Chapter Text
“Isn’t that, like, the third time this week?” Ieiri asked, leaning back in her chair and fishing a box of cigarettes from her coat pocket.
“Are you allowed to smoke in here?” Satoru responded, just to see the way her expression flattened with annoyance.
Ieiri pointedly ignored him and lit her cigarette, keeping her now narrowed gaze firmly fixed on Suguru, who was leaning against the wall of the infirmary across from her.
“The fourth,” Suguru corrected her, ignoring Satoru as well.
While most people would be excited by getting flirted with by four women in a week, Suguru spoke about it as though each instance took years off of his life. Satoru liked it that way. He couldn’t have a girl messing up what they had. He thought that was pretty reasonable. Besides, he doubted some random girl at a clothing store was worth Suguru’s time.
“Those poor girls,” Ieiri sighed. “Little do they know…”
She trailed off, her tone comedically downhearted. Suguru frowned and crossed his arms. His uniform jacket was discarded, lying on the same examination table Satoru was sitting on, leaving him in a white t-shirt that he’d begun to grow out of. It was especially tight around the shoulders, Satoru noted. His shoulders had gotten broad. His biceps must have been putting some strain on the short sleeves, too, especially in that position.
“Little do they know… what?” Suguru pressed.
His arms flexed slightly. Satoru quickly redirected his attention to Ieiri just in time to see her shoot a split second glance at him.
“Just… that you’d be a shitty boyfriend,” she said with a shrug.
“Uh huh. And what’s your basis for this claim?”
Suguru leaned forward in mock interest, causing some of his hair to fall to his front. Satoru liked how it looked when it was down like that. Since the winter began, he’d started letting his hair down the moment he completed a mission to keep himself a little warmer.
“Well, first off, you’re annoying,” Ieiri stated, then paused to take a drag from her cigarette. “And you’ve got baggage. Nobody wants to deal with all that.”
Suguru clenched his jaw. It had been three years since he’d nearly wiped out an entire village, and while each year felt longer than the last, Satoru knew that it still kept him up at night. It was a topic that they had all silently agreed to ignore. Judging from the look on her face, Ieiri hadn’t meant to reference that in particular, but she immediately realized how her words were received.
Attempting to correct her mistake, she added, “You’re not as bad as Gojo, though.”
“Huh? I’m delightful. Anyone would be lucky to call me their boyfriend,” Satoru retorted.
“You’re even more annoying than him,” she began, pointing at Suguru, “you’re way too full of yourself, your eyes are creepy, you have next to no emotional intelligence, or general intelligence for that matter, and, not to mention, you don’t let anyone touch you. Even your best friends. Which, you know, is something partners usually do.”
Her list almost sounded rehearsed. It practically was, considering how often she liked to criticize him for those same traits. Though, one point was new, and that point caused him to instantly forget about every antecedent point. She’d never brought up his aversion to touch before.
“I let you guys touch me.”
His voice lacked its characteristic confidence. She was pretty much correct, after all. Every now and then, he’d rest an elbow on Suguru or poke him in the cheek to get a reaction, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d kept Infinity off in front of them and allowed them to initiate touch. He kept it on by himself, even. He couldn’t take risks anymore.
To make it even worse, he always felt oddly overwhelmed whenever he felt someone else’s warmth, even if he was the one to touch them. It didn’t hurt, but it was a shock to his system. He’d always been sensitive thanks to the constant elevated sensory input from his Six Eyes, and rarely touching others for years had made it much worse.
“She’s right,” Suguru chimed in unhelpfully.
“I wouldn’t want to touch you anyway, obviously. I’m just saying that it might be a problem in a relationship,” Ieiri went on.
Satoru tried to think of a rebuttal, but she was right. And, for some reason, it bothered him. Not because he was worried he’d let down some girl he hadn’t even met yet, but because… well, he shouldn’t think about that. Rather, there was no use in thinking about it.
“Yeah, well—”
“Um, excuse me,” a small voice came from the doorway.
Satoru looked over to see a young girl clutching her side, blood soaking her uniform and dripping down her fingers. A first year, he was pretty sure. He’d only seen her around a few times. Ieiri stood hastily yet calmly and made her way to the girl, her cigarette still hanging from her lips. Suguru was quick to grab his jacket from beside Satoru and drape it over his shoulder, knowing the drill by now. Satoru could smell his cedar wood shampoo as he got close.
“Okay, scram, you two,” Ieiri ordered, shooing the men out of the room.
Satoru hopped off of the examination table and followed Suguru through the door as Ieiri led the girl into her office with a hand on her back. It was always a little funny to see her treating patients with care considering how little affection she showed Satoru and Suguru. Sometimes, Satoru wondered how a woman like her ended up with such a talent for healing. Then again, he’d seen how sweet she was with Utahime.
Once he shut the door behind them, he took his place beside Suguru as they made for the exit. Having completed their individual reports to Yaga prior to their chat with Ieiri, neither of them had a reason to be in the building any longer, so he figured it was time for them to go home. Or, it was time for them both to go to Satoru’s home. While Suguru had an apartment of his own, he’d been slowly moving into Satoru’s place over the past month.
They never talked about it. It just happened. After many nights of falling asleep in Satoru’s guest bedroom or couch, it only made sense for him to bring some of his stuff over. It started with a change of clothes and some DVDs, and before long, his toothbrush was next to Satoru’s. The sight of their toothbrushes side by side always made Satoru smile for reasons he didn’t want to get into.
When the two stepped out of the building, they were greeted by the beginnings of dusk. It had grown marginally colder since they had first arrived, and the breeze that ruffled Satoru’s hair made him shiver. Suguru appeared unaffected by the cold, other than the goosebumps that had formed on his arms.
“You drive,” Satoru said, tossing his car key to Suguru.
Suguru caught it reflexively and argued, “It’s your car.”
He forcefully threw it back to Satoru, but before it made contact, it was halted by Satoru’s Infinity and floated in place by his side. Satoru let the absurd number of keychains (most of which were Digimon themed) jingle in the air for a moment before he retrieved it. Then, he held it out in front of Suguru, offering rather than demanding.
“Yeah, and I was kind enough to drive us both here. Now it’s your turn,” he reasoned.
Truthfully, he just kind of liked seeing Suguru drive his car. There was something about it that he found satisfying. Almost like letting him drive his car was a way to show that he was his. His friend, that is. Besides, his mood had soured thanks to the end of their conversation with Ieiri, so he didn’t really feel like driving anyway.
Suguru regarded him with a look that Satoru knew very well. His brows were furrowed and his mouth was straight, clearly displaying his annoyance. Not the annoyance of someone who was being asked to complete a task that they were unwilling to do, but rather the annoyance of someone who was about to give in more easily than they knew they should have.
“Fine,” he acquiesced, holding out his hand for Satoru to drop the key into his waiting palm.
They reached the car with a little more speed in their step than usual as the wind began picking up. Suguru climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the car while Satoru circled around to the passenger’s seat. The moment he was seated, Satoru made sure to turn the heater on high.
For the first few minutes of the drive, they were silent. Suguru never spoke much while driving, and Satoru was wrapped up in his thoughts. He would have loved to just enjoy the warmth of the car, or the orange hue of the sky, or Suguru’s comforting presence, but Ieiri’s words kept replaying in his head.
“...you don’t let anyone touch you. Even your best friends.”
He supposed he’d hoped that they hadn’t even noticed. Or, if they had, he’d at least hoped they wouldn’t say anything. Then, he could pretend like nothing had changed. Maybe things could even go back to normal one day, and touch wouldn’t be so threatening to him. He had a hard time believing that could happen, though.
Satoru knew that he could release Infinity once in a while. He knew that he was safe when he was with Suguru. If an enemy showed up, they would fight them off, because they were the strongest. However, trauma still clung to him like a parasite, feeding on the last bits of youth that he’d been granted in a life where a proper youth was never his for the taking.
He was weathered. Battered and corroded over time by that horrible curse. Not a curse he could defeat with his overwhelming power, but instead a curse that was too deep within himself to carve out and destroy with his own clumsy hand. He could blame it all on Fushiguro Toji. He could blame it on Jujutsu High, or on jujutsu society itself.
But he couldn’t shirk his own share of responsibility. He’d been a kid, and didn’t know how to fix himself. Now he was an adult, and still hadn’t learned. How lame was that? And thanks to his failure to heal, he was stuck with the consequences. Stuck with the fear of touch.
He shouldn’t have cared about whether someone would be let down by the fact that he didn’t like being touched. Someone like him couldn’t do relationships anyway, so what didn’t matter? Yet, he couldn’t get their conversation out of his head. Specifically, he couldn’t stop thinking about one thing:
What did Suguru think about it?
The question came to him immediately when Ieiri brought the touching thing up, but he’d pushed it away quickly enough that he could convince himself it never surfaced at all. As more time passed, though, it only got louder until he couldn’t possibly ignore it.
He tried to rationalize the persistent thought. Suguru was his best friend, so it was natural that he would be sad if he was letting him down in some way by not allowing him to touch him. That’s all there was to it. It didn’t need to have anything to do with the way his breath caught when Suguru got close to him, or the way he would often wake up in the middle of the night and have to fight off the itch to crawl into Suguru’s bed.
He almost laughed at himself, his hands balling into fists on his lap. Who was he kidding? Even the way Suguru’s scent mixed with his in the car was making his heart misbehave. That, without a doubt, was not something that happened with someone you held nothing but platonic feelings for.
Satoru let his eyes wander to his right. City lights of varying hues created fluid patterns on Suguru’s face, gently illuminating features that Satoru knew better than his own. The straight bridge of his nose, the strong ridge of his brow, his smooth lips. His eyes were especially stunning in the light. Not only the deep color, but the angular shape that Satoru had always found so handsome.
His gaze fell to his arms. Satoru always forgot how big they were until Suguru wore short sleeves. Every turn of the steering wheel made his muscles shift, and every flex of his fingers made the tendons on his forearms pop. Satoru tracked each minute movement as though he was keeping a mental log. That was until his eyes traced a vein from his wrist to his left hand, at which point his focus was relocated.
Suguru’s hands were one of Satoru’s favorite parts of him. They were big, just like Satoru’s, but in a way that felt proportionate to his broad shoulders and thick arms. His fingers were thicker, too. And, considering all the combat training he did, Satoru could imagine that they were somewhat rough. The hands of a fighter.
Thinking of his hands on him made the idea of being touched seem much more appealing. If he focused hard enough, he could almost feel fingers brush against his shoulder.
“You seem bothered,” Suguru observed, his voice cutting through the silence.
Satoru nearly jumped in his seat. Suguru was still facing forward, so he might not have caught him looking. Just to be safe, he looked out the passenger side window before he answered.
“What do you mean?”
“What Ieiri said bothered you, didn’t it?”
There were some times when Satoru wished Suguru didn’t see right through him. That conversation was probably the last thing he’d want to bring up with Suguru, considering the fact that ever since it happened, he’d been agonizing over an imaginary scenario in which Suguru turned him down because he wanted to be able to touch the person he was dating.
“Not really,” Satoru lied, shrugging.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Suguru turn his head to examine him for a short moment before facing the road once again.
“Don’t lie. You’re never this quiet.”
“I’m not lying. Why would I care what she thinks?”
“Come on, Satoru,” Suguru chided. “You should know that won’t work with me.”
He did know. Suguru had never been one to let him get away with lies, or to miss those lies in the first place. He also knew that Suguru would shelve the topic if Satoru requested that of him. Yet, for some reason, he was honest. Maybe he just needed to get it off his chest.
“Fine. I guess it got to me. A little. Just because, I mean, what does she know?” Satoru scoffed.
“Well, are you worried about that? About a future partner being disappointed, I mean?”
Technically, he was. Except he had a specific future partner in mind, so he wasn’t sure how much further this conversation could go before he had to shut it down.
“Partners aren’t really an option for me anyway.”
It wasn’t a lie, mostly. He supposed a relationship might work out if he dated another jujutsu sorcerer, but… well.
“Then, what is it? Does it just make you feel weak or something?” Suguru inquired.
Satoru couldn’t help the single humorless breath of laughter that escaped him. Once again, Suguru had him figured out. Well, he had half of it figured out. Satoru supposed it worked out, though. As long as he pretended like that was all there was to it, Suguru didn’t have to get any closer to the full truth. Although, he didn’t love telling him—or anyone, for that matter—that anything made him feel weak.
“It… does, yeah,” he admitted.
“You know that you’re not actually weak just because you don’t like being touched, right?”
Duh. Satoru knew he was the strongest person alive. That was an indisputable fact. However, there was a difference between knowing something and feeling it. And, sometimes, Satoru felt downright pitiful for being so afraid of being touched.
Still, he said, “Yeah.”
Suguru was silent for a moment. A long one. Long enough that Satoru began to wonder whether the conversation was over. Then, he spoke again, sitting up straighter in his seat.
“Do you want to fix it?”
That made Satoru look over at him. His expression was unreadable. He had no idea where he was going with this. His tone told him that Suguru himself wasn’t sure about whatever his approach was, though. It put Satoru on edge.
“Well, yeah,” he replied, his restless fingers anxiously searching the cup holder for something to fidget with. His fingers closed around something cool, rectangular, and hard. A lighter. Suguru’s lighter, which he’d left in there and forgotten about. “I don’t want to be like this for the rest of my life. But it’s not like I can just get someone to touch me as practice.”
Another pause. Suguru’s hands tightened around the wheel. His silence made Satoru tighten his own hand around the lighter, warming the metal with his body heat.
“Why couldn’t you?”
“Why couldn’t I… get someone to touch me?” Satoru said, confused.
Suguru shrugged.
“Yeah. I mean, just in case someone comes along who you’re into.”
It was hard not to laugh at that. While he dealt with his fair share of girls flirting with him, he couldn’t just ask one of them to help him with his issue. That was really only something he could imagine Suguru doing, but even thinking about it felt… hedonistic, almost. He shouldn’t indulge like that. It was dangerous.
“Hah, like I’ll find someone who actually wants to do that.” Satoru turned the lighter around in his palm. “Besides, I wouldn’t let just anyone touch me.”
Satoru was starting to fret over all the long pauses Suguru was leaving them in. Impatiently, he stared out the window at the city, noticing that they were only a couple stoplights and a turn away from the high income residential area that Satoru’s house was in. He’d be free of this conversation soon enough.
“What if…” Suguru trailed off, seemingly second guessing himself, before continuing, “What if it wasn’t just anyone? And what if they—if I wanted to?”
Those words prompted another long pause, this one initiated by Satoru. Was he really offering that? He wanted to touch Satoru? Surely he knew the connotations of that, right? He wasn’t dumb. Satoru’s first emotional response was confusion. Then, against his better judgement, excitement. And then, it occurred to him that Suguru must be offering for the wrong reasons.
“You don’t have to do that out of pity, you know,” he muttered.
Suguru didn’t wait a single second before claiming, “That’s not what this is. I just want to help.”
“That’s not your responsibility,” Satoru reminded him.
He hated that he was fighting him on the matter. It took everything in him not to give in. But, he knew he’d be putting himself in a situation that he would regret. He could already predict how it would go: he’d fall deeper in love, and probably delude himself into thinking that Suguru might love him back, only to be reminded one way or another that he didn’t feel the same, and the rejection would hurt worse than it would have otherwise.
“I never said it was. It’s just something that I want to do,” Suguru said simply, even though there was nothing simple about any of this.
Satoru mustered the courage to get a proper look at his face. He was still looking at the road, which had darkened since they entered Satoru’s neighborhood, but there was enough light from the streetlamps for Satoru to see the conviction in his eyes. It stirred something within him. Some kind of fluttery feeling that he tried to expel by tossing the lighter from one hand to the other, back and forth.
He’d just got done telling himself that it was a bad idea. Because it was. And still, the way Suguru spoke and the look on his face had Satoru questioning himself. It also didn’t help that he really did want Suguru to touch him. Not only for practice, but in the future, when his stupid issue with touch was cured. It would be torture, he was sure, but he craved it nonetheless. Despite everything, he was human.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Trying desperately to dissolve some of his nervous energy, he weaved the lighter between his fingers. It flew from between his thumb and index finger to his pinky and ring fingers, then back again. He’d gotten pretty good at it, thanks to having two friends who liked to smoke and would let him mess with their lighters if he needed to get out some energy.
The car stopped beside Suguru’s car in his driveway with a small lurch, causing him to fumble the lighter. He didn’t drop it, though, instead holding it tight enough for the corners to dig into his skin. When he risked a glance to his right, he saw that Suguru was already looking at him.
“Yes. I’m sure,” he stated confidently.
Satoru swallowed. As he uttered his answer, he realized he’d made his mind up minutes ago.
“Okay then. We can… yeah. Okay.”
Suguru stared at him, unblinking, like he was struggling to process Satoru’s compliance.
“Okay,” he said, almost under his breath. “Tonight?”
“Uh. Sure.”
Suguru nodded to himself, breaking their eye contact, then took the key out of the ignition before pocketing it. They both removed their seatbelts, but neither made any move to leave. Instead, their eyes met once again. Suguru’s eyes communicated clearly that he was just as nervous as Satoru was. It was a little comforting. Then, his gaze fell to the lighter. Recognition flashed across his face as he realized it was the same lighter he’d been searching for a week ago.
He wordlessly reached for it, only to stop just short of it. Oh. Right. Satoru hesitated to release Infinity for longer than he should have. It wasn’t a big deal. He used to have Infinity off around him all the time. He wasn’t in any danger. And if Suguru’s fingers happened to brush his hand as he took his lighter from him, then he’d handle it with grace like the grown adult he was.
He glanced at Suguru once more, then directed his gaze to the lighter, before finally letting Infinity drop. Suguru surely felt the difference, or could at least tell by the way Satoru had stilled like a prey animal freezing before a human, but Satoru nodded anyway. Suguru picked the lighter up with the tips of his fingers, moving slowly and carefully so as not to make contact with Satoru’s palm. Satoru was both grateful and disappointed.
With that, Suguru slipped the lighter into his pocket and exited the car without another look in Satoru’s direction, leaving Satoru to collect himself for a few seconds before following him inside.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
“Is here good?”
“Anywhere is fine, Suguru. Let’s not make this into a whole thing.”
After getting changed into sweatshirts and sweatpants, the two found themselves sitting across from one another on Satoru’s dark brown leather sofa. The only lighting came from the warm, modern overhead lights hanging over the counter in the adjacent kitchen, as well as a floor lamp by the large television. Considering the atmosphere and their positions, he couldn’t deny how romantic the whole scene looked.
Before the incident with the Star Plasma Vessel, Satoru could lean against Suguru or throw his legs over his lap without fretting about it. It felt natural back then. It had been so long, though. His feelings had grown stronger, and his relationship with touch had become… complicated, to say the least. Now, sitting cross legged with his knees a mere inch from Suguru’s, he felt threatened.
He couldn’t even look at him. He could feel Suguru looking at him, though, which wasn’t helping. His foot bounced nervously.
“How do you want to do this, then?” Suguru said.
Satoru looked up at him. And, immediately, he regretted it. His breath caught as he realized how little distance there was between their faces. They never got this close. Not anymore. Satoru used to lean in close to annoy him, or put his lips to his ear to whisper jokes that couldn’t be said out loud, but that was a long time ago. With his face so close to his for the first time in years, and in such pleasant lighting, Satoru realized all over again how gorgeous he was.
“Um. What?”
“Where should I… you know, touch you?” Suguru clarified, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
The words made the situation fully sink in, and Satoru suddenly felt like he was at the wheel of a car heading straight for a cliff at a hundred miles per hour. It was too late to brake, though—or, more accurately, he couldn’t bring himself to. So, he would let it happen. It would be good for him, wouldn’t it? He needed this if he was going to get better. They could start small.
“I guess… you can touch my hands?”
That didn’t sound too bad. Plus, if they were pretending to do this to make Satoru more prepared for a future partner (Satoru was pretending, at least), then hands made sense. Couples held hands all the time.
“Do you really want to do this? Because it doesn’t sound like it,” Suguru said, eyebrows raised in question.
“I do,” Satou replied before he could even think about it. The truth was, as scared as he was about the whole thing, he missed touching Suguru. He wanted that back. Suguru could do this to make himself feel like a good friend, or to get Satoru ready for a partner, or whatever the hell he wanted, but Satoru wanted to touch his friend again. “I want this.”
Suguru eyed him for a beat, examining every part of his expression, before looking down at Satoru’s hands.
“It’ll be hard to touch your hands when they’re in your pockets,” he pointed out.
Oh. Satoru hadn’t even realized, but sure enough, his hands were deep in his pockets, fiddling with pieces of lint. Slowly, he slid them out and placed them on his thighs, his fingers splayed in a way that he hoped appeared relaxed. Still, Suguru didn’t make any moves. There was still one more integral step to complete.
Satoru took a breath. Then another one. Everything would be fine. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself. He wouldn’t cry or freak out, and he’d keep his feelings for Suguru locked up tight, just like he always did. He’d realize that touch isn’t so bad, and he’d finally be back to normal, and they could share bikes and lean on one another during movie nights like they used to. This was just the first step.
Another breath.
Then, he released Infinity.
He couldn’t look at Suguru, so he looked at his hands. His fingertips had dug into his thighs without his realization. He willed them to relax, but that only made them tremble, so he stopped.
“Satoru…” Suguru said gently.
“It’s off,” Satoru notified him, his voice so small that it almost didn’t sound like him.
“I know. You’re sure?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, then nodded. Several seconds passed. Neither of them spoke, nor did they move. Then, slowly, Satoru’s Six Eyes picked up on movement. Suguru’s right hand was inching closer to Satoru’s left one, like he was reaching out to a frightened stray cat. Satoru shut his eyes tighter, until shapes began shifting and pulsing behind his eyelids.
Although he could sense exactly where Suguru’s hand was, Satoru wasn’t prepared for the feeling of that hand being laid upon his own. His eyes flew open with a soft gasp. In an instant, the warmth of Suguru’s skin travelled up his arm and spread through his whole body. He was frozen still, as though a hundred of Suguru’s hands were holding him in place. All he could do was breathe, albeit unevenly, as he adjusted to a feeling that he hadn’t experienced in years.
He had been right—Suguru’s hand was somewhat rough, though not unpleasantly so. They were definitely more rough than they used to be. The tops of his palms were calloused, and his fingertips were slightly firmer than Satoru’s. They were also ridiculously warm. Maybe they just felt that way because Satoru wasn’t used to feeling another person’s body heat. Either way, if it felt this intense every time, he wasn’t sure he could ever get used to it.
It was… good, though. A little overwhelming, sure. Scary, definitely. But he could handle it. He wasn’t going to cry or freak out. He could even take more, if Suguru gave it to him. His palms would be much more sensitive, but he trusted Suguru to be careful.
“Satoru?”
“I’m okay. Keep going.”
Suguru’s fingers slipped beneath Satoru’s hand, then his other hand joined to do the same from the other side. Cautiously, he lifted Satoru’s hand and encased it between his own, holding it from beneath and above. Satoru shivered as the warmth doubled. The instinct to squirm away appeared, but he fought it. He wouldn’t ruin this so soon.
After a moment of letting the heat permeate his skin, Suguru turned over Satoru’s hand and held it in place with his right hand while his left began to explore. He pressed into the softer parts of his palm and brushed over each of his fingers. He traced veins with his thumb, then felt down to his pulse, where his touch lingered for a moment. His breathing grew shallow with focus. All of his attention was on Satoru.
Satoru hardly knew what to do with himself. He felt like he was burning from the heat of both Suguru’s attention and his touch. He was used to being observed. A guy like him was hard not to look at. But he’d never felt such intense focus directed towards him. It was as though the entire world had disappeared around them, leaving nothing to look at but him. For what very well may have been the first time in his life, Satoru felt self conscious.
Suguru’s fingers continued their meandering path down his inner wrist. Once again, he followed paths laid out by veins that showed through Satoru’s pale skin, especially prominent in the winter. His other hand must have gotten bored, because his right thumb began gliding over his palm. He drew patterns and traced the creases, apparently not considering just how ridiculously sensitive Satoru’s palms were to his touch.
“How does that feel?” he asked casually.
“Good. Fine,” Satoru said, trying to keep his fingers from twitching instinctively.
He hoped that he was doing an okay job of hiding how much Suguru was getting to him, but he wasn’t confident. His breathing was getting faster, and he thought he might be able to hear his own heartbeat echoing off the walls. Even worse, he felt warmth on his cheeks that he knew was not from the heater in the corner, and he was sure that Suguru could see the color on his face if he were to look up.
If he did, he didn’t make any comments. He seemed absorbed in his task, anyway. He watched intently as his own thumb slipped between each of Satoru’s fingers and rubbed the depression of his palm like a worry stone. Satoru watched as well, although it wasn’t helping him shake off the first sparks of arousal. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the sight, though. It had been a long time since he’d seen Suguru’s hand on his.
Suguru used to grab his wrist to lead him places when he wasn’t being fast enough for his liking, and his grip would occasionally slip lower, until they were basically holding hands. Their fingers used to overlap as they sat on the floor of Suguru’s dorm at Jujutsu High, watching movies and eating junk food. Satoru couldn’t stop looking back then, either.
He loved the contrast between his pale tone and Suguru’s more tan one. He loved how Suguru’s fingers were wider but shorter than his, as though they were each compensating for what the other lacked. He loved how warm Suguru’s hands were, even when it was cold out. That hadn’t changed, it seemed. And now, he was noticing all of it again. Briefly, everything else—his fear, his discomfort, even his slight arousal—was eclipsed by the relief of touching his friend again.
He wanted to thank him. Even if Suguru was just trying to make Satoru more prepared for a relationship to ease his own conscience, he had given Satoru something that he hadn’t realized he’d missed so dearly. Before he could say anything, though, Suguru spoke first.
“Thank you, Satoru. For this, I mean.”
His voice sounded distant. Clearly, he was less focused on talking and more focused on the way his fingertips trailed over each of Satoru’s fingers. With more caution than necessary, he bent each of them as though testing the articulation of a ball jointed doll. Satoru had to look at the black screen of the television to his left as the self consciousness crept back in.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he told him, shaking his head.
Suguru waited several seconds before answering, still transfixed by Satoru’s fingers.
“I know. Just felt like it.” He brought Satoru’s hand closer just an inch, drawing Satoru’s attention back to their hands. And then, quietly, “I missed this.”
The words hit Satoru like a punch to the chest. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, because it was probably totally normal to miss touching your friend after years of not being able to do so, even if romantic feelings weren’t involved. And yet, the statement shook him. Because he realized, then, a truth that he had been trying to avoid:
He would never, ever be able to ignore what he felt for Suguru.
He had known this deep down for a while, because he had tried for years, and it didn’t work. In fact, he loved him more with each passing day. He always told himself that he just needed to try harder, or maybe he’d even grow out of it, but the events of the night and Suguru’s tender words were enough to snap him out of his foolish delusion. As long as Suguru was Suguru, he would be in love with him.
It was unclear to Satoru what it was about Suguru’s statement that had such a profound effect on him. It could have been the romantic undertone that it held, at least in Satoru’s mind, which made the unfortunate truth of his unrequited feelings seem that much more unbearable. It could have been the sweetness of the words themselves. Maybe it was simply the way he said it. Regardless, Satoru couldn’t be around him for another second longer.
In a flash, Infinity was on, repelling Suguru’s touch, and Satoru was on his feet. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Suguru.
“I need to—I can’t—”
He turned and fled before he could come up with an excuse, kicking himself for his cowardice. Suguru said nothing as he left.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Satoru went to bed without eating. He couldn’t leave his room when Suguru was still in the house, and he didn’t have much of an appetite regardless. Half of him was relieved that Suguru hadn’t gone home as he’d thought he might, while the other half of him wished he would leave, just so the embodiment of his guilt and shame wasn’t sleeping in the bedroom across the hall from him.
Still, he was glad that he hadn’t ruined things so horribly that Suguru had packed his things and left. He knew that he’d messed up, though. After all those years, he’d gotten the chance to touch his friend, and he’d squandered it. That was likely the last time he’d get an opportunity like that, thanks to his childish overreaction.
He wanted to be mad at Suguru for… being nice, he supposed. Like that was a crime of some sort. But, no matter how he looked at it, he was at fault. The worst part was that he’d ruined it for both of them. Suguru had been brave enough to admit that he’d missed touching him, and Satoru had run away without a word of explanation, leaving them both bereft of something they had been waiting for.
Actually, that might not have been the worst part. In fact, he was becoming increasingly certain that it was not. The worst part, he’d begun to think, was the fact that he was now craving Suguru’s touch like never before. He could almost feel the phantom sensations of it on his hand. His body had remembered how it felt, and it wouldn’t let him forget.
He’d been gentle. Every brush of fingers felt exploratory. Curious. The gentleness would have frustrated Satoru under normal circumstances, but he was grateful for it then. Suguru had reminded him what careful, kind touch felt like. Satoru wanted it again. He wanted it all over his body, even if it hurt. As long as it was Suguru.
He clenched his jaw and gripped his sheets, trying to shake off the insistent longing that clung to him. Of course, he was unsuccessful. It only mounted until his right hand drifted to his left without his permission. His fingers followed the same paths Suguru had left before, burned into his memory. Across his palm, over his pulse, between his fingers, keeping the same unhurried pace that Suguru had exemplified a couple hours ago.
He closed his eyes and pictured Suguru lying across from him, a portrait of pure, unwavering attention. With his eyes shut, he could tell himself that it was Suguru’s hand that was tracing his veins and brushing over his knuckles. Although he couldn’t convince himself, the mere thought made it better.
Still, it wasn’t good enough. He could pretend all he wanted, but it was different when Suguru was actually in front of him, touching him, placing all of his focus and care on him. His attempts at replicating that feeling left him frustrated. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to stop trying. Even a fraction of what Suguru had given him would be worth the effort, seeing as how he would never get the real thing again.
He squeezed his eyes shut harder, even though the room was already shrouded in the darkness of night, and brought his hand close enough to his mouth that he could feel his breath against his skin. Once again, he pictured Suguru. In his mind, Suguru pulled his hand in by the wrist and pressed his lips to his knuckles. Satoru’s hand drew closer automatically until his knuckles grazed his own lips.
While his sensitivity was decreased when he was the one touching his hand, the image of Suguru in his head, the idea that he was the one trailing his fingers over every inch of Satoru’s hand and wrist, had his heart beating faster and his breaths speeding up to match. In the back of his mind, he reminded himself that he was absolutely pathetic, but he kept chasing his impossible fantasy.
Suguru interlocking their fingers. Suguru kissing his pulse. Suguru dragging his teeth over the sensitive side of his palm. Satoru shivered. He bit his finger in an attempt to get himself under control, but all that did was trigger a new mental image. He imagined Suguru biting his finger. Biting his wrist. His chest. His neck. His lips. His inner thigh.
Satoru groaned and turned onto his front to bury his face in his pillow, as if that would be enough to wipe the torrent of fantasies from his mind. He was stopped, however, by a sudden, unexpected pang of dull pleasure as his dick pressed into his mattress.
Oh. Fuck. He was hard.