‎tomievs ‎rexes ‎‎ ‎ ‎ᰍ @reminicingpoet - Tumblr Blog

Aug 10

gojo, geto, & choso reactions to your attempt...

headcanons | gojo fics | geto fics | choso fics

cw, mentions of suicide, depression, triggering subject matter, traumatic themes, graphic depictions of car crashes, severe injury in choso's, jumping, co2 scare, self mutilation, etc., gojo's is the longest around 7k (my bad), geto's abt 3k, choso's abt 5k ... please read wisely, and do not force yourself into a negative space if you know this will resurface trauma! - if you or a loved one are struggling with suicidal thoughts, the suicide and crisis hotline is 988 ♡

gojo, geto, choso

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satoru gojo:

when you were little, you always dreamt of flying.

it was a silly, frivilous dream. you'd watch movies about fairies, and would envy the flutter of their wings as they gracefully lifted their feet from the earth and glided their light bodies through the atmosphere. you would subsequently wake up from dreams about having been gifted your own wings, the wind catching through your hair as your mass soared through clouds, fresh, unfiltered air bristling through the little hairs on your arms and ripping through your light clothes.

you'd wake up disappointed.

you felt that there was a sense of freedom associated with the idea of flying. as though the very act could release you from your mind, which caged you inside of its deprecations far earlier than you'd like to recall. something about the carelessness, the ease, the way birds would leap from branches and glide through the sky, flapping their feathered wings to carry themselves overhead seemed as though it would provide the answers to all of your problems.

you longed for such lightness, such liberty, the lack of fruitless responsibility, the very cycle of life serving as your only worldly concern.

but instead, you were grounded. damned for eternity to live within the body you possess, forced to serve a sentence out on earth with no means of escape.

you'd prayed for such mutations, for god to grant you grace after having planted you in a world, in a home which always subjected you to far too much cruelty. you were only seven when the first thought of ridding yourself from the world planted itself into your hardly developed mind, for the stinging buzz of your cheekbone and the orange circle of fire that sizzled into your arms left you very little reason to want to stick around much longer, to stay within such conditions.

you remember trembling hands clasping tight with your elbows digging into your bed as you whispered frantically under your breath, tilting your head up to the ceiling where you believed the ruler of all life, of the universe resided. you prayed for peace. you prayed for a chance. you prayed for flight.

at first, you had merely believed that your prayers had been delayed. that there was a long line of similar wishes stretching out before yours, and that the provider would eventually find the time to handle your mess, to unweave your sorrows, to gift you life.

put time went by. cigarettes burned brighter, hands swung down harder, lips busted, eyes swelled, and your hands locked tighter as your prayers grew more desperate.

you elected to take matters into your own hands a few times, to attempt to help god speed up the process by slipping away in the middle of the night, attempting to flee. but every time, police reports feigning devastation and worry always brought you back, back to captivity, clipping your wings that hadn't even begun to grow.

the years went by, and you eventually gave up on sprituality. religion. god.

mercy.

scars inflicted by those meant to care, to love faded into darker marks, past memories of savagery that even the heavens could not salvage. by ten years old, the light had drained from your eyes. the world no longer held the possibility of something new, something better. your mind could no longer trick itself into conjuring lies about a brighter future, where your skin was smooth and your heart was full, where your innocent words were not maliciously twisted in order to inflict some kind of rash punishment, some excuse to belittle, abuse, dehumanize before your brain had even started to differentiate right from wrong, weak from strong.

and no one ever helped you. you'd go to school with full eyes and bruises beating beneath your uniform like a million heartbeats. you'd fall mute in class, during lunch, at recess, subjecting you to further negative attention. kids picked on you until you developed the habit of retaliating.

what you'd learned from home swiftly transferred to your place of academics, and your little fist would fly into a snotty girl's jaw before you let the mockery slip from her mouth again.

it was the only semblance of control you had. the only way you could release the monstronsity building up inside you. the only way you could seek justice for yourself, if god refused to do it for you.

a blur of meetings with the principal, with guidance counselors, with security officers and police who never truly saw you, never truly heard you flashed through your childhood. the bloodier your nose became behind closed doors, the bloodier your fist became in public. you had become a bully, transitioning from the victim of circumstance to the aggravator inflicting it.

until you were expelled at thirteen, and life was consequently almost torn away from you by your abuser.

you lay awake that night on your carpet in a pool of blood, crimson dripping from your mouth, drenching your squished cheek to the floor. you didn't bother moving as you stared up at the ceiling. eyes lidded. lips parted and smushed. lashes fluttering.

and that stain on the ceiling you'd always stared at morphed into the odd shape of something living. no longer a smudge, but a bird with crooked wings, still flapping relentlessly, flying away.

you shuddered a breath that tickled the strands of the spattered carpet beneath you.

the curses manifested pretty early. the monsters that trailed behind you as you trudged your way to school, their slippery claws ripping at your skin, whispering absurdities into your ear, willing the worse thoughts to become somehow darker, somehow heavier.

no one talked to you much as you as you grew older, as the air about you grew thicker with distain and malice and sorrow. they could always sense something off, some energy about you not quite vibrating at the same frequency as theirs. something scary, and impossible to name.

you transferred between schools rather frequently, never quite setting roots anywhere. the only thing that was home to you was the pain that constantly circled through your body and mind, conjuring up masses of cursed energy that flared and swarmed like diseased flies, like sicknesses you could not seem to shake. your yearning for animal life, for flight manifested in the curses you subconsciously brought to life, and you merely thought you were losing your mind as you watched their shadows dance across the walls in the middle of the night as your comforter tugged over your mouth.

nothing quite fazed you much after that. your mind had gone long ago, therefore anything strange, anything new that was gruesome and foul just sank deeper into you like it belonged.

you wanted to die. you'd wanted to die since the moment you could conjure up a thought. since the moment the world reared its ugly head to you before you lost your first tooth. life had nothing for you if it was only going to remind you of your misfortune, rip you away from pleasant dreams where the ghost of you quietly slipped away into the clouds, past the stars.

your feet hurt with every step you took over the ground, for every step that was not lifted by flight. you hardly noticed that the curses you'd left in your wake slowly began to mutilate those who wronged you, every classmate who whispered, every counselor who overstepped, and with time, your abuser. your aunt.

it wasn't until then, when you were sixteen years old, when you finally lowered your gaze from the sky to meet another one before you. in the shape of pools beneath snowy lashes, a terror so wrecked in them that you could not look away.

you stared at him over your shoulder, and gradually, your eyes grew wide. his hand was thrusted into the direction of the now flayed monster that you had only believed yourself to be able to see. the body of your aunt lay just before the exterminated curse, blood splatter mixed with some kind of alien purple decorating the kitchen oven

a boy with moonlight hair stood amidst your mess, and the gurgling chatter of your monsters had suddenly gone silent under the pressure of his presence, of his destruction.

but what you'd first thought to be terror and disgust in what he'd stumble upon turned into steely grief for you instead, his eyes as tired and dull as yours as he lowered his hand and scanned the area solemnly.

then his gaze is back on you, and the two of you could only stare. for you don't recall anyone ever having looked at you the way he did then, ever quite piercing you with his gaze like he had, ever quite seeing you so clearly before.

like you were raw and exposed before him. all your monsters he crushed. all the thorny misery that inspired them. blood stained your clothes, but he looked only at you and not at what you did... like you were a person. like you were just as real as the sorrow you felt. like he was exhausted to see such a thing happen again.

and you never did forget the frown the tugged his lips downward, and what felt like a hundred miles separating you before you collapsed to your knees with a thud, hoping for some final relief, hoping that the boy strong enough to erradicate your curses could do the same to you.

you closed your eyes when you felt footsteps approaching after a moment of silence, his cursed energy warping the very air that surrounded you. tears dribbled down your cheeks as you began to think that this was it, that the end of your life had finally come, that wings to flutter you away were just around the corner, gifted by the angel with eyes that match the neverending sky.

instead of his wrath, however, you are met with a hand extended once you peel your eyes back open upon not feeling any pain. you stare up at him, eyes blown and watery, and his brows drag together as he looks at you, something weighted and torn behind those sapphire irises.

you'd never touched a softer hand when you dared to reach.

the higher ups wanted you dead, especially since your appearance and the death caused by your negative energy transpired mere months after another boy's defection. though every sign pointed toward a likely evil nature, satoru didn't give up on you.

he always says that when he looked you in the eye, he knew that you just needed a chance at grace.

the white haired seventeen year old roped yaga into his argument when he brought you back from the mission as asked, pleading, begging him to look - to really look at you for one second and decide whether you deserved penatly or not, whether you had asked for what befell you.

you became satoru's indirect responsibility after that, so yaga enrolled you into the strange school, the very last school you would ever transfer to again.

you noticed that the higher ups often pulled satoru away from you at the best of times, using him to their advantage, as a weapon for humanity by sending him on mission after mission, leaving you to the hands of your professors, yaga, and the principal who always eyed you suspiciously when he walked by.

and while the urge to fixate on the old man's hostility toward you was strong, you found that his and the other higher ups' were the only hostility you'd come to know in this place.

for students didn't run away from you when they saw you coming. they didn't glare, or murmur, or wish you dead. no, they offered their hand to you just as satoru did that day, introducing themselves, welcoming you into their lives.

and satoru had become your closest friend, always rushing to your dorm the second he'd return from a mission to check in and see how you were doing, to flood your darkness with what you'd come to call his corny jokes and demanding presence, his obsessive need for your attention as though you'd known each other all of your lives.

it didn't take long for you to grow attached. though he paraded about as the jolliest boy in the world, you always saw the soul past his bright eyes, the pain he burrowed deep that touched yours. you'd catch him gazing off into the distance sometimes thoughtfully, or watching you close from the corner of your bed as you did homework. a million words hid behind his mouth that he never spoke, but his stare always told a deeper story.

and you, a former alien to kindness, gained light as you gained trust and control over your cursed energy. that resentment toward the world still lingered, but morphed into heavy guilt along the way, as you witnessed the horrors that curses inflicted upon human society.

satoru has always known you to be depressed. he thinks of the day he first saw you more than he is willing to admit, how easily you dropped to the ground before him, hoping that he'd take away your pain with the snap of his fingers.

it haunts him.

you don't smile with your eyes, and you spend more time staring at the clouds than you do on planet earth. he feels your anxiety buzzing through your body every day, and while you've grown into yourself as a sorcerer, as a person with time and age and friendship and love, your heartbeat still skips along like it's trying to kick its way out of your body, like you're trying to break through.

your cirumstance is strange, unlike suguru geto's. you didn't ask for the curses you bred. you didn't ask for the abuse that you endured. you didn't ask for this natural, unbridled, dangerous power that you harnessed the best you could for good.

but with age and time also came further strength, and just like satoru, you posed a threat to the jujutsu world in the higher ups' eyes, leading them to place further restraints on you as a graduate, and eventually as a young teacher.

for no matter how much control you gained, your trauma still remains. your depression still lives. and at any given moment, you could snap.

the guilt swallows you whole in your young adulthood. you wake up in the night from the cold slap of a woman you accidentally killed, your chest heaving up and down as you stare into the darkness. you think of all those missing classmates. of those who suffered at the hand of your subconscious anger, even without the manifestation of those curses.

the scars on your knuckles remind you of your cruelty.

and now that you are tasked with the protection of humanity, now that people like gakuganji are there to remind you of who you really are apart from satoru's affections and your friends' empathy, you stew in your responsibility. in all the bad that you've done. in the cycle that you've repeated, and are likely to repeat again.

you hate yourself. you always have.

you feel like an imposter when you first notice the soft way satoru looks at you in the lamp light of your dorm desk when you're kids, his head resting in your lap, his knees to the floor and his arms around your waist as you read. your shared privacy became a treasured thing as you grew together, your internal anguish molding into something warmer in the other's presence, for you acknowledged one another's independent struggle.

and satoru sees what suguru could have been in you. the kindness. the authenticity. the shared depression.

he finds that he doesn't want to lose you the way he did suguru. not in any way, for that matter.

and you consistently find it difficult to believe that satoru truly cares about you. you expect him to disappear one day, to turn on you, to walk away and antagonize you like every body else you've ever allowed yourself to be vulnerable around has.

you tense around him, because that softness, that gentle quality he gains in the empty spaces of your silence and company frightens you. you don't allow yourself to think it's real. for who could ever truly care about someone like you? someone beaten and tormented all of her life, hardly seen as a human at all? ignored, shamed, broken.

someone like satoru could never love you, someone so needed and desired by the world. what could he possibly do with the woman he ended up stuck with? with the woman who further complicates his already complicated life?

he's the strongest, and for the honored one to pledge such loyalty to you, to nothing, doesn't make sense. you can't think of yourself as any more than a burden.

so when his hands come down to rub your back as he intrudes on your studies in the libary, the teasing lilt in his tone hardly matching the way his fingers tenderly linger, you go rigid. has another person's touch always been so gentle? have hands always had the ability to ease such grievances?

you feel like an imposter to experience so, staring skeptically and shyly when he flashes you warm smiles, or offers to try to (horribly) paint your nails when he notices that the polish has chipped, are drops his head into your chest when he's tired after a mission, murmuring a weak request for your hands to slip through his hair and stroke his scalp to sleep.

you never understood how easily he touched you, despite your history with having hurt so many before.

you felt like an imposter when you realized you'd fallen in love with him in your early twenties, when he proved to stick around and wrap himself tighter around your finger in spite of your darkness, and even more so when he grabbed your cheeks in the rain and pulled you into longing kiss some time after.

you remember the way the rain soaked your clothes, and the way his drenched strands of ivory hair stuck to your skin. you remember your body feeling cold, yet your heart warm in a way you'd never quite felt, in a way you didn't know was possible for someone like you.

you feel like an imposter now, at twenty five years old, by the strongest sorcerer's side as his girlfriend. while the higher ups continue to seethe. and you continue to doubt. and satoru continues to love, with everything inside of him.

it only makes you feel worse. and after a while of peace, the noise gets loud again, reminding you of your origins, of who you are and not who you are currently trying to be.

you think satoru doesn't see right through you, but he knows. he always knows just exactly what you're feeling. he's seen you at your worst. he knows your tells from the inside out. he knows your depression like it's his own, recalls how it can eat one alive from the inside and chemically alter the makeup of their brain.

satoru worries for you every day that he is alive. he worries for your safety, for you pose as a danger to yourself. he notices the way you avert your gaze whenever he smiles lovingly at you, as though you feel as though you aren't deserving of the happiness he provides. he notices the way your cursed energy warbles and twitches like a trapped bird, how it constantly battles against your own psyche as you try to prevent yourself from posing as a bigger threat than you already are.

he knows that your obsession with birdwatching stems from something deeper. that the way your eyes longingly gaze at their flight speaks volumes that you will never amplify.

he notices how when he tells you that he loves you, your eyes glaze over and go distant, for this love you share is the first and only authentic connection that you have approached. he knows that. and he strives to show you how much he loves you all the more.

but he knows you don't believe him. and god, it scares him. it scares him that you could one day choose to do something to yourself under his nose, thinking that you'd be ridding him of a burden when in actuality, you'd be taking away the best thing that ever happened to him.

so satoru watches you like a hawk 24/7, keeping a sharp eye out for you, for your heart's patterns, and the messages behind your beautiful eyes. he kisses you softer each day, holds you tighter every morning, preserving that precious intimacy between you to keep your head steady, to show you that he would sooner see the entire world face extinction before you.

he thinks it works for a while.

everything changes one day, however, when the higher ups send him overseas for a few weeks, leaving you alone with the school and the rest of your peers. satoru hates when he is sent away for any period time, for abandoning you stresses and ails him like no other. he knows how you feel about being separated from him in such an environment, and he believes that gakuganji and his goons are starting to pull him away more and more again on purpose.

he creates a fuss, but inevitably leaves with no choice.

"i'll be back as soon as i can, pretty," he tells you gently as he holds your cheeks in his hands, tilting your face up for him to see your solemn expression clearly. his heart aches at your permanently sad eyes, and he curses every old giezer that pulls him away from you. his sweet girl. he dots a kiss to your forehead and smiles when he pulls back. "i promise."

you nod quietly with a light exhale. your hand holds over his as he holds you. "just be safe, please."

"safe is my middle name," he beams.

you crack a weak laugh, and satoru grins. "no it's not."

"for you, it is," he kisses your nose. "will you be okay while i'm gone?"

your expression slightly dampens again, your smile fading as you nod once more. "of course," you say swiftly, too swiftly. "i'm fine, satoru. you don't have to keep worrying about me. i'm a grown woman. i can handle you being away."

the blue eyed sorcerer's jaw clenches. he senses the tension in your words, but attempts to lighten it with a dramatic pout. "you won't miss me?"

you scoff and roll your eyes with that hint of a smile. "of course i'll miss you," you retort. "...i'll miss you a lot."

the strings of satoru's heart tug as he tilts his head, his eyes softening. he ducks down to peck your lips, and your lashes flutter. "i'll miss you too, baby. more than anything," he murmurs. "i'll drop in to check in, yeah?"

"you don't need to do that, toru. you'll get in trouble."

"i know. but i want to," he shows all pearly whites again, and you can't help but smile once more. you never can help it when satoru is around, showering you with sunshine.

he kisses you once more, long and sweet this time, before pulling back to peck your cheek. "answer the phone when i call," he whispers.

"i always do. i should be telling you that."

"you know i will. i'll drop anything for you."

you don't like the tight feeling his statement leaves in your chest.

it takes a while for satoru to finally pry himself off of you and leave, but the second he does, he steals all the light with him. and your classroom is suddenly empty, the silence blaring. you stare off, face and arms dropping slowly, and you ache.

and just as you suspected, a week or so after satoru left, the higher ups call you in for a meeting.

you tremble with anxiety as you approach, standing in the middle of the room with candle light circling you, distant, ancient voices laced with anger ringing out to shame you. to reprimand you for a recent report nanami filed on a mission you were sent on with him the previous week. how you can not cling to satoru as an excuse for your presence here, how the restrictions they have put on your cursed technique are not to be tampered with, as they almost were during that mission. when your emotions almost spiraled.

"you are a liability!" gakuganji huffs. "if i am to hear about one more incident where you almost will yourself to slip away from all the work we've done to keep you in check, then we will have no choice but to suspend you and re-evalute your execution!"

such words would only be uttered in the absence of satoru gojo.

you feel the world shrinking in around you, seeing the faces of your aunt and classmates surrounding you in the closed shutters of the higher ups' private offices. you hear the words that your aunt used to hiss at you before hands came flying. and what was once rage at such memories and treatment has dampened into sorrow, for you leave that meeting with shuddering breaths hiccuping from your throat and eyes glossing over with tears.

you don't notice the way the laterns sway as you stomp down the corridors. you don't notice that way your shadow trembles and splits in two. you don't notice anything but the pit in your gut, and the voices in your head telling you that this is all you will ever be.

someone the world wishes to be rid of.

you don't remember how you got here.

the sun sets behind the skyline, the wind viciously tossing your hair and clothes to and fro from this height. your feet are bare as they grip for footing along the cement ledge , your tight shoes discarded somewhere behind you.

the city's distanct cries almost sound quiet from here as you look down at the ants dotting the sidewalk and the tiny blinking lights lining the road. your cheeks are stained with drying tears, your eyes red. you can feel the rumble of curses behind you, rampant along the rooftop, but you don't hear them. not fully.

your mind is numb, your ears are ringing, and a strange sense of lightness overtakes you as you regard the world from above, wondering if this is the same view that birds have when they are soaring high above. you wobble slightly along the ledge, peering down over the bridge of your nose. the wind attempts to toss you, but you remain balanced. in control.

it's a long way down. the drop will certainly bring death quick.

your mind replays the sound of your body smacking the ground, as it has for many years over, but you don't flinch upon the imaginary impact. instead, you picture how the flight down must feel. how the gravity will grip you and pull you through the air as you go limp, nothing more connecting you to the earth but the deadly contact with the pavement that awaits.

a huff of amused air shoots through your nose, your lips twitching slightly at the thought. for you will no longer have to worry anymore. you will no longer have to be mindful of your technique, of your emotions, of how satoru will look at you when he comes back, how he makes everything in his life about you when he should be worrying about himself.

your heart lurches. you never believed yourself to be capable of love before, whether receiving or giving. therefore, you convince yourself that it was all a brief fantasy, that satoru felt pity toward you and all that you are not able to do. but now, you can no longer tell yourself that you deserve this. that this is your life. that satoru wouldn't have been better off never meeting you.

for what are you, truly, but a pestilence? but another ant beneath someone's feet? a monster the world must destroy?

you're a sorcerer. your job is to protect and to fight of imposing danger. you have never been anything different from what you have sworn your lift to erradicate.

you don't have the strength any longer. to live with the scars of your past. to perform as a fraud in a school that once protected you. as far as you are concerned, the higher ups have every right to want you dead.

for you want yourself dead just as much, if not more.

so here you stand atop this tall building, ready to serve one last duty to this unforgiving world. ready to free yourself.

ready to fly.

you close your eyes, and everything goes mute save for a bird's imaginary melody floating through your ears. you see the vision of that smudge on the ceiling flapping its wings, then satoru smiling with pinched dimples and rosy cheeks, hair fluffy and glowing in the crack of early morning sun.

you could hear the birds then, singing through the window, just as you do now.

your foot raises. curses hiss and croak louder. the air tightens, your body wobbles.

and you step off.

you plummet, your body twirling about until you shoot down head first. your fingers twitch, and you savor what it finally feels like to be airbone. the wind is harsh against your body, unforgiving in a way that only nature could be. you give yourself completely to the feeling, awaiting the harsh pound of death.

instead, the sound of the atmosphere warping cuts through just miliseconds before something familiar and compact collides with you, rocketing by and swopping you up just before you can hit the ground.

something guttural and shocked flocks from you as reality shifts, that same sound coming and going quick, and you fall to the ground under the weight of what hit you.

but the ground isn't hard or painful. it's soft like carpet as you lay flat against it. your own heaving breaths are matched by another's, and you blink your eyes open to see those white strands peaking out as the owner's face shields itself in the crook of your shoulder, breaths hard against your skin.

you stare upward in your stupor, your mind slowly registering what happened. are you still alive? are you dead? dreaming?

satoru's scent and the pressure of his body overtop of yours leaves you confused, for you think that you'd only experience such a thing in the mercy of the afterlife, knowing that satoru is away at the moment... or at least, should be.

but no, you know it is real, that you are still alive, when you feel the sharp tremors of the honored one's firm body pressing into yours, his abdomen tightening with each shake, and something dampening on your neck.

your heart drops, and your eyes shoot wide.

you're alive. satoru saved you.

you don't have any words. your mind is still trapped elsewhere, with the sky and the clouds and the air and the birds. satoru's interruption is jarring, and even more so is the way his heavy breaths shudder into stifled sobs. you feel him fighting it, choking against the cries as he presses himself to you tighter, all of his weight snug and heavy and safe over your body.

you remain limp with your arms sprawled out and yours eyes to the ceiling, and soon, guilt shakes you again.

satoru had to stop what he was doing because of the duty he feels toward your every move. he couldn't even allow you to do this one thing for him, for everyone.

i'll drop anything for you, his voice echoes, and your chin wrinkles with the drage of your brows tightly together.

tears blur your vision once more as it all hits you. the pain. the desire to rid yourself and the world of it. the higher ups. satoru's responsibility to you.

you wanted it all to just go away. but now, under satoru's warmth, you are reminded of his warm gaze, and the possible weight that he declarations of love always carried.

you know now, especially, as he falls apart over you, either of you too stunned to speak.

what is there to say? that you couldn't take it anymore? that death is the one thing you've longed for all your life, though you've battled against it ferociously for the sake of those around you? that satoru's love for you never once made sense in all the years of him sticking by your side, that the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he treats you has never once aligned with what you believe the world to have destined you for?

that the only way you thought to repay him for all the good that he has been in your life for nearly the past decade was to leave?

you feel his arms tuck under you and you jolt. he snivels, keeping his face to the crook of your shoulder as he shifts, wrapping up your waist, holding you flush to him. he rubs his head back and forth against your skin.

tears drop like the rain that fell when he first kissed you, and you let him hold you, crying, marveling over why - why you would do this.

but he knows why. it's the same reason why suguru lost his mind all those years ago. the same reason why you often avoid his eyes, and still hesitate to return his kiss when he closes in. the reason why your cursed energy is so unstable.

why those scars line up your arms and legs. why there's a chip in one of your big teeth. why your eye is a little lazy every time you wake up.

why you don't believe yourself worthy of anything but hurt.

it tears satoru apart, for he can not imagine what you see in yourself when all he sees in you is beauty, strength, a determination to fight back and overcome in the face of adversity. he sees you, and what he sees is perfect.

and he almost lost you because of how fiercely you think otherwise. because of what the world did to you before you met.

the moment he hears the soft, shaky inhale from you that mirrors his own, satoru plants a hand to the carpet and lifts himself slowly from you.

a frown is so deeply etched into his face that you see his pretty dimples poke. his blindfold is still on, but he reaches up to pull it back, pushing his hair from his forehead, revealing his eyes, crescents of devastation and bloodshot.

but your face kills him.

you look tormented by yourself, unsure of where you are, where you stand in his life and your own.

it’s raw on your expression. tears dribble and your chest heaves, and all you can see are the eyes that once saved you staring down like you’ve committed the ultimate betrayal.

you hiccup, beyond yourself. “i-i’m sorry…”

the apology has barely made it out of your mouth when satoru brings his hand to your cheek like he always does, his large palm shaking as he swipes away tears from your heated cheeks.

as if to dismiss your apology. as if to tell you to forget it.

you want to ask him how he knew, but he beats you to it.

“i got a call,” he croaks out into the emptiness which you’ve come to realize is the floor of your own room. “yaga saw you leave the higher ups. he saw you upset.”

his voice is shaky and quiet, hardly above a whisper, afraid that speaking any louder will ruin him. his lips tremble.

“he saw your energy. he said it didn’t look good… worse than it - it ever has. i had a horrible feeling, but i...”

“satoru, i’m sorry,” you wheeze again, hoping it will erase everything, but his nose wrinkles at your apology.

“don’t,” he whispers. “please. please don’t. please. i don’t want your apology, (y/n). i have to know what they said to you.”

you tremble. "...who?"

"the higher ups, (y/n). what the hell did they say to you to make you - " gojo can't even bring himself to finish his sentence before a lump cuts his words. his snowflake lashes flutter as his lips press together tight. you don't think you've ever seen your boyfriend so broken, so openly distressed.

he keeps his hand to your skin as if afraid to let go, to pull back and realize that you are already gone to him. his eyes scatter about your face and figure, searching for any further physical damage, counting every detail he notes that remains in place, that he could have lost had he not swooped in at the right moment.

his jaw clenches hard, a tear straying down the curve of his nose as he takes in another sharp breath. "what did they say to you, baby? what did they say to my precious girl?”

you feel your chest tighten as the air leaves you. your nose flares as you struggle to inhale, overwhelmed by the world that satoru holds in his gaze just by looking at you. how can you deserve his care? how can you deserve his love, when all you continue to do is hurt him?

you thought that you'd be doing him a service, but laying beneath him now as he fights unraveling completely before you, you realize your mistake. that you had almost traumatized the man who never knew love before you.

you think back to gakuganji's coarse words, how he's always regarded you and treated you from the moment you set foot in the jujutsu society. you think of the scars on your body, the healed cuts on your knuckles, that empty pit in your soul that carried you to such drastic actions.

and that momentary feeling of flight.

you break. "nothing that isn't true," you whimper. "i'm a monster, satoru, i don't belong here. i never belonged here, or anywhere."

an unexpected sob floods past your lips as the tears run, chasing after one another. you sink into an overwhelming sadness and awareness regarding what just happened.

satoru's brows curl upward, and he moves quick, shuffling over to sit close beside you and carefully pull you upward, into his chest. your cheek slumps against his shoulder as you cry. his large palms sprawl over your back, sliding up to your hair, rubbing all over to soothe you, to keep you close, to show you that you're safe.

that you aren't alone, and he is here for you. just as he always will be.

his chest aches at the feeling of your body jerking so violently against his. he winces hard, pressing you closer, turning his lips to your ear as he strokes your hair.

"you're not a monster, baby," he murmurs through breaks of shuddered breaths and cries. his throat is tight as his breath fans against your earth, and you focus on the sensation to balance out the indescribable agony you feel. "i'm sorry. you're not a monster. of course you belong here. you deserve to be here. on this planet. with me. with your friends. i love you. i love you, princess, you're not a monster. you never have been. please don't say that. i'm so sorry."

you give into your weakness - your boyfriend, and lift your shaking arms to grip the back of satoru's dark uniform, fingers digging into the fabric as you cling tight, turning your nose into the curve of his muscular shoulder.

he's so warm. you just felt so cold, and he's so warm.

satoru snivels, hands pressing tighter into you. "you deserve life."

you always thought life was a bad thing. a prison. but the way the word flutters from satoru's mouth makes a shiver roll down your spine, for it encpasulates a gift, a way of living that was foreign to your upbringing.

but is possible with love. with love for yourself.

"oh, god, you scared me so much," satoru grumbles under his breath, pressing a frantic kiss to your neck. "i'm so glad i got to you. i shouldv've never left."

"no," you whimper. "i hate that i'm your responsibility. it's too much for you, satoru. you're... you're better off-"

"don't say that," he interjects sternly, holding you tighter. "don't you dare."

you stare hard at the floor as your tears soak the satoru's sleeve. "but-"

"i've spent almost ten - ten years trying to show you how much i love you. do you have any idea what i'd do without you? what i'd do to those stupid fucking higher ups? to the world?"

you still slightly as you mull over the severity of his words, your heart pounding in your ears. "that's not good for you," you whisper.

"you're good for me," he hisses. "you always have been. i'm not anything without you. not the strongest. not a man. nothing. i love you so much. you're my other half. i can't lose you. anyone but you."

satoru catches wind of your silence, and he pulls back. you keep your eyes down, ashamed, but satoru's hand finds your cheek again and tilts your head up so that you meet his eyes. such a familiar action he's done a million times over, but it feels different now. his eyes are sharp, almost angry, but not at you. at your mind, at all the horrible things anyone has ever said and done to you to make you feel this way.

"when will you realize that you're not a burden?" he frowns. "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. that's why i stick around. that's why i worry. i love you. and i'm here for you. i'm here, so please - please don't - please just wait for me. don't do this again. god, don't. you're so much more than - you're everything. i want you so badly to see that you're everything."

you twist your lips as you look up at your boyfriend sadly. he curves a finger delicately across your brow, down along your cheekbone.

"and more than what you are to me, you're you," he continues gently. "powerful, smart, and kind. you don't think you are, but i see it. everyone does. how mindful you are. how you always put the needs of others before your own even when you shouldn't."

you start to shake your head and look away, but satoru's hand finds your chin and keeps your gaze.

"you're thoughtful. you're beautiful. you're a force. you're perfect, and you are on this planet for a reason."

he catches another tear on his knuckle, and cranes his head slightly to look up into your eyes.

"you have to stay."

"i wish i could see all those nice things you see, satoru," you croak, shrugging. "but i can't. i just can't."

"that's why i'm here to help you. to tell you. these aren't just words, pretty, they're the truth. and i don't care how long it takes. i'll help you see."

he presses a kiss to the center of your forehead and you squeeze your eyes shut. "i'm sorry," you blubber.

"i told you not to apologize, (y/n), it's not your fault. don't blame yourself. i beg you, don't." he pulls you back into his embrace with a heavy sigh. "my girl," he mumbles.

"i love you," you say into his chest. "you mean the world to me too. i just don't know what to do. i don't know how to feel different. i can't stop thinking about just going to sleep. i didn't mean to scare you. i didn't think - i thought i was -"

"shhh. it's okay, baby," he murmurs soothingly, eager to prevent you from working yourself up again. you need to rest. your mind needs a break. "you don't have to talk about it anymore. it's okay. i'm here."

you finally melt into him, sinking into his solid comfort with exhaustion. you keep your eyes closed as he soothes your cries away, caressing your skin. the silence envelopes you as you gradually resort to sparadic sniffles.

and in the safety of satoru's arms, grounded peacefully, your heart soars as your dream of flight fades for just a moment.

you drift away into lethargic sleep as satoru counts every star above for keeping you alive, and plots his confrontation with gakuganji the moment he sets foot in that school.

but for now, you need him. so with you, he'll stay.

────────────────────────

suguru geto:

somehow, suguru feels like your attempt is his fault.

like he has corrupted you with his own illness, and made you feel like doing such a thing to yourself would ever be okay.

but it's not. it's far from okay. because you aren't him. you're better. you always have been.

suguru knew that you suffered from the same illness as him long before this attempt. you stopped eating regularly after the riko incident, just like he did. you grew thin. and you always seemed to be thinking about something else, always asking people to repeat themselves after they spoke, as though nothing but water flooded your ears.

but to have found you in your garage with the car running and all doors shut years later, having had rainbow dragon burst through the garage door to get to you from the outside, still astounded him. while his depression took a turn to insanity, yours took a trun toward self mutilation and torment, and suguru was terrified.

the dark haired man can not lie to himself. he knew that something like this was coming. you've been a shell of yourself for years. further drifting into a darkness that suguru has attempted to cushion, but he knows that nothing can truly battle the hell that is your mind when it reaches to a certain point. he knows all too well.

still, for you to try to kill yourself? and in such a way? the cult leader can't begin to name all the emotions that overtake him at the memory.

the gas clouded through the space, and you lay there in the driver's seat on the brink of unconsciousness. his curses smashed through your car window without a second thought, but that look in your eyes haunts him.

half lidded. empty. (e/c) voids staring ahead, waiting for death to melt over you.

it makes the hazel eyed man nauseous, for he has seen men die and killed others in far more gruesome ways, but having beared witness to you in such a state ruined him.

he thinks of the way your limp body felt in his strong arms when he pulled you out of that car and out into the driveway. he thinks of how your head rolled back, and coughs spewed from you endlessly while suguru knowingly, sadly stroked your hair, pearly tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall as he observed you.

the sun beat down hot. the pavement burned beneath his buddhist robes. and you whimpered with disappointment, when your mind finally pieced together that suguru kept you planted on this earth and prevented you from leaving.

even now as he sits with you on the sand, he feels your anger and frustration.

he had taken you away after the incident. after you'd regathered your bearings and taken the time to properly recover. he stole you away from the cult. from your job. from the pressure of society's expectations, and brought you to the closest vacant beach, where you could simply exist. where you didn't have to speak, or work, or interact with anyone but him if you so desired, and the water washing up against the soaked sand before you.

the sun sits lower in the sky, casting the sand in a glittering orange hue. the water sparkles before you, and you stare out emptily as you listen to the sound of waves crashing, watching as fragments of rock wash up mere inches away from your bare foot.

your lashes flutter as salty air tickles your face, and you think you know why suguru brought you here. the air is open and free, unlike the garage you attempted to give your life to.

he wants you to take a moment and breathe.

suguru's reputation is built on composure. he ridicules non-sorcerers when they are out of earshot, long after they have paid him handsomely, or right before he prepares to slaughter them with the same cool poise. he presents himself as a wise, thoughtful leader, though his patience is string thin and his temper is rather short.

but still, for his followers, he keeps himself together. only allowing them to see the pieces of himself that he wants him to see.

with his family, he is far less tightly wound. but suguru does not really yell. he doesn't burst into fits of rage or emotion unless provoked to that point perhaps in battle. and even when confronted with emotional circumstances by his girls or you, he keeps calm, serving as the stability, the rock for those he loves.

but in the simplicity of this scene, and the memory of your recent actions, suguru significantly struggles to hold it together. on the outside, he appears stiff, his face blank as he looks out at the sea beside you, but inside a war wages. his throat is tight and it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest. he doesn't think he's felt this way since high school. since riko.

and how could he not? what you need right now is his listening ear, his understanding, his support, but how can he feel anything but pure rage and agony at what has transpired? how can he be expected to move on, to think of anything else now that he's witnessed you try to take your life away? how can he feel as though he has done you any service in life if this is where you stand today, in pieces, searching to put yourself together by reaching the afterlife far too soon.

suguru inhales and exhales slowly, trying his best to remain calm, but his mind is roaring. the stench of carbon monoxide still stains the inside of his nostrils, and the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head still torments his thoughts.

you tried to kill yourself. you certainly would have if suguru hadn't gotten to you in time.

his jaw clenches.

he tries to focus on the sand beneath him. he tries to focus on the sound of the water crashing. but he can't. he can't think of anything but you.

everyone knows how fiercely and proudly suguru loves you. everyone sees it. he goes out of his way to watch over you, to protect you, to cherish you, to hold you dear, as he does with all the members of his tight knit family. the two of you have always been close, having only grown closer over the years and after a heartfelt confession that brought the two of you into one another's arms as lovers somewhere along the way. for as long as you can remember, no one has ever seen one of you without the other.

you're a pair. a team. a unit.

you sought after the protection of the weak together, spiraled into depression together, defected together.

and yet, somewhere along the way, as suguru fed into his hatred for mankind, you fed into your hatred for yourself.

you know it started after riko too. you didn't understand how everyone recovered so quickly, for the second you heard that the young girl had been killed after having spent so much time with her during that mission, you felt all hope for the future, for yourself, drain from your body.

you started moving throughout the earth like it physically ailed you to do so, and if no one else was, suguru was right beside you. sharing your pain. sharing your helplessness.

but suguru has always been a bit more arrogant than you. he fell into his narcissistic ideals and tendencies, and you fell into a cycle of self deprecation, constantly asking yourself what the purpose of it all was if you couldn't even save a little girl from an ordinary human being? if everyone you ever knew, including haibara, would eventually float away and succumb to the horrors of jujutsu, anyway?

but what bothered you more than anything was how weak you felt in comparison to someone as strong as suguru, and satoru - though you know he's on a completely different playing field. if someone like suguru could come close to death as you were all trying to find your footing in this world as developing sorcerers in training, then what hope did you have?

your self image has always been poor. but under the weight of expectation and grief and hell, it worsened. you couldn't see the value of your life any longer, as long as the higher ups would use you all as pawns to rid the world of diseases that humans themselves caused.

none of it made sense anymore. the sun's warmth. the leaves' bright green. the sky's blue. the laughter of children as they played. the taste of food when it touched your tongue.

everyone melded into grey when you discovered your lack of importance, and while you love suguru with everything in you, you can't tell whether that love is real anymore. for how can you love him properly when you have so much hatred for yourself? for your talents? for what you do?

you couldn't take it anymore when you'd done it. suguru had smiled at you so warm and lovingly that morning, and it killed you, for he shows more feeling toward you than you've ever felt for yourself, and you can no longer believe the authenticity of his affections when you yourself have absolutely none. not for you.

you couldn't take another moment of the world mocking you with it's sounds. a car's horn, the wind's blow, a snapped twig on the ground, a dog's bark - it all makes you feel sick, as though they are elements of a strange simulation that you have been damned to explore for eternity.

you couldn't handle the cruelty of existence. so you elected to cut yours short.

yet, suguru could not even allow you that luxury.

you know that you're awful. you know that you've done something to suguru that you can't reverse. you know that you've forced him to relive his darkest moments, that you've troubled him beyond repair, but you know all the same that suguru understands you. he knows because he's been in your shoes. perhaps not your exact ones, as he has never tried to kill himself before, but he's thought about it. he's fantasized.

but that was long ago. he'd almost forgotten until now.

and you, of all people, shouldn't have been the one to live out that distant dream.

so you sit in silence with the waves, a foot separating the two of you.

until he finally speaks.

"how are you feeling?"

you sigh. "fine. you don't need to keep asking me."

"are you angry with me?" he asks, his voice mellower than how he truly feels.

you don't respond right away. you're a bit spaced out as you gaze at the horizon, your tongue darting out to run over your lips. you don't even quite register his question until a few seconds later, and suguru hangs onto every second of emptiness that you provide.

"yes," you finally say.

suguru knows, chest growing even tighter. the air whips through his long strands, brushing a few out of place as they swipe over his face. "tell me why."

"you know why." this time you answer rather instantly, and suguru furrows his brows slightly.

"i wasn't letting you die. that's not an option, nor will it ever be."

"yeah. figured you'd think that."

the hazel eyed cult leader finally turns to look at you, a cool fire blazing in his eyes, his expression poorly masking his hurt. "you understand that i would never let you die, (y/n). right? i don't care how. it's not happening."

"like i said. i figured. made that very clear."

"so why are you angry with me? because i didn't let you kill yourself?"

"don't fucking say it like you've never thought of it," you throw in his face, and suguru's frown deepens.

"i've thought of it, but i didn't try to execute it like you did."

"congratulations."

suguru feels himself getting worked up, but he tries to fight it. this is about you. not about him. not about how he feels. he has to get through, he has to understand where your head is and has been for you to do something like that.

"don't mock me. this is serious."

"do we have to talk?"

"yes, (y/n). we can't just pretend like it didn't happen."

"why not?"

"because what if it happens again? are you going to try to hurt yourself again?"

you bite down on the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes forward. "don't ask me that, suguru."

"how could i not? especially when that leads me to believe that you will."

"stop," you hiss, closing your eyes. "just stop asking me questions. stop talking."

suguru watches you closely, his heart hammering in his chest. he knows he's not good at this. he can feel this beginning to take a turn south, for his composure slipped the second he spoke - the second he found you the way he did.

but what do you want from him? he wants to respect your boundaries, your space, your time, but how can he when you speak like this? when you're so far gone, that you hardly even care about what you've done, other than the fact that it was interrupted?

he stares at you intensely. you feel it. you always do. but you try to ignore it. you try to fight the way his words eat you up inside and try to make you truly think about what happened.

"you know i love you right?"

you blink your eyes open and look down upon hearing his soft words. you feel something inside of you start to crack, and you bite down harder on the inside of your cheek. "i know, suguru," you say quietly.

"do you really?" he asks, and you don't answer this time. "i love you more than anything on this earth. i love you like i've never loved anyone. or anything."

"i know," you say harshly. "i already know that, you don't need to keep telling me."

"but you don't truly understand. not if this is what you're willing to do to yourself when i'm not around," he shifts slightly to face you better, sand dusting across his clothes. "you don't understand how it felt to see you like that."

"i don't want to hear-"

"but you have to hear it. alright?" he interjects. "you have to, or else you'll go on thinking that your life is nothing and that's not the case."

"you don't think that this isn't already hard enough?"

"then talk to me, (y/n)," suguru urges, "you have to talk to me. all you've done is shut me out, and i can't take that anymore."

"as if you've never shut me out before," you finally rip your head to face him, glaring hard. "you did it back in high school. you do it all the time when you're with the cult, like you're so high and mighty-"

suguru squints. "what does the cult have to do with-"

"- and you always look at me so judgmentally. like you're above anyone and everything. like you've never been depressed in your life, when that's all you were for the longest time before you changed and left me to feel like a fucking alien."

"(y/n), what the hell are you saying?"

"you want me to talk, so i'm talking! what, you don't like what you hear now?"

"you're attacking me instead of telling me how you feel."

"why would i want to tell you how i feel?!"

"because i just pulled your half dead body from the garage!"

"you should have fucking left me there!"

"do you even hear yourself right now?!"

"i didn't ask for you to swoop in to save me."

"if i hadn't, you'd be dead!"

"good!" you explode.

the dread expands inside of suguru's body as his face scrunches with the severity of your words. you stare hard, stubborn, though your eyes are glossing over and your lips are set in a firm line.

suguru shakes his head, beside himself. "i don't want you to die."

"it's not about what you want, suguru."

"but why would you - " he pauses, turning away to rub his hand over his face. his fingers slide to pinch the bridge of his nose as he struggles to keep himself together. his shoulders tense then fall, and you watch with steely eyes, fighting the way his reaction kills you inside. "why would you want that for yourself? why are you talking like this? i love you, (y/n), don't you understand how this is eating me alive? to hear how you belittle yourself? to hear you wish for death more than..."

suguru trails off, growing quiet as he keeps his fingers pinched over his nose.

your defensive cruelity slowly starts to chip away. as you watch suguru, you see what your words are doing to him. you see what your attempt has done. ever the composed man, suguru rarely lets his mask slip unless around you. and even then, he doesn't quite talk about his depression anymore. you know it's still there. you know it's just morphed into something... else, but for so long, he's kept that side hidden as though he does not want it to exist.

but such suppression can only make things explode.

and you don't think you've seen suguru on the verge of tears since... well, you can't remember.

so as he freezes in his position, keeping his eyes closed, his body tense as he manually focuses on his breathing, you slightly relent. for this is a side so rare that it almost feels foreign.

and you realize that what happened this morning is in fact a big deal. though you've dreamt of it every day for as long as you can remember, you recall that this is new for suguru. that anyone would react this way if they were to stumble upon the person they love in such a condition enforced by their own hand.

and suguru does love you. you know he does. just as much as he says, and then some.

your nose twitches, your teeth sinking deeper into the inside of your cheek. you watch him for a long time, feeling the dread you've been narrowly escaping for the past twenty hours creep over you. you blink hard, settling back, and turning your head back to the ocean.

you feel the familiar sting of oncoming tears and curse yourself. you can't stand how weak you are. "i love you too," you say shyly, voice trying to be firm despite itself. the corner of your lips tug to the side for a second as you swallow thickly. "i really do. more than... more than life."

suguru looks up with wounded hazel eyes that catch the gleam of the sun. you keep looking ahead. "more than your own life?" he reorganizes your words.

your brows raise as you stare off. "yeah. i mean... that's a common saying."

"no, but it's different when you say it," suguru speaks lowly. "because you don't want your life. you don't like it. so of course you'd love me more than it."

you grimace slightly, turning back to look at your boyfriend's face. "that's not why i said that. that's not what i mean. i do love you suguru, you know that."

"i do know that," he says gently, his voice pillowy soft, a stark contrast from a few minutes ago. "i do," he repeats, truly pondering your connection now, and how much it means to him. "but you think so lowly of yourself, it makes me worry so much. more than i let on, and i'm sorry if i haven't shown you that enough."

"...no, you have," you say quietly. "you always have."

"and after today, i don't... know what to do. i don't know how to make it better. i wanted to intervene properly before something happened, but it did," he laments. "and i know how you feel about yourself. i know how long you've thought about doing this. i always have. so trust and hear me when i say that i won't let it happen. i won't ever let you die. you have far too much value alive, and that's what i'll keep you until you can see that for yourself."

you roll your eyes through the blurriness of tears, looking away to hide them out of embarrassment as two drops rocket from your lashes without warning.

suguru immediately melts, his emotions surging to his sleeves as he moves to shuffle closer to you. his arms open as you bring your knees to your chest and rub away at your eyes with your forearm.

"my angel, please come here," he requests with glassy eyes and that tender, honeyed voice you adore.

he knows you won't voluntarily scoot toward him, so he presses himself to you as you subconsciously fall into his arms. your head rests against his shoulder as his arms encircle you. he rocks you slightly, kissing your temple, letting his lips linger.

oh, how grateful he is to still have you here, to still be able to hold your soft body to his, to feel you.

"i'm sorry. i know this is hard for you. i'm so sorry," he mutters. "i just don't want to lose you, beautiful."

"i'm tired, suguru," you murmur tightly into his chest.

suguru closes his eyes, tears bringing his lashes as he holds you closer. "i know, baby. i know," he sighs into you sadly. "i'm sorry. i know you are."

"i'm - i'm sorry for making you worry. for snapping."

"you don't have anything to apologize for, i shouldn't have gotten angry with you."

"you have every right to be angry after what i did."

"this isn't about me," he kisses your temple again. "i understand you, angel. i really do. it kills me that you feel this way and i'm sorry. just please. let me in a little bit. let me remind you of how loved you are."

the notion almost brings you discomfort, as you that part of you tells you that you couldn't possibly be worth this. but the other part of you aches, for you feel suguru geto's passion through his touch, through his voice, in his gaze. and you marvel at such graciousness, continuing to question it.

but suguru will be there to rectify each doubt. each fear. each negative thought that blinds you from how wonderful you are. inside and out. flaws, and perfections, and everything in between woven into a knot in his heart.

────────────────────────

choso kamo:

what is the value of a human life?

how do human beings view their mortality? how do they go about living by it?

choso has always found himself pondering such notions in his mind, but the moment he met you, he determined the answer to the former: the value of your life triples that of many others. at least, in choso's eyes. your life is precious. you are the only one of you to exist in this world, just as choso is, and his brother, and everyone else.

but you are irreplacable. the way you pick at your nails is irreplacable. the way you use a fork and bring your food to your mouth is irreplacable. the way you walk is irreplacable. the way you you say his name is irreplacable.

every part of you is our own, and choso does not know what he did to deserve your unique, beautiful quality of life and company, but he cherishes it. your love included.

so he struggles to understand, to rip through his mind for the answer as to whether human beings view their lives differently from those who care for them.

for he can't comprehend how you view yourself as so much less than he does, and therefore, believe that your life has such little value. little enough for you to attempt to toss it away. more times than choso was previously aware.

the news was broken to him on a tuesday morning. choso remembers how the clouds slightly covered the sun in the sky to warn the inhabitants below about the incoming rain. you hadn't been answering your phone, and when choso left you to head to work that morning, you claimed to be sick and stayed in bed under the covers.

choso remembers the look in your eyes when he kissed you and told you that he loved you, that he'd be back as soon as he possibly could to help take care of you. your eyes grew distant somehow then, as though you were harboring a secret that burned you to keep.

choso now knows that it was because you hadn't planned on still being around when he got back.

something sat heavy on the brunette's chest that entire morning, but he could not put his finger on exactly what. he was a ball of nerves and anxiety, constantly checking his phone to see if you had responded to any of the texts he sent to check in. his notifications remained empty, only leading him to further spiral. to begin thinking the worst.

he tried a few times to slip away to go check on you after having clocked in, but yuki and yaga insisted that you were fine, that he could not just up and leave in the middle of a work day while there were tasks that needed tending to. choso subconsciously fell silent after that, internalizing his concerns that everyone always claimed were outlandish.

choso knows he is dramatic. he cares too much. more than the average being, but the violet eyed half curse never believed this to be a bad thing about himself. especially when he was surrounded by those he cared for. when his brother looks up to him in spite of his strange countenance, and his girlfriend reciprocates the intensity of his love.

he has every right to be as passionate as he is, and every right to stress over your wellbeing when you're home allegedly sick and failing to answer his messages.

choso was so sure that he knew you so well, before the news. he knows when you're lying, when something is on your mind that you are afraid to voice, and he knows that was the case this morning. perhaps that is why he is so frantically stressed about you, about what it is that you have going on, whether you are just really sick or if something worse is a foot.

and lately, you've been a little off. your head has seemed to be in the clouds, your mind elsewhere as you daydream and disassociate for brief periods of time. you're a bit spacey, disconnected from your present circumstances, and choso has eyed it up until today. the only explanation you provide is that you haven't been feeling well, that those moments were all just symptoms of an oncoming fever or cold or something.

choso always trusts you. always takes your words into deep consideration. always first determines that you are honest and open before the opposite, for choso does not know you to be a dishonest person, but he does know you to be withholding at times. as though you are afraid to burden him or overstep, as though your very presence and voice are invasive and must come with a warning in order to be forgiven.

that trait about you almost reminds choso of himself, and it uneases him a bit. you've always been better than him, after all. at many things. at least, that is what he believes. that is how he views you. to think that you could harbor such insecurity toward yourself confuses and frightens him, especially so since you never voice it. you always tiptoe around your worries, your true feelings exposing themselves through your actions. your flickering eyes and your frequent apologies that mirror choso's own.

but you don't have anything to apologize for. you aren't the half curse stumbling through life, trying to figure out whether he's good enough for your love. what he needs to do to keep you, to tell the world that he's not a bad thing.

no, you're far better. breathtaking and sweet. conscious of all life. unbiased toward any. understanding and soft. you're perfect.

but you have these moments of sadness where you dip, where your cursed energy wavers into something melancholy, and you fight it with weak smiles and tired eyes. and choso only hugs you more, kisses you more, holds your hand tighter to address the physical discomfort you never name in those particular instances.

his gut churns when he recalls those times. he knows something is off, and he should have just stayed with you instead of going to work like you'd insisted. even so, he prays that you're just sleeping. that his nerves are all out of whack for some silly reason, and that you are too busy catching up on rest to notice that he is blowing up your phone every ten to fifteen minutes.

but then he gets the call.

it's an unknown number.

and something tells the brunette to pick up on the first ring when he feels his phone finally buzzing. he doesn't check the caller id. he simply answers, turning away as his coworkers enter the conference room for a meeting.

he stops in his tracks when the gentle voice of an unfamiliar woman speaks rigidly into the speaker. "hello, may i speak to a choso kamo?"

"that's me," he gulps, voice low, grip tight around his phone. "who is this?"

"hi, mr. kamo. i'm calling from the jr tokyo general hospital on behalf of (y/n) (l/n). are you her partner as listed in her emergency contact form?"

"yes."

choso's ears immediately ring, his eyes blown wide, and he stumbles slightly as he turns around, back facing the doorway as yuki stands in it, curious, waiting for him.

"she's supposed to be at home. she's sick. is she there at the hospital? what's wrong with her?"

he hears the woman sigh slowly as he holds his breath, shoulders hunched as he stares harshly at the ground, waiting for an answer. but what comes is nothing at all what he expected.

"sir, ms. (l/n) has been in an accident. we ask that you come to the hospital right away."

he's already marching down the corridor before she can finish her sentence, ignoring the blonde calling after him as he departs hastily. "what kind of accident? what's wrong with her?"

"a car accident," she clarifies sympathetically. "we'll explain more when you arrive."

"what?" he snaps, heart racing. "she was driving?!"

"yes sir."

"why was she driving? she told me she was staying home sick! is she okay? where is she now? is she okay?!"

"she's in... critical condition. our doctors are working to save her now. we are still trying to figure out exactly what happened, but the eye witness who called 911 reports that she was seen speeding off the road into the woods. we believe this was an intentional act."

choso thinks that all the oxygen in the world has been sucked away. he can hardly breathe as his footsteps hault and he stands frozen in shock. his pupils shrink as he stares into nothing, the woman's voice on the other line asking if he is still there.

but all choso can hear is the screech of imaginary tires and the lie you told to keep him away from you today.

he doesn't want to believe it. he doesn't believe it at first, that you would intentionally put yourself in harm's way. that you would drive your car off the road at ninety miles an hour. that you weren't actually sick at all, but suffering a far worse disease that choso should have noticed, should have understood.

critical condition. that means you are hardly hanging onto life. that someone else found you on the brink of death while choso continued to message an abandoned phone. that he was nowhere nearby when you faced such a traumatic, life altering event... and at your own hand?

no. he refuses to believe it until he sees you. until he can speak to you, look you in the eye, greet you face to face, because you will survive. you will beat this. you'll be fine.

for if this is something you have done on your own accord to yourself, then that would have to mean that you were actively seeking out death. such an accident would be nearly impossible to walk away from unscathed, and to the degree that the woman from the hospital is telling him, damn near impossible to survive.

but... why?

choso has always felt death rather intimately throughout his life. he was born of death. when his brothers passed, he felt their loss pang away at his insides. he's seen death all around him. especially so in this line of work that he's been roped into.

but there has never been anything appealing about it. death brings grief and misery and pain. it separates, creates irreparable shifts, toys with the mind and heart until there is nothing left to think and feel.

human beings know this more than anything, for their lives are limited. death awaits at the end of every cycle, and while it is natural, it is still feared. it still brings great sadness. it is still desperately avoided until it can no longer be evaded, but that time only comes with age and experience and fulfillment, and you are only twenty three years old.

there's much more more life for you to live. so many more experiences for you to have, to share with the man you love, with the friends you love.

so why?

what could drive a person, what could have driven you, to jump ahead of the natural life cycle? what could have driven you to do something as drastic as attempting to take your own life? life is precious. you are precious, and to imagine a world without you, a world where you were able to rid yourself from existence, makes choso sick. it makes him want to drop to the floor and wail his heart out.

are you so unhappy? so unfulfilled? has choso failed to give you what you need, to properly see all that you have been suffering through? has he been so selfish?

the brunette feels something thorny and tight wrap around his throat as his eyes well with instantaneous tears. your face appears in his head, graceful and gorgeous, your smile so beautiful that it sends painful pangs to his chest, and he shivers with grief.

this can't be happening. you have to be okay. you have to.

"mr. kamo? are you still there?" he tunes back into the woman's voice on the other line, and he sucks in a shaky breath, angling his brows.

"i'm coming right now," he heaves.

choso remains in a state of shock after he has rushed off to the hospital without any explanation, and as doctors approach him in the waiting room to tell him exactly what happened.

the brunette can do nothing but stare wide eyed with teary eyes and curled brows, a helpless look of oblivious devastation on his face, when he is told that you made it through but you are still not conscious. when you veered off the road, you crashed down a slant and head on into a tree. you truthfully should not have survived, but the air bag employed in time to cushion just enough of your fall, knocking you out as your legs crushed and a branch pierced through the windshield and the side of your abdomen.

they say that you won't be able to walk for the foreseeable future. that you're paralyzed from the waist down. that you will need a wheelchair and severe rehabilitation tests. the life you once lived is over indefinitely.

and the doctors confirm, or at least highly suspect with further exploration, that this was indeed an unsuccessful attempt on your life.

you were looking to die.

everything changed so fast after that.

choso feels cold when he is finally able to enter your room post operation, ignoring the way his phone blows up about inquiries over your health, the hospital likely having found a way to reach out to your disguised place of work to inform them of the accident as well.

but choso doesn't care about any of them. not when they wanted to keep him away from you. when he could have somehow prevented this by staying home, or at least returning to check on your sooner. perhaps he could have discovered your plans prior to you executing them, or caught you just moments before it happened.

the sun has long set. the hospital buzzes with a nauseating anticipation, a thick blanket of sadness that suffocates his lungs. the door to your room clicks gently when he turns the knob, and his eyes immediately fly to your unconscious figured splayed out on that thin bed.

he chokes over a gasp upon seeing you.

your legs are in casts, slung up above you by a sling connected to the ceiling. more gauze is tightly wound around your abdomen, which peaks out from the slit in your baby blue hospital gown. your lashes flutter restlessly, as if you are still fighting something inside of your mind, while a supply of air is pumped through you, a rhythmic, mechanical push and pull of air filling the otherwise empty space.

all of choso's time with you flashes before his eyes as he walks up to the side of your bed. your pretty face is covered with tiny red lines of scratches, and when his eyes trail to your knuckles, he sees how they blemish into a nasty purplish yellow. your skin is paler, and you look more like a ghost balancing between life and death than the girl choso knows and loves.

but it is you. the love of his life lay before him, and all choso can do is stare as his brain struggles to process, as the doctors' words overlap with your gentle voice promising him that you'd be okay when he left you that morning in his head.

the half curse's hands shake at his sides, and his knees give out before he can even think. he drops harshly to the ground, the cool hospital floor digging against his knee caps, and glittering violet hues regard you up close. his hands inch to hover above you, hesitant, horrified to break what has already been broken, before he settles a hand soft over your own.

the cold that greets him is enough to make him break down.

the brunette is nothing but stifled breaths and tears as he observes you, takes in all the signs of pain that you must have endured. seeing you now after having waited so long answers no further questions, for he still doesn't understand what would push you to do such a thing. how could you try to kill yourself when you mean so much to those in your life, to choso, who you know has struggled to heal from the deaths of the brothers he lost?

tears drip onto the sheet you lay on as his chin tucks against the bed. he peers up at you through damp lashes and squinted eyes, a sharp crease between his curved brows as he studies your face, still so beautiful in the flickering flourescents.

choso thinks of the first time he saw you. how instantly he fell in love with you. he always knew you to harbor some intrigue, some mystery, some gloominess that he could never quite decipher, but he didn't think that it was this bad. he didn't think that what he noticed would have ever pushed you to such lengths.

why didn't you tell him? how couldn't you tell him about something like this? he would have helped you. he would have dropped absolutely everything to stick by your side, to hold your hand through the negative thoughts, to be there to ground you so that your thoughts could not push you to harm yourself like this.

choso cries endlessly, for the paralysis you will endure, for the normalcy that you stole from yourself, for the fact that had these doctors not been successful, he would have lost you.

the pale skinned man doesn't think he could take that. he could barely handle the deaths of his brothers, but losing you would certainly have pushed him to the brink of insanity. it would have completely and utterly dismantled him.

so why? his love? his soulmate? why didn't he know? why didn't he see? why didn't you speak?

he holds your hand as tight as he thinks he can without hurting you, his salty tears dropping over the back of his hand. he sniffs thickly, snot and tears dribbling down his chin, and he stares at you, tormented, speechless.

when the doctors return that morning to discuss your history with suicidal attempts, choso finds that all the words have completely fluttered from his brain. he has no more energy, nothing to say as his head rests against your arm, tilted slightly to stare with empty eyes as he pulls up a chair and recites your past.

"ten years ago, her mother admitted her for self harm. in the ward, she attempted to take her life with an open soda can. a few years after that, she attemped again. this time with a razor blade to her wrists. after that, she was re-admitted...."

choso can't stand to hear any of it. he feels like his chest will close in on itself the more he hears.

"i suggest that she should be admitted again, but long term this time. we have a recovery center that will target both physical therapy and mental recovery."

he presents a pamphlet. choso doesn't lift his hand to take it. he doesn't even look at it. he simply stares, dark circles under his red eyes, his cheek smashed against your arm. the doctor clears his throat and sets it on your bedside table.

"i'll leave it here for you to think about."

the doctor moves to leave when choso's hoarse voice croaks out. "why would she try so many times?" he asks weakly, slowly. the doctor turns over his shoulder with a blank face as another tear strays down choso's face.

the doctor exhales, sensing the lingering denial and shock. "depression is a monstrous thing. it poisons the minds of many innocent people."

"...will she ever stop?"

"i can't say, mr. kamo," the doctor says, voice stale. "if she received the proper long term treatment, then it is possible. but from her medical records, she appears to be a very troubled individual."

troubled... never once has choso looked at you and decied that you were troubled. complex, yes. but not troubled. not in that souring way that captures the word when the doctor utters it. you just need a little support, that's all.

"why wouldn't she tell me?" choso whispers unsure of whether the doctor will truly have any answers. but he has nowhere else to go with these questions, with this harsh, cruel uncertainty and confusion.

the doctor is quiet for a moment as he ponders, for emotional responses are always outside of his realm when his job is to do the saving. "don't take it personally. i've seen many patients like your girlfriend. victims with suicidal tendencies are often ashamed, and don't want the people who care to see those negative sides of them. she likely didn't want to scare you or hurt you."

choso's brows knit. "this scares me and hurts me more than anything she could have ever told me."

"...yes, i'm sure. i - i know," the doctor clears his throat again. "if i were you, when she wakes up, i wouldn't ask those questions. as hard as this is for you, it's much harder on the mind of the person who makes the attempt. try to just be there for her. comfort her. she'll be waking to a jarring reality."

choso's eyes drag to your casted legs, and his chin wrinkles. he nods stiffly and falls silent once more, giving the doctor the chance to exit and leave him alone with you again.

he ponders over the doctor's words in the empitness of your unconciousness. the tv above plays some stupid old black and white film that has been playing on repeat for the past eighteen hours.

though choso isn't a fan of the doctor's easiness, he may be right. choso has no idea what its like inside of your brain, what your mind must have looked like for all these years to push you to commit such acts against yourself not once, not twice, but three times. choso isn't familiar with this side of humanity. with depression, and suicide, and an aching desire to leave the planet.

he's not familiar with this side of you. and while he is tormented by the fact that he didn't know how deeply this ran, he should extend you grace and understanding. he should be there for you in your time of need.

he lifts his head from you slowly, hair matted against his skin, to look back at that pamphlet. he looks up at your face, then back down at the paper before reaching for it.

he reads up on depression. the symptoms. how it lingers. how it is a disease. he reads up on possible triggers and causes, and how one with depression may interact with the world. how many hide it away expertly for the sake of those around them.

he reads up on this particular facility that the doctor recommended. the pictures look nice. the place seems cozy. expensive. but promising.

choso frowns. you shouldn't even have to go to a place like this. he wishes you didn't need to. that your mind was kinder, that whatever must have happened to you to make you feel this way never happened in the first place. you don't deserve it. of all people on this planet, you deserve it the least.

choso prepares to flip the next pages numbly when he hears a pitched, drowsy groan.

his head shoots up, hands freezing. your eyes and brows scrunch, your lips curling, and another groan floods from you, longer this time.

the pamphlet instantly drops from choso's hands as he scootches himself closer to you, holding a hand over yours as you writhe and eventually come to.

your eyes take a moment to peel open as though they were stuck together. choso eyes your heart monitor as your heart rate gradually quickens. and with tears in his eyes as he hovers, he watches as you blink past crustiness to adjust your gaze on the ceiling.

you inhale sharply, lifting a hand shakily to paw at your oxygen mask. you groan again, turning your head and prying it off.

"(y/n)? you're awake!" choso announces. his hands move to help you with the mask, guiding you carefully as you tamper with it. "it's okay. be careful. let me help you."

you let your arms fall limp to your sides as choso sets the mask down, and you inhale oddly, squinted eyes looking around. "...where...?"

you are very clearly discombobulated. you struggle to make out your environment, but then your eyes land on your legs. they immediately go wide, and you take in a breath that shoots pain through your abdomen. you wince with a gasp, your fingers reaching only to feel bandages.

you freeze.

you can't feel your legs either.

your heart rate quickens as you adjust, and choso keeps his hands over yours. your eyes dart around frantically, finding choso's face in a haze. a million emotions flicker through your gaze when you realize what has happened, and that your boyfriend is sitting beside you in the aftermath of your attempt.

you realize that you survived. again.

"no, no, it's okay. it's okay," choso starts, bringing your hand to his lips as he kisses your bruised knuckles. your nose flares and your eyes flutter, your brows knitting together. choso aches. "it's okay, love. you're okay, right? you're okay."

he kisses your cold knuckles again, and you whimper. "...choso, where am i? what happened?" your voice is scratchy, and choso feels a lump build in his throat once more upon hearing it again. he was almost afraid that he would never get the chance to. you look back over at your strung, casted legs, and breathe in raggedly. "i can't feel - my legs. i can't feel them."

"don't look," choso releases your hand to cautiously wrap his arms around your shoulders. your breathing quickens in an instant, transitioning into panicked gasps. you may be on the verge of a panic attack as cruel life strikes you again, only this time, with a price.

choso pulls you into his chest as you stumble over breaths and cries, rubbing the side of your head as he presses kisses to the crown of it.

"you're awake. i'm so relieved," he shivers. "i'm with you. don't cry. don't - don't think about it. it'll be okay. you're alright."

"why can't i feel my legs...?" you croak into him, and choso presses his lips together to prevent his building sobs from bursting. "am i dead?"

"no. no you're not dead," he growls, squeezing his eyes shut as he holds you. "don't think about it, (y/n). just breathe. i'm right here, i promise. i'm not going anywhere. it's okay."

you shake your head as best as you can, your neck slightly stiff. "i did this."

"it's okay-" choso whimpers.

"i'm sorry, oh fuck. i'm sorry, choso. i didn't think i'd survive. i didn't want you to see me like this," you whine. "i can't feel my legs. i can't feel them," you repeat through blubbers.

choso doesn't think he's ever experienced a pain quite like this. so raw as it tranfers between the two of you. he weeps into your hair, holding you snug, for how can he respond to you when you say that you didn't expect yourself to live long enough for him to witness the aftermath?

what is he supposed to do?

he tries to think of the doctor's advice, but it's hard. he's suddenly angry, overwhelmed, full of sorrow, and relief that you're at least breathing. that you're living. but are you relieved?

how is he to help you if you're not?

not only did your attempt fail, but you've awakened to a numbness in your lower body, to your life completely changed. what if you try to kill yourself again? what if this stunt births a new kind of depression in you? what if choso can't save you?

you still smell like you. your skin still feels like your own. your voice still the same.

choso's terrified and overjoyed all at once.

so, instead of undertaining your guilt, your panic, choso presses closer. "i didn't know," he whispers into you. "i never know anything. i had no idea. i've been so stupid."

"no, choso," you sniff. "it's not your fault. it's mine. it's all mine. i lied to you. i've been lying to you. i kept this from you."

"it's not your fault," he argues. "i should've seen. i knew something was wrong but i didn't know what. i'm your boyfriend. i love you so much, and i should have paid more attention. you were always right there. i've been blind. i made you think that you were alone. i'm so sorry."

you don't know how to respond to him taking responsibilty for something that you know to be your fault. you feel... naked. like choso has just seen the very worst parts of you and is disgusted. you feel as though he shouldn't love you anymore. you feel as though he never should have. how could you do this to him? someone so sweet, and loving, and understanding? why do you ruin everything you touch?

"don't think about it," he says again, hushed with an urgency as he holds you. as though he can suddenly read your mind. "i'll fix it all. i'll help it all go away. i promise."

"you can't do that, cho," you murmur, eyes blurred. "i've been fucked up all my life. you can't fix me. i'm unfixable."

"you're the love of my life," he corrects. "i'll do anything for you. even if i can't fix it... i-i'll help make it better."

"how?"

"...i don't know," he breathes honestly. "i don't - i don't know much about this stuff, but i'll learn. i'll help you through rehab. i'll love you every second of every day like i already do. i won't leave you again."

the thought of choso sticking beside you in such a way only makes you feel more guilty, and you prepare to tell him that he shouldn't, but he beats you to it.

"i don't know what happened to you before... i don't know how long you've - you've been this way, but i want to learn. i want to help you, if you let me. please, i - i don't want to come this close to losing you ever again."

you suddenly fall silent, your head knocking limp against choso as he holds you. you've been incredibly distant, or at least the real parts of you have. you allowed your negative thoughts to stew again, to push you to the brink, and you prayed that choso wouldn't know, but how could you? choso has proven himself to be incredibly proactive when it comes to you. he always says he's obsessed, after all. you shouldn't do him such a disservice.

but how can you explain all that plagues you to him? would he understand? would he ever look at you the same?

the fears ail you. you're a mess. your legs are numb. you're battered, and you sit stupidly in the aftermath of yet another failed attempt. you feel useless.

but choso holds you and kisses your head as if the opposite is true. as if you did not severely traumatize him.

how could he even think to stay with you?

"i'm not a good person, choso," you murmur as he kisses you again. "i never have been."

"that's not true. i don't know who told you that, but it's not true," he says swiftly. "you're the most incredible person i've ever met."

"you're only saying that because-"

"because you are. because it's the truth. and i won't let you think anything different from this point forward. i'm going to help you. i swear it."

you don't say anything. there's nothing more for you to say. you're devastated. and yet, choso holds you.

you let yourself sink into the comfort that you'd always thought to push away. letting his scent and safety overpower the truth you must face for just a bit.

────────────────────────

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