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It started with the small things. The teasing, the fights, the jokes only they would get. Going everywhere and doing everything together. The opposing views, goals and past. The shared drive, power and pain. The rare, real moments of happiness, rage and sorrow that no one else would see. The way Suguru’s gaze softened when it landed on him.
And then there were the touches — ones that seemed to tiptoe across the line of what friendships were supposed to be like, as far as Satoru could understand. Fingers ghosting over Satoru’s wrist. The warmth of Suguru’s hand resting on his shoulder. Soft, feathery touches that lingered longer than necessary.
Fleeting moments, subtle enough to go unspoken, but impossible for Satoru to ignore.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
Satoru didn’t know how or when it developed. It was almost as if they clicked instantly. It wasn’t that Suguru was exceptional in any obvious way when they first met. Satoru wasn’t even sure if he remembered their first meeting correctly. But there was something about being with Suguru that felt natural, that made Satoru feel at ease, alive in a way he had not felt before. Like breathing in cold, fresh morning air after a long, sleepless night.
Maybe it was because they were both the strongest — an honor and curse that set them apart from others. Yet, with Suguru, Satoru felt more human than ever. With Suguru, for the first time in his life, he could let his guard down. With Suguru, laughter came easily, silence was soothing, and the world seemed to hold meaning.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
The classroom was dim and cluttered, papers and books scattered across the desks. The residue of their latest mission clung to them, grime smeared on their clothes and smudges of blood dried at the edges of their sleeves. Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed, his exhaustion palpable.
Satoru flopped into the teacher’s chair with an exaggerated sigh. “We really need to stop picking the worst missions”He whined, the joke only half-hearted.
Suguru’s frown turned into a soft smile, his tired eyes opening to meet Satoru’s, a teasing gleam in them. “And miss your dramatic entrance teleporting straight into the snot of my new, cute little curse? No way.”
Satoru grinned, leaning back in his chair leisurely. “And I still manage to look better than you do any day”.
"But seriously," Suguru chuckled, shaking his head, walking up to him. "How does your hair still look perfect after a mission like this?"
Satoru smirked, feigning arrogance. "Infinity, obviously. Nothing touches my hair."
Suguru raised an eyebrow, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “Oh yeah?” Before Satoru could react, Suguru’s hand slipped through infinity effortlessly, fingers threading through his hair, brushing against his scalp slowly. Satoru’s breath caught, a sudden warmth flooding his chest, skin tingling under the fleeting sensation of Suguru's touch.
"Maybe you should actually wash it sometime," Suguru teased, his grin smug and infuriatingly perfect.
“Oh, big advice coming from someone whose idea of style is those bangs” Satoru shot back, the usual snark faltering as Suguru's hand lingered in his hair, fingertips grazing his scalp. His voice caught in his throat before he added, "Anyway, my hair is untouchable. Obviously."
Before he could react, Suguru tackled him, pinning his hand to the chair. Satoru’s breath hitched, his pulse racing as he suddenly became acutely aware of the weight of Suguru’s body and the warmth of his hands on his wrists. For a fleeting moment, he wished Suguru would take a next step — the thought sending rush of heat through him before panic washed it away.
He kicked Suguru off with a dramatic huff, hoping the heat he felt on his face didn’t show. “Hey, no need to be both unstylish AND aggressive. That’s totally not sexy.”
For a few seconds, Suguru stared into his eyes with a mischievous, triumphant look before stepping back. “Whatever you say, Your Untouchable Highness.” Satoru, feeling a weird nausea creeping up on him, hastily declared that he needed to visit the vending machine to get some melon soda and teleported away. In his rush, he ended up missing his aim and destroying his target. Fortunately, Suguru never learned about this incident, thanks to the Gojo clan’s funds and connections, which enabled the fastest ever vending machine replacement in history.
At night, alone in bed, Satoru kicked off his blanket with the same motion he kicked off Suguru, triggered by the memory and the tingling sensation coming back to him. As if he could also send the feeling flying into the dark with it.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
After missions, Satoru would sometimes linger in Suguru’s dorm room. One night, after the kind of job that left the world feeling darker and heavier, they just kept each other company, quietly. Suguru sat across the bed, one leg bent while the other stretched over the edge, staring out the window. Satoru sprawled on the floor, close to his leg, playing on his phone, incurious, his gaze flicking to Suguru from time to time. The silence and space between them hung thick, broken only by the faint hum of the overhead light. Somehow, Suguru seemed impossibly far.
"How is it fair?" Suguru’s voice broke the quiet, voice low, slightly trembling. “Why do so many have to die fighting curses for those who create them? All these lives lost — for what?” His words spilled out faster, bitter. “So they can make more curses for us to clean up?”
Satoru shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling cold as he lay on the hard ground. He gulped, his throat feeling dry as he opened his mouth to say something — but no words came. He shut it again, defeated.
“How long can we keep pretending this is worth it?” Suguru’s voice dropped, becoming sharper, staring into nothing, almost motionless. “Protecting these…people. Who are not even sorcerers.” Suguru all but spat the words, his tone foreign, grim, almost disgusted.
Satoru stared at the ceiling, his mind blank. He didn’t have an answer. There was something heavy, something alarming in Suguru’s questions lately — something Satoru wasn’t sure he could hold.
The room fell quiet again. Suguru’s shoulder slumped, his head dropping on his knees as he curled into himself. Without thinking, Satoru climbed up onto the bed beside him. Their shoulders brushed, and Suguru didn’t pull away.
As they sat there in silence, Satoru kept his eyes on his phone, although not really seeing the screen. He felt Suguru lean into him, shifting closer. Slowly, his posture relaxed, his breathing becoming steadier.
Satoru’s phone slipped from his hand as he turned to bury his face in Suguru’s hair. It smelled faintly of tea, fresh laundry, cigarettes and him, familiar and soothing. He felt Suguru’s breath on his neck, soft, warm, uneven, and his hand brushing against his, lingering and deliberate.
Suddenly, Satoru had to fight the urge to kiss him.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
Satoru tried not to think about it, but the thoughts crept in anyway. It overwhelmed him with floods of want, shame and fear.
What was he supposed to feel? Allowed to feel? He didn’t know – he’d never had the chance to form real bonds before. Suguru was the first. He was the only. It had always only been Suguru, whose presence made him feel like he belonged somewhere in this world. But recently, Satoru found himself questioning why his chest tightened when Suguru looked at him — it was electrifying and painful at the same time.
Nothing seemed to be missing, yet he felt an inexplicable longing for something. He wondered, he hoped that the way he felt was nothing out of the ordinary, but an accusing, biting voice in his head said otherwise.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
Late in the evening, they would walk to the konbini together. It had become a ritual of sorts, an escape from reality to shake off the suffocating weight of their missions.
One night, after a victorious streak in a Mario Cart showdown, next to their usual snacks, Satoru grabbed drinks on a whim. A bit too many beers from a brand preferred by Suguru, and a cheap carton of umeshu. Suguru’s lips twitched in a small, amused smile when he saw what Satoru had chosen.
Back in the dorm, they sat on the floor, surrounded by snacks, cans and dirty clothes. Satoru hated the taste of alcohol — but the artificial, almost sickening sweetness of the plum wine masked the burn beneath, making it tolerable. The numbness it brought helped quiet his racing thoughts, the voices, sights and impulses that came with his Six Eyes, giving him a rare sense of calm. The air between them seemed to soften as well.
Satoru inched closer and closer to Suguru, as if drawn by an invisible force. Soon, he found himself nestling between Suguru’s legs, halfway in his lap, leaning back against his torso, his infinity long deactivated. The warmth of the touch was intoxicating – soothing, addictive, electrifying, right. His skin tingled where Suguru’s heat met his, the sensation crawling deep, right to his core, like a flickering flame. He wanted to melt into the feeling, into Suguru’s scent, into the sound of Suguru’s heartbeat in his ears only. The longing surged through him, and Satoru realized how much he had missed this, craved this, briefly wondering how long it had been since they were last this close.
Suguru’s fingers drifted absently through his hair, a rhythm gentle, calming. As Suguru’s touch grew slower, lingering, Satoru’s pulse quickened. The warmth of his fingers scraped lightly at his scalp, sending a shiver down Satoru’s spine, the sensation so intense he nearly let out a sound before catching himself.
The first brush of Suguru's lips against his neck was so soft that Satoru thought he imagined it. The second – firmer, yet gentle kiss, tongue flicking close to his ear – caught him off guard, sending a jolt through Satoru’s body. His eyes snapped open, his body burning, suddenly every nerve alight. The room was spinning as he stared at the fan on the ceiling, heart throbbing forcefully against his chest.
His breath hitched as Suguru's mouth moved lower, barely skimming the skin, the touch leaving behind a tingling sensation and a wave of heat rushing to his head, making everything else blur.
Satoru let out a shaky breath, eyes flickering up, searching for Suguru’s, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Is this… okay?” he asked, the question slipping out, guarded and uncertain, his voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “I mean, friends don’t… do this, do they?” His words trailed off, tangled in the sudden heaviness falling between them.
Suguru’s hand froze mid-motion, his gaze darting to Satoru’s – startled, guarded, and faintly fearful. Satoru’s chest tightened with sudden, overwhelming regret. He opened his mouth to say something, to take it back, but the silence grew thick before he could find the courage to formulate words.
Suguru’s expression shifted, fading into a distant, practiced smile – the kind he wore for strangers and teachers, but never for Satoru. The sight made Satoru’s stomach drop, suddenly feeling sick.
“Who said I would be friends with an idiot like you?” Suguru said, his smile sharp, the words cutting deeper than Satoru expected.
The room fell silent, and Satoru’s chest ached with the weight of it.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
They didn’t talk about it again, not directly. Satoru wasn’t even sure what “it” was. But there was a looming sense of unease creeping its claws into the once comforting space between them. Like poison slowly flowing through the veins, numbing the body without being noticed until it’s too late. There were questions that Satoru felt too unnerving to even phrase, so he let them drift, half-formed, in the space between them.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
One night, after a mission that had gone horribly wrong, Suguru stayed silent all the way back to the dorm. The weight of lives lost hung between them like fog. Satoru tried to speak—to crack a joke, to lighten the mood—but the words felt hollow. Suguru’s eyes, cold and empty, refused to meet Satoru’s searching gaze.
In the quiet of the room, Suguru sat on the bed, staring down at his hands. The snacks Satoru bought in the konbini lay untouched on the floor. He hesitated before sitting beside Suguru. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead, he rested his head on Suguru’s shoulder. Suguru didn’t pull away. He didn’t move closer either.
Finally, Satoru couldn’t handle the suffocating silence anymore. “We are going to be fine” The words came out fragile and desperate. “I am…we are the strongest, after all. No one can do anything to us.” Satoru’s anxiety only grew as his words hung unanswered in the frozen, cold silence of the room. “I will not let anyone get to you. Because you are my best friend. Because you are…”
Suguru didn’t move. Satoru desperately tried catching his gaze. Suguru’s hand lay on the bed, only centimetres away from Satoru’s.
“…you are my one and only” Satoru added finally, his voice low, slightly breaking.
Suguru’s eyes met his, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it felt like he might say something. Instead, he turned away, lifting his hand to brush a strand of hair from Satoru’s forehead. Then, without a word, Suguru stood up, the mattress creaking under his weight. He crossed the room, footsteps slow and measured, pounding heavily, alarmingly in the silence.
As the door to the showers clicked shut, Satoru was left alone in the stillness of the dark room, staring at the empty space beside him. His hand lay motionless on the bed, next to the now vacant spot where Suguru’s had been.
———————- 𓆝 𓆟 ———————-
The next day, Suguru smiled again. He teased him in that familiar, playful way. But it was a different smile, a different tone. As if it was someone else wearing Suguru’s face. There was something missing ー or something between them now. A distance that had never been there before. Satoru noticed it in the quiet, in the moments that no longer came. He didn’t know how to bridge it. He wasn’t even sure if he should.
So he left it alone. He left Suguru alone. He didn't push it, he didn't make things worse. He was careful, he told himself. And he told himself it was enough ー that their bond, whatever it was, hadn’t broken. Even if the ache in his chest said otherwise.
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Sometimes, after missions, Satoru sits alone on the rooftop of the Jujutsu High dorms. The breeze is cooler up there, the noise of the world muffled just enough to let his thoughts settle.
There are moments — quiet, unguarded moments like this — when he feels the weight of it all pressing down. Moments where he questions if he’s also going to snap one day.
Taking on all special grade missions is exhausting. Paperwork is exhausting. Teaching, mentoring and raising students is exhausting. Watching them die is exhausting. Even for the strongest. Being the strongest, alone, is exhausting.
Like many times, he finds himself thinking of Suguru again. He tries to avoid the what-ifs that linger in the back of his mind. He’s already thought about them a thousand, maybe a million times – the questions are familiar, but they never bring answers.
Instead, Satoru lets out a breath, tilting his head back to look up at the endless, starless sky.
There’s nothing he can do to change the past. But he can still make tomorrow a bit less cruel. Some days, it’s enough to keep him going. Today, too, he tells himself, it has to be.
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