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“You’re here,”
Echoed a distinct voice, like it wasn’t there, but it was. A voice that sparked old, bittersweet memories in Gojo, ones that he didn’t want to remember. Memories he discarded for good, but it was no use against his longing for understanding—at least when he had been alive.
And now, he could breathe. Because the person who stood before him now simply understood all of his problems since he remembered it.
Geto Suguru.
His old best friend, the one Gojo was forced to kill with his bare hands. It still hurt, somewhere deep within him. The guilt he had buried away crashed back with all its sharp edges, a stinging wound to his gut. A wound that was never sealed, and never could be. Because the reason behind it still troubled Gojo’s mind to sleepless nights where he would question if it was really worth it.
Worth the death of his only friend, the one who cared enough to listen, to stay. The one who stood by his side no matter what, who he could race with and still have doubts on who would win.
It was relieving—until it wasn’t anymore. Until the blood dripped down Gojo’s hands, staining. Like it was accusing him for all of the lives Geto had destroyed, like it was his fault. Maybe it was, but Gojo didn’t want to dwell on it.
Not when he couldn’t bother anymore—he didn’t have to.
“Better late than never, right?” Gojo pulled one of his sarcastic smiles, shrugging his shoulders like it wasn’t his problem. Acting like he was seventeen again, like the weight of the world didn’t crush his shoulders, didn’t throw its burdens at him and expect him to solve them. Because it didn’t—not anymore.
But beneath his “keepin’ it cool” act, his words demanded more than just a half-hearted chuckle from Geto. It carried more weight than Gojo intended to, almost like he was asking for comfort. A reassurance that nothing changed between them, that Geto was still his old self. Something, anything to make Gojo feel better about himself. A sign that it was okay to stay, to exist. To be himself, to act like himself. Not as the image he put on for others, a futile act of “everything’s okay, don’t worry!”. He was tired of that, it disgusted him. He just wanted to breathe, to feel like it’s alright to be there.
“So you lost,” Geto said, his statement open-ended. It reached him as a challenge, or maybe sarcasm. Gojo couldn’t tell, not when he struggled to see what was just before him.
But Gojo’s problem was that he saw too much, absorbed too much. Because nothing else stood in front of him, not some puzzle to be solved. It was just Geto, like he had always known him. Standing with a small tug on his lips, a smile he knew all too well. And yet he couldn’t look behind it, at what tugged behind the Geto Suguru.
Because it all felt too odd, maybe he was just used to the Geto who had spilled blood for his ideals. It was strange to see Geto as if he were just a… kid again. Like nothing had happened, nothing had changed.
Gojo sighed. He could never get enough of him. It was always like this, his friend never showed much of himself. It was bit for bit, and Gojo was never much of a patient person. It got to his nerves every time, but it still felt oddly comforting—in a way. Like Geto didn’t blame him for anything Gojo felt guilty of, nothing he took as a failure. All he saw was his friend, his best friend.
There was no reason for Gojo to think it over and over, it didn’t even matter anymore. They were both dead, the world wasn’t their problem anymore. And it seemed like letting go of a part of his soul—a part carved into him. A part that never belonged, finally letting go of something that never called for it.
“Yeah,” He simply answered, sliding his back down a tree’s trunk. He sat with a thump on the ground, arms sprawled over his knees. It felt peaceful like this—with his friend, like nothing else mattered.
Now he had no reason to feel guilty of things left undone, of things left unsaid. It was a weight lifted off his shoulders, and for once, he felt light. Like the wind could carry him away, like a flower still in bloom. And he sighed, a deep sigh. Like all of his decisions were worth giving up just to stay here, to bask in his much deserved rest. Beside Geto. Like he belonged there, and maybe he did. He missed his friend, could he ask for anything else?
“I thought you told everyone you would win, Satoru.” Geto muttered, something like a huff following his words. Like a heartfelt laugh, one who let itself settle in Gojo’s heart. It was good to hear Geto laugh again, enough to make his lips tug in a big smile.
“Thought you knew me better,” Gojo side-eyed him with a childish pout, even though his words carried a certain… longing. “I never kept my promises.” He let out a low, tired laugh.