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In all the inescapable complexities of the world there lies the window of what once was.
It was in those summer afternoons where they spent their breaks leaning against the vending machines, hands rummaging in pockets for loose coins. Cicadas obnoxiously loud, air heavy with humidity. It was in the fall, when Shoko would start to wear her scarf on missions, when Satoru’s favorite limited edition sweets came out. He would go to karaoke with Suguru for Halloween, when it was well past curfew and the moon looked like it would fall out of the sky. It was in winter nights when they’d tiredly peel oranges for one another with their legs intertwined under the warmth of the kotatsu—fingers idly tracing together. They’d visit the closest shrine and pray for another safe year with one another, Satoru would get him and Suguru matching yaku-yoke. It was in the spring when the air was filled with new beginnings and cherry blossom petals, Suguru would buy Satoru the sakura-flavored candies and sweets on his away missions.
There was something so far away about it all now—Satoru just couldn’t pinpoint what. It had only been a year since it had initially happened. The thought alone still burns a pit in his stomach, a heady, vitriolic weight that could make him nauseous if he thought too hard.
“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”
There is something patronizing in Suguru’s words, they sunk their way into his bones and mended their weight into his soul. No effective way to interpret them other than Suguru’s declaration of disbandment. They were no longer the strongest, it was as if Suguru had long before detached himself from their label. Their duo—the strongest. They were no longer a team, he had decided it long ago and Satoru was left with little words, he was so angry back then, he felt like he should’ve pleaded, but he knew it would have been fruitless.
He remembers how Yaga-sensei had asked why he didn’t go after Suguru, a murmured, “why didn’t you stop him, Satoru?”
“You’re really going to ask me that?”
It comes out harsh and bitter. He’s gripping the drink can as a vice, small indents made by his fingers as he tries not to cry anymore than he already has. He’s dancing on the surrealness of the situation, it’s not even processing if he were to be honest with himself.
There was no one in this small world that understood Gojo Satoru, from the day he was born and betrothed as gifted, no one dare step foot and claimed they understood, because they simply couldn’t—the last time anyone knew what Satoru’s life was like was 400 years ago, when the last Six Eyes user existed. There was only one exception to it all, the one and only person who could ever understand. No one came close besides Suguru.
At first, it may have been grandiose to be untouchable, and considered the soon to be strongest sorcerer. But it soon became a responsibility, a drag. The only relevance in saving was those who were strong. But it was Suguru who had made him think about the other edge of the sword; the weak needed help too. But applying reason and responsibility to jujutsu is what weak people do. They had argued over it a few times.
Whe he and Suguru argued he had never thought of it as anything more than a joke. What was the best Momotaro Dentetsu game? Momotaro Dentetsu 16: Moving to Hokkaido, What limited edition drinks were better? Apple Cola. What was the best place to get missions to? A tie, Osaka and Fukuoka. Those fights were different though.
Satoru misses the days when he could love and hold Suguru freely, finding him within an arm’s reach—able to seek out his attention with a simple, “Suguru.”
Able to walk into Suguru’s dorm with no hesitation and sling his body over the bed and huff a sigh. Suguru would usually be at his desk reading. When Satoru would beg him to ask Yaga-sensei if they could go out for leisure time on a school day. The days when he’d make Suguru stop in Takadanobaba and visit the arcade with him. When there was no responsibility or reason, just domestic life and the fleeting moments that accompanied it.
He recalls back on his 16th birthday, when they were first years. He hadn’t really expected anything. Maybe a drabbled birthday card written from Shoko that was more rudimentary than endearing. He definitely would flaunt how he was finally sixteen, not that Shoko or Suguru would care they’d prode at him for being the youngest.
Shoko and Suguru give him a badly drawn card, messy calligraphy and lots of stickers adorning the edges. The contents of the card were Shoko’s gift: jaggedly cut rectangles with things like, ‘one free reversed cursed technique on injuries,’ and a ‘good for one use: copy my notes.’ They are decorated in the same fashion as the card.
Satoru laughs, “I take better notes than you do!”
“Bold words for someone who likes to skip class.”
Shoko beguiles time as Suguru nervously prepares his gift.
Suguru hands over the bag, it is in pristine condition, the corners sharp like Suguru made sure nothing could touch it. It’s a pale yellow and reads: Miyajima Momiji Manju.
“You got me Momiji Manju! No way~ I never tried it before.”
Satoru pauses, his eyes leering into Suguru, “when did you get to go to Miyajima? let alone Hiroshima.”
Shoko chimes in, “We went without you the other week with Yaga-sensei, but Suguru went and got this for you by himself.” She winks at the end of her statement and saunters to the classroom door and declares she’s getting herself a coffee from the vending machines.
Satoru looks down at the bag and smiles, he is cradling it in both arms. “Thank you Suguru, I didn’t expect this nice of a gift.”
“You said you liked sweets, so I thought you might enjoy it.” He smiles lightly at Satoru, “I actually have another gift to give you, but I wanted you to open it when Shoko’s not around.”
“Okay!” Satoru's teeth flash a bright grin to show his excitement.
The day passed quickly, like birthdays always do, soundless and without a trace. Only after dinner did Suguru beckon for him from the table Satoru is sitting at. Suguru idles in the hallway, notably out of Shoko’s sight. He briskly gets up from his seat, quickly thanking Shoko for the birthday cake and fruit, “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Sure thing.” He doesn’t see her peer down the hallway and watch them disappear into Suguru’s room. Rolling her eyes, with a click of her tongue, “Of course, he’d leave the kitchen mess to me.”
Suguru leads the way into his room and flicks on the light. Nervously shuffling towards his desk, opening a drawer and sifting through the contents, stopping when he grabs ahold of a navy blue box with gold embellishments.
“Close your eyes.”
Satoru lets out an over dramatic sigh, “Ugh. Fine.”
When Suguru tells him to open them he’s staring at a pair of sunglasses.
“Oh, Suguru— did you?” He’s astonished at what laid before him, he had mentioned wanting sunglasses to Suguru a few times but he didn’t think it meant anything when he said it.
They sit in gray satin, they’re circular and the nose piece has silver gildings to hold it to the frames. The glasses themselves are basically onyx black, no signs of light could pass through.
“Try them on.”
Satoru shakily reaches out and slips them onto the bridge of his nose—his eyes instantly don’t feel as strained, and he sees everything through rough outlines rather than intricately focusing on every detail around him. He exhales a little and tilts his jaw down so he can see Suguru.
“You really out done yourself with these, are you trying to impress me?”
“I actually am.”
“Well thank you I am flattered.”
Satoru walks over to the mirror on Suguru’s desk, “I think I’ll wear these, I really like them.” He poses in different angles to see all positions of the glasses, “why are you trying to impress me, I thought we were already friends.”
Satoru feels his stomach burn, he questions if it’s the extra cake and soda from earlier or if it’s from his sudden prodding at Suguru and feeling flighty over what answer he might give.
Suguru quickly clears his throat and deep blush dusts his face, “I—I like you…”
Satoru’s lips wobble as he tries to form words and he croaks, “m—me?”
Suguru’s eyebrows furrow into a thin line and he looks slightly irritated. “Yes, you idiot.” He hisses.
He looks at Suguru who is standing at the edge of his bed, his eyes flickering up to Satoru.
“It’s been like this for a while.”
Satoru could lie to himself and tell himself he didn’t, that spending the summer with Suguru in the heat glued to their small circle fan, planting themselves against the cool of the vending machines, begging Yaga-sensei to bring back ice cream while he was out. That it wasn’t spent also staring at Suguru’s broad shoulders, rolling back and stretching his tense muscles after training. The moments where they stared at one another a little too long, quickly turning away and laughing it off.
Fall with Suguru was spent exorcising more curses than usual, getting back late and spending the dark hours of the day in a karaoke booth, spending their stipends on an ungodly amount of sweets. Suguru pushing his hand away every time he tried to pay, smiling at him saccharine, and handing him the bag after the transaction was done. Halloween was spent on a mission in Niigata, Shoko getting to stay home. They spend the rest of the holiday in the movie theater watching a horror movie—sharing gummy candy and soda as Satoru jumps at every scare, Suguru laughing when he does. The cold night air enticing Satoru to sling his arm around Suguru.
He could lie to himself.
“I feel the same way.”
Suguru’s eyes waver in size at Satoru’s reciprocation, his eyes close and his lips curling into a smile, it looks like a smile from deep within his heart.
Satoru blushes and finally sits down on Suguru’s desk chair. He doesn’t know what to say or how to express it, feeling surreal on confessing to Suguru. He settles on a few words that he knows to be true.
“There is a lot to like about you Suguru.”
His sixteenth birthday ended quickly, like he anticipated. He went to bed with more than he had expected, spending the rest of the night on Suguru’s bed trying all the different flavors of his momiji manju, giving Suguru bites in between his own.
—————
It’s been a year since that afternoon in Shinjuku, his brain cruelly supplying the thought that he hadn’t spoken to Suguru in a year—that it would be years soon in the future.
Would he ever see Suguru again? Would he be able to speak to him? What would he say to him?
The pain of transition, even a year after it had happened. Satoru had been living dangerously close to the edge since there was no one to hold him back. Barely sleeping, taking on missions whenever he could, constantly eating sweets instead of real food. Shoko telling him that he needed to sleep more, and to eat better food, and that he was bound to get a cavity. He follows Shoko’s words begrudgingly softly adding, “He wouldn’t let you do this to yourself”
Halloween was no longer spent with Suguru and doing something fun after a mission. On New Years’ there were no shrines to visit—winter was spent peeling oranges alone. Sakura flavoured treats not tasting as sweet, the summer days not as vivid as he could remember.
Satoru couldn't remember the school year even if he tried, each day languidly passing, with no real purpose or reason. Vaguely tracing the pictures of when Shoko would set coffee from the vending machines on his desk with a smile. He’d talk to Nanamin when he passed them in the hall. He would practice his technique but no one was there to challenge him.
Satoru laughs pitifully, it was as if Suguru had cursed him. He seeks out the words or feelings to be mad—he puts his palms to his eyes he really couldn’t if he tried. No matter how much they fought or disagreed, Satoru could not betray his feelings regardless if Suguru came home or not. All the seasons spent together, all the holidays, his birthdays. He thinks his youth is truly gone now.
Was it selfish to wish he would come back home?