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The feeling came quietly, like falling into an endless dream in his mother’s embrace under the accompaniment of a mellow lullaby. He sank even deeper into the vast ocean of his heart and mind, hoping for something — someone to save him. As he plunged further, all the sounds, harmonious and dissonant, had stopped, and merely his thoughts remained the last source of noise.
That was when he realized it: left alone in the boundless universe, floating across the infinite waters, he should not expect someone to come since there was no one else except him.
Then he woke up.
His affection for Satoru was, perhaps, a little bit too much. Suguru had always considered himself a pragmatic person with a “take-what-you-get” mindset, the most reasonable person in the group.
Alongside Satoru, he succumbed to his mad personality, which he despised at first. The silliness, the recklessness, the childish naivety, the stubbornness — the very traits he surprisingly learned to love and accept. Later, he started to recognize some tiny bits here, some slight fragments there, the ones that previously belonged to Satoru. How he viewed the world as a place full of unlimited possibilities and himself as its conqueror left him with his modest upbringing awestruck.
Previously painted in gray, his life now shimmered the sky blue, the brightest hue he had ever seen.
It never ceased to amaze Suguru how similar their minds were — like two parts of the same soul, separated at birth. His personality, incomplete before their meeting, had finally found its missing jigsaw piece. That need, not prominent before, was there since the day he was born.
To belong, to care, to give it all. To watch and be recognized, to yearn and to receive.
To love.
Maybe his soul needed only to be cherished and offered a helping hand — like a seeding, still young but already stretching to the sun.
“Do you know how colorless everything seemed sometimes before enrolling in Jujutsu High?” Satoru laughed, glazing at him. His shining eyes reminded Suguru of a white tiger cub. “It’s as if I’m finally awake from the dead. It was so isolating before,” he stretched, wrapping his arms around Suguru’s shoulders. The electric touch of his hot, dry hands was so shocking that Suguru nearly staggered back.
The classroom they were in was empty, except for them. The midday sunlight flooded nearly all of the space; dust particles were floating freely in the air. They stood near the door — in the last corner still in the shadows — ready to go out: they were sent on a mission, and Suguru didn't know what they had been waiting for.
The sun's rays had finally made it to Satoru’s hair, turning its white shade into golden. His heart skipped a beat, only to gallop a moment later.
“I understand,” Suguru replied, nervous and at the same time relieved to see his unspoken thoughts turning into words. He clung to a thread of mutual connection with a death grip, then glimpsed at the other boy's face again, amazed. “I’ve never got to meet other sorcerers, especially my age. And I had never had any best friends,” he shook his head, then smiled at Satoru.
“I hadn’t either.” He sounded more solemn now, and his look tightened. Suguru had imperceptibly held his breath. Something perilous had lingered; he smelled smoke without seeing a fire.
“Shall we go?” He asked uncertainly, still in Satoru’s embrace. Even though he had always had no definition of personal space, it became harder and harder to be that close to him.
Although sometimes he, as much as he hated to admit, yearned for it.
“Right. I…” Satoru fell silent. “Suguru…”
Before he could answer, Satoru cupped his cheek, slightly turning his face, and kissed him.
The whole world froze and then went upside down, exploding into a million pieces.
Satoru’s warm, wet lips brushed against his, sugary and honey, and he tasted them devoutly before falling into a sweet pit of nothing and everything at once. His sharp breaths resonated with his rabid heart rate, and Suguru was melting in his grasp. He remained one only due to Satoru’s stronghold, as brief seconds had turned into infinite moments.
The very first thought that emerged in his head after regaining his conscience was the wish to extend this moment to eternity.
Satoru, his best friend, was kissing him, and he was eagerly receiving it, waiting for more.
The wave of pleasure hit him, and an aftertaste of horror swept across his body.
Suguru immediately pulled away as dread had fully enveloped his core.
His fear , he was shocked by this thought, lay not in the things he felt but rather in a fantasy turning out to be a nightmare.
“Is this some kind of a fucking joke?” His voice was still rasp. He found Satoru’s gaze, and the panicked look in his bright blue eyes made his stomach drop. “Satoru?”
“This is not!..” Satoru waved his hands restlessly. “I’ve just… gone with the moment, alright? We could…” He hesitated. “...forget about it, if you want.”
The heavy words hit his heart with ice shards.
“You suggest I forget something like this? ” He lashed out, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing it. Fire and fury filled him, breaking the ice, and the words slipped out his mouth. “You know what? I really, really like you, Satoru! Why are you toying with me?” His frustration was spilling over the edge.
“You aren’t angry because I did this, are you?” Satoru sounded surprised. “I…I like you too!”
“You do?” Suguru asked blankly, still not sure how to comprehend it, not believing the words he heard. Satoru was fumbling the upper button on his shirt, trying to avoid his look. “Then why did you say all this nonsense?”
Satoru sighed.
“I thought you might be disgusted,” he admitted. “It was better to pretend it was a prank than to face your rejection.”
“No— No, of course not!” Suguru had finally let his hold off Satoru. “I just wasn’t expecting that you might, you know—” he hesitated, “like me back.”
They stood silently for a bit as the sun eventually reached their corner. Satoru’s features softened; he smiled uncertainly, then grabbed Suguru’s hands.
At this time, everything they felt was mutual, divided by two, and a sweet dream they shared was glistering before them in its all-consuming beauty.
“Can I kiss you again, Suguru?” Satoru whispered, not daring to ask aloud. The hope on his face was contagious, as well as his wide smile. It was beautiful, the most fine work of art Suguru had ever laid his eyes on.
“Sure,” he nodded, leaning in, ready to dive deep into the welcoming madness.
He liked how Satoru’s presence illuminated a room as soon as he came in, how the smile flourished on his face, especially when it was aimed at him. He couldn’t get enough of his greedy kisses and how hungry he was for him.
How strongly he craved to devour him.
Seeing his thirst created an animal desire in him, the one he couldn’t satisfy no matter what. It drove him to insanity, which bore a name too.
“Sa— to— ru—” He pronounced each syllable breathlessly as being hugged from the back. Someone’s wet lips pressed against his neck, leaving behind a trail of kisses. He gasped and loudly exhaled.
“I love how your body reacts to me,” Satoru murmured in his ear. The grasp had tightened. “Say it again.”
Satoru’s hands cleverly sneaked under his T-shirt. Every burning touch his cold fingers left on his bare skin awoke a muffled feeling of pleasure in his core.
More. I want more.
He broke free from his hold and turned around, then grabbed his face and kissed, putting all his strength into it. Satoru’s quick breaths, muted moans, and the sweet taste of his mouth still weren’t enough for him to be satiated. He interrupted the kiss and witnessed, despite the darkness of the room, Satoru’s puzzled expression, then pushed him harshly onto his bed.
A moment later Satoru was pressed against the wall with Suguru’s hands squeezing his shoulders.
The look in his eyes changed to playful again.
“Wanna play it rough, huh?’ He grinned, and Suguru immediately wanted to erase that smirk from his face. “I’ve already turned you on with a few kisses?”
This game can be played together.
“Wanna make you shut up,” he replied and leaned in for another kiss, clutching onto him. Satoru’s scalding desire was seeping through his veins, and he absorbed it like a sponge.
He had quickly gotten used to spending as much time with Satoru as possible. They had been inseparable since the beginning, anyway.
It was Satoru’s idea to keep their relationship secret. At first, he agreed to the proposal without hesitation: he knew things remained unchangeable like stagnant water in a swamp. Satoru, the single heir of the Gojo clan, was supposed to continue his bloodline, and the Jujutsu world was preoccupied with defending the weak and saving humanity from curses they brought upon themselves.
“ And we are both boys ,” Satoru added just another reason.
He liked stealing Satoru’s kisses in empty classrooms and narrow backstreets, looking around and giggling like a middle schooler. They exchanged quick glances in the company of Shoko, Haibara, and Nanami, the true meaning of which was known only to them, and tried their hard to hide their smiles.
When he returned to his room in the dorms late at night, Satoru had been found wrapped in a blanket in his bed, to which he inexplicably teleported (for the third time in a week, and it was only Wednesday!) and resisted leaving until dusk. Suguru had always complained about it loudly, while secretly hoping Satoru’s face would be the first thing he sees in the morning.
“Time to wake up, sleepy,” he lifted on his elbows and pressed his lips gently to Satoru’s forehead. His cool and peaceful look calmed the storm inside him, which had always begun after the thought of Satoru slipping through the window and leaving him emerged. Again.
“Just…five more…minutes…” He murmured, still drowsy, snuggling up to Suguru even closer, as if they didn't need to fall asleep in each other’s embrace. The twin bed was for sure an uncomfortable place for two, even madly in love, people.
Then it started to bother him more, and more, and more. He bottled up the searing feelings and racing thoughts. Hoped to hide them well enough. Couldn’t make himself bring out this issue to Satoru and see the flickering light in his eyes fading.
Nevertheless, the pot had cracked, slowly leaking its content. He had had enough of hearing “This-is-my-friend” type of greeting; Satoru pulling his hand out of his hold abruptly; kissing his sweet face secretly, as if the world was to come to its inevitable end if someone else saw.
Shoko was the only one who knew, and not a single sign of surprise showed on her face when they told her.
“You two have always looked like you were crazy about each other.” She chuckled.
And, after all, they were two boys in love.
His anger rose fiercely like a pillar of fire, nearly igniting all on its way.
What a great sin lies in love?
He had asked himself this question nearly three hundred and thirty-three times, still unable to find the right answer.
“What’s wrong with that?” He nearly snapped at Satoru after another failed attempt to stay calm. The white-haired boy sat on the floor near his bed, the head buried in his knees, so he couldn’t read his face. It was almost pitch black as the only source of light was a cheap desk lamp; the power went off a couple of hours ago due to a downpour. “Would it be easier if I were a girl?”
Satoru didn’t reply.
The silence around them was as sharp as a freshly honed knife.
His rage continued to grow, as he slipped off the bed and started to pace the room.
“So what now?” Satoru was always the annoying one, and now Suguru felt uncomfortable as if he hopped into a foreign body. He tried to shake the weird feeling off. Now there was no coming back. “Would I remain your little secret till the rest of our days, Satoru?”
Satoru finally lifted his head. Those were harsh words, Suguru knew it, and still, pain, intertwined with fiery reflections in Satoru’s eyes, startled him. He stopped right ahead of him and crouched down.
The sound of raindroplets drumming on the glass became audible again.
“You know this is not what I want,” Satoru said breathlessly. His lower lip was trembling slightly, so he bit it.
It was unusual to see him this quiet. Almost as if he turned into a stranger in a blink of an eye. “What do you want, then?” Suguru asked, meeting his gaze. The words spilled out of him at a rapid speed like a went-out river in spring, and he was no longer able to stop its flow. “Am I just an experiment to you? A toy? Are the things—,” he swallowed a hard lump in his throat, “even serious between us? Have you ever even taken something seriously, without your scatterbrained attitude?” Suguru grabbed his face with his hand, forcing him to look up. There were long, bizarre shadows on his skin. “Answer me, Satoru!”
“Do not say it so easily,” he sounded weary. “You don’t even know how cruel the Jujutsu society could be. I don’t give a shit about other sorcerers’ opinions. But I,” a single tear appeared in the corner of his eye and slid down, leaving a wet trail after itself, “do care about you, Suguru. I just want to protect you.”
Astonished, he automatically raised his hand to his face to sweep away another one.
The honesty in his voice left him speechless. Satoru had a point, and he hated that he understood it. It would be better to remain in the shadow of unknowingness and not be left with a bitter taste in his mouth.
Suguru moved closer and kissed him — a desperate attempt to share his bitterness with Satoru’s sweetness to create something perfectly equal.
It was never enough, and not in a single existency it would be.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, Satoru.” He turned away to not be crushed under the weight of his gaze. “Please, leave.”
He shuddered at the sound of the door shut and reached out to fix his bangs, only to find out his face had been wet too.
They forgot about this argument as if it didn’t occur in the first place and never spoke about it either. Everything seemed to return to normal, and he was glad. To lose Satoru by his side would mean an incorrigible thing, the one he would never forgive himself for.
Later, when he reminisced on his past, even then he realized it was the beginning of the end. Or, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
Everything they had built up over the past years shuttered as a house of cards with the death of Amanai Riko. After that, there was a final straw, a prelude to the inevitable grand finale. He could run from it for as long as he wanted — it became only closer, bigger, more grandiose, and uglier. The hideous conclusion he approached with his attempts to escape.
Satoru grew colder and detached. There were no more sleepovers and secret meetings, less goodnight and goodbye kisses. He trained all by himself now, and they were no longer assigned missions together.
Satoru kept it cool in the company of others, but the well-built facade shattered as soon as they stayed alone.
The inevitable.
Suguru saw it coming but didn’t know when it would strike.
“We should hang out less,” Satoru said, as they were returning to the Jujutsu High from a usual weekly mission.
A rotten aftertaste enveloped his mouth. He looked at Satoru’s back with wide-open eyes, and the vision of the boy’s figure turned muddy.
“What?”
Satoru had stopped as well.
“This would be the best for us both,” Satoru continued hoarsely. Suguru was staring at him in disbelief, trying to digest the words he had just heard.
“Why?” Something wet landed on his head. He stepped forward, grabbing Satoru by his shoulders and turning him around. “Why, Satoru?”
The aloof look in his eyes and soaked hair made him shiver more than a drizzly late October rain did.
“Listen, whatever the hell you are thinking, I am not okay with this!” He shouted in his face, nudging his shoulders. His fingers were stuck in the soggy fabric of his uniform as he realized Satoru didn’t even try to turn his Infinity on. “What's wrong, Satoru? Do you mean our relationship? Am I burdening you?”
All these questions had their answers, except the one he was terrified of.
“No,” he replied in a monotonous tone, glaring through Suguru as if he were a ghost, “that’s not it.”
He studied Satoru’s features frantically, hoping to find something recognizable. The raindrops formed some kind of tear trails on his face.
The brilliant boy with stars in his eyes he adored and loved more than himself had vanished, leaving only a hollow shell afterward.
All kinds of thoughts rushed through Suguru’s head, reaching the ultimate destination.
It would be easier if I weren't a boy or a sorcerer, or Satoru’s friend and lover. He wished, in an instant, that he was born as someone other than Geto Suguru.
“No,” Satoru repeated quietly, bringing his trembling hands to his face, “the problem is me. You could never be happy with me near. It’s as if I bring you only bad luck, Suguru. I just—” he gasped, “can't protect you. I can't do anything at all!” His voice grew stronger, from a faint whisper to a cry. “Do you even know how awful it is to think that you’re dead and being unable to do anything about it?”
“I do,” he replied. And he understood.
Sometimes he got lost in the labyrinth of memories of that sunny July day. The old Fushiguro showing up with a smoking gun and a sly smile on his face; the breathless body of Amanai Riko falling onto the ground, as if she were a broken toy, a puppet. Dread filling up his chest and choking him when the calculations of possibilities and probabilities flashed through his head.
The terror of possibly losing Satoru struck his bones to the point he considered all two hundred and six of them broken.
He couldn't bear such pain again.
The opposites attract, the similarities repel. This is how he remembered their days: close yet distant, destined to stay at infinitesimal distance from each other. They were floating in space, forced to be separated, forever connected.
“If you weren’t there… If only I was strong enough to complete the missions alone,” he continued, “it wouldn’t have happened.”
“It’s not your fault, Satoru,” Suguru said softly, trying to reason with him. The words of comfort, hackneyed and dull, were like stones tied to his neck as he was drowning. They couldn’t reach Satoru from such depths, no matter how hard he tried. “I could protect myself just fine.”
“But— last time you couldn’t. Am I truly the strongest if I weren’t able to save you?” Now he sounded like a child. Suguru had almost seen the image of the little boy with his tiny hands pressed tightly to his ears, eyes shut, surrounding himself with the Infinity.
He felt sorry for him, then. He thought of all the versions of Satoru Gojo that had ever existed and wished they would never meet. This way he wouldn’t curse the most precious person to him with his presence. There would be neither great love nor sufferance.
Satoru liked to say they were the strongest, the best of all. Now he hesitated. The title was no longer his to wear.
“Do you still love me, Satoru?’ He heard himself asking the question, observing from the outside how his mouth formed the words.
Satoru nodded, slightly.
Relief rushed through his his veins, and he smiled, for the first time in two months. It would be enough for me, he decided, and if it wouldn’t, I am going to make it enough.
The rain had finally stopped.
“Fine.” He brought Satoru closer. Buried his nose in the moist, painfully familiar smell of his hair. He would miss it for sure. He brushed his hand against it. “I am glad.”
And he truly meant it.
“I would accept whatever decision you make,” Suguru continued, “if this is what you want.”
“I don’t,” he whispered sorrowfully, “but it’s for the better.”
He suddenly thought of the white-haired boy with cold blue eyes and regretted he would never grow old with his future self by his side. As if in this world they had that chance in the first place.
“I know.” He shook his head. “I know.”
The next September turned out to be damp and hot, filled with strong judgments, conclusions, and regrets. Satoru’s room window was wide open, and he silently climbed into it, as Satoru used to do during their second year.
This night was unusually cold, and he shivered. His shirt, soaked in blood, stuck to his body unpleasantly.
Satoru was lying peacefully on his back on the bed, with a blanket strained to his chin. He breathed out and murmured something in his sleep. Suguru jumped off the windowsill and stepped forward. It was a miracle Satoru still hadn’t woken up.
One last time . He will do it one last time, and won’t bother him again. Won’t curse him with his love anymore.
Suguru leaned closer, brushing his lips against his forehead.
“Farewell, Satoru,” he whispered.
He went straight into his room, almost former, afterward and sat at the table. Lit the lamp, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from the drawer, and paused.
“My beloved (crossed out) My dear (crossed out) Dear Satoru (crossed out)”
“I know this is not the right way, Satoru, to bid you and Shoko goodbye, but still (crossed out)”
He thought of all the adverse occasions that led him to this ending, of all the explanations, of all the worries and distresses. There were no reasons to whitewash himself, and he didn’t tolerate meaningless things as well. His deeds were irredeemable, and so was he, beyond the point of saving.
He stopped.
He would never forgive himself for what he had done and expected Satoru to behave the same. He would not wish for such a fate for him, would not drag him into the madness with him.
“I am sorry for loving you, Satoru” — the neat words on the white-turned-black paper, a farewell note with the stabbing knife pain in it.
Suguru crossed these words out too.
“I am sorry.”
He left it on the table and vanished into the night.