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The sterile hum of the infirmary was a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded just hours earlier. Satoru Gojo sat alone, his back against the cold wall, staring at the floor. The weight of the world seemed to press down on him, each breath a struggle against the suffocating silence that enveloped him. He was used to feeling as if he carried the whole world on his back, but not this. He had never felt it so immensely. His chest felt tight and his heartbeat quickened every second. He was supposed to be the strongest, so why couldn’t he keep his composure?
He was Satoru Gojo goddammit. The strongest sorcerer of the modern era, undeniably the quickest, the most agile and the most powerful. It was said that when he was born the balance of the world changed, he had the ability to do everything and anything he wanted. Yet he felt helpless and defeated. Funnily enough he should have everything he desires, however his heart has always ached for the impossible. What an ugly word “impossible”, thought Gojo. At least before tonight he used to say that.
His mind replayed the events of the night—the confrontation with Suguru Geto, his former friend turned enemy. No, it wasn’t even that. He was his best and only friend, even after he changed sides, Satoru was never able to hate him. Not one single bit. He knew it was wrong, he was aware his heart should be full of hatred and remorse towards the traitor but he couldn’t. He could not unsee the image of Suguru being there for him. Despite everything, he was still his best friend at heart.
The words exchanged, the final moments that had sealed their fates. "You're late," Geto had said, his voice tinged with a bitterness that Gojo had never imagined possible. And yet, even in those last moments, there had been a flicker of something else—regret, perhaps, or a longing for the past they had shared. None of them had forgotten it since it was the only moment in their lives where they had felt happiness. They were never seen as weapons or special grade sorcerers by the other. It was just Satoru and Suguru.
Gojo's hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm causing him to bleed. He had been forced to make a choice, a choice that had torn apart the very foundation of his existence. The man who had once been his closest companion, his confidant, was now gone, a casualty of a war neither of them had wanted. This shook him to his very core, not only did his best friend die but he felt a part of his soul sink as well.
He could still hear Geto's voice, still see the look in his eyes as he had fallen. "At least curse me a little at the very end," Geto had whispered, a final plea for acknowledgment, for some semblance of the bond they had once shared. His voice was soft and full of raw emotion, knowing these were his last moments. I’m glad it was you, that sentence echoed through Suguru’s mind nonstop. But he didn’t say anything.
“I’m glad you were my classmate. I’m glad you were my best friend. I’m glad it was you who taught me how to feel loved. I’m glad you’re here”. All of this went through his head yet he didn’t find the strength to say it out loud.
But Gojo had said nothing. He had been silent, unable to find the words that could bridge the chasm between them. He had a hundred things he wanted to say, he wanted to be angry at him yet nothing compared to what was going on through his mimd. Instead, he had turned away, leaving Geto to his fate. He couldn’t bare to watch a part of him die.
Now, in the stillness of the infirmary, Gojo was left with the echoes of that silence. The weight of his actions, the loss of his friend, the unraveling of everything he had believed in. He had always prided himself on being the strongest, on being untouchable. But in that moment, he felt anything but. His legs trembled in vulnerability. He curled tighter into the wall, as if bracing for an echo. He pressed his forehead against it, trying to still his thoughts. His black blindfold hid the tears that started to form in his deep blue eyes.
A single tear slipped free, but he didn’t taste the salt— he tasted failure. His own failure.
A soft knock on the door broke through his reverie. He wiped his face, quickly composing himself before anyone could see the cracks in his façade.
"Come in," he called, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil that churned within him.
The door creaked open, and Yuta Okkotsu stepped inside, holding a small item in his hand. "Sensei," Yuta began hesitantly, "I found this among Geto's things. I thought you might want it."
Yuta extended the item, and Gojo's heart skipped a beat as he recognized it—the ID card that had once belonged to Suguru Geto. His best friend. The only one he had ever had. It had a picture of younger Suguru, he still smiled and his hair was up in a messy bun.
Without a word, Gojo took the card, his fingers brushing against the worn edges. The memories flooded back—days spent training together, laughing, dreaming of a future where they could change the world side by side. Suguru’s cheeky teenage smirk sneered into his mind. He remembered everything, to them teasing each other to them having deep talks. His mind filled with their teenage moments and their innocent words. As kids, they used to talk about growing up together and changing the world.
We were supposed to change everything together and die side by side.
But that future was gone now, shattered by a single, irreversible choice.
Behind him, the monitor’s beep—beep—beep pulsed like an accusation: he was still alive. Alive. He felt as if the universe were mocking him. Gojo. Alive. Suguru. Dead.
His mind swirled with memories— Suguru’s laugh, the crackle of energy in training, his cheeky comments, the warmth of friendship— each one piercing him like a knife.
"Thank you, Yuta," Gojo said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "This means more than you know." He couldn’t hold this façade anymore.
Yuta nodded, understanding the weight of the moment. He lingered for a moment longer, then turned to leave, giving Gojo the space he needed. Yuta didn’t understand what type of bond his Sensei had with the man who had tried to murder him but he knew it was something deep. No one but those two understand and know the depth of their connection.
As the door clicked shut, Gojo was once again alone, holding the remnants of a friendship that had been lost. He stared at the ID card, his mind racing with questions, with regrets, with what-ifs. A beat of sweat traced down his temple. He drew in a sharp breath and then his hand clenched tightly around the card. Skin split. Shame burned hotter than any curse.
He finally let himself go. Tears started streaming down his face. He removed his blindfold to reveal the sight of his normal clear blue eyes into those of a storm. He grieved Suguru’s departure since he left him all those years ago. He had been so confused and sad but nothing compared to this. Knowing he abandoned him caused him a deep pain but it wasn’t even an inch of what he felt right now. Reality crashed onto him like violent waves against the shore, he was drowning in his own tears and sorrows. He lost himself in his own brain as he imagined different outcomes for Suguru, his brain filled of “what could have been” everywhere.
But there were no answers. Only silence.
And the haunting question that lingered in his heart: Did I really do the right thing?
His chest and heart felt dense, he panted heavily and was full of regret and sadness. His tears ricocheted. No matter how strong you are, you can’t escape death.
What a cruel world we live in, he thought.
Antiseptic stung on his tongue. The taste lingering in the air as well as his own regret. The fluorescent lights of the infirmary flickered, like reminders of broken promises. Each burst a reminder of words left unsaid, memories unmade and a future alone.
He tasted salt, sweat and regret so thick he could almost swallow it. As tears slipped on his face not a single sound was heard. Silence swallowed him, louder than any battle cry.
The ID card trembled in his palm, his emotions dominating him completely.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
He wanted to scream, he should’ve said something when he had the chance to. He imagined his soft voice, warm and alive— you’re late.
But Suguru wouldn’t come back. He was gone. Dead. All because of him.
There really is no curse more twisted than love.