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Suguru Getou, 2008, Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.
The shuffling into the dorm kitchen's doorway makes you turn your head from the take out you were unpacking while curling your body protectively over the well-deserved fast food you ordered for yourself.
Damnit, I knew I should've opened this in my room.
You were just short of hissing like a possessed cat but when you see Suguru who haunts the doorway like a ghost, head nearly brushing the frame, you relax. After all, he was always well mannered, and considerate. He wouldn't hog your goods or bribe you to share like Satoru or even Shoko would. The sound of crinkling paper would have them bounding to the kitchen like animals.
He smiles at you politely before stepping towards the fridge behind you.
Now he is standing under the light of the kitchen, it only takes you a few seconds to fully examine his figure.
His smile was crooked, almost restrained while his eyes lacked that crinkle and mirth swimming in his fox like eyes. His hair was loose, silky but tangled in the space behind his ear, as if he had run his hair through it too many times. His large shirt shows you a peep of his collarbone, deeper and more prominent than it had been before. His favorite sweatpants sag lower too, only held fast by the messily tied strings around the waist. His complexion was off so much it only highlighted the dark circles under his eyes.
He hasn't been looking his best the past few months.
He wasn't his best after Amanai Riko's death either.
He might not have doing well even before that.
You've noticed and at some points felt helpless since you know whatever you say will never be enough. So you only did what you do best—stick around and hope.
The sound of clinking cans and the hiss of it being opened snaps you out of your reverie. You swallow before speaking to break the terse silence,
"So, Yuki-san came to visit?"
Suguru takes a gulp before answering, carefully nudging the fridge shut, "Yeah, she just left about fifteen minutes ago."
"Oh."
Your fingers drum along the counter, face steamed by the fragrant aroma of your meal tucked inside the paper bag. You want to ask about how it went, you wonder if a special grade sorcerer of Suguru's ranking would have instilled some inspiration in him, you wonder if he gets better from here on out. You hope he does. You miss Suguru.
Suguru was only ever Suguru with his picture perfect smile and mischievous eyes.
Suguru was only ever Suguru even with the weight of his guilt and existential crisis.
But you long for the Suguru you know is happy and healthy. Still, you feel like you are walking on eggshells around him, that whatever you tell him could make it worse somehow.
When you feel he was about to leave, you quickly blurt out something, anything in hopes to get him to stay, in hopes that he knows you'll always stick around,
"And how did that go?"
He turns around to grace you with that same obligatory, warm smile, " 'S fine. She wished she could've talked to Satoru too though."
You know he's not telling you anymore, but you push for his stay. You nudge the bag close to his side, "You hungry?"
He blinks at you before finally, letting out an amused smile, a genuine one for the first time in a long time, "Is this one of your celebratory take outs for doing the bare minimum?"
Suguru may not have been the same, but his snide remarks were and they bring you a strange relief that he's not completely gone. That a stranger hadn't replaced your snarky friend after all. You roll your eyes and huff, "And after I was being so generous to offer you a 'Thank God I lived' treat you don't deserve-"
He waves his hand and chuckles, deep and rich before leaning against the counter, "It's okay, you've worked hard anyway."
You narrow your eyes and push the bag closer to him before reasoning, "Suguru, look at you. You need this more than I do."
The comment makes his smile falter, and you instantly regret it. And this is why you hate talking to anyone at such a fragile state, your worry rubs off the wrong way. It stifles them or annoys them, so you only do what you do best—stick around.
Just as you were about to apologize, Suguru shrugs before reaching into the bag, "If you insist."
You can't help the grin that nearly splits your face as you watch him open a bento box for himself. Whatever selfishness you held over your splurged takeout on your student budget, you forget it and you're nearly tempted to have him take it all. You don't even mind when he unknowingly takes one of your favorites; you are just that relieved.
You shimmy closer to him, feeling the atmosphere fall into a comfortable lull as you arrange the side dishes between you both.
"So," you say, smiling when he takes a bite, "I bet she asked you what your type of woman was."
The statement nearly makes him choke, but he coughs, pats his chest and with the grace of a gentleman that no teenage boy should have, rubs his wrist across his mouth. He peers at your smug gaze through the curtain of his bangs before answering, "Yeah?"
"And what did you say?"
"I didn't say anything."
"Boo. Booooo."
"Seriously."
"I bet you gave her some boring answer that's why she left so soon."
"Why would I answer something like that to someone I just met?"
You sigh, resting your cheek on your fist. He was always a reserved and quiet man so he had a fair point.
"Eh, true," you mutter before perking up, "But I'm not someone you just met. So spill it, big ears."
Suguru chews on his food thoughtfully whilst examining you with a keen eye. You think it's absolutely comical looking at him like this. His height and broad frame hunkering over you, hair loose and the way you eye his biceps when he folds them over his chest are not discreet either.
"You're right," he finally says after a beat, nonchalantly taking a gulp at his drink.
"So…?"
"So…what?"
"What type of girls are you into? Or guys? Both? I don't discriminate."
He rolls his eyes, failing to hide his bemused smirk, "Why do you want to know?"
"Because," you whine.
"Because what?"
"Just because."
Suguru finally laughs at your whining, shaking his head as he picks up another bite. The sound is cherubic, you miss it, and even if it costs you embarrassment, dignity or money, you want to keep seeing it.
"You're not making any logical reasoning here," he tells you, highlighting your desperation even more as he speaks.
You slouch over your arms, "Dammit, Suguru, it's just a question in the name of fun."
"What makes it fun?"
"Nevermind, you're a hopeless man. I hope you die single, ya virgin." you grumble defeatedly, reaching for chopsticks in the drawer to revert your focus back on your meal.
Suguru nudges your hips with his own with a good natured smile over your sulking, "That's harsh. I wouldn't even wish that for you."
"Then good for you."
"You're being a child."
"You're being boring."
"Stop pouting."
"Stop being boring."
This time when he laughs, you can't help but follow along. The kitchen feels brighter somehow, in this warm moment where you share happiness over the most trivial argument with the person you've come to care about most. You hope he remembers it the way you do. You hope he knows that in the mundane routines, the heart rending torment, and the silly banter—you will always stick around.
The laughter fades and you both turn back towards the bento box, sharing that one splurged meal out of your student budget together. You're both eased into comfortable silence, safe in each other's company without a care or concern for the darkness that lurks between being sorcerers and the future that will soon sit heavy on his shoulders. All that matters now was this one moment where you see Suguru, being happy and content even just glimpse.
"Loyal."
His voice bewilders you and you glance at him with an inquisitive hum. You're surprised to see how fondly he looks at you, how his brows are lowered, how the murky struggle in his eyes have stilled and how he gently reached for the stray rice grain at the corner of your mouth.
"My type is someone who sticks around."
He's so close that you can clearly see your doe eyed gaze reflecting the deep umber of his eyes. A smile curls at his lips and his hand lingers, before decidedly resting on your cheek. Your breath hitches when he tenderly brushes your cheek, carefully cradling your jaw. You don't know why but his touch feels scalding that you feel heat rise to your cheeks that darkens even more at his next words,
"Bonus if she splurges her money on take outs for herself but still chooses to share them with me anyway."
October 21st, 2018
Shibuya is on the verge of collapse. The Culling Games have been triggered. Itadori Yuuji has consumed fifteen of the twenty Sukuna fingers.
It reeks of death at every turn.
And in the middle of the hellfire is Yuki Tsukumo standing protectively before the jujutsu sorcerers and Suguru Getou on the opposite, responsible for all the bloodshed.
"We meet again, Getou," Yuki winks.
Behind Suguru, you stiffly shuffle your way closer to his side. Yuki frowns at the sight. She knows you had been killed last year, caught in the fraying friendship of Satoru and Suguru that you threw your life on the line. So why were you here?
You looked nothing like who you were when she first saw you. You tore apart sorcerers and curses with terrible ease, not stopping once to catch your breath. Your deadened gaze that simmers low with bloodlust, blanched skin, stained grey robes to match Suguru's dark one, the tips of your fingers dripping with blood…they were nothing like the lively girl she had seen.
Suguru smiles, his gaze turning warmer, a little sinister when he looks at you; a sickening comfort to have you by his side while the world falls apart. His hand reaches up to gently brush away the blood that drips at the corner of your mouth. His eyes gloss over the healing scar on your forehead, a clean line of stitches etched across your skin. He falters a little, remembering how you lay limply in his arms a year ago as he weeps, mourns, and chokes in his anger. How he would give absolutely anything for you to return. How he curses the world for only having taken, taken, and taken from him.
He hopes you know the way he does. He hopes you know that in the mundane routines, the heart rending torment, and the silly banter—he would always stick around.
He remembers having a woman approach him as he clutches you closer to his chest, hoping his warmth would bring you back. He remembers seeing her with the same scar on her forehead as you have now. He remembers how he desperately agrees to her conditions, to it's conditions just as long as he could have you back.
"You never got to answer my question."
Yuki’s voice washes him ashore into reality. Suguru lazily lolls his head back at her, watching the sorcerers behind her struggle back on their feet. She’s smiling sweetly, observing you carefully as you shift protectively beside him.
In a world that's far removed from the ideals they pursue, with ideals vastly different from Suguru, you’d be standing with him under the kitchen light, bickering over frivolous matters, while sharing a bento. You wouldn’t have to throw away your life and risk it for the weak—for monkeys.
“What type of woman are you into?”
Maybe the next life will be kinder, but in this one, he’ll cling on to you like you have him. His fingers slip over your bloodied ones, lacing them together like a cruel promise. Even with a body that was your own, fragments of your soul lingering in its consciousness, you tilt your head up at him. You blink and stare at him fondly beneath your lashes, and smile. The scars on your forehead are nearly nonexistent to him.
Suguru smiles back, remembering your doe eyed gaze beneath the dorm kitchen’s light.
"The type who sticks around."