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Suguru Getou’s sixteen when he decides to stretch his earlobes.
It takes longer than he expected, months and months of pushing increasingly larger jewelery in, waiting for them to heal, then repeating the process. Over and over again. He learns to care for the growing holes properly, massaging them in jojoba oil before each stretch, and to take his time. It also helped that he had him, Satoru Gojo, accompanying him along his journey. Gojo always would be coming up to him with some new bit of information, or some cool looking gauge to buy once his ear healed. He wanted to be with him every time he stretched, and cheered everytime it went successfully, promising that they would have a big celebration once he hit his goal.
Getou wasn’t ever sure what his clear goal was.
He thought of it as an act of rebellion. At least part of it. He was a teenager, with a future set out for him in what seemed to be hard stone. The teachers taught him to act a certain way, think a certain way, dress a certain way. And while he went along with it( for now), he wasn’t sure if it really reflected his true personality.
He felt like a fraud.
He never told Gojo the real reason behind his ears. He read somewhere that Buddhas had long ears in order to represent “finding themselves.” With weight in his ears, it would show the burdens he carried with him. If he ever took the weights out, it would mean he was finally free from those burdens. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be free from his burdens.
The cold winter air bites at his nose and cheeks as he steps into downtown Tokyo. They had one free day and Gojo had insisted on hanging out down here.
“ There’s good sweets shops!” He had exclaimed, pulling at his arm. “ It’ll be fun!”
Even with a jacket on over his uniform, the cold air seems to go right through Getou. He even resorts to pulling his hair out of the usual bun to try to warm himself up.
Where’d Gojo go anyways? They’ve literally been out for two seconds. He scans the rows and rows of glowing buildings. How hard is it to lose a six foot tall guy?
There’s a tap on his shoulder.
“ Nice look,” Gojo says. He’s munching on something green, which he assumes came out of the bag dangling from his arm. “ You should wear your hair like that more often.”
“ I would but then I can’t see shit.”
“ Tuck it behind your ears then,” he suggests plainly. “ Then it shows off the gauges too- there you go. Perfect.”
“ My ears are cold.”
Gojo laughs, handing over a mochi from the bag, as they shove their way through the stream of people lining the streets. Geto reaches for his hand and grabs hold, keeping his eyes on the white head that bobs among the crowd. He’s not losing him today.
He’s been going downtown for as long as he can remember, but even he doesn’t realize that there’s this many shops. One right after the other, selling anything from hair supplies to candy to toilets with all the latest technologies.
“ Wanna get a toilet?” Gojo asks, pointing towards a colorful display. People cheerily chat about the porcelain bowls they’re standing next to. Some reach for switches and levers, showcasing the range of colors and sounds.
“ I really don’t wanna think about it.” He gently tugs him away from where he stands frozen, fixated by the dancing lights in the toilet bowls.
“ But don’t you want a fun- oh look, a jewelery shop! Wanna go in?”
Getou sighs, allowing himself to be dragged into the shop. Sometimes, he can’t believe that they’re both the same age. The energy of his friend is unmatched; he feels like he’s being led around by a hyper five year old.
Plus, his feet are starting to hurt.
But all that fades away once he sees the assortment of jewelery, and especially gauges , there are to offer. Suddenly, he feels like that hyper five year old, flitting from place to place and picking up anything that he can reach. He sees his friend in the corner of his eye, standing next to the door with his arms crossed. There’s a smile on his face.
He sticks his tongue out and receives one back.
All track of time is lost as he pores through the endless assortment of plugs, many that he knows he can’t afford even in his wildest dreams.
He settles for taking pictures.
As the days pass, Getou’s mind starts to spiral
again. All that joy from that one day in Tokyo starts to disappear. He gets lost again in the endless assignments, the endless need to become stronger, the existential crisis going on in his brain.
And so he returns to the school exhausted one night, covered in his own blood and ready to collapse.
The dorm is dark, save for the bits of pale
moonlight streaming through the windows. He switches on a lamp on his desk and falls into the chair next to it.
Suddenly, there’s a scrape of wood against wood. The door slides open.
“ I bought you something!” Gojo exclaims,
handing over a small bag. His pale cheeks are flushed a bright red. Little puffs of air curl into the sky like smoke.
Getou shakes his head. “ You didn’t have to go out at this hour for me.”
“ I was excited, alright? Just look already!”
He pulls out a box and opens it. Two giant black circles, made out of a heavy glass, are inside. Tiny bits of silver hit the sunlight as he tilts them gently back and forth.
“ I know you haven’t reached your goal, whatever it is, yet, but I thought these were too pretty to pass up,” his friend says, peering closely at them. “ I was on my way back and I figured you might like them.”
He gently picks one up and inspects it from all angles. It’s beautiful.
He decides right then and there what his goal is. It was only right.
Years later, he’s still wearing them. Years later,
he tries to ignore his occasional impulses to rip them out of his ears. But he remembers the promise to his younger self. He’s not rid of his burdens yet.
Most of all, he’s not rid of him yet. He still sees his face in his dreams. Maybe if their lives had been different, maybe if they would have had more similar ideas about the world… maybe it would’ve been better.
In all honesty, what did Suguru Getou really have as proof of his “ life-saving mission?” A couple thousand people dead and saggy earlobes. He’s got whole societies against him and a bunch of people out for his head. Still though, at least he’s made a name for himself. The amount of followers that he’s grown to have doesn’t lie. At least people can realize what he’s trying to achieve. And maybe one or two might carry on the legacy.
It’s a stylistic choice, he thinks . One that he’s
started to regret.
*****
For the second time in his life, Satoru Gojo’s taken aback.
The sight of seeing his friend that had died years prior at his own hands causes him to hesitate.
And then his friend turns to him and grins.
He stares, paralyzed. His brain overloads with questions, thoughts, and memories. Something’s off. It looks like him, but it can’t be. There’s no way. He remembers killing him himself. He sat next to him in that alleyway and waited until he had taken his last breath.
He doesn’t notice as the cube slowly opens, sucking him inside.
His eyes flick to his face, then absentmindedly to his earlobes.
I can’t believe he kept them.
He realizes later, as he’s sitting in the dark black space, he technically didn’t have to keep them. Whoever took over Suguru Getou’s body had decided that the gauges were something special. Whether they found out the actual personal reason, or just did it for the stylistic choice, he doesn’t truly know. But he smiles anyways.