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Shoko folds into herself, she’s never been particularly large in the first place, literally or figuratively, it’s hard to be anything large when Gojo Satoru is in your orbit, or rather you are in his. She didn’t love them, she tries to convince herself that when she tastes smoke and sweets–the disgusting candies that Gojo had loved but had rotted her teeth with its overabundant zeal, much like the man himself.
Shoko is not perfect, that’s been hammered into her since a young age, she’s always too much of something, she cares too much or too little, she's apathetic, she’s emotional, she’s a human, she’s a woman – She’s Shoko Ieiri and there was never a moment she felt big when she was with Gojo and Geto.
She’d been pushed to the side–background nose– little Shoko Ieiri who would die before the both of them, because of that nasty smoking habit or because she wasn’t fucking Gojo Satoru or his ‘one and only.'
And because of this it was almost sort of easy, because there’s something inherently jaded in being born into the Jujutsu world, something Geto didn't understand till it clawed its way into his heart like a cruel reminder and drove him mad, something that Shoko and Gojo both understood. Death was a part of the Jujutsu world and if that could hurt you, you wouldn’t survive.
Shoko swore she’d never love anyone easily, and she wouldn’t care –if she could help it–for someone who could die. She made this promise gazing over bodies, and reminding herself that that was what she was, what she would be one day, what everyone around her would become, just a body on a steel dissection table with fluorescent lights and scalpel, and maybe a white cloth to cover their eyes from the bright lights.
But Shoko Ieiri was an oath breaker and a liar. Maybe she had hoped, that because Geto glowed almost as much as Gojo; with light and energy, and aliveness, that maybe he’d live forever too, (longer than Shoko anyways, she wasn’t anything special, not like them, anyhow) and his dry almost dark humor wormed its way into her heart. He was foolish– that’s something she remembered because his fastidious nature, so different than Gojo and his implicit need to be good, to be moral, to never sway, even before he had left she could taste his rough edges like a cheap cigar, as he learned more about the ruthless world he was trapped in.
“Don’t do that Shoko.” He’d scolded politely, he had a hard-on for formality too, he was very traditional, Shoko had scoffed but he had gotten more comfortable with her, he had leaned over, looked her in the face, dark, dark eyes, sharp too, assessing, like a raven. He pulled the smoke from her mouth and flicked the cigar out. She pouted.
“Give it back.”
“This’ll cut your life short, you know?” He rolled his eyes and she sat up, he walked around and sat across from her, she remembers this because it was rarely just her and Geto, it was usually the three of them or just not her at all. He pinched the now unlit cigar in his hand and she was acutely aware of the lighter in the pocket of her uniform.
“So what.” she breathed. “I like it.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Geto reprimanded, sounding sharper than he usually did, he was all mild tones, black silk in water. “Shoko-” and there was a vulnerability creeping into his voice, something disgustingly human that nobody raised in the sorcerer's world had anymore, not genuinely like that. But Geto hadn’t been raised in this world. He’d been raised by normal non-shamans and that heartbreaking rather beautiful hope of his wasn’t something she thinks that she could ever understand.
She knows it was that hope of his that made him dangerous, that gave him that cold cynicism, and logic, but she knew unlike Gojo and unlike her, he never grew numb to it, just more… bitter.
He never did get to finish his sentence because Gojo came crashing in, Yaga hot on his heels, laughing cheerily as he cried out “ Suguruuuuuu ” and Geto’s eyes where gone from hers and drawn again to the expansive universe that was Gojo Satoru, the infuriating bright sun that had you squinting your eyes in irritation, but drawn to nonetheless, till he pricked at your skin and burned you alive. She let them be enamored for a moment, and then “Shoko!”
The afterthought. She couldn’t even blame them, they were perfect for each other, they balanced each other out, they were beautiful and strong and… Shoko was just Shoko.
Still she had smiled, and still, somehow, she had found herself near them, found herself tagging between them, nudging their arms or stomping on a foot, chasing after Geto who had made it his job to steal her cigarettes and stealing Gojo’s glasses or candy supply (Geto sometimes helped with that last part)
She had leaned over Gojo’s long legs and laid there on the picnic blanket they had spread out underneath the stars, Geto had thrown his jacket at her when he noticed her shivering and it was spread over her shoulders, he sat near them. She pretended not to notice how both boys' fingers edged towards each other, inescapably drawn to one another, the sun and the moon, the two brightest things in the sky.
It would have been so easy to be bitter, to have not loved them, to have been jealous or angry or any manner of things.
She remembers the last time she had seen Geto, she hadn’t even gotten his body, but she remembers seeing him. He’d teasingly offered her a light, clicking a lighter open, it had been orange. She remembers that.
He hadn’t given it to her, he’d pocketed it immediately afterwards and even after hearing what he had done something terribly like fondness fought it’s way into her heart and she’d let him stride up to her.
He looked better, like murder had cleared his skin, ha. Maybe she’d give it a try. He spoke to her gently, like he usually did, all congenial tones and lightness, he was so much the same… and so very different.
He didn’t stop her calling Gojo, she didn’t think he would.
“He’s coming.” Shoko said she didn’t know what else to do. He settled a hand on her shoulder, he was warm. He smiled at her, eyes closed and gentle.
“It was nice to see you, Shoko.” He had said “Take care okay?” and that was Geto. And that was all. Because he disappeared for a very long time and it was just her and Gojo but he was preoccupied with memories and anger and heartbreak so poignant that Shoko started to think that maybe Gojo wasn’t as apathetic as he liked to pretend to be.
Gojo didn’t tell Shoko he had killed Geto, but the news found her anyway. And the next day, Gojo had found her bright smile on his face, energy that was uniquely his, boyish and fun, like nothing had happened bandages around his eyes–she wondered what they were hiding.
“Shoko!” he cheered excitedly running up to her, he tapped the side of her arm, the one that held an unlit cigar, for some reason she was hesitant to light it, that had never happened before. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” he pushed a hand into his pocket and rummaged, pulling out a candy and offering it to her. “Your favorite! citrus!” He was both wrong and right, Shoko didn’t like sweets, but if she had to, citrus was generally the least sugary and therefore more tolerable. She took the candy from his palm and he flashed her an exaggerated peace sign.
“Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.” he hummed, stuffing a candy in his mouth too. She kept hers in her palm, letting it dig into the skin there. It was a hard candy. She wanted to ask if it was true, if he had killed Geto, she wanted to ask why he wasn’t acting strange and different and lost – because try as she might, Shoko couldn't imagine a world where Gojo Satoru managed to kill Geto and not ruin himself in the process.
There’s a photo on her desk, Shoko laughing, Gojo smiling like an idiot, eyes on Geto who's rolling his eyes, face sullen but with only love on his face.
Right now, the bright smile on his face doesn’t match the one in the photo.
“Geto…” is all she manages to ask, and Gojo smiles wider like he can make up for the fact that it looks faker than ever.
“Yep. I killed him, I promise Shoko. He’s not coming back.” She doesn’t know if he thinks he’s being reassuring, Gojo is an anomaly. “I’m the strongest after all.”
It’s like ice, poured down her neck, shoved into her clavicle and filling her lungs. "We're the strongest’ she’s heard it so many times, had even begun to believe it, Gojo’s obsession with it, his not being alone at the top, as the strongest and now…
As vain as he might be, and twice as proud, Gojo Satoru is alone. And his tears are alone and his heart and his being is ripped from it’s partner soul and now he smiles at Shoko because she isn’t strong enough to be burdened with his pain, to be burdened with anything, she’s just another person Gojo needs to protect.
She doesn’t ask anything else. She just sort of nods. Candy biting into her palm. He lingers a moment more and for a second he’s serious. Because he might not trust her with his heart, because Shoko is far from strong enough– but for some reason he likes her, cares for her a bit, for real. “Utahime’s been looking for you.” because even as Gojo Satoru is alone, he doesn’t want Shoko to be. He’s an idiot because it’s a rejection anyway.
“I’ll find her.” she says and Gojo smiles a bit smaller, a bit more genuine, a bit hurt.
Losing Geto felt a bit like being hollowed out again, like an accursed reminder that she shouldn’t love that which could go, in a way it was both surprising and not surprising at all, Geto was too gentle to last long, even with Gojo at his side. Shoko should have never loved him– she swears she didn’t—even as she shuts herself in her room, slides down the door, like a dramatic scene from a movie and just sits there till the sun sets and then rises in the sky again.
She feels empty for a while.
Gojo. well Gojo was supposed to be safe to love, he protected her, even as she grew older and she no longer went on missions because having a RCT was too important to be sent out, Gojo would stop by, linger like all the ghosts they shared and she let herself have this last little fondness. He was supposed to live longer than her, both of them were, but Gojo- Gojo was immortal, the epitome of Jujutsu sorcerer power. The greatest to ever live, the strongest.
But he’s not.
He’s not the strongest and Shoko can’t help it, can’t help the way she feels the life go out of her, the last weak hope be sliced and cut and carved out till she bleeds all over her floor and stumbles out into the sunshine which is too bright for a day like this and she collapses, curls into herself and stays there. She doesn’t know how long but she hears the quiet taps and than kneeling by her:
“Shoko we need to move somewhere, it’s not safe, can you walk?” Utahime puts a hand gently on her shoulder, Shoko doesn’t move, she can’t. She doesn’t want to ever again really.
How has she lived longer than both of them– that wasn’t– that was impossible.
She hears Utahime whispering, trying to figure out what to do with her dead weight. Someone named Kashimo has apparently taken to distracting The King of Curses and the battlefield has gotten wider and they need to move but Shoko won’t because she can’t.
Utahime stands and Shoko hears her walk away. Good, Shoko thinks, Utahime might live if she keeps a mindset like that. Not whatever Shoko has crumpled to, Love, she thinks– is truly a curse.
But then she hears Utahime’s footsteps return and with them another, slightly louder, but not because they’re loud rather because Utahime steps quietly, like the dancer she is. The person stops near her, she hears the squeak of tennis shoes.
“We’re leaving now Ieiri-san, I’ll carry you, please tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” It’s soft and gentle but firmed out by resolve, she barely recognizes the voice. It’s Itadori Yuuji.
Most of what she knows of the boy is secondhand information; Gojo would prattle about his students to her as he lingered in her doorways, he’d excitedly told her of his new student “Yuuj-kun! I think you’d really like him, Shoko he’s great! So energetic!” She’d almost dissected his body too, seen him sprawled out and dead, only for him to pop up a moment later like he was mocking all the losses before him, but she had seen him and Gojo, Gojo had practically lit up and Yuuji had taken dying in a stride, he had a wide easy smile as he had high-fived Gojo.
She knows Yuuji had lost his grandfather before enrolling in Jujutsu tech, his sole caretaker, no parents (that she knew of) were in the picture, she knew Nobara Kugasaki was dead and Megumi Fushiguro (Gojo’s goddamn son) was the one Sukuna was preying on, she doubted that he was still alive– and now Gojo, both of them had lost Gojo.
He picks her up gently and oh-so-easily, she remembers Gojo telling her that he was physically incredibly strong, his breath barely hitches in effort and he’s steady, she doesn’t know how he’s steady. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds tight.
Yuuji’s walking at a brisk pace, and he’s quiet, and she’s quiet, even as her eyes are wet.
“Ieiri-san.” He says quietly, in the same firm tone, “I’m very sorry.”
“We’re the only one’s left. We’re alone Yuuji-kun.” she says it softly, brokenly, she can hear the broken bones in her throat where her heart snapped through her ribcage. Yuuji’s hair is a bright pink. She can’t really see his face but she can see his hair, it’s cheery, like spring. His grip tightens slightly, she hears his breath snag.
“We can’t think like that. Not right now.'' She glances up and he maneuvers her gently so she has some space, she sees his face and it’s pulled in easy sympathy, his eyes are a soft brown a scar cutting through his nose and mouth, he smiles gently when he sees her looking.
He reminds her of them, at this moment. Gojo’s seamless ability to push down himself and his pain, his loneliness to be strong for other people, even if it’s foolish and self destructive, the cheery energetic nature that even through suffering somehow is steadfast, rock solid. And Geto’s congeniality and agreeableness, his gentleness and genuine care and sympathy, the way Yuuji calls her ‘Ieiri-san’ and ‘let me know if you’re uncomfortable.’
She wonders if this world is always bound to leave people alone.
“I didn’t know Gojo as long as you.” Yuuji says suddenly as he walks. “But he was my Sensei, and he’s the reason I’m alive at all and… I think, based off of what he let me know of him– he wouldn’t want his death to be ours as well.”
“What?” Shoko whispers and Yuuji gives her another small smile, it looks pained now though, easily forced.
“I’m living for a lot of people now Ieiri-san, and I hate it because I think–sometimes–anyone else here would be better than me. Some of them were stronger, or smarter, wiser– just better people y'know?” She does, She was never supposed to be here without them, she was supposed to go first, she was never supposed to live in a world without Geto and Gojo– that was supposed to be their fate to suffer. Not hers, never hers. “I can’t throw away my life, not when it’s theirs now too, I need to go to Malaysia for Nanamin– I need to spread his ashes there and read books that he left on his bedside– I’ll find them– in the sun, I need to go shopping in Tokyo and find Saori for Nobara, tell people that-that it wasn’t so bad… I need to Save Megumi, if I can- I need to try, and.” he pauses and his face crumples like he can’t even fathom not succeeding but he’s forcing himself to anyway. “And if I can’t -'' she's seen this before, the face of someone whose other half has been ripped away– “I need to volunteer at a dog shelter everyday and maybe even adopt a few and read a few boring non-fiction books that he likes too… And Gojo Sensei.” He turns to her “What do you think he’d like for us to do?”
Shoko finds her view blurry all of a sudden, like it’s both harder and easier for her to breathe. What would Gojo want, she wonders, and the answer is easy–she might be wrong but at the same time… “He would want us to not be alone.” Yuuji’s silent for a moment and she continues “I understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m glad.” it’s quiet, he’s just a child. She hates this world, she hopes that it all ends and Yuuji gets to do all of those things he said he would and she hopes he gets to do even more, things he wants to do, just for himself.
They get to where they are supposed to go and Shoko feels she can stand again, she tells Yuuji that and he sets her down gently, she stands, unsteady for a moment, she feels raw and delicate but she’s not going to curl up and die. Not yet.
“I need to go.” Yuuji says to her and she looks into his eyes and it’s bullheaded boy teenage resolve. “Other people are meeting here Ieiri-san, you won’t be alone and-”
“Yuuji-kun.” she says “Can I give you a hug?” she’s not the most tactile but she’s only human, try as she might she can’t scrap that fact away.
“Oh. uh- sure.” he flushes a little, rubs the back of his neck and she pulls him into her arms, she squeezes that pink haired boy for a moment and he holds her back, warm and alive and so young.
“After this is over.” she says “Don’t be alone. But if you are, find me.” she holds his head for a moment and feels his shuddery breath. She lets him go even though it feels like throwing him to the sharks, after all she knows he’s going to go running back into the fight. “Thank you Yuuji-kun.”
“Thank You Ieiri-san.”
“You can call me Shoko.” if he lives, which she wants to hope but that hurts, she wants someone to call her Shoko again, she wants to know Itadori Yuuji for who he is.
“Thank you. Shoko.” he gives her a quick bow, it’s sloppy, quick– a childish little thing, she feels a smile of all things pull at her lips and she watches as he runs away, back from where they came.
“You’re right.” she says to the overcast sky above. “I do like him.” Gojo, wherever he is, if there's an afterlife will be insufferable, he loves being right. She hopes Geto’s there too, to reign him in a bit, she hopes they keep each other company.
They'll have to wait a bit till she joins them.