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Suguru enjoys convenience stores once the clock strikes 3:00 AM.
It’s the emptiness, he thinks, the stillness of the air when it’s just him and a cashier across the room. The buzzing of the lights nearly drown out the warbling of the curse curled around the monkey’s shoulder, and the clicking of the vents as the air conditioner kicks in soothes the rush of hot rage in his chest every time the curse grinds its teeth.
He’s only here because the girls woke him half an hour ago, complaining about the lack of midnight snacks in the apartment. By the time he’d thrown something presentable on and slipped into his shoes, they had crawled into the warmth of his bed and were fast asleep again, something he could only chuckle at, but he didn’t want to waste all of the effort he spent getting up. So, here he is, in this too-bright-for-three-in-the-morning convenience store in his sweats and staring at the snacks, desperately trying not to strangle the curse ten feet away.
It’s barely even a grade four, is the thing, basic and shapeless with nothing but a gaping, toothy hole for a mouth. It would serve no purpose as part of his arsenal, and he’s really not up to swallowing anything more than a rice ball at the moment. He wants to go back to bed when he gets home, and he can’t do that if he’s too busy gargling mouthwash in a futile attempt to erase the taste of shit and vomit from his tongue.
Mimiko was talking about cookies, and Nanako had suggested taiyaki. Suguru grabs Oreos for Mimiko, remembering the way she’d stared longingly at the blue packages the last time he was here with them, and three different taiyaki flavors for Nanako, unsure if she prefers red bean paste, custard, or chocolate. He figures she can give the flavors she doesn’t want to her sister, or he can just eat them himself. It isn’t like-
The bell at the entrance of the store rings, announcing the arrival of a new customer, and the grade four curse squeals before it’s gone, smothered by the overwhelming cursed energy that floods over the threshold.
Suguru stands very still, like that’ll do anything to make him invisible and stop the weight of six eyes from settling on his back. He knocks another box of Oreos into his basket just to do something with his hands, and isn’t surprised when a shudder runs down his spine. It’s been almost a decade since he felt those eyes, and though his soul will never forget the sensation of being seen in a way it never has before, his body still needs that second to adjust.
That second is all the time Satoru needs, appearing in the corner of his eye. “Suguru.”
“Satoru,” he smiles, forcing himself to turn his head and look. “It’s been so long.”
Eight years, seven months, and twenty-five days since that day in Shinjuku. Eight years, seven months, and twenty-five days since the last time he saw his other half.
“Yeah,” Satoru wears a high-collared, black uniform, reminiscent of the one required by Jujutsu High, and his usual glasses, his white hair long enough to nearly fall behind the opaque rims. “What are you doing here?”
Suguru lifts his basket. “Midnight snack run. You?”
Satoru holds up a roll of bandages.
“Bandages? Are you hurt?”
He sighs, heavy in the way he does when he’s about to lie, and mutters, “I’m fine.”
He won’t meet Suguru’s eyes over his glasses, keeping his half-lidded like he does whenever he strains all six.
“You have Reverse Cursed,” Suguru states, “You can’t fix a migraine?”
“Makes ‘em worse, actually,” he pouts, “Shoko said too much info was hitting me even with the glasses, and she wants me to see if full coverage works any better.”
“She doesn’t have bandages on hand?”
Satoru shakes his head. “She just ran out.”
Who was it this time? Suguru wants to ask. Which one of them nearly died in service to people who will never say, Thank you? Who will never be able to stop producing the very curses that plague this imperfect world?
He almost does ask, almost opens his mouth to inquire, but the flat line of Satoru’s lips stops him. He knows what he’ll say, that he lost the right to care about any of them the second he drew non-shaman blood, but Suguru has never held anger towards anyone at Jujutsu High. It was never about them, it was for them, can’t they just open their eyes and see?
“I should check out,” Satoru says, “The lights are hurting my head.”
Suguru nods. He should pay for his items, too. He follows Satoru to the register, pausing momentarily in front of the candy to knock a bright red lollipop into his basket, and by the time he’s ready to pay the bell over the door is ringing and Satoru is walking out into the night.
His cursed energy lingers like it always does, blanketing the air and coiling around Suguru’s shoulders like Infinity is trying to protect him, too. Satoru used to do that in first year, when he still thought Suguru and Shoko were in need of his invincible shield and had his head firmly up his ass about them being strong, too. In second year, Infinity was like a hug, never a full blockage from outside touch but just enough pressure that they could know that he was looking out for them, or that he was simply there to lean on. Suguru always—
“5,000,” The cashier rings him up, bagging the Oreos and the taiyaki separately.
He pays, taking the bags, and goes outside without a word. The air’s grown warmer in the fifteen, twenty minutes he was inside the store, or maybe he was just cold from the clicking vents.
“Damn it.”
He turns around and there, leaning back against the brick of the building, Satoru struggles to unroll his bandages. His glasses are off, folded and tucked onto the collar of his jacket, and his squinting eyes glow impossibly bright in the dark, illuminating his trembling hands with a gentle blue light.
“Here,” Suguru hangs his bags on his elbow and steps in close, taking the bandages from Satoru’s fingers and unrolling them himself, “let me.”
“I got it,” Satoru feebly protests, wincing when he tries to meet his eyes.
Suguru tsks, flicking his shoulder and trying not to show his surprise when his finger actually makes contact with the cloth instead of meeting Infinity. “Close your eyes and let me help you.”
“Suguru-”
“You can’t even keep up Infinity, close your-”
“I can keep it up fine,” Satoru insists, defensive, “You always hated when I had it up around you, I figured that hasn’t changed.”
Suguru bites his tongue to keep himself from saying, I haven’t changed at all, because he hasn’t, not really. He still wants to eradicate curses from this world. He still believes in the idea of justice. He still believes in protecting the weak, even if he just means his fellow sorcerers that get the bad end of the stick.
“It hasn’t,” he says instead, layering the bandages so the covering will be thick, “Lift up your hair. I don’t want it getting caught.”
Satoru does as he’s told, pushing his hair up so it stands straight, and Suguru leans in to properly wrap the bandages around his eyes. Up this close, he can’t help but steal glances at Satoru’s lips, how glossy they look even in the dim, three-in-the-morning street lights, and he wonders if he still uses the same chapstick brand he bought him in second year, before Riko Amanai ever entered and exited their lives.
Suguru sees her in his girls, sometimes, in the way stars always enter Mimiko’s eyes when he flies her around on his stingray curse or how Nanako loves the beach, can shove her feet in the sand and make castles for hours. He wonders if Satoru ever sees her in his students at the high school, or if he’s blocked those memories out like he must have everything else.
“There,” he whispers, tying the bandages tight around the back of Satoru’s head, “Can you see me?”
Satoru takes a deep breath, the warm rush of his exhale fanning out over Suguru’s lips, and it takes everything within Suguru not to close the nearly invisible gap between them. He didn’t know their last kiss was going to be their last, even with the image of a fresh, curse-less world already taking root in his head.
“Yes,” Satoru whispers back, swallowing, the bob of his throat drawing Suguru’s eyes for a moment, “Yes, I can see you.”
Barely, just barely, Suguru brushes his lips over Satoru’s, asking a silent question. In response, Satoru grabs his face and kisses him hard, pulling him forward enough to jostle the bags hanging off his elbow.
Goodbye, They both pour into it, their cursed energies clashing and clanging together like puzzle pieces from the same set that just won’t fit, Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
It lasts for four seconds, maybe five, before they break apart for air. Breathing hard, not knowing what else to do, Suguru digs through his bags and takes out the lollipop.
“Here,” he holds it out, licking his swollen lips and tasting Satoru’s chapstick. It is the same brand he bought him in second year. “To take your mind off your headache.”
Again, Satoru swallows. Hesitant, he takes the lollipop, but their fingers don’t brush, Infinity already sliding back into its rightful place.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, unwrapping the lollipop, “I should…I should go.”
“Yeah,” Suguru agrees, thinking of the girls alone in the apartment and asleep in his bed, “I should, too.”
Neither of them move. Both of them stare at the other.
There’s no bustling Shinjuku crowd between them, this time. Suguru finds it’s much harder to actually say goodbye when the only thing keeping him from Satoru’s side is three feet of empty air and eight years, seven months, and twenty-five days of silence.
“See you around,” Satoru says, slipping the lollipop between his lips and clasping his hands together before his stomach.
“See you-” Suguru starts to echo, but he blinks and Satoru is gone, having flickered out of existence and teleported back to Jujutsu High.
He takes a deep breath, sighing on his exhale. Then he transfers his bags from his elbow to his fists and walks in the direction of his apartment.