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The sky is overcast as Gojo stares out the window of his dorms. The missions have become more frequent since the higher-ups started demanding more of the Tokyo sorcerers. It’s tedious, cleaning up after Geto’s cult. A task that was handed to Gojo, like killing his best friend, wasn’t enough. His one and only. The thought was unwelcome and brought a scowl to his face. Eyes cold beneath the blindfold, Gojo looks to the world and questions it all.
The world will never stop being wrong again. Hasn’t stopped being wrong in a decade. Sometimes, Gojo looks back and wonders how life continued on, much like now as he stares into the shades of grey. It reminds him so much of Suguru and the idea leaves his body feeling heavy. What was Suguru, if not shades of grey? A man who only knew how to reject everything for the sake of the greater good. Pushed past the point of breaking. Now Gojo gets to stare out the window. Alone. In a reality where he’s dead. The thought makes the friction of the blindfold, the air in the room, the heaviness of fatigue, feel unbearable.
Gojo adjusts against the doorframe, the discomfort a palpable thing. His eyes see everything, providing input even when he wishes the world would give him this moment of peace. The throb of his head becomes more intense as he stares in desolation, no smile on his face, no outward expression of his thoughts, nothing to indicate the turmoil other than such an unnatural stillness for a man so hyperactive.
His mind whispers, I’m the strongest…the honored one, and it tells him that he’s not allowed to fail. He watches the motes dance between him and the rest of the world.
He reminds himself, Just for my students, and it tells him to live for others, for the next generation. His breath becomes heavier in his lungs, the weight of the future closing in.
I killed him, and the cold shudder of the thought breaks the stillness with a gasp. With that small sound in such a quiet room, the illusion is shattered. The static in Satoru’s body intensifies. The world outside feels so overwhelming in the face of grief. No amount of missions he takes from his students, no matter how much adrenaline he seeks, RCT he uses, forced smiles, laughter, or jokes will make it go away. It always comes back to this.
One gasp turns into two, into three, until the stillness breaks and Satoru slides to the floor in an ungraceful pile of limbs. He breaks down, sobs echoing throughout the room. His mind spirals into What if…, and plays every option he’s already gone over thousands of times in the last decade. The breakdown is not a new sensation, but the intensity is more than he has ever experienced. His regret is a living thing, taking form in all the ways he’s failed Suguru. A decade of mistakes. Finalized, never to be forgiven.
“I killed him” he repeats in his mind and the horror consumes him. He drags his hands through his hair and pulls, gasping for breath as his silenced sobs wrack throughout his body. Pulling his body tighter, holding it together as if he is going to shake apart, he wonders if there’s any hope for any of them in this world.
With tears soaking through his blindfold, Satoru knows the truth: the strongest couldn’t avoid the inevitability of tragedy that comes to all sorcerers, in that, he is just the same.