megumi. Family issues should stay in the family. Bringing outsiders just makes it more complicated.
He frowns as his strange thoughts shift and turn through his head quickly. He doesn’t remember dying the first time having been this emotional. The memories are hazy, blurred by the passage of time and his new experiences. He sighs one last time, the exhalation visible in the cold air.
He can probably come back again, right?
The uncertainty echoes in his fading thoughts.
Right?
The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as the world around him becomes a canvas of white.
“Okay,” Megumi continued, his brows furrowing together, “So whales die alone. What happens after they realize they’re dying?”
Satoru sighed, a casual gesture that seemed to hold a world of possibilities. He bit his bottom lip in thought, a momentary pause that hung in the air before he spoke. “They gather all the energy they have left.”
“All their energy?”
“Yeah, all of it.” Megumi couldn’t help but frown deeper as the small smile refused to leave Satoru’s face. The worry in the air was palpable, an unspoken tension that lingered beneath the surface. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “So they gather up all their energy,” Satoru continued, his posture not changing, “And wherever they are, they begin to swim all the way up.” His hand, which was mimicking the whale, began to motion upwards. His arm wriggled, but it looked more like a tired snake than a majestic whale. Megumi didn’t comment on it.
“And once they reach the top,” His arm reached its limit, his side just barely hovering over the couch, “They breach.” The visual was both poignant and awkward, a tired attempt to recreate the grace of a majestic whale's breach.
“What’s breaching?” Megumi knew what breaching was. When he was younger, he used to watch videos of humpback whales jumping out of the water all the time. They were incredible animals, and Megumi was entranced by their beauty. He knew what breaching was, but he couldn’t help but keep asking Satoru questions and repeating what he said. Something was off about him, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
Satoru leaned back on the couch, the weariness in his movements more apparent. His hand ran through his dishevelled hair, the once carefree gesture now carrying a weight of exhaustion. “Breaching is a pretty sight. It's when a whale pushes itself out of the water, almost defying gravity for a moment. They twist in the air and then they crash back into the ocean.”
“So, they breach,” Megumi repeated, his voice barely over the volume of a whisper. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension. Satoru's eyes met Megumi's, “And then what?” His question hung in the air.
Satoru's distant gaze towards him shifted. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “They turn in the air. They turn so that their blowhole is facing away from the surface.”
Megumi furrowed his brow, a mixture of confusion and concern clouding his features as he tried to grasp the understanding of why Satoru was telling him all this. “Why do they do that? Is there a reason for turning away?”
Satoru’s lips curved into a sad smile. “It's like a final act of independence, I guess.” The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on the room. “They face away, and in that moment, they're free. Free from the struggles, the pain, and everything that weighed them down. It's their way of letting go.”
The room fell into a heavy silence. Megumi could sense the weight of his words, and the feeling of discomfort settled deeper in the pit of his stomach. He looked down, tracing an imaginary pattern on his socks with his fingers, a futile attempt to distract himself from the gravity of the conversation.
“It's also so that they won't be able to breathe,” Satoru continued, the words landing in the room with a weight that seemed to press against the walls. “It stops them from trying to continue to live.”
Megumi pushed a choke back down his throat, the lump growing more pronounced. “So, it’s suicide?”
Satoru hummed, his response carrying a certain resignation. “Nah, not really. It’s not suicide when they know they’ll die regardless, you know?”
No, Megumi didn’t know.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.
So he didn’t ask.
The sunlight outside continued to pour into the room, casting patterns of warmth on the floor. Megumi's fingers continued their absent movement on his socks. The silence hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken emotions.
Satoru’s been through many awful horrors. He winces as memories of loss and mourning skit pass in his mind during his final moments. The vivid reel of his life plays out in fragmented scenes, each image a shred of evidence of the scars etched upon his soul. It makes him want to close his eyes and get it over with faster. Snapshots of death and distance flicker through his mind unprovoked. The ghosts of battles fought and lives lost rise in the theatre of his thoughts.
But there are also moments of quiet through it. When he finally gets past the awful parts, he finds solace. The noise of the memories fades, and a strange calm settles over him. The soft murmur of a breeze, the distant echo of laughter, and the tender warmth of moments long gone.
Satoru’s consciousness, caught between the ebb and flow of his life's highs and lows, finds strange comfort in the pockets of peace scattered through the chaotic montage of his life. As he moves closer to the inevitable breach, he finds comfort in the simple beauty that flickers between the cracks.
He sees summers from decades ago when he wasn’t alone. The scenes unfold like a dream, painting vivid images of warmth and laughter. He sees long black hair and kind eyes, a face that holds the promise of unspoken understanding. He sees shy nights, the quiet intimacy of shared secrets exchanged in the soft glow of moonlight. The air is thick with the fragrance of lollipops and cigarette smoke. He feels hair ties against his wrist, a reminder of shared moments and simple gestures. The texture of cups of coffee lingers, warm porcelain against calloused hands, the comfort of routine in each sip. In these moments, he sees Geto Suguru in all his beauty. There's no trace of the dark alley at night or the busy sidewalk in the afternoon. All he sees is him, and that’s all that matters.
They shift quickly away again. He sees a small girl that barely comes up to his knees. The image is a burst of innocence and energy, with black spiky hair that refuses to be combed and a welcoming smile that lights up a room. He hears high-pitched laughter, the unmistakable sound of a carefree childhood, and a cartoon whose theme song he still knows by heart. The air is filled with the comforting aroma of hot chocolate, adorned with colourful marshmallows, and the memory of meals that no 8-year-old girl should know how to make. He remembers wiping away tears when she’d come home from school crying, the vulnerability of a child facing the harshness of the world for the first time, but she finally had someone to rely on. He recalls hugs that, regardless of how small she was, would always make him feel at home. In the fleeting images, he doesn’t see a hospital. He doesn’t see her closed eyes. He doesn’t see a bridge. Instead, he remembers family. He remembers feeling safe. He remembers his daughter and all the good that came with adopting her.
It shifts once more. He sees someone he misses already, having been taken away from him when he needed him most. The image forms a small boy, a reminder of both loss and the enduring connection that transcends physical presence. He remembers the boy refusing to touch him. He sees a scowl on his face that reminds him of someone else. Yet, with time, he witnesses that scowl become uniquely his own. He sees hair that goes from being straight down to urchin-like, the evolving individuality within his son being influenced by him. The air resonates with names and insults being thrown at him that no 6-year-old boy should know, but there's a strange humour in the way childness and harshness collide. He remembers cutting off the crust of sandwiches and never buying whole-grain bread, parental love that speaks louder than words. He feels small chubby fingers grabbing his wrist and steering him away from the candy and snack aisle, a snapshot of shared moments in mundane places. He feels shaking arms wrap around him in the dead of the night after another nightmare, the comforting embrace of a parent providing love in the face of fear. At this moment, he doesn’t remember the sound of his son calling for him when he was locked away for weeks. He doesn’t remember seeing his son being taken over by a monster. He doesn’t remember his son’s voice taunting him as it slices his body in half. Instead, he remembers his will to live. He remembers love during hard times. In the quiet recesses of his consciousness, he remembers his son and all the good that came with adopting him.
“Satoru,” Megumi finally spoke up, his voice hesitant, “Why are you telling me all this?”
Satoru sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Because, Megs, life is unpredictable. There are moments when you have to face things alone, just like those whales. And in those moments, you’ll need to find your own way to let go.”
Megumi furrowed his brow, uncertainty clouding his features. His eyes searched Satoru’s face for answers, a silent plea for clarity. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Was all he managed to ask.
Satoru's gaze turned distant again, a shadow passing over his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, and a fleeting smile touched his lips as if to ease the gravity of the conversation. “Is there ever anything that I am telling you?” The attempt at humour fell flat, leaving a sombre note in the air. Megumi sensed that this was the end of the conversation, yet a nagging feeling lingered within him. He wanted to press further, to understand what was going on in Satoru's mind, but there was a reluctance, a barrier that made him hold back.
Instead, he simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. The sunlight outside continued its lazy dance, oblivious to the weight of the words spoken in the quiet space between the two.
You'll need to find your own way to let go.
Satoru Gojo remembers his will to live. He remembers love during hard times. In the quiet recesses of his consciousness, he remembers his son and all the good that came with adopting him.