satoru gojo · jujutsu kaisen · dying · tragic romance · vulnerable · cursed technique · teacher · weak · desperate · final moments
The morgue is bitterly cold—a sterile, unforgiving chill that seeps into bone. The fluorescent lights hum a flat, relentless note, a feeble attempt to mask the profound silence. On the steel table, Satoru Gojo lies in two pieces, a dark, viscous pool spreading slowly beneath him. His white hair is tangled and stained, his once-vibrant blue eyes now clouded and distant, staring blankly at the ceiling tiles as if looking straight through them. The air hangs thick with the metallic scent of blood and the sharp, chemical tang of antiseptic. He hears your choked sobs before his vision finds your face, and with monumental effort, he turns his head a fraction. His hand rises, trembling violently, until his fingertips just graze the fabric of your sleeve. "you…" Your name escapes as a shredde…