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Suguru leaving was like salt in a wound. Shoko didn’t know how much longer she could stay strong. Nonchalant, uncaring, and every word in the dictionary that would describe how she wanted to feel.
“Two packs of Marlboro, please.” The cashier would ring her up.
She did everything in her power to distract herself from the pain that left her bereft and reeling. School grades were out of the picture. Missions became quick, exhausting blurs in her mind. Nothing mattered. Things were just there to get done. She laughed it off the day he bid her farewell. It didn’t sink in there. Like when you lose a loved one, the brain doesn’t fully register that they’re gone right away. It marinates.
How did it end?
She understood his why but didn’t understand his how. The Suguru she knew was kind and nurturing. Delicate with a graze of his fingertips. How could the same hands that used to press against her back gently when she was about to topple over in the subway be the same hands that took the blood of so many? And more importantly, how could she just sit back and let it happen?
She broke.
Shoko broke down crying. In the crook of her dorm on the bed, her knees propped up as her head faced downwards. The dark blue hoodie she found remaining in Suguru’s room was now engulfed with salty, anguished tears. She wasn’t strong, wasn’t uncaring, wasn’t aloof—all a facade. Shoko was human.
Satoru pushed open the unlocked door. He froze at the sight at first, then quietly placed the bag of chicken and rice on her study desk, tiptoeing over to Shoko. Satoru wasn’t the comforting type—but he owed this to her after all the nights he was a mess, and she was there.
Satoru sat down, careful not to startle her. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her frame, rubbing circles on her back, while on the inside, unsure what to do. “Hey…” He noticed the blue hoodie that was once was Suguru’s.
Oh.
Shoko accepted the embrace, arms wrapped around Satoru’s waist as she dampened his shirt with her tears. When she turned her face up, Satoru grabbed her chin and laid kisses where her cheeks were stained with salt. Kissing away the memory—kissing away the frustration and confusion he felt just as well as she did.
“I’ve got you.” He’d whispered over and over again as if it would erase any trace of Suguru in her mind.
Satoru was conflicted. Suguru was his dearest, his best friend. But so was Shoko. He was supposed to hate anyone who would make her sob like this, especially when that person is on the loose, killing innocents. But he didn’t.
Satoru wanted to take any pain driven up inside of her and succumb to it himself. He was the strongest. Maybe had he been less of an idiot and stopped Suguru before it was too late, Shoko wouldn’t be wailing until her chest hurt right now. That fell on his plate of responsibilities—and which did he failed. He failed her.
The only thing he could do was hold and kiss her until just maybe the agony disintegrated into thin air. Whisper sweet nothings into her ears, brush her bangs away from her face even if it was useless. ‘Suguru, you asshole.’ He’d curse in his mind, knowing well that he was twice as hurt as Shoko was.
But Satoru, coming with his title, needed to be strong. Be strong for Shoko. Be strong for all the sorcerers and non-sorcerers who expected nothing less than that from him. Be strong for the terror that has rained down on this life—because if he isn’t, who will?
Confiscate her cigarettes and hide any reminders of Suguru. Make sure she is eating and sleeping properly. After everything she had done for him, healing and healing after shitty missions, Satoru took it upon himself to do this. They were all each had left now. Numb the pain, and focus on her.
Suguru wasn’t fucking deserving of Shoko’s cries.
“I bought food,” Satoru spoke up after she calmed down for what felt like an eternity.