Chapter Text
Geto had his hands on the handles of the bike and it jiggled everytime it crossed into uneven fissures on the ground. Walking ahead of him, Gojo slowed down to keep pace with him and said, “I don’t see why we can’t ride it here – the ground is perfectly fine.”
“See this?” The front of the bike swivelled dangerously as its front wheel lodged in a particularly deep groove – Gojo couldn’t tell if Geto steered it there on purpose. “It’s unsafe. Besides, what’s wrong with walking?”
“There’s nothing wrong with walking.” Gojo turned his nose up into the air. “It’s just that we have a perfectly good bike, and sure, the ground might be uneven, but…” He shrugged nonchalantly.
“I don’t care how good of a bike rider you are, it’s still dangerous,” Geto replied.
“Oh? Is that concern I detect in your voice?” Gojo teased. “You worried for me?”
“I’m always worried for you,” Geto said quietly.
Gojo didn’t know how to reply to that, so he said, “Oh.” Then, “Why?”
Geto looked at him like he just asked the dumbest question, but didn’t answer otherwise. Gojo considered pushing him for one, then shook his head and decided to leave it at that. He didn’t see why Geto would worry for him, but he must have his own reasons.
Unlike how Gojo still did not have a reason for why he had detected that something in him felt off the moment he met Geto.
Gojo couldn’t quite put his finger on it – he felt so odd and so unnatural sometimes, it was like the earth had started to revolve around the moon and time stretched to infinity while also condensing into a single second. He was constantly told that his birth had shifted the balance of the world, and while he never knew exactly what that meant, except for bounty hunters always coming after him, he could take a wild guess whenever he looked at Geto.
Gojo turned his face so Geto couldn’t see his small smile.
Geto worried for him.
Suddenly the world was brighter and sharper and more radiant. Gojo wasn't sure if the roaring in his ears came from his own heartbeat or the background noises of intermingling vehicles and people.
A few days later, he pulled Shoko aside.
“I have a question,” Gojo said.
“Okay.”
“I feel weird whenever I’m around Suguru.”
“…Okay?”
Gojo wrung his hands in frustration. “Is there something wrong with him? Is it his pheromones or something?”
Shoko stifled a laugh. “Pheromones?”
“Yeah, they’re a thing, aren’t they? I’m being serious here. You’re training to be a doctor, aren’t you? Isn’t this something you might know about?”
“No, I don’t know anything about pheromones.” Shoko said the word in a way that made Gojo feel more frustrated. “But this is interesting. How do you feel when you’re around him?”
Gojo shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes my heart beats faster and my stomach feels weird. Like I’m about to be sick.” Shoko didn’t hold back her laughter this time and Gojo let his frustration boil over, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “Stop! I’m being serious! Is he making me sick?”
“You’re sick alright, but not in the way you think.” Shoko shrugged Gojo off and slipped around him, shooting him a sly smirk before walking quickly in the direction of her dorm room.
“Huh?!” Gojo was too confused to chase after her. “What does that even mean? You’re not even going to give me an explanation, you quack doctor?!”
In the days that followed, Gojo’s conversation with Shoko rarely crossed his mind.
It was a lazy Friday afternoon and he sat with Geto under the shade of a rowan tree. Not quite autumn yet, the leaves were still green with life and they swayed gently in the wind. Gojo lay on the grass perpendicular to Geto and watched the leaves, hands folded over his stomach. His mind wandered briefly to his conversation with Shoko, trying to weed out any hidden meanings behind her words. Why did she laugh and smile like that? What did she think he was sick with?
So many questions and no answers.
Why do I feel self-conscious when I’m with him? Why do I feel the need to please him? Why do I feel happier when I’m with him?
Gojo turned his head to look at Geto, his back against the tree, a book in hand and legs stretched out. He was sucking on a lollipop and the smacking sounds his mouth made synced with the rhythm of Gojo’s breathing. He remembered one of the symptoms he described to Shoko: his heart rate speeding up. He groaned internally as it started doing that now, the longer he was staring at Geto’s mouth around the lollipop and his bangs fluttering in the wind. Looking away and thinking about something else usually got his heart rate back to normal, but Gojo couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away.
Geto was too absorbed in his book to notice the staring, which was just as well. It gave Gojo more time to take in his features, invisible fingers tracing the arch of his eyebrow and curve of his throat. The second symptom started flaring up: his stomach in knots. Gojo looked away. No use in staring – he already saw Geto everyday and knew what he looked like. He thought he could probably sketch Geto out perfectly from memory, if he had drawing skills.
“Suguru,” Gojo called out. “Come lie with me.”
Geto closed his book and slid down the tree trunk, his legs overlapping with Gojo’s. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that Geto had immediately complied, no questions asked. Probably didn’t mean anything, he mused. Geto was a people-pleaser. Gojo crawled next to him so they were shoulder-to-shoulder, looking up at the same dancing leaves.
“This is nice,” Geto said. “It’s very relaxing.” There was a loud crunching sound and he removed the empty lollipop stick from his mouth, slipping it into his pocket.
“Yeah,” Gojo breathed out. His left hand fisted around a mound of soil and when he squeezed tightly and yanked it up, he was holding what was left of a flower. It was about half the size of his palm with off-white and waxy petals. Gojo didn’t know what flower it was, but guessed it must have been blown in from somewhere else. He sat up and held the flower at its base, sniffing cautiously at its petals. There was a smell he couldn’t describe as sweet or unpleasant and he twirled it around his fingers curiously.
Geto sat up, swallowing what was left of his lollipop. “What?”
“Just a flower,” Gojo replied, acutely aware that Geto was close enough that his breath fanned across his right cheek. It smelled faintly of artificial flavouring. Gojo turned and shifted his hips so he was at a safe distance when he tucked the flower above Geto’s left ear.
Gojo fiddled with the flower, trying to get it to stay in place and Geto reached up too, his fingers tangling with Gojo’s. It felt like an electric current zapped through his arm when they made contact.
“Pretty,” Gojo said, his hand falling into his lap. He was quite sure he was referring to the flower and not the person wearing it.
“You think so?” Geto grinned and cocked his head to the side, like a model posing for an advertisement. Gojo was relieved when Geto removed the flower – he hadn’t realised he’d stopped breathing. Its off-white petals stood out brilliantly against his dark hair and Gojo felt like he was free-falling. How could something so simple and innocent make his heart beat so wildly?
Gojo held a loaf tin in one hand, a wire rack in the other and he slammed the objects together repeatedly, the dull metal-on-metal sound ringing out in the kitchen. Geto took no notice as he fiddled with the knobs on the oven.
“Shouldn’t we ask Shoko? I feel bad about leaving her out,” Geto said, standing up and smoothing down his shirt.
“Shoko doesn’t care.” Gojo took a break from banging metal together to answer. “She’s probably with Utahime right now.”
Gojo felt giddy, high on something he didn’t have a word for as he and Geto made the batter for the banana bread they were attempting to bake. Moments where they used their hands to do something normal and innocent were few and far between and Gojo couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
After adding in the last few ingredients, Gojo dipped a finger into the batter and put it in his mouth, earning a smack on the arm from Geto. He bent down to put the loaf tin filled with banana bread batter into the oven.
50 minutes later, Geto wore oven mitts to carry the loaf tin out. Gojo thought they did a great job for a first attempt – the bread was golden and the kitchen smelled like a bakery. He was more than happy to let Geto do the hard work of getting the bread out of the loaf tin and slicing it up.
“Open up.” Geto had torn off a small piece of the bread and motioned towards Gojo’s mouth. He thought there was something so pure and kid-like about this, him sitting on the countertop while Geto sliced the bread and occasionally fed pieces of it to Gojo.
The bread tasted fine – actually, the bread tasted great and Gojo couldn’t believe the two of them, with their hands full of curses, had made something so good, and as Geto continued feeding him bits of bread, Gojo’s palms were suddenly sweaty and his stomach was churning and he didn’t know if he should hug or kiss Geto.
He smacked Geto’s arm in response to his thoughts, hopping off the counter and running away before Geto decided to do something else with the knife he was holding.
“So, how are things with Geto?” This time, it was Shoko who pulled Gojo aside.
“What do you mean?” Gojo asked, immediately feeling like he should be on the defence. “Like how I told you he’s making me sick and you don’t believe me?”
“You’re not sick,” Shoko said, hints of that sly smile returning. “And he’s not making you sick. No one is sick.”
“Yeah, except for you,” Gojo shot back. “You know something about why I feel like throwing up whenever I’m around him and you’re not telling me why.”
“I think that’s an exaggeration.”
“So what if it is?” Gojo mumbled. He crossed his arms defensively, as if he had something to hide. “I still feel weird around him. Even more so these past few weeks and I’m just wondering when I’ll get back to normal.” Shoko laughed. Gojo was getting sick of her doing that whenever he complained about Geto, so he glared at her. “Are you going to always laugh at me whenever I’m pouring my heart out to you? Is this how you’ll treat your future patients?”
Shoko jabbed him in the chest. “I’m laughing at you because you’re so in denial it’s hilarious. I’m not going to say anything because I don’t want to jeopardise your friendship with him.”
Gojo swatted her hand away. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why come ask me about all this if you’re not going to give me answers?”
“Because I’m nosy.”
Gojo had decided not to speak to Shoko about his problems with Geto ever again.
Instead, he focused on spending more time with him.
Any excuse to spar together, make trips down to the minimart for sweets and slushies, sit together outside as the air got cooler.
He thought he had mellowed out, ever since he started feeling weird around Geto. He was no longer as noisy or boisterous when they were together, and opted for tender touches to Geto’s shoulders and back to replace the incessant chatter he used to spew. Gojo only ever teased him now if he knew it would elicit a smile or a blush.
Light raindrops turned to a drizzle turned to a downpour when they made their way back to the school after their weekly slushie run. Geto had an umbrella, but it wasn’t quite big enough as the two boys huddled together underneath it. Their shoes and bottom half of their pants were already soaked through as they began the long climb back up to the school.
“I really wish you had brought your own umbrella,” Geto complained.
“I don’t have one,” Gojo lied. The straw of his drink was in between his teeth and he took a long, deliberate sip.
Geto glanced at him. “That’s a lie,” he said. “I know you have a bright yellow one. You could have saved us both the trouble of this.” Geto gestured vaguely to their surroundings and his umbrella.
Gojo didn’t say anything. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a chocolate bar, its wrapper slippery. He unwrapped and bit into it before offering it to Geto, a silent apology for the lie. Geto smiled and accepted it, his fingers brushing against Gojo’s when he took the bar.
Gojo chided himself for wanting to chase the touch, and later that night when he was in bed, he thought he had realised what Shoko had about himself.
Gojo had to remind himself he wasn’t a lovesick fool while he had his arms wrapped around Geto’s midriff. They were on a bike on the boardwalk at the Okinawa beach, and Gojo was reminded of a time, months ago, where Geto said he worried for Gojo while they pushed a bike on uneven ground.
The air was heavy with salt and heat and the wind was sweet with Geto’s shouts of delight as they zipped across the boardwalk, and Gojo felt so free and happy and light he thought he could burst. Their laughter mixed together as they narrowly missed an older couple wearing wide-brimmed hats, and he wondered how it was possible for everything to feel so heavenly.
And of course everything was heavenly when it was just the two of them on a bike, for once being able to be normal teenagers at the beach. Of course everything was heavenly when Geto’s back was pressed against his chest and he couldn’t breathe properly because Geto was everywhere and he couldn’t escape.
Later that night, Gojo shared a kiss with him.
It was clumsy and awkward and sweet and everything Gojo had ever wanted but didn’t know he did. His hands were in Geto’s hair and around his shoulders and under his shirt and it still wasn’t enough.
His mind was racing at the speed of light when he pulled away, and he didn’t understand how Geto looked so calm and collected after they’d been kissing for a minute, ten minutes, an hour, ten hours. Overwhelmed, Gojo forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths, and he felt everything come crashing down again when Geto took his face in his hands.
He wasn’t doing anything but smiling at Gojo, and even in the near darkness, he could make out the twinkle in Geto's eyes, the tip of his nose and the shape of his mouth. Geto laughed softly, running his thumbs over Gojo’s cheekbones and gravity folded in on itself when they kissed for the second time.
They spent the rest of the night in separate beds and when they got ready for the day, they didn’t breathe a word about what had happened.
Gojo thought it might have been a dream with how normal Geto was acting, and knew it wasn’t when their fingers brushed, a single touch filled with unspoken words. He chalked everything up to relieving stress, and found that he didn’t mind so much. As long as they got to be together, he’d be fine.
Then, with Amanai Riko in tow when they got back to the school, everything went horribly wrong.