Pulled Apart at the Seams

The sky was calm and blue in front of his eyes. Clouds passed by unfazed, soft wisps at the edges and birds flying around them before resting on a tree or a wire. The grass under his body was subtly wet, he could feel it through the clothes on his back. Everything seemed so calm and ordinary, nothing had changed. The sky was the same as the day before and the day before that. The grass kept growing unaware.

It didn't matter how hard he tried, there was no way he could forget. It had been years and still, his brain had segregated a specific compartment solely for all the memories that included Suguru. When he pictured this compartment he always wanted to imagine it to be quite small - things couldn't really take up that much space in his brain - and yet there was no way it was physically possible to fit all those moments - which had been enormous in Gojo's life - in such a tiny enclosed space. His entire brain in itself wouldn't have been able to contain them. Maybe that's why he always felt like he was being pulled apart at the seams.

Gojo had been the same for the past 10 years, like he was stuck in that moment and no matter how much he walked he couldn't move away from that spot. Things around him might have changed, but something inside him was still in time and wouldn't let him walk away from there. He was used to it, bandage on his eyes he went through the motions of being the strongest sorcerer alive while time around him passed him by.

He almost wondered how long it had been since he thought of Suguru last. But then again, it also felt like he never really stopped. When he was awake he was painfully aware of his absence and when he slept he saw him in his dreams. Every morning he had to deal with remembering he wasn't there anymore, and every day it hurt a little bit to brush that thought past him.

The seams that kept Satoru Gojo together were strong, so strong they often hurt. But Suguru was gone, and that was never going to change.

***

Gojo's brain went blank for a second. There was nothing there, an empty box, a pristine sheet of paper, someone turned the light off. Then all of a sudden everything turned on all at once, and the little memory container he jealously kept shut in a corner suddenly filled with so much energy the seams ripped apart and everything that was inside flowed out in a frantic explosion.

The memories, hard at the edges like sharp cardboard boxes, hurt everything they touched. Gojo's head felt like it was being pierced by a thousand lethally thin knives all at once, and instead of bleeding blood, he was bleeding time. Time he spent with the only person who had every made him feel human.

That time at the beach with the salty ice cream, snapping it in half but it hadn't and they fought for the bigger piece until it started melting.

Every single sport match they ever had, never playing by the book and always bending the rules to allow for sorcery to enter the game. Fighting for who was the strongest, even though the entire world knew Gojo was. But Suguru could really give him a hard time. But they were never trying to kill each other.

In front of the vending machine, getting some form of fruity sugary drink for Satoru and the most bitter black coffee for Suguru. When they tried swapping they almost made each other throw up.

"How can you drink something so sickly sweet?"

"How can your mouth bare something so disgustingly bitter?"

The long distances on a bike, up and down hills, swapping for who was pedalling in even intervals - or at least so they said - but for some reason almost all the uphill slopes happened when Suguru was in charge of the pedalling. Truth was, he was physically stronger than Gojo and knew he wouldn't have lasted long in an exertion role. Partly, also, it was training. He couldn't afford to get weaker than Satoru in any way, so even pedalling was an excuse to get himself stronger.