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“Suguru. Have you ever kissed anyone?”
“What?”
“Have you ever kissed anyone? It’s a simple question. I’m sure you can comprehend it, simple as you are.”
To Satoru’s infinite annoyance Suguru simply tuts at the jab, too absorbed in his Taisho and early Showa period cursed weaponry research to give Satoru his full attention. To be fair, the essay is due tomorrow, but the only reason Satoru even knows that is because Suguru yelled it at him forty-five minutes ago when he barged into his room, demanding attention only to be brutally rebuffed and promptly ignored. He wasn’t deterred though, Suguru couldn’t get off for something as easy as homework.
Which is fine by him; Satoru is perfectly capable of carrying this conversation all by his lonesome. Not like he doesn’t carry them through most of their missions anyways.
“I have. It wasn’t very good, but I don’t really think it can be when you’re twelve.” He wrinkles his nose at the memory, or at least, the tatters of it he vaguely recalls. “I don’t even remember her name. It’s only been five years, that’s not even that-” He sits up on his elbows from his bodily sprawl across Suguru’s bed, “Wait. Did I even know her name?”
Suguru snorts. Of course he heard that. The one thing that makes me sound the most like an ass, of course.
“You’re the worst," Suguru says, but he’s smiling, even if he thinks Satoru can’t see from where he’s laying.
“So? Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Suguru," he whines.
Suguru huffs something closer to an actual laugh this time, apparently in just as teasing a mood as Satoru, despite his earlier scolding and the undoubtedly boring essay that sits in his lap. Actually, maybe that’s why he’s willing to humor Satoru, even for a moment. That or it’s the sweet, sticky summer air that’s been drifting in through the cracked sliding door. It tends to have that effect on people.
“No, I haven’t," he says simply. Purely a statement of fact. It appears he doesn’t have any feelings on the matter, which is fine. Satoru isn’t really sure what he was expecting in the first place.
And yeah, the typical Gojo Satoru response would be to make some jab about how sad that is (it’s really not, it doesn’t make a difference in the slightest to him), or that Suguru is too ugly (totally and completely untrue) so it makes sense, but for some reason it feels like the conversation is over. Suguru didn’t snap. In fact, his tone was completely neutral and suggested he felt nothing specific about it, but it's like some unseen thing--like a curse--has taken up residence in the room with them. It’s not bad, just a little heavy, a little off, enough to make Satoru bite his tongue for once and just let Suguru return to his homework.
It’s also enough to get him thinking, which is never a good thing.
The silence that settles into the room isn’t any different from before, if a bit weightier. He settles back down onto the bed, willing holes into the ceiling with his eyes--technique be damned--while simultaneously hoping the bed swallows him whole. Maybe it’s all just in his head. He’s pretty far up there at the moment. But, like every time he’s around Suguru, after a couple minutes the thoughts piling behind his skull stumble into his mouth and a single question slips out before he can think better of it.
“You know what’s ironic though?”
Suguru hums, clearly only half paying attention but at least making an effort.
“The kiss. I did it for myself. We’ve talked about it before, my family and how I was raised. You remember. So naturally I did it so I could control at least one thing that happened in my life. But you know what’s funny? The only thing I really remember about it is that I did it to spite my parents. Not where it was or how I knew the girl or even her name. So I guess in the end even something as small as a kiss belonged to them too.”
It’s a truth he’s never confronted out loud. Thought it a million times, turned it around in his head enough to make himself sick, but never said it aloud. Not until now. It sounds so silly, childish even, that giving it weight in the already heavy summer air seems trivial. A cicada drones in the trees just beyond the cracked door and the slowly setting sun washes the room in shades of orange and pink. The world keeps spinning. Gojo Satoru will always be tied to his family and their name. Life goes on.
“For someone always claiming to be the strongest you sure are stupid Satoru.”
The cicada outside cuts off.
“What?”
“I said for someone always claiming to be the strongest, you’re pretty damn stupid Gojo Satoru.”
“I heard you, you ass, that’s not what I-”
“You did it for yourself.”
“Well yeah, that’s what I said-”
The wad of paper that hits his forehead obviously doesn’t hurt, but it catches him by surprise--so much for six-eyes--enough to make him jump.
“Gah! Wounded! Call Shoko!” He rolls around on the mattress to outrun the seriousness that’s shadowing this line of conversation, making extra sure to get a good knock over the other’s bun. “She’ll finish me off, I can't go on like this!”
Suguru, clearly at his wits end and tired of distractions--the most fun version of his best friend might he add--shoots back, “I’m going to be the one to finish you off myself if you don’t let me finish what I was saying you dick.”
“As if you could!” He flails some more just for good measure. He must’ve gotten another good hit because ten seconds later Suguru is trying to wrestle Satoru into the mattress, elbowing his ribs and nearly shoving his fingers into his mouth as he presses Satoru’s face into the cushioning.
Satoru’s almost tempted to turn on Infinity to really mess with friend, but he ultimately decides to be the bigger man and goes for the crotch shot. Suguru isn’t stupid, so he manages to dodge in time, but the time it takes him to evade is long enough for Satoru to flip them and pin his wrists to the bed. They both lay there for a second, their heaving breaths the only sound in the otherwise still room.
They both burst out laughing.
They’ve done this song and dance so many times it’s as comfortable as sliding under freshly washed sheets. Satoru flops over, still giggling like trying to beat the shit out of each other is the funniest joke either of them can come up with, because it kind of is, his cheeks aching pleasantly. It must be the summer air. He’s lightheaded with it and the laughter.
He looks over at Suguru and immediately feels his stomach bottom out. He should probably look away, probably back the hell up because this is getting downright dangerous now, but he’s entranced. Suguru’s hair slipped from his bun at some point during their squabble, fanning out messily beneath him, his cheeks slightly pink though it’s barely noticeable in the waning evening light, a huge smile plastered across his face. He’s practically glowing.
He really wishes he could blame the way his stomach lurches back up, up, up, into his throat on the rolling around.
“You’re such an idiot,” Suguru says softly, too softly, with a smile in his voice. Satoru can’t look at him anymore. He’s fairly certain his heart would swell in its cage, enough to puncture and bleed and where would he carry these feelings then? “I was trying to tell you it doesn’t matter. You made a choice. Even if how you remember it feels tainted, it doesn’t change the fact it was your decision in the first place.”
The comfortable silence that blankets them is heavy with words and thoughts that will never be spoken.
“Why haven’t you kissed anyone Suguru?”
Though the intent behind that one is pretty obvious.
A long, thoughtful pause follows.
“There wasn’t anyone I wanted to kiss," he practically whispers, like it’s some kind of ugly secret. And maybe it is. Maybe there is intent behind those words too. Maybe they aren’t even talking about kissing anymore, but he can't bring himself to consider that vein of thought for longer than a heartbeat.
But the use of past tense isn’t lost on Satoru either, and Suguru’s clever enough he doesn’t doubt it was intentional. This thing they’ve been dancing around, this lingering weight that’s only gotten heavier since Satoru persisted with this damn conversation, spreads itself into the folds of their clothes, their hair, the crinkled sheets beneath them, everywhere.
Still, he won’t dwell on it.
“I wasn’t anything special growing up.” Lies, you’re a liar. How could you say that about yourself? The smile’s still in his voice as he continues, “Weak, gangly, awkward, weird. The other kids knew something was different about me, even if they couldn’t see curses.”
Satoru tries to imagine a younger Suguru, small but long limbed, quieter--probably extremely self-conscious--and tries to reconcile the image with Suguru now, only to find he can’t. He huffs a laugh.
“Oh I don't doubt you were,” Suguru turns to him sharply out of the corner of his eye, no doubt seconds away from cutting off wherever he thinks this line of thought is going, but Satoru presses, “but I can’t even imagine it.”
“Can’t imagine someone not wanting to kiss the class weirdo?” He’s deliberately misunderstanding. Satoru normally wouldn’t press it since he’s obviously skirting around a sensitive topic, similar to when he initially answered Satoru’s question about kissing, but maybe, just maybe, the summer air and this mood hanging over them is making it easier to say what he really wants to.
Maybe he’s just trying to make himself feel better.
He props himself on an elbow to properly look at Suguru, no matter how tough it actually is. He needs to say it. Suguru needs to hear it.
“Can’t imagine you being anything but what you are now.”
The silence that envelops them again is less comfortable; more charged, like the seconds before a high-grade curse appears. But there’s no threat here in this room; just two stupid boys talking about stupid things that don’t mean anything in the harsh reality of curses and destruction and death.
The sun is nearly set, the dying rays glazing the room and its shadows orange-red. The cicada stopped screeching a while ago, but it’s rhythm seems to have transferred to the buzzing beneath Satoru’s fingers, in his belly, in his heart.
Suguru blinks at him.
He seems like he wants to say something, but either can’t bring himself to voice it or simply doesn’t have the words. It’s so unlike his friend it startles Satoru. He’s about to play the statement off, make some sort of joke or maybe even start wrestling him again to diffuse this seriousness and slight awkwardness and tension, to run away because he can handle anything but he’s not sure he can handle this, when Suguru makes a noise.
A laugh? A sob? He doesn’t know.
“Thank you.”
He isn’t really sure what Suguru is thanking him for, but the look on his face and the cloudy mix of emotions behind his eyes keeps him from asking. Whatever it is, he feels like it’s not his place to know. There’s another question burning the tip of his tongue, however, and it falls from his lips yet again before he can even register how monumentally stupid it is.
“Suguru. Who do you want to kiss?”
Choking. Crushing. Suffocating. Why is he pushing this? Why is he letting this thing settle even further into the sliver of space between them? Why?
His friend, his best friend--the only one he can imagine at his side--huffs a soft little laugh, breathless and light.
(He knows why.)
“Such an idiot." But the smile in his voice, the fondness, it’s too much, even as Satoru leans forward to chase it. "You already know.”
And chase it he does. When Suguru doesn’t pull away, when their lips meet, Satoru stops breathing all together.
It’s a chaste little thing. Just the light press of two lips together, barely enough pressure to register, but for Satoru there's static in his fingers as they sing with the touch. They lie there a moment, drinking each other in, letting the weight of their shared (Shared!) attraction bleed through their bodies into the small, perfect little kiss.
Satoru pulls back slightly. Suguru’s soft breathing fans against his lips, the ghost of their kiss lingering in the sliver of space and he wants to chase it, capture it again and again and again to show Suguru in the only way he can just how unique and strong and special he truly is.
Instead he says, “Yeah, definitely your first.”
He expects the hand that smushes into his face with enough force he loses his balance and flops onto his back. Expects to be tackled and shoved into the mattress once again, kicking and flailing, like he doesn’t love every second their hands and legs and bodies touch, like he hasn’t been aching for it for months now.
What he doesn’t expect are the lips that gently slide over his own once again, stealing the breathless laughter right out of his lungs. What he doesn’t expect is the tenderness in Suguru’s hands as he cups his cheeks as if he’s cradling fine porcelain. What he doesn’t expect is the warmth that fills his cheeks and spills down into his overflowing heart, enough to reduce the sticky summer air to a cold chill in its wake.
He couldn’t have anticipated how he would feel at that moment.
(Though he always kind of knew.)
Suguru is the first to pull back this time, and if he notices Satoru follows him subconsciously, he at least has enough sense not to comment on it. He watches Satoru’s face with the same cloudy-eyed look from before, though there’s a satisfied tilt in his smile, like they didn’t just change the entire structure of their two and half year relationship in the span of two and a half seconds.
“I still have to finish my essay," he deadpans.
They both burst into laughter once again.
“Your dirty talk could use some work," Satoru quips through his giggles, but concedes the point when Suguru climbs off him and back onto the floor at the foot of the bed. They’re both reluctant to let go, if the way Suguru’s hands on Satoru’s arms linger and Satoru keeps his legs entwined with Suguru’s are any indication, but they manage. Suguru easily picks up where he left off on his essay, the only difference this time being that when Satoru tries to distract him, he decides to place soft kisses on his head, his cheeks, his brow, anywhere he can reach. Suguru pointedly ignores him, or at least, pretends to.
And just like that, they’re right back to where they started.
Although this time, they aren’t, not really, and there isn’t anywhere else Gojo Satoru would rather be.