Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

7.2

If there was something in this rotten world Suguru hated more than anything, it was his own, always reoccurring bitter failure.
He hated the shame that always crept into his skin and slithered over his entire body beneath it like worms, the anger that inevitably followed, that swallowed every single other emotion he would ever feel whole, and he hated how everything he touched reliably led to it.
As a loyal pigeon always dutifully found its way back to a safe home, Suguru’s desperate actions would always end in failure.

When had he ever truly succeeded?

Was it the last time he had proudly won in a board game late at night, surrounded by careless laughs?
What could be deemed a success, and what couldn’t?

Had it been a success to leave Satoru behind on that street, simply disappearing into the crowd without getting apprehended by the strongest sorcerer, or had that been one of his biggest failures?

Had it been successful to become Satoru’s equal, even for just a while, or was it overshadowed by the dreadful reality of having lost that spot indefinitely?

There were too many failures, countless ones in fact, waiting urgently in the depths of his memories, waiting for just a short moment of weakness to fade before Suguru’s eyes yet again.
They kept him up at night, sometimes even ripping him out of his sleep, making sure he would remember each and every one until he was no more.

Yet, there had been a small glimpse of hope that maybe, in the moment his life had been ended by the one to whom it rightfully belonged to, his sins had been cleansed from him, his failures dying with him in the cold, small alley.

Death by him, who shined so obscenely high above them all, would perhaps bring him to some state of total renewal—a chance to try again, a chance to succeed.

Mercy by him, who was as impossibly lonely as the bright, bright sun in the dark, dark sky, would perchance make his past failures disappear and grant him the opportunity to commit as many new ones as he pleased, always ready to be forgiven them once more.
Everybody would be able to forgive themselves if Satoru Gojo forgave them, but Suguru just couldn’t.

Satoru had always met him with a nearly unreasonable, relentless trust and remission, but where had it led him?

Disappointment and pain.

And even now, after Suguru had gained his second chance at life, after he could have lived a life without being tainted by any failure, his own weakness had made it impossible yet again.

He had lost his consciousness mid-battle, had left the people Satoru had trusted him with alone. How pathetic.
That he was still unconscious was clear to Suguru; the sensation of floating in emptiness, free from any physical weight but heavy with everything else, was all too familiar.

Maybe he was dead, maybe the imposter had gained back control again. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t bring himself to care in this moment.
Suguru was tired.

Tired of himself.
Tired of his surroundings.
Tired of the world he was living in.

If he didn’t wake up at all, then at least he wouldn’t have to confront the shame that would come with it.

Suguru floated in the void, suspended between consciousness and oblivion. There was no light, no sound—just a crushing sense of weightlessness that pressed down on him as if there were an endless ocean above him, swallowing everything that could have reminded him of home.

The absence of everything should have brought him some sort of peace, a brief respite from the gnawing guilt and self-loathing that had taken root deep inside him years ago and had not let him go ever since.
But there was no relief. There never was. No matter what.

His failures clung to him like a second skin, obvious for everyone to see, and no amount of darkness could hide them.

How many times had he failed Satoru now?

He hadn’t been there when Satoru had been killed, blinded by his own ignorance. He had failed to keep the girl alive they both had sworn to protect, he hadn’t been able to keep up with him, had left him alone, had not come back even when he had ached to do so, had died and left him alone once again, had let the imposter take his body to harm him, and now had endangered his dear students.

There was no winning for someone like him. Not truly.
Maybe he would ask Satoru to kill him again, maybe irrevocably this time.
It would be more fitting than anything else—his fate, his life laid just as much in the nearly too-soft fingers of the god among men as countless others did.
Living and dying only felt correct under him; death was acceptable just when it was Satoru who ended it.

Sometimes Suguru couldn’t stand Satoru, hated how seamlessly everything seemed to flow into each other in his life—how capable he was, how good and true, how mercilessly and how kind he could be.

Of course, he was aware that there was more to Satoru than what was visible from the outside and that his life was met with more hardships and tragedy than he let on.
Perhaps more than anyone else in this world, he knew that. But he just couldn’t help sometimes but ignore it to have that image of the perfect human being to project his jealousy onto.

Of course, he knew everything that Satoru was, the perfect and the flawed, but knowing and feeling were two different things.

But that envy—sharp, bitter, and ever-present—felt more like a constant companion than an emotion. It had personified into something that was beyond him. He couldn’t repress it like most of his emotions; it had nearly relentless free will. Suguru hated nothing more than to see face to face with it and recognize his own face reflected in its familiar eyes.
He knew them intimately, watched how their hunger was fed by every glance at Satoru’s effortless mastery of every situation, every bright and careless smile that promised victory even in the face of impossibility.

The admiration he held for Satoru, so deep it bordered on reverence, only fueled his resentment further, his own shame at feeling it in the first place not keeping it back from gnawing on him constantly.

The contradiction of it all felt maddening. He cherished everything about Satoru,
but that love only seemed to further sharpen his jealousy.
How many times had he stood in the shadow of that brilliance, feeling himself diminish in comparison?

The happiness and pride he had felt for Satoru had been just as genuine as the desperate desire to be just like him, to not fall behind again, to catch up.
He could never be what Satoru was. No one could. And maybe that was what made him so angry—not at Satoru, really, but at himself—for wanting, for needing something he could never have.
He knew that in every possible thing, Satoru would forever remain out of reach. Suguru had always been one to want more than he could get, and even after countless disappointments, he never had learned how to finally stop wanting.

After the quiet moment that followed the end of his train of thoughts, Suguru came back to a world where he could ask Satoru to end it again. To close the loop he had been caught in, unable to escape no matter what, to give him the peace he had never been able to find on his own. It would be easier that way, he was sure. It had almost happened once. It could happen again.

Would Satoru do it? Could he? Suguru didn’t know. Satoru had taken his time the first time, after all.

But it was just a fantasy. A foolish one.
It wasn’t even that he was seeking death—it was far more complicated than that. But he knew his wish would not be granted, not now at least.
Suguru needed to keep living, having enough revenge and regret in front of him to give him some more reason to keep going.

Whenever Suguru came out of these moments that were one bad thought after another, he felt incredibly dramatic for practically looking for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life the moment he was confronted with any kind of failure or loss.
He often got lost in his head then, fueling his feelings with even more negative memories or possibilities.
It was nearly theatrical, and confronting the situation in retrospect made him feel incredibly pathetic.
Suguru let his thoughts go way too far.
He needed to be done with his sulking.

He would tell himself that it was no big deal that he lost.
He would tell himself that accidents happen.
He would tell himself that he wasn’t weak for something out of his control.
He wouldn’t believe any of it.

But it didn’t matter what he truly believed as long as he was strong enough to just ignore it again. What would happen when the feelings bubbled up again would be a problem for future him to solve.

Somewhere at the far edge of his consciousness, he was able to hear voices now, as he slowly began to retreat out of the deepest corner of himself.
Suguru had just formed the thought that maybe he was needed back in battle now when he recognized the voice to be Satoru’s.
All was well then, if he returned immediately or not.

“Did he just move?” Satoru’s voice cut through the fog, laced with excitement, bordering on childish curiosity.
It made Suguru’s heart feel heavy.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention,” to his surprise, it was Shoko’s voice that responded, sounding slightly disinterested.
At least, he thought it was her voice, not having seen or heard her in over a decade.
Satoru had probably called her to take care of the injuries and get some expertise, seemingly trusting her not to rat them out to the higher-ups.
Suguru hadn’t considered it before, but Satoru and Shoko had probably become closer in the years following his departure.
He wondered if it would be awkward between the three of them now, never having been as close to Shoko as he had been to Satoru.

It wasn’t like they didn’t get along—they did, effortlessly so—but Satoru had always been something else.
He was different than anyone else.

Remembering Shoko inevitably brought back memories of nights spent outside, all three of them talking casually, sometimes even smoking or sharing some alcohol.
As Satoru hadn’t drunk often, he hadn’t either, feeling like it was sort of inappropriate to do so.

Suguru’s eyelids felt heavy, but he could hear Satoru more clearly now, the slightest hint of nervous energy in his usually so careless tone.
“I’m sure he did! Hey, Suguru, are you alive?”

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he enjoyed the feeling of Satoru being somewhat scared for his life, when there was nothing immediately threatening it.
Not even because it was reassuring to him in any way, but because he simply felt good, having the power over something that Satoru couldn’t control.
Making Satoru honestly worried wasn’t particularly easy, and he shamelessly took pride in possessing the ability, not caring how that made him look.

There was a pause before he could answer, just long enough for Shoko to add a dry remark.
“Who knows—maybe it’s that imposter person. I’d be careful if I were you.”

“I have to disappoint you, but it’s still just me.”
Suguru’s voice came out raspier than expected. How long had he been out?

Shoko shrugged. “Shame. I was really looking forward to opening that skull of yours.”
When he looked over to the side, Shoko looked a lot different from when they were young. Her hair was longer and her eyes tired, the dark circles around them making her look sickly.
The past years definitely hadn’t been kind to her—no wonder, however, considering how many corpses she probably had to take care of.

Suguru's gaze drifted upward as he still lay back, catching sight of the familiar sterile ceiling tiles and the dimmed, harsh lights casting cold shadows over the room. He was presumably in the morgue. The place still had that muted, antiseptic smell, and it felt almost comically at odds with the rawness of the way he felt.

“You’re really awake!” Satoru’s face hovered above him, without his blindfold this time, with that grin only he could pull off.
Seeing his eyes so up close again was almost frightening.
Suguru averted his eyes, not able to keep eye contact for long.

Satoru’s grin was an odd combination of relief, excitement, and something softer, harder for Suguru to place.
“How are you feeling?”

Suguru tested his limbs, feeling the dull ache of his muscles, head, and the lingering sting of his side wound, which had already been healed by Shoko.
“I’m okay. But how are the students? What happened?”

Satoru frowned, rolling his eyes as if Suguru had just asked the most ridiculous question. How unusual it felt to see them move again.
“Can you not focus on yourself for one second? They’re fine. Handled it on their own, actually. They’re strong and capable after all. They got you out of there and brought you back here.”

“That’s...it?” Suguru struggled to process the ease with which Satoru said it.
He was glad that none of the students had been injured or harmed, now at least knowing how to look Gojo in the eyes a little bit more.
If anything had happened to any of his beloved students because of Suguru, he would have never forgiven himself.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Satoru crossed his arms, standing straight up again, as if that explained everything.

Suguru frowned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Then how did Shoko get here?”

“Good question,” Shoko chimed in, giving Satoru a pointed look.

Satoru’s grin grew wider, announcing the start of one of the stories he was excited to tell.
“I just called her and asked her to get here. But I was honestly disappointed—she didn’t even look euphorically relieved when I made my ‘glorious return.’” He put heavy sarcasm on the last two words, casting a mock-wounded glance at Shoko. “Acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary.”

Shoko didn’t skip a beat, not putting up with his antics. “You’re Gojo. It was to be expected.”

Satoru threw up his hands in exaggerated exasperation, making Suguru smile with how stupid it looked.
“But! What she couldn’t hide was a glimmer of surprise learning about your return from the dead, Suguru. So congrats on managing to get a real facial expression out of her.”

“Glad to know I’m still capable of making an impression.”

Satoru gave a faint, knowing smile. “Oh, you make plenty of impressions.”

“1:0 for Suguru Geto.”

Satoru gave a lopsided smile in return, and Suguru turned his attention to Shoko. There were a lot of things he wanted to ask.
“But, Shoko, I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can figure out what’s going on with me.”

Shoko’s expression softened, but there was a resignation in her tired eyes that Suguru couldn’t ignore. “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any good news for you.”

He sighed, expecting as much. "I could’ve guessed that. Just tell me."

She met his gaze, straightforward as always, but with an old sympathy Suguru hadn’t prepared for. At least their interactions weren’t as foreign and awkward as he thought they would be. He was happy to talk to her again, even under such circumstances.

“I can’t say much for certain. I don’t know exactly how his technique works, but it’s clear it’s affecting you. Judging by the headaches and that scar”—she nodded to the thin, faded line on his forehead—“it seems like he’s still in there, inside your head. Somehow you’ve managed to keep him locked away in the back of your mind for now, but…” she paused, letting the unspoken risk hang in the air, “I don’t know how permanent that control is or why he hasn’t gotten it back yet. The headaches are likely a sign of him trying to get back into the driver’s seat.”

Suguru swallowed, looking away. He could feel it, the presence, like a weight behind his eyes. Still there. Still watching.
His life still felt like it was being invaded, and he hated not being able to do anything against it.
“Is there anything I can do to keep him from taking over again?”

Shoko shook her head. “I’d say just don’t lose consciousness, if you can help it. Pushing yourself too far like that, especially with cursed energy—I’d guess it raises the risk. You might lose it indefinitely. So be easier on yourself, Suguru. Don't overdo it.”

“Yeah, what she said.” Satoru’s voice cut through, having just quietly stood by before, actively listening.
“Stop trying to handle everything on your own. You can see where that gets you.”

Suguru clenched his teeth, fighting down a flash of irritation. “Forgive me for wanting to keep your students safe,” he replied, words more harsh than initially intended.
Satoru’s expression shifted, and for a moment, his smile faded before returning, as if it was just an accident that it disappeared in the first place.

“Really, Suguru. Next time, be careful.” His voice held a certain unusual seriousness that made Suguru feel sick. “I don’t want to be sitting here again, wondering if you’re dead or possessed.”

Suguru tried to brush it off, but the hints of concern Satoru let slip hit him harder than he wanted to admit. He didn’t need indirect pity.
“Oh, thank you very much.”

Satoru didn’t flinch, only stepped a little closer to where Suguru was sitting again.
“Just take care of yourself. Take it slow. Don’t do anything you know you can’t handle.”

Of course, that would be the kind of advice he would give. Of course it was a forgotten concept for Gojo to fail at something he thought he could do.
“Well, I thought I could handle it.”

“Then keep your limitations in mind, and don’t cross them again,” Satoru said firmly. His eyes didn’t move away, and Suguru could feel the weight of his friend’s worry pressing down on him. Pulling him down, pulling him deeper into the abyss beneath him. “I don’t want to find out what might happen next time. None of us do.”

The way Satoru said it, like he genuinely believed there was anything Suguru couldn’t do, made him feel sick.
“Easy for you to say,” Suguru replied sharply. “You’re the one without any limitations.”

“Stop being so dismissive, Suguru. I’m only trying to help,” Satoru said, his voice slowly matching Suguru’s sharpness now.
Suguru didn’t care.

Suguru held his gaze for a moment, trying to prove some point unbeknownst to anyone—even himself. “I’m not.”

He felt the urge to push Satoru back again, to give in and disappear to somewhere far away, to keep him at a safe distance.
Distance between them wasn’t something new. It was rather strange, but even in their closest moments, there had always been something between them, not allowing them to properly close the space.

Satoru’s faith, that ridiculous, unyielding trust he had in him for whatever reason, clashed so deeply with Suguru’s own vision of himself and everything he thought they were—or had been.
It was like Satoru thought they had a time where they were so close that they blurred into one another, that they had been equal, that they had been able to trust one another and gain something good from it. But Suguru knew none of it was really true, that it was an idealized version of their past.
Too many things had stood between them, and none of them had moved ever since.

“Alright, I’m not a willing participant in this,” Shoko declared, shaking her head before turning to the door. “I’ll get some coffee and a cigarette while I’m at it. You two have fun, though.”
For a split second, both of them forgot the conversation they were having and exchanged confused glances.

Shoko sighed and, before reaching for the doorknob, turned around to them again and pointed a finger at both of them.
“And Gojo, make sure to let Geto rest soon. I don’t want to see your face here when I return. Got it?”

Satoru opened his mouth to protest, but Shoko’s raised eyebrow and that piercing stare silenced him instantly.
“Fine, I get it,” he muttered, sounding like a scolded child.

Suguru let out an amused breath at the sight of the familiar interaction. Shoko was probably the only person who truly had the upper hand sometimes when it came to them.
She had a very convincing attitude, and for the majority of the time, she was right. So listening to her was usually the smartest choice.

“Huh, this really is like the old days.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Satoru responded, his voice serious, with a noticeable bitterness to it.

Suguru arched an eyebrow at his tone.
“What’s your deal now?”

Satoru huffed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re still brooding. Brows furrowed and all that,” he made an annoying gesture, pointing at his face, “but you’re still not talking to me.”

Suguru sighed, looking away. “I have nothing to say.”
He really didn’t—nothing that could change anything that was.

Satoru’s frustration obviously flared. “You’re a terrible liar. How hard can it be to just tell me what’s wrong?”

Suguru’s jaw clenched. “You didn’t do anything.”
He didn’t know if this was more of a reassurance or an accusation.

“I didn’t ask if I did something,” Satoru shot back, leaning forward, his voice dropping, making Suguru feel even more uncomfortable in the situation. “I’m asking why you’re shutting me out.”

A beat of silence hung heavy between them. Suguru finally shrugged, his tone dismissive. He couldn’t let this get through to him. It was dangerous—hope of this kind never led anywhere.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I have my issues, you have yours. Simple as that.”

Satoru let out a sharp breath. “You know, you’re my only friend, right? You can talk to me, or whatever. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

Even though Suguru had always known, hearing Satoru say it always left him shocked, surprised even.
His friend. His only one.
And that made it all so much worse.

If he was his only friend, then why would he have ever shut Suguru out like he did?

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, that familiar irritation creeping up again. He had always hated it.
“As if you ever talk to me about your problems.”

“I am problem-free,” Satoru shot back, wanting to sound so sure of himself, though Suguru caught the subtle crack in his expression. He was full of them. Suguru knew that—holes forced into him like worms into a rotten apple.

Suguru forced a wry smile. “Right. Of course. Then I guess I’m problem-free too.”

It was a simple exchange. Suguru wouldn’t be the only one sharing his issues. It would be strange and not right. Satoru would never speak openly about his, so he wouldn’t either.
He knew it was not really mature, but so was everything about their relationship.

They hadn’t quite figured out the nature of the relationship they had left as teens now that they were confronted with it as adults.

“Come on now,” Satoru said, his voice somewhere between anger and frustration, almost pleading. “You left me because of your problems. Just turned your back on me one day and were nowhere to be seen.”

He did. He had left his life behind—had left Satoru and everything familiar behind to try to bring change to the world, severing everything that bound him to the person he'd once been.
Self-sacrificial he had been, daring and brave, almost noble.

Suguru had been so sure it was the right path to follow, reaching for a light he was only then able to see clearly. So many risks had been taken, all for a world that was kinder to those who mattered—a world kinder to Satoru.

And the great Satoru Gojo hadn’t even tried looking for him.

Suguru hadn’t even hid from him, and he had waited every night in the first few raw, hopeful years that followed his defection—for the return of that familiar face, promising eyes, perhaps reassuring arms and gentle hands in the dark beside his bed. But in the end, all nights had been spent alone.
The nights had stretched on in silence, the only answer being a world that spun on, unbothered.

Satoru never came for him until he eventually, hesitantly came as his executioner. He never came, even though he could have, even though out of every person on Earth his abilities had made him the most able to.
If Geto was Gojo’s only friend, then why had he never returned to him?

“You could have looked for me.”

Satoru’s mouth opened, then closed, his expression disgustingly vulnerable. “You could have come back,” he shot back, though Suguru dared to think that it sounded less like an accusation and more like a wish.
But then again, he had always been delusional.

Suguru shook his head bitterly. "You know I couldn’t.”
Of course, he didn’t. There was nothing to return to—only a society that wanted to see him dead as soon as possible.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, a delicious flicker of pain in his eyes unguarded for a moment before he spoke, his voice lowered. “Then you know why I couldn’t look for you.”

Suguru’s gaze hardened, finding it ridiculous to assume their situations had even been remotely similar. "Why not? You’re the strongest, Satoru Gojo. Nothing is ever impossible for you."

There was silence. Satoru’s hand had curled into a fist, relaxing into normal the moment he noticed Suguru glancing at it.
“That’s not fair.”

Suguru’s laugh was soft, humorless. “A lot of things aren’t.”
To count on fairness in this world was just as prosperous as betting on losing dogs.

Satoru took another step closer, the frustration in his voice tangled with what sounded almost like guilt. “You could have just talked to me. Anything. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to leave.”

“There was nothing you could have done to help me,” he murmured, almost to himself.
It was true, he hadn’t even needed his help.

Satoru’s voice tightened. “You can’t be sure of that.”

Suguru’s gaze stayed fixed on the other. “I am.”
He hadn’t been the one who was wrong; it had been the world around him.
Suguru hadn’t been the one to need fixing.

Satoru finally broke the quiet, the pain in his voice evident.
The last time he had ever heard Satoru speak like that had been the last time they had spoken in a long time.
“Didn’t you care at all about what you left behind?”

“Of course I cared. That’s why I left.”
Did Satoru think he left to simply run away? To hide? To make life easier?
He left to change things for the better, to help them, to maybe lift some weight off Satoru’s shoulders.

His answer, however, only seemed to enrage Satoru more, his voice rising ever so slightly, confusion and hurt pouring into his words. “You’re making no sense.”

Suguru’s shoulders slumped as he finally looked away, an air of defeat about him. He didn’t really want to argue. It felt unfamiliar.
“You’re not trying to understand me.”

Satoru’s jaw set, his voice almost pleading again. Suguru wished he would just stop with it.
“You’re not trying to explain.”

“I did. Multiple times,” Suguru replied, his voice barely containing his frustration. “You’re not listening.”

Satoru was silent for a long moment, looking at Suguru with the same regret he himself knew so well, the lingering ache that neither of them could shake. Regret and guilt seemed to be ever-present with the both of them, but he also knew Satoru would never say it outright. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Suguru, I—” He was on the verge of saying something real—something honest. Suguru could feel the shift, the rare crack in Satoru’s confidence, and it caught him off guard, the silence charged and vulnerable. He was waiting for it like vultures hovering over a slowly dying animal.

Before Satoru could finish, there was a sharp knock at the door. “Gojo?” Nobara’s voice cut through the tension.

Satoru straightened, snapping back into his usual demeanor instantly as if the conversation had never happened. “Nobara? What are you doing here?”

“Shoko sent me to make sure you let the man rest,” she said, stepping in with a look that didn’t welcome argument.

“Oh, come on. He’s not going to die from a conversation,” Satoru said, rolling his eyes in that childlike way, hands resting on his hips as if that would make him look any more reasonable.

“Shoko told me not to take no for an answer.”
Nobara crossed her arms, staring Satoru down without a trace of hesitation.

“She could’ve just come herself, you know,” Satoru muttered.

Nobara gave him an unimpressed look, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “She said she’d be here when she finished her cigarette, but until then… begone, you foul fiend.”

“Urgh, you’re all being so dramatic!” Satoru threw his hands up, a hollow smile around his cheek as he slipped up his blindfold again.

“Yeah, yeah, granny, let’s get you back,” she teased, giving Satoru a light shove toward the door.

Satoru dragged his feet, glancing at Suguru with an unreadable expression. “Just give me five minutes,” he pleaded, leaning back as if trying to buy a little more time.

“Do I look like your mother? Or have I missed a shift in time and now you’re six years old? You’re pushing thirty; get it together.”

Satoru let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine, you’re no fun.”

“Are you all okay?” Suguru asked, just to confirm that they all really had made it out of that predicament safely.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Nobara replied, pushing Gojo through the door. “Honestly, I can’t tell if I should be glad to see you alive or not.”

Suguru gave a small, tired nod. “I get it. The jury’s still out for me, too.”

With that, Nobara turned to go, the door clicking softly behind her, leaving him and Satoru in the quiet again.

As the door closed behind Nobara, Suguru felt the hollow quiet settle back into the room, creeping under his skin. He shifted on the uncomfortable metal surface, letting out a slow breath.
That bitter tension lingered, even with Satoru gone, and he couldn’t help but feel helpless at the fact that they barely had ever argued seriously.

His thoughts drifted back to Satoru, to the way his face had shifted, flickering with frustration, confusion, and something bordering on desperation, as if trying to understand Suguru had been a puzzle too complex even for him.
He wasn’t a riddle to solve; he was nothing more than himself, someone Satoru should understand the same way as he understood breathing.
That’s what they were supposed to be.
It should come easy to Satoru.

He and Satoru might have once been inseparable, two parts of a whole, drawn together by their similarities and differences and something else that was hard to decipher looking back on it.
It had been so easy, back then, to pretend that the understanding was more than superficial.
Suguru understood Satoru better than anyone, knew more about him than anyone ever would, but that didn’t mean that he knew everything, that their understanding was wholly complete.
Just because they were closer to each other than to anyone else didn’t mean they were as close as they wanted to be.
That realization had come way too late for Suguru.

Yet now, the cliff between them had just grown deeper. It felt like one that neither could cross, even as they tried, one cautious step at a time.
It was truly maddening, knowing that even if Suguru poured his entire soul out, he would never close that gap.

How could Satoru understand the weight of doubt? Or the humiliation of limits? Suguru had never tried to explain this particular thing, as he wouldn’t share anything as guarded as long as Satoru didn’t either. But he had imagined telling it, a hundred times maybe, and each time he’d see Satoru’s blue eyes flicker with that mix of disbelief and, worst of all, disappointment.
That was something Suguru could never bear to see in the other—it was one of his biggest fears, perhaps.

Even now, having stood at Suguru's bedside in an act of care, Suguru hadn’t dared to look further into his words and expressions, scared of finding the same displeasure at his failure in Satoru as he felt within himself.

How easy it was for Satoru to be there now, offering his help, his pity, and some sort of return to their old routine.
But when Suguru had left, when he’d been in need of his company most, Satoru had stayed away.
He hadn’t needed it to achieve his goals—he had intended to achieve them on his own anyway—but he had needed it to prove to himself that he was, in fact, more important to Satoru than people who couldn’t care less about all of them.
He had needed it to prove to himself that at least someone would chase after him, no matter the cost.

The absence of Satoru's pursuit had stung deeper than he’d allowed himself to admit back then.
Because Satoru had chased after others, hadn’t he? Had devoted himself to saving countless strangers, had poured his energy into protecting the world and the ideals they both had once shared.
But not him.
Suguru had always imagined that if he fell, Satoru would be there to catch him—because he would have done the same. In fact, he had, over and over again.
He had been the one to prevent him from committing countless mistakes, had kept him from committing senseless murders, but had always been there to ultimately support everything Satoru truly chose to do.

And yet, when he had turned his back that final time, there had been no footsteps behind him, no voice calling him back.
He had chosen the useless, faceless, and disgusting masses over him, his supposed friend.

He had needed proof of that loyalty more than anything, especially from Satoru, who could have followed him without missing a beat. Satoru, who could have bridged any distance in a heartbeat, who could have torn through every boundary between them with ease—if he’d only chosen to.
Satoru didn’t respect the higher-ups or any other upholding norms in their society, understood the importance of sacrifice, and could turn a blind eye to morally wrong behavior when inclined to.
Following Suguru, even without believing in any of his views, wouldn’t have been that hard.

Suguru stared at the ceiling, his jaw tight, hands absentmindedly moving over his scar and through his bangs.

It was easy to step back into their routine now that Suguru had been forced to turn around, now that he was physically here, vulnerable, with no plans or intentions left to shield him. Satoru could pretend things hadn’t changed, that their connection hadn’t been eroded by years of silence and that bitter, growing something between them.
But they had, hadn’t they? They weren’t children again, and a lot of things could be lost forever.

There was a short knock on the door, and before Suguru could respond, the door opened slowly, and Shoko reentered with that familiar nonchalance, hands deep in her coat pockets.

“You’re back, Shoko,” he greeted, a slight lift to his voice as he tried to shake off the tension that had coiled around him. “How was your cigarette?”

She gave a little smile, one corner of her mouth tugging up. “Life-saving, as always.”

Suguru huffed a soft chuckle. “Your lungs are probably black by now.”

Shoko shrugged, her expression neither offended nor concerned. “Joke’s on you, I’m a healer.”

Suguru glanced away, rolling his eyes but unable to fight the faint smile forming. “The benefits seem endless.”

Reversed cursed technique seemed to be especially useful when you were an alcoholic and chain smoker.

“They really are.”

“Why did you come back, though? Didn’t you order rest?” he asked casually, seeking the kind of casual conversation that made everything easier, guided his thoughts into safer territory.

“I did. But I do have to check up on you first and make sure that idiot is gone,” she said with a knowing glance. Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she took him in. “What did he do to you, by the way? You look worse than when I left.”

Suguru shifted slightly, avoiding looking into her eyes. It was simply out of embarrassment, but he couldn’t really pinpoint why he was feeling that way. “An argument. It was nothing.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, visibly unimpressed. “You’re both way too stubborn.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re both so caught up in making this whole thing as complicated as possible,” she replied, her tone somewhere between irritation and exasperated fondness. “It could all be easier.”

Suguru frowned, feeling a slight defensive edge creeping back in. He really didn’t like the way Shoko thought she could really understand them. “Easier how?”

Shoko shook her head, crossing her arms. “For one, you could try talking with one another instead of against each other.”

Suguru let out a tired breath, looking down at his hands, which were still tense, knuckles pale from having them clenched for such a long while. As he relaxed his grip, he watched them regain their color, zoning out a little.
“It’s hard when all we do is throw accusations around.”

“Can’t be that hard to just talk about your feelings,” Shoko said dryly. Her words were simple, almost laughable in their directness.

Yes, it could be easy. The easiest thing in the world, perhaps. But Satoru’s pride just made it impossible.
Suguru almost snorted. “Well, he doesn’t do it at all.”

“Then be the bigger man and start with it.” She raised her eyebrows, as if daring him. “He’s probably thinking the same—‘If he doesn’t talk about his feelings, then I won’t,’ or some other childish excuse.”
Her words were obviously mocking, and Suguru just rolled his eyes.
Shoko wasn’t taking this as seriously as he would like.

“I didn’t know you specialized in psychology.” He paused and then continued, looking up at Shoko, who was leaning against the wall across from him. “Any other great advice, perchance?”

She responded, completely unamused. “Start with ‘I feel’ in your sentences.”

Suguru huffed, responding with sarcasm. “Great. I feel like I’d make a joke out of myself.”

Shoko gave him an annoyed look. “And I feel you’re being ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, talking about your feelings is hard, sure, I get that, but you’re both making it into an Olympic sport.” She sighed, frustration clear. “I haven’t seen anyone so close talk so little about their feelings for one another. This includes the good and the bad, by the way. You’re both so stubborn and prideful, it’s exhausting to watch.”

Suguru felt oddly exposed, not liking the direction the conversation was taking. “I don’t see why I should make the first move.”

“Then don’t, god.” She shrugged. “But don’t make it my problem when you’re both awkward around each other and that there’s always something unspoken between you.”

Suguru gave a weak scoff, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked away. “We weren’t like that as teens.”

They really hadn’t. Even when there had been things in between them, at least there had never been this awkwardness.
Everything came naturally to them, every interaction and conversation.
Even when everything was still easy for the both of them now, it really didn’t feel the same way as it did before.

Shoko turned back to him, eyebrow raised in that signature look of disbelief that she so often had. “Oh, really? There was so much between you that was left unsaid, it made everyone around uncomfortable.”

Suguru tilted his head, genuinely surprised.
How would it influence anyone in any way, that they hadn’t really poured each other’s heart out to the other?
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” he protested, furrowing his brows. “I mean, I know neither of us talked about our individual problems with one another, but how would that affect you anyway?”

Shoko’s eyes narrowed. She leaned back, arms folded.
“Sure, individual problems… whatever. What was the argument about, anyway?”

Suguru ran a hand through his hair, averting his gaze momentarily. He really didn’t know why he was sharing all of this with Shoko, not really having confessed their issues to anyone before.
“Lack of communication. Me leaving.”
He really didn’t want to be talking about it in extent. It was enough for her to know the broad things that had been discussed.

“At least you’re acknowledging it to one another,” she replied with a sigh.

Suguru gave her a skeptical look, not quite understanding what she meant.
“What are you referring to?”

“Both.”

He nodded, understanding where she was coming from.
She wasn’t wrong, Satoru hadn’t been wrong—there was a lot that stood between them since a long time, and there were a lot of burdens that had been added in the past few years.
“I guess so.”

Shoko tilted her head, catching his gaze in that specific, almost parental way she had that said she was expecting the truth, the whole thing. “What did he say?”

A sigh escaped him, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. Honesty wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
Who knew anymore.
“He was upset that I left.”

“Well, fair enough, I’d say.” Shoko’s expression softened, looking like she expected as much. “And you? What were you mad about?”

Suguru looked away, his voice lowering. “Him not going after me.” He frowned when he heard Shoko laugh dryly. “Stop laughing. It’s serious to me.”

“Oh, I know it’s direly serious.” Shoko’s voice held a trace of laughter, but it quickly faded, replaced by a tone that almost bordered on pity. “But Suguru, don’t be childish. More than anyone probably, he has a role to play in this world. If he doesn’t, we’re all going to lose the stability beneath us. You know that, right?”

Suguru’s jaw tensed, irritation flickering in his eyes. Of course he knew. How could he ever forget how immensely important Satoru Gojo was practically for every living being? It was downright terrifying how much power he possessed. But all that power could have at least been used for something different—for him.
“Looking for me once, just slipping under the radar as he had done so often before, wouldn’t surely have immediately sent our world into destruction.”

“One time would have warranted a second, a third.” Shoko met his stare, unblinking.

“Why?” he demanded, not knowing what she was getting at.

Shoko sighed, glancing down. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

She shook her head, a faint, almost sad smile on her lips. “Forget it. It’s not my job to explain all this to you.”

“Fine…” Suguru paused, and not knowing how to handle the silence that followed, he tried to fill it. “How have you been doing all these years?”

Shoko chuckled. “Without you here, it got significantly harder to put up with Gojo.”

Suguru allowed himself a smile, a little. At least the conversation was easier to handle now.
“It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s fine… mostly. Since he started teaching, at least. Before that, he was even more restless, you know? Didn’t know what to do with himself.”

“Is he a good teacher?”

Shoko’s tired eyes sparkled with a small hint of amusement. “That really depends on who you’re asking.”

“Well, I’m asking you,” Suguru said, positioning his body so that his legs were dangling from the metal bed now.
He knew the answer but wanted to keep the conversation going.

“He’s getting his points across. The students are learning,” Shoko replied at last, her tone almost clinical, like she was observing the simplest of phenomena.

“But?” he prompted, a slight smile pulling at his mouth, already knowing what she’d say.

“You know how he is,” Shoko huffed, rolling her eyes, arms folded. “Unorthodox. A major idiot. Definitely not the most respectable person.”

A laugh slipped from Suguru’s lips, softer than he’d expected. He was glad. “Yeah, I guess so. Same old Satoru, then.”

Shoko smirked, her eyes flashing with a flicker of mirth. “The higher-ups’ hairs would be turning gray at record speed if they weren’t already,” she added with a chuckle.

Suguru laughed a little, knowing for a fact that Satoru was making all of their lives hard.

“And you?” Suguru asked after a moment. “You make sure to heal his students up, then?”

Shoko sighed. “Yes. It sometimes gets really boring here.”

“Well, at least I’m back. That provides some sort of trouble to entertain you.” Suguru smiled, though it felt a little hollow even to himself.

“I suppose so. I know you two won’t give me much rest.”

They shared a quiet laugh that faded as quickly as it had started. And for a moment, Suguru could almost believe things hadn’t changed as much as he feared. But he knew better, felt it in the silence that lingered.
He was going back and forth between believing things had changed and things had stayed the same. What was the truth? He didn’t know.

“Did you manage to get here without arousing suspicion?” he asked finally, wanting to continue the conversation on lighter terms.

Shoko’s expression shifted to a resigned amusement. “I would hope so. I don’t plan on getting on anyone’s bad side. I do want to keep my job and my life.”

“If you’re in any danger when you go back, you know where to go, who to call.”

“Thanks, Suguru.”

He shrugged, downplaying it. “No problem at all.”
Besides Satoru, she was the closest thing he had to a friend right now. There weren’t many people left he cared for.
Most of them were dead.

“I would have liked to see Nanami again,” he murmured.

Shoko sighed, her eyes looking sorrowful. “You’re a few hours too late.”

Maybe if he had been able to regain consciousness earlier, Nanami could have been saved, his daughters could have still been alive.
He threw that thought away, knowing how dangerous it was. He wouldn’t think about this now, not with Shoko here.

“Out of everyone, I really thought he’d survive,” Suguru said instead.
“He got out for a while, didn’t he?”
There had been some rumors about it, some little birdies telling him what was going on there, where he couldn’t reach anymore.

Shoko nodded. “Yes. He stopped being a sorcerer, worked a normal job in the city.”

Suguru sighed. “Why couldn’t he have just stayed there?”

His return had been his death sentence, and he was sure Nanami had known that as well. The man had always understood the senseless danger better than anyone.

Shoko’s face didn’t change much. She just looked exhausted. “Too ambitious. Too good of a man.”

“He should have been selfish for once.”

Nanami should have made it out, should have stayed in that office job, and he shouldn’t have cared for all these useless lives he was trying to save.
He gave his own for nothing.

“Leaves us with only a handful,” Suguru added after a moment of silence.
“There’s still you, Utahime, and Mei Mei.”

Shoko arched an eyebrow at him, her expression skeptical. “I wouldn’t count yourself. You were dead until a few days ago. I’m still not sure how you did it.”

Suguru shrugged. “Neither do I.”

Her gaze turned sharp, assessing him carefully. “The thing inside you kept you out of control for months, Suguru. Something had to happen for him to slip, to give you control back. He wouldn’t just let you have the body without body-hopping into a new one.”

“It’s unsettling to think that it is the existence of the imposter that is keeping me alive,” Suguru admitted, voice low. “The idea that it’s not even my own brain up there is more than revolting.”

Shoko’s expression softened a little, a look of sympathy in her eyes. “I can imagine. But as long as you keep the imposter locked away, you’re doing the world a favor.”

“Just another curse to swallow,” he muttered, bitterness lacing his tone.
Suguru really didn’t care what he was doing for the world. He had done and tried enough.

“Basically,” she replied before her face turned pensive, as though something was nagging at her. “But something feels… off.”

Suguru’s brows knitted. “What do you mean?”

“You got control back too easily. You have no idea how it happened, and you seemingly did it unconsciously.” She frowned, and Suguru could see the worry creasing her brow. “Something about that isn’t right. I can’t help but feel we’re still on that imposter’s playing field.”

Suguru shifted uncomfortably, a pit forming in his stomach, knowing where she was coming from. “But wouldn’t I know?”

She hesitated, her gaze distant, seemingly still deeply in thought. “I don’t know.”

He studied her face, looking for some kind of reassurance, but all he found was more uncertainty.
Great. It was exactly what he needed right now.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, more quietly.

“Not necessarily.” She sighed, shrugging unknowingly. “Maybe the world’s decided to be kind to the two of you, just this once.”

Suguru laughed, even though he really didn’t feel like laughing. “That only makes me believe in the danger more.”

If there was anything he knew, it was that the world or fate—or really whatever was behind his life—would make sure to make it as complicated as possible.
There was no simplicity for Suguru Geto. It had never been a part of him.

“Shoko?” Suguru asked, still half in thought.

“Yes?”

“Can you answer me a question?”

She blinked, surprised by the sudden question. “Depends on what you’re asking. But shoot.”

“What was it like after I left?” He hesitated, an unintentional vulnerability slipping through.
He didn’t know why he was asking that question, didn’t know what answer he was hoping for.

Shoko looked at him and took a deep breath, gathering herself as though preparing to dive into something uncomfortable. “You mean what was Satoru like without you?”

Shoko was probably right. That question had probably been the core of what he had asked.
Why else would he have asked it, after all?
She would be the only one who could truly answer him that question.
Suguru swallowed. “I suppose.”

“Quiet,” she said, almost distantly. “Scarily so. He kind of isolated himself for a while, and I only saw him sometimes after his solo missions. He really was in a bad place, Suguru.”

Suguru felt that cold regret settling in again. He hadn’t expected to hear that. In a way, perhaps he had always known it was possible, but it had always seemed more like wishful thinking.
He tried to picture it—the world’s strongest sorcerer looking lost and small—but the thought felt foreign, somehow wrong.

Shoko continued, her gaze unfocused, like she was looking back to a time she’d rather not revisit. “He was always deep in thought. You could practically hear him contemplating running after you. But there was too much holding him down. So don’t be so harsh on him, Suguru. He really wanted to.”

Suguru looked away, jaw clenched. He wanted to reject her words, to hold onto the anger that he’d carried with him, the betrayal he felt at being left behind by his closest friend. “It didn’t really seem like he cared all that much about me leaving.”

“That’s because you weren’t here to see it. And because,” Shoko added with a sardonic grin, “you’re immensely stupid.”

It never had been his intention.
Not quite at least.

As she looked over to him, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that guilt-ridden look now; it happened the way it did, and no one can change that. But don’t mess up your second chance. I barely had time to talk to him, but it’s obvious how glad he is to have you back.”

Suguru shook his head, thinking of the most recent conversation, that somehow overshadowed every unbelievable kind word Satoru had offered him before. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Shoko’s brows shot up, exasperated. “Are you being serious? God, of course he is. Just because you two had some kind of fight doesn’t mean he isn’t.”

Suguru looked down. “We never really fought seriously when we were young.”

“That’s true.” Shoko’s smile softened. “It was downright scary how well you two got along.”

Suguru fell silent, a heavy, dangerous nostalgia creeping over him. The ease, the effortless bond they’d had—it felt like another lifetime, a warmth so long gone it was hard to believe it had ever existed. He feared that if he ever reached for these brightly glimmering days again, he would just end up burning his fingertips.
"Do you ever miss it?”

Shoko blinked, meeting his gaze with a hint of surprise. “Miss what?”

“Our school days.”

She hesitated a moment, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know. My life hasn’t really changed all that much since then, so… there isn’t much to miss.” Her voice grew quieter, resigned. “The only thing that changed were the people leaving and dying around me. But that was happening even in our school years.”

Suguru nodded slowly.
He could see the exhaustion in her face. “Yeah. I get that.” His eyes softened. “I miss the time the three of us spent together, actually.”

A faint smile tugged at Shoko’s lips. “I can see why you would. It really was a nice time.”

They fell into silence again, but this time it felt just a tiny bit easier. Suguru let himself sink into a memory, a distant laugh stirring something warm in his chest. “Do you remember how we used to sneak out?”

Shoko chuckled, a glint of mischief returning to her eyes. “Of course. Even though the two of you didn’t drink, we always went to some new bars. Satoru dressed like he was stepping into a runway show every time, remember?”

Suguru couldn’t help but laugh thinking about the ridiculously expensive clothes he had shown up in. “Yeah, it was stupid. I never understood why he got so dressed up but then never went after anyone.”

“He probably wasn’t looking for that,” Shoko said, with a hint of annoyance that Satoru didn’t quite understand.

"I think he just liked being seen, all that attention without having to do a thing.”
Suguru shook his head, smiling. It fit Satoru well.

"Hmhm," was the only thing Shoko said in response, slightly squinting her eyes at him, shaking her head, which just further irritated Geto. She was being weirdly cryptic, but he chose not to mention it further.
“He got what he wanted, though. Always had endless people approaching him.”

“You got your fair share of attention, too, Suguru.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, chuckling a little. His looks really had gotten him a lot of attention back when he was young, as well as in his time leading the new star religious group.
As long as it brought him some benefits, he didn’t mind it.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t have women after you as well. What was it they liked?” he laughed a little. “The ‘permanently tired face’? Quite the bewitching look, apparently.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Shoko replied, laughing. “There’s nothing more charming to men and women than looking like you haven’t slept in three days.”

Suguru continued to smile. It felt strangely good to talk this way, to feel something akin to their old dynamic. “How is it nowadays? Do you have anyone?” he asked, genuinely curious. He had always been interested in other people’s social life. It was one of the few things that he had never really gotten boring.

Shoko’s expression grew just a tiny bit more serious, though her voice held its usual nonchalance. “No. I don’t have the time or the headspace for that right now.”

“Fair enough.” Suguru paused, understanding what she meant. All of their lives were practically crammed with duties and danger, constant worries hovering above all their heads.
He hesitated before he continued. “What about Satoru? Did he finally get himself a girlfriend in all these years?”

Shoko looked at him with a wry smirk. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“I am, actually,” Suguru replied, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice. “It’s not like he would have told me. You know, he never actually talked to me about things like that.”

Satoru never really had told him about any crushes that he had or any girls he was into. Sure, they had sometimes discussed actresses or singers, but it never really was more than that.
It had always wondered Suguru, considering how little it fit into Satoru's personality to never prove his superiority in the dating field.

“No, of course he didn’t.”
Shoko shook her head, sighing deeply. “And no, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. At least, not that I know of.”

“I never understood why he didn’t go out with any of the people who approached him.”

Shoko’s gaze softened. “Well, why didn’t you?”

Suguru looked away. For him, the answer was clear. He had never really needed thought.
He just never had felt anything for any of the people. No attraction, no desire to get to know them more. He had always just been satisfied with what he had. Maybe he just wasn’t made for romance. He had stopped thinking about it years ago.
“I don’t know. I suppose I wasn’t really interested in any of them.”

“Maybe it was the same with him,” Shoko simply suggested.

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Suguru couldn’t tell, but he doubted it was that simple.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I had anyone special during my ten years away?” he asked more jokingly.

Shoko’s smirk returned, and she rolled her eyes. “No. I already know the answer.”

“Ouch,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “You’re really being mean today.”

“It’s not even an insult,” Shoko replied. “I just know you, Suguru.”

“Fine, fine. I get it,” he said lightheartedly and thought about what to ask next.
He didn’t feel like ending the conversation here; it was a good distraction, and it felt good to catch up so casually.

Suguru’s lips quirked upward a little as he considered his next question. “Do you think Utahime still hates my guts?”

“Oh, I know she does. And if you can believe it, she hates Satoru even more now. In her defense, he’s become even more ruthless. Every time their students have to fight each other, it’s exhausting to watch. He’s impossible.”

Suguru chuckled. Maybe in some distant future he could get on Utahime’s nerves again. He would add it to his bucket list if he ever made one.
“So, nothing’s really changed at all, huh?”

“Nope,” Shoko replied with a resigned smile, keeping her hands still in the pockets of her long white coat.
“Still as chaotic as ever.”

“I really missed it.”

She shook her head, smirking. “Of course you did, idiot.”

For a moment, a silence settled over them, only uncomfortable because Suguru had things to say that lay heavy on his tongue.
He didn’t know where this urge to confess came from; it just seemed to come out of nowhere.

“You know,” he eventually began slowly, after getting over his hesitation, his voice rougher than he intended, “I thought Satoru would be the last person to suffer any long-lasting consequences from my departure.”

Shoko crossed her arms, pulling her hands out of her pockets. “And why did you think that?”

“For me, it all seemed so logical back then. Either he cared, and he’d eventually come after me. Do something, anything really. If he had, maybe I would’ve turned back,” Suguru answered, only really admitting this to himself just now.
But oh, of course he would have.

Maybe not right away when his motivation and hope had been fresh, or maybe not at the end when everything had been lost anyway and he had started to cling to his ideals again out of spite, but just in between, where loneliness had been his driving emotion and where he had stood close to just giving up himself.

“There were moments where I think I would have really left it all behind if he’d just asked me to.” He laughed bitterly, shrugging as if to diminish the weight of his words. “The other possibility was that he just didn’t care enough. And if that were the case, then… well, then there wouldn’t have been any pain.”

Shoko sighed deeply, giving him a long, measuring look. “Couldn’t you have used those thinking skills of yours instead of indulging in your knack for theatrics?”

Suguru huffed out a quiet laugh, knowing all too well what she was referring to.
He did have the tendency to seek out the most theatrical emotions.

After a moment, Shoko continued, sounding as serious as ever. “Speaking of your theatrics… what motivated you to attack the school last year?”

“A final attempt at success, I suppose,” he said, shrugging like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
Another quite embarrassing moment he didn’t want to ponder on for too long.

“I get it.”

“It was a decent attempt.” Suguru’s voice took on a reflective quality, almost detached. “Either success was guaranteed, or… Satoru would kill me. Both seemed like fitting outcomes.”

Shoko’s expression didn’t change a bit when she responded. “You know you sound insane, right? ‘Oh, yeah, I was fine with either committing mass genocide or being killed by my best friend.’” She scoffed. “You’re extremely selfish. You know that?”

Suguru shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

Shoko’s gaze dropped, and when she looked back up, her tone was quieter, almost raw. “When I said Satoru was in a bad state after you left… that doesn’t even compare to what he went through when you died. When he had to be the one to actually kill you. You know already that he couldn’t burn your body, but I think in the months that followed, he was at an incomparable low. It’s not like we talked or anything, but you could just really see it.”

Suguru didn’t know what to say, and he just felt overwhelmed with that senseless regret again. Of course he had made Satoru miserable, not once but twice, and probably more than that. He was as much of a terrible friend as he was a person.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To bring some sense into you, maybe.” She sighed again, something she had been doing a lot. “Thought you should know.”

Suguru swallowed, looking away as her words settled over him like a weight he wasn’t sure he could bear.
He wished Shoko would have just kept quiet.
For a long time, Suguru had told himself he had been the one who bore the weight of their choices, but Satoru had paid as well.
Even if that had been the very thing Suguru had tried to avoid.

Suguru sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead as a surge of exhaustion washed over him. He needed some time alone. “Wasn’t I supposed to be resting?”

Shoko blinked, almost startled, and then laughed, the tension easing. “Right…” She cleared her throat, pushing herself to stand on her feet without leaning against the wall. She seemingly got the cue. Suguru was glad she wasn’t the persistent type.
“Yeah. Maybe I should be going now.”

For a moment, just before she left, Shoko held his gaze, squinting at him. “Don’t be stupid and mess this up a second time, Suguru.”

Suguru would have liked to say that he wouldn’t and that he had learned his lesson, but he wasn’t so sure of it himself now.

As the door clicked shut behind Shoko, Suguru felt a chill creep into the room, the silence only making his own thoughts louder.
It probably was a mistake for her to leave him alone with his thoughts.

‘Don’t be stupid and mess this up a second time, Suguru.’

But wasn’t that exactly what he did best?

For as long as he could remember, he had been the one to wade through choices with such unwarranted certainty, believing so strongly that he knew the right path.
Yet time and again, his intentions, however good they had been, had turned to betray those dearest to him.

He’d tried to protect them from the chaos and harm he saw growing around them, only to become the very source of it.
Suguru had seen himself as someone capable of carrying others—his friends, his family, his ideals—but who was he kidding? He couldn’t even keep himself steady.

Suguru drew a sharp breath, leaning back on the uncomfortable metal surface as his hand dropped from his forehead, fingers curling into a fist on his lap.
Every decision he had made, all the convictions he had held, suddenly felt fragile, as if each one could shatter with the slightest touch.
It wasn’t like he had been too keen on his old plans anyway; they had died with him even when the view he had on those normal, filthy humans still stood.

But as he traced back through the years, he could almost see the fractures spreading through his memories, each one pointing back at him as if he’d been a fool from the start.

Satoru had paid instead of being spared the pain.
Suguru had convinced himself that his leaving was necessary, that he was sparing his friends from the burden of his own beliefs, his own anger. He was so sure that he could grant them to live in a safer world where they hadn’t had to burden so much weight anymore, face so much loss and danger.
But in the end, Satoru hadn’t just suffered; he’d suffered because of him. Suguru had fallen for the same facade as all the others, that Satoru was strong and positive and that such an event wouldn’t pull him down. Because he’d thought Satoru would be fine, strong enough to move on.
Or maybe, somewhere deep down, Suguru had thought Satoru would be better off without him. And maybe he was right. He shouldn’t have come back.

He’d imagined that after all he’d been through, he might come back stronger, wiser—but instead, he felt worn thin, nearly fragile.
It had gotten to the point where people asked him not to overdo himself, like he was a sickly old man. There was no dignity in that, his circumstances of having died and his body used not giving him back any of it.

He had failed, not only as a sorcerer but as a friend, a father.

Satoru hadn’t needed a friend who abandoned him. Looking back, it was clear why he didn’t look for Suguru after.
He hadn’t needed someone who broke under the pressure and spiraled out of control.
Satoru had needed an equal who would walk alongside him and follow his lead into what surely would be a better place.
But Suguru had been too weak for that, too willing to let go and drift down his own path. He hadn’t been there when it counted, and now, sitting here in the dim room, he could feel that absence like a wound that had never fully healed.

And on top of it all, he was a danger. Unpredictable.
Neither he nor anyone could know if that thing inside of him would ever come back, and when it did, Suguru knew he was too weak to stop it.
After all, he had let it use his body for months on end, months spent with literal curses, plotting against Satoru and eventually sealing him, months cruelly away from his daughters, motivating them into dangerous actions.

It was one thing to come back and say he had changed, that he was stronger now, that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes. But was that true? Sitting here, he could feel how close it all still was—the anger, the frustration, the urge to abandon everything and start anew when the path ahead became too difficult.

He could tell himself that he wanted to help them, to be there this time. But what good were intentions if he still felt like he was teetering on the edge of control?

He was a danger. Even now, with his mind mostly his own, there was a darkness gnawing at him, a quiet voice reminding him of what he had always been willing to do.
Suguru knew what he was, had never had any issues coming to terms with the fact that he wasn’t a good person.
For himself, he really didn’t need to be. For himself, he didn’t care.

But seeing that unbearable light that Satoru carried within himself made him feel dirty in return.
If Satoru was all the good things in the world, Suguru would have been honored to be all the bad ones as long as it meant being on equal footing. But he couldn’t even say that he was pure darkness; he didn’t have it in himself to be that.
He was neither the sun that granted everything its life and was worshiped by everyone who saw it, nor was he the unknown danger that everyone feared, the one that could eat the sun whole.

All he was—everything he had ever been—was incomplete.

There was no way that Satoru, whose violence even carried something akin to divinity, and whose grandiose cruelty was truly holy, could look at him and his incompleteness and feel anything else but repulsed.

He knew he was probably repeating the same mistake with leaving once again, the one that had brought him here, full of regrets and guilt, wishing he could rewrite his past.
But he couldn’t help it.
There was a pattern here, a loop he couldn’t seem to break free from. Suguru found himself recoiling, wanting to escape before he could cause more harm, to crawl into the shadows out of shame in order not to be seen.

Satoru hadn’t needed him the first time, and it was clear he still didn’t need him now—not in this state, not while Suguru was still haunted by the potential of what he could become.
Even if he would cause harm again, it would be better than having him here. Safer.

Maybe this was his way of sparing them from whatever he might unleash if he stayed too close, too weak to control whatever lurked inside.
He had to go.
Maybe, if he could find strength, if he could return more certain, more in control—maybe then he’d be able to walk alongside Satoru as an equal, someone who wasn’t weighed down by what-ifs and maybes. Someone they could really trust. But he wasn’t that kind of person right now. Not yet, at least.
He needed to be stronger, find a way to keep the thing inside of him locked away indefinitely, and truly commit to a new self.

He really didn’t have one now.
Who Suguru had been had, quite literally, died twice.
Suguru Geto, the strongest, had died when slashed in the chest by Toji Fushiguro, and Suguru Geto, the most fearsome curse user, had been killed by Satoru Gojo, the last remains of that man—his daughters—being massacred by Sukuna.
No, he really wasn’t anyone right now.
There was no proper identity to cling to, no hope, no nothing.

What he needed was a new start, a way to invent who he should become.

The bitter irony settled over him, and he laughed at himself for committing what he knew would be a mistake, what he knew he would regret.
He was leaving again, and he knew it was the worst thing he could do. He knew he would make Satoru suffer another time.
But he couldn’t stay.
Not like this.