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Suguru rakes his fingers through his loose hair in a fruitless attempt to ease the scalp pain. He looks tired, his skin is kind of grey in the fluorescent light of the bathroom, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes. As he brushes his teeth for the third time, the last two weeks flash through his mind; mission after mission, not very dangerous but time-consuming. Add the regular amount of assignments for school and not much spare time is left.
It’s fine though, they’re doing important work and there’s only one more day and they would get their promised free weekend. They’ll use it well. Lately, Suguru only saw his friends in class, but he can tell they are sick of their tight schedule too.
He spits into the sink, the foul taste in his mouth finally gone. After one last glance in the mirror, he shuts off the light and shuffles to his bed. Its call would direct him even without the moonlight illuminating his dorm room.
With a grateful sigh, he crawls onto the soft mattress. He wraps his blanket around himself tightly, presses his cheek into the pillow. This is as good as it gets. It takes mere seconds for his mind to drift off, vague thoughts of what Satoru and he would do with their free time lulling him into sleep fast. He is looking forwa—
His door flies open, and the bright light from the corridor eradicates the pleasant darkness. One familiar long figure standing in the doorframe casts an even longer shadow onto the floor. Now, Suguru is a hundred percent sure no one can summon an actual, living person, and yet….
“Hey, Suguru!” Satoru turns on the lights of his room, so he pulls the blanket over his head, making his displeasure known with a loud groan. Satoru just laughs at him.
“You sleepin’?! God, you’re so boring, it’s barely midnight.”
From beneath the blanket, he can hear Satoru close the door and toe-off his shoes. There are also some rummaging noises. Satoru has planned a long night.
“I haven’t had enough sleep in days,” he huffs. How is Satoru not as exhausted as him?
“Can’t you entertain yourself at least until class tomorrow?”
“Class won’t be good entertainment,” Satoru says matter of fact, and completely beside the point.
“This, on the other hand—,” the rummaging by the door stops and there’s an expectant pause. Against his better judgement, Suguru peeks out from under the covers, blinks in the blinding light to focus his eyes on whatever Satoru’s presenting, and — pulls the covers right back over his head with a frustrated whine.
Satoru continues over his protest. “—this, my friend, will bring us joy!”
Steps close in on him and he hears Satoru flop down on the floor next to his bed. The flat case of the DS game lands against his arm. Then there’s some more rummaging noises.
“Satoru, you don’t even like Pokémon that much, why— .“
“We’re going to trash talk it,” his best friend interrupts cheerily.
Suguru grits his teeth and tries to sink into the mattress. The sounds of sunglasses clattering onto his nightstand and of the game starting, reach his ears. Without warning, there’s a loud rustling above his head, making him flinch and then curse because he flinched.
“I brought snacks, too,” Satoru sing-songs.
At this, he pulls the blanket down a fraction. Enough to watch Satoru empty the tote bag on his bed, various boxes and bags of candy spilling out of it.
Suguru has eaten little for the last few meals. Some days everything tastes and feels too similar to the rancid curses he has to swallow, but Satoru, somehow, always brings the sweetest snacks and shows the most ridiculous delight when scarfing them down. It makes eating easier. Not for the first time, he wonders if the other is aware of that.
“Alright,” he says, acting as if he’s doing Satoru a giant favour, “you may stay.”
He shifts to get a better look at the screens.
Leaning with his back against the nightstand and his long legs stretched alongside the bed, Satoru just snorts at him.
“As if you’d kick me out.”
The angle is awkward, but Suguru punches Satoru’s shoulder, anyway. His friend whines overdramatically, but that’s not the reason for the warm satisfaction buzzing within him. Well, not the only reason.
There was no Infinity. When it’s just them, Satoru doesn’t use it often anyway and when he does, then only to annoy him. But regardless. It’s nice.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realises how much he’s missed this in the last two weeks.
They often spent their nights like this, keeping each other company until God-knows-when.
Satoru would come over, usually with some kind of game and a whole stash of sweets, sometimes with cheap beer and a lot of thoughts. He would sprawl himself and his stuff all over the floor and start babbling.
It is a ritual within a safe bubble of their own creation. At night, in this room, they are just two teenagers.
It’s nice.
Quickly, he steals a chocolate Umaibo out of Satoru’s reach, ignoring the other’s offended gasp, and watches the DS while getting comfortable on the bed.
“Hey, Suguru! Don’t sleep!”
Suguru blinks his eyes open. He doesn’t know how late it is.
“M’awake.”
“You aren’t. Have you even heard what I said?”
“I’m sure it’s something about how the Pokémon universe doesn’t make sense,” he mumbles against his arm angled beneath his head. The bed is so soft, the warmth under the blanket just right, Satoru is next to him, his shoulder leaning against the bed, relentlessly pressing the buttons of his console, talking—
“... stupid. With Digimon you have established rules, they’re digital, they come from Digiworld, right? But Pokémon are actual creatures from the actual world. How do they get into the ball, Suguru? What are they doing in the ball? They’re just locked in there and that’s fucked up,” he ends his rant with a dead serious stare and his eyebrows raised in challenge, daring Suguru to come up with a counterargument.
They have discussed this many times already. Or more accurately, Satoru talks about it with the passion of a child and the pseudo deepness of a seventeen-year-old while Suguru enables the nonsense with facetious questions. It’s their thing.
“Ok, if you hate the concept of the game so much, why—,” he yawns and snuggles deeper into the mattress, “did you waste money on it?”
Satoru snorts.
“It’s Pokémon, Suguru. I cannot not play it.”
“Of course,” he says in what he hopes is his most patronising tone and his sweetest smile.
“So you can talk about it with all the people you don’t have in your life.”
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”
“You came to my room,” he protests weakly.
Satoru answers with a shit-eating grin and then concentrates back on the DS. Within seconds, he’s engrossed again. Despite how dumb he thinks the game is, he makes a ridiculously earnest effort at being good at it.
If only Satoru had that kind of tenacity for actually important things. Suguru feels himself still smiling.
He’s also so tired, though. His eyes already droop shut again, but it’s fine, this is nice.
Cool air against his front stirs him from his dozing, and he yelps at the sudden movement on the bed. The room is dark again. Satoru mutters while rearranging the covers over his back, gets comfortable on his stomach and elbows, and continues playing as if nothing happened.
Suguru is gaping, he knows he is. Even though Satoru is pointedly not looking at him, he noticed, too, if the satisfied smirk is any sign.
“Maybe you’ll see better from here. No wonder you fall asleep when you can’t see all the action,” Satoru says, voice dripping with fake courtesy.
He manages a weak scoff, and then silence falls between them. Satoru’s attention seems to be back with the game, his gaze basically boring into the DS.
Minutes pass and Suguru tries to concentrate on the screens as well, but finds it difficult. The angle is actually worse like this, but that’s not the problem.
Sharing a bed has always felt like it would somehow cross a certain line, so neither of them has ever challenged their unspoken agreement to keep that distance. It was an easy rule, one he has never given much thought to. He should have, though, because this little change throws him off more than warranted. In a good way, on top of that.
Satoru is so close. He can hear his best friend’s quiet breathing, can feel their shared blanket shift with the tiniest movement, and most importantly, he can do something he usually wouldn’t get away with this easily. He can watch from up close.
Satoru’s face is illuminated by the harsh light of the game. It shouldn’t be flattering lighting, most people would look like a corpse. But Satoru isn’t most people, never was.
The light makes his messy hair look softer than it does in daylight and it catches the long, white lashes that frame those remarkable eyes of his. Right now, they’re nearly ridden of all colour, the iris only noticeable because of its dark specks. It makes them even more striking.
His gaze travels down further to soft looking lips and a sharp jawline. Just to make sure he hasn't missed anything, he takes in the fine features of the other’s face as a whole and comes to the same conclusion as always. Satoru’s pretty.
Although he’d rather swallow ten curses in a row than feed the other’s already gigantic ego, he can always admit to himself that his best friend is ridiculously pr—
Satoru’s whole face scrunches up, he kicks his shins against the mattress, and groans in a way that often marks the start of a fight between them.
“Who do I have to curse to make a Feebas appear, huh? Useless Magikarps… .”
Suguru can’t hold in the laughter that forms deep in his belly.
“What?” Satoru asks. He has that glint in his eyes, the one that makes it seem like he is proud he has done or said something funny.
“Nothing. And what you just said doesn’t make any se— ”
“I know! God, don’t be such a smartass all the time.”
Satoru’s attention returns to the game, but Suguru’s stays with his best friend’s annoyed little pout. Satoru notices.
“What?” he asks again.
Suguru smiles. He must be really tired.
“Nothing,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes locked with Satoru’s.
They watch each other for a moment before Satoru breaks eye contact, staring down at his game again and — oh.
Satoru is blushing. His cheeks are a shade darker than the rest of his face. Not just that, but his lips are pressed into a tight line, the corners still turned upward. It’s the world’s worst attempt at hiding a smile. A warm, bubbly feeling spreads within Suguru.
The slam of the DS being shut with unnecessary force, on the other hand, makes him flinch.
“I should go. It’s like, after four.”
The pleasant warmth within him is replaced with a heavy emptiness. Trust Satoru to break his own spell. For a few seconds Suguru just lies there in the darkness, dejected, but then — nothing happens. The silence drags on and Satoru doesn’t move one muscle. Only illuminated by the dim moonlight, it is still obvious that he’s tense. Satoru is waiting for something. Waiting for an invitation?
He doesn’t let himself think about the weight of his next words. If he does, he’ll chicken out.
“You could stay. If you want to.”
Satoru inhales, the tension bleeding from his figure.
“Yeah, I could,” he says in that quiet voice he only uses when he wants to show he’s taking something seriously.
With quick movements that somehow seem to drag on forever, Satoru puts away the DS and shifts into a comfortable position on the bed. They’re still close to each other, not touching but lying face to face on a mattress much smaller than Suguru ever noticed before. He isn’t tired anymore. In fact, he might jump out of his skin any moment soon, but the pleasant, heavy darkness steadies him. It’s exciting and terrifying at the same time.
Suguru’s not sure if he’s flying or falling.
Beneath the blanket, a finger brushes over his own. Satoru’s eyes search his face and he stares right back. His best friend looks so vulnerable it makes something protective flare up inside of him.
Emboldened, Suguru allows himself more contact; his hand travels up Satoru’s arm and only stops when it reaches the other’s face. His thumb brushes over a smooth cheek, his fingertips play with the short hair behind Satoru’s ear.
This right here is unfamiliar territory, but simultaneously something so natural, he realises it was only a matter of time for it to happen.
“Suguru?”
A tiny part of him expects a sarcastic and idiotic comment, but he knows nothing of that sort will be said. His gaze flies to Satoru’s eyes and sees them linger on his mouth before they snap up to meet his own.
“Have you ever… this feels like a moment where we could ki—“
He leans in and interrupts Satoru with a firm touch of lips against his. Suguru’s still not sure if he’s flying or falling, but he finds he doesn’t care. Satoru's right there with him.
When he pulls back to look at the other, his best friend is beaming like the sun.
“We could do that again.”
The laughter just breaks out of him. He doesn’t even know where it comes from. Joy, relief, excitement, disbelief, it doesn’t matter; he just knows he needs to get it out or else he might burst. Satoru looks a bit confused, which only makes him laugh more, so in order not to fuck up this whole thing he nods vigorously, grabs the other’s face and kisses him again. They both smile into it. Arms wrap around him and pull him close.
The kiss turns into many, only interrupted by short, breathy laughs whenever one of them gets too overzealous and makes an awkward move.
Over time, kisses fade into lazy pecks, and those eventually end with calm breathing against each other. The room is a little brighter by now, the slight grey of the morning catches the edges of the furniture.
Suguru doesn’t know how late it is but he doesn’t care, not when Satoru shifts into the mattress, hugs him tight and makes no move of letting him go anytime soon.
One or two hours of sleep should be in it for them. He brushes his lips one more time against Satoru’s cheek and stretches himself into a comfortable position within the other’s embrace. This is as good as it gets.
Turns out one or two hours of sleep will do nothing for you if you’re already running on fumes. Suguru feels like death warmed up, and the distinct rhythm of alarm sound number three tells him he already slept through the first two alarms. With a huff, he reaches for the clock, but his movement is stopped by Satoru, whose face is squished into his chest.
If his alarm wasn’t blasting his ears off, he would stop for a moment and revel in his memories of a few hours ago, watch Satoru or just go back to sleep himself, but this isn’t the situation he’s in.
He curses and shakes the dead weight clinging to him.
“Satoru.”
“I can hear it,” comes the muffled reply.
“Why aren’t you moving then?! We have fifteen minutes.”
Apparently that’s not enough reason for Satoru to move. Suguru groans and squeezes the lanky body still pressed against him. That earns him a pleased hum and all of a sudden he’s free of the other’s iron grip.
Suguru climbs out of bed, grabs his uniform from the cupboard and rushes into the bathroom. He leaves the alarm clock blaring away on the nightstand. That bastard can’t fall asleep again.
After exactly seven minutes he steps out of his now quiet room into the hallway where Satoru’s already waiting, dressed in his usual uniform and the round sunglasses on his nose. Neither of them says anything as they start walking in the direction of the classrooms and the silence continues on their way.
Suguru is still trying to calm down from the rush of almost ruining his perfect attendance score when he feels Satoru’s hand brush against his own. And again. And again. Two times too often to be accidental.
He breathes out a laugh and takes his best fr—, boyfr—, Satoru’s hand, intertwining their fingers.
“You could just ask if you want something. You aren’t sneaky.”
“I think I am,” Satoru says, too self-satisfied not to evoke curiosity in Suguru.
Not even Satoru would call that move sneaky; he must have missed something. Today, there has been little opportunity for bullshit yet, so maybe yesterday…
He groans.
“Yesterday, you didn’t crawl into my bed so I could see better, did you?”
Satoru radiates anything but the innocence he tries to fake.
“I gave you the opportunity, it’s not my fault you were that charmed by my handsome face.”
“Pretty,” he corrects before he can think about it. Satoru stops dead in his tracks in the middle of the corridor, only steps away from the safety of the classroom. Four steps, he figures, perhaps three, he does have long legs. But then Satoru’s fingers twitch in his grasp and he looks at the other.
His boy—, best—, Satoru’s face is beet red and like yesterday he’s trying and failing to hide a smile. Seeing this in bright daylight makes Suguru’s neck grow hot too, but Satoru isn’t left speechless often, so he’ll use the opportunity and go with it.
“Pretty fits you better, in my opinion.”
With a sweet smile, he pats Satoru’s burning cheek and leaves him standing where he is.
He enters the classroom where he is greeted by the sight of Shoko hastily snubbing out a cigarette on the outer frame of an open window.
“Oh good, just you,” she relaxes against the windowsill and flicks the ruined cigarette out into the crown of the nearest tree.
“Good morning to you too,” he says, sending her a disapproving frown as he sits down in his usual place
“What’s with you?”
In his mind he’s already listing reasons, why throwing trash into trees is Bad but when he faces Shoko, she’s staring over his head to the door. He follows her gaze and there’s Satoru, face still red but blank now.
Suguru rests his chin on his fist.
“Yeah, Satoru,” he drawls, grinning from ear to ear, “what’s wrong?”
Before Satoru can open his mouth to say something embarrassing for the both of them, Yaga-sensei arrives behind him, kindly asking him to ‘Take a fucking seat, would you?’.
After that, classes run the same as usual. Sensei explains something and asks questions. Shoko or he answers, and Satoru passes him little paper notes with comments about the lesson or random thoughts. A fresh development, though, is the increased amount of kaomoji and the occasional heart drawn on the notes.
It’s absolutely ridiculous and also so very nice, he might be unsettling Sensei and Shoko with all his poorly hidden grins.