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If you asked Satoru, his childhood didn’t really affect him that much. He didn’t know what a normal family looked like, but his couldn’t have been that bad. He had a roof over his head, a big one at that. He was given food and water and clothes. The nannies and maids that helped around the house made sure he bathed and was taken care of physically.
He wasn’t starved, nor was he beaten. But—and Satoru knew it was dumb to think this way—he often wished his parents hit him as a child. Then, at least, they would pay attention to him. But they didn’t care. He could probably pack his things, stick his thumb out, and hitchhike across the country, and they wouldn’t notice.
His lack of attention as a child probably didn’t affect his relationships too much. He craved touch more than anything, but didn’t everyone?
-・-
Sometimes, Satoru remembers the first time he realized his parents weren’t like others. He was nine, or maybe ten, when he walked in on his parents’ screaming match. It wasn’t anything new. But he’d just gotten home from a sleepover with Suguru, and Suguru’s parents didn’t fight and shout.
They paid attention to Suguru and each other and said I love you’s. When Satoru walked in, Suguru’s mom greeted him and asked about his and Suguru’s day. When Satoru walked into his own house, his parents didn’t even pause their argument to acknowledge him. He was used to it. He was used to it, but it never hurt any less.
-・-
Suguru was pedaling on his bike when he noticed it the first time, with Satoru sitting right behind him. He had his arms wrapped around his waist. And Suguru was being absolutely ridiculous. He had to hold on, unless he wanted to fall backwards onto the hard cement. But Suguru’s brain was short circuiting, because Satoru was holding him like he would absolutely die if every inch of their bodies weren't pressed together. Satoru was warm pressed up against his back. His long arms were holding onto Suguru and the breeze carried Satoru’s sweet smelling shampoo to Suguru’s nose.
Suguru tightened his grip on the handlebars of his bike. He had to stay focused so he wouldn’t steer them into a ditch.
A butterfly flew past and Satoru reached out. The bike wobbled and Suguru rolled his eyes. “Hold on or you’ll cause both of us to bust our asses,” he said. Satoru sighed but wrapped both arms around Suguru again.
Satoru rested his pointy chin on Suguru’s shoulder. “After this mission, we should stop for crepes,” he mused.
This mission was definitely one that could have been swiftly dealt with by just one person. But Satoru always insisted they go together. Suguru stopped his bike and put the kick stand down. They were sent to a small cemetery on the outskirts of the city. The curse wasn’t strong; just lingering near the graves, floating and haunting the living that stepped past the cemetery gates.
The Grade 3 curse was exorcised in no time at all. Suguru paid quick respects to the deceased and swung a leg over his bike. Satoru bounced over and looped his arms around Suguru again.
Suguru swallowed and felt his heart thump loudly in his chest. Always touching. He shoved his feelings down—whatever those feelings were. (He wasn’t going to unpack those right now).
-・-
Suguru was used to Satoru’s surprise attacks. He was used to Satoru flinging his lanky body on his, having all the trust in the world that Suguru would catch him. He always caught him. Then there was the arm thing.
They would always snake around Suguru’s waist. His chin on his shoulder. Then his breath hitting his ear or cheek depending on how close he was.
He’s sometimes embarrassed. Not because of Satoru, but because of how easy it is for him to get all flustered.
“Let’s go, Suguru,” he’d say. And he was so close, so close Suguru could smell his shampoo and the laundry detergent he used to wash his uniform.
He’d get on his bike and Satoru would climb on behind him. Then his arms would be around Suguru, and Suguru would savor the warmth and comfort of having Satoru pressed up against him. He'd hold on for dear life, plaster his body to Suguru's, like he was trying to fuse their bodies into one.
Then, at yet another Saturday night sleepover, Suguru realized something. Something he probably should have realized years ago. To test this train of thought, Suguru reached across the table they sat at. He touched Satoru’s hand, lightly at first. Then, he applied more pressure, and trailed his fingers down to Satoru’s wrist.
Satoru dropped his chopsticks and looked around, seeming almost nervous, despite the lack of anyone around them. Suguru’s parents weren’t home yet, but Satoru looked over his shoulder. He picked his chopsticks back up again when Suguru let go.
Throughout the evening, Suguru left small touches on Satoru’s skin. Each time, Satoru would freeze, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the touch of another. That’s when it all made sense to Suguru. All the seemingly meaningless touches were anything but meaningless.
That’s how he found himself pinned down on his bed. Satoru was wrapped around him entirely, squeezing tight, like he was afraid Suguru would leave if he let go. He was anything but small, but he somehow made himself seem tiny when Suguru was the one to wrap his arms around Satoru.
Satoru was almost always the one to initiate touch, though he never lingered too terribly long. But this time, Suguru would be the first to reach out and hold him close. There was no space between them. No breaths or sighs could squeeze between their bodies. Time stopped, and for a moment, Suguru didn't see anything wrong with staying like this forever if it meant Satoru never cried like this again.
-・-
Perhaps Satoru’s childhood affected him a bit more than he thought. When Suguru sat there and held him, his lower lip wobbled and tears burned his cheeks before he even realized he was crying. Suguru smelled nice and his shirt was soft and now wet from his tears.
Satoru folded his legs in and let Suguru rock him like some overgrown child.
After that night of vulnerability, Suguru was sure to touch him more. A brush of their fingers, a gentle hand on a shoulder, a gentle but firm squeeze that always seemed to say I've got you.
Satoru thought he could do just fine without food or water if it meant Suguru would touch him forever. He would allow Suguru to tuck him inside his chest, next to his heart, if he wanted.
Bike rides, fruit sandwiches, arms and hands and smiles. Arms around a waist and a warm body pressed against his.