Work Text:
Suguru knows that he shouldn’t do this for one reason or another. His uniform would cover his arms, but there’s a chance he’d get hurt on a mission, and Shoko would have to check him, and she would see everything.
Or Satoru. Suguru laughs in the quiet darkness of his room at the thought. It feels like the first sound he’s made in awhile. He retired into his bedroom hours ago under the guise of sleeping, but he’s been awake ever since. Satoru's finding out is inevitable. Even if he’s been busier than ever, he’s so clingy with Suguru. All it would take is a miscalculated move, and Suguru’s secrets and shame would be out in the open. With or without Six Eyes, it’s impossible to hide anything from Gojo Satoru.
Still, he bought the pocket knife for a reason, didn’t he? Suguru stares at the small knife in contemplation. It was an impulse purchase, and he still has the receipt. Tomorrow, he could walk back to the convenience store, hand the bag over to the cashier, and never think about this night again.
But.
But, the guilt from Riko’s death is gnawing at this skull. Riko’s death and Satoru’s supposed death. Suguru feels his chest tighten. All the emotions he felt when he thought Satoru died came rushing back. The anger, disbelief, and pure agonycloud his brain at an alarming rate. Satoru hadn’t died, but a part of him must have. Suguru couldn’t help him back then and now? Now, Satoru was mastering techniques beyond Suguru’s comprehension. Satoru doesn’t need Suguru now. Not that Suguru thinks he would’ve been much help regardless.
Yuki’s words of a new world that could exist without curses rings in the still air.
Without curses, Riko would’ve never been in this situation; without curses, maybe Suguru himself wouldn’t be the way he is.
He stares at his forearm. His body hosts curses even when it shouldn’t. His throat will expand, stretch to accommodate the cursed energy before they rest inside of him, ready at his beck and call. The negativity of non-sorcerers rests in his flesh, and if Suguru wishes to be useful, it must remain that way.
It’s not fair that he has to bear the sins of non-sorcerers. It’s not fair for him or Satoru or Shoko or Nanami or... or Haiba.
His cursed technique makes his body an almost foreign vessel. Sometimes Suguru wonders how much his body can handle before it breaks. How much pain does he deserve, exactly?
There’s blood being drawn before Suguru is fully aware of what he’s doing. A clean line of red beads to the surface on his wrist, right above the vein. It hurts. A sorcerer is no stranger to pain, but this was different; Suguru did this. No enemy or cursed spirit is out for his blood. Suguru is safely inside his bedroom, and he’s still bleeding.
He needs to stop. Get up, wake up Shoko, make up some bullshit excuse about the cut, and move on.
Suguru does it again instead. Like a penance. Why didn’t he do a better job projecting Riko or work harder to keep up with Satoru, or why didn’t he even come up with the idea of eradicating curses in the first place?
Manically, he thinks if he cuts deep enough, he can reach and seize the cursed spirits inside of him.
Moonlight reaches through his window, barely giving a glimpse to the absolute mess Suguru has managed to make of his arm in barely 5 minutes.
He can’t go to Shoko, Suguru concludes. It’s too obvious what he’s done. She would tell Satoru. Not out of spite or anything, just genuine concern. Then it would turn into a whole other mess. He needs to get up and wash away the blood. Maybe put some bandages on his arm. Suguru leans into his headboard. He’s so tired. Sleep has been evading him recently; exhaustion is always weighing his body down, but never enough to lead to sleep. Now he feels like if he closes his eyes, his body will never wake up again.
What a tempting thought. Break away from this world that has all the odds stacked against him.
His eyes are just starting to flutter close when the distinctive feeling of Satoru’s cursed energy hits him. Suguru bolts up in alarm. He didn’t know Satoru would be back today.
“Su~gu~ru!” Satoru chirps from outside the door. Normally it’s a welcome sound—blue streaks of light that break his dark clouds. Now Satoru feels someone is pouring salt on the open cuts on his arm. Is this a part of Suguru’s punishment? Was his blood really not enough? “I heard you moving around in there! Open up; I got some things from Niigata for you.”
Suguru takes a breath. One. Two. “It’s late; you should go to your own room.” It sounds a little too cold. “Sa~to~ru.” He wishes he could muster his regular teasing tone.
There’s a pause. Suguru doesn’t remember if he locked the door. It would be really bad if he didn’t. “You’re turning into such an old man by going to sleep so early.” He can hear Satoru’s pout from here. “I’ll sleep in here then, since Suguru is so worried about my sleep schedule!”
In a good world, one where sorcerers don’t lose their youth to death and violence, or better yet, one where curses don’t exist at all, the door handle wouldn’t give under Satoru’s weight. The door would remain firmly closed. The two of them would engage in some more playful banter before Satoru would relent, sulking off to his bedroom.
Instead, the door moves. Suguru barely has a second to cover his arms with a blanket before light pours in from the hallway. Satoru stands in the doorframe, head cocked to the side, with a blinding smile.
“Satoru, I’m really not in the mood—“
“I know I said I was going to sleep.” Satoru interrupts him effortlessly as he barges into the room. “But you shouldn’t be sitting in the dark like this! Anyways, I really want to show you all the stuff I got.” The lights are turned on, temporarily blinding Suguru.
There’s no jacket nearby, because why would Suguru ever think that far ahead? The knife is luckily covered by the blanket as well. His heart rate is going a million miles per minute. Satoru is humming a song, plopping a plastic bag down on Suguru’s desk.
“Aren’t you going to come over and look?” He asks.
There’s no getting out of this. “Can you toss me my jacket?” Suguru asks as a last ditch attempt to safeguard the last bits of his boundaries against the Gojo Satoru.
Satoru’s eyes glint dangerously under the fluorescent lighting. “Ah, is this why you didn’t want to let me in? Were you jerking off?”
“What?!” Suguru scoffs. “No! Stop being an asshole and give me my—“
“You know watching porn is never fun by yourself!” Satoru whines. “What were you watching? Let’s finish it together.” And in perfect Satoru fashion, he proceeds to jump onto Suguru’s bed.
He has half a mind to push the knife under his pillow before Satoru accidentally cuts himself, but not enough mind, however, to move his injured arm out of Satoru’s fall range. Satoru’s full body weight very abruptly lands on his arm. He yelps in pain.
Satoru freezes immediately, eyes wide with shock as they look up at him. “Huh? I’m not that heavy; did I hurt you?”
“Not that heavy, my ass,” Suguru grumbles, trying to wriggle himself further into the blanket, like it'll somehow save him. “You just look skinny.” He hopes the insult serves as enough of a distraction.
Satoru’s gaze turns sharp. Alright, it didn’t. “You are hurt.”
“You just jumped on me, Satoru.” He protests. “Of course I’m going to react.”
“Did you go on a mission today?” Satoru presses on. It’s annoying how persistent he could be when he really wantedsomething. A prized child of the Gojo clan who has never known want.
“I didn’t do anything today for a change.” Suguru answers. Much to his horror, Suguru can feel some blood wipe off his bedsheets. He sighs. A part of him just wants to tell Satoru what happened already. Cut to the chase.
“If you aren’t hurt, then get up.” Satoru demands. Suguru gives him a pleading glance, but to no avail. “You haven’t gotten up since I came in, so get up and prove you aren’t hurt, or else we’re going to Shoko.”
Suguru scoffs as he attempts to move further up the bed, away from Satoru and his prying gaze. Like with everything tonight, though, he doesn’t think about it enough. The blanket slips enough for the bottom of his forearm to show. Suguru doesn’t even think it’s enough to see anything, but Satoru must see something because, all of a sudden, Suguru’s center of gravity is shifted as Satoru pins him to the bed.
“Let me go!” He yells out, kicking at Satoru. It’s not useful; he can tell he’s already been exposed, but like hell, Suguru was going to go down without a fight.
“What…” Satoru’s gaze is glued to Suguru’s arm. Satoru’s eyesight is his best asset and is currently Suguru’s biggest enemy. “What the hell did you do?!”
“You’re looking at it, aren’t you?” Suguru spits back. He can feel all the fight slowly draining out of his body, almost like blood staining the bedsheets. “Put the pieces together, Satoru.”
“You said you just had heat fatigue.” Satoru looks disheveled, almost manic. Suguru wonders if this is what Toji saw before his death. His stomach lurches at the thought, and he dismisses it.
“I’m sure I did at some point.” He mutters. “Ask Shoko or something.”
“Is being a sorcerer making you that miserable?” Satoru hisses, his hand pressing harder onto Suguru’s wrist.
“And if it is?”
Satoru falters slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that response. “Then.. Then tell me what I can do to fix it.”
“Fix it?” Suguru echoes. The problem Suguru has with Jujutsu society is so deeply rooted that there was nothing to be done, at least not something simple; it had to be radical. He can’t and won’t burden Satoru with that. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I can do anything.” Satoru argues with full sincerity. It almost makes Suguru break. He wants to finally talk to Satoru. He knows he’ll feel better if he does, save himself a lot of heartache and time if he just caves in and talks. Suguru wants Satoru back more than anything.
“If you can do anything, then can you let go of me?” Suguru sighs. He doesn’t want Satoru to follow him down this path. If Suguru himself is supposed to be a testament to the end result, and he has nothing to show for it other than a bloody arm and broken friendship, maybe it’s best if Satoru steers clear.
“No,” Satoru says, shifting his bodyweight, effectively pinning Suguru down. Suguru isn’t weak, but his fractured sleeping schedule and tendency to skip meals must be catching up to him. “I don’t trust you right now.”
“Ah,” he breathes out. “Scared I’m going to kill myself?”
The air grows ten degrees colder. Suguru huffs in annoyance. “That was a joke; I’m not that desperate yet.”
“Stop joking then.” Satoru grits out. “You felt bad enough to cut yourself; what the hell am I supposed to think?”
“So, are you just going to stay here all night?” It was far from ideal, especially since Satoru was still in his uniform. “You haven’t even showered. And everything from Niigata is over there.”
“That’s not important right now.” Satoru answers.
“Really? It seemed important enough when you came into my room without permission.”
“And what were you going to do if I didn’t come in?” Satoru snaps. “Hurt yourself more?”
This is an irredeemable crime in Satoru’s book, hurting his favorite toy, Suguru thinks. “You wouldn’t have known if you didn’t come in.”
“I would’ve figured it out.”
“Yeah.” For the first time that night, Suguru finds himself agreeing. “You would have.”
Things are going to be bad tomorrow; Suguru can feel it. Right now, though, Satoru is with him, even if it’s not in the way he wants. Suguru knows he’s already set off on a path that Satoru cannot follow; Suguru won’t let him. Soon, Suguru will have to leave and go somewhere that even Six Eyes cannot follow. For now, he’ll just remain under Satoru’s insistent gaze and try to commit every detail of the older man to memory.