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Suguru Geto finds himself treading on a thin line of thread that readily awaits to snap. He can hear that thread slowly tear apart with small, groaning noises as it loosens unstably. It leaves him wobbling in the middle, unable to make it to the other side. The pit below the foolish path holds uncanny darkness. It claws its way up and attempts to drag Suguru down itself. He fights it. He fights it every waking minute, every sleepless night.
The faint ache piercing his chest does not falter.
It squeezes his heart and twists at it mercilessly. It causes a constant pang in his lungs and the restless churn of his stomach. He cannot bear it much longer.
The events are pure torment. Every time he closes his eyes, whether he is just blinking or trying to doze off, he sees Riko’s eyes brimming with tears and hope. Relief that she doesn’t have to be sacrificed. Willingly extending her hand.
He remembers the feeling of her warm hand hovering over his, nearly taking it.
He remembers the sound of that damned gun being shot. It rings in his ears. He can recall the sound of it slamming into the side of Riko’s head with a sickening squelching sound as blood scatters. He can feel the sensation of horror roaring in his ears and the rumble of buzzing rushing up his spine and jolting through his nerves as Riko loses life in wondrous, passionate eyes. Eyes of outright joy, believing that she would be able to return to her normal life, were now all dull and empty. Cold and unfocused. All while she collapses onto the ground with a heavy thud.
She never deserved such a gruesome death.
Suguru feels guilty for not protecting her. For being so naive.
He had given her hope, hope that she wouldn’t need to die.
Only to be shot in the head by Toji Fushiguro.
Toji Fushiguro.
The man that practically gutted out Satoru. A teenager who barely managed to escape. He was only lucky his cursed technique went haywire at that time.
Or he would have died.
Toji Fushiguro.
The man that shot a troubled teenage girl in the head, no sympathy or mercy behind black beady eyes. A teenage girl who was put in a position she couldn’t control. A teenage girl that had been given yet a second chance to salvage her life and live on.
Toji Fushiguro.
He’s dead. Long gone. Amongst the people of the afterlife where he belongs.
Yet his presence remains amongst them. In their minds. The schemes he put into action will forever remain embedded in Suguru’s memories. Burnt in permanently like a searing reminder whenever he lets out an outward breath.
Just recalling these events arises bile he forces back down while he can make out the sound of clapping that tormented him every second of the day.
Call him selfish, but the lingering feeling of nearly dying clings to him irrationally like all the other things he witnessed.
The feeling of his chest being slashed and pierced. Being immobile. Unable to see. Loss of breathing. The world spinning. His body numbed with cold.
It was daunting.
Such an experience twinged at his fingertips whenever it was reminisced.
As of now, thinking about this once again urges yet another surge of vomit.
But what is there to vomit?
Suguru can barely manage a single bite of food these days. It wasn’t only because of these memories imprinted into his mind as a bitter reminder. It is also the forced consumption of curses. The elders have only pressured him into more single missions, he longed for the days where times were simple and it was just him, Shoko and Satoru.
Those days were more lighthearted.
Life was simpler before the Star Plasma Vessel situation.
The situation with Riko was solved simply; they found another Star Plasma Vessel.
If it was all that simple, then why put Suguru and Satoru through such events?
Why make Suguru spiral like this?
Selfish beliefs, selfish desires.
That is what Suguru can conclude about them and himself.
In this world, people only think of themselves.
It is the bitter truth.
It is the world’s true curse.
And now he lays on his bed wide awake whilst his head spins with the hovering of nausea.
Suguru’s eyes burn from the consecutive days where he could never catch up on sleep.
He doesn’t think he can ever escape back into the formed reality of a desperate mind where things are more cheerful and wanting.
Where he could feel all warm and bubbly on the inside as he lives through the teenage days the way he wanted to experience it.
But his unfortunate soul has been washed over and drenched with the bitter bits of reality that hang over his head bewitchingly.
He does not feel warm and bubbly on the inside.
He feels cold and empty.
The only sound that could ever be heard by him and only him is the faint ‘clink!’ of each and every shard of his hollowing heart falling into the black hole of his stomach with no way back out.
He’s losing himself.
Nothing will ever be the same for him or anyone else.
They are all too young and naive for this.
Yet such a slam of events still rolled themselves out willingly on the paths they built.
What a cruel world.
The room begins to grow suffocating for Suguru, as he cannot bear another moment, or he is sure he most definitely will hurl. It narrows in a way that makes him feel trapped. He wants to flee like a coward with his tail in between his legs and his head lowered, ashamed and meek.
He sits up slowly, the bed creaking from underneath him. His vision dances and warps and a headache pounds against his skull. Not in a gentle rapping manner, no, but an excruciating slam that makes his eyes feel like they could bulge.
Heavily, he presses his knuckles against his forehead and rubs them to soothe such irritable agony.
Suguru sighs.
Cautiously, the tired teenage boy slips from his bed. Bare feet come into light contact with the cold floor that feels like it might swallow him whole.
He wastes no time in putting on a pair of socks and slipping on some shoes.
Suguru could care less about his disheveled, unwelcoming look.
Expectations have broken his idealization of himself; blinded him and crushed his soul.
If anything, he’s beyond tired at this point.
As he strides towards the door, he hesitates and turns back to the dark, threatening room of his. The sound of clapping uproars in his hearing once more and makes his fingers twitch and crave something to punch with tightened, curled fists and manic eyes of apparent fury and exhaustion.
Suguru finds himself walking over to his nightstand and rummaging through the drawers, eyes narrowed.
With numbed, quivering hands, he firmly pulls out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. The rest of the messy pile of papers and photos crinkle and fall flat back into unorganized order in the drawer.
He slams it shut without a hint of care.
He could care less.
He really could care less.
The teen presses uneasy fingers into the doorknob as he twists it open. The pocket of his sweatpants ruffle when he stuffs his pack of cigarettes and lighter into it.
With a sniffle, Suguru steps out of his room and into the darkened hallway. He shuts it silently behind him, and lets his eyes adjust to such darkness.
It’s almost like the ends of his vision dim with each step he takes down the eerie dormitory halls. After all, people who can see curses are rare.
Every exhale echoes through the cold hallway. Every step lets out a small ‘ tmp! ’ that bounces ahead of him before it vanishes.
Suguru takes his time with his way out of the dorms. A hand lingers on a nearby wall as he feels the roughness transition into smoothness before reverting once more in a repetitive manner. The pads of his fingers tingle at the contact, but not in a way that sends jolts to his brain. It is rather numbing and dead. The contact allows shivers to run down his spine.
It is although he cannot feel anything. The concept had spread from his mental state to his taste to his emotions and now his physical self. How pitiful such a situation like this could turn out.
All of this over what?
The future he walks into every second echoes through his frazzled mind like the darkened halls of the empty dormitory. More has yet to unfold.
That is, if there is anything that could shatter such a monotonous routine that never got bored of him.
Suguru dips his other hand into the pocket of his sweatpants to feel for his cigarettes and lighter.
His disheveled hair barely held back by his hair tie bobs, only to be illuminated by the moonlight.
The despaired teen finds himself in need of squinting his eyes as he is bathed in the gentle light. Even if it bore a soft hue, it still burned his eyes and dragged back the ongoing headache that pounded against his skull.
He lets out a heaved exhale and lowers his gaze onto the rigid path beneath worn-out shoes.
His subconscious guides him with the help of setting one foot in front of the other; but in a way that had him following the path of the uneven stones engraved into the dirt.
As the floor begins to ramp upwards, Suguru trails his free hand along the cold, brittle railing. It’s rusted. Broken. Though it had only been installed recently.
How ironic.
Suguru inhales the wisp of the frosty breeze. It burns his nose and tickles his throat. It opens up false hope; the belief that maybe he can still feel after all, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow the trail towards such feelings. Giving it his back, he treks further into darkness that welcomes him beckoningly.
The teen rests an elbow against the railing that creaks in retaliation. Almost as if it were pleading for him to let it rest. Let it succumb to its time, instead of speeding up the process.
Selfishly, he ignores it.
The hand in his pocket nimbly pulls out the box of cigarettes. Suguru digs his nail underneath the folds and pries it open.
Smoking seemed to be the only thing preventing him from slipping off the edge. From willingly jumping off the wire and into the pit. It filled his stomach with the warmth he oh so desperately scavenged for. Puffs of smoke curled around his organs and warmed his heart.
But he knew it wouldn’t last for long.
It was temporary.
And it seemed that the end of its usefulness was just around the corner.
Suguru gingerly pulls out a cigarette, long and slender, and presses it between two digits. He rolls it around underneath his bored gaze between pinched fingers.
He snags the lighter between the fingers of his other hand and pulls it out. Clicking on the ignition button, he watches flames flicker to life. They reflect the bitterness swirling in tired black eyes, a fire unable to withstand his misery.
Suguru lights the end of the cigarette carefully. The embers bend forward to latch onto the item. He eases his thumb off of the ignition button and takes a heavy inhale.
The smoke curls around his lungs in a relieving pang that ushers tension off of his shoulders temporarily.
He puffs it all back out when it begins to burn, watching the smoke dissipate into thin air like his momentary relief.
The numbing reminder stings like the aftertaste on his tongue.
He is tired.
He really cannot do this anymore.
Suguru daintily brings the stick of nicotine back to his lips. The sensation of burning smoke soothed his nerves. It gently coaxed away all those memories with one whiff, however temporary as an exhale means a cold reality.
His thumb taps the cigarette carefully, ash scattering into the cool night air. His lashes flutter as he closes his eyes. Suguru raises the arm propped on the railing to massage a temple aimlessly.
There is an upcoming mission he has been assigned to. A solo one. Again. The typical, endless tossing the Elders did as they threw him around to suffer again and again and again as Suguru drowns further in the waves of loneliness.
He floats in a cold, empty sea that pulls him each calculated minute away from the surface.
The black-haired boy has begun to not see it as his lungs suffocate with the poisoned ocean water.
Maybe he can use this mission as a way to snap. Release all the pent up misery and tension. There was no point.
There is no point.
The people around him keep dying because he is unable to do anything.
Riko. Haibara. And many more.
…what if I just… killed someone. Suguru thinks as he reopens his eyes. The world around him shifts in color subtly, but it is enough to pry out those plugged up thoughts.
Screw justice.
He should treat the wrong the way they should be treated.
What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I kill someone? What if I—
“Suguru? What’re you doing here, man?”
The familiar, light and slightly teasing voice snaps Suguru out of those thoughts. They leave a murky aftermath, hard to shake off.
The teenager turns his head slowly, cigarette forgotten as it burns off its nicotine and pollutes the air.
“Satoru..” he finds himself saying softly amidst the whisper of the breeze. The nearby trees sway and rustle.
Satoru cocks his head with a grin and lowers his glasses with the downward tip of his head. The latter notes the white-haired boy carrying a handful of shopping bags, unsurprisingly.
Suguru knew Satoru had gone on another mission, but he hadn’t expected his friend to be back so soon.
Did Satoru even view him as his friend anymore? As an equal?
“Whatcha doin’ up so late? Miss me that much?” Satoru teases with a cheeky grin, dimples shadowed in the faintly luminated night.
Suguru pulls out a smile.
The tender one that makes hearts soften.
“Maybe I did. You never know.” He replies in a soothing lilt.
Satoru’s expression is unreadable behind those heavily tinted glasses, the moon visible in its reflection. He abruptly steps forth and smacks the burning cigarette out of Suguru’s hand.
The black-haired teen startles slightly; both from the action and from his trance.
“You really should break that habit, ya know. I already have to run around trying to stop Shoko’s addiction.” Satoru states.
“Right…”
They fall into silence.
“I got you all souvenirs!” The teenager then pipes up with a wide-blown grin as he waves the bags. They rattle. “Nagoya’s a pretty cool place! We should go there someday! You, me, Shoko, Nanamin. Oh! Did you know…”
It is almost as if Satoru’s rambling goes underwater. Muffled. Suguru watches him explain erratically with waving hands yet registers nothing.
His mind crumbles into the darkness poisoning his soul as his vision blurs. The bitterness in his heart has a death grip on him, whispering into his ear tauntingly.
Kill him. Kill Satoru. He doesn’t care about you, doesn’t he? Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. K—
A warm hand curls around his wrist, grounding him. Suguru’s senses return as he meets those piercing blue eyes.
Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, with pinched brows in distaste, Satoru scowls.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Suguru finds himself questioning.
“You’re thinking. Spiraling. I’m not dumb, ya know.”
Said boy blinks blankly.
Satoru leans in closer. Suddenly those sparkling, beautiful blue eyes are intimidatingly sickening.
“You’ve got bags under your eyes, your wrist is skinnier than usual— ” he emphasizes with waving Suguru’s arm, “—your hair is greasy, and… ya just look straight up awful, man.”
Suguru doesn’t comment. Only stares vacantly.
Satoru steps back, but doesn’t let go of Suguru’s wrist. The touch burns.
“Talk to me.” The white-haired teenager whispers softly. He looks awfully genuine for Suguru’s comfort. His eyes are softer, and his mouth is in a small frown instead of its usual grin.
“...There is nothing to talk about.” Suguru states bluntly. His own cold tone makes him flinch. Was it really that bad? He didn’t know anymore. Didn't bother to care properly.
“Liar.” Satoru replies instantly, voice like a sharp cut.
The ravenette ogles him owlishly, hoping that he could stare hard enough to make the boy before him disappear.
Satoru sighs.
“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.” He mutters with the twitch of his brow. He sets his bags down and leans on the aged railing. It groans pleadingly to be left alone, but none of them bat an eye. Selfish. They were both selfish. Both had blood on their hands. Both were just teenage boys; lost in a messed up world.
“It haunts me.” The white-haired boy then whispers. “Toji… that dumb cult… this… power and responsibility…”
But maybe Suguru was more selfish than Satoru. It isn’t like he was the only one who suffered, yet he acts like it.
How pathetic.
“I really thought I died, you know. I was scared. I didn’t want to die. I was and am too young. I wanted to die with all my friends by my side. You, Shoko… but being gutted the shit out of.. Oh God it hurt like a bitch..” Satoru chuckles, “I can still feel it. This painful aftermath. Or phantom pain, like Shoko calls it. The scars are ugly too. Sure I healed myself, but there are still scars. Mentally and physically…”
Blue eyes drift to analyze the latter next to him. They are waiting. Patient. Yet horribly perceptive.
Suguru merely shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk. The lump in his throat says otherwise. He feels even shittier that he considered the fact of killing his best friend(?) for his own sake and coping. Despite the fact that Satoru just wanted to help.
Said male huffs out a breath and continues.
“I then killed Toji. He’s a father. A damned father. But he killed Riko and probably many more and yet… I don’t know why it still doesn’t sit right with me…” His voice trails off as he falls into deep thought.
Suguru’s gaze drifts as he notes there are some shopping bags with kid supplies. His heart lurches.
Oh.
“And then my power… it’s too intimidating. Too much. Sure it’s cool to be OP and all but… it’s scary. I don’t want this role, Suguru. Can’t we be normal? Is that too much to ask for…?”
Satoru’s voice cracks. And that is rare . Extremely rare. The teenager inhales shakily and scrubs aggressively at his face.
“Ah.. don’t mind me.” He mutters. “I thought talking about how I feel would coax you to do the same… but I ended up venting unintentionally. Sorry.”
“No… it’s fine.” Suguru utters at last. Dark eyes flick down as a jagged nail anxiously scratches at the rusting metal. A few weak flakes weave their way to the ground beneath.
Satoru sighs.
“You’re not gonna tell me shit, are you?”
“...”
“Come on! I don’t bite!”
Satoru wiggles comically in front of him with puppy eyes.
“Tell meeeee!” He whines.
“You’re really bad at this.” Suguru remarks wryly with the unimpressed raise of his brow.
Satoru pouts.
“You’re so mean! I’m trying my best here!”
A ghost of a smile rests on his lips as he watches the boy before him writhe and complain. Despite everything, Satoru stayed the way he is. Strong. Caring.
But Suguru…
A flick to his forehead makes him jump and meet the other’s gaze.
Satoru’s blue eyes squint at him.
“You’re overthinking. I can practically see your thoughts.”
“Ow…” The black-haired boy then mumbles.
“Even your cries of pain are unenthusiastic! You’re hopeless!”
“You’re awfully dramatic.”
“Hehe~ but you love it~”
Suguru can’t help the small smile that quirks the corner of his lips upwards. That draws a cheeky giggle out of Satoru.
“There we go! That’s what I want to see!” The boy chirps.
Suguru feels his brow twitch and cheeks flush.
“Shut up…”
“Nuh uh.”
After a few pokes and prods, Satoru leaves him be, expression sobering. He turns to lean his back against the railing, propping his elbows. He clearly doesn’t care about the fact the aging metal could collapse at any moment.
Selfish, selfish.
They were both selfish. Just like the Elders, just like the Star Religious Group, just like Toji.
Human nature is sickeningly intoxicating. It reaches a point where it curls around the heart and makes a person numb to it.
That is the word Suguru is looking for.
Numb .
He feels so numb he doesn’t even know if he is standing right now.
“Seriously. You can’t keep it all in forever. You’re bound to explode, sooner or later.” Satoru continues with a sigh, eyes narrowing. “And I can tell that soon is pretty soon. So talk. Talk before you destroy yourself.”
A beat of silence hangs between them.
Hesitancy.
Then—
“What is there left to destroy?” Suguru asks, tone hollow and devoid.
Satoru full-on freezes. That must have hit a sore spot for him too, for his jaw clenches and no reply is offered.
So they were both equally fucked up in their own ways.
How fun.
White lashes flutter shut.
“Alright, edgelord. Let’s go somewhere else more comfortable if this is how things are gonna go.” Satoru musters after moments of silence. He is obviously trying to keep the atmosphere light with constant teasing, but the tension in his shoulders holds a different kind of story.
Satoru hoists the bags he had placed next to his feet with ease and waits patiently for Suguru to move. The noirette stares momentarily before following.
The night breeze offers comfort the best it can, almost as if it was sympathizing with the pair’s silent suffering.
They trail down the path, leaving the old railing behind.
Was this considered mercy for leaving it be, or selfishness for not knocking it over? Suguru didn’t know. He also couldn’t understand why he was worrying about an inanimate object.
He must be truly going insane.
Satoru then abruptly plops onto a nearby bench with a hum. The white-haired male sets the bags next to him and stares up at the sky. The stars weren’t visible due to light pollution, but a few specks managed to waltz their way past that barrier to showcase their beauty.
However in the end, Suguru knows those lights will lose their light. Lose their spark, shrivel up and die. That’s how it always goes for those who try to shine in such a society.
“Ya gonna keep standing there and spacing out? Or are ya gonna sit?” Satoru pipes up, clearly watching him carefully.
Suguru silently shuffles over and sits, hunched in on himself. His fellow friend(?) rummages through one of the bags and pulls out an insulated box. He scrapes at the packaging before managing to open the lid. Satoru plucks out a mochi and nibbles on it. It soothes his nerves and helps him relax.
Suguru never understood how eating sweets was a stress-relief method of some sort for the latter. It was strange, but at least Satoru knew what to do with himself.
Unlike Suguru.
Satoru plucks another mochi out and waves it in front of Suguru’s face.
“Want one?”
“...No thanks…”
The thought of food entering his system makes him feel sick. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach anything in his current state.
“But look! It’s calling to you! Oooooo! Eat me please, Sugu-chan~! ”
Said noirette’s brow twitches.
“D-Don’t call me that…”
“Eh?! I didn’t call you that! It was the mochi! See? Oh Sugu-chan~! Please eat me! I am desperate for digestion! ”
“Okay cut that out! It’s weird!”
Satoru pouts.
“No it’s not!”
“Yes it is. It’s weird and you’re weird. Now eat that thing before it melts.”
Satoru grumbles as he reluctantly moves the mochi away from Suguru and into his mouth.
They fall silent while Satoru finishes the rest of the box and lazily tosses it into the trash next to them.
He groans.
“I can’t stand this agitating wait! You know my patience sucks ass, Suguru! Please… talk!” He then blurts like the brat he is.
Suguru narrows his eyes.
“I told you, there’s nothing to talk about.”
Satoru’s lips twist into an ugly grit.
“Okay that’s it!” He exclaims as he sits up and slams the side of the bench, startling Suguru. “You’re talking to me, whether you like it or not! I’m sick and tired of standing on the sidelines, unable to do shit to help you! I can’t even approach you properly because you always find a way to divert conversation, and I can’t make time because those dumb Elders are always up my ass! All what I can do is sit and watch you slowly kill yourself! ” He hollers, eyes wide and eyebrows knitted into evident fury. Suguru notes a few tears, and his heart sinks .
I just keep making things worse… He thinks as he watches Satoru quiver whilst trying to pull himself together.
“Just… talk. Please .”
Suguru bites the inside of his cheek harshly, teeth grinding. Wouldn’t he just burden Satoru with his pathetic mental state.
But those pleading eyes…. Suguru cannot bring himself to ignore them for much longer.
“I’m… sorry.” The ravenette mumbles, head dipping.
Satoru shakes his head.
“No.. don’t apologize. I’m also sorry for that dumb outburst. That shouldn’t have happened.” He says, his cheeky mask off for once. Satoru looks a bit more reserved, and only Suguru and Shoko have seen this side. It hasn’t been a lot, since Satoru doesn’t like being vulnerable. Whenever it is off, though, it is a sad sight to see.
Sometimes, even Suguru forgets that they’re supposed to be kids.
“Don’t say that. You were right to do that. It’s kind of like a wake up call..” He admits.
Blue eyes grow doe-ish, the innocence making Suguru’s heart pang.
“So.. you’re going to talk?” Satoru whispers hopefully.
He nods.
The boy sighs in relief, then waits patiently.
Suguru inhales slowly, and braces himself. His throat feels tight, as if trying to restrict him from expression. As if assisting the darkness and trying to yank him further into the icy sea.
Suguru has to strain himself to speak, chest aching.
“I… okay. First thing’s first, ever since you arrived, my brain has been telling me to kill you.” He confesses bluntly, then mentally curses and regrets.
He shouldn’t have even said that. Now Satoru is bound to look at him in disgust, punch him, and push him away. Suguru even braces himself.
But nothing comes.
He hesitantly looks at Satoru, who is spectating with a tilted head and flicking eyes.
“What? I’m not mad, ya know. You’ve been through hell, so it’s only expected for you to think that way.” The white-haired teen says.
Suguru blinks.
Okay… that is far from what he expected.
“But- you’ve been through hell.. probably worse than me, and you haven’t thought about doing the same to me.”
Satoru smiles. It’s an empty one.
“You don’t know that.”
Suguru feels a shiver run up his spine at such a statement coming from someone who was bright and bubbly most of the time.
“This power that flows within me… it urges me constantly. I have the ability to end the world if I wanted to. Cause a genocide. And no one can do anything about it.” Satoru sighs and crosses his legs while tapping his head. “So you can imagine how impulsive my thoughts get.”
Suguru blinks slowly.
A laugh leaves him before he can stop it.
“Guess we’re both equally fucked up, huh?”
Satoru also chuckles.
“Guess so.”
Suguru feels his chest lighten ever so slightly. Maybe he isn’t doomed for a life of misery. Yet the nagging in the back of his mind is persistent; demanding a turmoil that was bound to end him.
Satoru settles down, awaiting the next batch of confessions. Suguru wrings his fingers anxiously and squeezes more past the tight knot in his throat.
“Watching Riko die before me was one thing… I…” He shudders and feels himself gag as he remembers:
Tears. Promises. A hand. Another. A gunshot. His ears ringing. Squelching. Eyes dulling. A hole. A hole. Brains. Vomit. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blo—
Satoru’s hand squeezing his shoulder grounds him. He jolts out of trance and… since when was he out of breath? So lightheaded? He doesn’t know.
Satoru rubs circles into Suguru’s shoulder gently.
“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. You’re not there. You’re here.” He murmurs, uncharacteristically soft.
Suguru squeezes his eyes shut before he finally comes to. His mouth opens, but the teenager next to him shushes him.
“I know what you’re going to say. No. Don’t apologize.”
The ravenette nods stiffly.
“And don’t force yourself too much. Only confess what you can bear.”
Suguru’s gaze averts Satoru’s.
“ No . I can’t. I’ve caused you too much worry. I have to express. We both have to if we want to continue living.” He blurts, surprised by his own words. His friend(?)’s expression is unreadable, but he nods slowly and watches.
The noirette decides to resume. He can practically smell Riko’s blood and taste his own.
“Then… I was too shaken… and Toji exploited it by telling me you were dead and I…”
A beat.
“...I just lost it.”
Suguru doesn’t know why his voice warbles and cracks, and he doesn’t want to know why. He can’t bring himself to look at Satoru, or his shattered heart might crumble more. So instead, he inhales and carries on.
“And.. well… I quite literally almost died in the process. In fact, Toji wanted to kill me, but it was only because of these damned curses I eat that he left me on the verge of life and death. And… it was awful… just laying there… worrying… I-”
He shakes his head and buries his face in his hands.
“I… I’ll be honest. I don’t know what to feel anymore. After all that and- and Haibara....” He says wearily. Weary. Yes, weary. He’s tired. So tired.
Suguru finally brings himself to meet Satoru’s gaze once more, finding him also brimming with tears.
“Shit, man I…” The white-haired boy takes off his glasses in an attempt to wipe away the tears that threaten to spill.
Suguru laughs wetly, nose beginning to redden.
“I think we need therapy.” He sniffles.
“You think? We definitely need it.” Satoru retorts with a shaky huff.
The two boys try their best to calm down and keep themselves from breaking down into ugly crying. Both pairs of puffy eyes intersect in a glance.
“A-And hey. I’m sorry. Sorry for making it seem like I don’t care about you. I do. You’re my best friend… and I love you man… I-” Satoru hiccups and curses, blinking aggressively to force the wetness down.
“ I still believe we are the strongest. ”
Suguru’s breath hitches. Time around them stops.
That’s strangely what he wanted to hear the most, for his heart begins to pump. He is being pulled out of that cold sea, slowly and carefully. Maybe not fully, but he can see the surface now. Maybe there is hope.
Suguru doesn’t realize he is crying until Satoru hugs him tightly. The two boys sniffle and cry, doing their best in preventing it from turning into ugly sobs.
Slowly and hesitantly, the noirette hugs his friend back.
And they stay like that. Squeezing each other and crying and mumbling stupid insults to each other for no reason until they calm down.
Satoru and Suguru let out shaky exhales in sync. They do not let go of each other.
“Fuck, you smell awful.” Satoru laughs with a wet snort.
“Cram it. You and your dumb glasses.” Suguru retorts in a rasp. His chest rises and falls softly as he wipes away the tear tracks on his face before they leave marks.
Satoru hums.
“You’re comfy. I might sleep on you at this rate.”
“Don’t you dare . I don’t have strength for anything right now.”
The teenager pouts.
“ Fiiiine… jerk. But you’re coming to my dorm. And you’re staying. And you’re gonna shower because you stink —”
“Fuck off, Satoru!”
“—and you’re gonna be okay. And you’re gonna vent to me whenever you feel like shit. You’re under Gojo watch until further notice.”
Suguru sighs heavily.
“How delightful.” He deadpans.
“Rude.”
Suguru rolls his eyes and fidgets with Satoru’s hair aimlessly. They’re still tangled with one another, but it’s comforting. Even if the wood of the bench was pressing against him uncomfortably, Suguru felt a sort of peace. Not fully, but it is something he relishes.
“You’re also on Geto watch until further notice. Because you clearly need help, idiot. I won’t let you also suffer in silence.” He murmurs.
Satoru groans dramatically, but there is a faint glint of relief in those jewel-like eyes only Suguru is able to pick up.
“How excruciating.” The white-haired boy bemoans.
“Rude.”
Satoru grins cheekily, eyes crinkling as he wiggles tauntingly. Suguru yanks his hair and makes him yelp.
“Okay, asshole! I see how it is!”
The duo spend a handful of minutes bickering before it is cut off with a yawn. This time, from Suguru, putting him off-guard. It’s been a while since he felt exhaustion; the urge to sleep. It makes him smile.
The two untangle from one another after obvious intent that neither of them wanted to let go. Suguru helps Satoru with the bags, and they make their way back to the dorms.
It's a comfortable silence that is finally left between them, footsteps and hearts lighter than before.
Suguru glances around, wishing for this moment to last forever.
“I’m planning on coming with you for your next mission.” Satoru announces out of the blue. The thought makes the other want to leap with joy and tackle his best friend, but he restrains himself.
Suguru narrows his eyes instead and carries that parental demeanor.
“Isn’t that risky? You’ll get in trouble.”
“I’ll do anything if it means keeping you safe.” Satoru declares without hesitation. It makes the ravenette feel warmth in his chest. He softens.
“Same goes for you. And… hey. If you go to Fushiguro’s kids, I’ll tag along.”
It is Satoru’s turn to allow his cheeks to flush and his eyes to widen in surprise.
“O-Oh… wait! How did you know?!”
The noirette smirks playfully.
“It wasn’t that hard to deduce. You said he was a father, and you’ve got children’s stuff with you,” a pause, “it’s one hell of a burden, you know. I won’t let you carry it alone, Satoru.”
The way Suguru says his name oh so gently, like he is fragile and meant to be cherished, makes Satoru melt.
“...Right… thank you.”
“Thank you, too.”
The two teenage sorcerers trail down the smooth path. They carry each other with warmth and care, both in shambles but willing to heal together. Their relationship ties deep, like roots in an ancient tree that refuses to fall. It may be slightly damaged here and there, but it stands with pride.
That is what Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo are.
They may be believed by many that they are “the strongest” , but they were only two traumatized teenagers in the end.
“We should do group therapy with Shoko and Nanamin where we plan the demise of the Elders.” Satoru suggests randomly
“I… don’t think that’s how group therapy works, Satoru.” Suguru points out plainly.
The two boys stare at each other before bursting into a fit of snickers. Suguru truly missed this. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to heal with Satoru.
How selfish.
But maybe, selfishness isn't so bad sometimes.
Maybe, it could lead to good things too.