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it’s not even a “they fell apart” kind of tragedy. it’s so much worse. suguru died, and then got turned into a puppet, and then gojo had to keep living in a world where his best friend’s corpse was smiling at him. talking to him. looking at him like nothing ever happened. you know how violating that is??? how soul-crushing it must’ve been to hear that voice and know it wasn’t him?? that his suguru was long gone and all that was left was a cruel joke played by the universe???

kenjaku didn’t just take his body, he took everything. his identity, his name, his legacy. made a mockery of it. reduced him to a vessel. and gojo could never do anything about it. he couldn’t kill him, not really. not without killing suguru all over again. and the worst part is that he hesitated. he always hesitated. because he kept hoping—kept hoping—that maybe there was something left. that maybe, just maybe, suguru was still in there. listening. waiting.

and that is the most heartbreaking thing. gojo never moved on. he couldn’t. he never even got the chance to grieve properly because the body never went cold. the body kept moving. kept smiling. kept killing.

suguru never got to rest.

and gojo never got to let go.

and in the end… they were both just trapped. one in a body that wasn’t his, the other in a memory he couldn’t escape.