#i know activity isn’t a cure for The Sads
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I know this has already been said and I’m super late, but Mia as the protag of RE8 would have been so good. The contrast between Mia, the Lords, and Mother Miranda would have been absolutely interesting. I'm shoving everything under a read more because damn I have so many thoughts about Mia.
Lady Dimitrescu is a woman that cannibalizes and drinks the blood of her servants and intruders. On top of that, she tortures before preying on them. She does this willingly and very much derives pleasure from doing so. Lady D’s gothic triplets hunt any poor fool that wanders in. It’s a fun family activity for them just as much as it’s for sustenance.
Do you know what this parallels? The Baker family under Eveline’s control. They patrol the estate and anyone who rejects the “gift” either ends up molded or on the dinner table. This family also partakes in a fucked up version of a family dinner, eating the victims that refused their little girl’s “gift.”
However, a major difference between the Baker and Dimitrescu family is their willingness to participate in these activities. A family of cannibals; one forced while the other relishes in it.
Mia is still very traumatized by her three years in the Baker’s estate. Breaking into the castle to find her daughter would force her back. Hello to all the emotions that come with those memories, the ones Mia has been trying to forget. The harder you try to forget something, the more you think about it. What better way to make Mia acknowledge Dulvey, Louisiana than by forcing her into something so similar?
And while she’s still reeling from remembering her time in captivity, why not push her a bit further down memory lane with House Beneviento? Mia has demonstrated at multiple points in RE7 that she does care about other lives. She lies to Ethan to keep him from getting caught up in her work. She tries to save Alan and crew members of "The Annabelle" (the crew members are a bit more indirect, she mainly focused on Alan) by containing Eveline. After Jack finds her, Mia keeps her distance to keep from infecting them while trying to write a warning. She tries her hardest during RE7 to save Ethan.
Mia’s hallucinations could center on her guilt. The failure to stop Eveline and the lives ruined as a result. How she was always too late to help anyone. Ethan curing her, a criminal, over Zoe, the person helping him. Leaving Zoe behind in the shattered remains of her home and family. Surviving. Visions of Ethan hinting at his “condition” could lure her to the manor. A little nudge to the whole “he was mold the entire time” plot twist without fully giving it away.
Moreau, lacking in self worth and very attached to a woman who doesn’t give him the time a day, yet still he considers her as his mother. Most of his actions are for the attention and validation from his “mother.” No matter what Moreau does, he’ll never have her affection or time. It’s sad, isn’t it? To witness a man try so hard only to be rejected. And isn’t that familiar? Mia once felt compassion for someone with similar traits.
Remember the little girl who considered you her mother? The one that spent three years waiting for you to love her after you promised? The one you had a hand in killing? What makes you think you could ever be a good mother after what you did? Why are you trying so hard to save Rose when you didn’t even extend the same courtesy to Eveline?
Y’all know how Mia’s past is a mystery? Like why she was working for the Connections and how she was even recruited and all that. Heisenberg would be a great way to explore it. A man taken, forced into becoming something else, and stuck in a family he doesn’t want. Mia can relate. He wants to use her daughter as a weapon. She was willing to let another child be used as a weapon. They’re alike, so surely Mia would be willing to side with him.
But Heisenberg is cocky and Mia isn’t the person she was prior/during 7. Even if she was on board with using Eveline as a weapon to end all wars or whatever bullshit the Connections told her, she’s not willing now. Not after what she’s seen and been through. This section could be Heisenberg goading her through the tvs/intercoms about her past to change her mind with Mia remaining steadfast in her refusal.
And then there’s Mother Miranda. Two mothers trying to get their daughters back through vastly different means. Because of the group photo showing Mia and Miranda with Eveline this encounter can go one of two ways.
Miranda and Mia know each other and have worked together before. Whether it be on the E-Series Project (with Mia becoming the caretaker and spending copious amounts of time at the lab) or though some other means at work.
They’ve only briefly met when the Connections were in a hurry to transport Eveline.
Either way, Miranda would compare them. As a mother, Mia must understand what she’s trying to accomplish. Would Mia not do the same as she? Maybe at this point Miranda shows she killed Ethan to demoralize to prevent her from interfering with the ceremony. Tells her she’s too late once again and to give Rose to her because she’ll be the superior mother.
Idk, I guess you could switch to Ethan instead of Chris so he can still have Eveline tell him he’s moldy. But he’s a stubborn man and he forces himself back to weaken Miranda so Mia can kill her. Chris shows up and Ethan does the same thing he did at the end by blowing himself up with Chris forcing Mia (with Rose) on the helicopter. That way the Shadow of Rose DLC can still be about Rose and Ethan.
TLDR; Mia should have been the protagonist because it would have allowed us to explore her character and background more. It was a missed opportunity especially since so much of RE8 centers around mothers. It would have played out better as closing off the Winters Family saga as well since we could have tied the loose ends that came with Mia’s mysterious past.
#resident evil#resident evil village#mia winters#mother miranda#lady dimitrescu#karl heisenberg#donna beneviento#salvatore moreau#ethan winters#eveline re7#my text#mia and zoe are also still infected or moldy like ethan and it feels like it's very much being ignored#because there's a document in the salt mine that says if you've been infected for to long that the cure would kill you#and those 2 are very much still alive so they have to be infected like or in a similar way to ethan#it was for 3 yrs there is no way to undo that shit with a shot or two#not when all their cells would have been infected with mold by then#the line about mia feeling compassion about evie's situation is from the guidebook#and i think moreau would dredge up for those feelings that have long since been buried because of the baker incident#since he's doing similar-ish things to what evie did for a family/love#anyways morally grey characters really interest me so i really just want to know more about mia lol#i also really want to know what happened on the ship#because i don't believe the imprinting protocol alone would make evie that attached to mia as her mom#when she could have had marguerite as her mom like why is mia so special you'd wait 3 years for her to comply??#anyways that's for a whole different post lol
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Hello^^can I please ask for headcannons with izana, mikey, baji and ran with reader who has eating disorder (like cassie from skins:( ) please don't do this if you're not comfortable
S/o with ed
Characters : Izana, Mikey, Ran
Type : angst, hurt to comfort
Words count : 0.8
It’s fine, I can write about it, it’s just the same as an old one I did : I speak as a girl who experienced it in a certain way (which is not as “hard” as Cassie) so I’ll do my best and I don’t mean any hurt it can cause. If you’re struggling with ed we can talk about it if you feel like it, but at least don’t hesitate to talk about it. You can get through it even if it’s hard (I did but I’m not cured at all)
I love you, take care of yourself and people around you ♡
Izana noticed quickly how you start to eat less and less. He cooks for you both the most and he can’t help but notice how a picky eater you’ve slowly become until eating barely enough to go on. As a small eater himself, he gets more and more worried when you start eating less than him. He knows you’ve never really been comfortable with your body and so, losing weight isn’t a bad idea if you feel like it’s what you need.
Yet, it got out of hand when he finally noticed your showing ribs even when you’re not stretching or breathing out. He sees them a little too much to his liking.
“You can’t go on like this.” he pointed out one day, during a meal. You haven’t touched your plate and you gulped at his words. “It’s not too much,” he added, pointing to your plate, “you’ll have to learn to eat again now.” he paused, waiting for your answer that is never coming. “It’s ok to be a small eater, but not to not eat at all.”
You clenched your jaw. As if you don’t know it well enough. As if you could just eat like that after all this time. His words hurt you more than anything, you thought he would understand.
“I know it’s hard, you don’t have to go through this alone.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Darling what do you think ? Have you seen me ? Isn’t it obvious enough ?” You looked at him, thinking about his habits a bit more and the way he looks before it hit you. Your eyes water, you were too focused on yourself to notice him, to even realize.
“We’re in this together.” he said with a smile.
Mikey doesn’t notice. All he noticed is that you’re not eating with him anymore. You go out with him but don’t ask for a bit anymore, nor do you take something for yourself. He doesn’t understand and sadly doesn’t know either how to handle it.
“Why aren’t you taking anything ?” he pouted, almost refusing to eat if you don’t.
“I’m simply not hungry Mikey, it’s fine, eat!”
“You’re never hungry lately !” It sounds more like a tantrum than anything else honestly and you can’t help but lie about it.
“I eat well enough at home, don’t worry. I’m just trying to lose weight lately.”
“What ? No !” you can hear him pouted. “I like you the way you are, I’ll be sad if you lose weight. It wouldn’t feel the same when I’ll hold you. I hate to think about it.”
He was so pure in his words, you didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.
“I’ll try not to lose too much then.” So you lied again, but seeing his smile was more than enough.
Ran is more than aware of what this is. You sleep too much. He does too, he knows that, but you always seem exhausted. Your skin is dry and almost gray. At first he checked your temperature for a few days, on those when it hit hard. Then he started to look at your activities, you still have to go to uni and stuff, maybe that’s what makes you this irritated. You don’t laugh much these days.
Finally, he started to look out for what you eat and he was met with the terrible truth that you’re not, and that’s probably what’s causing all of that. He has rough memories with that, and he wishes to not live them one more time.
“My love,” he purred into your ear, holding you from behind while you’re cutting some fruits.
“Yeah ?”
“Are you gonna eat more than that ?” You froze in his arms, not knowing what to say. “Would you share some ramen with me ? You don’t have to eat much, just something else other than an apple.”
“Ran I –”
“You know, it happened to my mom,” he cut you. He understands your side, but he wants you to understand his as well. “She was really sick because of this. And well, you know the end,” he snuggles his nose in your neck. “I don’t want this to happen to you.”
You don’t know what to say. It’s easier said than done and you don’t even wanna get better, not now, not now that it’s working and you’re close to your goal. Not now that –
“So, would you ?” but you can’t say no to him. And it’s not too much right. It’s just this time.
“Yeah, ok but just a few bites.”
“Right, I don’t want you to be sick.” he smiled against your skin. “Thank you. I love you”
I skipped baji sorry I hope it’s not your fav, I didn’t have an idea sniff. Mikey’s one is a little simple but young mikey is pure and rather simple minded at first.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers imagine#tokyorev x reader#tokyo revengers hc#izana imagines#izana x reader#izana x you#izana headcanons#mikey headcanon#mikey imagines#mikey x reader#ran haitani#ran headcanons#ran x reader#ran imagines
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love for love’s sake carefully, and beautifully handled mental health. they didn’t sugar coat the depression myungha and yeowoon were experiencing.
a lot of times in bl we see characters going through hardships, but by the magic of love they’re better again or everything gets fixed. external love definitely plays a huge part in healing and being able to get through hard situations more swiftly, but it’s hardly ever the sole solution.
myungha getting a bf didn’t cure him, gaining friends didn’t cure him. he had two guys wrapped around his finger, his grandma was alive yet he still has low self worth. he’s someone that has been depressed for so long, has had deeply ingrained negative beliefs about himself that have kept him from ever being truly happy. he believes that nobody could ever love him, he can’t bother anybody with his problems because he’s a burden.
this is why depressed people isolate, they believe all of the things the depression is telling them and it is incredibly difficult to change that. it can take years to change the way you percieve yourself and the world, i think the buffs were the blockages in myungha’s perception. when yeowoon said “i love you” to him, there was an error message because deep in his soul he believes that as an impossibility. his buffs were because of his attempts to getting close to yeowoon, he saw it as a danger because getting close would mean that he would burden yeowoon.
myungha’s life was so so sad, poor guy was dealt such bad cards. his mom living happily without him as if he never existed served as proof of the negative things he’s been telling himself. realizing that you’re nothing to no one, that you’re hard to love or you’re too much is such a hard pill to swallow. it might not be objectively true, but if your mind believes it, then that’s all it takes to completely break your spirit. myungha kills himself because he sees no reason for his life, his mom abandoned him, his gf broke up with him, and his grandmother is dead. his reason for life is reliant on other people it isn’t an internal reason.
now when he’s in the game, he’s faced with the choice of who he loves more, yeowoon or his grandma. i think that they decide to make him choose between them because he can’t fathom receiving love from two people at once. it’s overwhelming, and terrifying for someone that has had limited quantities of love his whole life. his love for yeowoon is the truest love he’s ever felt besides his grandmother. yeowoon and myungha are equals, share a lot of similar life experiences, yeowoon opens up his heart and is ready to be there for him unconditionally. even when myungha refuses to share what he’s feeling, when he is actively breaking his heart, he is willing to change whatever it takes just to be around him. having someone show you that unconditional love is both incredible and so scary at the same time. that person is seeing you at your most vulnerable, at your worst and still choosing you.
myungha is used to self-abandonment, it’s all he knows. he felt like choosing yeowoon would mean choosing himself, and in turn would mean he is selfish and leaving is grandmother to die. if he chose his grandmother he would stick to his usual self, but yeowoon would possibly go back to how he was in the beginning and die. to him everything seems like a huge risk because he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. of course in the game that really was the consequence, choose one life over another. but i think this show really did a great job at showing just how impossible choices can be when you’re depressed, how warped your point of view gets. but i couldn’t help to think what would’ve happened if he had chosen himself, maybe that’s what he was supposed to do.
#very nuanced portrayal of depression#myungha is someone i deeply relate to and the last couple of episodes broke my heart#love is beautiful yet so so difficult to accept into your life sometimes#myungha x yeowoon#myungha#yeowoon#lfls#love for love's sake#thai series#thai bl#it just reminded me a lot of previous therapy sessions i’ve had#braindump for sure but most definitely will write more on this show
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Jenna Ortega adores you! /Jenna Ortega headcannons (Part 18)
She loves that you know how to have fun at her job
And make her job less stressful
You turned on the song Euphoria by Kendrick Lamar on your phone and began to rap the song in public on the set of Wednesday with your headphones on
Jenna was in character and in mid-line and she turned and saw you
You looked at and her began to rap “I like drake with the melodies I don’t like drake when he act tough”
And she smiled at you seeing you have fun
Every week she buys you your favorite flowers
You always help her clean her room in her house
She loves that you love sports
Isn’t the biggest fan of sports but thinks it’s sexy you play basketball for fun
One hug from her will cure your sadness
And when she stands up for you Jenna Ortega protective energy activated!!
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invitational — SHE KNOWS
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“seriously?! another party?” yn had groaned flopping onto the couch. “yeah we told you..anddd..” ann crossed her arms sitting on the kitchen countertop, “you/i forget.” ann and yn had said at the same time, a small smirk like smile formed onto ann’s lips as yn had a pout.
“i means they kinda plastered your name all over this saying you would be here..it’s too late to ditch.” kyuma slithered his hands through his hair as his head rested on the back of the single seater couch chair, his gaze fixated onto yn occasionally looking back at ann who was drinking her pineapple juice.
“but i’m tooo lazyyy~” yn groaned whined, “well too late start getting ready we need to go soon or we’ll hit traffic.” tatta’s tone was stern, he knew it was annoying but at the end of the day if yn had personally said yes to doing it. yn frustrated got off the coach walking to her room finding something nice to wear.
“don’t forget you have a media party to go to at the [company name] chairman’s house—kuina will be there and unfortunately dispatch as well!!” kyuma reminded her, yn’s eyes widened ever so slightly. she had forgotten about that as well. “well shit.” she groaned to herself shaking her head closing the door to get ready.
“even after being in the game for what 10+ years? she is quite forgetful…” ann had commented as she sipped on her pineapple juice in a plastic cup, “i mean cut her some slack you can already see the grey hairs on her head from all the scandals dispatch gets her in” tatta joked as kyuma laughed lightly.
“she isn’t even 30 and has more grey hairs—its funny but sad..she’s so..” kyuma put his hand on his chin, “overworked” the three of them said in unison earning laughs at how synced they were.
“she agrees to literally all of it..” tatta had sighed before lifting his eyebrow slightly, “..agreed to all of it except the drama, which she could’ve said no too.” tatta’s statement cause ann to stop drinking her pineapple juice; he stare beamed into tatta’s skull.
kyuma got the message giving tatta the what do you mean look. tatta has never sweated so much before—he had two people who scared him staring straight into his skull as if a red laser was going to be shot through him im sorry HAHAH.
“what do you mean by that?” ann questioned never taking her eyes off tatta, “she could’ve said no but she caved in since the new manager saw potential..” he had nervously licked his lips. “and did you tell yn this.” kyuma’s question felt more as a demand.
“I DID! she didn’t listen to me though she felt as if she needed to do the drama..” tatta nervously smiled wanting something good to happen, oh god he hated this so much. he was mentally curing himself for being it up.
“and what did she say.”
“she said she has too..she hates this new manger tho.” “DONT LOOK AT ME LOOK AT HER OR YKW BRING IT UP WITH THE MANAGER IM JUST HER DRIVER.”
ann had just hummed in a acknowledgment bushing her hair behind her ear. “we’ll talk to her when she gets back from her activities.” ann stated as kyuma nodded getting up from the seat patting tatta on the shoulder, “thank you for telling us” he tried to sound cherry but hell under all that he was upset
“YN HURRY UP OR YOULL BE LATE.” kyuma yelled causing yn to shuffle back over to the small living room, “jeez jeez i was just doing my hair—is this please-able?” yn said standing in front of them. she was wearing a black puff sleeve mini dress and white high tops, she really didn’t want her feet to hurt plus she thought it was cute.
“yes you look fine now go!! you’re going to late and you wouldn’t want that out..” ann warned her pushing her towards the door as tatta followed along-suit. “bring her back in one piece no scandals tatta or i will shoot lasers at you!” ann warner smiled at him, tatta just nodded.
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“we’re here!” tatta smiled at yn who looked a little nervous, there was a grip she held on her dress that looked like she wanted to quit. “stage fright?” tatta hummed looking outside seeing many people lined up to take pictures of her.
“no. just the paparazzi, i just get nervous because what if i trip and fall and i look stupid?!” she had groaned as the grip loosened she looked out the window getting more anxious. “fuck I CANT DO THIS I HATE THEM” she complained.
tatta ended up slapping yn, “shut up. you look fine, now go in there and do that performance so we can get out of here.” tatta unlocked the door leaving the car to go open the door for yn, a little shocked tatta slapped her. a small giggle left her lips, “thank you for the reality check.” yn had smiled at tatta.
the lights were blinding—she couldn’t even see where she was going the only thing she could see is the carpet the led inside, quickly making her way inside. she made her way to the back where the other performers were getting ready.
her name was being called so much she would’ve thought she won an award or something. “i’m here!!” she had exclaimed raising her hand. the stage director smiled giving her the ear pieces she needed. quickly putting in the ear pieces she made sure they were put on properly.
she grabbed a picture that she kept in her spandex pockets, giving it a small kiss as goodluck—she was ready to perform. but as her name got announced a wave of nervousness washed over her again. she had to shake herself, those nerves are meaningless she told herself.
as the person said her name you made your way up to the stage with a bright smile on her face, waving to everyone or trying too. the lights were blinding..a little too blinding. you looked over to the person who was in control and motioned them to turn it down slightly. they got the hint and were more dimmed out.
“hello everyone!! hopefully you are enjoying the party!” yn had her hands around the microphone standing walking around the small stage, the screams from fans who made it in were evident. “that’s good to hear” yn had chuckled, “i’m going to be performing one of my personal favorites and one that i think everyone will enjoy…Romance!” she has exclaimed, a bunny like smile formed onto her lips.
the crowd was very static to hear you sing the song since it was one of your most popular one! “woah i didn’t know you loved this song so much!” yn had gotten to her position as the lights dimmed, closer her eyes a breathe of excitement made her bones shiver. it wasn’t cold by all means but those goosebumps from performing has merely came.
opening your eyes you were waiting for the music to que, a momentum was sounded in your earpiece to keep you on track. her eyes wandered around and had noticed a white hoodie that resembled chishiya, the comfort feeling washed over you knowing he was here, regardless that be he was invited or was here to watch you perform.
the music started causing yn to put on her stage demeanor, a very flirty yet calm fun loving presence. yn had her eyes following chishiya the whole time, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. but the show must go on, not wanting to cause a storm she pretended to flirt with the male and female fans. there was nothing wrong with some harmless fan service.
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after her performance was over, it was rather quick with 3 songs nothing too much and nothing over the top, she had rushed off backstage wanting to take off the earpiece. a part of her wanted chishiya, there was this urge to go hug him and thank him for simply being there even if it was the smallest gesture.
you somewhat got tangled in your ear pieces; slight curse words were mumbled through her lips as she untangled herself; she started rushing to the door looking at the crowd trying to find that white hoodie that ended up not being there anymore. a frown was shown apon her lips. disappointed she made her way to the back door where tatta had been parked waiting for her.
she had pushed the door open a little too roughly, a groan was heard on the otherside causing yn to widen her eyes. she had quickly closed the door behind her looking around “IM SO SORRY I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE HERE” yn worriedly squared down to their side.
the person shook their head with their hand on top of their head, “it’s fine it’s my fault for walking so close..” he groaned. his voice was soft yet low enough that made her blush. she stared at the person closely, the blonde hair and white hoodie looked so fimilar and it finally hit her, “CHISHIYA. OH MY GOD.”
she had moved his face towards hers, she felt the need to look at him to see if there was any injuries. blood was dripping from the side of his face; “you’re bleeding..” she pointed out, she was close to his face. the blush was streaming from her cheeks to her ears, the faint scent of a vanilla like strawberry cologne was evident.
“i’ll be fine it’s just blood, plus i’m a doctor.” he assured her getting up holding out his hand to pull her up, she took the offer getting off the ground. his cold hands were wrapped in his. he made no effort to remove his from hers, his steps were a little wonky. he felt a little lightheaded but tried to shake it off—it didn’t go unnoticed by yn.
“chishiya i need to clean it up..i cant just let you walk home with blood on the side of your head.” yn argued walking over to the busy tatta who was too busy playing on his phone. “TATTA HURRY UP AND TAKE US TP THE CHAIRMANS HOUSE I NEED TO CLEAN UP CHISHIYA!!” yn had exclaimed worriedly, she was talking so fast tatta only caught some of it but hurriedly started up the car.
“COME CHISHIYA COME.” yn pushed chishiya inside who ended up closing his eyes, the dizziness had became too much for him, “i just need water..” chishiya mumbled still holding yn’s hand. the sound of tatta honking was loud alongside the sharp turns.
“TATTA do we have water?!?” yn unbuckled crawling over to tatta, “no but we have juice box!” tatta didn’t bother to look back.
“JUICE BOX?! DO WE NOT HAVE ANYTHING ELSE??”
“NO BECAUSE THATS ALL YOU LIKE TO BRING WITH YOU.”
“YOU SHOULF COME PREPARED.”
“THATS HARD WHEN ALL YOU PACK JUICE BOXES.”
they bickered some more causing chishiya to groan “just give me a fucking juice box.” the grip on his and yn’s hands tightened causing yn to look back at him, a sorry escaped her lips.
she had handed him a juice box that had been in the mini cooler tatta carrie’s around for yn, “thank you” chishiya opened his eyes slowly to drink from the juice box. “fruit punch? hmm” he said as if he was critiquing her. “yes i think fruit punch is the best go to flavor from any brand~” yn had hummed sitting back down at the seat next to chishiya.
yn had started rubbing her thumb in small circle motions, “tatta can you drive any faster..” yn cleared her throat not wanting to annoy chishiya, “IM TRYING. there is a thing called traffic.” tatta scowled.
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the three had finally made it to the chairman’s house, ushering chishiya into the house thankfully everyone had been outside at the moment. tatta went outside to go tell kuina yn was here alongside chishiya.
yn had ushered chishiya into one of the empty rooms near the backyard. “i don’t know who’s room this is but i don’t care.” yn said pushing chishiya down onto the bed rummaging to find some alcohol wipes and bandages,
she had found some and cleaned up the wound, casual hisses escaped chishiya’s lips “i thought you were a doctor..surpised you are in pain.” yn had snarked a comment as she went to go throw away the used products, “i’m a doctor not superman.” chishiya clarified back pulling out another juice box from his pockets.
yn had raised an eyebrow, “isn’t that mine..” she looked at him, “yeah but i took it” he smiled cheekily casually drinking it. yn rolled her eyes in amusement, her phone had been spammed by kuina asking where she was and that they are asking her to come perform now.
a sigh escaped her lips “i need to go..” she said as she looked at her phone, chishiya simply hummed knowing she had to do her job. “i’ll be back to pick you up and drop you off at home” yn akwardly smiled at him, before skipping off into the backyard.
yn made sure nobody saw her and sighed in relief, shaking off any nerves that might of been there. she saw kuina and skipped towards her earning a pinch from her, a pout was evident. “i’m sorry i am late..i got wrapped up in something hehe..” yn tried to seem less akward.
she shook the chairman’s hand, “lovely party by the way!” she wanted to be nice when in reality it was a burning business party. the chairman smiled at her positive comment, “don’t worry about being late, if anything everyone was just here early.” he laughed at his own statement and kuina stiffened a chuckle.
yn had just nodded grabbing the guitar that had been propped next to the wooden stool, this was where she had to perform one of her unreleased songs. i mean she’ll get what she’ll get. tuning the guitar she strum in it make sure it sounded nice.
yn had tapped on the microphone gently, “hello hello?” she talked into the mic, “is this working??” she asked looking around. people gave her thumbs up; “well great! hello everyone welcome to the party even if i’m half an hour late welcome!!” she giggled.
chishiya heard some commotion come from outside and it had sounded like yn’s voice, something inside him told him to go outside onto the balcony. and so he listened to those urges and walked onto the balcony leaning against the railing, hands crossed—hoodie draped over his head (WE ALL KNOW THAT SCENE FROM S1 EP3.)
“this is one of my unreleased songs..i’m a little nervous to play this but HERE WE GO HAHA” yn’s voiced boomed from the small speakers. “this song was actually dedicated to one of my crushes i’ve had since my childhood..so do enjoy.”
“it’s called the glue song.” yn had a smile so bright it would light up the whole room. the soft strumming of the guitar with the gentle vocals lured chishiya into it. its almost as if he was being serenaded—and he wasn’t complaining.
ᘓ︵ꪒ⑅ꪒ
SHE KNOWS — masterlist — next
AN : yes this whole chapter is based off like a 15 minute scene in starstruck YES THIS IS WHERE THE PLOT DEVELOPS AND YES I AM FINALLY OUT OF MY WRITERS BLOCK. AND YES YES YES IT TOOK ME 3 DAYS TO WRITE THIS. i hope you enjoyed <3
tags — closed ❤️🩹
@eshtravagent @lunsyeah @aftrnoot @trinmadol @asoullessentity @akowbt @noxceleste @eissaaaa @dr3amscap3 @captivq @arizzu @happyjuhyun @parkersmyth @bwnniidump @r3iverse @le000xxgrd @crinklypink @cherriwn @mxbrahms @parcqq @ikon-teen @jade-flower-edits @scaramilk @yanfei-kisser @seiksyyki @nostalgisters @kokoscutie @elakari @milkkteary @coffeeangel13 @yvrikoo @kozuluvbot @rainbowsaz @naegisimp @kerenz @brdpch @minyoungieee @xashiui @ehddsnys @saltysoftgrungeofscience @hadesdaughtwr @rainqissedd @saiewithakatana @vernon-dursley @kittyrai @shinobuily @kalstar @huachengsbestie01 @xxoperatexx @luvvsnae @celery-o @hy0ukka @odin-hatesu @luv4kuina
#— ୨୧ ˖ ˚ she knows#- surshica ♥︎#chishiya x reader#aib chishiya#alice in boderland x reader#chishiya shuntaro#chishiya headcanons#chishiya fluff#chishiya imagine#chishiya smau#chishiya shuntaro angst#chishiya x fem!reader
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Sometimes Yuanzhi wonders if someone will notice if he disappears. It's probably just one of his bad days but the loneliness is choking him.
Ziyu is fooling around with Zishang and Jin Fan under the loving eyes of his wife.
Shangjue is glued to his wife and their stinky and noisy kid, Jin Fu protectively following them.
But him? He has no one, the servants don't like him, his brother doesn't care anymore about him. And for romantic love... he doesn't know if he is even capable of that, the whole idea of letting someone touch him in that way disgust him.
He's better alone after all, or, at least, that is what he is constantly telling himself.
He has his work, that is enough.
A/N: I took some liberties with this one Nonnie, I hope you don’t mind x
—
It’s quiet.
Why is it quiet?
Sluggish gossamer thoughts flit and slips through his fingers. It’s life holding on to fine grains of sand. Flashes of emotions and images flicker in front of him.
The scene of Ziyu kissing Jin Fan as he is expounding on the merits of a particular sword oil during a family dinner while Zishang jie and Yun Weishan are chatting on their own, unperturbed by the way their husbands are practically sucking each other’s face.
“…di!”
A short sliver of Elder Yue smiling at Elder Xue and Xue Tongzi while they discuss matters about medicinal research.
A sun drenched scene of Gege with his son astride on his shoulders, laughing and playing while Shangguan Qian looks on with her hand rubbing her very pregnant belly.
The whispers of his residence’s servants who scurry away at the sight of him.
“…up…”
An absolute and soul crushing loneliness.
Yuanzhi is exhausted. Bone deep and gnawing at his heels. He’s tired of being left behind. Of being the one that everyone forgets about in moments of happiness. He’s so sad. Breaking apart at the crudely sewn seams with the sheer enormity of the waves that threaten to take him whole.
Yuanzhi relaxes into the nothingness.
He just wants to be done with it.
In the floating darkness, he thinks he can taste the tang of salt on his lips.
“Y…zhi…”
There’s something he did. Or didn't do? It is hard think when—
Another flash of memory.
One that leaves him bereft when he realised that it’s the sight of him sitting alone just a half a step behind everyone while they’re cuddled up together in pairs and groups while they’re watching the winter moon.
Yuanzhi has a fleeting sense of… something. An emptiness that gnaws at him. A sort of haunting that rattles around in the empty rooms of his soul. Because that’s what he is, isn’t it? Empty.
He is poison personified.
A bane on everything and everyone he has ever loved. A venom with no cure. The thing everyone leaves behind the second they can. He has no place in the happiness of others.
“Wake—“
How work is his last lifeline.
If he can prove his worth, if he can somehow make himself useful, maybe… maybe someone could love him back?
“Didi, please…”
Yuanzhi feels so sleepy. He just wants to rest. He wants everything to stop and be quiet just for a second. Just long enough for him to think.
He just—
Waking is anything but a peaceful event.
There’s a flurry of activity around him. Doctors who are shouting about him waking up and pressing their fingers to his pulse point, servants who are running in and out of the room with basins of water and medicinal supplies.
Then.
Then, there are hands on him and voices calling his name. An ache in his belly that burns. He vaguely thinks he should remember this.
Yuanzhi closes his eyes.
He remembers none of it.
Sunlight is the first thing he registers when he opens them again. He groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.
“Let me get that.”
Yuanzhi jolts a little at the voice.
Gege returns a moment later after pulling down the blinds, gently coaxing his arm away from his face. The sight of him is hazy and distant. Yuanzhi doesn’t have the energy to do anything more than whimper quietly when Ge checks his temperature with the back of his hand. Satisfied with the results he finds, Gege moves to hold Yuanzhi’s hand between his palms.
Neither one of them speaks and Yuanzhi soon feels his consciousness swim a little.
“We almost lost you,” Shangjue gege says, voice dense with an unnameable emotion. Yuanzhi blinks his eyes open. Mouth shut, he tilts to face to him.
Shangjue squeezes his hand. “Do you remember what happened?”
Yuanzhi exhales slowly. There’s a huge chunk of his memory that moves through him and his mind swims, but eventually he seizes on a singular moment.
“I… Was in my workshop…”
Gege nods, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. It’s soothing and feels a lot like how he would sit by Yuanzhi’s side when he was a child and less able to withstand the poisons he was testing.
He’s not a child now, but this still feels nice.
“I was running an experiment and I—“
“Second Young Master, Young Master Zhi.”
There’s a wince on Jin Fu’s face that he can’t quite hide in time as he bows. Yuanzhi feels Shangjue’s touch still.
“Did I not say I wasn’t to be disturbed while I’m with my brother?” Ge says slowly, resuming his comforting arc on Yuanzhi’s skin.
“My apologies, but it’s from furen,” Jin Fu replies. “She says that the little master is seeking you.”
Yuanzhi’s heart stops beating at that. Biting the inside of his cheek, he pulls his hand out of Shangjue’s. Tucking the blanket around his shoulder, he turns himself to his side, facing away from Gege.
“You should go,” He whispers. Curling into himself, he ignores the way Shangjue gege calls his name.
Feigning sleep becomes real sleep, and when he’s back to the land of the waking, it’s nighttime again and Yuanzhi thinks that he has about enough of being unconscious.
There’s no one in the room with him but the lamps are lit. Mentally running through a checklist of his well-being, he deems himself healthy enough to not need another second in the sick room.
He’s in the middle of tugging a coat around him when there’s a rustling of robes coming into his space.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Jin Fan is frowning, crossing the room to take him by the arm. Looking him up and down, the divot between his eyebrows deepens.
Yuanzhi tries to wrench his arm out of his hold but he’s still too weak, and it does little more than make him stumble forward into Jin Fan.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Let go of me!”
“No,” Jin Fan repeats, tossing him over his shoulder and stalking to the bed. Yuanzhi braces himself to be thrown unceremoniously onto his back. Just as he stiffens his body, he is surprised when Jin Fan carefully, and perhaps a little preciously, lays him down. Dark eyes search his own before the Jade Guardian steps back, expertly stripping him out of his half worn coat.
“Young Master Zhi, you’re a very difficult fellow to love, do you know that?”
Bristling, any budding warmth in Yuanzhi’s chest is immediately extinguished and he grits his teeth. “I’m very well aware of my failings, thank you very much.”
“That’s not what I—“ Jin Fan sputters, sighing deeply before he moves on to take his shoes off. “I meant no offence.”
“You didn’t say anything wrong, so there was no offence in the first place.” Yuanzhi tugs his collar tight around his neck. Shuffling until he is pressed to the far side of the bed.
Dimly, he is aware of Jin Fan muttering something to the effect of, “I’m really the last person who should be doing this.”
Yuanzhi just keeps to himself, choosing to wallow in his failed attempt at escaping. He turns his mind to plotting another one. Maybe through the window, though he’s concerned about getting winded if he does. It wouldn’t be a long trek back to his quarters to barricade himself in. No one would look for him then and he doubts any of his brothers and sister will even be bothered to care.
Yes. That could work.
He just needs—
Jin Fan has his hand around Yuanzhi’s wrist, the warmth of his palm making him shiver and gasp.
“If you’re thinking of jumping out the window, you should know that the Zhiren has a net trap set outside to catch you,” He placidly says.
Damn it all!
Yuanzhi huffs, flicking his sleeve and hugging his knees to his chest even though that just makes things hurt a lot more.
The bed makes a creaking sound. Jin Fan is back again, tugging him by the ankles until he is laid up. Without a second word, he bundles him up under the blanket.
“Alright,” He sighs. “Apparently I’m the man for the job, so here goes.” Jin Fan pinches the edges down, effectively trapping Yuanzhi under his weight and gaze. “Your family is worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Yuanzhi sullenly snarls. He’s going to be difficult about this, damn his health. “So you can just—“
“In what version of the word fine are you, because from what I’ve seen, you can’t even hope to match me now!” Jin Fan raises his voice before exhaling with a short groan of misery.
Good, Yuanzhi thinks viciously, be fucking miserable.
“I keep going about this the wrong way. What I meant to say is that your family has been worried about you for the longest time and no one more so than your Gege.”
Yuanzhi does stiffen at that. The blanket is hot over his body and it’s starting to be uncomfortable. The room is starting to swim again.
“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Yuanzhi says, affecting his most nonchalant tone. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Oh heavens, they can’t say I didn’t try!” Yuanzhi has barely any time to register that shift in his voice before he is picked up and thrown over his shoulder again.
“What are you—!”
“You want to leave the sick room so bad? Fine! I’ll bring you out myself!”
Yuanzhi squeezes his eyes shut. Pursing his mouth tightly shut as he is bumped and carried, all while still in the rolled up blanket. He breathes as shallowly as possible, scarcely daring to even do anything other than focusing on not vomiting all over himself.
He feels it the moment Jin Fan kicks open a door.
“Tell him yourself. He isn’t listening to me.”
#my journey to you#my journey to you fic#gong yuanzhi#gong shangjue#Jin fan#gab writes stuff#oooo the ways I wanna take this fic but the ways I also don’t wanna….
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Paradox Live The Animation Episode 8 Review - Corrosion
Last episode review, I theorized that Hajun was going through phantometal corrosion after seeing what Nayuta was suffering from. I got that right! However, I don’t want to celebrate as this episode was super emotional. I gasped when Hajun fainted and legit shed some tears after everything that transpired in the latter half of the episode.
Okay, first off, Hajun, why are you such a hater? First, you called TCW “past-expiration” and now you called Akan Yatsura “playing house with a bunch of strays”. Funny enough, both teams revolve around being a family despite not being blood related; Hajun is also related to the Yeon Conglomerate, but he’s not related to them by blood and got thrown aside. I can see that he has heavy abandonment issues because of that. Since he was adopted, that means he was either abandoned by his actual birth parents or they died and he was put in an orphanage before adoption. He was abandoned once. The second time he was abandoned was because of his adopted parents not wanting him anymore after his brother was born. I understand why he’d be heavily guarded ever since that incident. Being abandoned twice does take a toll in one’s psyche. Hajun doesn’t want to admit that he found a family of his own with Anne and Allen; this episode was him coming to terms with how important they are to him. It made me happy. HOWEVER, Hajun, if you ever dare be a hater towards cozmez, I will personally transmigrate into your world and break your kneecaps while cursing in Korean.
Seeing Hajun having corrosion and being cured from it made me a bit sad, honestly. Nayuta didn’t know there was a cure. Had he told someone, he could’ve been happier (and Shiki too). Though, there is a possibility that Nayuta is still alive after giving a bit of a teaser last episode. The method of going inside a person’s mind to cure their corrosion really gives off Kingdom Hearts vibes with the dive into people’s hearts stuff. I honestly like it. There’s something very magical about that method—I’m writing a story that has the main character dive into people’s memories to grant their wishes (if you want to read it, it’s available on Tapas, Royal Road, Wattpad and Webnovel—just click on the links on the pinned post on my page and you'll be directed). The only time this cure was used was when Buraikan was active ten years ago. Is that Shura guy that ramen guy wearing a disguise? Wait, is the ramen guy his default appearance or is that a disguise? I don’t know! All I know is that the ramen guy’s only voice cameo from Episode 5 was the same guy who rapped the ending song and they have the same voice actor. I think I have pretty good ears to be able to distinguish voices. Wait, what happened to the other Buraikan guy if that was the case? Is he dead? Was he unable to be cured? Does that mean Hajun is the only successful case so far?
I do wonder how Iori has so much knowledge of phantometal. I know that he’s trying to research Alter Trigger in a way by getting the “kids” to gather information about Ryu, which was what Episode 6 was about on their end. Since he’s yakuza, is he trying to destroy them? But seriously, how much does he know? Does he know about Nayuta’s case? Despite being fine as heck, he’s a man full of mysteries. Every time he shows up, there seems to be more questions than answers. Also, I can’t believe Satsuki and Reo have the gall to start a random food fight during meal time. Who does that?
Since this is a BAE episode, AKYR’s song isn’t heard much. However, thanks to the power of current modern technology AKA Youtube, I listened to Call For Familiez. I liked it a lot! Fabulous was also really good to listen to. I think I like Fabulous the best out of all the BAE songs so far. It just sounds so different from the first two BAE songs I’ve heard. I think both songs are just so different from the usual powerful songs both groups have—they’re currently my favorites from each group now!
Also, I want to discuss Hajun’s Korean at the ending. In Episode 4, he said “Gomawoyo”, which means “Thank you” in Korean, but it’s used in a more polite manner. If you’re not familiar with the Korean language, adding -yo to the end of your sentences makes them polite and formal. Since Hajun used -yo at the end of his sentence, it showed that while he was thankful to Allen and Anne, there was still some distance. In this episode, he says “Gomawo”. Notice that he doesn’t add -yo at the end of his sentence this time. This shows that the wall between Hajun and the other two have finally been broken. If you’re wondering about the difference between “gomawoyo” and “kamsahamnida”, which are both words of gratitude, “Gomawo” is more informal and used casually while “kamsahamnida” is the more polite/formal usage. Since Hajun used the former, it showed that he is comfortable around his friends to speak casually to them, but still added -yo at the end at first. Now that he broken the boundaries between him and his group, he doesn’t need to use -yo when talking to them. The writers really did their research on the language and I’m super impressed.
Next episode’s title has the words shrouded in green, meaning it’s going to focus on all four groups again and maybe have them do weird shenanigans like what they did in Episode 6. I do wonder what will happen next week. I’m excited. Once again, thank you all of the people who commented on my review of the previous episode. You’re all lovely people and I hope you meet people as wonderful as Anne and Allen. What are your thoughts on this episode?
#paradox live#paradox live the animation#BAE#yeon hajun#hajun yeon#allen sugasano#anne faulkner#Akan Yatsura#Iori suiseki#zen gaho#masaki hokusai#Satsuki ito#reo maruyama#review#anime#anime review#ecargmura#arum journal#this review is longer than I expected
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How'd you like the movie?
Hey anon!
In short: AHAHAHARRRAHAHHAHAHAHAAHHHAHA LOVE LOVE LOVE IT
Slightly more coherent
Animation: Amazing spectacular- can’t wait to see it in theatres.
Music: I love the songs so much it will be interesting to hear them in english. The visuals paired with it are also just beautiful. I’m a fan of musicals normally and the movie does have the sort of cheesy vibe that comes with musicals that i just love but isn’t for everyone.
Story: Can’t say much on this as I don’t speak French and the subbed version I watched was not perfect. Generally it kept me engaged (which is a credit to it) and I’m sure when the english dub comes out it will clear up some confusion for me.
Okay spoilers stuff under cut
So again, the subbing being wonky makes things a little harder to understand. It feels like I’m missing something, like a ten minute chunk was cut from the film. It’s fine for miraculous fans- we know the context- but for newcomers something is missing. Maybe it’s just lost because I don’t understand and the quality of the audio but I hope the dub has explain the basics dialogue bit.
Miraculous:
I love how the miraculous were depicted in the film while a little confusing at times. The signal thing when out of costume is a cool idea (though I hope it’s a thing only they can see >-<). I also really like the focus on their powers working better when working together. When they go solo things go array.
It seems the lucky charm is gone and instead Marinette simply is always devising a plan with all of her surroundings. We don’t get to see her problem solve in the movie, most of the combat is purely physical which I think is a miss. Maybe in future movies she’ll discover the power and we’ll get to see her use her brain.
Same goes for the cataclysm though it appears at the end. Again I can’t be sure until I watch the dub since I might be missing things. It backs up the theory it’s something they have to discover. Chat Noir using it at the end is fine for regulars but newcomers might be confused. LB also learns to use the cure at the end so I think things just work differently in this canon and I’m excited to see how it’ll play out.
I think some of the issues with the miraculous will be resolved with the dub- definitely missed something. But I think we need to remind ourselves it’s a different canon with different rules. Just because they’re different doesn’t mean they’re bad.
Love the costumes anyways and the speckling on Chat’s suit is so cool. The power seems to be more within the holder. Also the miraculous choosing the holders- and the chaos of that scene- was amazing. I like that the miraculous are magnetised to them and it takes a whole lot of power to tear them away.
Also Hawkmoth taking advantage of the fact he can do multiple akuma’s as an adult really makes him a threat. He’s a lot smarter in this version.
Characters & Relantionships:
Every character is a bit different but I still love them all a whole lot. I love that Adrien’s a bit more of a loner but it’s Ladybug that opens him back up to people again. I don’t have any complaints just positivity to how the movie interprets the characters. This will probably grow once I understand everything.
The only character I’d say is better, not just different is old man Gabe.
Gabriel is more focused in the movie- more clearly being won over by the power. Losing himself to it. It’s destroying him but he’s addicted to the possibility of having Emile back. He thinks that’s what will mend his and Adrien’s relationship when all he really has to do is be there. It’s better than the show as in the show he’s pursing Emilie despite Adrien- actively shoving him to the side with malice. In the movie he’s doing it because he believes having Emilie back will restore light back into Adrien’s life that he doesn’t think he’s capable of showing towards Adrien on his own. He’s scared if he’s close to Adrien he’ll see his sadness and thinks it’s because he’s lost his mother- not because he’s losing his father too. Seeing the pursuit has actually hurt his son snaps him out of it. He finally meets his eyes and sees not sadness for Emilie but sadness for losing him. AH! Its too much I’m melting
Going over the zag offices right now to punch whoever decided to cut at the kiss. I NEED MORE. The love square delivered so well that I’m so sad there isn’t more!
Lol that’s my thoughts so far. Bit more than you probably expected but needed to get it out before I fall asleep
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Total Drama Danganronpa Island Chapter 4 Deadly Life Spoilers:
Tw: I talk about suicide and cancel culture in the story
I myself have never experienced having suicidal thoughts. The only time I can recall where I came close was getting braces. Yeah. So you can imagine the research I had to do, especially since in this very fic, I’ve been pretty dismissive of mental illnesses and disorders. That I apologize for and hope I can do better.
This was something I felt more than anything, I CANNOT dismiss this, nor can I sugarcoat it. I have to be as respectful to it as possible, and actively discourage the idea. Never know if there’s a crippled person out there that sees your work and takes it to heart. (That’s a nightmare for me. To have something I made be responsible for someone’s death)
I have a romantic partner with chronic illnesses for almost ten years now, and still no cure. Multiple times, they’ve shared to me their suicidal thoughts, thoughts that made me scared of losing them. They’re still alive, and they say over and over again it’s because of me.
I’m someone who has a hard time talking coherently. That’s why my social media presence is mostly text. So Bridgette’s speech here, I personally see it as me talking to the people struggling to find something to live for and never give up even where there’s literally no hope left. There’s always something, even when you don’t see it at the moment. Someone to love, someone who loves you, a book you like, a show you like, nice walks, whatever. There’s something. You can’t experience those good things if you’re dead.
There’s also some cancel culture commentary here. Everyone’s a part of it whether we consciously know it or not. It’s really sad.
I cant count how many times Ive said something whether in real life or online and I become self-conscious whenever someone has a certain response. One wrong word and a whole group of people can hate you. That’s all it takes.
In the realm of fame, either you’re a role model or you’re a disgrace. Nothing in between.
Total Drama isn’t any different from this subject matter with Gwen in particular. Something I feel a lot if people overlook.
There are some cases where it’s lies and the person is innocent, you may find a few examples of such, and that's just heartbreaking.
But what happens when you ACTUALLY screw up? Make a mistake? Make a fool out of yourself? Like humans do? (I.e, Gwen) Cancel Culture tells you you’re therefore an awful person with no redeeming qualities, and that one mistake suddenly becomes your whole life. It’s heartbreaking especially when the cancelled person WANTS to own up and be better, but the people just don’t have it.
Then there's the other side of cancel culture, which many famous people, such as Chris, use to defend TRULY terrible people and say the world is in the wrong.
Either way, Gwen was treated like dirt and sent to suffer for an old mistake, for so long until she lost hope altogether and bailed on fighting. The others could've helped her, but only Duncan took the time to consider helping, and he tried to commit suicide... so what other influence was there for Gwen in a world where she really needed a friend?
Does this mean the other campers are entirely to blame? No. But there is a lesson for them to learn here about empathy and redemption as a concept. Them hating her is understandable if you the audience want to see it as understandable reasons to hate Gwen, but did they go about it the right way? No.
Gwen Ellis is nothing short of a tragedy and a cautionary tale of a minor being a victim of cancel culture.
And the surviving campers want to make sure that her fate never happens to anybody else ever again.
And in case you’re wondering why Bridgette is the one who gave the eulogy, when Duncan and Courtney were right there, 1) Neither were very mentally stable at the time 2) Bridgette is one of the hosts with who WAS Geoff (And is now Leshawna. Platonically.), so she has the experience to give speeches like this in front of people. That and she has the calm agency to be mature about the situation, especially how she, more than anyone, feels like she HAS to own up to her mistake of being a part of the fuel that lead to the death of this girl.
And she didn't have to do that, and no one would blame her. Gwen killed Geoff, forced to or not, and Bridgette was understandably upset and could still hold that grudge even after Gwen's death, and no one would blame her. But the fact that she took ownership after realizing what's happened says a lot about her as a person.
#total drama#danganronpa#total drama danganronpa island#td gwen#td bridgette#tw sucidal ideation#tw s3lf harm#tw sui talk#td duncan#cancel culture
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One single day—the value of time
The dream is always the same, my mind’s way of processing terminal cancer.
In my dream, I’ve died and I’m missing my family, wishing I could see them, talk to them, hug them… one last time.
“Would you like to go back and repeat a day from your life on Earth?” God’s voice is strong yet gentle, just like His hand—the one I’m standing in right now. I look at the giant lines on His palm and the callouses on His fingers. What type of work caused callouses on the hands of God? Is He a musician like me? Does He work and toil too?
“Any day?” I ask, unable to hold the eagerness from my voice. To see my kids, Mike, and my loved ones again, well, that sounds like… Heaven. It’s suddenly ironic how subjective Heaven must be.
“Yes, Elisa. Any day.”
I think then about the days each of my kids were born, their milestones and triumphs; the moment I met Mike, our first kiss, our honeymoon; running a newspaper in Blackfoot, Idaho, and chasing so many stories my boss nicknamed me “Scoop”; visiting Italy, Mexico, Arizona, or Missouri with family; playing my violin for crowds and feeling the pulsing unity only music can bring… Each of those days were incredible, but would I want to experience them again? Or would that tarnish the memories? Plus, I wouldn’t want to change a thing. So, I shyly look down at my clasped hands, and I do something that surprises me.
“If it’s all right, God, I’d pick a regular day, nothing special. Just a day when I can talk to everyone I love.” I think about the words then. How interesting: What my life boils down to isn’t about my career, degrees, accomplishments, or experiences. At the end, to me the only thing of value is that my loved ones KNOW how much I love them. That I believe in them. That I’m proud of them. That they matter in general but especially to me. That is all I want in the end.
“A regular day. You’re sure?” He asks.
I nod.
“Well, to talk with everyone… You met a lot of integral people toward the end of your life. What if it’s a day with suffering? After doctors discovered melanoma had gone to your brain? You’d still pick a day like that?”
I think for a moment. “As long as I can talk to everyone I love. Well, then it would be worth it.”
—
I wake up then, and most of the time after having this dream, I’m groggy and half asleep, wondering if this is my one day to “live” again. Seconds later, I shake off these thoughts and slowly start my day. But even though I’m living in a new “normal,” and I can’t walk quite right since melanoma ate my L3 and doctors removed a section of my spine… Even though I’m actively getting treatments and throw-up bags seem to be my best friend… Even though there are days when I want to complain because doctors say I’m slowly dying… After I’ve had this dream, I stop.
If I had died and this were my “one day” to re-experience life and tell my family and friends how much I love them, would the pain and sadness about cancer matter quite so much? Probably not.
So, it’s 5 a.m. on Dec. 24th, and I woke up after having this dream again. My back is flaring with pain and the damaged nerves in my legs and arms are tingling with electric shocks and as if they’ve simply fallen asleep from lack of blood flow. But I know this is “normal” when my pain medicine wears off. When faced with something like cancer, trauma, or any terminal illness, each of us discover what price we will pay in order to live. This. Is. Mine. I chose this. And you know what? That’s okay.
So, I’ll treat today as if it were my one special day to come back. I’ll reframe the pain, try to bring joy to people around me, tell everyone in my life how much I love them, and hope today will be as wonderful as it can be.
Although I’m not in remission, my crappy attitude sure is. Even though there isn’t a cure for the mutation of melanoma that I have (yet!), I would be a fool to forget how lucky I am to even be alive. My life is pretty good. I’ve lived a year longer than doctors expected, and I’ve realized the true value of… time.
#ecstilson#melanomaawareness#stage4cancer#cancerwarrior#hope#grief#inspiration#inspirational#loss#Time
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🌸 Planet of Seandhrîel, my DnD world 🌸
Hi there! It’s been a while! How have you been? Here is my life update :)
I’ve been having an art block, a writers block... well a life block to be super honest. Exhaustion from work started it all. I have been on 0 energy for far to long and last October took out the last of me. I had another identity crisis, came out as Jenny (she/her) again, I finally quit my job, and slept for about half a year. I started a new (part-time) job at the end of January and been slowly crawling back to enjoying life a bit more.
I still don’t feel complete however. The job that I have now is a night-time job (I LOVE IT) so I go to work in the middle of the night, come home in the morning, sleep until 1-2 pm and then I’m free for the rest of the day. My problem here is that I don’t do anything during the day. I sit in my bed or at my desk and watch YouTube videos. Mostly either Critical Role, and daydream about playing DnD, or vlogs and daydream about doing vlogs. Which just makes me sad because here I am doing neither of these things. I in fact don’t do anything. I do so little that even my introverted cat things I’m boring...
So that is what I’m currently panicking about. I know I still need rest as this level of exhaustion from work isn’t something that is cured in a few months even if work and the doctors think it is, I know it is okay that I have days were I just lay in bed and watch other peoples vlogs... but every day? No! I want to get up an do things. I want to get back into a more active life style. Have a routine again. Exercise, do sports, do art, go out, travel, meet people, study. HAVE A LIFE.
One adventure is planned, next October I will travel to a place that is very near and dear to my heart and I will tell you more about it then 💕 At least I hope I can go on that trip, I need a bit more money than I have and make now, so I’m still searching for another job, plus I really want to open an art shop. I have ideas but art block and fear is still holding me back.
I need to push that fear down. I really want to open this shop. I really do want to do all the art I have planned out. I also want to get back into blogging regularly, both here on tumblr, but I also made a new blog on blogger. I love watching weekly/daily vlogs and I always wanted to make them as well, so that is another goal. Do a vlog and write something similar on my blog. Weekly blogs and weekly vlogs. One problem I have with vlogs is that I’m not a talkative person... at all, as I said, even my cat things I’m boring... BUT lately I have discovered “silent vlogs”, I don’t know if that is an actual term but I have come to call them that haha. The vlogger doesn’t talk and rarely even show their face. Just put on some lovely music in the background, if they want to say something they put it in the subtitles. I love it. So maybe I’ll start there?
Mostly I just want to start doing things. Even little things. Can be as little as blowing bubbles or going on a picnic to the ocean. If you have any ideas, please do share. I’ve seen people on tiktok doing similar “challenges”, get out there, do small fun things every day. Tiktok in general would also be fun, I have about 2 videos on my tiktok, lol. But again, then I have to be talky, and I’m not a talker. I guess that could be a challenge in itself. Become a talker. Isn’t the goal here to become a bubbly happy person?
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«────── « HEADCANON » ──────»
Found an interesting email while grinding some gigs, and it made me think a little about Viktor’s practice and what kinds of things he’s dealt with.
TRANSCRIPT: I'm happy you turned to me instead of those Clean Cut scam artists. But I am sorry I don’t have good news for you. The symptoms you described indicate a serious disorder that will continue to progress regardless of next steps taken. In cases like this, I’m afraid no level of help you give your sister will do much good. The only real “cure” is one of the two MaxTac ways, if you understand my meaning. It’s good you reached out to me, but it’s best if you contact them next. The quicker they get on this, the safer it’ll be for everyone around her — including you.
Vik being a back alley doctor means he’s aware cyberpsychosis, and he’s most likely had his encounters with patients who are on the brink. Rose is clearly one of those patients.
But I got to thinking about how much of it he’s really seen. After all, there are only two ways MaxTac handles it:
Kills individuals with cyberpsychosis due to the violence upon encounter
Captures individuals with cyberpsychosis and locks them up to treat.
The treatment/rehabilitation process is actually pretty intense, but that’s another topic I want to breach when fleshing out Smasher.
Ultimately, Viktor knows that MaxTac either kills them or tries rehabilitating them, but I imagine he doesn’t know much of the specific procedures because:
They probably changed since he went to med school some odd years ago, or just didn’t exist. This whole rehabilitation project seems fairly new if Regina’s dialog is anything to go by.
He can’t keep tabs because he’s a back alley operation and getting attention from the corps isn’t something he can afford to do (re: shutdown of his operation and likely prosecution, because the corporations actively lose money through people circumventing Trauma Team insurance plans).
And it’s honestly kind of sad to think about him having these encounters and trying to help, and he probably never gets a follow through.
Every time he hears reports of MaxTac handling one of these cases, he can’t help but wonder if it’s someone he tried to help. Someone he gave cybernetics to even before the symptoms began showing. It’s part of the reason he doesn’t really keep the news on in the office.
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sorry for taking so long to reply ive been so busy lately and haven’t had the energy to reply but here i am
you bring up a lot of interesting points that i don’t necessarily agree with but are intriguing nonetheless lol. that’s an interesting viewpoint but i can’t say i agree; being drunk isn’t the same as being intoxicated and they seem to be aware of themselves enough to go do a thing they enjoy doing and happen to do often. that and also the actors and directors themselves have stated outright that mac is the one being raped and that’s the intention of the scene. i also just like it and think it’s funny lol
tbh i LOVE you’re welcome so so much, it’s the only part of that production and cast recording that i like, i enjoy both of them because they have different accuracies to the scene but I also haven’t actually SEEN you’re welcome ive only ever seen blue. i just like you’re welcome more mostly for personal reasons lmao it’s cathartic to listen to after recent events. the inclusion of duke in both the party and the double date is CRAZY and i will never ever get why on earth they did that. exactly what you said lol why they entirely changed the motive and didn’t just do it the same way the scene was built up in the movie is so very strange.
the poc duke thing is not something i noticed until you brought it up (since i don’t like the musical very much so i havent seen any productions other than the one with Barrett) and now that i actively think about it when i see the musical productions you are entirely correct that is SO weird. i don’t even see what the point is if there implication like you said doesn’t exist. i don’t know how id feel about it if it did though since it’s still very divergent from her original motives and i think it muddies her character. but heathers the musical does modernise the movie a lot so perhaps it would’ve been more appropriate. the asian Mac thing is something that i was subconsciously VERY aware of the possibility and i am just. floored that someone actually did that
thé fiction does not affect reality thing is SO true i dont know WHERE it got misconstrued that everyone thinks we are just saying fiction doesn’t affect reality AT ALL. because that’s ludicrous and no one who is mentally well would say that lmao. it’s nuanced and dependent on a lot of things and people don’t seem to understand that. i joke to my family members ‘be careful of any opaque mugs i give you’ constantly when they say something that jokingly offends me but i can’t imagine anyone actually doing that because they saw heathers lol.
i dont agree with the idea that chandler is a poor little baby who has such a sad life and she’s a closeted lesbian bit i also don’t agree with the idea that she’s a soulless irredeemable asshole who will never do any good. there’s NO way she’s a closeted lesbian let’s just get that out of the way now lmao. headcanon wise why not, but the movie was made in the 80s lmao that is probably NOT something that ever crossed their minds at any point in the process of making the movie and the character. i think she is just a bitch, that’s how she is and that’s just how some people are, but bad people can do good things; It’s shown that she thinks of Veronica as a friend, or at least values her more than duke and Mac because of all the pictures of them together in her locker and the fact that she trusted Veronica enough, maybe not exactly to expect a real hangover cure, but at the very least to expect her not to give her something gross. i recognise that that is highly subjective though and may or may not have been the intentions of the directors — it’s completely possible that chandler keeps all the pictures of veronica just as a status symbol of sorts (not the word im thinking of but it’s 2 am), or she really does drink from the mug because she doesn’t want to be seen as spineless. it could be a combination of both. who knows. but you’re right, giving her a sad baby backstory is taking away ALL the substance of her character. she’s cold, she’s a dick, she’s sharp, she’s cruel, she thinks of herself as a GOD, that’s what makes chandler chandler.
OPINION
You cannot be a heathers fan and be an anti shipper. From my extensive research I have confirmed that JD and Veronica is the most popular ship. That is a proship! JDonica is a PROSHIP! JD is ABUSIVE!!! He sexually assaulted her like 3 times in the movie! But theatre fanbase is not ready for that conversation. I have my eye on ALL OF YOU.
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Sorry for my Bad Brain posts today. I’m missing my husband and he’s hurting too, which makes it feel even deeper.
But! I did day 19 of YWAHome, 30 minutes of core work that made me drip sweat. Feeling much better.
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𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬
He hates seeing you get lonely because of his work / 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢, 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨, 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨, 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚
@b4bephomet I’m feeling like going in a fluff kick, with maybe some dates, proposals, dancing in the rain. mmm I’ll see where I end up
𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢
—- He decides he has enough money for a small at home vacation in which he is on you 24/7. He has his heavy arm draped over you. Since you're so lonely he can’t leave you alone, truth is he loves it. The warmth to your smile and eyes that greet him when he finally shows up and says he is staying. He also loves having you close because he missed you. He just kept shoving those feelings aside till they grew too big to ignore.
—- Missions can have Toji busy, since he gets caught up in making money for him to spend on you and himself. That he forgets to slow down and spend some time at the house with you. So he tries to make up for it by bringing you a give when he notices he has been taking a job after job. With no time for you in between.
—- You are going to sit in his lap and you will let him hold you. It’s the only way he can cure your loneliness. He will keep bringing up that you are oh so lonely unless you have all of his attention at all given times.
—- If you pout at his teasing and say you're good, then he will pretend to leave, so you ask him to stay. Now if you let him walk out that door, he comes back an hour later with some food he knows you like. Like nothing ever happened since you're running to greet him.
𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨
—- To going to sleep alone, and waking up to find Gojo gone, to him having to leave in the middle of a date. You know he gets upset when you pout about being lonely, so you try to hide it. Since he can’t help that he is so high in demand.
—- Gojo figures you're lonely because he is too, so many people, but none of them are you. And he wonders if you crave him as much as he is you.
—- Gojo finds an app called Tuned which allows the two of you to share your feelings with each other. And play little partner trivia with each other. It makes Gojo and you feel a little more connected.
—- Throws you on the bed the moment he gets home and flops down next to you. Whilst crying on about how cruel his job is keeping him away from you. He covers your face and expects you to do the same to him. Will be salty if you done and takes his kisses back. How though?
𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨
—- Geto expects you to understand his work will keep him busy. And you're just going to deal with that, but if you don’t pout about it too much, he makes it up to you.
—- Enjoys that get lonely without him, and that it’s his attention and company you enjoy the most. So he tries to spend his free time with you to make up for it. Even will call your sad and lonely look adorable. Since he knows he can solve your loneliness by simply sitting with you.
—- Geto does whatever you want to do when he spends his time with you. Which after some time will suggest his own ideas. But he enjoys doing your favorite activities with you. Especially any hobbies that you are passionate about.
—- Geto sends you audio clips of his voice instead of texting you. So at least you have his voice recordings saved on your phone. So you can hear him say certain messages whenever you like.
𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚
—- You should be grateful you're getting his attention and haven’t gotten bored with you. But the second you bring up finding someone else for your lonely since there isn’t much between him and you. He shuts that down quick, he will deal with your stupid human emotions, since you aren’t lying in bed with another and dirtying what’s his.
—- You explain that you getting lonely over him being gone is because you miss him. Not because of bedroom activities you missed him, his personality. And Sukuna calls you stupid for that, but he likes it.
—- His mind wonders to you while he is out doing whatever the king of curses wants to do. And thinking of you missing his company has him wanting to return to you. And he can’t say why he likes it, but he does. So he stops by more frequently.
—- Straight up will just take you with him because he is the King. And you are going to be his cute human that no one else is touching if they want to keep a hand. You will sit on his lap where he can have his arm around you. Most curses are too scared to mention his obvious feelings and the others who have said it are dead. Is this cause Sukuna wants to see just how much you can’t handle of him. Do you really get lonely when he leaves you?
𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭
#sukuna fluff#geto fluff#gojo fluff#toji x reader#toji fluff#geto x reader#sukuna x reader#gojo x reader
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the colour yellow | jjk
summary: “You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right.”
WARNINGS: ANGST!! hanahaki disease but not an au, HOSPITALS, DEATH, DESCRIPTIONS OF DISEASE, UNHEALTHY WEIGHT LOSS, pining, unrequited love, complicated feelings, its just sad. there are some light-hearted moments, and happier/softer aspects in the ending but it is generally sad in the ‘what could have been’ department pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, past geto suguru x fem!reader, mentions of satosugu word count: 29.9k lmao
a/n: i just needed to get the hanahaki out of my system. it did not work. i took liberties w the timeline because idc about actual jjk canon in this fic thanks.
playlist for this fic
crossposted on ao3 x
Your Innate Technique always gave you a green thumb. Meaning, similarly enough to Yaga, you could plant cursed energy into objects.
Where it deviated, Satoru knows, is the type of object. Plants—trees, leaves, flowers.
Ironic, he thinks numbly as he walks through the hospital. Shoko had told him that at this point it was palliative care until you died—nothing else would work. Cursed energy only fed your sickness, and even her technique could not heal the damage fast enough. Stupid. Idiotic. Cruel.
Cruel. That was the word.
He hadn’t seen it himself but from how his old friend had described it, it could only be cruel.
His footsteps tap along the linoleum floors, urgent, but not too fast. A part of him dreads what he will see—his mind swirls with the possibilities, and of guilt.
Why didn’t he just come sooner? Why did he think it was okay to wait, to dismiss Itadori when he said you’d been checked in for your coughing fits?
“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” he had said. Itadori’s small frown. “A little feather in her throat isn’t going to knock her down.”
Why? Why? Why? Why did he say that?
Because it had to be serious to put you in the hospital. For fuck’s sake, you were still that teenage girl who stood outside his dorm window in the middle of a thunderstorm to bring Fushiguro a birthday present before you left for a curse expedition a thousand years ago, and the woman who welcomed him into your home unprompted on December 24th, your cheeks dry, lips pressed in a brave smile.
You had held him tight enough he could not see the blood, scrubbed him in a bathtub, ran your fingers through his hair until the sweat and grime was gone. You took care of him because he knows the belief that no one should be left behind to suffer alone has been engrained in you since the day he’s met you.
He should’ve known. A girl abandoned for being cursed had turned into woman with a saviour complex who’d barely even think about telling him you were dying.
Dying, of all things, from a disease no one knows how to cure. And you’re a sorcerer.
He could’ve laughed. The irony is enough to make him smile.
Your room’s in a tiny corner of the hospital, down the hall from a nurse’s station, and as he walks through, he can see the grey sunlight streaming through the window, glaring against his glasses. He lifts them to rub the heel of his hand into his eye.
He doesn’t want you to worry when you see him, and mostly, he needs to stall. His heart is in knots in his chest, and he spots a chair beside the door with your name in the plastic slate, so he sits down. His knees feel gummy and he leans forward, the visitor’s pass clipped to the front of his shirt hanging.
Satoru tugs the glasses off his face, fits his palm over his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s chilling in this dead end, and he swallows tightly. Everything tastes so dry as he looks up and shoves his hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing it all over his hands just so he has something to do.
After a few minutes, he gets up and sets a hand on the knob.
It can’t be as bad as he’s imagining. At most, you’re a bit sick, but you’ll still be spritely, warm in the lips and with arms outstretched and, “Satoru, finally!”
He opens the door.
You’re sitting hunched over in bed. Silhouette outlined by the white-grey sunlight from outside your hospital room, you’re trembling as you hold onto a receptacle. An IV is hooked to your arm, a hospital gown is barely hiding anything, and it feels immoral to even look so Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he pauses by the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment as your gaze flashes to him.
He feels it, to be honest. The heat of your stare until it is wrenched away by a violent cough you instinctually muffle by your palm, blood splattering over your hand, soft, velveteen purple petals falling from your lips and into the receptacle in your lap.
You’re supposed to have a green thumb.
Vines bend to your will if you command it, you can summon forth thorns to impale your opponents, send thick creeping ivy to barricade a doorway. It doesn’t matter if there is no greenery in your immediate area. At the sweep of your hand, the ground could rumble with the sound of trees twisting their gnarled roots into feet to march at your command.
Just as long as they’re within range and you’ve touched them in the past few hours, they’re yours.
So, why can’t you stop this?
Plants are supposed to listen to you, right? As he stares at your shaking body on the bed, curved over the plastic tub, thick globs of bloodied spit drip from your lips and soaked purple blossom petals entwine with your life essence. His heart plummets to his chest. You retch, spit, choke, and every sound stabs him in the chest as he takes a weak step forward, hand stretched out limply.
Your name flutters, barely leaves his lips before you’re looking at him again, a bit of a mortifying image but nonetheless.
Even so, you smile, despite the blood painting your face, the exhaustion morphing your body. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and your hands shake around the receptacle. You look battered, bruised along the arms where the needles keeping you filled with antibiotics, medicine you need, had punctured you.
And still, you’re beaming at him. He thinks he’s going to be sick.
“Hi, Satoru.”
His hand falls. Eyes wide, he cannot take another step. You wipe at your lips, tossing the tissue into the trash before pushing the plastic receptacle onto the table and swinging your legs off the bed.
“Don’t—“ he croaks but you don’t listen, sliding your feet into slippers and grabbing your IV stand to take a step towards him. Your knees nearly give in but you stick out a hand before he can rush to catch you. Then, you’re pushing yourself up and walking over to him. It’s more of a shuffle, but Gojo finds he can’t care as you land on his chest, hands pressing into his back.
You’re a bit cold in his arms, and he wraps himself around you, trying to rub the heat back into your skin as you shudder, but your heart is still racing as it always does around him, and you…
You’re the type of person who can shift how the air feels and looks to his Six Eyes with your smile or your tears or your frown, and in that moment, the air bleeds yellow with your joy. It’s so bright in his soul that it makes his heart skip as you shift on your feet against him, hands sliding down so your arms can circle his waist and haul him closer.
“Gojo Satoru turning off his infinity for little ole me,” you murmur, voice raspy, as he closes his eyes, cradling your head. Without another word, he sinks into you. “Talk about the world ending.”
Why didn’t you just call him? Why did you let him stay away for so long? He doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening, or how. He already knows you’ll just lie. But he wants to know if you think so lowly of him that you thought you didn’t matter to him.
After Suguru…
How could you think that? He’s screaming inside his mind as he touches your back, feels the faint protruding ridges along your skin when he pushes down. It makes your spine a bit more pronounced along the knobs, your shoulder blades a bit bumpy, but otherwise, it’s almost normal. One wouldn’t even be able to tell without touching you and actively searching for it. How could you think I don’t care?
This isn’t the work of a cursed spirit, that much he knows. It seems much more seductive, sneaking yet unhurried in its nature. This is agony in effigy. There’s something rotten inside you, but he can’t tell what it is. The energy is everywhere.
You pull back to look up at him with a soft smile, then tap his nose and tell him to join you before turning around and climbing back into bed with energy that betrays your earlier fits. You grab your robe that you’ve left on your bed before getting up again and walking around, shrugging the fabric back onto your shoulders.
He sits down in a visitor’s chair that is still cold.
“It comes and goes,” you explain first with your new, croaky voice, stretching your arms above your head and rubbing your neck. It doesn’t look painful, but you clear your throat a lot to see if it helps. So far, nothing. “So, it’s just like a really bad coughing fit, to be honest.”
“How long has it been going on?” Your hip cracks and you let out a relieved sigh. Satoru arches an eyebrow as you animatedly stretch your face. “What are you doing, silly?”
“It got worse a few weeks ago, enough that Nanami insisted I check myself in around two weeks ago?” you say, after counting on your fingers. Satoru’s heart plummets. “But it’s levelled out since I’ve been moved here and off-campus. And I’m stretching. When I get back out there, I have to remember how to emote.” You flash him a bedazzling grin and a bit of the weight lifts off his shoulders as you swallow down another cough. This time, it’s successful and you only let out a short, raspy breath before shaking it out.
You aren’t even doing that bad.
The blood, the flowers, that must’ve been just a bad bout, but otherwise, you seem quite normal.
That’s what he tells himself, and he believes it.
With relief, he stretches out his legs, leaning his head back on his hands. Your room’s pretty nice—much nicer than an average hospital room. Plants on the windowsills, some get-well-soon cards and a desk in the corner filled books that you look like you haven’t even begun to read, some paintings hanging off the walls.
You wave a hand to grab his attention again.
“Don’t look,” you chastise, tying the robe around your waist. “Some of these are works in progress.”
“So Itadori and Shoko were just exaggerating,” he assumes. You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re attempting to paint, I know all that’s happened is that you’ve lost your mind.”
“Shut up.”
“Well, they made it out as if you were dying. If it’s just a lung issue, they could probably just fix it and we can get back to exorcising curses and making fun of Fushiguro’s teen angst,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankles. You step over them to go to the window and examine your plants, and he eyes you in his peripheral, watching you inspect one of the leaves before looking next at some blooming flowers. You don’t answer, and the grey light makes you look melancholy until you shrug.
“The doctors say I need to rest, save my strength and all that,” you finally say vaguely. “And don’t make fun of Fushiguro.”
“I’d never do that.”
You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow skeptically before flicking his forehead with a sharp donk. “I’m not above slapping the shit out of you.” He opens his mouth to argue and you hold up a finger, shutting him up. “And you can’t hit back as revenge. Ill hospital patient rights.”
“You can’t take the moral stand. Vengeance has no gender bias,” he exclaims, sitting up but you merely smirk, leaning over and shoving your face into his space before turning your head to present your cheek. His eyes widen as you poke your own face tauntingly.
“Do it, then.”
Gawking for a moment, Satoru stares but you only wink and he pushes you away lightly. You stumble a bit and he jumps to his feet to catch you but you manage to right yourself up, shooting him a foul glare. He glares back in response.
“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to actually slap you,” he says, indignant.
“So you pushed me instead? Gojo, in your words, you are the strongest. You never know how to control the strength you push out.”
“Yes, I do!”
“One time, you patted Megumi on the back and you sent him into the pavement.”
“He was nine.”
“It still happened!” you cry, although an impish smile is already curling at your lips and it isn’t long before it spreads to Satoru, warm bright yellow and enough that it absolves any of the remaining pain in his body as you straighten up, holding onto your IV stand for support. The metal rattles a bit as the wheels roll. Your feet brush the ground. You lift your head up wretchedly.
It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.
The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death.
His face feels like it numbs, staring at the darkness that seeps the light away. You stare at the metal pole your fingers are wrapped so tightly around, and then you look at the bag hanging there, clear and round and soft to your touch as you straighten up.
“Satoru,” you say softly.
“Yeah?” His voice is so quiet he’s not sure he even speaks. He can’t remember the last time you had looked so dispassionate at anything in his life. Even death had left its mark—black frowns, long streaks underneath your eyes.
Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour.
“When I die, make sure Shoko’s the one who cuts me open to find out what’s wrong with me.”
Something prickles at his fingertips. He touches your shoulder and half-thinks his fingers will go right through you.
“You’re not going to die,” he insists firmly. “It’s just a bad cough.” You look up at him and blink. Then you touch your lips and shudder down another cough.
“We all die.”
“It’s not your time, yet.” His fingers dig into your shoulder. You don’t even wince even though you’re clenching his jaw but he can’t find it in himself to loosen his hold. It feels like the Jaws of Death. A crocodile’s bite.
So much for not being able to control his own power.
“It’s just a bad cough.” He ignores everything Shoko had said. Sometimes she’s wrong—sometimes, it’s not even that bad. He’d just seen it, hadn’t he? You were stretching, jumping onto your bed, acting like nothing was wrong.
Palliative care? As if you needed it—
You blink, then, and look at him. Stare at him as if you’d never said those words, and he had never reached out.
You jerk your shoulder out of his grip. It stings more than it should.
“Right. But I’m just saying. You know how you always say I’ve got a few screws loose. It just makes sense someone will wanna crack me open to see what was going on up there and I want it to be her.”
You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple.
Colour theory.
But Satoru doesn’t smile back.
“What about the flowers?” he asks after a while. You’ve climbed back onto bed and he’s sat back down. You’re blowing into a spirometer, and every time, without fail, the ball shoots up to the top, clattering against the plastic. He watches, hoping that the next time, it’ll do the same thing again.
You stop and look at him. “What about them?”
“Is it some optical illusion? Why are they in your throat?”
“That’s a harder nut to crack,” you muse. “I don’t really know. It’s like when you’ve got food in your esophagus and you’re trying to cough it up so it doesn’t feel stuck anymore except it keeps building up. That only started a few days ago, though, so maybe, someone drugged me or something.” He doesn’t laugh and you frown. “Not funny?”
He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”
.
He sits on the bench on campus.
He’s cancelled classes because he didn’t come up with a standard lesson plan and his students are glad to have a Monday afternoon off, even if they’d never say it to his face. In truth, he’d spent the whole weekend at the hospital until he reeked of antiseptic and pollen.
You coughed up five petals, and without fail, a nurse would come in hourly intervals to collect them. Shoko came once, to check up on you and to collect the samples. If she was surprised Satoru was sitting in the corner on his phone, she didn’t voice it.
“She’s not even doing that bad,” he says to the air, more accusatory than anything. The woman standing by him doesn’t answer and sits down beside him uninvited. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “You said she needed palliative care until she died. The doctor said she could leave tonight.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” she informs, not looking at him. Shoko looks a bit out of place in the warm colours of the garden. Half a corpse herself. Waif-like. “The doctor’s letting her relax in the comfort of her own home before she dies. That’s all.”
“She’s not going to die.”
She snorts. “Denial isn’t a good colour on you.” The words could’ve been delivered colder. Satoru is grateful that they weren’t.
Shoko rests her hands on her knees, tilts her head up, and sighs. Her long hair is like warm chocolate in the sunlight, spilling down her arched back from the knot she tied. “If you have any idea on how to fix this, I’m listening with both ears.”
“I don’t even know what it is,” he says. “Coughing and flowers? I’ve never heard of a sickness like that before.”
“Nanami pointed out that it could be a curse someone placed on her. I don’t know why, but it’d be an explanation.” Satoru spreads his legs, plants an elbow on his knee and leans forward to look at the ants travelling along the cobblestone before his shoe. “It manifested on some negative emotion lingering inside her and it’s growing every day, but she won’t budge.” Shoko sighs. Her purple eye bags look worse in the sunlight, but he would never tell her that. “Maybe you’d have a better chance digging into her. With Geto gone, there’s no one else to ask, is there?”
“What about you? What happened to girls and their little secrets?” he jokes, trying to ignore the ache that begins to bloom in his chest. Shoko eyes him wryly.
“I have suspicions, but there are some things girls don’t ask other girls,” she retorts. “It’s never been my business anyway. My job is to treat her, and I’ve given her options. It’s up to her to take them. Grief is a birthing ground for curses, and if she’s letting them feed on her freely, you know what fate is waiting for her.”
With that, she gets up and leaves as quickly as she arrived. Satoru swallows the smell of flowers and feels sick.
.
Monday night, Satoru pulls up his laptop and looks through, searching up words he can string together in a coherent sense to get the answers he wants. As rare as it probably is, some research wouldn’t hurt, would it? Some curses had a trademark affliction—maybe this one does, too.
So he searches up flower coughing to see if there has ever been a record of strange deaths that have made the news. If not, he’ll go to the jujutsu databases, but for now, maybe some publicity could put some answers to this question.
He is surprised when one of the first results is flower coughing disease.
When he hits enter, the white screen blasts into blue irises with numerous results all repeating the same two words.
HANAHAKI DISEASE
And Satoru reads, and reads, and reads. He reads two weeks to three months, he reads unrequited love, and removal, and disappearance of romantic feelings and capacity for romantic love.
He reads fictional disease and wonders how much of it really is fictional.
His phone pings with a text, and he grabs at it, tilts it just enough to get a glimpse of the screen. It’s from you, and he hasn’t read a text from you in so long he almost doesn’t recognize who it’s from except he does because… who else could it be?
[Greenbean] 11:02 PM
hey!!! guess whos finally fucking free oh my god
ugh out of the hospital and forgot how actual air smelled like lol bitch im so hungry i could eat a zoo
Letting his phone clatter, he sighs and rubs his face roughy, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before snapping his laptop shut and getting up. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly, the screen lighting up as he goes to bed.
[Greenbean] 11:03 PM
we should get smth to eat!! i wanna go to that new ramen place in ikebukoro
[Satoru] 11:03 PM
fine but you good???? who picked you up from the hospital? still insulted you didnt let me tbh
also what did the doctor say???
[Greenbean] 11:04 PM
bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive
he said itd get worse before itd get better so still gotta go for checkups but yeah dont worry and nanami came bc he didnt trust me not to try and walk home lol but he did buy me dinner
wasnt enough though!!!
…
[Greenbean] 11:06 PM
ok but fr does he think im insane
clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh
…
[Greenbean] 11:10 PM
youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes
[Satoru] 11:12 PM
i was getting ready to sleep silly
and yeah ill come pick you up on saturday for lunch?
[Greenbean] 11:15 PM
sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine
wait youre sleeping so early lmfao
[Satoru] 11:16 PM
im old :/
[Greenbean] 11:18 PM
u sure are
(image sent)
look!!! my babies are still alive!!! idk how but miracles do exist im tellin ya
[Satoru] 11:24 PM
inumaki, maki, and fushiguro broke into ur home to water them but dont tell them i told u
[Greenbean] 11:24 PM
wtf
[Satoru] 11:25 PM
yeah idk when but i think u teaching inumaki how to pick locks has opened up too many possibilities but also its really funny thanks
now go to sleep u need to rest
[Greenbean] 11:28 PM
whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad
[Satoru] 11:29 PM
lol
remember how i can teleport
lol so cool
[Greenbean] 11:30 PM
dude
wtf
fine
goodnight hoe </3
[Satoru] 11:31 PM
goodnight knock off poison ivy <3
.
“You’ve looked better,” Shoko says. Satoru raises his head wearily as he pushes off the wall. Shoko’s holding a cup of coffee, her lab coat fresh on her shoulders and eye bags looking more printed on rather than natural swelling. Satoru can’t help but feel the same exhaustion. “Definitely looked worse. What do you want? It’s early.”
“Have you ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” he asks. She shakes her head, and he pulls up the page on his phone and hands it to her. She takes it from him and her eyes scan the screen as he continues, “It’s this fictional disease, something that stems from unrequited love, and I think it could be related to whatever she’s experiencing.”
“I thought you were set on willing her to survive,” she replies dryly, shooting him a quick look and adjusting the coffee in her hand. “But this is definitely one of your stranger theories.”
Satoru ignores that last part. “It’d make sense. With her Cursed Technique, maybe it manifested in a way that links to it.”
She pushes into the office, setting the coffee on her desk and sitting down. Satoru sits down on the exam table closest and leans forward eagerly as she continues to read the page, scrolling down occasionally before scrolling back up and sighing. “This is a stretch. The timeline doesn’t match up to what this is saying.”
“This is a curse. It doesn’t have to follow fiction.” His body feels sore, janky even, everywhere. He barely got a wink of sleep last night and he knows he’s paying for it, now. “Hell knows life rarely does, anyway. But the symptoms matches too well, doesn’t it? The flowers—you’ve done scans, haven’t you?”
She deliberates his words carefully as she looks to the file cabinet and pulls out a binder. Satoru catches a flash of your name on the spine before she moves her coffee and his phone out of the way to flip it open.
“The scans we’ve taken have only just begun to show small growths in her trachea,” she allows, “and we don’t fully understand how cursed energy affects our bodies, so I suppose it could be something like Hanahaki, if the negative energy stemming from December 24th was what brought this on or if these symptoms started when we were still students, but she’s been experiencing shortness of breath a few months before Christmas.” Satoru’s lungs squeeze the last of the air out of them at that, and a cold sweat drops down his spine as she hands his phone back to him. “It only started getting worse Suguru’s death, which meant there had to have been a trigger before that.”
In the back of his head, he hears your voice, light and yellow, saying a few weeks. It got worse a few weeks ago.
“Worse?”
“The first petal fell some time after Christmas. It’s been a slow, but steady progression since then. Sometimes, it’s two or three. When it’s not a good day, there can be as many as seven to ten.” Shoko switches on the lamp on the corner of her desk and adjusting the direction of the white light before flipping the page. “But if we can find the original trigger and alleviate that pressure it’s putting on her, we could buy her more time.”
“So it’s been nearly six months since the first petal,” he says. Shoko nods. Satoru is grateful for the blindfold—she can’t see how blank everything looks on his face. “It said sometimes, the disease can last for eighteen months.”
“As you said, this isn’t a fairytale.” She half-spins on her chair to face him and leans back into it, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling her knee. “I saw that one of the solutions is excise the growths at the cost of the attachment. That was one of the options I gave her when the growths first appeared. She said she wanted more time before she could decide.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because she’s smart, and likes to push her damned limits. And if this is truly the basis of the curse”—she gestures to Satoru’s phone. Her expression flickers—“those flowers are feeding off cursed energy. Cutting them out would remove those negative emotions, but at a cost of something else. Maybe whatever feelings she has regarding the trigger.”
Satoru looks down at his phone. It feels heavier than a thousand cinderblocks in his clammy hands. His fingers are numb as his screen dims and finally locks itself. Pressing the button, it illuminates again to reveal a picture of a cactus you gave him for his birthday years ago, blooming with delicate purple petals.
His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.
“But, Suguru’s dead.”
“That’s why I asked you to ask her,” Shoko mutters.
Turning to her binder again, she picks up a pen and clicks it, lowering it to the paper before pausing, and Satoru looks up as she stares at whatever words are printed into the page distantly. A strange affliction is on her face, almost tormented, and Satoru is not-so-kindly reminded that before Suguru and Satoru, Shoko was your best friend first.
“Tell her how idiotic she’s being,” she enforces quietly. “The longer it lives, the more permanent damage is inflicted. With the unpredictable nature of curses, that won’t take long and by then, it’ll be too late to consider removing it.”
.
Saturday comes too fast, yet not fast enough. By the end of the week, Satoru is all but finished with teaching, and is waiting outside your apartment, leaning against the car as he scrolls through his phone. He’s done a bit more research on this Hanahaki disease, but even the word makes him shiver with the implications.
“Satoru!” Turning, he catches you loping easily towards him. You’re dressed in billowy, wide-legged dark mint green pants and a pretty white top that makes you look more nymph than human, with a canvas tote bag hanging off your shoulder. You flash him a smile as you fiddle with the fabric tie at the waistband of your pants nervously. “Hi.”
“Hey. Hope you don’t mind I brought Ijichi along for the ride since someone claims I can’t drive.”
“You don’t have your license, sir,” Ijichi says wearily as you bend over to wave through the window. "It would be illegal for you to be on the road in any capacity—oh, hello, ma’am. It’s nice to see you doing so well.”
“Thanks, Ijichi. I think I’m doing better after getting out of there,” you say as Satoru opens the car door for you and he smirks, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. You straighten up, looking at him before poking his chest and it’s almost just like the good ole days as you break out into a grin that crinkles your entire face. “What’s with you being a gentleman? It better not be because I was in the hospital.”
“Of course not,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t dare dream of being polite to you of all people.” Still, he sidesteps and sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to climb in first which you do, exhaling a bit shakily as you settle in and slide over. By the time he’s settled in beside you, you have a fist over your lips and you’re clearing your throat testily.
A worm of unease wriggles into his stomach as he clips in his seatbelt, pulling the lapels of his unbuttoned green shirt free from the strap. Legs spreading, he lets his hands fold in his lap as Ijichi begins to drive them to their destination. You’ve lowered your hand by now, looking out the window, and it’s not bright enough that Satoru can read your expression on the glass.
It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it, but still, that nagging feeling bites at him as he rolls the divider up between the backseat and the front—a mock of privacy.
“The place we’re going to gives me the same vibe as that family-owned restaurant we went to when we were students. The one in Kagurazaka,” you say after a while, turning back to look at him. You’re wearing a bracelet that jangles when you move your hand to adjust the seatbelt across your chest. “I think you’ll like it.”
“Have you been?”
“One time, before I checked in,” you tell him, smiling still. “It was really good. The perfect last meal.” Satoru does well enough to hide his frown at your choice of words as you meet his eyes. “You know, you can ask. I’m not fragile.”
“I don’t have anything to ask,” he lies. “I’m just glad you’re out of the hospital.”
“Me, too. I’ve missed so much and it drove me insane. Yaga-sensei insists that I don’t work until I’m sure I’m feeling better,” you add. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much that can be done to make me feel better.”
“I see. So you’re still coughing up flowers?”
“Petals,” you correct, “and a bit. Don’t worry. It’ll get better soon.” You wave a hand and turn to look out the window and Satoru’s appetite all but vanishes. He doesn’t know why you’re so intent on lying to him about the severity of your condition, but as your knee jiggles relentlessly the whole car ride with unbridled excitement, he wonders if you’re even aware of how sick you could be.
His Six Eyes scan your body for signs of a curse. Normally, those plagued have their little burdens hanging off their shoulders, prying their head open, biting into an arm or leg, but he finds yours lives inside your chest, just barely hidden by the yellow light brimming from your body as you reach forward to lower the divider and talk to Ijichi.
They reach Ikebukuro before they’re dropped off after Satoru insists on walking the rest of the way.
“Give us some privacy, Ijichi! We both know you’ll just eavesdrop for the juicy details,” he exclaims loudly, leading to the man to blush furiously, stuttering that he’d do no such thing, and earning Satoru a smack on the back of his head, knocking his sunglasses askew.
“Thanks for the ride, Ijichi,” you say warmly as if you hadn’t slapped a concussion into Satoru. The Assistant Director dips his head. “See you later!” With that, he drives off and the two sorcerers are left in the busy street. Satoru looks around curiously, but you tug him along up the main road of the district and immediately turn right into one of the smaller streets. A few cyclists race past, as well as cars, but the traffic seems relatively slow despite it being the weekend. There are people walking along the white lines separating the lanes, chatting merrily as you lead him to the restaurant.
“I forgot how actual sunlight felt,” you sigh, stretching your arms high above your head as if to touch the wind breezing through. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes. Satoru waits for you to begin to cough, and you hold it in, throat tensing a bit.
He looks away, and pretends he doesn’t hear your sharp exhale, the soft cough you try to muffle with your hand. Instead, he looks at their surroundings, traces the green roads, watches a man park his bicycle and take the plastic bags out of the basket before rushing into a store. The air smells faintly of smoke, and Satoru waves in front of his face to see if it’ll help dispel the scent, but it’s so engrained with the hint of meat, honey, sweets, and flowers, that he can’t.
“I saw Suguru here once,” you tell him suddenly. He blinks, head snapping to you, and you’re already regarding him with a faint smile, eyes a bit dimmer. The warm yellow energy has faded to a burnt orange as you look ahead. “A year or two after he left. It’s why I moved closer a few years ago. I guess I had this weird hope that I’d see him again, but I never really did.” A faint grin graces your lips again, as if you’re not even aware you’re smiling. Fondness overtakes you. “I think about him a lot these days.”
“Me, too.”
“Of course,” you chuckle a bit, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I’m being insensitive.”
“No, you’re not. He meant a lot to you, too. I don’t own him, or his memory.”
“I know, but he was still your best friend.” Unbidden, a voice in Satoru’s voice finishes it for you. My one and only.
“Did you guys talk about anything?”
“Not really anything important,” you say, shrugging, but by the way your eyes shift in the light, glimmer differently, he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s none of his business, but a part of him hungers for new parts of Suguru and it’s powerful enough to take control of his tongue.
“Nothing’s not important. He was a wanted criminal.”
“I think we both know somehow that part never mattered to us.” You look at him, and run a thumb under the strap of your bag. “To any of us. But…” You tilt your head to him and your smile grows tender. “…since you asked, we talked about us. He told me about what he wanted, the kind of world he was determined to create. He paid for my dinner, kissed me goodnight like it was normal, and then he was gone. Never saw him again until last December.”
It shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
He remembers that day ten years ago in Shinjuku. The coldness in which Suguru had looked at him. He can’t imagine that same poison directed at you. He couldn’t even imagine Suguru looking at him like that in the first place until he did.
“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”
“I used to have nightmares about it,” you continue distantly. “Because I could’ve left with him, but I didn’t. And I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t do that either.”
“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”
Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart feels rotten to the core. “I didn’t, either, until I did.” You smile a bit more, at the irony. “Would you? Have gone with him, that is.”
“I didn’t, so what’s the point in debating it?” you ask before shrugging thoughtlessly and answering anyway. “I think tackling curses at the source is important. I just didn’t like the way he was doing it. If I thought I could somehow change his mind, just a bit, on his methods, maybe, but by then, he was too far gone.”
Your eyes, chips of glinting sunstone, mellow as a cyclist trills at them with a bell to get out of the way. You step out of the way, away from Satoru for a moment, before returning to him, and when the back of his hand brushes yours, he’s startled at how cold your skin is.
Satoru is quiet as he absorbs all of this. He doesn’t really know what to say, and you don’t prod him for a reaction as they turn the corner again.
“It’s just over there,” you say, pointing to a small restaurant, people milling by the door. There’s a sign hanging over the door, off-white with black kanji painted on and your arm falls. “There’s a line. Huh.”
“We can wait,” Satoru says when they stop at the edge of the crowd. “I don’t mind.”
“Okay. I’ll go put our names in then come back.” You disappear into the crowd for a moment before resurfacing and joining his side again, something in your hand. “It should be, like, fifteen minutes. I said the bar was okay.”
“That’s fine.” Shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, he cracks his knuckles and migrates to the wall. You follow, and he slouches against the concrete pillar. You adjust the tote bag against your body and lean against the other side just around the corner. Their elbows brush, and you tilt your head to look at him, smiling. Your face has caught the sun perfectly, and Satoru can’t help but smile back.
He wonders how to bring up this Hanahaki disease theory. You look so perfect, so happy in this moment where their eyes meet, that he can’t bring it up. Maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like it’s been so long since the two of them even managed to see each other for more than an hour. With how overworked jujutsu sorcerers are, it’s hard to recall the last time they both had downtime at the same time that wasn’t spent catching up on sleep.
You look away, shoulders shaking, as if that’s enough to hide your coughing, and he thinks, Later. There’ll be time for that later.
“Here’s the menu,” you tell him once you’ve calmed down, extending your hand. He takes the paper, unfolding it as you cross your arms and tilt your head back on the concrete. Reading down the list, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his vision, and your fingers play at your lips as you swallow. Reaching into your bag, you twist the cap of a water bottle and chug half of it down.
“Do you have any medicine? For your coughing?” he asks casually. You hit your chest with a firm fist, clearing your throat and looking at him in surprise. The water bottle returns to your bag.
“Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t work. Just gotta keep hydrated and avoid any possible triggers,” you inform. You turn up the street as you speak, crossing your legs at the ankles and sinking against the concrete.
“And what are those triggers?”
“And you say Ijichi is the one digging for gossip,” you snort with short, choked huff. Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps looking at the menu. “Don’t worry about it. I’m avoiding them.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“If I wanted your dry wit, I would’ve gone to the original.”
“I don’t copy off Shoko. I take bits of everyone’s personality and twist it to make it my own.”
You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”
Your name is called a few minutes later and the pair push off the concrete pillar, heading through the crowd and into the small restaurant. It’s not too dimly lit, a bunch of natural light from the street streaming in through the open windows, and the air is rich with the smells of the kitchen as they sit down at the bar.
It’s not long before they’ve ordered, and Satoru has gone through his first bowl and is well into pouring his second into what remains of his broth before he remembers to even check up on how you’re doing. You’d been right—he loves this place. The atmosphere isn’t overly loud, but the mumbling of nearby patrons is enough to make him feel like he isn’t quite alone. It’s sheltered away from the world, and although he’s used to girls staring, no one has gone up to him which is giving him time to his own thoughts and food. Everyone here seems to mind their business—everyone likes to stay in their own bubble.
Here, he isn’t the strongest, or quite so special. It honestly feels kind of nice.
You’re sipping on your broth, tilting the spoon towards your mouth and your lips are pulled into the warmest smile he’s seen since they were kids. The light’s hitting you just perfect again, more cool than warm, but it’s got you on the cheekbone, illuminated your lips. Satoru wonders if you know how to manipulate light, or if that’s just your natural blessing as you tilt your head towards him, eyes squinting from your own joy.
For a moment, another image flashes in his head. Him along the end of their group of four—you and Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. It’s almost poetry how much of a glimpse he can see in your smile. You would always be laughing, and Suguru’s cheeks would always be red, and Shoko would charm the guy over the counter to hand over a bottle of shochu. Satoru would tease his stupid best friend, and pay for their meal because “I’m friends with a bunch of goddamn freeloaders.”
But that moment ends as quickly as it came, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking that Satoru never thought their last meal together would be their last meal together. He would’ve cherished it more—done anything to make them stay in that ramen shop in Kagurazaka.
“Do you like it here?” you ask.
He blinks. You’re studying him behind that smile of yours. Watching. Always watching. “It reminds me of when we were kids,” he replies. When he realizes that didn’t answer the question, he adds, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
You grin, delighted. “If I knew how stupid you’d look sucking up these noodles, I would’ve brought my camera like when we were students. I still have it, you know.”
“Next time, then.”
“Yeah, next time.”
Satoru pays. He insists despite your protests, and snatches the bill from you anyway, swiping his card as quickly as he can.
After, they walk slowly around the district, looking at the other restaurants and stores for desserts or souvenirs to bring back, and it makes him so nostalgic, his heart wilts a bit in his chest.
He is saying something about buying some soymilk for Megumi when you stop suddenly, deviating to the side of the road to cough. It grows so intense so quickly that your eyes widen as if you’re surprised, too, and you place a palm flat against your chest as he comes to your side. You wave him back, and he frowns, running a hand down your back as you finally manage to dislodge the petals in your throat and spit them into your palm.
Satoru sighs, staring at the cursed things. The energy emitted from the petals are raw, potent, and his nose wrinkles at the stench that comes from powerful curses as he softly asks, “Do you know what Hanahaki is?”
“Flower vomiting?” you whisper through your raw vocal cords. You shake your head, slamming your sternum with a tight fist and flinging the drenched petals to the ground with a wet slap. “Itadori… said something about it, once. Never really paid attention, I—”
Satoru squeezes the back of your neck gently. “Whatever this curse is, it could be something like that.“
“You don’t want to open that can of worms, Gojo, of what is causing this.” Straightening up, your eyes widen and your cheeks puff up as you choke down another bout. Wobbly, you spit out, “It’s under control. I swear.”
“Are you sure?” His fingers brush your chin to turn your face towards him so he can look at it more clearly, and the instant their eyes meet, you lurch over, slapping his hand away and succumbing to the wracking. Hands shooting out to grab your elbows, Satoru barely eases you to the ground as your legs give in.
You collapse to your knees, hard. A hand is slapped over your mouth but your whole body shakes with the seizing of your lungs. Eyes widening, your cheeks puff up as Satoru grabs your shoulders, falling to his knees beside you.
“Hey! Hey, breathe!” His fingers dig into your shoulders and your nostrils flare, trying to follow his instructions. Bloodshot eyes and blueing lips, your inhales are shaking and incomplete, gasps for air that do not take in any oxygen before you’re kneeling over, hand falling from your lips. Blood splattered over your palm, you let out a low noise of pain. Satoru’s hand glides down your spine, rubbing in soothing circles as red spit falls to the pavement in thick globs.
People all around stop to stare, eyes masked with concern, but he can’t care less at that moment despite the burning scrutiny. He shoves a hand into his pocket, speed-dialling one of the top numbers of his list.
“Ijichi, I need you to take us to the hospital, now!” Letting his phone drop with a clatter, he scoops you close but you slam your bloody hand against his chest, pushing him away. You throw yourself away, hands twisted tight in the fabric of your white shirt and Satoru looks down at the red handprint on his tee before blinking. “What are you doing? We need to get—“
“I’m—I’m fine!” Your voice, broken, is drenched with ice as you continue to wheeze, grasping at your chest as if you could reach and tear out the growths with your own hand. “Gojo, I’m fine!”
“No, you’re not!” Grabbing his phone, he hears a loud car horn, and looks up to see Ijichi leaning out of the driver’s seat, waving his arm frantically. Without another thought, he scoops you up and runs out into the street, ignoring the tires screeching, the cars horns blaring at him and the angry shouts as he jumps into the car and slam the door shut.
Ijichi sets off at a drive, no directions needed. Satoru is sure he’s breaking as many laws as he can as he pushes you back against the seat to buckle you in. Blood dribbles down your lips in bubbles as a thick, gurgling sound begins to grow in your throat and he wipes at your chin with his sleeve, clicking the buckle into place just as you pitch forward. He jerks back just in time as you retch, and, slowly, torturously, you gag out three petals, one after another. Your fingers claw at your own throat, panicking and desperate as you struggle to breathe.
The petals fall in wet pools between your feet, landing on the carpet, and he spares them not even a glance before forcing your head between your knees. You’re still hyperventilating and as Satoru sweeps a hand down your back and up to your neck, his fingers come into contact with something sticky.
Sweat. It drenches through your shirt so suddenly that Satoru reels at the wet marks spreading through your shirt, making the fabric translucent. Your heart is racing, tripping over itself. When you finally stop coughing, you breathe in harsh pants as he keeps your head between your knees.
Your fingers lace at the back of your head and he grabs them firmly, reassuring that he’s still beside you.
.
“She’s stable,” Shoko announces to the waiting Satoru and six students. The latter came when their teacher had told them of what happened, and Itadori still clings to Fushiguro’s arm by an iron hand, fingers clawlike into his friend’s bicep. Kugisaki chews on her thumbnail, a bit paler than usual and there are crescent indents along her forearm where she had dug her nails in. Maki’s hand rests on her shoulder. Inumaki’s on the phone with Panda, and he turns the screen around so he can see the Strongest Sorcerer who does not feel quite so strong.
Satoru’s assurances that you would be fine had done nothing but send them into a quiet that scared even him.
“Is she okay? When can she get out?” the kids demand suddenly.
“We’re waiting for the updates on her scans from the doctors, but she’ll need to stay here under observation.”
Satoru runs a hand through his hair, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that means she gets a few more days off while the rest of us are working our asses off,” he teases. Maki shoots him a glare and his eyes close in a way he hopes arranges his expression in one of joy as he shrugs helplessly. “Well, that means I have another girl I have to spoil.”
“Aren’t you too busy with the four already blowing up your phone?” Kugisaki mutters sourly. Satoru pretends not to hear. His phone has been silent without your texts, and it’s cold and heavy in his pocket.
“Can we see her?” Fushiguro asks. Shoko nods, but holds up a hand and the kids skid to a stop.
“She’s resting. I’m unsure if you know, but certain topics of conversation or trains of thought can lead to more attacks, so stick to talking about your curriculum. Topics you think are safe.” The woman shifts on her feet, a wisp of brown hair swaying in front of her eye. “It’s unavoidable, but use your judgement.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The students walk off down to the dead-end hallway, and Satoru turns to Shoko who has her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up, scanning him like he’s got contraband, and he raises his eyebrows innocently.
“What?”
“It’s getting worse. I hope you managed to get answers,” she says. At once, Satoru’s facade drops, and a sober sensation overtakes his face.
“No, I didn’t. She’s heard of the disease, at least. We talked about Suguru, but it wasn’t like it was under lock and key.” The brunette shakes her head at his words, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. Doing so, he leans back into the uncomfortable chair as she crosses a leg over the other. “She said she thinks about him a lot.”
“She still loves him,” Shoko says bluntly. “She gets that far-off look when she talks about him. You two should trade secrets some time.” A shake of her head, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I healed what damage I could, but I can tell those growths inside are expanding. The attack only seems to have agitated and prompted them to take root.”
“How…” It’s hard to formulate the question. Luckily, Shoko knows him well enough.
“Without seeing the scans, I won’t know. Based on her last ones, I thought at least four months. Now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “She’ll be lucky if she gets two.” Shoko’s eyes flicker down Satoru’s front, and her lips press into a wry line. “And change you shirt. You look like a murder suspect.”
Glancing down, he looks at your dried bloody hand print, stark against white, and he gets up abruptly. Shoko doesn’t stop him.
He walks down to the dead-end hall. He can hear Itadori through your open door cracking jokes, Kugisaki relaying every detail of her shopping trips, and you’re wheezing your laughter despite Maki scolding you to save your strength. Satoru stops just outside your door, out of sight, and rests his head against the frame, content to just listen.
“Tuna mayo.”
“Is that right?” you ask Inumaki. “Lay it on me.”
You sound exhausted, beaten to the bone, but still, when Fushiguro says something too quiet for him to make out, you still have the strength to tease him for worrying.
.
The night is warm, and he sets the last plant back into its place on your window sill before cracking the window a bit at your request. He’s busied himself making this place as homely as possible as quickly as possible, and in the process, had walked in on you staring at your own scans on the lightscreen mounted on your wall.
“Thanks, Satoru,” you say over your shoulder. He joins you by your side to stare at the scans. Granted, Satoru didn’t cheat his way through medschool like others have, so he doesn’t understand much, but he can tell what is and what isn’t supposed to be there. The floral-like growths situated right where the main bronchi meet the trachea, for one.
The roots spreading across your chest like cracks in concrete, for another.
“The doctors want to monitor this,” you explain, pointing at the roots, “to see whether or not it’ll grow around my lungs or continue outward, around the ribs and spine. If it’s the former, I’ll slowly suffocate and die. If it’s the latter, I’ll slowly suffocate, become paralyzed, and die.” You smile grimly. “Not quite a win-win.”
“Exactly the opposite.” He inspects the growths and through the blue-white-black imaging, he spots the tiny stems emerging from the main growth, sprouting into your lungs. He guesses, with time, those will grow into flowers of equal size before sprouting more shoots.
He wonders…
As if sensing his hesitance, you scratch your collarbone and look at the scans with a new glint.
“The doctors say if I avoid another attack like today, I’ll probably have two months, three if I’m blessed, but because of how big the growths have gotten already and its volatile nature, it’ll be impossible, so we’re looking at a month. Maybe a month-and-a-half?” You smile at him, throat bobbing. “Guess it’s good to have a number,” you add shakily, a short puff coming at the end of each breath as you struggle to fight the cough. “Being a sorcerer, too much uncertainty, I think.”
“You should tell Nanami that. Maybe this time, it’ll convince him to stay away,” he retorts, turning away from the scans. They’re burning his eyes and he doesn’t want to look at the real thing for much longer. You turn with him, walking back towards bed and climbing in. “Are you sure you don’t want the operation? Shoko could do it so fast you wouldn’t feel a thing.”
“No, not yet. There are some complications that’ll definitely occur and I don’t want that to happen.”
“But it would save your life,” he argues. “What risks are frightening enough that you’d even consider not having it?” Your gaze flickers as you take another wheezing breath. The strength seems sapped from your limbs—you’re a scarecrow hanging off its pole as you swallow tightly. Satoru leans against your window sill and crosses his arms over his chest so you can’t see the frustrated fists he wants to make. “If this is about Suguru…”
Resolutely: “It isn’t.”
“You’re going to die if you keep going down this road. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.” In the back of his mind, klaxons begin to scream.
“Satoru, some things are just beyond logical reason.” He jerks his gaze away, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. You sigh. “I know it’s hard, but this is my choice. I just want you to be here so you know it’s okay.”
Your hand stretches out. Blue eyes flash to your outstretched fingers and he takes it before he can stop himself. Your fingers curl over his palm, tugging him closer and he lets you, sneakers dragging over the tile until he’s sliding into the chair by your bed. It squeaks against the tile.
“Please don’t be angry with me.” That’s all. That’s all I ask.
A hard, heavy sigh, this time from his end. He tightens his hold on you as you sit there, smiling hopefully. His heart thunders in his chest. “I’m not angry.”
You perk up a bit, and his index finger unfurls to rub your wrist. It feels colder than normal. “Promise?”
He wishes he could lie half as well as you. Either way, he tries his hardest: “Promise.”
By the time it’s quarter past nine, you’re already getting ready to sleep. You have enough pillows to surround your entire body, and he fluffs them up, helps you arrange them until you’re sighing against the white sheets, burrowing in with a sedated smile on your face.
Satoru sits down again on his visitor’s chair and you watch him lazily through the dim orange light stemming from behind your bed.
“You don’t have to stay here and watch me, creep,” you mumble, turning your face away to stare at the ceiling. You cough dryly, but it subsides moments later. Your voice is nothing but a croak as you let out a tired groan, and Satoru smiles to himself, cheek to his fist.
“I feel robbed of our afternoon together. Making up for it now.”
You look at him again incredulously. “We’re not even doing anything.”
“I don’t know when you were told that every second of us being together had to be us doing something,” he huffs. “I like being in here. Isn’t that enough?”
“It’s too much. You’re annoying me.” Even so, your voice turns fond as you roll onto your side, away from him to settle in to sleep and Satoru’s warm gaze lands on your shoulder gently rising and falling as you slowly drift off.
He already knows you’re gone by the time he’s standing up and gathering his jacket. Walking around the bed, he glances at the bathroom to check the light’s off and catches a glimpse of his shirt. A coil wraps around his gut at the muddy red handprint pressed into the fabric and he turns away to look at you instead.
Your face is in perfect peace, half-buried into a pillow you’re hugging into your chest, and he only soaks in those features. His hand twitches, and his infinity wavers as he raises his hand as if to touch you. Your eyelids flutter and he freezes, fearing he might’ve woken you up, but you only mumble incoherently and turn into your pillow.
Satoru watches on silently just as a breeze sweeps into the room and he looks up where the window he had cracked open. The breeze takes hold of the plants, uplifts them until they sway like a tender dance.
His chest begins to hurt. The smell of the antiseptic is starting to sting, so he moves his hand to the light switch instead. Flicking it off, he turns to leave.
.
Every time Satoru walks down to the end of the hallway, a different memory will play in his head until he’s playing a movie over and over every single day. Of the first time he met you, although that one is blurry. Your sixteenth birthday when the four of them had piled into your dorm room to drink themselves stupid.
One-and-a-half weeks go by before he realizes that he only replays the moments where you feature. Like his brain is preparing him, reminding him. For what, he doesn’t know.
He can’t come every day—considering the low number of sorcerers has been taken down by one more, it means besides teaching, he still has to work for the Higher Ups as well as his own personal agenda—but when he does make it, he always makes sure that he soaks in every second. Even the horrible parts. Maybe, especially the horrible parts.
You have scans taken every other day to monitor your progress, so when he arrives at an empty room, he isn’t surprised. It’s when there’s movement in the bathroom that sends his nerves prickling until he catches a slab of golden hair and reading glasses flashing in the sunlight.
“Nanami,” he greets.
“Good afternoon.” His jacket’s off and his sleeves are rolled up. With a quick sweep of the room, Satoru notes that the windows are cracked open and the aforementioned jacket is folded over a chair sat in a square of sunlight.
“Do we need to be so formal?” he complains, bypassing the bathroom and searching for another chair. The one Nanami’s taken by the plants is still warm and Satoru isn’t keen on the idea of sweating so soon. During his search, he stops by the windowsill and his eyebrows rise curiously at the new plants and trash bin pressed up right underneath. “What’s happening here?”
“We were planting new seeds when she had to be taken for her scans. She insisted I finish potting the plants.” Noting the empty terracotta, Satoru bends over and prods at the moist dirt. “I have to go soon, though. I had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as it did and she would be back by now.”
“They started taking MRI scans when the branches continued to grow outward rather than inward,” Satoru informs. “It takes around forty-five minutes, on top of the CT scans they’re taking, too. That’s if she doesn’t start coughing in the middle of it.”
“I’m guessing she does.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his nose, wiping at his hands free of the last of whatever dirt might’ve been clinging to his hands.
“Yup.”
“I see.” Satoru looks at the plants again. The blond man across the room throws the towel into the dirty clothes basket.“Has she… spoken to you of what to do with her effects?”
Gaze hardening, he doesn’t move at the question. Of course, he’s thought about it, but those bouts of weakness have never been longer than a few minutes. There’s no use in wasting time on a reality that won’t come until it does.
Hopefully, it never does.
“I’m so sick of everyone talking like she’s signed a death sentence,” Satoru murmurs, turning around to look at the blond man at the door to the washroom. “She still has time. Not a lot. It’s not convenient, but it should be enough.”
“She’s already considered the benefits of taking the surgery, and yet she actively decides to postpone it. You know she’s stalling,” comes the steady reply.
“And what about you?” Satoru asks. His words are biting, icy, but Nanami seems unfazed as he begins to loop the tie around his neck. “Would you do it?” Blue eyes meet a stoic face, and the coldness seeps into Satoru’s body. Nanami sighs.
A part of Satoru wonders why he even bothered asking. He already knows the answer—
“No.” Eyebrows shoot up. His mouth drops open and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Nanami merely continues on, quiet as death. “Perhaps it’s because I’m willing to accept my death, but, to be honest, I don’t know how to let any part of Haibara go. I’ve accepted it, but he’s still in my heart and my head.” Lips parting, Satoru takes a step forward as Nanami slants his body away, continuing to fold the fabric into a tie. He looks statuesque, unmovable, and something tightens in Satoru’s throat at the stone-like mask taking over his face. “I’m unwilling to do anything to taint that memory.”
Wordlessly, the blond walks over to Satoru to take his jacket from the chair, rolling down his sleeves and slapping his watch back onto his wrist. Standing less than two feet apart, the two men finally meet eyes.
“Gojo,” Nanami murmurs. “I can’t say I understand your burden, but I am by your side. I do not always agree with your choices, but I still respect them. As your kouhai and as your colleague.” His lips pull in a facsimile of a wry smile and there’s an understanding Satoru doesn’t understand haunting his handsome face. “However, she is your friend before mine. I think your opinion matters much more than mine. Don’t abuse that power.”
Satoru’s eyes nearly reflect in the lenses of Nanami’s glasses. He wishes his friend would take the damn pair off.
In truth, the reason he’s so irritated is because he knows. If he insists enough, begs enough, there will always be a chance that he can convince you. That you will give in, not because you are selfless, but maybe because you’re too selfish to let him stay mad at you.
An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and sometimes, the force wins.
But he’d promised, hadn’t he? To not be angry with the choices you’ve made?
“Jeez, it’s somber in here. Who died?” you tease as Shoko pushes the wheelchair in after you. Both men look away from each other. You’re still walking steadily, but an IV is hooked into your chest now, and it’s so obvious you’ve lost unhealthy weight that looking at you is hard sometimes. Satoru does, anyway.
Noting Nanami, you straighten up. Surprised, but pleased: “You’re still here.”
“I was just leaving,” he says. You frown, but don’t protest. A jujutsu sorcerer’s work is never finished until one stops breathing. “I finished planting the seeds you asked me to, and watered them.”
“Thank you.” He dips his head to you, then to Shoko, before departing, and you watch him go for a moment before your eyes land on Satoru and you smile. The air around you shifts immediately to a vibrant yellow.
“You’re early, Satoru.” You head towards the bed as Shoko parks the wheelchair by the door. “It took way longer than I thought.”
“That’s because you threw up pistils today,” Shoko replies dryly. Satoru straightens up and looks at Shoko more carefully. Placid lookimg—usual for his mortician friend in the jujutsu world—but there’s a blanching in her knuckles that isn’t usual. “The CT wasn’t good. You know that.”
“Well, it’s still more time than I could’ve asked for, you know.” Shoko shakes her head, and meets his eyes before leaving the room, presumably to talk to your doctors. “Party pooper.”
“First day knowing Shoko?”
You laugh sarcastically, adjusting the hospital gown on your body before climbing into bed slowly, as if your joints ache. Satoru’s feet shift on the tile when he realizes his body moves to help and he freezes. You’re breathing audibly by the time you settle in and you meet his eyes, wondering if he’s noticed.
Of course he has, he wants to tell you. He notices everything about you.
Then, you sigh, and the yellow energy around you flickers into something darker, something grey, something that reminds him of summer thunderstorms.
“The roots have reached the edge of my rib cage and are encroaching on my stomach now,” you inform bluntly. “I probably won’t be able to keep food down in the next couple of days so they’re going to up the ante on this thing.” You gesture to the catheter by your clavicle. “So that’s not really fun. And, they want to start taking scans every single day because the growth is increasing exponentially. The doctors think something triggered the flowers to begin blooming in earnest. Like spring has come to my body, and I’m having the worst fucking time of my life.”
Despite your admission, your smile only falters in that it no longer reaches your eyes. Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do.
The word Hanahaki still burns, whispers coyly in his ear. It teases the tip of his tongue as he watches you look to your windowsill where your new plants are and get up, walking over to inspect your friend’s work.
He wonders if he can bring it up again. If he can insist that there’s a way to save you—
But Nanami’s words linger, too, and he bites his tongue until he tastes iron.
“Oh, look.” He blinks at your voice, turning to look. Your fingers sink into one of the pots and before he can ask, blue energy flares up around your hand and into the soil and a shoot breaks through the dirt, unfurling as it grows higher and higher into the air.
“What is it?” Petals are beginning to form, the shade of a warm, gentle red that fades in shade as it reaches the stem. Satoru comes up next to you as the first flower blooms and his eyebrows rise. “Tulips. Huh.”
“I used to love them,” you tell him, picking it off and extending it to him. Eyebrows furrowing in surprise, he takes it as you sink your fingers deeper into the soil, sending more cursed energy into the seeds. More stems to replace the one you had picked continue to grow and you pull your hand out, wiping at your fingers with a towel.
Satoru tilts the flower towards his nose, taking a whiff.
“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.
“Trees and flowers have their own language.” Your eyes do not meet his as you watch the plant continue to grow. Your muscles go slack, and your fingers touch the petals, mind not quite aware of how you’re moving. “Red tulips mean eternal love, and fame.”
Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom.
Suguru. He hears you say his name, even in the silence, and remembers years ago, walking through Tokyo. A neighbourhood he doesn’t remember, his best friend looking at the florist’s shop and immediately perking up to head inside and buy a bouquet after something had caught his eye.
“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly.
“Only one?” Satoru asked, horrified. “You can’t settle down! We’re meant for so many more women than just one!”
A sharp nudge to the ribs. Raucous laughter. “Shut up!”
Quietly, Satoru’s fingers tighten around the stalk as you tilt your head to the sun, inspecting something he won’t understand. He doesn’t have a green thumb, and although you say you aren’t the smartest, he’s seen you grow the college’s gardens in a way that has amplified the beauty already lingering on the grounds. You had dismissed it as a little side project, but seeing you water your plants dutifully, spread feed and root out weeds, makes him wonder if you know how to put half-efforts into anything.
When you garden, you never take the easy route. You labour for the satisfaction, and pour sweat and tears into the soil.
When you love, you love with all of yourself and more.
It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.
Because he is the same, and they will never change.
When Satoru goes home, he places the tulip in a vase and the cursed energy prickles at his fingertips.
.
You get worse and worse with every visit.
Each day brings him another raw wound, salt on blood. You slowly grow more and more ragged, even though you stay in the hospital, confined to your room.
There are days Satoru walks into your room to you hunched over the toilet, spitting blood and flowers into the bowl and vomiting all you ate the night or day or hour before and he already knows what he has to do. A cold, damp rag to your forehead, a crouching stance beside you as your grip on the toilet seat becomes rigid like steel.
Other days, you’re still asleep because the night before, you’d been hacking up half a lung and half a bouquet. Sometimes, you’re curled around a plastic receptacle already full of your half-attempts to dislodge the pressure building in your chest.
Or, you’re crying into your hands, breath coming in rapid bursts as you try to force your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and Satoru holds you when you beg him to, and stands in the corner of the room when you push him away.
Afterwards, you always grab onto his sleeves, his arms, and sink against him, shivering. For hours after, he’ll curl around you on your hospital bed, no matter how much his body cramps, until you insist you’re fine.
“It’s a little like touching death,” you told him once, voice raw and fatigued. “When it’s a pretty bad day, and I think I’m going to die alone, it happens, so all I have to do is not think about it.”
There’s a flawed logic there, but Satoru was too busy pressing his nose into your hair and feeling the warmth of your body to reply any more than, “I’ll be there. I promise.”
Two weeks pass (fourteen sets of scans, a different pair hanging from the lightscreen every day tell him that) and Satoru watches as the branches spread through your body, past the reaches of your ribs, and the flowers have spread to your lungs so quickly he’s sure the time for you to decide is running out.
You’re near-passed out against him on the bathroom floor one evening, and although it’s not closet-sized, it doens’t make the arrangement any less awkward. He’s up against the bathtub, legs sprawled all around you as he holds you in his arms. On the edge of the tub, there is a bar of bodysoap and a bottle of lotion he recognizes as the same one Shoko used to buy when they still had time. Your sink counter is filled with your toothbrush and cup, handsoap and a microfibre towel hanging off the edge smeared with lipstick, foundation, and black streaks of who knows what.
Shoko must have spent the night while he was out hunting a curse in Sendai. Good. He doesn’t like the nights when you’re alone and he can’t be there.
His fingers brush over your shoulder blade, and he travels over something rigid cloaked by your skin. Your eyes are closed, and you’re nearly asleep as you curl deeper against him. Looking down at you, he presses curious fingers into your shoulder blade only for you to let out a soft groan.
“Did that hurt?”
“No. It just feels like you pressed down on a big sore muscle,” you mumble slowly. He trails his fingers over, feels the bumps of the roots curling around your bones before following it towards your spine. It disappears the closer it reaches the trail of knobs that go down your back, and he moves back to your shoulder again. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”
“Does anything?”
“Mostly my stomach,” you tell him. “I’m so hungry all the time, but I can’t eat.” He glances at the IV stand, the only other witness to the events in this bathroom. It leads down through your gown and past your clavicle. Monitored every day in case the growths dislodge it, it’s one of the only things keeping you alive. “And my throat. It feels like I’ve scratched it out until it’s bleeding.”
He tilts his head. His lips barely brush your sweaty scalp despite how cold you feel in his arms “No surgery?”
You shake your head, what remains of your strength slowly coming back. “They say the flowers and roots have taken up sixty-five percent of my chest cavity. It’s not only inhibiting my lungs, but my heart and stomach, too, so it’d be kind of hard to get rid of it all. Not impossible, but it’s really risky. That, on top of the already-present consequences—”
“So let’s say we start with the lungs,” he cuts off, trying to not sound too desperate but these past few weeks have worn him down to the bone. Although he thinks he’s managed to hide it from his students, Shoko has offered multiple times to prescribe him sleeping pills just so he can shut his mind down.
He said no every time.
Your legs draw up and he squeezes your shoulder carefully, looking down. “Are you ready to get up?”
You nod. “I think so.” He wipes at your lips with the rag he left on the counter and you roll your eyes as he makes sure no blood is left on your face before throwing it back up and carefully adjusting you against him.
“Do you want my help?”
“My answer does not matter to you,” you shoot back teasingly and he lets you pull away from him before reaching up with one hand to push yourself up. Your arm wobbles, your feet kicking back underneath you and slowly finding theirselves on the floor. Satoru withdraws, ducking underneath and back up so he can stand, hands floating around your body as you draw the IV stand towards yourself and grab on. When he’s sure your knees might give in, he grabs your elbow, but you shake your head. “I think I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you breathe, raising your head to look at him. Your lips curl in a soft smile, and you clasp his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he says.
“Not everyone stays for the pathetic girl on the floor of the bathroom floor,” you quip. Turning around, you begin to head back to bed and he trails behind you carefully.
“If the girl’s you, then I think exceptions can be made.”
“Hospital bonus.”
“It adds that you’re in the hospital, too,” he agrees. “My morals are just.”
“Isn’t that a relief?”
It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him.
You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.
Not much to miss, to be honest.
“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”
“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”
You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”
“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”
“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.
“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”
“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”
“No. There’s nothing to even see.”
“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.”
It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare.
“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.
“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Big word for you, Satoru.”
“I still mean it.”
“And I learned that from you.”
He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”
You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you.
When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.
“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.
The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.
“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”
“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.
He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”
“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”
He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”
You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.
.
Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.
Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?
Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.
It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to.
The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.
He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.
He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.
Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after.
“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”
“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless.
He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.
“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.”
Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”
You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”
Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”
“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?”
Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.
“Right.”
“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”
“Yes.”
“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”
“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”
“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“
You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.”
“…thank you.”
Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.
So terribly heartbroken.
And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it?
He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be.
I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.
I’m the Strongest.
The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.
Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.
.
At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.
“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.
“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”
You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.
Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“
“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”
“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.
You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…”
“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. “What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”
“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?���
“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”
“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”
“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”
You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”
He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.
A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.
You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
They continue on.
Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.
In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.
Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt?
Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?
Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again?
Because if so, Satoru understands.
Because if so, Satoru would do the same.
Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…
But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.
Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone.
He glances at the clock.
How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.
Twenty-seven seconds.
Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away.
He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.
He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.
He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.
Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.
“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.
It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”
“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”
“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around.
The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.
“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.”
Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.
Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you.
He smiles. “How’s it feel?”
“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”
“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.
His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.
“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”
“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.
Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.
“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”
“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.
“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”
“I can’t eat, though.”
“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.
You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin.
You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.
Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.
You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.
Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.
Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you.
“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.
“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”
“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”
“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.
Maybe he’ll find out some day.
When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer.
This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.
“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.
“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”
Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.
“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.
Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth.
“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.
“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”
He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself.
“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”
“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”
The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”
You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”
“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.
“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”
He frowns. “Why not try?”
“Give me your phone.”
He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.
He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…
His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”
“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.”
Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters.
Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”
A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.
“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”
The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying.
“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.”
.
Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“
“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”
“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”
“We should do one of both of us.”
“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“
“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.
When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.
The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.
.
Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.
The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them.
Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.
He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing.
Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.
It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…
“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”
“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”
You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”
You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.
It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.
“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.”
An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”
That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.
No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.
You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.
“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”
“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.
“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another.
Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach.
It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.
In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.
His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.
“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.
Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”
Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.
Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.
.
You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.
You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.
His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.
“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.
“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”
“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”
Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.
“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”
“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”
“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.
He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“You’re… going to miss me… more.”
Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break.
Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.
“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.
“Anything.”
“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”
Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”
.
“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.
“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”
He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.
“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more.
Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.
.
Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.
Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…
It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.
You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out.
The doctors have stopped taking scans.
“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”
Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.
Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid.
I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.
“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat.
Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.
Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him.
Click. Hiss.
The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed.
Click. Hiss.
Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.
He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.
You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.
“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.
Another blink, slower this time.
He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.
“Alright, give it your best shot.”
Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.
ANGRY?
“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”
It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.
BETTER
“Better. Yeah?”
Another lethargic blink. Yes.
“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again.
Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory.
Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.
Click. Hiss.
He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face.
“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”
He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient.
HERE
“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”
YOU AND ME
“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”
Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.
“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”
Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.
“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours.
He knows you’re exhausted.
Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”
Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.
“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”
Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator.
It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist
It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.
.
At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.
Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.
Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.
She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.
The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.
Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.
Hours pass by in torturous years.
Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand.
His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds.
There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.
After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.
It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.
Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.
He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.
It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him.
He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.
It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.
.
You die two hours later.
Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.
He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here.
Everything feels dry and dull and grey.
“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.
“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.
They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.
Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare.
Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.
“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.
“Salmon.”
Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do.
Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead.
Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.
“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.
“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.
For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head.
Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”
Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”
Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”
Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”
.
“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”
“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.
It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.
It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.
Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.
Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend.
Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.
“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest.
He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.
Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.
He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.
“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.
“I never thought I’d outlive you.”
Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.
“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.
He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.
But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free.
It feels fucking awful.
“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”
Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps.
Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.
Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.
“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.
Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.
“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.
He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.
Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.
“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”
“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”
“You cursed Rika.”
You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”
Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass.
So he did.
“I see,” he murmurs.
That’s it, then.
“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can.
“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”
“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”
Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too.
“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.
“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”
“But, it won’t be enough.”
“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”
You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time.
“Until we meet again, my Satoru.”
You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you.
Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.
.
“If you want my last words, you already have them.”
Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.
“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.
There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall.
Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls.
Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.
Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.
Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?
Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.
“They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use.
He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.
Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.
Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.
A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival.
He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.
Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.
Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant.
The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.
There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.
Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.
Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up.
Polaroids.
They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.
Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm.
More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.
And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.
There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink.
You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.
Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)
A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world.
You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS
Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world.
It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.
You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.
A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys
And the last one…
He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.
A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.
Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:
THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3
And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:
dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:
One day.
It sounds so much emptier now.
He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.
The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless.
Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.
A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping.
Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.
Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page.
Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.
Thursday.
The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.
“Shit.”
He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this?
Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.
My Satoru,
I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die?
Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.
I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.
I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?
That’s what I thought, too
You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay?
I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.
Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.
If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.
I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.
It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.
Always after.
Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.
Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love.
I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough.
But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either.
Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more.
I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same.
Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.
I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.
Yours forever and ever and ever,
(Name)
.
Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.
“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”
Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.
It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?
“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”
Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.
“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.”
Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”
“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”
“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.
“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”
“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.
“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.”
Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away.
A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.
“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”
“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”
“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.
On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.
One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.
And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.
a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love.
and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN
ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!
#fic: the colour yellow#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojou x reader#gojou x you#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fic#jjk writing#jujutsu kaisen writing#jujutsu kaisen gojo#my writing
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