#try not to include sashisu in a fic challenge impossible

[s7toru]

“so, you’re going then?”

gojo looks back at you, throwing the other end of his scarf around his neck. you’d told him christmas eve would be cold and though something like the weather would never be enough to kill him, you fear touching his body and finding it icy. 

his smile is bright, all teeth. “of course! i have to.”

you curl your fingers into the bedsheets where they still radiate his warmth and it's almost enough to convince you this was any other morning, simply watching your lover leave for work. but if this was truly any other day, you would be sure of his return. 

“you look like you have something to say.” he notices. “say it.”

“i don’t want you to go.”

your confession doesn’t shock him. “personal feelings?”

though it had taken you courage to speak your selfish request, gojo dismisses it with humour immediately. worry spins the frustration in your stomach into red hot anger, and then cools into realisation. 

he’s just deflecting. 

you push yourself up off the mattress and walk over, reaching out to fix the scarf loosely hung around his neck. this wasn't a bad omen, everything will be ok. 

“you look silly.” you tell him instead. 

“you’re the one that insisted i wear this. it’s bright red, sukuna’s gonna see me from a mile away.”

“it only looks silly because you didn’t tuck it in right.” 

you make slow work of the scarf, intentionally playing with the loose yarn on both ends between your fingers, feeling the memories woven into the material. 

when gojo was sealed, your days bled grey. there was very little you remember of that time, those droning nineteen days, barely living and barely awake. the school couldn’t contact you, the ringer on your phone not any louder than the rushing thoughts in your head. moving through each waking hour with insincere actions, dreading the return to your static apartment though it was no better than surrounding yourself with friends. how come they were here, but he wasn’t?

and when fate graced you with sleep, you could almost imagine the smell of him, the feeling of his hair between your fingertips, the soft kisses he’d leave about your sleeping face, his annoying giggle as you aroused slowly from your slumber. your eyes would open yet when you wiped the sleep from your eyes, there would be no one there.

“do you think you could tie my scarf any slower?” gojo remarks, eying your masterpiece. “i wonder if it’s possible.”

“babe.” you sigh, sliding your fingers down to the hem of his shirt, fiddling with the fabric. “please, can we be serious for a second?”

his hand comes up and pauses over yours, scratching you with his calluses. “i don’t think i have time to undress right now, i’ve got to save the world and everything.” 

you pause, leveling him with a stare. “hey.”

“okay, sorry.” he gives you a lop-sided grin, observing the sight of you looking so small and unsure. you hesitate your gaze around his eyes, fearful in finding what’s there. “are you worried about me? you know you don’t have to be.”

“i wish i wasn’t, it’s clearly wasted on you.”

“don’t say that like it’s a bad thing, you can use that time to feel something else. like immense gratitude that i’m your boyfriend.” 

“i just know your arrogance will be your downfall.”

“since when were you a fortune teller?” he reaches for your hand and traces the lines on your palm.

“gojo.”

dropping it immediately, he places his hands in the air. “ok! i’m serious now, i swear. god forbid i make a joke.” 

your eyes crease as you frown. 

gathering the strength to confront him, you pull your eyes to meet his, intending to scold him for being so relaxed when your pulse was pounding in your head, but his gaze was as empty as the abyss. the corners of his mouth trembles slightly, hand seeking comfort by wrapping around your waist and the cold of his skin shocks you. before you say anything, his smile lowers into something sadder. 

the sight pushes you over the edge and whatever mental fortitude you built against the fierce currents of reality comes bursting apart, tumbling just to wash away and he catches you in his arms, holding you in an embrace that’s far too fragile to belong to the stronger sorcerer. 

gojo breathes in the scent of you cradled in his arms, eyes squeezed tight to forever engrave this very moment in his memory. if he was to die, he’d like his last thought to be you. 

your breath shakes against hurried gasps. “this isn’t fair, i can’t lose you again, you just came back to me.”

his arms hold you tighter, pressing you into his chest. “you’re not losing me again, i promise.”

“liar.” you whisper. sorrow molds into hatred, not at gojo, but at the cruelty of fate to mismatch your timelines such that they never meet for long. “liar! you’re walking to your death and you know it! you think i wasn’t there when you came back practically a walking zombie? you had half your face blown of, and to a non-sorcerer at that! this is the king of curses we’re talking about, you’re, i’m—!”

it might have been better if he argued, if he told you that you’re wrong, but his silence stops you. 

“i can’t lose you too.” you finally admit. when you close your eyes, the scene where all four of you still remain mocks you from afar. one by one, you feel their red strings cut away from your own, forever out of reach. and though you stayed working in the shell of where those memories once took place, the eerie feeling that things will never be the same again clung like a persistent ache. 

“you won’t.”

“liar.”

gojo’s breath tickles your skin as he exhales. “i’m sorry.” 

“tell me i’m wrong.”

“you won’t believe me.”

your fingers dig into his clothes, enough to leave a mark. “tell me anyway.” 

he kisses you on the top of your head. “i’ll be back.”

your reply comes through gritted teeth. “you promise?”

you feel him hum rather than hear it, ear pressed against his chest to listen to the erratic thumping of his heart. 

“i have to go.” he kisses you again as if to lessen the punch to your stomach.

slowly, surely, you loosen your hold on him and pull away. the sudden lack of warmth is your first taste of his absence, and the smile he gives you is just as bittersweet. your hands find the ends of the scarf once more, looping it once and then once again around his neck, letting it hang loosely down the sides. 

when gojo returns, his skin is just as cold, clammy even. you feel the slick of sweat as you wrap your arms around him, screaming your sorrows into the cavity in his chest. he’s still wearing that irritating smile on his face, the one you’ve woken up to so many times before, but the sound of his laughter is a memory you won’t relive again. his palms still spell out his love life, of a short passionate affection that forks suddenly, one line longer than the other and your fingers can still trace the calluses lining his hand. he’s as you remember, exactly as he was the morning he left you. 

when gojo comes back to you, he’s still wearing red around his neck.