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The room had light streaming through the ajar bathroom door, making the shadows elongate and gain a menacing look. The air was stale and unmoving yet tense, ready to choke at a moment’s notice. It had been some time since the heatwave had started and now the hot damp air made it impossible to feel any sort of comfort. In an effort to make the dank space even slightly livable, a dehumidifier was running somewhere in the background, making a choking noise every so often as it fought against its surroundings.
Suguru couldn’t sleep, something that had become the norm in the past few weeks or rather months as was evident by his pale visage and dark circles clashing on his face. He was awfully still, lying with his hands clasped tightly over his chest. Sweat was beading down his brow, his baggy white shirt and black hair soaked as they clung to him. His face was contorted while he was concentrating, taking deep even breaths to stave off the nausea that was plaguing him yet again.
Another bout had him slightly shivering even amidst the unbearable heat and had him rolling onto his left side and grabbing at his shirt like his life depended on it. He hadn’t eaten much and was well aware that his poor habits had gained the attention of his friends. They had pointed out that he had lost weight, a little fact he was also all too well aware of. He dreaded waking up in the morning just to be forced out of bed and on an assignment or even worse to face his colleagues.
Exorcise. Absorb. Repeat.
Over and over again. Till his days blended together like mush, till he waded through them like thick sickly dark sludge.
He couldn’t eat his favorite soba, or anything for that matter. It all tasted the same, just like curses, like rot or vomit. These days it was even starting to look the same, horribly unappealing, though he knew this was only his sleep deprived mind running on fumes and his duty to others. He couldn’t do it. He was sure there had been a time when meals had distinct flavors, when he ate with joy, happy after a day’s work saving the ugly defenseless masses that now mocked his pain and grief in his nightmares, but he couldn’t recall it.
The memory was lost along with things he probably hadn’t noticed had gone missing until he couldn’t function properly anymore. Until he couldn’t say if he would ever be able to win them back.
This is what brought him here, digging his nails into his skin, hoping that self-imposed pain would save him from the one he couldn’t gain control over no matter how hard he tried. Raking his fingers over where he knew his traitorous stomach was hidden just out of his reach, he couldn’t help but groan as it did nothing. Blunt nails dug into his skin over and over again leaving in their wake raised welts that would occasionally still be visible the day after. His throat was still burning from his previous attempts at expelling the little sustenance he had ingested sometime in the early afternoon.
It was a really miserable display.
Geto’s mouth was watering again and he already knew what was coming. The bed creaked as he sat up swinging his legs over the side and going rigid as he took stock of his aching bones. After a moment, when the impending sense of doom subsided, he stood up, swaying slightly and taking a shaky step forward. His fist was balled up against his chest and his other hand supported his journey towards the restroom as it found purchase on the wall.
The door was pushed with a bit too much force and made a loud noise when it bumped against the wall, thus making him flinch. The air was colder here, the pale tiles reflecting light and grounding him in the present. Geto’s palms pressed down on the sink in front of the large slightly grimy mirror. Silence stretched as he panted softly and grit his teeth.
Taking in a gulp of air he forced his hand into his mouth, pushing it down his throat. He knew his gag reflex was shot, just another perk of his technique. Over and over he desperately choked practically heaving up half of his lungs before it actually stuck. He retched, his body hunching forward and his knuckles going white as he gripped the cold marble. This meant he couldn’t stop, immediately shoving his fingers between his teeth and redoing it again. It went on for a minute or two before he only threw up neon yellow liquid that tasted like soap, a clear signal his stomach had nothing left to give.
His head was pounding now, snot running down his chin and eyes watering as he turned the tap on. He cupped his hands and brought them to his face, splashing himself and then taking mouthfuls of water to soothe his insides. Pain was radiating from his throat but he ignored it in favor of focusing on how the feeling of unease was now slowly ebbing away.
He was supposed to be one of the strongest – he knew he wasn’t, this was made abysmally clear by how little time he spent with the actual strongest sorcerer anymore, but he could pretend despite how it made him hate himself. It was his fault after all. His burden. His fuckup.
Being strong meant he could cope, he didn’t need outside reassurance and he sure as hell wasn’t about to go and beg for it like some stray animal. He couldn’t take the idea of someone looking at him with pity. He wasn’t the victim in this situation and therefore didn’t deserve it. There were plenty of innocent individuals who did, whose lives were cut short unjustly…
He had let his mind wander and when he finally made eye contact with the mirror he looked no better than he’d imagined. His eyes were bloodshot, a blood vessel clearly having popped due to the exertion, his bangs were glued to his forehead in a childish manner and his whole face was puffy, still dripping with cold water. He had only managed to clear the saliva and snot but he couldn’t hide how gaunt he looked, haunted even.
Geto was staring at the man that had ruined everything. That lost every fight that mattered to him. Someone who couldn’t hold his own. Someone who let his friend end up in a body bag and wouldn’t be able to stop it from happening again when it came down to it.
The thing in the mirror was staring back at him now, its dull lifeless beady eyes unblinking. Suddenly a surge of emotions overcame him, more than he had felt in literal months. His previously slightly shaking palm was now a fist. A fist that made a hole straight through his skull.
The glass shattered with a frightening crack. Bits and pieces of glass fell into the sink, splintering into even smaller ones, bouncing around but mostly staying confined to the bottom of the sink. A kick to the cabinet under the sink was next as the force of it bent the door slightly, causing it to hang off in in an atypical fashion. He just went off, punching, kicking, turning everything he felt into anger he could use to raze his life to the ground.
He couldn’t care less for all the noise he was making or the fact he was completely unaware of his surroundings. That was till he heard his room door creak and feet padding into it. There was not a sliver of doubt as to who was now behind him, who was watching and analyzing his pathetic state of being. His voice came out hoarse and too choked for his liking.
“What do you want Satoru?”
Silence stretched as he made no move to turn around and face him. Geto could hear the approach despite his sorry state and he was turned around by his shoulders with grace yet refused to look up. He should get even angrier, he should shout, kick him out and tell him to piss off but he wasn’t able to. Geto didn’t want to look at him so he looked past him at the wall in hopes of a shut down that would allow him to glide past this incident without having to put too much thought into it.
This finally earned him a response – a sigh.
A white blur shuffled past him. He was stood stock still till he felt hands pulling him in a yet unknown direction. The closed toilet lid didn’t make for a comfy sitting place but he was just too tired to fight anymore, sat right in the middle of the consequences of his breakdown.
He had his hands in his lap, clenching and unclenching the fist that was now clearly cut and starting to bruise. “Stop that,” echoed in the bathroom and Geto looked up. “You’ll only make it worse by messing with it.” He made no attempt to answer, instead being solely focused on Gojo shuffling through the cabinet.
He was wearing loose clothes that wouldn’t make him overheat, his hair was messy and frankly all over the place but what struck him most was that he wasn’t wearing anything to cover his eyes. This could only mean . . . He had woken him up by throwing his little tantrum. His head fell back and he looked up at the ceiling. The rational part of his brain pointed out it wasn’t on purpose but it didn’t matter when he already felt like there was something sick under his skin, writhing and gnawing and tainting everything about him.
Suguru squeezed his eyes shut. The grip on his hand became deadly as his fingernails dug into the upper layer of his skin. If only he could force himself to forget, to wipe his slate clean, maybe he could go back to who he was before.
“Hey” He decided to ignore the first call.
“Suguru”
Just like that ignoring the second wasn’t an option.
Gojo was in front of him, tugging at his fingers and poking him in the ribs in an annoying yet caring fashion. The look Geto shot him was withering but Gojo knew better than to back off. He was skilled as he pried his hands off of his forearm and turned the palm of his sluggishly bleeding hand in all sorts of directions to inspect it. His grip was too gentle and it made Geto want to shout at him, convince him he wasn’t worth it. Instead, his hand was held and he felt something aching in his previously hollow chest.
His throat was closing up fast and this time around it started to burn due to the tears he would never admit he was repressing. He didn’t want to feel this way yet he couldn’t ask for help. Someone willing to help was right before him with his blue eyes trained on his wounds and his mouth in a thin straight line like he was forcing his lips together to keep them from allowing him to speak his mind.
This was all making him feel like a child, pushing all his problems onto the closest figure he trusted enough, hoping with desperation that they could just fix what was broken. He just needed someone next to him, holding him or hugging him. He wanted to crawl under their skin and leave his old body behind. Become them and let his own consciousness dissolve into nothingness.
The untouched hand in his lap was shaking as he gathered the courage, adjusted his sitting position and lowered his head, letting it drop against Gojo’s shoulder with a thump. He relaxed when he figured that nothing had changed. His cuts were being tended to without even the slightest hitch. The bandage wrapped around his hand was scratchy and tight enough. This he could do. This made his mind clear enough to compose himself.
A difficult start “I didn’t mean to wake yo- “
Only to be cut off immediately. “That doesn’t matter and you know it”
He was slightly stunned when his whirring mind caught up. The tone of the statement put him on edge as it was clear that Gojo was at least the slightest bit annoyed and genuinely showing it, instead of trying to hide it with a quip or one of his shining grins. He must be upset because he woke him up. That had to be it.
The shoulder he was leaned on minutely hitched up. He couldn’t see it from his current position but Gojo was roughly rubbing at his eyes before he started speaking. Swallowing with too much effort for it to be nonchalant and tipping his head back.
“You- ugh, you should have said something.” Silence followed. It wasn’t like they had never talked about their emotions or wellbeing before but this conversation was clearly not going to be one of their usual lighthearted chats full of jabs and inside jokes.
“Shoko and I have been worried sick and you’ve been what, throwing shit around and ruining yourself like some idiot? You should have said something. Anything really.” He grabbed at his white hair tugging on it to ground himself. Tho his tone was anything but calm, it was obvious that it came from a place of worry, guilt, anger, all sorts of places to be honest but it all started overflowing once he spoke up.
“I need to help you but I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me. Are you sick? Overworked? Is your technique giving you a hard time? Quit with this bullshit and just TALK TO ME!”
Geto lifted his head. Why was he so insistent on reaching out to him, why couldn’t he just let him go. Their gazes locked and it became clear that Gojo was searching for an answer with the desperation of a drowning man. Well, Geto knew he was about to push him under even further.
“I’m so tired”, his voice was small. This was beyond shameful. He shouldn’t be like this. He had to be better. This was killing those around him that he hadn’t pushed away successfully.
“I’m tired and I can’t do this anymore. I feel sick all the time, like I’m on the verge of throwing up and it-it hurts like an open festering wound that reopens again and again. I can’t look at myself in the mirror or look at you for that matter. It’s just too much all of the time.” Here was the strongest looking at him with so much hope and raw emotion just waiting to be shattered because he couldn’t stick to his basic beliefs.
He was trying to keep his breathing light but the wind was knocked out of him when Gojo squeezed his arms around him in a vice grip. He felt his hand hold on to his shirt like he would disappear if he wasn’t careful enough. Choking up in a situation like this was so typical of him. Instead of freefalling tears his bones felt full of empty space that was trying to expand to the rest of his body and swallow him whole. Geto couldn’t hold his thoughts to himself any longer.
“Why are you still here Satoru? When it’s so obvious it would be better for all of us, if I were to vanish without a trace. It’s obvious I’m just a ticking time bomb. I’m not the same person you loved and all of this only proves it.”
Gojo was now pressing his palms to Geto’s cheeks and lifting his face to stare at him. His blue eyes were stormy as tears ran down his now scrunched up face and Geto wished he could take everything he just said back. Seeing his best friend completely distraught because he let doubt infect him was making him have a visceral reaction.
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever fucking say that.” Gojo lamented as his eyes darted all over his features to find some hidden truth. “I’m not leaving you behind just because you don’t feel like you should be saved. I’m never letting you drown on in your own misery, you hear that.” He wiped his face in a sweeping motion and blinked violently.
“I love you and I’ll always love you. Nothing in this cursed world can change that”
This got through to Geto. The first thing that had done that in so long. He turned the words over in his mind and found that he considered them to be true.
Nothing in this cursed world can change that
Suddenly both of them were clutching at each other, pulling their bodies closer together till there was no space left between them. Geto was ignoring his throbbing palm, opting instead to hide all of his pain and not ruin the moment. His body was shaking as silent tears wrecked him even further. He would never sob openly but this was as close as he would probably get.
Gojo’s shirt was damp under Geto’s face as he cried into it and in turn, he felt his own shirt gaining a wet spot as the other did the same. Their arms were tangling and their hands were finding new ways to squeeze them further closer. They shared breathes and the proximity was becoming unbearably painful but neither of them cared. They were stood like that for a long time, just making sure the other wouldn’t run away.
But nothing sweet could ever last for Geto and he knew all of this would be for nothing if he wasn’t actually honest with his partner.
“Satoru,” the white mop of hair made a sound but didn’t lift from its place. It was for the better this way, he would be able to speak his mind without getting sidetracked.
“Only humans leak cursed energy…” This had the head shotting up. “Sorcerers don’t because they can control their own output. Curses are only created due to non-sorcerers.” Blue eyes were scanning him and Geto wished they had stayed closed as they were awfully distracting when trained directly on him. “That means that the two most rational options are either we teach every non-sorcerer how to control their cursed energy or we … kill them.”
He was sure his chest wasn’t moving anymore as he waited patiently for a reaction. When none came, he felt like he needed to double down to get a rise out of him. He knew the other had in fact caught on but he couldn’t gage his reaction from the small movements coming from him.
“I don’t want to live in a world where everyone I care about dies in some horrible way trying to protect people who despise them.”
Lips parted, Gojo shuddered, “You would go against all of your morals, exterminate billions just to keep us from doing what we signed up for?”
An accusation. It had him wishing he could let Gojo see what he was seeing, feel what he was feeling, then he’d understand. Not to mention that “sign up for” was a complete exaggeration. They were born into this, born cursed, born to…
“I DIDN’T SIGN UP TO WATCH YOU DIE!”
This was it. This was what he was preparing himself for from the moment the other had padded into his room and stood there silently. Some big fight, a screaming match. He would push Gojo away despite not wanting to, he would resign himself to a life full of hatred, knowing who he was doing it for. Even if Satoru didn’t want him to.
But that wasn’t what happened.
“Well, I didn’t sign up to see you lose all your stupid morals that you hold so dear. Besides we both know you’re choosing the easy route instead of the right one. You’re letting anger and grief cloud your judgement.” ‘You’re better than that’ went unsaid. Their roles had shifted seamlessly with Gojo being the calm level headed one and Geto being overzealous. Still Gojo couldn’t see things from his perspective stuck as he was in his own arrogance.
“And you’re going to teach the whole population to create a world without cursed spirits? You know that’s impossible. There’s no point in chipping away bit by bit at something you will never be able to achieve.” His tone was condescending. This whole conversation was a long shot on Gojo’s part and they both knew it but the strongest just needed to convince his best friend to believe it, if only for a second to bring his spark back to life.
“How bleak.” His face had a smile plastered on it. “I know I couldn’t do it by myself but I also know I could do it if you were by my side. We could do it together.” An obvious last-ditch attempt at convincing him as they both knew he could do it all by himself. The grin Gojo was sporting was so painfully fake it made the others head hang low and black strands push into his eyes. A self-soothing hug was all he could manage at this point in the conversation.
Gojo tried:
“We are the strongest after all, aren’t we.”
WE
A promise, an extended hand, the warm sunny days spent together.
I won’t try to fix you but I’ll help you fix yourself
I’ll stand by you
Was he really naïve enough to believe that he could find his way by following a sweet promise, even if the promise was all that he had dreamed of on those nights he finally overcame insomnia. He felt like he was a hopeless cause going in circles, fighting his own worst impulses and thoughts. His friends didn’t agree with that tho. Gojo didn’t agree with that. Gojo has listened, has comprehended what he was now, what a despicable monster he had become yet … and yet he was still looking at him with kindness and compassion and even love. He hated himself but he at least owed Satoru this much.
A switch flipped in his mind. There was no point in clinging to his own discarded ideals now associated only with death, hatred and pain. He would keep going, not because he owed all of the people who were weaker than him protection, but because Satoru was trying hard for him and he would do the same in turn. They would make a better world even for those they couldn’t stand. He couldn’t let Satoru grieve someone who was still alive.
And he knew deep down this is what his friends who had no voice anymore, who were present only in spirit, would have wanted. Not to be avenged or for evil to be wiped from the world at the cost of the little good that he couldn’t care for at the moment, but for their memories to be carried on and remembered to inspire others, no matter how pointless it was to him.
He dragged his hand through his unkempt bangs. Laughter bubbled up inside his chest and it was the first sliver of joy, like clouds parting and allowing the thin rays of sunshine through. He threw his head back grinning wildly and let his emotions as shine brightly as that sun. Maybe this was hysteria or mania and he had just swung to the other extreme but there was something telling him that that wasn’t it.
“You won’t let me lose my way?”
“I’ll hold your hand through it if that’s what you want.” Gojo had pivoted to match Geto’s shifting mood and immediately cracked a joke.
In turn Geto poked Gojo’s face who was now smiling genuinely as well. After a second, he started dodging the fingers and attempted to stand up. His bones cracked loudly and he groaned like an old man, stretching slowly. Satoru held out his hand to take in anticipation.
This was the last true test; would he trust him enough to let him actually help him. With happiness finally beginning to dampen, insecurity creeped in again. The head of messy black hair lifted slowly, shamefully. The hesitation lasted just long enough to be noticeable and he forced himself to speak. It came out tiny “You really sure you want to put up with me and what that includes?”
They had come this far together, apart and stitched back up anew.
“Piss off. Besides, you know I don’t mind putting up with you, just the higher ups. Worst comes to worst we’ll just run away and start a commune or some garbage.” He was exaggerating, making silly faces and sticking his tongue out all in an effort to make his partner snicker just like he used to and being successful once again. The bathroom didn’t feel as cold anymore and it definitely wasn’t like the sweltering heat of his bedroom.
He really had lost something during all of this and having it back now had more than just relief washing over him.
“Jeez guess I’m never getting rid off your loser ass huh?” Fumbling horribly, he reached for the still outstretched hand pulling himself up and bumping into Satoru who was watching him so intently, with something that made his chest bloom with warmth. The gesture was too easy given everything that it truly meant and carried.
“Like you’d want that Su-gu-ru” He sounded each syllable out slowly while he pushed the door of the bathroom out of the way. They were stood in separate rooms when he intertwined their fingers together.
“No, I wouldn’t” Just under his breath, a passing whisper.
He was smiling at the floor and missed how Satoru’s beaming face turned a few shades redder as he caught the words. They bumped shoulders gently and headed for the bed they’d share for the night and all the nights that would follow.
And if after all of this Geto started getting better ever so gradually day by day, no one was the wiser as to why…
With the sole exception of Satoru Gojo of course