Work Text:
Let me embrace the ghost of you
When your empty shell stands in front of me,
And chase after the innocent past
I left on our front door
When my grip slips
Of your frame
And I clutch onto the memories,
I will see you
everywhere
All Your Hugs and Kisses
“Do you sometimes feel this particular squeeze in your heart?”
Getou raises a brow, a puzzled look on his face.
“Like what? A cardiac arrest?”
Satoru gives him a look, but chuckles nevertheless. “Yeah, sure, just like that.”
He shifts his weight where they sit on Suguru’s bed, Satoru playing a video game, Getou reading a book - “some kind of a tedious novel” as per Gojo’s words.
“But it’s still so different, I think,” he adds, his voice low, almost as if he was asking a question. Suguru stares at him for a while, then deadpans.
“I swear, sometimes you are just so random with what you say, Satoru.”
But there is no awaited snide remark, full of the boy’s usual quick wit. The silence stretches becoming close to awkward, and then heavier some more, and if Getou wasn’t worried before, he begins to worry now. Gojo puts down his console with a sigh. Getou does the same with his book, turning slightly to his best friend.
“It’s just…” Gojo starts, then falls silent again. It’s so weird seeing him like this.
“Just what?”, Getou inquires. Satoru continues, smoothing down the creases on the bedsheets with his hand, fidgeting, something clearly bothering him. He doesn’t look at Suguru.
“This one leaves you feeling empty and helpless because you don’t know what is going on and what is wrong with you. So I’d say it’s worse.”
What in the world-
Suguru doesn’t know how to respond to that. For another few moments, they sit in silence once more. Suguru can’t stand it. He has a hunch about what this all is about, but how is he even going to approach it?
He feels he needs to be careful with what he says next.
“Is..is this about the mission yesterday?”
The curse was exorcised, they even managed to evacuate the civilians on time and the property was not so badly damaged. Overall it was a success. Stating ‘overall’ because in the course of action, a person had died. Their supervisor lost someone close to them and it truly was a heartbreaking scene, full of tears and blood and screaming. He could still feel goosebumps and this prickly, unwanted sensation screaming ‘ run ’ spreading through his body. Yeah, it was not pleasant in any manner and all they could have done at that moment was to stand and watch, waiting for other people to arrive to take account of what had happened and to carry the body away. Or what was left of it. It was truly that gruesome.
But things like this happened, it was just the reality of this job. He didn’t think Satoru- especially Satoru- would ponder on it too much. Well, it seems he was wrong.
“She wished she could hate him.”
Getou jerks up, taken out of his thoughts.
“What?”
“She said she wished she could hate him,” Satoru repeats, louder this time. “When she was sitting next to his body.”
Once again Suguru doesn’t know how to respond, but he doesn’t even have time to. Satoru speaks up shortly after, this time looking him straight in the eyes, fully turned in his direction with his expression serious as ever and his blue eyes wide open.
“Honestly, Suguru? Me too. I want to hate you. Because, if something happens, and you die, and I hate you, then I won't miss you. It's so… annoying, but I don't want to miss you like she misses him."
‘ I would feel empty to my very core with you gone ,’ stays unsaid, but it's very much implied.
“I don’t want that .”
Satoru lets out a small laugh, close to being frantic. He looks down, unable to hold the eye contact and frowns.
“But the worst thing is - and this pisses me off- I don’t know if I can ever hate you. I thought about it. Really thought about it. Whatever happens - I can’t,” he pauses.
“And I wish I could.”
Yet again, Getou sits there completely baffled by the confession. It’s nothing unusual of Satoru to leave him speechless, but never like this. After a while he reaches behind, blindly searching for his book with a slight tremble in his hand then he looks at it for a second. It’s simple yet a great story about a woman, a doctor, who lost her dearest friends. One succumbed to his madness, the other died due to the awful accident. They were the only people she truly considered to be her family, yet she could do nothing, even if she tried. It left her helpless. The reader follows her recovery story, finding new meaning in life and the hardships of saying goodbyes. He only started reading it recently and it truly touched his heart. Satoru thought it to be boring, laughing and teasing him for tearing up on several occasions but how can you read such a novel with a stone face?
He looks at the book some more as if it could tell him what he’s supposed to do. He turns to look at Satoru who is still sitting with a slump in his posture, embarrassed and conflicted. Suguru can’t see him like this. No, no way. Not him.
He raises the hand he’s holding a book with and smacks Gojo’s head with it.
A loud yelp resonates in the room and Gojo firmly holds the hurting place while looking at Suguru as if he had just told him he finds Principal Yaga attractive.
“A-Are you mad ?!”
Suguru gazes back with a blank stare, slowly realising what he’s done. He looks at Satoru then at the book and at Satoru again. He tosses the book back on the bed. ‘ Well, that works too ’.
“Did something possess you just now?! What-”
“Don’t be silly.”
Breathe in and breathe out. He can do this. They are together in this fragile moment, and both of them are not used to not having a clue what to do. It’s strangely comforting, Getou thinks. It’s still overwhelming, however, so he tries to break the tension. They will have more time to figure out whatever this is later. Hopefully, it won’t be too awkward.
“It’s not like you to overthink, it’s what I usually do and you make fun of me for it every single time.”
“Oh yeah?” Satoru chuckles wetly.
“Yeah. And as an expert in this field, I can state - quit it.”
Gojo does not look too convinced. He plops down on the bed, spread like a starfish. He lets out a resigned sigh and sniffles. This is so…unbearable. Getou reaches out to prop him up.
“No, nothing of that. You look ugly when you’re sad.”
Which is obviously not true. Satoru always looks good. Suguru keeps that comment to himself. Instead, he steadies the boy and puts his hand on Gojo’s shoulder giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance.
“Nothing is going to happen. I can promise you that.”
Satoru just stares at him for a while. He huffs loudly, rolling his eyes.
“Fine.”
It’s so pretentious it makes Getou smile. Thinking the conversation is over, he tries to take his hand from Satoru’s shoulder but is abruptly stopped. Gojo clutches onto his hand, pressing it back to his collarbone, lean fingers almost digging into Suguru’s palm, holding it firmly.
“Promise me then.”
It sounds almost like a plea. Suguru looks at Satoru. A little taken aback at first, he composes himself quickly, determined to answer.
“I promise.”
Satoru nods once and lets him go.
“Good.”
Suguru’s hand is left with a tingling sensation and something flips in his stomach. It’s a nice feeling, warm and soft. He shakes his head not quite ready to ponder on it too much. He glances back where Satoru picks up his console again and he does the same with his book.
“…My head still hurts,” Gojo mumbles after a while, clicking through the game menu. “You are such a brute, Suguru!”
Getou can’t help, but chuckle at the whining. He flips a page and finds a place he previously stopped reading.
‘There he is’.
They never really talk about it again.
About a year later, Suguru stands in the middle of a poorly lit room.
Before coming to this place Getou thought that perhaps he could handle it. Maybe the world wouldn’t be so cruel. Suguru could give it one last chance. He thought of wide eyes and ocean blue. Worried looks, gentle touches followed by soft whispers and silent promises. Last hope.
Now he’s here- eyes full of terror following every slight twitch of his body, girls tightening their embrace at every foul word coming out of their mouths.
He was a fool. He was an imbecile for believing.
He turns away from the wooden cage, facing the ones who brought him here.
Their faces morph before his very eyes, becoming caricatures of something he could once call a 'human'.
Suddenly, the smell reaching his nostrils turns even more vile and revolting. He scrunches up his nose in disgust. His body tenses up. This odour…
Fucking monkeys.
They stand in the middle of the street with people passing them by, blissfully unaware.
All Satoru wants is answers he knows he might never get.
'You promised' he wants to scream, but words never leave his lips, stopping at his tongue that he harshly bites with his teeth till it bleeds.
Looking at Suguru’s back as the man walks away, he reaches out his palm as if prepared to strike. Then, after a tense moment, he abruptly puts his hand down and does nothing except stand there still, like an idiot.
Some might find it laughable, but Satoru can’t do it.
He can’t.
Satoru senses his presence way before he sees him. It’s always been like this.
“You’re late, Satoru.”
He doesn’t regret a thing. He asks about his family. Gojo tells him they escaped and are safe.
Then he kneels next to Suguru.
Satoru takes his hand, thumb gently sliding over the skin. Grim and blood gather on his fingertips, but he doesn't mind. He inspects it for a moment, tracing the lines on Getou’s palm. He remembers those hands, tangled up in his hair, petting, tugging. He recalls them touching his cheeks, his lips.
He moves his fingers further till he traces down Suguru's forearm. Once, these arms
were tight around him, holding him close and secure. With his ear pressed to Suguru's solid chest, the rhythmic sound of his heart beating was like a reminder, that maybe the world wasn’t that bad of a place.
"Suguru" he whispers.
Satoru holds Getou's hand. He brings it to his lips. He kisses it. He moves it to settle it on his jaw, then closes his eyes and nuzzles into it, Suguru's rough fingertips pleasantly scratching at his face. He places another sloppy kiss.
He looks up.
Half of Getou’s face has been blown up, now torn and bleeding. One of his eyes is ruined, his lid with burned lashes fluttering as he tries to open it, to no avail.
Gently, Gojo lets go of Suguru’s palm and moves to caress his face, then leans in to leave another kiss on the man’s forehead.
With that, all the facade crumbles.
Getou’s breath hitches, and his voice cracks pathetically. “Satoru”, he whispers, his balance wavering as he reaches out, already missing the touch.
Just for a moment. They can pretend just for a moment.
Gojo feels like a small child. The one that clings to his mother's dress, hiding, too shy to meet the guests at the party. His mother pats him gently, encouraging him to step out. ‘Be brave’ she says. But this dress seems like a special place, a curtain providing security from this rotten world. Satoru doesn’t want to let it go.
He looks at Getou’s outstretched palm.
He's not much of a religious man, but he prays. If heaven allowed it, he would never let this man go.
Satoru takes Suguru’s hand.
He slides closer and puts his head on Getou’s uninjured shoulder, nuzzling into his collar. He breathes in. Suguru’s hair smells of cigarettes and soil after rain, and it is so perfect. So him.
And he is dying in his arms, in a small, dark alley.
'At least curse me a little, at the end', he said before, like a fool. Damn this idiot, thinks Satoru.
The truth is, he would've cursed him a hundred times and more. If only he could keep him by his side. For a moment he thinks of Rika and Yuuta's connection. It is a selfish wish, Satoru knows it. But the longing for his love is unmanageable, even now when they are so close, their skin touching and it burns.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice raw and on the verge of tears. Satoru can’t cry now. If he does, he will break down completely.
So, he doesn't. Even if he wants to.
The burn settles deep down in his gut, twisting his insides and he feels like he is going to throw up.
All the wounds open up and he mourns the man he once trusted, with his whole heart and body. This man, his man is still there. He knows it. Satoru sees it.
Here comes a thought - he wants to be young and blissfully blind again. Dumb, youthful and with Suguru.
What if, what if, what if.
Curse that man. Oh, how he wants to hate him, after all of the wrongs he's caused. For spilling his students' blood on the school's concrete and causing innocent people's deaths.
For leaving him and becoming a vile ghost, taunting his imagination till this very day.
Suguru is a cruel person. But since the moment they met, he has been his.
“I can’t. I can’t do this," Satoru shakes his head, almost frantic and very different from his familiar, cocky and laid-back demeanour.
“You must,” comes a whispered response.
There is no way of getting out of it now.
Again, Gojo looks up from the crook of Suguru's neck, ocean blue eyes pleading, begging.
Don't. Not now, not ever. Please-
However, Getou only smiles softly. It's more of a grimace, resignation mixing with pain on his face. Still, something is calming about it. Gentle, almost reassuring. It’s like waking up on a lazy Sunday morning, tangled in ruffled sheets with the warmth of another body pressed close, so close.
It's like he's ready.
He chuckles. Satoru doesn’t find anything amusing in all of this. He frowns, ready to scold him, but Getou beats him to it.
“If anything, I'm glad it is you. I couldn't bear it if it were anyone but you, Satoru”.
He states it like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.
His body is shaking either from exhaustion or injuries. From this whole situation. The approaching end. Strangely, he seems calmer than ever. At ease.
"Satoru," he whispers again. If he dies now, he wants to die with this name on his lips.
Then Suguru weakly squeezes Gojo's hand. ' Be brave .'
Satoru's heart breaks once again on this day.
He squeezes back.
They leave behind the words unsaid. All the laughs. All the hugs and kisses. They bury them deep, six feet under, in a grave they will never lay in together.
It is a quiet death. Then, a quiet walk to the morgue. Hours of mourning. Days. Months. A year.
It's all quiet.
It’s quiet, the only interruption being his heavy breathing echoing down the walls of an underground station.
It’s quiet. Then he hears it - the same voice he has not heard since that day.
“Yo, Satoru!”
He turns around and looks up.
Everything shatters and it’s so overwhelmingly loud that he can’t move.
'...what?'
The images flash before his eyes, one by one, all three years of his prematurely ended youth.
It’s so loud. His heart is beating like crazy making him nauseous.
He knows he should do something.
But he can’t.