#geto blurb

you know the hopefulness slipping from your tongue is something that suguru has grown to hate. he hates the guilt that it makes him feel. he hates the reminders of a time where he was so madly in love with you that he couldn't imagine sleeping through one of your sporadic phone calls in the middle of the night. he hates how it reminds him how hard you sobbed when he said those three little words. not 'i love you'...but 'let's break up'.

he hates that it makes him regret things.

so instead, he forces you to bottle it all up.

"i'm not interested anymore, i've told you that." the sound of your poorly mended heart shattering once more is far too familiar. "seriously, we crashed and burned so let's just leave it at that."

this is the third time he's said these words. the first being an hour after he dumped you over the phone, when you called him back amidst uncontrollable sobs and he didn't seem to care all that much. the second being a month after what would've been your first anniversary together, to which he was careless with your heart as you poured it out to him on his doorstep. now, the third, where it's been a whole three months since your untimely break up and your sleep has been lost to you for yet another night.

...and he still doesn't care.

he doesn't care about you.

he doesn't care at all.

why doesn't he care?

"suguru, please." it's pathetic to beg, but what else can you do? "i love you. i want to be with you and i'm willing to do anything to make it work. c'mon, work with me, here." just say yes. just say yes and maybe you'll smile again.

he takes a deep breath. you can count down the seconds until he exhales.

three.

you envision a scenario where he bolts from his bed, frantically grabs his jacket, and drives straight to your house. his hand hovers over the front door, ready to knock, when you fling it open and then fling yourself into his arms. suguru laughs at your eagerness, gently gripping your face beneath your jaw and kissing you tenderly. god, it's been so long since you felt his kisses. you could cry from the overwhelming happiness in your heart. the overwhelming joy that he never fails to make you feel when he's truly and completely in love with you, too.

two.

you recall one of your favorite dreams, one just a few nights ago, where suguru had never broken up with you in the first place. in fact, he thinks the mere thought is comically funny. he'd never ends things. you're the best thing that's ever happened to him and he never fails to tell you that at every hour of the day. he's the perfect boyfriend. he's the ideal husband. he's the man that you've been wishing for for your entire life...but he really is just that. he's a dream.

one.

"i don't love you anymore."

oh...

oh.

you wish this were a scenario. you wish you were sleeping. you wish he could've said anything other than those awful words, but this is reality. dreams don't reflect reality. dreams aren't real. his love for you isn't real. he doesn't love you. he doesn't want you. he doesn't need you. give up. give up. stop making a fool of yourself.

"but i love you."

pathetic.

you're pathetic.

the sigh he exhales is pitiful.

he's so obviously aware of how clingy you've become in your lonesome life that he's not even surprised by your behavior. he's not surprised by your confession. it's almost as if he expected it. he knows your flaws. he knows your stance on abandonment...on attachment...on absence. he knows you can't possibly function in a world without him...

...and he hangs up.

He took a deep breath as he approached your room. He thought you must be asleep, the lights were out inside. A breeze cut through the warm air of the late summer evening and he lit a cigarette, taking a seat on the front steps of the veranda that led up to your room.

The moon is bright tonight, he noted, taking a long drag and letting the smoke pour out from his nostrils. He sat for a while, quiet with his thoughts as the cigarette between his lips burned to flecks of ash. He took out his phone and the screen flashed bright in response. 3:45am.

He’d just come back from a mission in a nearby town, the third consecutive mission he’d taken this week. You were away on assignments too. He counted and recounted the days since the last time he saw you.

He let out another long stream of smoke.

He doesn’t enjoy smoking. In fact, he hates it. But it’s the only thing to cover up the taste. A taste he never wants you to have to know. A taste that has grown almost unbearable in recent days. He stubs out the remains of the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lollipop. Sour apple, he read before twisting the wrapper off, hearing a quiet, bitter laugh escape his lips as the candy clanked between his teeth.

A cigarette to cover up the taste of curses. Candy to cover up the taste of the cigarette. The cycle of his consumption.

The candy had almost completely melted on his tongue when he finally stood, walking up to the sliding door of your room, quietly pushing it open and walking through.

The light of the moon that shone through the opened door lit a sliver of your face; you were turned on your side, hands resting on the pillow beside your face, the blanket over your shoulder rising and falling quietly with your breaths.

He slid the door closed behind him and walked over to your desk by the window. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and set it down on the desk. He tugged gently at the band holding his hair up, shaking it loose over his shoulders. He pulled his shirt over his head, and slid out of the rest of his clothes. He sat down on the edge of the futon, pulling the blanket up gently and slid in beside you.

The air inside your room was cooly circulating from the rotating fan in the corner. But under the covers it was warm. You were warm.

He slid an arm languidly over the dip in your waist, flattening his palm against your skin under the t-shirt you were wearing. It was one of his. He scooted close to you, pulling you back against him gently so you could mold to the space between his shoulders, against his chest.

You stirred softly.

“..did you just get back?”

He felt a smile lift on his face at the sound of your voice, half asleep, a little raspy, hauntingly sweet. Eyes closed, he leaned into the curve of your neck, planting soft kisses on your skin. You whine a little and he tugs you closer.

“..Suguru..it’s too hot to sleep like this.” 

You tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

He laughed softly against your skin, threading his other arm under your neck and wrapping it around your chest, his hand gripped tightly onto your shoulder, holding you flush against him.

“Stop fussing,” he cooed in your ear. “Go back to sleep.”

You grumble something into the pillow, twisting a little in his arms until you find that perfect, comfortable position, against the expanse of his chest that’s perfectly shaped to you, and you settle.

It wasn’t long before he felt your breathing even out and you had drifted back to sleep, and soon he was lulled to sleep by the cadence of your heartbeat against him.

/

You woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the soft tinkling of kitchen appliances. Sunlight shone brightly through the window, and you sat up rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You glance at the clock on the floor beside you. 8:35am. He was always up before you.

You slide out from under the covers and tug at the blanket in a haphazard attempt to straighten it out.

At the little kitchenette on the opposite end of your room, Suguru stood in his off-duty clothes; a black t-shirt and a pair of sweats, sipping a cup of coffee, waiting for the toaster.

You amble over to him lazily, sliding your arms around his torso from behind him.

“Good morning, lazy bones.”

You could hear the smile in his voice, the vibration of the timbre of his voice against your skin.

You whine, hugging him tighter and snuggling your face against his back. It’d only been a few days since you last saw each other but you missed this. Him, here, with you, in the soft light of the early morning, drinking coffee. You take a deep breath. Something sweet, no doubt the spoonfuls of sugar he added to his coffee. He never makes his coffee like his in public, he had a reputation to maintain. You smiled at this.

Underneath the sweetness there was a slight twinge of tobacco smoke mixed with his natural scent; something surprisingly delicate and ethereal, rose petals caught in the wind. And the deepest note; it was bitter, and would be suffocatingly acrid if not for the layers of sweetness that coated it.

Suguru always did his best to hide it, to keep it from you. He thinks you can’t tell. But you always knew.

And in recent days, it’s gotten worse. Nevermind the bitter taste and smell of the hundreds of curses in his possession that would ooze from his skin, you didn’t care about that. But the way he had been growing thin in your arms, the bruised, dark circles underneath his eyes, the increasingly pale pallor of his skin..

But he never said a thing. And if you asked, he always smiled at you with that sweet smile of his, mussing with your hair and would insist, “It’s nothing love, just the summer heat.”

You unravel your arms from around him and prop yourself to a seat on the counter beside him. You reach out and tug at his shirt hem and pull him close.

He didn’t have words to adequately describe the way you made him feel. He didn’t have words for how much he loves the way you tug at his shirt, the way you pull him in close between your legs, the way you lace your arms up around his neck, run your fingers through his hair.

It’s more than enough to drive him to madness. But he never loses himself. He can’t. He always has to be in control. He is always in complete control. Of you. Of himself. Of the curses in his possession.

He watches every microscopic change in your expression as he moves his lips against yours; the little crinkle in your brow followed by a soft whine when he tentatively pushes the tip of his tongue into your mouth, the way you arch your back against him when he runs his fingertips up the column of your spine underneath the t-shirt you’re wearing, the way your hair glides from your shoulders when you let your head fall back, exposing your throat to him like an offering.

He likes to be slow and gentle with you on mornings like these. Though it’s only been a few days, it always felt like a lifetime to be away from you. So he liked to take his time with you; trace his fingers along every line and curve of your body, drag his tongue along the most sensitive parts of you, slowly, achingly, possessively, sink himself deep inside you and let you use him to your pleasure. He loved the way you dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders, like you were hanging on for your life. He loved the way you ground your hips into him with such desperation. He loved seeing you completely come apart beneath him.

He gives himself to you once, again, and again in the shower, until you’re both spent, hands grasping helplessly against the tiles of the bathroom, struggling to breathe in the steam of the hot water.

“I wish you didn’t have to go again so soon..”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, towel around his waist, unwrapping a piece of lemon-lime candy and popping it into his mouth.

“It’s only a day trip,” you walked over to him after putting on your uniform. He reached his hands out and gripped onto your waist, pulling you in and resting his forehead against your stomach. You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I’ll be back before bed.”

He lifted his head to look at you, at your smile.

It’s only a day trip.

It’s only a day trip except a mere eleven hours after he let you leave his arms that morning, you were rushed back by Ijichi, the screeching tires of his car as it skidded to a stop in front of the infirmary was loud enough to wake almost everyone on campus.

He ran.

He spun around the corner to the room where you were being treated by Shoko, past a visibly distraught Haibara crouched against the wall in the hallway, head hidden in his hands, covered in blood.

Between Nanami and Ijichi holding him back, Shoko’s persistent hands pushing him out of the room, and Haibara’s cries from the corner, he could only catch a glimpse of you.

Of your small, fragile body, lying unmoving, broken and bloodied on the infirmary bed.

He paced the hallway outside the room for what felt like hours. Nanami and Ijichi finally managed to calm Haibara down enough for him to tell them what happened.

The mission was supposed to go to Gojo, but for whatever reason; he had somewhere else to be, he had a more important mission to attend to, he just didn’t feel like it, whichever reason seemed to be the excuse of the day because Gojo is Gojo. The mission fell to you, and Haibara was to assist you.

This was supposed to be a grade 1 curse at an elementary school. But when you and Haibara got there, it was immediately clear that it was not just a grade 1. It was an unregistered special grade. And you, a grade 1 sorcerer, was dealing real damage to the special grade curse and you would’ve exorcised it too, had it not taken a teacher hostage.

Suguru listened, his hands clenched in fists so tight at his sides his nails drew blood in his palm.

When Shoko finally emerged from the room, she looked withered, completely worn.

“She’s going to be ok.”

He sat beside you, holding your hand in his, not leaving your side for even a moment that night. He stayed with you until you woke up.

And when you woke, you smiled. It took all of his power not to absolutely lose it and unleash all the curses in his arsenal on the campus. He wanted to burn everything down. For your smile. The fact that you woke from the brink of death, and you smiled.

How could you? How could you smile like all of this hadn’t happened? You were willing to sacrifice your life to save someone who does nothing except contribute to this evil in the world. These non-sorcerers, the lazy, disease-ridden, powerless and pathetic non-sorcerers who contribute nothing to this world except pollute it with their negativity. And gentle, beautiful creatures like you have to suffer for it, and why? His anger, his despair, it built and built and his cursed energy was on the brink of imploding and-

“Suguru..?”

Your voice was sweet as it ever was, sweet and clear as spring water.

“I’m getting promoted to special grade.”

He watched with wide eyes as you smiled proudly, naively.

/

There was a profound shift in Suguru, you could feel it.

In the weeks following your hospitalization, things began changing. You couldn’t quite place exactly what happened first, or what led to what. But you knew how you felt. You knew how he began to make you feel. And you knew the truth was you could trace it all the way back to when Riko died.

First it was his consumption, which had almost tripled in the weeks that followed. He began taking more missions, a lot more missions. He’d come home to you, eyes wild, the bitter, acrid taste of curses heavy on his lips as he pushed his tongue onto yours. He no longer tried to hide it. And more and more, he became increasingly rough with you. But you didn’t mind. Didn’t mind the way he’d bite your lip to the point of drawing blood, didn’t mind the way pin you down and rip your clothes from your body, didn’t mind the way he’d hold your legs apart and push himself into you with a renewed desperation and ferocity. You loved him.

And he loved you. He’d said it to you late one autumn evening when he came up behind you as you glanced at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. You hardly recognized yourself; the way your eyes were dark and sunken in, a trail of violent clots of blood along your neck and chest where his lips had latched onto your skin. He’d come up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nestling his face into the crook of your neck.

“I love you,” he whispered into your skin.

You turned, reaching up to gently brush a few strands of hair from his eyes.

Those three words are supposed to mean something. They’re supposed to mean everything. But in that moment it wasn’t what you wanted to hear most. You wanted him to tell you what was wrong. You wanted him to let you in. You wanted him to tell you about the raging storm of thoughts you could tell was constantly swirling in his mind. You wanted him to tell you about his plans. Something was coming, you could tell. He was on the brink. And you held onto him so desperately, the parts of him you still recognized. But you remained understanding, patient, careful not to pry because when you asked a provoking question he, at best, deflects, at worst, leaves.

But you didn’t want him to be alone. You didn’t want him to feel alone. He was suffering, you could tell. But you were so helpless to do anything about it. You loved him.

And so you wrapped your arms around him and held him close and whispered “I love you, too.”

/

“I’m not convinced Y/N is real.”

Suguru threw his head back in raucous laughter. “What do you mean you’re not convinced, I don’t have to prove anything to you.” He smiled, his new smile; half deceit, half condescension.

“Well then why haven’t you introduced her to us,” Nanako rolled her eyes and continued the game she was playing on her phone.

He scoffed, glancing over at Mimiko, who sat quietly in the seat beside him in the quaint little cafe that Nanako insisted on trying out. “Are you gonna give me grief too?”

Mimiko shrugged, hugging her stuffed bear close, sipping hot cocoa.

He didn’t have anything to prove to them. He couldn’t.

When word spread of the massacre in the village where he rescued Nanako and Mimiko, he’d gone to the place where he knew you would find him. A little park bench, worn from time and weather, under an old oak grove; a place full of peaceful and beautiful memories of the two of you walking together, hand in hand, when you still laughed, when you still smiled. Why didn’t you laugh with him anymore? Why didn’t you smile for him the way you used to?

He was certain when he arrived he’d find you waiting there for him. That he’d find you anxiously awaiting your new life with him. That he’d see you’ve packed all your belongings and that they’d be in a duffle bag by your feet. That you’d be prepared to be with him, to dedicate your life and your powers to his cause. That you’d be with him forever.

But when he emerged from the trees and saw you seated on the bench, he knew he was wrong.

You were seated quietly, hunched over, your hands in your lap, palms up. You did not have your bags packed. You were not wearing clothes that were warm enough for this early winter weather. And he knew.

You were not going to leave with him. You weren’t even dressed to have an extended conversation with him.

He felt something rise in the pit of his stomach, something hot and twisted, a bitter resentment boiling to his chest and up into his throat. Anger. Fear. Paranoia.

He couldn’t stay. He’d already risked too much by coming here in the first place. You’re probably waiting to demand an explanation from him. You’re probably here as bait to lure him into a trap, to his capture. Didn’t you love him? Didn’t you say you loved him? How could you? Why couldn’t you understand? He was building a new world. He was going to rid the world of the ugly thing that caused all your pain. Don’t you get it? He wanted this for you, for both of you. He’d put together a whole new family for you. Why didn’t you want to be with him? Why do you have to side with them?

You waited on that park bench until the sun had passed far below the horizon, and the evening clouds had given way to a dark winter sky and the moon shone bright. He never showed. Though you didn’t exactly expect he would.

You wanted to see him. You desperately wanted to see him. You wanted to fall to your knees before him, to hold his hand to your heart and tell him how much you loved him, how for a long time now you’ve wanted to go away with him. But not to this.

There’s a little cabin in a faraway town, between a trickling crystal river where a valley of wildflowers meets a lush, green mountain. A place you’d wanted to take him to for a long time. A place where you thought he could breathe. Far from all of this.

Ever since Haibara’s death, you’d become increasingly disillusioned with the jujutsu world, but in a different way than Suguru. You had no philosophy about how the world should be. No holy mission to put your hands around the world and bend it until you break it into the way you think it should be.

You just wanted him.

You wanted those days of peace, when it was just him and you, and the quiet summer mornings full of sunlight and the light chirping of crickets, and the smell of coffee, and the feeling of the soft, cotton fabric of his clothes under your fingertips.

But you were too late.

And in the months that followed, you found yourself frequently visiting that little park bench. And on some days you’d even see him, the gentle sway of his dark hair against his shoulders, the end of a lollipop? A cigarette? Sticking out from between his lips. He’d turn and see you walking towards him, and he’d smile, that sweet, loving smile of his that you’ve held so close to your heart it’s burned and etched into your flesh, a scar. But you’d blink and realize it was nothing more than a mirage created by your mind that’s infected with delusion, plagued by insomnia since he left, since you could no longer fall asleep in the warm cradle of his arms.

/

The elders were going on about Suguru’s declaration of war, and Gojo could not help himself arguing with them. You sat in the corner of the room, you didn’t hear a thing that was said. Your mind had long since registered anything they said to you.

That night as you laid awake, eyes dry and red, withered and stinging from the endless tears that came at night when you’d put on one of his t-shirts, clutching them and breathing them in until they no longer carried his scent, until there were no tears left, you were jolted to your feet by a sudden overwhelming wave of cursed energy, palpable and seeping through the crack in the door to your room.

You were about to activate your technique but the curse was overwhelmingly fast and strong, and in a complete blur of movement, you were consumed by the curse, consumed by darkness.

When you woke it was in a room you didn’t recognize. Stained wood paneling on the ceiling, the feeling of silk bedding cocooning your body. You sat quickly, on guard.

He was there. Seated against the wall on the far corner of the room. You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. He isn’t real. He isn’t real. He isn’t-

But in an instant he was by your side.

Tomorrow is the day he will bring an end to it all. But before that, he needed to see you. He needed to know. Were you lying when you said you loved me?

He crept his fingers up the cool skin on your chest, exposed under the baggy collar of one of his old t-shirts. They crept up to the edge of your neck, he was closing his fingers around your throat but-

A small, fragile hand, with unsure movements lifted to his face. Your fingertips grazed softly against the skin of his cheek, under the veil of the dark hair that framed his eyes. He heard your breath hitch softly, the corners of your eyes welled up, a teardrop fell.

“Is it really you?”

Your voice was barely a whisper but it was enough for him.

When he kissed you, it was like how it was in the beginning. He had intended to punish you, to hold you down and force you to look at him and tell him the truth. Why didn’t you leave with him? Why didn’t you love him? Why couldn’t you understand him? It all faded now that he had you in his arms again. For months and months his mind and his heart festered in the thought that you didn’t really love him, that you had chosen not to be with him, that you condemned him the way his best friend and his peers did. But he was wrong. He could tell by your gasping breaths against his lips, the way you clung to him with fragile arms, the tears that streamed from your eyes, and-

“I missed you..”

A stifled sob, you pulled away for only a moment, to look at him, god he’s missed your voice. But not even the tears that poured from your eyes, not even the sniffles could hide it; he could see it on your face, plain as day; when your eyes met his, you smiled.

It was the smallest lift of the corners of your mouth. But it was enough for him.

You smiled.

“I miss you..”

When his lips found yours again, he was so gentle and so sweet, like in the best days you remember with him. He glided his palms along your skin like he was exploring and discovering your body for the first time. His fingertips clamped down into your skin to pull you close as possessively as he ever was, like he does not intend to ever let you go, like he never did let you go.

After, you lay beside him, cradled in his arms, and he felt as though a fog had lifted, a fog of doubt and regret that he didn’t even realize how much he’d let it grow, how much he’d let his resentment pollute his memories of you. It was all so clear now. He loves you.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Your face was pressed gently against his chest, eyelashes fluttering against his skin and he pulled you into him tighter in his arms. He let out a deep sigh.

“What?” you ask softly, peering up at him.

“You’ve grown so thin..” he traced his fingertips along the ridges and dips of your ribs. “When I get back tomorrow, I’m going to have Larue make you the most amazing meal. He’s a bit of a grouch, but he’ll warm up to you. He doesn’t look it, but he’s an incredible chef, he always cooks for the family,” he laughed softly. “And Nana and Mimi, those brats, they’ve been pestering me to introduce you to them. It’s really quite exasperating, but I know they need a strong female figure, a mother, in their life. They’re just kids, but they have a lot of potential, albeit a little rough around the edges, and- what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

It was one of those incredible moments of clarity for you. And in that moment, the tears would not stop.

When I get back tomorrow...

Family...

A mother...

You reached a hand out to brush a few strands of hair from his eyes, caressing his cheek softly.

“Y/N..what’s wrong?”

“I’m just..I’m really happy,” you smiled, but the tears still would not stop. “I’m really happy that you’ve built a life for yourself here..that you’ve found a family..a family that loves you, and cares for you, and will always be here for you..” you stifled back a sob.

He could hear the hesitancy in your voice. I have a built a life here, I built this for us. This is your family too..they’ll love you too..we’ll always be here for you too..

“Seeing that you’re doing well, I’m so happy for you,” You took a deep breath. “Suguru, I’m leaving,” you glance up at him through watery eyes. He looked back into your eyes intently, hanging on your every word.

“Last year, I went on that mission in Oshika, remember, in Nagano? It took so long to get there but.. while I was there I found this little cabin..it’s so beautiful, Suguru, I wish you could’ve been there with me..it’s beside these crystal clear streams that flowed down from the mountain, in this valley covered in wildflowers, at the foot of the mountain..”

You couldn’t bear to look at him for this next part. “Tomorrow...I’m not going to try to stop you. But I can’t stand beside you. I’ll be waiting for you, at the little cabin. If you follow my residuals you’ll be able to find it. Only you can find it, I’ve made sure of that..but I want you to know I heard you, that you have a life and a family here, so you don’t have to be with me...but for me- there’s no life for me without you,” the tears flew down and you tried to smile, your eyes met his again.

“Maybe, just once in a while, maybe just once in a while you could bring your family, and come visit and-”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He covered your mouth with his, his arms wrapped so tightly around you he thought you might break.

He didn’t know. And he hated himself for not knowing. All this time he’d resented you, wallowing in his own hurt, commiserating with the part of himself that wanted to hate you for leaving him. But all this time, you suffered too. You were hurt too.

But this is it. This is how everything is going to get better. This was the future. This was a moment of clarity for him like he’d never felt before. He could have you. After tomorrow, he would have you, he would be with you forever. He would give you a beautiful new world. He would give you a family. And you would all live happily in the little cabin in the valley of wildflowers.

He fell asleep with you in his arms that night and slept for the first time in ages, content with the knowledge that after tomorrow, everything was going to change, everything would be perfect.

When he woke you were already gone, but he found himself surrounded by the residuals of your energy. He’d never felt anything like it before; it was as though the molecules in the air vibrated with electricity around him, it contained him, it moved with him, it energized him. And he dressed for the day, smiling with a renewed vigor. This would be the start of the rest of your lives together.

The rest of your lives together..

He laughed bitterly at himself as he clutched the open, gashing wound on the side of his body, limping through the darkened alley.

He was tired.

Just a little further..just a little further to you.

He recognized you were hundreds of miles away but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He couldn’t. He would be with you. Even like this, he would go to you. He had to..

But he was so tired.

He slid down to the ground, head hunched over. His vision was blurring, his eyelids were growing heavy, he would spend this time warm in the energy of your residuals except- suddenly it dissipated.

Your residuals, they were gone.

He lifted his head, looking around as if he could see it, he looked for it. But he couldn’t feel it anymore. He couldn’t feel you anymore. His eyes grew wide.

“...Y/N...?”

“So you can tell?”

He turned to see Gojo standing above him. He scoffed at the sight of him.

“Tell what?” he asked, fist clenched at his side.

Gojo paused for a moment. “She’s gone, Suguru.”

He looked up at Gojo, blinking.

“Last night a huge amount of unregistered cursed energy appeared on campus, that was you wasn’t it?”

Suguru said nothing.

Gojo continued. “Yaga went to find Y/N this morning, all semi-grade 1’s and above were meant to gather in preparation. He felt the residuals in her room. And he saw that all her bags were packed.”

No..

“He and Gakuganji were convinced she was in cahoots with you. They sent Mei Mei.”

No. No. No. NO-

“I know she wasn’t. She may have loved you, but she wasn’t insane like you. But I was too late, they’d already dispatched Mei Mei.”

“Mei can’t take her."

He fought back. He fought back against this with all his will, as if he could reverse it all simply by wishing it so.

“No, Mei Mei can’t. Not unless Y/N doesn’t fight back.”

Suguru’s head dropped.

He understood.

“...she never thought I’d actually win this battle, did she?” he whispered, half as a question to Gojo, half as a statement to himself.

Gojo shook his head. “But I think she still held out hope that you would.”

I’m happy that you’ve built a life for yourself..

I’m happy that you’ve found a family that loves you..

I’m leaving..

There’s no life for me without you..

He gritted his teeth. I’ve still got some fight left in me, Y/N so how dare you give up on me, don’t you give up on me. I just have to get to you..I just have to get to you..we’ll be happy together, I just have to-

You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye..

I love you, too..

Your words played in his mind on an endless loop, haunting what remained of his consciousness.

Your words played over the reel of memories flashing through his mind, of sunlight, a veneer of a smile, a soft echo of a laugh, the gentle caress of a kiss on his lips..

“Suguru.”

He let out a soft laugh when Gojo was done speaking.

He took a frail breath in. “You should at least curse me in the end.”

There was a bright flash of light, and the darkness set in.

But it wasn’t cold like he feared.

There was something warm, like the feeling of soft sunlight on his skin.

And in the darkness, a pair of small hands reached out, and welcomed him.

fin.

///

"suguru how do you expect me to read when my heart is in a million pieces?"

he doesn't think he's ever met a person as dramatic as you are.

"these books can't teach me how to get laid."

it's kind of cute, though. annoying...but cute.

with the november breeze sweeping the leaves from every tree on campus, winter is approaching fast and geto feels like your irritation towards gojo is at an overwhelming high. there really isn't anything he can do about it. after all, he wasn't there when you oh-so-spontaneously confessed your undying love for satoru on halloween; to which you received a brutal rejection...this is why geto doesn't date— especially why he doesn't date in a world run by satoru gojo.

now, geto has done his very best at trying to distract you from the devastating heartbreak that comes with loving his best friend. there have many so many girls before you who've tried to get on with him after being ignored by the white haired boy; which is extremely insulting that any of them thought geto would be an easy target or a second option to satoru. when geto does fall in love, he hopes that it'll be with someone who chooses him first. someone who doesn't even consider their other options and believes that he's the only person in the entire world who can fit with their uneven puzzle piece. clearly, gojo isn't the person to fit with yours.

"maybe you just need to sit down and be silent?" he purses his lips in annoyance, trying his best to focus on the words of poetry and rhyme. poems are the language of love. you could take some advice from these lines. "you're talking so much that you're not even enjoying the book."

you groan. "this book is boring. who the fuck reads poetry for fun?"

um. he does.

the glare he sends your way is intimidating, but also gentle. "what would you like to read instead? since you're such an avid reader?"

his sarcasm is meant to be insulting.

a mischievous smile creeps into the corners of your lips; smile likes yours used to scare him as a child after having seen alice in wonderland one too many times. he never understood the other children's fascination with a purple, talking cat. it's just weird. "how about this one!"

the book your present to him isn't anything he's read before. actually, it's something that he hopes to never read ever. "you're kidding."

"dead serious!"

how is a cheesy romance supposed to make you feel better?

"that's just going to make you feel worse, y'know." he gently takes the book from your hands and shuffles through the pages. with his head nodding along to each words his eyes skim, it's painfully obvious that you're going to read this book imagining the male lead to be satoru. "you have such an active imagination, you'll be heartbroken all over again."

with his words, your smile melts and geto knows he's right. "satoru is a lost cause in the romance department." he explains, scooting a little closer to you and rubbing your knee. the two of you have been seated on the floor of the lovely little bookshop near campus for an hour now. you're practically the only two people in the entire store, which has made this fake date feel a little more real. "i promise that you're better off dating anyone other than him."

you don't move away from the comfort of his palm, and instead lean into it; but your words are in defense of gojo. they always are. you can't seem to find it in your heart to let him go— no matter how awful of a rejection. "he's not a bad guy. he just needs a little help learning how to love."

the look in your eyes is earnest and geto sees that you believe your statements with your whole heart.

"i can be the person to help him learn."

there's no physical tell that you're upset, but he can somehow sense that you're about to cry. maybe it's the way you slightly tensed up with your body rejecting his soft touch or the way your gaze refused to meet his; no matter, he's going to cheer you up anyways. there aren't many people that geto can make smile— but somehow, in the past four months of being your friend (?), you've become the only person he cares to cheer up.

he murmurs your name in the most comforting, gentle voice that anyone's ever spoken to you. "you are the most talented, most interesting, and most extraordinary person in the universe; and you are capable of amazing things—"

"because you are the special. suguru, i've seen the lego movie. you're not being slick." aw man.

your tone of voice is irritated, yet you still laugh. yes, geto knows that might possibly have been the stupidest and cheesiest thing he's done in his whole life, but he doesn't care. he made you smile. him! not satoru. geto suguru made you smile. it's not something he'd win an olympic medal for, though in his mind it's worth more than that. he doesn't know when you became so special to him. he doesn't know how you managed to creep your way into his heart and cause this embarrassing blush to consume his cheeks; and he isn't bothered to figure it out.

he doesn't want to rejoice in your heartbreak...however, there is a tiny part of him that's happy satoru doesn't love you back.

maybe it's finally time suguru gets to be loved.

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