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Sleep did not come easy.
The fear pulsed within his veins every time he shut his eyes.
The apartment was quiet, but it was quiet in a way that left his skin itching and his intestines feeling too warm in the confines of his body. He had once enjoyed, felt relieved by, basked in the quiet; back when he had been firm in convictions and beloved by his family, Suguru had found solace in the quiet of an empty room.
Now, the quiet was stifling.
When it was quiet, Suguru could hear the blood pumping in his veins, the crackling in his eardrums, the pulsing of his brain. His brain. It was something scary, frightening in a way that Suguru had never experienced, to feel so detached from his own brain. Even dying had not provoked the same blood-curdling resentment from within him; Suguru had died at peace, (if not a tad bit miffed, to have lost to a newly bloomed sorcerer) and he had died with the peace of a man proud of his own convictions.
Being brought back had not been within the realm of possibility, let alone tangibility, and yet...
He was here. He is here.
The guest room of Satoru's apartment lacks personability. It's comfortable, of course it is, but the walls are bare, and the closet is sparse. There is nothing tying this room to Satoru, and there is nothing tying Suguru to this room. There are no personal ties, here. No memorabilia to reflect upon, no personal items to protect. The thought remains in the back of his head like a rather annoying and insistent summer gnat: he could leave.
He could leave if he wanted to, Suguru knows. But he does not want to.
Maybe, if things had been different, if his daughters had not been killed at the hands of Sukuna, if his reemergence into the world was not a prison, if he was not still so hopelessly enraptured with his once best friend, then he would leave. He would sneak out of this bare apartment, call upon a curse, and find his way back to his old ways.
But, as it is, Suguru has accepted that he won't. Leave, that is. Not again.
And is that not the most amusing part of it all? Suguru had left Satoru. Again, and again, Suguru left him behind. He had left Satoru to pursue his own convictions, had left Satoru to carry the weight of the world upon his shoulders in a way that Satoru had claimed to be doing all along. The birth of infinity was an event that elevated Satoru in a way that Suguru could not handle. The strongest, Satoru had called them. Suguru had believed him, too, a little. Had believed for a moment that he was Satoru's equal; if the strongest allows you upon his pedestal, then are you at fault for partaking in the delusion that it was ever yours to share?
The itch remains in Suguru's brain.
Kenjaku is long gone, Shoko had said to him. Suguru had nodded, then, but he had not believed her. He did not begin to accept the idea that he was alone in his head again until later. Later, sitting in the infirmary, with Satoru standing a few feet (too far, too far) away. Satoru had looked upon him with those brilliant and omniscient eyes, searching and searching, until something had flashed in those eyes of his. Something too fast for Suguru to catch, too unfamiliar in ways that Suguru hated to accept.
It's you, Satoru had confirmed, pleaded, whispered. His mouth formed the words gently, softly. It was unlike Satoru to choose his words so carefully, to push forth so much care into the spaces between each letter. But... maybe it wasn't. Satoru had always been a bit softer to Suguru than he should have been. Too lenient, too caring of a man who had wronged him at every turn.
The sheets hardly make a sound as Suguru pulls them back from his body.
His socked feet touch the ground a moment later, and Suguru finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows heavy on his knees and his eyes heavier in their sockets. All at once, the room feels far too large and far too confined. Stifling in a way that an empty room should never be. A heavy breath falls from his lips unbidden. Another sleepless night is nothing new to Suguru, especially to the Suguru with stitches on his forehead and bones weighing far heavier than they should.
As he pushes himself to stand, he wishes, for a moment, that Satoru had listened to him. When Kenjaku had first been pushed from his skull, ejected from his conscious with a squelch and squeal, Suguru had been under the impression that his death was next. He had laughed, joylessly, and looked into the nervous eyes peering at him from across the room.
Satoru's students feared him. The fear was there, clear to see within the stance of their feet and the flickering of their eyes, hesitant to be near him but too afraid to let Satoru out of their sight for even a moment. At that moment, Satoru had not offered them much comfort. His eyes, hidden behind that awful black blindfold, had been on Suguru.
Suguru, he had whispered, reverent in all the ways he shouldn't have been. The name fell from his lips like a broken prayer and a promise all the same. Suguru had allowed people to view him as a God, played the part of one so easily, but the reverence in Satoru's voice only cut through his chest like a knife. Undeserved, unwarranted; Satoru should not revere the only man who could cut through infinity's defenses.
So, Suguru had done the only thing he could think to do.
Kill me, he had told Satoru. Let me go.
Satoru, ever so stoic and strong and untouchable and otherworldly, had flinched in a way that left Suguru's heart burning and bruised and-
No, Satoru had replied. You can't ask me to do that. Not again, Suguru.
Which, in turn, led Suguru to where he is now: settling into the furthest corner of Satoru's living room. Asking to die had been a cop out, Suguru knows. He knows that he could not ask to be absolved from the sins of his first life, so pleading for his death sentence (his second death sentence, funnily enough) had felt like the only available option.
Leave it to Satoru to play judge, jury, and free Suguru from his proverbial executioner.
"You can't sleep either, huh?"
Suguru startles at the sound, eyes snapping up to the man standing across the room.
"Sorry," Satoru says, quietly. His sleep mask is pushed up onto his forehead, and one shining blue eye glints in the moonlight. Satoru looks tired and defeated in a way that Suguru could never have imagined. His imprisonment had taken a toll on him and playing the part of Suguru's keeper did not leave him time to rest, either. "I didn't mean to startle you, Suguru."
"It's fine," Suguru whispers, wincing at the way the words caught in his throat. Every inch of him felt overused, bruised, rotten. Suguru wets his lips with a dry tongue and tries again: "It's fine. I didn't expect you to be awake. It's late."
The words fall lamely from his lips, but something is welling up from Suguru's ribcage and everything feels too tight and too much and-
"Hey," Satoru says as he crosses the length of the living room. He's avoided being too close to Suguru since Kenjaku's removal, but Suguru thinks that is more for his own sake than Satoru's. Satoru treats him like a stray cat that's hurting and hissing, feeds him small meals and places comforts within reach before backing away again. And, well, Suguru doesn't want that. "I- Are you okay, Suguru? Is something wrong?"
There is alarm poorly hidden under Satoru's tongue. It leaks into his words, coats them in a way that makes Suguru feel guilty.
"No," Suguru tells him, belatedly. Suguru wants to continue, he wants to offer bland platitudes and empty words, but the words he wants to say crackle in his throat and burn the edges. Instead, he hesitates and forces his eyes closed and says: "Yes."
And he can feel Satoru's confusion, knows that Satoru does not want to push him too far lest he snaps and retreats, but they both know that Suguru is on the cusp of offering something, anything, and it's both a matter of if Suguru can force the words out and if Satoru is willing to listen and-
"I never stopped loving you," Suguru breathes out. The words burn. His throat aches. His teeth feel too big in his gums and his forehead itches and his intestines feel hot in his stomach. "I love you. I don't want to be here, but I don't want to leave you again. I don't think there is anything left for me, anymore. I didn't think you still cared about me. I've never blamed you for killing me. I miss my girls, and I miss my family. I miss our second year, when we could bask in each other's presence and laugh freely. I miss my convictions. I'm not happy that I was brought back, and I wish, more than anything, that I had stayed dead. I regret hurting you. But I don't want to die if it means leaving you. I want to live, again, if it means that I get to keep you for myself."
The words feel like a noose around Suguru's neck. They were heavy in his ribcage, cement blocks tied to his feet, but having them hang, tangible, in the air feels like another death sentence. The regret splinters his heart before he can take in another ragged breath.
"Suguru," Satoru stresses the syllables; he pushes them through his teeth like they're the only lifeline he has. His fingers are extending, trembling, but they stop to hang in the air like Suguru would punish Satoru if he gets too close. His eyes are wet, too. The light from the window above Suguru's head is just enough to reflect off of the tears gathered in the corner of Satoru's eye, highlighting the condensation hanging from his lashes. "Suguru."
Suguru has always had a glutton for punishment, perhaps, because the sight is all at once too much and not enough and Suguru doesn't stop himself from pressing into Satoru's hands. He crawls into Satoru's space, pushing his head under Satoru's chin and snaking his vice-like arms around Satoru's waist and clinging to the man as though it would bring Suguru any form of absolution. Satoru's arms cage Suguru in, though, and Satoru releases a wet breath as his hands tighten around Suguru's shoulders. The position is uncomfortable, Suguru thinks, but the comfort it brings him outweighs the ache in his knees and in his neck.
"I'm sorry," Satoru whispers into the crown of Suguru's head, his plush lips pressed into Suguru's hair. He breathes in, deep, like he means to continue, but he exhales instead and tightens his grip. His hands are shaking, now, and the tears fall freely onto Suguru's scalp. With his next exhale comes the words: "I can't let you go again, Suguru. It's selfish of me, but I can't let you go again."
And, well, Suguru laughs. It's a twisted little thing; his lungs strain to emit the sound and he can't remember what a natural laugh should sound like, but this puff of air feels lighter.
"As if being selfish has ever stopped you before," Suguru whispers into Satoru's collarbone, but the words are spoken kindly. He feels lighter than he did moments before. "My life would have been a lot easier if you were a little more selfless, Satoru."
Suguru isn't expecting Satoru to tense at his words. An apology begins to form at the bottom of his throat, hot and heavy with guilt, but-
"Say it again," is what Satoru says before Suguru can apologize.
"What?"
"Say my name, Suguru," are Satoru's words. His breath is heavy and his arms tight and the words are rushed but they hang tangible in the air. At Suguru's silence, he adds a heartfelt and aching, "Please."
Suguru sighs, chapped lips pressed into Satoru's skin, eyes lingering on the nothingness between them. His mouth opens before he can think, before he has time to study and pick apart the intentions, the meaning behind the request, but he would be stupid not to understand the implications as he breathes out a simple: "Satoru."
And the way that Satoru shudders around him should not feel as comforting as it does.
"Suguru," Satoru says, again. The name comes easier on his tongue, now. "I love you, too. I've never stopped. I don't think I can stop."
This time, when Suguru huffs an imitation of a laugh, he feels the lightness that should accompany it. Suguru twists the fabric of Satoru's shirt between his fingers and flutters a kiss against Satoru's pulsing neck. The words hang less like a noose and more like a promise between them, now.
"Yeah," Suguru affirms. He says, "I don't think I can either," and he means it.