the cicadas were loud tonight. a relentless, buzzing chorus in the heavy, humid air. he was sitting on the steps of the old, unused shrine at the edge of the school grounds. a place no one ever came. not anymore. the blindfold was off. lying forgotten beside him on the stone. he was just… staring. not at the trees, not at the sky. just at the space in front of him. at the ghosts.
( i can still see him. standing right there. laughing. telling me i was wrong. telling me they were just monkeys. i can still hear him. after all this time. )
a wave of it hit him. not grief. that was too simple a word. it was a vast, hollow, crushing emptiness. the unending echo of a conversation that had never truly finished. the ghost of a friendship he had killed with his own two hands. with his own strength. he had been so sure. so arrogant. so convinced that as long as he was the strongest, everything would be fine. that he could protect everyone. that he could save everyone.
he had stood on top of the world, and all he had managed to do was watch his best friend walk away. all he had managed to do was fail every single person he had ever cared about. Nanami, Haibara… Suguru. a graveyard of his failures. his shoulders started to shake. a small, quiet, uncontrollable tremor. he wrapped his arms around himself, as if trying to hold the pieces together.
a sound tore itself from his throat. a quiet, choked thing. it wasn't a sob. wasn't a cry. it was the sound of a man who had been screaming on the inside for ten years finally letting a single, broken note escape.
he didn't know how long he had been sitting there. time had lost all meaning. all he knew was the hollow ache in his chest and the sound of the cicadas, buzzing on and on, indifferent to the god who was silently, finally, completely breaking apart.
he didn't hear her approach. the six eyes were on, but they weren't seeing. they were just replaying the past. over and over. but he sensed it. a familiar, quiet, concerned energy. a presence he knew as well as his own. he didn't look up. didn't put the mask back on. it was too late. it was shattered on the ground around him. his voice was a rough, broken thing. a raw whisper aimed at the stone steps.
"you shouldn't see me like this."
they send her like a peace offering. a sprinkle of company morale when things tread on too dreary. she is to take on the task of reassuring the students, her own in tow because community matters. their system is flawed beyond comprehension and iori bears the responsibility of herding the remaining and restless sheep in the aftermath of slaughter. it is the least she can do when her abilities are not up to par with the sorcerers. when she would be taking up more space on the battlefield. her peers are better suited to protect and utahime is resigned to serve.
therefore, it is no surprise iori is roaming the grounds. bag is draped over one shoulder, boots scuffed from sprinting to and from in an effort to be where she's needed or where she'll be asked. the day has dwindled into still quietness. one she is used to but does not exactly enjoy. sun no longer shining. earth's temporary veil in the skies. the kids have retired to their own devices for the night and utahime paid her farewells to shoko. all should be in order. and yet, upon the sight before her, it becomes eerily obvious things are not.
the sound catches her attention first. clear sounds of distress which are common but utahime has wonderful memory. always been less of a fighter and more of a detective. it does not sound familiar. unable to match a face to the pitch. upon careful steps forward, steps muffled by the cushion of grass, she pauses. it is nearly enough to make her question the day's events. had someone else left them? did she miss the announcement? to see gojo without any sort of grin was a daunting thing. it made her stomach lurch.
and he knows it's her. of course he does. he is all knowing and her energy could not be hidden even if she had wished it to be. iori swallows thickly, steps coming to their final halt upon the edge of shrine's entrance. she thinks feebly what would be the best way to comfort. wonders if he would even accept that from her. as lowly as he finds her. so to start, a gambler's bet, utahime sits beside him. shoe heels digging into dirt and head leaning back to look up at sky. she doesn't like when people see her cry. iori thinks gojo would prefer that same grace. throat clears, fingers caressing stone beneath them at her sides, ❛ no one would believe me if i did. ❜ a beat of silence passes, dark brows knitting together in careful thought, ❛ you're doing everything you can. anyone can see that. i'm sorry that it will never feel like enough. ❜
