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No Time To Die

was i stupid to love you?

gojo x black reader

tags/warnings: mentions of offing oneself and then the actual act of it, sorry, horrible parenting, this fic is honestly just depressing tbh, angst with no happy ending not sorry, grief, gojo has anger issues im afraid, abuse mentions, gojo is also dead is this one saur

a/n: im shitty at tagging things, but this fic is heaily inspired by murder house of american horror story specifically tate and violet's relationship without all the awkward stuff iykyk. this took me ages to write but I sincerely hope you enjoy. this whole fic is a warning in itself

Time moves by oddly as you watch your father sign the release forms. Pen scrapes the paper as she ushers you out of your seat. Recoiling away from her, you choose to walk on your own. The bright sun doesn’t scare you; instead, it's comforting. Three weeks locked away, forced to go through multiple meetings with the doctor, and group sessions. Sunlight feels good, it feels right.

The car ride is silent, save for the radio's low tunes. “I really think you’ll like the new house, kiddo.” Your dad’s talking, but you choose to tune him out. You meet his gaze in the mirror, quickly looking away.

“I don’t want a new house. I want my mother back.” You murmur. Amber, the beloved stepmother, hears it, and she visibly deflates in her seat. The sighs from your father are a sound you’ve come to expect.

The sights of cars whizzing past on the highway distract from an impending doom—online school, locked away in a house 24/7, no time to yourself, constant hovering. The sky is dark blue, the sun now hidden away from the clouds.

The house is tall, old, and Victorian in style. It doesn’t seem like home, though. It’s a repackaged idea of what home is supposed to be. When you step inside the house, it’s glaringly obvious that Amber’s been hard at work. The smell of bleach and other cleaning products invades your senses. Disgustingly clean, just like her.

However, something was odd about the house, something eerie. “I wasn’t to sure about the house either, kiddo.” A kind smile graces your father’s face. His hand gently rests on your shoulder. “Amber was sold on it the moment she found it. Mysterious history and all.”

History? You suppose that, given how old it was, it’s bound to have some dark and convoluted story behind it. “Oh dear, you can’t just leave off at mysterious history.” Speak of the devil. Amber walks into the main hall, carrying a bag—new, shiny, brand-name.

“The previous owners died on the property, twenty years ago. Their son’s body was never found.” She whispers. “It’s highly speculated that he did it. The case has been unsolved for years.” Amber tuts and shakes her head. “A damn shame. The house went unoccupied, that is, until I convinced your dad to buy it.” A sickly sweet smile adorns her face.

Amber was always weird. When you met her all those years ago, she was talking all types of gothic horror to you. In her spare time, she watched and read horror media. Movies, podcasts, books, you name it. How your dad went from your mother to her is a mystery.

“Now now, Amber, I’m sure she’s tired after a long day of travel. You wanna see your room, kiddo?” You nod. That was the norm now; you rarely spoke. The doctors called it voluntary mutism. Since childhood, you hardly ever spoke to your father, preferring to communicate through gestures, such as head nods and thumbs-up —another thing to address in therapy.

Following your father up the winding staircase, wood creaking underneath your sneakers. Your room glowed with colors, dark brown and blue. There was a bay window decorated with all your stuffed animals. If it was one thing your dad and Amber did well, it was reminding you of the obscene past.

A tan rabbit plushie sits in the middle of the seat. Mocking you with its dark beaded eyes. You just throw it on the floor. The bed is comfortable, more comfortable than the one you had at the hospital.

Your dad and stepmother watch from the door, silently observing. “We’re gonna be making dinner soon, your favorite!” Your dad says, in an attempt to get you to respond. You don’t give in. Instead, you just lie there motionless.

There’s no cellphone or computer to pass the time. No friends to complain about the move with. Just silence. You’d gotten used to that for the past couple of months. Looking out your window, you get a cool view of the backyard. It’s big to put it plainly. Well-maintained, with a tiny gazebo.

Maybe the previous owners were fancy, who knows. However, something catches your eye. In the corner of the gazebo, you can see someone lurking. It’s a guy with white hair. He’s just standing in the corner.

“Whatcha looking at?” Your dad’s voice startles you, eliciting a gasp. He walks over to your window and sits on the seat. “Gazebo’s beautiful, isn’t it.” Eyebrows scrunching, you look back at the window, and he’s gone. Where could he have gone that fast, you wonder.

A hand on your shoulder brings your focus back to your dad. He had a close-shaven haircut and a greying beard, which complemented his dark brown skin. Your father was the prime example of Black excellence; it’s a shame his only child couldn’t live up to that. “I know it’s been a tough year kiddo, but this is the start of new beginnings.”

New beginnings, he says. He said that a thousand times before, when your parents got divorced, when he married Amber, when you went away to college, the same sentimental bullshit repeated time after time.

“Come on down, food’s done.” The mahogany wood creaks under your socks; the dining room is boring, like everything else in the house. Tasteless, out of date, and boring, kind of like Amber, you suppose. Steak and broccoli filled your plate, as you pushed around the food lazily.

It was definitely an upgrade from the food in the hospital.

They’re not eating, and you don’t have to look up to tell. You’ve seen it so many times before. Communicating with their eyes, trying to figure out how to tell you something. Without causing a scene or setting you off. “So, tomorrow you have your first appointment with the doctor.”

Your dad’s voice cuts through the silence. For a moment, you look up before placing the green vegetable in your mouth. “Amber and I, you know we hope, that she can help you work through this.” He’s begging, and he sounds desperate. The same plea he’s wished for years now. You doubt it’ll happen.

Amber doesn’t say anything. She learned her lesson years ago; this was something she had little say in. It almost makes you smile, how quiet she is. Obviously uncomfortable.

As you try to sleep at night, you sense something weird. Your body is telling you that something is wrong. When you open your eyes, you see him—sitting on your bed, staring at you. Bright blue irises shine through the strands of snow-colored hair. He doesn’t say anything or make any noises. He just stares. You sit up from the covers. Heart hammering in your chest, about this random guy. “H-Hello?” You croak.

He doesn’t respond; instead, he gently pushes you down and fixes the covers. Darkness takes you, and when you awake, it's daytime. Someone’s knocking on your door, “Kiddo, time to get up. The doctor will be here soon.”

Dr. Elizabeth, a composed older lady, who’d been recommended to you while you were hospitalized. Short hair pulled back in a bun, glasses perched on her nose. Pen clacked against her clipboard. You don’t attempt to look at her; instead, you admire the sitting room your father’s set you up in.

It’s one of the many drawing rooms in the house. Plush couches, surrounded by bookshelves. Nice dark table, with a white rug underneath. You’re not wearing anything on your feet, letting the rug's fur tickle your toes.

“So, let’s start with possibly the biggest barrier. Speech.” Dr. Elizabeth speaks, leaning towards you. “Your parents tell me you don’t talk much, but if this is going work, we have to communicate. Okay?” You want to nod, but you know that’s not going to get you anywhere.

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, quiet. Your therapy session blurs like all the others. She asks about your life before your parents divorced, how you felt when they separated—blah blah blah, more psychological mambo jumbo.

“Do you miss your mother?” The question catches you off guard. “Of course I do.” You answer immediately. The questions suddenly shift to your mom. What was she like? What did she like to do? All standard questions.

You don’t answer any.

Dr. Elizabeth can’t disclose anything you’ve discussed with her to your parents. However, when they ask her how it went, they can tell it’s a long road to recovery.

You meet with Dr. Elizabeth every other day, except on weekends. On the days you don’t have therapy, you spend it in the garden. Amber watched you while your dad went to work. She’d observe from the kitchen window as you sat in nature.

The hot summer air blew through the garden as you played with your dog. Shortly after you all moved, Amber adopted a Bernese Mountain Dog. His name was Morty, and he spent most of his time with you. They say dogs can sense when something’s wrong with their humans, maybe that’s why.

Morty was your only friend; he watched TV with you, ate dinner with you, and even went to therapy with you. Dr. Elizabeth was very pleased. Morty seemed to boost your mood a bit. You talked a lot more since Morty started coming with you.

However, Morty couldn’t protect you in your dreams. Ever since that night, you saw him. The white-haired stranger from the gazebo. Sitting in your room with you, on the bed, at your desk, at the window. He was there.

He never spoke a word, just silently staring at you. Frankly, it was getting creepy, but you didn’t know it was about to get way more interesting.

Therapy was a drag, your dad took Morty on a walk, and Dr. Elizabeth kept asking you questions about school. You refused to say anything. As soon as she ends your appointment, you book it to your room, slamming the door behind you.

You’re tired of therapy, of the invasive questions, of the concerned looks from your dad and Amber. Sliding down the door, you bury your head in your arms, trying to drown out the sounds of the outside.

“What’s wrong with you?” Your head perks up. There he sits. Calmly, casually, on your window seat. Like every person who sees a random stranger in their bedroom, you begin to scream. He’s quick, though, moving insanely fast, to cover your mouth.

“That’s really annoying. You aren’t used to me by now?” He says monotonously. You don’t say anything, actually, eyes widening in fear. Heart beating so fast, you think it might fly out of your chest. The stranger looks you over before stepping away from you. “Are you done? Can we move on?” He asks, and all you can do is nod.

“Great, so I’ll restate my question, what’s wrong with you?”

“Therapy.”

“Sucks for you.” He turns and walks around your room, throwing stuffed animals aside, seemingly bored with you.

“How did you get in my house?” You ask cautiously, avoiding him.

“You’re in my room.”

“What?” He said that like it was true, like it was normal. You didn’t know if you were dealing with a squatter or what, but he had to get out of here before your dad came back.

“Listen, my dad’s gonna be back soon, and you should go before he gets back.”

“That’s not a problem.” He vanishes right in front of you, shocking you. You jump backward into cold arms. Quickly turning around and backing away from him.

“How’d you do that?” You ask, voice shaking, body trembling.

“Let me introduce myself, Satoru Gojo, I’m a ghost, and you’re in my old bedroom.”

You slap yourself to snap out of it. This has to be a dream, because ghosts aren’t real. They can’t be.

“No need to introduce yourself, I already know who you are. Are you scared? You can say yes.” You nod a yes. He didn’t look like a typical ghost. Satoru was flesh and blood. You walk forward and poke his arm. Feels real.

You continue poking him, doing everything to convince your brain that no, you’re awake and he’s real, very real. Satoru does the vanishing trick again, sitting on your bed. “That’s actually very rude.” He glares, blue eyes freezing you like ice.

“Sorry.” A very ill-timed thought hits you. The history of the house, how this kid probably slaughtered his parents, and died in here. At the moment, you can’t control how your face looks, eyes wide, mouth agape, true fear rests on your features. Satoru tilts his head before groaning. “Don’t tell me you believe that sob story the cops made up?”

It’s like he read your mind. “Well, I won’t answer your question, but I won’t kill you.” He smirks. It’s deep and crooked. However, it doesn’t scare you. You’re still on edge, however, leaning away from him and towards the door.

Downstairs, the door slams, and you can hear Morty barking and your dad calling for you. “Daddy’s home,” Satoru whispers in your ear before disappearing again. You quickly descend the stairs, hands shaking as you greet Morty.

Your dad carefully takes the leash off the dog’s collar and hooks it on the coat rack. You can hear Amber fumbling around in the kitchen, making one of her new recipes she found online. Remnants of a conversation you had with your dad a while ago pop up. Amber had been trying to be healthier, and although they wanted to make this time as easy as possible for you, they were welcoming a new lifestyle in the house.

Amber appears from the kitchen, but as she approaches your dad, she trips, hitting her head on the table. You cover your mouth in shock as your dad moves quickly to assess the damage. A large bruise adorns the top of her head, already showing. Thankfully, there’s no bleeding.

In your mind, you’re replaying the moment, the face she made when she realized she was falling. It made you want to laugh for the first time in years—a good, earnest laugh.

Quickly ushering Morty upstairs to your room, Satoru’s there, sitting on the window. This time, he’s laughing. Morty starts to growl until you stroke his neck. Comforting the dog, reassuring him that there was no real danger, and gently massaging the black and rust colored fur.

“Relax, boy, he’s a friend, I think?” You say, looking up from your dog to the mischievous boy. Satoru tilts his head, then stands and kneels to pet the dog. “Friend.” An eerie grin lets you know that your new roommate is interesting indeed.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask, as he scratches Morty.

“I wanted to make you laugh. And it did.” Satoru chuckles. Compared to how he was mere minutes earlier, this one had no sense or notion of evilness or creepiness—sole joy and happiness.

Fiddling with something on your desk, you try to avoid his hardening gaze. “Thank you.” You return his smile. Had you been looking, you would’ve seen how that made him feel. If you’d been paying attention at all, Satoru had always been there in your room, silently lurking.

The following weeks, as the June heat turned vicious, you spent time with the only person you’d consider a friend. Therapy was easier, and for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like a weight was weighing on your heart.

Amber and your dad noticed too. You spent more time out of your room, hanging out in the gazebo in the back, while Morty played, and just sitting in the living room watching TV. They were thrilled, so thrilled that they celebrated by having a family outing every weekend.

While you absolutely hated this initiative, it was nice to get out of the house and out of your stifling neighborhood. Satoru, on the other hand, hated it. Somehow, he was bound to the house, unable to leave the property, so he had no one to spend his time with when you left but the dog. While he didn’t hate hanging out with Morty, he absolutely loved the time spent with you.

Something was also off about Satoru; most of the time, it was chill until he randomly snapped. It could’ve been something you said or did, or something that happened, anything could trigger him. Most times, he would leave the room, and you could hear his screams of rage from your room.

However, there were times when he wouldn’t leave, and he would yell and punch the wall. You covered it with a painting, hoping your dad wouldn’t notice. Satoru got in his moods a lot whenever your parents tried to talk to you about therapy. “I just wish they would stop asking.” You murmur one night.

The TV screen illuminates the room. You’re lying down on your bed, as he rests at the foot. “Isn’t your dad a psychiatrist himself? Why can’t he just diagnose you?” He turns to face you, movie forgotten in the background.

“HIPAA, dude. It’s like an ethics thing.” The tick in his jaw doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s agitated, you can tell. “I don’t like how they invade your privacy. It reminds me of my dad.”

“You’ve never talked about your parents.” Trying to approach the topic as gently as possible. For all you knew, Satoru had murdered his parents and gotten the hell out of town. “Because why would I talk about it?” His tone is unusually sharp. Satoru sounds annoyed and upset.

“Forget about it.” This was how most interactions went if you mentioned his parents. His pranks were also getting…bad. Ever since he tripped your stepmother, he’d evolved. At first, it was little pranks, moving pots and hiding utensils. Then they turned physical.

The two would begin to wake up with strange bruises all over their bodies. Your dad had a nasty fall down the stairs. Amber once cut her finger really badly while making dinner. His pranks weren’t funny anymore; they were dangerous and putting the only person you cared about in danger. “You have to stop.”

“How do you know it’s me and not some other ghost?”

“Satoru. I’m serious.” Your voice is final and shaky. Your hands tremor as you try to confront him. You weren’t scared of Satoru; you weren’t scared at all. The very thought of upsetting him unsettled your nerves. He had to be happy; he couldn’t have an outburst while they were downstairs, going over paperwork. Satoru just taps your shoulder and disappears.

The next day, you go out for fro-yo. While you didn’t like Amber, you kind of appreciated how happy she made your dad. It reminded you of an earlier time, but as quickly as the memory shows, the want to go back home and crawl into your bed grows. The car ride is filled with Amber singing along to the radio horribly, as your dad allows his attention to be taken off the road for a mere second, to laugh.

You sit in your silence. Silently observing how they act. Deep down, you wish Satoru could go with you. Then you wouldn’t be so quiet. You’d have someone to talk to.

As soon as your dad puts the car in park, you’re bolting inside the house and up to your room. All they heard was a simple thanks. Slamming the door shut behind Morty, you place the fro-yo on your bedside table and collapse. There’s no feeling like your own warm bed. “Boo.” He doesn’t scare you, not one bit. You look up from the covers to see him, seated alongside the bed with you. Satoru’s gaze falls on your frozen dessert. “What’s that?”

“Fro-yo,” Flipping over so you don’t have to strain your neck to look at him. “The guy there didn’t charge us for the extra caramel sauce.” You show off the brown syrup and eat some of it. “Hey do you eat?” You ask suddenly, finally taking note of how his face has fallen.

“No. Why didn’t he charge you?” You don’t say anything, just shrugging and continuing to eat your fro-yo. A firm grip on the cup makes you stop. Satoru takes it and chucks it in the trash. “I was eating that, Satoru!” You stand.

“I don’t care. That guy like you or something huh?” You’re at a loss for words as you shake your head. Morty comes to your side, sensing your distress. Gently patting his head, you turn your attention back to Satoru, who’s gone.

You don’t see him for a while, and June nears its end. Time doesn’t feel real; you feel as if you’re fading into nothingness. You hardly come out of your room, and the whole house feels your mood: another summer day, another therapy session with Dr. Elizabeth. Since Satoru’s been avoiding you, therapy’s been hell.

“How would you say your relationship has been with your parents?” Your parents? You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You mean Amber and Dad.” Your voice comes out scratchy, like it hurts to say their names. “She’s not my mother.” A lame throwaway comment makes the doctor lean closer, coils falling forward as she does.

“What makes Amber different from your mother?” She asks, unaware she’s opened a floodgate of years of held-back resentment. “Every way possible.” You can hear the pencil against the paper, delicate notes about how you hate Amber, and want your mom back. Dr. Elizabeth gives you a look that encourages you to continue.

“My mom would never make pasta three days in a row. It upsets my dad’s stomach. She wouldn’t move us halfway across the freakin country. And she certainly wouldn’t live in a house like this. She also wouldn’t commit me against my will to psychiatric care over a stupid accident!" The hurt that’s been weighing on your shoulders doesn’t lessen; it intensifies. For a long time, you’d been trying to find a word that fit how you felt about Amber. It wasn’t hate, nor was it dislike. Resentment. That was the word.

Amber, fit into a specific category in your head. One you hadn’t known existed until you lived with her. Her behavior, body language, personality, and appearance all fit into the same box. You couldn’t stand it. Not one bit.

Before Dr. Elizabeth can say anything else, there’s a knock at the door. Your dad walks in, most likely to tell the good doctor that your session was over. Most sessions with Dr. Elizabeth have been the same thing, but unbeknownst to you, she has a little more information on what to address.

The next time you meet Dr. Elizabeth for your session, your father and Amber sit on the couches; an ambush.

You sit opposite them on an armchair, feet tucked under your legs. “I know this may seem distressing, but I believe a group focused session, would address a lot of problems you’re harboring.” The doctor’s gaze burns. You can feel her even if you aren’t looking at her. She turns her attention towards the happy couple.

“James, why do you feel as if she doesn’t talk to you both?” Her question rings throughout the air. Dr. Elizabeth jumped right into it, refusing to beat around the bush. Your father clears his throat, a telltale sign that he’s uncomfortable. “I think it’s because of her mother. When she passed away,-” You refuse to listen to him talk about your mother like he has a right to.

You stand from the armchair and storm out of the session. Your bedroom door slams shut behind you as you slide down it. Morty’s not there to greet and cheer you up, like he usually is. The friendly dog is downstairs sleeping. Frustration and anger fill your senses, as hot tears stream down your face. You can feel the heavy weight on your shoulders, dragging you down to the ground.

Suddenly, there’s pressure on your arms, but not the painful kind. No, this one is reassuring. You look up, emerging from your pity party to see the familiar white hair. He’s wiping your tears off your face. He envelops you in a hug, which you return with quite as much eagerness. You couldn’t tell if it was because of him being gone or your mom, but whatever it was, you didn’t care. He was back.

“I heard everything.” Satoru pulls back from the hug, checking you over. Your eyebrow furrows. “You were there?” He has a sheepish look on his face as he avoids contact with you. “I’ve been here, I just didn’t show myself to you.” You frown before shoving him away and collapsing on your bed. He falls right next to you.

The position allows you to look deep into his crystal blue eyes. Silver hair falls into his eyes as you brush it away. You don’t know who leaned in first, but what you do know is you never wanted to forget this feeling—his soft, cold lips against yours. Hands pulling you closer.

Your brain couldn’t properly regulate the emotions that went through you. Your lips danced with his, face feeling feverish. When he pulls away, Satoru rests his forehead against yours. His hands gently rest on the sides of your face. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod. It’s unclear how long you spend just sitting there staring at each other in silence. However, by the time your father’s knocking on your door, the sun’s gone down. Satoru had disappeared by then. “It’s time for dinner.” He says monotonously, waiting for you to get up and leave.

Dinner goes by quickly; they don’t try to talk to you about what happened in therapy, refusing to push past your limitations. Back upstairs, Satoru’s sulking, missing you already, mulling over the kiss. He wants to kiss you again; he wants you.

“What happened to your mom?” Satoru asks when you get back upstairs. It’s the same scene as a few weeks ago, except you’re closer. He’s lying on your stomach, and Morty’s now on the foot of your bed.

You’d never been open about what happened to her; it had been so long. Satoru made you feel comfortable enough. “My parents and I were the perfect family, then they randomly got a divorce when I was ten.” You can feel him shift on your stomach. Feeling uneasy, maybe?

“Dad married Amber five months after, and I don’t think my mom ever got over her broken heart. She died two weeks after they got married. Doctors said it was broken heart syndrome.” Your voice breaks near the end of it. He sits up on your stomach and hugs you. One so tight, you feel like you can’t breathe.

When he pulls away, he gently kisses you on the forehead. It felt good to finally talk about what happened to your mom. It was different from your therapy sessions with Dr. Elizabeth. You didn’t feel like you had to get better with Satoru; he made you feel normal here, like there wasn't anything wrong with you.

“I didn’t kill my parents,” Satoru says suddenly. Your eyes widen. Usually, whenever you tried to get him to talk about his parents, he rejected you. Disappearing on you, or getting so angry he’d throw things. “My dad wasn’t the best father, but he was never around so.” He shrugs.

You imagine what Satoru’s father could’ve looked like; did he get the blue eyes from him, or did he win a genetic lottery with both his parents? “My mom was everything to me, but she was never fully ready to have kids. In the head that is.” Satoru’s eyes are filled with pain and regret. “My dad went ballistic one day; he beat her, which was normal. But then he turned his fury on my mom, and we couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Satoru..” A nervous feeling erupts in your stomach; you have a feeling you know where this story is going. “She tried to protect me, and he killed her. Right in front of me.” Tears are glistening in the eyes. “I tried to run, to get help, but he locked me in the basement and killed me. But my mom, she got a good hit on him, and he died right next to her.” You don’t know how to respond. His past was way worse than you expected.

“They never found my body in the basement, and I got tethered to this place. I’m stuck here for eternity.” You can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something, but that doesn't matter. You rest your hand on his shoulder as a sign of comfort before opening your arms to him. He wraps his arms around you tightly and sobs.

Morty joins you two, panting, trying to comfort you both. Satoru chuckles and pulls his head away. “Thanks, dog.” He scratches behind the ears. You focus his face towards yours and wipe the tears away. “Thank you for telling me.” Satoru gives a little smile. You lean down to kiss him, and for the first time in a while, you feel free.

June ends, and July is welcomed with a steaming hot romance. You and Satoru spend a lot of time tangled up in each other’s arms, often pushing each other’s boundaries. Heavy pants and heavy breathing masked and hidden by the sound of your TV. Therapy gets better, your mood’s now hit an all-time high. There are still unanswered questions.

“I told you, they overreacted, that’s why I got sent away for a month.” You answer his question while playing with his hair. “But yeah, but what did they overreact to, sweetheart?” The pet name makes you smile. He’d brought out emotions in you that you’d never thought you would get to experience.

Your entire perception of romance and love had been shattered by your dad and Amber, but he was slowly piecing it back together. “College is a drag, and I was stressed and couldn’t sleep. I got these meds from this shady guy on campus. Accidentally took too much, and my roommate thought I was trying to commit because of finals.” You shrug, truthfully, it had been an accident, your dad had already had suspicions that you were depressed and committed you, when you were clear to leave the hospital.

“I wihs I understood how his brain worked, but sometimes I just really hate the guy, like I wish he could like fall down the stairs and loose his ability to properly judge me or something I don’t know.” You shrug. Satoru tenses up before relaxing. “I though you didn;t want anything bad happening to your dad. That’s what you told me.”

“I guess.” That interaction leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Despite appearing happier, he can tell you’re suffering in silence. No matter how much you lie to yourself and your doctor, you’re not getting better. The summer heat weighs heavily on you as you lazily drape yourself on your bed.

You hate this day; you always have. Amber and your dad always did something to distract you, but somehow they forgot and left you in the house by yourself for the first time. They were beginning to trust you, it seems, and what a wrong choice it was. Satoru wasn’t with you today; you had no idea where he was.

Looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror while the bathtub fills up with hot water. The tob feels scorching against your skin. You slowly sink in, memory focusing on how you found her. Unmoving pale on the couch. Devoid of life. How long you cried, even after they took her away. Your screams haunt you, as you can feel tears running down your face. You often wondered what your mom would think of you now.

Slowly, you slip underneath the water, closing your eyes. The only thing on your mind is her, how much you miss her, how much you want to be reunited with her. Oxygen leaves your lungs as you accept your fate. Eyes slowly close, and you drift away.

Your lungs burn as hands wrap around your wrists and yank you out of the tub. “Have you lost fucking mind!” A voice screams. You breathe in the air, and it burns your lungs so badly. You cough, trying to breathe normally. Satoru saved you. He's furious, and his eyes are so wide they might pop out of his face.

“Why! WHY!” He yells at you, trying to shake some sense into you. All you can do is murmur apologies. You two don’t speak about it. Truth be told, you scared him horribly. He knows the source of your moods. He vowed to himself that he would save you no matter what happens. While you're sleeping, he studies your handwriting and practices. Satoru was gonna get you out of the house, even if it meant you would hate him.

Satoru doesn’t appear to you in the last weeks of July. You want to apologize so badly. You regretted it, and you can hardly even remember feeling suicidal. There’s a knock at your door. “Hey kiddo, can you meet us downstairs?” Your dad’s voice rings out.

Morty follows you down and into the living room, where they sit anxiously. As you sit apart from them, you take it that your dad’s appearance. His eyes are red, and his hair is unkempt. He looks awful to say the least. “We thought we were helping, that you were getting better. But…obviously, we were way out of our league.”

“What..?” Your confusion is more than obvious. Amber slides a letter forward, one you’ve never seen before. But it’s your handwriting.

“Dear dad, I hate it here, and I’m sorry I couldn’t get better. I want to be with my mom. So i’ve decided to join her. Don’t mourn me, as you can live your life happily now that I’m gone.” You shake your head as you read it. “Dad, I didn’t write this. You’ve got to believe me!” You stand, and as you do, you see someone flicker in the corner.

You’d recognize that hair anywhere; it’s Satoru. Something very sinister clicks in your brain. He did this. He wrote the letter. “Dad, I’m fine, I’m getting better! I promise.” They don’t believe you, they can hardly even look at you. For the first time in your life, you see your dad crying.

The next day, you’re back in the hospital. Back stuck in a place over a misunderstanding, a lie. Your heart breaks. For a moment, you think you’ll end up with your mom after all, dead over a broken heart. Did you love him? You wonder as your new doctor tries to talk to you. Did he ever love you?

Satoru walks around your empty room, void of emotion. The house did that to you both. It’s evil and conniving nature preyed on your vulnerability and tried to make you join him. If he were a horrible person, he would’ve let you die in that tub, but he knew an eternity trapped in this hell, unable ever to be reunited with your mother, was your own hell.

So he wrote the letter and placed it on your desk. When your father had come to wake you up for therapy, he’d seen it and taken it. He’d watched as your father cried to Amber, blamed himself for his child’s own self-destruction. For a moment, he’d almost felt bad, but then he thought of how your dad was right; it was his fault.

Satoru lay on your bed thinking of all the good times, the good memories, before he had to act and save you. You were the first person he let into his wretched life, and now you were gone.

a/n: this ended up being way shorter than I wanted it to be, but i def rushed the ending i'll get out that habit soon.

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