AND I GO CRAZY 'CAUSE HERE ISN'T WHERE I WANNA BE
AND SATISFACTION FEELS LIKE A DISTANT MEMORY
r u mine?
artic monkeys
You remember it still, the image of murder screaming so loudly inside his eyes that you felt your insides turned out at such inhuman glory. He had said it himself, "The next words that spilled from my lips came from so deep within my gut that it nearly made all the things I've ever said feel like a lie."
And the blood.
There was so much blood.
You don't know if you regret it or not, staying behind with Ijichi, listening and heeding to Nanami's orders because being a child is not a sin. But then again, Itadori didn't listen. Does he ever listen? Maybe only to you because...well, it's you.
In the perilous darkness, you wish you told him to stay.
Although, you're a fool for thinking that. You've always been a fool. Too naive to even think about the darkness to come, too bliss-heavy with that tongue as you laugh along in the small speck of happiness. Not going to that high school doesn't change what happened.
Just because you didn't go doesn't mean Junpei never dies.
'Cuz Junpei Yoshino is dead. And nothing you can do will change that.
It was already terrible having to stand in that cemetery and hold back tears in front of a grey slab, Nagi Yoshino etched onto it with such forlorn. It was already painful to hold Junpei's cold hand as he hugs the collar of his mother's black jacket because it's the only black clothing in the house.
You were already hurting, so why do people have to make it worse?
Why must every waking moment feel like a forcefed lie by the cold touch of a god? One hand hugging you with almighty wisdom and the other driving a knife through your heart.
Nanami's expressionless eyes elicit a silent sort of pain, the kind that aches for too long, a strain on the heart, a crack in the wall. He had returned with that somber expression, specks of blood staining his business suit, and he had looked at you.
He looked at you.
No, don't say it - don't say it. (Because if you say it then it's true. Because Junpei isn't here with you.)
His lips part and the ringing in your ears swallows you up and you close your eyes to feel the darkness, the darkness that is the only thing Junpei knows. You can't hear them - Itadori, Nanami, Ijichi.
But you know as you reopen your weary eyelids that Junpei's crying expression weeps in the reflection of Nanami's eyes when he explains what unfolded, what went down.
And hours later, the truth is hard to digest. Probably because the truth comes in the form of slinking in the morgue silently behind Shouko, eyes staring at the rows of mottled bodies on slabs in the morgue, veiled by sheets of reflective black plastic.
You are still and unmoving like a light-hearted ghost trapped in one place, eyes greyed from reflecting on the events from today. Thoughts blur inside the cave of your mind, smeared between the thumb and index finger of some violent piety. You can't decide yet about anything, if you're (not) fine, if you're angry or sad, if you're mad at Itadori or mad at yourself.
Your knuckles are white from how hard you grip the metal handle, nails digging earnestly into your palms, gentle crescent-shaped marks left as a patient bruise. There's even a slight tremor within you, the slightest mess of mania, a hurricane threatening to tear you apart from the inside out.
Everything burns. It burns so much. It's killing you slowly. Not the pain, not the anger, but the curses. You want to kill so badly that it's poisoning all your thoughts, whispers of the devil are cunningly tricking you. You need to kill that "patchwork" described by Nanami. That murderer. That curse.
Your hands are shaking just thinking about Junpei's last moments. He died.
HE DIED. HE DIED. HE DIED. WHY WHY WHY.
Itadori, however, sways gently like a breeze. Yet, he is eerily quiet and uncharacteristically empty. You've never seen him like this, so hollow, so in pain, so much like you.
That's what makes this unlucky tranquility between the two of you so unnatural. He's the daydreaming sunshine, the optimistic do-gooder, the action-movie junkie with a penchant for justice. And you're the socially anxious sleuth, the morally ambigious teenager that's tired of everything. You crash with him like a tidal wave but that's what makes it so worth it, so fun to be around him.
But now, there is no wave, no breeze to hurry the current, nothing to move the water. It's like you and him are standing on the surface of a still lake, dead water with even deader air and stark trees dotting the outskirts. It's empty.
It's so empty. Who knew being hollow was so draining?
He breaks the silence first, eyes swallowed up by the darkness of the dimly lit room, "I'm sorry." His breaths are shallow, voice low; out of the corner of your eye, you see his chest rise and die.
What hurts the most is the way he looks at you. The cautious gaze and small, nervous smile, like he's the one who is at fault, who killed Junpei.
But he didn't! He really didn't!
Slowly, your head turns, silent and almost dead-like; such a denuded expression like you want to walk away from all of this. You're too raw and exhausted to hold back your tears and you start crying in front of him.
"Please don't apologise," You flinch at your own words, blinking back the image of Junpei, "You're the one who went... I should have gone with you... but I didn't... I'm sorry."
"I don't think Junpei would be happy if his death drove us apart," Itadori says weakly. "Not that it is. I wanted him to have a proper death."
There is just a moment, a split second where you heard a sad twinge in his voice that reminds you of that night in Junpei's house, when he talked about his mother.
You bite your lip, turning the other cheek, "It's not fair."
"What is?"
"This. This... life," You choke out a sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your heartbeat slows, stops pounding in your ears, and in the silence, you hear the quietest of your thoughts and part your lips to whisper it, "Is it bad I want to kill them? Kill them all?"
A soft sigh, "I don't know what you want me to tell you, [L/n]."
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Gojo-sensei is waiting for you in the corridor outside your dorm. You had thought him to be on a highly important trip for the last day or two so it's a great surprise to see that familiar face of his. You see, Nanami had called him.
He had called Gojo-sensei as soon as he came back and it turned out, maybe you're easy to read because this was a fail-safe, a back-up they had. Because Gojo-sensei knows you, knows how you react and maybe he predicted it; that's why he's there.
It wasn't long ago that he had said it himself, that if things got too overwhelming you would be sent back home but that felt intangibly useless. It didn't feel like a daunting reality. Not until now.
You've been crying, eyes and nose flushed red and tear tracks still drying on your face. The despondent look on your face momentarily melts into a tranquil, relieved expression and you stagger towards Gojo-sensei.
"You're back early," You muse, playing with a strand of your hair to keep your hands occupied. You don't want it to be noticable how much they are shaking.
Gojo-sensei seems so unlike himself, plagued by something that no mortal could begin to comprehend. He steps forward, hands still in his pockets, something short of a weak smile twitching at his thin lips.
"I'm sorry, kid," He says and you can feel his gaze on you. It's not sharp but blissfully soft, comforting in a way like a blanket that rolls over you in one go. "Nanami filled me in."
You lift your head, forcing yourself to look at him and with a shaky breath, you whisper, "Gojo-sensei, why do people die?"
It's a stupid question really, is what you curse yourself in the moment after but you have to ask it. It's the kind of question a toddler or a young child might ask but you think long and hard about your life and realise that you need to know. You must know.
Why do people die? What is it about death? Why can we kill each other?
Death is so uncaring when it snatches everyone away from you. It renders the living limp and makes their bones rattle at their limited time, forces them to quench their desires for immortality and indulge in chasing meaning in a meaningless life.
Gojo-sensei doesn't answer your question, merely sighing. (Maybe he doesn't know the answer to that either. Maybe he's chasing it just like you.)
"Masamichi-sensei and I both think it's best if you take a leave of absence for the next few days. Use the weekend to recuperate."
You bite your lip. Am I weak?
No, no, your mother whispers as she shoves the image of Junpei's wintry smile into your irises, you're just fragile, my buttercup.
"A break from school huh," Even your words seem so lifeless, so devoid of emotion. You feel like the devil has reached into your throat just like when Sukuna clamped up your neck; the skin on your body is numb and cold.
Gojo-sensei seems sad. Is that the right word to use? To use for a man like him? But then again, he uses his happiness to hide many things. He inhales, looking out into the distance, "You're going home, [F/n]. You're going back to Sendai."