𝙨𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙮 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙠𝙮 || 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪̄ 𝙂𝙤𝙟𝙤̄
There was nothing I could’ve done, nothing I could have said…even if I reached out my hand, he would never take hold of it. After years of war, what was left? Nothing but ashes and scars and unshed tears.
It had been a little over a year since Shibuya. Since we lost Nanami. Since all the trauma. And a little over a year since Satorū Gojō had disappeared.
It had been strange really. One minute he was soaring confidently in the sky battling Sukuna, whom had taken over Itadori’s body, then the next he had completely disappeared. Lost in the debris of chaos and madness.
It had only been a few months since I was delivered the news by Megumi that Satorū had officially been declared dead.
I realized, in that moment, that I did not know what the meaning of despair truly meant.
Not until I had to cling onto Megumi to keep from collapsing as I wailed until my voice gave out.
What meaning was there to life when light has left you?
Oh, how he knew my heart. In ways that were a mystery to even my own body.
So, there was no doubt that he knew what the loss of his ocean eyes and snow white hair were doing to me.
How it stung like withdrawal from a drug.
There was no doubt in my mind that I might die this way, from a broken heart of his own design. How had I let these feelings fester in my chest so? He’s carved purple into my heart, and I hadn’t the faintest clue on how to remove it.
Christmas music hung gentle in the air, seeping through the cracks of the bedroom door from the living room. I sigh, sitting up in bed, and gazed out the window next to me. The edges of the glass were frosted over and through the other side white fluttered down from low grey clouds. The first snowfall of the season.
It had finally begun to snow after a warm start to winter. I hummed, “How beautiful.”
I placed my palm flat against the window, only to see how cold it was. The coolness felt nice against my hot hand. Suddenly, I hear the click of the door open and I turn my head to be met with Yuuji’s head peaking out from behind it. I smile softly at him. “Well, hi there.”
He grins at me but doesn’t move an inch from behind the door. I chuckle, “Don’t be shy, come inside.” His grin widens and he pushes the door open fully to reveal Megumi and Nobara standing behind him. This gains a hearted laugh out of me. “Yes, you can all come in.”
The Christmas music is loud now, as three additional bodies piled on top of the off-white comforter. “Hey, we got you a gift,” Megumi mumbled from the corner of the bed. I blink, “Really…?” Yuuji aggressively nods in a way that looks like he’ll gain a headache afterwards as Nobara hands me a small box covered in pretty blue wrapping paper topped with a purple bow.
The blue reminded me of Satorū’s eyes and the bow reminded me of my hair—though, my eyes were almost the same shade of purple as my hair, they held more of a pinkish under hue.
I feel water sway in my eyes and I tilt my head back so they won’t threaten to fall.
It was Christmas Eve, exactly a year after Satorū’s disappearance and exactly three months since he had been declared dead by the jujutsu world. It only took a moment for my tears to soak back behind my eyes and I open the gift rather slowly for how poorly it had been wrapped (curtesy of Megumi I guessed).
It had been my birthday in October of last year, right before the Shibuya incident, since I had received a gift. I wanted the moment of anticipation to last for just a few seconds too long. And, as I unwrapped it, I caught a glimpse of pale skin and even paler tufts of spiky hair.
At this, there were no hiding my tears. I began to sob despite myself. It was a framed photo of Satorū and I from a time that seemed so long ago now.
“Merry Christmas!” Nobara says giddily. She seemed most excited for me to receive this gift. I sniffed, “Thank you…when-when was this picture taken?”
The photo had been snapped as Satorū and I were smiling at each other, clearly we had been discussing something so immersive that we hadn’t noticed the moment had been taken and captured for all his infinity.
I stared at him, studying his every feature. His eyes held such a mirthful gleam behind his glasses and his smile was so wide it overtook half his face. It had been so long since I had last seen that smile.
I had thought I was beginning to forget his face but, in fact, they had been so etched into my mind that I could reminisce on every pore.
Itadori purses his lips and looks upwards as he racks his mind for this particular memory. He hummed when he’d finally remembered. “I took this picture, a little before your birthday when we surprise you at your favorite cafe.”
“Ah—I see.” In other words, it was our very last happy moment together. “How precious.”
“I know you regret not telling him,” Megumi starts, “I hope this picture can give you a little peace of mind…he told me he felt the same about you that day.”
And, just like that, the first anniversary of the strongest’s death came to an end.
“Satorū! Hey, Satorū!” I huff out between pangs of breath. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Yo!” He grins down at me, lifting his hand up in a small waving gesture. “What’s up Solange?” Satorū’s sunglasses tilt downward to the edge of his nose, and his eyes seem to glisten in the noon sun like that of the ocean on a warm summer’s day. I cross my arms and cut my eyes at him. “You told me to meet you at the school’s entrance after school. I’ve been waiting for over thirty minutes, y’know!”
Satorū quirks a brow at that, but soon begins to laugh at himself. “That’s right! We’re supposed to hang out today! Sorry, I was caught up in some last minute errands.”
“How can you stand me up so close to my birthday, huh? You jerk!”
Satorū only laughs in response and I could only chuckle at his idiocies. His laughter was wholly contagious.
I gasp, abruptly jolting out of my sleep. Harsh winds pounded against the window as the snowfall grew heavier.
I blearily blinked the sleep out of my eyes, rubbing at my face. “That dream…,” I mumbled into the darkness of his bedroom. That dream was a memory, the memory of the moment that picture had been taken. I glanced at the photo sitting on my nightstand.
I pick it up and rub my thumb over the hand he had placed on my shoulder in the midst of our laughing fit. In the end, those so-called “errands” had been last minute preparations for the party.
My mind wanders to Megumi’s words on Christmas Eve—which had now been a few days ago—Satorū had confessed his feelings for me to Fushiguro. And, once again, hot tears dripped onto the glass of the frame. “Why couldn’t you have just told me?” I sobbed.
I wanted him to hear me, to acknowledge the pain he’s caused and feel guilty. I wanted him to leave a sign, to apologize, to tell me that he was alive. I sobbed as if I hadn’t been crying in his bed for an entire year.
Dammit. This hurts. It hurts so much.
When the war had ended and the search for Satorū had begun, I decided to leave my family home and move into his apartment.
As the closest person to him—besides Shoko, of course, but she refused to move out of the comfort of her new house—it fell upon me to take care of the things he’d left behind in hopes that he’d return to them someday.
The apartment was rather large for being in the heart of Tokyo, and it was surprisingly well-kept and clean. The wood floors shined, there were healthy, thriving plants growing in every corner, and the kitchen was well stocked. It was as if he knew I would be staying there for an extended period of time and wanted his home to be as comfortable as possible for me. I shook my head at the thought. “No, that’s ridiculous.”
I had thought that then but now, with the new year approaching, I couldn’t help but feel a bit differently. Having lived here for a year now.
There were some things that his knowing I would be here could only explain.
So many of my favorite foods that he doesn’t eat took up most space in the refrigerator and pantry, my favorite shows and movies had been organized in the cabinetry of his entertainment center, he had an untouched gaming console full of video games I had told him I never had the time to play, and bookshelves took up half the wall in his bedroom despite the fact that he wasn’t a reader.
I had concluded some time ago that he knew I would be coming. So, did that mean his disappearance was premeditated?
I had never shared my concerns with anyone, I’d be labeled as delusional, especially since I hadn’t left his apartment ever since he’d been declared dead. But what if I were right? What if he knew he’d be gone far before his battle? Or even before he was trapped in that prison cube?
I gaze up at the ceiling from where I lay on the couch. My thoughts were racing so quickly I couldn’t keep up with each point made. “If it was premeditated…could he have left some clues around? Or at least a note?”
I sit up then as something strange on the ceiling caught my eye. There was a weird outline of a square right above the coffee table. “What the…what is that?”
As I moved the coffee table and found a step ladder tucked in the corner of the supply closet and peeled back the wallpaper, I realized what I had been looking at was the poorly covered up entrance to the attic. “Why the hell is the attic in the middle of the living room?”
I unhooked the latch and stepped down the ladder as I pulled the string to unveil a staircase leading up. I grab my phone and carefully descended up the steps.
There wasn’t much to the room, other than a few dusty boxes here and there. But what caught my eye was a small desk in the far back. Upon it lay a battery powered lantern and a notebook. “Huh—I didn’t take Satorū as much of a writer.” Picking up the notebook I make my way back to the living room and place everything back as if they had never been touched.
I had found, upon opening the book, that it was somewhat of a diary dating all the way back to two thousand eight. The year him and I met. However, other than talking about his day and his thoughts, the lines were filled with things about him and I. The pages told of memories we’ve shared over the past ten years. And it all came to an end on my birthday.
I find myself crying again, trying to keep my tears from smudging such precious words. As I continued to read throughout the night I had come to realize something…this entire journal was his confession.
“You asshole,” I sniff, “Why make something so beautiful if I was never intended to see it?”
And outside the storm raged on, somehow embodying the emotions whirling inside of me.
A white puff of smoke rose from my lips as I breathed out a harsh breath. The night seemed to stretch on forever as I walked down the bare streets of Tokyo. It was late March now and, with the end of the month, came the last snow of winter.
It was cold, but certainly warmer than mid-January.
In fact, it was around that time that I had decided to finally face reality. I was now back working at Jujutsu High—now, with Satorū gone, I took the position as the Jujutsu world’s strongest—I had been welcomed back with such warmth.
Everyone was gentle with their approach until I had stopped crying myself to sleep most nights out of the week. I attributed that little victory to the fact that I read Satorū’s journal almost every day. And every time I finished reading, I lingered on the last two words written.
It was a small I’m sorry scribbled very poorly, as if he were shaking. That, in itself, had released so much tension in my heart I was able to pick myself up and return to society.
Though, some times, the closeness of people was a stark reminder that he wasn’t there. It sometimes became too much to bear.
And that was the very case today.
Though, instead of staying in bed and racking my mind through imaginary “what ifs”, something compelled me to take a walk tonight (despite the fact that it was almost two in the morning).
So, now I found myself waltzing slowly through snowed streets and yellow lights. Every now and then a car would zip past but there was no one else to share the stars with.
The tips of my fingers began to feel numb by the time I had decided it was time to go back home. As I let out another sigh for the umpteenth time and turned around, I noticed a tall, lanky figure slowly stalking in the mist the harsh snowfall created.
However, despite its menacing silhouette, its presence felt familiar…comforting. I squint my eyes at the figure as it grew closer, and white hair cut through the fog. That couldn’t possibly be—but, like muscle memory, my heart knew what my brain could not fathom.
“…It’s you,” I gasped, “It’s you.”
My face felt hot as I hiccuped through tears. My legs felt like jelly and I fell forward onto my knees, my hands pressed firm against the freezing sidewalk. “Where have you been?” I huffed out a sob.
Soft footsteps grew in sync with my wails until, through my tears, I was looking at a pair of men’s black dress shoes.
For a moment, the only thing that spoke to the emptiness were my sobs and the howls of those of the wind. I hiccuped as I clutched at my chest, gripping onto the fabric of my coat. I had been crying so long that my tears were beginning to run down cold. It felt as if the world grew still, quietly watching the spectacle before her.
That was until he finally spoke.
His words echoing through the quiet and loud that rung in my ears. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
His voice sounded like heaven. It had been so long since I heard his breath. He knelt and gripped onto my arms to bring me to a stand. But, I snatched myself out of his hands. In my hysteria, I didn’t know what else to do other than to repeatedly hit against his chest in some form of lashing out or revenge. “Where have you been?” I wailed, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you? They told me you were dead! It was torture!”
I cried until they turned into hiccups and I found myself surrounded by his scent. Sandalwood, cashmere and a hint of musk. It was always so faint but was always lingering on him. In his hair, on his clothes and in his hugs.
I inhale deeply. Yes, that was him. The same scents have followed him since two thousand eight.
“We should head back now, you’ll catch a cold if you stay out here any longer.” I nod, letting him guide me towards the apartment. “Honestly, what were you even doing out here? It’s way past midnight, dummy.” I grin up at him, “I guess I was here looking for you.”
He doesn’t say anything but, through the thick paleness of the storm, I catch a tinge of pink on the tips of his ears. I smile to myself. I suppose I can just blame that on winter.
We walked through the night, arm in arm, with my heart about ready to burst. Is it possible to die of incandescent happiness?
The next morning he awoke in my arms. My fingers entangled in the wrinkles of his shirt. “Good morning Solange,” he exhaled.
“Good morning…Satorū.” Oh, how it felt so good to say his name again.
Suddenly, he lifts his hand to run through my hair, pulling at a coil before placing the tips of his fingers on the edge of my hip. “You cut your hair.” I hum, closing my eyes, basking in his warmth. “I needed control of something, and at the time that was my hair. So, I cut it.”
My hair, a sweet heather mauve color, once fell down the smooth of my back. Now my coils barely graced my shoulders.
He hums, thoughtful, before he gives me a soft smile in his words. “I like it.”
“Really?” I grin, eyes still closed. “Well, I like you. Very much.”
It takes a moment for my mind to register my tongue. Once it does, however, my eyes snap open and my free hand—Satorū was laying comfortably on the other—slams over my mouth. “Oh, fuck…,” I mumble through my fingers.
Satorū stares at me for a while, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was lying on half of my body I would’ve ran off. He chuckles after a long pause, moves my hand, and slowly leans in. His lips were nearly pressed against mine as he spoke, “Y’know, I’m not surprised. I like me too.”
My eye twitches and I sit up, hitting him upside the head. “What’re you talking about, you idiot!” He laughs, sitting up and rubbing his bruised forehead. “Hey, I was just tryna light up the mood! Grumpy much?” I lift up my fist again. “That was a rhetorical question!”
Satorū flinches. “Okay, okay! Not exactly the right time to lift up the mood. I got it! No need to resort to violence.” I sigh and lower my fists with a shake of my head. “You idiot.”
“You should already know, though—“ he gets out the bed with a large stretch, “—I love you too.”
I turn to him and smile, laying my head against my raised knees. “Yes, I do. I know. Though, I never said I loved you.”
“Well, I do; I guess it’s worth saying it out loud.” He leans over and kisses my forehead. “A dummy like you can’t read between the lines.”
My eyes roll at that. “You, sir, are a truly terrible flirt.” His grin widens, “Ha! If I’m so terrible then, you’re just gonna have to teach me.”
“With pleasure.” And I close the gap between us. Officially giving him his first kiss.
“Satorū! Hey, Satorū!” I yell at his lanky figure, jogging to catch up to his large strides. He turns towards me, grinning, “Yo, honey bun! What’s up!”
I kick his foot. “You forgot we were supposed to meet at the school’s entrance after classes today; and stop calling me that!” He quirks a brow and sticks his tongue out at me. “And you stop calling me by my surname. It’s Gojō. Okay, honey bun?” I groan, “Gojō, please, the new cafe I wanna take you to closes in an hour.”
“Aw—you ruined the surprise, honey bun,” Satorū grins brightly. I blink, realizing my mistake, and inhale deeply. “Satorū Gojō…you are the world’s most annoying boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend? Honey bun, I’m your husband.” At that I begin to walk away, deadpanned. “Satorū, we’re not even married.”
“Yet!” He chases after me, “We’re not married yet! And it’s Gojō, not Satorū.” I laugh, “What difference does it make? They’re both you.”
And then he steps in front of me, glasses balanced on the tip of his nose, and his eyes glitter. “It makes all the difference since you’re the one calling my name.”
Oh, yes, this man knew my heart well.
It was sewn on his sleeve, carved in purple.
After so long showered in tears and dark snow clouds, I had finally managed to meet the sky again. All bright and crystal and beautiful.
Gojō had finally taken a hold of my hand, and I planned on never letting go.
