Chapter Text
Gojo Satoru is aware he’s not dying.
Especially as he’s falling to this plain abyss of nothingness. It’s rather odd how these weeks have been turning over; his wife leaving him without another word, how his best friend turned out to be alive but momentarily, he comes to the instantaneous realization that it wasn’t him. He feels his life turning out to be some tragic play.
He’s getting tired of how unfair everything was around him.
Didn’t life want to give him a breather?
“How are you even sure Y/N L/N is still alive?” “Satoru, at some point, if no one is coming up on the radar, that would mean she’s as good as gone.” “It’s time to give up,-”
He shuts his eyes tight to the point where he could feel every inch of his body. The free flow of it and how he only welcomes defeat since that’s the only choice he has as of the moment. His descent turns rapid, the air pressure surrounding him seemingly gone to the point where he feels like he’s being smothered by something. He’s expecting this is how it’ll be until he finds a way out or better yet, up till someone saves him.
Thousands of voices, questions, yells of people he couldn’t distinguish anymore and suddenly, it’s a long round of silence.
He braces himself for an impact.
He expects something hard, enough to break his head or something along the lines of that yet it’s the exact opposite; it’s soft, plush, and pleasant to the touch even.
“Satoru-san?” traces of unfamiliar warmth could be felt on his bare skin along with that repugnant smell of expensive perfume that he’s never got a whiff off. His tunneled vision blurry like he had just woken up from a deep slumber. Unlike the usual response, his eyes do not blench themselves shut because of the pain. it’s different. Something new.
He turns to his side, wondering who was next to him, only for him to immediately draw back because she was exposed with only a blanket to cover her. His eyes turn as wide as saucers when he lugs himself out of bed.Like her, he was as bare as the day he was born. With a throbbing head and no recollection of what had happened the night before, his body starts trembling, what did he do? No, he wouldn’t do that to you. He wasn’t prancing around like a brazen idiot.
This wasn’t right.
“Who are you?” he grasps one side of his head, trying to regain control of his senses. What type of sick joke were they trying to pull on him? Did they not have any respect? Why can’t he see this brunette’s cursed energy? Everyone has one. What happened to his limitless? Why can’t he feel anything?
Questions start to pile up in his head as he tries to scratch his neck to grasp for comfort yet the cold accessory that he considered as valuable as his own life is gone as if it didn’t exist in the first place, “Who the fuck are you? What did you do with my wedding ring?” he marches up to her yet like a rabbit, she only shakes under his gaze. His nostrils flared, skin turning flushed from all the anger.
“Satoru-san, I’m Aina-” she tries to sit up, mirroring his expression and holding out her hand to touch his arm yet Gojo Satoru is not in a joking mood right now. Who did this woman think she is? Approaching him like this?
“The only woman who I allow to touch me is my wife…” He spat, his stony blue eyes are filled only with frigid iciness when he swats her hand away. He snatches up her clothes and throws them in front of her before taking his polo from the ground. His hands are shaking when he tries to button up his shirt, clearly frazzled by what had just happened, “And you aren’t her…” he adds, “Get out…” as if she was clearly aware of his sobriety, she starts tumbling out words of apologies, hurriedly gathering her clothes and putting them on along with muttering something about passing her letter of resignation.
Satoru thinks he’s in a hotel room, one wherein he’s not sure how he’d end up in the first place. His body feels rough, lethargic like he was recovering from a fever. There's a sudden hit of nausea, as well. Where was he even the night before? Had he drank and was currently suffering from a hangover? He’s never been one to immerse himself in alcohol even while you had gone missing. All he recalls was coming into the train station by Shibuya and nothing else. In fact, everything seemed blurry.
Yet when he clicks open the door, ready to leave and go back to your shared home, he stops short and frozen at the spot when he realizes he’s at a bachelor pad. Eyes warily darted on the photo frames, one that wasn’t even of the both of you but of him and his deceased parents and some abroad.
Even that big photo frame you two had during your wedding last year wasn’t there.
“What…” he staggers towards the frame, trying to keep his balance. It seemed to have been recent because of how old he had looked which wasn’t even possible because his mother had died right after he was born and his father had passed before he could even formulate a proper memory of the old man. He gulps down a big chunk of saliva as he places the frame down carefully, he turns to the few awards, unfamiliar words like ‘Fortune World's Most Admired Companies’ and ‘Think Global’ written on top of it.
He wasn’t at a hotel.
This is his home.
No, where were your things? His wedding ring? He runs back to the dull bedroom. No lavenders and vanillas could be smelled, your vanity table filled with the precious things he immediately replaced is gone, the flowers and so are the books that you seem to like are not there anymore, as well. There is not even a single trace of you as he opens his closet, stuffy suits and monotonous grey colors are the only thing in there. The colorful dresses and beautiful kimonos that he had replaced had no space here.
He doesn’t want to believe what he sees.
He flings his hand upwards, trying to flick his finger in order to check his technique but nothing comes out. So that was why his eyes hadn’t hurt anymore. He lets out a raspy and shaky breath, getting ahold of his wrist to stop his hand from trembling, “Ha…” his lips part to let out a strong expiration. He’s trying to find sense in what was going on around him as he starts cupping his eyes, making sure they were still there.
He did not have much memory of what had been going on, they were all so blurry. He also had no cursed technique. In other words, he’s useless. His gaze zeros on the large window that overlooked the large skyscrapers. Lightly, he pads through the window, “Where am I?” he mumbled to himself, placing his hand on top of the cool glass. His senses are still working, dreams aren’t usually this vivid and graphic.
Was this some type of alternate reality? He’s not aware of curses doing anything this strong especially to a special grade like him. Cancelling out a part of his recent memories along with his cursed technique, even taking him here. What was their plan? What was with the props?
The sound of the door opening and closing throws him off guard and almost makes him jump on the spot, he turns to the door, expecting to curse out that stranger awhile ago. Instead, there stands Ieiri Shoko. Tired brown eyes narrowed down on her friend and Satoru could only let out a strong exhale of relief, “Ieiri? You’re here too? Thank god, I thought I was the only one. Where are we? In a curse?” he inquired.
The brunette’s expression turns unreadable, then she lets out a frown as if he had said something mind-boggling, “Satoru?” she approaches him, “Are you alright? Have you been drinking?”
“What?” he parts his lips, clearly alarmed by her query, “What do you mean drinking? You know I can’t drink!” he trails a few steps back, holding a finger out, “Wait,” he places his hands over his mouth before pointing it towards her, “What joke are you all playing? Where’s Y/N’s things?” he continues.
“Y/N?” she repeats your name, hand on her hip. Only confusion was painted on her face, “Satoru, who is Y/N?” it’s almost like he wants to rip his hair out in sheer frustration, how did people not know his wife? The very same ones who rooted for the relationship were now pretending that they didn’t know you just because you had gone missing. He lets out a scornful laugh, clearly not finding this funny anymore.
“Y/N, My wife… I married her on June last year and I've been engaged to her since I barely knew how to talk…” he starts to list, “My wife, My Y/N, Ieiri…” he repeats your name like a ballad that’s been ingrained in his memory, not wanting to forget you even if the remembrance of you only evoked a painful anecdote. He’s almost desperate, disheartened even because not only did he not have his cursed technique and empty patches in his memory, he’s stuck in a place where no one even knew you.
He turns around, not wanting to see nor hear the astray and disoriented retort of his friend because she looked like she wasn’t even joking around, “Forget it,” he roughly runs his fingers through the tufts of his messy hair, this must be a bad dream. The lack of sleep and overwork was finally getting to him, he might need to chat up Yaga regarding this. His mind must’ve been breaking down from it all, “This might just be a bad dream...” he cursed yet Shoko Ieiri still has her perceptible gaze on her best friend, “I’ll go back to sleep-”
“What do you mean sleep? You have a meeting at nine with the mergers of America. Your father and mother wants to see you since you’ve been avoiding him apparen-”
“My otosan and okaasan is dead, Ieiri.” he turns to her yet she’s only appalled, mouth forming to a large ‘o’ at his comeback.
“Don’t say that to your parents, Satoru!”
“What are you even saying? You haven’t met then since they died before I was two!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air, clearly vexed by such a response. He didn’t exactly have any grudges towards them, he simply knew nothing of them to produce and draw out a proper thought.
Her eyes turn as wide as saucers as she grabs his wrist, “That’s it, we’re going to the doctor. I’m calling your parents after this. You must’ve drank too much! Where’s Aina?”
“Who the fuck is Aina?” he feels the rough tug of his wrist towards the door, “And I’m fine, Ieiri! Let go of me!” he has to go back to sleep, maybe if he wakes up, he’ll be on your shared bed. Albeit, it’ll be empty, at the very least, he’ll have whatever pictures and things you used yet Ieiri simply ignores him and continues to yank him out there. He ends up in a Benz, arms crossed and strapped on the passenger's seat with the brunette behind the wheel.
“God, you’ve been drinking too much... Do you have an addiction-”
“I told you,” he snaps, “I don’t drink.”
How many times did he needed to say that? He feels his head aching once again, memories of what seemed to be a night before returns to him. Hazy lights flickering, the sounds of loud booms he’s not sure of what, and people in Halloween costumes.
“Right,” she stops the car at a red light and turns to him, “And I’m the CEO of Gojo Industries,” she rolls her eyes, “And who the fuck is Y/N? Wife? How come you never told me and Suguru you got married?” he immediately freezes up at the mention of his deceased friend’s name. It would make sense that the younger man was still alive in whatever place this was. If Ieiri wasn’t kidding, his parents might actually still be there but he’s not sure how to even react around them.
So he turns to the window, instead. He looks at the tall buildings that pass by him. Tokyo still looked like Tokyo and everything seemed to be in its place except he couldn’t see curses loitering around anymore and his eyes hadn’t hurt without his eye accessories.
“I...I don’t know…” he only mumbles. Everything is starting to get distorted and he can only fill his head throb now like someone had pummeled him with a ton of bricks, “I just...we got married because it was arranged…” he adds.
“Sounds like something you’d hate.” Ieiri points out, pressing the gas pedal when the lights turn green, “You must’ve been dreaming, Satoru. As your best friend, I assure you, you would’ve told us if you were married and I highly doubt you’d approve of an arranged marriage, as well.” No, Satoru refuses to accept that you weren’t married to him. He believes whatever is going on around him right now is a nightmare, though. A well-crafted and tangible terror.
He’ll be fine after this, he just needs some sleep and he’ll wake up in your home again.
“Sure.” he shuts his eyes, god let this bad dream be over yet despite his well-wishes, the rough slap of Ieiri Shoko only arouses him and he’s not back home but in front of a private hospital instead.
“Come on, we’ll get you checked then I’ll tell your dad to give you a day off…” She shakes her head, Satoru merely trails behind her. Clearly annoyed that he’s being subjected to this, exactly how long was this dream going to be?
The smell of sterilized alcohol fills his nostrils as soon as he walks in, sights of people in white lab coats and patients being pushed towards the exit and walking towards the ER for admission could be seen.
Like a child, the tall white-haired individual simply stands behind his friend like a sore thumb, lips pressed together with a look of exasperation as he ignores the looks of people passing by him, waiting for her to finally get this over with. There’s a raven-haired individual standing there, typing up his data. In retrospect, the nurse seemed like someone he’s seen through passing but he can’t exactly pinpoint where he’s seen her, though.
“Are there any more patients needed to be admitted?” a rather delightful and inviting voice inquires, the man’s blue eyes shot to the side. He’d know that voice anywhere. Like a broken record, he had always played that in his head after you left. It was something that gave him some easement and now here you are, standing a few feet away from him. You’re perched there with a smile that reaches your eyes coupled by a twinkle of mischief behind them, a more or less different expectancy than the usual penetrative gaze you used to have. Those accustomed dresses and yukatas you wore are now interchanged by a pair of comfortable jeans and a plain button-up with a matching white long coat.
It’s so unfamiliar yet at the same time, it suited you so much.
His mouth parts slightly, expression suddenly softening like clouds on the skies, and for a second, he’s tempted to hold out his hand; to hold you, hug you, ask where you’ve been and why you left him when he thought everything was alright between you yet he stops his ministrations when you turn to him.
Your eyebrows suddenly squished together as if you were trying to discern him for a brief moment, double-taking as if you were seeing someone that shouldn’t be seen, “Gojo-san?” His name finally escapes your pretty lips like a symphony being sung, “Is that you?”
The world is silent around him, like always he only sees you.
“Y/N.” ultimately he lost it. He takes a few long strides towards you, suddenly ignoring the fact that he was someplace unknown. Like a missing piece at long last found to complete his puzzle and the sun finally shining down upon him after months of dreary rain, Satoru feels like he can breathe easier when he throws his arms around you.
His eyes are shut tight incorporating breaths of relief, “You’re...You’re here...and you, you know me…” He was so scared, so petrified with the thought you’d only see him as a stranger. He wouldn’t be able to handle that response after what he has been through this past weeks.
“Oh my,” he hears you chuckle. You blink one to too many times whilst ungainly returning the gesture with one arm followed by some small awkward pats on his back, “Of course I still know you, Gojo-san...You’re always on the news with your achievements...” you pull away too quickly. Nevertheless, you prolong eye contact with his ocean blues, sparkles of life adoring your face, “I didn’t know you were a hugger.” you pointed out, maintaining that friendly and amiable smile.
“I-uh…” he recoils lightly at your riposte, feeling small. He’s uncertain about what to say to that because what did that even entailed? Thankfully, Ieiri makes her presence known at that very second. The brunette finding it bizarre since she’s never seen him react this way so openly towards someone.
“Satoru!” His friend chimes in, cutting the moment short. She rests her hands on his shoulders and saving him from any unprecedented and unsavory moment that was about to unfold, “I didn’t know you were acquainted with a doctor here! I’m Ieiri Shoko, we’ve been friends since college at business school,” she gestures to the tall man then holds out her hand, “I don’t think we’ve met, doctor…” she paused, waiting for you to say your name.
“Y/N…” you bow down out of respect before taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. He could feel Ieiri drilling holes on his sides when you introduce yourself, uncertain if it was the same one he had been dawdling about earlier this morning yet he only has his eyes on you, “I’m an old family friend of the Gojo’s…” you return your attentive (e/c)’s to Satoru. His heart rate continues to thrum loudly to the beat of the loud drums when he realizes you were looking back at him, “Who are you guys visiting?”
“No one but actually, Y/N...Since you know him, do you mind giving him a little check-up?” she bends down, lowering her voice, “I think he’s drank way too much...He’s been acting strange since this morning.” she informs you of his prognosis, pointing a thumb towards his direction.
The tall man continues to ignore his friend’s remarks. He hasn’t seen you in only a month but it felt like a dreadful eternity for him. This very mirage in front of him No, it didn’t seem right to call you that. When he had hugged you just a while ago, it stirred up yearning and familiar fondness. It felt like you through and through.
“That’s fine, I’m sure I can do anything for an old family friend...” you nod, completely understanding her remark as you try to garner the attention of the girl at the front desk, “Hana, dear, I’ll take Gojo-san for my last patient this morning. I’ll be out for lunch, as usual!” Satoru turns to the front desk once again, as if seeing a ghost, his face turning ashen and grey. The very same one who passed not so long ago is right in front of him, actually alive and breathing, “Gojo-san?” you call out his name again, snapping him out of his trance, “Come on…” with the chart in hand, you usher him to follow you and just like old times, there he is, following you from behind.
He watches the way the threads of your hair fall from your haphazardly done ponytail, the nape and curve of your neck, down to your slow pace that seems to be exactly as benign as before.
So many things he wants to do, to ask, but most of all, all he wants to do is get a good look of you; grab your hand, interlock his fingers with yours then prop it up his lips to give your knuckles some kisses while you give him that bewitching smile and tug him closer for a enamored hug, instead.
“I haven’t seen you in a while.” You break the silence first, sliding one of the curtains open to reveal a hospital bed. Your voice remains convivial yet at the same time, he notices the distance to it.
“Yeah, you too...” too long.
He eyes your every move as he takes a seat on the bed, observing every curvature of your physical attributes like a painting in a museum that couldn't be touched. He notices the way the small strand of your hair falls down to frame your face, his fingertips are burning to tuck them behind your ear yet he only flexes them tightly to hold himself back, resting them on top of his thighs.
No, something wasn’t right around here. He’s aware by the way you countered his hug. We’re you perhaps exes? Like that time, had you leave him? Or was it him? Were you simply just two parallel lines that could never meet? Nothing but individuals who'd only pass by each other?
You look up from his chart, tapping the end of the pen on your lip, “I think ten years? Or was it eleven? or maybe more?” you call to mind the last memory you have of him but he remains lost, only wanting to hear you babble on forever.
He misses this.
He misses you.
“I...Sorry, was the hug too…” he tries to apologize but you suddenly raise your hand, signaling it was fine as you start laughing lightly.
Beautiful.
“No, no...It’s alright, Gojo-san…” you acknowledged whilst pulling the rolling stool to be able to sit in front of him, “It’s just, we’ve never really talked despite being engaged with each other since we were kids, you know? I thought you actually forgot about me. It was such a long time ago...”
“We were engaged?” he repeats. His heart’s tightening and all the color promptly bleaches from his cheeks, realizing the connection you had shared, “I - and we broke it off?” Those were the only words he could pick up.
He has to remind himself that this is some cruel dream yet when he feels your soft and gentle touch laying on top of his forehead and queries if he was alright because of the apparent and sudden ‘memory loss’, he thinks otherwise. Of course, a young Satoru wanted to leave you but right now, he wanted to do anything else but that.
“Gosh, you aren’t burning up but here you are talking as if you forgot about everything. Is it alright if we start the check-up-” he holds your wrist tenderly, out of habit.
“I, sorry Y/N…” he expressed, wearily letting go when you give him a look, “I just... we aren’t on bad terms, right?”
“Why would we be?” you quipped, tipping your head to the side, taking the thermometer and trying to place it between his lips but he lightly shakes your hand away. He doesn’t need a check-up. He needs to talk to you, “We’re pretty good acquaintances, I believe. We both didn’t want it, you know what happened, Gojo-san-”
“Satoru.” he corrects you, you called him Satoru. You didn’t used stupid formalities on him, he doesn’t even want to hear you say it, “Just- just call me Satoru…” his resolve is gradually breaking to small pieces as memories of someone else invades his thoughts. No, this wasn’t real. Why can’t his head shut up? Why is he being given memorial recollections of a man he clearly wasn’t?
This isn’t him.
He married you, he loves you, and although your story is in line with his past, he can’t imagine himself with anyone else.
“Well, Satoru…” his name rolls off your tongue like a stranger’s and he could finally feel the pain slowly sweeping inside of him, “Like I said, we weren’t interested in each other. that’s that. Nothing too deep. were not one for theatrics, as well. Unlike many in high society, our story...” you paused, unsure of how to describe it as you grit your teeth together awkwardly and roughly gestured with your hand, “....isn't really one to gossip about since we didn't exactly have any of that to begin with...” you casually told him as if it was something you told a dozen times, “You know the whole jist, we may not have seen each other a lot even back then but you were there when they broke it off during dinner time after my grandparents died when I was sixteen, I think... or was it lunch?” You look back, uncertain and uncaring about what had happened like it was simply just a minor event that had went and passed on in your life, “Plus arranged marriages are so 1891, right? who even does that sort of crap?” you lightheartedly joke.
He feels his head only pang loudly as more memories seep in when you recount them for him and for him, they’re heart-rendering and agonizing because that’s not how it went.
“Yeah.” he tries to force out a laugh, pretending he was fine as he looks down on his tight fist, “Very 1891…”
You become less animated, realizing how aloof and held back he became. He’s a rather eccentric individual now that you look at it, suddenly coming in and giving you a hug after such a long time. You and Gojo Satoru were not exactly in that stage, you never even imagine him to be that sort of person as well. Sure, you were acquainted with one another but that’s all you both ever had been.
He wasn’t exactly an individual you were interested in getting to know and it was reciprocated. So, in the end, like adults, you both didn’t bother to push through.
Yet the man in front of you seemed so deposited when you broke the news to him. It was like a whirl of anomalous events had crashed upon him this morning, knocking him out.
It must’ve been a bad day for him.
“I’m guessing that you really aren’t feeling very good today.” you suddenly turned serious, “Maybe we should stop talking and continue-”
“No, I’m fine. Please. I just…” he suddenly shoots his head up, assuring you that he’s fine. Maybe this is when he can start anew? Dream, reality, or not, this is still you. He’d be glad to put in the effort no matter where he is yet when he catches the silver band that hangs on your neck, he stops himself short. It’s so loud and it glistens under the lights like a bright star under a pitch-black night that he wonders why he never had seen it awhile ago, “I’m fine, Y/N.” he manages to choke out.
There's worry but he knows it’s from a doctor's perspective, “Has anyone ever told you how bad you are at lying?” you blatantly point out, taking the stethoscope to start the checking him up, instead.
He feels his breathing hitch, the very world around him stops when he hears that amicable phrase, “Just one.” you, “Just one person.” he breaths, his mind dwelling on those moments. You were married to someone else in whatever messed up or fucked up dream or specter this was.
But was it really an illusion? Or simply a reality he couldn’t accept?
It made perfect sense.
If you had the proper life like this.
Would you even still be with him?
At the end of the day, if you went according to proper circumstances; you did not start off as lovers, you were not even close to being friends, you were simply two strangers brought upon a piece of paper and a pile of money.
That, itself, was never a proper way to marry someone especially if feelings were starting to be involved. It was unorthodox and clearly off-putting because you deserve anything but that sort of life. He knows that. He just didn’t want to accept it because that’s the way he was able to meet and fall for you.
It could be also why you had left him so suddenly. Did you realize that as well?
The cold sensation of the stethoscope is the only thing he can feel in his back and the scent of the vanilla and lavenders that he’s grown so fond of, “I bet that person must be someone else…” you compliment as he takes slow breaths for you.
“Yeah, she is...” his eyes don’t stop looking at the plain wedding band, he wants to think he’s wrong but it glares at him like a reminder that this would probably be your true happy ending if alternate realities did exist. No abusive system to hold you back, no inhumane treatments, forced marriages, and whatnot.
You return back to your seat, taking note of his condition, “Is this a girlfriend, perhaps? Something that our circles don’t know yet? I’m honored to be the first.” it comes off as a jest when you start checking some notes in the sheet, half-listening to his words since you didn’t want to get anything wrong in paper. Maybe you needed to further tests but overall, he was physically fine.
“Wife, actually.” he rectified, making you pause mid-action. You lift the pen from the paper in order to not commit a mistake because this was the first time you’ve ever heard of this. Your twin hadn’t told you that Gojo Satoru had tied the knot and it clearly had stated that he was single in his data. Nevertheless, you beamed at the pleasant news and when you change his civil status to married, “I married her last year.” he clarified, "June 21, 2017...It was summer, later afternoon, her favorite season and time of day since it's the time the sun set... I don't think I've told her but I remembered being annoyed by how pretty and calm she looked that day..."
Satoru’s eyes are drawn to you when he finally divulges the story openly like a fairy tale being told because that's how it was for him, it was better than any story told him to him as a child, more magical even. The series of fortunate events that he was able to experience, the feeling of finally having someone to be able to walk next to him when he thought he was destined to be alone.
Yet in a flash of an eye and like always, it’s snatched away from him.
It seemed like his red string of fate was never tied with you in the first place and he was just taking someone else’s place there.
“She must be lucky to have such an affectionate man like you...” you finally look up to gaze upon his baby blues, quite elated by the way he had endearingly described whoever this partner was, “If you don’t mind me asking, how come she isn’t with you now, though? I’m sure she must be worried for you.”
For a man who seemed to worship the ground that his wife walked on, it’s rather pitiful that she wasn’t here in his desperate time of need.
“I don’t know, actually.” He tries to laugh it off, recalling the last day he has seen you. The way you had openly ask for his hand in marriage only to break his heart later on. He was really thinking that he’d be able to finally start anew and get rid of that frustrations and self-doubt he had in your relationship because of the way it had started. It turns out, it only worsened when you left him, “She just left one day, no proper goodbye’s...I-uh, I feel like she won’t be coming home to me anymore…”
Miserable and alone, he faces the sad truth of his situation. There was only so much he could take right now, maybe that was just a long dream, who knows? He couldn’t exactly point out what was physical with everything that’s been going on.
One thing was for sure though, the crushing wave of despair was very much real and it still drowned him.
“Despite that...I still love her though.” he confessed, “I love her very...very much…” pale cerulean hues continue to burn onto yours, retaining in his memory the happiness etched on your eyes, something that you seem to genuinely have here.
It may be a different reality, a contrasting timeline, just a dream, or whatsoever. You may be with another man, have your eyes looking at anywhere but him yet his feelings and resolved for you continue to be unchanging and unwavering. Just like how the planets continue to revolve around the sun, Gojo Satoru will continue to love you as if you are the only person in the galaxy.
Your smile suddenly dithers, gaze darting elsewhere as you let out a dry cough. Quietude fills the room as if you had heard him loud and clear, like you knew that was meant for you.
“I-I should go. Sorry about that, I just...” he paused, trying to find the right words to describe his current situation, “...it’s been very hard without her...” you. it's been so hard to wake up and realize you aren't there in his arms anymore. How many sorry’s did he have to put out there? How much of himself did he needed to change for you to come home to him? He’s desperate to get down on his knees and apologize despite not knowing what he did wrong just to have you again.
“I understand, sorry about asking such a sore topic as well.” you lower your voice, trying to clear the air whilst growing still to better observe him. You throw him a pitiful glance, as if wanting to say more yet the aching sorrow soured him like an old wound on a rainy day and he knew he had to get out of here before his eyes would well up from this.
There is no room for secondary characters like him in this place.
He has to accept that.
He knows his place. He thinks he always had known, he just didn't wanted to accept it. Maybe you were just trying to use him to get over someone else and you couldn’t handle it anymore in the end. You couldn’t really force someone to be with you when they were never yours to begin with.
“It was...It’s nice seeing you again, Y/N....” he holds out his hand. It seemed like some things never do change. No matter what place, time, and world it was, you’d still lend a listening ear to him.
Hesitantly, you shake his hand.
Unlike the smooth palms he remembers, you had calluses and roughness to it yet it remained pleasant to the touch. The same solace that he had remembered. Without letting you say anything more, he walks away, misery finally breaking through his fragile control. He doesn’t bother looking for Ieiri. Instead, he goes straight outside the hospital.
Gummy and hot eyelids that blur his vision as his throat closed in grief, he could not even breathe. The intense feeling of terror reigning over him as he tries to remain calm, bending down to force the air to come in. He could feel his body turning numb and shutting down like a machine. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way yet his senses were deceiving him. Everything so far was veridical and corporeal to the point where he’s starting to question it all.
god, did the world have to remind him that his wife’s true happy ending was never supposed to be with him?
Everything he was insecure about, everything he loathed about his own marriage and himself as a lover and a husband, suddenly slaps him brutally and he feels like it’s going to leave a mark on him permanently.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale
Ex-
“Mister? Mister? You alright?” a small voice prods him as he’s bending down, raggedly and desperately wheezing for some air like a man drifting in the orbit with no space suit. He sees small tennis shoes stopping in front of his expensive leather ones.
He’s about to tell the kid to buzz off like the usual yet when he slowly raises his head, he’s face to face with two raven haired kids that complement their pair of deep-set (e/c) orbs, they’re gingerly eyeing him and his current crises. Their features are rather familiar, like a mix carbon-copy of two individuals he’s known well, “Yeah, sorry…” He tries to catch his breath, “You shouldn’t-” ready to scold the kid for running around without a guardian.
“Okaasan’s a doctor inside. you seem to need a lot of help, Mister. Maybe we can help you inside-” The older boy lets go of his younger sibling, small hands ready to check his temperature on his forehead yet a very loud and perturbed voice truncates the moment.
“Ken! Hana!” His muscles turn tense at the boisterous sound he hasn’t heard in a decade, “...God, don’t just run ahead of me like that! Your okaasan’s going to K-word me with- oh, hey man, are you alright?” A tall, lithe, and overly-familiar figure stands in front of him, with hair as black as night along complementing his soft and cherubic features that could probably rival those angels that Michelangelo painted in the Sistine chapel. The very same person that he wanted to hate but had no right to because he was just too god damn perfect, stood across him with your two kids.
Right, it made sense.
How had he not connect two and two together?
He collects himself, trying to pick-up the pieces on his own because no one will be there to help him.
Just like always, Gojo Satoru will continue to walk those long and weary paths on his own because no matter how hard he tries to get those that mattered to stay next to him, they never do.
“Yeah,” Satoru raises his hand, trying to stand properly, signaling he was fine, “I-uh, mild asthma attacks. It’s why I’m here...” he lies, gaze shifting to your eldest son. The one with the very spitting image of you. The boy has his face warped to a bemused expression as if he knew the albino-haired man’s dishonesty, “You must be Y/N’s husband.”
“Oh,” he holds out his hand, features lighting up even further as if the man had eaten all the stars in one go, “I’m Haibara, Yu Haibara... you must be my wife’s patient?”
His wife. His lover. His Y/N.
He didn’t even stood a chance to begin with.
It’s so obvious that without the bridal market and that messed up life you had, you would end up with Yu Haibara and have this picturesque perfect suburban life. Satoru despised the fact that it fitted you both so well and how natural for him it all was unlike him.
“Yeah, she’s probably getting off soon. She’s a wonderful person…” his grip on Yu’s hand is weak, “...I uh, I’m happy that things went well for you guys…”
“That’s nice!” He’s getting the reason why Nanami adored the idea of you two together, “...You seem to know her well, would you like to come with us and the kids? We’re having lunch out-”
“I’m good, business and all that.” He lied again, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles of his pants, “Maybe next time.” He turned to the two kids, awkwardly ruffling each of their hairs. You must’ve been an amazing mother since they seem to not look as mischievous or conniving like he had expected them to be, “I’ll see you around. Thanks for the offer, again.” he nods, trying to offer him a polite smile.
“I think you’re the best man I could ever marry, Satoru. May it be in this life or the next…”
There is truly no you and him in another life.
It was that one precise reality.
Just that very specific one.
And he couldn’t even let you stay with him in the end.
With a defeated heart, his feet reels away from the hospital. Not even daring to look back at the painful actuality of his situation.
For the very space that was created between his dreams and his reality was probably the most twisted of them all.