・ tokyo

@❛ ✧ : geto suguru. 　 　
⠀
april, spring of 2009.
three years after amanai riko’s death,
three years since gojo satoru’s awakening.

⠀ • • •

satoru was exhausted. between missions and endless training, he barely had time to rest. his complexion was pale, the bags under his vibrant blue eyes dark by comparison. anyone could have noticed if he didn’t always hide it behind his sunglasses and the dumb, overconfident grin he kept plastered on his face. then again, it was all his fault. had he not failed to protect amanai all those years ago, he wouldn’t be so desperate to achieve perfection. had he succeeded, he’d have more time doing other things.

but he did not. he held the will of the world in his hands and yet time was not something he was allowed to have. ironic, wasn’t it? he was supposed to be the strongest sorcerer in the world and yet the weight of life seemed to become heavier and heavier everyday. time often slipped past his fingers nowadays.

exorcise. train. repeat. exorcise. train. repeat. over and over again.

no one understood how heavy the burden of his existence was. the strongest sorcerer; the sole possessor of the six eyes and limitless technique. he was expected to wear that honor with pride and dignity. he did, at first. but after all these years he had realized how much of a curse it all was.

exorcise. train. repeat. exorcise. train. repeat. over and over and over again.

gojo satoru had become the shell of a man he once was. his soul had hardened, his heart darkened. his body was not his own. he had become nothing more than a weapon for the jujutsu society, and he, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, had no choice but to do his part. it was exhausting. he was miserable. and no one understood just how miserable it all was.

except for geto suguru.

it had been three years since they properly spent time together. it was all his fault, of course. he insisted on taking up missions on his own—missions that they would have done together three years ago. but he was stubborn and needed to prove himself, as stupid as that sounded now. satoru wondered if things would be easier if he had handled things differently. if he had stayed by his side all this time. maybe. maybe not. or maybe they would have led each other down a path of destruction.

regret. longing. wonder.

it was what brought him out of his bed to his best friend’s dorm on his day off, hands full of snacks and the usual toothy grin he used to keep others from seeing the broken man within. but the moment he saw suguru, he could no longer smile. instead, concern took over. his bright blue eyes darkened as his heart shattered. how did he not notice before?

“…suguru?” his name fell from his lips in a whisper, as if he was afraid he’d break the person before him if he spoke any louder. his eyes took in the sight of him. long, dark hair unkempt and grown past his shoulders, discoloration beneath his eyes, and a gaze that reminded him so much of his own—dark, empty, miserable.

regret. longing.

it took him a minute to find his voice again. “how long have you been like this, suguru?”

@❛ ✧ : gojo satoru. ⠀
⠀
april, spring of 2009.
five months before the village massacre,
three years of geto suguru's downward spiral.

⠀ • • •

the dorm was a mess. amidst the mediocre happenings in his life and the missions he had been unwillingly sent to take, he hardly managed to clean up after himself, make himself look remotely human at all. ... it's unbecoming for someone like him to be in this state of a complete disarray, he knows.

it's not like he didn't notice the teachers letting out a sigh of disappointment whenever he passes them in the hallways, hair a mess, buttons halfway undone. a top student like him used to their biggest hope—but now, who gives a damn anymore? they have gojo satoru now, the one and only hope for the jujutsu society, whose birth was meant to be the turning point for this world.

his entirety pales in comparison.

so, imagine his confusion that exact day, when satoru showed up in front of his room, hands full of snacks and the usual toothy grin tugging at the corners of his lips. he's beautiful as always, icy cold gaze exuding a warmth only he could feel wrapping around his form; suguru could almost instantly feel a clench around his ribcage, too tight and cruelly so when their gazes meet, though this time, he couldn't return the same warmth that satoru sends his way. he's too perfect. so much better than suguru, who couldn't even give his life in turn of saving riko from those bastards.

seriously. it's unbecoming.

"... what?" was the only word he could muster in a pointed tone, right before a tinge of regret fills up his throat, a huffed out sigh leaving his lips. he didn't want to come across as cold, especially when satoru looked like a harmless little kitten, just waiting to be invited inside.

"...

sorry, i was cleaning my room. what's with the getup, you wanna have a sleepover tonight?"