Work Text:
Text Message Thread
14:55 Gojo Satoru: you’re on babysitting duty again xoxo
14:58 Suguru Geto: Remind me to lose your number
14:58 Suguru Geto: Details?
14:59 Gojo Satoru: yaga e-mailed u <3
In his third year at Tokyo Metropolitan Cursed Technical School, Geto Suguru was being assessed for special grade- which was rare for someone his age. Gojo Satoru, his friend and peer, was already considered a special grade shaman from the year before. He would rather be preparing for his assessment on his own time than accompanying an overqualified Gojo, but several higher ups advised him to babysit him on a job. Though he hated the idea of micromanaging his own classmate that was several steps ahead of him, he opted out of complaining and decided to do as he was told.
At the end of the summer season, most of the shamans have had several run-ins with seasonal curses. Geto started off the summer with a heatwave curse (and a nasty domain) while Nanami and Haibara got their second grade fighting a particularly strong firefly-resembling curse. The latest one being Gojo and Geto having dealt with- a campfire-storytelling curse. It was incredibly strong, and unbelievably annoying.
This was another job, most likely one their last of the season before leading into the fall months.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” Gojo started, calm and nonchalant.
Geto’s eyes flickered between the hot coffee in his hands and the other sorcerer’s blank expression.
“Last week, about Tuesday morning, Haibara-chan was supposed to return from the emergency job he went on. It’s been about a week and the higher ups have presumed him dead.”
“How hard was the job?”
“It should have only taken him three days. That meant he should have been home Friday. And it’s Monday.”
“Why did they send a freshly acquainted second grade sorcerer to do a three day job? I mean, my longest job has only ever taken me two days. And that’s when I’m dawdling.”
“I’m as lost as you are.”
There was an uneasy pause before Gojo began again.
“He’d never admit it, but, Nanami is worried sick.”
“Pfft. As if.”
“No, I mean it.”
Even though he wore sunglasses, without them it would still be impossible to guess what he was feeling through his facial expression. But if not his body, Geto could mostly tell by the cursed energy flow changing drastically as he said it. He really meant it.
“He’s checking up and down for clues, he’s been inside of his dorm at ungodly hours of the night, and obviously, his cell no longer rang after the first ten calls. So naturally, as calm and collected as he is, this must mean something.”
“He doesn’t believe…?” Geto sounded half sick.
“No. Nanami prepares for the worst, but for some reason, today he’s not. I’m going to speak with him again, because he mentioned something along the lines of getting a permit to look for him,” he glanced around the beach. “I think it might be a bad idea.”
“Of course it is. I mean, if it were you, I wouldn’t go looking for you.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m sure you weren’t the one who miraculously saved me in last year’s Kyoto exchange, either?”
“Only because you got me into the mess in the first place. I saved myself and you happened to be there.”
“Tell the story how you want,” Gojo shrugged. “The point is, I feel like somethings wrong. Shamans die all the time, but… there’s something different about Haibara.”
“Tell me more, eight eyes?”
“It’s six.”
“Not with the sunglasses.”
“Shut up. I know something is wrong and I’m going to investigate with Nanami.”
“Is that all you had to tell me?” Geto inquired, blowing on the steam rising over the coffee.
“That’s all for now.”
“Good. Now focus on the job.”
Geto Suguru was the type of person to use everything he had to his advantage. He knew if he was going to do something he’d rather not, he’d at least take precautions to get something out of it. And he had several goals on his list.
One being, to finally learn and understand Gojo’s technique. He completely had Shoko’s ability down pat because it was rather simple and not combat related. But even so, this being his umpteenth time fighting alongside this peculiar man, Geto still had no idea how each of his abilities worked. Part of him didn’t even want to figure out his domain. He wasn’t sure why finding out how these techniques worked piqued his interest, but anyone aware of prodigy shaman Gojo Satoru would question it a few times.
Two being, to prepare to be assessed. He had planned to absorb the special grade curse. To have this up his sleeve in the next fight he’d be in would be extremely useful. It would go to waste anyway, as all curses are useless and scum otherwise. Geto was just ‘using all parts of the animal’ and taking this opportunity as optimistically as he could.
Lastly, Geto liked to fuck around with Gojo as of recently.
For their first year practicing sorcery, Geto would have hoped for more mature peers. Of course Shoko Ieiri was all that, and Gojo was anything but. Naturally, it got on his nerves. Almost anything and everything that this kid said must have been pulled directly out of his ass, because he would constantly make jokes and lie. Just for the fun of it. Geto has learned to adapt to it and usually paid no mind to it, but if this jester was going to start things, Geto would finish it. He would never seek the opportunity to do so, but once the situation was handed to him, of course he would take it.
After practically dragging Gojo out of bed (and bribing him with a promise to visit the convenience store after their job) and an annoyingly cramped subway right to Tokyo’s east beach, they found themselves rushing just to wait under lawn chairs and an umbrella.
“You don’t seem like the type to enjoy beaches.”
Geto Suguru smiled, as he always did, and folded his hands over the fabric of his uniform pants after putting the hot coffee down on the table between them. Beside him on the ground was his duffel bag, one he’d brought with him to the beach with any necessary items- extra change of clothes, a notebook, weapons (which he hardly used), seals (Sukuna or any ancient special grade curse could come back at any time), and other miscellaneous shaman items he’d rather be with than without.
He looked up at the sky with his eyes extra bright, lips falling into a smile. “I’m enjoying it while I can.”
“Do you really believe this will be a complicated job?” Gojo laughed.
“Far from, actually. I’m referring to the weather. It’s supposed to rain later.”
“And who’s telling you that?”
“I’ve learned to cease my envy of your eyes. I’ve adapted myself, actually. Everything I can sense is telling me.”
“Pray tell, what is so apparent not even I can pick up on?" Gojo followed his gaze and it fell upon the clouds in the sky. Some were dark, but that didn’t guarantee rainfall. His gaze was following a flock of birds, chanting loose calls and strained squeals.
His voice dropped to a soft one, similar to the tone he’d use when telling Gojo something personal or important. His eyes didn’t meet his counterpart’s for a second, still following the remarkable animals.
“The pressure in the air must be high, because they’re flying so low. See? Even two flew off into the trees to find shelter,” he pointed to the flock suddenly going into the greenery off to the side of the beach.
Gojo was still in his seat, uninterested.
Geto made a small gasp, and his smirk grew. “There’s two left. Look at them, Gojo. Do I have to make this any more clear?”
“What’s the rain signal in that?”
“I’m only an observer, so make of this as you will. However, I certainly believe they’re having a conversation. Maybe one about the rain? Or food?”
“The curses have been getting to your head. You don’t suppose you’ve conjured the idea of seagulls suggesting messages of the sky?”
“Who else would be a better contender for the weather report?”
Gojo struggled to believe he was telling the truth. Especially with that godforsaken smirk splayed on his lips. He groaned a dissatisfied sound and leaned back on the lawn chair. Geto’s coffee somehow found its way from the tiny table into Gojo’s hand, into which his smile flashed into a scowl.
“Ass.”
“You love me,” Gojo dismissed him and took a sip of the caffeine. “Perhaps not, since you’d deliberately plan half of the day at a beach crawling with curses and rain, and on top of that, order the worst coffee ever. What are you, forty? This has no sugar.”
“Sometimes you are so dense,” Geto held back a laugh with his hand over his mouth. “The birds are telling me shit-all about rain. I’m returning the favour, you lying to me about your technique.”
“Resentment isn’t cute.”
The waves began to still, and began to recede into the sea floor. It took several minutes for that to take place, in which the two shamans watched intently for the ocean to spit out whatever it was choking on.
The beach had already been closed off a week before their arrival. There were reports from citizens that they believed something was lurking in the water that shouldn’t be. There were other reports saying an odd pattern of tides changing, something along the lines of tsunami-like warnings that would never fulfill its suggestion. After some investigations by the higher ups, it was deemed a special grade curse that was terrorizing the public.
Though it was closed off, the resort attached to it wasn’t. If anything, Geto took it upon himself to order coffee just the way he liked. One sugar. One milk.
“I assume the revenge includes dragging me out of bed so early to deal with one curse?” he shivered at the immediate caffeine rush.
“Please. Not my orders. I don’t care that much.”
Geto finally looked over at his partner. He was mindlessly shifting back and forth in his seat with lazy eyes behind his sunglasses. He was too comfortable with his legs crossed laying down in the lawn chair. Perhaps Geto had been too stiff, as he sat straight up with his feet flat on the ground on a chair meant for generally horizontal positions. He put his legs up and crossed them, and hands once again crossed neatly in his lap and continued to look at Satoru.
“Show me, then.”
“It’s not polished.”
“You lie.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Arguing like a child won’t do you any good.”
“Lying to me once again moments before taking on a special grade curse won’t do you any good either.”
Gojo put the cup down and pushed up his sunglasses. “Give me one good reason why I should show you my technique.”
“I hope this is good enough, but, I can already see Miss Loch Ness and her pretty perm waking up from her beauty sleep.”
Gojo didn’t need to look over at the ocean to see the female-resembling curse emerge from the low tides. The warnings in the water were all subtle messages that the ocean would be letting an old friend out. The top half of the curse appeared slowly. Two googly eyes and dark skin, with twenty feet of black stringy hair rising to the top of the ocean’s surface.
“Loch Ness?”
“Like the sea monster. I assume that’s how it was born, or any other crappy bedtime story,” Geto shook his head quickly. “Change the subject again and I’ll change my foot from the ground to your groin.”
“I’ll show you, then. I hope you don’t mind that I plan to perform a show to impress the lady?”
“I’d like to see you try.”
-----
“What do you mean my bag is soaked?” he gasped after ingesting the curse successfully.
“What else could I mean by- your bag is soaked?” Gojo held the perfectly packaged black duffel bag up, opened it, and two gallons of gross sea water splurged from the inside. Geto blinked and furrowed his eyebrows at his completely dry comrade.
“So- you could keep yourself dry, but nothing else?”
“Not my fault. Sorry.”
“You do this every single time,” he continued to complain, wringing sewage from his uniform sleeves. “You make me sick.”
“You love me,” he retorted.
“In your dreams, I suppose.”
“Look, Shoko’ll be here any minute for backup. You’ll be fine.”
The squish under Suguru’s ass while he sat down made him irrationally furious. He wasn't sure if it was the toxic liquid he was showered in, or if it was the fact that his bag was absolutely drenched. The weapons were fine at the very least. Clothes, soaked. Seals, partially ruined. And of course, notebook, done for. He held the leather in his hands, the ‘Geto’ inked on the front now completely unreadable and faded.
“What’s in your notebook?”
“What notebook?” he shoved it back into the bag.
Gojo sat on the lawn chair near him once again. “The one you have on you right now. It’s been making several appearances as of late.”
“Keeping track of my activities? And you swear I’m the one in love,” Geto sighed. “My notebook is none of your business.”
“I’m your best friend, yet you won’t spare me a simple secret?
“Bold to assume you are my best friend,” He finally took off his uniform top, now in another drenched white tee, and put it in the bag as well. “As often as I am stuck in whatever shitty shenanigans you decide to pull, I am wise enough to know better than to tell you.”
“Must be personal then,” he muttered. “And I mean, it kind of is. Who ever knew you wrote poetry?” He somehow, some way, got the book from his bag in a flash and laid back on the chair as if it were nothing, reading the poetry intently.
Geto forgot he pulled bullshit like that. He wasn’t sure if he should flip about the invasion of privacy, or the fact that he was just annoying in general. He contained whatever murderous intent rose to his chest and ripped the book from his hand. He put it back in the bag under his clothes and sat back, crossing his arms.
“You never showed me your technique properly, by the way. It’s beyond bizarre you’d consider me any more than an acquaintance if that’s the way you decide to treat me.”
He looked down at the shaman with an unmoving body. All he did was smile. Geto seethed.
“So who’s the person with starry eyes?” He teased.
“Bite me,” Geto fumed.
“I mean- If that’s what you’re into.”
“Shut up.”
“I can’t help but notice there’s a lack of pronouns.”
“I’m seriously going to hurt you.”
“Empty threats with not a tinge of malice,” Gojo sighed deeply. “I love it.”
“Can it be after you two put in your report? The higher ups have been on my ass about you guys.”
Shoko Ieiri had not one ounce of courtesy in her, interrupting a few feet away walking towards them on the mucky beach. She was relatively familiar with the ritual. They would do a job, get lost, or be arguing on the same spot, possibly end up cracking jokes, or even throwing threats at each other while they waited for Shoko’s briefing. Anybody would know that- that’s just how the two were.
“Shoko-chan!” Gojo perked up on the chair. “Have you heard? Suguru has been making poetry about someone with starry eyes. And making him warm in all the wrong places ,” he quoted directly.
“Gojo, could you be any more dense? Geto, please, for the love of god, stop slacking off. You two are the worst duo ever.” She folded her uniform skirt underneath her as she sat on the edge of the chair next to Geto. Shoko took the liberty of plopping a dry bag onto his lap- one he’d never needed because ‘he’d come prepared’ (which he was eternally grateful she kept bringing nonetheless.) “So? How was the job?”
“We waited half an hour for the curse to show up. Could you believe that? Anyways, Geto decided he’d let me handle this, the gentleman he was,”
“The caffeine made you so hyper that got to the shore before I even got to my feet.” Suguru sighed.
“The curse was huge! She had little curse children with her as well. It was adorable.”
“You used Red on them and shot six second grade curses eighty feet below surface level so fast they dispersed.”
“That’s intense. What’d you do after?”
“Nothing. You’re on time.” Geto’s eyebrows raised and his eyes lit up, remembering a detail from the job. “Red is compelling as you say.”
“See? I have yet to see Azure. Then, all we have left is Purple,” Shoko agreed, eyes matching his sparkling ones.
“You two are so obsessed with me that it looks stupid.”
“Nobody looked stupider than you, riding a curse like a seahorse,” Geto snapped. “Besides, this is nothing compared to the first year girls do nothing but grovel in your path.”
They had a passive aggressive conversation but not quite hostile, only inches away because Gojo sounded his wolf-like howl laugh several times in between. Geto left and changed in the resort nearby, and came back just about the time Shoko finished jotting down details of today’s job. It was now lighter outside, as the curtain was lifted (sometimes the curtain had no effect on the appearance of day or night- in this case because the area covered was too large).
“I’ll be on my way. I’m discussing details with Nanami before he leaves out. Be on time for the train,” she shot a knowing look at Gojo, infamous for being ‘partially late’. After she left, Gojo sat up straighter on the chair, adjusting his shades.
“The same thing we were talking about earlier, huh? I read my emails about it while I was inside. It was intense,” Geto said mostly to himself.
“I’ve never seen Nanami so passionate about something. It was hard, hearing him talk about his plans. You can really tell he’s shaken up about the whole thing.” Gojo smacked through a mouthful of the cake while he closed the now empty cake container. Shoko brought it upon request, and she never denied because pissy Gojo (cakeless Gojo) was detrimentally annoying. “I knew you’d get it of all people, mister ‘warm in all the wrong places.’”
It could be that Geto was crawling with either anticipation, confusion, or even fear, but whatever it was, he shut the entire ‘operation Shizuoka’ out of his head from the moment he looked away from Kento Nanami’s email moments ago . And he couldn’t figure out why. To drown out Nanami’s quasi-pleads, his brain decided that the shaman lore he’d need memorized by the following Thursday, something he’d usually never give a crap about- was much more interesting than the former. What made him so uncomfortable?
He shifted on the edge of the chair again. His toes curled in his black shoes while lost in thought. “Have you felt that before?”
“Hm?” he looked up from the cake box he was scouring for icing. “That passion? I mean, kind of. I avoid what could potentially make a curse. Love is probably, by far, the easiest and strongest emotion to make a curse from.”
“Do you think Nanami is in love with Haibara?”
“I’ve never considered it until I saw Nanami yesterday. It’s not obvious, because he likes to mask it as a part of his resolve. And when they’re together, Nanami acts like it’s impossible. Which it’s not,” Gojo smiled wide. “In all honesty, he most likely is.”
“Do you think Haibara knows that?”
“I mean, of course he knows. He’s stayed by his side for two years no matter how high or how thick the walls Nanami puts up are.”
Geto looked away. “I don’t think we should talk about this without him present.”
“You were asking all the questions. Are you uncomfortable because you feel the same way?”
“There is no reason for you to think that,” he stated. “Take your shitty nose out of my business.”
“Ouch, that hurt,” Gojo’s face said the opposite. A smile played on his lips and his head was thrown back in amusement watching Geto begin to get flustered. “I wonder if this is how Haibara feels.”
“I hate you.”
“Oh, but, for the first time in three years I can confidently say,” Gojo’s eyes seemed more blue despite the absence of any more than just the simple sunlight. “You love me.”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Are you telling me that or yourself that?”
“You’re annoying.”
“ I must keep reminding myself that he cannot be tied down to anything ,” Gojo closed his eyes, reciting the words from memory. Geto wasn’t sure if he was talking to him, or himself. He was reciting the fifth poem he wrote, all on a whim and with crappy ink. It was on the better end of his work, so he decided not to stop him. There was hardly anything Gojo could have done more than he had already to make Suguru annoyed- at least after he failed to notice he stole the notebook again when he left briefly.
“ All crowbar spine, my hands are slick with the memory of forgetting. I still long for it; let it take up space in the back of my throat from every mindless exorcism to every family gathering with all the people that have no idea. Have less of an idea than me, his home; harbouring a fugitive from myself. It’s not like we ever had it easy .”
Gojo had an unreadable expression on his face. Geto was able to narrow it down to confusion, pain, amusement, and attempting to recall the rest of the poem. And maybe not, considering how effortlessly the words slipped from his tongue. Had he honestly memorized his work? Once again, he wasn’t sure if he should comment on the invasion of privacy or the faint feeling of being appreciated about his work. Gojo answered for him. Neither, as he continued the rest of it with ease.
“ And I knew we never would. Being something complicated, he spits at my heels and I clip his wings when he’s sleeping in the hopes he'll have to crawl away instead of hovering over the ruins, like he had no part in my destruction. Call it questionable, call it toxic, call it fluid, call it anything for certain and I'll die happy .”
His eyes opened and his gaze fell to the floor. “Shoko left your book in the infirmary threeish weeks ago. I couldn’t not read the page it was open on."
He looked up at an awestruck Geto. His lips were pursed and his jaw was clenched as though he were upset, but his eyes told him, without a doubt, that he felt good. Happy, even.
“More.”
“What?”
“Your poems,” he made clear. “I want to read more.”
“You are so full of yourself that it’s amusing to read subpar poems that vaguely mention you as a muse?”
“You think I’m some sort of monster.”
“Of course not. I described you with wings, did I not?” he took up the book he deliberately put away from the childish man’s reach. “I’ll read to you. Another day.”
“Read to me?” he repeated the offer a pitch higher, pleased with the offer.
“Another day. You’re pushing it, Satoru,” he sighed a deep breath, and looked up at the sky with his cheeks flushed pink. “The only other person to read my stuff is Shoko.”
“Quit the anxious blabbering. I already know it’s good. It had me speechless the first time around.”
“Speechless my ass.”
“God, are you embarrassed? You’re as red as a tomato.”
All he did was sigh and transfer items from the dripping bag to the dry bag. “What do you want?”
“Don’t make me beg.”
“I mean, I’m into that,”
“You’re making this ridiculously harder than it needs to be.”
Gojo laughed, and put a hand over his stomach as he sat up. “Come on. Let’s go.”
And that’s all that was said before walking to the train station. And even though he was mostly dry, Suguru was still half pissed off because of the faint oceany salt smell from his hair. And Gojo’s too-gloaty manner, walking all too close to him. He wondered how he could stand him. And to deliberately invade his privacy, for the third time again, the train was mostly empty towards noon yet he still felt the need to sit right next to him.
Gojo starts up again suddenly, the shit eating grin Geto wore earlier today, now bearing a twin on his partner's face. “Babysitting is probably the nicest word to give to what our jobs are,” he explained. “How many special grade sorcerers do you know of?”
“Two.”
“Yaga has helped you prepare for your assessment, when, and for how long?”
“For about a month. We stopped two weeks ago.”
“And we started our jobs when?”
Geto blinked, lines in his face becoming deeper as he understood what he was getting at. “You’ve been assessing me. But how? You seem to end up taking over the entire thing, being flashy as always.”
“Hm. Distracting you from thinking it’s an assessment. Sure I got rid of a few second grade curses, but Miss Loch Ness was a borderline special grade, a first grade curse that’s taken three shamans already. She’s been there for months, and you took her down while I was messing around with the rest.”
“What about the last job?”
“Recall your memory. Who really dealt with the curse?”
Gojo watched the lines in his face deepen, mouth turning into a frown. “Clever.”
“You’re not so cheery.”
“Only you’d come up with something like that.”
“I guess so.”
It was quiet, but not uncomfortable silence. The two basked in it often, just enjoying presence and nothing else. Gojo, being as antsy as he was, took the book from Geto’s idle fingers and stared at the cover. Part of him completely forgot it was still there, clutched pretty harshly between his fingers. He flipped all of the pages a few times, and stopped at the cover again.
“I’m leaving for Shizuoka soon. I've been told Haibara has been located. Join me and Shoko?”
“No. I’m busy in Tokyo.”
“Are you upset, Suguru?”
“Partially. I wish I never read you that garbage.”
“Well, since you’re already in a poor mood, read to me now.”
“Whatever. Since you keep nagging me,” he cleared his throat. After rolling his eyes, he opened to a random page that was still legible. “ Like apples on ice, I feel the crunch of my joy between your molars. Mosquitoes buzz and flies are dead at my heels, yet you find it in you to smile .”
He looked over at Gojo, who was patiently listening. The feeling of revolt that would pool up in his stomach rose yet again when he looked back at his notebook. Reading these aloud, he realized he had been misinterpreting the feeling for years. One could even consider it repression. Geto simply didn’t know any better. Not uttering a word of the feelings, it was easy to believe the deep feeling was something negative.
It was far from.
After contemplating, that newfound feeling of… whatever he felt towards Gojo. He took a deep and shaky breath and continued reading the foreshadowing of every event that led up until now. “ Shoved my brain into your slow cooker, steaming to the point- I forget what we were doing there in the first place. I can map out the veins in your arms- they were supposed to bring me back home, like I loved you at all, could I even love you if I wanted to ?”
He says it there blatantly, but the words are hollow. He describes the feeling as love but as he wrote it, he believed it was anything but. The words are now greeting him and are simultaneously being filled with truth. Subconsciously, he must have known the entire time. He should have, every stolen whisper of a snide remark Gojo felt the need to mutter midway through class making him choke on laughter, or every time he had to fight back a smile when Gojo believed that his Hello Kitty watch was the height of quality jewelry. The little things. The little things he did to him.
Had Gojo been a handful? Yes. Was it agonizing to see him on a job with somebody that wasn’t him? Absolutely. He knew for a fact that Gojo held himself at a higher importance than Utahime and practically picked on her shaman skills every chance he got to- yet he would still feel a sadness well over his shoulders when he’d disappear with her for a job. Could he see his jealousy through the fog?
Could he recognize the feeling of longing through a fog of sadness? When he was lucky enough to meet Tsukomo in Kyoto on one of his favourite trips, did he ever want to admit that it ‘was nice, but Gojo wasn’t there?’
“ The clementines are shrivelling under the warm sun; juice flows warm and sour. Your voice is a threat in my throat, I’ve been trying to mimic you during the damp dawns you're not around. But your words have a way of reaching into my gut and pulling and picking and tearing until I see scarlet. ”
When Gojo decided it would be hilarious to ride a curse (it was his thing- and it was annoyingly adorable) nine months ago in the freezing cold, he thought the feeling was hatred. Absolutely despising his adolescent tactics and feeling overall annoyed. Yet that warm feeling that rushed on him was just a spark. The beginning embers of watching someone you love be happy. And he was supposed to be mad, they got in trouble for too much property damage, but god did Gojo look astonishing with blood splattered on his cheeks, dirt and grime all over his fingers and chin. And maybe he was supposed to give Gojo a personal lecture, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the fresh bloody wound on his lip, screaming to be licked away for relief.
“This is risky.”
“What?”
“Reading this aloud. Would a curse not conjure from this?”
“If this is already how you feel, then saying it out loud will not make a difference. If there would be a curse created, it would have been roaming from the moment the pen touched the paper,” Geto shrugged. “You would know. You don’t feel the raw emotion?”
Geto spat out a quiet ‘ugh’. He usually did when Gojo was painfully correct, and Gojo knew that, so he motioned for him to proceed.
“That’s all for today. I’ll read you the rest some other day.”
“You’re just hoping you can get out of this and I’ll most likely forget. Which I definitely will. At least read me one more?”
“No.”
“For me?”
“Just one. And then I’m ditching you. This is embarrassing.”
“Being vulnerable is embarrassing to you?”
“No. Being vulnerable to you is embarrassing.”
“Quit it, Suguru. Nobody’s judging you. Keep reading.”
“ The world likes to pause in the field by my house, the pit stop between before and after. Everything as it is, green and gold playing in azure eyes. The air is cool but forgiving and smooth- ” Geto looked over at Gojo again. “If you’re sleeping, I’m going to kick you.”
“I’m awake. Continue,” he prompted with closed eyes.
“ The sun soaks into my cheeks the way it used to, still eager to please; like something forbidden at twilight . ”
Geto felt his heart weighed down with pressure and his feet began to sleep. The prickling was not only beneath his socks but deep in his eyes, holding back a dam of, sure, tears, but ones that meant breaking the last shackle open from this being a shared moment to it being personal. He fought them and smiled. As he always did. Even the smile was as heavy as his heart, albeit genuine, but nothing parallel to happiness.
“ She reflects in the windows facing east, and then all the bloody concrete and gravel caught in my shoes, the initials carved into the trees furthest away are gone. Grown over with something similar -” his voice hadn’t waivered for a moment yet it was still hard to speak. He hadn’t even acknowledged the singular hot fat tear that fell from his eye (the side facing away from Gojo) and splattered on the word ‘eager’, making it half-unintelligible, just as the rest of the pages have been. “ but not the same .”
“ The sky sighs, and I almost think it's real, but the top of the hospital peeks over the treetops, indifferent and grey . Suddenly I am too. ”
Geto looked at Gojo for approval, he hoped, but he was met with a still Gojo.
“Ass.”
”I’m most definitely awake,” his eyebrows raised. “Still speechless. Another?”
“You’re killing me here.”
“You know you love it. Just one more.”
“I said no.”
Gojo took the book and put an arm around Geto, who didn’t protest. He opened a page that was clearly unreadable, but only took a look at it for half a second before closing it again. “The water is green and gold today like me, and when I tell you I haven't seen a sunrise so clear in years, I mean it. This is a love letter .”
It was unsettling hearing him repeat the words he scrawled down into his book. He wrote them with his eyes hazy and his hand shaky on a cold Sunday morning without taking a second to look at them ever again. Yet here they were, being spoken from Satoru’s mouth without a single mistake. Only seeing the page for half a moment flipping through the scratchy and washed hiragana, he had seemed to memorize the drabble written on one of the pages he’d filled in the past few weeks.
“I’m still writing for you and Shoko says to write for myself but haven't you known everything up till now? You are not separate from this. You never will be. I have slept on the old white couch with a thousand pillows for the last two weeks and I can't not think about how it hugs me the way you did. Warm in the worst places. My body aches every day yet I still come back to it. I swear, I’m not sad about it. There are no tears to fall into the lake or down the drain; the hair on the shower wall paints your lips as kindly as possible but I swear— I'm not sad about it. This is a love letter .”
A chill went down Geto’s spine, remembering when he detailed these words. They felt much worse when someone else was saying them. He saw him everywhere, the hallways, the doodles of his friends in his notebooks, when he closed his eyes.
“This is not love. This is a letter. Recipient unnamed; ambiguous enough to wriggle out of its grip .’”
“My number one fan. Can’t you just admit you love me already?”
“If I do, you’ll come to Shizuoka?”
“I’ll go,” When he was met with Gojo’s stupid pout, he sighed. “For you. I’ll go for you.”
“While we’re there, we’ll share a shortcake?”
“If you’re implying a date, be less corny next time.”
“I’m simply low on money because I’ve been cashing out every day this summer. However, I’m sure dubbing it a date wouldn’t hurt. As long as it’s on you.”
“Shut up.”
“The souvenirs looked great last time I checked. You’ll hold my bags while I shop too, right?”
“You said you were low on money.”
“It’s on you. Are you not following?”
One of Suguru Geto’s greatest talents was being able to tolerate Gojo. And just in this moment, as he was questioning why he did, instead of drawing a blank on the question, he knew it was because he loved him. A simple yet important puzzle piece he hasn’t put together yet.
“I suppose it should be fun. You’ve been to Mount Fuji, then?” he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
“Plenty. I’ll show you around?”
“Show me what, exactly?”
“The cottages. The lake. The onsens,” Gojo gave him his notebook and relaxed back onto the seat, arm still around his partner. “You can even read for me up there, write for me even,”
“Maybe,” he smile danced around his face, reducing the lines that were there earlier. “You have them memorized, anyway.”
“Do not.”
“You’re a horrible liar.”
“I try my best, no?”