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Satoru Gojo was gifted with many things, the time and clear mind to day dream was unfortunately not among his long list of valuables.
On the days he would allow himself a break, a second to breath—half the time the fleeting thoughts that slipped into his minds eye were often filled with melancholy.
Even memories of the happier times in his life stung, and yet that's the burden of the strongest right?
It wasn't often he thought of his own death, a normal amount, probably.
An amount he wouldn't dare mention to Shoko or Nanami during the rare nights they can actually take the time to exist as people first and sorcerers second.
Yes he knew it was inevitable even the strongest must fall and a life as a Jujutsu sorcerer is very rarely a long one— he did linger on an eternally unanswered question however.
Yet another to put in his long list of curiosities:
If Satoru Gojo died, if the reverse curse technique he ran on himself constantly had faltered— if he died, was slain and became curse.
Would Suguru Geto want him then?
The strongest— the closest to a god Jujutsu society of this day and age would ever see. If he died at the hands of another, died on a mission maybe the days, weeks of exhaustion pilled up becoming a cause in his down fall. If his heart were to stop, stay frozen in place— a death without an ounce of cursed energy involved and he became one of the monsters derived from all the negativity of humanity, if he defied his birthright in death, would the one he wants finally want him once again?
Would his body melt into something new? something ugly and warped a disgusting creature of too many angry eyes, of warped bone and torn flesh a horrific display of infinity, a never ending source of power, an amalgamation of all the emotions and horrors of humanity now forced into one physical abomination of a body. A catalyst to end all days, demonic, a burning realization for all that hell was real— that he was the sole bringer of it.
Or would he be beautiful? strange but still a creature of beauty—all white haloed and soothing blue, a presence warm like the sea that swam in the irises of hundreds of thousands, millions, of eyes that graced his inhumane body, something as close to an angle as humanity will ever see. The holy one, he would be the creature of their downfall that they would pray too and praise all the same. Because if the bringer of their end were so beautiful; their next destination at the end of their pathetic lives would have to be just as captivating, just as heavenly serene, right?
Regardless of the appearance his exhausted body would take on—humanoid or towering beast, of course he would still be wanted. "Needed" in the same way he is now as a living breathing sorcerer. Wanted by those who sought to use and abuse the power for their own destructive agendas, as if Gojo wasn't capable of it all on his own. As if he wouldn't be classified well beyond the category of special grade, he'd most certainly wield the power beyond anything anyone could possibly imagine yet would be underestimated all the same—despite the titles of the strongest being intertwined in his DNA, despite his birth causing a ripple effect across all of Jujutsu society, there would always be those whose ego's clouded their minds, whose grey matter was poisoned with their own levels of self importance, narcissistic blood cells rippling through every vein and capillary.
There would always be someone with the unattainable goal of reigning him in, of trying to keep him in check much like the facade the higher ups and clan leaders have stupidly fooled themselves into believing they had done. He knew why he went on missions for days, weeks on end without sleeping using only reversed curse technique and sugar too keep him going, he did it for the futures of the youths he taught,because that's what the strongest sorcerer did. If he couldn't protect those he cared for, if he wouldn't put it all on the line to ensure they could live their lives the way he and those he held close in his youth should have; then what was the point of all this power?
If even with infinity and the six eyes he couldn't help the one person who had mattered to him the most, if he hadn't been able to see the torment and depression that choke the life out of the boy he had loved, he could at least be the person he would have needed then for his students.
But what if he had failed once again. The sweet release of death the promise of peace at the end of everything, as fleeting as the brush of chapped lips on his, unsure then confident and sweet all the same— he could almost taste the citrus soda mixing with the lingering syrup from his ramune popsicle on his tongue, could almost feel the warm push of wind against his skin, the hand caressing his sun burnt face, almost.
Almost before it was ripped away from him again much like it had been in life.
Because even in death Satrou Gojo would never get what he wanted most.
But perhaps he could in rebirth?
Would Suguru have wanted him then?
As a true curse, one he wouldn't even have to fight—Satoru had always lived in the palm of Suguru's hands regardless of if he liked it or not, even in all his anger and sadness he could never stop himself from trusting his one and only. Hell even his infinity knew it.
Or perhaps they would insist on fighting; for the sake of it, for the fun of the song and dance they'd been doing over the last few years. Blood would be spilled that's for sure but all for the fun of the game, to finally see Suguru Geto getting his hands bloodied for him, fighting with a burning need for him, a mix of his own sweet crimson blood mixing with whatever poor excuse for what now ran through Gojo's veins. He knew Geto was a killer, he knew he tore apart that village with his curses for those girls all those years ago, knew he was taking the lives of greedy business men and the low life humans that would end up on the stairs of his temple looking to him as another pawn in their games before being torn apart or crushed by invisible forces after they'd served their purposes.
He knew, and yet Gojo still hadn't come for him.
Hadn't gone running to him when he had left the first time as teenagers— turning away asking Gojo questions he was far too angry to answer correctly, too confused as to why this was happening, why Suguru killed so many people when he had been the one to stop Satoru from flooding the building with the blood of those ignorant cultists just a year prior, he had been the only thing stopping the infinity user from drowning in that sea of red.
Despite all his questions he did not chase after him, didn't ask why he hadn't come to him for help, why he thought he wouldn't drop anything and everything to come home to Suguru— curses and missions be damned he would have ran straight into Suguru's arms if he had asked. Would have done anything he could have had he been there to see the signs, to prevent the inevitable storm that festered in his loves mind. Hurt that he hadn't spoken to Satoru about it, Suguru had been his safe place— was it so selfish of him to assume the other saw home in him too?
Agonizing for days over every little detail and when finally confronted with his one and only, he did not ask the questions that burned in his throat.
That caused the bile to rise and start a fire in the pit of his chest, the questions he himself had allowed the worst parts of his brains Limbic system too fill in the answers for. The ones that hollowed him out and left him feeling oh so cold in the dorm room bed that he'd spent so much time wrapped in the warmth of his loves embrace. The bed that did not belong to him— yet became the lifeboat and the iceberg in his grief.
Why are you leaving me?
What did i do?
Was it me that was too much?
not enough?
Tell me which so i can fill the gaps in my soul with what you need of me.
So I can strip myself bare, down to the bone marrow for you, let you see the parts of me that warrant this loss and allow your blood stained hands to fix in me what you have broken. Take your time sifting through the shards— take your time with the drafts, linger where you need— I will let those wounded hands shape whatever mosaic you wish to see in me.
whatever will make you stay.
Whatever you need.
Thoughts and feelings that festered an aching open wound that wouldn't heal, partly because he refused to stop picking at the scabs.
What good was a reverse cursed technique if it would not heal the things that hurts the most?
He did not chase after Suguru Geto that day because he had known; they both did. Had he wanted Satoru to follow him, to join him side by side down the bloodied path he himself had already created— all he had to do was ask.
But on that afternoon; the one he's sure Suguru remembers with amber glow of the sun a light into the new life he had started for himself— the one satoru remembers as dark and haunting the end of their blue spring, the end of the life he had envisioned ahead of them, Suguru hadn't beckoned for him to come and so Satoru hadn't followed.
And so in crept that nagging curiosity and a petty question he assumed he knew the answer too.
As a curse he knew Geto would come for him. It would be too good to pass up on the opportunity, his ability perfect for Gojo the man made of stars and infinity that no one could ever keep up with, no one but Suguru himself, no one else who could absorb the curse he had become— even if they had the same cursed technique the none of them would even come close, any embarrassing attempt meet with hallow laughter and a horribly bloody end.
The need to have such a power creature at his command as a means to protect his family, of course he would have wanted him, what mortal man wouldn't. Especially one of Suguru Geto's influence and power paired with his ideals. The cult leader would surely find a means a way to ensure he would be the wielder of such a deadly weapon. Right?
Of course he would want Gojo, everyone does.
But the question was if he would want Satoru?
If he were too succeed would he grieve the loss of his one and only even if he was technically still there, if he was once again settled in the palm of his hand if he had gotten all he had claimed to have wanted— would it ever have been enough? Or would he be unsatisfied? Would the loss of Satoru throw a wrench in it all.
The ache that looms in his chest, that had once been sharp and constant slipping through him and his veins like a poisoned dagger, the one that had in time carved out its own permanent place in the space between Suguru's still beating heart, cemented between the third and fourth rib now a dull arthritic ache but pain none the less.
All nagging questions that filter through Gojo's psych when given the chance, all things he arrogantly assumed were answered in truth by the most anxious parts of his mind.
The only question he refused to give the time of day, refused to let slip into the for front of his mind out of the fear of somehow bringing it into the world of the living— would of course be the one he was forced to come face to face with on a cold Christmas eve.
Would he still want Suguru Geto if he were a curse?