It comes more fitfully these days. His brain isn't a kind companion, nightmares have become the norm and they throw his failure into bright relief any time he thinks he might rest. Look, here, it says the places where you failed. The things you've lost. A never-ending highlight reel. Though that's even if he manages to fall off into it, with his stomach a nesting knot of anxiety, whatever is inside of him writhing in a sickly pulse. Sleep is a stranger. He is a stranger. He hates the nighttime now.
So it does not take him long to rouse. Maybe he's already there when the air shifts, or maybe it's the first call of his name, but Geto's wriggling to a sitting position almost instinctively, blankets tossed aside so he can blink blankly into the space around him. His hair is a mess, his body sweaty, t-shirt sticking. But his voice stays soft, low, concerned. ) Satoru?
( Is this another nightmare? No, it doesn't feel like one. He can't smell blood. )
Are you all right? ( Anxiety tightens, he makes to rise. ) Has something happened?
[ there's no reasonable explanation for the ache in his chest, but there it is. just the sight of suguru, clothes rumpled and hair mussed from sleep, is all it takes for the feeling to wriggle underneath his ribs and make a home for itself there. maybe it's why he can't stop himself from taking a step forward, helpless as if he's being tugged by some greater gravitational force. ]
Huh? [ blinking again, reaching up to scrub the grit from one eye with the back of his hand. ] Oh. Yeah, I'm --
I was trying to teleport into my dorm. I guess I missed, huh? [ and now he should turn and go. let suguru go back to sleep, because maybe sleep will fix the dark hollows under the other boy's eyes, or the way he looks at satoru like he's looking through him instead of seeing him at all.
but his feet stay rooted here, unwilling to listen. ] ... I didn't mean to wake you up.
Something twinges behind his ribs. He frowns in the dark, forgetting that his friend could see it. A hand lifts from the blankets and then falls back, unsure. His tongue tries forming words. Would it be kinder to let Gojo go to his own room? Yes, absolutely. He wanted to go there, didn't he? And yet it's been days, they've texted, on-and-off, but when was the last time they saw each other? When was the last time that terrible straining tension wasn't pulled taut?
He'd missed. )
That's okay, I wasn't really --. ( Sleeping? ) Hey, do you want to sit down? Here. I'll move ... ( A quiet shuffling sound, unusually messy sheets pulled aside. ) Was your mission okay? Are you sure nothing happened?
[ it's funny, but only in the way that's not really funny at all. when's the last time things have felt this awkward between them? as long as satoru can remember, he and suguru have always fit like two puzzle places notching into place.
but honestly? satoru doesn't even care. he'd put up with any amount of awkward, any amount of uncomfortable, if it's he and suguru just being able to talk again.
as soon as the offer is made, he's moving forward to find a spot on the bed beside suguru, almost like he's afraid he'll lose the chance if he hesitates. ]
Nah, it went the way most of 'em do. Whole lotta nothin' for a teeny tiny bit of excitement. [ leaning in, bumping their shoulders together. ] What about yours?
( There shoulders brush and something slots terribly into place. He's half worried he might cry from the awful relief, is only marginally surprised when his voice doesn't shake. )
Mm, fine. Same old. ( He consumed a curse and told no one. He half thinks to confess to Gojo, tell him that the numbers on file no longer match the one's inside of him, that he swallows them down as rote now and does not think. Instead he leans a little heavier against his shoulder, opens his mouth, closes it. ) Okay.
(Okay.
Infinity is not keeping him away. He can sense heat. He can feel the slump of shoulders. )
Stay there. I'm getting you a t-shirt. Actually, take your uniform off. ( Focus, old habits, well-trod pathways. He feels it rise inside of him like an anxiety. He wants this to feel the same. He makes to stand, follow through on his word. ) Weren't you supposed to be driven back? Why did you teleport?
[ satoru groans like being fussed over is some kind of trial he's being forced to endure, but it's a half-hearted protest at best. in reality, something jumps in his chest -- hope? relief?
the proof is in the way he's already moving to obey, shimmying the jacket over his head and then starting to pluck open the buttons of the shirt underneath. ] You kidding? Trying to sleep in the backseat sucks. My legs never fit, and --
[ a pause, blinking. because he's realizing for the first time that it never used to be a problem when they were on missions together; he could slouch all his weight up against suguru and sleep with no trouble at all. ]
( He finds his softest t-shirt by touch alone, doesn't think to put on the light. )
That's because your legs are freakishly long. ( Without heat and despite the fact that they're similar heights. He comes back to hand over the shirt, taking Gojo's school jacket to hang it neatly on his nearby chair. ) Teleporting's cool when you're not tired enough to forget a limb, ah Satoru.
( He has to fight the urge to sweep white hair out of the other boy's eyes, instead he reaches out to take his sunglasses and fold them carefully up, put them safely aside. )
[ there it is again, that stupid squeezing ache in his chest. and just because suguru reaches out to carefully take the sunglasses off his face -- like he still knows that he's one of the only people allowed to touch them, like maybe the distance between them was really nothing after all. (just the summer heat.) ]
Stop fussing, mom. [ softly, voice laden with fondness. reaching out to tug at suguru's shirt, a silent demand for him to get back in bed already. ] Promise all my freakishly-sized limbs are still firmly stuck to me.
I'm letting those freakishly long limbs into my bed.
( Still, he hesitates. Crosses his arms over his chest as though to hold himself in place. )
I could take the floor.
( And then, aware that it's strange, aware that it's new, all in a rush. ) You're tired. You sound tired. And I haven't been sleeping well. I don't want to keep you up if you could get some actual rest before they send you out on another mission -. ( An odd note creeps in, frustrated. He takes a breath, tries to settle himself. ) I don't mind.
[ oh. there it is again. that stupid distance, the feeling that he and suguru are standing on either side of a gap that keeps widening inch by inch.
there's a part of him, some kneejerk instinct, that wants to pull away from it so he doesn't have to look at it more closely than this. (because satoru was supposed to be one half of the strongest, because he told suguru to go on ahead and let him handle the sorcerer killer, and --)
but the larger part of him is just desperate not to lose this, and that's what makes him start shaking his head before suguru even finishes speaking. ] Don't --
[ stumbling over it, chewing on the inside of his cheek. ] ... we don't have to talk or anything. You can go back to sleep, if you want. I just --
[ the words stick to the back of his throat again; he doesn't know how to put any of this into words. ]
( The exhaustion washes over him then, blinking into the dark. Gojo is a blurry shadow and Geto cannot possibly know what his face is doing, and yet something twinges either way. )
Okay.
( Okay, what? Gojo said don't and he doesn't even know what that means, but he feels ill with fear and the room is close and dark. ) Get in, move over.
( Does he sound frantic? Maybe. He's climbing into bed without really giving Gojo much time to do as he's demanded, limbs knocking together, hands yanking the blankets up and over them like something terrible might happen if it isn't immediate. Maybe something might. He ends up on his side facing the other boy, eyes wide in the dark and no better sight for it. That's fine. He's fine. They're both fine. )
If I keep you up you have to tell me. All right? I don't want to make it worse.
[ it happens almost too quickly for satoru to even be relieved -- there's just that awful feeling of distance, and then suddenly suguru is crowding into his space so fast that it nearly bowls satoru over. it's something of a scramble to wriggle back in time to make space for him, tugging the borrowed t-shirt over his head just in time for suguru to yank the blankets up over both of them.
and then --
that.
satoru's brow knits at the sound of the words, the idea that any sliver of suguru in his proximity could be anything but an immediate improvement. ] ... not gonna happen. Being around you is the only thing that makes stuff better, sometimes.
[ and he wriggles himself a little closer, letting their knees bump under the blankets, reaching out to twine the other boy's bangs around two of his fingers. ] Suguru. You sure you're okay?
He almost laughs, swallows it down audibly instead. Gojo touches him though, their knees bumping, fingers playing with a lock of his hair, and he thinks about how hard it is to pretend. He thought he was doing it for the best, that he might have become something more like an awful weight, an anchor unasked for. He doesn't quite know what to do when it's asked outright. )
I'm -. ( His voice quietens, fingers sliding across the sheets to press against Gojo's sternum. ) I don't know.
( It feels a little like a bloodletting, his fingers flattening until his entire palm can be pressed to where the sword went through. Beneath his touch he can feel heat. He's here, he's real, he's alive. His words drop to a whisper, low like a confession though somehow strangely steady. )
Actually, I think there's something wrong with me. ( The same hand slides higher, up to where he can feel a heartbeat. ) Satoru, I don't really know what to do.
[ it's the first time anyone's touched him since everything that happens. the last thing to reach him had been the spear the sorcerer killed used to cut him down; keeping infinity up has become an ingrained habit ever since, but that's never been an obstacle for suguru, has it?
he breathes. in and then out, so focused on that simple point of contact that it takes him a long minute to process the rest of the words. but once he does, his brow knits as he lets the sound of them settle, and -- ]
Okay. [ leaning into that hand pressed against his heartbeat, brushing the other boy's hair back away from his face. ] Then we'll figure it out.
[ together. you and me. the way they always do -- the way they always did. ] What is it? Somethin' with your technique?
( It comes hesitantly, haltingly. His voice is barely a whisper, but it's late and just the two of them so it feels better for the quiet. Geto chews on his bottom lip and tries to figure out how he might explain it, the emptiness, the gnawing gaps where surety had once sat. He doesn't want his friend to be disappointed in him. He doesn't want him to be disgusted. )
I don't know. Maybe? ( Is it? He's been swallowing filth and expecting himself to be okay with it for years now. Could it be connected? ) Does it feel fair, Satoru? Running yourself ragged for everyone?
... not what satoru was expecting to hear. not because the idea itself is all that shocking, but because suguru's always been so... steady? in his beliefs, in the constellation of moral convictions he's always charting out for satoru, in whatever greater good makes all the day to day bullshit worth it. ]
Not really. [ none of the shame of a confession, just the same honesty suguru always gets. ] I get pissed off about it, sometimes. Especially when I'd rather sleep in, or play a video game, or...
Once again Geto feels stuck inside his own body. Weighed down by the rot of it, imprisoned inside of his bones. He wishes, futilely, that he could crack open his skull just to peer inside and divine his own real feelings. He doesn't know what he wants to say, nor if the things that queue up are the truth. He hates that he can't figure that out. )
Yeah. ( Lamely what he settles on, palm flat against Gojo's chest. ) But we have to, right? That's the point. There's no one else.
[ with a stubborn kind of insistence, leaning close enough to bump their foreheads together like that'll help make sure the words stick. ] People always wanna act like we signed on some kinda dotted line just by being born, y'know? And the geezers up at the top act like they can call the shots just 'cause that's the way it's always been.
I don't care about any of that stuff. [ sure, his view has shifted plenty since he first set foot in tokyo, but the core of it's the same. he likes being a sorcerer. he likes pushing himself to get stronger, discovering new ways to utilize his technique, finding that one-in-a-million opponent that offers up some kind of challenge. ] What do you want, Suguru?
( It's repetitive, it's dumb. He kind of hates it. )
I know what I'm supposed to say. I'm supposed to want to keep going, because it's my duty, because I'm one of the only people who can, and what else is there but doing your very best for the world around you? It's what's expected, isn't it? We have to save people. It doesn't matter what it costs. Anything else is selfish. But -. ( He twitches, like a flinch. It feels sacrilegious to say anything beyond what he has. ) - but I don't want to do it if I have to lose everything to keep going.
( He breathes, the gust of it against Gojo's cheek. The truth sits there between them, and Geto keeps his eyes closed. )
He told me you were dead. The sorcerer killer. He told me he killed you.
that's all it takes to bring it back -- the white noise of applause all around him, the weight of amanai's corpse in his arms, the detached certainty of connecting the fact that suguru isn't here with the knowledge that suguru would've never left her alone. ]
... yeah. [ and for once, his voice is small. ] When I found her, I --
I thought you were gone. And I -- [ he stumbles over it. not at the thought of confessing it to suguru, but at the idea that saying them aloud might turn that narrow brush into something real. ] ... it felt like nothing mattered anymore.
I thought about killing them. Everyone in that room. [ with a detached sort of unselfconsciousness, the way someone else might describe running an errand. ] But I couldn't even decide. It felt like they deserved to die, but it didn't feel like them dying would fix anything, and --
None of it meant anything if it meant I was stuck in a world without you in it, y'know?
(It didn't feel like them dying would fix anything.
It scratches something in his brain, some unthought idea, some terrible conjecture. Geto shies away from it almost immediately, fixes his attention on Gojo instead, on the way his voice sounds, on how terrible it is. He doesn't even think before he's drawing him closer, wrapping the pair of them up until they're entangled under the blankets, Geto's chin on top of his skull, and a hand splayed against his spine, knees knocking. )
I told her we'd save her. ( His pulse flutters sickly. ) And he shot her. But even then it didn't feel like the worst thing, you know? Because I didn't understand. How he was there. It wasn't until he said that you -. ( He thinks he's shaking, buries his hands against his friend to try and soothe some of it out. ) - all I kept thinking was that it wasn't fair. Why was it us? Why is it always just us?
( He presses his face into snowy-white hair, his next words coming mumbled. )
I don't want you to die for anyone else, Satoru. I don't want your life wasted on something we don't even have a say in. I don't want to do it anymore.
[ suguru draws him closer, and satoru goes easily. melting against the lines of the other boy's body like it's something he was born knowing how to do, like the trick of fitting together is etched as deep inside him as his cursed technique. he throws an arm over suguru as the other boy curls into him, traces his fingertips up and down the broad plane of his back. ]
Okay. [ like it's easy, because it is. choosing suguru is the easiest thing in the world. ] Then we're not doing it.
[ having (freakishly) long arms comes with all kinds of benefits! like the way he can lean just a little and swat at the place suguru keeps his phone plugged in and charging on the desk next to his bed. then he's dragging it closer, unlocking it, squinting when the brightness of the screen washes over him, and tapping out something rapidly before suguru even gets the chance to protest.
after that? powering it off and tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder in the general direction of the bed. ] There. We're both off for the rest of the week. Won't kill 'em to sort out their own problems for a few days.
( Immediately he tries to scramble for it, but they're all entwined together and his heart isn't exactly in it. Instead he sinks back into the sheets, limbs heavy, voice mystified. ) I don't think we're allowed to do that, Satoru.
( It doesn't fix the problem anyway. Someone else has to take the load, someone else has to stand in his place. He just wishes it were simpler. He wishes he weren't afraid. There's something coming for him and he doesn't exactly know how to stand it down. )
Why not? [ with a snort, rubbing his cheek against the worn-soft material of suguru's shirt. ] What're they gonna do, lecture us?
[ ... he's also glossing over that last question, because if he spells out exactly how rude the text he just sent from suguru's phone was, it'll probably kick off a wrestling match for the phone. ]
Hey. [ bumping his forehead into suguru's shoulder. ] If Amanai told us that she didn't want to be the Star Plasma Vessel, would you have told her she had to? [ it's not really a question when he already knows the answer. ] Why's it only different when it comes to you?
( Small, and a little lost. He doesn't quite like remembering the hope on her face. ) She changed her mind. I told her we'd talked about it. We were so close to just turning around, Satoru. To getting out of there. But it is different. If I don't fight then they'll make you pick up my share of it, and that isn't fair either. You're exhausted, and we barely see each other now, and I keep telling myself it's fine because at least you're alive, and I'm helping. What if I didn't help? You're not actually a god.
( He lifts a hand, runs fingers through white hair. It isn't a criticism. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It comes more fitfully these days. His brain isn't a kind companion, nightmares have become the norm and they throw his failure into bright relief any time he thinks he might rest. Look, here, it says the places where you failed. The things you've lost. A never-ending highlight reel. Though that's even if he manages to fall off into it, with his stomach a nesting knot of anxiety, whatever is inside of him writhing in a sickly pulse. Sleep is a stranger. He is a stranger. He hates the nighttime now.
So it does not take him long to rouse. Maybe he's already there when the air shifts, or maybe it's the first call of his name, but Geto's wriggling to a sitting position almost instinctively, blankets tossed aside so he can blink blankly into the space around him. His hair is a mess, his body sweaty, t-shirt sticking. But his voice stays soft, low, concerned. ) Satoru?
( Is this another nightmare? No, it doesn't feel like one. He can't smell blood. )
Are you all right? ( Anxiety tightens, he makes to rise. ) Has something happened?
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Huh? [ blinking again, reaching up to scrub the grit from one eye with the back of his hand. ] Oh. Yeah, I'm --
I was trying to teleport into my dorm. I guess I missed, huh? [ and now he should turn and go. let suguru go back to sleep, because maybe sleep will fix the dark hollows under the other boy's eyes, or the way he looks at satoru like he's looking through him instead of seeing him at all.
but his feet stay rooted here, unwilling to listen. ] ... I didn't mean to wake you up.
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Something twinges behind his ribs. He frowns in the dark, forgetting that his friend could see it. A hand lifts from the blankets and then falls back, unsure. His tongue tries forming words. Would it be kinder to let Gojo go to his own room? Yes, absolutely. He wanted to go there, didn't he? And yet it's been days, they've texted, on-and-off, but when was the last time they saw each other? When was the last time that terrible straining tension wasn't pulled taut?
He'd missed. )
That's okay, I wasn't really --. ( Sleeping? ) Hey, do you want to sit down? Here. I'll move ... ( A quiet shuffling sound, unusually messy sheets pulled aside. ) Was your mission okay? Are you sure nothing happened?
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but honestly? satoru doesn't even care. he'd put up with any amount of awkward, any amount of uncomfortable, if it's he and suguru just being able to talk again.
as soon as the offer is made, he's moving forward to find a spot on the bed beside suguru, almost like he's afraid he'll lose the chance if he hesitates. ]
Nah, it went the way most of 'em do. Whole lotta nothin' for a teeny tiny bit of excitement. [ leaning in, bumping their shoulders together. ] What about yours?
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Mm, fine. Same old. ( He consumed a curse and told no one. He half thinks to confess to Gojo, tell him that the numbers on file no longer match the one's inside of him, that he swallows them down as rote now and does not think. Instead he leans a little heavier against his shoulder, opens his mouth, closes it. ) Okay.
( Okay.
Infinity is not keeping him away. He can sense heat. He can feel the slump of shoulders. )
Stay there. I'm getting you a t-shirt. Actually, take your uniform off. ( Focus, old habits, well-trod pathways. He feels it rise inside of him like an anxiety. He wants this to feel the same. He makes to stand, follow through on his word. ) Weren't you supposed to be driven back? Why did you teleport?
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the proof is in the way he's already moving to obey, shimmying the jacket over his head and then starting to pluck open the buttons of the shirt underneath. ] You kidding? Trying to sleep in the backseat sucks. My legs never fit, and --
[ a pause, blinking. because he's realizing for the first time that it never used to be a problem when they were on missions together; he could slouch all his weight up against suguru and sleep with no trouble at all. ]
... teleporting's cooler, anyway.
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That's because your legs are freakishly long. ( Without heat and despite the fact that they're similar heights. He comes back to hand over the shirt, taking Gojo's school jacket to hang it neatly on his nearby chair. ) Teleporting's cool when you're not tired enough to forget a limb, ah Satoru.
( He has to fight the urge to sweep white hair out of the other boy's eyes, instead he reaches out to take his sunglasses and fold them carefully up, put them safely aside. )
Do you need anything else?
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Stop fussing, mom. [ softly, voice laden with fondness. reaching out to tug at suguru's shirt, a silent demand for him to get back in bed already. ] Promise all my freakishly-sized limbs are still firmly stuck to me.
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( Still, he hesitates. Crosses his arms over his chest as though to hold himself in place. )
I could take the floor.
( And then, aware that it's strange, aware that it's new, all in a rush. ) You're tired. You sound tired. And I haven't been sleeping well. I don't want to keep you up if you could get some actual rest before they send you out on another mission -. ( An odd note creeps in, frustrated. He takes a breath, tries to settle himself. ) I don't mind.
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there's a part of him, some kneejerk instinct, that wants to pull away from it so he doesn't have to look at it more closely than this. (because satoru was supposed to be one half of the strongest, because he told suguru to go on ahead and let him handle the sorcerer killer, and --)
but the larger part of him is just desperate not to lose this, and that's what makes him start shaking his head before suguru even finishes speaking. ] Don't --
[ stumbling over it, chewing on the inside of his cheek. ] ... we don't have to talk or anything. You can go back to sleep, if you want. I just --
[ the words stick to the back of his throat again; he doesn't know how to put any of this into words. ]
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Okay.
( Okay, what? Gojo said don't and he doesn't even know what that means, but he feels ill with fear and the room is close and dark. ) Get in, move over.
( Does he sound frantic? Maybe. He's climbing into bed without really giving Gojo much time to do as he's demanded, limbs knocking together, hands yanking the blankets up and over them like something terrible might happen if it isn't immediate. Maybe something might. He ends up on his side facing the other boy, eyes wide in the dark and no better sight for it. That's fine. He's fine. They're both fine. )
If I keep you up you have to tell me. All right? I don't want to make it worse.
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and then --
that.
satoru's brow knits at the sound of the words, the idea that any sliver of suguru in his proximity could be anything but an immediate improvement. ] ... not gonna happen. Being around you is the only thing that makes stuff better, sometimes.
[ and he wriggles himself a little closer, letting their knees bump under the blankets, reaching out to twine the other boy's bangs around two of his fingers. ] Suguru. You sure you're okay?
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He almost laughs, swallows it down audibly instead. Gojo touches him though, their knees bumping, fingers playing with a lock of his hair, and he thinks about how hard it is to pretend. He thought he was doing it for the best, that he might have become something more like an awful weight, an anchor unasked for. He doesn't quite know what to do when it's asked outright. )
I'm -. ( His voice quietens, fingers sliding across the sheets to press against Gojo's sternum. ) I don't know.
( It feels a little like a bloodletting, his fingers flattening until his entire palm can be pressed to where the sword went through. Beneath his touch he can feel heat. He's here, he's real, he's alive. His words drop to a whisper, low like a confession though somehow strangely steady. )
Actually, I think there's something wrong with me. ( The same hand slides higher, up to where he can feel a heartbeat. ) Satoru, I don't really know what to do.
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he breathes. in and then out, so focused on that simple point of contact that it takes him a long minute to process the rest of the words. but once he does, his brow knits as he lets the sound of them settle, and -- ]
Okay. [ leaning into that hand pressed against his heartbeat, brushing the other boy's hair back away from his face. ] Then we'll figure it out.
[ together. you and me. the way they always do -- the way they always did. ] What is it? Somethin' with your technique?
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( It comes hesitantly, haltingly. His voice is barely a whisper, but it's late and just the two of them so it feels better for the quiet. Geto chews on his bottom lip and tries to figure out how he might explain it, the emptiness, the gnawing gaps where surety had once sat. He doesn't want his friend to be disappointed in him. He doesn't want him to be disgusted. )
I don't know. Maybe? ( Is it? He's been swallowing filth and expecting himself to be okay with it for years now. Could it be connected? ) Does it feel fair, Satoru? Running yourself ragged for everyone?
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... not what satoru was expecting to hear. not because the idea itself is all that shocking, but because suguru's always been so... steady? in his beliefs, in the constellation of moral convictions he's always charting out for satoru, in whatever greater good makes all the day to day bullshit worth it. ]
Not really. [ none of the shame of a confession, just the same honesty suguru always gets. ] I get pissed off about it, sometimes. Especially when I'd rather sleep in, or play a video game, or...
... y'know, hang out with you.
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It is also not entirely helpful.
Once again Geto feels stuck inside his own body. Weighed down by the rot of it, imprisoned inside of his bones. He wishes, futilely, that he could crack open his skull just to peer inside and divine his own real feelings. He doesn't know what he wants to say, nor if the things that queue up are the truth. He hates that he can't figure that out. )
Yeah. ( Lamely what he settles on, palm flat against Gojo's chest. ) But we have to, right? That's the point. There's no one else.
( Oh, he wants to cry. He can feel it. )
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[ with a stubborn kind of insistence, leaning close enough to bump their foreheads together like that'll help make sure the words stick. ] People always wanna act like we signed on some kinda dotted line just by being born, y'know? And the geezers up at the top act like they can call the shots just 'cause that's the way it's always been.
I don't care about any of that stuff. [ sure, his view has shifted plenty since he first set foot in tokyo, but the core of it's the same. he likes being a sorcerer. he likes pushing himself to get stronger, discovering new ways to utilize his technique, finding that one-in-a-million opponent that offers up some kind of challenge. ] What do you want, Suguru?
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I don't know.
( It's repetitive, it's dumb. He kind of hates it. )
I know what I'm supposed to say. I'm supposed to want to keep going, because it's my duty, because I'm one of the only people who can, and what else is there but doing your very best for the world around you? It's what's expected, isn't it? We have to save people. It doesn't matter what it costs. Anything else is selfish. But -. ( He twitches, like a flinch. It feels sacrilegious to say anything beyond what he has. ) - but I don't want to do it if I have to lose everything to keep going.
( He breathes, the gust of it against Gojo's cheek. The truth sits there between them, and Geto keeps his eyes closed. )
He told me you were dead. The sorcerer killer. He told me he killed you.
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he told me you were dead.
he told me he killed you.
that's all it takes to bring it back -- the white noise of applause all around him, the weight of amanai's corpse in his arms, the detached certainty of connecting the fact that suguru isn't here with the knowledge that suguru would've never left her alone. ]
... yeah. [ and for once, his voice is small. ] When I found her, I --
I thought you were gone. And I -- [ he stumbles over it. not at the thought of confessing it to suguru, but at the idea that saying them aloud might turn that narrow brush into something real. ] ... it felt like nothing mattered anymore.
I thought about killing them. Everyone in that room. [ with a detached sort of unselfconsciousness, the way someone else might describe running an errand. ] But I couldn't even decide. It felt like they deserved to die, but it didn't feel like them dying would fix anything, and --
None of it meant anything if it meant I was stuck in a world without you in it, y'know?
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It scratches something in his brain, some unthought idea, some terrible conjecture. Geto shies away from it almost immediately, fixes his attention on Gojo instead, on the way his voice sounds, on how terrible it is. He doesn't even think before he's drawing him closer, wrapping the pair of them up until they're entangled under the blankets, Geto's chin on top of his skull, and a hand splayed against his spine, knees knocking. )
I told her we'd save her. ( His pulse flutters sickly. ) And he shot her. But even then it didn't feel like the worst thing, you know? Because I didn't understand. How he was there. It wasn't until he said that you -. ( He thinks he's shaking, buries his hands against his friend to try and soothe some of it out. ) - all I kept thinking was that it wasn't fair. Why was it us? Why is it always just us?
( He presses his face into snowy-white hair, his next words coming mumbled. )
I don't want you to die for anyone else, Satoru. I don't want your life wasted on something we don't even have a say in. I don't want to do it anymore.
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Okay. [ like it's easy, because it is. choosing suguru is the easiest thing in the world. ] Then we're not doing it.
[ having (freakishly) long arms comes with all kinds of benefits! like the way he can lean just a little and swat at the place suguru keeps his phone plugged in and charging on the desk next to his bed. then he's dragging it closer, unlocking it, squinting when the brightness of the screen washes over him, and tapping out something rapidly before suguru even gets the chance to protest.
after that? powering it off and tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder in the general direction of the bed. ] There. We're both off for the rest of the week. Won't kill 'em to sort out their own problems for a few days.
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( Immediately he tries to scramble for it, but they're all entwined together and his heart isn't exactly in it. Instead he sinks back into the sheets, limbs heavy, voice mystified. ) I don't think we're allowed to do that, Satoru.
( It doesn't fix the problem anyway. Someone else has to take the load, someone else has to stand in his place. He just wishes it were simpler. He wishes he weren't afraid. There's something coming for him and he doesn't exactly know how to stand it down. )
What did you say?
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[ ... he's also glossing over that last question, because if he spells out exactly how rude the text he just sent from suguru's phone was, it'll probably kick off a wrestling match for the phone. ]
Hey. [ bumping his forehead into suguru's shoulder. ] If Amanai told us that she didn't want to be the Star Plasma Vessel, would you have told her she had to? [ it's not really a question when he already knows the answer. ] Why's it only different when it comes to you?
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( Small, and a little lost. He doesn't quite like remembering the hope on her face. ) She changed her mind. I told her we'd talked about it. We were so close to just turning around, Satoru. To getting out of there. But it is different. If I don't fight then they'll make you pick up my share of it, and that isn't fair either. You're exhausted, and we barely see each other now, and I keep telling myself it's fine because at least you're alive, and I'm helping. What if I didn't help? You're not actually a god.
( He lifts a hand, runs fingers through white hair. It isn't a criticism. )
I miss you. I miss when it felt simple.
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