Chapter Text
To be honest, neither Megumi nor Gojo really liked the song that much. Objectively, they thought it was repetitive; too slow and monotonous for their musical liking.
But that goddamned Weezer song meant everything and more to them.
Gojo’s bittersweet moments and Megumi’s sentimental childhood were embedded in every note, every lyric. It was what they played when they were sad, happy, nervous, excited. Every bump in the road was met with the same four chords, every victory celebrated by dancing alone in their rooms.
They wore the song to its bones, until they knew every line, until they could sing it forwards and backwards. Until the song carried so much weight that it was no longer a basic riff, but a collection of memories.
Megumi and Gojo never expected to be so comforted by the familiarity of that song.
“Island in the Sun”
“So…” Suguru puts his hands behind his head, “what music do you listen to?”
They had just met an hour ago and were already on a train to run errands for Yaga (he needed them to pick up a weapon of some sorts). It had been awkward, of course. The two fifteen-year-olds had no idea how to talk to each other, let alone get to know each other. Suguru tries his hand at socializing after ten long minutes of watching Satoru listen to music through his earbuds.
“Hey, Gojo!” He taps his shoulder, “What music do you listen to?”
Satoru tenses and flushes red.
“Uhh…” he mutters, “Well, I kind of like the Yoshida Brothers, I guess.”
Suguru stares, mouth gaping open.
“As in the tsugaru-shamisen musicians? Like, traditional Japanese music?”
Satoru glares back, “Yeah, well, I wasn’t allowed to listen to any other music because it would ‘rot my brain’ so my taste is limited, okay?”
A mere ten minutes into their two hour long train ride and they’re already off to a bad start. How was Suguru supposed to know that Satoru Gojo had shit taste in music?
“Oh… sorry,” he apologizes meekly.
Satoru puts his earbuds back in and stares out the window, eyebrows furrowed. The train rattles on and the air between them thickens. Although they are sitting next to each other, Suguru and Satoru had never seemed so far apart.
Fuck it.
Suguru nudges Satoru’s side.
“What?” He sounds irritated.
“Can I play you a few songs?”
Satoru’s cold expression softens as he looks at Suguru’s excited yet nervous face. He’d never met someone like Suguru before — granted, he spent most of his youth with his own family and other stoic adults. But the boy with the bangs had an endearing naïveté; something that reminded Satoru that he was also just a fifteen-year-old kid. In the short hour that they’d known each other, Satoru already senses the feeling of laughter and innocence and weightlessness that being with Suguru brings him. He likes it.
“Yeah,” he smiles, “that would be nice.”
Suguru beams at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
He’d heard of the infamous Gojo Satoru: the boy with the Six Eyes. The legacy of the Gojo clan, who would change the jujutsu world as he knew it. Satoru was what he expected — pompous, incredibly strong, somewhat aloof — and so much more. Suguru never expected Satoru’s goofiness or soft smile or affinity for all things sweet (though, upon learning about the Gojo clan’s strict diet, that was understandable). He likes it.
Suguru scooches closer to his new friend, shoulders touching as he plugs in his earbuds.
“Here, you can have this one.”
They lean towards each other, sharing Satoru’s pair of earbuds.
“There’s this American song you might like! Here, let me play it…”
As he plays the song, he watches Satoru smile and slightly bop his head. The rumble of the rails and chatter of the passengers are drowned out by the harmony of their laughs when Satoru gets excited about the singing.
“They’re singing! Wow!”
Watching Satoru made Suguru feel like he’d never truly listened to music before.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s amazing! I’ve never heard anything like it!”
Underneath his sunglasses, Satoru’s eyes gleam. The music was nice, yes. But the eager boy whose knee was touching his was better. He’d never seen someone so bright, so beautiful. He liked the way Suguru got excited when he got excited, the way he air-guitared at certain parts of the song, the way he looked at him, waiting for a reaction.
From that moment forward, the two boys were inseparable. They were each other’s first friends, and each other’s best friends.
“Holy shit.”
“Do you like it?”
“Holy shit, Satoru.”
Suguru stares at the very large, very unexpected, very expensive gift in his hands.
He’d never really celebrated his birthday before, so he didn’t know what to expect anyways. Because Satoru was an only child, he loved extravagant celebrations and insisted on at least a small party for Suguru. So on his sixteenth birthday, Suguru sits at a small table, surrounded by a couple gifts, a few friends (if he includes Yaga-sensei as a friend), and way too many decorations.
“Of course I like it, Satoru! It’s just…”
He traces the smooth wood with his hands, gently plucking at the strings. It sounds elegant and rich, just as it looks.
“You didn’t have to, it’s too expensive.”
Goddamn that considerate son-of-a-bitch. Somehow, Satoru had remembered that Suguru mentioned (in passing) how he wanted to learn to play the guitar. Somehow, Satoru had remembered how Suguru air-guitared every time they listened to music together. And somehow, Satoru had chosen the perfect guitar for Suguru.
It’s gorgeous: sleek black that shines navy in the light. The curves fit perfectly into the angles of Suguru’s body and it sits comfortably in his arms. Suguru doesn’t need to strum it to know that it carries limitless music, infinite melodies.
But he can’t accept it. It’s too expen—
“No, it’s fine. I’m rich.” Satoru gives a goofy grin.
That (kind) bastard.
Suguru had a hunch that Satoru was loaded (after all, he was the sole inheritor of the Gojo clan’s riches). He also seemed to impulse buy many things, which was understandable because he’s a sixteen-year-old child.
“Are you sure?”
“Suguru,” Satoru takes off his sunglasses to look into his friend’s worried eyes, “Do you like it?”
He could never hide from Satoru.
He smiles, “I love it, Satoru.”
That night, Satoru folds his laundry to the racket of Suguru’s attempt at guitar-playing.
In the boys’ dorms, they were alone together but shared a (sometimes unfortunate) thin wall. Satoru was used to Suguru’s late night restlessness; falling asleep to the sound of his pacing or his TV or his music was a nightly routine. Vice versa, Suguru was used to Satoru’s early rising; sleeping through his morning stretches and destructive dancing when he got ready was a talent he developed over time.
Hanging up his shirt, Satoru makes a mental note to get used to the cacophony that is Suguru’s guitar. If it were anything else, he would kindly tell Suguru to shut the fuck up . But Satoru can’t help but smile at Suguru’s utterances when he messes up — ah, fuck! wrong chord — and his excitement when something (miraculously) sounds good.
He is unwillingly yet utterly endeared by the sound of Suguru’s god awful music — if one can even call it that.
He could listen to it for hours.
A year later, Satoru and Suguru are a little older and a little wiser. Actually, not-so-much wiser; they’re still as childish as they’ve always been. They are stronger, though, and that’s what matters. Their first year at the school had gone by quickly, filled with missions and bonding and growing pains. Alas, they still continue their (now nightly) chats in each other’s rooms; this night, they’re in Suguru’s.
“… I can’t believe you got Haibara to prank Nanami with you! It was so bad, too!”
Satoru has tears in his eyes and is literally rolling around on the floor.
“Su-gu-ru!” he gasps between laughs, “Stop! I can’t breathe!”
Suguru starts losing it, “ You ,” he cackles, “put glue in Nanami’s hair gel.”
Satoru laughs even harder.
Oh, the image of poor, emo Nanami showing up to class with sleek hair, styled to perfection in an aggressive side part. The way Satoru and Suguru tried so very hard (did they, really?) not to laugh but then lost it when they made eye contact with each other. How dear Haibara looked so guilty but also stifled a laugh when the eraser Shoko threw at Nanami bounced right off of his rock-solid hair.
“Did you,” Satoru giggles, “did you get a picture?”
Suguru shows him his home screen and they laugh all over again, practically howling.
They lived for moments like this.
Many minutes later, they sit up straight, clear their throats, and wipe tears from their eyes.
“Haibara,” Suguru coughs, “Haibara snuck the bottle in and out of his room?”
“Yup!” There’s the goofy grin. “I barely had to do anything.”
They sigh and smile and sit in comfortable silence, the air tender with familiarity.
“Huh,” Satoru smirks, “I forgot you had that.”
A dusty guitar sits in the corner of the room, somewhat hidden among Suguru’s many books and belongings.
“Oh, yeah…” Suguru scratches his head sheepishly, “I’ve been meaning to play…”
He looks down at his hands and back at Satoru. To be honest, he really did want to practice. But their first year had been rough on them, with back to back missions and constant training. Suguru always came to his room and crashed; any spare energy was saved for his times with Satoru.
“No, no, it’s all good.” Satoru looks guilty for pointing it out. “I know we’ve been really busy this year.”
For a second, they sit there, looking everywhere but at each other.
“Can I play you a song?”
Suguru peeks at Satoru, giving him a small smile. Satoru beams at him.
“Sure.”
Suguru stands up and reaches for the guitar, sitting down across from Satoru. He plucks at the strings, tuning it by ear. He looks up at the eager boy.
“Sorry it’s bad…” he laughs and scratches the back of his head, “it’s just the easiest song I could learn; it’s only four chords.”
“Nothing can be worse than your first day of playing.”
Satoru smirks at him lovingly and Suguru starts playing.
He strums slowly, the chords ringing tastefully out of tune. Satoru giggles as Suguru fumbles with the fingering, cursing under his breath. The song is familiar, though he hadn’t heard it in a year.
Then, Suguru starts singing. Although he isn’t necessarily good, his soft singing voice catches Satoru off guard. Satoru listens to Suguru’s out of tune guitar and off-key singing with stars in his eyes, completely enamored.
Thank god Suguru is so incredibly concentrated on his hands. Satoru doesn’t have to hide how he looks at Suguru (with the utmost endearment). He loves the way Suguru’s bangs fall in his face and the way his voice gets raspy at certain parts and the way his hands look when he’s playing. When Suguru finishes the song, Satoru can’t help but want more.
More of this .
More of him.
“That was the first song you showed me, right?”
Suguru grins. “I’m surprised you recognized it. Yeah, ‘Island in the Sun’.”
Satoru could never forget that song, especially now.
“How was it?” Suguru asks, “Be honest.”
Honest? Well, Satoru honestly never wanted to fall in love with the sound of Suguru’s dumb guitar and stupid voice. He honestly couldn’t stand the way he completely melted when he heard Suguru play, the way he (even now) could barely hide his flushed face. He honestly hated how much he depended on him, how he realized (at this moment) that he would never be the same after meeting Suguru Getou.
That was a lie.
Honestly, Satoru loved his music almost as much as he loved him.
“The guitar was good, but your singing is ass.”
Suguru sighs and laughs. “Shut the fuck up, I’d like to hear you try.”
“Oh really?”
“Want me to play it again?”
“Tune your guitar first. I’m gonna sing so well you’ll fall in love with me.”
“In your dreams, Satoru.”
It wasn’t so far fetched, though. Because that night, in Suguru’s room, when the two boys played that song together, Suguru did fall in love.
“Shhhh Suguru! You’re gonna wake up Yaga-sensei!”
“I’m not the one who fell out of the window!”
“You didn’t catch me!”
The two second-years giggle, eager to spend their last day of winter break doing what they do best: being mischievous. They sneak off campus and steal bicycles, speeding down the hill to get to downtown. They whoop and holler, the cold night air stinging their faces, their hair flying and knotting in the wind.
Finally, after nearly an hour of biking and train hopping, they reach Tokyo’s famous night market. They gaze at the neon lights and the lanterns, soaking in the sweet and savory smells and the noise of the bustling crowd.
They look at each other with giddy grins.
“I’ll eat more than you.”
“Haha, you fucking wish .”
“We have an unlimited budget, right?”
“Yeah, I’m rich.”
“You don’t have to keep reminding me, dipshit.”
“We’re gonna throw up, aren’t we?”
Suguru smiles. “Race you to the tofu stand!”
They lock their bikes and sprint, dodging and weaving through the crowd. For an hour they go stand hopping, black and white hair racing through the busy street.
They shopped around (Suguru bought hair clips for himself and Shoko) and haggled prices (Suguru had to mediate an almost-fight between Satoru and the taiyaki stand owner).
It was thrilling: the neon signs and warm glow of the lanterns clashed wonderfully, the smell of cigarette smoke and food felt inviting. Neither of them knew, but Suguru and Satoru would steal glances at each other, any moment they could.
They wanted to remember this night forever.
The way Satoru’s face squeezed when he got a brain freeze from the shaved ice. The way Suguru stuck his tongue out when the fried chicken was too hot. The way Satoru could not help but jump up and whack the hanging banners.
Full of food and laughter, the two boys make their way back to school (walking their bikes for the first half). They chat about everything and nothing in particular, racing each other for some parts, then laying on the ground afterwards, instantly regretting the race. Rinse and repeat until they finally stumble into Suguru’s room at 3AM.
“I can’t believe you almost fought the taiyaki stand owner! He was literally about to throw hands!”
“It’s not my fault his prices were unreasonable for mediocre taiyaki.”
“You’re the worst.”
“But you still love me.”
Suguru smiles. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
He punches Satoru, who dramatically stumbles around, knocking over the guitar in the corner.
“Shit! Sorry!” He apologizes to Suguru (or the guitar, who knows?) and sets the instrument upright.
“Hey.” Suguru smirks at Satoru, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
He always was.
Satoru gives him a giddy grin and hands him the guitar, sitting down on the ground across from him.
Suguru strums at the guitar, playing an all-too-familiar song, soaking in all that he can of the melody of Satoru’s voice. He knows the chords well, so he can look up at the way Satoru sways when he sings.
They wanted to remember this night forever.
Suguru memorized the way Satoru sang through his smile, how he giggled when Suguru messed up. Satoru would never forget how he reached over to tuck Suguru’s bangs behind his ear, how they smiled at each other with stars in their eyes.
The song wasn’t perfect, and neither were they.
But Satoru and Suguru loved the slightly out-of-tune guitar and the laughs in between lyrics. They loved making fun of each other and goofing off and arguing. Being out of sync and accidentally kissing noses. Forgetting dates and being late.
Satoru and Suguru loved how imperfect, how human they were.
It was lovely while it lasted.
After months and months, Satoru finally musters up the will to step into a room completely ruined.
Ruined by the cruelness of the world. Books ripped apart by madness unfolding. Coffee cups and ashtrays shattered with the heaviness of responsibility. Burnt clothes in a pile in the middle of the floor, previously aflame with the fire of anger and anguish.
The room that once hosted game nights and movies, laughing on the floor until they couldn’t breathe. The room with pictures on the wall and a light breeze through the always-open window. The room that once smelled faintly of cigarettes and sweet candles and sometimes of hard-earned sweat and grime. The room that had ashtrays for cigarettes and bowls for candies. The room that always had hair ties and jackets and socks strewn about.
It took months and months for Satoru to see Suguru’s room in ruins.
He had left overnight, without a sound, without a goodbye. Even when Satoru confronted him, he did not rage or yell. Satoru’s lasting memory of Suguru was the image, the feeling, of a dead man walking. Suguru seemed numb: blunt, as he had always been. He didn’t carry the anger or the passion necessary to do what he did.
But his room could not hide the truth.
His room told the story of the suffocating truth — the one that drove Suguru to murder. The ruins of his room evoked the rage and exhaustion that he could never show Satoru. It’s not like he went insane, no; his actions were executed with a perfectly clear mind. The rubble of Suguru’s room simply showed Satoru his breaking point, the result of bottled up hatred for the world. In the dirtiness and messiness of the cursed world, of his ruined room, Suguru finally found clarity. Or, at least, he thought he did.
Satoru couldn’t hate Suguru for falling apart. Though, he hated that he still loved him after it.
His heart hurt as he stood in the room that once held so many happy memories. The room completely ruined.
All except for a perfectly kept guitar, lightly used, resting in the corner.