Satoru Gojo, ‘The Strongest.’
The title had haunted Satoru for as long as he could remember, a constant reminder of how he was seen as more of a tool rather than a human. Even through childhood the weight of this so-called ‘gift’ burdened him.
Being the strongest meant he was made to protect, right?
So why was everyone so afraid of him?
No, not everyone. You never looked at him with fear, on the contrary, you looked at him with the kind of sincerity that for a second, Satoru Gojo believed he was just like everyone else, that he was just like you.
It was refreshing really, having someone to hold him when everything became too much, when his six eyes overloaded his senses, when the pressure to keep people safe started to cave in on him. You were always right there to soothe him, to coax him through whatever dilemma he had twisted his mind into.
He remembers the way your eyes glimmered in the moonlight, when he came home after a week-long mission to find you waiting, arms open for him to fall into. He remembers how he had to stifle his cry, blindfold dampening from his tears that threatened to surpass the fabric.
Growing up Satoru was taught that emotions make him weak, but you had taught him that his flaws only make him human.
Being with you felt like he was finally free from that title, he was human with you. Satoru was allowed to let his guard down around you and finally just, be.
Why did he have to let his guard down?
Why did he keep thinking of you?
Satoru Gojo is the strongest, so why does he feel so weak without you?
He can't remember how long it had been, two years? Maybe three? He was starting to forget your voice, the sweet snort you'd make when he would crack a stupid joke. He couldn't remember exactly how you did your hair anymore. He couldn't even recall your favourite food. Even his name tasted wrong coming from his own mouth, it was never as sweet as the way you said it.
He blames himself, how could he not? He allowed himself to think that just for a second he could forget.
Forget the title, the missions, the curses, the worries. Forget everything but you.
It's ironic. Since your passing Satoru hasn't had a chance to forget anything, except from your face.
All evidence of you disappeared from his home, your home. He can't bring himself to face something that reminds him of you, not when he couldn't protect you like he did for everyone else. The guilt eats at him, every passing day something in his chest gets heavier. He refuses to enter your old shared bedroom, he can't bring himself to walk into the room that holds so many memories.
Sometimes he’ll catch himself calling out your name, walking into the living room to show you a new dessert place only to freeze, to remember.
This too large house only makes him feel smaller, the silence stretches across the estate. There should be laughter bouncing off the walls, small pitter-patter of tiny feet running along the halls from the future children you two spoke about often.
Even after moving into a different bedroom Satoru still finds himself reaching out for you in his sleep, long limbs stretching out to entangle with yours only to realise that your side of the bed remains cold.
Every night is torture, Satoru lies awake, he wants to cry but why should he? What's the use if you aren't there to hold him, to shush him and tell him you're right there?
Satoru Gojo, ‘The Strongest,’ is weak without you.
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