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It was never supposed to be this way.
As Suguru held Satoru in his arms, all he could think about was how it was supposed to be the other way around.
That was something he had accepted years ago, back when he first decided on his ‘true feelings’. Such immaturity, he now knew.
Suguru was older now. He knew better than to think that he could save people the way he once tried to. The consequences of his arrogant youth haunted him every night.
Some part of him was grateful for this one small moment, though. As he pushed his face further into Satoru’s neck, he could almost imagine the blood pumping beneath pale skin was more than a dream.
Some nights he would forget, the dreams seeming closer to reality as Satoru spoke to him like they had never fought beyond childish squabbles. What felt like hours would pass, tangled in each other’s warmth, close like they should have been all along.
Other nights, nights like this when sleep had claimed Suguru against his will, he was painfully aware of what this was.
A dream.
A wish of what could have been, that they could have lived their lives together, knowing the love they both bore, stronger than any friendship.
Dark fabric pulled beneath Suguru’s hands as he held on, driven by the vain hope that if he could pull him closer then maybe he could bring Satoru back with him, pull him from dreams and maybe they could watch the sunrise together. Maybe Suguru wouldn’t have to wake up alone.
Suguru had never expected to be on this side of life.
He had accepted his own death long ago. He had known that he was sentencing Satoru to a life where Suguru was but a memory, but that was okay if it meant saving Satoru from curses and the injustice of it all.
But what did it mean now?
When Satoru died, Suguru had thought they would be together forever now.
After all, Suguru was already dead, right? Kenjaku had taken over his body, but Getou Suguru was dead and gone.
And then he wasn’t.
Somehow, he survived, the most ungrateful cockroach given another chance. He fled, crawling away beneath the wreckage.
But what home did he have left? His girls were gone, sorcerers everywhere were decimated, and Japan was a wreck.
And Satoru was dead.
It was when he dreamed about Satoru that he realised what he must do.
One night, he had dreamed that he had never left, and they had become teachers together. He had seen the way Satoru doted on his students, his dedication to protecting them and to killing the curses they could not.
Suguru had made a vow then, to do what Satoru would have. He could not fix things, but he could use what life he had left to live for his lover.
Ijichi passed on information, sending him where he was needed. The higher-ups must have suspected he was operating on some level, but they did not bother him, not when so many strong sorcerers had been killed. A special grade like Suguru, taking on curses for free?
Once or twice he had seen Satoru’s old students. They did not approach him but simply left him alone.
Suguru wondered if they knew how much better he suffered like this. He deserved it, and he would not burden them with his mass of a broken heart, his black hole of a soul.
As Suguru embraced Satoru, he felt that maybe he would one day deserve this too.
He would live as best he could, but when death came for him, he hoped that Satoru would be waiting for him, arms open once more.