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December 24, 2017 11:23 pm
“You let me in once, remember?”
The words echo in Satoru’s ears like they’re trapped in the room with him, not just inside of his mind.
A faint lavender scent floats in the room, Satoru notices it more when everything is quiet. He hasn’t lit the incense in years, not since Suguru left, but it lingers anyway like it doesn’t know it’s been forgotten. He wants to light them, but there aren’t many left, and once they’re gone… He leaves them in the drawer of the cabinet, because he’s not ready to lose what’s left of them.
He downs another drink, not even sure how the alcohol ended up in his apartment. The burning in his throat almost feels better than the tightness that’s been stuck there all evening. He scoffs as he sets the glass down, because that was the night he had promised himself he would never drink again.
Maybe he’s not drinking to forget, but to live this moment again. Anything to bring it back. The warmth of his touch, the weight of his words, the way he looked at him like he really saw him.
“You let me in once.”
He did. But those words don’t belong to him anymore. Not now. Not ever again. Because he’s gone. The only person who ever mattered.
There’s a metallic taste in his mouth, and the floor feels too far down. His vision goes white at the edges, not from the alcohol but from the way his breath keeps catching in his chest like it doesn’t know how to escape.
He learned to live without Suguru once. Ten years of pretending. Ten years of what if. It was the not knowing that made it bearable. There’s no maybe anymore, no second chances, and no one to come back to.
When he returned to his empty apartment he didn’t bother to turn on the light. There was no need with his eyes, and he wasn’t ready to face the world. So he stays in the comfortable darkness. Because if he did, he’s scared he’ll see him standing in the corner of the room. He’d wear that look on his face. Like Satoru was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Concerned, like Satoru was the one who needed saving.
They both did.
God. How he wishes he were here, like he was that night.
___________________________
June 14, 2007 9:47 pm
Music spills from the windows of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s common room. The sun is setting with the promise of a lively night. After the great show they put on for the Sister School Goodwill Event, the students were given permission to throw a party.
With the presence of the Kyoto students, the school grounds are getting busier than usual.
It’s one of those unusual years when many students take part in the event, but very few manage to steal the spotlight.
The outcome was predictable. Satoru and Suguru dominated the event, just like the year before, leaving nothing for the others but dust to bite. Satoru and Suguru were on known lands, had outstanding techniques and an undeniable bond. It wasn’t a struggle, it was a mere game for these two.
Since the summer of 2006, it was also impossible not to be familiar with the exploits of the Gojo clan’s heir.
For Asuka, one of the Kyoto students, it had been a dream come true to meet her idol. Hibiki, coming from a non-sorcerer family, was particularly excited about meeting students who shared a similar life. The other students were thrilled to finally visit Tokyo, all together. For Eiji, the day was difficult. The defeat leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that he’s trying to drown in his drink.
The party was a rare chance to let loose before the individual battles the next day. It was the last night of spring, and the students wanted to make the most of it before the busy curse season began. It was also a perfect opportunity to bond. At least that’s what they told their teachers to get the party allowed. Their last night of freedom, they said.
Teenagers being teenagers, they naturally found a way to get alcohol from older students. If anyone asked Utahime about it, she’d feign total ignorance.
When the first-years joined their seniors, they couldn’t help but shower them with praise. Still ecstatic from the afternoon adrenaline, Satoru can’t resist boasting, one arm slung around poor Ijichi’s neck.
“It’ll be you next year!” he grins, ruffling his hair. “You better keep our winning streak going when we’re gone.”
Ijichi lets out a choked noise, something between terror and despair. Satoru loved terrorising him, in a brotherly way, of course.
Suguru rips Satoru’s arm off Ijichi, and frees him from the senior’s grip. “Yeah, because the only thing holding this school together is your massive ego.”
“And my good looks,” Satoru adds almost immediately.
“Debatable.”
As the night carries on, Suguru finds himself standing near the window, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, and eyes drifting over the room with his usual attentiveness.
Beside him, Shoko is crouched in a squat, her back against the wall. This is their idea of relaxing, smoking together is enough and there’s no pressure to talk. The commotion of the room provides enough distraction to keep them occupied, and the late spring breeze brings them a welcome relief.
Their attention drifts to the Kyoto girl, who sticks close to Satoru’s side with a twinkle in her eye. She doesn't seem to be upset that she just lost to her hometown’s celebrity. “It’s an honour,” she had said, as if being defeated by him was some kind of victory.
The youngest of their group keeps rambling about the details of the event, completely oblivious to the fact Satoru was standing right beside them.
“I swear, I didn't even see him move, and then, boom! He’s floating mid-air and Suguru’s curse took me down! That’s insane.”
“And he was flying too! I want that manta ray for myself…” she replied with the same excitement in her voice.
Suguru exhales a cloud of smoke, thinking back to the moment they’re referring to. It’s true that he and Satoru worked really well together, but they didn't get to show half of what they’re capable of. They were even banned from doing so.
Shoko, still crouched in her squat, leans her head against the side of Suguru’s legs. “I like the manta ray, but I miss the dragon...”
“Yeah,” the word hangs in the air.
They don’t need to say more, the nostalgia is already heavy between them. The dragon had been their favourite curse, almost like a pet. It was one of Suguru’s first strong curses so he had quite an affection towards it. Satoru had always claimed the dragon liked him more than it liked Suguru, as if curses could have favourites.
The first time Satoru saw Suguru’s curses, he called them gross. Because he was an immature teenager. But over time, he admitted that he thought Suguru’s technique was cool, like being a Digimon tamer.
Shoko and Suguru keep watching in silence.
The excitement of the Kyoto students is obviously not shared by their classmate Eiji. His hold on his cup tightens and his voice, when it comes, is laced with something sour.
“That wasn’t even a real fight,” he mutters.
He glares at Satoru as he joins the conversation, speaking louder to make sure everyone hears him this time. “I mean, what did we expect? It was never a fair match.”
From his seat, Suguru feels the mood shift even before the one targeted notices it as well.
“Well, life isn’t fair. You better get used to it!” Satoru lightly pats Eiji’s shoulder, as if to brush the whole thing off.
He doesn’t stop grinning, Suguru thinks. Victory was indeed inevitable. Satoru Gojo has been winning since he was born.
Last summer was when he grasped the core meaning of cursed energy. It was a close call, and Suguru truly believed it was the end for him. But since then, Satoru has worked tirelessly to become stronger than ever. He may have been born strong, but he was made strongest.
The music is loud, but you can still hear the laughter of Satoru and Haibara cracking up about the curse they’d exorcised that afternoon. Suguru can see how a slight blush is creeping across Satoru’s cheeks and spreading to his chest. How he slurs his words and grabs Haibara’s arm when he laughs too hard.
Satoru isn’t the only one with good eyes. Suguru easily detects that there’s something else beneath that excess of confidence. The way his fingers never quite still, the brief moments when his smile flickers before he forces it back. Always performing, and upholding the image expected of him.
They've been tipsy before, playing drinking games with Shoko in their dorm rooms. Tonight feels different, but Suguru can't quite put his finger on it. Not yet. When a couple bottles turned into four then six, he glanced a knowing eye at Satoru.
“What? Can’t keep up? We’re the strongest Suguru. We can handle a little alcohol.” He slips an arm around his shoulder. “Come on, let loose. We’re having fun.”
Sure, Satoru has a tendency to break rules. As the esteemed heir of the Gojo clan, he’s always had a strict schedule, and he’s always found a way to bend those restrictions to get his way.
He has told his classmates countless stories of how, as a child, he would sneak out of jujutsu theory class to wander around Kyoto, hunting for sweets from street vendors.
Suguru always felt that these stories, as lighthearted as Satoru makes them sound, had a hint of something wrong. That he deliberately leaves out certain parts, because there's a wound he refuses to touch.
Satoru doesn’t often mention his clan. He doesn’t even refer to them as his family. His classmates speculate, but he always brushes them off. “It’s boring, I don’t really do much,” he says. Even among his friends, there’s a part of him that remains untouchable.
At first, Suguru didn't care. Their first months together had been nothing but a clash of egos. They were the strongest of their generation, and neither wanted to back down. But over time, the fights turned into banter, and the banter turned into this thing they have now. It's a friendship, sure, but that word doesn't quite describe it. Suguru knows Satoru better than anyone.
That's why he sees it. The way he keeps moving, keeps drinking, as if something would catch him if he stopped. Even here, he's still not discharged from his duty. Hidden behind round sunglasses that never leave the bridge of his nose, there's a deep loneliness in his bright blue eyes that no one else can see.
___________________________
June 14, 2007 11:44 pm
Cheap beer is spreading onto the floors, the sticky residues mixing with the scent of sweat. The sound of cheering covers the loud bass, as Satoru crashes on the couch, a satisfied grin on his face.
Eiji was hell-bent on getting his revenge on Satoru, challenging him round after round to several games. Of course, Satoru kept winning. He’s a natural at everything he tries, after all. Tonight is no exception. Fingers clenched into a fist, his other hand lifting the last cup of beer pong to his lips, Eiji finally concedes defeat.
“I give up,” he groans, setting his cup down, the evidence of yet another loss to Satoru. His lips press into a thin line before curling into a bitter smirk. “Bet you’d be nothing without those eyes.”
It’s a joke, really. But after a long frustrating day, it doesn't land quite the way it was supposed to.
Satoru’s laugh cracks just a little, not enough to bring attention to him, but just enough for Suguru to hear it. “Yeah? You’re just a sore loser aren’t you?”
It shouldn't bother him. Satoru knows he didn’t only get lucky in the birth system. He’s the strongest because he trains hard to be. If someone else had his eyes, they wouldn’t stand where Satoru is today. They wouldn't even know half of the sacrifices he’s had to make to get there.
The wheels are spinning in his head, but nothing comes out. The one who usually always has a comeback finds himself at a loss for words. He pokes Eiji’s chest and rises from the couch, the scent of perfume and alcohol trailing after him. Just because he hasn’t lost a single drinking game doesn’t mean he hasn’t had a fair amount.
“Alright. Pee break. Even someone like me needs a breather” he says, still wearing that forced smile on his face.
Feeling the air tensing up, Shoko steps in, ruffling Satoru’s hair. “Well, well… Good job, Satoru. You truly do win at everything.”
He flinches, for half a second, but then he’s laughing again, running a hand through his hair to pretend he’s fixing it.
“Stop messing with it, I have a reputation to hold.”
When he gets to the bathroom, it all kicks in. He notices how tender his eyes are, and how his migraine is slowly creeping in, irritating him even more. He slumps on the edge of the sink, his head spinning wildly.
Eiji’s words shouldn’t affect him. But that stinging suggestion that he wouldn’t be who he is without the power he was born with. Worse, that he doesn’t deserve it. Satoru knows he’s the strongest, but it shakes something deep inside him.
Suguru watches him disappear. He understood the exact moment Satoru excused himself. Something was wrong. Satoru never backs down from a fight, especially the petty ones. Suguru follows swiftly, but the door is already shut. He still knocks on it.
“It’s me.”
No answer.
“Are you finally puking everything you’ve drunk?”
Still nothing. No noise.
Worried Satoru might have passed out, he tries the handle. The door is closed, but the keyhole isn’t locked. Then, he sees it. He can almost smell it. The cursed energy residuals. Red.
A technique that pushes. A technique that isolates. He uses it with precision to push the door against its hinges, and lock it. The door creaks under the pressure, but it resists.
Outside, Suguru leans against the door, waiting for what feels like an eternity. Maybe it’s just the silence that feels so heavy.
Suguru feels the cursed energy falter, and the door gives way under his back as it swings open. He stumbles backwards, completely caught off guard. His foot slams into the floor, and before he can grab the doorframe, a hand meets his waist to steady him. It’s Satoru.
He grins in the doorway, but the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Of course not,” his voice is light. “I never puke. I don’t even know how to do that.” And just like that, he’s gone, disappearing back into the buzzing room.
Suguru stands there, lingering in the warmth that Satoru’s touch has left on him.
___________________________
June 15, 2007 00:12 am
The music is borderline too loud, enough to make the walls thrum. Haibara turned the common room into a makeshift club, half-dancing behind the laptop the provisor has lent him. An arm shaking in the air from left to right, he picks the songs to play as if it were a mission of the utmost importance. He laughs, tilting his head back like he’s weightless.
“Are you guys ready for this banger?” he calls out, as if anyone had a choice.
Shoko slouches on the couch, wedged between Nanami and Suguru. She eyes her junior with a small smile on her lips, bobbing her head to the rhythm of the music. Other people are dancing in front of the speaker like the volume wasn’t going to deafen them by the end of the night.
Once his playlist had started, the boy joined the group and plops down on the floor opposite the trio.
“So… Tomorrow’s test? What do you think we’re in for?”
“Definitely individual battles,” Nanami replies with a sigh, his face already showing his lack of enthusiasm.
“Yup,” Shoko nods, taking a slow sip of her drink. “Team battles the first day, then it’s every man for himself. Same as usual.”
Haibara groans. “So they are trying to kill us this year, huh?”
Nanami agrees “It’ll be russian roulette.”
The previous year, the students had all prayed not to get involved with Satoru. By chance or by design, Suguru had been picked to face him. Knowing each other very well, the two boys did anything they could to show off their skills.
When it came to hand-to-hand combat, it was Suguru who came out on top. His mastery of the martial arts held no secrets for him. He moves quickly and his attacks are precise. Coupled with his arsenal of curses, anyone other than Satoru would have trembled. Their two techniques clashed so hard that neither could be declared the winner. They were stopped before Satoru was getting ready to hit his red technique. Satoru claimed he would have won if he went through with it. Suguru argued it wouldn't have landed anyway.
Even then, the judging area was completely destroyed and both boys got the scolding of their lives.
This year they intend to emerge victorious, but that doesn't reassure any of the students.
Nanami sighs, looking more irked than concerned. “It’s still strange that they moved the event this year.”
Shoko glances at him. “Hm?”
“It’s always been in September... after summer. But now, it’s in June.” Nanami says, his brow furrowed.
“Yeah, summer’s gonna suck.” Shoko says it without any real emotion, like she’s just stating a fact. “You guys felt how rough the winter was, right? Japan was miserable. Curses come from all that. We’re expecting a lot of work this year.”
“Oh, so they moved it so we could suffer earlier. So thoughtful.”
Haibara shrugs it off, still grinning. “Hey, come on. We got one last night. Let me pretend we’re still free, okay?”
Suguru watches him, a muted sadness creeping into his gaze. “You know what happens in summer, right? Curses don’t just come from nowhere. They’re born from all the things people ignore. The misery, the pain…” He trails off, voice dropping under the weight of the words. “All the things they pretend aren’t there.”
Haibara gives him a cautious smile, showing that he understands, but doesn’t quite know what to say. He gives Suguru a brief, almost apologetic look before taking another sip of his drink.
Suguru isn’t smiling. He’s staring into his glass, his gaze darkening.
Shoko looks at him for a moment, as if trying to gauge his mood. “They don’t know that they’re the ones making it worse…”
Suguru’s lips twist, his fingers tapping against his glass. “You think they would even care? We’re the ones who have to clean up their mess anyway.”
There’s a sharpness in his tone now, cracking his voice at the end of the sentence. A quiet fury, simmering beneath the surface.
Nanami glances at Shoko, a silent understanding between the two that they shouldn’t push him further.
Haibara, not noticing the shift, wraps both his seniors in his arms and laughs again. “Come on, I’m just trying to enjoy the night before the world ends. You guys are way too serious.”
“At least someone here isn’t torturing himself over our impending doom,” Nanami mutters, glancing at Haibara now dancing while scrolling through the playlist. A faint smile appears on his lips. He’s just glad someone still has some optimism.
Shoko exhales slowly, she really needs something to put her mind elsewhere.
“I’m heading out for a smoke.” She stands up, brushing past them. “You nerds coming?”
Nanami shakes his head. “I’ll pass.”
“Later,” Suguru rubs his knees and gestures to get up. “No offense, Haibara, but I need to step out. This noise is killing me.”
Haibara flashes a peace sign without missing a beat, bobbing his head to the music.
“Try not to burn out the speakers, okay?” Suguru calls lightly.
“No promises, senpai.”
Suguru ruffles his hair on his way out. Before he slips through the crowd, his gaze catches Ijichi. The younger sorcerer stands off to the side, looking like he doesn’t belong here. Shoko watches Suguru’s expression soften a little.
“Hey, I’ll be outside,” Suguru says. “Gonna check on Ijichi, he looks a little lost.”
Shoko raises an eyebrow before smiling fondly, “Aw, you’re going soft on the kid?”
Suguru just shakes his head. “Someone should.”
She watches him disappear before she can reply. He’s not as detached as he pretends to be. But just for a second, she feels like he might be a little lost too.
She turns back to the group.
“You?” Shoko asks Haibara again.
He laughs. “Not tonight, senpai. I’m on vibe duty.”
Shoko snorts, and heads toward the first window near the exit of the common room. Her favorite spot.
The guys aren’t exactly smokers, but every now and then, they’ll join her. They all know that the window’s broken just enough to let the smoke escape without alerting the teachers, thanks to the time they were messing around with a basketball.
It’s their little hideaway, perfect for a small break from their lives.
___________________________
June 15, 2007 00:41 am
Away from the brouhaha, Shoko leans against the wall, letting her eyes wander the room attentively as she lights up her cigarette. That’s when she spots him. Satoru is running on pure energy, he’s everywhere all at once. Their eyes meet, and he immediately lights up, lifting a shot at her in a salute.
She snorts. “Idiot”.
With a lazy flick of her hand, she beckons him over in a silent invitation. And in only a couple steps, Satoru is at her side. He slumps against the wall, wearing his usual gaping smile. The alcohol hangs heavy on his skin.
“You're having fun?” she asks.
“Obviously,” he says, finishing his glass and setting it aside.
Shoko exhales smoke “Right.” She takes another drag from her cigarette before Satoru picks it out of her hand.
“Oh that's enough, Satoru.” She goes to reach for it but he’s holding it over his own head, a smug smirk on his face.
“You don't get to judge me,” he teases. “You’re the one that smokes like a chimney.”
He takes a drag, and immediately scrunches up his face. “That’s nasty,” he shakes his head as if the taste was a personal offence against him.
Still, he goes for it again, and again, each inhalation deeper than the last. As if defying himself to go further. What couldn’t he do? What couldn’t he handle? Pushing his own boundaries to see what would break first. He fidgeted with the lighter Shoko left on the window counter, clicking it repeatedly. The metallic sound is too sharp against the muffled noises of the party.
Shoko snaps it out of his hand. “Stop, you’re going to empty it.”
Instead of responding, he reaches for her hand. His fingers curl around hers, toying with them like it was nothing.
He did this all the time. At least with anyone who had the privilege of being close to him. Shoko. Suguru. His thumb absentmindedly brushed over her knuckles. He’s distracted. Shoko kept her hand there, not pulling away.
“You okay, Satoru?” she asked quietly.
Satoru's laugh came too fast, too high-pitched, like he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine.
“Yeah, sure. Never been better,” he said, tossing his head back, the slur in his voice unmistakable.
The way his fingers tightened around hers told Shoko more than his words ever could. There was a crack in the façade, something vulnerable slipping through. And she saw it.
Without warning, Shoko peeled his sunglasses off his face. His body stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. What she saw made her heart sink. His eyes weren’t just dull from the alcohol, they were tired. Too tired. There was a kind of pain that didn’t belong to him.
As soon as her fingers tentatively brushed over his temple, it was like a reflex. His hand snapped away from hers, and before she could touch him, a sudden, sharp pressure stopped her finger over his cheekbone, as though an invisible barrier had appeared between them. It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to make Shoko pause. Infinity disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared, and Shoko, who hadn't moved from where she stood, simply reached up and slowly placed his sunglasses back on his face. Let him hide again. He didn’t stop her this time, but there was something heavier in the air between them now. The usual playfulness was replaced with an unspoken understanding.
“Well, that’s one way to turn someone down,” Shoko teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “If you keep pulling Infinity every time someone gets too close, you’re gonna die a virgin.” She faked a dramatic sob. “It’s tragic, Satoru.”
Satoru shot her a look, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile.“I’m not that desperate. I have standards, thank you very much.”
Shoko laughed softly. She retrieves her cigarette and takes a slow drag, letting the smoke drift out the window. “Yeah, well, you better go check on your little boyfriend before he gets too bored without you.”
A flash of color creeps up his neck as he tries to brush off her comment.
“Pffft, and what about my little boyfriend?”
Shoko stood back to watch him closely as he shifted from one foot to the other, his discomfort only half hidden by his usual brattiness. She didn’t need him to deny it. She’d never had to. She already knew the answer.
Shoko’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she crossed her arms.
“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s probably out there entertaining himself with someone else already.”
She clearly enjoys the way Satoru's face flushed deeper at the suggestion. His hand flexed unconsciously at his side. Brows furrowed, he looked slightly irritated.
“Stop messing with me, Shoko. I know exactly where he is, and it’s not with anyone else.”
Shoko's eyes widened at the quick response, and a smile spread across her face. She couldn’t help but press, leaning in a little closer. “Oh? You’re so sure, huh? So obsessed you’re using Six Eyes to keep tabs on him? Oh my god, you’re down bad.”
The blush on Satoru deepened, but he quickly covered it up by shaking his head in a scoff. “I just know. That’s all.”
His words came out a little too quickly, and the defensiveness in his tone didn’t go unnoticed.
Shoko had hit where it hurts.
It is their last night of spring before summer, and as third-year students, Satoru knows that he and Suguru will be separated a lot on summer missions. They are both special grades, so there's no need to waste resources and put them together when the job gets done just as good.
But the truth is that the school year only started in April, and Satoru already misses Suguru.
Since the incident with Toji and Riko last September, he's been working hard on his side to improve his technique and hasn’t seen much of his best friend. He also feels more distant, but never manages to get him to talk about it.
Fully aware she hit a nerve, Shoko exhales. “Well, then, you better go check on the lover boy.”
Satoru shook his head, but there was a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”
He turned and started to walk off, but not before giving her one last look, a finger thrown in the air as a warning.
“And I’m not that obsessed, alright?”
“Sure, just go already.”
Shoko waved him off, laughing loudly now. It was rare for him to leave without more bickering, especially when it comes to Suguru. Maybe it was the alcohol that was loosening him up a bit. Anyway, Shoko knows exactly what's going on between her two friends, so there's no need to get worked up about it.
___________________________
June 15, 2007 01:11 am
When Satoru walks back into the noise of the party, Shoko’s words echo in his skull like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t completely untrue. He should do something, but he doesn’t want to ruin the fragile little thing they have. It gnawed at him. He just wants to enjoy it. The little moments. The sense of peacefulness when they’re together. His head begins to spin. He has all the time in the world anyway.
Doesn’t he?
He slides back into the group effortlessly, all swagger and shine. He doesn’t look for him. He never has to.
A grin stretches up to his ears when he spots Suguru. He's exactly where Satoru expected, in the little kitchenette of the room, back against the counter, sleeves pushed up, pouring something into a glass. His expression is serious, and his brows are slightly drawn as he measures the pour like it matters. His hair is down now, free from the tight bun he’d worn all day. The dark locks catch the light where they fall, curving around his neck and over his shoulder like a brushstroke. There’s a strand stuck near his mouth, and he doesn’t seem to notice it.
The whole scene gives the impression of admiring an artist’s muse. The golden light of the paper lanterns brings out the colour of his skin, and contrasts with the shadows of his profile, the sharp lines of his collarbone slightly exposed under the flap of his shirt. His hands move with the precision of ritual. One bottle tilted just so, the glass held lightly between long fingers. There’s an elegance in it, so effortless. And Satoru watches like he might forget how to breathe.
It’s mundane. It shouldn’t be so beautiful.
But it is.
The curve of Suguru’s jaw. The delicate hump of his cheekbone. The line of his neck, where his hair brushes against his skin, which he knows is soft. He looks tired. Or maybe it’s just late. There’s a heaviness around his eyes, the kind that lingers after days, and doesn’t quite heal. Even so, he’s still the liveliest thing in the room. And Satoru looks at him without moving. As if admiring a wild deer, fearing that the slightest breath would make it flee. As if Suguru would disappear if he just blinked.
The ache in his chest gets louder. He hadn't realised how much he missed him. Not in the way people miss someone they haven’t seen in a while. More like forgetting the softness of a sunbeam on your skin, until the first warmth of spring comes, and you realise you’ve been cold all this time.
He exhales through his nose, softly. As if to chase the thought away. The buzz of alcohol softens the edges of the world and makes everything float around him. Satoru's pulse beats in his ears. And his legs are already moving.
He leans into Suguru’s space, letting the distance between them disappear with usual ease. Too close. Closer than a mere friend would be. Just to see what Suguru will do. Suguru turns his head lazily and smiles as if it were a common occurrence. Their arms brush against each other. Their knees bump.
He could just say it now.
“Missed me?” he says instead, grinning.
He rolls his eyes before returning his gaze to his drink, but there’s the faintest smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“I counted every second.”
The joke hiding behind Suguru’s answer makes things a little less serious, a little more reassuring. Easier. But something inside Satoru still warms up behind his ribcage. He scoffs, leans forward to grab a bottle off the counter that he doesn’t even want.
“Liar,” he murmurs.
They're standing in this strange little bubble, where everything feels heavier. The air between them hums with something unspoken. And maybe tonight he could say it. The words that always sit behind his teeth, waiting. Suguru shifts slightly, and his fingers brush against Satoru’s wrist.
The thought rises.
“I–”
Someone stumbles nearby. There's a crash. Satoru doesn’t care to see who or what. The glass in Suguru’s hand tips and spills in a loud clatter. Cheap alcohol splashes across the counter, onto the floor, on their shoes. People laugh. The world snaps back into motion.
Satoru flinches, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.
“Fuck,” he mutters, reaching for a napkin. “Wasted gold.”
He keeps his eyes on the mess, avoiding Suguru’s gaze which is fixed on him. He tosses the napkin aside like nothing happened.
“This sucks,” he says, grabbing another drink for Suguru and for himself. “We should’ve gone somewhere fancier. Like a karaoke bar with a broken mic and bad stereo.”
Suguru chuckles, softly like always.
And it’s easy again. But the weight in his throat hasn’t moved at all.
___________________________
June 15, 2007 01:57 am
They’re back on the ratty couch, slouched in the same worn cushions that have witnessed thousands of moments of sharing. The threads are coming loose in some spots, but the couch remains a comforting landmark. Satoru feels at home here. The intoxication from the alcohol swirls inside him like a soft current, making his limbs loose, his thoughts fuzzy in the best way. Suguru is sitting next to him, so close that their shoulders bump with every movement. They both exist in the same space without the need for words.
The old couch creaks under the weight of Nanami, who sits on the edge, frowning at the chaos around him but unable to escape it. A terrible pop song is playing, and someone is singing out of tune while others are repeating the choreography of the idol group.
Satoru sighs into the cushion, letting his head rest in the comfort of the old stuffing. Without thinking, he reaches for another glass that is handed to him. He sips it slowly, feeling his thoughts clouding a little more. It's a bit warm, it's terrible. He laughs at the taste and the sound travels around the room, mixing with the background noise. Suguru is next to him, looking almost amused at Satoru’s antics, his gaze lingering just a little too long.
Across them, the Kyoto students are getting animated about Gion Matsuri, Kyoto’s famous summer festival. The crowds, the decorations, the music, the food. Some joke about passing out from the heat in their yukata, they’re even showing pictures they took together the previous year. It’s the kind of conversation Suguru would have expected Satoru to take part in. He’s from Kyoto after all, he definitely would have a lot to say about this festival. But he stays quiet. He doesn’t even look like he’s listening, not bored but his mind is somewhere else.
He’s staring at his own hand, flexing and unflexing his fingers like he’s trying to remember how they work.
Suguru wishes he could slip inside that restless brain of his. He wonders if he ever got to attend the festival at all. If the Gojo clan allowed him that. He’s never heard him mention it, and in the few summers they’ve known each other, Satoru’s never once gone home for it. He might not care about it.
Satoru blinks, the lights blur at the edges of his vision. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, dissonant with the beat of the music. When no one is watching, his eyes are lost in the fog, only to return to their bright selves when someone calls his name. He reaches for his drink, but his hand feels too far away from his body, as if the space between them has stretched. As if Infinity had been applied to his own body. His limbs don't belong to him anymore. His fingers reach into the air and the shape of them feels unnatural to him. The colours are too bright, too shiny, too fake.
He's dissociating, he knows the feeling too well. He can usually cope quite well, but the alcohol fuels it and makes him more vulnerable. He feels exposed. He grips the edge of a table and tries to focus on something real. Suguru is saying something to him, but it’s like his voice is underwater.
“You’re looking a little out of it, Satoru.”
He places a hand on Satoru's wrist to anchor him. Satoru stares at it for too long. The world lags. He swallows thickly, breathes in, but it doesn’t reach deep enough. Suguru’s hand doesn’t reach deep enough.
Pushed away by Infinity, Suguru removes his hand. He's not sure why Infinity is activated in the first place. He's Satoru's best friend, not a threat. It's even vexing. Satoru seems to have no comment, so he drops it.
___________________________
June 15, 2007 03:17 am
The whispers had started just a few hours ago.
Satoru was taking it too far. He was out of control. His cursed energy had spiked several times during the evening, far more erratically than usual, and some of the juniors had started to feel the dangerous hum in the air. They could feel it crawling over their skin, the uncomfortable pressure of getting too close to someone so powerful when they were on the edge. His energy was a storm, and many had started to worry that Satoru was pushing himself too hard tonight. Unease was in the air, no one could deny it. Something wasn’t right.
To finish the day in style, Asuka had promised her classmates something special. She’d been talking about it for days. Thanks to her cursed technique, she could perform something that looks like a light show. Her technique is centered on the manipulation of light, a delicate and complex power that allows her to shape the rays of light to her will. It isn’t a grandiose display, not like the kind usually seen during summer festivals, but Asuka’s fireworks are always unique.
She creates small bursts of colour that light up the night sky with a certain elegance. A soft glow illuminating the darkness like twinkling stars caught in an ethereal dance. They weren’t loud enough to draw attention, just enough to enchant the students, and distract everyone from the tension that had been building all day.
As everyone headed outside to gather for the spectacle, Shoko lingered just long enough to make her intentions clear. Her eyes met Suguru’s across the room. She gave him a piercing look. A silent, knowing glance that carried everything he needed to understand. It was the perfect moment. Everyone else was distracted, caught up in the display, and Satoru was left alone on the couch. Suguru needed to seize this opportunity.
She didn’t need to say anything. Suguru already knew what he had to do.
When Shoko steps outside, Suguru physically stops Satoru from following the others. With an arm stretched across his chest, he shoves him back onto the couch, his touch lingering just long enough for it to feel more intentional than necessary. It was almost too gentle, as if not to startle Satoru, to make him believe that this was their usual game.
Satoru blinked, his usual playful smirk curling on his lips.
“Rude, Suguru! At least buy me a drink before you manhandle me like this.”
He tried to make light of it, but there was something wrong in his eyes, something too tired. Suguru’s arm laced around Satoru's shoulders, pulling him closer.
“Come here, moron,” he smiles back at him. It’s too tempting not to. “I want to talk.”
Satoru tilts his head back like a cat stretching in the sun.
“Ohhh, am I in trouble, sir?” His voice was low and teasing, the tone clearly concealing something deeper.
“I’m serious, you’ve had a lot to drink.”
Satoru's head rolled back to rest against Suguru’s shoulder. “Are you worried about me, Sugu-chan?” His head fell to the crook of Suguru’s neck. The contact sent a wave of goosebumps across Suguru’s skin. A quiet laugh escaped Satoru, though Suguru couldn’t guess why. Then, the words slipped out unfiltered. “You’re cute when you care,” he murmured, his breath warm and heavy against Suguru’s neck. Satoru letting his guard down like that made his heart race in his chest, and he couldn’t resist the pull. He let his fingers run over Satoru's shirt, tracing the lines of the fabric in a lazy motion. It was intoxicating.
Suguru leaned in closer.
“I’m just making sure you won’t have a crippling hangover tomorrow.”
“Well. I do have a killer migraine,” Satoru says, reclining back on the couch. He’s just far enough to give Suguru space, but close enough for his finger to still graze the nape of Satoru’s neck. His sunglasses are gone now. Eyes half-lidded and glassy, he lifts one arm to shield them from the light, the other draped across the back of the couch. “But there’s nothing you can do about that…” he continues.
There’s a pause. Just a beat until Satoru speaks again. “Unless…” he slurs, letting the word hang, a smirk tugging at his lips. One eye cracks open, gleaming with mischief as he gauges Suguru’s reaction. “You wanna kiss it better?”
Suguru scoffs. “Gross.”
Satoru gasps like he’s been shot. “You wound me.”
“You’re drunk. And pathetic.”
“Tragic, actually,” Satoru pouts, almost absently as his tone becomes drier. “Or so Shoko said.”
Suguru tilts his head. “What?”
Satoru doesn’t explain. He flashes his teeth at him like he didn’t say anything. He doesn’t answer the question, he never does. If he doesn’t joke, he’s afraid of what he might say. But Suguru doesn't laugh, he scrutinises Satoru, trying to read behind his expression.
In the same breath, Satoru shifts, suspiciously coordinated for someone who’s supposedly drunk out of his mind. He rolls towards Suguru until his chest brushes his arm and his knees knock into Suguru’s thigh.
“Come on,” he whispers, voice low now, almost sweet. “Kiss it better.”
Suguru stiffens. “Say that again?”
He meant his voice to be brave, challenging. But it comes out hoarse.
Instead of pulling away and laughing it off like he normally does, Satoru leans in closer. Close enough that Suguru can feel his breath caressing his jaw. Warm and tainted with sake. He inhales the air the other exhales. Their foreheads almost touch. Satoru's thigh slides over his, supporting himself by resting his hands behind Suguru's neck. Their shared heat thickens the air between them.
“Kiss me better, Suguru.”
The words fall like a pin dropping in a now too silent room.
Suguru doesn’t move. He can’t. His heart slams once, hard against his ribs. The words kept echoing in his head. Kiss me better. Kiss me.
It’s not a game they’re unfamiliar with. They’ve done this before. All the touches. The teasing. But this doesn’t feel like a performance, it’s raw. There’s something hungry behind Satoru's lashes, something fragile in the way he waits.
Suguru swallows hard. His hands are clenching into fists at his sides as an attempt to distract himself from putting them on Satoru's body. The alarm in his brain is ringing so loud that he can't form a single thought. He wants to do it, to taste the chaos that was Satoru, to sink into him and never pull away. He wants to worship him. To devour him whole. He wants–
He doesn’t have time to overthink it because Satoru has gone rigid, as if his breath had stopped. His face grows paler by the second, and a bead of cold sweat runs down his temple.
Suguru’s instincts scream.
“Shit.”
Suguru has experienced nausea from absorbing curses far too many times to count, so he knows exactly what’s going to happen.
Before Suguru could fully process the thought, his body moved. He was fast. Too fast to allow Satoru to react, because Suguru grabbed him by the shirt and pulled them both upright without thinking. Satoru stumbles, and this time he doesn’t laugh. He leans on Suguru without protest. He couldn’t argue even if he wanted to.
___________________________
June 15, 2007 03:56 am
Satoru breaks.
The stomach cramps hit him with an intensity he’s never felt before. It’s a pain so foreign that he wonders if his body is finally giving up on him. He’s never had to kneel before anything.
Satoru is used to shielding himself from punches, knives, cursed energy, and people. He’s never had to fight his own body turning against himself like this. He’s never been so helpless since the incident last summer. No amount of infinity or cursed energy can protect him this time, and he doesn't know how to deal with this. He’s used to controlling everything and himself, but now he can’t do anything but endure it. His body feels weak as the nausea threatens to tear him apart. It's a betrayal of everything he stands for, everything he is. The strongest.
At this moment, he feels anything but strong. The bile rises in his throat again, and it’s too much. He collapses over the toilet bowl and empties his stomach into it, every muscle in his body straining with the effort. It hurts. It feels like everything in him is breaking down. Tears sting his eyes, and threaten to fall. He feels pathetic. Satoru grips the edge of the stool, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the ache in his chest. He’s supposed to be in control. He remembers the sharp pain, the feeling of his barrier failing him. How his body had betrayed him, how weak and mortal he was when that blade sank deep in his chest.
This is different. His stomach twists with each gag, forcing his body into a weakness he can’t shield himself from. It cuts deeper than any physical wounds ever did.
“Fuck. Suguru, you need to leave.” Satoru mutters through clenched teeth, his voice barely a whisper, but rough from the acid.
He wants to drown himself in the toilet bowl. He needs to disappear, make the world and his head stop turning. He’s never been this ashamed. He can feel Suguru’s presence behind him, he doesn’t even have to look. He’s always there, always watching. But Satoru can’t stand the idea that Suguru might perceive him like that.
Suguru doesn’t move or say anything. He’s not sure what Satoru exactly needs. He never is. But he’s here. He’s always here in case it’s him he needs.
Satoru winces, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to compose himself, but it’s impossible. Short gasps come out of his lips, sharp and ragged, uncontrollable as the pain twists his insides with a force he wasn’t ready for. He can’t breathe. It sounds like he’s crying but he’s not. Suguru watches him carefully, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his stomach.
He’s seen Satoru in a lot of states before. He has been cheeky, confident, brave, hopeful, revolted, numb, nervous, even a little overwhelmed when the burdens of being the strongest got too heavy. But he had never seen him like this. Never so raw. So human. He can’t look away.
Satoru looks up at him through watery eyes, his face contorted with humiliation. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he chokes out. “Just leave.”
Satoru’s heavy breathing covers the quiet steps of Suguru before he kneels beside him. Before Satoru can stop him, he places a hand on Satoru’s back, offering the same comfort Satoru had given him countless times when it was Suguru who had been the broken one.
“I know,” Suguru says softly. “I’m here.”
The warmth of Suguru’s touch makes Satoru flinch. It burns. It’s too much. Suguru wears a sympathetic expression, even though it’s obvious he’s unsure of what to do next. It sickens Satoru. It’s repulsive. He shouldn’t be looking at him like he is a fragile thing that might shatter if dropped. Suguru’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern, but all Satoru sees is disgust on his face. He should be disgusted.
When Suguru’s hand moves to rub gently between his shoulder blades, Satoru snaps. Infinity flares up in a cold flash of energy that slices through the air. Suguru jerks back, his hand recoiling like he’s been burned. Infinity doesn’t hurt, it’s like trying to grasp something that keeps receding from you. It’s the rejection that feels like a slap in the face.
“Don’t,” Satoru’s voice is ragged, something close to panic. “Don’t touch me.”
Suguru wavers. The vulnerability in Satoru’s voice seizes him.
His walls are high, but Suguru has learned how to climb them. Behind every cocky smile of his, there is a boy yearning to be understood. Every rejection is a quiet plea: "Will you try harder for me? Will you stay even when I push you away?" Suguru doesn’t need it to be spelled out, he knows that feeling better than anyone. The ache of needing someone, and the bone-deep fear that no one will ever come.
This time it doesn’t only hurt, it angers Suguru.
Satoru is the strongest, there’s no point in arguing. He’s the jewel of jujutsu society. The one everyone counts on, leans on, hides behind. And yet, there he is. Curled up on a cold bathroom floor, shivering, and ashamed of his human condition.
No one sees it. No one cares. No one but Suguru.
It should be inconceivable that someone like Satoru would be allowed to break like this. That he carries the weight of the world and still believes he has to carry it alone. That the system uses him until he snaps. It’s easy to blame him for everything when he’s the only one trying to get better.
What kind of world demands that the strongest be sacrificed to keep everyone else safe?
He’s worn thin. And for what exactly? Suguru’s jaw clenches. This isn’t right. Satoru should be worshipped, protected, adored, understood. He shouldn’t have to claw at himself and bleed just to be seen. He’d kneel at his feet if that’s what it took to make Satoru feel seen. If the world won't worship him properly, then Suguru will do it himself. If someone’s going to know the weight of him, it’s going to be Suguru.
“You think I don’t understand?” Suguru’s voice is low. “You’ve spent your whole life pretending that you don’t need anyone, Satoru. But you’re wrong.”
Satoru’s breath catches, anger boiling up, a protective instinct flaring as he faces Suguru with furrowed brows.
"You’re one to talk,” he spits. “You’ve spent the last few months avoiding me so you didn’t have to talk about–” Satoru’s voice falters as his words trail off, he doesn’t want to pronounce her name. The wound is still open, too fresh for either of them to deal with.
“Satoru…” Suguru interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear it either. He gets into Satoru’s personal space, standing his ground, devoted.
Desperate to shut this down, Satoru feels he has to justify himself one more time.
“I’m the strongest,” he declares, his voice sharp and bitter. “I don’t need anyone’s help.” As if to make his point clear, he sinks his bloodshot eyes into Suguru’s warm irises. “I don’t need anyone.”
“No."Suguru’s gaze sharpens. His eyes take on something terrifyingly cold and loyal. "You think you don’t need anyone. But I see right through you, Satoru. You’re scared.” Suguru says, voice cracking just slightly. “You think that because you’re so strong, you’re destined to be the last one left. So you hide behind your Infinity, because if no one gets close then no one will leave. It’s safer to be alone than to be abandoned.”
Satoru flinches, his eyes widening in shock. He opens his mouth to argue, but there’s nothing to say. Because Suguru’s right.
Suguru takes Satoru’s silence as a cue to continue. "But you’re not afraid of being alone, you’re afraid of being seen. That if someone saw the real, human, Satoru, they’d be overwhelmed and leave back running.”
Satoru’s chest tightens. He can’t deny it. His eyes are still wet with tears, and they sting like knives. He feels like his world is collapsing around him. The walls he’s spent his whole life building are crumbling. “Shut u–”
But Suguru leans in, close enough that their breaths almost touch. “Not me, Satoru.” His voice comes out as a whisper. A promise made to only him. “I see you. All of you. There’s nothing in you I could ever turn away from.”
Suguru looks at him, feeling the weight of the silence. He knows he’s said too much, that he’s gone too far, but he can’t take it back now.
“You don’t have to do this alone, Satoru. You don’t have to push people away just because you’re scared.”
There’s a pause, then Satoru looks up at him. His expression is unreadable, but Suguru can see the turmoil in his eyes. Suguru sighs, realising how harsh he’s been. He reaches out, his hand hovering near Satoru’s cheek. His voice softens. “Let me in, Satoru.”
It sounds so simple and honest, it’s almost absurd. It feels like Suguru just said something only a lover would say. Satoru would have laughed and joked about him sounding gay. But Satoru just… stops. No cocky remarks, or smirk. Just silence. Maybe he’s stopped breathing as well. It feels like all the blood has stopped flowing in his veins. He doesn’t ever say anything.
Suguru can see how Satoru's gaze is unfocused, he’s exhausted. He expected him to storm off, or tell him to piss off. But they just stay like this.
Suguru’s fingers brush against Satoru’s cheek, and there’s a flicker. A small, brief glitch under Suguru’s fingertips. Satoru’s Infinity falters and Suguru feels it just as Satoru does. The connection is there, thin but real. It’s like an unspoken promise.
The silence hangs in the air. Suguru's fingers are still just a breath away from Satoru’s cheek when Satoru feels the pressure of it slip. His walls are wavering like they might come down. His fingertips are suspended in that space where Infinity would normally hold him at bay. Instead of the cold stretch of air he should feel, it’s smooth and feels like silk melting. He can almost play with the static as if he’d slipped into a sensory bath. It’s warm and welcoming.
Satoru’s breath catches a sharp intake of air. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to feel, but the words are caught in his throat. His walls are the only thing keeping him whole, and without them, he’s weak.
“I can’t,” Satoru whispers, his voice rough, broken.
Suguru doesn’t ask what he means. He knows.
Satoru’s eyes flick to Suguru, a mix of desperation and frustration painted across his face. “I don’t know how,” he says, the words barely audible, but they sting like poison. He doesn’t know how to let someone in. How to stop being the strongest and admit he needs help.
Suguru’s breath steady despite the intensity of the moment. “It's okay.” His voice is soft, like the words themselves are meant to soothe the both of them. “You don’t have to know how. I’m right here. You’re not alone.”
Satoru's chest tightens, and his jaw clenches as though the weight of Suguru’s words is too much to carry. He doesn’t know if he can do it. Doesn’t know if he can let go of that control, the safety net he’s clung to for so long.
“Let me in, Satoru,” he says again, this time more firmly. “Let me be here for you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Satoru’s lips part as if he wants to say something, but the words get stuck. It’s like a dam is about to break. He doesn’t know what it is about Suguru’s voice, his presence, but it makes something inside of him crack open. He takes a deep shaky breath, his chest rising and falling abruptly. He wants it. He wants to be held, to let go, but the fear is so strong.
This time, it’s more than just a glitch. It’s a crack in his perfect armour. He can't hide anymore.
“I–” Satoru tries to speak but chokes on the words, his voice breaking. The tension pulls at him until he finally allows himself to show the human side he’s hidden away for so long. It’s there. He’s shaking. He feels like he’s drowning in it.
Suguru doesn’t say anything more. He wraps his arms around him tightly, cradling him like he’s something sacred. Like holding him too loosely would let the world use him again.
The walls come down, Infinity recedes, and for the first time in years, Satoru feels safe not in his own strength, not in the power of his cursed technique, but in Suguru’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” Suguru breathes. “I’ve always got you.”
Suguru holds him like a man possessed. Like there’s no one else in the world worth holding.
The moment stretches on in the quiet around them, the room suddenly feeling warmer than it ever had before. They stay like this, just holding each other. And even though it’s messy, it’s something they’ve both needed for so long.
“Wait–”
The moment shatters. Satoru puts a hand on Suguru’s chest to push him a little, confusing him.
The boy lurches against the toilet and gags again. His body trembles violently as more bile rises up. Suguru steadies him by the shoulders even though he knows Satoru hates being held like this when he’s so vulnerable. But he doesn’t pull away.
When it’s over, Satoru sags forward, trembling, his breath ragged. “Fuck,” he whispers, “I’m cold. I’m so cold.”
But it’s not just about temperature. Suguru hears it, the emptiness of his words like they’re coming from somewhere else. He knows that look in Satoru’s eyes, the world is slipping out of his reach again. That creeping dissociation. Satoru hates this. He hates his weakness. He hates how his hands won’t stop shaking. He hates needing help.
But Suguru doesn’t care. He wipes the sweat off Satoru’s face with the back of his sleeve, slow and careful. Like this is a ritual or a prayer. Satoru’s skin is clammy, his lips pale. Suguru takes care of him like he’s done this a hundred times before. Satoru doesn’t say anything, he lets Suguru cradle him like a child.
When he finally calms enough to stand, Suguru helps him up and doesn’t let go.
He sneaks them out of the bathroom, keeping close, guiding him one hand firmly on Satoru’s back. He moves like a shadow, silent and quick, making sure no one sees him. No one needs to know that the strongest is human tonight. And when someone passes them in the hallway, Suguru doesn’t even blink.
“We’re just resting,” he says, smiling like nothing’s wrong. “Solo battle’s coming up tomorrow.”
It’s a lie, but it doesn’t matter. He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s late. Or early. Just a few hours left before they’re thrown into hell again. He doesn’t care. Suguru keeps him close as they disappear into the dark.
Satoru leans on him.
And Suguru knows he’d do anything to protect this.
___________________________
June 15, 2007 04:41 am
The door clicks shut behind Suguru.
Satoru is sitting backwards on his desk chair, arms draped over the backrest, eyes tilted up toward the ceiling like it might stop the spinning in his head.
The white blanket from his bed is wrapped around his shoulders, drowning him in fuzzy fabric that makes him look paler than he already is. It swallows his frame like a cocoon. Suguru thinks it’s impressive how someone his size can look so small. He looks like a sick child fighting against sleep.
Suguru usually doesn’t like it when the curtains are left open, but he never asks Satoru to close them. He knows it’s for the moonlight. Satoru’s bed is pushed up against the large window, because he likes watching the night sky when the insomnia hits him. Suguru learned that from enough nights spent here in this room.
Right now the moonlight spills softly. It reflects off Satoru’s skin and makes his hair glow.
Satoru’s room is a mirror of his intricate brain. It’s messy and distracted, but it’s still selective. He has posters lining his dark blue wall. Satoru had promised he would repaint it after graduation, but no one really believes that. The color matches the astrology posters he pinned on it. It’s the same shade Suguru used on his closet door, and the same on Shoko’s bed frame.
There are drawings stuck on the wall, one of Shoko, one of Suguru, and one of Satoru. They’re a result of a drawing challenge they did last year. They’re not good, but they’re still up. So are the photos. The three of them, arms slung around each other, and smiling wide for the picture. Suguru knows the details of this room better than his own. But something only strikes him as he catches sight of Satoru wrapped up in his blanket. He was a child once. That thought shouldn’t feel so strange, but it does because there’s nothing here that proves it.
His desk is scattered with unfinished reports from previous missions, half-capped pens he will complain are dry, Digimon figures, and old notes no one is allowed to read. But there are no pictures, no family heirloom, no childhood toy, no Kyoto souvenir. It’s like Satoru doesn’t carry anything with him, and his life only started the moment he stepped foot in Tokyo.
Even in the mess, he doesn’t keep much, as if he already decided what belongs here and what doesn’t. As if he didn’t have much to lose.
On his nightstand there’s an untouched cup of water Satoru should have probably drank to ease his migraine, a couple snack wrappers, some physics books he’s certainly reading to improve his cursed technique, and a box of incense. Lavender, the kind Suguru picked for him. Satoru never lights the sticks himself, only Suguru does. The scent isn’t strong, but there is a faint hint of sandalwood and something citrusy. It’s familiar, almost like Suguru’s perfume. It really helps to soothe his nerves when his brain feels like it’s about to pour out of his ears.
He looks like his brain is about to pour out of his ears.
“You look like hell.”
Satoru tries to bend to grab the cup, but his hand shakes, and the nightstand feels too far away. Before he tries again, Suguru is already standing and sets the cup in Satoru’s hands without another word.
“Yeah,” Satoru sighs after a sip. “Feels like it too.” He closes his eyes again in a frown.
“Come here,” Suguru pats the bed where he’s sitting.
Satoru cracks an eye open, the frown still present on his face “What for?”
“You're not going to sleep like that. Come on.”
Satoru lets out a dry laugh, shifting in his chair. “I’m fine,” Satoru mutters, but he doesn’t meet Suguru’s eyes, and his fingers still won’t stop shaking.
Suguru exhales. “You just threw up twice. You’re still shivering, and I know your head is pounding. Just c–”
“I know.” The words are sharp. They’re a warning. “You don't have to rub in how pathetic I look.”
Suguru blinks. That is not what he meant. But, ah. Satoru’s shame is creeping in now. And it feels like Suguru’s presence is proof of Satoru’s weakness, and he’s shoving it in his face. “I’m not,” he says softly. “Just come sit, Satoru.”
“If I move, I’ll probably puke again.”
“You didn’t seem to mind holding my hair last month when I was the one puking my guts out.” Suguru makes a funny grimace. “And that was just from the curse’s aftertaste.”
“If it’s a debt you’re trying to pay, you can go back to your room. I can take care of myself.” Satoru says, voice tight.
Suguru’s brows furrow. Satoru has him all wrong, he’s doing this because he cares. But it’s such a foreign thought to Satoru, that someone might want to take care of him, that he’s twisting it into something else entirely. It breaks Suguru’s heart.
“The thing is… You don't have to, Satoru.”
When Satoru doesn't immediately answer, Suguru senses he’s touched something tender. He tries to lighten the mood, they’ve come too far tonight, and he’s not about to undo all the hard work it took just for Satoru to let Suguru perceive him.
“Also,” he says, nodding at the chair Satoru is bending under his weight, “that thing is about to collapse. Yaga is going to beat both our asses if we break more furniture.”
Satoru groans something under his breath. “It wasn't my fault you threw a desk at me the last time we fought.”
Still, he stands up. He sways like he’s fighting gravity, and makes his way to the bed. It’s a step up from the chair, but he sits upright on the very edge of it. He still feels like laying down would make the room spin harder than it is.
“See, better right?”
Satoru flips him off.
Suguru just laughs and ducks out of the room.
By the time Suguru returns with a wet cloth from the shared bathroom, Satoru has shifted. He’s got his back against the headboard, eyes shut, jaw tight. Not relaxed but resigned. Like he thought Suguru was gone for good.
In a few quiet steps, Suguru crosses the room and gently presses the cool cloth against his forehead. Satoru hisses at the touch. “Could’ve warned me.”
“You’d have refused.”
The cold alleviates the pressure in his head, although his body still craves the warmth of the blanket he’s rolled into. Slowly, the spinning of the room comes to a stop.
When it finally settles, Satoru lets his head drop against Suguru's shoulder and closes his eyes. He sighs, utterly exhausted. Suguru shifts, gently guiding Satoru's head into his lap. Satoru doesn’t resist, he instinctively curls in, seeking the comfort of their position. Suguru’s fingers find his temples and begin to move in slow, grounding circles. Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.
When Suguru’s fingers slip to the bridge of his nose, Satoru murmurs “My mum used to do that.”
Oh. That’s new. Satoru never mentions her.
“Yeah?”
“When I was a kid. She used to sit by my bed and pet me when the Six Eyes were too much.” He pauses, before giving a vague hand gesture. “It was before… You know.”
Suguru hums gently, even though he doesn’t really understand. He keeps threading his fingers through the white strands of Satoru’s hair.
Satoru never talks about his family. Not sober. Not even in passing.
“Do you get along well with her?”
He hums, thoughtful. “I think I did?”
Suguru’s heart aches. He’s not sure he wants to hear more, but Satoru seems to need to say it, like all the thoughts he usually keeps locked away are slipping out now that he feels safe.
“I didn't see her much after my cursed technique appeared,” he adds.
Suguru wonders if he should stop petting Satoru or continue, afraid that he’ll break the bubble they’re in.
“I think she cried a lot when they moved me out of the house. I was dangerous, and had to train a lot. Clan rules.” He pauses again, his mind drifting back to memories of her face. “I wonder what she's doing now,” Satoru murmurs.
“You don't know?” Suguru frowns.
Satoru simply shrugs. “Haven’t seen her in years. I barely remember her. I hope she remembers me.”
The implication sits heavy between the two of them.
Suguru can’t answer. If he opened his mouth he would probably scream. The agitation, the tiredness in his eyes, the way he clings to Suguru like it’s instinct. It all makes sense.
Of course he doesn’t know her anymore. They took him away.
Suguru can see the whole picture now, a child separated from his family, raised by strangers in rooms too quiet and sterile. Turned into a weapon before he even knew what it meant to be a son.
His chest tightens. He wishes he could change that.
They stay like this for a while. The sound of Satoru’s breathing settling.
“Your hands are soft, it tickles,” Satoru mumbles, his lips curved in a drifting smile.
“Careful, they can be rough too. I could still kick your ass if I wanted to.”
They both chuckle. It’s delicate, as if the moment would shatter if they were too loud.
Satoru doesn't answer. He has a slight smile on his lips. The slow patterns in his hair become an achor he’s holding onto. Suguru notices his breathing steady, and the softness in his jaw. He watches his chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm, like waves on the shore.
He’s falling asleep.
For a moment, Suguru forgets everything. He only sees the tired boy in front of him, not the power, not the curse he’s bearing. Just Satoru. He’s perfect.
Suguru leans down, pressing his lips to Satoru’s forehead, his voice barely a whisper. “You can’t keep me away.”
He stays like this for a while, one hand still buried in Satoru’s hair and the other resting on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the gentle beat of his heart.
Tomorrow will come quickly, and Suguru knows that this moment of peace will be over. That the cracks in Satoru’s shell will be patched by sunrise. He’ll be the strongest and let the world use him, while Suguru will pretend that this life is enough. That he can keep watching them both fall apart and still stay whole.
He can’t do that.
The truth crawls under his skin like rot. Suguru isn’t sure how much longer he can keep watching Satoru bleed and call it strength, tired of the world asking a seventeen year old to carry everyone on his shoulders and expect him not to break.
Suguru wants to shield him from that fate, to take the pain away. If strength comes at this price, then only the strong deserve to be saved.
If the world is going to chew up people like Satoru and spit them out like it’s nothing, then Suguru will burn the world down to save him from this cruel and lonely life.
___________________________
December 24, 2017 7:25 pm
Satoru finds himself in the alleyway. It’s a cold December evening, and a light wind is caressing his hair. The sun is setting, painting the sky in beautiful colours that are reflecting in his uncovered eyes. The calm of the night falling contrasts heavily with the chaos that unfolded just minutes before in Tokyo.
Satoru is not alone. He came here to find the reason for all this turmoil.
When he notices Satoru, Suguru leans against the wall and lets himself slide down. Relieved or in abandon, he still wears a smile on his face.
“You’re late again. As usual, Satoru.”
Satoru doesn’t understand. Still, he can’t tear himself away, hanging on to each of Suguru’s words, knowing it would be the last time he ever hears them.
He sees how Suguru’s ideals have rotten him to the core, and turned him into something unrecognisable. Or at least, it’s the role he’s playing. Suguru’s impossible ideals have become chains, binding him to a never-ending path. Caught in his own misery, Suguru had no choice but to play the part.
It’s hard to recognise the man before him, and reconcile him with the person he once knew.
That night after the goodwill event, when Suguru breached Infinity, he had been the first one to crack Satoru's armour. The first one to see him.
Back then, Suguru was the one who called Satoru out for hiding behind walls he built himself. He insisted that his strength wouldn't protect him from people. Because Satoru thought if he didn’t need anyone, then he would never get left behind.
It’s a painful irony that the same Suguru is now the one lost in his own illusions, playing a role to bear the weight of his actions. He’s trapped in the weight of his own choices, and he speaks about his righteous cause with a manic conviction.
It’s not the same as when they were teens. Suguru is pretending to survive the guilt, the pain of what he’s become. But it’s not a role Satoru can save him from, not anymore. Suguru is lost. He’s crossed one too many lines. Satoru wonders if he did that on purpose, knowing that Satoru would have no choice but to act after this. To fulfill the duty he was tasked a decade ago.
Satoru refuses to cut him off. He lets him say everything, heaving his heart. When he’s done, Satoru crouches down to Suguru.
“Suguru…”
In his last moment, Suguru tries to caress Satoru's cheek, but is stopped by Infinity. Suguru expected it. After the Toji incident ten years ago, Satoru's Infinity has been working non-stop. It still hurts that he would be targeted by it, but he thinks he deserves it.
“Ah. Infinity’s always up now.” Suguru’s voice is soft but there’s a bittersweet, nostalgic tone, as if he’s pulling at an old thread just to see if it still holds. He looks at Satoru right through his eyes. To this day, he’s still the one person that understands him the most. “Come on. You let me in once, remember?”
Satoru freezes. Just like back then. A second passes, too long, before he scoffs, masking whatever it is that clenches in his heart. Of course he remembers. But Satoru has changed. From seventeen to twenty-seven, he's learned a lot and this time, Satoru knows what it means. He knows how he felt back then, and how he still feels today. But it’s too late. They’ve gone different ways and after everything that happened today there’s no going back.
He feels sick. His fingers curl into his palms. His vision blurs, just for a moment, before he forces himself to focus. Taking the sight of Suguru in for the last time. It’s suffocating, but he holds his composure for Suguru. He wants to scream. He has so many questions but doesn’t want to hear any of the answers. He doesn’t understand why it had to happen to them. He wants to cry. This is so unfair. He wants to run away, and disappear. But this is how Suguru chose to go, and Satoru would give him what he wanted. A liberation, a mercy, a curse. The cruelest kindness.
Satoru breaks into a smile. Covering up that unbearable ache in his chest. He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“You were right, you know… I never wanted you to leave me.” Then his smile gets softer, offering him the truth, something he never said before.
He drops Infinity, and Suguru’s hand falls on the side of his neck. He cradles his cheek, relieved that Satoru doesn’t hold a grudge against him.
“I thought I had more time.” Satoru admits, he looks at Suguru like he’s trying to memorise him.
“Maybe I should’ve said it sooner,” he adds, voice quieter now. “But I loved you.” His throat tightens. He forces himself to finish. “I still do.”
It’s not a confession. Not really. It’s a truth he’s always known. He was never going to let Suguru go.
Startled by those words, Suguru stills. His breath catches, and for a moment, his eyes widen like he’s seeing something holy. He slowly exhales and the sound turns into a soft-worn chuckle. He wasn’t expecting Satoru to be so bold. Not now. Not like this.
The man who used to push the world away, to push his love away. The one who’s always had to hide his feelings behind his blindfold, giving him his heart away like this…
So painfully late. So Satoru.
He wonders, just for a second, what it could have been. If–
“At least curse me a little at the end.”
Satoru’s eyes shine with something tender. He doesn’t beg, nor does Suguru. They both know the inevitable is coming, but they both linger in the moment, as if time stopped only for their sake.
“Well… I used to say that love is the most twisted curse, didn’t I?”
There’s a lightness in his voice that feels out of place for the situation. But Satoru gives him the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen him wear. It’s not cocky or forced like the kind he offers to the rest of the world. It feels real this time.
And in this last moment, Suguru knows beyond any doubt that he was the one Satoru loved, always.
His one and only.