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It’s been a while since you last saw your boyfriend, if you can even call him that anymore. Do you instantly get broken up when your boyfriend becomes a mass murderer, or do you have to actually break up? You don’t really know.
Defected, defeated, whatever – he’s still not around, and from what you heard from Gojo, he won’t ever be again.
You had never understood their stupid way of discussing important things, and look where it brought them. At the most impossible impasse, where Getō can’t return. When Gojo had told you their last conversation, you remember throwing your bedroom door quite vividly in his face.
"Are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest?”
While you understood Gojo’s frustration about the riddle, obviously with him not initially understanding it, you could not be more provoked. What about you? What about your relationship? What about him, Suguru Getō, or the person he had become?
You sigh – nights like these are the worst. You move the comforter further to your neck. Terrorised by old memories… the reminiscent of soft touches, tight embraces, exchanges of loving words. You shuffle in bed, seemingly no position is relaxing tonight. Deep down, you know that the only comfortable place is his embrace.
It’s dark, with only some candles lighted to keep you awake. For some reason, some of them are situated next to pictures of him. Your eyes fixate on one of your portraits of him, that you still have not been able to throw away. You sit up, hands gripping the sheets. When was really the last time you saw him that happy?
Was all the time following Riko’s murder just stand-by?
You could still clearly remember some of the moments where you realised, he had changed. One thing was the physical change – that he lost the light in his eyes, that his ribs were showing, that his cheeks where all hollowed out. You would kindly remind him to take care of himself, which he would only weakly chuckle to, before changing the subject.
That he distanced himself from you, Gojo and Shoko. He would avoid your late-night strolls to get Gojo his annoyingly sweet candy, that he would insist on sharing with you. He would avoid your overnight stays, he was never feeling well, and didn’t want to bother you with it.
That he lost his touch. Suguru was always the softest, smoothest, the most attentive. He knew your body almost better than you did yourself, and he made sure you knew. His lips were always perfectly mounded with your own, or perfectly placed on another part of your body.
Never in your wildest thoughts, would you think that you could not remember the last time you saw him naked. You think about the silky strands of hair that would somehow end up in your mouth when you were being more passionate than usual, the freckles on his shoulders that you would trace after making love to him, the addicting familiarity of the man you loved.
You’re slowly lulled away from your thoughts, eyes gliding over to the taps of droplets on your window. It’s dark, gloomy and heavy. You can spot some of the lights in the gardens, illuminating the grey ground.
You simply cannot believe that the signs you saw were the start of a spiralling depression, that would end up taking over a hundred lives. You wish that you could stop him from ever taking the mission that ended up killing Riko, you wish that you saw the dullness of his soul, you wish you could save Haibara. You wish that you could stop every event that would fundamentally change the love of your life.
You wish you could stop him.
The tears are streaming down your face again, the tightness of your chest is making it hard to breath. It’s still raining.
Oh, how you wish he would come back. But you know, he never will.