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He’ll never forget the look on Nanami’s face when he first saw the cigarette in his hand.
“Yuji, it doesnt matter how hard it is, dont ever pick one of this up. It’ll only ruin your life.” He had said, “I mean it.” and then took a long drag out of it.
And in his defense, he did listen.
He listened until there was no one else to listen to.
His clothes still smelled like burnt nicotine when he died, and he looked like he would never look at anyone ever again— half of his body burnt like the cigarettes that once burned his whole lung.
The moon reminded him of his mentor— a lighting presence that iluminated his entire being and always understood him— and the cigarettes reminded him of his scent and warmth that didnt exist anymore.
So, he sat at the rooftop and lightened one of the nicotine sticks from the box he found at Nanami’s office, taking a long puff and feeling the way his entire being relaxed under the scent of it, becoming dizzy from it after a while since he wouldnt dare to breathe it out.
Sometimes he smoked the whole night, cigarette after cigarette, causing a crippling nausea that made him barf nothing and left his whole body weak and trembling, and that left him more scared than anything in his life.
Did Nanami ever went through that?
Or was he responsible enough to know when to stop and when to repress the sudden urge for a long, relaxing drag?
What would he say if he was alive?
Would he help and treat him or would he yell at him over vomit that never came out, vomit that was the same as his grief and guilt, that he urged to get out—to stop already—but even through suffering, nothing came out.
…
someone’s watching him.
…
“What you doin’?” Gojo said, “Are we having a rebel phase now? Should i expect piercings and tattos?”
Yuji didnt answer, taking another drag of the cigarette.
“You know that stuff’ll kill you, right?” He said, his eyes hyperfocused and steady—like a heart beat.
“So will everything else.” Yuji said, almost too quiet.
For a moment, he just stood there, eyes hidden behind the blindfold, the usual snark stuck somewhere in his throat.
“...Don’t,” he said finally. “Don’t start acting like it doesn’t matter. I didn’t keep you alive so you could try to rot from the inside out.”
“Im not an addict, y’know that, right?”
Gojo stopped at that, thinking for a second when a small smile crept its way into his face, almost nostalgic. “..Nanami used to say that to me when we first met.”
Yuji flinched, looking angry for a moment, but relaxing at the thought of his mentor the same age as his, alive and well—Not that well actually, if he needed to smoke too.
He wondered when “wanted to smoke” became “needed to smoke” in his head. He couldnt find an answer.
Yuji looked at his teacher’s steady gaze—feeling the violence of the nicotine getting out of his lungs—his lips trembling as he said, “..He always smelled like this god awful cigarettes. And always told me to never pick one up.”
Gojo looked at him with an unreadable expression as he sat down next to him, “.. he said that to me too, y’know? He was always worried about us in his own weird and boring way.”
… ”Aren’t you gonna lecture me about this?”
“Kid, i knew that you, out of everyone else, would be hurt if this happened. I know it isnt a healthy way to cope, and if you want to i can help you quit, but i know that if you arent disposed to do that, you wont.” He said, “All of this wasnt forecasted, and he would be sad to see you like that, but i know thats just you wanting a piece of him back— even if its an unhealthy one.”
Yuji looked at his sensei’s eyes, his own leaking a tear and his lips trembling. ‘‘Why do people like him keep dying.. while im still here?” He said, “If i had died back then… maybe he wouldn’t have to,”
…”You think you should’ve died instead? Then what, Nanami lives while the rest of us bleed while you sit this one out?”
Yuji frowned at him, curling his shoulders inwards like a child waiting for a blow.
Gojo’s eyes softened at that, seeing through Yuji like it was his job.
“Kid, Nanami knew what this job meant. He knew the cost, and he still walked into hell because he believed in people like you—Inyou, specifically” He said, “He wouldnt want you dead, kid. He wanted you to live — and keep going. So dont throw that away by rotting your insides out.”
Yuji’s throat closed. His vision blurred. “I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t stop Sukuna. I couldn’t stop any of it—” He said, “He was supposed to live, he was supposed to just… be there..”
Yuji doubled over, fists clenched against his knees, shoulders heaving. The mask he’d been holding since Shibuya — the numbness, the resolve — all of it shattered under the weight of loss he couldn’t outrun anymore.
Gojo didn’t speak.
He just reached out and pulled Yuji in.
Yuji sobbed into Gojo’s shoulder, ugly and loud. His fists beat weakly against Gojo’s chest until they didn't.
Until the weight of the deaths —that were his fault — wasnt only on his shoulder anymore.
Until he could only feel the mourning sadness that Nanami would leave in his heart.
Until he could only be quiet.
Shaking.
Small.
“What if i forget his smell? or the way he’d talk to me and comforted me?” Yuji asked, “What if i forget his voice? —What if i forget how he looked—”
“Yuji.” Gojo looked deep in his eyes, “If that ever happens, ill be sure to be here— right by your side— to remember you every time.”
And somehow, that was okay.
Even though he knew he never really would be okay after what happened —after what he had seen and done—
“You’ve got it from here, Itadori”
He had to be okay.
Nanami trusted him, and Nanami wasnt someone to lie.
He would be okay.