ETERNAL SUMMER
⸻   死の味が舌に残る

( 2012 )

     Sayuri misses the warmth of Southeast Asia, where the sky is filled with endless summer and midnight stars. As the sun seeps into their veins and she tastes the moonlight on his lips. With sand clinging to the bottoms of their feet and hair tangling in the salt-stained winds. In the quiet waking moments of the night, he recites his vows to her once more with devotion in his tender gaze. As his hands absolve the regrets ingrained in her heart, soothing the grief she wears as proof of her love.

Off the coast of the Sunda Isles, amidst the clear blue waters of the Indian Ocean, she sees a glimpse of eternal paradise as the world stops breathing when he says her name and she looks at him with longing before he kisses her. Tangled within each other's arms underneath the swaying palm trees, the echo of the forgotten past resonates in a language of heartache and war. Orchestral and divine, clinging to the pulse of a promise made within a thousand faded memories.

She remembers Riko asking her about love, what it feels like and how it starts. Like the vast ocean and its deep trenches, where every word and caress is like a gentle raindrop that feeds the waves as they lick the shore. Overflowing and boundless, where one can only drift upon the foam or drown beneath the swell.

Loving Satoru is honest and easy, like drawing breath into her lungs, like the blush of dusk on the horizon. She forgets every worry and pain, losing herself to his ardent touch and whispers. For those brief two weeks of their honeymoon vacation, she allows herself to pretend that the chasm in her chest does not exist. That they've never parted since the moment they've met and the taste of despair has never once touched their tongues.

Her dreams have always been azure blue, the sound of cicadas filling the silence of the empty sky. The scent of the lingering rain in the late afternoons and the sticky nights where stardust slips between her fingertips. Lilacs drenched in the sun, strawberries and whipped cream. The shimmering heat waves and the tinkling wind-chimes in the breeze. A moment captured in worn polaroid, paint spattered against a canvas. Skin bathed in light, muscles rippling like the ebbing tide between the sun and moon. The feverish utterances of I love you and I will never leave you.

Winter clings to Japan after the new year. It's almost spring but the winds still carry frost in the air. Sayuri wakes to a now familiar ajiro ceiling of tightly woven bamboo strips. The pale light of dawn sneaks through the open window as the early morning chill caresses her bare skin. She's grown accustomed to waking within the walls of the sprawling Gojo estate but there is something about it that still feels surreal.

As if it is all an illusory fantasy that her forlorn mind has managed to conjure. Somehow, she feels as if she's been here before, perhaps in a dream or another life, a thousand years ago. It's so familiar that she's convinced this is where her soul dwells all along. Between the wooden frames and paper sheets of the shoji doors, woven into the rice straw of the tatami mats that line the floors.

She turns and beholds her husband's exquisite visage by her side, feeling the comforting warmth of his body next to hers. Strands of silver spill over the pillows like the last vestiges of the moon. She leans in to press her lips against his, delighting in the touch and softness of his skin. He stirs and opens those celestial eyes of his that she adores so much while a smile spreads across his face. "Now that's a sight to wake up to," he murmurs languidly.

"Are you still dreaming?" she teases as a nostalgic ache blooms within her chest. Memories of their youth haunt her still, reminding her of all the years they've lost and can never get back.

He gathers her between his arms, burrowing into the crook of her neck as he whispers, "If it is then I never want to wake up."

She smiles as his breath tickles her skin, inhaling his familiar scent and wondering how it feels so perfect. Waking up next to Satoru for the rest of her life is a thought that makes her heart resonate with immeasurable joy. Though there is a part of her that still whispers at the back of her mind, a disquiet that threatens to crack the tranquillity of her new life. A sickening apprehension that wants to crawl out of her belly and slither into her throat.

Though it was brief, at least she was able to forget reality for just a little while. But now she needs to face it head-on. She goes to prepare herself for the day ahead while Satoru summons enough willpower to pull himself out of bed. They have a hasty breakfast before leaving the main house. A car is already waiting at the entrance to take them to Tokyo Jujutsu High. Once at the school, she parts ways with Satoru as he goes to find his students.

Sayuri's clandestine visits had always been restricted to the medical building where no one would notice her. Looking around the expansive campus and temple grounds, she's struck by how much larger it is than she remembers. The walkways stretch longer and the deserted halls seem neverending. She supposes that five years is enough time to alter anyone's perception, though she remembers thinking how the school is always bigger than it needs to be.

Finally reaching the principal's office, she raps her knuckles against the open door to announce her arrival. Yaga looks up from his desk work and Sayuri instantly notices the fine lines peeking from beneath his glasses and around his mouth like crinkled paper. As is his wont, the first thing he says is, "You're three minutes late. I see Satoru's bad habit is rubbing off on you too."

Her lips twitch with suppressed laughter as she fights to hold a straight face. "It's been a while, Yaga-sensei," she replies, walking in and promptly taking a seat opposite him. She places a paper bag on the side of his table. "Got you a souvenir from Bali."

He hums in acknowledgement as he gives the item a glance. "I'll get straight to the point," he tells her, "The Director has given his approval to let you teach the third years. Naturally, that means you'll be officially employed as a sorcerer under the memorandum of duty. Missions will be assigned to you in addition to your teaching responsibilities and you'll receive a salary according to your Special Grade status."

Sayuri smiles with mild amusement as she tilts her head to the side before asking, "Is there anything else?"

Yaga regards her briefly with all the countenance of a previous mentor. He is a man of little words but she knows that every one is uttered with purpose, that every syllable carries the burden of sentiment and experience. "Sayuri... are you sure you're ready for this?"

She knows that she lacks the proper credentials and confidence that someone like her should naturally possess. The only reason she's here is because of Satoru's urging, because he dreams of a world free from selfish dogma and unscrupulous schemes. Where the burden of grief is alleviated by the hands of like-minded peers who walk in tandem with eyes set only on the future. It's an admirable ideal, one that she doesn't mind helping him achieve with unwavering loyalty.

"I'll try my best," she says lightheartedly. "After all, I had the best teacher, right?"

Yaga grunts at her quip and hands her a thick envelope filled with contractual documents and dossiers. They discuss the position at length, along with her new obligations and authority, before he dismisses her. She leaves to walk the familiar paths of the school grounds as she thumbs through the files in hand. Her mind wanders to the intricacies of the society that they live in. Despite the establishment of the Jujutsu Headquarters, they're all ultimately under the jurisdiction of the Japanese Government. Why they have to take precautions to use the Veil, to hide themselves away in the corners of the archipelago. In the end, she realises, this world no longer belongs to them. Not like how it used to be aeons ago.

Entering the medical building, Shoko instantly greets her with a cheerful grin and tight hug. She passes on her gifts and souvenirs before they have their usual cigarette break behind the office. Sayuri tells her all about her trip to Bali and her new job at the school. Shoko gives a melancholic smile as she says, "I always thought you would join me in the medical wing. But I can see why Satoru wants you to be a teacher instead."

Sayuri hums in assent. Unlike Shoko whose speciality is solely to heal others, Sayuri is also capable of going out on the field with her range of techniques. In that regard, the Council probably sees her more as a weapon of mass destruction against cursed spirits rather than a healer. Though throughout all the missions she's ever had, Sayuri has always been in a supportive role rather than the one doing the actual exorcisms.

"It's something that I've never thought of doing myself," Sayuri tells her with a chuckle. "It doesn't feel that long ago when we were all students ourselves."

And sometimes she wonders, if she could go back into the past with the knowledge of today, would it have turned out for the better? If she had been as assured as she is now, would she have been less of a coward? There are still so many things that she wishes to change. Too many 'what ifs' that still plague her mind, that she continues to ruminate on and allow to eat away at her conscience.

"Dwelling on the past can't change a thing," Shoko says and it almost makes her flinch. "Better to think about how we can make the future better, right? I'm sure that's what Satoru thinks."

Sayuri's lips slowly curve at the edges despite the heaviness in her heart. Shoko always knows the right words to say at all the opportune moments. "I guess you're right about that," she replies softly.

     When Satoru asks her to join him for a short trip to the neighbouring municipality of Saitama, she does not know what to expect from him. The sakura trees are in full bloom across the nation, casting a haze of pink blossoms over the asphalt streets. She craves for a cup of plum sake as she sits on a park bench waiting for Satoru to return. Her thoughts can only turn to admiration of the season's evanescent scenery.

Having lived in isolation for the first half of her life, Sayuri wonders what it's like to run free in the playgrounds and empty streets. To live so carefree like a bird, to have only cotton-candied dreams and the familiar comforts of the mundane. Sometimes she wishes for that life, to completely rewrite every line and memory. She wonders if she would have met Satoru sooner, she wonders if they will be happier ( true happiness still feels foreign to her ).

On Mount Hiei, Homura and her would hike up the highest cliffside to gaze down at the flourishing spring tide in the valley below. She had her first hanami celebration when she was sixteen, her aching heart tinged bittersweet with a poignant smile on her lips. Sayuri remembers the moment she realised that no matter how much she loves Satoru or that he loves her, he will always be an unattainable dream. As if she is reaching out for the stars on that misty, moonlit night as a flurry of petals fall around them.

Even now, it still feels like she's grasping for the constellations in the sky. No matter how many times he recites those vows of his, she will always be reminded of how even gods can taste death despite their divine immortality. Even if she could trick the fates to allow them a semblance of peace, she knows that it can't last forever. Their love still lives in a place where that which is not dead can lie eternal and even death may come to die. Tragedy still runs in their veins, cold and silent but ever alive. It beats in rhythm to the sound of their laughter, to the pulse of their very hearts.

"Sayuri." She turns upon hearing Satoru's voice, crimson eyes widening a fraction before blinking in confusion. She feels like she's falling into a waking dream when her gaze falls on the small child at his side. Her complexion turns ashen as if she's seen a ghost, lips parting in astonishment as she looks into hauntingly familiar green eyes. Like a beast stirring from her frayed memories, waiting to devour her whole. She clenches her fingers on the hem of her shirt, so tight that her knuckles go white too.

The young boy peers warily back at her from beneath messy dark hair, brows furrowed with lips peeled back in an unconscious grimace. He grips the straps of his backpack, blue with little dinosaurs decorating the pockets. And it reminds her of Homura, when he would stomp along the engawa outside her room and play pretend with nothing more than sticks and blankets. Of how Riko stood on that cursed spirit with youthful optimism and hope. Of bygone days spent arguing over the supremacy of Pokemon versus Digimon. She inhales sharply between her teeth as she feels a prick behind her eyes, heart clamping painfully inside her chest.

Satoru calls out to her and his voice holds a gentle plea within, "Sayuri... this is Fushiguro Megumi. I've... been looking after him for a while now."

Megumi snaps his head away, eyes falling to the ground with vehemence. "I never asked you to," he interjects quietly. Then slowly, he takes another peek at her before averting his gaze once more.

It feels as if she's bleeding all over the park bench just like that day at the House of the Children of the Star. Crumpled on the ground as she watches Satoru attain godhood under the golden light of the setting sun, where he singlehandedly dismantles the scale of balance and reassembles it in his own image. As he grasps enlightenment with his bare hands, weaving cosmic supernovas within the gravitational collapse of a quantum singularity. Breaking down the physical plane of existence into a convoluted vacuum where relativity ceases to exist.

Always Satoru is ten steps ahead in the light as he waits with an outstretched hand for her to take. Audaciously bright and so far out of her reach. Yet every memory burns and sparkles at the same time, every smile holding both happiness and sadness. Regret lingers like an old wound, festering beneath the ugly scar of guilt. She will always loathe the memory of the man known as the Sorcerer Killer for as long as she draws breath, but how can she ever hate anyone who is so pure against all sin? Unlike her own hands which have been dipped in muddied waters, unlike her own selfish desires that will inevitably condemn them all.

Her heart is simply incapable of doing so. Sayuri carefully reaches out, touching the soft locks of the boy's ebony head of thorns. Green eyes look up in surprise and she sees flecks of indigo refracted off the sunrays. There's a hint of wonder on his face as she musters every shred of warmth in her body to smile at him. "Megumi, is it?" she asks. "That's a nice name. It means blessing."

His mouth opens speechlessly at first before he mumbles, "Nice to meet you... I guess."

"Oh? Megumi-kun, are you being shy in front of the pretty lady?" Satoru teases. "I'll have you know that she's my wife, I won't let you steal her from me."

The boy turns sharply with a heated glare. "Nobody cares," he retorts with annoyance.

"Megumi! Satoru!" A voice calls from the distance. A young girl is running towards them, halting once she reaches Satoru's other side and she tugs on his shirt. "I didn't know you were back already!"

"I wanted to surprise you," Satoru says with a grin while gesturing widely. "Also, there's someone I want you to meet. Say hello to your new big sister, Gojo Sayuri-chan."

Sayuri almost blushes with pleasure and the girl bows politely to her with an introduction, "Nice to meet you! I'm Fushiguro Tsumiki, Megumi's older sister by one year!"

"It's nice to meet you too," Sayuri says softly, sliding off the bench and crouching in front of them. "Has Satoru been looking after you well?"

Tsumiki shakes her head. "Not really, he drops by once a week and eats our sweets then leaves after giving us some pocket money."

"What?" Satoru exclaims indignantly. "But I even tuck you in to bed!"

"I don't want you to!" Megumi protests.

"But when he was away on vacation, this other nice lady came to visit us everyday instead," Tsumiki continues. "She's way better than Satoru, she even cleaned the apartment and cooked us really yummy food!"

Satoru laughs exuberantly. "Did she now? Well, I'm glad." There's a glimpse of relief in his eyes behind the sunglasses. "And how was school?" he asks.

"I passed my entrance exam!" Tsumiki announces excitedly. "I'll be a junior high school student soon!"

"Already? You two grow so fast," Satoru remarks and Sayuri can't help smiling as she realises; he's so good with them. Even when they pout and their eyes crinkle with certain disdain, they continue to follow him like a trail of hatchlings. He takes their smaller hands in his and swings them in the air. "Let's go home and celebrate!"

Megumi seems resigned to his fate while Tsumiki cheers with glee, "I want fried chicken!"

Satoru proceeds to lead them down the street, away from Saitama Shiritsu Tokiwa Elementary School and converging with the exodus of students on their way home. They pass the eccentric grid-like white building of the Modern Arts Museum, turning into the Fourth District of the Chuo Ward where they order two buckets of KFC fried chicken for dinner. It's then another fifteen minute walk to the neighbourhood where the Fushiguro children live. Satoru seems to know the area like the back of his hand, committing the lay of the city to his memory. She wonders how many times he's gone through this ritual, how many smiles he's placed on their faces.

Sayuri hesitates at the threshold of the two-bedroom apartment as a pang of jealousy shoots through the middle of her chest. All those years that they've been apart, he's been here with them. Leaving traces of himself in the home of a stranger ( murderer ) where he can so easily brush off the past to impart kindness ( mercy ) on children who share no blood ties with him. She shouldn't be thinking so, it shouldn't have mattered but it does, and she hates herself for it.

"Sayuri?" he calls her from the small dining table. He can see the photo frames on the shelves as clearly as she does, he knows that there is a stain on her soul that refuses to be washed away. So how, she wonders, can he stand there with those eyes? It almost feels like a betrayal when she looks at him, a sigh of dismay escaping her lips, as he sees the silent plea in her own eyes. 

( How long will we pretend that everything is okay, Satoru? )

( As long as we need to. )

Her hand trembles slightly as she grabs the knob, slowly pushing the door close behind her as the children throw their bags onto the floor. Her heart shivers as she says, "Don't forget to wash your hands before you eat." She doesn't know why she continues to play along when every particle of her being is suddenly riddled with shame and disgust.

"Can I call you Sayuri-nesan?" Tsumiki looks up at her with round brown eyes, hair falling neatly onto a shoulder as she tilts her head to the side.

"Of course," Sayuri responds kindly and takes her hand, leading her back to the dining table. Satoru is already helping himself to chicken while Megumi waits patiently for his sister. Tsumiki switches on the television and cartoonish music spills across the room while they eat.

Satoru locks gazes with Sayuri, azure meeting crimson like a clash of starburst igniting in the cold heavens. She knows what he yearns to say to her, what he has always been trying to bury with his own hands or extract like poison with those hallowed lips. To staunch the wound in her heart that continues to gush freely onto the wooden floorboards. The word is written on her skin like a biblical verse, like a curse etched into flesh.

( Regret. Regret. Regret. )

But as she looks back at his gentle eyes, the smiling faces of the children in front of her, how can she possibly regret any of it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE. guys, i am so sad right now, today is the worst day ever ( IYKYK ). no spoilers for those who don't want to be spoiled. literally just curled in bed since with rainy asmr gojo music. also if you thought part one of this story was already peak angst of this romance, this chapter is the start of the real depression ( for me anyway lol ). don't know why whenever i look at gojo, all i see is a soft lavender emo boy and i crave for all the tragic gojo love stories.