Archive of Our Own

There is always a surge of patients around mid-February, as the season tends to amplify the extremes in individuals, making it harder for them to cope with mental health ailments like anxiety and depression. The staff found it tiresome—long hours, emotionally draining cases—but they were grateful for the occasional days off to rest and recharge before returning to duty. Honestly, It's a noble profession. 

Yet, amid the usual chaos, one patient stood out—a man who hadn’t spoken in weeks. According to a report, he was found mumbling incoherently and unconscious in an abandoned park. Since then, he had remained trapped in a silent reverie, unresponsive to any attempts at communication. Rumors circulated among the staff that he came from an elite family, which only added to the mystery. Why is he here? What concerned everyone most was the unresponsiveness of his family; despite repeated efforts, no one had come forward or answered their calls.

A knock on the door was heard, interrupting the man who’s absorbed in scanning some documents. 

“Come in.” He acknowledged, his voice steady but tired, sighing as he removed his glasses. 

A woman entered, carrying a folder that immediately drew his attention. Her expression was serious, almost weary to talk about it. 

“What brings you here, Iori-san?” He asked, his eyes narrowing. She gave a dry, almost resigned look, exhaling sharply before settling into the chair opposite him.

“The director asked me to deliver this,” She said, placing the folder carefully on his desk. “They want you to take over the care of that patient.”

He raised an eyebrow, flipping open the file. “Another one?” His tone was half-joking, but there was an edge of fatigue beneath it. He leaned back, studying the folder’s contents. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders once more.

“Yeah, they said you're the only one who can handle it blah blah.” She said, “It was handed to some but they refused, what's up with that? It's not like he's royal blooded or part of the yakuza to fear touching him. Sounds like bullshit to me.” She rambled expressively. 

“I see, that's quite a judgment. I guess they can't afford to make a mistake or they simply can't get the job done.” A sigh escaped him, barely audible, laden with a quiet weariness. He didn't like the attitude of his colleagues. It was profoundly disappointing to see people, dedicated to a helping profession, shrink from a patient in need, especially for reasons that felt so shallow.

Utahime shrugged, raising both hands in a dismissive gesture. “I know, right? They probably just overlooked the benefits of it. Just saying.”

“That’s not our purpose, is it?” He spoke firmly, his voice holding a subtle note of lament. Despite his hefty salary, he had always been driven by a genuine desire to help others. Empathetic.

“Is that you being a goody two shoes or what, an angel?” Utahime chuckled. 

“Neither.” 

“Always quick to answer, Geto-san.” 

Suguru smiled in response, almost automatic—but it faltered the moment the patient’s name crossed his mind. That name. He knew it. Not from the distant echoes of wealth or the idle whispers that drifted through the hospital corridors, but by heart. A recognition that stirred something raw and inexplicable inside him. How could a mere name ignite such a desperation to see the man? It was as if they shared a fragment of a memory, something intangible—a past devoid by existence. Memories carved from absence, yet heavy with silent longing.

His chest tightened, a subtle constriction he barely allowed himself to notice. 

Utahime stared at him, expectant. “Think you can handle it?” When she saw the look on his face, he knew he's in for it. 

“Which room is he in?”

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

Utahime led the way down the sterile corridor, her footsteps steady and purposeful. As they approached the patient’s room, she offered Suguru the option to back out if he thinks he’s unable to help. Suguru dismissed it, he's not new to this. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cool, recycled air. With every stride, it seemed to grow heavier beneath him, as if the weight of unseen memories anchored him in place. An unfamiliar, aching cry rose from deep within his soul. A desperate yearning that both startled and unsettled him.

Why does it cry? The question haunted him silently amidst his fatigue. 

When he finally approached the patient’s bedside, Suguru froze. The man laid motionless, pale and fragile, yet somehow radiated an almost divine presence. He shouldn't be here. 

His breath hitched. This wasn’t just a stranger; Suguru knew him through something far more profound. A connection that transcended time and logic, as if they had shared moments beyond memory. Confusion flickered across Suguru’s face. How could he recognize someone so intimately, yet know that no shared history existed? It was as if the patient’s very presence stirred echoes of forgotten emotions, memories never happened felt undeniably real

Outside the door, Utahime waited quietly, sensing the weight of the moment but trusting Suguru’s resolve.

“Gojo Satoru.”  

The name uttered from Suguru’s lips almost instinctively, as natural as breathing—but the moment it left his mouth, it felt like a thousand knives pierced his chest. His face betrayed no clear expression—conflicted, confused, and weighed down by the incoming storm inside him. There was something about Gojo, something Suguru couldn’t grasp or explain. 

Then, to Suguru’s shock, something unexpected happened. From where she's at, Utahime watched in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The air seemed to thicken with tension.

Inside the room, Gojo’s head turned sharply, directly where Suguru stood. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Suguru’s lavender gaze with an intensity that cut through the stillness like a blade. The recognition in those eyes was immediate, electric, an unspoken connection sparking between them. Suguru’s breath caught, an aching familiarity washed over him in a wave he hadn’t anticipated.

“Suguru?” The voice was breathless, fragile, like it might be the last time he could say that name. Gojo’s eyes fluttered open abruptly, breaking free from the fog of his reverie. For a moment, he looked utterly lost, disoriented, as if the world around him was unfamiliar and slipping away.

Suguru froze, stunned by the suddenness of hearing his name spoken so softly, so urgently. He glanced down to his lab coat—there was no name tag. He had forgotten to wear his ID today. 

“Mhm, that’s me. How’d you know?” Suguru asked, his voice calm but guarded, struggling to mask the swirl of emotions rising within him.

Gojo’s lips curled into a faint, confident smile, though his eyes betrayed him. “Huh–of course, I know. I’ve always known you, Suguru. What kind of question is that?” His tone was light, almost teasing, but beneath it lay the fragile thread of certainty he clung to. 

Suguru’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of Gojo’s response. He surmises that he probably heard about him while still lucid, but that’s strange. There are no records of him ever being here before. Or could it be that Gojo was confusing him with someone else who has the same name as Suguru? 

“Okay…” Suguru said. “Do you remember where you were the last time you… you know, before all this?”

Gojo’s eyes brightened with certainty. “Yeah! We were at the beach in Okinawa, making sandcastles. Shouldn’t you know that? Why are you asking?”

Suguru didn’t answer. Instead, his attention sharpened at the word he used. 

“We?” He repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, we!” Gojo beamed, a wide grin spreading across his face. Then, as if suddenly realizing something was off, he let out an awkward chuckle. “What are you on? This has to be a joke, right? Why the hell are you acting like an idiot?”

“Are you sure you know me?” Suguru pressed. But how could he?

“Is this some kind of test? Why are you interrogating me?” Gojo’s voice wavered slightly, a hint of frustration creeping in. He was searching for a way to break free from the confusion, hoping Suguru would snap out of whatever role he was playing.

“No, but when exactly was it?” Suguru asked gently.

“Okinawa?” Gojo repeated, then shrugged. “I… don’t remember?” Puzzled. 

Suguru’s heart sank. There it was, the sign. 

“Look, listen to me closely, okay?” Suguru leveled Gojo’s gaze, his voice soft and steady, careful not to frighten him. “You’ve been here for a few weeks now, and during that time, we’ve been trying to understand what’s going on with you. From what we’ve observed and the tests we’ve done, it seems that you’re experiencing something called schizophrenia. It’s a condition that affects how the brain processes information which can cause hallucinations.” 

Silence. 

“This might sound scary, but there are treatments that can help you feel better. I'm here to support you and give you the best support that you need.” Suguru continued, trying to gain his trust. “We've also tried contacting your parents but so far, we haven’t gotten in touch with them. But we're here to help.”

Suguru braced himself for the reaction, but what caught him off guard was Gojo’s sudden laugh—a confused, panicked laugh that he quickly tried to suppress, as if unsure how to react to the gravity of the situation because he doesn't understand. 

“Woah, you're onto acting now? And you're trying to fool me.” Satoru laughed, edged with pure disbelief. “I almost bought it, when are you auditioning? Should we audition together to see who gets accepted first?”

“I'm being serious, Gojo-”

“Oh shut up! You're joking, aren't you? Well, it's not funny, Suguru.” 

“Calm down, Gojo-”

“I am calm! This is just ridiculous.”

“I know, but It's not a joke, Gojo-”

“Satoru!” He harshly shouted, glaring at Geto ferociously. His eyes flashed with confusion and ire, glassy with forming tears, Suguru saw it. 

“Call me Satoru- damn it! Did I do something wrong for you to act like you don't know me at all? I'll apologize, I can even kneel while I'm at it—just please, stop treating me like this. I'm sorry.” His voice trembled, a storm of fear, frustration, and heartbreak etched across his face. 

He felt utterly defeated—like he had lost again. Lost to his fate. Lost to their fate.

Suguru’s expression softened, but his tone remained gentle. “Okay, Satoru… no need to shout.” He gently guided Satoru to take a deep breath, knowing that this kind of outburst could drain him further. “Let me explain. Your tolerance for suffering has reached its limit. That’s why your condition was triggered. Schizophrenia gives you the ability to create a world inside your mind, a world that feels real. But living there too much can be dangerous, both physically and mentally. It puts you at risk.”

Satoru’s eyes burned with desperation. “Drop the act, Suguru. I’m not crazy. You know me! What did I do? Just tell me already—stop messing with me!” He covered his ears, trying to block out the words. His head spun, pain radiating from deep inside.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Satoru. Please… listen to me.”

“This is some kind of shitty joke then? A prank where you gaslight me after I woke up? That should be it, right?” Suguru didn't answer, “Right?!” he gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply. 

“I wouldn't joke around about something so serious-”

“Then what is it?!” Satoru raised his voice, frustrated as he panics. “You're toying with my feelings. I don't know what to believe anymore–this is not a good joke.”

Suguru wished he could avert his gaze. It feels… 

“Stop this nonsense, Suguru.” He pleaded. “You're basically telling me that I made you up. Why would I believe you when you're literally in front of me?” The desperation in his voice was raw, he needed to know this wasn’t true.

Suguru remained silent, his mind clouded with perplexity. Because it seems like he's part of the world Satoru created. Meanwhile, Gojo’s sobs grew louder, helpless. His eyes darted around, finally settling on the sterile hospital room, the IV drip attached to his arm a stark reminder of where he truly was.

It’s real…? How… why? What— 

But I was in Okinawa… 

Satoru struggled to find the words, his voice faltering. His heart refused to accept this harsh truth.

“Quit your jokes, Suguru! Please, stop this already! You’re getting the reaction you want, so drop it! Why won’t you quit? It hurts… fuck! Stop!” Satoru cried out, clutching his head as the pain intensified, trying not to hit himself. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhale more difficult than the last.

Then he remembered, “Shoko- where is she? Is she filming this? Y’all had your fun, right? So just stop it, please!”

“Shoko? Is she your friend?” Suguru asked, there should be someone to talk to about his condition. 

“Yes! And she’s also your friend! Stop pretending you don’t know anything, fuck—” Satoru’s ears began to ring, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face. Suguru’s heart ached as he reached out, wanting nothing more than to hold him, to offer comfort until the storm passed.

“I’m not acquainted with her, Satoru… I’m sorry. But please, please calm down.” He tried to touch Satoru’s trembling shoulder, but Satoru recoiled, resisting the contact. The rejection stabbed Suguru's heart—it wasn’t like the Satoru he knew. The Satoru he cared for would always lean into his touch.

Why do I feel like this? What do I know about him anyway? 

“Tell me that this is all just nonsense, I'll forgive you, Suguru… just please.. please.. I can't lose you like this.” Satoru sobs. 

But he didn't calm down. Satoru shut him out and forced him to leave with distrustful eyes. Suguru let out a heavy sigh and acknowledged that he was to blame—he shouldn’t have rushed to tell him. He should’ve waited till an appropriate time to tell Satoru It would have been kinder, wiser. He had been reckless. He sank into his office chair, closing his eyes tightly as guilt gnawed at him. How could he have been so inconsiderate? So impatient? The image of Satoru’s despair replayed relentlessly in his mind, a painful reminder that his actions had only deepened the wound. 

He has to make it right next time around. 

“Can you do it?” Utahime gazed at him. 

“Yes. I'm alright, did you forget that I'm a doctor?” He replied with a hint of dry humor. 

“Okay, sorry, but isn't it weird that he knows your name? Is there something I should know?”

Utahime nodded but pressed on, “Okay, sorry. But isn’t it strange that he knows your name? Is there something I should know?”

Suguru shook his head, then removed his arm from his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in a surge of questions. 

“There isn’t,” He said quietly, voice low. “But I’ll take care of him. After all, Satoru owes me answers…”

Utahime quirk an eyebrow, sensing the weight behind his words but wisely choosing not to pry. Instead, she chuckled softly and left the room to check if the nurses had managed to calm Gojo down.

 ˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

On his way to the hospital the following day, Suguru made a deliberate detour to a local pastry shop. He chose a selection of sweets, a silent offering, a way to make amends for the previous day’s blunder. He imagined giving them to Satoru, believing a little sweetness might help, and the thought of sharing them, feasting on them together, felt oddly natural—a gesture he might have always performed solely for that person, and no one else. 

Weird. 

Professionally speaking, he rationalized, this gentler approach offered a chance to gradually rebuild trust, essential for Satoru’s progress.

As he walked through the hospital corridors, staff members and nurses acknowledged him with their usual greetings, which he returned with a modest, if somewhat strained, smile. Rather than heading straight for his office, he veered towards Satoru’s room. Satoru seemed to sense his presence immediately, turning his head sharply. It made Suguru wonder if Satoru perceives silence differently or he’s just used to his presence.

Satoru didn’t smile at him, Suguru hadn’t expected him to—but the lack of warmth still sent a ripple of disappointment through him, a stark reminder of his misstep. Satoru’s eyes then drifted, catching sight of the pastry box in Suguru’s hand. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor touched his lips, as if he tried to conceal a smile but couldn’t quite manage it, trying to avert his gaze. Then, Satoru smiled. 

I was right, this would cheer him up. 

His smile.. It's beautiful. I hope he continues smiling at me even if it means I have to feed him sweets just to get him to smile. 

Money is not an issue anyway. 

“Is there something wrong?” Suguru asked, took a chair and settled down before preparing their food.

“Yesterday,” Satoru claimed, not taking his eyes off him. “That's what's wrong.”

“How long are you gonna roleplay this, Suguru? It's making me feel sick. As a doctor, this is weird and offensive.” Satoru slightly frowned, voicing out his concerns. 

“You're a doctor?” Suguru asked, and he nodded. 

Suguru hummed, unsure if he's pertaining to this world or the one he created.

“And no, this is not a roleplay. Like you said, it's morally wrong to take pleasure from this.” Suguru paused, then continued, “I'm sorry, but this is the truth.” 

The reality. 

“But Suguru… you told me this was just a dream, and that I’d wake up soon,” Satoru’s voice was weak and shaky, clinging to his words, looking at the person he trusts the most. Searching for the Suguru that he knows. “Why am I still here? Why are you still talking like this?” He clenched his fists, vigilant. 

It stung. Regardless of the fact that he believes that this is the man he's devoted to, the person in front of him was distant—almost like a stranger. 

“Gojo–I mean, Satoru..” Suguru attempted to reach out for his hand which made Satoru budge. Rejecting him. “Let's take things slow, so it won't be too overwhelming, okay? You're not alone, Satoru. You have me.”

Satoru’s frown softened, and he stopped avoiding Suguru’s gaze, wanting to believe him—to trust him. “This nightmare would be over soon if you allow yourself to get help,” Suguru continued quietly, assuring him. “I promise, I won’t leave your side.” 

Satoru looked away, a little taken aback and perplexed, unsure how to react or what to think about Suguru’s sincere words of commitment. He didn’t know if he could trust him.

“Shut up, give me that,” Is what he chose to say, snatching the crepe near Suguru’s hands.

“I was going to–” eat that… 

The following words didn’t make it out as he watched Satoru savor the food. He lowered his head and unconsciously smiled at the sight—a small moment he wanted to hold onto, to remember fondly and never let slip away.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” Satoru asked, pointing at the food with starvation. Suguru rose his head and snatched it, hiding his flustered cheeks. 

Satoru licked his lips, pouting as he watched Suguru munch the crepe. There was still plenty left, so he shouldn’t mind, right? Or maybe he just wants to steal his food for being a jerk. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a light chuckle.

Suguru caught the familiar amusement in Satoru’s laugh and felt something ease inside him. When he glanced over, Satoru was busy snacking, but the wide eyes that flicked to meet him were clear—this moment was real. Not a hallucination. Just them, sharing something simple and familiar. 

“Got a problem, bangs?” Satoru’s tone was cocky, teasing yet what caught Suguru’s attention wasn’t the challenge in his voice, but the nickname he’d just used.

“Cockiness doesn’t suit you,” Suguru replied, though he was lying. Deep down, he liked it—liked Satoru’s boldness.

“It does,” Satoru said smoothly, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “But you’d suit me better if you dropped the act.”

Suguru shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took a bite of his crepe. “Didn’t know you were quite the flirt.”

“You do,” Satoru said with a sly grin, “and you should know, because you love me.”

The words hit Suguru like a sudden wave, making his world slow down. A knot twisted in his stomach, a strange mix of sickness and warmth clouding his thoughts. The word “love” echoed inside him, heavy and unfamiliar. He knew what love was supposed to be. Something genuine. Something pure. Something deep. But right now, it felt like a puzzle missing half its pieces.

What is love? 

He glanced back at Satoru, watching the familiar grin, the spark in his eyes. For a moment, everything else faded—stuck in confusion. 

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

Many days had passed, marked by peaks and valleys, inevitable fluctuations that one should foreseen, yet still wore heavily on the heart. Despite the turmoil, hope lingered like the delicate scent of cherry blossoms carried on a gentle breeze. Everyone longed for brighter, lighter days—days as soft and fleeting as petals drifting in the spring wind. Suguru found himself wishing for better tomorrows, silently sending his hopes upon the fragile sakura petals that fluttered outside his window.

Spring had arrived.

Still, he hadn’t been able to persuade Satoru to begin therapy. Each conversation spiraled into arguments, sharp words exchanged like falling branches in a storm. There were days when Satoru’s words cut deep, leaving Suguru trapped in restless rumination, his stomach twisting with nausea and worry.

“Not everyone sees you to be as helpful as you believe. You and your fucking savior complex makes me sick! Are you not ashamed? Huh?! I don't need anyone’s help, my condition is not a fucking accomplishment!”

Satoru would scream at him, his voice raw and vicious, then broke down sobbing in anguish—his vulnerability and helplessness laid bare. Frail. Suguru’s only response was to hold his trembling hand, fighting the overwhelming urge to pull him into a comforting embrace, to reassure and soothe him in the only way he knew how. And when the distress became unbearable, Satoru’s agitation spiraling beyond control, Suguru had no choice but to arrange for a rapid tranquilization—administering a short-acting intramuscular antipsychotic or benzodiazepine to calm the acute episode safely and humanely.

Satoru’s schizophrenia was worsening day by day. His body was wasting away; he was losing weight, his exhaustion etched deeply onto his pale face. Suguru found himself unable to sleep, haunted by worry and helplessness. The couch beside Satoru’s hospital bed became his refuge—the only place he could catch restless, fitful naps. It felt warmer, somehow, than his own bed. Perhaps it was the presence of someone he cared for, someone who refused to leave his side.

There were also instances where Satoru would tear the IV out of his skin and flee the room; Suguru had to search all over the facility for him before Satoru was found. More often than not, he’d find him in the tranquil hospital garden, often amidst the lingering cherry blossoms, appearing utterly blissful, seemingly untouched by the chaos he’d left behind.

Suguru would pause at the threshold, his heart aching. Should he intervene, pull Satoru back into the stark reality of the hospital? Or should he allow him this transient, precious moment of apparent peace, this brief glimpse of happiness in someone’s company? Even with that “someone” being him, coddling Satoru. Standing right there, Suguru felt a sharp pang of envy. He couldn't elicit such a fond, genuine smile from Satoru–not the way himself could in Satoru's universe. 

What do I have in that figment of yours that I don't? 

Why won't you let me in? 

Why won't you let me take care of you? 

Satoru, why? 

These questions, Suguru knew, had painfully clear answers. It was because of his occupation, his role as the psychiatrist, the one who administered medication, who held him down, who represented the invasion of his internal world. Satoru’s interpretation was tragically understandable. He was living simultaneously in two worlds, and in both, there was a ‘Suguru’—one who was a source of comfort, and one who was a symbol of his captivity. And the real Suguru was caught agonizingly in between, burdened by a love that could not yet fully reach.

Suguru was willing to carry the same pain that Satoru endured—not out of obligation or pity, but because his heart was irrevocably tied to Satoru’s. Every ache that Satoru felt echoed within him, as if their souls were bound by an unbreakable thread. He didn’t see Satoru’s struggles as burdens; he saw them as part of the man he loved, the man whose smile lit up even the darkest corners of his reality.

He wanted to protect that smile—the rare, genuine moments of happiness that broke through the shadows of illness and fear. It wasn’t just about keeping Satoru well or safe; it was about preserving the essence of who he was beneath it all. The laughter that bubbled up when Satoru acted silly, the playful teasing that sometimes annoyed him but always brought a spark to their days. Suguru cherished those moments like precious dust. More than anything, Suguru desired to hold Satoru tight in an embrace, to be the warmth that chased away the cold isolation that imprisons him. To be the steady presence that is said without words. It wasn’t about heroism; it was about love in its purest form. 

His love was neither grandiose nor performative. It was the steady flame that’s alive, the gentle strength that carried him through sleepless nights and uncertain days. It was the unspoken vow to stand beside Satoru, to share his burdens, to celebrate every small victory, no matter how momentary it may be. 

It wasn't his savior complex that made him feel things, to be attached or get infatuated. It was real. This love is real, it's messy and difficult. It saw beyond the pain, beyond the fear, beyond the walls that illness built. And so Suguru carried it with him, quiet, unrelenting, and eternal because Satoru was worth every ounce of it.

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

March

Ever since Satoru began taking his medication, the hospital room transformed from a place of confinement into a sanctuary where memories quietly took root. As the haze of psychosis lifted, revealing moments of lucid clarity, the shadows that once haunted Satoru’s mind began to recede—if only for a while. Each day offered a fragile promise: that these glimpses of reality might grow steadier, that the storms might lessen in their fury. And within those days, Suguru and Satoru found the chance to truly learn from one another. 

Their strolls often led them to the garden, where the world outside the sterile walls bloomed with gentle life. Suguru would pluck a single flower and tuck it behind Satoru’s ear, holding his gaze with a quiet intensity that spoke without the voice. In those moments, the garden became their shared secret, a small rebellion against the illness that sought to divide them.

When Satoru returned to his room, the flower would find its way into the pages of a notebook Suguru had given him—a refuge for thoughts and feelings too fragile to speak aloud. He pressed the bloom between the pages, its softness a tangible reminder of that fleeting moment under the sun. Then, with careful strokes, he wrote down what stirred within him: the warmth of a smile, the comfort of a touch, the hope that flickered like a candle against the dark. And in this quiet ritual, their bond deepened, not through grand declarations, but through the simple, profound act of presence. 

Lately, Satoru found himself adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions, unable to untangle the threads of his own heart. Thoughts and feelings rustled deep within him, elusive and unfamiliar, as if a new light had begun to shine on Suguru—one that cast him in a glow both dazzling and life. His heart raced and fluttered with an intensity he had once known whenever Suguru greeted him with that gentle smile upon entering the room. That crescent smile, soft yet radiant, outshone the sun itself, brightening the dullest of days and filling Satoru with a quiet eagerness to catch even the smallest glimpse of it.

Bearing in mind that he is his patient, he is apprehensive about whether to indulge in these forbidden sentiments. Suguru was his doctor, the one who's holding him. To indulge in these forbidden sentiments felt like crossing an invisible line, a boundary. Is that okay? Wouldn't that be scandalous? 

So Satoru chose silence, a quiet reverence that wrapped around his feelings like a protective veil. He kept these thoughts locked away, hidden in the secret chambers of his heart, content to admire Suguru from the quiet—cherishing the light he brought without daring to reach for it.

Would my feelings reach him even if I'm like this? 

At night, Satoru struggles. The world around him blurs at the edges, and reality feels like a thin, trembling veil. He often finds himself spaced out in a corner of a room he doesn’t remember walking into. Memories—fragmented and looping—swirl through his mind, tangled with voices that plead, cajole, and sometimes whisper secrets only he and Suguru could ever know. The voices are familiar, achingly so; they echo with the timbre of his own thoughts, yet carry Suguru’s gentle cadence. Sometimes, Satoru wonders if he’s dreaming, if any of this is real, or if he’s simply lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. He loses himself in the mask he’s crafted. Invincible and untouchable. But behind closed doors, the weight of it all threatens to crush him, and the cacophony in his head grows unbearable. 

Suguru, on the other hand, spends more time in the walls of the hospital than in his own home, convinced that being close to Satoru is the only way he can help, the only way he can keep him safe if something happens. The hospital’s humming machines and antiseptic scent have become a strange comfort, a place where he can watch over Satoru without drawing suspicion. Some might call him obsessive, but Suguru knows better. He saw the light in Satoru’s eyes when they met—an unspoken longing. It’s a luminescence that cuts through the darkness. All he could do was to act oblivious, trying to set aside his personal feelings. His human emotions. But every time Satoru looks at him with those celestial eyes, Suguru’s resolve wavers, making him ache to bridge the distance. 

“Be honest, are you pining on Gojo-san?” The question was so sudden that his expression instantly gave him away. 

“What are you talking about? I'm just doing my job, no malice.” He avoided her gaze, eyes darting everywhere but at Utahime.

“Ah, but you don't treat everyone like that.” Utahime nudges him with a grin.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Suguru quickened his pace as they walked, but she easily caught up.

“Typical answer.” She cooed annoyingly, entertained. “You clearly have favoritism here, what's special about him? His natural snow looking hair? Pfft!”

“Oh shut up, you shouldn't badmouth my patient.” Suguru’s tone was sharp, but it only fueled her teasing fire.

“Your patient? Woah, the others would be jealous if they heard you say that. You're clearly everyone's favorite, and you casually broke their heart.” She made a heart shape with her hands and then dramatically tore it apart, wincing with mock pain.

Suguru’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “That's not what I meant. All of them are important to me. Stop being so malicious.”

“But you don't like them, and obviously, you're not in love with them.”

“Your point is?” Suguru asked with a bored tone. “They're literally patients. That would be unprofessional, Utahime.”

“My point is…” She raised a finger, pointing it at him like a stern teacher. “You're in love with Gojo-san. He's an exception, and you're a total idiot. Oh and hold up, how is that exactly unprofessional? Keep gaslighting yourself.”

Suguru sighed, nibbling his bottom lip, trying to come up with something. “I don't get what you mean, he's still a patient.”

“Come on, don’t play dumb! You can’t fool me. I may be a lesbian, but I can sense the romance between the two of you. It's okay to be gay, Geto-san. I know that you are.”

“Good for you?” Suguru muttered, puzzled, earning a playful slap on the back and an eye roll from Utahime.

“Look, I get it. You don't want to accept or admit your feelings for him because of the situation, but I believe that you can do it. Who knows? Maybe he feels the same, and you're clearly not just a hallucination.”

“Have you been taking drugs?” Suguru squinted his eyes. 

“Bastard, are you even listening?”

“Yeah, I was just messing around.” He forced a small smile. “Thanks for the words, but I don't think it's appropriate.” The lie tasted bitter. He’d been dying to be loved by Satoru, and those suppressed feelings were eating him alive, piece by piece. 

“Satoru's health is what matters. Not me.”

Suguru walked ahead, fists clenched tight at his sides, as if sheer willpower could smother the feelings knocking inside him. He couldn’t afford to be reckless, not when it comes to Satoru. The very idea of having a crush on him felt dangerous, irresponsible, a risk he shouldn’t take. He told himself he needed to find a solution, to nip these feelings in the bud before they could take root. But the truth was, he lacked the strength to contain them. It's not easy. 

Satoru was both the rain and sunlight to the fervid seed of Suguru’s affection. Every smile, every shared silence, every gentle glance was nourishment. His feelings grew, quietly and relentlessly, fed by Satoru’s presence. Suguru knew that without Satoru’s warmth, that seed would wither, starved of hope. He needed Satoru to bring it back to life, to tend to it with the same care he so desperately craved for himself. In so many ways, he needed Satoru to take care of him.

The more time they spent together, hours blurring into days, days into something like devotion, the deeper Suguru fell. Despite the fact that he knows that Satoru is ill, It wasn't a hindrance that could've prevented him from the fall. If anything, it made Suguru’s love feel more urgent, more tender. But doubt gnawed at him all the same. He wrestled with self-denial, questioning whether his love is appropriate or if it is merely a byproduct of the intense, intimate caregiving relationship. Is it wrong to feel these things?

Even if Satoru’s heart already belonged to him, it felt unreal, as if only the version of himself that lived in Satoru’s twilight world was allowed to receive it. Not the real Suguru, standing here in the harsh light of day, heart aching. 

Can it be me? Will you let me? 

But it’s not impossible for Satoru to fall in love with Suguru again, is it? After all, his heart has always responded solely to his one and only.

Another instance occurred when Satoru remained awake for two days straight, he had gone into a full daze that no nurse, and not even Suguru, could rouse him. When he finally returned from that void, he greeted Suguru with the same warmth as always, clinging to him. But then, without warning, a storm erupted inside him. Anger flared, wild and uncontrollable, until he threw a violent fit. They had no choice but to sedate him, to pull him back from the edge.

Suguru could only surmise that Satoru was losing his grip on reality, the lines between the world and his visions were blurring dangerously. If Satoru chose to remain trapped in his mind, succumbing to the shadows within, it would be fatal.

Under the delicate cherry blossoms, Suguru held a single petal between his fingers. He closed his eyes and wished, hoping for a miracle to happen, as the wind caught it and carried it away. 

A wish that is dedicated to Satoru. 

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

The relentless rain has been falling for days, and Satoru often finds himself drawn to the window, sitting close enough to feel the cool glass against his skin as he listens to the steady rhythm of raindrops. The way the rain mingles with the swirling pink petals outside fascinates him—a delicate dance of nature that sets his mind in ease for a moment. In the solitude of these rainy hours, questions and frustrations sprouted in his head. He knows the situation is tearing him apart, unraveling the threads of his reality and sanity. Yet, despite the chaos, a stubborn hope lingers—one that only he can grant himself. It’s a fragile, desperate wish for clarity, for peace, for a chance to reclaim the parts of himself slipping away. A wish to be whole again. 

Satoru sighed deeply, curling his legs up to his chest and resting his forehead against his knees. Vulnerability had become a constant companion in these circumstances—something he had grown painfully accustomed to, yet loathed with every fiber of his being. He resented how his emotions dictated his actions, how the thoughts creeped inside his mind, leaving him exhausted. It was a tiring battle, and he hated himself for lacking the strength to simply accept it all without breaking down. Instead, he found himself shattering like a child desperate for affection. 

He doesn't want anyone’s pity, especially Suguru's, but his condition made it inevitable. 

Disgusting. 

Satoru gripped his arm hard enough to leave a bruise, his jaw clenched tight as he pants. “Fucking Idiot.” He muttered bitterly to himself, the words sharp and unforgiving. 

Being consumed by himself wears him out entirely. The loudness in his quiet made him grovel for Suguru—to take him away, to pull him out of this dark place where his thoughts are twisted and suffocating. 

I want to go home… 

I'm tired.

Wake me up already…

I just wanna be where it doesn't hurt. 

“You're going to catch a cold if you stay like that.” A soft blanket was draped over Satoru’s shoulders, prompting him to lift his head and meet the eyes of the one who had spoken.

“Suguru…” Satoru breathed, his gaze following Suguru as he settled beside him.

“Were you ignoring me just now?” Suguru asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he pulled food from a paper bag without looking at Satoru.

“I wasn't… why?” Satoru asked, almost like a whisper but Suguru didn't mind. It felt intimate for some reason, and they're the only one in the room which means they could hear each other even in the presence of silence. “When you don’t acknowledge me, it means you’re either avoiding me or something’s wrong. So which is it?”

Satoru could only huff softly and look away, unable to meet Suguru’s steady gaze.

“Doesn't that make you obsessed with me?” Satoru lightly chuckled, rolling his eyes. 

“What about you? Got a crush on me or something?” Suguru teased. 

Satoru closed his eyes, a flush rising to his cheeks as his heart betrayed him with a sudden, fierce beat. He wanted to slap himself for how much those words affected him.

What a pain. 

“Assuming.” Satoru shot back. 

Suguru laughed, keeping his eyes at him. His eyes.. God, his eyes—they're beautiful… Keep looking at me.. please. 

“Whatever you say, ‘Toru.” 

Satoru’s expression shifted, his smile vanished the second he heard Suguru uttered the familiar nickname. Suguru noticed. Of course. 

He couldn’t hold Suguru’s gaze any longer, he slumped back into his curled position and closed his eyes tightly.

It's really him…

What is there to do? He's everywhere, I don't know how long I can live with this bullshit any longer. Sooner or later, I'll be ruined. 

“Shut it.” Satoru muttered, stressing on the word to give Suguru the hint.

But Suguru’s heart was kind and patient. “Is something bothering you? You can tell me, I'll listen. Toru, you're not alone.” Suguru gently said in that voice Satoru knows very well. “You don't have to look at me if it makes you uncomfortable, I hear you either way.”

Then take the hint? 

I hate this. 

I hate you. 

Fuck. 

Why did I say that? 

Satoru clenched his palm, a bitter ache twisting inside him. If only he could hate Suguru. If only he could push him away. But he knew, damn well, that he couldn’t. Not now, not ever.

They remained silent, the patter of rain was the only sound filling the room. Pulse uneven and rapid. Suguru waited patiently, unwilling to force words out of Satoru, it would be pressuring. In the quiet shared solitude, there was a strange relief, yet the weight of unspoken truths pressed heavily on their chests, aching to be known. Satoru’s gaze drifted to the rain outside, a faint smile touching his lips as if silently thanking the storm for its company in his most broken moments.

“You vex me,” Satoru said, scowling, squinting as if to sharpen the sting of his words. But the tone says otherwise. There was no real anger, only something softer, more complicated. 

“What?” Suguru’s voice was laced with confusion, and hearing it made Satoru chuckle. From the corner of his eye, he caught the pained expression on Suguru’s face, and it made his own heart twist painfully—as if a knife was stabbed deep inside him, twisting persistently until his hands were stained with the blood of the one he loved.

“I want to be able to love you…” Satoru finally spoke. He was reluctant to face Suguru and see the look in his eyes. So, he stared at the pouring rain beyond the window. If he ever gets the glimpse of Suguru, the words would not come out. He'll wind up not saying anything further. 

Suguru’s reaction was immediate, but words didn't come out of his mouth. He couldn’t tell if his heart had stopped or simply plummeted under the weight of Satoru’s unbosomy. The truth in Satoru’s words was heavy, so much heavier than Suguru had ever imagined. He’d suspected, maybe even hoped, but hearing it spoken aloud shaken him, it frightened him. ‘Cause at this moment, it's all clear to him now that Satoru harbors feelings for him. The line between hope and heartbreak had never felt so thin. What if it's only doing him harm? What if it's ruining Satoru? 

Satoru’s hands trembled as he massaged his temples, his voice raw and unsteady. “I want to love you because I love you, not because of my delusions. Getting lost in my feelings is exhausting… my head is already a mess, and so is my heart.” He let out a shaky sigh, the sound of someone barely holding themselves together. “My soul is lost, torn between you.”

His words spilled out, desperate and honest, each one laden with pain. “What if I like you for the way you seem in my dreams, not for who you are in this world? What if my feelings are just driven by the need for you to become him? Doesn’t that sound cruel? For a moment, I thought I couldn’t love you in this world, and that’s worse than dying. I don't understand. I feel like I'm going crazy!” He paused, panting. “I like you, Suguru. But how can I be sure you’re still the same person, even if we’re stuck in a different universe, when I’m so fucked up in the head?”

Every syllable was thick with frustration and woe. Satoru’s voice quivered, but he pressed on, knowing Suguru would listen—knowing it was safe to be heard. 

“I know damn well that my love for you is regardless of what or who you are, even if you choose to leave me for good, I will love you. So why does it feel like I’m betraying you and myself? Why must the divinities hate us enough to put us in this situation?” His body shuddered; his throat tightened until it hurt to breathe. But he refused to let himself cry. He knew that if he did, he'd break. 

Satoru's love for Suguru was tangled with doubt, self-loathing, and the relentless fear that his reality was nothing but a cruel trick of the mind. The pain of loving through the haze of illness, of questioning what is real and what is imagined, left him feeling as though he was being punished by forces beyond his control. And yet, even in his heartbreak, he clung to the hope that Suguru would understand—that somehow, in the midst of all this confusion, their love could still mean something true.

Satoru’s voice cracked as tears streamed down his face, hindering his vision. “It pains me that you don’t love me, that you never will—that you’re just treating me out of sympathy, like everything you do is casual, pretending that it doesn't hurt me!.” The rawness in his words was unbearable, a wound laid bare. The ache inside him was so sickening, he wished he could crawl inside his own skin to escape it.

“That you’re only trying to trick me into healing by using my feelings—it fucking hurts. I hate believing that none of this is out of love because you don’t love me. You can't. Fuck, why? Why does it have to be love?” He choked, the torment spilling over.

“I’m so tired, Suguru… Tired of being sick, tired of this illness. My head fucking hurts, and my heart– I feel like I’m dying. Like I’m rotting. I don’t think I'm even alive at this point. Am I even real?” His fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, as the tears kept falling. Satoru didn't ask for any of this to happen. This wasn’t what he had pleaded for, not what he had died and fought for. It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

Suguru’s heart clenched painfully, blood rushing through his veins like the waves of the sea. He wanted to interrupt, to tell Satoru he was wrong, to tell him that it was all real. It wasn't performative. It was real. But he knew he had to listen. The weight of seeing Satoru’s suffering was almost too much to bear, yet Suguru couldn’t look away. To do so would be to deny the truth of the pain one had to endure, to live with. Satoru’s pain was his pain, and he would carry it no matter how heavy it was. 

At long last, Satoru turned his tear stained face toward Suguru’s lavender eyes. His tears glistened like pearls, and his gaze was an ocean—deep, endless, and drowning in sorrow. Suguru’s own tear ran down his cheek as he stared back, lost in the depths of Satoru’s torment. It was so deep that he didn't want to look away. 

“I want you to see me more than just your patient, Sugu. More than just an obligation.” Satoru whispered, defenseless. “I want to be someone important to you, not because you have to make me one. I want to be your everything, your one and only. I want you to love me and want me just as much as I do… I want it to be me. Please, let it be me. Let it be me.” If these were prayers, would the divinities grant his pleads and have mercy? 

“I know I sound pathetic right now, but my soul—my soul burns for you… only for you, Suguru..” It is him whom he is praying to. The only one who can grant his pleads. 

“Satoru..”

Suguru's voice was soft, nostalgic, and peaceful. That's all it takes for Satoru to break. 

Satoru curled to himself, sobbing in his arms. “You're really unfair… stop saying my name like you're in love with me. You don't have to like me because I do, spare me that at least…”

“It hurts, Suguru.” Satoru’s eyes, once clear and bright like the skies, now overflowed with tears—an ocean filled with despair. “You’re hurting me.”

Suguru braced himself, swallowing the lump in his throat as tears streamed down his face. Unsure if his words would reach Satoru’s shattered heart, if it will make a difference. He nonetheless found the courage to speak—offering his truth, his feelings, hoping to bridge the painful distance between them. 

“You're not being fair, too.”

Satoru frowned, his cries halting. “Huh?”

Suguru took a deep breath with a mixture of urgency and vulnerability as he knelt before him, searching Satoru’s gaze with a longing that cut through the silence. “You’re wrong, ‘Toru. If you had looked at me longer–longer than when I’m looking at you.. you would've seen it. In my eyes, you’d see how much I’ve yearned for you to let me in… for you to open your heart to me.” He said with a frantic voice. Satoru's pupil dilated, speechless. 

“It's childish to compete with myself.” He gulped, the grudge seething through. “I was envious. Envious of that person in your head because he has you and I don't. But I've accepted that.”

Suguru closed his eyes, then looked at Satoru who hadn't blinked. “You’ve shown me how deeply I am loved by you, even if it’s tangled in pain and confusion. And that reason alone is enough for me to fight for it. I will be your stepping stone on this path—no matter how much it heals or hurts. I’m willing to taint my soul with that, if it means being with you.”

“I like you, Satoru. I'm sorry for hurting you, for wounding your heart by surrendering to these feelings that should've been restrained since then.. I could've held them back, treated you like everyone else, but I didn't.” Suguru cried, “I chose to love you, Toru. I chose you. Because everytime we're together and when we're not, these feelings surge. Untamed, and utterly consuming. I know the harm they bring, the risks yet to deny them would be to deny a part of myself. So I carry this burden, this beautiful torment, hoping you might understand that my love is both my salvation and my undoing”

Satoru’s only response was to pull Suguru into a gentle embrace, drawing in the warmth they had both been deprived of and holding him close to his heart. It was exactly what they needed—an unspoken comfort that transcended words. Though they still felt somewhat unfamiliar with one another, the quiet connection between them soothed their restless minds as their souls intertwined. Their grips tightened, tears soaking each other’s shoulders, both leaning in without defense. The walls Satoru had held so high crumbled in the serene warmth of Suguru’s embrace. He was weak to bear seeing Suguru racked in pain. Suguru nuzzled closer, taking Satoru’s subtle scent—faint and clean, nothing like the hospital air that had confined him for so long.

“I'm sorry..” Satoru says in a hush voice. 

Suguru withdrew and just enough to press their foreheads together, eyes closed. “It's yourself who deserves an apology from you, not me, Satoru.” 

“Mhm.. but I'm still sorry.” Satoru pouted, making Suguru chuckle lightly. He cupped Satoru's cheeks and caressed them tenderly. 

“Hush now.” Suguru murmured, leaning to Satoru's ear. A small smile curved Satoru’s lips as he rested his head on Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru hummed, fingers massaging Satoru’s scalp, lulling him toward sleep. Maybe the weather wasn’t so awful after all, as long as they were together.

“Can we eat now?” Satoru mumbled, fidgeting a fabric of Suguru's shirt. 

Suguru grinned, easily swooned, finding Satoru adorable. “Yeah, we can. I brought them for you.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

April

Suguru gave him a small poke; he attempted to avoid it by moving away, but Suguru persisted. He probably likes annoying Satoru just as much. Ever since Suguru arrived, he has become increasingly sulky for some reason. Satoru turns his back on him and huffs, playing hard to get, needing attention to stop getting more upset. Suguru assumes that the reason he's acting that way could merely be that his glucose serotonin is inadequate.

Suguru gave Satoru a small poke. Satoru tried to dodge it, turning away with a huff, but Suguru was persistent. He probably enjoys annoying Satoru just as much as he likes being annoyed by him. Ever since Suguru arrived, Satoru had become increasingly sulky for reasons Suguru assumes—probably a serotonin drop or low glucose consumption was messing with his mood.

Despite his irritated grumbles, Satoru finally gave in when Suguru kept poking his sides. 

“I brought your favorite–”

“KIKUFUKUUUU!!” Satoru’s face lit up instantly, eyes sparkling with excitement as he grabbed the snack and devoured it with eager delight.

“Slow down, you'll choke, dumbass.” Suguru warned, nudging a can of cola toward him. He knew Satoru shouldn’t be indulged too often, but he had it all planned out—Suguru was in charge of his meals, making sure he stayed as healthy as possible. Satoru tried to say something in response, but it came out as muffled gibberish with his mouth full.

“I don't understand a shit, ‘Toru.”

Satoru’s chewing slowed, and his sapphire eyes locked onto Suguru with a heat that could burn. But just as quickly, that intensity softened into pure adoration. He chuckled softly and flicked himself on the forehead, baffling Suguru. 

“I'm an idiot.” Satoru murmured, shaking his head. 

Suguru’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Woah, wasn’t expecting you to admit that. Proud of you~” His tone was playfully dramatic, amused but confused. 

“Tch, coming from you?” Satoru shot back, giving Suguru a judging glance as he looked him up and down.

Suguru shrugged with a mischievous grin, sticking his tongue out. “I guess it’s contagious.”

Their silly banter flowed effortlessly, a shared language of teasing that brought them joy especially when it came from each other. But beneath that playful surface, Satoru’s thoughts drifted deeper, quieter. Could love really endure when everything else felt so unstable?

You really don't change. 

You're still my Suguru. My love. 

And I'm still your Satoru. 

I hope so. 

Satoru watched Suguru with a dreamy grin, his mind painting a soft filter around him, imagining delicate flowers blooming like scenes from a television drama. Should he really be smiling this much while Suguru tossed playful insults his way?

Whatever you say, handsome. 

A while back, Satoru failed to recognize Suguru. An occurrence that happened for the first time. 

Suguru would be lying if he claimed that it didn't hurt because it did. The impact was visceral; his gut churned with nausea, his body trembled uncontrollably, cold sweat slicking his skin. Though his mind remained alert, anxiety crept in like a slow poison, tightening its grip with every passing second. He urged Satoru to remember him, to fight the erasure of their shared memory because this can't be happening. It can't be. Then Suguru remembered the broken plea of Satoru begging him to stop joking, unable to face the harsh reality unraveling before them when they first met. 

The second Suguru stepped out of the room, the dam broke. He locked himself in his office, collapsing to the floor as sobs wracked his body, his palms pressed against his face in anguish. The ugly truth he had tried to ignore clawed its way to the surface. Once the electroconvulsive therapy began, Satoru’s memories of him and of everything they had built together would disappear, possibly vanish. Satoru has to forget eventually. 

Suguru must be ready for that day. Can he do it? 

In the days that followed, Satoru’s condition remained unstable and unpredictable despite the medication. His mood swings and emotional outbursts grew more frequent, unsettling the nursing staff who struggled to manage his volatility. Yet, amidst the chaos, Suguru was the only one who could calm him—his presence a steady anchor in the storm. Satoru’s forgetfulness became increasingly alarming, prompting Suguru to stay close at all times. Each time Satoru was confronted with painful truths he couldn’t remember, he would dissolve into tears, calling out for Suguru to hold him. 

Satoru’s forearms would occasionally be seen with scratches, blood stains under his nails, which indicated that he's hurting himself. Releasing his frustrations and anger on his skin. Horror washed over Suguru as he looked down at his own hands, stained with Satoru’s blood. Hallucinating it. Suguru couldn’t shake the belief that he may be the cause of Satoru’s pain, the reason behind those self-inflicted wounds. No matter how many times he scrubbed and washed his hands, they remained tainted, filthy in his eyes—a physical reminder of the guilt he carried deep within. In the midst of his nightmare, Satoru reached out and grasped Suguru’s hand with a carefree smile, a quiet reassurance that softened the sharp edges of Suguru’s spiral. 

As long as you're here, I'll be okay. 

To place your heart in another’s hands is to dance on the edge of vulnerability—a delicate surrender woven with threads of faith. It is to offer the softest parts of yourself, palms open and intertwined, trusting that they will carry your fragile soul gently, without breaking it. Those lines in their palm hold the power to cradle your heart, to tear it, and to stitch it back together with quiet compassion. Sometimes, the very hands that cause your tears are the ones that wipe them away, lingering beside you until the storm within grows calm and the world feels right again.

Satoru did that, bestowing Suguru his heart and soul like how he trusts him with his life. In that exchange, their spirits touched, tied by the red thread, bound by a love that both shattered and soared.  

As soon as Suguru heard the commotion—Satoru’s parents arriving, furious and devastated, berating the nurses—he rushed to the room. What he found was chaos; Satoru’s father, face flushed with anger, was pointing accusing fingers at Utahime, while his wife sobbed, desperately trying to coax Satoru into responding. But Satoru himself was curled to himself, hands clamped over his ears, frightened and quivering, recoiling from every sound and movement. Suguru’s jaw tightened, enraged. Without hesitation, he pushed through the crowd, forcing everyone to acknowledge his presence, everyone except Satoru, who's muttering incoherently. 

“I'm Geto Suguru, Satoru's doctor. You must be his parents. May I ask what's going on here?” His eyebrow twitched. Although he was being decent, the hint of anger was obvious. 

“Our son.” The father spat through clenched teeth, “What have you done to him?!” The accusation hung heavy in the air. Suguru almost scoffed—after months of absence, they suddenly appeared, causing a scene and pretending to be the concerned parents.

“Satoru has been diagnosed with schizophrenia,” Suguru replied, voice steady but firm. “Does your family have a history of this illness? If not, then some traumatic event triggered a psychotic episode that brought him to this state. Please lower your voices, he’s already overwhelmed.”

“Are you putting the blame on us?” Mr. Gojo sharply asked, glaring at him

Suguru sighed.

“It's possible, Sir. Should we blame the patient then? Would that make you feel better?” The disdain in his tone was clear, and Satoru’s parents bristled visibly.

“Utahime.” Suguru turned to her and gestured to her to aid Satoru's deteriorating state, his breathing was erratic like he couldn't breathe. 

“We’ve been trying to contact you for a month,” Suguru continued, voice rising with controlled frustration. “And now you show up here to make a scene? Did you even try to speak to Satoru patiently? You frightened him. His condition is already worse, this outburst could trigger a severe relapse, even cause harm. Were you not thinking?” He had to say it, he's not gonna tolerate these folks. 

He stepped closer, eyes burning with intensity. “What’s the point of coming here if all you do is put his life at risk?”

The father’s voice cut through the tense air, speaking with authority. “You’re just a doctor. Are you even doing your job right? It’s normal for a parent to panic, and yes, we acted recklessly, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to us like this. Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of incredulity flashing across his face. He found the man’s arrogance laughable. “You wouldn’t want me to answer that question,” Suguru replied coldly, “and frankly, it’s irrelevant. Satoru is what matters here, not your family name.” His patience was wearing thin, especially as he caught sight of Satoru trembling in the corner of his vision. 

He doesn't give a fuck about who they are. 

“Satoru is taking his medication, but it’s not 100% effective. We follow strict protocols. To administer electroconvulsive therapy, we need the patient’s authorization. But he won't consent, that's why we've been contacting you.” Suguru sighed, making an effort to compose himself and be polite. 

The father’s eyes were keen. “And you weren’t able to get Satoru’s permission?”

“We respect his autonomy as much as possible, that’s why he’s on medication. We’ve been trying to gain his consent, but it’s not easy.” He handed over the medical records, watching as the parents’ expressions shifted while they read.

The mother’s voice trembled, but it was the father who spoke again, his tone darkening. “You do realize he could die if you continue like this, don’t you?”

Suguru narrowed his eyes, the words igniting a fire within him. Satoru is not going to die. Suguru will make sure of that. They have each other. 

The people in the room seemed to hold their breath as the father, unexpectedly, softened slightly. “Let’s work something out, since you seem to be attached to our son.” It didn't ring in his ears right, but it may be in favor of their situation. He couldn’t fathom how the man had conjured such a proposal in mere minutes—an attempt to regain control masked as cooperation. Maybe. 

The tension between them thickened, a volatile mix of desperation, fear, and clashing wills. Suguru’s resolve hardened; this was no longer just a medical battle. 

Later that evening, when Satoru awoke, his head still heavy and light, his first instinct was to search the room for Suguru. In the dim light, he almost mistook him for a child—small and still, sitting quietly in the far corner. A bittersweet smile flickered across Satoru’s lips, quickly replaced by a grimace as the memory of earlier stung anew.

“Pssst! Suguru! Psstt!” Satoru shouted in a whisper, but he didn't budge. 

Notwithstanding his lack of patience, Satoru swung his legs over the bed and carefully rose, clutching the infusion stand for support. He approached without a word, eyeing Suguru’s stillness. Is he asleep? in that position? He pouts and crooked a brow. Sighing, Satoru settled beside him, leaving a small space between them. He didn't say anything. 

Although silence was comforting, thoughts spurred inside his head. He remembered the mess, his parents’ frantic voices, their harsh words, the tension that had filled the room. He wished he didn’t have to hear them, wished he could shield himself from their presence. But here, beside Suguru’s quiet presence, there was a calmness. A haven where the noise faded. 

Suguru’s voice broke the silence, gentle but edged with something serious. “Why won’t you take the treatment?” Even in the dim light, Satoru could tell he looked troubled. There was something in Suguru’s tone. A mix of frustration, worry, and a longing for resolution, that made Satoru froze. He’d always found solace in Suguru’s voice, but now it felt like a lifeline and a weight at once. 

That question had always carried weight. Serious, probing, and impossible to ignore. It wasn’t new to Satoru’s ears; they had asked him countless times before, each time met with the same vague reply. They won’t understand me, he thought, the words a quiet shield against a world that felt too distant, too foreign to truly grasp his pain. This recurring question wasn’t just about treatment—it was about connection, about being seen and accepted beyond the illness that's destroying him. 

“I just don't want to go through it.” Satoru says, tone flat. Practiced. 

Of course Suguru doesn't buy it. He almost did. Satoru could feel the fatigue behind Suguru’s patience, the exhaustion of circling the same conversation, always ending in the same place. 

“If I ask you to, would you do it?” 

Suguru rarely asked for anything—not like this. It's not like he's even allowed to. He could no longer keep circling the same worn-out conversation; the moment to take a risk had arrived. The shift in Satoru’s expression was unmistakable—his eyes locked onto Suguru’s with a stunned, almost fragile intensity. Satoru parted his lips, hesitated, but no words came out, then he closed it. He’d always been certain of his answer, always sure he wouldn’t do it. But this? Suguru asking, Suguru needing, was different. This was his person. The one who mattered most.

“Maybe…” It was practically whispered but It was heard given how near they are to each other. Suguru never pressured him, didn't demand him for anything. All he offered was himself. Asked nothing in return. But the look in his eyes? They were begging for two different things. 

Satoru had often been tempted to agree before, only to retreat back into the safety of his own serene world. A place where love doesn't have to hurt.

Satoru knew Suguru wouldn’t be able to bear the burden of the treatment, no matter how much he had to. 

“Okay, Satoru.” He simply replied, his heart faltering and his mind was too cloudy to say anything furthermore. “Okay, Satoru,” Suguru replied simply, his heart faltering. His mind felt clouded, words caught somewhere between uncertainty and relief.

Satoru wanted to ask more, to seek reassurance or clarity, but Suguru looked unwell. Tired and distant. Perhaps it was better to wait, to hold the moment gently for another time. Suguru wasn’t going anywhere; that much Satoru knew.

“Go to sleep, Sugu. The Gojo’s must've tired you out. At least go home, you're basically living here.” Satoru snorted, his selfishness masked. He hated the thought of Suguru leaving, wanting him close, always within reach.

Suguru giggled and turned to face him, his hand reached out and Satoru was in the clouds. Satoru felt his world tilt as Suguru’s hand found him. He twirled a lock of snowy hair around his finger, smiling gently before tucking it behind Satoru’s ear and giving him a few light pats.

“You’re breathtaking, Satoru.” Hues of red bloomed across Satoru's cheeks, Suguru’s voice tender and sincere.

But Satoru’s gaze drifted over himself—pale skin, dark circles shadowing tired eyes, dry cracked lips, the subtle hollows where weight had slipped away piece by piece. He hadn’t showered properly in days; he was ill, worn down. What’s beautiful about that? 

He wondered if Suguru’s words were kindness or denial, because to Satoru, his appearance was a visible mark of his illness—a reflection of the chaos inside. The reality showed him what he feared: someone fading, someone no longer whole. This insecurity gnawed at him, making him question whether anyone could truly see past the surface to the person still fighting within.

But the way Suguru looks at him and the way he says it? It was sincere. His amethyst's are full of truths. 

“S-Shut up, I'm going to sleep.” 

Just as he was about to stand up, Suguru tugged on his sleeve. Satoru sat down slowly, bewildered, and gasped when Suguru rested his head on his shoulder. 

“Bear with me for a while, Satoru.” 

Suguru’s stunning purple eyes met his, making it impossible to refuse. Biting the inside of his cheek, Satoru nodded, and Suguru comfortably relaxed. Gradually, peace began to spread through Satoru’s chest. Though their moments together were brief and often sparse, they had grown to treasure this shared solitude—a silent reassurance that, despite everything, they would be okay.

All that Satoru was is a mosaic of pain, memories, and fractured pieces. He was someone Suguru longed to know, understand, and cherish. Yet a shadow of doubt bothered him. How could Suguru do that when he felt so damaged, so broken beneath the surface? 

That's something Satoru also wants to understand. 

Just as Suguru was about to take Satoru out into the garden one quiet afternoon, Mrs. Gojo invited him for a conversation. Her presence was intimidating despite her modest demeanor softened by an undeniable radiance in the corridor. Though Suguru wanted to decline, a part of him sensed this might be worthwhile since they haven't properly spoken. 

“We’re truly sorry for causing trouble and acting irrationally. Satoru hasn't been with us for such a long time now, we only talk when it’s convenient... I believe that him being here is somewhat our fault for neglecting him ever since he was a child.” She talked and smiled regretfully, Suguru could only listen. 

“We’re truly sorry for causing trouble and acting irrationally,” Mrs. Gojo began, tinged with regret. “Satoru hasn’t been with us for such a long time now. We only talk when it’s convenient. I believe that him being here is somewhat our fault—for neglecting him ever since he was a child.” She spoke with a bittersweet smile, actually acknowledging it. Suguru said nothing, simply listening. 

Mrs. Gojo’s voice trembled as she spoke, heavy with the weight of years lost and dismissal “Satoru is a good kid, despite the facade he has. He's only hostile towards us. It’s understandable why he chose to live apart from us, yet we made a spectacle of his decision. I failed him as a mother. I never was. 

Instead of nurturing his heart, we drowned it in gifts and fear that he'll never know what it is to be taken care of. Before he knew what love was, he learned what hate is. He hates us, I know that. We gave him memories that cut deep, and now, all we want is to make amends.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, apologetic to the child still hidden within Satoru’s guarded soul.

“We want him to get better,” She continued, voice steadying with determination. “I know you want that too, that’s why my husband made that proposal.” Suguru’s gaze averted towards the door of Satoru’s room, a heavy sigh escaping him as the burden of their shared hope and conflict settled over his shoulders.

“Satoru deserves more than words—more than apologies, even if he can’t accept them now or never at all. Give him that chance, that space, before he makes any decision about healing.” He rose, bowing politely before he walked away. “Keep in mind that I'm doing all this for Satoru's sake alone.”

Mrs. Gojo nodded solemnly, the gravity of her confession and hope lingering in the air as she stepped away. He turned and entered the room, where Satoru’s delighted voice greeted him—a light in the midst of their tragedy. 

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

May

“Psst! Satoru! Wake up! Pssttt!!” 

It was well past midnight, and Satoru laid asleep, his breathing even and peaceful. So far, no hallucinations had disturbed him which was relieving. It was safe to assume that once Satoru wakes up, he'll immediately recognize Suguru. A soft whimper left Satoru’s lips, his brows knitting together in a restless frown. Persistent, Suguru poked him, trying to rouse him once more.

“Come on, wake uppp, princess.” Satoru scrunched his nose, making a cranky noise, not wanting to be disturbed. 

“Mmmm?” He murmured, still with his eyes closed. 

“It's meee, we're going somewhere. So get up now or no sweets for you.” Suguru coaxed, pinching Satoru's cheek. 

“Ow! ‘m not a pup…py!” Satoru hissed, covering his mouth as a yawn escaped him. But the threat worked. He sat up, eyes still shut, rubbing his eyes. 

“What are you up to?” Satoru asked, suspectful. Suguru pointed at himself dramatically which made Satoru giggle. “You're crazy.”

“I'm taking you out.” Suguru announced and Satoru was quick to snap. 

Satoru's eyes snapped open, a bit wary. “Is that allowed? We won't get arrested, right?” 

“Trust, Satoru, Trust.” He said, making the trust sign using his fingers. 

“Should I? Who are we murdering?” 

“No one, oh god.” Suguru facepalmed himself and shook his head, “Get up already so we won't get caught.”

“Sneaking huh, that's kinda hot.” Satoru commented, winking at him. 

Suguru arched a brow at him and Satoru just laughed. Though he wasn't expecting to get winked at, It was fluttering. Suguru arched a brow, amusement glimmering in his eyes, and Satoru laughed. Then, unexpectedly, Suguru winked, a small gesture that sent a flutter through Satoru’s chest. “Is it a date, then?”

“Yeah.” Suguru confirms with a smile. 

“Assist me, doc.” Satoru cheekily said, raising his hand in the air. 

Suguru wondered if he'll survive Satoru. 

Suguru helped Satoru to his feet and guided him to change into something more comfortable. Taking Satoru’s hand gently, he led them to his car and fled the hospital. As they drove away, the windows were rolled down, allowing the cool night breeze to brush against Satoru’s hair and skin. The city lay quiet and still, with only a few cars passing by. After nearly three months confined within hospital walls, this was Satoru’s first time stepping outside. The fresh air, the open sky—it all felt like a small miracle. He had believed that the world beyond those walls was impossible to live in anymore, that he was destined to live in seclusion. But Suguru had made it possible for him to see life again, even if only for a fleeting moment in this intimate, lively moment. 

That simple act of freedom deepened Satoru’s love for Suguru, more than words could say. 

The car came to a stop, and Satoru took a moment to drink in the quiet beauty of the area around them. Suguru unfastened his seatbelt and switched off the engine, turning to find Satoru already lost in the scenery, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Wait for me here, okay ‘Toru?” Suguru affectionately said. 

Satoru simply nodded, eyes still wide with wonder. 

Suguru disappeared briefly, returning with a blanket in hand. Satoru’s curiosity spurred, tempted to step out, but something about the stillness and the gentle ambiance held him in place. He chose to wait, letting the moment settle around them. After completing the set up, Suguru returned to the passenger side, opening the door with an idiotic grin that made Satoru giggle. 

“You really planned this, huh.” Satoru commented, running his hand through the strands of Suguru's hair. 

“Well, what can I say? I'm raising the expectations as your crush.” Suguru proudly replied, leaning in to unbuckle Satoru's seatbelt. 

“I'm lucky with you then, I thought I'll get unfortunate.” Satoru jokes, nudging him with his elbow. 

“Might as well drown you at the lake.” 

“Hey! I thought no murder?” 

Hands intertwined, they walked slowly along the shore, their laughter mingling softly with the rhythmic whisper of the waves. When they finally settled onto the blanket, Satoru reached for a snack, nibbling quietly. Suguru said nothing, content to watch him, his gaze drifting to the moonlit water that shimmered like scattered stars.

Satoru's eyes gleamed as well. 

“This place is very calming. I bet a lot of people come here.” Satoru uttered, enchanted. 

“Not really,” Suguru replied, eyes fixed on the horizon alongside Satoru’s. “Only those who find it by chance.”

Satoru’s face lit up with a bright grin, arms raised in playful triumph. “Really? that's a loss for them and a win for us!” . 

“I go here a lot, that's why I know. When I need to clear my head, this place is my oasis of tranquility and escape.” Suguru chuckled softly.  

Satoru turned to him, curious and warm in his gaze. “Then why bring me here? A special place should only be disclosed to a special person. So... does that mean I’m special?”

“You are,” Suguru said, his smile deepening into something unforgettable. “And if you want, this can be your place too.” He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Satoru’s face. “Here, you can say anything without fear. Feel everything, no matter how heavy. Let it all out. It makes the weight you carry a little lighter.”

Satoru returned Suguru’s smile softly, then reached down to pick up a pebble. With a gentle flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the lake, watching the ripples spread and sink. He repeated this, each pebble skipping farther than the last, lost in the simple joy of the moment.

Suguru watched silently, his heart tightening with a bittersweet ache. Every carefree toss was a reminder of the time they shared—a hushed signal that soon, he would have to let Satoru go. The thought pressed heavily on him, mingling with the peacefulness of the night. 

His solace. 

His sanctuary. 

“To love you is not a sin, to forget you is.” 

Satoru declared, his voice shaky, grounded as he gathered the courage to say something more. His eyes locked onto Suguru with intimacy, as if trying to etch the moment into their souls forever. They'll meet in the field of camellias, petals scattered beneath their feet, their fate dancing in despair and longing. Another loss. 

“There’s your answer,” He whispered, voice thick with pain and hesitation. He feels queasy. “It’s the reason why I don’t want to be cured. Because to be cured... means to forget you. To forget any of you.” His breath hitched, a sickness rising from the depths of his soul. “It hurts—God, it hurts so much. We were so happy. So unbearably happy. And every time we’re together, every stolen moment, it pulls me back from the edge, makes me hesitate before I throw it all away.”

“We're happy, Suguru.” He says again, wavering. Feeling bittersweet as he relives the memories he wishes to keep forever that guards his soul. His voice faltered, wavering. “We’re happy, Suguru. We are.” But behind those words, there's the ugly reality. A bittersweet ache in his system as he clung to what they have. What they had. 

We were. 

We will be. 

“We believed that it's the life we've been devoid of. Yet, it was all an illusion. A disorder. I wished it was real.” Satoru shuddered, smiling through it as he carried the weight of their shattered dreams. 

“I grew attached to that world. I lived there, and now letting go feels impossible.” His gaze dropped, casted by doubt and exhaustion. “What confuses me most is this desperate desire to build a life with you here, in this world... but how? When I’m broken like this? What is there to love, Sugu? What is there to wait for? My body is tired—I am tired. Is it even worth it to have me?”

Slowly, Suguru placed his hand over Satoru’s, his fingers tightening in a gentle squeeze, reminding him that he's here. “I want to erase all this pain, all the broken pieces, and start anew… with you.”

Suguru may never fully unravel the labyrinth of thoughts that twist and turn within Satoru’s mind, he feels the heavy toll it exacts—the weary ache of a soul caught in endless indecision, a heart burdened by grief yet clinging bravely to hope. He senses the restless fingers that refuse to release their hold, trembling with a silent terror of losing the faint light that unexpectedly illuminated his darkest nights. Like the vast cosmos itself, time seems to conspire against them—stretching moments into infinity, weaving a tapestry of struggle and longing. Yet Satoru’s eyes burn for something, yearning for a beginning that should have blossomed in gentler seasons, not from the shards of a dawn. Suguru holds fast to the promise that when that elusive moment arrives, when the stars finally align in their favor, the broken pieces will mend into something whole, something true and gentle. 

Until then, he stands as witness to the silent symphony of Satoru’s inner battle. A testament to love’s complexity,

“You're not going to lose me, Idiot.” Suguru says, looking down at their intertwined hands. Tears fell from his eyes, tracing a path on their skin. 

“Losing your memories can be terrifying.” He continued, “You’ll struggle to find yourself again, to relearn who you are. But I’m here. We can make new memories, ones we’ll cherish together for a long time. I don’t mind introducing myself to you over and over, not as your doctor, but as someone who loves you, who waits for you. I don’t know if I need to make you fall in love with me again, but believe me—your body, your heart, your soul will remember.”

Satoru chuckled. The words were easy to say, but the trust they demanded was immense. Still, deep down, he found himself believing Suguru’s promise.

“You'll do just fine, Satoru” even without me. 

“What about you?” 

A question Suguru had long avoided. He buried the thoughts deep, neglecting himself for what he believes is for the better. To answer is to be honest, but Suguru doesn't want to hold him back any longer. 

“I'll be just here, waiting.” Suguru says, like it's a ridiculous question. “Don't worry, you'll find me. And if you can't, I will.”

But can he bring himself to the place it all started—where Satoru's presence calls him to miss him as tonight becomes theirs? 

“You didn't answer my question though.” Satoru strictly replied with a piercing gaze. ”What about you, Suguru? What will happen to you?”

What about me? 

What about Suguru who's going to be left behind? What of the man who has to stay in the place where lost existence lingers, haunting him long after it leaves? What of Suguru, the keeper of the memories of their spring that became theirs—the petals and thorns that brought them together through tears and joys? What of Suguru who must relinquish his selfish grasp, who must learn to let go of Satoru even if he wants to keep on holding on? What about Suguru who silently yearns to be found in return by the person he loves dearly? 

What about him? 

“I don't know..” Suguru sighed, feeling a little uncomfortable. Vulnerability is not his strongest suit but with Satoru, it's normal. Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of becoming another burden. 

Drawing his legs close, he rested his head on his knees, stealing a glance at Satoru who looked as radiant as the stars scattered above them.

Satoru faintly smiled, mirroring Suguru's position, then asked, “Does it hurt?”

“It doesn't hurt that much when you're around.” Suguru sighed, trying to construct his feelings into words simply.

“I don’t want to leave…” Satoru’s voice cracked, his eyes shimmering, reflecting the moonlight like crystals. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.” Suguru replied, grasping Satoru's hand. He didn't want Satoru to leave either but it's for the better, he can't endure watching him suffer any longer. He can't afford to be selfish now. 

“You have to promise.” Satoru’s eyes fluttered, locking onto Suguru’s gaze, seriously. Holding back the torrent or tears, his throat aching. Suguru hummed, his thumb gently stroking Satoru’s fingers with an almost reverent care. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Eat well, get plenty of rest, and find moments to laugh and enjoy life,” Satoru whispered, “When I come back, I don’t want to see you worn out or exhausted. Don’t forget to miss me, and when we meet again, don’t you ever let me go.” He closed his eyes, gently taking Satoru’s hand, pressing soft kisses to his fingertips, placing them on his own cheeks. 

Satoru’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, but a smile brightened his face. 

“Okay, I promise.” Suguru swore. Satoru's cheeks became pinkish once again, smiling nonetheless. “Just promise me you’ll come back. That's enough for me.”

“Mhmm..” Satoru smiles, “I will. Don't worry, Suguru… I can't be away from you for too long, you know that. That's why I promise to come back and find you.” 

“I know.” Suguru murmured, kissing the back of his palm whilst Satoru eyes him. 

“This is so sappy.” Satoru groaned with a dramatic cringe, drawing a burst of laughter from Suguru.

“You're one to talk, you started it!.” Suguru reminded, inching closer, his tone light and teasing.

“I was urged!” He defended, twirling a strand of Suguru's bangs. “And you're ridiculously handsome. No wonder why I fell for you a lot of times already, I couldn't resist you. It's your fault.”

With a rascal glint, Suguru added, “Maybe the gods just hate us for being this in love. They must be punishing us.” He laughed, giving Suguru a playful shove.

“That’s wild,” Satoru replied, shaking his head, laughing at the absurdity. “Are they homophobic?”

As the night wore on, their touches weathered longer, the space between them shrinking in ways that felt both magnetic and natural. The boundaries they’d maintained in the hospital faded, replaced by a closeness that felt both new and deeply overdue. Each laugh, each glance, carried the weight of what might be their last night together—or perhaps just a pause before a new beginning. If this was goodbye, it would not be a farewell but a simple “See you soon.” They would wait for the day their voices called each other home, to a place where suffering could not reach them—a place defined only by the warmth of being together, no matter what trials awaited. A heaven made for them. 

Satoru's eyes lit up when he noticed a lantern nearby, glistening with excited curiosity. “Are we going to light them up?” He asked, leaning forward to grab it. Suguru nodded, tousling Satoru’s hair playfully before gently pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Yep, I figured that you might like that.” Suguru said, his fingers sliding through Satoru’s soft white hair with gracious ease. 

“I do!” Satoru beamed, turning toward him and wrapping his arms around Suguru’s neck in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Sugu. You make me so happy! I feel kinda undeserving..” He chuckles. 

“You deserve more than these actually.” Suguru replied mellowly. 

“But what's there for me to offer?” Satoru murmured. 

“You just have to be you, Satoru. I don't care if you act all careless and vulnerable with me. You just need to be who you are, I love you exactly as you are. There's no need to pretend when you're with me.”

“You are really impossible.” Satoru mumbled.

Humming an aimless tune, Suguru traced circles along Satoru’s back, a smile on his lips as he drew him closer. Together, they admired the moonlight shining down the lake’s surface—a breathtaking spectacle that seemed almost otherworldly. Suguru wondered silently if the childhood wishes he once made upon stars still held any power, if those whispered hopes could somehow shape their present. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, feeling himself disperse into the warmth of Satoru’s comforting embrace. He wishes to imprint the sensation of Satoru’s touch, the timbre of his voice, deep within his memory—not ready to let go, to face an ending he dreaded.

Meanwhile, Satoru fought back the tears that threatened to spill. He wanted to simply relish this memory without losing it. Yet, in this sacred belonging, where judgment held no sway, his defenses faltered, and vulnerability washed over him like a quiet tide. Here, beside the one his soul had chosen, he found both refuge and deliverance. 

Eventually, they silently agreed to ignite the lantern together. Fingers intertwined around its delicate frame, their eyes met each other's—an exchange so intimate and tender it seemed to suspend time itself. At that point, Satoru knew. Nothing else existed but Suguru. His presence, his breath, the subtle contours of his face. Satoru studied every detail, committing each nuance to memory, the way Suguru’s eyes held endless depths, a maze of emotions and in that complexity bloomed a secret garden: a field of dainty flowers, some already fading, destined to wither once Satory departs. Still, Satoru clung to the hope that when their paths crossed again, those eyes would shine anew, as if a flower inside him had finally unfurled in radiant light—free from pain, free from bloodshed. Satoru vowed not to forget the very light in Suguru's eyes, his abyss. 

“Satoru, shall we?” He asked in his velvety voice. Satoru nodded, stepping beside him as they walked towards the lake's edge. 

Perhaps when Suguru calls his name, the memory will relive—his soul, ever faithful, will remember despite all that threatens to erase it. Always. 

To make a wish, they closed their eyes, hearts whispering secret wishes. The night, for a moment, held its breath with them. The first to open his eyes was Suguru, whose gaze softened into a look of unfeigned devotion as it settled upon Satoru—a gaze steeped in fondness so profound it seemed to hush the restless world around them. He willed, in that secret space between heartbeats, for this fleeting night to belong wholly to Satoru. When Satoru released his wish into the quiet, they set the lantern adrift upon the water’s flow. Its flickering flame glided over the ripples, a beacon ferrying their unvoiced desire into the vast unknown. Silence enveloped them, not as a void but as a gentle covenant. 

As the gleam dwindled into the night’s embrace, Suguru went behind Satoru, encircling him. His arms wove around him with an affection so palpable it softened the moon glow itself. He pressed his cheek to Satoru’s shoulder, and in that quiet convergence of warmth, their breath and pulse fell into a tranquil synchrony. They stayed there, wearing mirrored, wistful smiles, hearts unburdened, at last, of all clamor.

Turning Satoru to face him, he motioned his hand, wordlessly bidding Satoru to extend his own. With a spark of boyish curiosity, Satoru obliged—and there it lay, cradled in his palm; a necklace wrought by Suguri's own patient hands, delicate and beautiful. At the sight, Satoru’s breath faltered — a quiet dizziness seizing him, tempered only by the solace blooming in his chest. The moment felt uncannily familiar, an echo of countless promises stitched into the seams of their days together. With a tremulous smile that could undo the stars, Suguru closed the scant distance, lifting the necklace with reverent fingers. He draped it around Satoru’s neck and locked it, the brush of his touch against bare skin momentary but electric.

In the silvered hush beneath the vigilant moon, the necklace settled against Satoru’s collarbone. A flawless fit. It was, after all, made for him. It shined in the gentle lunar glow, a talisman of all they were and all they still dared to wish for. They stood there, stilled in that moment, lantern light long vanished but their secret tether burning brighter, a vow that for as long as the water carried their dreams away, they would keep finding each other anew, wish after wish, lifetime after lifetime

“Hush, my love.” Suguru murmured, his voice a balm against the emotional weight. He pressed a feather-like kiss to Satoru's tear-streaked cheek, his lips tasting salt and sorrow all at once. But Satoru's love persevered. His fingers traced gentle constellations along Satoru’s jaw, as though he might soothe each tremor from his bandaged heart. “We'll be okay. We will be.”

 “Suguru…” Satoru’s voice was a tremulous whisper, threadbare and raw at the edges. His eyes, a vast ocean in which storms perpetually dwelt, heavy with clear grief. “I'm so sorry you had to meet me like this.. broken and drifting. It must've been hard for you, dwelling with my sickness and binding your heart to mine while I ruin myself. I'm sorry for making you go through all of this, you don't deserve to. I wish––fuck.. I wish I could stay. I wish I didn't have to leave.”

His forehead dropped to Suguru’s shoulder, seeking a haven he feared he would one day forget. Suguru’s hand rose to cradle the nape of his neck, thumb sweeping his skin. 

“I am so sorry, my love…” Satoru whimpered, his voice cracking like a porcelain doll. 

He was once like that. A doll that everyone adored, perhaps pitied in a sense. He's beautiful, luminous, as if born to be admired but can not be touched because of its pureness and fragility. The difference is, Satoru is a human. He loved, he beamed, he wept, he trembled, he shattered, and in doing so, revealed a beauty far crueler and more radiant than any lifeless doll could claim. His mind was a labyrinth of cracks and gilt edges, and in the quiet moments when Suguru held him close, he could feel that terrible loveliness thrumming beneath Satoru’s skin. 

Suguru didn't ask him to be strong. Didn't tell Satoru to hide or bury the tremors beneath some polished facade. Instead, he asked him to whisper an apology to the bruised corners of himself, not because he was weak, but because Satoru had punished himself for far too long. 

“It's not your fault. It's not, Toru.” Suguru hushed, his own throat tight and dry. He pressed his cheek against the crown of Satoru’s head, inhaling the subtle, welcoming scent. “I chose this. I chose you. I chose to love you. My soul knew you before I could even say your name. Having you in my life is not a burden, I don't regret you. Please– please remember that.” His hold became more secured, protective and safe as if he could stave off the world’s cruelty with an embrace. 

“Thank you for letting me, Satoru.” 

I love you. 

Satoru sobbed, his entire body quaking beneath the weight of Suguru’s words— so simple yet ruinously gentle, cleaved through him more mercifully than any false promise of strength ever could. To be loved by his soulmate, it was more than enough. He wanted to claw at the world’s throat, to grovel, to rage, and curse its tragedy sworn upon people. A person’s grief is a monument, carved from memory and loss. A brute blessing that someone existed so deeply within you that even absence could not erase them. Your person keeps those memories alive. Suguru will. For grief, Satoru knew now, was not an enemy, it was a shrine. 

It's daunting and overbearing. It burns because it's love. 

Love is the most twisted curse. Yet it can be the one that saves you like how someone can be your savior. That is how Suguru saved him. 

I love you. 

Suguru’s hands rose, reverent, to cradle Satoru’s face as if he alone was allowed to touch him. Their eyes locked, speaking in between heartbeats where language was too crude to trespass. Satoru tucked a silken strand of Suguru's hair behind his ear with a smile, then asked. “Will you kiss me?”

For a breathless heartbeat, Suguru faltered, pupils blown wide, chest taut with a sweetness that bordered on agony. He doesn't have any reasons to say no. Words fumbled at the gate of his throat, too small for the sheer nervousness he felt. How could he speak when Satoru’s eyes clung to him like infinity, as if this single breath, this single kiss, might bridge the inevitable? 

No words escaped his lips, not at first. Suguru caressed his cheekbone, nodding. “Yes, Toru.”

In an instant, Satoru felt a pair of lips catching his trembling breath, sealing a promise that words would somehow fail to hold. The first press was delicate, patient in its restraint, a benediction brushed against a mouth that had known too many apologies. It was exactly as he had dreamed. Soft and unhurried until it becomes desperate. Suguru’s head tilted, an almost imperceptible angle that deepened the kiss. Their lips moved with sincerity, a rhythm bejeweled together not by hunger but by a desperate devotion. Every brush, every sigh shared between parted mouths was a testament—that even here, in the dim corridors of a life, this one sliver of grace belonged to them alone.

Neither had dared to believe such a kiss could happen between them, where boundaries were inked in patient charts and whispered reassurances. And yet here they were, transgressing with every breath they took. This was a prayerful mantra. 

Can someone die from this? Satoru wondered, growing weaker. 

Their tale doesn't have to end here. With the correct choices, they could still have a chance to make things right—that with the right choices, with enough defiance, they might yet mend what the divinities took from them. Perhaps they would not have to wait for another lifetime, reincarnated in someone else’s skin, to taste the quiet miracle of being whole together. Together, they'll overcome the obstacles that hindered them. But why? Why must love be carved from suffering? Why must the clock of fate demand such ruin to ensure before they earn the grace of waking beside each other without it having to hurt? It's unfair. Perhaps they must bleed. Perhaps they must wait for the moon to kneel into the ocean. Perhaps their eclipse is yet to come, that maybe some ancient prophecy written only in their bones might yet shift for them to bear. 

Maybe. Maybe. 

Their lips parted only to crash together again. The heat between them devoured by a hunger neither of them could still contain. The kiss grew ravenous, breathless, feverous with want and need to consume. Satoru clutched fistfuls of Suguru’s shirt, dragging him impossibly closer to obliterate the air that dared to exist between them. Suguru’s hands threaded into Satoru’s hair, tugging just enough to draw a soft, broken moan from his throat. A sound that made the world this moment irrelevant. Teeth clashed, lips parted only to drag a gasp into a groan. The kiss was no longer gentle, they mouth each other like they could bury every fear and every madness inside it. 

They kissed until breathing was an afterthought, until Satoru felt his head spinning and didn’t care if he fell, so long as Suguru fell with him. It tasted like grief. Like a prayer that could tear the heavens open. When they finally broke apart, they did not move far, foreheads pressed together, lips swollen, breathing unevenly. 

Satoru giggled, feeling a little shy all of the sudden. Suguru smiled, brushing his thumb over Satoru's kiss-bruised lips. 

“I'll see you in spring, Suguru.” Satoru managed to say, eyes softening, frail, like spring were the last holy thing left to believe in.

“See you, Satoru.” Suguru murmured, tone low and promising. He'll wait. He'll find his way back to him. 

I love you. 

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

And their blue spring came to an end.

That doesn't preclude the possibility of another one, right? 

It will come. Satoru will be there. The spring won't be wilted anymore. 

Two years had already passed, yet held no trace of Satoru’s return. The days they salvaged before Satoru left for electroconvulsive therapy had been both a balm and a blade. Bittersweet was too small to word the emptiness and wholeness that clung to every stolen moment. If he was the one who administered the current, maybe it would have been easier because he got to have him near. A flick of a switch, a humane ritual done by the man who knew Satoru's mind more than any machine does. But he couldn't. Not when the subject is Satoru. Because to Suguru, if he did it, he would be no healer but a thief—the desecrator of Satoru’s inner world. To do it would mean stealing the ruins and constellations that made Satoru Satoru, robbing him the peace that held him. It was never Suguru’s right to quiet that cacophony just to make loving him less harrowing. To cut away the rays was to steal the light, too. And for all his longing to keep him safe, Suguru could not bear to be the one who dimmed him into something easier to hold.

And so when he went to him for the last time, Suguru did not dare close his eyes. He sat vigil by Satoru’s side, every shallow breath a fresh wound. He didn’t want to wake up to an empty bed, to the sound of a door closing on the room they owned. To stay awake through the dark so that when the dawn took Satoru from him, at least he could say he hadn’t wasted a single borrowed life. 

Time crawled and flew all at once. A paradox that left Suguru suspended between numb hours and sudden pangs of memory that split him open anew. He was wretched in his solitude. He could not bring himself to linger at the threshold of that small, bright room where Satoru once drifted between lucidity and oblivion. Now it confined another patient — some pale stranger oblivious to the ghosts of memories the four walls knows, the secrets buried in the scuff marks on the floor. They don't know. They don't have to know what has been theirs alone. 

Suguru folded himself back into his routines that kept him occupied. He busied his mind so they wouldn’t reach for a phantom that wasn’t there. Still, in between tasks, he mourned Satoru in the quiet corners of himself, the white-haired tempest who showed him what love was. He misses him. 

Nevertheless, Suguru did not neglect himself. He kept his promise to Satoru—that he would go on. He would endure. He persevered because to crumble now would make every moment they bled for meaningless, and he refused to let their story rot into nothing. 

Sometimes, in his silent hours, he wonders what Satoru is up to under some far off sky. Is he eating well? Is sleeping no longer scary? Does he rest enough? When the morning comes, does he shiver in the cold, searching for the warmth that's not there? Does he look after himself, too?

Do the people around him take care of him like Suguru does? 

When is he gonna return? When is he coming home? 

Questions like these ponder his thoughts. They coil in his chest, tightening when he lets his mind drift too far into ifs and maybes. He wants to believe that Satoru is safe somewhere. He wants to trust there’s enough of him left to remember a promise, a name, a face waiting like a lighthouse on the same shore. Suguru hopes that Satoru will recognize him even with little chance. 

Suguru wandered into the hospital’s small, half-forgotten garden, seeking a breath of air that didn’t taste like sadness and medicinal. Night had already crept in, draping over the trimmed hedges and flowerbeds that looked too orderly for the mess inside him. He's done for the day. He now needs time to gather himself. Out here, he could let the seams loosen. He sat down on the same bench for years ever since Satoru came. With careful fingers, he took out the folded paper from the pocket of his coat—creased, soft at the edges where he’d read it so many times. He traced his thumb over the faint impression of ink, the ghost of Satoru’s hurried scrawl. Maybe if he caressed it enough, he would feel Satoru’s fingertips pressed back through time. 

How foolish. 

A soft laugh broke out of him, incredulous. He rolled his eyes, letting the absurdity melt some small part of the ache in his chest. God. He misses him. With a heavy sigh, he unfolded the letter. A piece of Satoru that he has. 

To my dearest Suguru, 

You're missing me again? Well, you're supposed to. There's nothing better than missing me. It just hurts when you do. Have you been taking care of yourself? You promised me. I hope you are. 

Honestly, I don’t know what to write in this letter, but I want you to have this, something you can hold on to when I cross your mind or your dreams. I don't know, you choose. 

I wonder how I got to have you in two distinct worlds. Must be fate. It only means one thing, we're soulmates! You know, you probably know, I was devastated when I learned that “you” are not real. Because to me, you were. What we had was real. I asked a lot of questions, none was answered. Why did this become my reality? Accepting it wasn't easy. I don't think I ever did. I had to answer my own questions, coming up with some sort of stuff and realizing as time passed me by. 

I found it hard to trust you. I doubted you a lot. But you kept on pestering and bribing me with the things that I like, so how could I refuse the free food and drinks? Although I appreciated the gesture, you doing that made it difficult for me to know who's who because you acted like “him.” Then, it occurred to me that perhaps, just maybe, you and him are the same person. You never changed. The situation did.

You are you, Suguru. Sure, you might act different from the rest of you that I know but you're still you. You're still the person I know by heart and by soul. You still became the person I'm bound to fall in love with. 

Truth is, I hate this. I hate that I'm sick. I can't love you normally without wanting to have the other you to console me. Hold me like it doesn't hurt. I push you away, then cling to you. I feel so shitty. It was hard not to feel things for you. It was suffocating. 

Everything I've confessed to you was all true. I was scared, still am, that you'll give me up. Get tired and leave me in my reverie. I'm scared. It's frightening in this hell but you—you became my salvation, Suguru. You stayed with me, helped me, and cherished me. You're so stupid, you jerk. I hate you (I don’t mean that literally) ⋌༼ •̀ ⌂ •́ ༽⋋

We have probably parted once you get this letter. I'm somewhere far away from you now. I know that as soon as the morning comes, there won't be you anymore. I'm gonna have to forget about you. No more Suguru. It feels like I'm committing a sin. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself. 

Suguru, I love you. 

Promise me that when we meet again, you'll introduce yourself. Don't you dare think that I'm better off without you. I'm already miserable. Fuck you if you ever thought of that. I was already broken when I knew you weren't real. I should thank the universe that you exist in. Who knows? Someone might use your body to trick me. I know you too well to fall for that. Anyway, I'm not kidding about falling in love with you again. I'm meant to. I've fallen for you more than once. We are soulmates. 

I'll off myself for real if I made stupid decisions that will sabotage the chances of us getting back together. Would you do that as well? I mean, I'm irresistible, so… (⁠o⁠ω⁠o⁠)

I'll be lonely without you. It's creeping in already, can you tell by my handwriting? I feel like shit. I don’t wanna feel like shit. I just wanna stay by your side and never leave. But I'm afraid that you'll leave me. I'm tired of running in circles just to reach you and the universe had other plans. I don't see myself giving up though I've wanted to. 

It's exhausting to want and refuse to live at all. What will happen to you if I die when I've seen it in your face countless times when my life is at risk? I don't want to leave you behind wondering where I went. We don't know if heaven's a real thing. 

What is life without you? Existing doesn't hurt if you're with me. So, don't you dare forget too, maybe a little bit? I'm a bit ashamed that you met me in my lowest LOWEST. I wanna be selfish yet don't you think it's unfair for you to carry all the memories we had in this hospital? Wouldn't that haunt you? I feel guilty, you don't deserve that. I'm sorry, Suguru. I'm really sorry for putting you through hell. 

(Have you ever written a letter like this? Cause I haven't until you. Don't bash me, be thankful.) 

Suguru, I love you. Always remember that. I always will and I always do. Our love is what makes me human. I love you. Don't you ever forget. There's no world where I don't. Take my illness as an example. We're meant to be. Now, don't be too hard on yourself, alright? It's okay if you cry or feel sad when you miss me. Trust that we'll eventually meet again. I love you. I love you so much. I love you, Suguru. I'll see you back in our spring! 

With all my soul, 

Satoru ♡

Suguru let out a shaky breath, the night air trembling in his lungs as if it, too, mourned alongside him. His teeth caught his lower lip, worrying it to get a hold of himself while another tear slipped past his lashes, darkening the paper already speckled with salt stains from nights just like this. A proof of how much he missed the man. He felt strong deprivation of Satoru's touch, the brush of skin on skin, and the radiance that nestled in the hollow of his chest for something magical than butterflies. A hearth, he thought bitterly — he is my hearth. He misses the sound of Satoru's voice, the lilt that silences the clamor in his head with assurance, jokes, and laughter. 

Holding the letter to his face, Suguru shut his eyes and breathed in the faintest scent Satoru left behind. The trace of him—ink, paper, and vanished warmth, offered a brittle sort of sanctuary, but the solace curdled at the edges, soured by the truth it could never hold him like before. He needs Satoru. A laugh too small and too bitter rolled off his mouth. He wanted to curse himself. But he couldn’t let it go. Not yet. So he pressed the letter closer, let it drink another tear, and told himself it was enough for now, though his heart knew better.

What's taking him so long to come back? 

Fortunately, back in January, news arrived. Mrs. Gojo had reached out at last. Her voice, brittle but composed, told Suguru that the treatment had gone as well as could be hoped for. She remembers how arduous the path had been, how wrenching it was to coax Satoru into consenting, how every step forward had been clawed from his defiance. She apologized for the silence, for the long months of absence, 2 years even, whether it was neglect or design, Suguru did not dare prod at the wound of that question. Some truths do more harm when woken up. He imagined them, halfway across continents, spending every ounce of themselves to keep him there, to keep him from coming back to Japan because Satoru wants to see Suguru. He could almost see Satoru’s obstinacy in those tearful eyes and refusals, his impossible devotion that made him as immovable as he was fragile. A lovesick fool to the last, to stand at Suguru’s side as if the universe hadn’t broken him first.

Furthermore, they have been spending time together as a family in hopes of making up for what was lost. And when they look at him, truly look at him, all they can see is the kid that stayed in Satoru's soul who's genuinely happy. However, there are hours, too, when that boy slips from view—when Satoru drifts away into some private dusk behind his sapphire eyes, sitting in with his thoughts, unreachable even in a crowded room. In those situations, his mother swears she sees a solemnity too old for his face, He looked so lost. And it worried her. She assumed, though she only whispered it to ease her worry, that the look on Satoru's face was because of Suguru. 

She also informed Suguru that Satoru always wore the necklace—the very memory of him resting cold against Satoru's collarbone. When asked why he never takes it off, Satoru would say that he doesn't know. He expressed that he felt awfully attached to it for reasons he doesn't know. Cold chills ran down her spine after that as if some ghost had brushed past her shoulder and reminded her that the heart remembers what the mind tries to misplace.

Those were the small truths Suguru held onto scraps of Satoru’s life passed through a phone line, carried like a slender hope pressed between his palms. But even as he clung to them, other questions curled up in his head. Did Satoru ever ask about him? Did he wonder—Who was his original psychiatrist? What was his name? Was he kind? Did he care? 

Did Satoru ever tilt his head with that soft, puzzled look, pouting, and ask, Why didn’t he do the procedure himself? Did he whisper to someone when the nights were long—Could I see him again when I’m better? Would he want to see me?

Of course, Suguru would. He'd be delighted. It drove Suguru nuts, a part of him didn't wanna know if Satoru did ask because what if he didn't? 

“Hey, you good?” Suguru felt something cool nudge his shoulder, the edge of a soda can, lightly tapping him back to the present. He looked up, startled, to find Utahime standing there, half-shadowed by the garden light.

“Didn't you go home already?” He asked, cracked the tab open and took a sip; the sharp fizz bit his tongue. Refreshing. 

“I stayed behind to help Nanami sort his files,” She replied with a casual shrug. “Then Shoko texted me she’d pick me up.”

“Your girlfriend?” Suguru asked, raised a brow, a reluctant chuckle broke through the heaviness clouding him. 

“Well, not yet. But she’ll be!” Utahime fired back, a grin tugging at her lips as she punched her fist softly into her palm, enthusiastically. 

“Shoko, huh..” Suguru muttered, clenching his jaw. The name slipped out like an old splinter working loose. “Doesn’t that sound… oddly familiar?” he said, almost to himself. 

Utahime caught the shift, the way his eyes darted away, the way his fingers drummed once against the can. “Gojo-san mentioned her,” She carefully said. “back when you snapped him out of that daze.”

Suguru turned, the motion almost sharp, surprise flickering in the tired lines around his eyes. “You heard that?” She only nodded, her silence saying more than pity ever could.

“I was honestly spooked when I learned her name. I got shivers!” Utahime went on, rubbing her arms like she could smooth the goosebumps away, “Then I lowkey asked her if she knew him. She was unamused, like I’d asked if she knew the Prime Minister or something. Said she doesn’t know him personally, but of course she’s heard of him. He’s a Gojo, after all.”

Suguru felt something in his chest give a muted throb at that. He pressed his teeth together and sighed, the throb in his head punctuating the thought knocking at him. Satoru, that infuriating, dazzling boy, knows them but they don't. 

Utahime caught the flicker of hurt in his eyes and exhaled. She gave him a cautious pat on his shoulder blades in an attempt for comfort. “I know what you’re thinking,” She sighs. “It's depressing.”

Suguru said nothing back. He only tipped his head forward, the hiss of carbonation filling the silence as he finished the soda in his hand. What if it isn’t just coincidence? What if all of them are really acquainted with each other? What if this is fate whispering in riddles, giving them a hint, folding them all back together in one orbit whether they're ready or not? 

“Nothing new about him yet?” Utahime asked, checking up on him. Her eyes tracing the worn out paper held by Suguru. She bit back a smile. Suguru hummed, it said enough. No news. No Satoru. 

“Damn, you're depressed and you had the balls to lie to me that there was nothing going on between the two of you.” She recalled. 

“Ugh give me a break.” Suguru groaned, leaning back with a halfhearted roll of his eyes.

Utahime laughed and stood up, “My suitor is here. Try not to haunt this bench all night, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waved her phone like a flag of victory before turning away, her steps light as she disappeared down the path.

Must be nice. 

He lifted a hand in lazy farewell, then let the garden reclaim him. He watched the wind flow through the flowerbeds, sending a scatter of petals drifting down like small, weightless confessions. Right… he wished upon those petals before. He used to tuck plucked flowers behind Satoru's ear who's a bit stubborn about it, he'd pretend to hate but his eyes never lie. 

A tired smile plastered on his lips as he relived the memory. Maybe tomorrow, when the day feels easier to go through, he'll get some flowers. 

 Just because

For Suguru, each day bled into the next. indistinguishable. The same gray hours repeating themselves with barely a change in shape or taste. But today, something is quite different. He arrived at the hospital with a bluebell post on hand—some asked where he got it, and some assumed he's dating someone. And in that small offering he found calmness he hadn’t felt in so long. Most likely because of the flowers. 

Utahime caught sight of him as soon as he stepped in, there was a noticeable shift in the way he carried himself today. She watched from her corner, studying the faint relief that settled on his shoulders, the way he moved as if carrying something light instead of the usual weight that harbors him. She retreated, continuing what she was doing. 

Suguru found an old glass vase tucked away on a forgotten shelf, it's still intact and durable so he went with it. He cleaned it first before filling it with clear water, watching how the light bent through it. With a handful of care, he lowered the bluebells into its new home, snapped its stem before doing so. Then Suguru sank into his chair, shoulders slackening as his eyes lingered on the flower. 

It makes him think of Satoru, notably his eyes—those ravishing eyes. Eyes like winter oceans under moonlight, shifting tides that could drown or cradle, entice or undo. They could be so beguiling, so unflinchingly clear when laughter curled at their corners, yet just as easily glacial, a shard of sky iced over when doubt or sorrow pressed in. Suguru adored how those eyes seemed to drink the weather of Satoru’s heart

Satoru’s gaze pinned Suguru to the world, left him stripped bare yet cherished all, every hidden thing in him was welcomed, named, and kept alive. Perhaps that was why he found himself here now, sitting at his desk, palm brushing the soft petals of the bluebell posy. They were nothing like that impossible gaze, but they stayed close enough to remind him. They held none of that mercurial brilliance Satoru has. And Suguru savored the thought like an oath. 

Even in your absence, I still see you in hues of blue. 

“Nanami-kun, did you already stop by the bakery?” Suguru asked, acknowledging Nanami’s presence as he walked in while waiting for the kettle to sing. The tea soothes his nerves when he's either tense or overwhelmed. 

“Yeah, I did.” Nanami answered, voice low and even as ever. He placed his own mug on the tae with a small clink before fishing out the instant coffee.

Suguru chuckled lightly, steeping his tea. “How's it going?”

“It’s fine,” Nanami replied after a moment’s thought. He tore the packet, poured, and blended with measured care. “Though I'm having a little trouble with Fushiguro-kun lately. But nothing I can’t manage.” He spared Suguru a glance for a second, then returned his gaze back to his mug, watching the dark swirl. 

A silence passed, a bit awkward but alright. “You're still waiting for him?” Nanami asked bluntly in an attempt to make it sound casual rather than prying. 

Although Suguru was a little surprised, he appreciated the care. He hadn’t expected that, not from Nanami, whose concern was usually folded into work and plain words. Well, they're not that close, couldn't consider each other as friends, but the respect is there. That being said, this might be the first time he'll talk about this matter besides Utahime which was occasional, only when mentioned. He wondered how much Nanami knew, a part of him found a small comfort in the fact that someone else bothered to ask. He

“Yeah, pretty much. It's something I can't help.” Suguru admitted, lifting his cup to his lips to take a sip of his tea. He then lowered the cup just enough to cast Nanami a sly look. “Why'd you ask? Didn't know you're into this kind of thing.”

Nanami let out a short, unimpressed scoff as he snapped the lid back onto the coffee jar. “Not really. I just happen to have heard about it” 

“Utahime told me,” Nanami said, sounding faintly resigned as he set his coffee down and crossed his arms. “She was rambling, you know how she gets, and I couldn’t exactly shut her up.” He let out a sigh, as if replaying the entire conversation in his mind. “She asked for advice because she was worried about your situation. Then it turns out, you're doing just fine by taking care of yourself. But I must say, you still look dreadful.” Nanami casually explained, hesitating a bit If he should tell the other thing. 

Suguru huffed a low laugh against the rim of his cup. “Thanks for that. Very flattering, Nanami-kun.” He teased, though the edge of it softened when he added, “I made a promise to Satoru. I don't plan on breaking it.”

“Mhm..” Nanami nodded slowly, a low hum rumbling from his throat as he picked up his coffee again. He didn’t look away, just regarded Suguru for a moment longer than usual, a twitch of something unreadable in his eyes. Suguru held his gaze, the tea warm against his fingers, watching the slight crease on Nanami’s eyebrows, that careful pause, like there was something else trying to push past his teeth. The sort of expression Suguru knew well from observing people, the split-second before someone decided whether to speak or retreat.

The obvious choice was there. 

“Well then, I’ll go now. Fushiguro-kun will be here any moment,” Nanami said, collecting his cup in one hand as he turned for the door, his other hand pausing on the knob. 

“Geto-san, don't lose hope.” 

Suguru muttered a small thanks from the kindness hinted at in Nanami's blunt tone. He let out a small sigh and glanced down at the half-empty cup in his hands. He's gonna need another. Honestly, he hasn't seen this Fushiguro kid. But based on what he heard, he's here for therapy sessions. Missed a handful of appointments but always found his way back. Suguru found himself oddly hopeful for him. Healing was a long road, some days are worse and some days are better. And if a boy like that could keep returning, maybe it proved something simple and necessary; that the heart and mind, no matter how battered, still wants to mend itself. And perhaps that was enough for today. He's sure that Nanami will take care of him. 

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖ 

Spring is approaching soon. 

Another spring without Satoru. 

Suguru sat on the soft, sun-warmed verdant grass, letting its dampness cling to his palms as he watched the lake’s surface shiver with each restless breeze. What was Satoru doing now? The question plagued him—where he was at this hour, what he's wearing, was he smiling and if so, at whom, for what reason? Does Suguru ever cross his mind by chance? Does he dream about him? He picked the pebble beside him, and tossed it at the lake. He didn’t bother to count the skips, though they carried far, 

When will he hear from the Gojos again? Why are they not reaching out? How long must the waiting season hold out? 

Huffing, hiding his face behind the crook of his arms braced on his drawn-up knees. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. I miss you. Toru. Please? He squeezed his eyes shut, as if darkness might keep him at bay, and his fists clenched the fabric of his sleeves. 

With a wince, he buried himself deeper behind the shield of his arms, the world might overlook his pitiful state if he made himself small enough. This is pathetic. Heat crawled up his neck, staining his cheeks with a flush, feeling the immense amount of embarrassment. Spare him, It's his first time falling in love. To be twenty-seven and feel like this, gut-kicked by a name of someone who lived too vividly inside him, it made him feel ridiculously young. It's not an old age but that's just how it is. He’d never stumbled through the clumsy sweetness of romance before. He was buried too deep in textbooks and duty to let himself to let himself love and be loved. People had always looked at him like a perfect person with stoicism. So of course, confessions came his way but each and everyone faced rejection. Sometimes harsh. Sometimes polite. 

Maybe he's been waiting for Satoru to show up in his life and become part of it. The very confession he'll ever give to someone was to Satoru alone. 

Suguru once looked to the stars and the natural world, hoping that his wishes would be heard. For a moment, the universe seemed to answer—granting him Satoru, a companion who brought light and meaning to his days. Coloring his season with blue. But the heavens, as fickle as fate itself, took their gift back. Satoru had to leave. Not because he wanted to, but needed to. 

“Satoru would like to receive a flower, I should get him one.” He whispered to the wind whilst grabbing the posy of lilies he’d carefully chosen from the flower shop. Nostalgia washed over him. 

Satoru’s presence transcended mere beauty. No, he was ethereal—an otherworldly vision. Even that fell short. Satoru was nothing less than divine, a celestial blessing bestowed upon him. To love him, to miss him, to touch him, was an honor. An act of worship itself.  

His smile faltered, suddenly remembering the heavenly eyes of Satoru's eyes that bear solemn resignation, as if he had given up. He tried to hide it, pretending to be okay with a polished smile and tone. But Sugueu saw through him. He knows what he does when he's alone. Not entirely, but he could see it from his eyes. When alone in his isolated room, Satoru wept, stifling every sound so his pain wouldn't be heard. He scratches himself until his arm bleeds, it was horrifying and relieving. It doesn't get better. He willed himself into a realm beyond anguish, a place where the pain softened enough to bear being near Suguru, where love could exist without it having to hurt. 

“What am I even thinking?” He groaned, rubbing circles in the crease of his eyebrows with his thumb to pull himself together. 

Satoru is lovely, an irreplaceable presence who has become the focal point of Suguru’s protectiveness. He doesn't want to concede to anyone else the privilege he has to have Satoru. They don't deserve it. The very notion that Satoru might open himself to another is unthinkable, a possibility Suguru refuses to entertain. He wants to be the only one. There shouldn’t be anyone else. 

To be Satoru's one and only. 

But what can a man do when their lover does not remember them and is nowhere to be found? Suguru seeks to find him because he knows that Satoru wants to be found. He retraced steps to every place Satoru once called his own, his favorite places to be. Cafés and pastry shops where he eats to his heart's content, parks where sunlight filtered through the leaves where life is so alive, mountains where peace silences one's thoughts, and riversides where secrets were whispered to the wind. But he never once saw him. Sometimes, It feels like Satoru never existed. The fear nags him: could he be slipping into the same abyss? Could his own mind be fracturing like Satoru’s, blurring the line between reality and illusion? What if just like Satoru's haze, none of it was real? 

This creeping nausea pulls him into a dark spiral, an existential tempest where certainty dissolves and the world feels unmoored. His eyes brim with tears, and a sickness settles deep within, born from witnessing the torment Satoru had to endure. The absence of Satoru sharpens Suguru’s understanding of why his beloved refuses to be treated, why he clings to the fragments of a world others cannot see.

The buzzing in his pocket and the ringtone he knew all too well made Suguru pause. He scrunched his nose, half-tempted to ignore it—he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. With a dreaded huff, he reached into his pocket and checked the screen, wondering who decided to disturb his peace this time. 

25+ Missed Calls

50+ Messages

Others…

???? 

“Hey, is everything alright? Why are you conta-” Suguru started, his voice edged with worry as his phone buzzed relentlessly with notifications from his colleagues and friends. But Nanami cut him off sharply.

“Apologies but we have something urgent-”

“HE'S HERE, GETO-SAN! OH MY FUCKING GOD”

What? 

“Are you sure it's him?!” Suguru hissed through gritted teeth, already pushing himself up. He clenched his fist so hard his nails bit into his palm. In one breathless motion, he dusted off his clothes, grabbed the flowers, and bolted for his motorbike.

“YES! GOJO-SAN CAME TO PICK SOMEONE UP- WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?”

“Utahime-chan, calm down. Sorry about that but can you hurry up?”

“I'm on my way- fuck!” He gripped the handle with force and trembling hands until his knuckles turned white. Is this real? 

“HURRY!”

He heard a rush of white noise in his ear as the call ended. His heart thundered in his chest, sweat prickling on his hands. He couldn’t control the way his body was reacting or force himself to relax. Could it really be Satoru? They wouldn’t mess around about something like this. Fuck. Is it really him? 

To get through, Suguru slammed the accelerator and weaved his motorbike through the horrendous traffic, overtaking every vehicle in his way. The congestion was brutal, every second stretching his nerves thin. Maybe he shouldn’t have stepped out at all. Maybe then he would’ve seen Satoru sooner. Life was so damn unpredictable. His phone kept buzzing in his pocket, but he ignored it. If they told him Satoru had already left, he would have lost it right there in the middle of the road—crash, burn, and miss his chance forever. It had only been twenty minutes, but it felt like an hour. 

Why was Satoru there? Who was he picking up? Does he remember anything? Since when was he back in Japan? Suguru poked his tongue in the inside of his cheeks and leaned forward, cutting through the gaps in traffic like his life depended on it because it does. 

He muttered a curse under his breath and glared at the traffic light, drumming his fingers repeatedly on the handlebar. He’s almost there, but the damn signal refused to change. If only he’d stayed in his office instead of wasting time buying flowers and spacing out in his chair, he could’ve seen Satoru sooner. Seen him with his own eyes. Made sure it was really him. He sighed. The second the light turned green, Suguru shot forward without hesitation. He just prayed no cop would decide to pick this moment to ruin everything.

When he finally reached the hospital, he barely killed the engine before jumping off his bike. Heart hammering, he rushed inside, clutching onto the thin hope that Satoru was still there despite every terrible thought telling him otherwise.

“Geto!” Suguru spun around at the sound of his name and spotted Utahime and Nanami. He sprinted over to them, panting. 

“Where is Satoru?” He asked, looking very hopeful and terrible. 

“Fuck, he already left.” Utahime hissed, clicking her tongue in defeat. 

“What? Why? What happened? What was he doing here? Where did he go? Is he okay?” Suguru rambled, stammering. 

“Calm down for a second.” Nanami let out a heavy sigh and placed a steadying hand on Suguru’s shoulder. “It was so unexpected, we barely registered what happened. I thought I misheard Fushiguro-kun when he mentioned him during one of our sessions. I’m sorry I didn't inform you, I wasn't sure.”

“Fushiguro?” 

“Yes. Turns out, Gojo-san is his uncle. He came with Fushiguro-kun's sister to pick him up.” Nanami informs. “He talked to my assistant, he said he's taking them out, but he didn't mention where-”

“Is he okay? Does he look fine?” Suguru asked, his pupils trembling as he searched their faces for something. Anything.

"He looked fine, physically,” Nanami said carefully. “But his eyes… they were all over the place. Like this place triggered something– nostalgia, maybe. But…” He glanced at Utahime.

“He didn’t recognize me,” Utahime finished quietly. 

Suguru fell silent. He knew this was inevitable, he shouldn’t feel this way, but his chest still burned with something he couldn’t name. Wordlessly, he shut his eyes and started doing slow, measured breathing exercises, catching Utahime and Nanami off guard. He’d always known this day could come that Satoru might stand right in front of him and not know who he was, not know what they were. There is little prospect that Satoru would remember, and maybe he shouldn't. He hadn’t fought so hard to heal only to have his trauma torn open again. That is just unfair. Suguru knew that. He’d made peace with it long ago. If he found Satoru now, he’d start from zero. No memories to burden them. No past to haunt them. Just that promise by the lake, they’d find each other again, no matter what.

“You good?” Utahime asked hesitantly, her voice softer than usual as she watched how rigid Suguru had become.

Suguru drew in one last steadying breath and nodded, though the stiffness didn’t leave his shoulders. He shifted his gaze to Nanami. “When is Fushiguro-kun's next appointment?” 

˖⁺‧₊˚ 𐚁ᥫ᭡. ˚₊‧⁺˖

It had been three weeks since then, and there was still no sign of Satoru at the hospital. Suguru made a point to stay inside whenever Fushiguro was scheduled to be around, just in case Satoru decided to come by. He’d even gone so far as to check the CCTV footage himself—he had to be sure he hadn’t imagined it. And there he was… Satoru, clear as day, even with his glasses on. Impossible to miss. He stood out effortlessly, just like always. Suguru felt a strange sense of relief wash over him when he saw that figure alone on the screen. Just him. No one clinging to him, no one else by his side. For now, that was enough.

Everything's gonna be okay. 

“I'll be out. Call me if anything happens.” Suguru reached for his trench coat, shaking it out before slipping his arms through the sleeves. The weather was colder than usual. He paused by the door, hand on the knob, taking a steady breath before stepping out. 

As part of his daily routine, he stopped by the florist first, picking out a small bouquet of myosotis, forget-me-nots, before heading to his usual pastry shop. Holding the delicate blooms, Suguru lifted them to his nose and breathed in their faint sweetness, humming a quiet tune as he walked. He stared at the little cluster of blue petals and couldn’t help but picture Satoru. Oh. The thought made his chest tighten. I’m breathless. Maybe one day, he’d plant whole fields of flowers for him—different kinds, scattered under the open sky, so Satoru would never forget again.

He was craving something sweet today. Maybe crepes would do the trick. It was the first thing he’d ever shared with Satoru, back then. Suguru smiled faintly at the memory, his fingers tightening slightly around the bouquet. Funny how something so small could feel so sacred now. Maybe, if he waits a little longer, he could share another crepe with him someday. Somewhere warm, somewhere quiet, where they could start over without ghosts at their heels.

Suguru walked until he's in front of the shop, he pushed open the glass door and got in line. The aroma that permeated the place was delightful and alluring as the classical music that plays makes the room cozier. Somehow, it reminded him of Satoru. He once told him that he knows how to play the piano and promised to play for him one day. Rumor has it that Suguru has yet to see that day.

“Oh! You’re here!” The cashier greeted him brightly, a smile lighting up her face. She was the owner’s niece, she’d been working here since her college days, always ready with the same cheerful energy.

“Ah, yes. I’ll have the usual, and my tea. Please don’t make it too sweet, thank you.” Suguru returned her smile, polite and kind. She nodded and tapped his order into the screen. Once she called out the total, he handed over his payment, his mind already drifting elsewhere. With the receipt tucked neatly away, Suguru glanced around the cozy shop before settling at a table by the window. He sat back and let his eyes wander to the street outside—watching people pass, cars crawl by, the city breathing and moving as if nothing had changed at all.  

The soft piano notes curled through the café like the breeze. Suguru let himself get lured into it, eyes half-closed, the world outside the window blurring into shapes and color. The music pulled him somewhere else, somewhere softer than the here and now. For a heartbeat, he almost forgot how heavy his chest felt. He didn’t notice how much time had slipped by until his name broke through the melody, startling him back to the present. He blinked, shook off the haze, and stood to collect his order. 

"I didn't even notice you had a piano here,” He said when he reached the counter, his voice still low, as if he hadn’t quite left that quiet place in his head.

The server, a young man he’d come to recognize by face, if not by name, laughed gently, handing it over with a knowing look. “It’s been here since last week. You always sit over by the window so maybe that’s why you never noticed.”

He let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and followed the server’s nod toward the far corner. The piano sat there under the soft spill of afternoon light, its polished surface reflecting flickers of the street outside. “You should take a look. It costs nothing.”

Abruptly, the ground became heavy, consuming his vitality to walk towards it. Could it really be.. His breathing turned ragged, stuttering, his heart pounding so violently it almost drowned out the gentle notes drifting from the piano. His eyes locked onto the man seated at the keys, unable and unwilling to look away, afraid the vision might dissolve if he so much as blinked. Suguru wouldn’t be mistaken. Not when every restless night and hollow prayer had been carved with this face in mind and soul. Not when every soft plea he’d bitten back had shaped itself into this moment.

Is it really him? 

The man’s stance, so effortlessly loose yet strikingly familiar. That shock of white hair, bright as fresh snow under the café’s warm ambiance. And then, God. He laughed. A sound that trailed through the music like a secret chord, sweet and clear and painfully beautiful. This is not a dream. 

Please. 

Suguru’s legs nearly buckled when he caught a glimpse of that grin—mischievous, boyish, devastatingly unchanged. Beautiful. He felt the room tilt around him, the bouquet slipping slightly in his grip as if his body no longer knew how to hold onto anything but this sight.

It's really him. 

And for a heartbeat, just one, Suguru thought he might weep right there, surrounded by the scent of flowers and warm pastry, with a piano playing him back to a world he thought he’d lost. His world is right in front of him. Alive. 

“Satoru.” Suguru breathed the name like heaven exists. The name tasted like every promise they’d ever made under an endless sky, every touch he’d mourned in the dark, every memory he’d folded carefully into the quiet corners of his heart just to keep it alive.

The sight of him—his soulmate, his beloved, his one and only, brought tears unbidden to Suguru’s eyes. Before he could even think to stop them, they blurred the edges of his vision, turning the piano, the light, the whole café into something soft and dreamlike. The next thing he knew, he was standing right beside him. He couldn’t even remember moving, his feet carrying him as if the sky itself had lifted him forward. 

Purple meets blue. 

Suguru felt the earth drop from beneath his feet. He was dizzy with it, breathless from the simple, impossible fact that the man he’d ached for was here, looking up at him with those same beguiling eyes that once promised him forever in the isolation of the sterile walls. 

Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru Satoru- Fuck. Toru.. please.. 

His heart hammered; he thought it might crack open in his chest. He wanted to speak, to say everything he’d hoarded in the dark all these years, but the words lodged in his throat. Because how could you speak when you were face-to-face with a miracle?

Rather than giving him a strange look or turning away, Satoru… smiled. Soft, open like sunlight cracking through the cold edges of Suguru’s doubt. Why? Why did he smile at him like that…? like the universe has not buried them more than once already? Why? 

A tiny, broken sound slipped from Suguru’s lips, a half-wept gasp he didn’t bother to hide. He’s so beautiful. He always was. But now, standing this close, Suguru could see it clearer than ever—how the pain and sorrow that once drowned those eyes were gone, washed away by something gentler, lighter. Satoru's eyes were bright yet it's searching for something. Someone. Satoru’s eyes never left his, steady as the tide, like he was trying to reach for something just beyond the edge of memory.

Suguru blinked through the tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes, searching the depths of those eyes as if he could find himself there—tucked in some corner Satoru hadn’t forgotten. 

Satoru was still looking at him, his pupils wide and inviting, like they were trying to drink in every piece of Suguru standing there in front of him. Suguru’s breath caught when he saw it: the way tears coated in those ocean eyes, catching the light like tiny stars before they slipped free and traced a path down Satoru’s cheek. Why? Suguru’s mind whispered,

“Suguru..?” Satoru’s voice was soft, hesitant—more question than certainty. But just hearing his name fall from those lips stoked something helpless inside Suguru’s chest. The flames of every wish, every sleepless night, suddenly roaring back to life.

Huh? How? 

Suguru’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers twitched around the little bouquet, petals trembling with him. “Do you re– How’d you know my name?” he dared to ask, the words stumbling out. 

Satoru’s eyes softened even more blue, glistening with the remnants of his tears. He let out a small giggle, muffling it with the back of his hand as he wiped at the wetness on his cheeks. “Silly.” His voice was barely above a murmur as he giggled. 

“What?” Suguru asked, not liking the suspense. 

Satoru’s grin widened, playful, a ghost of that boy Suguru knew by heart. He lifted a finger and pointed squarely at Suguru’s chest. 

“It’s written on your name tag.” He shrugged lightly, crossing his legs at the piano bench, watching him like he was the only thing in the world worth seeing. “Seems like you forgot to take it off.”

Suguru took a step back and stared at him. He let out a tiny, breathless laugh—half relief, half ache, all tangled up in the quiet thunder of his pulse. Of course. Only Satoru could look at him like that and still manage to break his heart so gently. For a split second, the past wrapped around him like a too-tight coat: the first time they’d met, the spark in Satoru’s eyes when he’d said his name without needing to ask, like he’d always known him, somehow.

He doesn't remember me. 

Satoru’s grin turned into a smirk, teasing, eyebrow arching in that way that once made Suguru want to kiss the grin right off his face. “You—how’d you know my name?” He countered, voice lilting with that same careless mischief that made the room feel smaller, closer. “Did you ask the barista?”

Suguru’s lips parted, but the words caught on the jagged edge of everything he wanted to say—No, I know you. I’ve always known you. Suguru gulped, the words heavy in his throat as he forced them out. “Yes.”

Satoru stretched out his elegant fingers above the keys, wiggling them dramatically. “Hmm… did my performance move you to tears?” He asked, voice lilting like a gentle taunt meant to pull him closer.

Suguru let out a breath that could almost be a laugh, though it trembled. “Yes. It was my first time seeing and hearing someone play.” He paused, his eyes tracing the shape of Satoru’s hands, those same hands that once held him so easily. “It had to be you, huh?” The truth curled softly around the lie.

Satoru cocked his head, narrowing his eyes with mock suspicion. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Nothing.” Suguru mumbled, eyes darting away. He hadn’t thought this far ahead—how to stand here, heart wide open, and pretend he was just a stranger enchanted by a melody. How to make sure he’d see him again, touch this miracle until it becomes his once more. 

“You’re weird, but you’ve got some nice bangs.” Satoru’s grin was all sunshine, but there was something unbearably gentle in the way he leaned in, lifting his hand. “It feels soft too..”

As Satoru gently wrapped his finger around Suguru's bangs, they were silent momentarily. He felt the soft tug as Satoru playfully twisted the lock of his bangs around his finger, as if testing the texture for himself. For a heartbeat, the world stilled. No piano, no low hum of the café behind them. Just that touch, soft and so impossibly familiar it burned. Suguru didn’t dare move, afraid the slightest shift might break the connection between them. His gaze drifted lower—something glinting at Satoru’s throat caught him by surprise.

Satoru is wearing the necklace. 

Upon seeing the jewelry in the flesh, his eyes got lost in the lake of his tears. He forced a small, shaky chuckle through the knot in his throat, blinking fast as he smiled at him—his beautiful, impossible Satoru. His heart swelled so full it almost hurt. Maybe Satoru didn’t remember him. Maybe he didn’t remember them. But the necklace was still there. Something had stayed. And for now, that was enough.

“Suguru.. are you okay?” Satoru’s voice was soft, the playful lilt gone now, replaced by something careful and concerned. His palm came up without hesitation, brushing over Suguru’s damp cheek. His hand was cold, like it always used to be but it was warm enough where it mattered, warm enough to make Suguru lean in, eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the touch. 

Satoru said nothing more, just watched him—really watched him, as if trying to piece together why this stranger’s tears felt so heavy on his skin. Slowly, almost instinctively, his hand slipped from Suguru’s cheek to the nape of his neck, his fingers gentle and sure as he drew Suguru closer until their foreheads nearly touched. And then he simply pulled him in. No questions, no awkward jokes, no barriers. Just Satoru, wrapping him up like he’d always known how. Suguru stiffened at first, all his trembling, knotted grief pressed up against Satoru’s chest—then, inch by inch, he let it break apart. He let himself give in. He let himself trust that warmth again. 

Neither of them said a word. The world around them kept moving—curious glances, the low hum of the music still playing itself out, but none of it touched them. For these few minutes, Suguru didn’t care about the tea he’d left cooling on the table or the flowers slipping from his fingers. All that mattered was Satoru’s heartbeat, calm and close, and the quiet, inexplicable way he held him—like maybe, somewhere deep inside, he did remember after all.

When Satoru finally pulled back, he gave Suguru a lopsided grin, as if the embrace hadn’t happened, or maybe as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He dragged him where there's an empty seat and said, “Sit. Let’s talk.” 

Suguru didn’t even think to refuse—how could he, when every cell in his body was still buzzing from Satoru’s touch? He slipped into the chair opposite him, fingers still brushing the forget-me-nots. His tea was cold and forgotten. 

He ordered a new one. 

They talked. At first, the conversation stuttered, little silences. Suguru too careful. Satoru too curious. But then it settled, like they’d done this a thousand times before. Their laughter blended naturally, with Satoru tossing playful questions that made Suguru roll his eyes and smile despite himself. They instantly clicked. Suguru never mentioned how he really knew his name. He wouldn’t tell him the truth, not yet—maybe not ever. Satoru didn’t need to carry that weight. Not now. Maybe not ever again. 

When the talk turned to pastries, Satoru perked up instantly. Suguru admitted he didn’t really have a sweet tooth—never had, really. But he didn’t hate sweets either. He said it lightly, but the confession made Satoru beam at him like he’d just uncovered a grand secret.

“Then you have to let me fix that,” Satoru declared, leaning forward with that spark that made Suguru’s chest ache. “You’re missing out. I know a hundred pastry shops. Good ones! I’ll take you. You won’t say no, right?”

Suguru let out a soft laugh, warmth blooming beneath his ribs. As if I’d ever say no to you. He just nodded instead, letting Satoru’s excitement fill the space where all his unspoken truths lay hidden—safe for now, waiting for when the time was right.

“I didn’t expect to be on a date today. Is that your way of asking someone out, bangs?” Satoru teased, stepping outside as Suguru held the café door open for him like it was second nature.

“No–”

“So you’re not asking me out?” Satoru pressed, a mocking pout tugging at his lips, blue eyes glittering with amusement

“No! Yes—what?” Suguru stumbled over his own answer, heat prickling at his ears as he shot him a helpless glare.

Satoru just laughed, unbothered, and reached up to flick Suguru’s bangs again, the same way he used to when he was trying to get a rise out of him. Suguru let out an exhale that was almost a laugh too, blinking at him with a look that was part fondness, part quiet disbelief. How could someone change so much and still be exactly the same? Annoying, he thought, feeling his heart pull tight and warm all at once. So annoyingly you.

They paused by the curb, swapping phones, thumbs brushing as they exchanged numbers. Satoru typed his name in with a little heart next to it. Suguru pretended not to notice how his fingers shook when he saved it. When it was done, Suguru clutched his phone like it might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. He looked at Satoru, the question slipping out before he could think to stop it. 

“When can I see you again?” 

Satoru tilted his head, pretending to consider it. A cheeky grin firmly in place, as if he didn’t feel the same thread tying them back together, loop by invisible loop. “Whenever you want, you'll miss me too much.” He chuckled.

“Really?”

Satoru shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “You come here a lot, right? Then I guess we’ll bump into each other again.” His eyes drifted up to the sky, the blue overhead reflected in his own. Vast, endless, and impossible. “Let’s see what destiny has for us, hmm?”

He saw the look on Suguru's face and chuckled. Satoru flicked Suguru’s bangs one last time, then let his hand fall away with an easy, reassuring smile. “We'll find each other, Suguru. Trust me.”

Suguru swallowed all the bothering tension weighing his whole body and nodded, voice so quiet it almost got lost in the breeze. “Okay, Satoru.” He smiled, small and trembling, but real. “I trust you.”

How is he real? Satoru clutched the little bouquet against his chest, the fragile stems pressing lightly to his palm as he stole one last glance over his shoulder. There, under the soft spill of afternoon light, Suguru was kissed. Never before had Satoru seen someone so effortlessly, achingly handsome. Intoxicating, yes, but it was more than that. There was something in Suguru’s eyes that moved him in a way that wasn’t unpleasant at all. It felt like standing too close to a fire in winter—too warm, too much, and yet impossible to step away from. 

How could someone I just met look at me like that? Satoru wondered, his mind spinning in circles he couldn’t quite pin down. There was no reason for it. No logic to it. And yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world for Suguru to look at him as if he’d been waiting forever. What had been the reason for his tears? Satoru wondered, touching a fingertip to his cheek where Suguru’s tears had damp his skin. He didn’t know, and maybe he didn’t need to know. Not when the unspoken answer hummed so quietly between them, promising they’d find each other again.

Well… Suguru didn’t have to know what was stirring inside him either. Not yet. For now, it was enough to hold the flowers to his chest and smile as he turned away, knowing, somehow, that the next time wouldn’t be by chance alone.

“Are you sure you're not a stalker?” Satoru asked, nudging his shoulder against Suguru’s as they walked side by side down the sidewalk. .

Suguru lifted an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk that made Satoru’s chest flutter in a way he refused to examine too closely. “I’m not. Do you want me to be?”

Satoru shot him a look, half scandalized, half delighted, his grin sharp with challenge. “Can you?“

Suguru shrugged, so casual yet so painfully sincere all at once. “If it means I get to see you every day, I don’t see why not.” Then he leaned in just a touch, voice low and teasing as he added, “Only if you want me to, princess.”

The word princess hit its mark. Satoru’s eyes widened, a flush blooming bright across his cheeks as he sputtered. He shoved Suguru strong enough to make him stumble, sending them both laughing a little too loud for the quiet street. “Don’t call me that! You're crazy!”

Suguru just looked at him. Fond, too warm, too close to something like worship. And Satoru felt it again. That strange, heady sense that maybe this wasn’t just a chance meeting at all.

The petals of the cherry blossoms danced around them like pale confetti, caught in the breeze as they walked side by side. From here, the hospital could be seen. A faint reminder of the place where it all began, though neither of them dared speak it aloud. Satoru’s fingers rose to the necklace resting against his collarbone, thumb brushing the button in slow circles. A habit so natural he barely noticed it anymore. It had always been a quiet anchor, a small comfort he couldn’t quite name, only feel.

A soft pink petal fluttered down, landing gently in Suguru’s dark hair. Satoru paused mid-step, something warm tugging at the corners of his smile. Without thinking, he reached out, fingers threading into Suguru’s hair, brushing the petal away with a tenderness that made Suguru freeze. Their eyes met, Suguru’s widening just slightly, the tips of his ears flushing a shy pink. Satoru chuckled, his breath catching at the sight. How could anyone look at him like this? He let his hand linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, brushing a stray lock behind Suguru’s ear before pulling back. 

It had been terribly lonely, so hollow that sometimes even the brightest cities felt dim. Maybe that’s why, without fully knowing why, he’d chosen to fly back to Japan. A part of him had called it coming home, though home had always been more a feeling than a place. More often, it's a person. He never imagined he would see him. Not so soon, not so perfectly timed, like an answer whispered back by the stars he’d pleaded with on sleepless nights. The same stars, maybe, that guided the drifting petal to kiss Suguru’s hair, like a promise he hadn’t dared to say aloud.

It has been terribly lonely, which is why he chose to fly back to Japan; he never thought he would see him as soon as he had wished for. The stars answered his pleas like the petal that kissed Suguru's body. He is aware of the sanctity of the initial that is inscribed on the button. If he claimed to know nothing about Suguru, he would be deceiving both himself and Suguru. His thumb drifted to the charm at his neck again, feeling the slight bump of the initial engraved to it. A secret he’d carried so long it had become part of him. He’d never fully understood why he held onto it. But now, he knows. 

And now, standing beside Suguru, he realized the truth pressing gently at the edge of his mind. If he claimed he knew nothing of Suguru, if he pretended not to feel that warm pull in the deepest marrow of his bones, he would be lying. To Suguru. And to himself.

Satoru may not fully remember the life he’d had when he was still sick that became like a half-forgotten dream. But there were things he did know, small truths he’d pieced together in the quiet. Suguru loved him. He knew that from the faint words he’d scribbled in his old journal, the ones hidden among pressed petals from flowers Suguru must have given him—little tokens of care he couldn’t bear to throw away, even when the memories slipped from his grasp. The words were subtle, Satoru had never been one to write plainly about his pain. But the ache was there, threaded through half-finished sentences and stray thoughts. And in that quiet ache, Suguru appeared again and again. His salvation in a life that had felt like a waking nightmare. A warmth he must have clung to when everything else felt like drowning, only surviving. Learning how deeply he’d once fallen for Suguru left Satoru strangely breathless, torn between wonder and frustration. How did I love him then? How did my heart hold at him? Now, standing beside the real man, breathing, beautiful, his—he was curious, almost desperate, to know how his heart would answer him all over again. 

The cruel part was, for all the words he’d left himself, he’d never bothered to leave a picture. As if he could. Satoru almost wanted to choke his past self for it. You could’ve made it easy, he thought, a faint laugh bubbling at the back of his throat. You could’ve given me something. Anything.

But maybe this was better, standing here now, seeing Suguru with fresh eyes and letting his heart find him all over again. No memory, no old ghosts. Just the truth that still pulsed between them, undeniable as the soft brush of a cherry blossom against his hair.

Everyone else seemed to dissolve from his sight the moment he noticed the man moving toward him like the whole world had politely stepped aside to leave just him in Satoru’s line of vision. His fingers, poised so easily over the piano keys just seconds before, had forgotten how to play. But his heart. God. His heart remembered. His soul tied to him. 

Is it him? The thought struck Satoru with the soft violence of a prayer answered too soon. He wanted to ask, wanted to say it out loud, to hear the name on his own tongue before the truth slipped away again.

Then the man spoke first. “Satoru.” Just his name, nothing else, but it cracked something open in him that no melody ever could. In that single breath, Satoru understood. He didn’t have all the memories, didn’t have the clear, neat pictures or the answers his mind still fumbled for in the dark. But hearing Suguru say his name like that, like an angel giving up his wings just to touch the earth—made it all make sense, somehow. And when he looked into Suguru’s eyes, shimmering with tears meant only for him, Satoru felt it. The weight of a love too big for words. A devotion so deep it made him ache to his bones. 

This is what I left behind. This is who I was loved by.

He didn’t get it. Not fully. Not yet. But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to. Because Suguru was here, and the look in his eyes was enough. Enough to remind him that some truths didn’t need remembering—some truths simply are.

As he pulled him into his arms, the scent that rose up around Satoru was the softest kind of ache. Suguru smelt like home. Not the walls-and-roof kind of home or hospital, but the kind that never abandoned him, the kind that waited patiently in the dark until he found his way back. It felt strange. Surreal, almost. That this man who should have been a stranger felt more familiar than the place of his own thoughts. Satoru didn’t know what to do with it. Didn't know how. But his body did. His hands found Suguru’s back as if they’d always known the shape of him. His breath stilled in the hollow between Suguru’s neck and shoulder, the place that somehow felt like it had always belonged to him.

He doesn’t remember. He doesn't have to. But deep down, in the quiet place where words failed, something did. Something still tethered him here, tied to Suguru’s soul with an invisible thread that hadn’t broken, no matter how much time or distance had tried to tear it apart.

Forget me not. 

Spring didn't end up being just another season. As if by some stubborn, sacred design, they were bound to find each other when the blossoms opened—drawn back together when the world itself dared to bloom again. It must be tiresome, how the universe, or whatever fickle prophecy held their threads, kept testing them. Demanding they prove it. Prove that their love could survive absence, distance, and loss. As if they hadn’t already given enough of themselves at every threshold. As if their devotion needed more blood, more waiting, more wandering. Haven’t we offered enough? Love may be a curse. It devours, it scars, it resurrects. But it saves us, too. It holds us when the world makes us suffer. So maybe, just maybe, this time, the gods could look away once and for all. Let the cries be over. Let spring be theirs to keep. Let this impossible reunion remain real, vulnerable yet unbreakable. Two souls finding each other again in the softest riot of cherry blossoms and borrowed time.

“Can I hold your hand?” Suguru asked, voice softer than he meant it to be. Prepared. Almost expecting to hear refusal.

But Satoru just shot him a toothy smile, surprised.. “Sure, but you owe me another date.” Without waiting, he slid his hand into Suguru’s, their fingers fitting together with an ease that made Suguru’s heart stutter.

“I'm okay with that.” 

“I know.”

For a moment, they simply walked in step. Then Suguru unconsciously turned Satoru’s hand over, his fingertips carefully tracing the faint, delicate lines etched into his palm. The lifeline, the heartline, the hidden language of chance and destiny.

To Suguru, it almost seemed as though the path carved into that hand had changed. Like the old fate had been rewritten somewhere along the way. Satoru watched him, quiet by the sudden seriousness in his expression, but he didn’t pull away. He simply let Suguru hold his hand, trusting. 

Maybe Suguru doesn’t have to know what Satoru knows. It's better this way, where the past doesn’t have to press its weight into every touch, every glance. Satoru wants to understand him now, all over again, with no phantom standing between them. He wants to love him like this. As he is, as they are, not as they were. Because love is regardless. 

This time, they’ll let the past stay folded in the shadows where it belongs. No more overlapping their present, no more devouring their days with what-ifs and half-remembered sorrow. This time, they’ll build something new in the warmth of spring’s bloom, sacred in its simplicity. Nobody has to leave anymore. Nobody has to stay back at their place waiting for someone's return. The world can wait. The world can rage and pull and change. But this small space they make with their joined hands and promises, stays untouched.

Someday, Suguru knows he’ll see Satoru standing in the middle of the flower fields he planted with his own hands—bathed in warm sunlight, hair like spun silver, eyes glittering brighter than any sky. He imagines it so clearly he can almost taste the breeze, almost hear Satoru’s laugh carried by the wind through the petals. He’ll bend down, pluck a bloom just for him, something small, delicate, maybe a myosotis like the ones he gave him and place it in Satoru’s open palm. Then he’ll reach for another and tuck it behind Satoru’s ear, careless and loving, just to see how it makes him glow. Just to stand back and take in the sight of him, breathtaking in a way that makes Suguru’s chest ache with gratitude for a life that still lets him love like this.

He’s missed him for too long. Missed him so deeply that simply standing at a distance will never be enough. So when that day comes, and it will come, he won’t just stand there dreaming. He’ll close the space between them, gather Satoru into his arms, and press his forehead to his temple. He’ll breathe him in like a vow.

Suguru's dream is beside him, his light and his flower. 

Satoru's wish came true.