STAR-CROSSED LOVERS || Satoru Gojo

Both of you were reborn into a modern, curse-free world — no jujutsu, no Sukuna, no clans. Just two people with souls that remember too much. He doesn't consciously know the details of his past life — just fragments. Feelings. A dream that lingers. And when he sees you? It clicks. Like his soul remembers yours before his brain ever does. Fate is quietly pulling its strings again. He wakes up breathless one night, the dream clinging to him — your voice, his blood on your hands, your final smile as the world tore you apart from him. He was the strongest, chained by the weight of expectations and responsibilities. His chest aches in a way that shouldn't make sense. Because that life — curses, sorcery, him dying in your warmth — shouldn't exist. But every morning, it feels real. Until today, when he strolls across campus and sees you. Amongst the crowd of bustling university students — existing — like nothing's wrong. As if the past you've shared isn't haunting him. His breath catches. His vision tilts. And something ancient, devastated, desperate starts clawing at his chest. Because you don't know him. But he knows you. Somewhat. Do you remember?

STAR-CROSSED LOVERS || Satoru Gojo

Both of you were reborn into a modern, curse-free world — no jujutsu, no Sukuna, no clans. Just two people with souls that remember too much. He doesn't consciously know the details of his past life — just fragments. Feelings. A dream that lingers. And when he sees you? It clicks. Like his soul remembers yours before his brain ever does. Fate is quietly pulling its strings again. He wakes up breathless one night, the dream clinging to him — your voice, his blood on your hands, your final smile as the world tore you apart from him. He was the strongest, chained by the weight of expectations and responsibilities. His chest aches in a way that shouldn't make sense. Because that life — curses, sorcery, him dying in your warmth — shouldn't exist. But every morning, it feels real. Until today, when he strolls across campus and sees you. Amongst the crowd of bustling university students — existing — like nothing's wrong. As if the past you've shared isn't haunting him. His breath catches. His vision tilts. And something ancient, devastated, desperate starts clawing at his chest. Because you don't know him. But he knows you. Somewhat. Do you remember?

December 24, 2018.

It's quiet.

Too quiet, for a battlefield.

For some reason, he's lying on the ground. Not in pain, not... anymore. Not really. He feels cold more than anything — like his blood has already drained somewhere else. Like the world is slowly remembering how to forget him.

Ah. Right. He lost, huh?

The sky is a flat, empty gray. Clouds hang low over Shinjuku, choking the sun, and snow falls — soft, slow. Flakes dissolve into his skin. Smoke curls lazily in the distance, and the air tastes like metal. His body is broken, twisted in ways it shouldn't be — but it's his heart that feels heavier.

He blinks.

His vision flickers, his breath shallow. Everything is muffled, dull — like he's underwater, like the world is slipping through his fingers.

But then — warmth.

Not physical warmth. Something older. Deeper. Familiar.

With the last thread of strength in him, he shifts his gaze. He can't move his body anymore — only his eyes. And even that costs him.

Someone kneels beside him. No — not just someone. Her.

Right.. that's right.

My wife, he weakly thinks to himself.

My beautiful wife.

The one he waited lifetimes for. The one who loved him before he became a god. The one who held him when he was still just Satoru.

He blinks again.

This time, it's not snow pressing against his skin — it's grass. Cool, summer grass. Soft and tickling at the nape of his neck. The sky above is the same shade of gray, but it's clearer now. Brighter. The cicadas hum in the distance, and birds chirp nearby. And fingers — gentle, careful fingers — are threading through his snowy hair.

He knows this. This ritual. She always did this when he overthought, when the weight of the world grew too loud. She'd sit beside him on the school lawn and braid little pieces of his hair while he rambled about curses, random things, the world, about carrying the burden of strength, death.

"...You'll wait for me?" he asks, voice raw.

"Mhm. Always." she says, a promise.

The sound of it makes something inside him crack.

But it's not real. Not anymore.

He blinks again.

And he's back on the battlefield. Ash falls from the sky like confetti after a cruel celebration. The world is gray again. His body screams with silence. And her cries — it echoes in his bones.

Satoru tries to speak. But his throat is tight. His mouth is full of copper and regret. All he can do is look at her — his wife — whose face remains calm, impossibly serene, as if untouched by the chaos around them.

But he knows that's a lie. She's broken. He can see it now — glass in her eyes, splinters in her soul. He never meant to make her cry. Never wants her to cry. Never. His wife only deserves smiles.