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Satoru noticed the first time when they were on a mission.
The brief flickering of infinity, a pause of color in its flow as he sensed grayscale around him. It was something he usually had a firm grip around, slipping, eyes sliding over to Suguru. Arms shaking with the pressure of the curses’ fist on Suguru, teeth grinding in exertion like the sharp malfunction of cogs, metal shrieking at the discomfort. He could feel how he struggled, reached for air thin between the special-grade curses’ breath and rain splashing against his warm skin, dark hair sticking to the sides of his cheek.
As Satoru’s hands were forming an all-to familiar sign of blue, he knew Suguru would manage. He knew, and yet his feet were wobbly against soil and water, mixing his stance to uneasiness. Satoru was caught in a moment of mere seconds, facing a stomach-wrenching moss-green special-grade curse twice as big, reeking of dead lives consumed, reeking of the acidic rain it produced. Satoru’s frozen stance, hesitating to exorcise because Suguru wasn’t there yet. Suguru shielded his life with one arm, Satoru’s skin crawling with the fear of it snapping under the pressure, Suguru’s scream echoing in his ears.
A turn of fingers was all it took.
For Suguru.
For Satoru.
Satoru had sensed it coming, though his eyes switched toward Suguru’s smile, the wet noises of curses rubbing against curses, consuming behind Suguru. The familiar instinct of the rotting feeling in his lungs, mold growing in his throat to knock his head back. He watched the curses’ sharp teeth hover inches from his face, shadow casted over him when he lost his footing, when he saw Suguru cover himself of another curse, behind him – in that moment, Infinity flickered.
Blood mixed with his eyesight, red-tinted color across his face. His skin stung with poison, releasing his fingertips with ‘Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue’. He could hear the crushing bones and wet sound of crinkling cursed flesh near him, hand pressed against the cut ripping his face open, balance failing him when his hand felt dirt embracing him, staining his uniform. In that moment, the rain stopped.
With the wound running on his face like he’d opened his skin as an entrance to his soul, blood pouring like rain from his cheeks. It hurt. Not enough to make him cry, though enough to make him painfully aware of what it felt like to switch off infinity.
There was too much of his hair on his forehead, disgustingly scratchy, sticking to his cold skin, molten blood pooling at his chin, eyes in blur with red filter, skin stinging with acidity. The fabric stiff against his skin, his lungs sucking in every breath and Suguru’s hand hovering above his shoulder, farther than usually.
“Satoru, are you okay?”
He turned his head, slowly. Perhaps Suguru’s eyes widened when he saw his face because this was Satoru’s first injury in five years, perhaps it was the first time he’d bled in front of him. Though there was something else, deep hidden beyond the sight of his eyes, beyond the dark-brown iris with silver starry specks which usually smiled at him. He felt the disruption in Suguru’s soul, something more than concern that screamed terror in his mind.
Suguru was scared.
“You’re hurt.”
His voice trembled, despite his will to keep it steady, hands halting inches before Satoru’s face. Suguru’s eyes were pained, narrowed when he tried to reach for his wound with the cloth damped with water.
“Please.” Voice strained, aching like agony streaming through pulled muscles, “Let me see.”
Satoru felt irony taste in his mouth, shutting off his infinity like a light switch, shoulders slumping when he felt the energy fade around him. When he felt the presence of everything. If his six senses took in everything, his six eyes added. And it got a lot. Enough to make him grimace at the enormous amount of information, hands on his head, cradling around the awful drops of water on his hair. Everything was painstakingly there, the presence of Suguru, his hair, his eyes, his gaze shifting, the air around him, slightly warmer than in the woods, cold, water running into the depth of poison green grass, sky vibrating with the pressure of the ozone. He barely breathed.
“Satoru,” concern, worry, things Satoru didn’t understand. He slipped, twice. His mind flowing into the world with its souls hovering above each being, before he grasped it, almost, a string escaping his fingertips when he reached for it, “Breathe.”
Satoru inhaled sharply, blur clearing. He sat in the mud, drenching his uniform. Wet, smelling of curses.
He breathed.
Suguru’s hands raised to clean his wound, needles pricking his skin from the water, he saw Suguru’s concern. He saw his worry, eyes gliding over him, he didn’t sense it.
He inhaled deeply.
Satoru sometimes forgot that he was worth worrying about. Because Suguru was the only one who did. A smile formed on his lips, weak.
“Thank you.”
Suguru’s mouth curved apologetically, eyebrows close, “I wish I could do more. I’m sorry, I was distracted, I didn’t think that my curse would get killed so quickly.”
“No, don’t apologize it’s my fault. I thought I should help you and infinity flicked off.”
Suguru’s warm fingertips stroke past his cheek, damp crimson cloth, hand stained wet with water and blood.
“We’re the strongest. We can manage alone, right?”
Ah. Satoru remembered. The words stung inside his lungs, forgetting that his face was ripped open for a brief moment. They might have hurt more than the wound.
“Of course.”
...
The second time was when they cooked, a knife’s grip usually firm in his hand, juggling it forth between his hand and gravity. Just until one slipped his hand, infinity wobbling between reality and the presence of the blade ripping the skin of his hand open. He hissed in pain, trying to stop his hand from shaking, other pressing on his wrist when Suguru turned around.
“Satoru,” his thumb rolled past the inside of his hand, examining the deep cut. There was blood at the side of his palm, Satoru’s skin sensing the warmth spreading across his hand, partly because of Suguru’s hand contrasting to Satoru’s cold, “Come, you have to rinse it.”
Satoru stared at Suguru’s expression, shock vividly painted in his eyes fixated on the wound, thumb repeatedly stroking over the excess of blood pouring out of it. It hurt, but Suguru’s hands were gentle, the pressure on his palm wasn’t enough to make him protest against them. In the way he barely swallowed the situation fear was plastered onto his forehead, bright and visible.
“You have to be careful.” His voice was raspy with concern.
“Hmm.” Satoru hummed, eyes still glued onto Suguru’s expression, feeling distress inside his soul as he ran water over the blood.
He liked this. In a way, seeing Suguru getting concerned for him, worrying about him. The slight parting of his lips when he saw Satoru’s injury. The small tick of realization in his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrowed in worry, in pain for him even though it wasn’t comparable to any serious injuries during their missions. Not like Satoru ever got injured. Perhaps that was why Suguru was so concerned for him. Or maybe it was just because his infinity had flickered quite often recently, like a lightbulb without sufficient energy to keep living. Maybe it was that way, because he had it under control for a short amount of time. For the amount of time he hadn’t thought, about Toji Fushiguro’s death, about Megumi Fushiguro’s acceptance into the course of the Jujutsu Tech in Tokyo. Maybe it was because he seemed weaker. To Suguru.
In a way, he liked being weak. In front of him, because he was the only one who’d listen when his lips trembled. Because Suguru was the only one who watched his shoulders tighten with the pressure of two worlds, balancing in his soul, seeing the clashing inside his heart with its own little infinity. He saw, and he was there. For the time being. For the time being Satoru could be vulnerable and was willing to be, in front of him.
It didn’t happen often, though in a way, he wanted it to happen more often. To see that he’s not only needed for missions of curses everyone threw their hands up in defeat before even facing it. Before hearing of people who had turned their back on him because he said he was tired, once. They mouthed it off, saying that he shouldn’t worry them, that he was weak after all, that they couldn’t trust him. After Toji Fushiguro’s death, the words of the higher ups washed over him like ashes dusting his face. They stuck to him, their opinions. Even though they usually didn’t.
He knew. He should know he was the strongest. But sometimes, with Suguru, he wasn’t.
“You have to keep infinity on now.” He turned the tap off, leading Satoru into the bathroom by his hand, disrupting Satoru’s thoughts. Suguru opened a cabin, rustling past the dozens of strawberry flavored toothpastes to a bandage.
“But I’m with you.” Satoru’s voice was weak with awe of Suguru’s concern.
His hands gentle as he disinfected the wound, Satoru wincing at the sting in his flesh, Suguru’s warm fingertips caressing the back of his hand to soothe him.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?”
Suguru looked up after tucking the bondage with medical tape. Eyes crescent with warmth, worry beyond the surface. He hadn’t let go of his hand. Satoru’s thoughts raced, stopping at the tone of Suguru’s voice.
Satoru didn’t know what to answer, pulling him into a tight embrace, feeling Suguru’s hair tickle his nose when he exhaled.
“You don’t have to carry all this alone, you know.”
Satoru closed his eyes, warmth pressing against his chest, feeling Suguru’s chin resting against the crook of his neck.
“I’m here, too. That’s why we’re the strongest.”
Satoru smiled into the hug, the small urge to rip his bandage open and making his hand bleed again, just to see this look in his eyes – barely containing it.
“Of course.” He said instead, the blade of the scissors sliding into his skin that Suguru used to cut off the bandage. His hand cradled with the wet warmth pooling into Suguru’s shirt.
Of course.
...
Satoru hadn’t gotten any injuries lately. Mainly because Suguru didn’t seem like himself anymore, ruminating and checking up on Satoru even more than before. Even though it’s been five months since he’d cut himself when they were cooking. Still, Suguru was concerned. Telling him he hadn’t joked around as much anymore, that the atmosphere around him has gotten dull and that he worried.
And oh, what he would give to see the little twinge in Suguru’s eyes one more time. The spark of I need you, the spark that told him to stay himself, to stay healthy and the agonizing tone he pressed past his lungs when voicing ‘please’.
These were the thoughts he had, playing with the blade in his hand of one of Shoko’s daggers. He knew where he’d push it through, just not when he would. The tip has been hovering above his skin for an hour now, infinity like a halo protecting him. He knew he could shut it off, carefully watching it rise to height where he’d be sure to make a cut deep enough to make him bleed out, though not hurt any vital organs. Satoru had prepared reversed curse technique, brushing the small cuts on his throat off as practice for it when Suguru asked. It wasn’t a lie.
But it also wasn’t the truth.
His mind raced when he saw the blade fall from the ceiling, hands clutching in the hope of having enough energy to still pull through with the reversed technique. Satoru had never seen himself bleed this much from his stomach, from anywhere. He watched it wet his shirt, the freshly washed bed sheets when his eyes blurred out. He couldn’t sense anything anymore, the pain wasn’t feeling like anything more than a hole in his skin anymore.
He hoped he’d see Suguru tonight. Maybe there would be Ramen with pork cutlet, too.
Satoru managed a brief smile before the void of his chest engulfed him into darkness.
And artificial light disrupted it again.
Shoko looked worried. She never did.
“Satoru!”
Ah, there it was.
Satoru smiled weakly, tongue tasting the dryness of his lips.
The twist in his voice.
...
“Satoru, please don’t hurt yourself.” He heard the familiar hitching in his voice, twinge of pain twisting inside his soul into a black hole, “Don’t hurt yourself. Do it for me, okay?”
“I am.” Satoru’s voice sounded dull, the artificial light burning his eyes.
“Huh?”
“I am hurting myself for you.”
Suguru furrowed his eyebrows, hands firm around his wound.
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” Suguru’s mouth fell open, eyes confusion with agony twirling inside them, thumb halting its movements.
“You–” Suguru’s voice broke off, “You love me?”
Satoru nodded, head falling onto Suguru’s shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles when he made contact with his skin.
“Then why?”
“I like it when you worry about me.” Satoru lifted his head, staring, “Do you?”
Suguru didn’t answer, chirping of crickets filling the warm silence between them.
“Do you love me?” Satoru’s mouth felt dry. He never meant to ask this initially, he wouldn’t know what to do if he said no. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility of Suguru saying no, that he only liked him as a best friend, as a brother, not as someone to spend his life with.
“Please don’t hurt yourself, Satoru.”
Somehow, this little sentence, this avoidance of his question hurt more when he twisted a knife inside his stomach. He felt spikes inside his heart, defending itself with its own infinity, keeping him away from something as close and vulnerable as himself. Why did he even think–
“God.” Suguru murmured, voice teary with sobs, pain underlying in his tone like he’d never expressed it. Heat forming in his mouth and cold clashing with it when he pulled Satoru into his embrace, arms holding him together shielding a card house from wind, even though he knew it was useless. Even though he could sense that there was too big of a gaping hole to fill it.
“I love you. Of course, I love you.” Suguru’s lips were drawing words on his neck, breath unsteady, cheeks wet with tears Satoru couldn’t decipher. His soul was borne in front of him, there was no restricting border around it, there was no infinity, there was purity pouring out like his own tears.
“It just hurts – to see you trying to carry it all by yourself,” Suguru’s voice unsteady, hoarse from the urge to suppress a sob, “It’s hard. To be the balance, to have others depending on you. To think of everyone but not about yourself. Satoru don’t do this to yourself. You may be the strongest, but at what cost?”
Satoru’s arms slowly lifted to return the warmth, though his fingers felt like blocks of ice. He didn’t consider this perspective. He’d seen this as a duty, killing curses, refining his technique, destroying places, without seeing how he’d become a curse himself. Seething for warmth and paining others around him, others who had looked away. Everyone had, because they knew they needed him. Everyone except Suguru, he was there, he was with him, he helped, he cried, he laughed, he smiled. His eyes were alive in Satoru’s stead and for what? For Satoru to fall into the depths of his own barrier, to isolate and pushing past each day to fulfill a routine, while Suguru invited him to live. To stay alive. Only with him. He was the strongest, but at the cost for the only one who cared for him to pain himself. Because of him.
“I’m sorry, Suguru.” Tears blurred his vision, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, tasting the iron on his tongue as he pulled him closer, blood dripping from his wound that hurt. It stung with agony, fire on his insides and fingers wet with acid, it hurt like blades rammed into his back, spine twisting and crying out, screaming in pain. It hurt.
They held each other. They were there for each other. They bathed in Satoru’s blood, tears staining their shirts. But their warmth outran the pain, not because they were the strongest, but because they were the weakest when together.
And perhaps, as silly it sounded in his head, Suguru smiled against his neck, facing his cheeks, wiping the tears from his lashes, eyes red with salty water and connecting his lips. He breathed in, long, sharing the bits of warmth, the little bitter aftertaste of his morning’s cigarette. He felt the smoothness of Suguru’s seam of his lips, pressing against his tongue, lovingly, gentle like hands cradling around a bird’s wing.
“You can’t be at the strongest alone, Satoru. You have to be weak to get there. And I’m here for that weakness. So, when we go out there, we can be us. So, we can be Satoru and Suguru, not the Strongest Special Grades.”
Satoru smiled, for the first time in weeks. Genuinely. He nodded against his lips, warm.
Even if Satoru was in the wrong. There was someone who was in the wrong, too. There was someone who wasn’t as strong as him. There was someone, who was able to consume all the curses and surpass him and he still could not be the strongest.
Because he was alone. And the weakness, paired with the strength only could ever be the fulfilling scars to spell love.
...
“Are they going to turn into scars?”
“Not if I don’t want them to. I used reverse cursed technique.”
“Hmmm.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Satoru knew why he had asked.
He asked for a personal souvenir from him.
And a small part of him knew. And this small part didn’t stop him.
...
Suguru murdered an entire city.
Suguru was strong.
Suguru was alone.
And so was Satoru.
But his weakness, spelled out in scars for Suguru, stayed. They stayed because this weakness wouldn’t heal. It would stay. And someone had to be the strongest, even if he wasn’t there.