Chapter Text
Suguru knew exactly what it meant when Satoru texted him after midnight.
He also knew he should ignore it.
He had known that for years.
Unfortunately, knowing things had never once saved him from Satoru Gojo.
The message appeared while Suguru was standing in his kitchen, barefoot, hair tied loosely at the back of his neck, waiting for water to boil for tea he did not even want.
Satoru: are you awake?
No greeting. No warning. No shame.
Just the same stupid question he sent whenever he was back in the city and wanted to pretend he had not spent the last several months on magazine covers, movie sets, private planes, and some actress’s arm at an event Suguru had absolutely not watched twice.
He picked up his phone.
Put it down.
The kettle started to hiss.
Suguru turned the stove off and kept staring at the message.
He could ignore it.
He had ignored Satoru before.
For days, sometimes. Once, for an entire month, which had been impressive enough that Shoko had offered to buy him a cake.
Then Satoru had sent him a photo of himself at an airport in sunglasses, hair messy, mouth curved into that infuriating smile, holding a small paper bag from a bakery they used to go to when they were seventeen.
Satoru: bought your favorite
Satoru: if you don’t answer I’ll eat it
Suguru had answered in under thirty seconds.
A weak moment.
He had many of those, apparently.
The phone buzzed again.
Satoru: suguru
Suguru exhaled through his nose.
Then typed.
Suguru: No.
The reply came instantly.
Satoru: liar
Suguru: What do you want?
Satoru: wow. that’s how you talk to me after all this time?
Suguru: Yes.
Satoru: i missed you too
Suguru looked at the words for too long.
That was Satoru’s favorite kind of cruelty.
He said things like that easily. Casually. As if they meant nothing. As if he had not built an entire career out of making people believe he was looking directly at them. Satoru could say I missed you with a smile and make it sound like a confession, a joke, and a threat all at once.
Suguru knew better.
He was twenty-six years old. He paid rent, owned decent cookware, had an actual job, and had learned enough self-respect over the years to recognize emotional terrorism when it wore expensive cologne and a designer coat.
So he replied:
Suguru: I’m going to sleep.
Satoru: no you’re not
Suguru: I am.
Satoru: open the door in ten minutes
Suguru went still.
Then he looked toward his front door as if Satoru might already be leaning against it, beautiful and impossible and grinning like the universe had personally apologized for keeping him waiting.
Suguru: You’re here?
Satoru: in the city? yes
Satoru: outside? not yet
Satoru: give me ten minutes. maybe twelve. driver is slow.
Suguru stared.
There was always a driver.
Always a hotel. Always a manager. Always a schedule. Always some ridiculous explanation involving premieres, interviews, family obligations, or a flight that had apparently crossed half the planet just to deposit Satoru into Suguru’s living room at an ungodly hour.
Suguru: Go to your hotel.
Satoru: boring
Suguru: Go home.
Satoru: my family home is worse than death
Suguru: true
Suguru should have said no.
He had a full day tomorrow. Essays to grade. A meeting with a department head who liked speaking in circles. A lecture to revise because his students deserved better than watching him stand in front of them exhausted and bitter because his high school ex-boyfriend had decided to invade his life again.
His high school ex-boyfriend.
That always sounded too small.
Too ordinary.
People had ex-boyfriends all the time. They dated, broke up, moved on, became strangers, maybe checked social media once in a while out of morbid curiosity. They did not spend the better part of eight years letting the same man come back whenever he pleased, did not keep gifts in drawers, did not know the exact shape of his smile when he was about to lie, did not know how he sounded when he came.
Suguru closed his eyes.
Terrible thought.
His phone buzzed again.
Satoru: should I bring anything?
Suguru opened his eyes.
Suguru: Dignity.
Satoru: i don’t travel with that
Suguru almost smiled.
He hated that too.
Suguru: You have ten minutes.
Satoru: eleven now. driver missed a turn.
Suguru: Get out of my messages.
Satoru: missed you, my love
Suguru’s chest tightened before he could stop it.
“My love.”
That one was old.
Old enough that the first time Satoru had said it, Suguru had still been young enough to believe him.
Now he only stared at the screen, expression flat, and reminded himself that Satoru Gojo called half the world some variation of darling, sweetheart, baby, angel, love. He said it to stylists, interviewers, waiters, fans behind barricades, strangers whose names he would never remember. He liked making people feel chosen for the length of a conversation.
Suguru was simply one of the few people stupid enough to know better and still react.
He put the phone down.
Then looked around his apartment.
It was clean enough. Not for a guest. For himself. Suguru liked order because his head rarely offered him any. Books stacked by subject. Dishes washed. Floor swept. Windows cracked open to let the late spring air in. Nothing out of place except the loose black shirt he had left on the arm of the couch and the small ceramic fox sitting on the bookshelf near the window.
His eyes landed on it.
White ceramic, gold ears, tiny red ribbon around its neck.
Kyoto.
Two years ago.
Satoru had appeared with it in one hand and a box of sweets in the other, announcing that he had found Suguru’s “spirit animal.”
Suguru had told him he was unbearable.
Satoru had kissed him against the bookshelf ten minutes later.
The fox was still there.
Suguru should have thrown it away.
He had considered it often.
He considered many things.
He rarely followed through when Satoru was involved.
He went to the bathroom instead and looked at himself in the mirror.
He looked fine.
Tired, maybe. His hair had gotten longer again, dark and loose around his shoulders where some of it had escaped the tie. His face was calm in the way people mistook for peace when they did not know him well. He had sharp eyes, a sharper mouth, and the kind of expression that made students sit straighter when he entered a room.
He looked like someone who had control over his life.
Funny.
Suguru washed his face, brushed his teeth because he still had standards, and changed into a softer pair of pants because Satoru was a demon but Suguru was not going to suffer denim in his own apartment after midnight.
Then he stood in the living room and waited.
He stood very still and checked his phone twice.
At exactly thirteen minutes, someone knocked.
Suguru looked at the door.
His body reacted first.
A slow tightening in his stomach. Heat under his skin. Irritation already blooming behind his ribs because apparently desire had no pride.
He opened the door.
Satoru Gojo stood in the hallway like a scandal waiting for a camera.
White hair falling over dark sunglasses even though it was nighttime. Long coat, probably expensive. Black turtleneck. Stupidly perfect face. Mouth already curved in a smile Suguru knew too well.
He had a small gift bag hanging from two fingers.
“Hi,” Satoru said.
Suguru leaned against the doorframe. “No.”
Satoru’s smile widened. “You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”
“You were going to say something annoying.”
“Probably.” Satoru lifted the bag. “I brought you something.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You always say that.”
“And yet you continue.”
“And yet you keep them.”
Suguru’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you letting me in,” Satoru asked, “or are we doing this in the hallway?”
Suguru looked past him.
The hallway was empty.
Still, Satoru was Satoru.
Some paparazzi could probably grow out of the floor if given enough financial incentive.
Suguru stepped aside.
Satoru entered like he belonged there.
He always did that too.
Walked into Suguru’s apartment and immediately made the space feel like it had been waiting for him. He took off his shoes without being asked. Hung his coat in the right place. Put the gift bag on the coffee table. Walked toward the bookshelf and touched the ceramic fox with the tip of one finger.
“You kept it.”
Suguru closed the door. “It’s ugly enough to become interesting.”
Satoru turned to him.
The sunglasses came off, revealing the eyes that had been ruining Suguru's life since he was sixteen.
Blue, bright, impossible. Too sharp when Satoru wanted something. Too soft when he forgot to pretend he was untouchable.
Tonight they looked tired.
Suguru noticed before he wanted to.
There were faint shadows under them. His smile was easy, but his face held exhaustion at the edges. A long flight, maybe. Too many people. Too much noise. A life built on being watched.
Suguru looked away first.
“You look like shit,” he said.
Satoru gasped. “I have been in three countries in nine days and still look better than most people do in their wedding photos.”
“Congratulations.”
“You’re supposed to say I look good.”
“You have enough people saying that.”
“None of them matter.”
Suguru’s jaw tightened.
None of them matter.
As if Suguru did.
Suguru walked past him toward the kitchen. “Do you want water?”
“I want you.”
Suguru did not turn around. “Water, then.”
Satoru laughed behind him.
Suguru got two glasses because he had been raised better than Satoru deserved. He filled them slowly, giving himself time to arrange his expression into something bored and safe.
Satoru followed him, of course.
He leaned against the kitchen island and watched Suguru like he had traveled across the world specifically for this. For Suguru in soft pants and a loose shirt, pouring water at midnight, pretending his heartbeat had not changed the second Satoru walked in.
“Still teaching?” Satoru asked.
“No. I abandoned my career and joined a cult.”
Satoru considered that. “You’d look good in a cult.”
“I’d run the cult.”
“Obviously.”
Suguru pushed a glass toward him. “Drink.”
Satoru obeyed, which was always unnerving. He drank half the glass, then put it down and licked a drop of water from his lower lip.
Suguru watched.
A mistake.
Satoru's mouth curved.
He came around the island slowly.
Suguru stayed where he was.
He could have moved. There was plenty of space. The apartment was his. The exit was behind him. The bedroom was down the hall. Every choice belonged to him in theory.
In practice, Satoru stepped close and the air changed.
He smelled expensive. Something clean and cold, softened by travel and skin. Suguru hated that he recognized the undertone beneath it. The familiar one.
Satoru reached up and caught one loose strand of Suguru’s hair between two fingers.
“Your hair’s longer.”
“I’m amazed they pay you to deliver lines with that level of originality.”
Satoru smiled and let the strand slide free. “I missed your mouth.”
Suguru’s eyes lifted to his.
Satoru’s gaze dropped to his lips.
There was no pretending not to understand that.
Suguru’s body heated with humiliating speed.
He set his glass down. “You were seen with Mei Mei last month.”
Satoru blinked.
Then sighed dramatically. “You read gossip about me. That’s adorable.”
“I get entertained.”
“By my dating rumors?”
“By the stupidity of people who think you’re capable of commitment.”
Satoru leaned closer, smile back in place. “Careful. You’ll hurt my feelings.”
“You don’t have those.”
“I have many.”
“None that last longer than a press cycle.”
Satoru laughed softly.
His hand moved to Suguru’s waist.
It felt good.
Seven years of knowing each other like this, on and off and wrong and familiar.
Suguru hated the ease of it.
He leaned back against the counter and looked up at him. “So? Did she get bored of you already?”
“Who?”
Suguru scoffed. “The actress whose hand you were holding in Paris.”
“Oh, that.” Satoru’s thumb moved once over his waist. “Publicity.”
“Sure.”
“You know how it works.”
“I know how you work.”
Satoru’s eyes sharpened with amusement. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, then.”
“You like attention. You like being wanted. You like acting like nothing touches you because it makes people desperate to be the exception.”
Satoru’s smile stayed.
His eyes did not.
Suguru felt a small, vicious satisfaction.
Then Satoru said, softly, “And you?”
Suguru’s throat tightened. “What about me?”
“Are you desperate to be the exception?”
Suguru laughed once. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Satoru’s hand tightened at his waist, just enough for Suguru to feel it.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to remind him that Satoru was listening.
Always listening, when it came to him.
“You’re mean tonight,” Satoru said.
“I’m mean every night.”
“No.” Satoru leaned closer, mouth near his ear now. “Tonight you’re trying harder. It's like you want me to fall for you.”
Suguru’s pulse jumped.
He hated that Satoru knew that too.
“Don't be stupid. I'm already seeing someone,” Suguru said.
The lie came easily.
It had been useful over the years. A shield. A little knife. A way of pretending he had also moved on, that he also had warm bodies and temporary distractions and names that did not matter.
Satoru pulled back enough to look at him.
“Do you?”
Suguru lifted an eyebrow. “What, you thought you were the only one allowed to have a love life?”
Satoru smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Why?”
“I want to know what name to curse later.”
Suguru rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What’s his name?”
“Satoru.”
“That’s my name.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you to shut up.”
Satoru laughed, but there was something tight beneath it now.
Good.
Suguru liked making him jealous.
He told himself that was all it was. A game. A balance. Satoru came in smelling like airports and rumors, so Suguru invented men who did not exist. Fair was fair.
Satoru’s hand slid from his waist to his lower back.
He pulled Suguru closer in one smooth motion.
Suguru’s breath caught.
“Does he touch you like this?” Satoru asked.
Suguru’s hands stayed on the counter behind him. “Better.”
Satoru’s smile widened. “Liar.”
“You sound sure.”
“I am.”
“Arrogant.”
“Experienced.”
Suguru looked at him. “With many people, apparently.”
Satoru’s expression flickered again.
Then he leaned down and kissed the side of Suguru’s neck.
Suguru closed his eyes before he could stop himself.
A single kiss.
That was all.
Mouth warm against skin. Gentle enough to be insulting. Familiar enough to be cruel.
Suguru’s body lit up under it.
Satoru’s voice dropped against his throat.
“Does he know you like being kissed here?”
Suguru swallowed. “Does he know you get quiet when you want more?”
Another kiss, lower.
“Does he know you pretend you’re annoyed because asking nicely would kill you?”
Suguru grabbed his shirt.
Satoru laughed softly against his neck. “You’re so easy to irritate, baby.”
Suguru pushed him back by the chest.
Satoru let him.
Even when he could have overpowered him easily. Even when Suguru knew exactly how strong he was beneath the pretty face and expensive clothes. Satoru liked pretending to be careless, but he had never once touched Suguru in a way Suguru had not allowed.
It would have been easier to hate him if he had.
“Stop calling me that,” Suguru said.
“Baby?”
Suguru’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Satoru tilted his head. “Why?”
“Because it’s annoying.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is.”
“It makes your pupils widen.”
Suguru’s grip tightened in his shirt. “You are unbearable.”
“And yet you opened the door.”
Suguru kissed him to shut him up.
Satoru answered instantly, one hand cupping the back of Suguru’s neck, the other firm at his waist. He kissed like he had been waiting since the last time. Hungry, controlled, infuriatingly familiar. Suguru hated how fast he recognized the rhythm. The first press of mouth, the slight tilt of Satoru’s head, the way his tongue pushed in only after Suguru’s lips parted, as if he wanted Suguru to betray himself first.
Suguru did.
He opened his mouth, and Satoru made a sound that went straight down his spine.
The kiss deepened.
Suguru’s hands slid up Satoru’s chest, feeling muscle under expensive fabric. He hated the shirt. Hated the coat. Hated every polished piece of him that belonged to cameras and stylists and strangers online.
He wanted all of it off.
Satoru backed him against the counter again.
Suguru let his head tip back when Satoru’s mouth moved to his jaw, then his neck. The edge of the counter pressed into his lower back. Satoru’s body pressed into the front of him, hard already, shameless about it.
Suguru’s breath caught.
Satoru smiled against his skin. “Missed me?”
“No.”
Satoru’s hand slid under his shirt.
Suguru’s stomach tightened at the first touch of his fingers.
“No?” Satoru repeated.
“No.”
Satoru’s palm moved up his bare side, slow and deliberate, thumb dragging over his ribs. “Your body is more honest than you are.”
“My body is stupid.”
Satoru laughed and bit gently at the side of his throat.
Suguru’s hands tightened in his shirt.
“Fuck,” he breathed before he could stop himself.
Satoru lifted his head.
His eyes were bright now.
“You missed me,” he said.
Suguru smiled, slow and mean. “Maybe I missed your cock.”
Satoru’s face turned possessive. Irritated. Pleased despite himself.
“Only that?”
“It’s your best quality.”
Satoru kissed him hard.
Suguru laughed into it, and then the laugh died because Satoru’s hand slid lower, under the waistband of his pants, fingers brushing skin with the kind of confidence that only came from knowing exactly what he could do to him.
Suguru’s hips shifted forward.
Satoru caught the movement immediately.
“Needy,” he murmured.
“Shut up.”
“You’re always mean when you’re needy.”
“You're always talkative.”
Satoru’s fingers wrapped around him.
Suguru’s breath broke.
For one second, all the cleverness left him. All the bitterness. All the distance. His forehead dropped against Satoru’s shoulder, his hands gripping him hard as Satoru stroked him slowly, almost lazily, like he had all night to ruin him.
Suguru hated the sound he made.
Satoru loved it.
He could tell by the way he smiled against Suguru’s hair.
“Does he make you sound like that?”
Suguru’s eyes opened.
Right.
The fake fling.
He had forgotten him already.
Pathetic.
“Better,” Suguru said, but the word came out strained.
Satoru’s hand tightened.
Suguru’s knees nearly gave.
“Still lying,” Satoru said.
Suguru lifted his head enough to glare at him. “You ask too many questions for someone with his hand down my pants.”
“I like hearing you lie.”
“That’s your hobby?”
“No.” Satoru leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “My hobby is making you forget the lies.”
Satoru stroked him again, thumb dragging over the head, and Suguru’s thoughts scattered.
His apartment felt too warm now. Too small. The kitchen light too bright, the counter too hard against his back, Satoru too close and still not close enough.
This was why he kept opening the door.
Not because he loved him.
God, no.
Suguru had more self-respect than that.
He opened the door because Satoru knew how to touch him. Because every few months, after too many quiet nights, Suguru let himself have this one stupid thing. A body that knew his. A mouth that could make him forget himself. A man who would leave before morning, before the illusion became too convincing.
Satoru kissed him again, and Suguru let that settle back into place.
Satoru pulled his hand away.
Suguru almost cursed him for it.
Then Satoru dropped to his knees.
Suguru went still.
Satoru looked up at him from the kitchen floor, white hair falling into his eyes, mouth curved, one hand hooked in Suguru’s waistband.
That sight had no right to still affect him.
Suguru swallowed. “Here?”
“You complained last time when I carried you to the bedroom.”
“Because you hit my shoulder against the doorframe.”
“You were distracting me.”
“You’re incompetent.”
Satoru smiled and dragged his pants down just to reveal Suguru's cock.
Suguru’s breath caught when the cooler air hit his skin.
Satoru’s gaze dropped.
For once, he stopped talking.
Suguru watched his face.
Satoru looked hungry.
He leaned in and kissed the inside of his thigh.
Suguru’s hand found his hair. “Don’t take too long.”
Satoru looked up.
His smile returned.
“There’s my romantic Suguru.”
Suguru tugged his hair.
Satoru laughed.
Then he took him into his mouth.
Suguru’s head hit the cabinet behind him.
His eyes closed at once, a sharp breath leaving him through his teeth. Satoru’s mouth was hot and wet and unfairly familiar. He took him deep with almost no hesitation, one hand firm on Suguru’s hip, the other sliding around his thigh to keep him open.
Suguru’s grip tightened in his hair. “Fuck.”
Satoru hummed around him.
Suguru’s hips jerked.
Satoru held him still, fingers pressing hard into his skin, and looked up.
Suguru made the mistake of looking down.
Satoru on his knees, mouth stretched around him, blue eyes watching him with open satisfaction.
Suguru’s body pulsed with heat.
This was the problem.
Satoru was too good at looking like he loved this.
Like he wanted this because it was Suguru. Like he had spent months thinking about exactly this. Like he would rather be here, on the kitchen floor, than anywhere else in the world.
Suguru knew better.
Satoru had cameras for that face.
Awards for that face.
Suguru would not be fooled by it.
Then Satoru swallowed around him, and Suguru’s thoughts dissolved.
“Asshole,” Suguru gasped.
Satoru pulled back only enough to breathe. “Missed your praise.”
Suguru looked down at him, chest rising too fast. “I hate you.”
Satoru kissed the head of his cock. “No, you don’t.”
Suguru’s jaw tightened.
For half a second, the kitchen went quiet.
Satoru’s eyes softened.
Dangerous.
Suguru pushed two fingers under his chin, tilting his face up. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Satoru’s mouth curved. “Like what?”
“Like you forgot what this is.”
Satoru held his gaze.
Then he smiled again, bright and false enough for Suguru to breathe.
“Yes, sir.”
Suguru hated the relief.
Satoru took him back into his mouth.
This time, he did not tease.
Suguru’s hand stayed in his hair, guiding without needing to. Satoru knew the pace he liked. Knew when to take him deeper. Knew when to pull back and use his tongue. Knew that Suguru would start quiet, then lose pieces of that quiet every time Satoru did something exactly right.
Suguru came faster than he wanted to.
Satoru had always been good at making that happen too.
He tried to warn him, but the words came out broken. Satoru only tightened his grip on his hips and took him deeper.
Suguru came with his head tipped back, mouth open around a sound he would deny later.
Satoru swallowed him down.
Dramatic bastard.
When Suguru looked down again, Satoru was still on his knees, lips wet, eyes bright, smiling like he had won something.
Suguru’s body was still trembling faintly.
Satoru pressed one more kiss to his hip before standing.
Suguru grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in, kissing him hard enough to taste himself on his tongue. Satoru made a pleased sound into his mouth, and Suguru bit his lower lip for it.
Satoru laughed. “Oh... you're horny.”
Suguru pushed him back. “Bedroom.”
Satoru’s smile widened.
“My love,” he said, voice sweet enough to be poison. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Suguru turned and walked away before Satoru could see what that did to him.
Satoru followed him.
Suguru could hear him behind him in the hallway, calm and light-footed, as if he had not just been on his knees in Suguru’s kitchen with his mouth around his cock. As if he had not left Suguru’s legs unsteady and his chest too tight with something dangerously close to tenderness.
Suguru pushed open the bedroom door and went in first.
He had made the bed that morning.
Evidence that his life had been peaceful before Satoru showed up. Evidence that order was possible in rooms where Satoru Gojo had not yet entered.
Then Satoru stepped inside, and the entire room changed shape around him.
He leaned against the doorframe for a second, hair messy from Suguru’s hands, lips still faintly wet. He looked too pleased with himself.
Suguru turned around. “Are you coming in or posing?”
Satoru smiled. “Can’t I do both?”
“You really can’t.”
Satoru stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
The sound was soft.
Suguru’s pulse reacted.
Satoru walked toward him slowly, taking in the room with theatrical curiosity, as if he had not been there dozens of times before. His eyes moved from the bed to the bookshelf, then to the window, then back to Suguru.
“You changed the curtains.”
“Three months ago.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I noticed.”
Satoru’s mouth curved. “Did you miss me enough to count?”
“I remembered because they were expensive.”
“Liar.”
Suguru crossed his arms. “You say that too much.”
“You lie too much.”
Satoru stopped in front of him.
Close.
Too close for a conversation.
Satoru’s hand came up to Suguru’s hair.
Suguru caught his wrist. “No.”
Satoru blinked, all false innocence. “What?”
“You’re going to say something stupid.”
“I was going to say it looks beautiful.”
“Exactly.”
Satoru laughed softly. “That’s stupid?”
“From you, yes.”
“My love, you wound me.”
Suguru’s grip tightened around his wrist.
Satoru’s eyes brightened.
Suguru stepped closer, bringing Satoru’s captured hand down between them. “Stop calling me that.”
“Make me.”
Suguru kissed him.
Hard.
He meant it as punishment, which was idiotic, because Satoru liked being punished. Or rather, Satoru liked anything Suguru did with enough force behind it. The proof was immediate. A sound in his throat. His free hand sliding to Suguru’s waist. His mouth opening under Suguru’s like he had been waiting for that exact violence.
Suguru bit his lower lip.
Satoru laughed into his mouth.
The sound made something hot curl in Suguru’s stomach.
“You’re in a mood,” Satoru murmured.
Suguru pushed him backward toward the bed. “You’re still dressed.”
“That’s your fault.”
“How?”
“You dragged me here and then started arguing.”
“I should have left you in the kitchen.”
Then Satoru sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. “Undress me.”
Suguru stared at him.
There were moments like that. Small, sharp moments when Satoru said something that slipped past the performance and landed somewhere real. Suguru had trained himself over the years to step away from those moments quickly. To cut them down before they grew teeth.
So he reached for Satoru’s turtleneck and pulled it up.
Satoru lifted his arms, smiling again. Easy. Beautiful. Infuriating.
The shirt came off. Suguru dropped it on the floor.
Satoru’s body was exactly as unfair as Suguru remembered.
Fame had changed some things about him. The clothes were better. The skin care routine was probably ridiculous. His shoulders had broadened since they were teenagers. His body was more defined now, muscles made sharper by gym routines, stunt training, directors who liked him shirtless, and whatever personal trainer Suguru had silently hated without a face.
But the core of him was the same.
Long lines. Smooth skin. Strength hidden under elegance. The slight dip at his waist Suguru had once loved as a teenager. The faint birthmark near his ribs that no interview, photo shoot, or fan edit knew the way Suguru knew it.
Suguru’s eyes went there before he could stop them.
Satoru's gaze followed. “You remember.”
Suguru looked back at his face. “Unfortunately.”
Satoru reached for him.
Hands at his waist. Fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt. Satoru pulled him closer until Suguru stood between his knees.
The position was too familiar.
Suguru used to stand like this in Satoru’s room, annoyed and flushed and pretending he had come over to study. Satoru would sit on the edge of the bed, smiling up at him with that same unbearable face, hands under Suguru’s shirt, thumbs moving over his hips like he could read him through skin.
He had been good at it even then.
Now he was worse.
Now he had years of practice.
Years of knowing exactly where Suguru softened, where he tensed, where his body betrayed him before his mouth could deny anything.
Satoru pushed Suguru’s shirt up slowly.
Suguru lifted his arms.
The shirt came off.
Satoru’s eyes dropped.
Suguru’s skin prickled under the look.
Satoru looked at him like he always did. Like the sight mattered. Like he had missed it. Like every inch of Suguru was something he had stored somewhere and come back hungry for.
Suguru wished he would look at him like a hookup.
It would have been easier.
Instead, Satoru leaned forward and kissed his stomach.
Suguru’s breath hitched before he could stop it.
Satoru smiled against his skin. “So sensitive.”
Suguru’s hand slid into his hair and pulled his head back. “I told you to stop doing that.”
“Observing you?”
“Saying things.”
Satoru looked up at him, eyes bright, mouth curved. “You used to like when I talked.”
“I was seventeen.”
Suguru regretted the sentence immediately.
Because yes.
They had been seventeen.
Suguru had been easier to impress then. Easier to wound too. Satoru had been easier to believe. When he said forever back then, Suguru had let himself imagine a future with Satoru’s hand in his and his own heart still intact.
Teenagers were stupid.
Suguru was no longer stupid.
Mostly.
Satoru’s hands moved to the loose waistband of his pants.
Suguru let the memory die.
“Lie back,” Suguru said.
Satoru’s eyebrows rose. “Bossy.”
“You came here.”
“I did.”
Suguru pushed him back by the shoulder. “Then behave.”
Satoru fell back onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh, arms spread, white hair spilling over Suguru’s dark pillows like he was doing Suguru a favor by looking like that.
Suguru climbed over him.
Satoru’s hands found his thighs immediately.
Suguru settled over his lap, knees on either side of his hips. Under him, Satoru was hard, straining against his pants.
That pleased him.
Suguru rocked down once, slow.
Satoru’s hands tightened.
His breath caught.
Suguru smiled.
“There,” he murmured. “That shut you up.”
Satoru’s eyes darkened.
Suguru did it again.
Satoru’s head tipped back, throat exposed, jaw tight. Pretty. Too pretty. The kind of pretty that had made people weak his entire life.
Suguru understood them.
He simply resented being one of them.
He leaned down and bit the side of Satoru’s throat.
Satoru groaned.
Suguru’s body reacted at once, heat gathering again despite how recently Satoru had taken him apart in the kitchen.
Annoying.
A man should have limits.
Suguru was beginning to suspect his body had none where Satoru was concerned.
Satoru’s hands slid up his thighs, then under the loose fabric of his pants, grabbing his ass.
Suguru lifted his head and looked down at him. “Greedy.”
Satoru smiled. “You sat on me.”
Suguru kissed him because he had no good response to that.
The kiss turned messy quickly.
It always did when Suguru was on top.
Satoru let him have the illusion of control for a while, which was charitable and irritating because Suguru knew exactly what it was. An illusion. A courtesy. A pretty little cage Satoru built and let him stand inside until he got bored enough to take over.
Suguru hated that he liked the moment it happened.
He kissed him harder to punish them both for it.
Satoru’s mouth opened under his. His hands dragged Suguru down against him, forcing the hard line of his cock exactly where Suguru wanted it. Suguru’s breath broke into Satoru’s mouth.
He could feel Satoru smiling.
Suguru pulled back. “If you smile, I’m leaving.”
Satoru’s eyes were bright. “You’re naked in my lap.”
“I’m shirtless in your lap.”
“Give it a minute.”
Suguru stared at him.
Then reached down and opened Satoru’s belt.
The smugness disappeared from Satoru’s face at once.
Better.
Suguru took his time with the button and zipper because he was cruel and because Satoru deserved it. He dragged his knuckles lightly over the hard shape of him through the fabric, once, then again.
Satoru’s stomach tightened.
Suguru watched with satisfaction.
For all his fame, all his practiced charm, Satoru still looked best like this. Flat on Suguru’s bed, lips parted, eyes burning, pretending he was patient while Suguru touched him too lightly.
“Do you do this to him?” Satoru asked.
Suguru paused.
God... he won't let that pass, huh.
Suguru looked at him slowly. “Jealous?”
Satoru smiled with too many teeth. “Curious.”
Suguru leaned down, mouth near his ear. “Maybe.”
Satoru’s hand closed on his hip.
Hard.
Suguru’s pulse jumped.
“Maybe?” Satoru repeated.
Suguru laughed softly. “You don’t like that?”
“Does he get you like this?”
Suguru’s stomach tightened at the shift in his voice.
Lower.
Colder at the edges.
Satoru always did that when Suguru mentioned other people. It should have been irritating. It was irritating. It was also hot enough that Suguru hated himself a little.
“He gets me fine,” Suguru said.
Satoru sat up so quickly Suguru had to grab his shoulders.
Suddenly they were chest to chest, Suguru still in his lap, Satoru’s hand firm at the back of his neck.
“Fine,” Satoru said.
Suguru lifted his chin. “Yes.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
“It’s supposed to answer you.”
“Does he know you like being held down?”
Suguru’s throat tightened.
Satoru’s mouth brushed his jaw. “Does he know you like when I’m mean to you?”
Suguru’s fingers dug into his shoulder.
“Does he know you pretend you hate it when I call you mine?” Satoru asked.
Suguru pushed him back.
Satoru went only because Suguru’s hand was on his chest and he wanted to see what Suguru would do next.
Jesus, Suguru thought. He's really getting on my nerves.
He decided to slide off his lap and kneel between his legs.
Satoru went quiet.
Thank God.
Suguru pulled his pants down just enough to free him.
Satoru’s cock was flushed, hard, already leaking at the tip.
Suguru stared for half a second and felt his body throb in answer.
It really was a shame.
The man had many terrible qualities.
Unfortunately, not a single one of them extended to his dick.
Satoru’s hand slid into Suguru’s hair.
Suguru looked up sharply. “Don’t push.”
Satoru’s fingers relaxed at once. “I won’t.”
He said it easily.
Seriously.
Suguru believed that.
He wished he believed less of him.
He lowered his mouth and licked over the head.
Satoru’s breath broke.
There it was.
Suguru smiled, then took him in.
Satoru’s fingers tightened in his hair without force. Suguru felt the restraint in the tremor of his hand, the way his hips stayed still even though his thighs went tense around Suguru’s shoulders.
He knew Satoru liked watching him like this.
Suguru knew because Satoru always became quieter at first. Like the sight took something from him. Like even his stupid mouth needed a moment to recover from Suguru on his knees.
That part was satisfying.
Suguru hollowed his cheeks and took him deeper.
Satoru cursed under his breath.
Suguru’s eyes flicked up.
Satoru was staring at him.
Blue eyes half-lidded, mouth open, face stripped of the easy smile.
Suguru’s own arousal curled hotter in his stomach.
He enjoyed making Satoru lose language. Enjoyed having the impossible man under his mouth, hands careful in his hair, breathing rough because Suguru had decided to be generous.
He took him deeper again.
Satoru’s head fell back. “Suguru.”
His name in Satoru’s mouth still had a way of ruining him.
Suguru pulled off with a wet sound, hand wrapping around the base of him.
“Don’t say it like that.”
Satoru looked down, breathing hard. “Like what?”
Like you mean it.
Suguru did not say that.
He stroked him instead, watching Satoru’s stomach tighten with each movement.
“Like you’re trying to sound pretty.”
Satoru laughed once, breathless. “Am I succeeding?”
“Barely.”
“Cruel.”
Suguru took him back into his mouth.
Satoru stopped laughing.
Suguru worked him until Satoru’s thighs were trembling faintly under his hands, until the grip in his hair had become less careful, until Satoru’s breathing was jagged enough that Suguru knew he was close.
Then he pulled off.
Satoru lifted his head, betrayed. “Suguru...”
Suguru wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?”
“You’re evil.”
“You like that.”
“I love everything you do.”
Suguru’s chest tightened.
He hated how easily Satoru used that word.
Love.
As if it weighed nothing.
As if Suguru had not once built his whole future around hearing it from him.
Satoru noticed.
His face shifted.
Too late.
Suguru stood. “Move up.”
Satoru stared at him for half a second longer.
Then obeyed.
The silence between them had changed now, but Suguru refused to acknowledge it. He pushed his pants off the rest of the way, grabbed the lube from the nightstand drawer, and tried to focus on his own body, on the heat still pulsing under his skin, on the fact that Satoru was stretched out on his bed, hard and wanting and waiting for him.
That was safer than thinking about words.
Satoru watched him. “Did I upset you?”
Suguru opened the bottle. “You always upset me.”
“Suguru.”
“Don’t.”
Satoru closed his mouth.
For once.
Suguru slicked his fingers with lube and reached behind himself, but Satoru sat up before he could do anything.
“Let me.”
Suguru looked at him.
Satoru’s expression was open now. Serious in a way Suguru did not want.
“I know how you like it.”
He did know.
The pace. The angle. The amount of pressure. He knew when Suguru wanted gentleness and when gentleness would irritate him. He knew when Suguru needed to be stretched slowly and when his body was already desperate enough to take more.
It was intimate in a way Suguru could not talk himself out of.
“Fine,” Suguru said.
Satoru moved behind him on the bed.
Suguru sat between his thighs, back against his chest, knees bent and spread. The position made him feel exposed immediately, which was probably why Satoru liked it.
Satoru kissed his shoulder.
Suguru stared at the wall. “Don’t get sentimental.”
“I’m about to put my fingers inside you. I think I’m allowed to be sentimental.”
Suguru turned his head enough to glare at him.
Satoru’s mouth twitched. “Fine. No sentiment.”
His slick fingers slid between Suguru’s thighs.
One finger circled him slowly, teasing the rim, spreading lube until Suguru’s muscles began to soften around the touch. Suguru’s hands clenched around the sheets.
Satoru’s mouth brushed his ear. “Already feeling good?”
Suguru’s jaw tightened. “Say one more word.”
Satoru pressed the first finger in.
Suguru’s threat dissolved into a rough breath.
He despised the first stretch every time.
Despised how much he liked it too.
The pressure. The way his body recognized Satoru’s hand and yielded too quickly. Satoru pushed in to the knuckle and stopped, letting Suguru adjust with infuriating patience.
Suguru closed his eyes.
Satoru kissed the side of his neck.
Suguru opened his eyes again. “I said no sentiment.”
“That helps you relax.”
Suguru wanted to argue.
Satoru moved his finger deeper.
The argument died.
He worked him open slowly at first, exactly as promised. Suguru leaned back against him before he could stop himself, and Satoru’s free arm came around his waist.
There was no reason for that to feel good.
Satoru added a second finger.
Suguru hissed.
Satoru stopped.
“Keep moving.” Suguru said at once.
Satoru moved.
Two fingers now, opening him in a way that made his thighs tense. Suguru’s head dropped back against Satoru’s shoulder, his hair falling loose over both of them. Satoru’s breathing was warm near his ear.
Satoru's fingers curled.
Suguru’s hips jerked.
“Fuck.”
Satoru did it again.
Suguru’s hand shot back, grabbing Satoru’s thigh.
Satoru’s arm tightened around his waist. “So easy.”
Suguru hated him.
He hated the soft amusement in his voice. Hated the satisfaction. Hated that Satoru could find the exact place inside him that made his whole body go loose and sparking, then talk as if Suguru had been hiding from him and Satoru had simply brought him back.
Satoru kept going.
Two fingers became three.
Suguru cursed at the stretch, but his hips pressed down to take more. Satoru’s mouth found his shoulder again, teeth grazing skin as he opened him.
Suguru’s cock had hardened again, lying heavy against his stomach. Satoru’s free hand slid down to wrap around him, and Suguru’s body jolted.
“No,” Suguru said, though his hips pushed into his hand.
Satoru smiled against his neck. “No?”
“You’re going to make me too sensitive.”
“I want that.”
Suguru’s stomach tightened.
This jerk.
Satoru stroked him slowly, fingers still moving inside him. The combination made Suguru’s thoughts begin to break at the edges. Too much sensation, layered with too much familiarity. Satoru’s hand on his cock. Satoru’s fingers inside him. Satoru’s chest against his back. Satoru’s mouth at his neck, whispering things Suguru refused to understand as affection.
“You always take me so well,” Satoru said.
Suguru closed his eyes. “Shut up.”
“I missed this.”
Suguru’s breath caught.
Satoru’s fingers curled again, deep and exact.
Suguru moaned.
Satoru’s hand tightened around his cock, stroking him through it.
“I missed you,” Satoru said, softer.
Suguru’s eyes snapped open.
He grabbed Satoru’s wrist.
The one around his cock, not the one inside him.
Satoru stopped immediately.
The room went still except for their breathing.
Suguru’s body was trembling, open around Satoru’s fingers, furious at the interruption. His chest felt worse.
“Don’t say stupid things,” Suguru said.
Satoru’s lips brushed his shoulder. “Fine.”
That was all.
Fine.
Suguru swallowed and released his wrist. “Keep going.”
A beat.
Then Satoru withdrew his fingers slowly.
Suguru clenched around the loss and nearly cursed.
Satoru reached for the condom on the nightstand.
Oh.
That's even better.
No more talking.
Sex had rules. Bodies were easier than words. Bodies lied too, but in ways Suguru could survive.
Satoru rolled the condom on with hands steadier than Suguru liked. Then he shifted, pulling Suguru with him, guiding him around until Suguru was on his knees over him again.
Suguru preferred this.
Facing him.
Above him.
Able to look down and remember, at least for a few minutes, that Satoru was the one under him.
Satoru lay back against the pillows, hands on Suguru’s thighs.
Suguru reached between them and lined him up.
The first press made both of them go still.
Suguru’s body opened around the head of him with a familiar burn. It had been months, so the stretch made his breath catch, but it was still Satoru. His body knew him. Remembered him. Betrayed Suguru by taking him in like it had been waiting.
Satoru’s fingers dug into his thighs.
Suguru sank down halfway.
Then more.
His mouth fell open, but he kept the sound in.
Satoru watched him with parted lips and bright, ruined eyes.
“Beautiful,” Satoru whispered.
Suguru’s thighs shook.
He hated him.
God, he hated him.
He lowered himself the rest of the way.
Full.
His hands braced on Satoru’s chest, nails pressing into skin. Satoru’s heart was beating fast under his palm. Suguru felt it and tried very hard to think nothing of it.
Satoru’s hands slid to his waist, holding him gently.
Suguru moved before tenderness could settle.
He lifted himself and sank back down.
Both of them groaned.
Satoru’s head tipped back.
Suguru watched him and felt power return in a hot, dangerous rush.
This was why he let him in.
This was why he answered.
Not longing.
This.
Satoru’s cock inside him. Satoru’s hands on his waist. Satoru looking like Suguru was the only thing in the world sharp enough to cut him open.
Suguru rode him slowly at first, because the stretch demanded it and because making Satoru suffer was one of his few remaining pleasures. He lifted and sank, again and again, finding the angle that sent heat shooting up his spine.
Satoru’s hands tightened. “Suguru.”
Suguru looked down at him.
Satoru’s eyes were fixed on his face.
Always his face.
Never just the body.
“Does he fuck you like this?” Satoru asked.
Suguru’s rhythm faltered.
Then he smiled.
Suguru leaned forward, hands on Satoru’s chest, hair falling around his face like a curtain. “Jealousy makes you sound pathetic.”
Satoru thrust up.
Hard.
Suguru’s whole body jerked, a moan leaving him before he could stop it. Satoru’s grip on his waist became firm, holding him there, forcing him to feel the depth of it.
“Answer,” Satoru said.
Suguru’s nails dug into his chest. “No.”
Satoru thrust up again.
Suguru gasped.
“No, what?”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Good.”
Suguru’s pulse jumped.
Then Satoru moved.
The illusion of control ended exactly when Suguru knew it would.
Satoru planted his feet, hands locked on Suguru’s hips, and fucked up into him with a deep force that knocked the breath from Suguru’s lungs. Suguru’s hands slid from his chest to the sheets beside his head, trying to brace himself as Satoru drove into him from below.
The bed creaked.
Suguru’s hair fell over one shoulder, then stuck to his damp skin. His thighs trembled around Satoru’s hips. Pleasure hit him harder now, direct and relentless, the angle dragging over the place Satoru had found with his fingers until Suguru’s body began to lose rhythm.
Satoru watched him come apart.
“You missed this,” He said.
Suguru tried to speak.
Satoru thrust deeper.
“You missed me.”
Suguru shook his head, but his body clenched around him.
Satoru groaned.
“You did,” he breathed.
Suguru hated that he was right.
Satoru’s hand slid from his hip to his cock.
Suguru’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Satoru—”
“You can take it.”
“I came already.”
“You can come many times.”
Suguru’s breath broke as Satoru’s hand wrapped around him.
His body was already oversensitive from the kitchen, already open and shaking from being fucked, and Satoru knew that. He liked dragging Suguru past the point where Suguru could keep his face composed, past the place where insults still formed properly.
Satoru stroked him in time with each thrust.
Suguru’s head dropped forward.
Sound escaped him.
A helpless thing he would think about later with deep embarrassment.
Satoru smiled.
Suguru caught it through the haze and forced himself to glare. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Satoru’s voice was rough now. “I love looking at you.”
Suguru’s chest tightened.
His body betrayed him at the same time, clenching hard around Satoru’s cock.
Satoru’s hips stuttered.
The satisfaction should have been enough.
It was not.
Suguru was too close now.
His cock pulsed in Satoru’s hand, pleasure gathering with humiliating speed, burning through overstimulation until every thrust made his stomach tighten and his thighs shake.
“Satoru,” he gasped.
“I know.”
“Fuck you.”
Satoru smiled, breathless. “No, I'm fucking you.”
Suguru would have hit him if he had the coordination.
Instead, he came.
Hard.
The orgasm tore through him, almost painful from how sensitive he already was. His body locked over Satoru’s, mouth open around a sound he could not swallow, cock spilling over Satoru’s hand and his own stomach as Satoru kept thrusting into him through it.
Suguru shook.
Satoru held him.
One arm around his waist now, tight, keeping him upright as pleasure ripped the strength out of his limbs. His other hand slowed on Suguru’s cock but did not let go completely, dragging the aftershocks out until Suguru’s whole body trembled.
“Enough,” Suguru choked.
Satoru stopped touching him at once.
But he was still hard inside.
Still breathing like he was barely holding himself together.
Suguru lifted his head.
Satoru looked wrecked.
Good.
Suguru wanted him wrecked.
Wanted proof that this was not one-sided, even if the proof was only physical. Wanted proof that Satoru could leave red carpets and actresses and whole continents behind and still end up like this under him, desperate because Suguru’s body had him trapped.
Suguru clenched around him on purpose.
Satoru’s eyes flashed. “Hey.”
“What?” Suguru asked, voice ruined.
Satoru grabbed his hips.
Rolled them over.
Suguru landed on his back with a sharp breath, Satoru above him now, still inside, white hair falling forward.
Satoru kissed him.
He fucked him harder like that, face close, breathing into Suguru’s mouth. Suguru’s legs wrapped around him on instinct, heels digging into his back. The oversensitivity had dulled into an aching pleasure, almost too much and still something he wanted more of.
Satoru’s forehead pressed to his. “Suguru.”
“Come,” Suguru said.
Satoru’s breath caught.
Suguru held his face between both hands, because he was weak and sex made him crazy. “Come.”
Satoru did.
With a rough sound, hips driving deep, body locking over Suguru’s. His face twisted with it, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut for the first time all night. Suguru watched him through it, watched the beautiful, unbearable man lose control inside him, and felt something in his chest ache so badly it almost ruined the whole thing.
Then Satoru collapsed carefully against him.
Not fully.
He always remembered not to crush him.
Bastard.
For a while, they only breathed.
Suguru stared at the ceiling.
Satoru’s face was pressed against his neck. His body was warm and heavy, his heart still beating too fast against Suguru’s chest.
Satoru went quiet.
The room smelled like sex and sweat and them.
Suguru’s body was too loose to maintain anger properly.
Satoru’s hand moved, slow and absent, over his side like he had every right to touch him gently.
Suguru closed his eyes.
No strings.
No expectations.
No reason to say no.
Satoru kissed his collarbone.
Suguru’s eyes opened. “Don’t start again.”
Satoru laughed softly against his skin. “I’m not seventeen anymore.”
“Your stamina remains irritating.”
“I meant now I know how to behave.”
“Debatable.”
Satoru lifted his head.
His face was flushed. Hair a mess. Mouth swollen. He looked younger like this, which Suguru hated most of all. Younger, softer, almost like the boy Suguru had once loved so badly it changed the shape of him.
Satoru looked at him for a long moment.
Then said, “I really did miss you.”
Suguru’s chest tightened.
He reached for the easiest weapon.
“You missed my body.”
Satoru’s expression did something complicated.
Then he smiled.
“Also true.”
Suguru pushed at his shoulder. “Get off.”
Satoru obeyed, pulling out carefully. Suguru winced despite himself, sore and Satoru’s hand immediately settled on his thigh.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Need anything?”
“A time machine.”
Satoru laughed. “To avoid answering my text?”
“To kill you in high school.”
“Ouch.”
“You deserved it then too.”
Satoru tied off the condom and got up to dispose of it. Suguru stayed on the bed, arm thrown over his eyes, listening to him move around the room with terrifying familiarity. Bathroom door. Sink. Water. A drawer opening because Satoru apparently remembered where Suguru kept towels. Then footsteps returning.
A warm damp cloth touched his stomach.
Suguru lifted his arm and looked at him.
Satoru was sitting beside him now, cleaning him with a focus that made Suguru’s throat tighten.
“Don’t,” Suguru said.
Satoru paused. “Don’t clean you?”
“Yeah. That's too intimate.”
“I’ve had my dick inside you for the better part of the last hour. I think I can clean your stomach.”
Suguru stared at him.
Then looked away. “You’re so vulgar.”
“I've always been like this.”
Suguru let him finish.
Because he was tired.
Because moving sounded unpleasant.
Because Satoru was gentle, and Suguru was weak for it in the pathetic privacy of his own mind.
After, Satoru tossed the cloth aside and lay down next to him.
Suguru should have told him to move.
He did not.
Satoru turned onto his side, head propped on one hand, looking at him like sleep was something that happened to other people.
Suguru stared at the ceiling. “Stop looking at me.”
“I haven’t seen you in months.”
“You saw plenty ten minutes ago.”
Satoru’s smile was audible. “I want more.”
Suguru’s heart gave one kick.
He ignored it.
“You’re exhausting.”
“I believe you enjoy my presence.”
Suguru turned his head and looked at him.
Satoru smiled like it was a joke.
“No,” Suguru said. “I enjoy your dick and tolerate your presence.”
Satoru’s eyes stayed on his.
For one second, he did not smile.
Then he said, “I’ll take what I can get.”
Silence settled over them.
Satoru’s hand moved to the sheet between them.
His fingers brushed Suguru’s.
Barely.
Accidental, maybe.
Suguru knew it wasn’t.
He should have moved.
He did not.
Satoru’s fingers slid carefully over his.
Then between them.
Suguru stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, while Satoru held his hand like an idiot.
Like a lover.
Like he had forgotten the rules again.
After a minute, Suguru pulled away and sat up.
Satoru’s hand dropped.
Suguru reached for his pants on the floor. “You should go.”
The air changed.
Satoru was quiet behind him.
Then, lightly, “Already?”
“It’s late.”
“It was late when I got here.”
“And now it’s even later.”
Suguru stood, sore enough that his body immediately filed a complaint. He ignored it and pulled his pants on.
Satoru remained on the bed, watching him.
Suguru could feel the look on his back.
“You don’t have to kick me out,” Satoru said.
Suguru tied the drawstring at his waist. “I’m not kicking you out. I’m telling you to leave.”
“That sounds like kicking me out.”
“You’re perceptive tonight.”
“Suguru.”
His name again.
Soft.
Suguru turned around, patience already thinning because softness required too much effort to survive.
Satoru was sitting up now, sheet low around his hips, hair a mess, eyes too clear. “What?”
“I’m in town for a few days.”
Suguru’s stomach tightened before he could stop it.
He kept his face blank. “Congratulations.”
“My aunt died.”
Suguru’s expression shifted.
Satoru said it too casually.
Suguru stared at him. “Oh.”
Satoru looked down, mouth curving without humor. “Yeah.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“You came for the funeral?”
“Tomorrow.”
Suguru’s irritation loosened into something more complicated.
He remembered Satoru’s aunt vaguely. One of the few people in Satoru’s family Suguru had never immediately wanted to strangle.
“I’m sorry,” Suguru said.
Satoru looked up.
For a second, he seemed surprised.
Then his face softened. “Thanks.”
Suguru crossed his arms. “How long are you staying?”
“A couple weeks, maybe. Family things.”
“Family things.”
“Lawyers. Property. Inheritance stuff.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Terrible.” Satoru’s smile returned, smaller now. “You should pity me.”
“I already slept with you. That's as much as I can do.”
Satoru laughed.
The sound was quieter than usual.
Suguru felt it in his chest.
Satoru leaned back on one hand. “Can I see you while I’m here?”
Suguru should have said no.
He knew that immediately.
This arrangement survived because Satoru left. Because he appeared like a meteor, burned through Suguru’s life, then vanished before the heat could turn into something Suguru could not deny.
A few times a year was manageable.
A few days was dangerous.
Weeks?
Weeks could kill him.
Suguru looked at him and forced his mouth into something sharp. “You just did.”
“You know what I mean.”
Suguru looked at the gift bag on the floor near the bedroom door. It had been carried in from the living room at some point, probably by Satoru when Suguru was not paying attention. White paper. Gold ribbon. Expensive. Stupid.
“What’s in the bag?” Suguru asked.
Satoru blinked at the change in topic.
Then smiled faintly. “Open it.”
Suguru glared at him, then walked over and picked it up because he had learned nothing in eight years.
Inside was a scarf.
Dark green. Soft. Beautiful in a way that meant Satoru had either spent too much money or too much attention on it.
Probably both.
Suguru touched the fabric.
“Where from?”
“Prague.”
Suguru looked at him. “You were in Prague?”
“Last month.”
“And you bought me a scarf?”
“It was cold.”
“In Prague?”
Satoru smiled. “Here too, eventually.”
Suguru looked down at the scarf again.
Another one.
Another item for the drawer of things he never used and never threw away. A collection of proof that Satoru thought of him everywhere and Suguru refused to decide what that meant.
He folded it carefully.
Satoru watched him. “Do you like it?”
Suguru put it back into the bag. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
Satoru smiled.
“I’ll call you,” He said.
Suguru’s eyes lifted. “I didn’t agree.”
“You didn’t refuse.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is with you.”
Suguru should have corrected him.
Satoru got dressed slowly. Suguru stood by the door and watched him button his shirt, fix his hair with his fingers, become Satoru Gojo again piece by piece. Rich. Untouchable.
When he finished, Satoru picked up his coat and sunglasses.
At the bedroom door, he stopped in front of Suguru.
Close again.
Always close.
“Aren't you sad I'm leaving?” he asked.
Suguru looked at him. “Go home, Satoru.”
“That’s not a response.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Satoru studied him for a second.
Then leaned down and kissed his cheek.
Suguru went completely still.
“Goodnight, my love,” Satoru said.
Then he left.
Suguru stood in the hallway long after the front door closed.
His cheek still felt warm.
He hated that most of all.
After a while, he went back to the bedroom, picked up the scarf, and walked to his closet.
There was a drawer at the bottom he almost never opened.
He opened it now.
Inside were years of Satoru.
Suguru placed the scarf on top of the pile.
Then stared at it.
He closed it.
Firmly.
Then leaned his forehead against the closet door.
“It’s just sex,” he said to the empty room.
His voice sounded tired.
Unconvincing.
Suguru closed his eyes.
Satoru was staying for weeks.
Suguru already knew he would answer the next call.