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It’s a taste that nobody knows. The taste of a curse.
It was disgusting, the first time Suguru consumed a curse. He gagged and choked on all fours for what felt like eternity, trying his best to keep the curse down.
He was five at the time, all alone in his backyard at night.
When the bile was gone, Suguru sat up, smiling.
Despite the taste, despite not fully knowing what he had done at the time, Suguru was happy. He wrapped a strand of his hair around his fingers and twirled it; he was happy.
I.
When Suguru became a student at Jujutsu High and learned what curses were, learned about his cursed technique, they became easier to swallow.
Each curse he consumed filled him with a little bit of power, of confidence. It made his empty soul feel whole again, like the flowers blooming again during spring.
He liked his cursed technique, it made him powerful, useful, important.
Suguru was about a quarter through his first year when he got sick. Or, when a curse made him sick.
Before being exorcised, it was a pretty powerful curse–a grade two. It was a nasty, slimy looking thing, but it was big and strong, and in turn, Suguru supposed that it would make him big and strong too.
He and the other first years were instructed to watch, mostly, while Yaga and some older students took care of the curse. They were still relatively new; too new to take on a grade two.
“Wow,” Satoru breathed, his sunglasses sliding carelessly down his nose while he watched the fight. “I can’t wait to fight curses like that.” He glanced at Suguru, smiling. “I can’t believe you’ll get to control that!”
And Suguru smiled too, because he was a kid and this was still exciting. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I can’t believe it.”
Later that night, once the mission was over and Suguru had swallowed the curse, he found himself hunched over the toilet, vomiting.
Maybe he was already coming down with something and the curse pushed him over the edge, maybe the curse was too powerful for him to take in just yet. He wasn’t sure, and Yaga wasn’t sure either.
He was shaking violently, sweat coating his body as if it were another layer of skin.
Yaga was kneeling beside him, one hand rubbing his back and the other running through his hair while he hurled. “Breathe, Suguru,” he whispered, a gentle reminder. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
He had been with Shoko and Satoru when he started feeling sick. They were watching a movie and eating snacks when he felt something inside him stir. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he uttered, and that was all it took for his friends to help him to the restroom and grab Yaga (who had ushered them away once he arrived).
Suguru coughed, bile dripping slowly from his lips. A dizziness overcame him, and he rested his cheek against the toilet seat, taking deep breaths as his teacher suggested.
Everything was searing hot–the clothes clinging with sweat to his back, his eyelids, the loose strands of hair that were falling into his eyes.
Weakly, Suguru raised an arm, trying to push the hair away, but his fingers were trembling so harshly he couldn’t quite get a hold of them.
“Rest, Suguru,” Yaga said, carefully moving his fingers forward and brushing the hair out of his eyes. “Don’t strain yourself.”
The words went in one ear and out the next because all that registered was Yaga gentle touch. He tucked Suguru’s hair behind his ear, then went back to brushing through it with his fingers.
He didn’t mean to do it, but as his eyes flickered closed, he instinctively leaned into the touch.
Maybe he’d be embarrassed in the morning, but for now, Suguru was content and he was comfortable and he was safe.
II.
“You look like a mess.”
Suguru blinked lethargically at Shoko. “Gee, thanks,” he replied dryly, wiping his hands on his pants. “I didn’t notice.”
His classmate rolled her eyes, taking a seat in the chair next to his. “How’d the mission go?” she asked.
“Alright,” Suguru said, shrugging. “It was a wild one–made us chase it around for awhile. Wasn’t that powerful, but made us run more than we thought we’d have to. Took a lot out of us. But, I mean, I had Satoru by my side and there’s nothing we can’t do together.”
Shoko gagged. “You two are disgusting.”
“Bold words coming from someone who hangs around dead things all day.”
In an instant, Shoko’s face hardened as she sucked in a breath. It was then that Suguru noticed the bags under her eyes–so dark they blended in with the shadow of the hair in her face.
He cringed. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t think–”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shoko cut him off, leaning back in her chair. “I had that one coming.”
It almost wasn’t fair. Shoko had been a student with him and Satoru since their first year at Jujutsu High, but the second that the higher ups caught wind of her healing technique, she stopped coming on missions with them. Instead of facing curses with her friends, she was facing death alone.
“How was your day?”
“Same old, same old,” Shoko sighed, running a hand down her face. “They had me cut open my first body today.”
Suguru almost fell out of his chair. “What?”
Again, she shrugged, as nonchalant as she was always expected to be. “Yaga-sensei tried telling them I was too young. Had to do it anyway.”
“… I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
A strained silence fell between them–neither really knew what to say. How was anyone supposed to respond to that?
“Where’s Satoru?”
Now, it was Suguru’s turn to sigh. “I made him go to bed. He overstrained himself again today; I was surprised he was able to walk from the car to the school without falling over.”
“Figures,” Shoko snorted, one hand curling around a strand of her hair and the other picking restlessly at the hem of her shirt. Her eyes flickered to his face.
“What happened to your hair?”
Suguru huffed. “Like I said: this curse was restless. Fought dirty and yanked on my hair. At one point while I was chasing after it, I fell down stairs and into muddy water.”
Oh, how Satoru had laughed. The curse laughed too.
Luckily, the trip down the stairs hadn’t hurt–he’ll probably wake up with some nasty bruises in the morning and nothing more than that. It was an easy curse to exorcise once they actually managed to catch it, and it was especially easy to exorcise because together, they were the strongest.
Needless to say, Suguru felt vindicated when he swallowed this curse–even more so when he pretended to go in for a hug but pushed Satoru down the stairs instead. Then it was his turn to laugh (even though stupid Satoru put his stupid infinity up before he hit the muddy water at the bottom).
“You’re both idiots,” Shoko chuckled, shaking her head. “Only you could get away with pushing Satoru. Come on.” With that, she stood, grabbing his hand and pulling him up.
“Shoko, my legs are tired! Where are we going?” Suguru whined, knowing that he would follow Shoko anywhere anyways.
“You’re such a baby, we’re going to my room. You have such nice hair but you don’t take care of it. I bet you were planning on sleeping with it like that,” Shoko told him with a roll of her eyes. She wasn’t wrong; Suguru was so tired that he was planning on dealing with it in the morning.
Suguru was dragged into Shoko’s room. The lights were off and the curtains were closed, but he didn’t need light to see the unmade bed and the piles of clothes on the floor. “Honestly, you should just chop it off if you aren’t going to take care of it.”
“Satoru would kill me if I did that.”
“Yeah? Well, then I’ll be the one to take care of your body.”
Before Suguru had a chance to respond, maybe ask how Shoko was doing (obviously not too great), she pushed him into her bathroom and turned the lights on.
Her bathroom was similar to her room–void of much color, towels in piles on the ground. To be honest, Suguru couldn’t blame her for the mess. Sometimes, it took every ounce of willpower that he had to make his bed in the morning. Sometimes, he didn't even do that.
“Kneel with your back to the sink. I’m sure you’re tall enough to lean your head far enough back to get it wet.”
Suguru did as instructed, flinching ever so slightly as the water touched his skin. “Sheesh, that’s cold.” He closed his eyes as the water began to drip down his face.
“No complaining,” Shoko chided, though he noticed that the water became a bit warmer.
Cleaning his hair was a silent process, it seemed. The only sounds were the water rushing out of the faucet and their breathing.
Surprisingly, Shoko was gentle with his hair. She picked up small chunks and washed them all individually, gently combing through it with a hairbrush. Eventually, the strong scent of mint filled the room as she began to rub the shampoo in, massaging his temple along the way.
“Thank you,” Suguru said, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the tile floor.
After a moment, Shoko replied, “Yeah, no problem.” Her voice was distant, lacking the life it usually had. Not that she was ever as verbally expressive as him or Satoru, but it was almost scary how… empty it sounded.
“Hey, Shoko, are you okay?” he asked hesitantly. When he got no response, Suguru opened his eyes, blinking the water out of them. Shoko’s face was above his, her mouth drawn in a thin line that was reminiscent of a scowl. From this position, he could see the bags under her eyes so clearly that they looked more like deep, painful bruises than a mere sign of exhaustion. “Shoko… is this really about my hair?”
“So what if it isn’t?”
Fine then, if she wouldn’t tell him, then he’d have to get to the root of the problem himself. “So, did Yaga-Ssnsei help you today? With the… the body?”
“Look, Suguru, I appreciate that you care, but the last thing that I want to do is talk about it. Hell, I don’t even want to think about it right now, okay? I just… I want to be around life right now,” Shoko told him, her voice still devoid of any emotion.
Maybe the hands in his hair were more than wanting him to take care of his hair better, maybe it was more than just missing him. Shoko spent the entire day with her hands foraging through a dead body; maybe she needed to touch something alive.
“Sorry, I didn’t think,” he replied, closing his eyes once more. “Wanna hear about the goose that stalked Satoru on our way back to school yesterday?”
Shoko snorted. “A goose stalking Satoru? Now this I gotta hear.”
His hair was all washed up by the time he finished the story. He and Shoko had taken to sitting on the bathroom counter, Shoko brushing his tangled hair out.
She was laughing by the end–truly laughing. That was a sound he hadn’t heard in awhile. “That was such a stupid story,” she said, brushing one last section of Suguru’s hair. Shoko set the brush down and handed Suguru a towel. “Almost feels like I was there too.”
“We wish you were,” Suguru told her, accepting the towel and wrapping it around his hair, squeezing the remaining water out. “It’s not the same without you.”
“Well,” Shoko sighed, hopping off the counter and flashing him a strained smile, “what can you do?”
There really wasn’t much they could do, not when the higher ups had their mind set on something, and they were set on Shoko being the healer.
“Hey.” Suguru let the towel fall into the sink and stood, placing a hand on Shoko’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything else–there was no need to. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly.
Shoko sucked in a breath. She was stiff in his arms, but she didn’t try to get away. Eventually, she let the breath out, and Suguru politely ignored the way it was shaking. Slowly, as if she were about to grasp a box marked “fragile”, she returned the hug.
III.
Suguru couldn’t stop staring at Satoru.
They were in Suguru’s room, resting on his bed. The sound of his best friend’s laughter filled the air–he was watching some silly cat video on his phone. Usually, Suguru would lean into the sound, cherish it the way he would a curse–learn the taste of it, memorize it, bring it back to life when he needed it. But now, all he could see was Satoru’s throat–his exposed throat.
A faint line was still there, only visible if you looked close enough or knew where to look.
Suguru couldn’t tear his gaze away from it.
Days ago, the line had been bigger, more scarred and harsh. It had been quickly healed, fast and impulsive as if Satoru didn’t care that he just got stabbed through the throat; as if he didn’t care that the scar went down to his torso.
The sight of his blood stained body kept him awake at night.
He was grateful that Satoru’s hair was down. That way, he couldn’t see the faint scar on his forehead.
“Suguru, look at this cat!” Satoru giggled, rolling over on the bed so his shoulder was pressed against Suguru’s stomach. “He’s so stupid, such a silly little guy.”
The cat in the video was white, fluffy. He was jumping around the kitchen, leaping from counter to counter and, eventually, ending up on top of the refrigerator.
Suguru tried to enjoy the video, really, he did, but with Satoru leaning into him and his neck still in view, he couldn’t.
“Hey, Suguru… are you okay?”
He blinked, shook his head. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
When Satoru narrowed his eyes, his gaze following Surguru’s, he knew he’d been caught.
“Suguru, it’s okay,” he said, nonchalant as ever. But Suguru knew him better than anyone else, and he could see the tenseness in his nose (Satoru had the privilege of covering his eyes, he could hide anything in them. That meant Suguru had to be creative, learn to read every little part of him that he could).
“I thought you were dead.” His voice cracked.
“It’s going to take a lot more than that to take me down.” Satoru’s lips twitched. It was supposed to be a joke.
“I killed Gojo Satoru.”
The worm in his stomach writhed, as if it enjoyed his agony. Something he learned in his first year was that he could feel the curses inside him, if he really tried, if he wasn’t feeling well, or if his emotions were high. He could decipher one black ball from another. This curse had been tormenting him the last few days, pricking his insides and tickling his brain.
There have always been curses he didn’t want to swallow, that looked unappealing. None had ever been more unappealing than Fushiguro Toji’s worm.
He pushed it down anyways because he was Geto Suguru and that’s what he’s supposed to do.
It doesn’t matter if the curse played a role in nearly killing him and his best friend, it doesn’t matter if the mere thought of it reminded him of the pure rage that overcame him after Amanai Riko was slain, after Satoru…
None of it mattered.
“You say that like you’re invincible,” he finally replied.
Satoru’s smile faltered. “I’m the closest there is.”
He wasn’t wrong. And Suguru wasn’t sure if that hurt more–knowing he was the closest thing to invincible there was but still managing to get caught off guard and have a sword sticking out of his throat.
“Hey.” Satoru sat up. “Come here.” He opened his arms wide, nodding from Suguru to himself.
“Really?”
And Satoru flashed that stupidly charming grin of his. “Yes, really.”
With a roll of his eyes, Suguru scooted across the bed, pressing his back against Satoru’s chest. Satoru immediately wrapped an arm around him, resting it on his opposite arm, and placed the other in his hair, running his fingers through the greasy strands (and suddenly Suguru was conscious of the fact that he hadn’t showered since that day, and even then he was only in long enough to wash away the blood).
“You dropped your infinity,” was all he managed to say, the words coming out weaker than he’d like.
He felt Satoru shrug against him. “I trust you.”
The three words were a blanket of comfort, something Suguru never knew he needed to hear. When he tilted his head up, he could see Satoru’s eyes under the sunglasses. The few times Suguru was able to look at his eyes, he saw how endless they were. Everything in the world existed in the depth of Satoru’s eyes. Vaster than the ocean, more infinite than space.
Everything and yet… nothing at all.
Satoru trusted him. He had been cut open, his body had been Fushiguro Toji’s pin cushion. When Satoru told him everything Toji did to him–every way he had hurt him… Suguru didn’t think that he would be able to put his body in the hands of someone else so quickly afterwards.
He smiled, closing his eyes and allowing himself to fall limp against Satoru–his best friend. “I trust you too.”
As much as he didn’t want to admit it (and he would never admit it to Satoru), it was nice to just lay against Satoru, to hear him breathe and feel the rise and fall of his chest.
I love you.
The unspoken words fell down his throat, mingling with the curses inside of him. He could never say those words–he could think them, maybe act on them, but he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to say them.
I love you was a curse of its own. Loving a jujutsu sorcerer was a curse, one that Suguru would swallow again and again and again. Swallow back, push down, leave floating aimlessly in his body.
It was a taste that grew more bitter every day.
Satoru continued to comb through his hair, occasionally stopping to add little, messy braids. Whenever he did that, he dropped his smile, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.
It felt… it felt nice. He was putting his head in the hands of the strongest, most powerful person in the world and he still knew that he was safe. He still knew that whatever happened, Satoru was right behind him.
“Can you hear it?” Satoru asked after a moment.
“Hear what?”
“My heartbeat. I’m alive.” Satoru’s hand slid up his arm and across his chest, resting over his heart. He sighed. “And so are you.”
Suguru leaned even further into his friend, turning his head just enough to press his ear into Satoru’s chest. Sure enough, there was Satoru’s heartbeat, thumping steadily.
“Yeah,” he whispered, losing himself in Satoru’s hand in his hair, in the proof of Satoru’s life, “yeah, I can hear it.”
IV.
“Geto-San, can I do your hair?”
“What?” Suguru looked up from his phone, quirking a brow at the smiling boy standing in front of him.
(He was tired)
Haibara’s hand twisted nervously. “Well, I’m going home next weekend and my little sister wants me to do her hair. She’s going out with some friends but I’ve never done this braid before and I want it to look nice.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Nanami won’t let me practice on him.”
Suguru snorted. Yeah, that wasn’t surprising.
The edges of Haibara’s lips twitched at the sound. “And your hair is about the same length as hers! So, would it be okay if I did your hair? I’ll be gentle, I promise!”
He chuckled, reaching up and taking his hair down. “Go wild.”
Haibara’s face lit up and he rushed behind Suguru, fingers instantly combing his hair out.
“So, you do your sister’s hair?”
Haibara shrugged, splitting Suguru’s hair into three different sections. “She likes it better when I do it, says I’m more gentle than Mom.” Suguru could practically hear the grin in his voice. “Really, I think she just likes spending time with me. It’s more of an excuse to hang out, anyways. Although, she does like it when I play with her hair. That’s why I do it, sometimes. Because I know she likes it.”
There was something so pure about Haibara, something that made Suguru upset that he got into the jujutsu sorcerer business in the first place. He deserved better than the life that awaited him–than the inevitable burden of death; of righteous anger and hate.
The kid was gentle–his hands treating each section of hair as if it were precious, important. As if it were worth being treated with delicacy.
“Aaaand, done!” Haibara announced, taking a step back to admire his work. “Not bad, but I could do better. Would you mind if I practice with you tomorrow?”
“Well, that depends. Do I get to see what it looks like?” Suguru winked for good measure.
Haibara playfully rolled his eyes–pulling his phone out and taking a picture of his work. “It’s a Dutch braid,” he explained, handing Suguru his phone. “It’s, like, the inversion of a French braid.”
Suguru had to admit, it looked pretty good; Haibara did a great job. Plus, there was the added bonus that it kept his hair out of his face too.
“Well, thanks for letting me practice. I can take it out now if you wa–”
“No, it’s okay,” Suguru quickly said, running a hand along the braid. “I like it.”
A light blush began to spread across Haibara’s cheeks. “Oh, uh, well, thank you so much for letting me practice on you, Geto-San!”
Suguru got to his feet, stretching his arms. “Same time tomorrow?”
Later that night, Suguru ran into Satoru and Shoko in the kitchen.
Satoru’s head was resting in his palms while Shoko massaged his shoulders. She looked up when he came in. “Hey, nice hair-do,” she commented, ceasing the massaging to tap Satoru.
His friend slowly lifted his head, his glasses drooping so far down his nose that Suguru managed to catch a glimpse of his eyes widening before he hurriedly put his head back down. “Y–It looks nice,” he mumbled.
“Thanks, Haibara wanted to practice a new kind of braid for his sister,” he explained, filling a glass of water at the sink and downing it in a few sips. “You feeling alright, Satoru?”
A muffled groan was his response.
“Another migraine,” Shoko whispered. “They worked him and his six eyes extra hard today.”
Boiling rage bubbled in Suguru’s gut. God, I hate the higher ups. “How bad is it today?”
“Seven.”
He and Shoko shared a look. “Well, why don’t you try taking a nap?” Satoru shook his head, and Suguru sighed. “He took medicine, right, Shoko?”
“Who do you think I am?”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. On your feet, Satoru. Let’s get you to bed.”
He wrapped an arm around Satoru’s back, guiding him to his feet. “Goodnight, Shoko,” he said quietly, nodding in her direction as he half-carried Satoru out of the room. “Thanks for taking care of him.”
Shoko gave him a knowing look, holding the door open for them. “Goodnight, idiots.”
They were almost to Satoru’s room when his friend tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t wanna go to my room. Ha… hate it. Don’t wanna be alone.”
And Satoru never asked for things–he never asked for help unless he wanted to be a menace. So when Satoru, in a shaky voice, admitted that he didn’t want to be alone… well, what else was Suguru to do except comply?
“Okay, let’s go to my room for the night. As long as you promise me you’ll at least try to sleep?”
It was silent for a moment and then Satoru hummed in agreement. “‘Kay.”
When they got there, Suguru gently deposited Satoru on his bed. He pulled his shoes off and carefully set his sunglasses on a shelf, then maneuvered his gangly legs until they were under the covers.
While doing so, Suguru accidentally shifted too much of his weight onto the bed and the bed frame creaked. Satoru whimpered, digging the palms of his hands over his ears.
“Sorry,” Suguru whispered. How he despised the higher ups and the way that they abused Satoru’s abilities. The way that they treated him like a pawn in the big game of jujutsu. It was their fault his head hurt–it was their fault he had chronic migraines.
It was already getting late, so by the time Suguru changed into his pajamas and turned the lights off, he was tired enough to fall asleep.
“Goodnight, Satoru,” he whispered, fully prepared to sleep on the floor. But a (trembling) hand latched onto his arm, pulling him close.
“We can share,” Satoru mumbled. “Don’t mind.”
The unspoken please tugged at every ounce of heart Suguru had left. “Okay. Only if you want me too.”
“Mhm.”
I love you.
He didn’t say it, but it repeated over and over in his head–the curse that never went away–as he slid into the other side of the bed. It wasn’t a small mattress by any means; it was big enough for two people to share. But Suguru could feel Satoru’s body, his warmth, and he wanted nothing more than to hold and be held by Satoru.
Satoru shifted, flipping over so they were facing each other.
Distinctly, he noticed how Satoru’s blue eyes were so deep, so powerful and special that they softly glowed in the dark room, noticed how Satoru’s arm brushed against his. His infinity was down. Been awhile since he let it down.
Again, he cursed the higher ups for wearing his best friend out that much.
“Hey, Suguru,” Satoru’s voice was so quiet that Suguru was sure he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t as close as he was. “You look really pretty. With your hair like that. It suits you.”
I love you, he thought but couldn’t say.
I love you, was hidden behind Satoru's tired, incoherent mumbling. A phrase he couldn't say either.
“Glad you like it.”
I love you.
For the next few months, Haibara would mess around with Suguru’s hair to practice for his sister.
(and Suguru exorcised, ingested)
It became a routine of sorts: at least once a week (exorcised, ingested), Haibara would approach him during meals, before he went to bed. Hell, the kid had woken up just as early as he had one day just to go on a morning walk with him, braiding Suguru’s hair once they settled down on steps.
And maybe it became less for his sister and more for Haibara.
(exorcised)
Most of the time, Haibara would just plop down behind him, hands lingering near his head; silently waiting for permission.
(ingested)
He didn't need permission, though. Suguru told him that one day, and he shrugged. "Just want to be polite."
(Haibara’s hands in his hair)
In his few years as a sorcerer, Suguru could confidently say that there weren't too many polite sorcerers around (but anything was better than the monke–than the laughter, than the cheering).
(exorcised)
So, he didn't mind just sitting as Haibara messed around with his hair. He didn't mind talking to him, reigniting any semblance of hope that he had left in the world.
(ingested)
Then came the day of Haibara and Nanami’s mission.
Haibara was excited–going on about how he couldn't wait to travel and sightsee. At least he could still find something good and worthwhile in being sent on mission after mission.
Instinctively, the kid’s hands went to Suguru’s hair, braiding small chunks, taking them apart, then braiding it again. A way to expel some of his nervous energy.
“Hey, Haibara-San?” Suguru spoke up once Haibara finished speaking. “Did…” he trailed off, licking his lips. “Did your sister like the braid?”
Maybe he waited too long to ask. Maybe this wasn’t the time to bring it up. But he… he needed something. He wasn’t sure what exactly that something was–some kind of affirmation or reminder of the good of non-sorcerers–but he needed it. He was desperate for it.
If he sounded weary or scared, Haibara didn’t comment on it. “Yeah!” he chirped as he began to split Suguru’s hair into two different sections. “She loved it! Told me her friends liked her hair too!”
There was a sort of pride in his voice, the kind that made Suguru want to ruffle Haibara’s hair like an older sibling would do to their younger sibling. Suguru didn’t have siblings–only his mom and dad. Sometimes, when he spent time with Haibara, he wondered if those feelings of pride and affection that overcame him were the same feelings Haibara had for his sister.
“I’m actually going home for the weekend when Nanami and I finish this mission!” he continued. “I haven’t been home in awhile… I miss them.”
“I’m sure they miss you too.”
And that was the last time that Haibara ever did his hair.
(exorcised)
(ingested)
(repeat)
V.
At this point in his life, Suguru felt like he should be used to the taste of curses.
Years upon years of curse after curse after curse should have made it easy; easy to ingest, easy to ignore. Yet, here he was on his hands and knees with bile dripping down his chin (only this time, Yaga wasn’t there to wipe it away).
“Master Geto?”
Suguru’s eyes widened at the voice. No, please go away. I don’t want you to see me like this, he thought. It was too late, though. Before he could push himself to his feet, the bathroom door creaked open and two little heads popped into view.
“Are you okay?” Mimiko asked, taking a step towards him, her doll hanging limply in her right hand.
He forced a smile on his face, lowering his knees and straightening his back until he was kneeling on the floor. “I’m fine,” he told them, but he was sure his voice gave him away. It was scratchy and rough, shaking almost as much as his limbs.
The two girls exchanged a look, then Nanako followed her sister into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. “Are you sick?”
“No, I’m not sick,” he assured them, ignoring the sweat trickling down his forehead and the way that his throat burned with every word. “Some curses just don’t go down well.” He laughed half-heartedly, that was all he could do to convince the girls that he was okay.
It didn’t work–they were too smart for their own good (at least, that’s what he told himself–that way he didn’t have to think about how they had already been exposed to far too much) . They kneeled beside him, concern etched upon their faces.
“I didn’t know your cursed technique could make you sick,” Nanako said.
Suguru shrugged. “Doesn’t happen often.”
The girls shared a look–some kind of sister-to-sister communication that he would never be able to decipher. Then, Nanako stood up and went to the sink. Suguru didn’t have the energy to lift his head enough to see what she was doing, but he heard the water running and could make a guess.
While Nanako was at the sink, Mimiko scooted forward, pressing close to Suguru’s side. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and began running her fingers through the hair draped over his shoulder.
Suguru froze instinctively. The last time someone had touched his hair… well, he didn’t like thinking about that. He didn’t like thinking about his time at Jujutsu High.
The motion was just as soothing now as it had been back then, and after a minute, Suguru’s body relaxed and his eyes began to droop.
He didn’t even realize that his eyes had closed all the way until he felt something soft rub against his face. When he managed to open his eyes, he saw Nanako kneeling in front of him, a towel in her hand, dabbing at the vomit and bile coating the lower half of his face. Her tongue was sticking out of her mouth in concentration, as if she were focusing on coloring between the lines rather than cleaning up her guardian.
After a minute, she stood once more, depositing the towel on the counter and returning with a glass in her hand. “Drink this,” she ordered, pressing the rim of the cup to his lips before he could respond.
Suguru felt stupid, opening his mouth wide enough for a child to help him drink. He hated that she wiped his face clean before he could do it himself, that Mimiko was running her fingers through his hair to comfort him. He was a grown up, he could do it himself except… his eyelids were beginning to fall once more and his limbs were so heavy that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to lift his arms to hold the cup.
“I can see you thinking,” Nanako said once she made sure he had drunk the entire glass. She set the cup behind her and then took her place at Suguru’s other side. “You always take care of us, let us take care of you.”
But you’re children, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get his mouth to move. Thank you. I love you. So many words unspoken, so many he would never be able to bring himself to say. I wish I could be strong enough for you both . So many things that they deserved to hear.
With both girls at his side, Suguru fell asleep feeling safe for the first time since…
And when he woke up, his neck was sore and his legs were stiff, but Nanako and Mimiko were still curled up against him, Mimiko’s fingers tangled limply in his hair, fast asleep. Their breaths were reminiscent of the heartbeat he used to spend hours listening to, and he smiled.
Suguru closed his eyes, willingly, this time, snaking his hands around the girls’ backs. Sure, he’d regret sleeping on the bathroom floor when he woke up in the morning, but he didn’t want to wake the girls, and he didn’t want to leave their side.
+I.
Lithe fingers that weren’t his own ran through his hair.
A soft chuckle like sap lethargically trickling down a tree came from his throat, but he never opened his mouth.
The foreign palms pressed against his skull, ensuring that his head was on tight.
And then the fingers were back in his hair, grabbing a chunk of the top layer and harshly yanking it back, a hair tie between the fingers twirling and twisting until the chunk was in a neat bun.
A handful of hair was discarded on the ground, falling from the palm of the hands that pulled and tugged without remorse.
Suguru wanted to throw up, but he didn’t have that luxury–not anymore.
For years, he had taken in curse after curse after curse. It was a taste he knew well, as familiar as water and air.
Never once did he imagine that he would be the one consumed by a curse in the end.