Alive

The war was over.

Itadori's knees hit the floor, the sound deafening in the sudden silence. It echoed and it reverberated in his head, his teeth rattling with the force of it. He could feel his body swaying. He wanted to scream. He could not feel his fingers, his toes, his hands.

The silence was overwhelming.

The world was tilting on its axis. He could not see, his eyes burning with the effort of keeping them open, with the tears and the blood, but his mind was not letting him rest. His mind was not letting him breathe.

His mind was screaming, a high-pitched ringing noise.

"Fushiguro." He said.

It felt like an echo, the name bouncing from wall to wall, and then the silence came back, the deafening, heart-wrenching silence.

He blinked, and the world was a little bit clearer. His vision was a mess of black, blue, and red, his head pounding with pain, his lungs constricting, his heart beating too fast. He could not understand the situation, the images coming to him through the fog of panic.

His throat was hurting.

He tried to breathe in, but his lungs were not working, his body frozen. His arms were shaking. His vision was clearing. He could see the sky now, the blue so dark it was almost black, the moon full, shining, beautiful.

There was blood, everywhere, staining his clothes, his skin, his hair. He could not make sense of it. He blinked again, his eyelids heavy, and his ears were still ringing. He could hear his own breathing, the way it was uneven, ragged, broken, and he could not hear anything else.

He had to close his eyes.

When he opened them, there was a body in front of him. The person was laying down on their back, and the image was so surreal he could not process it. The blood was spreading, like ink, dark and shiny, and he could not look away.

"Someone help him! He's going to die!"

His mouth was moving, but he could not hear his own voice. There was a weight on his shoulders, and the world tilted once again. The ground was cold.

He could not think.

There was blood on his hands.

He knew who the body belonged to.

He could not move, his whole body numb and frozen. There was a hand in his, the palm warm and sweaty, and the grip was tight, a reminder of something important.

"Don't worry, Fushiguro, I'm right here. You're gonna be okay."

He did not know what to do.

He did not want to close his eyes. The person was not answering him. Their breathing was weak, and he could not look away, not for a single second.

He was scared.

He had never been so scared in his entire life.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He was saying, the words a mantra, and his chest was so tight he could not breathe. His head was swimming. He had never felt this much pain, not even when his nails were torn off, his skin split open, his bones broken.

He was terrified.

"Please." He said. His voice was breaking. He could not remember the last time he had cried. "Please don't die."

He was sobbing, his throat dry, and his eyes were burning. He was shaking, his teeth chattering, and the grip on his hand tightened.

"Don't leave me alone." He whispered, his voice weak and pathetic, and he had never felt this small, this insignificant. He had never felt this lost, not even when his grandfather had died.