Always an Angel, Never a God

by oktsukki

Summary:

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Shoko adjust herself to accept Utahime into her embrace, stubbing out her cigarette on the rock and bracing herself for impact. There’s something simmering between them, roiling to a boil over the past few months. The sight of Utahime tucking her face into Shoko’s neck makes Suguru hot, makes him focus straight ahead on Gakuganji scratching the tip of his nose in the distance.

suguru meets satoru, falls in love with satoru, learns to communicate with satoru.

The first thing Suguru learns about Gojo Satoru is that he’s insufferable.

He’s a once-in-a-lifetime, first-in-a-generation anomaly, the perfect concoction of jujutsu society’s most potent and deadly curse techniques. The Six Eyes. The limitless. A god among men.

It doesn’t help that he fully knows the importance of his power and the potential he holds. It’s something that’s been imprinted into Gojo Satoru’s head since the moment of his birth. His birth shook not only jujutsu society, but the world at large. Everything since the moment he was born revolved around him. And no amount of smacks to the back of his head from Suguru’s hand will change that. He’s an immoveable force, a typhoon of a man, a boy. It sickens Suguru.

Gojo Satoru is loud and brash and larger than life. Almost immediately after starting at Jujutsu Tech, he was talking back to teachers and elders and upperclassmen alike. An embarrassment to be around. Suguru did everything to stay out of his way, but with a class size of three, there was only so many places to hide from a god.

The second thing Suguru learns about Gojo Satoru is that he’s incredibly naïve.

Because of his privilege and power, Satoru was raised like a prince. He was given everything he asked for, save for the freedom of being a kid. That much was painfully obvious after having one, measly conversation with him.

Near the end of their first term, after Suguru had given up on avoiding Satoru, they are loitering by the vending machines after class. It’s a hot day, the height of summer; Suguru had stripped his uniform jacket and rolled the sleeves of his shirt to try and alleviate the sticky heat. He’s trying to shake his stuck drink free from the machine while Satoru lounges like a particularly long cat on one of the benches.

“Hey Suguru,” Satoru calls out. Suguru grunts in assent, finally managing to loosen the drink. “Have you ever been to a movie theater?”

“What? Yes.” Suguru stoops down to claim his prize. He cracks the top and stands, swallowing down the sugary drink in large gulps. “Why?”

When Suguru turns back to Satoru, the other boy is staring at him with eyes wider and brighter than they usually were. Suguru frowns. He walks to the bench and shoves Satoru’s legs aside so he can sit down. Satoru doesn’t complain, an abnormality, still staring.  

“What’s with you? Why are you looking at me like that.”

“You really have?”

“Been to a movie theater? Yeah, of course. Who hasn’t?”

The moment the words leave his mouth, Suguru realizes. Satoru. Satoru hasn’t.

“Is it amazing?” Satoru spins to sit up, leaning into Suguru’s space. Instinctively, Suguru leans back.

“Sure? I don’t know. It’s fun.” Suguru takes another swig of his drink, letting the bubbles fizz on his tongue and looks away from Satoru. Even with the glasses, Satoru’s gaze is too intense. “Why? …Do you want to go?”

“Yes.” Satoru answers quickly and too loudly, bobbing his head. “Can we? Please?”

Gojo Satoru doesn’t say please. Something foreign and unpleasant twists in Suguru’s gut. “Um, sure. Anything you want to see?”

Another quick reply. “The new Pokémon movie.”

Suguru raises his eyebrows and twitches to look back at Satoru. “Really? Why that one?”

“Because it looks awesome! And just imagine,” Satoru flings both arms out in front of himself, smacking Suguru in the shoulder, “how much more awesome it’ll look on the big screen.”

Suguru snorts. “What are you, twelve?”

“Come on Suguru.” Satoru shoves Suguru’s shoulder again, this time on purpose. Suguru checks him back. “Don’t be lame. I’ve seen your video game stash.”

“What are you doing snooping in my video game collection, huh?”

“You left your door open! What else was I gonna do?”

“Mind your own business maybe?”

“The opportunity was right there! I just took it! Don’t enable me if you don’t want me to be enabled!”

“It wasn’t an opportunity, Satoru!”

“So, can we go?”

The turn is so abrupt that Suguru balks for a minute, blinking a few times. And Satoru, damn him, looks like a puppy with his tail wagging behind him.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. We can go this weekend.”

“Saturday.”

“Huh?”

“Saturday, right? It comes out that day.”

Suguru can’t help but snicker. “Okay yeah. We can go see your Pokémon movie on Saturday.”

“Yes.” Satoru pumps his fist in the air.

“You’re so weird.” Suguru drains the rest of his drink and stands. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s too hot out here.”

“Fine, fine.” Satoru doesn’t stand, just stretches his arms over his head and yawns like a toddler. “Anything for you, my dear.”

Suguru bristles at the term of endearment. He leaves Satoru where he sits. It only takes a minute for Satoru to scamper after him. He falls into step beside Suguru with his freakishly long legs and Suguru, despite all of his reservations and hesitance regarding surrounding himself with Gojo Satoru, thinks he rather likes having him by his side.

 

That Saturday comes and Suguru and Satoru leave the campus with their school-approved permission and head to the nearest movie theater in Tokyo. The whole trip, Satoru is buzzing beside Suguru, chattering away about lore of the movie and his excitement of the new character being introduced.

“How do you even know all this stuff?” Suguru asks, slumping down in his seat and eyeing the station names on the board.

“Research,” Satoru quips. And then, “I have a lot of time… sometimes.”

“Lazy ass.” Suguru scoffs, despite the discomfort coiling inside himself. “Get a job or something.”

Satoru hums like he’s actually considering this. “Have you ever had a job?”

“Eh? I guess?” He delivered newspapers for a summer a few years ago but gave that up when he started to fully recognize his curse technique. He tells this to Satoru, who’s hanging onto his every word and staring at him like he’s hung the moon. Again.

“So, you had like a schedule and everything?” Satoru asks.

“Yeah, of course. That’s what a job is.”

“That’s so cool.”

“Satoru, technically we have jobs. Going on missions, that’s like a job. Why are you acting like this is shaking your whole world?”

Satoru shrugs. “I dunno. It’s just cool.”

Suguru eyes Satoru. He’s picking at idly at his sleeve and looking out the train window. Their stop is getting close. Suguru didn’t think it was possible to feel pity for a god, but here he is, warily letting pity seep into his bones.

They reach their stop and Satoru all but skips off the train. Suguru trails after him, hands tucked into his pockets and toying with the corner of his wallet. The theater is a short walk from the station. They stand in line for their tickets, Satoru bouncing by Suguru’s side as he hisses with elation at seeing all of the kids carrying their plush toys to the theater. Suguru feels a little like he’s babysitting.

When they get up to the counter, Satoru immediately starts chattering to the poor girl behind the counter. She keeps casting glances at Suguru and Suguru just shrugs, a little helpless. Satoru will wear himself out, eventually. They get their tickets and head into the theater lobby, surrounded by small children and a scattered few groups of teens not unlike themselves waiting in the snack line. It’s the same as before when Satoru and Suguru reach the counter, this time Satoru rattling a laundry list of all the candies he wants and the largest bucket of popcorn the theater has to offer. An absurd amount, really. Too much for just the two of them to comfortably eat during the duration of a film. But Satoru flashes a slim card that probably has more money on it than Suguru has ever seen on it and scoops the candy boxes into his arms, so Suguru can’t quite complain. Satoru doesn’t talk too much about his family and home life, but Suguru knows enough to about Jujutsu society to understand that Satoru comes from old wealth.

“This is almost like a date, huh, Suguru? Just like the movies.” The statement comes out of nowhere as they leave the concession stand and make their way to their theater. Suguru trips over his feet, a few pieces of popcorn tumbling out of the bucket.

“I guess.”

“Have you been on a movie date before?”

“I guess.”

Satoru wrinkles his nose. “Stop saying that. What do you mean ‘I guess’?”

“Because,” Suguru says with a groan, “it’s embarrassing.”

“Ooh, Suguru has embarrassing stories.” Satoru jeers, checking Suguru’s shoulder as he walks. “Now you have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit.” Suguru rolls his eyes. “It was in middle school, but it was barely a date. That’s why I said ‘I guess’. I don’t think she even realized it was a date.”

“Girls huh?” Satoru says and it’s an odd comment to make, but Suguru valiantly doesn’t stumble this time.

“Yeah, girls.” He supposes. He hasn’t put much thought into anything like that since starting at Jujutsu Tech. Options are fiercely limited to well. To Shoko. And Suguru is not interested in that. Besides, there’s bigger things to worry about.

Satoru makes a strange sound but doesn’t say anything else as he bullies the door to their assigned theater open. He doesn’t hold the door for Suguru, releasing it before Suguru is all the way through the frame so that it hits Suguru’s ankles as it falls shut. Suguru swears under his breath and kicks out at Satoru’s ankles. Satoru doesn’t respond, just silently moves through the darkness until they reach two open seats near the top of the theater. Suguru doesn’t think anything of it.

The seats squeak as they settle in. The previews are already playing, and the theater is awash with the low hum of a filled room. Satoru slumps low in his, boxes of candy spilling over his lap. He tears into one of them, dumping a handful of sugared sweets into his palm and tossing them back into his mouth like a shot. Suguru watches, watches the way he wrinkles his nose and works his jaw as he chews. He’s quiet. Moreso than Suguru’s ever seen him. It’s odd. Suguru halfheartedly eats a piece of popcorn as he waffles between addressing the silence and letting Satoru stew. The previews fade into the actual movie before Suguru can make up his mind.

Whatever mood Satoru had fallen into at the start of the movie fades by the time because Satoru is vibrant as every as they exit the theater, bouncing on the balls of his feet and knocking into Suguru’s shoulder as they walk. He drops the remnants of his candy boxes haphazardly into the garbage, tucking the last one left under his arm as he chatters Suguru’s ear off.

“Was it everything you dreamed of?” Suguru asks, snidely, as they step out of the theater and into the dying light of day.

“Yes, yes.” Satoru tears into the final box, candy coated chocolate pieces, and pours a handful into a warm palm. He offers the box out to Suguru. Suguru taps three pieces between his fingers. “We should do this every week. We should always come here. See every movie. This is the best thing ever. The screen was so big, and the sounds were everywhere, and it was so funny when everyone gasped at that one part. You remember that one part, right? That was great.”

Suguru snorts. “We can’t do this every week. But it’s good. We can go again.”

“I’ll make it every week.”

“That’s impossible. We have shit to do. And the term is almost over.”

“Right, right. The term is almost over. You’re gonna go home to your shiny, happy life.”

Suguru grimaces. “It’s not that great. What— are you gonna miss me?”

“Of course, I’m gonna miss you.” Satoru says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You’re my best friend.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, of course. What did you think we were?”

Classmates, Suguru thinks but doesn’t say aloud. Peers. It’s not that he’s actively avoiding Satoru anymore, like he was in the beginning, but he doesn’t think he’s ever considered someone his best friend before, let alone this pretentious child of a boy. He’s quiet, chewing on the pieces of candy. Satoru doesn’t seem bothered by the silence as they head towards the station. He doesn’t seem to need any declaration or reciprocation, like it’s perfectly natural that that’s what they are. Best friends.

 

Summer burns into fall, sun-scorching hot and overwhelming, and the break is over before Suguru realizes it.

He returns to campus with the setting sun, a crisp chill settling over the empty pathways of the outskirts of Tokyo with the impending fall weather. He doesn’t pass a single soul as he climbs the steps to the dorm building, as he walks through the long hallways and empty rooms. Satoru’s door is closed when Suguru reaches his own, fits his key in the door. Gold shadows fall across the tatami, across the rumpled clothes Suguru had left behind, the uniform neatly draped over the back of his desk chair. All of it is achingly comfortable. Much more so than the room he left behind at his parents.

 Suguru drops his bag from his shoulder and abandons it by the door, sinking onto his thin mattress. Home is not a place Suguru had ever had to consider when before he knew of anything other than what it once was. Now, though, split between his old life, the life where his parents spoke in whispers about the way their son hide in shadows from the things no one else could see and the new, Suguru has felt… unmoored.

He sits for a while, letting the taste of the cramped dorm wash over him, fill him up, ebbing between the lingering reunion and the fade to normalcy. This strange, new normalcy.

As the last dregs of sunlight turn into dusk, Suguru fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the abandoned bag. He throws open the wide window and settles on the sill. The lighter clicks, clicks and ignites beneath his thumb as he taps a cigarette out of the carton with the other. He tosses the carton onto his bed, where it lands with a muffled thump. Bringing the cigarette to his lips, Suguru flicks the lighter again, cups his hand around the flame against the light breeze sweeping across the campus and into his room as he lights the tip, inhales. Smoke curls, pours down his throat, filling his lungs like a curse. Suguru tips his head back against the window frame, holding the smoke within his chest for longer than necessary, tickling in his brain, burning, filthy. Exhales.

The smoke drifts, wafting on the crisp air beyond, away from the four walls of Suguru’s dorm. He watches, watches the smoke dissipate into clear air. Behind him, his door creaks open.

“You’re back,” Satoru says, listless and a little bit shy.

Suguru rolls his head against the wood of the window, plucking the cigarette from his lips and letting it dangle between his fingers. His gaze rolls to Satoru, taking in the way he cowers in the doorway, looking unsure of himself.

“I’m back,” Suguru says, then, “did you just back?”

Satoru shrugs. He takes a tentative step through the doorway, standing in Suguru’s doorway like he doesn’t belong. “From the store.”

Suguru pitches one eyebrow. “From the store?”

“Went to pick up some stuff. I didn’t know when you would be back. Otherwise, I would’ve asked if you wanted anything.”

“Didn’t you go home?”

Satoru sways on his feet. Suguru wishes he would sit on the bed.

“How was your break?”

“Fine. Did you go home?”

“No.”

Ah. “It was fine. Good to see everyone.”

“Everyone.”

Suguru isn’t sure what to say to that, so he just takes a drag from the smoldering cigarette. Counts to five. Exhales.

“What’d you pick up.”

Another shrug. “Some sweets. Popcorn. Do you want any?”

“You want to share? Quit standing over there. You’re creeping me out.”

Satoru moves. Crosses the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweats, both grey. His hair is pushed back by his glasses on his forehead, eyes luminous and all encompassing. Eerily so.

“I can share,” Satoru says, like Suguru won’t believe him. Suguru isn’t quite sure he does. He snorts. He holds Satoru’s gaze as he lifts the fag, brings it to his lips, curling his lips around mouth, wet and moist, and watches an expression shift over Satoru’s face as he sucks. Inhales. Exhales. Satoru’s nose wrinkles. It’s cute.

Suguru takes the cigarette, holds it out to Satoru. An offering. Satoru stares at it, flaming tip and storm-cloud smoke, considering. He climbs the bed. The mattress shifts, groans, twists under his weight. He fits himself into the space on the window opposite Suguru. Their feet knock together, knees too long. Slender fingers reach out, accept the offering.

“You ever smoked before?” Suguru asks.

Satoru hums. A non-answer. Considering. A no.

Still, he holds the cigarette between his fingers, clumsily, a mockery of the way Suguru had passed it to him. Turning away, Satoru brings it to his lips. They’re pink, wet. Worried by teeth. Suguru notes them. Pretends he doesn’t note them. Satoru presses the end of the cigarette to his mouth in profile and breathes. He breathes. In. Out. Scrunches up his face like a cat. It makes Suguru laugh. He bites his cheek to keep it in. Watches and waits.

Satoru coughs. He sputters and wretches the cigarette away from his mouth, almost drops it on the bed. Suguru is quicker; his hand snakes out and catches him before he can burn down the whole dorm building. The laugh bubbles out, pitched and sharp. Satoru coughs some more, a hacking thing, a throat-ruining thing. Suguru laughs some more.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Suguru says, tapping the ash from the cigarettes tip out the window. Dying flames flicker. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Why d’you like that? Why do you do that? That’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.” Satoru sticks his tongue out like that will help.

“Tastes better than curses,” Suguru says as he takes another drag. Satoru’s eyes are watering; he looks like he might cry. Suguru wants to laugh some more but he swallows it down. Instead, he just smiles around the smoke in his mouth.

“Chew gum or something,” Satoru says. His voice is hoarse, like one puff of nicotine was instead one pack, a dozen packs. He hacks, scrubs his sweatshirt-covered wrist over his mouth, erasing the taste, blue eyes swimming. “You haven’t even exorcised any curses recently. You’ve been home. Why do you need it?”

Suguru shrugs again. He picked up cigarettes long before his curse technique developed. As a kid, as a preteen who scared his parents, he thought it might keep the shadows away. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it.”

Suguru snorts. “You don’t have to.”

Warily, Satoru eyes the cigarette burning down between Suguru’s fingers and shudders. It’s a full bodied thing that makes his glasses shift on his forehead and slip down. A lock of snowy hair shakes itself loose from the hold of his glasses and flops over his forehead, falling across those luminous eyes. Six eyes, thousand yard stare.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

The way Satoru asks makes Suguru’s insides twists. He’s still cringing from the nicotine on his tongue, but his eyes are wide and bright as he asks his question to Suguru.

Suguru can’t help but laugh. It’s a much less vindictive one than previously used towards Satoru. Endeared. “Sure. We can watch a movie.”

Satoru brightens. He waits for Suguru to finish his cigarette, chatting idly about his weeks during the break that passed on his own as Suguru silently smokes. When it burns down to the end, Suguru stubs it out on the outer brick. He slinks off the windowsill and warps the butt in a plastic bag and deposits in the trashcan beneath his desk. Satoru scoots himself onto the mattress, settling against the headboard and snatching one of the crumpled blankets to toss it over his lap, wiggling beneath it to get comfortable.

“We’re watching here?” Suguru asks, settling on the edge of the bed, twisting to face Satoru as he buries himself deeper into Suguru’s blankets.

Satoru shrugs. “You have a television, movies. Why not?”

Suguru eyes him for a moment, at the flushed pink of his cheeks, at the bright shine of his divine eyes. Then, he too shrugs. He scoots back onto the bed, settling next to Satoru against the headboard. The wood clacks against the wall, rattling. His shoulder bumps against Satoru and Satoru doesn’t move away. Suguru fishes around for the remote that sits on the bedside table. Once he finds it, he drops it onto Satoru’s lap.

“Pick something, then,” he instructs, and Satoru does. He picks something American, something romantic, something cheesy and Suguru doesn’t complain. He settles back and steals a corner of his own blanket off Satoru. Their legs brush, under the soft wool, through the soft cotton of their pants. Suguru doesn’t move away and neither does Satoru. And they watch.

 

The second mission of the term is a joint one, as most of them are.

Satoru and Suguru, a perfect pair, despite the lectures they receive after every mission, despite the way they bicker on the way there, on the way back, how they fight over one another as they try to explain their own actions and disparage the others.

The second mission is no different and they leave their meeting with Yaga sour and sulking and needing more space than their neighboring dorm rooms and Shoko’s pestering interest as she wanders down their hall in the aftermath.

Shoko does her wandering shuffling saunter down their nearly empty hall, bringing with her the scent of her lit cigarette that she’s unafraid and unashamed of openly smoking away from a cracked window and knocks on Suguru’s door. There’s no need to knock on Satoru’s, not when his is constantly open, even when he’s wallowing and nursing a bruised ego. Suguru buries his face into his pillow at the sound, wanting nothing more than to melt into the cotton and stuffing and disappear. His body is aching, muscles torn to shreds and aching. It wasn’t a particularly hard mission, or it wouldn’t have been if Satoru wasn’t fucking careless, casting a shitty barrier because he thinks he’s better than barriers and letting a stray group of teenagers for Suguru to rush to the aide of and earning a shot in the side from a wayward curse. It wasn’t a hard hit, just one that will have his side mottled with bruises if he doesn’t let Shoko look at it. Which he won’t.

The banging of Shoko’s fist grows louder and louder until it stops all together, suddenly replaced by the scratching click of a hairpin in the lock. Suguru’s surprised the lock has lasted this long, what with her constant fiddling every time she comes around.

It only takes Shoko a few seconds to unlock the door. The handle clicks in a final, futile attempt to keep her out, then swings open with the kick of her boot to the wood.

“What are you doing moping in here?” she asks around a cigarette and a lazy smirk. Suguru can hear it, even through his pillow, even through his moping.

“He’s mad because his ass got handed to him today,” Satoru supplies through his open door. “His bleeding heart got him injured.”

“I don’t have a bleeding heart, Satoru,” Suguru shoots back, bolting upright in bed. “You’re just an idiot who can’t do his job right.”

“You hurt?” Shoko asks but Suguru ignores it in favor of rolling his eyes at Satoru’s clattering as he shoulders past Shoko and into Suguru’s room.

“If you hadn’t gone out of your way to help those kids, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. You let your guard down to save some nobodies who probably would’ve been fine. They couldn’t even see what was happening,” Satoru says, pale brows furrowed over his bright eyes as he glowers at Suguru. “That’s your own fault. Stop wasting your time on dumb things like that.”

“Dumb things like that? Satoru, if you had properly lowered the veil, they wouldn’t have gotten in the way in the first place, and I wouldn’t have had to go help them.”

“And? It’s not my job to make sure every non-sorcerer is safe and sound. We exorcise curses, not babysit.”

“What is the point of exorcising curses, if not to save those who cannot save themselves?”

“Wooow,” Shoko drawls, plopping down on the edge of Suguru’s bed and shoving Suguru’s knees over to make room for herself. “I wish I had popcorn for this show.”

“Yeah, you know what,” Suguru says, huffing through his nose in a half-aborted attempt to calm himself down as he looks anywhere but at where Satoru is standing, “I can’t have this argument again. Get the fuck out, Satoru.”

Satoru screws up his face in an ugly way, jaw working as he fights around whatever stupid thing he wants to say next. Shoko lets out a snorting laugh before he can, though.

“Oh, come on just kiss and make up,” she says. “I’m bored. Suguru, come here.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you or are you not injured?”

“It’s just a bruise; it’ll heal.”

It’s then that Suguru realizes that Satoru is still standing by the door, quieter than he’s ever been before and when Suguru glances up at him, his face and ears are bright, tomato red. His angry pinch is gone, replaced by one of shock.

“What’s wrong with you?” Suguru asks. Satoru snaps to attention, his vermillion hue darkening and his eyes growing wide.

“Nothing,” Satoru says. His eyes shift, sliding around and focusing on nothing. “Nothing. I’m going.”

With that, Satoru twists on his heel and stalks out of Suguru’s room. Good riddance.

“Was it something I said?” Shoko asks, creeping closer to Suguru’s injured side with her healing hands. Suguru flinches away.

“Who knows with him,” Suguru says. “I don’t understand him.”

A high-pitched giggle spills from Shoko suddenly. Suguru glances up at her, catching the way she snickers and lets her cigarette dangle between her lips. Suguru reaches out and snatches it, taking a drag as she laughs.

“What is it? You sound crazy.”

“Maybe it’s because I told you guys to kiss and make up.”

“What?”

“You know. It was a joke, but then he got all deer-in-the-headlights.”

“Well, that’s stupid, why would he even care about that?”

“Maybe because he wants to kiss you.”

Suguru breathes in another lungful of smoke at the same time she says this and hacks it all back up. It burns, his nose, his eyes, his bruised ribs, and Shoko laughs. She pats his shoulder gingerly, the least she can do.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“Why? Too gross?”

“To kiss Satoru? Yes. Fuck yes. Anyway, it’s not like that. We’re not like that.”

“Like what?”

Suguru waves a hand around to vaguely gesture at something, hoping Shoko will get it. She just tilts her head to the side, smiling knowingly, like she’s figured something out. Like she’s figured Suguru out. She hasn’t. Definitely hasn’t.

“You know. Like. Like we’re— we’re not, we’re just friends.”

“Yeah? Are you trying to convince me? Or yourself?”

“You, apparently.”

Shoko snorts, disbelieving. “It was just a joke. Don’t get all twisted up about it. Laugh a little.”

Suguru doesn’t, because his ribs hurt, but he does let Shoko wash away the bruise. He lifts his shirt up over one shoulder and sits facing the wall, letting her hands heal his skin. He thinks about going to the movies, weeks ago, with Satoru. Satoru asking “so, girls?” and Suguru saying yeah because he’d never thought about saying anything other than that. He thinks about how quiet Satoru had gotten after that, how he’d dropped the door to hit Suguru’s shoulder like a petulant child who had been told no. On its own, it’s nothing, par for the course, just Satoru, but then. But then. There was the night Suguru returned to campus. Satoru waffling in the door, knocking their knees together as he tried Suguru’s cigarette, crawling beneath Suguru’s blankets on his bed, inviting himself in. And he, Suguru, he had—

“Okay, all patched up and ready to go another round,” Shoko says brightly, slapping the fresh skin and sounding too pleased with herself.

And Suguru, he drops his shirt back into places and turns away from the wall and resolves not to think about things anymore.

 

A term break again.

Fall cools into winter and Suguru resolves that he will invite Satoru home this time. It’s Christmas, after all. He’s just turned sixteen and Suguru watched the way Satoru’s face pulled up in a bitter smile to say that he hadn’t heard from his parents, not even for something like turning sixteen.

“It’s fine, though,” Satoru said, turning away, looking out the window over his bed. The three of them were in his dorm, spread out around takeout cartons and a strawberry cake leaning to one side with the disruption of sixteen haphazardly spaced candles. “As long as my bank account is full, I don’t need them.”

It was softly snowing outside, white flakes drifting like cotton past the glass. Suguru curls his hand into a fist on his thigh, digging his nails into the meat there, thinking about parents who don’t call their sons on their birthdays. He glances at Shoko, who’s dragging her chopsticks through her cold soba noodles and fiddling with the tab on her stolen beer can. Their eyes meet and she sighs, a long-drawn, tired thing.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” she says and then she does, leaving Suguru alone with Satoru and the cake and the takeout.

“Sorry,” Satoru says listlessly. “Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“What mood?” It’s an instinct that kicks the words out of him. He clears his throat. “Sorry. Um. Come home with me. For Christmas.”

Satoru turns then, glasses slipping down his nose. His pale brows slant, confused. “You want me to… to come home with you?”

Suguru shrugs, looks down at the box in his lap. “Yeah. You know. If you want. It could be fun.”

“Are you being for real?”

Suguru looks back up, at Satoru’s baby-wide eyes and the pink stain flushing over his cheeks. “For real, real.”

The pink of Satoru’s cheeks darkens. He looks away, but Suguru can still see the curve of his giddy smile. The sight makes Suguru bite down on his own matching smile.

“Cool,” Satoru says.

 

Suguru’s hometown is close enough to Tokyo to make it there and back in a day, but far enough to make it a hassle. Far enough to be isolated. They take the train there, a quiet affair. Shoko started the trip with them, before she switched trains at the second stop. Once she’s gone, Suguru spends a good amount of the trip staring out the window, around Satoru’s head. It’s strange to see his snowy locks obscuring the corner of a view he’s looked at for his entire life. He doesn’t think he can complain, though.

“Do you think your parents will like me?” Satoru asks when they reach their station. He’s dragging his duffle back behind him like a toddler. It’s picked up a napkin and all sorts of public transport grime.

“Probably,” Suguru says. “They’re mostly agreeable.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they’re mostly agreeable.”

Truth be told, Suguru is nervous. He’s not sure what his parents will think of Satoru. He’s never asked to bring a friend home with him before. He doesn’t know what to do with the implications of that. When he brought it up to his mother over the phone, after Satoru had said yes, she had hummed and said I guess it’s fine, just let me know what he wants to eat.

“Is someone picking us up?” Satoru asks, finally relenting and hoisting the strap of his back up onto his shoulder and hurrying to catch up with Suguru as he continues down the street and away from the station.

“It’s not a far walk.”

Satoru huffs, his breath a white cloud in the air. “But it’s cold!”

“Don’t whine. It’s unbecoming.”

It is a short walk, although made longer by Satoru’s continued whining. They reach Suguru’s parents and Satoru looks rumpled and ruffled from beneath the wrap of the scarf Suguru took from his own neck to wrap around his ill-dressed classmate. The tip of his nose is cherry red, and his brow lowered in a frown. Suguru does his best not to look into the funny way the sight twists him up inside.

The door is unlocked. Someone is home, his mother probably. Suguru walks in first, making room for Satoru in the entry and stepping out of his shoes. His call into the house is met with empty air. It’s not surprising. She must be asleep. Or out in the back yard. Suguru lets the silence roll off his shoulders.

“Come on,” Suguru says. “I’ll take you to my room.”

Satoru follows at a snail’s pace, which pisses Suguru off until he glances behind at the other boy and sees the nerves written over his face, sees the way he’s twisting the strap of his bag between white-knuckled fingers. Suguru sighs, trying not to feel overly fond, and punches lightly at Satoru’s arm.

“Stop looking like you’re lost,” Suguru says. “You’re fine.”

“I just want your parents to like me.”

“Why are you so worried about that, huh? They barely like me; what does it matter if they like you or not?”

“Because they’re your parents. And also, that’s not true.”

The stairs creak as they walk up, single file. “What’s not true.”

“That they barely like you. They call you, send you letters. I bet your mom will hug you and give you a big kiss on the cheek when she sees you.”

Suguru pauses, hand braced against the wall. He doesn’t know how to explain to Satoru, to someone whose own parents treat him like a treasured object to be stored on a shelf and never touched, that his parents love is conditional, staged. There’s no way to describe to Satoru the ache in seeing the concerned looks in his parents’ eyes, the arm’s length they began to hold him at as his cursed technique developed and it became clear that Suguru wasn’t someone who they could understand.

“Well,” Suguru says instead, toeing open his bedroom door and stepping aside to let Satoru in. “This is it. Make yourself at home.”

Satoru does. His bag slides from his shoulder with a heavy thump and he steps into the center of the room to stare at the walls and the clutter and the peeling posters with revered awe. Suguru shifts, feeling like he’s being examined, like inviting Satoru into his childhood room is akin to peeling back his skin for the honored one to have a look inside of.

“I can’t believe you’re actually just a big nerd after all the shit you give me,” Satoru says finally and Suguru huffs.

“Oh, shut up. At least I’m not tacky like you.”

Satoru clicks his tongue and points an accusing finger at a Dragon Ball Z poster hanging over Suguru’s desk. “What’s that?”

“A poster I got when I was a kid.” Suguru rolls his eyes. “What, you don’t have shitty kid stuff in your bedroom still?”

“Not that I pretend I’m too good for.”

“I don’t pretend I’m too good for anything. You’re the pretentious one, six eyes.”

Satoru mock-gasps, hand-to-heart, eyes wide. “I am not pretentious, you take that back, Mr. Stretched-ears-and-dumb-bangs.”

“What’s wrong with my ears and bangs?”

“Your bangs are terrible. An atrocity. It makes you look like you think you’re cool.”

“I am cool, fuck you.”

“Maybe if you just had the earrings.”

Satoru smiles as he reaches out to Suguru, gently brushing his fingertips against the cool metal of one of the gauges in Suguru’s ear. Suguru bats his hand away, then shoves his shoulder for good measure. Satoru pushes back, planting his hands on Suguru’s chest and shoving. It’s hard enough that Suguru stumbles, just a bit. He wraps his hands around Satoru’s wrists as fingers twist in the fabric of his coat, latching on. He shoves, trying to throw Satoru off, but Satoru trips on his abandoned bag and his grip on Suguru’s coat turns into a deathly one, one that has Suguru toppling over on top of Satoru as they tumble to the ground with a clatter of too-long limbs.

Suguru’s on top of Satoru, elbow in his ribs and knees smarting on the padded ground beneath them. One hand is pressed between Satoru’s head, dove-tail strands slipping over his knuckles and the realization that he protected Satoru like this for something as silly as a fall shocks him. His eyes focus, zeroing in on the way that Satoru’s pink lips are parted, breathing heavy, and his eyes are blown wide with the shock of it all. Satoru comes into himself, lips curling into a grin, and he laughs. It bubbles out of him, warm breath hitting Suguru in the face as the hands in his jacket loosen and Satoru drapes his arms around Suguru’s shoulders.

A cord snaps inside of Suguru, suddenly, and he gets it. He gets it. It’s something horrifying and all-encompassing, something liquid-hot and furious. He’s refused to look at it for weeks now, for months now, but with Satoru stretched out beneath him, arms around his neck and laughter on his lips, Suguru can’t ignore it anymore.

“Suguru?” His mother’s voice has Suguru scrambling back, falling over himself to put some distance between Satoru and himself. Satoru is still laughing, not phased at all by Suguru’s crisis and his calling mother.

“Yeah, Mom,” Suguru says and squeezes his eyes shut as hot humiliation floods him at the sound of his breathless voice.

She appears in the door, dark hair pinned up in a perfect bun and crows feet crinkling by her eyes as she smiles down at the two boys on the floor. Since he was a little boy, Suguru has always thought his mother was exceedingly beautiful. She’s perfect in every way, all neat and tidy and drawn up like a painting. She’s holding a dishtowel in one hand, grip loose around the fabric.

“Welcome back, Suguru,” she says, smiling behind closed lips. Suguru sighs. He stands, embraces his mother. She kisses his cheek.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her gaze drifts to Satoru, still sprawled on the floor. When he realizes, he scrambles to sit up, folding his legs underneath himself and giving that thousand-watt grin of his.

“You must be Satoru,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am,” Satoru says. He gives a weird, stilted bow from his place on the floor. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

And that’s a foreign concept too; Suguru hasn’t ever seen Satoru treat anyone with that amount of respect. It does nothing to quell the roiling thing in his gut.

“Welcome to our home,” Suguru’s mother says. “We’re happy to have you. I’m getting dinner ready now; I’ll send for you when it’s ready.”

“Do you need any help?” Satoru asks, shaking the entire world.

“There’s no need. Take some time to settle in.”

She pats Suguru’s cheek once, then drifts away from the door, leaving them alone to face whatever had just happened.

“What the fuck was that?” Suguru asks Satoru, pretending like his heart isn’t racing in his chest.

Satoru frowns. “What was what?”

“‘Do you need any help?’” Suguru pitches his voice in a mockery of Satoru’s. “You burn popcorn every time you make it. What could you do?”

Satoru’s face colors brightly. “Popcorn is different. I forgot about it. I can do some stuff.”

“I doubt you even saw the inside of a kitchen before you came to Jujutsu Tech.”

“That’s not true.”

“Uh huh. I’ll believe it when I see it. Why do you care anyway?”

“I already told you! Man, why are you being such a dick. I can be nice to people if I want to.”

Suguru leaves it alone at that. He knows why he’s digging: he’s trying to get Satoru all twisted up to make some sort of admission. What he wants Satoru to admit, Suguru isn’t sure. He sits down on the edge of his bed and shucks of his jacket. Satoru spins around, still on the floor, and blinks up at him.

“Wanna play some games?”

“Yes. Show me all your big nerd stuff, Suguru.”

 

Dinner, when it’s ready, is an odd affair.

Satoru is stiff and polite, obviously nervous and answers each of Suguru’s parents’ questions with clipped, clear words. He doesn’t fidget, but he doesn’t eat much either. It’s like whatever weird socialite training he’s had suddenly kicked in and he’s a new person sitting at Suguru’s dining room table. He doesn’t raise his voice, he says please and thank you, he helps Suguru’s mother with the dishes after. When they bid Suguru’s parents goodnight, Satoru looks thoroughly drained. Suguru wishes he would stop acting like that.

They take turns showering. Suguru sets up a futon on the floor for Satoru while it’s his turn and then sits back on his bed and waits. Thankfully, Satoru’s weird manners don’t extend to his habitual marathon showers and it gives Suguru a good forty minutes to sit on his bed and stew in his own tumbling emotions.

He feels things for Satoru. Unfriendly things. Wanting things. And that’s a lot for a nearly sixteen year old to be feeling. He wants to throw up. He wants to never speak to Satoru again and maybe punch him in the face and then maybe kiss him silly. Satoru would look so pretty with his mouth red from kissing and his hair mussed from fingers tugging. Not that Suguru would know what anyone looks like after kissing.

Satoru returns from the bathroom wearing a pair of soft looking sweatpants and a loose t-shirt whose gaping mouth hangs around his collarbones, drying his hair with a towel. His feet are bare and he yawns as he stands in the middle of Suguru’s room, looking every bit like he belongs there.

“You’re going to make me sleep on the floor?” Satoru asks when he spots the futon on the ground. There’s a pout in his voice. Suguru continues playing his game and doesn’t think about it.

“Yes,” Suguru says. “Mine’s too small. And you’re too big.”

“Aw. No fair. You didn’t tell me I’d have to be camping here.”

Suguru huffs, blowing a loose piece of his bangs up with it. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t be so mean.”

Suguru doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to risk this pointless argument continuing or, worse, Satoru worming his way up into Suguru’s bed. That absolutely cannot happen.

It must work, though, because Satoru drops the towel and then drops himself onto the futon, burrowing under borrowed blankets and curling onto one side to stare up at Suguru.

“You’re really lucky to have this life, you know,” Satoru says. Suguru pauses his game, glances down at Satoru. Luminescent eyes stare up at him, so earnest it hurts.

“Yeah,” Suguru says. He kills the game and sets the console down on the table beside his bed. “It hasn’t been all bad.”

 

There’s not much to do in Suguru’s hometown, so the week is spent largely in Suguru’s bedroom, playing video games. On a few occasions, they ventured out to the store to stock up on sweets for Satoru. Suguru’s mother didn’t keep a lot of unhealthy food in the house and Satoru was quickly going through withdrawal. It also gave Suguru a chance to smoke, since he didn’t like risking it even when his parents were out.

It was on one of these trips, sitting on a bench with the snow cleared off, Suguru smoking and Satoru chewing on a piece of milk candy, that they were approached. Suguru recognized him from across the street but decided not to call out. It wasn’t until he, a boy named Daisuke that Suguru used to hang out with in middle school, turned to cross the street that he noticed Suguru sitting there. His face brightened and he waved, changing his course to approach the pair.

“Do you know him?” Satoru asks, swallowing his candy and already unwrapping another.

“Yeah.” Suguru stubbed out his cigarette on the bench and pinched the dead bit between his fingers. Daisuke approaches.

“Suguru! Long time no see,” Daisuke says. It’s been nearly a year since Suguru saw him last and he’s grown much taller, his hair shaggier.

“Hey Daisuke.” Suguru nods, considers lighting up a second cigarette. “How are you?”

“Not bad, not bad. You on break from your fancy boarding school?”

“Yeah. This is Satoru, my classmate.” Suguru jabs a thumb in Satoru’s direction and Satoru gives a little wave.

“Hey. How long are you guys in town?”

“Just a few more days.”

“Well, I’m meeting up with the guys tonight, if you wanna come. It would be cool to hang out again, Suguru.”

“Oh yeah? Send me a time and place. I’ll let you know if we can.”

Daisuke says he will and gives one more wave before leaving them alone. Suguru gets a text from him while he’s still within view. He clears the message and pockets his phone, playing with the end of the old cigarette and debating how much longer he can stand sitting in the cold when Satoru nudges his foot with his own.

“That was really weird,” Satoru says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were like a different person.”

Suguru shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Wasn’t that your friend?”

“We were friendly. I haven’t talked to him since graduation. Not since I became a sorcerer.”

“Is that what you were like with everyone before?”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno.” Satoru waves his hand around in the air, looking a little helpless. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Distant. Like you were just going through the motions of talking to that guy.”

“I guess. It was… hard, then.” Suguru doesn’t like thinking about who he was before he became a sorcerer, before he realized what was wrong with him, that there was nothing wrong with him. He had his group of friends he hung out with, but they didn’t understand him. They couldn’t. None of them could see the shadows that Suguru could, the things lurking. None of them had the power Suguru did swimming under the surface of their skin, begging to break through. When Suguru got recruited for Jujutsu Tech, everything clicked. He understood. He had a purpose after that, a place to belong.

“Do you want to hang out with them?” Satoru asks, pulling Suguru out of his head.

“Do you?”

Satoru hums, unwrapping another candy. He looks a little shy, which Suguru has come to recognize as his response to things he doesn’t know about, things he wasn’t able to experience as a kid. He never had a group of friends to hang out with, not before Suguru and Shoko.

“Yeah, we can go,” Suguru says in response to Satoru’s silence. “If you want to. It could be fun.”

 

It’s not incredibly fun.

Suguru feels all kinds of uncomfortable as he and Satoru walk to Daisuke’s house later that night. He feels stiff in the button down he chose to wore, like some sort of fraud dressing up to impress people he has no thoughts about. Satoru seems equally uncomfortable, twisting his fingers not-so-subtly in the sleeves of his sweater. They walk up the path to the front door of Daisuke’s, a strangely warped inversion of Suguru’s childhood. He knocks on the door and waits, standing back by Satoru’s side. He nudges Satoru, delighting in the way Satoru quickly glances over to him and smiles, bright and beautiful, as if just the sight of Satoru eases him.

“You okay?” Suguru asks, low and rumbling.

Satoru nods. He’s still twisting his fingers. “Yeah. I’m excited.”

Suguru can’t help but smile back. He reaches out and brushes a stray piece of hair back off Satoru’s cheek, tucking it behind his ear. The door opens and Daisuke greets them.

“Come on in,” he says, too loud and brash. Suguru snatches his hand back to his side. “Everyone else is here. My mom’s out for the night.”

They follow Daisuke into the house and are greeted with the rest of Suguru’s old friends, Aya, Ren, and Misaki, all sprawled out on the couches surrounded by a collection of takeout containers and packaged snacks and cheap beer. They turn towards the newcomers and offer a warm welcome. Daisuke presses a can of beer into both Satoru and Suguru’s hands, then flops down next to Aya.

“I can’t believe Geto Suguru, of all people, showed back up here to hang out with us lowly mortals,” Aya says, tucking herself beneath Daisuke’s arm in a way that can only mean one thing.

Suguru plants himself on a free couch and Satoru sits too close to his side. There’s not an inch of space between them and Suguru knows that his old friends notice. He taps the top of his beer twice with his fingernails and then cracks it open. It tastes like shit when he takes a sip, burning all the way down his throat. He can feel the way Satoru is eyeing him, twisting his own unopened can in his hands.

“It hasn’t been that long,” Suguru says. He gives a quick round of introductions for Satoru, who nods stiffly.

“Oh, come on, Suguru,” Misaki says. She’s idly braiding a section of her hair where she sits on an overstuffed armchair. “You all but disappeared after you got that fancy boarding school in the city.”

“Yeah, I did.” Suguru feels like he should apologize for this but can’t bring himself to say the words.

“In any event,” Ren says, leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, “it’s good to see you Suguru. How about we play a game?”

So, they play a game. A meaningless card game. The atmosphere eases and once Suguru is two beers in, he’s able to relax, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he laughs with old faces. This evidently helps Satoru relax too, because by the second round of the game, he’s making jokes with Ren and Aya and laughing at every not-so-subtle pass Misaki makes at him.

And that doesn’t make Suguru feel anything. Definitely.

After a third, maybe a fourth beer and a lost number of games, they call it a night. Suguru’s exhausted, listing and leaning too close to Satoru as they walk home. He thinks he knows the way; he should. It hasn’t been that long. They take a wrong turn, but it doesn’t get them too off track. The night is cold, but Satoru doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t complain this time, which is something. In fact, he’s largely silent, just snorting softly when Suguru realizes he’s taken the wrong turn and redirects them. He’s holding onto Suguru, their arms linked together. The warmth bleeding through their clothes makes Suguru more tired.

“We have to be quiet,” Suguru hisses when they finally, finally make it to his parents’ house.

“I can be quiet,” Satou says, a whisper. “Can you?”

Suguru huffs, loudly. “Of course, I can.”

And then proceeds to drop his keys on the tile in the entryway and smack his head on a side table when he bends down to pick him up. Behind him, Satoru snickers.

“Have you ever been drunk before?” Satoru asks, still keeping his voice low. His hand finds Suguru and it’s Satoru that leads them through the house and up into Suguru’s room.

“Of course, I have,” Suguru says, and that’s a lie. It’s the first one he’s really told to Satoru.

“You’re a bad liar, Suguru.”

Suguru doesn’t know what gave him away. Maybe the fact that he can’t keep staring at Satoru when he flicks on the lamp beside the bed. Maybe the fact that he keeps reaching out to touch Satoru, to straighten his clothes and catch his fingers between his own. It’s okay, though, he thinks.

“Put your pajamas on,” Satoru says, batting Suguru’s wandering fingers away when they curl around the hem of Satoru’s shirt. “I’m tired, I wanna sleep.”

“So, sleep.”

Satoru makes a face at Suguru and tosses the discarded set of pajamas straight into Suguru’s face. The momentum knocks Suguru over, falling back onto the mattress with a flop. His heart is beating too fast, head spinning. He needs a cigarette. He needs… he needs….

Suguru sits up at the worst time.

Satoru has taken his jeans off, standing in the middle of Suguru’s childhood room in his boxers with his sweater halfway over his head. And Suguru just stares. He’s caught in a trance by the way the light plays over Satoru’s skin, smooth and slightly toned. Satoru catches him as he tosses the sweater away, glancing over and smiling, soft and knowing.

“See something you like?”

Suguru shakes his head, as though the action itself can dislodge the decidedly unplatonic thoughts plaguing his drunken brain. “No.”

Satoru laughs. “Okay. Get dressed. I’m tired. And you look like you’re about to pass out.”

Suguru moves, sluggishly undressing and changing into his sleep clothes. It takes forever. He collapses back onto his bed, worming under the blankets as Satoru comes to sit on the edge of his bed. That little smile is there. Suguru doesn’t know what it means. This silent, knowing Satoru is unnerving.

“I liked your friends,” Satoru says. He plants a hand on the mattress, looming over Suguru. His glasses are gone, and his face is completely unobstructed. Suguru blinks up at him. “I had fun.”

“You did?”

Satoru hums. “I’ve never hung out with friends like that.”

“You hang out with Shoko and I all the time.”

“You know what I mean.”

Suguru does. He closes his eyes, feeling heavy and warm in his bed. Satoru’s eyes are on him, Satoru’s hand is on him, carding through his hair, gently working tangles out, scratching over his scalp.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Suguru says, an unintelligible mumble.

Satoru doesn’t answer right away and Suguru thinks that, perhaps, he hadn’t heard him. But then Satoru moves, nudging Suguru’s shoulder until he shifts over enough to make space for Satoru to slide in next to him. It’s a delayed reaction; Suguru’s syrupy brain realizes what’s happening too late. Satoru’s legs, bare against Suguru’s pants, are warm, his body a heavy weight on the mattress meant for one. The light is flicked off and Satoru curls on his side, nestling his head on the same pillow as Suguru and tucking his hands beneath his cheek as he stares through the darkness at Suguru. And Suguru can’t breathe. His breath catches in his throat, the situation sinking in around him. He can’t, however, bring himself to change anything. He can’t shove Satoru away; he can’t tell him to get out. As funny as it would be to see Satoru fall onto his ass on the ground, Suguru can’t bring himself to disturb the quiet peace.

“How are you feeling?” Satoru asks and there’s no cruelty in his words, but they cut Suguru anyway. He doesn’t know how to answer. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

“Fine,” Suguru hears himself say, anything but fine. His body feels all twisted up, stiff and listing at the same time. He wants to roll into Satoru’s chest, wants those long arms around him and Suguru doesn’t know what to do with this revelation, so he doesn’t do a thing.

“Was it good to see your friends?” Satoru asks. He smells sweet like candy, like the toothpaste he must have brushed his teeth with when Suguru was lost inside his head. It makes Suguru disgusted with himself, unprepared to be in the presence of the god in his bed.

“Yes.”

In the darkness, a smile crosses Satoru’s face. Suguru can just make it out through the dim light seeping from the window. Satoru slips one hand from beneath his cheek and brings it to Suguru’s hair again, pushing bangs back. His thumb grazes skin and Suguru burns.

“You know, I’m a little jealous of you,” Satoru admits.

“Why?”

Satoru makes a soft sound, an indifferent one. He doesn’t continue.

“I was a little jealous of you too,” Suguru’s loose tongue says. Satoru is still petting his hair, the touch hypnotic. He snorts.

“Why, because of my awesome and incredible power?”

“No, you dick. Because of Misaki.”

“Your friend?”

Suguru closes his eyes, nods.

“Why?”

“She was flirting with you.”

“Oh.” Satoru’s hand stills. It falls away. “And you wanted her to flirt with you?”

“Would be better than her flirting with you.”

“Oh.” Satoru says again, softer.

Suguru is losing his battle to sleep. His mind feels so heavy and Satoru next to him feels so right. He doesn’t realize that was the wrong thing to say. Satoru turns, facing away from Suguru. It confuses him. He pops one eye open, looks at the line of Satoru’s back now. He wants to reach out, but his arms can’t work.

“Wha—”

“Go to sleep, Suguru. We can talk in the morning.”

 

They don’t talk in the morning.

 

They don’t talk about the night at all. They leave Suguru’s parents house a few days later. Satoru doesn’t sleep in Suguru’s bed again. Suguru doesn’t ask him to; that would be crossing a line his sober mind can’t cross.

 

Spring comes and goes and their first year at Jujutsu Tech ends.

Suguru turns sixteen. They celebrate much in the same way they celebrate Satoru’s: takeout in spread out on the dorm floor, the three of them gathered after they return from a mission. Satoru gives Suguru a silver lighter with his name engraved on it and a box of chocolate. It’s a sweet gesture, one that makes Suguru’s wild brain think of wild thoughts, but he thanks Satoru anyway.

Graduation is a small affair. Utahime is the only graduate. There were two others, before, but they died: one before the first years even started and the other some time after Christmas. Suguru sits with Satoru and Shoko in the small crowd consisting of themselves and the second years they don’t talk to and Utahime’s parents to watch Utahime cross the makeshift stage in the main courtyard and get her diploma. There’s a polite round of applause from the meager crowd and then they disperse to let Utahime take pictures with Yaga and Gakuganji and her parents. Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru watch from afar, lounging under one of the blooming Sakura trees. Shoko sits on a smooth rock, smoking away, while Satoru and Suguru lean against the trunk.

“Do you think we’ll all make it to graduation,” Shoko asks.

“Why would you say something like that?” Suguru asks back. Shoko shrugs, eyes on Utahime and her brilliant peace sign she’s holding up towards the camera as she poses with Yaga.

“Why not ask something like that?” Satoru says. “It’s a fair question.”

Suguru supposes it is, although the thought of either of his classmates dying in the next three years makes him sick to his stomach. He went to the funeral of the last third year. It was a similar affair to the graduation.

“Still,” Suguru says, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Suguru,” Satoru says. Suguru rolls his head to look at him. Their shoulders are pressed together, Satoru’s glasses low on his nose. Suguru hums, waiting for Satoru to continue. “Can I play with your hair?”

“Eh?”

“Just say yes.”

Suguru does.

Despite not talking about things, Suguru has found that since the visit to his parents’ house over the winter break, he’s had a hard time denying Satoru anything.

There’s a shift; Suguru moves between Satoru’s legs and pulls the tie from his bun, letting his hair spill over his shoulders and down his back. It’s getting long. He should get it cut, but he’s never gotten his hair cut without his mother scheduling the appointment.

Satoru’s hands are tentative at his scalp at first. Light and nervous. Suguru closes his eyes. He tips his head back into Satoru’s hands and that gives him courage. Satoru sinks his fingers in, drags his fingers through the tangles from being kept tied up all day. It feels nice. Satoru is good at this. Strangely so. The sun is warm overhead, slipping through the gaps in the roseate canopy and splashing over Suguru’s face. He can feel Satoru’s fingers gently tugging his hair into a braid, twisting and plaiting.

“How do you know how to do that?” Suguru asks.

“Braid?” Satoru lets the twist fall apart, starts over. “My older sister.”

Suguru jerks, tipping his head back to look over his shoulder at Satoru. A new surprise. Satoru’s hands fall away. “You have a sister.”

“Ha. Yeah.” Satoru laughs a little, humorless. “She’s… not like me. A lot older than me. I don’t know her that well, but uh. She taught me some things.”

Satoru takes Suguru by the back of his neck and forces him to look forward again. He begins the braid anew. A dozen questions well up inside of Suguru at this new information, but he doesn’t bring himself to ask.

“You know, for someone with a sister,” Shoko says. Suguru had almost forgotten she was there, “you sure don’t act like it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Satoru quips. Suguru doesn’t know what she means either, but he figures she’s probably right.

They don’t get any sort of clarity, though, because Utahime skips up to their hiding spot. She’s red faced, brandishing her diploma as she crashes into Shoko. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Shoko adjust herself to accept Utahime into her embrace, stubbing out her cigarette on the rock and bracing herself for impact. There’s something simmering between them, roiling to a boil over the past few months. The sight of Utahime tucking her face into Shoko’s neck makes Suguru hot, makes him focus straight ahead on Gakuganji scratching the tip of his nose in the distance.

“Can I have your hair tie?” Satoru asks, pulling Suguru away from his wandering thoughts. Suguru holds up his wrist, letting Satoru slip the elastic from him. His fingers skate over the soft skin of Suguru’s wrist, just over his pulse. Suguru hopes Satoru can’t feel how it jumps at the contact.

There’s a tug at the back of his head as Satoru ties off the braid. When he’s done, he curls it around Suguru’s shoulder so he can have a look. Suguru picks up the end as the loose pieces of his bangs fall free over his cheeks. He tucks one piece behind his ear as Satoru scoots out from behind him, his face lit up with a shit eating grin.

“Suguru looks so pretty with his hair done,” Satoru says.

“Fuck off,” Suguru says, turning away and tossing the braid back over his shoulder so it falls down his back and Satoru can’t see the way his face flushes.

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.” Satoru continues to gush, fingers skating over Suguru’s shoulders, the braid, his cheeks.

“Knock it off. I’ll punch your teeth in,” Suguru says, batting Satoru’s hands away.

“No you won’t.”

Suguru won’t.

“Hey, can you two knock it off with the foreplay over there,” Shoko calls to them. “I’m gonna lose my lunch.”

Suguru snaps his attention to Shoko, who’s got an arm wrapped around Utahime and looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Talk about loosing their lunch.

“Speak for yourself,” Suguru says, without thinking of the meaning behind the retort.

Instead of getting embarrassed, though, Shoko just laughs. “Yeah, we should get out of here. You wanna come to mine, Iori?”

“Any where’s better than being around these idiots,” Utahime says. She sticks her tongue out at them. Satoru returns the gesture. Neither are phased as they stand and leave.

“I’m gonna be a much cooler upperclassman than Utahime when the first years get here,” Satoru says.

Suguru snorts. “I don’t believe that.”

“How rude, Suguru.” Satoru punches his shoulder lightly. “They’ll be incredibly lucky to have me as their senpai. I’m a good teacher.”

“You can’t teach shit.”

“Like you’re any better. We should get out of here too; I’m starving.”

And, like a dog given a bone, Suguru goes bounding after him.

 

It turns out that Satoru is popular with about fifty percent of the new undergraduates when their second year at Jujutsu Tech begins.

There’s only two first years, Haibara Yu and Nanami Kento. Haibara is nauseating enthusiastic, completely unsurprising that he hangs onto Satoru’s every word. Nanami is Haibara’s polar opposite. This doesn’t seem to bother Satoru, and in fact, it makes him want to pester Nanami more. It’s insufferable. Suguru feels for the poor kid, although the sight is too amusing to actually put a stop to it.

At any rate, it’s fun to have some new faces around. It’s fun to have more people than Shoko and her tired eyes and Satoru and the strange feelings being near him stirs up in Satoru. The term falls into full swing and Suguru is getting stronger. He’s saving more people, consuming more curses. It feels good to have a purpose, despite the taste.

On a particularly pleasant day when spring is just beginning to bloom, the five of them head into the city.

They go to an arcade, spend their meager allowances on tokens until Satoru breaks down and buys a whole bucket with his parent’s money so that he can have another go at trying to beat Suguru in the street fighter game he’s shit at. He loses every time.

They eat at an izakaya, one that’s cheap and has food that has little flavor but all of them can afford. Satoru sits plastered to Suguru’s side and it’s not like he minds, but the proximity does make Suguru’s head spin a bit. The fun abruptly stops at the end of the meal when Shoko tells a rather deadpanned joke that has Haibara snorting his soda out of his nose and onto Nanami’s lap, which has Nanami tossing some cash onto the table and stomping out of the restaurant. Haibara chases after him like a puppy on a leash.

“Do you think he’s too soft for this?” Shoko asks, leaning her chin onto a fist and slurping loudly from her straw.

“Haibara? Nah,” Satoru says. He’s got Suguru’s wrist in his hand, fiddling with the spare hair tie Suguru keeps there. “He’s strong. He’ll make it. I can feel it. Nanami though…”

Satoru slides the hair tie from Suguru’s wrist as he trails off and Suguru watches the way it stretches around Satoru’s fingers. Suguru blinks away, reaches across the table to steal a piece of chicken off Haibara’s abandoned plate.

“What about Nanami?” he asks as he chews.

“I dunno.” Satoru shrugs and it jostles Suguru’s shoulder. “He’s too serious. You can’t be too serious with things like this.”

“What, things like dying? Sorcery?”

“Mhm. That’s a terrible way to live.”

“Stop acting like you’re smart or some shit. You’re not.”

Shoko’s phone rings then and that sneaky smile of hers crosses her face as she straightens. She holds up the device and just says Utahime before sliding out from the table and leaving the two of them alone. Satoru pouts.

“How come it’s always the two of us left?”

“Something wrong with that?”

Satoru twists his face in an ugly way and Suguru has to tamp down on the urge to roll his eyes. “No. It just seems like everyone has someone. And then there’s you and me.”

“Am I not someone to you?”

Satoru looks away, pushes his glasses up a little higher on his nose, moves them back down. His teeth sink into his bottom lip. His hesitance makes Suguru’s stomach drop.

“You are.”

“Right.” Suguru swallows around a lump in his throat. He pinches Satoru’s thigh. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t wanna smell like food all night. And we should make sure Nanami didn’t strangle Haibara.”

They all make it back to the dorms in one piece, albeit separately.

Suguru and Satoru walk down their hall and find Haibara flitting around Nanami in the bathroom to try and help him get the stain of the soda out of his pants, while Nanami scowls and looks like Haibara killed his dog or something. Shoko’s door is closed, but there’s low music playing, and they decide it’s fine to leave her on her own. In the space between their own rooms, Satoru pouts again.

“What’s wrong now?”

“I’m not ready to be done yet.”

“Done with what?” Suguru is getting a little tired of Satoru speaking in riddles to him today.

“The day! I’ve been having fun. I don’t want to just sit in my room.”

“Oh. I didn’t think you would just sit in your room. When have you ever let me have a minute of peace.”

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like a bad thing.”

“You’re being fucking strange today, Satoru. Just come in. Put a movie on or something, I don’t care. It’s not a bad thing.”

At the invitation, Satoru all but skips into Suguru’s room. He kicks off his shoes and jumps onto Suguru’s bed, wrapping himself up in the blanket that Suguru belatedly realized is Satoru’s Blanket in his mind, making himself comfortable. He pushes his glasses on top of his head and he’s wearing the stupidest Digimon graphic t-shirt, and his eyes are so bright in the dusky twilight flooding the room. Suguru feels completely full looking at him. He feels starved. He might not be able to stand this much longer.

“What are you doing loitering like that? Get over here,” Satoru says, patting the spot on the bed beside himself. He’s still wearing Suguru’s hair tie on his wrist. Suguru swallows, throat tight, too dry. He sits. “What do you want to watch?”

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me,” Suguru says.

“You always say that.”

“Because it never matters to me. I’ll watch whatever you want to watch.”

“Ugh. Suguru. You can’t just say things like that.” Satoru moans and drops his face into Suguru’s neck, an action that thoroughly surprises Suguru. His first response is to tense, frozen on the spot. He thinks of graduation a few months back, of Utahime pressing her face to Shoko’s throat and his whole body heats. Then, slowly, he relaxes under Satoru’s weight. He tries not to let his nerves show as he wraps one arm behind Satoru’s back, holding him close.

They sit like that for a moment, Satoru’s nose cold just beneath Suguru’s ear and their breaths coming in tandem. Then, Satoru shifts just enough to grab the remote and turns on the television. He flicks through the channels, settling on some loud action. He clicks the volume down a few notches, set to seven, Suguru’s favorite setting, then nestles back in against Suguru. It’s… it’s too much. It’s not enough. Suguru tilts his head, presses his cheek against Satoru’s snowy hair. Satoru hums. The television splashes ultraviolet across the room, playing across their curled bodies as they fall quiet.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Satoru asks when the movie finishes and a new one starts. This one is a comedy, something Suguru really doesn’t want to watch but feels he might so as to avoid facing the way that Satoru’s fingers are tracing circles over the ridges and valleys of the back of his hand.

“In my bed?”

“Yeah.”

“…Why?”

Satoru shrugs, jostling their position a little. It makes Suguru realize how close they’re sitting, how intwined they are. “I just feel like it.”

“O-okay.”

Satoru beams, the purple light of an advertisement playing on the television casting strange shadows over his sharp features. His teeth flash in a blinding light.

“Great. Let me go get ready. I’ll be right back!”

Satoru is gone in a flash, jumping over Suguru and darting out the door, leaving Suguru alone and stunned in his now empty bed. For a horrifying moment, Suguru’s brain starts to wrap itself around the whirlwind conversation that’s occurred. Belatedly, he stands and changes into something more comfortable. His brain isn’t working; each step is like a test. He’s just settled back onto the edge of his bed when Satoru returns, practically skipping into Suguru’s room. Gone are his glasses, his hair loose and bouncing against his forehead. He looks giddy; it makes Suguru’s stomach sink.

“Okay,” Satoru says as he flops down onto the mattress. “I’m ready.”

“Are you?” Suguru asks eyeing the way Satoru is practically buzzing out of his skin.

“Yeah! I’m bushed. Let’s sleep.”

Hesitantly, Suguru lays back. He wriggles underneath covers and holds them up to make room for Satoru. His pack presses against the wall, something cool and solid and grounding. Suguru lets out a shaky breath as Satoru slides beneath the sheets. It’s hauntingly familiar to the night at Suguru’s parents’ place. They’re curled on their sides, facing one another. The television has been turned off, the room dark and muffled with nighttime. Suguru holds himself as still as he can, trying to imagine anyone else’s face over Satoru’s across the same pillow.

“You sure you’re ready to sleep?” Suguru asks, because there’s this strange vibration coming from Satoru. Suguru himself doesn’t feel tired in the slightest.

“Yeah. I told you. I’m bushed.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Why not?”

Suguru doesn’t have a good response to this, so he doesn’t. He tries to close his eyes, tries to sleep, but he’s all too aware of Satoru, Satoru, lying right there next to him. Suguru curls his toes, tucks his hands as close to his body as he can, squeezes his eyes tighter and —

“Hey, Suguru.”

Suguru doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes shut; he does. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever kissed anybody?”

This is hell. Suguru’s died and gone to hell, and this is his punishment for terribly pining after  his friend. Fuck.

“…No…why?”

Satoru doesn’t answer him. Instead, he says: “Have you ever wanted to kiss anybody?”

“…Yes.”

Satoru hums. It’s soft, barely audible, and barely any sign that he even heard Suguru’s soft admission. He can’t take it anymore. Suguru opens his eyes and finds Satoru staring at him through the dark. His leg brushes Suguru’s beneath the sheets.

“Satoru. Why are you asking this?”

“I—. I was just wondering.”

“Why are you asking this?” Suguru’s breath is caught in his throat, he’s trapped in suspended animation, waiting for Satoru to drop the ball.

“I was just wondering.”

“Please.”

“Okay. Okay.” Satoru swallows. Suguru can hear it across the expanse of the scant space between them. “I was— I was wondering if. You’d ever thought about… kissing… me.”

Suguru’s world tilts on its axis. He’s died and gone to paradise. He’s dreaming. He’s hallucinating. There’s no way that Satoru, the Six Eyes, the god beneath his sheets, is asking if he’s ever thought about Geto Suguru kissing him before.

Satoru laughs. It’s a self-depreciating thing, hollow and broken. “It’s okay. It was just a joke. A bad joke. I’m sorry. Let’s sleep.”

“Is it a joke?”

Suguru asks before he can think of the consequences. His heart is crashing against his ribs; he can’t breathe. There’s no way, there’s no way—

“Do you want it to be a joke?” Satoru whispers the question. The air is so thick between them; it’s suffocating. Suguru might pass out. He might, he might just—

Suguru moves. Every neuron in his body sparks to life, all of a sudden and he reaches out to Satoru, sliding his hands behind his neck and pulling him close. Their foreheads press together, and Satoru is so close. His hands brace against Suguru’s chest, branding him. He overwhelms Suguru, consumes him with his nearness.

“Is it a joke?” Suguru asks again. He presses closer still. Satoru is so, so close.

“No.”

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” Satoru curls his hands around Suguru’s wrists, locks him in place. As if Suguru would go anywhere. His whole world is wrapped up in this room, in his bed, in the darkness. “Yes, I do.”

So, Suguru does.

Suguru closes the distance what little distance, left between them. He kisses Satoru and its world-ending, earth-shattering, perfect. Satoru’s mouth is soft, wet. He opens up to Suguru almost immediately. His hands tighten on Suguru’s wrists. It’s a gasping thing, a breathless thing, a wonderful thing. Suguru’s never kissed anyone before in his life and he never expected kissing anybody would be as nice as kissing Satoru is now. He shuts his eyes and lets himself fall, fall into Satoru. A soft sigh drips from Satoru’s lips and pools on Suguru’s tongue. Suguru touches his tongue to Satoru’s bottom lip, drinks his sounds down. It’s all-encompassing, wonderful.

They kiss until Suguru’s mouth is sore, until he’s breathed all his breath into Satoru. They pull back, dizzy and flushed and breathless, with a wet sound. It’s not a far separation, but a separation none-the-less. Suguru stares; he stares, and stares, and stares at Satoru’s infinite eyes from the dark and wonders how the honored one wanted to kiss someone like him, someone so filled up with curses like him.

“I like you,” Satoru says into the darkness, his voice rough and breathy.

“I like you too,” Suguru says, an immediate, sure response.

Satoru’s mouth curves into a grin, wide and toothy, and Suguru marvels at the fact that he knows how that smile tastes now. How strange. Satoru rolls close, tucks himself into Suguru’s chest, his head beneath Suguru’s chin and Suguru wraps his arms tight around Satoru’s body. He fits against him like a puzzle piece, the missing half of Suguru.

“I’m glad,” Satoru says into Suguru’s clavicle. He squeezes Suguru a little tighter. Suguru returns the embrace. Their legs tangle together, knitting them impossibly closer. Suguru’s ribs ache with the beat of his heart. He presses his chin to the top of Satoru’s head, lips tingling and sore.

“Me too,” Suguru says and holds on as tightly as he can.

 

Waking in a world where Geto Suguru has kissed Gojo Satoru is a blissful one.

They’ve shifted in the night: Satoru’s back is pressed against Suguru’s chest, his arms around Satoru’s belly when morning comes to Suguru. He shifts, breathing in the drowsy scent of Satoru’s shampoo and laundry detergent. Suguru’s hand has slipped underneath the soft cotton of Satoru’s shirt, his palm flat and wide over smooth, warm skin. Suguru flexes his fingers, pressing gently into the soft flesh there. The pressure makes Satoru stir, sleepy moan falling from his mouth and Suguru buries his face closer into the back of Satoru’s neck.

Satoru stretches against him, long limbs sprawling out and pulling the covers tight over their bodies. He twists, turning in Suguru’s arms so he can face Suguru. His face more open than Suguru has ever seen it, dewy in the morning light and well rested.

“Morning,” Satoru says, voice crackly with sleep.

“Hi,” Suguru says. His own mouth feels cottony and thick.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“You want me to?”

Satoru rolls his eyes and says “What a dumb question” before kissing Suguru himself.

It’s a slow thing, a measured and controlled thing. It’s lazy and tastes of sleep and a little bit of toothpaste and Suguru looses himself in it. His hand is still under Satoru’s shirt, on his back now, his fingers playing up and down the knobs of his spine. Satoru slides one leg between Suguru’s and it’s good. It’s good. His hands are in Suguru’s hair, unknitting the sleep-mussed tangles and cradling the back of his head. He feels cherished beneath Satoru’s hands. He didn’t know it could be so good.

“We should get up,” Suguru says into Satoru’s mouth when the sun begins to shift over their covered bodies. He’s rocking his hips against Satoru’s thighs, an unconscious action, a pleasant one.

Satoru huffs, a puff of warm air on Suguru’s tongue. He bites down on Suguru’s bottom lip, light. “Good little schoolboy doesn’t want to kiss me.”

“I do,” Suguru says, pang in his stomach. He slides his hands up over sharp shoulder blades. “I do, but we have class.”

“After a whole year of not kissing me when you could’ve, and you want to just leave to go to class? Now?”

“You- you’ve wanted… all this time?”

Satoru leans back, head lolling against the pillow and hands falling away from Suguru. He mourns the loss as Satoru laughs.

“For all the shit you give me, you’re not very bright, huh.”

“I-how was I supposed to know?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’m obsessed with you?”

“I thought you were just weird.”

Satoru bites Suguru’s cheek at that. Suguru yelps, embarrassingly, surprised. Satoru kisses the spot better.

“I thought you didn’t like me like that,” Satoru admits, tucking himself against Suguru’s chest. Suguru settles his chin onto the top of Satoru’s head. “You said you liked girls. At your friend’s house, you said you were jealous that girl was flirting with me.”

Suguru snorts. “I was. I didn’t want her flirting with you because I liked you.”

Satoru pulls back again, eyes wide like saucers. His mouth forms a little o and then he takes Suguru’s face between his hands and kisses him again. This one is more, a little desperate, a little wanting. Satoru dips his tongue into Suguru’s mouth, licking at his teeth and holding him close.

“Okay, okay.” Suguru is loathe to push Satoru away, but they’re spiraling into dangerous territory, and they really do have to get to class. “Enough. Later. We have to go.”

“So strict.”

Satoru frowns and whines but pulls himself away from Suguru anyway. He doesn’t kiss Suguru again, doesn’t touch him at all as he slips into his own room. Suguru sits up, sheets pooling around his waist as he rakes his hands through his hair, touches his fingers to his lips. How strange. How odd. How ethereal.

Once they’re dressed and ready, Suguru and Satoru leave the dorm building together and head towards the classroom. Satoru bumps Suguru’s shoulder as they walk.

“Hey Suguru,” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“Are we boyfriends now?”

The question sends a hot thrill through Suguru. He bites his cheek before he answers, giving the most casual of shrugs. “Do you want to be?”

“Well… yeah. But I’m asking you. You seem like the cool, no-commitment kind of guy.”

And that’s a big joke after all the apparently useless pining Suguru’s been doing for the past few months. He rolls his eyes.

“I’m glad you think I’m so cool, but we can be boyfriends.”

“Nice.”

They’re at the classroom now. Satoru stops before they can go in, grabbing the front of Suguru’s uniform in both hands to pull him in for a kiss. He’s smiling. They both are.

Shoko is already there, sitting at her desk with her feet pulled up on the seat, flicking her lighter with one hand and quickly typing on her phone with the other. She doesn’t glance up at them when they enter, doesn’t acknowledge them as they sit down in their own respective desks. Yaga comes in shortly after, keyed up and muttering to himself as he closes the door.

“There’s a change in plans,” he says in lieu of a response. The boys turn their attention to him, but Shoko remains on her phone. “You’re being sent out on a mission.”

“Ooh fun,” Satoru says.

“Utahime and Mei Mei haven’t been heard from in three days. You three are being sent to find them.”

Suguru glances over at Shoko. The flame of her lighter clicks to life. He notices the circles under her eyes are darker than usual.

“Didn’t she call you yesterday?” he asks her.

Shoko doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. “Yeah. But when I answered the line was dead. I haven’t heard from her in three days. Like he said.”

“One of the assistant directors is already waiting in the car. Hop to it. We need to make sure they’re okay.”

“Yessir.” Satoru jumps up from his seat and gives a corny salute. Yaga looks like he might sock Satoru in the face. Suguru glances at Shoko again. He wants to say something, but the words come up short. Instead, he stands and punches Satoru in the arm himself.

“Shut up, idiot,” he says. “Stop joking around.”

The three of them pile into the waiting car. Suguru is sandwiched between Shoko and Satoru in the middle seat. Shoko lights a cigarette as the car pulls out and the director explains the situation further. Her leg bounces, nervous. Suguru thinks back to the morning, to kissing Satoru in his bed, and wonders what he would do if it was Satoru missing.

 

They fight.

Almost immediately.

Satoru forgets to lower the veil. They get reprimanded, after, once Utahime is safe and back in Shoko’s open arms and Satoru starts spewing his self-righteous non-sense about how non-sorcerers don’t deserve to be spared the horrors of curses. Suguru chucks a basketball at his head, misses. The argument is interrupted by Yaga, pulling the two of them out of the gym, leading them along a path to tell them there’s another mission. There’s always another mission.

“It’s for Master Tengen,” Yaga says. “Protect the Star Plasma Vessel. Deliver her to Master Tengen, so they can assimilate.”

“What do you think of that?” Satoru asks when Yaga is gone and they’re alone again. The heat of their argument is gone; Satoru has sobered.

“I think she’s just a kid,” Suguru says, thinking about the curses he saw in the shadows of his own childhood, of the way that Satoru hadn’t been to a movie theater until Suguru took him.

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “Yeah, she is. We should let her do what she wants, even if that goes against what Tengen needs.”

“That would turn everyone against us.”

Satoru laughs. He tips his head back and laughs; Suguru’s boyfriend, his pretentious, naïve, god of a boyfriend laughs.

“That’s okay,” he says. “We’re the strongest. It’ll be okay.”

And Suguru believes him. How can he not? They’re the strongest, after all.

 

Amanai Riko turns out to be a perfectly average fourteen year old, albeit a little spoiled, albeit a little bratty. She goes to school, she has friends, she does extracurriculars. She’s confident in her role as the Star Plasma Vessel.

The goons that get sent after her are easy. Satoru and Suguru handle them easily. Suguru kills a man, a curse user. He’s never killed a man before; he hasn’t killed a man before; he killed a curse user. Satoru sends him a picture of the downfall of Q, complete with a wide, toothy grin and a peace sign in the foreground. Suguru doesn’t think about the implications of that.

There’s one hitch in the otherwise butter-smooth plan. Kuroi, Amanai’s handler, gets taken. It’s a fluke thing, an oversight on Suguru’s behalf. They get her back, though, go all the way to Okinawa to get her back for Amanai. And because Satoru pulls out that puppy dog face and a quick phone call to Yaga gives the okay, the linger at the beach.

It’s nice. Suguru likes Amanai and he likes Kuroi and sitting in the sun is nice, watching Satoru poke at sea life is fun. Everything’s fine. It’s so fine. Satoru looks up the shore to where Suguru sits with Kuroi on their blanket spread across the hot sand.

“Thank you for giving her this,” Kuroi says. There’s a black eye blooming under her left eye. “Even with school, she’s not really able to be around people who understand her.”

“She has you,” Suguru says gently.

Kuroi gives a wry smile. “She does. But it’s not the same.”

Suguru knows it isn’t the same.

With nothing else to say, he stands and walks down the shore to where Amanai and Satoru are crouched. Satoru grins up at Suguru when he looms over them, casting a shadow over the sea cucumber in their hands.

“Finally come out to play?” Satoru asks, his smile blinging in the salty sun.

Suguru shakes his head. “Come here.”

Against all odds, Satoru goes without complaint. The sand is hot as they walk, sifting beneath Suguru’s bare feet. Satoru’s wandering hand catches Suguru by the fingers, curling around his. They’re warm, a little gritty and a little wet, drying with salt crusted around his fingernails. Suguru adjusts the grip, sliding his fingers between Satoru’s, pressing their palms together.

“You’ve been using your technique nonstop since yesterday, haven’t you?” Suguru asks. The ocean laps at their feet. Satoru rubs his thumb along the pulse running beneath the thin skin of Suguru’s wrist. The touch doesn’t quite reach. There are crinkles around Satoru’s eyes, his cheeks are pink from the sun.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Satoru says. He squeezes Suguru’s hand in his own. His smile is brilliant, outshines the star in the sky. Satoru glances behind them, at Amanai returning to Kuroi’s side. He steps in close, a hair’s breadth away. “I think you should kiss me.”

Suguru’s breath catches. He almost forgot. How could he forget. Between the rescue mission for Utahime and the assignment of the Vessel, Suguru almost forgot kissing Satoru is something he is allowed to do. And he does. Suguru leans in and kisses him. Satoru tastes like salt, like the sea. His mouth curves into a smile beneath Suguru’s.

“You can’t distract me this way,” Suguru says against his lips as Satoru curls his hand around the back of his neck, pushes the fingers of the hand not in Suguru’s into the short hairs there.

“I’m not distracting you. I’m just kissing you,” Satoru says, huffing into Suguru’s mouth. Another kiss, gentle, soothing. “I think playing ninety-nine years of Momotaru Dentetsu is harder. Besides… you’re here too.”

 

They go to the aquarium.

The dim light and the cool, artificial air a welcome change inside the sprawling building. Their skin is all sun-ripened and soaked in salt-spray. Crowds of tourists pass them by without a second glance; no one bats an eye at the odd quartet they make as they browse the galleries.

There’s a whale shark, a behemoth of a creature in a behemoth of an exhibit, swimming in graceful circles up towards the surface, down towards the depths. Amanai lingers there, head tipped back, hands clasped behind her back as she watches. Satoru watches her watch. Suguru stands by his side.

“Do you think the fish get lonely in there at all?” Satoru asks but he’s looking at Amanai. Suguru wraps his arms around Satoru’s waist, settles his chin on his shoulder, tucks his hands into the pockets of Satoru’s hoodie.

“Maybe,” Suguru says. He glances around, taking in the other guests who could care less about two boys standing like this. He kisses Satoru’s neck. “But they’re not really alone, are they. There’s other fish, even if they’re different. And they’re taken care of by their keepers. I think it’s okay to be lonely sometimes. But there’s always someone there, in the end. When you need them.”

Satoru tucks his hands into his pockets as well, fingers knitting together with Suguru’s. He leans his back against Suguru’s chest and hums. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

 

After the aquarium, after a large dinner and a walk through the fair-weathered streets, they return to their hotel. They’ll leave in the morning, have a flight out of Okinawa. Haibara and Nanami are waiting, keeping the area clear, watching for stragglers searching to cash in on the bounty on Amanai’s head. There’s less curses here in the south, less dangers. Suguru can’t shake the feeling that it’s too easy the kidnappers took Kuroi here, of all places. It’s too simple, too neat.

“The flight is at eleven tomorrow,” Suguru says when they reach their rooms. There are two booked, one for Satoru and Suguru, the other for Amanai and Kuroi. The doors face off in the hallway. “We should leave here around nine to make sure we have enough time.”

“So punctual,” Satoru says, patting Suguru’s cheek as he swipes his keycard at the door. “I wanna order room service before they close down the kitchens.”

“We just ate,” Suguru reminds him, but Satoru is already waving over his shoulder and disappearing into the room.

“What a pig.” Amanai huffs and turns towards Kuroi. “Can we order dessert?”

Kuroi’s smile is placid. “If that’s what you’d like.”

“Have fun with your alone time, Geto-san,” Amanai chirps, songbird-like. Suguru flushes at the implication. Amanai takes out her own keycard, swipes it on her against her own door, tosses a wave over her own shoulder. Too much like Satoru.

“We’ll be ready. Don’t worry about us,” Kuroi says to Suguru in a low voice. She clasps her hands in front of herself, bows her head. “Tell Satoru to get some rest. He’s done a good job.”

Suguru promises he will, loiters in the hallway until Kuroi is safely inside her room with Amanai. Sighing, he knocks on the door to his own room. Satoru is there, yanking the door open after the first knock. Suguru stands before the gaping doorway, fist raised ready for another knock. Satoru curls a fist into the red fabric of the tacky Hawaiian shirt Suguru is wearing and pulls him over the threshold.

Suguru collides into Satoru, falling into him. Satoru catches him, of course he does. His back hits the wall of the hallway and his arms scoop around Suguru’s waist, tight and secure, letting Suguru collapse against his chest. Suguru gets the wind knocked out of him, gets swept off his feet. His arms are around Satoru’s neck, knuckles smacking against the thin wall.

“Look at how pretty Suguru is,” Satoru says, leaning his head back against the wall to grin up at Suguru. He looks lovely.

“You’ve said that before,” Suguru says, breath caught in his throat. An involuntary smile tugs at his lips, pulls as his chest as Satoru’s wandering hands tug his hair free from its bun. Dark tresses cascade over Suguru’s shoulders, curtaining around the two of them as Suguru knocks his forehead against Satoru’s. “Stop being so embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassed of being so pretty?” Satoru giggles, a light boyish sound. “It’s true. And I can’t believe he lets me kiss him.”

“Might let you kiss him,” Suguru mutters, cheeks aflame. He scoops Satoru into his arms by his thighs, enthralled by the way Satoru intrinsically understands to jump up, to wrap his legs around Suguru’s waist. Satoru’s thighs fit perfectly along the dip of Suguru’s waist, his body a hot, flushed press as Suguru walks him to the bed.

The hotel is a nice one, paid for by the deep pockets of the higher ups. Their first night here, last night, Suguru had insisted on sleeping on the couch, rather than in the king sized bed with Satoru. They’re still on a mission, after all, and Suguru doesn’t want to invite distraction. And Satoru is a huge distraction.

All thoughts of that are out of Suguru’s mind now, though, as he lays Satoru back on the bed and holds himself above Satoru. Especially when Satoru lifts one leg to wrap around the back of Suguru’s thighs to pull him down further. Suguru goes, lowers onto his elbows and sweeps his hair over one shoulder

“You need to sleep, Satoru,” Suguru says, tilting his head as he leans down to kiss the line of Satoru’s throat. “Rest.”

“How can I do that when you’re right here,” Suguru says. “It’s not fair I got my pretty boyfriend to admit he likes me right before this stupid big mission.”

And Suguru has to admit that it’s not fair. The only consolation is that they only have a little bit longer to wait, a few more steps to take.

Although, there is the always the chance that all this goes south. Tomorrow, before the merger, Amanai might decide she wants to live and Suguru doesn’t know how they’ll carry out her will, but he knows that he’ll try.

Suguru grazes his teeth against the soft juncture of Satoru’s’ jaw, kicking all those big, unanswerable, unknowable thoughts out of his mind and focusing on the way Satoru gasps softly at the gentle scrape. Satoru digs his hands into Suguru’s hair, holds him down, urges Suguru on. A baseline instinct drives Suguru. He doesn’t know quite what he’s doing, but it’s easy to just fall into a rhythm spurred on by the soft whines Satoru makes. He sucks at Satoru’s skin, teethes at spot. Suguru wonders if a bruise will form there, if Satoru’s skin will prickle and purple into proof that Suguru has had him like this. Satoru scratches his nails against Suguru’s scalp, arches up into the touch, his chest pressing against Suguru.

“Ah,” Satoru says, gasping and pushing scrabbling hands against Suguru’s shoulders. Suguru pulls off Satoru with a wet sound and then Satoru hauls him back down to slot their lips together in another kiss.

“What is it?” Suguru asks, nipping lightly at the corner of Satoru’s mouth.

“You’ve really never done this before?” Satoru asks.

“Never.”

Satoru pushes him some more, pushes until Suguru rolls onto his back and Satoru can settle upon his lap. He sits back, hands resting on Suguru’s chest. From here, Suguru can see the bright red stain of the mark he’d left. He swallows. Satoru’s hair flops into his eyes; it’s getting too shaggy, Suguru can’t say that he minds it. He settles his hands on Satoru’s thighs, relishing the flex of muscle beneath his fingertips. Satoru brings his hands to Suguru’s face, tilting his chin up to meet a starry gaze.

“What are you thinking?” Suguru asks, staring up at the pink of Satoru’s lips, the heave of his chest, heavy with labored breaths.

“I’m thinking,” Satoru says, tracking the pad of his thumb over Suguru’s bottom lip. Suguru opens his mouth, lets his probing thumb explore. “I’m thinking that I like you very much.”

If Satoru wasn’t pressing his thumb against Suguru’s cuspids, Suguru would have told him he sounds ridiculous just saying something like that. As it stands, though, Satoru is, so Suguru just wraps a hand around Satoru’s wrists and closes his mouth around the finger. His eyes flutter closed as the fingers not in his mouth curl around his chin and Satoru murmurs a soft ‘yeah’.

“Tomorrow, after we get back,” Satoru says after another minute more, sliding his hand from Suguru’s mouth and lowering himself down onto his elbows above Suguru, “can I take you on a date?”

“I thought we were already dating?” Suguru asks. He can’t help kissing the tip of his nose. Satoru, in turn, scrunches it up and buries his face in the crook of Suguru’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Satoru says, a little muffled against Suguru’s shoulder, “but I think a date would be fun. Dinner or something. Something nice.”

Suguru presses his face against the top of Satoru’s head. He smiles, despite himself. “Okay. After the mission is over, you can treat me all nice on a date.”

 

Amanai dies the next day. She’s shot in the head by the Sorcerer Killer hunting them. She doesn’t get to merge with Master Tengen, doesn’t get to live the normal life she wanted to choose in the end. Satoru dies too, in a way. Suguru watches from the side, helpless as Satoru is run through with an ordinary blade, watches him laugh it off like it’s nothing as he tells Suguru to run. Satoru is different when he comes back from the edge. Fully realized.

Suguru comes out unscathed, relatively, in the grand scheme of things. He’s patched up with reverse curse technique and is fitted back together again.

Although, he wonders if it might have been better if he died.

 

They don’t get to go on their date.

 

Summer drags on. It’s relentless, a countless onslaught of exorcising and consuming. For the first time, Suguru goes on missions alone. Exorcise. Consume. The higher ups send Satoru farther and farther away, for longer and longer periods of time. He’s stronger now, stronger than anyone has been before. Stronger than Suguru.

They don’t talk about. Suguru can’t. He doesn’t want to face it, his failure. There is something growing inside of him, consuming him like the curses he swallows. Perhaps he’s swallowed too many.

When Satoru is at school, when he is home, they don’t talk about things. Satoru’s gone for sometimes weeks at a time and the air has changed between them. They play video games or watch movies or smoke on the rooftop, but they don’t talk. Satoru acts normal, as normal as someone like him can act, but there’s a tension that wasn’t there before. It’s hesitant and unsure. Suguru hates it, but he doesn’t know how to fix it, and can’t seem to bring himself up to the surface of his own consuming emotions to ask. They don’t kiss, either. Suguru doesn’t know what to make of that, either. It’s as if those precious few days before the Star Plasma Vessel mission never happened.

 

“Suguru, are you doing okay?” Satoru finally asks on a blistering day in the height of summer. He’s just finished showing off the full extent of his cursed technique to Suguru and Shoko in the courtyard. Shoko wandered off and Suguru is just… lingering. That’s all he’s been doing lately.

“I’m fine,” Suguru says. He shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the wall. He’s standing under the shade of the overhanging roof, out of the weight of the sun. Satoru, though, bathes in the light. His brow is furrowed in a frown as he studies Satoru with concern.

“Are you sure?” Satoru presses. It irks Suguru, somehow. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

Suguru bristles. He has, but he’s not sure why that’s any of Satoru’s concern. “I’m fine. I told you. Just a bit tired.”

This doesn’t ease the frown from Satoru. The sight makes Suguru’s chest ache. Satoru isn’t someone who should ever look concerned.

“If you’re sure,” Satoru says slowly.

“I am,” Suguru says. He pushes off the wall. “I’m gonna go inside. It’s too damn hot.”

Suguru’s feet are heavy as he turns to walk away. His throat is tight, but he holds his head high and presses on. Satoru doesn’t follow. He wishes Satoru would have followed.

Back in his room, Suguru sits on the edge of his bed and stares at the wall for a bit. It does nothing to alleviate the heat. Cicadas drone outside his window, a death rattle. He stares and stares and stares, fighting off the image of Amanai’s smile before her life was cut short. It doesn’t work.

He stands with a sigh. Satoru was right: he has lost weight. He came out of the incident with his life, more than he can say for Amanai and Kuroi, but he can’t do anything with it. There’s no point. He failed. Miserably so.

Suguru showers. The bathrooms are empty, a leaky pipe dripping. His clothes pool on a bench, his shirt slips from the pile and crumples on the floor. Suguru lets it. He doesn’t wait for the water to heat up, steps under the cold spray and lets it soak him to the bone.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He’d been distracted, wrapped up in the confidence that Satoru deservedly oozes and whatever new thing had been budding between them. That was Suguru’s fault. We’re the strongest. That’s what Satoru had said, at the beach in Okinawa. What a lie. Satoru is the strongest, Suguru is just another sorcerer who can’t get shit done, another miserable follower who lets civilians die for no good reason.

But do the civilians even deserve to live? Do they deserve to just keep on living their every day, normal people lives after girls with sweet smiles who want to join in on that every day, normal people living like Amanai get their brains blown out by some guy just trying to cash a check. Suguru pitches forward, braces his forearm against cool, slick tile as the water heats. It sluices down his shoulders, his back in rivulets. Suguru watches it spiral down the drain. The blade in Satoru’s chest flashes through his mind, the dark circles beneath Shoko’s eyes after Utahime was missing for three days, tastes the sour bile of the curses he swallows and —

A hand settles on the center of Suguru’s back. He startles, whirling around. The hand falls away. Satoru steps into the cubicle with Suguru, the spray speckling his skin, the jut of his collarbones, the flex of his thighs, his hair that starts to flag and fall to his forehead. His face is stony, serious, as he watches Suguru with a thousand yard stare.

“What are you—”

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Satoru says and there’s a twitch in his jaw, “but please don’t shut me out like this. Let me be here for you.”

“I-I’m not shutting you out, Satoru.” Even as he says it, Suguru knows it’s a lie. “I’m just… you’re not around.”

Satoru’s eyes widen a fraction, then he frowns. Again. “That’s not my- I’m not trying to not be here. The missions…”

“I know, I know.” Suguru finally breaks his gaze from Satoru and turns around. He ducks his head beneath the spray and shuts his eyes. “I didn’t mean that. I know it’s not your fault.”

“I’ll turn down the next one.”

“Don’t do that. Can you even do that?”

“Sure, I can. For you, I can.”

Suguru opens his eyes. Satoru is shivering, still being hit with the spray without being beneath the warmth. Sighing, Suguru reaches out and takes one of Satoru’s balled up fists into his hand and tugs. Satoru runs his curse technique all the time now, wraps himself in infinity to prevent Fushiguro Toji from materializing out of the walls and running him through, but he’s not using his cursed technique now, Suguru’s own hand meets warm, damp skin, unimpeded. A stumbling step brings Satoru under the spray of the water. They’re closer now than they have been in weeks. The water splashes across Satoru’s hair, flattening the wisps to his scalp and running into his eyes. Gently, Suguru pushes Satoru’s bangs back, clears the water from his eyes. He’s so beautiful; Suguru wishes he could be better for him.

“I’ve missed you,” Satoru says, barely audible over the rush of the water. He tips his head into Suguru’s hand.

“I’m sorry.” It’s not enough, but it’s all Suguru can offer right now.

“What can I do to help?”

Suguru doesn’t know. His mouth moves, searching Satoru’s open and wondering expression, but words fail him. Satoru doesn’t seem to mind though, seemingly figures Suguru out in that one look because he closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Suguru, holding him tight. Suguru shakes. He curls into Satoru, cinching his arms around Satoru’s bare waist. The water roars around them.

Time slips by them as they stand in this embrace. The spray of the shower begins to run cold when they finally part. Satoru washes Suguru’s hair, rubs shampoo into a lather while Suguru scrubs a soapy cloth over Satoru. It’s methodical, mind-numbing, good. Suguru’s heavy heart feels lighter. He feels better. The sudsy soap slips down the drain and Suguru cuts the water. Dripping, Satoru takes Suguru’s face between his hands and presses a featherlight kiss to his lips. That one kiss alone pushes the clouds away and makes the sun shine through. Just the confirmation that they still have this is enough.

“I’m not good at stuff like this,” Satoru says against the corner of Suguru’s mouth, “but please, let me try.”

“It’s not your burden, Satoru.”

“I know. I know it’s not. But just. Let me try. Let me help.”

Suguru settles his hands along the dip of Satoru’s hips. He bumps his nose against Satoru’s, seeks another kiss that Satoru willingly gives.

“If you’re sure,” Suguru relents and lets his mind go quiet.

 

It’s not better after that, but it is easier.

The next time they’re in class, when Yaga doles out the missions, Satoru very calmly informs Yaga that he won’t be accepting that one today, to give it to someone else or give Satoru a few days to get to it. They proceed to witness Yaga’s head boiling over, exploding with a slew of ‘god damns’ before he storms out of the classroom.

“Wow, Satoru,” Shoko drawls, leaning back in her seat. She gives a dry laugh, propping one arm up along the back of the chair. “I think you’ve finally gone and killed the old man.”

“I wasn’t trying to, this time,” Satoru says and he’s dead serious as he speaks. “I’m simply putting up boundaries. I don’t need to go to Hokkaido. There’s plenty of sorcerers based there who can handle the problem.”

“Did you fucking hit your head and have a personality change?” Shoko says, barking out a laugh with more humor than before.

In his seat, Suguru fidgets. How strange to know someone’s actions are driven towards you.

“No, Shoko. It’s not a personality change, I’m just tired of being sent all over the fucking country. It’s annoying.”

Shoko gives Satoru a considering look out of her narrowed eyes, then shrugs like she can’t be bothered to argue anymore.

The feet of Satoru’s chair scrape against the floor as he stands. “I’ll be right back.”

Neither Shoko nor Suguru say anything to stop him. Once he’s gone, though, Suguru follows after. He quiets his steps as he makes his way down the hall, not wanting to give himself away. Yaga makes a disgruntled noise around the corner and Suguru pauses.

“You can’t honestly agree with those old bags that it’s okay for us to just be sent off like this. There’s no way you’re that much of a lap dog,” Satoru is saying.

“The higher ups aren’t releasing the curses in waves themselves, Satoru. I know you have your disagreements with authority, but it’s truly not up to me nor to them.”

“It is up to them. It’s their fault we keep getting split up. Just because I can handle things on my own doesn’t mean that I should be.”

“What’s gotten into you, huh? Is this about Geto?”

“So, what if it is? You’re our teacher. You’re meant to fight for us, so fight for us.”

Yaga sighs. “God damn. Fine. Fine, Satoru, go with Geto. I’m not going to cover for you, though. If they give you shit, I’m not going to cover your ass.”

“Sure, you are. I know you know I’m right.”

“God damn,” Yaga says again.

He’s moving and Suguru scrambles against the wall he’s eavesdropping against to make himself look at little less suspicious. It doesn’t work; Yaga spots him immediately. He watches Suguru for a moment, then pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“Take care of yourself, Suguru,” Yaga says. He drops his hand, glasses falling back into place. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Yes sir.”

Yaga leaves and Satoru rounds the corner. Suguru grabs him by the front of his uniform and hauls him into his chest. Satoru yelps, catching himself against Suguru’s shoulders as Suguru cups a hand behind his neck and crashes their lips together. There’s a stumbling moment where the kiss is left uncoordinated, but Satoru figures out the pace after a second and easily fits against Suguru’s mouth.

“I think I fucking love you,” Suguru blurts out and it’s horribly embarrassing, but Satoru laughs like Suguru’s just told he won the lottery.

“That’s all I had to do?” Satoru asks. “Yell at Yaga a bit?”

It’s more than that, Suguru wants to say. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he just kisses Satoru and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

 

The higher ups never do chew out Satoru for refusing that mission. After they finish the one Suguru had been given, they head to Hokkaido to check on Satoru’s mission and the extra day hasn’t proven to caused that much more damage. It’s a second-grade curse, but they’re both newly appointed special grades.

“Do you want this one?” Satoru asks Suguru, hands poised and ready blast the curse if Suguru says no. Suguru says no. Red flashes and it’s gone.

They continue on like that, tackling Suguru’s missions, then Satoru’s. Working side by side makes the work lighter, makes Suguru’s foggy brain clear. And because he’s with Satoru, exorcising curses is almost fun again. It’s not any easier, but it is better.

 

December again. Satoru turns seventeen, in the violet light of an early morning. He’s sprawled out over the bed, their bed, with a spot smarting in Suguru’s side after an errant kick woke him up. Sometime after summer became fall, they brought Satoru’s bed into Suguru’s dorm room, pushed it up against the bed there to double the space. It just made sense. Most nights, Satoru stayed with Suguru in his room. Last night was no different.

As the sun rises, Satoru is splayed out over their double-wide bed, one arm tossed above his head as his mouth hangs open with soft snores. Suguru props himself up on one elbow, gazing down at his boyfriend, his god. The dark clouds that gather in the corners of Suguru’s mind are still there, but with Satoru around, with Satoru like this, they’re merely a rumbling threat of thunder in the distance. Suguru smiles to himself, watching the gentle flutter of Satoru’s dove-white lashes. Satoru snorts inelegantly, waking himself up fully. His eyes fly open and those bright, blue eyes glance around in a quick circle before settling on Suguru. He smiles. Suguru kisses that smile, tasting him and reveling in the sweetness.

“Good morning,” Suguru says against his mouth. “Happy birthday.”

“Hmm, what a nice present,” Satoru says. He pulls Suguru down on top of him, crushing himself in the process. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, wrapping a leg around Suguru’s hips. “Is there more?”

“Greedy,” Suguru says, knowing full well he has something more for Satoru in his desk drawer.

They spend the morning lazily kissing, indulging in the peace. Suguru doesn’t insist on getting up. He hasn’t done that in a long while. Later, when Satoru gets hungry, they pull apart and wander to the kitchen to rummage around for something to eat. Yaga is mysteriously absent as they wander the halls and waste the day, despite it being the middle of the week.

Later still, when Shoko finally emerges from the morgue and Haibara and Nanami return from wherever they had been sent out to, the five of them gather in one of the lounges in the dorm building. It’s sort of a sorry excuse for a lounge, equipped with couches that are nearly four decades old and television set that is functionally useless unless you have a slew of VHS. Luckily for the students at Jujutsu Tech, there’s plenty of those in the lounge.

Shoko drops a carton of cheap beer onto the table in the middle of the room. She takes a can for herself and claims one of the couches. The beer fizzes as the top is popped. She tosses her head back as she takes a long sip while the boys stand and watch. When she finishes, she lowers the can and scoffs at them.

“What’s with the faces?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “Let’s get this party started.”

Suguru shakes his head and grabs two cans, one for himself and one for Satoru, then takes Satoru’s hand and guides him to a free couch. Satoru settles close to Suguru’s side as Haibara and Nanami mimic.

“Happy birthday, Gojo-san,” Haibara says, pulling his legs up to his chest and cradling is beer between both hands as he eagerly turns to Satoru.

“Thank you, Haibara, this is why you’re my favorite underclassman,” Satoru says. He leans his head against Suguru’s shoulder

“I am?” Haibara chirps.

“Yes, absolutely,” Satoru says.

“This beer is shit,” Nanami says, a woeful voice of insight.

They play a few rounds of a board game, spread out on the table between the couches. Satoru loses each round miserably, squirming in Suguru’s lap at each turn. After the fourth round, Shoko locks her gaze on Suguru’s and tips her head towards the door. Suguru pats Satoru’s thigh to get him to move and he slides from Suguru’s lap easily.

Outside, winter whips around Suguru and Shoko as they settle down edge of the porch. Shoko fishes her pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and taps one into her hand. She sticks it between her lips as she passes the pack to Suguru. He shakes a cigarette out for himself and leans forward to let Shoko light the tip. He cups a hand around his mouth as he watches the tip light, flare. He inhales.

“How are you doing?” Shoko asks after she’s lit her own and exhaled a plume of grey smoke into the snowy sky above them.

“Eh, you know,” Suguru says as he does the same.

“I’m asking, for real.”

“I’m telling you, for real.”

Shoko hums. She pitches forward onto her knees, leaning forward and blowing out a lungful of smoke. “So, what’s going on with you and Satoru?”

“Me and Satoru?”

“Yeah. I’m beginning to feel like a bit of a third wheel.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Shoko shorts. She tips her head to grin sideways at Suguru. “I’m kidding. I know you two have been up each other’s asses since first year.”

And, this is a shock to Suguru, because that’s not the way things went down for him. He leans back on one palm.

“You think?”

“What, you don’t?” Shoko chokes out a laugh. “Yeah, you two have been obsessed with each other. Makes me a little jealous, honestly.”

“You are?”

“No. I’m kidding again. I don’t want to touch what the two of you have with a ten foot pole. But. I do think it’s helping you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“No, there’s not. It’s normal. Unfortunately. Anyway. Satoru makes you better. You scared me for a minute. That’s not a joke.”

“Yeah,” Suguru says. He takes another drag from the cigarette, staring out at the dark lawn. He was scaring himself for a minute.

“You’re happy with him though?”

“I am.” It’s the surest thing Suguru can say.

“Disgusting. I don’t know how you can put up with him like that.”

Suguru snorts and taps the ash from his cigarette. “It’s not like that. He. He sees me.”

A door flies open behind Suguru and Shoko and Satoru’s heavy weight flops onto Suguru’s back. His head knocks against Suguru’s with a loud crack. Suguru swears, shrugging Satoru off until he spills onto the space between Suguru and Shoko. Satoru is flushed and swaying, the beer already going to his head, even though Suguru knows for a fact that he’s been nursing the same, single beer the entire night.

“Can you two stop being moody out in the cold?” Satoru asks, tucking his legs underneath himself and listing towards Shoko. “It’s my birthday. You guys are being boring.”

“We’ll come back inside, don’t worry you pretty little head about it,” Shoko says, leaning away from Satoru’s rocking body and laughing through a cloud of smoke. “We just needed to take a break and talk about how stupid you are.”

Satoru’s eyes go wide, and he looks like a kicked puppy as he stares at Suguru. “Is that true?”

“Of course not, dummy,” Suguru says. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and touch Satoru, but he resists the urge. Instead, he smiles and stubs out the cigarette on the stone of the porch. “We can come back in.”

“Oh, gag.” Shoko sticks her tongue out, physically repulsed. “Did Satoru take your balls when he took your virginity, Suguru?”

Suguru freezes at this, panicked. With everything, he and Satoru have never gotten around to talking about things like virginity and such. They’ve hardly done more than some heavy making out. Scratch that, the most they’ve done is some heavy making out. Satoru, in his drunken state, giggles.

“That’s right,” Satoru says to Shoko. He snatches up Suguru’s hand and presses a wet kiss to his knuckles. “I keep them in my back pocket now. Come on, let’s go in. If we leave them alone for much longer, Haibara might do the same thing to our poor, little Nanamin.”

Satoru jumps to his wobbly feet, tugging Suguru along with him. Behind them, Shoko groans.  

“You think that’ll happen?” Suguru asks, fitting his fingers neatly into Satoru’s as he reaches for the door.

“Yeah, they looked like they were about to jump down each other’s throats when I left. That’s why I left.” Satoru clicks his tongue. “Ah, young love.”

Sure enough, when they get back to the lounge, Haibara is sprawled out on Nanami’s lap, totally oblivious to the entrance of their upperclassmen until Satoru loudly claps his hands together. At the sound, Haibara jumps off of Nanami, spilling onto the cushions beside him and breaking into a nervous round of high pitched laughter as he hurriedly tries to fix his rumpled appearance. Nanami, on the other hand, scowls and casts his eyes down, folding his arms over his chest and huffing like the interruption is a burden. The air is ruined, though, by the way his fringe is sticking up from Haibara’s previously wandering hands.

“Pull yourselves together, kohai.” Satoru reclaims his place on the couch and drags Suguru down with him, tossing his legs over Suguru’s lap and attaching himself to Suguru like a leach. “If anyone’s going to be publicly indecent with their boyfriend on my birthday, it’s going to be me.”

“Boyfriend?” Haibara pitches forward, eyes bugging out of his head and embarrassment of being caught leaving him immediately. “You two are dating?”

Nanami huffs, running his hands through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix it. “Obviously, Haibara. Open your eyes.”

“Congratulations! I had no idea! How was I supposed to know that Nanami, huh?”

“By looking at them.”

“Okay, enough,” Suguru interjects.

“Yeah, no lovers spats. Let’s watch a movie or something. Party some more,” Satoru says.

“We’re not lovers.” Nanami grumbles under his breath, but the comment goes largely ignored as Haibara cozies up next to him again and Satoru jumps up to rifle through the VHS collection. Suguru cracks open another beer and leans back against the couch, watching as Satoru searches and hums to himself. There’s a warmth blooming in Suguru’s chest, a long dormant thing that makes him feel safe.

“How long have you two been dating?” Haibara asks, wide eyes peering at Suguru from under Nanami’s arms, his words slightly slurred.

“Ah…” Suguru tips his head, thinks. Thinks back to Satoru in his bed and whispering quiet desires into fruition. That budding day in the spring, before. “A few months. Around the beginning of the school year.”

“Wow, that long? I can’t believe I didn’t notice. That’s like the whole time I’ve known you.”

Suguru hums in lieu of a response. Satoru settles on something and sets it up on the television. Shoko returns to the lounge just as Satoru finishes wrestling with the remote to skip all the previews. They settle in for the movie, curling up together and watching in relative silence. Occasionally, Satoru will pipe up with his own commentary, facts about the production or the cast, facts that Suguru still has no idea how he keeps in his head, even after all the movies they’ve watched together.

The sky is at its darkest when the movie concludes. Suguru feels pleasantly warm and tipsy, Satoru nestled safely in his arms. Satoru stretches and yawns, the light of the rolling credits on the television splashing blue across his face. He’s sleep-soft and precious, another year older. Suguru presses a kiss to his temple.

“Well,” Satoru says as he sits up. “That was a good birthday. Thanks everyone. Now run along to bed. I’m tired.”

Haibara leaps up. “Glad to have been here, Gojo-san!”

“Don’t suck up to him.” Nanami grabs Haibara’s arm.

There’s a round of well-wishes and congratulations from everyone. Shoko even deigns to press a kiss to Satoru’s cheek, although she follows it up with a punch to his arm before sauntering out of the lounge. They part ways, heading to their own rooms for the rest of the night. Satoru chatters about nothing, giddy and drunk and unbothered by a single thing. He pokes at Suguru as they make their way to their dorm, idle hands playing with Suguru’s fingers, the sleeve of his shirt, the ends of his hair. Suguru lets him, content to just let him run himself weary.

They get to the room and Satoru has one of Suguru’s hands between his own, playing with his fingers and running his thumb over the cuticles as he tells Suguru about the delays in the production of the film that had led to the writers adjusting the plot to come up with the big twist in the end. In the room, Suguru slips his hand from Satoru’s grasp and moves to his desk. There’s a small box tucked away in the drawer, wrapped in neat paper. Suguru stares down at the box, holding it between his hands. Satoru comes up behind him, slipping his arms around Suguru’s waist and settling his chin on his shoulder to look down at the box.

“Is that for me?” Satoru asks, his voice soft and warm in Suguru’s ear.

“Yeah.” Suguru twists in the embrace, leaning back a bit to meet his gaze. “Happy birthday.”

Satoru unfolds himself and takes the box from Suguru’s outstretched hand. He cocks his head a bit, looking like a curious bird. A wash of emotion floods Suguru. His whole world stands just within his grasp, his whole world has become this boy with stars in his eyes, looking down at his birthday present like he’s never been given a thing before in his life.

Satoru pulls the ribbon. It’s a black ribbon, silky smooth and plastic. It falls away, drifting to the floor in a discarded heap. He unwraps the box with the utmost care, uncharacteristic. Or perhaps, Suguru thinks, it’s incredibly characteristic of him. Suguru takes the wrapping and the box’s top once it’s open and sets it aside for Satoru. In the box is a ring. It’s a simple ring, silver sheen with a small, blue stone inlaid in the center. Theres’s nothing particularly special about it; Suguru found it in a store close to campus and had saved up his allowances for weeks to buy it for Satoru. He doesn’t even know if Satoru will like it.

But, as Satoru slips the ring from the velvet cushion, his gaze downcast and unknowable to Suguru, Suguru doesn’t feel the same wave of anxious nerves he’d felt in the moments leading up to presenting Satoru with the gifts, building up in him since he bought the damn thing.

“Suguru,” Satoru says softly, turning the ring between his fingers. He turns it and turns it and turns it.

“Yes?” Suguru isn’t breathless. He’s not waiting with bated breath. He’s not.

“You said,” Satoru says slowly, “you said a few weeks ago… that you loved me.” He looks up at Suguru. Suguru watches as he slides the ring onto the middle finger of his left hand. “Did you mean that?”

“Yeah.”

And Suguru means it. He means it more than anything. When he first said it, when he overheard what Satoru said, what he did, on Suguru’s behalf, Suguru had blurted the words out in the heat of the moment. But he had meant every word of them. His hands settle on Satoru’s waist, a gentle touch, a featherlight touch. His heart crashes against his ribs.

Satoru twists the ring around his finger. It spins, a neat fit. He spins it again. “That’s good.”

“It’s not too much?”

“No. No, it’s not. I—” Satoru sighs and doesn’t finish the thought. Suguru waits. He waits as Satoru places his hands on his hips, flexes his fingers against the smooth bone beneath hoodie he’s wearing. “Did you ever… were you into boys before me?”

Suguru freezes. He wasn’t expecting a question like this.

“I—no.” To be honest, to be blunt, Suguru had never been into anyone before Satoru. No, he had never considered loving a boy in the way he loves Satoru. Never considered loving anyone in the way he loves Satoru. He swallows the words down instead of saying them, though.

Satoru curls his fingers around the hem of Suguru’s hoodie. He hesitates, quiet, for a moment, then he begins to push the fabric up. Suguru lets him, lifts his arms up when the hoodie and shirt underneath get pushed past his stomach. He lifts his arms over his head, lets tug the clothes from his body. The hoodie and shirt get tossed unceremoniously onto the floor and Satoru’s hands return to Suguru’s body. He places his hands on Suguru’s chest, the metal from the ring cool and steadily warming sandwiched between heated skin.

“What are you thinking?” Suguru dares to ask when Satoru’s silence drags on too long.

“You got all weird when Shoko made that comment about losing your virginity to me.”

Suguru sputters. He doesn’t know what to say to that. That’s the last thing he was expecting Satoru to say.

“I-I mean, yeah. We haven’t… we haven’t done that. I-we. I don’t know. She was just making a joke.”

“Do you not want me like that?”

“Satoru, what?”

Satoru’s hands fall away from Suguru. He takes a step back. Suguru’s own hands fall to his sides. He feels exposed, half naked and standing on display before a Satoru he’s never seen before.

“Do you not want me like that? We’ve been doing… whatever this is for a few months before and we’ve never done more than kiss. You never liked boys before me. Do you even like me like that? Or am I just a crutch to you?”

“A crutch?” Suguru can admit that his relationship with Satoru is oftentimes the only thing helping through the darker times, that being able to hold Satoru’s hand and be in his embrace is the only thing that pushes the clouds away from his mind, but his feelings for Satoru had been growing long before Suguru’s disillusionment. “How could you say something like that?”

Satoru shrugs. He’s not looking at Suguru, studying the ring on his finger instead. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Satoru, you’re my best friend,” Suguru says, scrambling now. “You’re… you’re everything to me.”

“But is that enough? I um. I like you so much, Suguru, but I don’t want to be the only one feeling this.”

“You’re not. Satoru, you’re not.” Suguru doesn’t let himself think about the fact that he’s been the one to confess, twice now, and Satoru has yet to return the words. Instead, Suguru reaches out again, wanting to touch, to soothe. He hooks a finger in the pocket of Satoru’s sweatpants, tugging him closer. Satoru goes easily, though he still won’t look at Suguru. But that’s fine. With his free hand, Suguru hooks a finger beneath Satoru’s chin and tips his head up to meet his gaze. Satoru stays like that, even when Suguru drops his hand away and settles his hands back on Satoru’s hips, thumbs dipping beneath the hem of Satoru’s shirt to drag lightly over smooth skin.

“You remember that night we went to my friend’s house?” Suguru asks, voice low.

Satoru nods.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad that night. And then you wanted to sleep in my bed with me,” Suguru tells him, his hands creeping up Satoru’s sides, dragging his shirt up with them. “I thought I was gonna go crazy. And then you got all pissy when I said I didn’t want my friend flirting with you, and you just let me live with that. You didn’t give me anything.”

Satoru flushes, ducks his head down for Suguru to pull off his shirt. “You were drunk. And you didn’t really clarify.”

Suguru returns his hands to Satoru’s waist, splaying his fingers out along the lithe muscle over his ribs. He smooths his hands around, to Satoru’s spine, relishing in the heated warmth beneath his hands. When his hands reach Satoru’s thighs, Satoru gets the hint and lets himself be lifted. Satoru twines his legs around Suguru’s waist as he carries them the short distance to their bed. He lays Satoru down, spreads him out amongst the blankets and piled pillows, holding himself over Satoru to stare down at him.

“I’ve been crazy about you this whole time, Satoru,” Suguru says, leaning down to press a kiss to the center of his chest. “Even when you were obnoxious and loud and honestly insufferable in the very beginning. I don’t think I stood a chance against falling for you.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” Satoru says, a whine in his throat. His thighs clench around Suguru’s body as Suguru settles fully between Satoru’s legs. Satoru threads his fingers through Suguru’s hair, holding his head down as he continues to press kisses to his chest.

Suguru smiles against him. He presses one more kiss over the pulse of Satoru’s heart, then settles his chin on Satoru’s chest to glance up at him. Satoru pushes his hands through Suguru’s hair, back, cheeks flushed pink as he stares down at Suguru.

“Why not?”

“Because.” Satoru huffs and it’s adorable. Suguru tips his head to bite at him gently. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re the one who got all self-conscious and wanted me to confess to you. This is what confessing is. But you wouldn’t know, would you?”

Satoru tugs at Suguru’s hair in his grip. “Aiyah, what do you mean. I just wanted to do something other than kissing, Suguru.”

Suguru shifts. He rocks forward to settle on his elbows, body in line with Satoru’s. “That’s what this is about?”

“I mean. Yes, I guess. Don’t you want that too?”

“Hmm. To an extent. Although, I have been content with what we have no, with what we do now.”

Satoru looks a little put out by that, mouth opening and closing a few times before settling into a little pout. Suguru can’t help but chuckle as he leans down to kiss the furrow of his pale brows.

“I’m a little nervous, if I’m being honest,” Suguru admits. Of course, he’s thought about what it would be to have more of Satoru, all of him. But he’s never done anything like that before and doesn’t want to mess it up. His admission wipes the frown from Satoru immediately and his mouth shapes a soft ‘o’. “But if that’s what you want, I can definitely give you that.”

“No, no I don’t want it if you don’t!” Satoru flounders, hands rushing to grab onto Suguru and stop Suguru from slipping down the length of his body again. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Suguru settles down on his belly, between Satoru’s legs. He grins up at Suguru, placing a hand on Satoru’s belly and spreading out his fingers, feeling the quickened beats of his heart and the fluttering pulse of breath in his lungs.

“I do want, Satoru. It’s your birthday, after all.” Suguru’s grin is wicked as he mouths at Satoru’s sternum. “Let me take care of you.”

And Satoru relents as Suguru slips down, down, down.

 

Later, beneath downy sheets and fresh clothes, their bodies scrubbed clean and pink and raw, Satoru nuzzles his face into the crook of Suguru’s neck. Their hearts beat in synch, their breathing a rhythm beneath their skin. Suguru’s fingers trail the length of Satoru’s spine, matching the ridges of bone with the pads of his fingers and relishing the way his body expands and caves with all the sweet signs of being alive.

“I do love you,” Satoru says against his neck, lips damp and soft. “I know you were waiting for that. I’m sorry I was too nervous to say it earlier.”

Suguru kisses the top of his head, stops his wandering hands to just hold Satoru closer still. Their legs tangle beneath the sheets, the hair on Satoru’s legs scratching soft against Suguru.

“I know. It’s okay. I was willing to wait.”

 

Haibara catches Suguru sitting in a common room off the showers.

He catches Suguru the day after a mission, one where he had tried to handle it on his own. He’d told Suguru it was a simple one and he’s been okay. He wants to be okay, but there was this girl, and she had this cursed spirit attached to her. It was only a grade three, nothing big, but it had been feeding on her for years and growing stronger. She had been able to see it for years, was terrified by the thing haunting, but her mother told her to stop being dramatic, to stop making up stories. She had been the one to call for help, because her mother thought she was lying.

Suguru should have just been able to exorcise the thing, swallow it down, but the mother had found him talking to the girl in the alleyway beside her house and screamed at Suguru to leave. He wouldn’t, of course, but the disruption distracted him enough and startled the curse enough that there was a momentary slip. A single beat. In that single beat, the curse self-destructed in an act of self-preservation taking itself out. Along with the girl.

She died, a splatter on the sidewalk.

The mother had screamed, only able to see the aftermath, and Suguru had left. There was nothing more he could do.

The girl had been around thirteen, around the same age as Amanai. She had worn her school uniform and her hair tied up. She wasn’t smiling as she died; her face was frozen in panicked horror when the curse took her. She could have been a sorcerer.

It could’ve been so different. It could have ended so much better, if the mother had believed her, if the mother could have seen it too.

She could have been a sorcerer.

Suguru stares down at the pristine floor beneath his feet, his legs spread out as he slumps on the bench. Haibara finds him there. He doesn’t see the way that Suguru hadn’t slept the night before, hadn’t told Satoru about the events that happened and had gotten into bed last night, then slipped out and left Satoru alone to sit out in the cold of the winter night to think about the splatter upon the sidewalk.

“Geto-san!” Haibara says, waving cheerfully as he walks to the vending machine. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, Haibara,” Suguru says. “How are you?”

“I’m great. I got assigned a new mission. It’s a pretty big one. We’re leaving tomorrow. It’s far, we’ll get to stay in the hotel.” Haibara makes his selection in the machine, and it clatters to the bottom. He retrieves his drink and then turns to Suguru, gesturing at the machine. “Do you want anything?”

“A Coke, if you’re offering.”

Haibara makes another selection, and the can rattles out. With it in hand, Haibara comes to sit next to Suguru on the bench. Suguru cracks the top and takes a sip, pitching forward as he swallows to hold the can between his legs.

“Sounds like a pretty exciting mission,” Suguru says.

“Yeah, should be. I’m a little nervous, too. I haven’t gotten one that’s this big. But it’s just a grade three, it should be no problem.”

Suguru thinks of the girl and the splatter. It’d be better if Haibara didn’t know about that.

“Nanami’s going too?”

“He is. Isn’t that great?”

Suguru ums, takes another sip of his Coke. It’s a little flat.

“Hey, Geto-san?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask your advice on something.”

Suguru can’t imagine what his underclassman can ask him. He’s hardly a good example. But he tells Haibara to go ahead anyway.

“You and Satoru, how did you get together? Did you confess to him?”

That’s the last thing Suguru was expecting him to ask. He snorts a little, thinking about Satoru’s birthday a few weeks back and the back and forth that led to Satoru finally, finally saying what Suguru had been waiting to hear.

“Yeah, I did,” Suguru says. Then, thinking even further back, Suguru adjusts his statement. “I think I kissed him first. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s about Nanami.” Haibara sighs, rather dramatically, and the slump he sinks into matches Suguru’s own. “We’ve been, oh, I don’t know what to call it, fooling around, I guess? For a couple of months now. But every time I try to ask him what we are, he just ignores me or says that Jujutsu sorcery doesn’t work well with relationships. I just don’t get why he still does stuff with me if he feels that way.”

And that is the question that being a Jujutsu sorcerer raises, isn’t it.

Suguru is quiet for a moment, thinking of a way to answer that won’t dampen the bright light in Haibara’s eyes. He had thought Satoru was invincible, but that was before he saw him run through by Fushiguro’s blade. The incident fueled Satoru’s power to grow into an untouchable being, but Suguru will never be able to rid himself of the memory of his chest opening to the blade. And he’s aware of his own mortality, aware of his own lacking curse technique and talent that leaves him vulnerable, leaves him susceptible to leaving Satoru alone.

“You just have to reconcile with the fact of that,” Suguru tells Haibara. “This is your life now, you’re a sorcerer. That shouldn’t stop you from caring about who you want to care about and showing them how you feel in turn. Tell Nanami something like that. Maybe it’ll help.”

“You’re right.” Haibara grins, bobbing his head like a particularly energetic chicken. “Thank you, Geto-san. Nanami is being dumb. He should just let me love him the way I want to and suck it up!”

 

They lay Haibara to rest on a day that’s far too warm, far too bright for a day that exists without his unrelenting smile.

 

“I can do this one on my own, Suguru,” Satoru says as they walk up the path to the village.

There have been reports of two curse users who have released deadly curses upon the people living in the remote valley. It’s been a week and a half since Haibara died. Suguru hasn’t slept, but there’s no time for rest. Graduation is coming up and the pool of graduating sorcerers is shrinking.

“The mission was assigned to me,” Suguru says, a little too harshly. He curses himself but keeps walking, shoving his hands into his pockets and carrying on. “You’re just here to be my babysitter.”

“A self-appointed babysitter, I might remind you,” Satoru says, easily catching up with those long legs of his. “I’m serious, though. It’s like the higher ups are trying to wear you down or something. I don’t know why they keep sending you to places like these.”

“It’s just a curse user, Satoru,” Suguru says. “That’s hardly something to sweat over.”

A village elder meets them at the gate. He’s ecstatic, a strange sight for someone plagued by a curse user and their spirits.

“Esteemed sorcerers,” the man says, grinning and clapping his hands together as he stretches his arms out in welcome. “We are pleased to welcome you to our humble village. You have arrived just in time: we managed to capture the curse users just before your arrival. They are ready and waiting for you to dispose of them.”

“You caught the curse users?” Satoru asks.

“There’s more than one?” Suguru says at the same time.

“Why, yes. We have a select few members who have the sight and were able to rat out the fiends. Come, I will show you where they are, and this nightmare can finally be put behind us.”

Suguru shares a look with Satoru as the elder turns and leads them up through the village. He takes them to a house at the end of the main road, something tall and traditional and darkly imposing. They flow him up the steps, ancient boards creaking under their weight. A sick feeling settles in the pit of Suguru’s stomach. When they reach the top of the stairs, before they go into the building, Satoru reaches out and hooks his pinky around Suguru’s. Something’s off here; they both feel it.

The doors are opened for them and the elder leads them over the threshold. They follow him through the dim halls, flaming torches flickering against the wall and casting deep shadows as they illuminate the path. The elder takes them down to a basement level, where the halls are lined with villagers keeping watch. Their nervous eyes follow Suguru and Satoru as they approach the door at the end of the hall.

“They are in here,” the elder says when they reach the door. “They are cunning little things. Prepare yourselves.”

Suguru doesn’t know what he’s meant to prepare himself for, given what he’s seen, but it definitely isn’t the two children sitting in a wooden cage within the room at the end of the hall.

They’re dirty and bruised, one of them has their eye sealed shut. They cling to one another with skinny arms, gaunt ribs poking through the loose holes in their grimy, ill fitting clothes. They’re girls, twins probably, and can’t be more than five, maybe six. Just the sight of them horrifies Suguru. They’ve been put here, branded as curse users and obviously beaten towards an inch of their lives.

Beside him, Suguru can feel Satoru tense. Anger rolls off his shoulders, a palpable fury that matches the one coiling with in Suguru’s gut.

“Don’t let their appearance fool you,” the elder says, chuckling lightly from the doorway. “They’ve killed a dozen members of our village. After all their destruction, they deserve to be put down.”

“Where are their parents,” Suguru hears himself ask. He can’t take his eyes off the girls. They’re shaking.

“Dead. They’ve been on their own since.”

“And you didn’t think to care for them?” Satoru asks. His voice carries an icy chill.

The elder laughs again and Suguru wants to tear his throat out. “Trust me when I tell you we tried. It breaks my heart, but these curse users are simply too far gone. Evil has corrupted them too deeply.”

Suguru stops listening then. He pulls a curse from his stache, a small one, and casts it along the wall. It’s a shadowy wisp, barely even strong enough to be considered a grade three. Child’s play. The girls catch sight of the wisp on the wall as it pulls a funny face. Their sunken eyes grow wide, eyeing the shadow before glancing back at Suguru. Their frightened features flickered, as though they want to laugh but have forgotten how. Dread twists in Suguru.

“Suguru.” Satoru calls him back down to earth. He calls the curse back and glances to his boyfriend. Their gazes lock, the same thoughts running through their heads. “I think you should take these… curse users outside to be delt with. We wouldn’t all their… evil energy stinking up this room.”

“Y-you’re sure you can handle them?” the elder asks.

Satoru scoffs, turning to face the elder. Suguru, in turn, crouches down to the eye level of the girls. He pulls the curse out again and plays a little show for them along the walls.

“Of course, we can,” Satoru says. “We’re the strongest sorcerers the world has to offer. A couple of little girls won’t be a concern for us.”

“Well…if you insist.”

“Oh, but I do.”

There’s a jangle of keys and one of the villagers step around Suguru to unlock the door. The girls scramble back, as far away from the door as they can. The villager also stumbles back from the open door as quickly as he can, letting the gated door swing open on squeaking hinges. Suguru stands. He lets Satoru go into the cage first, listens to him crouch down before the girls and whisper gently to them. He sees their dirty heads bob, assenting to whatever he’s telling them. Satoru looks back over his shoulder and gives Suguru a toothy grin, one wholly inappropriate for the situation. Suguru enters the cage with them.

“This is Suguru,” Satoru says, “is it okay if he helps one of you out of here and I help the other?”

The girls nod in sync. Their tight grip on each other loosens. Satoru takes the opportunity to scoop the dark haired one into his arms. Her sister all but falls towards Suguru and he picks her up. Her thin arms tighten around him, burying her face against Suguru’s chest and hiding away. Satoru adjusts the dark haired girl in his arms, pressing a hand to the back of her head to keep her secure, and stands.

Without another word to the elder or the villagers, they take the girls, and they leave.

 

Later, after the girls have been given food and water and proper medical care, been settled into a foster home with a couple who are from jujutsu society.

Later, after they brief Yaga of the situation in the village.

Later, Suguru sits with Satoru in their room, quietly existing in one another’s presence, Suguru breaks the silence.

“I could have killed them all,” he says.

Satoru is playing on his DS, the muted sounds of the game all but covering up Suguru’s admission.

“I know,” Satoru says when he gets killed by a boss. He sets the game aside. The music still plays. “But what would have been the point of that?”

Suguru sighs. “I suppose. It’s not fair, though.”

“It’s not.” Satoru shifts on the bed, pulling one knee up to his chest and settling his chin upon it. His glasses slide down his nose as he stares over the rim at Suguru. “But you told me that, you know? Those people, they’ll never understand what they did wrong. Just like the people that had Amanai killed. Their deaths won’t erase what they’ve already done.”

“You’ve changed, Satoru.”

Satoru tilts his head. “How so?”

“You’re… different. More mature.”

“Well, fuck.” Satoru laughs. “I sure hope so. It’s only natural to change. You’ve changed too.”

“Is that good?” Suguru doesn’t feel like his changes have been good.

“Of course, it’s good. You’re Suguru.”

And Satoru leaves it at that. He stretches out over the bed, curling around Suguru’s side and settling on his belly. The game resumes.

“Hey, can you help me with this boss?”

“No. Do it yourself.”

“But it’s hard!”

“I’ll coach you through it.”
Suguru lays down beside him. He coaches Satoru through the boss fight. It’s funny that, for as gifted as Satoru is, Bowser is such a challenge for him.

After the game is over and the boss is defeated, Satoru powers off the game. He rolls onto his side and looks up at Suguru, face somber.

“What do you think you’re doing after we graduate?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just that. What are you going to do after we graduate?”

Suguru shrugs. “Be a full time sorcerer, I suppose.”

He hasn’t put much thought int it.

“I think you should go to college.”

“College?”

“Yeah. I think you should quit being a sorcerer and go to college. Be a normal person. Help people in a normal way.”

“I—why?” What would it be all for then? What would the loss and the pain and the fighting all have been for, if not working as a sorcerer?

“I just think,” Satoru says slowly, picking at a loose thread on the comforter, “that you would be happier that way.”

Suguru lets that sit for a moment, mulling over the idea. He’s never considered what life would be like if he wasn’t a sorcerer. Not for a long time. But.

But.

A life without exorcising curses, without watching his friends die, might be a life worth living.

“And what would you do?” Suguru asks. “If I went to college?”

What would you do without me?

“I think I’d still be a sorcerer,” Satoru says. “I don’t really—there’s not really anything else I’m good at. But there’s a lot wrong with jujutsu society and I think I’d like to change that. Not everyone can be like me, but curses don’t care about that. I don’t know how I’d change anything, though. Maybe teach or something.”

“Become like Yaga?” Suguru tries to joke instead of acknowledging the lump in his throat.

“No, not like Yaga.” Satoru shoves Suguru’s shoulder. “I’d be a cool teacher.”

Suguru scoffs as Satoru slinks into his lap. He’s laying against the headboard now, carding his fingers through Satoru’s hair. He doesn’t want to think about leaving jujutsu society. He doesn’t want to think about life without Satoru.

“Maybe,” Satoru says softly, “maybe we can get an apartment in Tokyo, or wherever you want to go, and I can take missions and help you study.”

The darkness beginning to bloom immediately dissipates. It’s replaced with a warmth, the one that only Satoru can instill.

“How can you help me study?” Suguru asks, poking at Satoru’s side. Satoru seizes and giggles, swatting Suguru’s hand away.

“I can help keep you on track.”

“You’re the biggest distraction in my life.”

“I’m definitely the cutest.”

“You’re definitely the cutest.”

Suguru leans down to kiss him. Satoru’s mouth is sweet and wet beneath his and Suguru wonders what it could be like to live in an apartment with Satoru and not have to taste the bile of curses in the back of his throat again.

 

Graduation is on a warm day in the spring.

Cherry blossoms bloom in the courtyard of Jujutsu Tech and Satoru jumps out of his seat to kiss Suguru, loud and filthy, when Yaga hands over Suguru’s diploma. Shoko whoops at the sight. Suguru shoves Satoru off, cursing him out as his ears turn bright red at the knowledge that his parents have witnessed the whole thing.

There are pictures to be taken and hugs to be given after the ceremony. Suguru’s mother cries and his father has this small smile that he never gave Suguru when he was a kid. He even claps Suguru on the back. They tell him they’re proud of him. They tell him they’re happy he’s going to Tokyo Metropolitan.

Shoko gets the three of them to sneak off to the roof after the families leave. They bring Nanami, though he sulks behind his fringe the whole time. He drinks from his bottle of cheap whisky and refuses to engage in their ridiculous conversations.

The sun sets over Jujutsu Tech, hazy rose and gold washing the sleepy corner of the place that has consumed their whole worlds for the past three years. And Suguru laughs.

 

The apartment he and Satoru get in Tokyo is a small one. It’s got one bedroom and a cramped kitchen that spills into the stuffy living space, but there’s a big window that looks out over the city and there’s a balcony that opens into the quiet alleyway instead of a busy street. Shoko comes to help them move in, but she spends most of the time smoking on the balcony.

By some miracle, Suguru managed to get into Tokyo Metropolitan without having any real high school curriculum. He doesn’t think he passes his entrance exams but he does think Yaga pulled some strings to get him the acceptance. Satoru cuts his finger packing the shittiest bento box Suguru has ever seen and takes the subway with him to campus for the first day. He kisses Suguru on the open, grassy quad before waving goodbye and it’s a good day.

Shoko is taking classes at med school, somehow, at the medical campus nearby, and there are some days when they meet up for lunch in between classes.

There are some nights when Suguru has the apartment to himself when Satoru has to travel far for missions, but the sheets still smell like him and it’s okay.

There are others, where Satoru sits on his lap at the tiny desk under their bedroom window and kisses Suguru silly instead of helping him study. He always tastes like candy and like home.

Suguru returns to Jujutsu Tech to watch Nanami graduate. Nanami asks Suguru how his classes are, if he likes being away. Suguru tells him he does.

Sometimes, they visit the girls they rescued from that village. Their mother is an assistant manager at the Kyoto school and their cheeks are always chubby and flushed.

Sometimes, they visit the Fushiguro kids Satoru supports. The boy, the Ten Shadows kid, will be a powerful sorcerer someday, but for now he’s got enough sass to bowl Suguru over with laughter as he pokes fun at Satoru’s hair, his glasses, his whole personality.

When Suguru graduates from university with a degree in business, he gets a job as a salaryman and he and Satoru get a better apartment. It’s terribly boring and dry, but Satou takes a teaching position like he wanted when Yaga gets promoted to principle, so he’s home when Suguru gets back, and they make shitty dinners in their sleek, new kitchen. They go out for drinks with Shoko for her med school graduation and Suguru dances with Satoru in the center of the bar they’re in, loud and unabashed. Suguru recommends Nanami for a position in his department and gets to watch him grow in a way he never had been able to as a sorcerer.

On a morning in the winter, when Suguru has long washed the taste of curses from his mouth, he watches Satoru slowly wake in the drowsy light of their bedroom. He’s so beautiful, still. After all this time. He’s so beautiful. Suguru smiles, dragging a soft finger along the sharp line of his jaw and watching him sleep, watching him wake.

“Do you ever miss exorcising curses with me?” Suguru asks him.

“I miss it every day,” Satoru says, “but I think you’re hotter without the eyebags under your eyes. And I like your muscles from the gym better, too.”

“That’s good.”

“Why? Do you miss it?”

“I miss feeling like I’m doing something,” Suguru says. He’s been thinking about things recently. “Someone has to look out for the weak.”

“And someone has to do people’s taxes, Suguru.”

“Ah, that’s what Nanami is for.”

“Would you like to come back?”

“… Perhaps.”

“An interesting idea.” Satoru rolls, shifts, settles himself on Suguru’s waist and loops his arms around Suguru’s shoulders. “But, you know, there’s a rumor there’s going to be an influx of sorcerers next term. Little Megumi-chan is all grown up and starting high school.”

“Really? He’s that old already?”

“Mhmm. We’re that old already.” Satoru sighs dramatically. “And I really don’t know how well he’ll take to me being his teacher. You know how he is. I might need an assistant.”

“An assistant teacher?”

“Mhmm.”

“I could be open to that.”

“Ah, but I will miss your shiny salaryman money.”

“Satoru, you make way more than I do.”

“Yes, but I like keeping house for my lovely husband.”

“We’re not married. And you don’t keep house. Last week’s dishes are still in the sink.”

“Well, someone should do something about that.”

“About the dishes? Yes, you should.”

“No, about the husband part”

“Satoru, are you asking me to marry you to get out of doing dishes?”

“Me?” Satoru gasps, pressing a hand to his heart. “I would never do something like that. How rude.”

“Right.”

“So, what do you say?”

Suguru hums, pretending to consider even though he’s known the answer for years. “If you do the dishes, I’ll be your assistant teacher. And I’ll marry you, too.”

“I guess I can be swayed to agree to those terms.”

And Suguru seals it with a kiss. He kisses Satoru, his boy, his god, his love.

 

Notes:

as someone who used to work at an aquarium, the scene with the whale shark in Hidden Inventory is my all time favorite scene.

thank u for reading! i love these two sm they're so dumb i need them to be happy forever