══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

He prays.

Because there was nothing more to do with a sinner like him.

The mikos tell him it was suicide.

He prays with her cold hands between his, like those fragile fingers that once clasped on him were beads of rosary.

Like his mother, his father, Kiku and the people that share his blood; like the sinners who seek redemption and the lost lambs, he is on his knees and prays.

(y/n) drank a flower that ultimately killed her.

It took Getou and Yaga, Shoko even, days to pry him off her sleeping form - so deluded was he that she was just simply asleep and taking her body on his back to walk in the winter wonderland of the garden when the storm subsided.

It is January, almost February and soon it will be spring once more. You would have loved the blooming flowers; today he prays once again: what will he do now that all meaning is lost?

The world may mourn your death, the skies forever gray at the loss of its goddess, but none would cry the way he would. He is now but an empty husk of the man he was supposed to be.

He doesn't remember, how long was it? Everything was static, a monotonous black and white, only that it did not electrocute the very tip of his fingers, simply making him numb to the warm sun nor cold air. Empty. Everything was fleeting and he can't hold onto anything, like he was in an endless dream that he can't seem to wake from no matter how many hours he prayed to.

Not even when he was reckless that he had far too many brush with death.

By summer, when the burn is almost unbearable, his skin is still ice, Yaga once again tells him about Getou's defect. Like him, his friend massacres a village and is lost during one mission. It would be hypocrisy if he damned him then and there, more so if he tells everyone that he did not understand. How many rivers of blood must be spilled for one's belief?

Today, Satoru cries out: why must life be so hard? He is the strongest now, yet why does he still lose to fate those who he holds dear?

When he reaches the age of 20, he is still mourning. To be completely honest with himself, he doesn't think that he will ever recover from this heartbreak.

Life is meaningless and he is meaningless. He has no reason nor means to keep on going, yet he still does from day to day. It is a constant routine of waking up, and going to missions and thinking if today or tomorrow will finally be his last; if he will die through a curse or with his own hands. He sleeps and dreams of her smiles and laughter, of a future robbed from him.

When you both reach 20, you would have been his blushing bride. Wearing a pristine white kimono, flowers intricately embroidered on silk, and hair in a simple braid tied by a carefully chosen ornament that he has gifted you. Your (e/c) would have shone with light, tears welling with happiness as you walked by his side.

For the honeymoon, he would have taken you to the ocean. He would see you run with glee on the sand and build cathedrals with your hands.

In his 20s, he would have loved you with all his heart, then and forever more. He would dedicate his very being to yours. In a few years, he would have held his own child - a proof of life and love shared between the two.

Then he wakes in a cold bed, empty and with tears on the corner of his eyes that he now hides through a dark fabric. Nothing would be worth looking at, not even a second glance, when you took all beauty from the world in your passing.

It was another day, when Yaga would not give him any mission and he walks the length of the city by himself, that he comes across an all too familiar face that brings back too many memories. He doesn't even know if he was to be thankful or resentful of the man.

"The patron goddess of the jujutsu shamans. She must love you very much, if she brought you into my path." He tells the kid with a smile.

He kneels in prayer to her small shrine in the Fushiguro household, hands clasped. He thanks her for showing him light and redemption through another life. Megumi Fushiguro was your blessed child of the heaven and his reason to live

He sings her hymns and promises that this time, he will make it right.

And yet there is a cry.

Somewhere in Japan, there is a cry of a little girl in the streets, her big brother with pink hair carrying the small girl on his back. "There are monsters," she screeches hiding her face on the fabric of his shirt.

Itadori Yuuji runs as fast as he can with his short legs towards their home, where his grandfather waits for them. He hates this, he hates her cries, he hates how she trembles on his back - every tremor and hiccup felt as if it was his own.

Somewhere in Japan, there is a little girl who felt a missing part of her return. A part of her soul snatched has found its way home and completes her like a puzzle piece, only that with a sense of completion comes the deeply rooted fear for a greater evil that will come for its prey and the sight of deformed monsters that roam every corner of the streets.

Somewhere in Japan, the Yuji Itadori takes meticulous care of his twin, (y/n) Itadori, who refuses to see a shed of daylight, opting for the shadows as if hiding from the world. He brings her flowers that she dearly loves, none more so than wild daisies which she holds a bit too delicately.

Author's Note

I in no way plot this thing, though it is a pleasant surprise.