Chapter Text
It was raining a few minutes ago. Freezing rain, that is. But, now the weather has changed to light snow, the flakes sparkling in the cone-shaped streams of yellow coming from the street lights. The site he was visiting had been bleak and grey before but with splatters of thick purple and blue blood decorating the crumbling stone and climbing vines, it might as well have been a Picasso. Dark winter evenings were often associated with fear, even more so abandoned projects that teens like to explore as a test of bravery to see who's a wimp and who's fit to be in the friend group.
This morning, when he was just about to get some rest for the first time in ages, Yaga had called him and told him he had several places to visit. He apologized for the sudden shit he was dropping on his shoulders and that he couldn't control what the higher-ups gave out, but that didn't exactly do anything to soothe the blood simmering under his skin. He argued that he wanted just one break, but when they rejected him, he had no more energy to try and fight against it.
After the failure of the Star Plasma Vessel, but the success of improving his techniques and abilities, Satoru had been going on his assignments alone for a while now. He should be used to it, the elders had said when he requested a day off. They were always on his back, eyes over his shoulders. He couldn't take it anymore. The exhaustion was eating him from the inside. Not to mention the loneliness, too.
"Work. H-harder..." Is what Satoru assumed the pulsating flesh in front of him gurgled. It could have said anything, honestly, and he would never know due to its low grade. It had large bug eyes and an even larger mouth. Probably good for talking shit, he supposes. But not good enough to get the jump on him, because a single burst of energy imploded it, the small hunks of throbbing blood and Cursed flesh slowly dripping down his wall of Infinity. He'd seen it hundreds of times, but the sight never failed to twist his stomach into knots.
He sets out for the next stop on his list.
It was an old house with half of its walls torn down. The entire area was fenced off by caution tape, ripped from trees and fences due to kids similar to the ones who meandered around the previous sight. He knew about this place. The kids in question had heard the owner of the house had a big fluffy dog and decided to see for themselves. He learned quickly that the reason those kids didn't come back again was because there was no dog. Not a breathing one, anyway.
Satoru covers his mouth to prevent a gag as he squints down at the limp mutt in the uncut grass and growing weeds. The kids were right, it was fluffy. It was hard to tell, though, with how matted some areas were, and how some patches lacked fur at all. The longer he looked at it, the more he noticed. One thing being that its hind legs were rather mangled for a mutt with so much yard space.
Dead recently, he guessed but did not confirm. Instead, he coughed into his elbow and averted his eyes, ducking below hanging planks as he stepped into the house. A rabbit scurries out of the doorway, stumbling a bit when its foot gets caught in a hole in the porch, but it hops away unscathed nonetheless.
He shuts his eyes tight and forgets he has every right to be scared, that he's still just some seventeen-year-old who happens to know a little more about the things others can't see. Swallowing the bile and fear in his throat, he treads carefully into the basement. The walls around him creak and groan, and he knows he doesn't need to worry about being crushed because of his Infinity, but the thought is still eating away at his nerves.
He's lucky he came down in time because as soon as he shoulders the basement door off of its hinges, he finds a curse, probably second grade, with a bulky hand dangling a finger in front of its mouth. Satoru was warned about the Special Grade items, and he quickly stomped on the Curse, the finger flying up and into his palm. Above him, the ceiling quakes and shakes dust onto the concrete floor. He tucks the finger into his pocket and exorcises the Curse, cautiously going back up the deteriorating stairs.
Nosing through the first floor is a large Spirit with features akin to a dog, but it stands on two legs that jut out the sides like a crab. Its mouth is narrow and long, continuously knocking things over. It drags itself across the floor, beady eyes rolling like a corpse to eye Satoru. As soon as it turns its head, the Curse comes lumbering towards him with purpose, body waving around like a flag.
"Disgusting mongrel," Satoru whispers, wasting no time in blasting the Curse into oblivion. He couldn't deny that his heart rate had picked up a little, and that genuinely scared him. He'd seen curses like this before, and yet, this one got to him. Got under his skin. Shocked him with fear that he would forever deny.
It was getting later now, and Satoru knew in about ten minutes he'd get another message about how he had somewhere else to be. But, he was done. Done for the foreseeable future. He needed a break. There was a migraine forming behind his eyes, and if he didn't lie down soon, he might just faint on the wet gravel sprinkled with snow and Curse. With Shoko away on a trip across the country for some more training and also to assist some other nobody, Satoru had never felt more isolated. Even when he was younger he still had his parents to some degree, but now Shoko wasn't around at all, and he only ever really got glances at Suguru.
Oh, right, Suguru. He's been doing okay, despite still struggling with the loss of Riko and the decrease in quality time with each other. He seemed to be handling his own missions well, as far as he could see. Satoru often saw him with a smile more than a frown, and he couldn't be more envious.
He started to come back to his senses when the sting of cold air in his eyes became unbearable. He lowered the veil he remembered to put up, courtesy of Yaga's incessant nagging, and made his way back to campus. While he walked, he realized how numb he felt. He knew he was cold, but it was more like stepping into a walk-in freezer after sitting on your legs all day, but instead expand the numbness to his entire body.
"Hey, kiddo, what're you doing up this late?" Coos a voice across the street. He flicks his gaze to the side to catch a glance at the man who called out, and through his peripheral, he swore he saw Suguru. But there wasn't anyone there. Just a street light blinking rapidly.
Hands coming up to comb out the tangles of dirtied hair, Satoru tries to think of the last time he got to sink into his mattress and just... exist.
Before he realizes it, he's standing in front of his door. Trembling hands slip off the knob before properly opening it. Being behind his closed door offers him a sense of relief that he didn't have anywhere else, but it also grants him the freedom to think without feeling like there's a brick on his lungs.
He stands in front of the room for a while, zoning out while he pieces together the important information he remembers if he wants to keep going. One thing is that he has yet to sit down to eat a decent meal, only more of the usual junk to keep himself awake. Also, the lack of rest, of course, is starting to go to his head. Without Shoko and Suguru around, who was he sticking around for? The higher-ups? No, never. They were working him to the bone, giving him no time to replenish his depleting energy, both physical and Cursed. The strain on his eyes was as painful as what he imagined washing them out with bleach and then staring at the sun was like.
The bed sitting unused in the corner looked comfortable as all hell, but there was a fear in the back of his mind that told him he wouldn't wake up if he decided to lie down and close his eyes. Instead, he stood, fidgeting in front of his door like he had been for three minutes. He felt choked up with emotions he couldn't process, but ones he knew. Specifically frustration. He was frustrated with the elders, sure, but beyond anything he'd felt before, he was more pissed than frustrated with the fact that he couldn't feel anything.
His body was thrumming with a desire to feel, to shake off the blanket of cold suffocating him and pry off the hands digging unreasonable thoughts from the back of his mind. A third hand squeezed his heart relentlessly, and a fourth constricted his trachea. The pain was as dull as his awareness of his body was, but it remained ever-present and was more irritating than anything. He needed a release before he lost his mind. If he was too tired to go on another mission and too absent to go to sleep without being fearful of not waking up, what was there left for him to do?
Well, he was dirty. The buildup of dust and sweat on him made him feel trapped in his own skin, so he supposed nothing bad could come of a shower. Regretfully passing by his bed, he steps into his bathroom and kicks the door closed. He still found it a little funny that his eyes provided enough light to locate the switch. When he flips it on and looks himself over in the mirror, he realizes just how awful he looks.
The corner of his bottom lip is split, outlined by whiteish dry skin. Deep circles rivaling Suguru's drag his eyelids down and almost resemble eye black. As for his hair, he almost forgot it was bright white with the amount of dirt and crusting Curse entrails sitting on top of it. He remembers vaguely that he didn't put his infinity up even once for a mission or two because he was so tired of it being one of his most outstanding aspects. He just wanted to be like everyone else, in the sense that his mere existence caused turmoil in so many people.
"Worked like a damn dog," He mutters to himself, dropping his aching head to stare at the porcelain sink. His shades sitting to the side catch his eyes, and he groans at the thought that he'd misplaced them so easily. He shakes his head and sighs, turning on his heels to pull back the curtain. His hand makes no move to turn on the water, unsure if he wants the water to be scalding or freezing.
Sitting on the edge of the tub is a razor. Just there, standing out against the white of the tub.
Satoru swallows thickly, a little tremble of something he couldn't decide as anticipation or fear wracks through his arms. With his new discovery of how to use RCT, he figures he'd be able to heal himself no matter what, right? He saved himself from the brink of death during his encounter with Toji, and that had to be several hundred increments of pain away from this.
On one hand, he wanted to kick himself in the balls and say this was a horrible idea and that he just needed to shower and get some rest. On the other hand, his mind was telling him the only reason he was considering and hesitating in the first place was because he was weak. Satoru Gojo is weak. But...
Wouldn't he be weak or giving in?
Then again, the idea was enticing. It'd been months since he understood true pain, and his newfound strength sobered him up, erasing all memories of the agony that came from the Star Plasma Vessel assignment.
Just once. One time to bring myself back to reality and then I'll stop. I'll clean up and get a damn good night's sleep. He's heard people promise the same just once and then turn down the path of no return, but he was strong, and he could steel himself back on track if need be. His jaw comes up painfully at the scuffle going on in his head, grinding his teeth down. Cursing incoherently under his breath, he whips around and flings the cabinets open, finding a replacement blade, unopened. He tears the plastic without a second thought.
He stumbles as he sits down, holding one of the thin sheets of metal between his thumb and index like it is the most valuable thing in the world. He pushes the cabinet closed and leans against the wall of the tub, taking another moment to think things through. But he couldn't. He was so lost. He needed to feel something to make sure this was real, that he wasn't some artificial being used in someone else's game. His body honestly felt like scrap metal sautered together into a functional tool meant for carrying out the wishes of the old people sitting on their asses on the second floor, dishing out new rules they made up and punishments with no room for reasoning.
Taking a painful intake of breath, he puts the blade between his teeth and slides his uniform off his shoulders, tossing it somewhere on the tiles. His eyes fixate on his arm as he outstretches it, and he takes the metal between his fingers. Before he does anything, he pulls up the hem of his shirt and stuffs it into his mouth.
Just to feel something.
Shivers run down his neck, his hair stands up in an uncomfortable sensation, and the anxiety is too much for him. His arm seemingly moves on its own, and the razor glides across his pulse point. Oxygen gets caught in his throat as he lurches, heels kicking out to brace himself as he throws his head back. Such a thin cut yet so much pain. He felt like he was coming back, despite the fact he was technically spiraling. He looks down at the scarlet trickling around his forearm, and he almost doesn't realize it belongs to him and not a curse.
The rush of pain that bloomed through the simple line sent a rush of adrenaline through his mind, and he decided that one wasn't going to cut it. Hah, cut it.
Fucking idiot! You don't joke about something like that!
You have to admit, it was funny. For a second, at least.
He knocks his head against the edge of the tub and sits back up, hunching over to examine the cut. His body is shaking and perspiring, the sweat from his forehead diluting the blood on his arm. He takes another deep breath and picks another spot about a centimeter apart from the first. He drags the razor across again, muffling his cries into his shirt. Toji could've done better, he thinks. He was a second from death, and his injuries barely registered at all. If the bastard had taken his time, not only would he have been in a lot more agony, but perhaps, just maybe, he could've also saved Riko. Then Suguru—
"Hey, Satoru! Where are you?" Footsteps quickly reach the door and the knob clicks. "Yaga told me to tell you that—" The door creaks open.
Freeze. That's all he can think to do. His mouth opens and releases a choked noise, his shirt falling from his jaw. He sits there with his arms between his knees, one hand holding a blade that stands out with the way it reflects the light, and his other arm held out, wrist facing up, inexcusable cuts pumping blood to the surface.
"Satoru, what the hell?!" Suguru's jaw falls slack, and he immediately drops to one knee, snatching the metal from his hands, and raising his arm to hold it out of reach.
That seems to grab his attention because Satoru lunges for his hands, ignoring the sting that flares up in his arm as he reaches out to take it. "Suguru, give it back!" He grits out, breathy and strained. "You're being a dick!" He hits his fists against his chest, looking up at his appalled expression with desperate, wide eyes. "Stop messing around—!"
Suguru exhales shakily and throws the razor into the trash, trapping Satoru in his arms before he can turn around to try and get it. He holds him flush against his chest, his forehead on his shoulder as he hugs him tightly with all the strength he can summon to his arms. He shifts a hand up to hold the back of his burning neck, slick with sweat. "Just...shh."
"Why are you... Suguru?" He whispers quietly. He's confused and he's undoubtedly scared. He snakes his arm around to hug him back, wincing at the drag of fabric on the fresh cuts. He wheezes and and inhales a whistling breath, holding it, and then releasing it in a sob.
"I'm here. Everything's going to be okay," Suguru mumbles, rubbing his knuckles down his spine. His chest tightens at the thought that this could have been something going on for weeks, and he never knew. How could he not realize his suffering? More importantly, why didn't Satoru say anything? They promised they wouldn't leave each other out of the loop ever since Riko and his near defection. All he could think to do was hold him.
The crying made his headache worse, but the relief of the pressure behind his eyes was better than the blade could ever dream of. He lets go of all the tightly wound muscles in his body and leans all his weight into Suguru's chest, shaking with every sob. He felt like a child caught stealing food. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"
Holding his chin, Suguru lifts his head to look him in the eyes. He lays a palm over his mouth and shakes his head subtly, bringing his head back to his chest. "It's alright, okay? Sh, just don't worry about it, I'm not mad." Just disappointed. Mostly in himself, though. He really wishes he could do something more. He reaches around blindly to find where he haphazardly dropped his phone, leaning a little uncomfortable to grab it. "You're okay, you're safe, and I'm right here."
He buries his face into his collarbone, eyes squeezed shut and lips pushed tightly together. He tries to regulate his breathing through his nose, but he's so panicked that he can't figure out how to, or why he can't in the first place.
Suguru holds the phone up to his ear, the ringing a quiet murmur in his ear as he frowns at the specs of blood drying on the tile in front of him. Some were smeared, one of the ends pooling in a circle around the lines of one distinct fingerprint.
"...lo? Hello?"
He jumps a little, clearing his throat and lowering his voice. "Yaga?" He hums, brushing his hand through Satoru's hair. He focuses on the bits of wood splintering casually sitting in tangles of dirtied white, flicking them out.
"What do you need, Suguru?"
"What I need is for you to come down here, Yaga."
Masamichi sighs heavily through the phone, and Suguru can just see him rubbing his temple from across the property. "Suguru, you'll need to be more specific. I don't even know where you are, kid."
"Satoru's room. Just get over here, please. I don't know what to do." He keeps his voice quiet, covering the next to his mouth. He continues to pat and stroke the other, occasionally rapping his knuckles against his shoulder and spine.
"What do you mean?" Yaga replies skeptically, dragging his words out slowly.
Suguru grinds his teeth as his mouth dries up, and he looks back at the oxidizing blood on the white floor. "You'll understand when you come down."
"...Alright. Give me two minutes."