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The chandelier hanging above sways, a movement only noticeable to people who are paying attention. They'd think it was an earthquake, but Suguru knows well enough that the ceiling rumbles because of Satoru and whatever mayhem he's trying to instigate. He's never been good at doing things peacefully, especially when it comes to fighting curses.
It's not like Suguru is necessarily any better, but he's worn out from his own fight and taking in curses always drains his energy. He leans against the wall, head tilted up, waiting for Satoru to finish. Wind slips into the large dance hall from the open door beside Suguru. It had started to feel stuffy inside by the first hour they were in, so Amanai insisted they open the door for some air.
“Getou-san,” Misato Kuroi calls out, approaching him. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah.” Suguru tilts his head slightly to look at her. Satoru should be finishing things up by now. The sudden gust hadn’t been natural. “Are we leaving soon?”
“I think so.” Kuroi nods. “My lady and her friends seem to be done finalizing the logistics for the dance.”
“So it’s confirmed then?”
“What’s confirmed?” Satoru asks, emerging from the door like it’s perfectly natural even though outside is a balcony and they’re at the highest floor of the hotel. Besides his mussed hair, nothing looks amiss.
“The annual dance!” Amanai exclaims, and she pops up from behind Kuroi. Neither of them seem to have noticed that Satoru and Suguru have fought curses. “C’mon, guys. Let’s go home. This place looks sad and boring compared to what we’ll actually be doing to it on the night itself, and I don’t wanna ruin the magic by staying here when it looks like a dump.”
“What a princess.” Satoru skillfully avoids Amanai trying to kick his shin before walking past her, heading for the large door to get to the elevator and leave. “Suguru, you look like shit.”
“Shut up,” Suguru says, but he doesn’t follow Satoru until Amanai, Kuroi, and the rest of the students in charge of running this event that went with them are already gone too. Even if his mission is to guard Amanai, the rest of her classmates are non-shamans and still need to be protected. This is what it means to be strong. Even exhausted, this is something he has to uphold no matter what.
Satoru and Suguru drop Amanai and Kuroi off in their place before heading back to their rented one three units away. As Suguru toes off his shoes and lines up Satoru’s carelessly discarded ones because he has no regard for order, Satoru whines along the cramped hall of their apartment, “I don’t wanna do that fucking dance.”
“Careful. Amanai might hear you from here,” Suguru admonishes. The apartment sizes are all different from one another; Satoru and Suguru’s place is roughly half the size of Amanai and Kuroi’s, but it has the basics of a small kitchen, a bathroom, a bed, a couch, a closet, and that’s really all they need even if Satoru complained the first time that they deserved better than this because this wouldn’t exactly be a quick stay.
Satoru’s flopped down on the bed, head buried in the clean bedsheets Suguru has made an effort to smoothen out before leaving that morning, even though it’s Suguru’s turn to sleep there. The couch isn’t uncomfortable, but they’re both tall and having their legs dangle isn’t the most comfortable feeling; at first, they considered switching every night so that it’d be fair, but they’ve never been good at being fair to each other, so they settled on using rock-paper-scissors to decide who got the bed. Suguru’s on a winning streak though, so the couch is already starting to have white hair strands sticking to its mattress because Satoru’s always on it.
“Get out,” Suguru tells Satoru, nudging him with his knee. “It’s my turn.”
“I demand a rematch,” Satoru insists, turning his head slightly.
Suguru is tired, and he knows Satoru is too, so he’s not really in the mood to argue with him about it that much, even if he knows Satoru might like it because for someone who hates being told what to do, he’s addicted to overworking. “Whatever,” Suguru says. “Just take a shower, at least. You reek of curses.”
“Like your breath doesn’t,” Satoru retorts, but he’s sliding off the bed anyway. It’s a sluggish movement, and though Satoru naturally does move lazily, it’s obvious that he’s just as beat. It makes Suguru’s gut twist uncomfortably, but all he does is remind himself to stop by the convenience store early tomorrow morning to buy something hot and sweet for the both of them.
Suguru brushes his teeth over the sink as Satoru showers, the flimsy curtain pulled between them to maintain some semblance of dignity as if they haven’t seen each other naked before in the shower stalls at Jujutsu High. Past the noisy stream of water from the showerhead, Satoru’s voice floats in the bathroom, saying again, “I don’t wanna do the fucking dance.”
The dance is an annual event for Renchoku High’s second years, and Amanai is part of the committee in charge of setting it up and hosting it. It’s why Satoru and Suguru were saddled along even if they didn’t involve themselves in any extracurricular activities; they had to go where Amanai went, or at least be in close proximity to her in order to stand guard. They were peeved about the errand until they realized that there were a couple of curses lurking in the hotel area, and they spent the hours there dealing with it while all the non-shamans remained unaware.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Suguru replies. “We just have to be there in case something happens.”
Satoru hums. “Think more curses will pop up even though we dealt with the ones already there tonight?”
“Anything’s possible,” says Suguru. “We shouldn’t be careless in case we end up risking Amanai’s safety.”
“Lame,” Satoru whines. “Dances are lame. I’m not a girl. This means nothing to me.”
Suguru would reprimand him for sounding rude, but they’re the only two inside and it’s not like he doesn’t feel the same. He doubts that reminding Satoru that a mission is a mission will make him any more excited for the upcoming event though.
Suguru scoops some of the faucet water with his hand to rinse his mouth. When he spits into the sink, he watches his saliva fall into the drain and thinks about the curse he exorcised and added to his arsenal. Despite the strong toothpaste’s grape flavor—Satoru’s choice, not his—it’s far too easy to remember the vomit taste lingering on his tongue. He was initially reluctant about taking this curse in, but it was strong and Satoru told him before that it wouldn’t hurt to increase his collection because of Amanai.
Right now, a curse of Suguru’s is with her, as close to her as possible to be able to protect her easily, and there’s another constantly circling around her apartment, alert for any suspicious activity. They’ve been activated for so long that Suguru can ignore the buzzing sensation at the back of his head, and since they’re not his most powerful curses, he can afford to use them constantly without having it damper his ability to fight.
It doesn’t make him tired either, but this recent fight with the curses at the hotel and choosing to consume one of them puts a veil of weariness, a result of the accumulating exhaustion from keeping his other curses activated. Exorcising always puts down more barriers than he wants to, and it’s always been a moment of weakness for him, so he usually needs all the rest he can get.
But he can’t afford that right now, and this kind of life will always go this way so long as he’s a shaman and continues doing this. And he will, because he’s strong and that’s what strong people do.
He’s learned to live with. Get used to it. It’s not that bad, because that’s why Satoru says they’re the strongest.
Still staring at the sink, Suguru says, “There’s a nearby arcade along the hotel’s block.”
For a few seconds, there’s silence, like Satoru’s letting the words sink in. “Suguru,” he begins, and the shower curtain rustles. It’s pushed aside slightly so that Satoru’s head pops up. His hair is flat on his head and some shampoo bubbles stick to him. His expression is full of bemusement. “Are you suggesting we ditch? I thought you just said we shouldn’t risk Amanai’s safety. You’re naughty. I like that.”
“Fuck off,” Suguru scoffs. “Maybe your distaste will rub off on her and she’ll want to ditch early.”
Satoru makes an approving hum, clearly liking the idea as he yanks the curtain again to resume showering. “Yaga-sensei might kill me when he sees her. Imagine Tengen-san’s vessel becoming exactly like me.”
“That’s impossible,” Suguru says. “No one can be like you besides you.”
He can hear Satoru twist the knob until the water shuts off. Without even saying anything, Satoru’s hand moves past the curtain, outstretched to Suguru. Suguru simply grabs the towel from the rack to hand it to his friend. “Was gonna say that you can, but of course you can’t. You’re right. No one can be like me but me.”
“What a dickish thing to say.”
Satoru finally pushes the shower curtain aside. He doesn’t look as exhausted as he did when they first returned. “If it’s any consolation,” he says. “No one can be like you but you either.”
Suguru looks at him. Satoru’s expression betrays nothing, tells of nothing deeper than the words are at face-value, but Suguru feels like he should still try and make something out of them. “No one can be like us but us,” he supplies, because it feels like the right thing to say, what Satoru wants to hear.
Predictably, Satoru grins. “‘Course not.” He steps out of the tub and bumps shoulders with Suguru. It makes Suguru scowl because Satoru got his sleeve wet, but Satoru doesn’t care and simply walks out of the bathroom to get clothes. “We’re the strongest.”
Suguru chooses not to comment on bruises on Satoru’s back that weren’t there before. They’ll fade in time, and then he’ll get new ones (being the strongest doesn’t mean being careful), and the cycle will repeat itself.
In the beginning, Satoru and Suguru spent the first three nights in a shabby hotel right across Amanai’s apartment building, but then expenses were racking up and Yaga got annoyed enough to pull strings and get them a temporary place near enough to where Amanai resided. Making arrangements for their abrupt admission to Renchoku High under the guise of being transfer students was surprisingly easier to do, and like the apartment, it would only be for a while.
The mission to retrieve Tengen’s vessel became a mission to guard Tengen’s vessel arc until she was ready to leave. Satoru and Suguru would’ve complained more if they would be standing idle the entire time, but there were curses to deal with around the area or wherever Amanai went, and “infiltrating” the school as students also meant they were given the responsibilities of actual students; it was like being in Jujutsu High but with less curses and more… people.
As it was, Satoru and Suguru still complained because homework was homework no matter the location, but at least it wasn’t boring.
Amanai accepted her inevitable fate to become a vessel long ago, but took full advantage of these conditions that she didn’t immediately have to go to Tengen by asking for a month of her ‘normal’ life. The main reason she wanted that much time was for the dance. Satoru didn’t understand until Suguru explained that it must’ve been a rite of passage for girls like her to attend these kinds of things, like turning eighteen or getting married. Shoko, who had been on the phone with them during this conversation, just said they were both stupid and said it wasn’t deep.
“It’s just a normal high schooler thing,” had been her explanation. “We probably would’ve had one if we were a normal high school. And had more than three students per year.”
Suguru has no love for dances though. They’re just fancy night-based events where people talk and dance and pretend to eat, giving themselves a pat on the back for finding this opportunity to enjoy themselves because life is hard, juggling low grades and unrequited love and family drama; trivial activities that speak too much of the nature of non-shamans and their continued ignorance to how there are so many things in the world that are bigger than them and far more dangerous.
It’s even more ironic, when Suguru thinks about it, that these dangerous things that non-shamans need to be protected from are the very things they created, born from all the negativity they release into the world that they never address, regardless of the consequences. It’s so ridiculous that it’s pathetic. It’s so pathetic that it’s ridiculous.
(“Do you ever think about how sometimes you’re just one big ball of negative energy with such a stupid plain face? Like those curses you keep on consuming, except you’re not a curse?” Satoru once told him after a particularly gruesome mission in the start of their second year.
Caught off guard because they were just talking about how Shoko began smelling like tobacco lately—on the other hand, Satoru’s scent was now just sweets, and Suguru continued to reek of vomit, though only Satoru was mean enough to call him out on it—Suguru could only say, “No?”
Satoru shrugged. “It’s kinda obvious. I think. At least to me. I may get shit for complaining, but you’re the one who actually has resentment and hatred and stuff.”
He practically spat the words, which told Suguru that Satoru didn’t really mean them because he didn’t understand it past the surface level. “It’s because I think, something you should try every once in a while besides whatever’s within your periphery that’s interesting enough,” Suguru smoothly replied, because it wasn’t like Satoru was wrong, but it wasn’t like it made Suguru wrong either. “When you think about it, you just realize how despicable the world is. And when you think, you also realize that it’s our job to make the world less despicable, because we’re strong. Being strong means being able to change things.”
“Hm,” was all Satoru said, and Suguru assumed he was genuinely pondering on his words until he chirped, “That’s a big word. Despicable. If I add that to my vocabulary, do you think Yaga-sensei will give me better grades?”)
Satoru doesn’t have very deep reasons for doing things. Sometimes Suguru thinks he doesn’t have a reason at all. He wonders if it’s easier that way, to just do things in the moment, to not dwell too deeply on them past what things are at its core. It doesn’t seem easier, but then again, nothing about Satoru has ever been easy.
It’s why Suguru isn’t surprised when he hears Satoru lazily calling out his name as he rounds the corner of the building Suguru is at, only to stop when he finally spots his friend, talking to a girl with blonde hair.
(If Satoru had good timing, if Satoru had any tact, maybe Suguru wouldn't be so “resentful” and “hateful” and “stuff”.)
“—and, you know what, I’ll just make this quick.” She swallows. She’d been doing a lot during the duration of their short-lived, mostly one-sided conversation. It’s not because Suguru is particularly awkward with strangers; it’s just that she seemed to have a lot to say but all that's coming out are stammered phrases Suguru can't make out that well, and the timidity is half-amusing and half-frustrating. But Suguru is polite and doesn't say a single thing about it, because he doesn't really remember what's the proper thing to do in situations like these. “Be my boyfriend, Getou Suguru!”
Before Suguru can reply, or even react, a loud laugh cuts them off, and their heads snap towards Satoru. “Sorry,” he apologizes, even though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Was I interrupting something?”
“Oh—uh, no,” the girl stutters out. “It’s—I think it’s fine. I’ll just—”
But Satoru doesn’t seem to notice her at all, striding towards Suguru with a raised hand. In between his fingers is a letter. “Look what I got.”
Suguru rolls his eyes. “What’s that, a letter of combat?”
“A letter of love,” Satoru drawls with a certain lilt. Suguru pulls a face.
“From who?”
“No idea. She gave me the letter, said like three sentences, and then bolted.” Satoru shrugs. “Oh, but she had red hair and kinda looked like Meimei.”
“You don’t even know her name? You’re a dick.”
“Says the guy pretending like there isn’t a girl trying to confess right in front of him.”
Satoru is right. Suguru recoils and immediately turns to the girl. “Ah, sorry about—”
“It’s fine,” she immediately rushes out, and she seems more flustered than offended. “I’ll just—yeah, I think I’ll go? Yup. Just—call me? Maybe? Hopefully?”
She doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns on her heel and practically runs away. Suguru can only watch her go, slightly dumbfounded, until Satoru turns to him with an impish smile. “Man, Suguru, you’re shit at this.”
“That was totally your fault.” Suguru tries to jab at Satoru, but he just dodges it. “I’ll just call her. With my answer.”
“What’s her name?”
Suguru falls silent.
Satoru only laughs again. “You insensitive bastard.”
The blonde-haired girl left behind her phone and name on the sheet of paper she shoved into his hands, so it’s not like Suguru’s that hopeless. “It’s not like you’re any better.”
“Who cares? I’m good-looking enough to get away with it.” Satoru wraps his arm around Suguru, pulling him close. “And so you are. That’s why we get these things, you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” Suguru grunts. “And get off me.”
“Never.” Satoru nuzzles his head into the crook of Suguru’s neck.
Suguru sighs and opens his palm, staring at the folded paper the girl had given him. He glances at the letter Satoru’s holding and thinks about what he said. “So yours ran away? Must’ve been instinctual. She knew you were bad news.”
“But she gave me the letter and told me she liked me anyway,” Satoru retorts. “She was probably just scared.”
Fear. When Suguru pictures it, he feels like he’s got the wrong interpretation. “I can’t believe you came all the way here to tell me that.”
“I actually went to you ‘cause I was—” Satoru bites Suguru’s shoulder without any force to it. “—you know, hungry.”
Suguru pushes Satoru off before he can slobber his uniform up with his saliva, but before he can berate him, someone clears their throat, catching their attention.
“Disgusting.” It’s Amanai, and she’s looking at them disdainfully. “Can’t believe I ran into two homos when I was looking for two shamans.”
Satoru sticks his tongue out at Amanai. “You’re just jealous because you want a taste of Suguru too. Not that I’m saying he tastes good. Those curses, they taste like vomit, so he has really bad breath. He’d make a bad kisser and get a one star rating at best.”
“Satoru,” Suguru warns. He turns to Amanai. “What did you need us for?”
“There’s equipment in the basement that we’ll use to put up the decors for the dance. I need to take to the faculty building because the teachers want to do an inventory first,” Amanai explains. “It’s a lot though, and it’s kind of heavy.”
“So you want us to carry them?”
Satoru snorts. “Do it yourself. We didn’t come here to do your errands.”
“Then at least accompany me!”
“No. We’ll end up doing the work if we go with you,” Satoru huffs. “We’re shamans, not slaves. And I’m not gonna help you in your stinkin’ dance. We’re only going there for you!”
“But you’re going anyway, so you might as well help,” Amanai points out. “Besides, what if there’s a curse in the basement?”
“There’s none,” Suguru interjects.
“How do you know that?” She challenges, though in the end, she doesn’t even wait for them to answer; just grabs their wrists and tries to pull them with her. “Ugh, you guys are so annoying. Just go with me already before I tell all those girls asking you out that you’re actually a bunch of sketchy sleazeballs with stupid hair!”
“Hey, don’t tell them that!” Satoru exclaims, indignant. For a split second, Suguru almost thinks Satoru’s going to defend himself and insist that Amanai’s wrong, but what he says instead is, “That’s my job!”
Suguru can’t help it; he laughs. As Amanai successfully drags him and Satoru to the basement to help her, he slips the paper in his pocket and forgets all about it.
There’s no curse at the basement, but something foul lingers there. Later that night, Satoru and Suguru end up following the trail to more curses that had popped up by the rooftops. They end up chasing them all over the school and finally manage to exorcise the last of them by the courtyard, but the sheer number of them caused Suguru and Satoru to spread themselves thin. Suguru is exhausted from running around, even if Satoru isn’t, because Satoru has never ran because of a curse and never plans to.
“Since when were there so many?” Satoru demands, sounding irritated. “Thought we cleared out the area when we first got here. And how did your curses not sense them?”
“Slow down with the questions, won’t you?” Suguru asks, leaning on a large tree and trying to catch his breath. “They’re new, and a lot of them didn’t originate from here.”
Most of them were weak, so it normally wouldn’t be anything to sweat about, but they’ve been on this mission for nearly a month and exterminating curses when they can. It’s non-stop work, but it’s Suguru who feels the stress of it more than Satoru, who luckily hasn’t found the need to keep his Infinity activated.
“So you mean they gravitated towards this place?” Satoru asks.
“Most likely,” Suguru replies. “And it’s not like my curses didn’t sense them; it’s just that they only noticed it a few hours ago. It means those curses we just dealt with only came here recently. Plus, I’m more on the lookout for suspicious activity of people, not curses.”
“No need to get so defensive, Suguru. I was just asking.” Suguru just gives him a foul look, but Satoru just kicks the dirt as he impatiently walks around. “Why?”
Suguru rests his head on the tree’s trunk, sliding down to sit. Gym class in Renchoku High is practically child’s play, and he probably wouldn’t be as tired if he was still doing circuit training back in Jujutsu High. But that’s on him for not caring enough to stay in shape out of school. “Why what?”
“Why’d they come here all of a sudden? Is it for Amanai?” Satoru questions. “Thought the only people we’d have to be worried about were the organizations after her, not curses.”
“I don’t think it’s because of Amanai,” Suguru says. “It might just be because of the negative energy. There’s… more than usual, I think.”
“Huh, wonder what it could be.” Satoru sits down beside Suguru and looks at him. “I can’t believe you’re tired already.”
“Shut up before I strangle you,” Suguru grumbles. “Sorry that I don't choose to saunter around when I see a curse nearby.”
“Yeah, but that’s exactly what gets me all the chicks. It’s all about being sexy, whether people are watching or not.” Satoru wiggles his eyebrows at Suguru, before digging into his pocket. “Maybe some candy will help you.”
“What would help would be a bath,” Suguru says, but that’s mostly to himself. He wouldn't mind some noodles too. They haven’t had dinner yet, and Suguru thinks they could stop by the convenience store near their building and buy instant ramen. They bought hot bread and chocolate from them over breakfast and it was good. Suguru had gone there before Satoru even woke up to buy, so when he returned to their room and dropped it off by the counter, Satoru woke up to the sound and the first thing he remarked was, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d be a great boyfriend.”
The store isn’t even that far away, but Suguru is suddenly aware of the distance regardless. It’s the first time they’re this far from Amanai, who is back at home with Kuroi, but Suguru left behind one of his strongest curses with her, and it’s not like they’ll dawdle here on campus for long. He just needs to recover a bit. Five minutes should be enough. Satoru’s always been good at making time tick faster anyway.
“Oh, I don’t have candy,” Satoru says, frowning. “Do you have any?”
Suguru rolls his eyes. “You had no plans on giving me, did you.” But he slips his hand into his blazer pockets, searching for something sweet for Satoru because his friend usually insists Suguru carry some around in case they’d ever “need” it.
What he feels instead is the smooth texture of the paper and how it crinkles under his careless touch. He takes it out of his pocket, suddenly remembering what happened over recess today.
Satoru zeroes in on the paper too. “You still have that on you?”
“Unlike some people, I don’t make it a habit to throw away handwritten confessions made for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. That girl just gave you her name and number, didn’t she?” Satoru says, unaffected by Suguru’s jab. “Besides, I kept the letters. I just threw away the envelopes. Sadly, I can’t make infinite pockets.”
“Haha,” Suguru says, unfolding the paper. That blonde-haired girl who confessed to Suguru is named Nozomi, according to the writing. Right below is her number. It’s not hard to memorize. He thinks he should feel worse about the fact that he only thought to look at it now. “Wait, letters?”
“Yup, I think the girls here are insane.” Satoru takes out a bunch of papers—the letters—and tosses them carelessly to the ground. Suguru makes a face at the gesture. It’s a lot, probably around ten or more, and Suguru doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Satoru picks one of them up. “I kind of wanna say that all this is because I’m that sexy—”
“—you’re already saying it—”
“But I think the real reason there’s so many is because of the dance. They want me to take them there as their date. To that dance—you know, the one that Amanai keeps on yapping about?”
“There’s only one dance,” Suguru points out flatly. But it makes sense, when he thinks about it. He doesn’t have to be an expert or experienced with dances to know how it works. No one wants to attend social events alone, so they ask people they like to come with them. Liking someone doesn’t even have to mean being close to them—sometimes it’s a matter of just being with a person who is nice to look at, like eye candy or a trophy wife. Is that what Satoru is? Suguru wonders in amusement. “They’re only asking you out because of your face.”
“I mean, I’d be pretty concerned if they were doing it for my personality,” Satoru agrees, crumpling the paper into a ball. What an asshole. “Do you think that’s what's causing these curses to pop up?”
Suguru is quiet, considering Satoru’s words. “Rejection does breed resentment.” He glances at the pile of letters. Even if Satoru really was interested in attending the dance and taking a date, he could only take one. And there are definitely other students, handsome boys and beautiful girls, all who have their own crowd of admirers flocking towards them and holding onto the chance of getting a yes from them when they’re asked out to the dance. More bitterness, more jealousy. It’s not a frequent opportunity, and it’s why the negativity is especially prominent. “So basically, this is all your fault.”
Satoru throws his hands up in the air. “That’s the conclusion you came to? It’s not like I chose to be born this way, Suguru—this incredibly hot and fuckable—”
Suguru snatches one of the papers and shoves it into Satoru’s face to shut him up. He uses enough force to nearly knock Satoru to the ground, but then Satoru grabs Suguru by the hair at the last minute and then they end up almost wrestling on the ground. The only reason it doesn’t dissolve into their usual fights is because Satoru seems to immediately lose interest in going down that road as he comments, “I’m still better off than you though.”
Pulling back, Suguru decides to just lie on the grass, his ponytail slightly undone because of Satoru and he doesn't make any attempt to fix it. He stares up at the tree they’re still right under and it reminds him of the one back in the training grounds of Jujutsu High. Suddenly, Suguru’s hit with a startling sense of longing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, that blonde chick didn’t ask you to be her date for the dance, did she? She asked you to be her boyfriend. That’s next level shit. Long term commitment and all.”
Boyfriend. For some reason, Suguru’s mind doesn’t immediately go to Nozomi’s confession, but what Satoru had told him this morning, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d be a great boyfriend.”
All Suguru had done was buy them hot bread and chocolate without prompting. It was such a thoughtless gesture that caused an unexpected comment—compliment, even. What makes a good boyfriend—partner—in the first place, Suguru wonders, because these were mundane musings he never let himself dwell on due to being a shaman. Mundanity is a foreign concept to him, even before he came to Jujutsu High. There was no time for idle things like relationships when there wasn’t even enough time to deal with the curses rampant around towns and city streets and in people’s hearts.
“So what are you going to tell her?” Satoru asks.
“Obviously that I can’t,” Suguru answers. “It’s not like we’ll be here for long anyway.”
“Is that it?”
“I’m—we’re shamans.” He glances up at the sky, noting how there are no stars out tonight. “And we can’t live that sort of life, the normal kind.”
Suguru doesn’t think he wants to anyway. A normal, non-shaman life, where he won’t know about the tiny discomforts and huge sacrifices made by shamans for their comfort, where he’ll never understand what it means to stretch yourself thin to constantly stay alert for any danger or have bruises and other injuries splatter down your back and litter your skin. Suguru doesn’t want to be like them, doesn’t want to live in their headspace of blissful ignorance. He can’t forget about these scars and these sufferings.
“Boring,” Satoru complains, taking Suguru out of his thoughts. “What a cop-out answer, that’s so boring. And lame.”
He should really expand his vocabulary, Suguru thinks. “What do you expect me to say?”
“That you’d be a terrible boyfriend.”
Suguru scoffs. “Weren’t you the one who was saying otherwise this morning?”
“Fine. I’ll tell you the real reason.”
“And what’s that?”
Out of nowhere, Satoru pounces on Suguru to roll on top of him, putting Suguru’s legs between his thighs and laying his hands right beside Suguru’s head, trapping him there too. “Because you’re already taken.”
Suguru just stares at Satoru, and the latter’s got a grin plastered on his face. When Suguru tries to shift his lower half slightly, his thigh presses against Satoru’s. Suguru is well-aware of the muscle Satoru carries, but he could probably flip him over with ease if he really wanted to. From the look in Satoru’s eyes though, it looks like that’s what he’s expecting. If Suguru shuffles a bit more, he’ll probably end up feeling something hard that wasn’t there before too.
It’s not hard to figure out where Satoru’s train of thought is leading. He may have the power of six eyes, whatever that may mean, but it also makes him ridiculously readable; at least to Suguru, because he’s always been the person to see through him. He doesn’t think that’ll change anytime soon, because that’s how they are, always will be.
“Satoru,” Suguru begins slowly. “There’s no way I’m going to have sex with you when we’re, one, outdoors, and two, on a mission.”
“What if we weren’t on a mission though?” Satoru questions playfully. Suguru just gives him a blank look, and Satoru groans. “Ugh, it’s hard being the strongest. We never get to catch breaks.”
Before Suguru can comment that it’s not necessarily because they’re the strongest, even if they are, his stomach abruptly grumbles. Satoru looks like he’s two seconds away from teasing Suguru about it, right when his own makes a gurgling sound.
Suguru finally pushes Satoru off him. Satoru dramatically falls to the ground, and if Suguru were a naive person, he’d think that he accidentally actually hurt the other, especially with the bruises still on his back from last night’s fight. “Pick up your letters before we get accused of littering, Satoru.”
Satoru lets out a mock gasp. “Are you implying that these heartfelt confessions from all these girls are garbage?”
Suguru picks up the crumpled ball of paper and lobs it at him.
What would life be like for them, Suguru can’t help but wonder, if they never saw curses or had to exorcise them. Would Suguru still meet Yaga-sensei, Shoko, Haibara, Nanami—would he still know Satoru? Would he go to college, pursue an actual career, or maybe not think that far ahead and just think in the moment: attend a dance with the intention of actually dancing and trying to have fun because that’s how you try to make the most out of situations you don’t really want to be in at the start. Kiss a boy long after school hours under the shade of a tree under a starless sky. Accept a girl’s confession, her request for a future neither of them can see well but one that they can understand together, because isn’t that what romance is all about?
Suguru wouldn’t know; he’s never been in love before. And he doesn’t know what else would be the answers to all of those other questions either, because he’s never lived that life before. Even before entering Jujutsu High, all he could see were curses and the way they blended with the oblivious humans because they were the ones who made them in the first place.
Satoru is the same—even more so, because he’s from the Gojo clan and was born into this wretched shaman world. Still, Suguru can’t help but ask, “Have you ever wanted that life?”
“What life?” Satoru says around the mouthful of noodles he slurped into his mouth all in one go hastily. They’re in the corner store along the street of the apartment building, eating the cup ramen they bought from inside. Satoru wanted to eat outside because it felt less stuffy even though they were the only customers hanging around. Suguru didn’t complain because he was starving.
“The normal kind.” Suguru tilts his head. “Without curses.”
“Without you there?” Satoru swallows. “That’d be boring.”
“With me, without me.” Suguru waves a hand. “Didn’t you say it before? It’s hard being the strongest. So do you ever wonder about it—with your power. What things would be like, if we’d be better off.”
Satoru picks up some more noodles with his chopsticks and sucks them in with the same enthusiasm he did the previous times, lacking any regard to savor the taste. “Stupid question,” he mutters, chewing as he wags his chopsticks at Suguru. “‘Course we’d be better off if curses were never ‘round in the first place. But,” He swallows again. “Personally? Nah. Even with my infinity, six eyes, whatever, I don’t really think about it that deeply—those what-ifs. I don’t wanna anyway; it’s not interesting.”
Satoru leans back and looks at Suguru, but shades hide his eyes at this angle, so Suguru can’t read his expression. “If I did, we’d probably lose our—our essence? I think that’s what it’s called.”
“Essence,” Suguru repeats.
All Satoru does is shrug. “Who we are, apart or together. We wouldn’t be who we are today if not for this life, and I like who I am. I like who we are.” He moves his body forward, digging into his cup once more like he hadn’t just said anything poignant. “Oi, Suguru, if you don’t start eating, your noodles are gonna get cold.”
Suguru doesn’t know if the answer Satoru gave was the one he was looking for, but he doesn’t press it any longer.
Two days later, a shaman gets injured fighting a Grade 3 curse right outside the perimeter that Satoru and Suguru cover. They intercept the fight before it can get worse and exorcise the curse, but injuries are injuries and scars aren’t known for fading.
It’s not a shaman they know, despite the small population of Jujutsu High. He’s around Nanami and Haibara’s age, a potential student Yaga was interested in taking in, but on the way to Jujutsu High to meet him, he ran into the curse and wouldn’t have come out alive if not for Satoru and Suguru intervening. The wounds are extensive but not fatal, but confined to the hospital, it doesn’t change the fact that he suffered. He tells Suguru and Satoru that he doesn’t think he’ll continue the journey to Jujutsu High, and it’s not necessarily because of his physical state—a concussion, a sprained wrist, a large gash to the leg and torso.
“Is our essence worth it?” Suguru asks Satoru blankly, as they watch the doctor talk to the boy about when he can recover and if he can contact any family.
“You’re the worst,” Satoru tells him without any heat, before dragging Suguru out of the room and out of the hospital. It’s not like they had anything else to say to the boy anyway—someone who could have been a fellow student and shaman, now just another stranger—and just like that, they part ways before even learning each other’s names.
A part of Suguru thinks it’s a shame, because Haibara’s always talked about wanting more people in his year to be friends with. Most of him just feels hollow, especially when the doctor—non-shaman—came in and was reluctant to share any details about the injuries until they gave him a believable excuse for their cause.
“That’s a scary face you’re making, Getou-san,” Kuroi later remarks at the mall’s department store. They’ve ditched school today because Kuroi and Amanai want to buy dresses for the dance. Suguru and Satoru need formal attire too, but they’re not about to waste money on buying anything new, so Yaga just grumpily sent a hand-me-down tux from Utahime’s cousin for Suguru and a suit that already belonged to Satoru because he’s from the Gojo clan and loaded. It’s ironic how both clothes look like they’ve seen better days regardless. Satoru has never been good at taking care of things.
“Sorry,” Suguru immediately says, trying to school his expression, but Kuroi continues to look concerned instead of amused. He wonders who exactly is he trying to fool.
“What are you two doing over there?” Amanai calls out to them, three dress racks away from them and already burdening Satoru with even more clothes she wants him to carry for him. Kuroi’s only picked two, but Suguru doesn’t voice out any complaint unlike Satoru because he knows Kuroi feels bad about making him go through this in the first place. Suguru had been half-tempted to make a curse do the work for him, but it would just look strange to those who can’t see them, clothes levitating out of thin air. It’s always better to avoid drawing attention to themselves, especially when Amanai and Satoru already do a good job at getting strangers to look to their direction just from being so loud. “Kuroi! Come here! I think I found something that fits you perfectly!”
“This is the third time you told her that,” Satoru points out, leaning down at her with an unimpressed look on his face. Then he yelps when Amanai stomps on his foot. “I’ll ruin these dresses before you even get a chance to try them on. Dare me.”
“But then you’d have to pay for it,” points out Amanai, before turning her back on Satoru to return to the dresses. Her hair ends up whipping Satoru’s face, causing him to sputter indignantly. Something pulls at Suguru to smile at the scene, but he can’t quite manage. When he and Satoru meet eyes, Satoru’s expression is knowing.
They hadn’t told Kuroi and Amanai where they disappeared to for most of the morning, and they don’t know anything past the fact that it was curse-related, but most of their endeavors where they weren’t around the girls were like that anyway, so they had no reason to chalk it up to things being different this time around. It’s why Satoru and Suguru decided not to bring it up in the first place; today may have been different, but it isn’t the first time. This is just part of the job. Getting hurt and no one noticing. Giving up and no one doing anything about it. They’re here as shamans because they want to be, because they have to be. Because they care, when the rest of the world doesn’t.
Suguru doesn’t go to malls often, has probably stepped inside one less than the amount of fingers he has. So it’s jarring to realize that he’s never had to go to one to exorcise a curse when malls are swarming with them. As they sit outside the dressing rooms, waiting for Amanai and Kuroi, a man passes by them. When Suguru blinks, there’s a slug-looking curse with bat wings fluttering after him like a lost puppy. It’s not enough to be dangerous—Satoru could probably get rid of it with a simple finger flick—but now Suguru notices the pungent aura all around them, how it feels like they’re at the heart of a curse breeding ground, almost like the kind of thing he’d find most commonly at schools.
“This is a bad place,” Suguru finds himself saying. He summons a small fire-spitting curse to set the slug on fire. The man coughs, but otherwise notices nothing and continues to walk. So oblivious.
“Well, even with retail drama or customer service ills,” Satoru starts. He sounds and looks spent even though he hadn’t really done anything today. It was just one curse from Suguru that dealt with the Grade 3 curse; all Satoru did was rush the injured boy to safety. His glasses had somehow split in the fray though, so he toys with the pieces absentmindedly. “It’s not really any different from everything—everywhere else.”
It isn’t, and those non-shamans will never know any of it. Darkly, Suguru thinks again about what Satoru said, that thing about essence, being who they were because of what they did, and that was why he didn’t want a thing to change. They were touching words at the time, but now Suguru thinks about that boy who already lost hope in his eyes before he could help others regain theirs, and now he thinks about what he’d feel if that was someone else he really did know and care for—Shoko, Haibara, his parents—and how people who couldn’t see it wouldn’t believe a thing, would not feel a single shred of sympathy. Is protecting one’s essence still worth it then, if it’s at the cost of all of this indifference? Is it worth not wanting the world to change for being so ungrateful, so long as they stay the same?
Satoru side-eyes him, like he can almost see the turmoil in Suguru’s head. “You mad at me?”
The thing is, it’s not like it’s Satoru’s fault in the first place, but they both have their moments where they just need to channel their anger and release it somewhere, and they both know it’ll always be at each other, because they can take it. They’re the strongest.
Suguru doesn’t think he’s in the mood to prove that fact though. “Not enough to pick a fight, no.”
For Satoru, it’s probably worth it, and because he’s Satoru, he can afford that selfishness. Suguru doesn’t think he could begin to comprehend why.
The mall has a basement used to house a large bookstore rather than a parking lot. It’s a cozy place with wooden flooring and walls that look like bricks stacked on top of one another. The lights illuminate a soft gold all over the towering book shelves and spacious reading area, and there’s even a small cafe at the side that sells snacks and drinks. Satoru immediately wanted to go buy the sweetest thing they had, but that was before Amanai exclaimed something out loud about some stupidly drawn comics that he apparently knew about, and then they disappeared into the shelves to likely peruse through the books and mock them.
It’s a big place, but they’re the only ones inside besides the employees themselves. The library at Jujutsu High is probably half this size, and Suguru has already gone through all the books that interested him while Satoru’s drooled on enough from spending all-nighters studying to be banned from entering entirely. Suguru never realized how much he missed the idea that he could find at least one book about everything in public spaces like these until now.
He talks a bit with Kuroi before they part ways, with Kuroi heading to the cafe because she’s a bit parched and feels like it’ll only be a matter of time before Amanai comes barreling to her because she’s thirsty too. Suguru finds himself in the far back of the shop, flipping through copies of old manga that he used to read as a middle schooler but never got to pick up ever since he became a shaman, when Amanai suddenly saddles up to him, popping out of nowhere. “Suguru.”
“Amanai,” Suguru mimics her tone. “Where’s Satoru?”
“Flirting with the counter lady?” Amanai doesn’t even sound sure. Suguru just shakes his head, exasperated. “I’m glad you like it here.”
“What gave it away?” Suguru asks distractedly, turning the page.
“You look less sad.”
At that, Suguru stops. He closes the book and sets it down. “Is that why you wanted to come here? For us?”
“No, you’re not that important,” Amanai denies, but her cheeks are flushed and that’s an answer enough. “It’s just, it must suck—I don’t wanna say sad, but it’s not like it’s boring either—to be a shaman. I know you guys go out a lot to get rid of curses, but there’s a difference between being outside and actually experiencing it, right? Though it’s not like I’d really know. I’m not a shaman, but I can see curses too, and being Tengen’s vessel means there are also things I can’t do or won’t get to do ever.” Amanai clears her throat awkwardly. “My point is, we’re here for all of us. But mostly me, and it’s just a bonus if you happen to like it here too. Don’t think too much about it. This isn’t the place high schoolers like us like to hang out, and we’re not here for fun.”
She’s right; high schoolers like them go to places like arcades, and Suguru suddenly remembers his conversation with Satoru that night when they came back from the hotel. He’d poke fun at Amanai’s rambling and her piss-poor attempt to hide how she cares for them, but he’s not Satoru, and instead quietly pockets how touched he feels. “So why did you want to come here?”
“It’s about Kuroi,” Amanai begins, and instead of defensive, she seems nervous. “I don’t know what to get her for the dance. I thought I’d find something here, but…”
“Oh.” Suguru raises an eyebrow. “I thought you had a date. Did no one ask you?”
“Of course I got asked, I’m pretty well-known, if I do say so myself.” Amanai puffs up her chest. Suguru wants to point out that there’s a difference between being well-known and being popular, but he holds himself back. “But I didn’t want to. Kuroi won’t be going with anyone, and I want to spend the dance with her.”
“I thought this dance was a special occasion.” It’s why the mission got prolonged this long, after all.
“Exactly,” Amanai tells him. “Kuroi’s important to me—the most important person to me, so I want to stay with her. Especially for something like this dance. This is probably going to be the last time we’ll be able to be together until I merge with Tengen-sama.”
She says it coolly, matter of fact, very different from when she mentioned Tengen the first and last time—right when they first met, where she said it with so much pride, being one with the immortal shaman, the star of their society. It’s a subtle slip of the mask, maybe even just a tiny crack, but Suguru sees through it.
“Wouldn’t you know what to get her best, then? I might be the last equipped person to tell you anything useful.”
“You talk to Kuroi though.”
“Just small talk. It’s not the same. Doesn’t she have friends at Renchoku High that you could ask?”
“No.” Amanai shakes her head. “She’ll never admit it, but since she spent so much of her life making me the priority, she never really had time to make friends.”
“She’s your caretaker,” Suguru points out. “It’s what she’s supposed to do. You don’t need to feel bad about it.”
“I don’t feel bad,” says Amanai. “Because that would mean a part of her regrets doing it, and I don’t want to think that, because I don’t think it’s true. I know she loves me, and I know she knows I love her. But knowing is different from… showing it, yeah? So I want to show it to her. Besides, it’s a common thing in dances. To give something to your ‘date’.”
Suguru’s mouth twitches in vague amusement. “Does that mean Kuroi’s your ‘date’?”
Amanai narrows her eyes. “It’s not deep. But if you’re going to tease me about it like Gojo, maybe I’m better off going back to that old man.”
“I doubt he’d even attempt to tell you anything useful,” Suguru says, before scratching the back of his neck, actually letting himself think about it. “I don’t know. I’m not big on things like presents. But what you said about staying with her, I think that’s the best gift you can give her.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to look nonchalant, but his fingers brush against a familiar piece of paper, and he belatedly realizes that it’s the paper Nozomi gave him. She sounded disappointed when he called her and said he couldn’t; he felt terrible for hurting her like that, but it was guilt that he later looked back on with a sense of silliness for caring so much when there were bigger things to worry about. But maybe he just got too caught up in that fantasy—of hypothetical ordinary worries in a hypothetical ordinary life.
Even with what happened today, he still remembers that faint feeling of longing for a life like that. Would he still be the person he is today if his biggest worry wasn’t fighting a curse and making it out alive, but turning a girl down after she mustered the courage to ask him out instead?
But somehow, he can already feel the bitter feelings wane off. How could he compartmentalize non-shamans into a box of cruelty, when people like Amanai and Kuroi exist? Finally, he looks at her. “Maybe all you can do is stick by her for as long as you can. Even if she’s been with you for your whole life, she won’t be for the rest of it. And you won’t be the only one who will miss those times.”
“Huh, that’s deep,” Amanai notes, looking thoughtful as she mulls his words over. Suguru thinks, for a second, that he actually managed to say something incredibly profound, more than just useful, but then she snaps her fingers and shakes her head. “Yeah, no. I need something more concrete than that. Are you sure Gojo isn’t rubbing off on you in trying to sound vaguely sage-like and stuff? He thinks it makes him sound smarter, but it actually does the opposite.”
If anything, the one Gojo’s rubbing off on is Amanai, but Suguru doesn’t tell her that. He sighs, running a hand through his face before gesturing around them. “We’re in a bookstore, so you could always get her a book. Something you know she already likes but doesn’t have a copy of yet.”
“What makes that so special?”
“You could... leave behind notes in between the pages,” Suguru tentatively proposes. “Things you want to tell but no longer have the time to.”
“Like leaving a part of myself for her to go through when I’m gone,” Amanai muses. “Yeah, I think that can work.”
Later, when Amanai’s already buying the present and trying to keep it a secret by insisting Satoru should buy something too, Kuroi approaches Suguru as they wait outside the store and offers him an ice cream popsicle she got from the cafe’s freezer. “I didn’t know what flavor you like, but you carry around sweets a lot, so chocolate seemed the safest.”
“The sweets are for Satoru, not me,” Suguru clarifies, but he takes the popsicle anyway with thanks.
Kuroi watches him quietly as he tears the plastic open. “I got you that to cheer you up since you seemed down from whatever happened this morning, but.”
“But what?’
“You don’t seem so sad anymore.”
“Is that so.”
Kuroi hums, before tearing a small chunk off her own popsicle, nearly finished. There are two more inside the plastic bag that came from the cafe, and it isn’t hard to put two and two together and deduce that it’s for Amanai and Satoru. Something aches in Suguru, a faint feeling.
“I know we’re not as strong as you two, or as familiar with the curse world despite my lady being the next vessel for Tengen-sama,” Kuroi says. “But I just want you to know that we’ll stand by you and try to help as much as we can. My lady will never admit it, but we all know that if you really wanted us to, she’d be in Jujutsu High already with Tengen-sama. So thank you, for still giving her time.” She pauses. “And I know you and Gojo-san don’t really care for the dance, but I hope you have fun anyway.”
The aching feeling grows stronger. Suguru finds that he has no words to say, despite wanting to offer reassurance or at least gratitude, but Kuroi doesn’t seem to be looking for them. She just squeezes his arm before returning back to the store, and Suguru becomes terrifyingly understanding of Satoru’s selfishness.
(The words leave Suguru’s mouth out of nowhere, as they’re making their way back to the apartment building, trailing behind the girls and far enough to be out of earshot. “She deserves better than to give up her life to become the vessel.”
Amanai bought Satoru new sunglasses before they left the mall, absolutely unprompted, and Satoru hadn’t even wasted a second to start wearing it. Underneath, Satoru’s eyes have that knowing look in them again, like he expected Suguru to say that. “She might not need to make that sacrifice in the first place.”
Suguru frowns. “What does that mean?”
“Yaga-sensei’s phrasing was off when he gave us the mission, remember?” Satoru says. “So if she refuses to merge, we can call it off.”
He makes it sound so easy that Suguru can’t help but laugh. “Are you sure? We might have to fight Tengen-sama.”
“You scared?”
Suguru bristles. “No.”
“That’s the spirit.” Satoru nudges him. “We’re the strongest, so any consequences—we can just sweep it off.” Suguru snorts at Satoru’s nonchalance, though it’s not exactly surprising. “And it’s because we’re the strongest that we’re doing this, you know? So people like Amanai can live their normal lives to the fullest.”
Is this what Amanai meant when Satoru sometimes tries to sound like a wise old man? But it’s not like there isn’t a point to his words, and it’s a sentiment Suguru knows his heart echoes. This is why they do what they do, no matter how much it may hurt, and this is why it’s worth it, even if there are times when it’s hard to see it.
Every time he feels himself take a step back, reevaluate everything he tries to hold on with near-shaky resolve, it’s like Satoru is there to remind him to move forward.
“You say that too often,” Suguru comments, almost in complaint, though there’s no bite behind it. “That we’re the ‘strongest’. Please be more original next time. That can’t be your excuse for everything.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re denying it, are you?” Satoru points out.
“Nah,” Suguru says, because maybe this is the kind of selfishness he can afford.)
For the dance, they manage to rent the hotel’s function room that takes up nearly most of the floor, but somehow, the space is easily occupied by all the students of Renchoku High and their dates from outside places. Amanai and the rest of the committee in charge of running and setting up the event itself put up sparkly streamers and balloons, hire quality catering, and neatly make use of the logistics on where the tables, the food, the dance floor, the photo booth, the stage, and the DJ all go.
Amanai’s enthusiasm still seems like the kind of thing for more special occasions like turning eighteen or getting married, but Suguru also remembers Shoko’s words, the normal high schooler thing. If they could have something like this at Jujutsu High—smaller-scale, of course, and way less grandeur because this isn’t the kind of thing any of them besides Mei Mei, maybe, seem invested in—Suguru wonders if they’d all enjoy it as much as the Renchoku High students are. He’s only really sure about Haibara, and it makes Suguru think that his underclassman would’ve made the most out of a mission like this too.
Not that Suguru isn’t, per say. But it’s surprisingly difficult to enjoy the music and the atmosphere when there are things to do, people to avoid.
“Honestly,” Amanai huffs. “I thought this was something only losers like Gojo would go through. It’s because you spend so much time together. As expected of homos.”
Suguru’s eye twitches, but he can’t really get mad at her when he’s the reason the line for the food is awfully long. Maybe hiding by the buffet table hadn’t been the best idea, but in his defense, it actually seemed like the spot Satoru would run off to, and Suguru was at least hoping to find some company in his misery.
“So you’re saying all these girls insisting I dance with them is his fault?” Suguru asks. Asking ahead of time, apparently, isn’t a strict practice. Politely refusing as well, he has learned, doesn’t really do much; it just makes the girls more determined and competitive amongst themselves, trying to see who can get him to cave in. If Satoru was here, he’d say that it’s because handsome boys in Renchoku High were rare, which was why they all turned to people like Suguru and Satoru. It would be a compliment if not for the fact that Satoru was also praising himself and at the cost of insulting others.
“No, no. He’s actually running away from his own harem.” Amanai wrinkles her nose in disgust. If this were any other circumstances, Suguru would be amused at what almost seems like jealousy. “It’s why Kuroi isn’t with me. I didn’t want to deal with him, so she did instead. You two are the worst. Weren’t you the one who said I should spend as much time as I can with her?”
“I’m not saying you can,” defends Suguru. “No one said you had to come looking for me anyway. I’m doing my job. My curses are around the hotel, and there aren’t any traces of anything foul coming near the perimeter too.”
“I’m not here to look for you. I’m here because I want food.”
“I’m... here because of the food too?”
Amanai points threateningly to the right, gesturing for him to get out. “Stop hiding behind the tables with poor waiters, and go away before all the food gets cold because the only thing these girls are lining up to eat is you.”
She’d probably be a more popular girl if she said more flattering things, but Suguru relents with a sigh and slides past the waiters, who have been silently and anxiously watching the conversation unfold, unsure on what to do because Amanai’s one of the point people running this event and Suguru just looks too intimidating to tell off. When Suguru brushes past her, she briefly grabs his shoulder and squeezes him, and it speaks the words she won’t ever say aloud—to make sure he enjoys himself, and to thank him for giving her all this one last time.
Suguru doesn’t say anything about it; as far as he’s concerned, it doesn’t have to be the end so long as she doesn’t want it to be.
The people who ask him to dance or keep him company aren’t really that infuriating, and maybe it’s partially Suguru’s fault for being unable to outright refuse them. Ambiguity just makes people hopeful, but Suguru’s never really been big on being explicit about his intentions when he wants to be as open-minded as possible; being an ass is Satoru’s job, after all.
It takes a while for Suguru to side-step and avoid the girls as he walks around, searching for something to do to at least make it look like he’s too preoccupied to acknowledge their advances. He’s half-tempted to actually agree on a dance just to make the rest give up, but that doesn’t seem like it’d be fair to the girl he’d ask. Besides, it’s not like he knows many girls in the first place past his classmates who he only recognizes by face in passing, Nozomi, Kuroi, and Amanai.
Not being able to get any alone time to himself is a bit irritating. He’s not that used to the attention either; he knows he doesn’t look bad, but knowing he might be pleasing to the eye is different from having it flat out acknowledged by being given so much spotlight. He wonders if Satoru is faring better, though he should, given how much he likes attention, until he feels someone tug at his sleeve. He thinks it’s another girl who somehow managed to find him despite staying close to the photo booth to avoid being easily spotted, but when he turns, it’s Satoru.
“There you fucking are,” Satoru lets out a relieved sigh. “Help me.”
He doesn’t really look like a mess, but the edges of his suit are slightly wrinkled and his hair is more askew than it usually is. The not-so inconspicuous lipstick stains on the side of his jaw and somehow imprinted on the white fabric of his clothes though—that’s what gives it away.
“Wow,” Suguru deadpans. “Never thought I’d find the day where Gojo Satoru doesn’t want the attention.”
“It was nice the first—what, eight times? Now it’s just annoying.”
Suguru rolls his eyes. “Only you could get away with complaining about experiencing most men’s wet fantasy.”
“Oh? Does that mean it’s yours too, Suguru?”
“Sure,” Suguru sardonically intones. “Why else would I go to the most crowded areas in this room?”
“Effective strategy, but it’s a short-term one. I’ve been pretending to be part of the photo booth staff for the past ten minutes, but I think the girls are going to see through my ruse soon. The costumes and props aren’t that helpful.”
“That hair isn’t helpful, actually,” Suguru points out.
“Stop making my life so hard, Suguru,” Satoru complains, before dragging him away. Suguru lets him. They were attracting attention from the other students who weren’t actively after them anyway, which just makes things worse, in Suguru’s opinion. Being with Satoru just attracts more attention though, and then he hears a girl yell Satoru’s name across the room. Satoru tightens his grip on Suguru and picks up the pace, practically yanking him with him as they sprint away.
Satoru doesn’t even run like this when they’re around the strongest of curses, but now he’s doing it like his life depends on it. Suguru finds this ridiculously amusing.
He ends up full on laughing by the time they find a spot to themselves right by the balcony, the same one Suguru recognizes to be the one Satoru landed on last week after wrapping up his fight with the curse. No one bats the eye when they shut the doors, and Suguru realizes that it’s because all the other balconies beside them have groups of friends or couples there too, having some alone time to themselves. He thinks the couple in the balcony at their right are humping one another, but it’s hard to be absolutely certain when their main source of light is the moon and coming from the room behind them. For some reason, Suguru just laughs harder.
“Why are you laughing? What’s so funny? Spill. I want in on the joke too,” Satoru says, finally letting him go and nudging him with his foot.
“You’re the joke here,” Suguru shoots back. He shakes his head, a smile teasing his lips as he sat on the smooth marble balustrade. Right below, he can see one of his curses floating around the building. It’s the new one he exorcised that Suguru took in. “This is such a stupid thing to get worked over.”
“What, the girls?” Satoru rests his arms on the railings. The air is chilly. “Amanai will choke you if she heard you say that girls are stupid.”
“You’re the one she’s mad at, since you’re stringing them all along and—” Suguru doesn’t continue and simply gestures to Satoru’s appearance. “And you know that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s just silly—you, I mean. This isn’t even a threat, but you’re acting like it is. You don’t even get like that when we’re in actual danger.”
“We’re never in ‘actual danger’. We’re the strongest. Besides, girls are scary, Suguru.” Satoru sniffles. “I thought you’d realize that by now, but maybe it’s just because you’re still new to girls liking you so much. It makes sense though; the guys here aren’t as good-looking as us.”
“I doubt they have an ego as big too,” Suguru remarks.
“Screw off,” Satoru scoffs, before sighing forlornly. “Man, I’m bored.”
“You just made out with what, eight girls?”
“I didn’t make out with them. They threw themselves at me and I was forced to endure.” Satoru waves a dismissive hand. “And keep up with the times, Suguru. That was ten minutes ago.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I’m keeping things entertaining. Anyways, I checked the reviews of that arcade. They’re pretty trash, but it probably still beats this joint. Amanai and Kuroi are liking it here though, so I doubt they’d bail. Still wanna ditch? It’s not like we’ll be too far from them anyway.”
Suguru doesn’t answer him. From this view, he can see the downtown lights and the ant-sized people milling around the streets, finding ways to entertain themselves for the evening. He can vaguely make out the shopping bags, the street food, the trinkets, the laughter. “Maybe next time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
There’s no next time, after all. This is their last night here before they take Amanai to Jujutsu High to merge with Tengen, and then it’ll be all over, and that’s why Suguru wants to stay—because this might be the most crucial moment in the entire mission just as it might be the most uneventful, ordinary. It doesn’t change the fact that it’ll be the last.
But if Amanai refuses to do it, then it won’t be. They’ll have another night like this, maybe, another time, another opportunity, another life. It gets Suguru thinking.
“We could live here,” Suguru muses, still at awe with the sight below. It’s far, but it’s within reach. “We could get used to this.” This—this alternate life that they’ve managed to gather in increments over the past month, passing moments that grew ever since they’ve known one another. They could live here, like this; having ordinary experiences and doing normal teenage boy things like running away from girls, pestering their friends, eating ramen at corner stores, shopping for presents, going to arcades—all without having to worry about the next curse to exorcise or if they’ll ever make it to tomorrow alive and well.
It’s a stupid fantasy, Suguru knows this all too well. Unrealistic in every aspect and every moment except for very few sparse ones, the kind that can be missed with a blink. But just because it’s far doesn’t mean it isn’t within reach. Maybe he can’t hold onto it, but he can at least touch it. They both can.
“No, we can’t. Not really, anyway,” Satoru says. He’s not looking at the same thing Suguru is; instead, his gaze is upwards. There are stars in the sky this time around. At this very moment Suguru remembers this: nothing about Satoru has ever been easy. “We’re the strongest.”
But his tone isn’t grave or purposely disheartening, and Suguru understands what Satoru means with these words he repeats like a mantra over and over again. It’s because they’re the strongest that they can afford to let Amanai choose her fate; it’s because they’re the strongest that they can afford to do what they think is the right thing, rather than let everyone else decide it for them. It’s because they’re the strongest that they’re going to continue hunting down curses and running into situations that just made them more and more jaded about reality, but the price will be worth it, even if that price may be cherished moments like these.
Suguru is tired of giving everything only to receive nothing back. But risking everything for this mission doesn’t feel like it’ll be for naught when it’s for Amanai’s future, and that’s something. It's something they’ll protect, because it’s their future too.
“Because we’re shamans?” Suguru wonders idly.
Satoru removes his glasses and tilts his head, looking at Suguru. “You know it’s never been about that.”
It hasn’t. It’s no longer about the divide, and it’s always been more than the shaman protecting the non-shaman, the strong protecting the weak. It’s about being able to give the people Satoru and Suguru care about the lives they deserve. The sacrifices would no longer be in vain. The pain would be at the price of happiness.
“You’re wisest at the strangest times,” Suguru tells him.
“Hm.” Though Satoru would usually eat up the praise with ease, this time, he says nothing to that. Then, “I like it when you look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Not resentful. No longer that big ball of negative energy with such a stupid face. It’s actually,” Satoru taps his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a handsome face, actually.”
“While yours is still dirty.” Suguru leans forward and brushes his finger against Satoru’s jaw, wiping away the lipstick stain. Satoru just stares at him, but the weight of his gaze doesn’t phase Suguru. The latter then reaches up to run a hand through Satoru’s hair, just because he can. He can claim it’s because he wants to fix it, but really, actually holding it makes him realize he wants to make it messier because of the look Satoru’s giving him. It makes him feel warm in a pleasant and uncomfortable way, contradicting feelings that aren’t so uncommon when it comes to Satoru. “What?”
Satoru leans into Suguru’s touch. “Does that mean we’ll finally get to have sex since you’re content?”
“Content,” Suguru mimics, because he still doesn’t really know what Satoru means by that, and it doesn’t seem like Satoru’s inclined to explain himself. “As if.” He flicks Satoru in the forehead, making Satoru wince and jolt back. Suguru pulls away. “Keep your filthy hands and thoughts to yourself.”
“You’re the one touching me though,” Satoru protests, pouting. “Wanna dance then?”
“What are we, boyfriends? No.”
Satoru lets out a sulky noise. “You’re so hard to please. Why?”
“That’s such a—” It’s not right to say that’s a girl thing to do. “—romantic thing to do.”
“And you hate that, because you’re a stick in the mud, I see.” Satoru nods in mock understanding. Then he snaps his fingers. “Or no, maybe it’s because you’re a chicken? That’s why you’re refusing. You’re scared that you’ll suck ass and humiliate yourself in front of a bunch of pretty girls in a public place.”
“How old do you think we are, Satoru? Nine? What makes you think I’m going to buy your stupid taunts?”
“You usually buy them though.” Satoru moves away from the railing to casually fold his arms behind his head. He moves closer to Suguru, all up in his personal space; if someone accidentally wanders in and bumps into either of them, they could kiss, just like that, but this isn’t a fairytale, and both boys have better control of their gravity than that. Suguru refuses to cave in and distance himself despite how absurdly near Satoru is to him. He just eyes him suspiciously. “Does that mean you’re normally a nine-year old mentally, and the ‘mature, brooding’ Suguru only comes out to play during Cinderella hours?”
“Did you just call me a princess? Satoru, I’ll fucking—”
He’s halfway through trying to strangle Satoru when he feels something snap inside him, and he freezes. Satoru immediately notices the shift in Suguru’s mood. “Suguru?”
“The connection broke.” Just as Suguru explains it, he feels another snap, another curse of his dispersing. It’s the first time it’s happened in the past month, when he wasn’t in direct combat. “We have to go to Amanai.”
Satoru understands immediately. “Let’s take a raincheck on the foreplay?”
“That was not foreplay,” Suguru dryly replies as he walks past Satoru, even if he knows Satoru is fifty percent serious about his comment because he’s a hundred percent fucked in the head.
“How would you know? You’re very vanilla for a healthy handsome high schooler.”
“I’ll kill you myself if whatever’s after Amanai doesn’t do it first,” Suguru threatens mildly. But because he’s Suguru and because Satoru is Satoru, Suguru still adds, “If we all make it past this, we can do one song.”
“You know we will,” Satoru tells him confidently, but there’s a boyish smile on his face, sincere despite the confident flare all his expressions carry. It’s the kind of look only Suguru can make out, because it’s meant solely for him. “We’re the strongest, remember?”
(They may be the strongest, but they never take a raincheck on that dance. They never go to that arcade. There exists no future for them to protect, just a future long-destroyed. Their lives—that life, the kind they couldn’t hold onto for long but at least could try to touch—end.)