Chapter Text
Satoru screamed mischief when Shoko first saw him. So when Suguru transferred, Shoko was hopeful. Finally an ally, Shoko thought, for a split second before Satoru casually leaned over and swung an arm over the new student’s shoulders. She didn’t miss the growing smirk on Suguru’s face, matching Satoru’s madman grin. Shoko tasted a regret more bitter than cigarettes for the first time.
Shoko learned that Suguru was a prankster worse than Satoru. The boy was an instigator, a manipulator at his finest. He was the type to plant ideas in Satoru’s head and watched the other boy carry them out for him, not once apologetic about the copious amount of times he got Satoru into detention.
Shoko was always on some kind of easter egg hunt with her cigarettes. Without a doubt, it was the two out of three. She dismissed the snickers muffled behind their palms and often opted for their crotches. Being short had an advantage after all. Shoko would love to rip their shit-eating grins off their pretty little faces.
“Have some candies!”
“Give me back my cigarettes while I’m being nice.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do. Both of you.”
“No smoking in classrooms.”
“I was going to do it back in the dorms.”
“Sweets over smokes any day for us, right Geto?”
“Well, I’m not Geto. I’m Shoko.”
“Hi, Shoko!”
“Hi, dumbass!”
Geto was the one to double over in pain. Gojo was an absolute menace with the infinity shit so Shoko wasn’t going to risk it.
She waved the pair goodbye with cigarettes and sweets in hand.
“Hide it better next time. I don’t want to keep groping your boyfriend.”
Shoko could picture their flabbergasted faces behind her as she popped a candy into her mouth. Fruity. Just like them.
It wasn’t until she got back to the dorms she counted her sticks. Two instead of four. Those fuckers. Though that was the first and last time the pair got their hands on her cigarettes, scratch that, any cigarette ever again.
-
This time, Geto was the one who passed her a pack.
“Your coping mechanism is not healthy.”
“How about your lover boy? He’s on his way to getting diabetes by twenty.”
“But I respect your choice.”
“Yeah? A whole ass year later.”
“Better late than never.”
Shoko earned herself a playful shove and ended her third exhale with a chuckle.
-
“Do you think they will ever fight over you?”
“Not in a million years.”
“Why not? They are both boys and you are a girl.”
“Well, they are both gays and I’m a lesbian.”
The lady looked half scandalized, half traumatized right there and then.
“You might want to scoot over. They are coming back—”
“HEY IEIRI!”
Gojo and Geto lunged for the bench and sandwiched their friend smack dab in the middle. Shoko threw a glance of apology as the lady scrambled out of her seat and scurried away.
“SAY CHEESE!”
A cap and a tacky gold chain landed on Shoko just in time as the timer went off. They were definitely getting security called on them, not because of the tripod fixed haphazardly in the middle of the park but the way the skirts were riding up the boys’ thighs and almost exposing their ass cheeks. Blame Gojo Satoru and his crazy suggestion to exchange outfits for a day.
“Keep them.”
“What? The skirts?”
“No, your sanity.”
“Oh come on, we will get them washed.”
“No amount of soap and water will get rid of those cum stains.”
“Oi! We didn’t do shit in your skirts!”
“Yeah?”
“Well, we did do shit in the photo booth…”
“Suguru! You’re not helping!”
Bored, Shoko watched the two argue their way out of every little thing. It was tough being a third wheel. God, she needed a smoke break.
-
“They got to be more than just a manchild and a man whore.”
Utahime was probably on some internet friendship quiz again, something about the perks of being a trio.
“Well, you get to have free cupcakes on Valentine’s day from homophobic cafes.”
That earned Shoko a raised brow.
“Twice.”
Utahime seemed mildly impressed, nudging her to go on.
“Unlimited piggybacks.”
Shoko would be lying if she lost count of the times she bagged a ride on their shoulders, even when she wasn’t tired or injured from missions. The boys never complained, something about free workouts, but Shoko knew they both suffered, all the same, huffing under their breaths when they hit the stairs.
“Would you carry me even when I’m heavier than this?”
“Woman, did you just pull a ‘would you love me even when I’m a worm’ shit on us?”
“I’m just thinking.”
“Well, don’t.”
“We’ll carry you wherever and whenever, as long as you’re Ieiri Shoko.”
Pleased, Shoko hid her blushing face into the neck of her sweater. Sweet talkers.
“Scary dog privileges.”
It was at night. Shoko was on her way back from the store when a chill jolted down her spine, eerily different from the coldness of the popsicle in her mouth. The stench of alcohol hit her nose as a hand shot out to grab her by the collar.
“What a pretty little thing.” Shoko could picture the sinister grin splitting across the brute’s face. The hands had moved past her shoulders and were crawling lower and lower —
“Oi! Shoko!”
“What’s taking you so long!”
Shoko didn’t know her face was wet with tears until Geto thumbed them away from her cheeks. Behind them, Gojo tossed the broken bottleneck into the bin nonchalantly as if he hadn't just scared the shit out of the drunkard.
“You wasted my sake,” Shoko croaked out at last.
“We can buy again, woman, a whole ass shelf of them if you want.”
“Bring us next time, will you?
“Even if you’re shitting halfway?”
“Yeah.”
-
There were the slow days when they would laze around and do absolutely nothing. As usual, the boys would crash at her place. They would have a chick flick on, serving nothing more than as background noise because halfway through the movie, Geto would find himself in the hands of two very amateur hairdressers.
Shoko nailed the apple hair on Gojo, the boy instinctively turning off his infinity and letting her have her way with him. In return, she earned a mini braid on her short hair. They would then take turns to braid Geto’s hair, which they dubbed as shampoo commercial-worthy, and Gojo was surprisingly patient and good at it. Shoko ended up dedicating a whole ass album to their makeover sessions on her phone.
Sleepovers were fortnightly occasions. Geto and Shoko would make their way to Gojo’s room after lights out with takeouts and snacks in tow. They would mix any shit together. Gojo was the worst because he would dip sushi in ketchup and chips in ice cream. He was a lightweight though, blacking out once he emptied a can and half a shot. Geto and Shoko seized the opportunity as it came, knowing Gojo slept unguarded with them around. They would procure a sharpie and the outcome was Satoru going to class with a dick on his forehead.
Afternoon naps were the most insufferable. Shoko often woke up to a warm body against her back with an arm wound around her middle. Suguru was a furnace, an absolute menace in summer. With a jerk of her head, Shoko glared at the elbow against the small of her back. Gojo Satoru. The boy was sleeping at the other end, with Geto sandwiched between them, snoring and probably drooling. Shoko scooted out of the formation, cringing at the sight of the pair’s tangled legs despite the scorching heat of the summer.
High school sweethearts? More like the bane of her existence.
-
They were teenagers with dreams, ideals, and a ridiculous obsession with the beach. Shoko knew it was an excuse for Geto to wear his tacky ass Hawaiian shirts and Gojo to show off his abs. Not that he ever turned off his infinity. Something about UV rays and skin cancer but Shoko called it bullshit.
The three of them would talk for hours until low tide at dusk.
Satoru often returned with firecrackers he bullied out of little kids and they would light them as they strolled along the coastline.
“I would technically not get burned.”
Gojo would tease his fingers over the lighter.
“Okay, Mister Infinity and The Strongest. ”
“I’m not the strongest.”
He would then pull Geto in by his shoulder and the latter would lean into the touch, letting their cheeks kiss each other.
“We’re the strongest.”
-
Coming of age delivered the harshest truth to them.
Dreams were anything but reality and ideologies were nothing but poisons of the minds.
Friendship and love did not stand a chance.
Shoko thought about quitting cigarettes once upon a time but now she smoked them harder than ever, grasping at the burning sensation in her lungs like the last straw to numb the pain and drown out the what-ifs.
Three was never a crowd, two were no longer best friends, and one was the strongest alone.