MIRAGE | gojo satoru x reader
He was fine. He was always fine.
The first time Satoru realized you were dying, he didn’t cry.
Didn’t start tearing through cursed archives for some miracle buried under dust and blood.
He just blinked behind his covered eyes, that stupid grin tugging at his mouth like muscle memory.
Because it was a joke. Had to be. Because people like you didn’t die. You were a hurricane. A pain in the ass. The only one brave enough to snatch his glasses right off his face and call him a nerd in public.
You were supposed to outlive all of them.
And even when you started crumbling—
when your cursed technique faltered mid-mission, when you swayed in the hallway and brushed it off like it was nothing, when Shoko pulled him aside with a look in her eyes he didn’t want to name—
Because if he didn’t laugh, he might crack wide open.
if he let even a splinter of it in—
he wouldn’t survive you leaving.
"You good?" He asked once. Just to hear you call him an idiot.
You were curled up on a hospital cot like you barely fit inside your own body anymore, pale under the fluorescent lights, fingers slipping off your phone twice in a row.
But you still cracked a smile.
He barked a laugh. "Please. You always look like shit. This is just limited edition."
You smiled at him like he’d handed you a goddamn crown.
And he sat there—grinning like an asshole—like he didn’t spend the entire morning eavesdropping outside your room, learning you had weeks, not months.
“You’re allowed to hate this, you know. You're allowed to hate me for it.”
He rolled his eyes. Flung an arm over the back of the chair.
"Hate you? You’re not that important."
And he memorized the sound like a dying man hoarding breath.
Because it was almost over.
And he was going with you.
After that, Satoru started keeping track of you like he was studying for the world’s worst exam.
He didn’t write anything down.
Instead, he promised he’d remember:
The way your cursed energy flickered when you lied.
The way you touched ramen bowls like they’d burn you, even when they were cold.
The way you lit up when it rained, like the whole sky had decided to throw you a party.
The way you always, always, left a light on for him when he came back too late even when you should’ve sleeping.
He thought if he memorized enough of you, he could rebuild you later.
Patchwork you back together when the world finally ripped you away.
As if remembering could save either of you.
One night, you asked him to take you outside.
You could barely keep your eyes open. Couldn’t stand without swaying like paper in a storm. Your breath rattled in your chest like loose change.
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t waste a second.
Just scooped you up like you weighed nothing, like it didn’t kill him to feel your ribs under his hands.
He told himself you were just tired.
Told himself you weren’t slipping through his fingers.
You blinked up at the stars and mumbled, "If I make it to winter... will you take me somewhere it snows? Like really snows. So much you can’t even hear yourself think."
Satoru snorted. Because that's what assholes did when their world was ending.
"You’ve seen snow, dumbass."
"Not like that." You whispered.
You smiled and he felt something inside him tear.
He grinned like he had a choice.
And you smiled like you believed him.
You didn’t make it to winter.
Didn’t even make it to fall.
The last week, you stopped eating.
The last three days, you stopped talking.
The last day, you opened your eyes once—
He stayed with you until the machines went silent.
Stayed even after the nurses stopped checking.
Held your hand like it still belonged to him.
Like if he squeezed hard enough, he could keep you here.
At the funeral, Satoru didn’t wear black.
Showed up in his uniform. Wore stupid sunglasses.
Because you would’ve roasted his ass for wearing a tie.
He stayed after everyone else slunk away. Sat cross-legged in the dead grass, sunglasses slipping down his nose.
Like maybe you were just late.
Like maybe you’d come barreling around the corner any second, cussing him out for being a dumbass.
When the wind finally stirred, he leaned down over your headstone.
It wasn’t the right snow.
Because lying to you felt more honest than admitting you were really gone.
The kind that swallowed whole cities, muted every sound until the world felt abandoned.
Exactly what you'd asked for.
Satoru didn’t visit your grave.
Didn’t lay flowers. Didn’t say your name.
He walked the streets like he always did.
Smirking at the sky like he was too good to care.
He told himself he was fine.
That people died all the time. That he’d seen worse.
That if you weren’t strong enough to stay, that was your fault, not his.
He kept moving. Teaching. Fighting. Winning.
Because that’s what the strongest did. That’s what he was supposed to be.
Not the kind of idiot who looked over his shoulder every time he passed your favorite ramen shop.
Not the kind of fool who half-expected to see you there—
grinning like a menace, waving him over.
(You were gone. You weren’t coming back. He knew that. He knew that.)
when the world went completely still—
when the snow muffled everything so perfectly it felt like standing in a dream—
Let his hand brush the side of a bench you once tripped over.
Let his breath fog up the air in front of him, because he's still a human. So breakable.
And he whispered it, just once, because no one was close enough to hear:
It disappeared into the snow like everything else he couldn’t hold onto.