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‘Death is supposed to feel cold’, people say.
A chilling touch when death himself appears, one particular sensation that most people are afraid of.
Yet, no one really expected death to ever catch up with one man, one with a known title.
“Satoru Gojo.”
“The Strongest.”
“A blessing.”
Satoru himself also believed there was nothing to worry about.
After all, he was the strongest.
Sure, he had moments where he worried also– especially that one moment where death caressed his cheek, gave his forehead a sacred kiss— but that was a total fluke! Cut him some fucking slack.
And he outran the consequence anyway.
So, what did he need to bother thinking about?
Why bother?
He was the strongest.
Satoru Gojo was the strongest.
And everyone else, without a doubt– believed so too.
So…
What was this feeling?
He can feel the blood dripping from his mouth, low, meaningless breaths leaving his lips as he stares at the sky. His upper body hurts, and he doesn’t feel the sensation of his lower— as its been cut off and split in half without any mercy.
Pain.
He feels pain.
“You did well, Satoru Gojo.”
“I won’t forget you for as long as I live.”
“The ̶St̶r̶o̶n̶g̶e̶s̶t̶.”
He was supposed to "win."
But yet, he lays on the ground– unable to get up. A mere weapon.
It seems as if the top can slowly reach their downfall too.
Oh, well.
Just as the feeling of peace comes to welcome the man, before he can finally accept the fate that has been thrown at him– a familiar stupid question that he hasn’t heard in years speaks in his mind,
“Are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest, or are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo?”
He can’t ever seem to find a way out of this. Of course Suguru’s going to be the last thing he thinks of before he just fucking dies.
…
With last of his energy, a weak smile graces his lips. His eyes slowly flutter close, accepting his reality and fate as he takes a final breath. What's more to fight?
The noise drowns out, the agonizing pain goes numb, and all that's left is a loud ringing in his ears.
A slow realization dawns on him,
He’s tired.
____________________________________________________________
“Geto-Sama, who exactly is Satoru Gojo?”
Suguru pauses for a minute, stopping the page he was about to turn in the book he was so quietly reading as a soft crinkle is heard.
“The strongest.”
That’s what he’s supposed to say, right?
Yet…
He doesn’t look down, still smiling gently as he hums and turns a page.
“He was my best friend.”
Was.
Ironic, isn’t it?
… He hopes he’s doing well. Atleast– without him.
____________________________________________________________
Death does not feel terribly cold, is the first thing Satoru notes. Instead it feels…. calming?
Jesus christ.
Seagulls chirp as a delicate breeze hits his face, the shore water touching his toes as he feels the grains of sand beneath his world— or wherever the fuck he is.
Is this heaven? Some stupid fucked up dream?
He can’t tell.
The man sighs, crouching down as he picks up a seashell. He lets the feeling of the texture process to him, brushing over the smooth, hard object as his gentle fingers caresses it. Gentle, gentle. His lips contort into a small frown, his eyebrows furrowing. He looks back at the ocean in front, the waves washing over with a calm movement. With a slow raising of his arm, he throws the shell carelessly into the water, watching the tiny droplets splash.
“Nice to see you’re here.” A deep soothing voice snaps him out of his daze, and he flinches. Not because of the sudden appearance, but because of the familiarity of his voice.
Satoru scoffs, not bothering to turn around as he bends down to pick another seashell. “Fun, you’re here too.” Sarcasm drips from his voice, moving his shoulders and arm once again to throw the seashell into the ocean, the waves washing over the object and sucking it in, bringing it into its embrace of a hug, as it disappears into dark depths of the sea— or wherever the waves to wish to take it. Satoru wishes to be that shell right now.
“Are you not happy to chat with an old friend, hm?” The not-Suguru speaks. Because he’s not Suguru. He’s not real, anyway. This has to be a dream.
Satoru’s eyebrows furrow, making a psh noise at his words. “No, I’m just so happy to see you here right now. Yeah.” Petty, mad.
Is he really mad? There’s no real anger in his voice— his feelings.
His—
“This sucks.” Satoru grumbles, before finally turning to face the man he knows. The man he once knew.
The boy he used to hang around with. Make jokes, taunt, tease Shoko or Nanami or anyone else endlessly, the boy who he used to get lectured by their sensei together, the boy he held close to him– held hands and intertwined fingers, rode on a bike together– laughed, talked, and was always just with the other one. Inseparable. Together. The Strongest, together.
The boy who challenged him.
The boy he loved. (And still loves, Satoru will never be able to stop loving him.),
And yet— the man that left. His one and only.
Not-Suguru only sighs as he looks to the side. “Rude thing to say to someone’s face while just meeting them.” He walks his feet near Satoru– right next to him infact. He doesn’t have any hair-tie– no sorts of his long, silky and beautiful black hair up— no, its down. Free, as a light breeze blows into both of their faces, Not-Suguru’s hair moving with the wind as the sun hit his tanned skin– only serving more on making his side-profile to be the most beautiful thing Satoru’s ever witnessed. A view, something that'll only be reserved for his eyes. That was reserved for his eyes.
Just a dream. This isn’t real.
He’s not real.
He isn’t real.
… Why can’t it be real?
“If you have something to say, then say it.”
“Huh?”
“You’re staring.” Not-Suguru looks at him, those dark-purple eyes meeting his blue eyes, holding contact as the two men stared at each other. Satoru frowns, his lips turning into a pout as he scowls. “No I wasn’t. Doofus.”
Not-Suguru stares, then lets out a deep, humorless chuckle that makes Satoru’s nerves twitch.
“White-haired idiot.”
“Bitch.”
“Annoying.”
Satoru huffs, angrily looking away. “You’re not even real.”
A pause, then a beat– as Not-Suguru(?) stares, rather… puzzled?
“What?” Not-Suguru frowns, raising an eyebrow– Satoru can’t tell if this dream is playing tricks on him, or this replication of his beloved is trying to deceive him. When can he wake up!?
“Satoru, I’m–”
“Shut upppahhhh!!” He groans, pouring his heart out in the “ah” sound. Maybe-Suguru lets out an exasperated sigh, narrowing his eyes. Satoru was still looking away, frowning until he feels a hard object hit his heard, causing him to yell out in pain. “Ow—!”
He opens his eyes, seeing a shell at his bare feet— looking bacj up as his voice takes on a high, pitch tone— whiny. This man-child. “What the hell was that for!?”
“You still don’t believe its real?” Maybe-Suguru calmly speaks, crossing his arms as he looks at Satoru with carefully contained frustration. Satoru clenches his jaw, letting out a “tch” as he still clings onto his own mindset and understanding of the situation. He may not have his six eyes anymore— but he doesn’t need it to tell whats real or not.
Maybe.
“You can feel things in dreams sometimes— so what!?” No, not really. But he doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to admit its him. Because it can’t be. This isn’t real.
“Satoru you idiot.” Maybe-Suguru mutters under his breath, clenching his fists— hard, Satoru can notice his fingers digging into his smooth, perfect skin. And just like in the old times— he’s taken back to where they were teenagers— back to when nothing else mattered but him.
Like before. When everything was fine.
Before the star-plasma mission, before Toji,
before Riko—
With the slow steps of his feet, his legs working— Suguru closes the oh-so tormenting distance between them. Satoru just stands, letting Suguru grab his arm to pull him closer, into his space— his embrace. He feels his hand cup his cheek, the only touch he’s ever grown to desire and love— those purple eyes staring so intently so into his, so benevolent— indulging. Satoru’s breath hitches, before his lips pressed into a thin line, keeping quiet. No words from him, because he can’t deny it anymore, can he?
Suguru narrows his eyes, letting his other hand slowly move to the back of Satoru’s hair— slightly tugging on it as he pulls him closer, closer.
“This,” He softly murmurs, closing his eyes. “This is real. I’m real, Satoru.”
Satoru doesn’t speak, only moving his head into the crook of Satoru’s neck, breathing his scent in deeply. Sweet, familar. Home. Him.
Its him— its really him. Its his Suguru.
He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around Suguru— taking in the fact of how warm, comfortable he is. Maybe, maybe— it’s better this way, for it to not be a dream.
Because its isn’t. And he’s so fucking glad for that.
————————————————————
“So, you lost?” Suguru tilts his head, staring at Satoru as he rests his cheek on his one hand, humming.
“I guess even if he didn’t have the ten-shadows I probably would’ve lost anyway.” Satoru admits begrudgingly, looking to the side. This inflicts a deep laugh from Suguru, his eyes crinkling as he chuckles, remarking a smooth comment. “Wow, didn’t think you’d admit something like that— coming from you, that’s a surprise.”
Satoru frowns— flicking Suguru’s forehead. Suguru raises an eyebrow, flicking Satoru back. Satoru huffs, being falling onto Suguru’s side, resting his head on shoulder. Suguru doesn’t protest, letting him, as the two sat down on the wet grains of sand, the crystal- teal-bluish white waves wash over their feet, the warmth making a tingling sensation.
“You had fun though, didn’t you?” Suguru gently asks, looking up.
“Yeah. Yeah I did have fun.” Satoru blinks, smiling, before it slowly fades into his blank expression— a shell of him. He did have fun. But.
“…My only regret was that you weren’t there.” Satoru softly admits, a gentle, tired smile gracing his lips as he continues. “Y’know— there to give me a pat on the back, or something. That you were with me, and not some rando possessing your body and cold corpse— pretending to be you.” He weakly chuckles, though frowning as he stared down at the sand, the water—- anywhere, except Suguru.
Suguru hums, facing the view of the sun shining down upon his handsome features, the light, blue sky, the seagulls that flew around, and the wind blowing in his face.
“… But you’ve caught up now, haven’t you?” He looks down at Satoru, that softness in his eyes— that look where Satoru could stare at forever, lost in the depths of his admiration. “We’re together again. And forever this time.”
Satoru blinks, his ethereal blue eyes lighting up again— like the ocean and sky met with each other, before he chuckles deeply— punching Suguru lightly in the chest with his fist. “Obviously, you seriously think I’m gonna let you go anywhere? Not today.” Not ever. He won’t, they’re bounded, soulmates and both of them know it.
Suguru stares at the waves, before slowly getting up— letting Satoru almost fall as Satoru lets out a yell. “Come on.”
Satoru looks up— irritated as he looked up, confused. “What do you mean come on—!?” He jumps up, staring at him with an annoyed frown. “Give a warning next time— are you even listening—“
Suguru holds out his hand, suddenly looking at Satoru with a graceful smile. “Lets go. Deep into the ocean.”
Satoru stares back— stunned. “… Have you gone crazy?”
“Its the only way to move on.”
“By doing some disney princess shit!?”
“Satoru.”
Satoru groans, before taking his hand as he starts walking with Suguru into the water. Its warm, loved and touched dearly by the sun’s light, glistening as the liquid gently splashed with each step they took.
“If we die a second time by drowning, you’re taking blame.”
“That won’t happen.” Suguru smiles. He looks over at Satoru once more, his grin being the only thing Satoru can focus on. “We’ll be fine. Besides---"
“You’re here with me, aren’t you?”
Satoru stares, his eyes widening as the two stop. Time seems to pause, and Satoru needs to kiss him. Something— anything—
He moves closer, closer— until their lips are inches apart, almost touching, almost…
Until a wave crashes over them, pulling them into a warm embrace, their hands and bodies intertwined.
Because Death isn’t cold. Not with love.