ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅꜱ.
Gojo has always been a storm.
He entered rooms like lightning,
shattered darkness like it owed him something,
laughed like nothing in the world could ever hurt him.
Tonight, he was just a man.
On his knees.
Holding a body that once held his whole universe.
Y/N’s blood was warm, once.
But now it clung to his hands like guilt.
Sticky, drying, final.
He pressed his forehead to hers, as if he could breathe his life into her lungs.
As if love could outmatch death.
"Don’t do this,” he whispered, voice raw, no longer the unshakable tone of the strongest.
“Don’t leave me here. Not when I still need you.”
But her eyes—those soft, stubborn eyes—were already losing light.
She blinked slowly, like it hurt.
“I'm sorry,” she mouthed. Her voice was too broken to speak it aloud.
He wished she had screamed instead.
He would’ve carried the sound with him forever.
When she stopped breathing,
so did he.
Not for long, just for a moment.
But long enough to understand what it meant to live in a world without her.
Time passed. He couldn't remember how much.
Someone touched his shoulder, said her name in past tense.
He didn’t hear it.
There was blood on his lips from where he bit back a scream.
He never forgave the sky for staying so blue that day.
He didn’t wear black.
He didn’t speak.
What could he possibly say?
That he was sorry?
That he should’ve been faster? Stronger?
He was already all of that.
And still—it wasn’t enough.
He returned to the school, taught his students, fought curses like nothing had changed.
But when he walked past the empty classroom where she once waited for him with coffee and quiet smiles,
his steps would falter.
Just once.
Barely noticeable.
But it was always there—
the grief stitched into his bones.
The ghost of her in every shadow.
At night, Gojo stopped wearing his blindfold.
He wanted to see everything,
in case some fragment of her still remained in this world.
But she wasn’t in the stars.
She wasn’t in the wind.
She wasn’t in the mirror when he stared into it and wondered if maybe, just maybe, she had been the last thing holding him human.
He kept one of her hair ties.
Not because he was sentimental.
Because it was the only thing that still smelled like her.
He would hold it in his hand at 3 a.m.
And remember the way she used to say his name.
Not like the world did.
Not like a weapon or a title.
She said it like it was soft. Like it was a secret only she was allowed to keep.
And now there was no one left to say it that way.
"Maybe I could join you," he said one night, standing on the edge of a rooftop, wind howling like it missed her too.
Because she would have hated that.
Because she made him promise.
Because even now, especially now, He wanted to be the man she believed he could be.
Even if it meant walking with a broken heart until the end of time.
And so Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world,
smiles for the living,
fights for the innocent,
laughs with ghosts in his throat—
And when no one is watching,
he whispers her name
into the hollow space between his ribs.
The place she once lived.
The place she still does.
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