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September 19th, 2017
It's a beautiful night. The sun slowly sets behind the hill, spilling its orange beams on the trees. Shoko leans against the dirty wall covered in graffiti.
It has been a while, hasn't it ?
He's late.
There's a headphone in her left ear. Sad music, she has always liked to torture herself. It's a Japanese American singer. Her voice is a bit shaky, powerful. She sings about what Shoko can't allow herself to think.
I don't smoke, except for when i'm missing you
and then
If you need to be mean, be mean to me
The tip of her cigarette is lit the same color as the sky, and there's a thin cloud of smoke coming out of it, like it's the last drops of life escaping it, leaving the consumed cigarette burnt and black.
"Shoko ! You're here !" A sing-song voice comes from behind.
Satoru Gojo. The man who saves everyone. The man who still saves her everyday, but couldn't save her. Her best friend.
Not quite her friend anymore.
Life happens.
"So are you."
"I always show up for that occasion."
They always do. Both of them.
"You're smoking again."
"I always do."
It is true. She always does. And they both know what that means.
Awkward pause. It's just the two of them now.
It's not the first time they meet up here, on this day. They have been doing this for ten years. It was not even planned. The first time...the first time was a coincidence.
Shoko had come there, not knowing what else to do. And Satoru was there already. They had smoked. They had yelled, they had screamed. They might have cried. And next year, Shoko had come back, and Satoru was there again. And next year. And next year. It had become a tradition, sort of.
They settle inside the silence, slowly. Shoko is still leaning against the wall, and Satoru is sitting on the floor, his head turned to the last bits of sun.
Shoko never sees Satoru's eyes lately. Always hidden behind the blindfold, like he can't see, like he will not see, refusing the truth. It makes reading his expression harder.
But still, there are things former best friends will always know about you. And Shoko knows, and Satoru knows.
Someone is missing.
On September 19th, 2007, they had lost a piece of their soul and body.
On September 19th, 2007, Suguru Geto had murdered a village of one hundred and twelve persons, including the children, women, and elders.
And on September 21st, 2007, Suguru Geto had been declared missing by Jujutsu Tech and Satoru Gojo had been assigned the mission to find and kill his best friend.
It has been ten years. Ten whole years. But some things never change.
It's actually okay, most of the time. Just— during the times surrounding september 19th, or Suguru's birthday, or the star-plasma vessel incident, things get a bit tense. Nothing that ruins their lives. Nothing that keeps them head under the dirty waters of the past, no, of course not. It was ten years ago, that would be stupid.
They stay like that for a while, not talking. The silence fills the space around them, occasionally broken by the sound of wind in the trees, or Satoru's little hummings, or Shoko's sighs...
The night falls and it gets darker and Shoko's cigarette shrinks, and then, finally, she asks :
"Gojo ?"
She never calls him Satoru anymore. The name is an unnatural, heavy weight in her mouth. Gojo. Gojo. Gojo. Keep your distance, Shoko. The lack of distance is what got her to be that way in the first place. Unrepairable.
"Hmm ?"
"Can-can you..."
There you go. A 27 years-old woman, not even able to say one full sentence. What is she even scared of ? He can just say no. He probably will.
"Can you take it off ? Your blindfold ?"
Her voice is too hesitant. God, Shoko, get a grip.
She does not dare to look his direction. There's a lapse of time where she thinks he's not going to answer at all. Then :
"Sure."
Did he just chuckle ? It's possible. It feels fake, somehow. His tone is off, the laughter feels forced, the voice is shallow and synthetic-
But who's she to call out someone for faking nonchalance.
There's a bit of rummage.
(Satoru was always really loud, she remembers suddenly, at the time he was always so loud. Most of the time these days he still is. Never on their evening, though. Never on september 19th.)
Finally when Shoko gulps and looks at Satoru's face, she sees it.
Satoru is smiling at her. Why are you smiling, Satoru Gojo ? Why the fuck are you smiling ? There are two blue wells that are staring at her, ones that she hasn't seen in years. The color is undeciphrable and indescribable. It's bluer than the sea, it has a hundred more facets than the sky, it's lighter than the galaxy, it's deeper than running waterfalls, it's- it's infinite. It's so much more, it's too much. And it's all in the past.
Shoko takes a long drag of her cigarette. It almost burns her fingers, the way the ashes drop on her hand.
Satoru stares at her. Can they really understand each other now ? Have they lost it all ? Something is broken. Something is off. Someone Something is missing.
They're not even close anymore.
"Thank you."
She smiles softly, the same way she smiled at Suguru the last time she saw him. Numb to the pain, numb, numb, numb. Keep it out of reach until she can't reach herself. Distance.
Suguru Suguru Suguru Suguru Suguru Stop.
(February 3rd, 2008)
"-Satoru ?
-Yeah ?"
-Do you think about him sometimes ?" Shoko asks, inhaling smoke to keep her lungs busy and avoid letting out a strangled noise.
"No." Satoru says firmly behind his glasses. It's a lie, an ambiguous one, half believed by both of them.
"I do. Sometimes."
"And what's it like ?" Satoru's voice is a bit too dry, a bit too sarcastic, and he sighs, mad at himself for snapping. He's not going to apologize, though. Satoru Gojo doesn't apologize.
Shoko doesn't answer for a long time, then :
"Annoying. It always was with you two."
Another half lie. She would give up everything to stay with Satoru and Suguru a little longer, unaware of the reality. But she can't, and instead, the familiar bliss that she used to know fades away with the flashes of memories, and she comes back to the real world.
It's always just a milisecond. Not quite a flashback, just...just a stamp left on her. Yeah, suddenly she remembers that this is where Suguru used to leave his bike in the mornings, that this is the shirt she wore the day the three of them took the picture that's now her phone screen (she couldn't bring herself to remove it. Not that she uses her phone anymore.). That this is the last cigarette of the last pack that Suguru gave her, and that it's slowly but surely burning away, and that very soon she won't have anything from him. She takes another drag, trying to fill herself with him, no matter how toxic it may be, because she needs to feel him close, she needs to think that he isn't gone just yet. Maybe in a minute. Maybe, in a minute, she'll come back to her senses and cry and shout and scream and hate him, but for now, she'll allow herself to be melancholic and fucking miserable, just for a moment. To miss him.
And then that moment is over, way too quickly.
And Shoko is reminded that it has to be worse for Satoru. That him and Suguru were always together. The strongest. Best friends.
That what they had was something beyond that.
Soulmates, really.
One and only.
She can't imagine what kind of feelings he's torn by.
Shoko had minded at some point. They were always together. Always, always stuck together, doing everything. Fighting, laughing, working. Shoko was there too. But them... At first it kind of pissed her off.
Until she had found Suguru breathing a little too heavily whenever shirtless Satoru was around.
Until one night she had found Suguru alone, doing things he definitely shouldn't have done thinking about his best friend, and saying his best friend's name. Suguru, crimson red, deadly ashamed, had begged her, begged her not to say anything. She hadn't.
And then one day she just walked on them making out with half their clothes on the floor.
That had settled the question.
She glances at Satoru.
He doesn't say anything. He never really does anymore. It's gonna take some time, she thinks, before he can glance at the sun again and smile like he used to . If he ever can.
September 19th, 2017
"Gojo ?"
God fucking damn it, that name can't get past her fucking lips. Why can't she just say it ?
Satoru. Satoru.
Why does she have to be so fucking scared of the past yet still stay stuck in it ?
She wants to say it. She needs to, desperately needs to. She doesn't.
This time he doesn't answer, but there is a silent acknowledging, some shot of electricity that passes through them.
"Do you think about him sometimes ?"
No lies this time. Please please please, no lies.
Satoru sighs and it mixes with an unsincere laugh pouring out of his throat.
"I still know you," Shoko mumbles calmly, "don't laugh."
Six enigmatic words that Satoru understands deeper than what he'd want. That touch his soul harder than he'd want. She still knows him. No matter what tore them apart, she still knows him. It's sort of reassuring, in a way.
The smile drops just as quickly as the blindfold did.
"I do. I try to sometimes."
oh.
"Sometimes i try to, and I come to the conclusion that i never fucking knew him."
oh.
It's been ten years, Shoko thinks. Ten years and he's had that thought in his brain.
"What was he on about again ? Always-" his voice breaks. "Always repeating the same fucking lies. 'The strong have to protect the weak.' Non stop, like a fucking broken record player. I don't- i don't understand what went throught his thick fucking head."
Shoko wishes she could feel the same.
Because she does understand what went throught Suguru's head.
How poisoned he was. Just like she is now.
Poisoned by thoughts, by behaviors, by the fucking smoke-
She knows a thing or two about poison. About smoke.
Suguru introduced her.
(January 22nd, 2006)
"Come on. Aren't you sick of your lollipops ? It's the same thing, i swear."
They're all sitting on the small bench, next to the abandonned buidling.
Shoko sighs. Suguru is standing in front of her, Satoru's hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, Shoko, try it ! Don't you wanna become cool and hot like Suguru ?"
"Oh my god, shut up." Shoko and Suguru say together.
"You don't even smoke." Suguru tries to take an exasperated look. It doesn't really work.
"Yeah, but you do, and it's super cool. And hot."
"I don't do it to look cool or hot or-"
Shoko snatched the cigarette from his hand, to make the both of them shut up and to help Suguru out of his misery. Could he even go any redder ? She looked at the small object and inhaled deeply.
Oooh. Ooh this is bad.
"What- urgh! - what the hell is that," she coughs, "feels like i'm breathing solid concrete."
"...Well-" Suguru scratches the back of his neck.
She rolled her eyes. There was no way Suguru did that for his own pleasure. There's no way anyone would willingly poison themselves like this, right ? It wasn't even good—
Pfft. How immature of her. How ignorant. Of course, at the time, she didn't know the amazing feeling that came with filling your lungs with familiar images of what you need, what you miss. At the time, when she was barely 16, she didn't know the soothing sensation of poisoning yourself, of ruining your body and mind just to feel close again to something you lost.
She did get the hang of it quickly, though.
September 19th, 2017
"I don't know." is all she ended up saying.
She glances at him. He's holding his head in his hands. It's as if taking of the blindfold made him see it all again, forced him to stop hiding from reality behind jokes and attitude and sass.
Shoko feels a little guilty.
She was a healer, but she wasn't supposed to rip band-aids if the wounds weren't healed.
Maybe it's better for Satoru if he keeps living in oblivion. Maybe it's better if he lives as far away from it as he can.
(they will never be far away enough)
Maybe it's better if he just stops thinking about it. He won't heal. Even Shoko can't heal that. But he can have a tolerable existence.
Shoko can't. She knows she can't.
Her and Satoru aren't built the same. He is kind. He is good. He is the little light she tries to keep alive in the mess of their lives.
Satoru deserves more.
She will protect him if she has to. She will protect him from what he can't protect himself off. She will protect the strongest.
Even if this means she has to carry more.
"But i know he loved you."
Her voice cracked.
This dosn't make sense. This is wrong. Shoko knows it, and she shouldn't say it. Suguru doesn't love them. At least certainly not her.
But him...
Urgh, she doesn't know, and it's infuriating.
Satoru looks kind of mad at her for saying that. Figures. Well.
"He really did. And i think he still does, wherever he is. In case you do too."
Satoru gets up, and Shoko can't look him in the eye. He gets his blindfold and puts it back on, smiling. It's a hard smile.
She really doesn't know him anymore. She knows no one. Nothing.
With that hard, rough, unknown smile, she feels her control over her mind slipping further away.
"I moved on, Shoko. I-," oh, he hesitates,"I won't be here next year."
Yeah. Figures.
(is this another lie ? Is it not ? Or is it just denial ?)
Shoko shrugs, then nods. Alright.
"Alright. Let's do the thing, then, no ? One last time."
She pushes herself off the wall and pulls out the big marker pen.
She feels him in her back. He's close to her, and even with what just happened, it's reassuring. She glances at the wall beneath her fingertips.
(June 1st, 2005)
Suguru pulls back, smiling softly.
"There ya go. Your turn, Shoko."
She grabs the pen, and writes a small, elegant "Shoko" next to Suguru's well-rounded handwriting.
And Satoru has to ruin it by mispelling his own name. He has to cross it and write it again.
Suguru laughs until he can't breathe. Eventually, Shoko does too. Satoru just pouts.
There it is. 2005. Their three names on the wall. Suguru Shoko Sataru Satoru
A bright future ahead.
September 19th, 2017
2005. 2006. 2007.
Suguru, Shoko, Satoru
2008. 2009. 2010. 2011.
Shoko, Satoru.
It goes on, and on, and on, until 2016. Last year. It had rained, Shoko remembers, in 2016. Complete opposite of tonight. Gojo had brought a bottle a wine. It was fun. Funnier than this.
Now was their last evening.
Shoko writes. She passes the pen.
Suguru used to come here all the time. He practically drew on the whole thing, graffitis and portraits and poems and doodles on the wall, only leaving a blank area for what they were doing now. Shoko can't even glance at his drawings. She wants to explore them with the eyes until she turns blind.
"Alright. Full circle, I guess."
Satoru nods and Shoko knows it's time. They will never have another moment like this. It's over, the final blow to their friendship, that was damaged over the years, over and over and over again. Over.
What can she do ?
Does she even care anymore ? She's tired.
She's tired.
She tries to say it. She doesn't. It's too heavy.
"See you soon, Gojo."
Satoru Gojo.
She does one step. Two steps.
He catches her.
Thank god. Finally.
Pulls her into a firm hug. Thank you thank you thank you.
He's much taller, so tall she barely reaches his shoulders. His arms are warm. It's strange, but not unknown. It's familiar.
Thank you thank you thank you.
Shoko sighs.
She won't say his name. Not yet. But she still has time. Maybe she can fix this, in the end. Maybe she can find Satoru back and reach him, and maybe he can reach her.
She melts into the soft touch.
Thank you thank you thank you.
"Thank you."
October 17th, 2018
Shoko lets the smoke fill her lungs.
She smokes a lot more these days.
Now where are they...
Oh ! That's it. She turns around as she hears a loud chatter behind her. It's Satoru and his students.
Her breath cuts short.
Oh. This is not what she expected them to look like.
There's Yuji, of course. Who hasn't heard of Yuji. He's the guy who ate the finger. Light-colored hair, a big smile, very loud.
And then there's Megumi. A Zenin, thought that's not the name he bears. Good for him. Nonchalant, composed, with black hair and black clothes.
And the girl. What is it ? Nabaka ? No, Nobara. Short brown hair. Strong looking. A smirk and a skirt.
Once you see it, you can't unsee it.
The resemblance is undeniable.
Oh. This feels cruel.
But ! Well. Shoko is numb. It's fine. What if these kids look like- what if ? It's no big deal. Has Satoru noticed ? He must have. It's impossible to miss.
Still : she is numb. Numb. Numb.
Another puff of smoke. They get closer.
They start talking. Oh. Right. They wanted something, yeah. Shoko holds the little plastic bag to them. Just a first aid kit, if she remembers correctly. Why is she here already ?
"...Shoko ! Ooh ooh ?"
She blinks and for a split second, she's seventeen, and Gojo's yelling at her to come over there, and the sun is beaming, and her feet slightly hurt but in a good way, and Suguru's at her left and-
Her head turns to the left, then back to Satoru, who's waving his hand in front of her eyes. Right. Back to reality.
Fuck. This has really messed her up, hasn't it ?
She's hallucinating now. Damn.
What is wrong with her these days ?
Another smoke, another smoke.
Suguru would always give her cigarettes.
She pretends like she actually cares what's going on. Notices distractedly that there's a constant banter between Yuji and the girl. They fight they talk they laugh. It feels familiar. Megumi looks annoyed. He looks like he's there to deal with their bullshit and stop them when they do something too dangerous. He looks like her somehow.
She's tired. She presses Satoru's shoulder to signal her leave.
"Later, Gojo."
Soon. Soon she'll say his name and things will get better.
For now she just needs to find a way to sleep a little more. Her dark circles are not getting better.
(November 19th, 2006)
(Suguru is not the same.)
(he changed. It's a bit scary. He's all thin and pale and tired and his eyes are marked by dark circles.)
(Shoko wishes she could help. She doesn't really know how. Maybe she's a bit lazy too.)
(Suguru'll be fine. He's one of the strongest.)
She sits next to him and lights a cigarette. She does it a lot now. A bad habit, but that has drawn her and Suguru closer. He gets her those french cigarettes. It's written "Tambour" on the small vintage pack. It's cute, and it's really good, so she keeps smoking.
That's her and Suguru's thing now. Gojo doesn't really smoke ("i'm too hot to smell like a burnt pile of garbage all day!"). It's nice to have something to share. It's calm. It's soothing. That's what Suguru does to a person. That's what smoking does for the both of them.
(It's scary to think that eleven years from this, she'll be in the same state as he is right now.)
(anything could make her snap.)
January 22nd, 2019
Shoko has a lot of special dates in her life. Very few of which are memorable because of good memories.
February 3rd : Suguru Geto's birthday.
April 10th : the day her cat died.
September 19th.
December 24th.
December 24th.
December 24th.
It's night already, has been for a while now. Shoko only sees the night. When will there ever be anything else ?
The walls around her feel tight. Every- fuck, everything is so tight. She can't fucking breath. Inhale. Inhale the smoke. Poison. Poison. Poison. She puts the cigarette to her lips. It barely leaves her mouth these days.
Her phone is playing some music. The sound is trashy, she's thrown the small object a lot around her room these days. It's that same- oh, no. It's that same song that she listened to on September 19th.
The mean, loud, saturated guitars start off.
Megumi came by to check on her. See how she was doing, said yuji had wanted to come too but he was afraid he'd bother. She didn't understand why he came. But he's like her. Or at least like what she used to be.
It had almost been a month.
A month.
She hasn't gone out in a month. Really shows how much the whole nonchalant, blasée persona was just a fucking shield.
Megumi brought her a soda and some food. God, it must've stinked in there. Shoko hasn't showered in- well, she can't even remember, which is telling in itself.
Oh, well. Who cares.
She barely ever eats anymore. Does not sleep.
Satoru. She didn't make peace with him. She's not his friend, she can never be again. She didn't say his name. He died alone. And so did- so did Suguru.
Numb numb numb. Poison poison poison. Oh, ahah, these two might be related.
Numb.
How could anyone feel anything.
Fuck.
Another cigarette. And another. And another.
Never stops. She needs it to feel close. She needs it to feel them.
Shoko grips her bedsheets and push them away. She's hot. She snuggles against the wall, and it's uncomfortable, but that's probably what she needs right now. Uncomfort. Just- anything that will pull her out of the numbness.
Inhale.
Exhale a thin could of smoke throught the room that spreads to the kitchen, the window.
Wake up.
The song plays on.
I don't smoke, except for when i'm missing you
It occurs to her for the first time that maybe the reason she's been smoking like she has is because she misses him.
Fuck. Fuck.
She crushes the cigarette on her slim wrist.
It hurts. Finally something hurts and that opens the gates.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Is her life just full of fucking regrets.
She couldn't protect them. She tried, she really did, in her own way, but it didn't work, and now both of them are— they're—
She would happily die just to bring them back for ten minutes. She would.
If you need to be mean, be mean to me
Her throat tightens. Her eyes close, her toes curl. She wraps her knees in her arms.
Not so numb anymore, huh ?
I can take it and put it inside of me
She wasn't even there when they—
She left Satoru alone.
Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru.
The sobs at the back of her chest come up.
Satoru.
"Fuck." The strangled voice isn't hers. Its possessed by whatever she didn't allow herself to say and think for the last eleven years. Is it even her anymore ? She straightens up and slides down against the wall.
If your hands
The first sob comes out, the jerky breaths burn, she tries to smoke but she lit off the fucking cigarette, and when she feels tears rolling down her cheeks, she loses it.
Satoru won't be here next year on September 19th.
She will never speak to Suguru again.
need to break
"Satoru."
Oh.
She bites her lips but it's too late. The scream escapes her lips. It was that easy. She could've said it.
She really could have said it.
More than trinkets in your room
She throws the fucking phone away against the wall with a pathetic noise. Shut up.
"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru."
you can lean on my arm
"Suguru."
Soon enough to two names get mixed up in the sobs. The first lights of dawn grace the living room with purple reflects. Shoko glances up and only sees the blurry blue sky.
as you break my heart.
Shoko falls asleep, eventually. It was bound to happen.
She does come out of her room at some point.
And on September 19th, 2019, she writes three names on the wall.