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SUMMER [夏]
The load of clothes that Suguru has put off for one too many days, heavy, spins unevenly in the washer. Crouched in front of the unit, he finds the rhythm grounding and soothing. The machine thumps and bumps against his side.
A lone aging bulb buzzes and casts a warm light in the otherwise vacant space.
The clock across the room tells him it's ten p.m., which means Satoru should be back soon—
From his date .
Suguru smacks a cigarette box against his palm and tears into its silver end. Using the steady flame of a lighter, he finds in his pocket, he breathes in. Holds the smoke in his mouth.
Satoru's increasing obligations as the distinguished Gojo family's heir grow yearly. And yet, somehow, he remains unchanged. Exudes the air of someone that has never known the crushing weight of expectations. The way they pile on, like blocks in a game of Tetris that has gone awry.
Suguru knows it well: the suffocating pressure of others' hopes. Unvoiced as they might be. It's in the eyes of his parents when they avoid his gaze and in their rigid expressions.
Suguru breathes out the smoke and pockets the lighter.
He clasps the cigarette between his lips to tuck loose hair strands behind his ears. But because they had been cut short, they slide back out, fanning in a wispy fringe that tickles his forehead.
Suguru sighs and frowns at the memory of the impulsive decision. To shear off his hair with the first scissors he could find.
Blunt and dull, they made his hair look brittle. For a brief moment, it felt cathartic, the way chunks crunched under the metal and strands dispersed like dandelion seeds in the wind. The second he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, though, he felt it. Noise and static in his mind. Like an analog TV that very suddenly lost its signal. It was so loud. He remembers Satoru finding him knocking on the side of his head with his knuckles.
He doesn't remember much after that, but Suguru's hair looked much like Satoru's when Satoru evened it out. Suguru's hair hadn't been this short since he was a boy. It's disorienting to glimpse into his reflection and to take a second too long to recognize himself. Satoru says he looks fine, but Suguru thinks he's just trying to ease his racing thoughts.
Suguru takes the cigarette out of his mouth and hears the sound of light footsteps approaching. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear . He stands up to put the cigarette in a nearby ashtray just as Satoru rounds the corner of the hall into the laundry room.
"That was probably the worst date of them all," is the first thing that Satoru says after his long legs carry him next to Suguru. He's dressed in a form-fitting black suit. His jacket is open, and Suguru can see how the white button-up shirt fits nicely against his chest.
Suguru hums and rolls the cigarette between his fingers, gaze lingering.
"She tried to kiss me. No knowledge of etiquette whatsoever," Satoru complains, gesturing wildly.
Suguru lets the cigarette go, turning to face him with a roll of his eyes. "You know… most guys would be happy about that," he says, knowing better.
Satoru carries on as though he hasn't said anything at all. "She was a smoker too. I could smell it on her breath. Gross".
At that, Suguru raises a brow. "Is that so bad?"
"Yeah," Satoru says stubbornly, placing his sunglasses atop his head to meet Suguru's gaze. "It's different with you… though," Satoru adds, almost sheepishly, after some thought.
He places his hands on Suguru's waist, and Suguru purses his lips to keep himself from chuckling. "Mhm, and why is that?"
"Eh, maybe it's the brand of cigarettes," Satoru says, a smile curling his lips.
"The brand?" Suguru says incredulously.
"Mhm," Satoru agrees and rattles off a brand of cigarettes Suguru has smoked before, and Satoru hasn't minded.
Suguru laughs and plays along, "Those are the worst."
"Right?" Satoru grins. "I bought you these," Satoru says, digging out a pair of light blue tabi socks from his pocket with a pattern of dragonflies.
It makes Suguru think he might have dragonflies in his stomach, too, with how it flutters at the sight. He knows his cheeks and nose must be red from how much he blushes. He feels the tip of his ears burn and quietly laments the loss of his lengthy hair.
"While on your date?" he questions, embarrassed.
Satoru's eyes seem to shine, "What's wrong with that?" He lifts a hand to brush it through the side of Suguru's head. He combs through his hair gently.
"Really," Suguru mumbles. "You can be so considerate at the most awkward times."
Satoru wraps his arms around his neck and chuckles into his ear. His breath caresses his skin, and Suguru thinks he might melt off his bones. So he presses his nose against the warmth of Satoru's shoulder to ground himself, but his mind is already up in the air, wishing. Worse of all, hoping.
AUTUMN [秋]
Suguru likes to think of himself as a sensible person. For the most part, he knows that he presents himself to the world in such a way. The truth is, it is not something that he does without effort. It is a side of himself that he has crafted for the sake of others. Their peace of mind. The moment he met Gojo Satoru, this careful line Suguru tip-toed shifted. He acted out of impulse rather than the cautious deliberation he preferred.
It is why he found himself at the edge of his flying stingray, the crisp wind of night whipping at his short hair. For the first time, he finds himself grateful for its length. Nothing is more irritating than strands of long hair whipping against your face. It is why he tried to keep it neatly tied into a bun whenever he went out on missions.
"Okay!" Satoru's voice breaks through the howl of the wind in his ears. "Now step off!" Satoru says, a broad smile plastered across his face. He levitates six feet away from him, the shining lights of Tokyo miles upon miles below his feet. Suguru wonders what it must have felt like for Satoru to realize that he could hover over the heads of men. If he felt as much trepidation as Suguru does as he extends a foot over the edge and steps into the scant clouds below him.
Two seconds.
He plunges for two seconds while something inside him rises. The weightless experience those who have been on steep roller coasters know—interrupted only when Satoru catches him, arms tight around his torso.
"Damn it," He says rather lamely. "I thought I had that down. In theory, suspending you in midair isn't complicated at all. I'm messing up somewhere in the application". He nuzzles into Suguru's neck with a pout.
Suguru sighs and complains for the sake of his dignity. For having agreed to this, "I could have fallen to my death," he says, patting Satoru's head in a contradictory effort to cheer him up.
"You wouldn't have," Satoru says certainly. "I wouldn't have let you," he adds, tightening his arms around him even more. Suguru harshly bumps his fist against the side of Satoru's head, and he loosens up a little. Suguru is very suddenly aware of the way that their bodies press against each other, chest to chest. The way their hearts beat in sync. "You're also capable of saving yourself."
Suguru frowns at that. A part of him feels rather ticked, though he can't begin to describe it. So he mumbles through the one thing he very suddenly wants to do, "—home"
Satoru sluggishly lifts his head and meets his eyes through his shades, "What?"
Suguru clears his throat. "Let's go home," he says and cringes at how it comes across as stern.
Satoru's confusion is evident. "Huh? Did I say something wrong?" he tilts his head.
Suguru puffs out a breath, "Satoru, you can be so frustrating."
The way Satoru's eyebrows lift is the only way Suguru can tell his eyes widen in disbelief behind his shades. He can't blame him. Suguru's beginning to feel somewhat frustrated at himself, too. Why had he gone and said that?
"Me? What about you? You never explain yourself!" Satoru argues.
"What is there to explain?"
As if it was privy to their exchange, the wind stops blowing, and they glare at each other for what feels like a minute before they exhale a loud breath into the quiet night.
Suguru looks up at his stingray leisurely, tracing infinity loops high above them. Sometimes, it feels like fighting is all they do. He's tired. He knows it's partly his fault. Exhaustion creeps up to him, and everything feels like an attack. He's trying to be better, to keep the rage inside him from taking over his life.
Satoru presses his lips against Suguru's jaw. Mumbles, "I just meant to say you're not a damsel. Please don't overthink it".
"Okay," Suguru says softly, tracing his gaze through the constellations in the sky. Away from the masses and the lights, they're easier to see. "Okay," he says, thinking he wants to move farther to the countryside one day. He selfishly hopes Satoru will follow wherever he goes.
"Suguru, can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer".
He faces Satoru, and he feels his eyes water. Everything's too much these days.
He says, "Ask me".
"Am I the type to marry?" Satoru sets his mouth in a straight line. He does it when he's trying not to give too much away. Suguru doesn't know what he wants him to tell him. So he says,
"Everyone has the potential to be". A non-answer. Neutral in its stance.
Satoru sighs. "It's just that I keep meeting these girls that my family wants me to date, and I just feel so disconnected from them." He admits, "Like I could care less about my impression on them."
Suguru feels troubled by how pleased he is to hear that. He half-jokes, "You've always been a bit of a jerk, Satoru."
Satoru smiles, "Not when it comes to you, right?"
"Eh," Suguru says with a grin threatening to take his lips, reaching for Satoru's ear.
"Not intentionally anyways…" Satoru laughs, able to tell how amused Suguru is by this conversation, "I care about what you think of me".
"It's only natural to care about what your friends think of you," Suguru teases. He massages the lobe of Satoru's ear between his thumb and index finger and wonders whether Satoru would let him pierce it. It turns red in his hands.
Satoru bites his lips, "Is it only natural to want to kiss them and only them?"
Suguru's breath catches in his throat, "Satoru—"
"I'm just being honest, Suguru," Satoru says as he starts steadily spinning them around. "It's all I think about these days," he whispers as if they weren't the only humans for miles in every direction.
Suguru feels himself burning, "I'm not the best person to ask whether that's normal."
"Why?"
"Because I also–"
Suguru's words are interrupted by the press of Satoru's plush lips against his own. The pressure is comforting in itself, but the warmth of Satoru; the warmth of him makes Suguru's eyes roll to the back of his head. He shuts his eyes as a soft moan escapes him. It makes Satoru groan, and Suguru feel weightless again, as though he were a bird riding wind currents.
Air whizzes past his ears.
He feels like he's rising, rising, rising when he realizes they're falling.
Startled, he pushes Satoru away a little too harshly, separating them. He tries to think, to call out to his stingray spirit, but the ground, a small patch of grass in some park, rapidly approaches.
They are inches away when the two naturally descend to a stop, a sigh of relief escaping Satoru.
The grass crunches under their shoes when Suguru's head snaps towards him, "We almost died!"
Satoru waves a hand in dismissal, "I figured it out though!" He exclaims, spreading his arms wide. His shades must have flown away sometime during their fall. His eyes glow blue in the night. "I am you; you are me," he says, making little sense to Suguru.
Suguru shakes his head. "I like an insane person," he says before his brain catches up. He stills.
"You like me?" Satoru asks gently.
Suguru knows he turns bright red. I like an insane person is the worst possible way to confess, he thinks. It was by accident and with an insult to boot.
Satoru approaches him slowly like one might a skittish animal, and Suguru thinks he can't take much more. It takes everything in him not to bolt, but that might be an even more embarrassing reaction.
"N-," Suguru starts to speak when Satoru leaps into his arms, pressing a kiss on his lips, to his cheeks, to his nose, to his temple, and then again to his mouth.
This is it. Suguru tells himself because it's hard for him to believe this isn't how he dies. His heart is beating so loud he can hear it thumping in his ears. Weak, Suguru falls to his knees, and Satoru follows him down, hands cupping his cheeks.
Satoru's eyes look a little watery. For a second he thinks he will say something that he cannot take back. That will make Suguru's mind reel for nights, but he says "Let's go eat yakiimo," baffling him.
"Such a random thing to say…" Suguru sniffs, not realizing until then that he was also close to tears.
WINTER [冬]
The snowfall is heavy this year in Shibuya. It clumps onto their coats, their scarves, and their hair. The district is busy as it always is, but tall as they are, Satoru and Suguru easily navigate the hustle and bustle.
Suguru usually has an umbrella with him for times like this, but they just got done with a mission that required their immediate attention, so he forgot it at school. He also didn't think to look at the forecast this morning. Heavy snow is a rare sight in Tokyo. It turns to mush under their feet.
"It's too cold," he says over the cacophony of noise in the city at night.
Satoru's arm brushes against his side, close. "You are a summer child after all," he says like that explains anything. He almost bumps into a group of teenage girls taking pictures of a friend in front of an idol group's promotional billboard.
Suguru drags him away by the arm just in time. He tells him, though he knows Satoru remembers, "I was born in winter." They pause at a crossroad where a pedestrian sign tells them to stop and let cars pass.
Suguru crosses his arms and suppresses a shiver. Tall beside him, Satoru lightly brushes away some of the snowflakes on Suguru's head. They must stand in sharp contrast against his dark hair. Suguru can't even see the flakes in Satoru's.
"That comment was mostly about the kanji in your name," Satoru says by way of explanation, and then, as if it just occurred to him, he gasps, "Suguru, aren't you from Kitakami?"
Suguru suppresses a groan, "That's right." He can see his breath and hear Fogo de Sol playing in the background.
Shoko likes listening to Bossa Nova stations when they don't have anything interesting to discuss but want to spend time together. He's come to know some interesting songs through their smoking sessions.
"Let's go to Tenshochi Park once the cherry blossoms bloom," Satoru says, tucking strands of hair behind Suguru's ear. His hair is long enough to stay put now. "I want to meet your parents," he adds. Suguru wishes he could see his eyes. To be able to read more into his expression. He stares.
The signal must turn green because people start making their way around them.
He fumbles for a reply as they start walking again. "Why?" he says, almost slipping on a puddle. Satoru steadies him.
He hums, "I want to meet the people who raised you and the house you grew up in." He tilts his head so that Suguru can see his mirthful eyes matching his grin.
Suguru's stomach sinks. He wishes they were in the privacy of his room, "They're not exactly pleased with me, Satoru," he mutters. "I called my mother that night".
"That night," Satoru enunciates when recognition flashes in his eyes.
He grabs one of Suguru's wrists and quickly moves into gaps in the crowd as they open up in front of them. It takes Suguru a second to realize he's trying to guide them into a less-trafficked area.
He doesn't say a thing the whole way, and Suguru's gaze lingers on his back, the broad line of his shoulders.
In an alleyway where no one tries to weave through them, Suguru leans back against a wall and stares at Satoru.
Satoru crowds into his space after some hesitation. "So?" he prompts him, hands against either side of Suguru's face.
That night, he had said about the night that he had cut his hair.
The memory feels fuzzy now as if it was ages ago. The evidence is still there every time Suguru sees his reflection, humbling. In a storefront window, in the distortion of cups and cutlery.
He had not just sheared off his hair. He had also tried to cut his parents out of his life. Over the phone, he remembers vaguely; he cried like a child. Do you have any regard for my safety? Do you genuinely think I would not be better off in a regular high school? Do you hate me? He had never felt so out of control. Like a toddler realizing for the first time that his parents were not home. Incapable of grasping the difference between absence and abandonment.
He has trouble understanding what led him to do such a thing most days. Today isn't any different, so he tells Satoru, "I said some unkind things."
Satoru's shades slipped down his nose, trying to meet his gaze. His eyes are a clear blue that contrasts so greatly with the night. He asks, "Do you want to make amends?". He is always steering conversations in ways that surprise Suguru.
"I don't know," he admits, letting the silence between them sit.
Shibuya carries on with its clamor just like the world continues to spin.
Satoru exhales and pushes himself off the wall to stretch his arms overhead.
"To be honest, I think I need to tell my parents off, too," Satoru announces, redirecting attention to himself and easing the pressure off Suguru. "It's all bubbling up whenever I look at them, and they talk to me about how I need to get hitched soon." He tousles his hair, and snowflakes flutter to the ground. Suguru watches them.
"That's not sensible," Suguru admonishes, trying to sound reasonable. "They just want the best for you." He doesn't believe that.
"For status," Satoru's face twists in disgust, expressive as ever for someone who will shoulder the world. "I don't see the need for it, nor do I want any of it," he grumbles. "I just want to spend my days with you, Suguru."
Suguru's eyes widen, "Huh?".
"No one has to know," Satoru spreads his arms wide, almost slapping off the umbrella of one of the few people making their way down the alley—an older woman. "People already think of me as a playboy, so I can just play up the suspicions that I don't want to settle," he carries on, though now grinning sheepishly. "Unless you want people to know," he adds in a loud whisper for dramatics.
He can be so outlandish. Suguru rubs his arms, "What difference would it make? Who would take this seriously, Satoru?"
"Does anyone outside of us matter?"
"Are you for real?"
"I want you," Satoru says, voice loud and clear despite the bustle of the city. "Do you want me?"
How embarrassing. Suguru feels fuzzy at the edges.
"Of course," he says.
SPRING [春]
They don't visit Kitakami. Suguru's family drama aside, going there just to see cherry blossoms is too much of a hassle.
Suguru believes they look most beautiful in the moonlight anyway, and the Cherry Blossom Festival at Meguro-gawa provides the perfect opportunity to view them at night. They glow ethereally thanks to the warm sparkle of the lights that align the river.
"What do you think?" Satoru says, his hand brushing against Suguru's.
He's dressed in a leather jacket, white undershirt, and dark jeans. His shades are oval this time around. For a second, Suguru thinks he's asking him about his appearance.
He's stunning.
Satoru's asking about the festival, though.
Suguru looks around. The streets are crowded, unsurprisingly. The trees are in full bloom, so everyone's trying to witness their beauty before it fades. "Don't you think it's too stuffy?" he says. There isn't much room for loitering, so the traffic of people continuously flows. The second they step in, they must move along with them.
Satoru interlocks their fingers, and Suguru feels his entire being tingle.
"It makes it easier for us to get away with this," Satoru laughs and starts walking them backward toward the masses. "Don't get lost," he cautions, clasping his hand and squeezing it.
Suguru dislikes the way his cheeks and nose turn red so quickly. It gives him away time and time again. He never thought of himself as the type to get flustered easily, but lately, Satoru has brought out this side of him he didn't even know he had.
The night is cool, but Suguru feels their hands get clammy.
He looks up and notices the way Satoru's neck has also turned a shade of pink. It matches the cherry blossoms washed out by the light in the stores that line the walkway. Suguru chews on his lip to keep a smile from taking over his face.
Satoru clears his throat, "By the way, I've never told you this, but," he pauses, pulling Suguru to stand next to him the second the crowd opens up a little. He places an arm around his waist, and they shuffle forward. "Before you met me, I met you."
Suguru, who had begun to gaze absentmindedly at the cherry blossoms with the comfort of Satoru guiding him, surprised by his words, faces him.
Satoru was already looking at him. Their noses brush, "What?" he says breathlessly.
Satoru hums, "Or, well, I saw you," he looks away towards the traffic of people. "Your parents brought you all the way to Jujutsu High, and you were looking at the koi pond in the garden," he explains, but Suguru struggles to remember. "I was in a room across the way. My parents were in a meeting, and I was peeking out a small gap in the shoji," he laughs softly.
Suguru can't recall the memory. It must have been a remarkably uneventful day for him. Ever since his technique manifested at the age of four, he and his parents would take the train to Tokyo every other month to make sure everything was alright with him with the experts at the school. It's also how his parents learned of his potential.
He shakes the thought away with his head.
Suguru huffs a laugh, "Satoru, why didn't you tell me this before?"
Suguru thinks it would have been a more valuable piece of information when they met. It would have made them feel closer. It could have been a great conversation starter, unlike Satoru's comment on his bangs, which led to a quarrel. Suguru hides a smile.
"I don't know," Satoru says, pressing Suguru close to him to squeeze past a couple somehow sharing a glass of champagne amidst all the commotion. "It's hard to explain, but that day, something inside me knew we would get along well," he moves Suguru forward to envelop him in a hug from behind and whispers into his ear, "Like this."
"Like this?" Suguru dazedly repeats, conscious of Satoru's displays of affection toeing the line of what is acceptable. Still easy to miss because of the many people around them. He feels Satoru suppress a smile into the spot behind his ear.
"Mhm," he says. "Crazy, right?"
"A premonition of love…" Suguru quietly murmurs, sure his words go unnoticed, but he can hear Satoru's breath catch in his throat.
"Love," he says, pressing his forehead against the nape of Suguru's neck.
"In love, is that what we are?" Satoru asks as if he just realized. It's hard for Suguru not to stop in his tracks then, to not turn around and see what kind of face Satoru's making.
Satoru rambles, "I've seen so many movies in an effort to catch up with everyone else and what I lost as a kid." His words almost slur together as if he were drunk. "I could never understand the buzz over romance and why an element of it was in almost every movie, even grandiose action films," he says. Suguru can feel the steady drumming of his heartbeat against his back. It's grounding and soothing, like the steady rhythm of the washing machine against his side during the summer.
They are reaching a clearing, where Suguru can see the crowd dispersing. And Suguru holds his breath like he does when he's about to go down a steep hill on a ride—anticipating the thrill.
For once, Suguru doesn't know what he'll do, and the thought of not being in control of his actions doesn't scare him. Because he knows no harm can come from him indulging in this.
In this, of all things.
"I understand now," Satoru professes, "Love is everywhere. Most importantly, it exists now, between you and me."