Archive of Our Own

INCIPERE:

From the dawn of time, since the universe can remember, Gojo Satoru has been a little shit. No instance comes to mind of him being anything but, age zero to thirteen. So when at fourteen, Gaia offers him Geto Suguru, curse manipulator and expert at calling Satoru out on his shit (you can go ahead and trademark that), it was a welcome reprieve to those closest to him — Shoko — and it tipped the scales having a balance was born where Suguru was the only one who could reel Satoru in.

But, as a master nuisance, he found a way to counterbalance this unfortunate (to him) turn of events a few months later by weaponizing his final, unshakable trick: flirting. 

(Flirting. [Flirt • ing] v. Gojo Satoru’s own personal Subaru Natsuki where, once all else fails, no matter what, this tactic can be used to one up Geto Suguru into a lovely state of speechlessness and highlight his tan skin by means of a blush scattering his face and ears. Only to be used sparingly, lest the target gets used to it, Gojo Satoru employs this trick as a last resort to, not only get the final say and last laugh, but get his way when Geto Suguru is rendered brainless).

Foolproof. In the heart of the wicked world that has given him Suguru to always, without fail, cramp his style, this power is the finishing move, a means of protection Satoru has saved for himself. And it works, and keeps working. 

Until, that is, the day Suguru flirts back.

It happens on a quiet, unsuspecting day. The air is crisp, telltale signs of a late winter in the air, the birds are hooting and chirping and they’re returning from a dreary mislabeled mission in Ibaraki — and really, they’re going to have to look into that. Satoru had expected, at least, more of a fight from the grade 1 curse they were sent to exorcise but could only feel disappointed when it was a grade three instead, killing the ugly thing off in a mere forty five seconds while Suguru smoked outside, unbothered. He didn’t even want to absorb it after, telling of how weak. 

Fortunately, his disappointment didn’t last long when the black haired boy suggested treating him to ice cream before they head back to the school, if only for something to do. So it finds them here, about twenty minutes later, walking their usual path after alighting from the train at the subway. Satoru clumsily spills some ice cream on his shoe and Suguru is in the middle of scolding him for his carelessness when he thinks of a way to make him shut up. 

“It’s just ice cream, Guru. It’s not going to like, ruin the integrity of the leather, or something.” He rolls his eyes pointedly, and speaks again right as Suguru is opening his mouth again. “Besides, if you’re so mad about it, we can just share yours.”

He smiles like a little bastard as he watches the other boy’s eyes go from his to the cone in his hand and then back. The suggestive inflection is there, in his tone. Let me lick your ice cream from your hands, Suguru. From the same spot. It’ll be like pseudo-kissing is what his eyes are saying. 

Suguru opens his mouth again and Satoru is so sure it’s to tell him to fuck off and die but instead, “I don’t share. Maybe you’ll just have to kiss me if you want a taste.”

Something scratches in Satoru’s brain, then, and it feels like a record but sounds like a cat’s hiss when startled. He almost physically feels the heat of his blood as it rushes towards his face and ears and he stands there, eyes wide, face red, mouth gaping. An honest to god breathy chuckle leaves Suguru’s mouth as he walks ahead, leaving Satoru dumbstruck for a few minutes. 

He’s a couple steps ahead when he turns his head, smiles with his eyes and says, “You coming, Sa-to-ru?”

And why did he say it like that? Why would he say Satoru’s name like that? Purr it!? His brain finally fizzles with a little spark of electricity and he makes it work as he stumbles after the already retreating boy. 

“Oi, Suguru, what the fuck does that mean? What do you mean?“

Amused laughter is the only answer he gets. 

Satoru is a chronic shit talker. It’s common knowledge, and while he’s been getting help for it — in the form of Shoko putting him on a candy sabbatical whenever he goes overboard — it’s still a recovery process. The few people he surrounds himself with know this and so they put up with him accordingly.

As stated, it’s common knowledge. The sky is blue, sometimes Satoru just says things for no reason at all. Suguru knows this better than most so when he’s not flat out ignoring his best friend’s antics, he’s putting him in a headlock and smacking some sense into him. It’s their thing, it’s what they do. 

Which is why it doesn’t make sense when Satoru makes a suggestive joke — something something putting a hickey on Suguru’s neck or the other. It’s stupid and he can’t even remember the joke now — and Suguru pauses, cup of black coffee mid air, turns to him with a raised brow and asks:

“Do you even know how?” 

“How what? To give a hickey?” Satoru wouldve stuttered if he were a lesser man because this is not how the script goes, at all. Suguru is supposed to blush or roll his eyes and pretend his ears aren’t red, not give Satoru his undivided attention and ask that like he’s interested in the answer. 

The black haired man hums. “Yeah. Do you?”

Satoru stutters. “I— shut up! It doesn’t look that hard. I could probably do it!”

Another one of his annoying laugh fills the air. “Sure, Satoru. You probably could.”

“Hey! Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?” His voice does the one thing Shoko makes fun of him for when he’s offended, rising a couple octaves and the sound has him cringing. 

Suguru only makes him wait for an answer as he sips at his coffee, then shrugs. “I don’t.”

“That’s—“ he scoffs. “Well, fuck you! I could.”

Eyes gleaming with something that prickles under Satoru’s skin, Suguru turns to him, voice low as he eggs. “Prove it.” 

He feels something hot settle in him and for the first time, he notices just how close they are. They’re always close so it wasn’t a big deal until this one moment. The tiny smirk on Suguru’s coffee stained lips, the spacing of his eye lashes, his recently done brows, a jagged line at the end and the way he’s looking at Satoru, a gaze that feels explicit. 

He realizes he’s been staring with his mouth open for too long when he closes them to swallow. Satoru has never once cared for his BPM but in that moment, it’s feels borderline unhealthy the way his heart is pounding against his chest, begging for reprieve. 

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless, Satoru.” Shoko’s amused voice comes from beside him on the sofa and he startles. He’d forgotten she was there as they’d come together in the first year dorm lounge to study. “But I actually have a test tomorrow I need you guys to quiz me on so if you could stop with the fuck me eyes before I throw up?”

Satoru swallows again and drags his eyes away from Suguru’s face, plastering on a fake smile and an even faker airy voice. “You wouldn’t know what fuck me eyes were even if Utahime plucked out hers and gave you as a gift.” 

His voice sounds breathless even to his own ears. Shoko just levels him a knowing look as Suguru chuckles beside him. They get back into studying but Satoru is noticeably quieter throughout the night.

Satoru closes the lounge door behind him as Shoko leaves after he’d seen her to her dorm and he makes an instant beeline for his own room, eager to climb under the covers and pretend like his body isn’t thrumming with something he can’t explain, something akin to desire.

Large hands wrap around his wrist, stopping him. Suguru pulls him back just as he’s a step into his room, salvation so close yet out of reach. He turns to look at him. Suguru who’s a head shorter than him after Satoru’s sudden and ongoing growth spurt and who Satoru would normally make fun of for this fact but in the current moment, the black haired boy feels like he looms over him. 

“Are you okay?” Suguru asks and those are not the words Satoru expected out of his lips. “You were quiet all night.”

Blinking, Satoru decides to play it safe and aim for his usual banter. “I’m fine. Studying is just boring.”

His best friend chuckles and Satoru refuses to think about why it makes his stomach feel tight. Suguru laughs all the time. Infact, Suguru enjoys laughing at him and all the dumb shit he gets up to, making him do more dumb shit so he’s supposed to be used to it, is used to it. He doesn’t understand why all of a sudden, it’s different. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Just wanted to be sure, though. That I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier, I mean.” He, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. 

Satoru scoffs, jokes then. “Uncomfortable? You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get to me, Sugu-san.”

The hand on his wrist squeezes a little. “Yeah?”

Why? Satoru wants to scream. Why does his voice sound like that? He chooses to subtly pull his hand away instead, murmurs. “Yeah.”

The way Suguru smiles next makes Satoru’s skin prickle and pop. He feels his hairs stand, blood pumping in his ears like feels a rabbit looking at hunter. As if it’s a trap and he’s offered up some kind of challenge Suguru is eager to lap up. 

“Alright.” Is all he says. “Goodnight, Satoru~.”

He turns on his heels and leaves Satoru standing there, heart thumping and wondering why he can feel the ghost of a wetness between his legs.

The classroom is only occupied by one person when Satoru enters which is strange because Yaga is usually punctual. He finds his way to the desk of the chair Suguru’s settled in, rolling the lollipop in his mouth the way Shoko has taken to rolling the candy cigarettes she’s started smoking and he tosses the jade haired boy a pack of calbee chips. 

Suguru smiles at him as he catches it, speaking while tearing it open. “Did you at least pay?”

Scoffing, Satoru dangles his legs that are already almost touching the ground even when he’s sitting at the base of the desk. “That was one time.”

“Yeah but now that you’ve figured out you can manipulate the vending machine, I think it’ll be more than one time, won’t it, Satoru?” 

He rolls his eyes and leans over the desk so his hair gravitates from the ground and he can stare at Suguru upside down, baby jawline and all, bobbing Adam’s apple, sticky crumbs of the spicy potato sticking to his chapsticked lips and glossy fingers and it might be the blood rushing to his head but he unexpectedly gets the inane urge to grab those stained fingers and lick it clean. 

The second the thought germinates behind his eyes, he instantly sits up, ignoring Suguru’s squeak as he almost knocks the bag of chips clean off his hands, and finds his way to the furthest desk from the boy hoping to get as far away from whatever the fuck that was as soon as possible. 

“Um, are you good?” Suguru raises genuinely and Satoru allows himself one final look at his fingers and lips before he promptly groans and buries his head in his arms on the desk, not moving even as Yaga walks in a whole thirty minutes late, spares him half a glance and begins to debrief them. 

As the universe, or maybe fucking Tengen, would have it, they’re paired for this mission again. Usually, Satoru would be elated — after all, there are only a handful of sorcerers studying at the school and weighing the odds, it makes sense that he’s paired with his best friend more often than not — but Suguru has been looking his way often, brows pulled together all through the mission load down and he’s almost certain he’ll be bombarded with questions concerning his strange behavior as soon as they leave the room. 

“Yaga—“ he speaks for the first time since they started. “Um, it sounds like an easy enough task. Can’t one of us just go?”

Pointedly ignoring the way Suguru seems to jerk back for a second before pulling himself together, Satoru waits on his teacher for an answer. Yaga opens his mouth, eyes squinting before Suguru beats him to it. 

“Getting cocky, Satoru?” His voice is heavy with the words he’s not saying that Satoru’s brain unfortunately fills in for him. What the fuck, Gojo?

“Hardly.” He shoots back, ignoring it. “I’m being realistic. I mean, we’ve only gotten stronger this past year, surely there’s some stuff we can handle on our own?”

Suguru’s lips part and his eyes study Satoru’s face for a second before his fingers tick and he looks away. Yaga’s gaze jumps between both of them before he’s tsk-ing.

“When the time for solo missions come, you will get solo mission. Until then, you pair up when needed. Understood?”

Grumbling, Satoru nods and turns to look outside the window at the grey skies and he counts the first few drops of snowfall before they eventually get dismissed. Kicking the chair out from under him, he starts to walk out as soon as Yaga’s retreating figure passes the threshold. Suguru’s head follows him as he goes, lips pressed together but Satoru pretends he doesn’t see. The boy with short black hair doesn’t chase him, but his voice does follow as Satoru is about to cross the door.

“If you didn’t wanna go on missions together anymore, it would’ve been polite to tell me first and then we’ll talk to sensei. You didn’t have to say it out of nowhere and try to avoid me after.” Tone clipped, Suguru slowly gets up and begins to gather his things.

That gives Satoru a pause. His palm suddenly feels cold and scratchy, wanting nothing more than to grip Suguru’s arm like always and confess, no sorry, it’s not that I don’t want to go with you, it’s just I recently had a visceral reaction to you doing nothing more than sitting and eating and it’s fucking with my head. Let’s blame puberty.

He doesn’t because, obviously not but Suguru, as unbothered as he tries to act, has his shoulders tense and fingers taut and he doesn’t sound angry or confused or sad, just disappointed which is a worlds worse. He looks resigned, almost, like this is something he’s been preparing himself for.

“I’m not tired of going on missions with you.” Satoru walks back in to say, separated only by a desk. And he’s earnest with it. “We’re the strongest. You’re my best friend. Who the fuck else would I want to go with?”

“I don’t know, Satoru. You tell me.” Suguru is finally looking up at him from his materials, slipping out from behind the desk and ambling a bit farther. Satoru hates that he’s feeling his heart thrum beneath his veins, that he wants to reach out and pull Suguru under his arms. “What the hell was that, then? With sensei?”

The class is quiet, save for their soft breathing; the falling snow muting much on campus and it feels like it’s only the two of them in the world. Gojo Satoru has never had any reason to lie. Right from his birth, with the importance of his existence, he always felt it was beneath him. But standing there, he suddenly needs to see the cloudy look on Suguru’s face, his features schooled and guarded like it was when they first met, to disappear. So, he pulls something from straight out of his ass and hopes it sound believable enough.

“A question. Just a question, I promise. I wasn’t trying to like,” he gestures vaguely. “I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just something I’ve been wanting to ask Yaga for a while. Like, come on, man, you know we could probably kill a few semi-grade 1’s between us. You’ve been absorbing some pretty powerful curses and I’ve been perfecting my technique.” He shrugs for effect, scratching his neck. “Just feels pretty redundant that they have two of the strongest sorcerers pairing up to kill the weakest fucking curses in the grading system.”

Geto’s look is heavy on his face and Gojo, who has always been a bad liar, struggles not to squirm. The younger boy finally cracks a smile. “Gojo Satoru, passionate about something?”

”How else am I supposed to get stronger, then, huh?” He whines. “Your sparring is shit.”

Laughing, Geto walks out of the classroom with him in tow. “You’ve lost like eight out of ten times, in a row, might I add? Sounds like it’s maybe not my sparring that’s shit?” 

“That was just beginner luck.” 

“Yeah, those two times.” 

“Hey!” 

They finally get to the entrance of the class building, laughter in their wake as they stand and watch the light snow fall. Suguru bumps into his shoulder and with his features entirely lax and soft, nods at the snow. 

“Think if you walk outside, I might lose you in the snow.” A smile that Satoru has only seen a few times, one that he likes to think is reserved for him, stretches across Suguru’s lips. “Like little pieces of you everywhere.” Then he strolls away like hasn’t just pushed Satoru’s world off axis.

He must’ve had stood there, threshold of the class building, just staring after the figure of something black, soft and beautiful encased in kisses of snow flakes because when the said figure turns around, crescent moons etched into his face, shouting, “You coming?”, Satoru feels the beginnings of an earthquake in his chest, something like aftershocks settling in his stomach.

”Yeah.” He mutters to himself, above the cacophony of the tide rising in him. 

Like little pieces of you everywhere. 

As Satoru runs after Suguru’s laughing silhouette, head thrown back, he’s jealous of the little pieces of him that come to kiss Suguru on whatever back of his skin is available.

February arrives in the heart of winter and finds Suguru as a ball of misery on his birthday. He’s turning fifteen, though, and it’s the first birthday of his they’ve celebrated together so Satoru is undeterred by his red eyes and blotchy face as he continues to prod his cheek. 

“Get up.” He says in between pokes. “Come on, Suguru. Shoko won’t wait forever, you know.”

The other boy all but growls at him but it comes out weak and nasally. “Can’t you just leave me to die or something? I feel like shit, Satoru.”

“You look it, too.” He evades the weak punch Suguru throws blindly at him. “But it’s your birthday. Can you please come outside and enjoy what we suffered to arrange for in the middle of this shitstorm, and then be miserable after?” He pokes him again. “I promise it’ll be fun. It’s just us three, yeah? Please.”

“It’s always just us three,” Suguru grumbles, then huffs when Satoru won’t let him roll over. “So don’t act like that’s supposed to change my mind. I remember telling you that I don’t want anything for my birthday.” 

“Oh, you did? Sorry, must’ve stored that in the Suguru’s Regular Bullshit part of my brain. Not a lot of space there, these days. Get up!” The white haired boy whines, shaking the pathetic shape on the bed. 

Suguru groans and finally rolls unto his back. “God, I hate you. Get out of my room, I need to shower.” 

Satoru beams.

By the time Suguru makes it out into the lounge, Shoko is about to dig into the cake and pauses midway, caught. She then dips her finger in the icing and unabashedly rubs it on her tongue. 

“The beauty awakens. I was starting to think Satoru’s true love kiss didn’t work.” She smiles at him. 

“Shut up, Shoko.” Suguru grumbles, blanket wrapped around him like shawarma as he shuffles over to the couch, warily eyeing the two boxes on the coffee table, cake, booze and too many other things. “Where the fuck did you get alcohol? You’re sixteen going on ten.”

“Trade secret. And fuck you, I’ll have you know I look older than my age.” Shoko locks her gaze on his as she dips her finger in the icing again. “Now come sit down and try not to look like one of the bodies in sensei’s morgue. Look alive, it’s your birthday.” 

“I don’t feel alive.” He sits down next to Satoru, body heat pressing into him even through the blanket. Or maybe Suguru is just burning up beneath it. “You do know sensei will kill us if we get caught, right?”

“That’s why we don’t get caught, bitch.” Shoko turns to the cake again before Suguru pushes it out of her reach and she pouts.

“Plus, Yaga’ll kill us for less. Might as well.” Satoru reaches for the table and blindly grabs whatever snack he can reach and pops it in his mouth, sputtering as he struggles not to spit it out only a second later. “What the fuck? What’s in this, vinegar? Who would buy this?”

“Ginger. It’s gari. And you did.”

Gojo downs half a bottle of water, ignoring Ieiri then shakes his head, muttering to himself. “Was I drunk?”

“Nope, but you’re about to be!” She says excitedly. Throwing her hands in the air, she exclaims. “Shots!”

Wincing, Suguru leans over Satoru to grab a piece of the garlic sushi, chewing softly. “I don’t think you can do shots with beer?”

“Shut up, country boy. Everything is possible with the power of beer!” She shoots over her shoulder from her newly claimed position on the floor, using a pair of scissors to cut open the wrapping and tossing each of them a can.

Grumbling, Suguru rolls his eyes. “This is the most animated I’ve ever seen you and I know it’s not because it’s my birthday.”

“Shoko’s practicing to be an alcoholic.” Satoru helpfully supplies as he stares at the can his hand. “Yo, what flavor is this?”

Blinking thrice in rapid succession, Shoko slowly turns her neck to stare at him. “what flavor is…beer?”

“Yeah. I’ve never had one before. Is it sweet, salty, savory?” 

“It’s fucking beer. It tastes like beer.” The brown haired girl covers a twitching eye and hands Suguru a knife. “Please cut your cake before I get tempted to dissect that idiot.”

“Hey! Asking questions is an integral part of learning.”

“Obviously not for you. Every single time you ask a question, I can swear on Suguru’s life it’s dumber than the last.”

”Wait, what?” Suguru croons. “Why my life?”

”Well, even for a person as stupid as Satoru, statistically there’ll have to be times he asked questions that made sense so I’m not swearing on my life.”

Satoru is about to throw a pack of whatever is on the table at her head when Suguru’s amused chuckling cuts them off. He asks Shoko to light the candles with her lighter and they sing the birthday song to him. He smiles, eyes closed and face red in the low light of the living room and Satoru thinks he looks beautiful, even more so when he concentrates to blow out his candles.

After the, thankfully sweet, cake had been cut and shared and the room died down into a low hum while they eat, Satoru elbows him softly and asks in a voice two paces above a whisper, “so, what did you wish for.”

It happens then. 

Suguru’s eyes trail down his face and finally land on his icing stained lips and there’s a hint of smile on his face, eyes relaxed and aura unbelievably soft even from under that huge blanket. They stay like that for a few seconds that feels like it stretches into minutes, shoulder to shoulder, Suguru’s eyes on Satoru’s parted lips and Satoru’s eyes a little wide, breath a little held. Suguru leans maybe an inch closer before he seems to get himself and rest back unto the couch, a real smile carved on his mouth. 

“Can’t tell you. I really, really want this one to come true.”

Satoru swallows and finally breathes. Would he stupid to think…was Suguru about to kiss him? He’s happy for the low lighting, because at least it’ll conceal the redness on every visible part of his body. Suguru might’ve wanted to kiss him, he realizes, and honestly, he’s not sure he would’ve pushed him away.

“Okay, done! Drinking time.” Shoko wiggles her shoulder, unaware of the tension Satoru is feeling.

Suguru laughs again. “Is that why you shoved everything down your throat?”

Squawking in mock offense, Shoko smacks the blanket. “I did not!”

As they banter and tease each other, Satoru pops open his beer, the hissing sound downed by their noise. He throws his head back and downs as much of it as he can in one go, eager to not think about how close Suguru is to him or how their knees more than likely would be touching without the duvet as hindrance. He doesn’t choke but it’s a near thing. The taste is bitter and he hates it but he knows he can’t spit it out if he actually wants to wipe his memory. He props the half empty can on his knee, ear ringing in the sudden silence that has formed with both his best friends gaping at him.

“Well, fuck. You could’ve at least waited for me.” She says, opening her own can gulping it down, face placid as a tell of how many times she’s done this before. 

Satoru grins, jibes, “wanna see how many we can drink before Yaga finds out?”

“Shut up. You know I do!” Shoko hollers. 

Ignoring the strange look Suguru throws his way and the bitter fore and after taste, Satoru keep drinking and drinking until he can’t even be sure he exists and is not actually floating through a space time continuum. Everything feels blurry and fuzzy and he can hear Ieiri yelling something dumb in the background but he can’t control his limbs or brain enough to make fun of her for it. He thinks she’s singing, dancing, maybe but can’t be sure. He is sure though, in the haze that Suguru has foregone discretion and somehow just kept his eyes on Satoru’s, instead of glancing away like usual. 

It feels good, Satoru decided. Suguru’s undivided attention. It makes him want to perform, do something stupid so he’ll be worth Suguru looking at like this forever and ever. A thought occurs to him on the relativity of the beer and this nice floaty feeling. He concludes, then. More beer equals more feel good. More no think.

Suguru, in all his Suguru-ness, pressed to his side, reaches over and slaps the back of Satoru’s palm when he tries to pick up another can of beer. There’s a whisper in his ear about slowing down or something like that but Gojo can’t tell where it comes from. Fireflies dance in his vision whenever he blinks but he’s struggling to sit up, anyway, beer forgotten. Shoko is dancing and he wants to dance, too but then she’s missing a step and crashing into the left side of the couch face first. Someone’s laughing. It takes Satoru a while to realises it comes from him.

“S’guru shut up.” Shoko hisses to the boy who didn’t even speak as he groans and rights her on the sofa. “Su-Suguru you’re soooo dumb. L-let’s take a picture. Suguru, Suguru let’s take a picture.”

“Why me.” The boy in the blanket whispers to himself for the uncountable time that night. “God, I’m a good person. I don’t deserve this. We’re going to be so fucked in the morning.” It’s not funny, really but Satoru is doubling over in laughter like he’s just witnessed a top tier circus act. The unimpressed look Suguru levels at him has the laughter bubbling up all over again. He. Feels. So. Good.

“Country boy’s don’t swear.” Ieiri scolds with amusing seriousness, face scunrvhed in something that’s more pouty than stern. “But it’s— it’s…birthday! So I’ll allow it.” her words are a barely comprehensible drawl as she pats her pockets frantically for her phone before Geto hands it to her from where it was on the table. She looks up at it, wide eyed. “Did that— did that just blip into existence?” She looks up at the ceiling, teary eyed. “Thank you, god.”

“For fucks—“ Suguru grumbles. “Just take the damn picture so we can go to bed.”

“Right!” She beams, as though remembering an important mission. Shoko fumbles with the phone for longer than necessary and Suguru is tempted to help her but it’s funny to stare at her determined face before she successfully pulls ups the camera and leans in closer to him. “Yo, terrible box dye, come closer!”

“What’s a terruh—terra—terruhbule box die?” Gojo mutters to himself, reaching for the beer again before his hand is slapped. He cradled it and sulks.

“You are.” Geto rolls his eyes then pulls him into a sitting position from where he was sprawled, gangly limbs and all, half on and half off the couch.

Once Shoko is satisfied, she leans even closer and whispers to Suguru conspiratorially, thinking it’s Satoru, “Let’s kiss Suguru on two!”

“Wait, what!?” Said Suguru’s head snaps towards her.

“What’s a Suguru?” Satoru asks, shaking his fist, head down like he can’t comprehend something extremely important.

Ieiri hisses, “the tall thing with black hair, you dishonorable sack of potatos.”

“Su-gu-ru.” Satoru blinks him into existence, smiles. “Suguru pretty.”

“Yes! Suguru so pretty and dumb.” She nods to herself. “Kiss, kiss, okay? Ready? Two!”

Before Suguru can even think to protest and ask if she forgetting something like maybe, one? Both  friends on either side of him press their lips to his cheeks and Shoko manages to snap a few photos in rapid succession, giggling as she pulls away. Satoru lingers, almost swaying, lips pressed dangerously close to the side of Suguru’s lips instead of his upper cheek lik Shoko’s was. It takes him a second but he eventually pushes himself back, bringing blurry fingers to his tingling lips. Then he grins. 

Feeling something roil around in his stomach, Satoru leans back, satisfied. He’s lovesick, he decides, for pretty Suguru and it doesn’t feel half bad to his muddled brain. Romantic. It’s so romantic. 

A glance at a stunned Suguru who eventually huffs out a laugh, eyes crinkled and close as he gazes at Satoru and says, “Huh, I guess those wishes do come true.”

Before the white haired boy can even think of comprehending the words, something flips in his stomach again and Satoru realises last minute that either lovesickness can be physical, or it’s not love sickness at all, as he hunches over the arm of the couch away from his friends and empties the content of his stomach on the floor.

Satoru wakes up and immediately wishes he died in his sleep. He doesn’t feel this way a lot. In fact, the last time had been when his parents confirmed his grandmother would be his new etiquette tutor — he could already feel the ruler smacking his arms, back and hands before he even got dressed for the day. 

His head feels like lead whenever he blinks, pinning him to the bed. The blinds are thankfully drawn and the room is in perpetual darkness. He isn’t sure what he would’ve done if he woke up to the bright sun shining down on his face. Groaning, and pressed with the need to pee, he rolls over on his bed as opposed to standing up, hoping to fall on the soft Persian rug he had in his room. 

He falls on a body instead, and yelps. Which, really, does his head no favors.

“What the fuck?” Slurs the writhing body beneath him. A body that sounds awfully like Suguru. “Why?”

Scrambling to sit up, Satoru accuses, “why’re you on my bedroom floor?”

“I didn’t want to sleep on the couch.” Suguru gives no future explanation, rubbing at his eyes blearily. 

“What happened to your room?”

“Shoko’s in it.”

Eyes widening, a series of scenarios play behind them and they all involve Shoko, Suguru, unholy things. He shrieks. “Shoko!?”

“Why’re you-“ Suguru groans then pulls his ear and narrows his eyes. “Not like that, you idiot. She was too drunk to go back to her dorm last night.” 

“Oh.” Satoru settles. Then, at the mention of last night, the memories come rushing towards him, making his head pound even more. He groans and shuts his eyes. “Oh fuck, please tell me I did not actually—“

“Make me clean up vomit on my birthday? Oh, yeah. You did.”

Wincing, he buries his face in his hands. “What a shit show. You can punch me if you’d like.” 

Suguru flicks his forehead, instead. “In your current state? You couldn’t take it. Don’t overthink it. It was actually pretty fun, projectile vomit and all. I enjoyed myself, so thank you or whatever.”

Gojo bites back another groan, leaving his red face in his hands. He wonders if Geto is talking about the party in general or the dubiously-not-cheek cheek kiss they shared. He knows it’s pathetic to get flushed over something so platonic, something Suguru probably doesn’t even remember but his lips tingle again, unable to stop thinking about it. 

The door flies open and a miserable looking Shoko glares at them. “Can you guys keep it down? My head feels like someone sawing through my bones.”

Rolling his eyes, Suguru adjusts so he’s moved away from Satoru who mourns inside. “Your fault. You’re the one who brought enough alcohol for a whole school bus.”

Redirecting her stare, she bites back. “Shut up, Suguru. Why the fuck are you not miserable right now?”

“Um, because I had the sense to not drink on a school night? Sensei’s already asking for us, by the way.”

Falling to her knees and then slumping to the ground, theatrically, Shoko and Satoru begin to fake cry in tandem. “Oh god, please no. Isn’t it like 5AM? It’s too early to be punished.” 

Shrugging, Suguru goes to pet her hair. “Poor you. I guess you should’ve thought about that before you sponsored underage drinking and made so much noise, the third years had to come over to tell us to shut up.” 

“This is all your fault, Suguru. If Yaga makes me run laps in the snow snow, I’ll kill yourugly ass. Why did you have to be born? If you didn’t have a birthday, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

He continues to pet her hair softly, mischief dancing all around him. “Okay, ouch. But I told you guys I didn’t want anything so don’t look at me. Besides, that’s not what you were saying last night. Kiss pretty Suguru, was it?”

“Nope!” Shoko abruptly stands up, brushing him off as she stomps away. “I’m going to go die or scrub my mouth with a plunger. Whichever comes first. Maybe both.”

Suguru’s huff of laugh follows her as she leaves and heads to her own dorm, flipping him a bird over her shoulder. Satoru sighs and immediately stands up, too, rummaging around his room to prepare for a shower. Suguru just watches him prance around and leave, stare heavy and all Satoru can thinks is: he remembers. he remembers. he remembers.

Satoru pouts as he leans on the cart beside Suguru who’s studying a carton of milk, head throbbing not only from the hangover he’s still nursing but from the hard smack Yaga leveled subjected his poor skull to. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this.”

Suguru hums, finally making a choice, and loads the cart with three cartons. “It’s not so bad. Can’t remember the last time I had to go somewhere with you that wasn’t a mission.”

He’s still a little sick so his voice is deeper than necessary. Satoru ignores it, skipping forward and pushing the cart as they move. “Would’ve preferred, I don’t know, getting ice cream to fucking shopping during rush hour. This blows .”

“You prefer getting ice cream over everything.” Suguru nudges him with an elbow. “Plus, it’s literally like nine degrees outside, why’re you thinking about ice cream?”

“I always think about ice cream.” The white haired boy counters, weaving past an old lady while they head to the fruit aisle. 

Realistically, he expected Yaga to be pissed but not spiteful. Satoru had to be smacked to shut up when he found out they were tasked with grocery shopping for the whole school. Granted, it isn’t much— just them first years, third years, teachers and assistants but it’s still way more people than the three they’re used to shopping for and as it’s the heart of winter, it’s a nightmare; expectedly. Shoko was given the wonderful job of cleaning and re-cleaning (Yaga stationing a curse to make the place filthy again once it’s done) the infirmary and dissecting a few smelly curses. When they watched her glowering before they left, Satoru couldn’t help but wonder which one of their punishments were worse.

But the drive over with Ijichi was admittedly nice. Even though the heater was on, Suguru still sat as close to him as humanly possible without literally being in his lap, hands draped behind Satoru’s head on the headrest as he tried not to overthink their proximity. The day started off wonderfully. 

Yaga made them go to the supermarket in the newly built shopping district at the end of town, the one always doing flash sales and with a crazy line, just to spite them so the drive was a bit long. Satoru let himself get comfortable until the reverie was broken when they had to be dropped off, Ijichi waiting in the cafe across the street with the really nice bagels. One look alone at the list of necessities in Suguru’s hands had Satoru almost crying. 

“Fuck,” he whines again. “Are we almost done? We’ve been here for ages.”

“It’s been forty minutes,” Geto says drily. “But, yeah, we’re—“

Gojo arch’s a brows and turns to see what got Suguru’s tongue when he finds it. A small curse about as big as a seven year old child attached to the ceiling and oozing something wispy and brown on the few people in aisle five. The area around it is moldy and blackens quick, lights flickering. 

The curses energy isn’t malevolent enough to be anything other than a grade three or four but then his eyes follow to a girl child, no more than seven, directly beneath the puttied thing and they widen a fraction behind his glasses, Six Eyes immediately picking up on her dwindling heat signature. It makes no sense. For a curse that weak, it should only be able to attach and feed from the kid’s negative energy at most so it’s surprising when he realizes that it’s not feeding on her signature but her soul. It’s sucking the life out of her, literally. 

He stands, perplexed for a second, before Suguru brings a hand up and absorbs the curse into a ball. 

“What the fuck was that?” Are the beginnings of the words forming on his lips when the lights suddenly flicker and die, casting the supermarket and, from the looks of it, whole shopping district in darkness, only aided by the sunlight streaking through the open windows and glass doors. 

A few confused murmurs arise and somewhere in there is a staff’s voice reassuring customers that everything is fine and will be taken care of in a second. Then, three things happen in rapid succession: Suguru swallows the curse, face scrunching up in distaste, the kid from earlier slumps against the adult who’s hand she was holding, causing the woman to gasp and move them about a feet away so she can lay her down on the ground and determine what’s wrong.

And, right where they were standing, the ceiling explodes.

A spindly thing, resembling an octopus if the tentacles were made of wispy smoke, emerges from the smoke or debris; human eyes, more than five dozen of them blink in and out of the mist that is it’s skin, fingers and other body parts writhing in the mass of ash and smoke. Satoru and Suguru emerge from a curse the other had conjured to swallow them up as a shield from the foreseen explosion. 

The screaming and vacation that has erupted around them feels like mud in Satoru’s ears on account of his eyes zeroing in on the twitching mass of smoke, limbs and bones that has manifested. 

Beside him, Geto glowers, brows twitching. “I’ll make sure they evacuate and summon a veil. I’ll be right back, Satoru!” Not waiting for an answer, he turns and runs.

The curse zeroes in on his retreating figure and, in a second, charges froward, spewing strings of words together. “Ch…child. You—you—you ate my child!”

It raises a tendril and aims at Suguru’s back. Satoru’s hands come up, sending the thing plummeting through shelves and shelves of goods. “If it makes you feel better, it probably tasted like trash.”

He draws a leg back, posture relaxed as the thing shrieks in agony, sending bits of ceiling caving, wiring loosing. Alert, he goes over all he knows. This curse is evidently stronger than the other one which would place it somewhere in grade two or semi-grade one. He knows Suguru and him can easily take it down with minimal property damage but his skin still prickles with a thing he can’t place. 

Something’s off, he thinks. 

The remaining working lights in the mart flicker incessantly as the last of the veil comes down. He hears Suguru’s footsteps rushing in just as the disgusting thing begins to get up. Something’s off. He can’t put his finger on it. 

He’s lost in thought, unable to detect when the curse lopsidedly gains its bearings and shoots forward three tentacles in rapid succession. He hears Suguru yell his name, sees one of the dark haired boy’s curses intercepting the thing, taking a bite into his nonexistent flesh. 

Something’s off.

“Focus!” He’s scolded and effectively brought him to the present. He dissolves his curse when the semi-grade one (?) appears to be gaining the upper hand. “The middle of a fight is not the time to be zoning out.”

Nodding, he manages to get his head back in the game just as another tendril plunges forward. Raising a hand, he contracts the space around the curse, twisting and bending until the air around it is compressed and warped like a closing maze then with a final flick of his wrist, it explodes, sending bits of smegma and absorbed human remains flying everywhere before it dissolves into a puddle of nothingness. 

It was easy to exorcise the thing. Almost, too easy. Once they’re done, he turns to a Suguru who’s already gone on a reprimanding tirade. 

“That was close, Satoru. Just because you’re powerful, doesn’t mean you can just not pay attention during a fight.” He smacks the older boy on the back of his head as they leave. 

Sulking, Satoru rubs his hair. “I think you forget nothing can—“

He’s cut off by the hair on the back of his neck rising. Something’s— off. Suguru feels it too, shoulder’s stiffening as they both turn around slowly. The air is pungent, charged with a powerful energy they’ve never felt before. It smells rotten.

There’s a girl standing a few feet behind them, Shoko’s height, probably and dressed in royal kimono, hands clasped together so they don’t show. Her hair is several shades of red and yellow, like licking flames, her eyes are squinted in what would be a smile if her lips weren’t stitched together — thread looping in and out of the flesh from ear to ear. 

They stare at each other for all but a second before she raises a hand to her face, and in one swift motion, undoes the thread, opening her mouth in a grotesque manner, face stretching to accommodate it. Satoru’s finger’s twitch. 

Something’s off.

Satoru couldn’t explain in detail what happened after that; his memory seemed to zoom in and out of existence, holes in the roofing of its foundation.

Summoning red.

Something’s off.

Suguru’s worm, obliterated. 

Something’s off.

Running, jumping, weaving, dodging.

Something’s off.

Manic laughter. 

Something’s off.

Suguru, in front of him, summoning a curse to guard them both. 

Something’s off.

The attack cutting through and hitting Suguru anyway.

Something’s off.

Blood, so much blood. None of it his. Suguru unmoving in his arms. 

Something’s off.

Domain expansion.

Something’s off.

And when the veil lifts, the knowledge of what he’d just decimated. 

Special grade. 

He remembers Ijichi finding them when it was all over, buildings and debris scattered about them, Satoru unblinking, un-breathing as he stares at Suguru’s limp body, his last words ringing in his ears. (A crescent smile, weak hands coming to touch Satoru’s shaking hands; “I’m sorry, S-Satoru. I wish I could’ve fought by your side longer. I’m sorry.) He keeps shaking, looking down at his best friend’s body — the image of Suguru scolding him as he pushed the cart only minutes before fighting with the one in front of him, a deep gash in his side, the pool of blood all around them, the permanent smile tattooed on his lips. 

Then, My fault, my fault, my fault. I should’ve known. Something was off. We should have left. Idiot, why did you jump in front of me? Why did you have to— idiot, idiot, idiot! Suguru…dead. Suguru— Suguru is dead.

He doesn’t even know he’s crying until his tears start to drip on the boy’s face. Ijichi tries to touch him, take Suguru out of his hands but Satoru’s grip tightens and his shoulders hunch protectively. 

To his credit, the man persists. “Let me see, Gojo-san.” Bringing two fingers up to Suguru’s pulse point, he seems to breathe raggedly in relief. “He’s alive but he won’t be for long. We need to hurry back to the school. If I drive quickly, we’ll be there in thirty minutes. He’s lost a lot of blood…”

Ijichi’s nervous rambling fades to nothing in Satoru’s ears. Alive. He’s alive! But, This much blood, he doesn’t have thirty minutes. He squeezes Suguru tighter, at odds of what to do. You’re alive, you’re alive. I can— I need— Shoko!

Then, out of nowhere, even in his exhausted and worn down state, Satoru performs yet another miracle that day. He shakily pulls the boy tighter, pulls his hands together, claps and — teleports. 

Like a man mad, he stumbles into the infirmary, warped out of seemingly nowhere and scaring Shoko to the bone. An alarm rings somewhere in the hallways of the school and briefly he thinks, That’s right, we’re not allowed to use cursed energy on premises yet. Footsteps follow but he’s only looking at a transfixed Shoko who’s eyes are glued to the boy in his arms. 

“Save him…” He croaks. “Please.”

And promptly passes out.

When Satoru wakes up, he feels like he’s slept for hours and yet, not at all. It’s midnight, he can tell, from the window facing his bed and his bones feel like ground sawdust. Wincing, he makes to stand up, about to swing his leg over the edge of the uncomfortable hospital bed when a voice stops him.

“If you move, I’ll kill you myself.”

Freezing, he turns to the source of the sound and finds Shoko slumped over a desk, mixing things in a vial. He manages a smile that he hopes doesn’t come out as a grimace. The mask he’s used to slipping on struggles to fit this time.

“Isn’t that kinda counterproductive?” Satoru rasps, settling back against the hard pillow.

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “But it’ll do wonders for my sanity.”

He huffs a laugh but stops when it grates in his head. Scanning the room in anticipation, he finds what he’s looking for; Suguru is asleep on the bed on the other side of the infirmary, shirtless and with enough bandages on his torso to be mistaken for a mummy. He feels something squeeze in his chest, forcing himself to look away.

“He’s fine,” Shoko reassures without even turning to look at him. “Stable. It took Yaga-sensei and I a lot of hours but he’ll live. And owe me big time. You too, you know?”

He smiles sheepishly at the haunting glare sent his way. “Yeah, can’t imagine it was a wonderful way to start your day. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” she grumbles before sighing and walking toward him, a couple of pills and water in hand. “Drink these. You should be feeling like shit right now with the way you exhausted your technique. You’ve been dead to the world for about fourteen hours.”

He does, scrunching his nose at the taste. “I slept that long?”

“You almost died, Satoru. Pulling a stunt like that.” Snapping off her gloves and with an air of being too mature for her age, Shoko walks to the door. “I’ll go tell sensei you’re awake, at least. Old man’s been denting the ground with worry. You better hope you don’t recover quickly because as soon as you do, he’ll kill you.” Pausing at the threshold, she turns and levels him a tiny smile, almost like a ghost the way it’s barely there. “But, we’re glad you’re both alive, Satoru. Don’t be so stupid again.”

He could’ve made a stupid joke, something to ease the newly formed tension and the sincerity evident in her words and eyes but he just smiles instead. “Thanks, Shoko.”

From then on, Satoru is subject to many visits: from the pitifully apologetic Ijichi who somehow blames himself, to the brooding Yaga who scolds Satoru about not only fighting a special grade but using a domain expansion (a topic they’d barely breached in lessons) even with the risk of killing everyone in the vicinity (it was successful, thankfully) and exhausting his technique further by teleporting for the first time — knowing damn well the dangers of maneuvering time as an amateur— (also, thankfully successful), a Kyoto third year named Mei Mei, Utahime and a handful of sorcerers who were interested in the two first years who defeated a special grade curse. In all of this, Suguru laid unconscious on his bed.

The more days that passed, the more anxious Satoru got about the jade haired boy ever waking up. It didn’t take long for him to get filled in on the missing part of his memories. The special grade’s technique has to to with mind altering, succumbing the mind to a matrix of half truths and hallucinations, of sorts. She feeds on good and bad memories alike (sending her messengers like the first two curses they’d exorcised to suck on unsuspecting non-sorcerers and as memories are the driving force of humans, the events that form you, she essentially feeds on the life force). 

It’s a dangerous power and somewhere between Suguru jumping in front of him to shield an attack and him almost dying, he must’ve figured it out. Satoru can only imagine the torture of un-surety that Suguru likely experienced when he was hit, unable to distinguish between real and fake even as he called Satoru’s name. 

Shoko and Yaga were thankfully able to extract the last of the curses energy from him so he should be good as new. All that’s left is waking up. 

“You keep staring at him, you’re going to burn a hole into his head and then I’ll have to clean Suguru brain matter off my walls.” Shoko says drily, rolling a toffee around in her mouth. 

Satoru blinks and drags his eyes away from the sleeping boy. 

“I already told you he’ll be fine. He’s not going to die if you take your eyes off him for two seconds.” 

So she must’ve noticed all the staring. Satoru can’t help it. Even as the days pass, even as he entertains visitors, even as he’d been cleared to head back to the dorms but still lingers in the infirmary, he can’t take his eyes off Suguru— can’t forget how he looked in his last moments, the warmness of his fingers on Satoru’s cheeks, the way he smiled, the words he spoke. 

Even as his memories were altered, he still remembered Satoru, as he lay dying. 

He blinks again to escape his thoughts. “It’s been almost a week. Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”

Shoko raises a brow. “Are you questioning the doctor?”

“You’re not a doctor.” 

“Maybe not yet but I’ve more or less perfected my reversed curse technique, else that idiot over there would be dead.” 

Satoru winces at the proclamation and fiddles with his fingers. Shoko softens, takes pity on him. She huffs as she launches something at him: the packet of toffee hitting his infinity before he catches it in his hands. He looks down at the sweet and stays like that for a beat too long, hair poking around his face. 

Gravely, he speaks, eyes finally lifting to stare at the window beside Suguru’s bed. “He jumped in front of me, you know?”

Shoko looks up at him, says nothing. 

“It’s like—he didn’t even think. He didn’t even hesitate. He just…he just jumped in front of me, and I don’t know why.” 

She pushes herself closer to her desk, props her chin in her palm to stare at Satoru. “It’s you. Of course he’ll jump in front of you.”

Satoru swallows, squeezing the candy in his fist. Why does she say it like that? Why? Why is it so easy for her to conclude? Why would Suguru— he falters, not wanting to think about it. How could Suguru…

“It was stupid of him.” He decides after the silence stretches too long. “I’m— infinity is always on. He didn’t need to— he almost died for nothing.” He chuckles harshly, angry with himself when he feels tears in his eyes. “If you weren’t— if you didn’t save him, he would’ve died and it would’ve been for nothing because I didn’t even need saving.”

Shoko hums, thoughtful. “Maybe. But then again, you always have infinity off around him so maybe he forgot it was a thing.”

An ugly, vile thing squeezes around Satoru’s skin, tightly enough that he feels his bone might break. His throat is heavy with sounds that are struggling to claw out and he’s adamant to push them down. He won’t cry. He can’t cry. Gojo Satoru does not cry.

The tears hit the skin of his knee, moisture spreading on his school uniform. Suguru who — Suguru who didn’t hesitate to offer his life in place of Satoru’s, who felt like Satoru surviving is somehow a better outcome than him. Suguru who is so stupid, who touches him without infinity, who feels the warmth of Satoru’s skin when they sit close. 

Suguru who died for him. Suguru who he wants to wake up for him. 

His voice is choked, sounding like he’s never heard it before. “I think I like him.” 

Shoko barely bats an eye at the confession, and Satoru somehow feels grateful once it’s out in the air. 

“I think I might, really, Shoko. But I don’t know how to like something like this. I’ve never been allowed to—“ he shakes his head. “But if this is what it does, then… it’s my fault. I always have infinity off around him because I’m selfish, I wanna feel — but then, that also means I’m the one who did this to him. I’m the one who put him on a hospital bed. What use is me liking him if it just hurts him!”

Shoko watches him as his breathing lowers into ragged panting. She makes no move to stand up to comfort him or reassure him. She just sits and watches until his tears die down and his head is once more lowered.

“I think you’re not giving him any credit and I think Suguru would call you stupid if he could hear you right now so I’ll do it for him,” she leans back in her chair, eyes fixed on him. “You’re stupid. The first time you lowered your infinity for Suguru, he ranted to me about it for hours. Oh, Satoru’s so warm, oh Satoru’s skin is so soft, oh, Satoru smells like candy. It was unbearable, he couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot the whole week. I almost socked him in the mouth.” 

Satoru’s mouth falls open, blinking up at her wordlessly. He didn’t know it meant so much to Suguru, too. Didn’t know baring himself made the other boy so happy.

“And unless you summoned a special grade curse for the fun of it, you’re not the one who put him in this bed, either. Suguru made a choice because, believe or not, he’s his own person who can.” As she speaks, the boy on the bed behind begins to stir. “He knew the consequences, he did it, anyway. You see what I’m getting at?”

At his silence, Shoko sighs, throws a glance at Suguru’s form and pushes the chair out from under her, rising. “Good. I need a smoke, anyway.”

“You’re sixteen.” He manages to croak, eyes fixed on Suguru’s rousing figure. 

“Yeah, and I also just watched two of my best friends almost die in front of me. I think that gives me a pass, don’t you? Anyway, I’ll try to stall Yaga from coming back too quickly — for some reason he seems to sense when one of you wakes up. Can’t promise you too long but make the most of your time, Satoru.” He turns to her smirking shape, hands on the door handle as she winks. “Wipe your eyes, eat your candy. Suguru doesn’t like the taste of salt.”

Before he can begin to ask what the hell that means, she’s gone. And Suguru is groaning and attempting to roll over, eyes squinted. Satoru hurriedly wipes his face and goes over to him. 

“Hey, easy. These beds are small as fuck, you might fall over.” He barely recognizes his own voice, guiding him into a comfortable position on his back.

“Satoru?” He mutters.

The white haired boy ignores the emotions he feels, almost freezing as he hears Suguru’s voice for the first time in six days, groggy and disoriented. He blinks away the sting that rises behind his eyes again.

He hums instead, clearing his throat. “Mm. How’re you feeling?”

“How I imagine Shoko felt after she drank eight beers that one time,” he huffs, closing his eyes again.

Then there’s suddenly a Thing in Satoru’s voice and it’s clipped yet soft. “Well, you’re joking around so hopefully you’re not beyond saving.” He smiles, fingers wrapping deftly around Suguru’s wrists as he squeezes. “At least, you’re awake.”

Suguru’s eye blink open to stare at him with an unreadable expression. “How long was I out?”

“Would’ve been a week tomorrow.”

A punched out, “oh.”

And a sullen, “yeah.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, just in contemplative silence. Satoru can’t stop looking at Suguru, can’t believe his eyes are open, mouth is speaking. He involuntarily squeezes again.

Suguru’s voice is soft when he asks, “have you been okay?”

Stifling a scoff of disbelief, Satoru narrows his eyes. “I’m not the one who almost died.”

He expects Suguru to wince, to close up, expression to darken or just anything in general to indicate his expected resentment towards Satoru. Doesn’t expect him to laugh gently, though. 

“Right, that. But I’m okay, though. Feel like shit but I’m fine. I wanna know if you are.”

He’s looking up at Satoru so earnestly that it just hurts. Frozen, he doesn’t know what to say, can only manage to stare back down at the younger boy while Shoko’s words echo in his ears. It’s you. Of course he’ll jump in front of you. With conviction, certainty. His heart begins to hurt again. 

Something flashes and settles over Suguru’s face and then he’s bringing his unoccupied hand up, fingers pushing hair out of Satoru’s eyes before resting on his cheek. 

“Satoru,” he says.

And Satoru inhales a shuddering breath, chest feeling wet and heavy as he leans into the touch. Stray tears stain Suguru’s palm like gold and he wonders how many more times he’ll cry like this for this one boy beneath him. Suguru’s thumb gently wipes his cheek, eyes fixed on him and Satoru wants to scream, break something, punch someone.

But instead, Suguru’s fingers are travelling to his neck and pushing his head down towards him. He squeezes his temple and flits from Satoru’s teary eyes to his open mouth. 

“Satoru.” He says again, like a prayer, a plea. 

The white haired boy answers by leaning down further, lips only inches apart with the ghost of Suguru’s warm breath fanning his lips. The boy beneath stares for s second longer, as if asking a question before he closes his eyes and presses their lips together. 

It’s everything, it’s nothing, it’s all he needs.

Satoru has never kissed anyone before but the way his lips fit perfectly against Suguru’s, the way they share one breath, it feels like he’s kissed Suguru a thousand times and is destined to kiss a million more. His chest finally collapses and he’s bringing his hands up to interlock in Suguru’s hair, trying to push him impossibly closer, trying to melt into him — mold them both into one big clay of sugurusugurusuguru.

He feels his heart weaving with Suguru’s, missing pieces slotting together and fixing themselves; their very own version of reversed cursed technique. It’s the most beauty he’s felt in his life. Satoru has always been greedy over mundane things as a clan heir, greedy over even things that don’t belong to him but this is the first time he’s felt himself be greedy for something so important. Something he wants to be his so bad.

Suguru makes a noise when he tugs his hair and Satoru files it in the non-staticky part of his brain for later. He knows he’s going to be reliving this moment from the minute it stops, thinking about it, dreaming about Suguru like this, with him. He never wants it to end.

But then the infirmary door is pushing open and they’re scrambling apart, struggling to be inconspicuous about their breathing. Yaga comes, trailed by an apologetic looking Shoko. Caught, he thinks but it doesn’t bother him. He still feels a little high with it, a little Suguru-drunk.

So then Yaga’s speaking to the boy on the hospital bed and the said boy keeps glancing at Satoru and looking away once their eyes meet. Something grows like sunflowers in his chest, he smiles and wipes his eyes, pops the toffee in his lips, waits out their company to leave. Suguru might appreciate some flavor in his mouth after being asleep for six days. 

After all, he doesn’t like the taste of salt. 

As a seventeen year old resident little shit, (recovery process is taking longer than anticipated) Satoru is used to fleeting regret. It’s never anything bigger than, huh, probably shouldn’t have said that but oh well! Once the consequences come bearing down his back. Not once has the felt regret so deep in his bones to the point of actual frustration. 

Sitting in the third year lounge after seeing Haibara and Nanami back to their dorms, Satoru wishes he could travel back in time to smack fifteen year old him for ever suggesting solo missions. Yaga, it seemed, had finally taken the one time request into consideration and now, with an empty dorm room all to himself, all Satoru seems to be capable of thinking about is Suguru who he’s barely seen in a week.

Suguru’s who’s grown into his skin, freshly seventeen, broad shoulders, toner from incessant training. His hair falls just above the middle of his back now, the wolf cut he’s sporting becoming more natural, strands of bangs swept across his face and his stupid smirk. 

Ever since they kissed in the infirmary a year and half ago and then kissed some more once Shoko and Yaga left, they haven’t been able to do anything else from there. Satoru was so sure it’ll be a smooth transition into dating, or something close to it but they just returned to normal. 

Well, if normal was Suguru’s stupid lips spreading into a small knowing smirk whenever he managed to spread a blush across Satoru’s pale skin or the way his eyes seem to follow Gojo’s whenever they’re in a space together, the way his voice inflects when he calls his name — something like Sa-to-ru~, something that twists in the white haired boy’s gut and the way, surprisingly, he ties his hair. 

The first time Satoru noticed Suguru tying his hair did something to him was also the first time he’d noticed it’d gotten longer. It was mundane, the activity. Mid conversation with Shoko, without even breaking the flow, he snaps a hair tie from his wrists and catches it in between his teeth, fingers pushing up to twist his locks out of his eyes and into a perfect little bun before he wraps the hair tie around it. He does it so mindlessly, like it’s second nature and Satoru hates the warmth that pools in his lower stomach, staring until Shoko levels him a look. Get a grip, her eyes say. 

And since then, Gojo has noticed, makes it a point to, even. He even started carrying around hair ties just to feel the heat his body produces when Suguru smiles at him with the rubber caught between his teeth — rubber that was wrapped around Satoru’s wrist a second ago. It’s pathetic that he thinks of it as pseudo-kissing. 

It wouldn’t be a problem, not really. Except, Suguru has been paying more attention to him lately, touching him innocently in places that burn his skin, getting souvenirs he knows Satoru would like and smiling when he watches him eat, plastering a tiny, self satisfied smirk whenever Satoru flushes from whatever word or innuendo he throws his way.

Recently, he’s stopped Satoru as he was about to cross the road, crouched down and tied his shoe laces, spewing nonsense about Satoru having to pay attention to his appearance more. Gojo had stood, then, rooted to his spot as he looked down at Suguru and felt things. It seemed the middle schoolers a feet or so away from them did too because his reddened pick up on their hushed squeals of, wahh, that boy and his boyfriend are so cute~

It flustered but reassured him at the same time. So he wasn’t overthinking? Suguru’s actions weren’t those of a normal friend? Would it be an overreach to assume he was being…courted? Because once, Suguru even fucking kabedoned him against the dojo wall and Satoru had never walked away so fast and when he finally gave in and rubbed one out in the shower, he came to his lips forming Suguru’s name in a broken gasp.

So, yeah. He might be a little worked up. And usually, Satoru doesn’t mind being horny. He just ignores it until it goes away or pumps into his fists with muted moans knowing Suguru is only a door away. It’s never been much of a thing for him from being raised as a clam head and never having time to being taught as a sorcerer and never having time. Satoru never thought twice about ignoring his needs but now he can’t seem to disregard the urge, his thoughts driving him crazy. It’s like an itch. Even when he was hanging out with his underclassmen, he had to keep a pillow on his lap because his cock was throbbing for some fucking reason and it was driving him insane. 

It definitely didn’t help that Suguru had sent him a short voice message from all the way over wherever the fuck he’d gone for mission, voice all low and breathy as he recounts a laughable encounter with a curse and since when was Suguru’s voice so baritone? Fuck!

Almost like he’s possessed, he mindlessly stumbles back into the dorm rooms, but he doesn’t stop at his door, no because that would be too sane of him. Instead, for some fucking reason, he goes further and halts at the entrance of Suguru’s room, finger hovering over the door handle. He stills, resting his head on the wooden frame. What the fuck is he doing? About to invade Suguru’s privacy when he’s not around? What kind of friend does that make him?

His cock twitches in his pants, a brazen reminder and he finds himself pushing the door open, resigned and thoughtless. Immediately, he’s hit with the acute scent of Suguru that has him almost shuddering. The dark haired boy’s room is pristine, as expected and Satoru would scoff if it wasn’t so attractive to him how very proper Suguru is. 

His feet lead him to the bed and he’s sitting down before he knows it, then laying. The ceiling fan is off but it’s nearly spring so the walls are cold. Satoru breathes in deeply, feeling so out of his depth. He turns on his stomach and buries his face in Suguru’s pillow and almost whimpers. Shit. He’s like a dog in heat. 

It takes everything in him not to rut against the bedsheets. He sits up and takes a deep breath, rubs his hands over his face. This is crazy. He’s gone fucking crazy. He shouldn’t be here. Suguru trusts him and it’s wrong, so wrong to take advantage of their bond like this. Childish hope because he’s turning to the nightstand and there it sits, innocent, inconspicuous.

A black hair tie. 

The edges are frayed so Satoru knows it’s been used. He swallows, tries to look away but he can’t. This hair tie has been on Suguru’s head, in his hair, on his wrist, in his mouth.

“Fuck.” He says to the empty wrong, a depraved plea. “I can’t.” 

He can’t, really. He shouldn’t. But—

Satoru reaches over and snatches the thing between two of his fingers, fights bringing it up to his nose to take a sniff and loses. His senses are hit with Suguru. Coconut shampoo. Suguru. Fuck.

He lays back down on the bed, mind reeling, brain fuzzy. He can’t. He shouldn’t. But he is. He’s shucking the shorts off in one swift motion and he’s reaching over to rummage through Suguru’s drawer throwing a Hail Mary, hoping. Fingers wrap around the bottle of lotion. Suguru’s. Suguru’s lube. Satoru has never felt like this before, it’s scary. The obsession, sheer need. 

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. Popping open the bottle, he squirts an obscene amount on his already rock hard cock — for fucks sake — and twitches as his fingers come to spread, rubbing up and down the shaft. He hisses and sees stars for a second, feels the consequences of denying himself pleasure all these years, the build up immediate. 

Then he finds it in himself to hesitate for a second, just one second. It’s a pathetic attempt, anyhow, because he’s, in his next breath, sliding the used hair tie down to the base of his dick. A spasm rocks his body and he has to close his eyes and breathe through his nose just to not cum on the spot, stomach contracting. It feels so good already, the glide, so slick and hot and wet and his breathing comes out in shaky gasps. Fuck, how long has it been since he touched himself like this? Months definitely, more than a year, maybe. In between all the new missions he’s had to go on alone and the rare ones with Suguru, he just hasn’t found time. 

He won’t last, Satoru knew this from the moment he stepped into the room but he attempts to drag it out as long as physically possible for the principle of it. It’s a weak attempt, yes but fuck knows when he’ll have this opportunity again, to feel a bit of Suguru on him like this. Blood rushes to his ear as he easily imagines Suguru in place of the hair tie, imagines his rumbling voice, his condescendingly cocked newly lined brows, his breathy laugh.

Fuck, fuck, no. He’s supposed to edge it out, not have his leg shaking so quickly, the beginnings of an orgasm building up but try as he might to remove his hands, Satoru can’t manage to control himself and ends up cumming like that, legs pressed together, a punched out whimper sounding roughly like Suguru’s name dragging from deep in his chest. 

It feels so good, too good. So when his eyes open and come to face Suguru’s surprised one’s at the room door, it takes him a second to realize it’s not a post-orgasm illusion and then he’s scrambling weakly into a sitting position even though it does nothing for the compromising position he’s caught in.

Suguru comes back to his dorm and Satoru is fucking giving himself a handjob on his bed. What the fuck? The look on Geto’s face says. Satoru’s mouth twitches in worry, dread. He contemplates joking it off but is wise enough to know that won’t work in this situation. Suguru’s eyes flit down to his still exposed cock and his surprise melts into something akin to the look he’d given Satoru in front of his room door when they were fifteen: predatory.

“Is that my hair tie?”

Looking down, Satoru finally has the sense to cover his placid, twitching dick, spewing nonsense on the way. “What, no! It’s not even— it’s just a random hair tie. You’re not the only one with those around here, Suguru.”

He smiles, bag thudding to the floor by the door. “Don’t insult me by lying, Satoru.”

Satoru’s brain is on hold as he stutters the only thing he can think of, “you…you’re back early.”

“Mm.” Suguru acknowledges, strolling leisurely to his bed like he hasn’t just caught his best friend cumming in it. “The curse was weaker than I expected. Sent you a text but I can see you’ve been occupied.” 

Gojo opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is an embarrassed croak. His face is falling hot, throat bopping as he swallows around nothing, eyes trailing Suguru’s form as he comes to a halt at the foot of the bed.

“Even got you a souvenir, you know? Was thinking of you, killing curses while you were, what, fucking yourself on my hair tie, Satoru?” He finally settles on to the bed, stretches out a hand and wraps long fingers around Satoru’s ankle. 

“Suguru—“ he finally finds his voice with a gasp, burning all over, then stops, not knowing what to say. 

“Yeah, you were moaning my name just like that.” He grins like a piece of shit. “Wanna explain to me why that is? Why you couldn’t keep this to your room, Toru?” 

“I—“ Satoru yelps as Suguru pulls him by his ankle, dragging him closer until his legs are splayed over the younger boy’s legs. “I— I didn’t—“

“Expect me to be back so soon? Yeah, I got that bit. Do you fuck yourself on my bed everytime I’m not around, Sa-to-ru~?” Suguru rasps conversationally as his free hand reaches up to undo his hair from a bun, eyes unmoving from Satoru’s shaking form.

”I’m sorry.” Satoru hangs his head, acutely aware of how his heart is pounding in his ears from insane embarrassment. “I’m sorry, it’s fucked, I know. I—“

“Gojo Satoru apologizing? That’s a first.” Suguru butts in, ignoring his hands that ball into a fist, used to it. Satoru replaces emotions he doesn’t know how to feel with anger.

“Stop it, it was a mistake. I’m not…I don’t do this all the time. Today was just— I’ll fuck off, okay?”

Cocking his head, Suguru cranes his neck so he’s all in Satoru’s personal space, staring up at him from where the white haired boy’s head hangs low. There’s a manic grin spread on Suguru’s lips, widened so his cheeks rise high. “Now who said anything about leaving?” Squeezing the hand around Satoru’s ankle, he whispers, “it’s a shame you don’t do this often, Toru. Would love to come home to the sight of you like this.”

Satoru’s brain short circuits, head snapping up towards him so fast, he feels almost feels whiplash. His mouth opens so say something, anything but then Suguru’s capturing Satoru’s lips in his own and his mains is reeling, chest closing in, body shuddering.

Geto smirks, most likely satisfied with his reaction just as he removes his hand from Satoru’s ankle to wrap around his cock. A debauched wail leaves the other boy when Suguru slides a second hair tie down it meticulously — the one straight from his fucking hair — dark locks framing his face as he looks up at Satoru, gives a fucking eye smile and squeezes.

Satoru feels like he’s drowning the way the air quickly collapses from his lungs, slumping forward with a thin breath. “Suguru.”

The other boy swallows a breath, flicks one long finger over Satoru’s cock head and his vision blurs for a second. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you? Broken like this and I’ve barely even touched you, yeah? You’re so easy with it.”

He’s languid with his strokes, slow in a way that makes Satoru preeen, turns his head into a puddle of pleasure and Suguru never once takes his eyes off him, stare following each movement, lips curling like a Cheshire Cat at each sound. Satoru’s legs shake on top of him, struggling to keep his noises down.

Suguru leans forward, not even a break in his movement while he mouth at Satoru’s collarbone, trails wet open mouthed kisses from his neck to his temple. “Pretty like this, you make me hungry, Toru.”  

Satoru pants, curses. It feels like pleasure is bleeding in from every crevice of his body, trembling as he is with the overstimulation of having cum only a few minutes before. It feels so good it almost hurts. He leans away, a bit, overwhelmed but Suguru just follows, insistent.

”You can’t do this to me, baby.” The dark haired man chokes on a breath and it takes Satoru a few seconds to see through teary eyes that Suguru’s shape is shuddering. “I’m a bit greedy, yeah? Can’t fuck with my head like this, I’ll want you all to myself.”

Baby. It resounds in Satoru’s head, followed soon after by the desperate way Suguru chases into him, the wanton way he squeezes around Satoru’s length, pushes into him almost like he wants to slush them together. It’s so much, ways better than all the times he’s imagined. Suguru wanting him so gutturally like this. It’s everything he’s ever needed. 

His second orgasm builds up with hints of pain in tune with Suguru’s now harsher strokes and the delicious dragging of both leather hair ties up and down his leaking cock, cum mixed with lube and the softness of Geto’s palm. It’s too much, all at once. Something chases up to is stomach, settles at the base of his dick; and he feels it, the pressure he feels when he needs to piss mixed with the blinding eager feelings of wanting to cum. It feels so good, too good. 

“Wait, Su-Suguru,” He manages to move his heavy tongue in tandem with his brain but it’s swallowed by a high pitched whine. “Wait, wait. Please. I-I can’t— please, I can’t.”

Suguru nips at his neck, a cut off yelp making him smile into the skin. His voice is strained when he answers, “you can, Toru. You will. Won’t you? Come on, you can take it.”

“S’too much. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” His mouth can’t form any other words, hoarse in his throat, it’s all he can think to say because everything feels so good all at once but it also burns and Satoru feels even more tears roll down his cheeks. “Please, I—“

Suguru, high flush on his face, dark, blown out pupils looking down at Satoru, rushes forward and presses their lips together, licking into his mouth, biting his lips and swallowing every strained sound that Satoru pushes out. His hot tongue feels like heaven in the heat of Satoru’s mouth as he’s lapped at inside out. Pulling back, a string of spit between then, Suguru presses his lips to the side of Satoru’s lips, hands shooting up and and down with such speed, then he kisses his jaw, his chin, pushes a tongue inside of Satoru’s ear, grunts, “Cum for me, Toru. That’s it, let it out, pretty boy.”

Satoru’s domain expansion: Infinite Void provides him with the unfiltered knowledge of the universe from its beginning to its ending, it shows him everything and nothing at all so he’s not stranger to being a God. But when he finally tips over and sends streams and streams of hot cum staining his chest and Suguru’s, he thinks he sees the universe in its true nature for the first time —  and it’s a grinning, flushed Suguru through blurry eyes, hair disheveled from where Satoru has pulled it and lips bitten red. He thinks, then, if he were to die in this moment having seen nothing else, he would be grateful to be the chosen one.

And, as the thought crosses his mind, he slumps forward and passes out.  

Every two weeks, on a Sunday night, Satoru, Suguru and sometimes Shoko when she’s available, gather in the third year dorm communal kitchen, hunch over packets and packets of ramen since it’s all they know how to cook, make as many as they can in various varieties, and head up to the one spot in the roof with a concrete square shaped pillar breaking the drop off, set up a projector and watch old Japanese romance movies so they can laugh at the bad acting. 

So when Satoru finds the kitchen empty after coming back really late from a particularly exhausting mission, he feels guilty as his eyes catch the packs and packs of unopened ramen sitting on the counters. They were waiting on him. He quickens his pace, wanting to find his friends before it gets too late outside. 

He’s freshly showered so bits of the exhaustion have rolled off in waves, and he’s also restraining himself quite a bit, battling the the excitement of seeing Suguru for the first time since the Handjob Experience, for lack of better word. They haven’t talked about it yet, and not for lack of trying. It was hard to when as soon as Satoru had woken up in his best friends room the next day, Suguru was already gone on yet another mission and Satoru had a few lined up for himself. They could barely even find time to send each other a few texts that weren’t funny emoticons. 

He’s not worried, though. Quite the opposite, actually. In less than two years, Suguru has not only kissed him two separate times now, flirted with him like his life depended on it, but he’d also given him the most mind blowing handjob of his life — not that he has many to compare it to but it’s the principle, or something. If that didn’t mean they were dating, Satoru wasn’t sure what did. He just needs to see the younger boy to make everything official. He even got Suguru a few souvenirs from Ginza that he’s sure he’ll like to celebrate. 

Satoru smiles smugly, skipping through the halls. See, he’s already being the perfect boyfriend. 

He’s coming from the dorms so he knows his friends aren’t there and they weren’t in the konbini at the back of the school so there’s only one other place they could be. Spring in his step, he damn near runs to Shoko’s infirmary (or, office as she likes to call it delusionally).

Everything’s about to be really fucking great, Satoru thinks, except not really because when he turns the corner, he can hear the muffled conversation two doors down. He’s about to walk over and slam open the door when he hears the desperation in Suguru’s voice.

“Come on, Sho. Please.” It makes Satoru pause, brows knitted together. Suguru doesn’t beg. “It’s fucking embarrassing.”

There’s something strained in Shoko’s voice as it comes, “yeah, well you deserve it because you’re stupid. You’re fucking stupid, Suguru. I can’t waste my technique on stupid.” 

“It’s not my fault!” Suguru counters. “I told him not to leave any marks, and not so high, too.”

Marks? Him? Satoru double takes, fingers twitch. Is Suguru hurt?

“And did you double check he was a good listener before letting him fucking maul you? You have hickeys everywhere, Suguru.” 

Satoru’s breath catches in his throat. Hickeys? But he and Suguru haven’t seen each other in a week. Why would— oh. Some people say heartbreak comes creeping into you like water receding at a shore. They’re wrong. It charges into Satoru like a blade, like the climax of every available instrument in an opera performance before the drop leaves him feeling hollow, as though he could fall in someone breathed in his direction the wrong way. His ears ring. 

Hickeys. Everywhere. 

Fuck. Satoru’s hand come up to clutch the uniform covering his chest. Fuck. He’d been so stupid, hadn’t he? Of course he was. What meant the world and then the universe to him had just been a mildly enjoyable experience to Suguru, something he could forget in the span of a week. He was fantasizing about morning kisses with Suguru, dates when they’re done with missions, fighting side by side until they decide to settle down together and Suguru was…letting someone suck love bites on his skin. Someone who wasn’t Gojo. 

The image ricochets in his head. A caricature of Suguru, face twisted in pleasure as someone that wasn’t Gojo made him feel good, touched him, kissed him. Someone who wasn’t Gojo.

He stumbles, feet looping with each other as he tries to turn, limbs failing. He doesn’t understand why he can’t breathe all of a sudden. He stumbles into a nearby door, noise echoing in his head. The infirmary door opens and Suguru peeks out, emerging fully once he sees him, confusion crossed in his features. 

Satoru wishes he hadn’t. Wishes he didn’t have to see the purpling skin all around his neck. Hickeys. He chokes, the image burning into his brain. Someone who isn’t Gojo. 

“Satoru?” Suguru sounds wary as he calls. “When did you get back? Are you okay?”

He can’t think, he can’t function, doesn’t even know how he manages to bite out the words, “Don’t feel well. Watch the movie without me.” Then he’s running like it’s for his life. He’s running and running and the pounding of his heart beat in his ears is the only reminder that it hasn’t disappeared after Geto Suguru inadvertently crushed it to pieces. 

Satoru ignores the knocks on his door the first few days when he’s holed up in his room and only opens when Yaga strings together some genuinely scary threats. When he’s assigned missions again, he always makes sure to sneak off school premises and teleport to wherever it’s located to reduce the possibility of having to face Suguru. It doesn’t wear on him as much as it did when he when he was fifteen, as he’s perfected most of his techniques, but it does have him feeling hollow everytime thinking that this is what he’s had to resort to. 

But Satoru can’t think of anything worse than facing Suguru in his current state. He just needs to figure out a way to stop fucking feeling like this and get it together but that’s laughably easier said than done. It feels like Suguru’s ripped his heart out and vaporized it then danced on the ashes. And it hurts so much sometimes that it’s physical — Satoru can’t count how many times he’s keeled over, unable to breathe or randomly thrown up when he thought about it too much. 

But then the Kyoto Sister School Exchange Event comes up and missions die down for a bit to have them prepare so Satoru has nowhere to go but back to the dorms — he can only visit the kobini and crepe shop so many times — and then when Suguru is reaching for him, he’s having to put effort into subtly turning away, avoiding hangout invites, making sure to be around him as little as possible in the dorms and putting infinity up all the time (because he thinks if he were to feel Suguru’s skin on his again, he might not be able to take it) and it hurts whenever he sees the pained, confused look on the dark haired boy’s face everytime but Satoru has decided the fastest way fo get rid of this Crush That’s Ruining His Life is to just cut it off from the source and then he can go back to being just best friends with Suguru the way the other boy probably wants and everything will go back to normal.

He keeps dreaming about it: nightmares, really. It starts with Satoru never learning to teleport that day, Suguru bleeding out on the dilapidated supermarket floor and then swaps out to the betrayed look on his face when he went to place his hand on Satoru’s arm and felt the force of infinity. His face immediately falls and he snatches his hand back like he was burned.

Then he’s looking up at Satoru with something like the mixture of hope and dread, voice low. “Did you…uh, is infinity up?”

Throat bobbing, Satoru nods a quiet, “Yeah.”

”Oh.” Is all Suguru says and it’s so terribly depressing, Satoru has to turn away so he doesn’t see when the younger boy steps away from him, only hears the sound of the door clicking shut just as he sits to the floor and, for a long time, cries.

Shoko tries to corner him and talk about it a few times but she gives off about the fourth time he offers her a playful smile and evades the questions like they’re sparring. It’s easy to revert back to the old Satoru — Satoru who always smiles, who never feels things, who doesn’t cry and who doesn’t hurt. It feels like a protective cloak of sorts so he lets himself sink into it, ignoring the worried looks from his friends, underclassmen and even Yaga.

Until Haibara catches him on the roof one cold day, staring at the setting sun with nothing but a glaze behind his eyes.

A wrapper waves and crinkles in front of his eyes, effectively pulling him from his daze. “I got you a souvenir, senpai.”

The cloak rises behind him and envelopes him, a smile spreading on his lips. “Really? You’re thinking of me even on missions? You’re so cute, Yu-kun!”

Haibara smiles back at the praise and sits next to him. “Geto-senpai requested it for you you. He said you might like something sweet.”

Satoru wonders if the physical mirrors the emotional because just as his lips twitch and settle out of the smile, he feels a jerk in his chest. “Ah.” Is all he can push out.

It segues into silence but Haibara doesn’t seem to mind for the few minutes it takes for him to speak again. “Geto-senpai is really worried about you.”

Humming, Satoru says, “is that so?”

“Yes, but not just him. Ieiri-senpai, too. And even Nanamin and I. We’re all worried.”

He involuntarily squeezes the sweet in his hand, a growing habit, tries to force another smile but doesn’t quite manage it. “Why is that? I’m right here and I’m doing fine, you can see that.”

Hesitating, Yu sighs. “Yeah, but—“ he shrugs. “I don’t know, senpai. For a second there you looked really, genuinely happy and now…”

“And now?”

“Well, you seem like you’re suffering, senpai. And I know it’s not my place but I just wanted to say if senpai needs some company, you can always come to me.”

Smiling, Gojo hums again and reaches over to ruffle the boy’s hair. Haibara’s a good kid. He unwraps the candy and pops it in his mouth just to see a smile on the boy’s face. Nothing else is said as they sit and watch the sunset together.

Suffering, huh? He smiles to himself, feeling his heart thud weakly in his chest like a replacement, a placeholder. He knows his real heart is somewhere in the building, hair tie curled around his hair and he feels longing like he’s never known, rolling the candy in his lips. 

I guess you could say that.

The first time Satoru witnessed someone flirting with Suguru, they were both fourteen and still in their I hate you stage so he almost ignores it. They had just finished exorcising a grade one curse in an abandoned school playground when a short, pink haired girl had walked up to them, blush on her cheeks, hands clasped behind her back as she spoke softly to Suguru, saying words only he could hear. 

Satoru was a few paces behind, lax as he strolled towards the entrance of the school where Ijichi was sitting in the car waiting for them. Suguru had stopped, politely entertaining the girl for a bit but Satoru could see the tenseness of his shoulders and restlessness in his fidgeting fingers. 

He would’ve walked away, could’ve done it so easily, too since they’d made it a point to ignore each other unless communication was absolutely necessary but he’d seen the helpless look on the other boy’s face and it had him, against his better judgement, walking up and throwing a hand over Suguru’s shoulder, spewing some nonsense about being late and needing to hurry up. 

The girl had flushed even more and began spewing apologies, while Suguru offered fake niceties but, bored and annoyed, Satoru simply dragged him along, barely giving him time to offer a polite wave to the figure they were leaving behind. 

Getting in the car, Satoru awaited some kind of scolding about how rude he was being but Suguru just turned to him and smiled, truly, genuinely, then thanked him. It was his own personal olive branch. 

As the years have passed, Suguru has evidently gotten better at evading advances, always quick to shoot them down. Satoru can’t think of one person the other boy has let flirt with him for more than two minutes at most. It became a thing for him and Shoko, amusing, watching and betting on how long it’ll take for Suguru to break a poor confessor’s heart. 

He didn’t need Satoru’s help anymore. 

But when he walked through the oasis at Kyoto high, on alert since they were playing a hunting game with the other school, and he saw one of the first year students flirting with Suguru, he felt an unscratchable itch, wanting nothing more than to march over there and rip him away from her manicured hands trailing his biceps.

Except, he doesn’t. He can’t, not when he stares transfixed because Suguru isn’t shutting her down, he’s actually encouraging it. Satoru stares at the scene from a safe distance for some time; the way Suguru smirks at her, eyes trailing up and down her body. The way he tilts his head and leans in a bit closer when he chuckles. 

It’s prickles his skin. Satoru hasn’t felt annoyance — no, anger like this in so long. It takes him back to the few months when he’s first met Suguru, put off by his self righteousness, holier than thou attitude. No one has ever been able to get under his skin as much as the dark haired boy.

He feels like a puppet, possessed with something as he marches forward and invites himself into the conversation, sidling up against the dark haired boy. 

“We’re in the middle of a fight,” is his greeting, pointedly looking nowhere at the girl. “You’re supposed to pay attention.”

Suguru barely glances his way and that ticks Satoru off even more. “I think I can take care of myself.”

He opens his mouth to say more when the girl interrupts. “Gojo Satoru? It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard a lot. I’m Hinata Imawaki.”

Narrowed eyes turn to look at her as he gives her his undivided attention. “Hm. And hasn’t anyone told you it’s bad manners to talk to your upperclassman so freely? Suguru here is two years above you, you know and you’ve kept him away from the tournament with your small talk.”

Flustered, Hinata bows lowly. “I apologise, Gojo-san. I was just—“

“What even is your technique anyway? Where are your classmates? Do you not have a plan? Don’t expect us to go easy on you just because you’re a first year, understand? Everything but killing is on board and there are a lot of things worse than death.” His eyes glow from behind his glasses and he watches the first year tremble. 

“Gojo—“ Geto speaks through gritted teeth. 

“I apologize, Gojo-san. I’ll be on my way!” Hinata is already scurrying away before she even finishes her sentence and Satoru’s eyes follow her retreating figure disdainfully. 

“Tch.” He rolls his eyes and extracts himself from Suguru’s side, missing the warmth as soon as he leaves it. “Suguru, you’re always going on about not letting your guard down during a fight. Take your own advice. Don’t be so hypocritical.”

His feet crunch on the autumn leaves in the oasis as he starts to walk away before a hand grips his shoulder with surprising force and spins him around. Coming face to face with Suguru’s anger, Satoru has to remind himself not to cower, steeling.

“What the fuck is your problem?” The younger man shoves a finger in his face.

Scoffing, Satoru decides anger will be better as he catches Geto’s wrist. “My problem? You’re the one compromising our chances of winning by cozying up with the competition.”

“Cozying up— Satoru, were having a fucking conversation! You must’ve forgotten what that’s like since you never bloody talk to me.” His brows are pinches together and it takes everything in Satoru not to reach out and smoothen them with his fingers.

Instead, he snarls. “Yeah, because her giving you fuck me eyes is how she asks about your day.”

“She wasn’t giving me fuck me eyes and, anyway, what’s it to you, huh? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me like I murdered your entire fucking lineage. Why do you care what I do with my time?” Suguru steps closer, an ugly look on his face as their shoes touch. Satoru’s fists clench, a reminder to not step back.

“I don’t care what you get up to, as long as it doesn’t affect our chances of winning.” He lies straight through his teeth. 

Suguru laughs but it’s a bitter, hideous thing. “Oh that’s bullshit and you know it. You don’t care if we win or lose. Why don’t you try again, and the truth this time. Why. The. Hell. Do. You. Care? Huh? Because last I checked, you were the one who stopped speaking to me out of nowhere, you can’t even be in the same room with me. This is the longest we’ve spoken for weeks. So what is it, then? You just — you just used me that night and what? Got bored? Felt disgusted? I would expect the strongest to not be so much of a coward that he runs to avoid talking about his feelings.” Suguru glares at him, words having a purposeful bite to them before, in the same second, his expression crumbles as he swallows and looks away. “You always fucking have infinity up around me now, and it hurts because I don’t even know what I did. What did I do, Satoru?”

He stills because Suguru sounds so utterly despondent that it actually hurts. Satoru feels the pain in his body, passing like tremors beneath his skin. He hadn’t thought it’d matter. Suguru obviously did not attribute the same importance to their night together as Satoru did. Hell, this is the first time they’re even speaking about it. 

But then something registers in his head and his tongue is flaming again, lashing out because now that he’s been given the opening, he needs to say it. “I used you?” Satoru has never felt himself so angry before so he knows Suguru is taken aback by the unadulterated rage in his voice because his eyes widen and he takes a step back. “I fucking used you?“

In the middle of a competition, surrounded by trees and Japanese deity statues on either side of the Kyoto jujutsu high oasis, Satoru finally learns to realises all this time he’s been something close to an angel surrounded by humans and so they revered him. Never the God he was made to believe. But as he registers the blood in his veins, the beating in his chest, the wind on his skin as he sheds his barrier, drops the cloak to the ground, he becomes something breakable. Something like human. And he learns to scream.

“You almost died in my arms, jumping in front of a shot that infinity could’ve deflected and then you wake up and act like nothing happened. You kissed me in the infirmary, multiple times, might I add and then acted like nothing happened. You gave me the best fucking orgasm of my life, fucking made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere, belonged to you. I felt like fucking I was actually something you wanted.” His fingers squeeze and settle at his sides, eyes burning with rage and bushes tears, he takes a step forward as Suguru falls a pace behind.

”You kissed me again and again in your bedroom, kissed me like a promise and then weren’t there when I woke up. You flirted with me constantly like you meant it, had me staying up late thinking up fucked up scenarios to myself which meant bloody nothing because they were always bullshit dreams. Always fucking dreams. And then, just when I thought— fuck, maybe this is it. Maybe this is where the build up ends, maybe this is where we become official, you went ahead to fuck someone else for some reason and now I can’t even—“ He chokes a breath, harshly wiping his hands across his wet cheeks, chest feeling like lead. “Fuck!” 

He blinks the blurriness out of his eyes and they come to rest on Suguru’s motionless figure. His eyes were laughably wide, mouth gaping, hands raised up in a surrendering motions as he stares at a crying Gojo. 

“Satoru,” he rasps harshly, finally. “Don’t cry, please. I didn’t— it’s not like that. It’s not what you think.”

Something like hope fluttered in his chest and he reels it in before it can bloom to his head and feet. “What’s it like, then? I saw your skin with my own eyes so don’t even try to deny it.”

Shaking his head, Geto swallows. “No, you don’t understand.”

Satoru crosses his arms over his chest and tries to make an image of anger he knows he fails at with his puffy cheeks and red eyes. “Make me understand, then. So you didn’t fuck someone else?”

Wincing, Suguru breathes. “No, I did. I did, I just… I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you— fuck, you’ve been carrying this for how long? Two years?“

It felt good, a little, to have the utter suffering he’d put himself through be acknowledged so guiltily by Suguru but his previous words didn’t fly over Satoru’s head. 

“So you did. You did sleep with someone else. Six days after we—“ he cuts himself off, arms flexing with how hard he had wrapped around himself. “And I kept thinking about it. Keep thinking about it. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I mean, it was just my first kiss and a handjob, right?“

“First kiss?” Suguru starts but is courteously ignored as Satoru goes on. 

“But I just- it meant something to me, alright? I’ve liked you since we were fifteen, probably even before that and I just never realized and it’s ruining my fucking life because here I am—“

“Satoru-“ Suguru stumbles closer.

“…fucking chasing after you like a lost puppy or something and it doesn’t even matter because you won’t spare me a glance. I’ll always be Satoru, best friend and guy I fooled around with once or twice—“

“Satoru—“ he’s a foot away, focused on Satoru who’s going on a tirade, tears streaming down his cheeks, puffy eyes closed. 

“…and it’ll never fucking mean anything to you, will it  because it was just—“

“Satoru!” He ultimately says loud enough, a breath away.

Gojo looks up, furrowed white brows, mussed hair and teary cheeks and he’s the most beautiful person Suguru has ever seen. “What?!”

“Shut up.”

Then he’s cupping his face in his and smashing their lips together. A strangled, surprised sound comes out of the white haired man as his eyes stretch hilariously, trying to pull away. Suguru doesn’t let him. He kisses him, even as Satoru gasps for air and leans back, he kisses him when Satoru opens his mouth to speak and keeps kissing him, just like that, for what feels like eternity until he feels the older boy melt in his arms then he smiles into the kiss, the bastard but Satoru can’t blame him when he tastes like toffee and salty tears.

They pull away eons later and Suguru is looking down at Satoru with something that is just so fond, it’s almost too much so he hides his face in the dark haired boy’s chest.

“You’re being unfair. I let you speak.” He grumbled into the material of his Suguru’s uniform. “You can’t just kiss away your problems, you know.” But he huffs anyway, placated. Fuck, he’s so easy. 

“Mm. You sure? Can I try?” He grins as his fingers curls under Satoru’s chin to lift his head, dark eyes staring down at him, pressing their foreheads together. “Kinda wanna be greedy right now and kiss you as much as I can before I have to explain.”

Satoru grabs a fistful of his uniform and squeezes so he doesn’t have to say something stupid like asking Suguru to be greedy, then. He doesn’t have to, though because the younger boy is kissing him again, a chaste thing. “Guess I can just explain mid kisses, right?”

Rosy cheeked, he scoffs. “Tch. You’re so embarrassing.” 

Suguru only smiles and kisses him again, fingers on Satoru’s pulse point as he smiles wider. He squeezes faintly, opens his mouth, “I’m sorry. I really am, Toru. I get selfish a lot and don’t know how to navigate myself.” 

Taking a deep breath, he pulls away from Satoru, leads them to one of the oasis’s walls to lean on. Suguru stares up at the sun streaming in through the trees of the forest, never at Satoru. “Everyone always thinks I have my shit together and it makes me feel like I have to but I don’t know what I’m doing, Toru. I never know what I’m fucking doing. I didn’t want to talk about it that time I almost died because, I mean, I’m pretty sure I loved you then, right?”

Satoru twists on his heels and turns to gape at his best friend. Love? Love?!

Suguru chuckles, blows hair from his face. “I know. Fuck, I need a cigarette. I’ve loved you for a while, honestly. Can’t tell you when but I’m sure I was when I jumped in front of you. But I didn’t want to talk about it, think about it. Because if no one talks about it, it doesn’t exist, right? And if it didn’t exist, I didn’t have to deal with it. But then I woke up from that coma or whatever the hell it was,”

He finally turns to Satoru, then. Eyes a little sad, smile a little hollow. “And you were there, Satoru. Six days stuck in an endless nightmare trying to convince myself you were real. I still don’t understand what that special grace curse did to me but I was losing my fucking mind and it felt so real, a world without you. We were older, I left and I—“ he exhales a shaky breath. Satoru’s heart contracts when he catches the tears trapped in Suguru’s lashes. It’s the first time he’s talked about what happened when he was asleep, first time he’s cried in front of Satoru. He wants it to go away.

”And you were there, real. Honestly, I wasn’t too sure you existed, still. Then, I kissed you and I knew the curse couldn’t replicate what I was feeling in that moment. It couldn’t be fake because I’d never felt anything so— real before, trapped in there. But I was scared, Toru. That’s the thing, I’m always so fucking scared and I’m always running away. So that’s what I did, right?” He chuckles angrily, shaking his head. 

“And I hurt you like a fucking idiot. I’m so sorry, baby.” He extends a hand, clasps Satoru’s fingers in his. “I thought I could handle it, pretend it didn’t exist like always but I come back and you’re looking like something straight out of my wet dream. I mean, fuck.” He laughs. “I’ve always been selfish, Satoru. What’s one more time, right? Except this time, hearing my name on your lips, I didn’t think I could pretend it didn’t exist anymore.”

Gojo feels his breath falter in his chest, gaze caught in Suguru’s violet eyes staring at him like he crafted the heavens one star at a time. 

“So I did something really, really stupid. I wanted to be sure. I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship, the most important thing to me, over me just being a honey dumbass. So on the last mission, I went home with someone. It’s fucking dumb, okay, I know? Shoko knows. But then I felt nothing at all because the whole time, I know how shitty this sounds, I kept thinking of you. Couldn’t even let the poor guy get further than kissing because it just wasn’t you.” 

Shuddering a breath, Suguru pulls Satoru closer. “I don’t want someone who isn’t you, Satoru. I fucked up, like royally, and I’ll always be sorry for it. I think that’s how you found me, right? And I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll say it forever. You started avoiding me and I kinda just thought maybe you regretted it, maybe when I was worried about ruining our friendship, it was already beyond repair. I didn’t mean it when I said you used me, by the way. I’m the one who took advantage of you that night. I didn’t even ask — you were clearly in a vulnerable state and I…”

He smiles, something painful. “Anyway, you put Infinity up around me and I got the message. That’s it. I know it barely makes sense but it did in my head at the time. I’m—“

”…if you say sorry again, I’ll fucking punch you, Suguru.”

It doesn’t make him smile like he hopes, it makes Suguru drop his hands and step back, a grimace on his face. “I’d deserve it.”

”You would,” Satoru easily agrees, smiling when Suguru winces. “But I’d rather kiss you, to be perfectly honest.” Rolling his eyes, Satoru grabs Suguru’s hands again. “You idiot. Don’t you know I don’t share?”

Geto stares at him, perplexed. “Are you saying—“

“You’ll make it up to me, of course. I’m not so easy to forgive you quickly. I want to be courted properly.” He brings Suguru’s index finger to his mouth, bites down softly. 

The yelp that follows is mostly out of surprise at Satoru’s words than any actually pain. “Yes, of course! You really are okay with…you really still want me?”

Huffing fondly, Satoru flicks his forehead. “You really are stupid, huh? You could be dying in a back alley somewhere with one hand and I’d still want you.”

A relieved grin eventually spreads on Geto’s face. “Specific.” He presses a short kiss to Satoru’s lips. “But I’m not complaining. Thanks for having me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

”All the crying I’ve done? You have no choice.” Satoru leans forward and finally, finally, truly smiles. 

Looking around the oasis, Suguru scrunches his nose. “Wanna get out of here and start on that courting early? I don’t think the Kyoto students really want to fight us and sensei and Gakuganji probably wont notice.”

”Mm. We could. But ever since I saw someone else mark your skin, I’ve kinda wanted to rip your throat out or replace every single spot with mine. We could go to the guest dorm and get started on option two?” He smiles slyly at the dark haired man.

Suguru shudders, then mirrors it with one of his own, eyes shining with mirth and something cunning as he says, “Ah. It’s a good thing the competition’ll last all night, then, right, Toru? Because I’m afraid he touched me everywhere.”

Satoru grins.