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Dreams can be many things. He'd seen Utahime in an unusual state many nights ago. Hair all over the place, eyes wide with terror, thinking she was alone and so the tears came shortly after. Satoru was lounging in the shadows away from the comforts of his room; sleep didn't come for him and he grew bored─ until footsteps echoed down the hallway and he saw his sensei. He didn't have to ask to know what it was.
A bad dream, and judging by how shaken up Utahime Iori was, Satoru would say it was a 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 bad one.
The night had seen her with her guard down, exposed, and Satoru had seen it too.
Now he's sitting with Suguru in a coffee shop, legs crossed, slender fingers fiddling with his teacup. It was raining when they woke up this morning so they had opted to sit inside, far from the ice cold atmosphere, behind closed doors. It's not that he can't stand it─the cold─cold places does nothing to Satoru, but it has become a habit by now; a habit he can’t just seem to shy away from, to make himself present anywhere near his friend.
His fingers curls around the small porcelain cup, raising it to his lips to take another sip─but what comes out is nothing bigger than a droplet, the sweet delicate taste from the sugar he’d dump in his tea not too long ago spreads on his tongue and it lingers in his mouth. Satoru frowns, looking down at the empty contents of his teacup before clicking his tongue, giving the impression that he’s about to flick his fingers and fling the shiny fragile thing over his shoulder completely without giving any thought on the matter.
“Behave yourself, Satoru.”
He loves hearing Suguru’s voice, it reminds him of honey.
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵? I didn’t even do anything?”
So he'd always try to get the conversation going.
“𝘠𝘦𝘵,” Suguru looks up from the book he was reading. Strands of black hair fell from the right side of his hair, too short to be tied up in his bun. Piercing, catlike eyes peered upwards, deep pools of night glinting with the slightest hint of humour. 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵? His eyes seem to say.
𝘈𝘮 𝘐? Satoru wonders, not that he cares, though.
He sets it back on the table where it belongs, humming as he goes.
Suguru returns to his reading, leaning back into his chair with a soft sigh and lips parted. Satoru notices the shift in his mood since he knocked on his friend’s door this morning─the way his shoulders appears to be more relaxed than yesterday, the new sparkle in his eyes, and the 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 tug of his lips which he would think nobody else saw. Even now, sitting across the table with his attention on the book he was reading, Satoru could pick up the happy, laid back energy coming from Suguru.
“You seem to be in a good mood today,” he decides to pry.
“Hm?”
“Oh, you heard me, Suguru.”
At the sound of his name, he looks away from his book. “I had a good dream last night,” he tilts his head, “it’s been awhile since I had one.”
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.
Dreams can be many things, they can be either good, or bad.
Satoru leans towards him, “Tell me about it.”
But, to this day, Satoru has yet to experience it. To 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮. To close your eyes and have your brain conjure up vivid images of something new or a repeat of a long lost memory or even allow you to go through something you’ve been hoping to happen.
“Maybe later.”
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵? But I want to hear it 𝘯𝘰𝘸,” he pouts.
Suguru ignores him, going back to his silent reading.
Satoru waits. For one second, two seconds, three seconds, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 seconds─still, nothing.
He huffed, defeated– not quite though, as he will definitely ask again and again until he gets his answer
Dreams does many things to people, good 𝘢𝘯𝘥 bad. He’d seen people reacting differently to different types of dreams.
“What about you, Satoru?”
“Huh?” His head whips to meet Suguru’s eyes.
“What did you dream of last night?”
Silence envelopes them, tender and expectant. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥.
Satoru looks away, snow white hair brushing each other at the movement. It was as if he just couldn't gaze any longer into Suguru’s eyes.
“I don’t dream, Suguru.”
𝘐 can't 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮.
When Satoru Gojo was just a little boy, he'd glued himself beside his sister. Everybody else annoyed him to the core, honestly, but whenever he was with Ayaka Gojo? Nothing but a peace of mind. Or maybe it's because she has that effect on almost anybody, someone would take one look at her and stop in their tracks, mesmerised by her beauty. The calmness that surrounded her would never fail to captivate the audience.
They shared the same snow white hair (though, hers may look softer in appearance, as if by touch alone it would delicately melt on your skin), the ghostly fair skin, almost as if no blood ran in their veins, the unsettling calm demeanor (in this case Satoru would win when it came to whose presence would make a person squirm in a short amount of time).
Throughout his childhood Satoru wasn't exposed much to love, and it never bothered him, he never truly cared anyways─𝘣𝘶𝘵 he will be forever grateful to have his sister by his side all those years ago.
“Then why can’t I dream?” He’d ask after demanding an explanation from Akaya about dreams in general. What are dreams, what do they do, do they stand for something?
Do dreams hold meaning to them?
𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰?
Ayaka turned sharply to him, a crease between her eyebrows as pure confusion washed over her face. Her eyes, a pool of cherry blossoms drowning in a puddle of bright blue sky, seemed to stare right into his soul, digging through his skull.
“What do you mean you 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵?” She shot back.
Satoru shrugged maybe a little too dramatically, “I just 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵? I never dreamt about anything before I go to sleep and it’s─”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
His answer silenced her, she broke eye contact and her head swiveled the other way, staring into the horizon with an indescribable look painting her whole features.
Ayaka had been called many times as the girl who bore the loveliest eyes, not just to the Gojo Clan, but the whole of humanity. Her eyes held an immense beauty to them, swirls of pink melting in the heat of the deep blue sea─ and it was easy to forget the fact that his sister was born blind.
Indeed she was, but nobody could get that the first time because for a person who couldn’t see anything, Ayaka could 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 everything.
Not to mention her insane sense of hearing.
Satoru never received an answer for that, but it was getting late and the sky was turning darker. His sister wordlessly slipped his hand into hers and they both walked home in utter silence.
“Hey Satoru, remember that time when you said you don’t dream? What did you mean by that?”
“Suguru, are you out of your fucking 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥? We’re in the middle of fighting two 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴."
When Suguru fights, Satoru watches.
Suguru is the star of the show, using his cursed technique to battle his opponents. The boy whose role is to swallow curses in order to twist and turn them to his own will, something that looked painfully easy─but Satoru knows.
He excells in what he does. A captivating performance! A groundbreaking play. Satoru never got tired looking at his side profile whenever Suguru would dodge a blow or every time he activates his cursed technique with a wave of his hand.
You see, it's never impossible to multitask. One (which is Satoru Gojo himself) can simply blast Red Glow on his enemies while sneaking some glances at his partner. Nevermind if they are back to back, just one brief glance, the turn of the head over your shoulder only to see him panting with exhaustion and droplets of sweat sticking to the side of his head (which is Suguru Geto)─that would be enough.
Satoru has no idea if Suguru notices it, and he's not sure if he'd like to know the answer to that.
There is silence and the sounds of heavy breathing as their chests rise and fall, the adrenaline cooling down in their veins after the fight against two first grade curses. With their opponents defeated and exorcised, Satoru takes a few steps back and gives Suguru the room he needs to do his thing.
The wind blows, bitter and unkind under the fading orange sky. Suguru raises his hand like a man about to recite an oath, but with the fingers slightly bent. As if there is a whirlwind between his fingertips, whispers of black shadows started spinning in his hand, levitating in the air by some unseen force. It continues on doing so until the shadows resembles a small black orb, surrounded by wisps of dark, malicious smoke. The ball then sucks in the curse nearest to Suguru first, something obnoxious but at the same time, is pleasant to the eyes, like smoking black vines intertwined with threads of glowing gold.
Suguru does the same to the other curse and consumes them one by one.
Satoru sees the strain in his eyes and the way his skin goes taut every time he swallows and he never misses a beat.
Tremendous power can do so much─such as slowly killing you from the inside─but Satoru knows Suguru is strong, he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for.
Suguru’s arm falls back to his side, strands of dark hair tickling his face as the wind bellows stronger, even the flutter of his eyelids seems to be heavier. He searches for Satoru, glinting black orbs locking on a pair of vicious, limitless blue.
“Let’s go home,” he says hoarsely.
𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘦.
Satoru doesn't say a thing– which isn’t like him, but he felt like he owed his friend this moment of silence– and fell back beside Suguru as they made their way back to Jujutsu High underneath the setting sun.
They part ways to their respective rooms as soon as they arrive at the dorms, Suguru muttering something about taking a short nap and Satoru giving him a knowing pat on the back. The boy looks like he will be sick if he stayed there any longer as he sways slightly while reaching for the doorknob.
Satoru wants to say something, to remind his friend that he'll be there (for him). But what exactly? And how?
He's all alone in his room now, standing in the middle of the entrance as if caught in a spell, mind wandering to the 'suguru geto spaces' in his head again and perhaps maybe a little too far this time. The exhaustion on his shoulders doesn't weigh too much so he thinks of washing up quickly and heading to the dining hall.
𝘔𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘴 … 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩 ..
Satoru takes off his dark shades and sets them on the night table, long legs crossing the room with flawless strides as he grabs his towel on the way to the shower.
When warm water starts flowing down his back and seeping through his stark white hair, Satoru's mind starts to wander─𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.
He can't remember the last time he got this bothered or the thought of something lingering in his head for this long─𝘯𝘰 he's not even sure if it happened before but it's definitely happening right now. One, Suguru, his partner, is slowly dominating the space in his head and two, dreams.
Why can't he dream? Why can't he, of all people?
Such a sick, delightful twist. A shaman loaded with inexplicable power, a person who can achieve almost anything, except the ability to dream.
𝘉𝘶𝘵, 𝘈𝘺𝘢𝘬𝘢-𝘯𝘦𝘦-𝘴𝘢𝘯, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮.
𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦.
He turns off the shower, forehead meeting the cold tiles of the bathroom with his hair dripping wet. His eyes pinches close, face scrunching up in frustration and annoyance, wishing his head would shut up.
"Gojo senpai! You're back!"
Satoru holds a macaron between his fingers just inches away from his mouth when Haibara came barging into the scene. His cheerful, boyish face appears to light up the whole room almost instantly what with the vibes he has around him.
He shoves the macaron into his mouth, "Haibara-kun if you're here for the sweets I'm afraid you're going to be quite disappointed," he may or may not have spoken with his mouth full.
Haibara huffs knowingly, “Don’t worry I’ve already had my share.”
“Eh?! So 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 why they’re running short?!”
“Senpai! Not all of those are 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴.”
Satoru rolls his eyes with a flap of his hand, 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘩 he seems to say. What an absolute child.
“Yeah yeah, fine, whatever.”
Haibara pours himself a cup of guava juice, the jolly mood never faltering─his senpai’s foolery is never a surprise at this point.
“So how was the mission?”
“Hm?” Bright blue eyes peering over the black shades, “Oh, well, the usual.” Satoru leans back, “Didn’t even break a sweat.”
Then, the curve of his shit eating grin.
Not entirely immune to his charms but, again, Haibara has been around long enough to know all . . . of 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, so he remains unfazed, “Figures,” the boy shrugs.
Satoru’s face scrunches up, nose wrinkling, He had expected Haibara to jump up and down and shower him with praises.
Looks like it’s not going to happen.
He brushes it off, not that it mattered anyway, and reaches for another macaron─Satoru isn’t sure how many he's already eaten.
The dark haired boy is about to tear open a bag of chips when he stops what he’s doing and looks around the room, eyebrows raised in confusion.
“Hey . . .” he turns back to Satoru, “where’s Geto-san?”
His heart skips weirdly upon hearing Suguru’s name.
“Resting,” he nods, trying to act nonchalant. Satoru has no idea if it’s working but he likes to believe it is.
𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺?
He sees Haibara squinting at him suspiciously and immediately jumps to his defense.
“What are 𝘺𝘰𝘶 looking at?”
“You’re blu─”
Before he can finish his remark somebody pokes their head from the doorway, automatically interrupting the two.
Shoko Ieiri, a girl with short brown hair and a distinctive mole under her right eye scans the room in a few seconds and only makes a sound when she spots the person she's looking for.
“Ah, Haibara-kun,” her voice stays uninterested. Which is not a surprise judging on her whole expression, “Nanami’s waiting for you.”
Then, her attention shifts to Satoru who still has that offended look on his face, “Picking on your juniors now, Gojo?” She raises a brow.
“I am 𝘯𝘰𝘵─”
Suguru’s door looms over him.
He’s not even sure why he’s here, after Haibara and Shoko took their leave it was just Satoru in the dining room, all alone with nobody to disturb his time─of course his mind would wander again. It wandered to dangerous places, places he’d never dared to go to before but during these past few months, the lines stopping him from doing so were starting to become blurry.
The lines might have probably become non-existent after 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 conversation he had shared with Suguru a month ago. His last leap into the unknown abyss.
Satoru left his shades in the room, something about wearing them when he’s about to face Suguru of all people just feels a little . . . off. Perhaps it can be deciphered as an act of distrust? And he doesn’t want that, he wants his closest friend to know he’s the only person who he truly believes in.
But, of course, Satoru is yet to voice his thoughts (or one can call them 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴) out loud, he is just unprepared.
𝘙𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴, the word crosses his mind. Since when is he 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 unsure with himself?
“Are you just going to stand there, or knock, Satoru?”
His crystal blue eyes go wide, for how long has he been standing there? Having a lifetime crisis right in front of Suguru’s room . . . what the fuck was he thinking. He has also grown accustomed to letting himself at ease whenever he’s with Suguru so he must have sensed Satoru’s cursed energy for a while now.
With twitching eyes he reaches for the doorknob, there’s no point knocking now, it seems.
How annoying, so many slip ups in one whole goddamn day, very unlike him.
Satoru opens the door and the scent of Suguru’s room crashes into him like a tidal wave, and in a split second the urge to tell everything to his friend grows undeniably stronger until he manages to get a grip on himself and shoves those─he doesn’t even 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 any idea what to call them─to the back of his head.
Suguru Geto, with his hair down and both hands shoved into his pockets, gives Satoru a look.
The Gojo boy grins, “How about we pretend that never happened, hm?”
“Pretend 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 never happe─” he stops mid sentence, only for his focus to fall on the paper bag in Satoru’s other hand. Suguru raises his dark brows questioningly, “What’s that?”
The door closes with a soft click, it’s just the two of them now.
“It’s your favourite, 𝘥𝘶𝘩,” Satoru presses the bag to his chest.
Suguru looks a little lost and peers into the medium sized packaging, noting the heat that’s coming from whatever it is Satoru just brought for him. A soft facade washes over his face when he finally registers the smell.
Satoru on the other hand saunters deeper into the room, humming as he goes. “The best takoyaki in town, y’know,” he sighs thoughtfully, “well, that’s what it says at the entrance.”
He earns a chuckle from Suguru before taking a seat closer to the open windows, craving for the feeling of short bursts of wind fanning his face and ruffling his hair. Suguru drags a chair from his desk closer to Satoru, right across a small roundtable in between them. Something about this does feel familiar, but the two of them decide not to mention it.
Two silent storms brewing, that’s what they are.
“Want some?” Suguru thrusts a hand forward, finely carved cheeks moving as he takes a bite from the freshly made takoyaki.
“I’ll pass,” Satoru leans his face into the palm of his hand, “ate as soon as I washed up.”
Suguru gives him an oh look and settles down in his chair, enjoying his meal.
The air around them shifts, it spins and it twists and all there is now is just an atmosphere of unsaid words rattling the bars of a non-existent cage begging to break out. Sure, they’re avoiding each other’s eyes, pretending to be oblivious when in truth, one person just needs to tug the unseen string and let the contents pour out.
Everything sounds so 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 to him so Satoru closes his eyes.
Which . . . doesn’t really make a difference as his mind starts its stupid wandering around again as soon as his eyelids flutter shut.
𝘎𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯𝘪𝘵.
So he forces them open, and his gaze drops on Suguru.
They’re sticking out like a sore thumb, the heavy shoulders, the tired eyes, the slightly hollow cheeks, and Satoru doesn’t know what to do.
𝘐𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩?
𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥.
A flash of the darkest brown crosses his vision, in a heartbeat, their eyes locked on each other.
Suguru swallows what’s left of his food before his hand raises to his face, “Wha─ Is there something on my …?”
Fight or flight kicks in, sabotaging every comprehensible thought Satoru had of 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱, 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 in his head because rather than doing exactly that he decides to push the red button and thread on thin fucking ice.
“Have you been sleeping, Suguru?”
It’s funny how his fight or flight response is him taking care of his curiosity the first thing before moving on to a person’s well being.
There is no other way to say it, Suguru’s face changes, from just mildly stunned to completely shell shocked because that question was absolutely out of fucking nowhere. His back goes rigid, shoulders grow tight, and if you squint harder, his fingers may have twitched.
“I…” He gulps, raised hand falling down to his lap and Satoru can practically hear the gears turning inside his friend’s head trying to come up with an acceptable answ─
“─haven’t had any for two days.”
That thick silence hovers over them again, like an unwanted audience feeding off of private drama.
“You 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?!”
“Listen─”
“Suguru, that’s─”
“I’m just so─”
“𝘏𝘰𝘸 do you even─”
“𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶,” gone all of the warmth and sweetness from his voice. In that one second Suguru sounds unlike him, but his tone did its work of shutting up Satoru, though.
He inhales, “I’m…” his elbows rests on his lap, burying his face into his hands before raking a hand through his hair. His now disheveled and unkempt figure feels like a stab for Satoru, a part of him feels like he is the cause of this.
A line crossed, that’s what happened, that’s what he did.
Satoru grips his thighs, standing up from his seat with stiff muscles. His legs start moving to show his way out.
𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺. “I’ll be in my room.”
But he doesn’t even make it to two steps before a hand encircles around his wrist, not too tight of a grip, just a loose hold that says 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
The smartest to do thing is to walk out of there and lock himself in his room, wiggle out of this hole that he finds himself in instead of digging himself deeper than he should.
Satoru had done it many times, slipping out of a situation that never benefits him even though the other party needs his presence so badly, he could do it again.
The sound of a chair being pushed back echoes throughout the room and the grip around his wrist tightens as Suguru tries, an attempt full of flaws, to stand up on his two feet without falling over. Satoru 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 the boy’s legs somehow shook and he staggers before losing his balance and the next thing the both of them knows is their chests pressed together as Satoru supports the weight of his body, wrapping Suguru around his arms to stop him from completely toppling to the goddamn floor.
Their faces centimeters apart, Satoru just has to dip his head and their lips would be touching.
“Can you stay for the night?”
Suguru’s gaze holds a silent plea, the sleeves of Satoru’s shirt balled up in his fists.
Satoru tucks some of his dark locks behind his ear, knuckles grazing Suguru’s skin like a lover’s touch. It takes everything in him not to cup his face and do something that cannot be undone.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says with his fingers still tangled in those strands of black hair.
He helps Suguru onto the bed and tucks him in under the covers, all the while treating him like fragile glass (he knew this would anger him so he tried not to make it too obvious) and it never dawned on him to actually go back to his room, not with what happened so Satoru snuggles beside him, half of his body draped by the covers and the pillows supporting his head never feel so welcoming.
Satoru won’t let himself doze off first, not until he can sense the difference in Suguru’s form pressed close to him, the change in his breathing from heavy and dragged to something less concerning and peaceful.
Maybe it took an hour, before Suguru’s head touched his shoulder and the rise and fall of his chest became normal again.
Suguru dreams of the same thing he dreamt of a month ago, but it’s not the same for Satoru. When his brain decides a ‘time out’ he only sees the vast, black universe behind closed eyelids. His soul plunging in deep before he wakes up to start a new day.
𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, he can remember Ayaka-san saying to him before their paths branched into two.
He never cared about what it meant, they merely bowed to each other as a last farewell and he never bothered thinking twice about what she said.
Until now, that is, his sister’s words just continue to ring in his slumber. No visual imagery, just pointless sounds and voices.
Satoru Gojo has been given many names throughout the years, from something that sounds like it came from the foulest pits of the fucking earth, to titles with far more divine meaning. But the boy of dreamless wonders? That, he can accept with an open heart.
𝘈𝘺𝘢𝘬𝘢-𝘴𝘢𝘯 . . . 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸.
His eyes flies open, a canvas of crystalline blue piercing the air as his body clock keeps prodding his brain to wake up. Satoru didn’t jerk awake or anything, it's his body urging him to his consciousness like any other morning, that’s why he would never have to stress himself with alarms.
He turns to his right where Suguru’s soft snores greets him, his raven black hair got two times messier from last night but the crease on his temple is nowhere to be seen.
Satoru carefully slips out of the covers after realising he’s been staring at his friend longer than he should and stretched like a cat with a yawn stretching his lips, he slowly pulls the covers back in place where Suguru is still fast asleep before heading for the doorway.
“Satoru?” A voice dripping with sleep reaches his ears, hand inches away from the doorknob.
He sticks both hands into his pockets, backing away until he sees Suguru, “You feeling any better?”
Suguru suppresses a yawn, “A bit but,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “my head fucking hurts.”
Satoru points a finger, “You. Stay here. I’ll get something to eat,” and with that he carries on to his destination without another word.
His Limitless slips away as easily when he puts it back on after stepping outside from Suguru’s room to get some breakfast fifteen minutes ago.
The door is slightly ajar when he comes back, a bowl of hot soup for Suguru and a slice of apple pie for himself. Satoru kicks the door shut on his way in all the while gobbling up the cookie tucked between his lips. He can hear the shower running from the bathroom so, guessing Suguru made himself busy, Satoru takes the time to set up their table in good condition (papers are littered everywhere, reports stacking up against each other here and there) so he occupied himself with this right after waking up? Typical Suguru.
He is casually lounging in the chair with crossed legs playing some horror game on his phone when Suguru finally makes his long awaited appearance after his shower with a towel wrapped around his lower body, the aroma of a fruity body wash wafting in the air.
Satoru remains shut, merely raising his eyebrows at his friend in an about time way before going back to the task at hand. His fingers tapping furiously on the screen of his mobile phone like an impatient child.
“You’re gonna crush it in your hands like that,” Suguru looks over his shoulder while drying off his hair with an extra towel.
The snow haired boy continues his maddening frustration with the game on his mobile until he decides he’s had enough and chucks the phone to somewhere on the bed as hard as he could, “I hate technology.”
“Your thumbs are too big I guess.”
“My thumbs are 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.”
He is about to fire another snarky remark when his eyes fall on Suguru's bare chest– wide in the open as he effortlessly puts his shirt on (Satoru has a feeling he knows exactly what he’s doing).
His heavy lidded eyes meets Satoru’s with a hint of a sly smile, “Like what you see?”
Scoffing, feigning disinterest with an eye roll so dramatic, Satoru sticks out his tongue and tries to unpack the pie he brought from the kitchen with his heartbeat thundering in his ears and the way everything starts to feel oddly 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮.
They sit together in comfortable silence (Suguru joins him as soon as he’s done dressing up) and plunges into the soup his friend brought for him (which he realises now is probably his favourite so far).
Well, maybe not that comfortable because the tension is enough to make Satoru flinch.
“Okay, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦,” he relents, “what is it?”
Suguru makes a face, “You know what.”
Satoru’s whole facial features seem to sink in on itself with an unpleasant twist. He is never one for vague gestures.
When Suguru doesn’t make any move to explain further what the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 he’s trying to talk about he swears Satoru looks like a a pale white volcano about to blow up from the unbearable heat of his stare and he realises that this man is, in fact, the closest friend he has as to now.
That small piece of information somehow amuses Suguru right in the middle of whatever they were having, so a chuckle escapes him.
Now Satoru looks 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥, as if Suguru just magically conjures a very hideous curse right in front of them that he jerks away from the table connecting the two, lips curling into a scowl.
“Suguru I swear to god if you’re not telling me what you’re up to I─”
“Nah…” he gives him a pointed glare, “I think it’s 𝘺𝘰𝘶 who’s playing dumb here.” He pauses, before saying, “You know damn well what I’ve been wanting to ask.”
That actually did the work of shutting him up because Satoru closes his mouth, eyes defocusing as he goes deep in thought over Suguru’s words.
And then it hit him.
His face lights up with a childish gasp, “Let me guess, it’s about last mo─”
“𝘠𝘦𝘴.”
Now his face contorts into something else entirely, “𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺?” Disbelief washes over him, “You’re telling me you’re still 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 that?”
“And why 𝘯𝘰𝘵?” Suguru’s voice pitches.
“𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦…” Satoru wrings his hands like a chicken flapping its wings in a fight or flight moment, “Listen─ Alright, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦, yes. I can’t dream and I never had one in all of my fucking life and?” His eyebrows go up to his hairline, “What about it, 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶? What does it matter? It’s not 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵.”
A sigh comes out from Suguru and he leans forward, arms on the table with his elbows tucked to his chest. “Satoru, that’s not… That’s not normal.”
Not that he is normal to begin with, but in truth, it’s just a friend concerned over his own friend’s well being. The only thing is, Suguru doesn’t have the guts to say that out loud.
A heartbeat silence.
Then─
“Do you ever wish that you can?”
Satoru shifts in his seat to get on proper eye level with the dark haired boy. Suguru’s eyes give him the impression of coffee with the darkest shade of brown, the droop of his eyelids and the tug of his brows screams tenderness and unrelenting warmth.
“Nah, I don’t─” He catches himself, a certain memory crossing his mind.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥.
He falters for a second, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, but he has a feeling Suguru noticed that.
“Yeah─” Satoru swallows a lump in his throat, “Yeah I have actually… Once.”
Humming in acknowledgement, Suguru breaks eye contact and proceeds to uncap the water bottle Satoru also prepared for the both of them. And Satoru trails his every movement, from the muscles of his arm, to the unblemished skin of his neck as he takes a couple gulps of water. Without waiting even for a moment Suguru stands, looking sideways at Satoru.
“Come, let me show you my dream. You know,” he shrugs a shoulder, “the one from last month.”
Satoru eagerly jumps from his seat and follows his friend’s lead to the window (which shows the view of the school from two levels above), the green scenery dominates half of their line of vision but not that anybody’s complaining.
“There,” Suguru urges, “Behind the tree, can you see it?”
Satoru has to bend his knees just a little, to get a look at whatever it is Suguru is pointing at. “Where the fuck…”
“Tch, try harder what the hell.”
“Can you 𝘯𝘰𝘵? I 𝘢𝘮 trying.”
With one swift motion Suguru pulls down the lever to close the shutters and he lands a finger on Satoru’s chin, nudging him to face the other way. “Hey,” was all he said before he flicks his eyes to meet Satoru’s, they flutter close, and closed the gap between them where their lips meet each other.
Satoru doesn’t move, he doesn’t blink, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 is he even breathing at this point? 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 went down in a matter of seconds and he’s not even given the opportunity to blend into the kiss─good lord they are 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨?!─and press himself closer to Suguru to make it deeper because Suguru pulls away, another fleeting move, with a red face that Satoru has never seen before.
His whole system is 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨– his heart had never beat this fast before– well, given nobody has ever rendered him 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 speechless before but here he was getting his tongue tied by the one and only Suguru fucking Geto.
“I─ Suguru did you ju─”
“So yeah that’s the dream.”
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?!”
“It’s the fu─ The 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 what just happened is the fucking 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮.”
It feels like time is stretching in on itself, as if the whole universe is upon them.
Satoru, however, can feel his lips pulling into a smile. “You’re saying you dreamt of us 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨? Dear, Suguru?"
At this, Suguru blinks, something changes in his eyes. Did it just dawned on him what he pulled off?
“What’s wrong, hmm? Cat got your tongue?” Satoru inches closer, his whole face turns to an enactment of mischief where it was bashful not even a minute ago.
Whatever it is Suguru finally gathered the balls to say did not meet the light of day because Satoru cut him off with a dangerous request.
“Don’t be shy…” He sighs, “You can do it again.”
Satoru wraps his arms around Suguru’s neck, tugging them closer together.
Stunned, Suguru doesn’t act right away; instead, he freezes, hands resting on Satoru’s hips but─stunned, yes.
Throwing caution to the wind, Satoru moves first, bringing his face closer and closer until their lips are nothing but just a breath away, the smallest dip of the head and their lips will lock on each other 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. When Suguru makes no attempt to move away, no hint of disapproval in the dark glint of his eyes, Satoru conquers the last step, and their lips brushed, and the air goes still, time slows yet again and then there’s them.
The city fucking stinks.
It never smelled this bad before so Satoru assumes it’s just the street he got himself in and quickly enters the shop she said she’d be at and picks a spot far away from prying eyes.
He’s shoving eclairs into his mouth when Ayaka Gojo materialises from thin air right on the front door and welcomes herself in.
Her platinum white hair has a fading pink tint to it, curlier than Satoru’s and it even looks softer in the afternoon light. She approaches him in all her glory with languid steps, her outfit a regal, form fitting suit, and a─
He nearly chokes on a goddamn eclair, “The fuck happened to your 𝘦𝘺𝘦?”
Because of her high levels of perceptions Ayaka is able to navigate around places, through crowds and whatnot despite being blind but what Satoru is seeing is an eyepatch on her left eye.
She slides into the booth right across from him with a huff, setting a katana by her side (this, too, appeares to have materialise out of thin air), “Some special grade two months ago, tough shit.”
Satoru cups half of his face into his hand and makes a move to get the last eclair when his sister beats him to it─no─she actually snatches it away from his hand and sighs contently when the sweet taste meets her tongue.
“So, Satoru,” she licks her fingers clean, “how have you been?”