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After Megumi barrels back into their home, explodes, and puts himself to bed, Satoru does not waste time lingering over the conversation or reflecting on what'd been said. He follows his husband into their bedroom and moves forward with his life.
Suguru changes into his usual nighttime attire: a sensible sleep shirt and boxers. Though the sight is routine, Satoru is entranced by the way the fabric hangs off his shoulders, the way his eyes reflect the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and how his hair looks when he lets it down and pushes it off his face. He feels lightheaded.
He wonders if Suguru is going to try to talk about it.
He hasn't, so far, he's just sat there looking pretty. They haven't said anything since Megumi had gone to bed, just We should turn in, too and a curt reply. Satoru waits no longer. He tangles his fingers into Suguru's hair, straddles his lap, and kisses him.
He's surprised—he can tell by the noise Suguru makes when their lips meet—but it's welcomed. That he can tell by the way Suguru gives into it, how his lips part in acceptance, even if it's from nothing more than muscle memory.
His hands are still resting on the bed. That just won't do. Satoru takes them and guides them to his waist. It's better, but not enough; He wants Suguru to grab him, to tether him to this spot, to make the skin underneath his grip feel alive and real, like it actually belongs to someone. He presses forward to encourage him, trailing his lips down his jaw and landing on his neck. He feels his hands flex in response. He bites.
But Suguru pulls back.
"Not tonight," he says gently. His eyes convey equal parts affection and a genuine exhaustion. "It's been a long day."
"That's fine." Satoru is already halfway across the room. "I get it."
"C'mon. Don't be like that."
"What? You said not tonight, so... Not tonight. It's fine." Satoru enters the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower."
His shower lasts nearly 40 minutes. Satoru scrubs every inch of his body until his skin is pink before he finally emerges. Then he washes his face throughly and stares at himself in the mirror to make sure he isn't breaking out, even though his summer on Accutane had essentially solved the issue many years ago. He brushes his teeth twice and reorganizes all their products just for the hell of it. He washes his face one more time for good measure.
Satoru emerges for a new pair of underwear and Suguru takes his place in the bathroom.
"Not too late to change your mind," Satoru says when he re-enters. He's freshly clean and mostly naked. He places his fist on a popped hip in a way that allows him to subtlety flex.
Suguru barely glances at him as he curls under the covers.
"I'm tired," he says. "You're tired. Let's sleep."
Satoru ignores the suggestion and paces the length of their bedroom. A fleeting thought crosses his mind — a stupid thought, so he's angry at having it, even instinctually. He thinks, only for a moment, that maybe Suguru doesn't want to look at him because of the ragged scars that stretch from his sternum all the way to his thigh. It's stupid. He'd long ago been told and then repeatedly reassured through practice that it is not the case. He hardly even thinks about them anymore, and to do so now makes him feel like a teenager again, both in frivolousness and in logistics. Worse of all is it’s not the only thing making him feel young. He tastes metal in the back of his throat regardless.
"Satoru. There’s nothing else for us to do. He’s fine. Come to bed.”
Satoru promptly throws a pillow across the room.
Suguru sits up. "Don't be a child."
"Our boy is in trouble," Satoru says calmly. "And I am not a child. I'm perfectly reasonable."
"He's not in trouble," Suguru says. He sounds as though he's explaining something basic, like gravity or the alphabet. "He's asking for help, he's just doing it in his way because he's out of practice. But he's not in danger. He picks that up from you, by the way."
"As if," he replies with a childish lilt. Asking for help in a roundabout way was classic Suguru behavior.
"And you may not be a child but you're acting like one."
Satoru retrieves the pillow and throws it back in its place. "And you're acting like my damn mother."
Suguru's voice could freeze an army. "Don't say that. You don't mean it."
"Telling me what to do?" He flicks the light switch. "I don't know, Suguru, you sound just like her to me."
"If that's the hill you want to die on, we need to have a very different conversation," he says, stilted. “Do not compare me to that fucking woman."
Even as his eyes adjust to the dark, he can see the tension in Suguru's shadowed outline. His arms are pulled tightly across his chest and after a few moments, he can see how tightly he’s clenched his jaw. He instinctively wants to hunt down and kill whatever had made Suguru’s brow furrow so intensely before he remembers that, of course, it had been himself.
Satoru breaks. He crawls onto the bed, repentant. "I didn't mean it."
"Yes, I know. Where did that even come from?"
"I don't know. Honest answer. I really don't know. I'm sorry." He looks right into his eyes. "Obviously, you aren't my mother."
"I know that." He rolls over and holds the duvet close so Satoru can't find an opening.
"Can I get under the covers?" No reply. Satoru rests his head on his shoulder. "Oh, c'mon, Suguru, please. No covers? This is the worst day of my life."
Suguru reluctantly allows an opening. "Maybe you wouldn't need so many covers if you wore a shirt once in a while."
"That would be cruel!" He leaves a kiss on his shoulder. "Besides, you like it."
"So what if I do?" Suguru rolls onto his back. "I'm mad at you."
"Not you, too!" He hits his head against the pillow. "This really is the worst day of my life."
The corners of Suguru's lips twitch. "You'll survive it."
Satoru grabs a strand of his hair. He wraps it around his finger and thumbs at it. Soft.
"I know you're not my mother," he says. "Just for the record. I love you because you're not my mother."
"I hope that's not your only reason."
"Of course not. But you got mad at me when I said it was for your body."
Suguru laughs and turns so they're face to face. Satoru wants to take his finger and trace his features.
"Megumi's going to be okay," Suguru says before he has the chance.
Satoru huffs. He thinks about chewing the inside of his cheek but stops himself. His nannies always hated when he did that. Remembering this, he does it anyway, and bites extra hard. "I just didn't think this was still bothering him."
"Which part of it?"
He waves a hand. "I don't know, take your pick. Any of it."
"Are you serious?"
"I thought he was doing well. Do you remember how he was when he was little? Now he goes places, he gets good grades, has a boyfriend, apparently, and still..." he trails. "Completely tricked me."
"He is doing well," Suguru insists, "all things considered. You can't expect these things to just go away, Satoru. He's going to carry it with him."
He purses his lips. There's a small amount of blood in his mouth from when he'd bit his cheek. The familiar metallic taste does nothing to soothe the churning in his stomach.
"Go easy on me," he says, as if it's a joke. "I've never been so bad at something before."
"Self-deprecation is an interesting look on you," Suguru comments. "I'm not used to it."
"Is it sexy?"
"It's unusual."
"Ugh. Wrong answer."
"You're not that bad," Suguru relents.
Satoru huffs. "Oh, great. Thanks."
He frowns. "That's not what I meant. C'mon."
"It was a mistake talking to Yuuji like that."
Suguru's expression softens. "Yeah."
"Let's just go to bed,” Satoru says. “This day is too long. I'm tired."
Suguru sighs. "Yeah, me too."
Satoru makes no movement to sleep. He reaches his hand under Suguru’s shirt and presses his fingers to his stomach. Suguru makes a small sound as he reacts to the sudden cold and it goes directly to Satoru’s heart. He pulls back on the elastic of his waistband and snaps it without any power behind it.
“Suguru, when the kids came, that was the most scared I've ever been,” he murmurs.
"Really?" He can tell by his tone that Suguru thinks he's kidding. "That's when?"
"Yes," he says earnestly. "I thought you were going to die."
Suguru places a hand on his cheek. "Megumi isn't going to die."
"I didn't say that, did I? Did I say that? No, I didn't," Satoru rambles. "And besides, you can't actually promise that because you don't know that, it's all random except when it isn't, so... Gotcha."
"Okay. I promise, anyway."
"I don't get you guys," he says. "You... moody boys."
Suguru exhales sharply, almost a laugh. "Moody boys?"
"Yes."
"I think you get it better than you realize."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He changes the subject. "Tell me about Yuuji."
"He's funny,” Satoru says, glad for the change. “Nice kid. An overthinker, for sure. He's a little lost, but he'll get there. He's head over heels and just tearing himself up about it."
"Hopefully not for long.”
Satoru hums his agreement.
“I really would like to meet him."
"You will," he replies without thinking. "They'll be fine."
It's only when Suguru takes his hand and squeezes that he realizes what he's said. "Yeah, they will."
He squeezes back and pulls Suguru's arm over his torso. "Shut up and hold me already."
"Say please."
"No."
"Fine." He can feel Suguru's smile on the back of his neck. "You should take Megumi with you to the store tomorrow."
"He's not going to like that."
"See, you do understand moody boys."
Satoru exhales. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Get him something to eat. Spend some time together. It’ll be good.”
“Okay.” Satoru interlocks their fingers. “Suguru. I love you.”
Suguru’s hold on him tightens. “I love you, too. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”