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Before he is Satoru, before he is even Gojou—
he is the Six Eyes.
There are many, many Satorus. ( One of over one hundred thousand, according to the 2005 census. ) There are only so many Gojous. ( A single clan but a clan nonetheless, several dozen members strong. ) But there is only a single set of Six Eyes— and only ever one in so many centuries.
Technically, it’s not quite a technique, not the way Curse Spirit Manipulation or Projection Sorcery or Limitless is; it’s a modifier more than anything, focusing both the user’s vision and cursed energy output to the molecule. Without this, a Limitless user is, with all intents and purposes, completely useless. Satoru would know, actually: there’s a great-uncle of his, twice removed, who—
“— I get it,” Getou interrupts. His expression is twisted in an odd sort of way— like he was unsure if he was exasperated, fascinated, or confused. Like different colored playdoh mashed together. “I don’t need you to explain the details…”
“You asked.” Satoru plays with the lollipop lodged in his cheek. “So I answered. Also, context is important.”
“No, that’s not…”
Getou is so funny, Satoru thinks. Haughty huffs and patronizing puffs— like a screw too tight, too particular about sorting out the little details when it doesn’t matter, desperate for what little footholds of control he can find… even if it means wagging a finger at Satoru. They’re only fifteen, only so many months into their first year— why sweat it?
He’s already so worried, and for what? Even now his cursed energy flares— it’s like that funny feeling when touching something scalding hot but the very first sensation is icy cold. Only a natural product of Cursed Spirit Manipulation, really. His cursed energy isn’t completely his own, a strange amalgamation of every curse he’s consumed— like a terrible witch’s concoction, it’s both horrifying and fascinating to observe. Sometimes the barely tamed curses lash out occasionally. Naturally. So, so does Getou. So he can’t really blame the guy.
It’s cute. And annoying. But mostly cute.
“Well, I’m the expert here. Obviously.” He grins reassuringly at Getou. The expression he returns demonstrates it did not, in fact, reassure him. “Okay! I mean it, though. These old geezers can’t be bothered to teach every loser from nowhere—“
“— hey —“
“— every little detail about sorcerer society because they’re too busy pouring money into their stupid political spats instead of actually giving a damn about their next generation ‘cause they’re sure they’re just going to die before they even turn thirty. No point in investing, etc. Morbid, right?”
Getou looks even more displeased.
“Anyway. Lucky you, getting me as a classmate. Like I said, I’m basically an expert. So…” He throws an arm over his shoulder, and ignores the way Getou’s face reflexively tightens. “If you’ve got any other questions, I’m your guy. And Ieiri too, I guess. But mostly me. Nowhere else to get that insider’s, Big Three Clan scoop, you know?”
Getou tries to look at said Ieiri. His face is turned entirely so Satoru can’t exactly make out his expression— probably of desperation— but it doesn’t even matter; she seems to be rapidly losing interest in her classmates’ conversation by the minute. On her, really. She’s got two of the coolest classmates and this is how she acts?
“Help me,” Getou says. She doesn’t even grace him with a glance over.
Satoru only laughs. “You’re funny,” he tells him. “Can I call you Suguru?”
“Absolutely not.”
Then, the world ends.
But only for a short while. So, not really. But when it did, for that short while, Satoru’s heart had stopped and his blood had burned in his throat and everything went dark, blindingly so, but he gets it pumping again easily enough after he’d grasped Reverse Curse Technique wherever he was in the beyond—
so he’s fine, at the end! Plus he finally gets the stupid “fwoo” and “woosh” Shoko talks about, and he’s figured out how to activate Red, and now he can keep up Infinity for basically forever: so it’s a net positive, right?
Right.
Not so much for Suguru, though.
Satoru isn’t stupid. If there’s anything he’s learned in the past year and a half it’s that Suguru is physically incapable of not worrying, so much so that Satoru has to shake out the anxiety from him like a tree dropping apples. Not literally, obviously, but a few words of “it’s not your fault” usually clears most of the shadows from his face.
But that’s for letting a curse slip between their fingers, or when some normie gets injured getting caught in a scuffle. Not…
It seriously isn’t his fault, though! Satoru knows, Satoru knows Suguru knows, because Suguru isn’t stupid, either. But Suguru’s getting lost in that empty gaze looking nowhere, and it’s already the fifth time since Monday, and after giving up on saying his name again Satoru goes for grabbing his hand— and Suguru flinches.
“Suguru,” Satoru ventures, carefully.
“I…” Suguru stares at him, then shakes his head, as if to try and clear the clouds himself. It doesn’t work. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the report done like I said. I just…”
It’s scary, actually. Suguru kinda sucks at self-reflection sometimes, spiraling down and down and down and down without even bothering to stop and look at where he’s going, and now here he is, ending up looking like an animal trapped in a well— fully aware of his situation but with no way out.
Satoru’s heart clenches, suddenly, in panic.
“Don’t apologize, idiot.” You know what, actually? Satoru swipes the report and the pen from his hands. “Lemme confiscate those.”
“Satoru—“
“I’ll do that.” Satoru looks at him from above his shades, hoping he can see the fury boiling up his insides. “You’re tired, Suguru. Look at yourself! How much have you slept?!”
“I…” Suguru’s fists curl up, less like he’s going for a punch and more like his fingers are retreating into his hands, hiding in his palms. “Satoru. Please. Stop.”
“Suguru! I’m serious! You look bad, like—“
“I’m fine! Now give those back. Please.” Suguru sounds desperate. Satoru feels desperate. Should he push? He should push.
“Uh, no. Not until you talk to me!”
“Satoru.”
“Suguru. Do you think I’m stupid or something—“
“Stop!” Suguru gets to his feet, desk shaking at the force, and glares at him with the same fury. In his dark eyes, it looks like burnt sugar. “Can you shut the fuck up, for once? I can’t think with your stupid voice drowning out my thoughts!”
Satoru falters, staring. He opens his mouth, finding it dry, then shuts it again. After a moment, he hands over the pen and paper.
“Thank you.”
Satoru continues to stare. He wants to say, where the hell is this coming from? I literally just want to help you. Or, maybe better, I’m sorry. Let’s sit down and talk about this, okay? I’m just worried about you.
But… then what? Suguru says, sorry, I feel awful, let me tell you about it, then spills his insides? Then Satoru says, thanks for letting me know, we had a good talk, and everything is okay?
Suguru would never say that. Satoru would never say that. 'Cause Suguru is the patting on the back, ‘feel better’ guy. Satoru implodes a few curses, maybe blasts a Red, then leaves the rest for Suguru to clean up.
Satoru…
He holds his breath. Then he laughs weakly, and elbows Suguru gently. “Kinda a dramatic way to ask, right? A ‘please’ would’ve worked.”
There is a long, cold moment where Suguru doesn’t answer. Then, “I did say please.”
“Yeah, like you wanted to kill me!”
Suddenly, Suguru deflates. He slumps over and sighs. “I kinda did. Do.”
“So scary, Suguru.” He raises a hand to rub Suguru’s back, then thinks better of it. “How… how about you finish that, and then we get crepes, or something? My treat.”
“Your treat?” Suguru finally looks up at him, disbelieving, and Satoru flashes back a grin.
“Yeah, cuz I know you splurge your allowance on expensive sushi even though there’s literally a conveyor belt place only fifteen minutes away.”
“So what?” His expression is defensive, and Satoru aims for the shins with a cheeky smile. “Hey!”
“And you know I’d never turn down the opportunity to spend precious Gojou estate money on something stupid like crepes. And I know you wouldn’t either, Marx-san.”
Suguru rolls his eyes at the nickname, but Satoru’s delighted to see it’s had the intended effect: some of the weight has slipped off his shoulder, and his smile is easy and gentle once again. It’s funny— he feels his own weight slip off his shoulders, own body relaxing. Suguru’s fine. With that smile…
They’ll be fine.
“Don’t call me that.” Suguru gets up, but not before returning the shin-kick— only to hit Infinity, of course. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”
“Nah, you love it.”
“Whatever.”
He smiles, though. And it’s real.
Satoru wishes, in that moment, that he had dominion over time instead of space. He’d freeze it, in this moment, right here, and preserve that smile forever.
So he tries the next best thing. Swears to himself, just short of making a pact, that he’ll—
We can do this, Suguru, he thinks, for the both of them. We’re the strongest.
If Satoru can do it, why wouldn’t Suguru?
“Suguru, did you lose weight?”
He doesn’t look at him. So Satoru presses further, “Are you okay?”
“… it’s just the summer stress. I’m fine.”
Right. No direct questions. Suguru doesn’t like that. Satoru rolls over possible questions in his mouth, and decides to land on— “Did you eat too much soumen?”
He grins, too, and draws out a small smile. It’s not nothing, but…
It’s been like this. It’s always like this. Despite all of Satoru’s best efforts, Suguru’s face continues to stay dark. Sunshine leaks, intermittently, so Satoru grasps those moments like precious diamonds, and makes sure to keep his eyes open for patterns, the way he would with a puzzle.
Reassurance. Gentleness. No direct questions. Honestly— Satoru’s not good at this sort of thing. But he’ll try. He’ll keep him smiling, as much as he can, keeping the darkness at bay.
Suguru’s moods are like the rainy season, Satoru muses; more darkness, more often. Thunderstorms dance across his facial features, complete with the quaking ( of his shoulders ) and the shadows ( over his face ).
But that’s it, right?— it’s meant to pass. Seasons come and go. Yet Suguru only isolates himself more, pulling further and further away.
But Satoru won’t let him. He gets desperate. Only a few days and a mission or two later, he gets his chance:
“Suguru!”
It takes a moment longer than usual for Suguru to raise his face to acknowledge him. His cursed energy has grown, in size and in strength, both from his growing stock of curses and rapidly sinking mood; the bags beneath his eyes are even deeper, even darker, and Satoru immediately reaches for them— just for Suguru to flinch as he does.
“No— stop! Satoru!” He sputters and swats at his hands. Satoru scoffs, but obliges, hands in the air like a criminal caught. Which is how he feels. Which he isn’t!
“Suguru…” Satoru whines again. He draws out the vowels in the way he knows Suguru pretends he hates but actually finds totally endearing, and grins when he draws out an eyeroll and the mildest snicker. Okay, the ‘being annoying’ tactic still works, at least. “Come on. It’s been—“
“Two days.” He shoves at his face again, but this time with much less annoyance than before. Definitely just for the sake of it.
“Two days too much! Yaga-sensei needs to stop sending you on solo missions. What the fuck is up with that?”
“I’m not the person to ask, am I? I’m pretty sure you just said the criminal’s name.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. After this.” He gently squishes Suguru’s cheeks, and giggles as his lips pucker in his hands. “Aaaahhh. Suguru. You need to take a shower. Scrub out those dark spots beneath your eyes. You need to be wide awake for our Brawl tournament.”
“Our…?” his eyes light up in recognition, then immediately darken. He looks even more exhausted. “Satoru, I don’t know…”
“What?!”
“I’m tired. As you can see.” There’s that familiar edge of Suguru’s voice, threateningly sharp in its curtness. Satoru knows well what’ll happen if he says the wrong thing. “I don’t know if I really want to…”
“But! But you promised!” He squishes again, or more like squashes, feeling Suguru whine only louder beneath him. Reluctantly, he releases his face. Change of tactics? “You don’t want to disappoint Nanami, right? Or Haibara? Your precious underclassmen?”
Nail on the head. Suguru hesitates. Something in his expression clears. “No, but I’m sure they’ll understand if…”
“A promise is a promise, Suguru,” he reprimands, in a cheap imitation of his victim’s own usual condescending tone. “Besides, you wanted to do this, too! We literally talked about it on the phone yesterday! Were you lying to me, Suguru?!”
“Obviously not! I just…” Aaahh, the guilt’s getting to him. Suguru doesn’t meet his eyes as he presses his thumb to his forehead. “Today was exhausting. That’s all. I just want to lie down and rest and not talk to anyone until tomorrow.”
“… okay.” Sounds like a lie, but. Satoru frowns, and after a moment of consideration he cups Suguru’s cheeks again and brings his face up so they make eye contact. “Are you sure?”
“… yes.”
“… that doesn’t sound convincing.”
“Yes!”
It still doesn’t. Satoru only raises an eyebrow.
“… okay, I…” He exhales, slowly. “Fine. Sure. I’ll come.”
“Awesome. I’ll kick your ass.”
“Shut up!”
Words are one thing, though. Will it be enough? Satoru wrings his hands all day, until Shoko tells him to quit it.
But evening comes, and Suguru’s here, not even late, and Satoru easily tosses his Meta Knight off the map. But he’s laughing the entire time, face scrunched in that familiar way, hunched over the table and holding onto it like it’s his only lifeline.
Satoru can’t stop staring. His fingers twitch. There are words stuck in the back of his throat, but he finds the water and chugs it down, hoping it’ll dislodge them.
This should be enough.
This is enough. As long as Suguru is smiling…
They’ll get there.
Satoru lays in bed, staring at the ceiling. Suguru’s on another mission, but he’ll be back tomorrow, and Satoru will be here, so Satoru can continue operation Make Suguru Feel Better.
He pulls out his phone, squinting at their texts; Suguru’s yet to respond, but a couple more messages won’t hurt.
hey
come over as soon as you get back
ive got a surprise for you ;)
He puts his phone down. He shuts his eyes, and lets a smile creep up his face. He breaths in, and…
“… huh?”
The storm parts. The rain stops. And what’s left…
Satoru’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at Yaga at his world falls apart.