Work Text:
During his childhood, Satoru used to crawl into Suguru's bed when they had sleepovers and, once they were lying next to each other, he would play with Suguru's hair.
Suguru had long, soft, jet-black hair. He never complained about his best friend's habit; on the contrary, he seemed to find it funny, the idea that Satoru had to stroke his hair in order to fall asleep.
The habit was lost during their teenage years, when bed-sharing became less and less common and, when they did share the bed, there was a certain distance between their bodies, carefully imposed. Suguru didn't understand the reason for that distance —he didn't really mind sleeping with him—, but he respected the boundaries without questioning them.
Satoru, at first, didn't understand it either. He only knew that having Suguru too close was uncomfortable because it made him deeply nervous; his hands became sweaty, his heart began to race. When it all started, he just assumed it was a part of growing up: they wouldn't always be children, running hand in hand down the street, sleeping in each other's arms, promising they would marry so they would be a family. At some point, some gestures of affection changed into something reserved for romantic love, the kind of love they were supposed to find outside the relationship that bound them together, in the company of some woman.
It took him years, several failed relationships and incessant attempts to ignore the tingling in his stomach to realise that this wasn't something normal that he had to get used to in order to get on with his life. No, what Suguru generated in him was complex, strong, immobilizing; the feelings had taken root inside him and ran through him from head to toe. He was in love with him. That love invaded him, it ran through his veins, it paralysed him. When he was with Geto, he didn’t know what to do with everything he felt, so he just kept a safe distance. If they got too close, it was possible that what rested comfortably at the bottom of his chest would burst, and what would happen then?
Suguru had been through a few failed relationships too, and Satoru had been there to help him through each and every one of them. Suguru loved intensely, he gave himself body and soul, and when it was all over, Satoru was there to help him pick up the pieces and put them back together again.
He wondered how it would feel to be loved by him. Geto didn't show as much with words as he did with actions, and he loved physical affection. Gojo couldn't help but think of taking his hand, hugging him around the waist, kissing every millimetre of his body. Caressing his hair until he fell fast asleep, just like when they were children.
Geto’s last relationship took place when he was eighteen. He and his girlfriend had many differences and, after several disagreements, they agreed to end everything before it got worse. Geto said that the decision was something mutual, but, having a beer with Gojo, he confessed that the decision was his own.
"But, why?" Satoru questioned, frowning slightly. "I thought you were in love with her."
"I thought so, too," he said, playing with his half-empty glass. His jet-black hair cascaded down his back, his bang covered his forehead; he looked tired, messy. "But I don't know what I feel anymore."
Gojo clucked his tongue, sipping the remaining contents in his own glass.
"What can I say? Feelings suck."
"Mhm. In the end, what we said when we were children will end up being true and I'll have to settle and marry you, eh, Satoru?"
He said it as a joke. The smile on his face and the twinkle in his eyes were unmistakable, making it evident that he was just pulling his leg, but it didn't stop the warm feeling that settled in Satoru's chest and made a home there.
"I guess that's the case," he said, pointing at Suguru with the hand in which he held his empty glass. "What, are you going to tell me you need more?"
He laughed, partially hiding behind his hair, and his face lit up as only Gojo's company could light it. He almost felt special in a way that he wasn't supposed to.
"Oh, no. You're the only one I need," he said, and he meant it, even if it wasn't in the way Satoru needed him to say it.
Not long after, they both started university. Their paths diverged only slightly; they called each other often, texted each other all the time and still saw each other from time to time. Gojo thought that maybe that was what he needed: a physical separation, to put some distance between them. He had to be able to let go of that teenage crush now that adult life seemed to be hovering over his shoulders.
He met new people, widened his circle of friends, and his life changed. But he didn't forget Suguru. Now, at twenty-one, he was beginning to think he would never forget Suguru. He should be content with loneliness, because to seek parts of him in other people as if they were vague replicas would not be fair to either the other person's feelings or his own, but to let go of all that he had held so carefully in the deepest recesses of his being for more years than he could count was dangerous. It was scary, the idea of opening up completely without knowing how those emotions would be received by the one who unknowingly owned every one of his dreams and fantasies and longings.
They went several months without seeing each other because of their responsibilities, but they never really left each other's side. They spoke by text every day and by phone whenever they found a moment in their schedules to do so. There was something special about hearing Suguru's voice on the phone, as if he was close to him even though he was far away. He spoke softly, whispered secrets in his ears, laughed sweetly. He could even hear his breathing. His heart beat so hard he was surprised Suguru couldn't hear it.
They met again on the first weekend of the holidays. Suguru went to Satoru's house, his hair tied back and carrying enough beer to last the night. He smiled, and the smile reached his eyes, and Satoru understood why he had fallen in love with him. How could he not love him, if he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. How could he not love him, if he had always been his, even without knowing it, even before he understood what it meant to belong to someone.
They drank non-stop, had pizza for dinner, and lounged in the living room. Satoru lay on the couch, a can of beer in his hand, and Suguru sat on the floor beside him. He had taken off his shoes and the jacket he wore over a plain white T-shirt and had let his hair down. He had a cigarette between his fingers and was taking short puffs from time to time.
"I've been thinking," he said suddenly, exhaling smoke through his nose, "and we should move in together."
"Together?" Satoru mumbled, his eyes on his lips between which he rested his cigarette. He wanted to kiss him, taste him.
"Mhm. We'd have a cat and I'd take care of the plants. If we ever missed each other, we could just sneak into each other's room. And I'd steal your clothes."
He smiled. Satoru felt his breath catch on his throat for a second.
"And we'd never be alone," he proceeded, and maybe that was the thing he wanted to get at. That was the moment Satoru knew that every effort he ever made to forget him had been completely in vain.
"Do you feel lonely?" Satoru asked, almost breathless.
"Whenever I don't have you."
They looked into each other's eyes. The cigarette and the can of beer rested, forgotten, in their hands. Satoru blinked. He saw Suguru's Adam's apple twitch as he swallowed saliva. He sat down on the couch rather awkwardly just to compose himself, because he felt that every fortress he had carefully built up over the years might crumble that very night.
"Satoru," Suguru exhaled. It sounded like a plea. He looked back at him just as he climbed onto the sofa and sat down beside him. "Satoru."
He felt dizzy. He drank what was left of the beer in his can and set it aside, looking for something to focus on other than the way the blush covered Suguru's cheeks and his eyes were bright because of the alcohol.
"Yes?" he asked, regaining his ability to speak, at least as long as he wasn't looking him in the eye.
"Do you know something?" Suguru murmured, ever so softly. "Sometimes I'm afraid I won't be able to love anyone the way I love you."
He looked at him again. Their hands were almost touching, their bodies only a short distance apart. If he leaned in, he could kiss him. The distance was dangerous; he knew that, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't, even if he wanted to.
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," he muttered, mimicking his tone of voice, as if it was a shared secret.
Suguru smiled as if he expected that answer. He stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and, after releasing it, his hand went to his best friend's chin. His skin prickled at the touch of his long, delicate fingers, which weren't even holding him —they were resting there, against his skin, as if he was the most delicate thing in the world. His blood burned, his stomach knotted. He inhaled through his mouth, speechless.
"I simply mean that I love you," Suguru whispered, running his thumb down his best friend's pale cheek, which had taken on a blushing pink tinge. "I think I've always loved you. And something makes me think there's no way I'll ever stop loving you."
His fingers slid along Satoru's jaw; he shuddered at the touch, shivering slightly. Skin on skin. He had craved it so much, every little touch. How long had he held back, for the sake of not going crazy?
"Suguru..." he murmured, tilting his head in the direction of his friend's hand, seeking more of the warmth he had needed so much. The palm of the other's hand went to wrap around his cheek and he knew that was all he needed to live.
"I've fought so hard," he continued, taking his face in his hands, caressing his skin gently. "I have fought in vain. I surrender; you won. My heart is yours, always has been, and you can do with it what you will."
He meant it, Satoru saw it in his eyes. He cried out for mercy. He was handing him his heart, serving it to him on a silver platter; he could destroy it, if he wanted to, and Suguru would cherish it without even bothering to pick up the pieces, because he would see beauty where his hands rested even if he used them to harm him. He would sit and watch his heart being torn apart with devotion as long as the owner of all his affections was the cause of such misery.
He was giving Satoru the power to destroy him, trusting that he wouldn't.
Satoru did not know what to do with all the affection that was bestowed upon him without him deserving it. Dulled by the alcohol, mute by the surprise, he could only close his eyes.
"Kiss me," he pleaded pathetically, grabbing one of his best friend's wrists, clinging to him as if he feared he would fade away.
Suguru kissed him. And kissed him. And continued to kiss him. He tasted of beer and cigarettes and something else, something sweet, soft, dear. Satoru let himself be carried away by it, swept along by the current. They had both lost. Their hearts didn't belong to them; they rested in each other's hands, sank into each other's chests, beat in tandem.
He caressed every millimetre of his bare skin, turned into one with him, melted between his arms. They were sober by the time the act was over, as they lay on Satoru's bed and rested in each other's arms, but there was nothing shameful about what had happened under the influence of the alcohol. They had both wanted for it for so long in silence, how could they regret it, handing themselves out, at last, body and soul?
Suguru's fingers trailed gently down Satoru's back and he squinted, holding back the urge to fall asleep. He feared that, when he woke up, it would all have been a dream. His hands went to Suguru's hair and he stroked it. It was as silky as he remembered; it had lost none of the softness that had characterised it in his childhood.
"I noticed something," Suguru said, and his breath brushed against Satoru's skin. That made him grin like an idiot. "You didn't tell me if you loved me, too."
He blinked. Then he laughed. Suguru frowned.
"I'm serious. You've got me wondering already."
Satoru pinched his nose.
"No way," he said, rolling his eyes. "I do it with all of my best friends, actually."
"I don't know what offends me more: being used, or you even insinuating that you have another best friend."
Satoru laughed again. Suguru grinned, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him, returning to the position they had been in not too long ago. The guy watched him from below, blue eyes sparkling like gems.
"Slow down, tiger, I don't have the energy for another round."
"Satoru," he murmured against the skin of his neck, kissing his jaw. Satoru's hands drifted to the back of his head, fingers tangled in his jet hair. "Do you love me?"
"I love you," he whispered, and it sounded like a gasp. The confession was liberating. He'd never felt so light. "I love you, I love you…"
That night, he fell asleep stroking the hair of the one he had silently adored for years.
When he woke up, he was still there, in his arms. He was everything he ever wanted. Everything he needed.