Why do you always leave...?

|Chapter 1. <3|

2006

'The strongest'.

That's what Satoru has become over the last month, ever since he fought Toji and discovered reverse cursed technique. The same day was the one Riko Amanai had died right in front of Geto's eyes. Ever since, Geto has been blaming himself for it. For not protecting her, for letting Toji kill her, for not doing his job properly, for letting her down, for-... stop. Does Gojo know all that? Of course he doesn't. Geto doesn't tell him, though he's showing concrete signs of something being wrong He's being distant. He's being moody. He isn't being as talkative. He's not going out of his room so often. He's being-... not like Geto. But of course, our beloved Satoru's oblivious. He's just relishing in the power he has, being self-centered as always. And Geto? He knows better than to open up to Gojo. He knows he'll blame himself for the rest of his days, which isn't something Suguru wants. But he keeps sending subtle signs. Subtle pleas for help, in weak hopes of Satoru noticing. But day after day... nothing happens. Satoru's obliviousness is killing him more and more every day, the loneliness suffocating him in its heavy arms and his best friend's ignorance getting to him like an anvil onto his head. Will he ever speak up? Probably not.

"Yo, Suguru? You okay?! You look like you've lost some weight!"

Satoru exclaims, playing with his infinity he just learned to use without control with a wide grin. As he does so, Suguru's eyes are pretty much downcast, his black circles below his eyes being opaque as ever, though Gojo pays no mind to it.

"I'm okay..."

He says in a meek, weak and quiet voice. Of course that's what Suguru's gonna say... because who in their right mind answers truthfully to that damn question...? It's a question people ask out of manners, not because they actually care, right...?

Though Satoru notices that something's wrong with his answer. It's not as loud and energetic as usually. Not as snarky, and not as sarcastic. It won't be polite to invade his personal space by pestering him with questions and asking him if he's actually fine. He'll tell him when he's ready... right...? He won't-... hide anything from him, right?! If he had some problems he'd tell him, right?! He wouldn't suffer in silence, would he?

"Oi, Suguru?! You wann-"

Gojo starts enthusiastically, ready to offer his best friends to go somewhere fun, somewhere where he'll be able to get past that wall of Suguru's sadness, to go somewhere he and his best friend will be able to relax.

"I'm out. See you tomorrow."

At Suguru's cold and dry tone Satoru winces a bit, as he watches Geto stand up and leave, with his hands in his pockets, his eyes dead and downcast, his hair messy. He just now noticed how much he has changed since Riko's death. He's not taking care of himself as much, clearly, his hair not as neat and his clothes being wrinkled and visibly not washed for long periods of time. His heart aches slightly as the sight of his best friend changing for the worst, though he knows he can't really do anything about it, if he doesn't open up himself.

Suddenly, Shoko comes up to Satoru from behind, tapping on his shoulder. Gojo turns around immediately, just to see Shoko with her signature cigarette in between her teeth.

"Hey Shookoo!! What is it..?~"

Gojo soon forgets about Geto's state, as he sees his another friend, getting back into the whole kind and nice, enthusiastic mood as if he hasn't just thought about his best friend's spiraling. As if it's such an easy thing for him to forget about. As if he doesn't care.

"Hey Satoru!! I just saw that new article-..."

As they talk, Suguru's already reached his dorm. He enters it, locking his door immediately. He doesn't even turn on the lights, throwing his backpack into the corner of his room, plopping onto the bed. His room is a mess. A full on, fucking, mess. There are clothes everywhere. Floor, bed, desk, chair, everywhere. Empty and half-eaten food containers are scattered all around his room as well. His bed sheets are very old and filthy, stinky and dirty. His whole room smells like sweat, dirty clothes and rotting food. In short, you can't step a step in his room, there's no blank space on the floor you could stand on. As Suguru lies on the bed, his only thoughts are-

"Why? Why? Why? Why? Why am I doing this?! Why?! Why?! WHY?! WHO AM I DOING THIS FOR?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS?! FOR WHOM?! THIS RUINS ME! I SUFFER!! FOR WHO?!"

Seriously. Who is he doing this for?! The worthless people?! Those who don't appreciate their efforts..? Those who don't understand how important they, sorcerers, really are? Truly. Every time he exorcised a curse he has to ingest it. It tastes like a cloth that's been used to clean up vomit and shit over and over again. And what for? What's the suffering for if he has no gain from it...?

He's lying on his stomach on the dirty ass bed, the room being dark so he doesn't see the mess. His thoughts are in the dark turmoil, his mind rigid and his eyes watering at his thoughts. Suddenly. He has the urge. The urge.

He tries to fight it, to not give in. He tries his best not to actually do what his mind's trying to make him do. Though his thoughts are slowly actually winning, making him lose control over himself, as he stands up from the bed, tears in his eyes, as he's standing on one of his sweaters that's on the floor. He opens his bedside table. And there it is. The sweet relief.  A blade in the bedside table. It's always there. How can it not be, if it's the only thing that gives him relief? He takes it into his shaky hands, as he sits down onto the bed. He unbuckles his pants, lowering them to knee level, as he brings the blade up to his inner thigh. One cut. And then another. And another. Each one more eager and quick than the other.

"CUT IT ALL OUT!! CUT IT OUT!! CUT THE THOUGHTS OUT!! CUT THEM OUT! CUT OUT THAT BAD FLESH!! CUT OUT THE BAD FLESH THAT DESERVES TO HURT!! CUT OUT THAT FLESH OF YOURS!! DON'T LET YOURSELF GET AWAY WITH THE THOUGHTS!! CUT YOURSELF! DO IT SO IT HURTS!! MAKE IT HURT!! I DESERVE TO HURT!!"

Is what he whispers aggressively to himself through gritted teeth while he does it. Tears fall down from his eyes in streams, his thighs now bleeding like crazy, as he gets the relief of hurting. The relief of punishing himself. Punishing... himself...

He drops the razor blade onto the floor, as he looks at the dozens of wounds he just made on his skin, as he sobs in broken breaths, tears streaming down his face in a nonstop stream. He keeps sobbing painfully, having a fucking breakdown, blood dripping from his thighs. In a few minutes, he calms down enough to take a tissue and pat up the blood from his thighs and the floor. He throws them out, as he looks at the fresh wounds in his thighs. He reaches for his first aid kit under his bed, just to get some gauze. He takes it, wrapping it around his thighs tightly, so they don't hurt as much when he sits down. As he wraps them, he keeps thinking of what would happen if someone found out. Would they be worried? Would they be disgusted? Most importantly, what would Satoru think...? Would he be disgusted? Disappointed? Would he even care? He finishes wrapping himself up, pulling his pants back up, lying on his dirty, messy ass bed. Soon enough, he falls asleep, being tired from all the crying and pain. Tomorrow's an exam. A close combat exam. His teammate's Satoru. He usually can keep up. Will he be able to now?

Chapter 2 incoming soon!!