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Thinking back to all of the years he had been called the strongest makes Satoru’s stomach clench; his hands start to tremble with the urge to pull his hair out and he feels like he can’t control his breathing. Ironically, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer never really won. If the strongest can’t do it, then who can?
Satoru kicks an empty can of soda that was in his way far away from him. Thinking of all the fights he almost, almost, almost won makes his skin crawl and he can’t help but wonder if he really is as good as everyone thinks he is. He was just so close to winning, but he never did. All of that effort for nothing. Why would he want to keep fighting?
Suddenly, it starts to rain and Satoru, even though he doesn’t have an umbrella, turns off his infinity. His steps carry him away, to the only place that still holds some resemblance of a home to him. His hands tremble, hidden in his pockets, and the rain feels like it’s pooling around him, trying to drown him.
He tries to stop thinking of how being the strongest never helped him. Being a great fighter, the best , didn’t help him in keeping the people close to him safe. He gave away everything, his fears, his childhood, his youth for the slimmest chance of being able to protect those close to him. And in the end it wasn’t enough. What he had to give wasn’t enough.
With shaky hands, he fishes the key to the apartment from his large pocket. It takes him four tries to get it in and then five more steadying breaths before he turns it. As he enters, he tries to stop thinking altogether and somehow that’s easy. Suguru’s scent engulfs him and the thoughts fade away, even though his trembling or ragged breath don’t. After that day in Shinjuku, Suguru’s scent changed. A reminder that they will never be the same. It still has the same sandalwood undertones but it’s not as sweet as it used to be. For Satoru, his friend’s scent was something he wanted to bottle and take with him everywhere, to keep it close to him, a little secret just between the two of them.
He stands in the apparently empty apartment and tries to not curl onto the floor with the pressure that’s slowly building up inside him. “Suguru?” He hates how breathy his voice is and how it almost cracks on the last syllable. No one answers, so clearly Suguru is not here. His steps carry him to the bathroom even though his brain is telling him to leave, to come back another time. The pajamas slid easily onto his body and their smell, both his and Suguru’s, make Satoru feel welcome and wanted. His brain is still screaming at him to leave, to never come back, but his heart is the one pumping the blood which is making his legs walk towards the bed. He plops in the middle of it only to stand up a second later to shift under the covers. He is home.
And Satoru falls asleep easily, as easy as everything comes when he thinks of Suguru.
Later, in the dark, he feels the mattress dip. Usually, when he sleeps nothing can wake him up, but he guesses he was way too agitated earlier. Suguru tries to shuffle and find a comfortable position as quietly as possible and Satoru knows his lips involuntarily quirk into a smile. He is glad it’s dark enough for Suguru not to see it. He adamantly keeps his eyes closed. When Suguru is done, he slings his arm across Satoru’s torso and he pulls himself closer until Satoru can feel the damp skin on his chest from the shower he probably took earlier.
His hand starts to gently comb through Satoru’s hair, blunt nails scratching at his undercut. “Satoru,” Suguru suddenly whispers and it takes all of Satoru’s willpower to not answer, to feign being asleep, because answering whenever Suguru calls his name is like second nature to him.
Suguru’s hand keeps making little circles on Satoru’s nape, warming him. “I know you are awake, Satoru.”
Once was already hard enough, but since Suguru called his name twice he feels like he has no option but to drop the act.
“How did you know?” he mumbles, hoping his voice comes out as playful as he wants it to instead of raspy from the way he cried earlier. Suguru’s hand stills for a second before starting to gently caress Satoru’s back.
“Your breathing is different when you are asleep. It finally seems like you stop running. You always breathe so quickly, sometimes I’m afraid your nostrils don’t take enough oxygen to your brain.”
“What?” Satoru says but the word comes out more like a strangled laugh. And if he wasn’t awake before, he definitely is now when Suguru kisses him on his forehead, tenderly like they could ever be something more than enemies. The kiss is so sweet it makes Satoru wonder how much time Suguru loved him. A fleeting and stupid thought. He never loved Satoru. And he never will, not the way Satoru loves him.
“Nevermind, you idiot,” Suguru answers irritably, but Satoru knows him well enough to discern the fondness laced within the words. He hates the way his body shudders as if having been physically attacked. And what he hates more is how well he fits against Suguru and how he tucks himself closer to his… his friend, to feel his warmth better, until every bone and blood vessel in his body shines and shimmers with Suguru’s heat.
“I’m your idiot,” Satoru easily says, the words slipping from his mouth before he can stop them. His shirt bunches up where Suguru’s hand clutches it hard and he can feel every single detail embroidered into his skin.
After a beat, Suguru gives in. “You are, Satoru. My idiot.” He then yawns loudly and stretches like a cat, saying a mumbled good night, and turning on his other side, leaving Satoru alone with his thoughts again and the pounding of his heart which seems to have learned a new language it never wants to forget: my idiot , his heart sings and Satoru can just hope that Suguru is not awake enough to hear it.
One would think enemies are people who absolutely despise each other’s morals and values and, of course, despise each other. For most people being enemies with someone doesn’t mean waking up to them cuddling you, holding you as if once they let go they will never get the chance to see you again; it definitely does not mean sharing an apartment and enjoying a fresh meal together, first thing in the morning.
Suguru and Satoru don’t talk while they are eating. They never do. Most of their discussions happen when one of them is drunk, on the brink of a mental breakdown or extremely sleep deprived. Most of their discussions hang low on the line between fantasy and reality, between tangible and intangible.
Most of the time Satoru wonders what they are. He thinks they are enemies, or something of the sort. But when he looks at Suguru he can’t bring himself to ever believe he would want to be something else than lovers. Because… is that what they are? They kiss and hold each other and prepare meals for each other and they do everything that people who love each other do.
The dreams in which he and Suguru live together, happily married in the countryside, have slowly started to take over his life for the last months. But he thinks back on the stolen years of his youth, on the failed years of his adulthood and would he even be able to provide a future for him and Suguru?
He eats his omelet in silence and he doesn’t even notice Suguru staring at him. Everything about him has changed and Satoru knows it, he knows the Suguru that he chooses everyday over and over again to be by his side is not the same Suguru who he fell in love with in highschool. But if he would have payed attention to Suguru in bleary mornings, when the sleep is still hanging heavy from their eyelashes, if he would have dared to take a closer look at Suguru on warm evenings when both of them felt as if they had fuzzy socks on even though they are always barefoot in their apartment, he would have seen the way Suguru looks at him. Which hasn’t changed at all from when they were seventeen. Suguru looks at Satoru as if he entrusted all of his hopes and dreams to him; and Satoru doesn’t look at Suguru because he hates feeling scared of how much things have changed.
“Have you ever thought of living far away from here?” Satoru has to ask. He just… has to.
Chewing his food slowly, Suguru nods his head: “I guess. I always wanted to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere where I could just do nothing? But I don’t usually think like this. I know what I have to do with my life and I don’t think I could just sit there and let it waste before my eyes.”
Satoru promised himself from that day in Shinjuku that he would always listen to Suguru, no matter what. Because at that moment, when he saw Suguru’s firm lines start to blur between those people, he wanted nothing more than to shout his name and tell him that everything will be fine; tell him that no matter what he wants to do he will be by his side, he will listen, he will try to understand, god, he would try so hard.
“Would you take someone with you if you would move to such a place?” Satoru knows he is not the subtlest but he can’t help himself. Suguru is fixating on him with his dark eyes and it is always so intense, it catches Satoru off guard every time.
“Maybe. I’d have to take Mimiko and Nanako.”
“I would be your neighbor!” Suguru takes a long sip of ginseng tea and Satour most definitely isn’t captivated by one drop of liquid that escaped his lips and rolled down his chin. But thankfully, before he can embarrass himself further, Suguru wipes it away.
“You idiot, what do you mean you’d be my neighbor? We would live together.”
The air feels as if it’s been punched out of Satoru’s lungs.
They are nothing more than people who understand each other. They are not enemies, they are not lovers. They are not friends and they are not strangers. They have been, at some point, all of those. But now they are just people who see each other for who they really are. For Suguru, Satoru isn’t just the strongest and for Satoru, Suguru isn’t just the most dangerous evil curse user.
For Suguru, Satoru is an anchor, a guiding star lighting the thorny path he has to walk.
For Satrou, Suguru is the light, the sun shining bright on cloudy days, when he needs it most.
So that’s why his heart skips a beat when Suguru continues: “Of course, we would live together, Satoru. You, me, Mimiko, Nanako, Tsumiki and Megumi.”
Because Suguru admitted they could be something more than just shadows to each other. They could become each other’s support, they could finally help the other the way they both longed to for the longest time. The kitchen stays silent with the small confession and neither of them say anything, but it’s a comfortable, undemanding silence.
Suguru changed so much and Satoru feels like he didn’t change at all. But they still find each other every time and they still choose each other. Neither of them buried the memories of the youth they shared, the youth which was so unfairly stolen from them. The open wounds from that time haven’t all healed yet but with every touch, with every kiss, with every whispered prayer between the two of them they slowly, yet undeniably start to close up.
“I would love that, Suguru.”