At the End of Everything
When he emerges from the depths of sleep, the first sensation that hits him is pain. After a week, it's already familiar. The second thing he notices is the person sitting beside his bed. When he finally opens his eyes, blinking away the blurriness, it takes a moment to register—but that, too, is nothing new. What is new, though, is that it's Yuji.
"Gojo-sensei." The boy's voice is raspy, thick with exhaustion that radiates from him—his slumped shoulders, the bags under his eyes.
"Hey," Satoru smiles, pushing down the anxiety that creeps in with the weakness of his body. Because he's never been anything but strong—he doesn't know how to be anything else. He cuts off the spiraling thoughts andstews them down, buryingthem deep, far out of reach. He'll deal with that later—or, you know, maybe never. Denial has always been a useful tool in Satoru's life. Ha.
Yuji tries to smile back as Satoru forces his shitty thoughts away, but it falls flat, his expression frayed at the edges. "Megumi says hi," he says, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his hoodie.
Between Shoko's updates, Satoru has seen Megumi over the past week, though only briefly. The boy had looked beyond wrecked, but he was alive and breathing. The alternative makes something in Satoru's chest tighten so painfully that it's hard to breathe. So he doesn't let himself think about it—Megumi, the grumpy boy he took in all those years ago, is alive. He'll be fine. Satoru will make sure of it.
"Hm," Satoru nods. "Tell him hi back for me."
A silence stretches between them, taut and lingering, and then:
"How are you, Sensei?"
Satoru shrugs. "Alright. At least it doesn't feel like my insides are going to fall out any moment." He grins wryly. The pain meds he's doped up on have loosened his tonguea bit. Tired, he rakesa hand throughhis hair, grimacing at the greasiness. Hereallyneeds a shower soon.
Satoru studies the boy beside him, taking a breath that fills his lungs with both oxygen and the scent of antiseptic. "And you, Yuji? Areyoualright?"
"Huh?" Yuji perks up at that, clearly caught off guard. He scratches his cheek. "Uh, yeah, Sensei, I'm with the cleanup and all that. Nothing to worry about."
"But still, something's on your mind. Come on, spill it to your Sensei."
Once more, the silence settles between them. Satoru knows it's not that simple—there's too much that'shappened. He lets the seconds tick by.
"I'm sorry about Nanami." The words crack, like the shatter of glass, breaking the pretense of calm in the room. Satoru feels the heartbreakall the wayto his fingertips. He remembers Shoko telling him what happened to Nanami, her tone clinical and detached—there had been no time, after all, with Sukuna looming over their world. But now—now...
Yuji curls in on himself, looking oddly small. "I can't get it out of my head—the way his body—" Hechokeson a breath, his words coming out in jagged gasps. "It just... Nanami was always protecting me... and I... I couldn't... do anything to repay him. I couldn't even save him. I—"
And Satoru knows trauma—knows the kind of fucked-up shit that seeps into your mind, making you want to tear out those haunting visions. He reaches out blindly, gripping the boy's hand as if trying to pull him away from the dark pit that's ready to swallow him whole. He won't allow it. He's seen where it leads: the self-blame, the suffocating depression, the dark sludge that creeps in and chokes you until you can't breathe.
"It's not your fault, Yuji," Satoru says, his voicesomehoweven more wants to say more,wants totell Yuji how Nanami fought to protect the ones he cared about—with such passion and devotion—so different from his own half-assed heart that still beats despite it the words get stuck at the back of his throat, clinging to his teeth. Whenever itreallycounts, Gojo Satoru falls silent—unable to fill the gaps with his usual stream of rambling nonsense.
Yuji shakes his head desperately. "I'm sorry," he whispers again, voice cracking. "Nanami left it to me, but in the end, I couldn't even honor his last wish— I..." Hechokeson the words, and then he's crying, clutching Satoru's hand like a lifeline, his sobs tearing through him so violently ithurts. And Satoru wants to say,stop it—wantsto shut this all down because it's too much. Because Gojo Satoru doesn'tdoemotions. Not like this. Not with this kind ofrawness. But he stays silent, frozen in place, before pulling the boy toward him, despite his weakened muscles.
"Breathe, Yuji. Take a breath," he whispers, fingers running down the shuddering while Satoru may not be good at comfort, he knows grief—pain that hollows out your heart and leaves a screaming void. Yuji's crying... it's a release, it's good. It's something Satoru hasn't allowed himself to have. He's always been the strongest, the one everyone leaned on. But now, with his body broken and his cursed energy faltering, the world blurs—light and shadows smearing into an ugly, faded hue.
His throat aches, and Satoru thinks of Nanami. He thinks of Suguru, Haibara, and Shoko. He thinks of before—arcade games and stupid bets, too much fast food, the summer sun sharp and bright, sticky candy, melted ice cream, the smell of Fall. They were so young back then—back when it all went wrong, when the rot in Jujutsu society began seeping into the crevices, settling under their skin, taking root in their hearts.
They were just kids, and nobody gave a fuck.
But Satoru does.
Satoru swallows thickly, his throat sticky and burning.
"It's okay, Yuji," he whispers, tightening his grip on the sobbing boy, eyes closing against the steadily increasing misty world. The tears are hot on his cheeks. Salt on his tongue.
"It's alright."
A few days ago, I randomly came across an edit of Kenjiro Tsuda voicing Nanami's last words to Yuji. The feels hit me like a truck, and so this fic was born with the power of my tears. Hope you enjoy.