Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ever since Satoru was a child, a recurring dream haunted him. Different scenes played out—versions of himself living another reality, where he was a sorcerer performing miraculous feats. He remembered fragments, like flashes from an old film he was meant to watch again.

At first, he thought it was just his imagination. But as time went on, that belief began to shift. The dreams didn’t feel like fantasies anymore; they carried a weight, a realism. Upon waking, he could recall oddly specific details, too vivid, too precise to be dismissed as a child’s invention.

The nightmares, where creatures known as curses appeared, didn’t frighten young Satoru all that much. But he always woke up crying when a dark-haired shadow emerged from the dream.

Because… his heart ached.

It was a strange feeling. The pain of longing for something that, for a long time, had no clear form.

That shadow never left him. On the contrary, it began to take shape.

Slowly, deliberately.

First came a pair of gentle hands, soft to the touch, cold yet strangely comforting. Then, a tender smile, lit by an artificial glow that shimmered on the dream’s stage.

The voice was the only thing he could never recall. And yet… something within him stirred with unease, a quiet anxiety. Even so, a sense of belonging to that figure deepened with each passing night.

Satoru entered adolescence haunted by dreams of silky, flowing hair, a sweet smile, and violet eyes.

The scenes were always random, fleeting moments of intimacy. Sometimes, the figure would be brushing their hair; other times, speaking to him, though he could never hear the words.

It looked like they were scolding him—but in their gaze, there was warmth, devotion… something like love.

Back then, Satoru came to a quiet conclusion: the person in his dreams was the one to whom he had once given his heart in a previous life.

The rest of the people and scenes in those visions carried a neutral tone, soft and somewhat faded, like memories worn thin by time. But the aura of the mysterious figure remained—diluted and ethereal, like oil paint slowly forming a shape through scattered brushstrokes.

Outside that realm of dreams, Satoru was an exceptionally gifted human. Everything he tried seemed almost too easy, mastering most things in just a matter of days.

His talent extended far beyond hobbies, it flourished in academics as well.

To stave off boredom, he chose to study quantum physics in college. Partly for the challenge of grasping the universe from a more flexible perspective, and partly to find a tangible explanation for why his soulmate appeared in dreams, like a memory too beautifully adorned to be clear; Blurred and abstract, as if seen through water.

Whenever he spoke of these dreams, people praised his imagination… Even his friends.

Today happened to be one of those days, where the white-haired young man shared yet another glimpse with his small circle of friends.

"Are you sure this is the path you want to take? I see a famous writer in you"

Takeo, a cheerful and charismatic guy, said with a grin, giving him a friendly slap on the back.

Gojo laughed. The afternoon sun was particularly cruel, beating down on them as they moved his belongings into the new dorm.

"I don’t know. Can you really picture me writing romance novels?"

That made the group burst into laughter as they hauled boxes filled with Satoru’s books.

He didn’t have much he cared to bring from home—but his books on occultism, physics, and philosophy were non-negotiable.

Satoru’s interests, of course, had been deeply shaped by the life he lived each night in dreams.

"More like horror! Those curses and the murders caused by those freaky things aren’t exactly romantic—unless there’s something you want to confess..."

A brown-haired girl chimed in with a teasing smirk.

"I promise you, Sasaki, it’s nothing like that. Park that imagination of yours, please. Besides, writing’s not my thing—I lack the flair to make anything sound fantastic, romantic, or terrifying."

Satoru replied, rolling his eyes.

There was something about her haircut that always unsettled him. It was too close to the look of someone who often appeared in his dreams.

Sometimes, without realizing it, he’d call her by that person’s name. She always took it as a compliment, flashing a mischievous grin.

"Says who? I could cosplay as Shoko and tell the world that the great Satoru Gojo wrote me into his novel."

They finally reached his floor. The heat clung to their clothes, sweat making the fabric stick to their skin.
The hallway stretched out ahead, lined with identical doors. Satoru glanced at his keycard.

"Room 571..."

It was all the way at the end, only one more door stood beyond it on the left.
He walked alongside his friends as they continued their playful banter.

But the closer he got, the stranger he felt. A slow anticipation crept through his limbs, tingling like electricity just beneath the skin.

His eyes barely blinked, hidden behind his signature sunglasses, which helped him remain unnoticed more often than not.

He unlocked the door, and Takeo and Sasaki stepped inside, each dropping a box of books.

The sound of a guitar drifted through the room… gentle, precise, yet filled with feeling.

Satoru paused to listen, letting the soft strumming wrap around him. Meanwhile, his friends had already begun ransacking the room—flopping onto the bed, rifling through drawers, wondering aloud where everything would even fit.

"Hey, if you're gonna stay in your little dream world, we’re leaving,"

Sasaki said, hopping off the bed and tugging on Takeo’s arm.

"Weren’t we promised a meal after this? I don’t work for free, you know. I carried those damn books, I expect payment!"

Satoru stood up and nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

"A promise is a promise. Though I’m tempted to kick you both out unpaid, just to hear you whine through the door."

Just as they were stepping out to find something to eat, the music from room 572 came to a sudden stop, and the person inside stepped out as well.

Satoru felt the world fall into silence.
Then, an unsettling emptiness seemed to wrap itself around reality.
The stranger clearly intended to introduce himself, raising a hand in greeting.

But the image before him fractured, overlapping in three layers.

The first: a high school boy, hair tied back, wearing a gentle smile.

The second: the real man standing there now, hand raised, eyes steady—yet also superimposed on a crowded street from some distant memory, gazing at him across time.

The third: distorted and ghostly, the same face now nearly dissolved, a scar carved across his forehead. He wore the robes of a monk, though Satoru could barely recognize the style.

And then, all those fragments collapsed into the present, merging into the form standing just a few feet away.
His voice pulled the last thread from Satoru’s buried memories:

"Hey, hi there. I'm Geto Suguru. Your new dorm neighbor."

Gojo’s friends noticed something was off. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, and was sweating far more than the heat could explain.

"He’s Gojo Satoru. He’s just... a little tired today."

One of them offered, trying to smooth things over.

But Satoru couldn’t even respond. His mind was drowning, swept away in the weight of his past life.

In the fury of having arrived too late to save the one who held his heart.
In the aching longing of ten—now thirty—years without him.
In the guilt of a death sentence.
In the memory of a face twisted by monstrous corruption.

He barely managed a polite nod before stumbling toward the bathroom, shoving the door open with his elbow and vomiting his breakfast into the toilet.

And it was now—precisely when life began to make sense again—that he felt more lost than ever.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Over time, he learned a few things about this new version of Suguru.

First of all: he remembered nothing of his past.
Curses, people, memories—all gone. Or perhaps not gone, just locked deep, deep within his heart.

Second: he was, as always, incredibly popular.
And who wouldn’t be? An arts major, played guitar in his spare time, and according to persistent campus gossip, was known to pose nude so other students could have a proper reference for their drawings.

Third: Haibara existed in this life too, and now he was Suguru’s best friend. That one didn’t hurt.

Not at all.

...Or maybe it did.

Still, during the first few months of classes, Satoru tried to handle it all with grace.

Even if Geto was—at best—coolly polite with him. There were too many conflicting thoughts swirling around to know whether he wanted to be Suguru’s friend… or just a quiet observer.

On one hand, he found comfort in watching Suguru from a distance, discovering sides of him he never got to know before, the parts that had been stifled or lost in a life of curses and tragedy.
This Suguru was different… and yet, he held all the little traits that made him undeniably Suguru.

Where Satoru struggled most was tolerating Haibara Yu’s constant presence. The easy way he and Suguru flirted, laughing between glances, brushing shoulders.
Each time, it tied Satoru’s stomach into knots.
His fists clenched instinctively.

Everything would be easier if his heart weren’t screaming that Suguru was his person—his one and only.
But staying close only made things worse.
So… distance became his ally.

What Satoru didn’t realize was that the very two people who tormented his thoughts the most were, in fact, watching him just as closely.

Today was one of those days where he kept his distance—and meanwhile, those two whispered behind his back.

"What did I do to make him dislike me? He even threw up the first time we met. I’ve never left that kind of impression on anyone before."

Suguru was staring at Satoru’s back, who stood across the campus courtyard.
It was a quiet day with no real rush. Haibara sat beside him, munching on sweets.

"Maybe Gojo’s just nervous because you’re popular."

"You think? He’s become pretty popular himself in his department. There’s a line of people trailing after him."

And that wasn’t a lie.
Gojo had an undeniable charisma, even if he tended to keep to himself.
He drew people in with the way he spoke; His explanations of the universe, of matter and its mysteries. There was something magnetic in how he shared knowledge, how he embraced the role of a mentor. Suguru kept hearing good things about him. And some not-so-good.

Like his nearly unshakable ego. His sharp intelligence, combined with a love for debate, often made him a challenge in class. He’d frequently question the professors, and while that earned him admiration, it also gained him a few enemies.

Then there was the fact that he rarely attended parties.
And when he did, he never stayed long.
Not because he was boring—far from it—but because he didn't drink, at the moment others got drunk, Gojo would quietly disappear.

As Suguru pondered all this, Haibara raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger.

"Weren’t you the one who said Gojo would make a great anatomy model for our drawing classes?"

Geto's eyes widened in mock betrayal, and he smacked his friend on the shoulder, laughing as his cheeks flushed with color.

"You’re laughing, but you’re not denying it."

"Shut up!"

"I say just ask him one day. You’ve got nothing to lose. A ‘no’ is already in your pocket."

"I’ll think about it."

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Night had fallen once again, and Gojo returned to the student dorms carrying his usual bag—loaded with soft drinks, instant ramen, and an obscene amount of sweets.

As he fished around in his pocket for his dorm key, the door to room 572 swung open, and Suguru’s head peeked out.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?”

Satoru flinched slightly, dropping his keys to the ground.

As he bent to pick them up, Suguru spoke again.

“I know we didn’t get off on the right foot. I’m sorry if I did something to bother you. Could we… start over?”

“No.”

“Oh… sorry, then.”

“You didn’t do anything. Really, it’s me. I don’t know how to act around you.”

Suguru was halfway through closing the door, slowly, but those words made him pause.

“Did I make you feel bad?”

Gojo’s figure leaned against the doorframe, slightly towering over Suguru—a rare sight, since Geto wasn’t used to people taller than him.

His blue eyes held a strange, unreadable light.

“No—well… maybe a little. These past few months I’ve been wondering what I’m doing wrong. Do you not like it when I play guitar?”

Gojo’s body language remained reserved, guarded, but his eyes didn’t lose that strange gleam.

“On the contrary. I always look forward to hearing you playing at night while I’m studying.”

“I thought I was playing quietly enough that it wouldn’t reach outside my room.”

A silence settled between them, stretched and taut, filled only by their eyes meeting.

Then Suguru opened the door a little wider.

“Do you want to come in for a while?”

Satoru wanted to refuse—he had every intention of making some excuse.
But he was utterly weak to a sad look from Suguru.
To the unspoken please that lived in his voice, because he was still a proud man, even in his gentleness.

Suguru’s room was far livelier than the one he once had back at Tokyo Jujutsu High.

It burst with retro artist posters, vibrant fabrics, mandalas, meditating Buddha statues, and sculpted torsos in poses clearly inspired by Greco-Roman antiquity. An oni mask hung beside tiny figurines of cats and other animals.

If there were a delicate way to describe it—it would be maximalist and colorful, brimming with both personality and charm.

Instead of a standard desk, there was a kotatsu and scattered floor cushions. The only free wall space was stacked with canvases; Some leaning, others hung. Landscapes, people, animals… snapshots of many lives.

“Wow.”

“Too chaotic?” Suguru asked, with a slight laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be seen that way. I’d say it’s detailed, full of personality. It’s easy to build a mental profile of you just by looking around.”

Suguru pulled out a small stove, the kind he used to heat water for tea or dinner.

“So… what’s the verdict?”

He tried to sound casual, not overly curious.

“Oh, I bet you’d love to know,” Satoru replied with a lopsided grin. “But that’s a secret.”

That grin—Suguru thought bitterly—was dangerous. No one was immune to that infamous Gojo Satoru charm. Not even him.

He told himself the flutter in his stomach was just excitement over finally spending time with his neighbor from 571. It couldn’t possibly be because Satoru was scanning every detail of his private sanctuary, or the way his gaze wandered, thoughtful and lingering, across his face and form.

It was like Gojo was taking mental notes. Every line, every curve.

“Keep it to yourself then, mister mysterious. Want to stay for dinner?”

Suguru was already rummaging through Satoru’s bag, also pulling out extra noodles from a small drawer in one of his cabinets, along with a yellow bowl decorated with tiny cat paw prints.

“If you wanted me to stay for dinner from the start, I would’ve brought something better,” Satoru replied, letting himself be swept along by the charm of the beautiful man standing in front of him.

Truth be told, he’d surrendered to his fate quite a while ago.

Naturally, dinner led to long conversations, shared stories and laughter. Satoru had the quiet joy of learning that Shoko and Yaga existed in this world too. Shoko had chosen to study at another college, and Masamichi was now the principal of a completely ordinary school, the same one where she and Geto had studied together a few years back.

Some things, it seems, never change. And even though Suguru couldn’t possibly understand the weight of that, it brought a strange comfort to Satoru’s soul.

He smiled, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand as he listened to Suguru speak. For a little while, the past and the dreams faded into nothing more than a distant echo—leaving only this moment, this company, and a warm bowl of noodles that tasted a bit like peace.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Their friendship built itself almost unintentionally. Honestly, it was only to be expected, Satoru supposed. If there was anyone in this world he could connect with so effortlessly, it was Suguru.

Little by little, Satoru’s routine began to shift, almost imperceptibly at first—but inevitably. Suguru colored his world with small gifts, little gestures that invaded his carefully guarded privacy, reinforcing a truth that Satoru had struggled to believe:

No, it wasn’t just his own delusion.

Geto was here, alive, and he genuinely wanted to be part of his life.

It only took a few weeks for Suguru to build enough trust to ask him for a favor: to pose as a model for one of his art classes.

"Are you sure about this? I’ve got zero experience." Satoru asked, skeptical.

"You’ll only need patience," Suguru assured him, ruffling his hair affectionately. Today he wore a casual, slightly alternative outfit—comfortable, effortlessly stylish—and Satoru loved seeing that side of him.

In their past life, Suguru had been so proper, so meticulously careful, despite the rebellious heart he tried so hard to tame. This version of him was more natural and free, and Satoru was fascinated.

"Alright then. I’ll do it. But in return, you have to accept a gift from me." Satoru bargained.

"What kind of gift?" Suguru asked, a little suspicious but visibly intrigued.

"You’ll find out soon enough."

Suguru hesitated for a moment, then shrugged with a small, curious smile.

"Deal."

A few days later, in the art studio, Satoru stood at the center of the room, wearing nothing but a thin cloth draped across his hips. He held the pose they’d assigned him, surrounded by students furiously sketching the enigmatic, charismatic physics genius who had captivated so many hearts on campus.

Everyone, that is, except the one person he actually cared about.

But that's another story.

When Suguru finished his first sketch, he asked Satoru to change poses, and this time, Satoru’s line of sight faced directly toward him.

Suguru’s focus was absolute. There was none of the flustered giggling or shy glances that filled the rest of the classroom; instead, Suguru looked as if he were on a mission. Every line, every shadow he captured was deliberate, his hands steady with purpose, as if he weren’t just sketching a model, but preserving something irreplaceable.

Every so often, their eyes would meet, and in those fleeting moments, a spark flared between them, impossible for Satoru to ignore. The intensity in Suguru’s violet gaze could have pierced through Satoru’s soul—and all the lives he’d lived— with a single glance.

Around them, a bubble of silence seemed to form, separating them from the noise of the rest of the world.
And for a little while, it was just the two of them, held together by pencil strokes, unspoken promises, and a thousand memories only Satoru remembered.

When Suguru returned to his room, he found a bouquet of flowers waiting for him.
Zinnias, daffodils, and a pair of bleeding hearts, an odd combination.

Attached to the bouquet was a note, written in a chaotic yet strangely elegant handwriting:

"I watched life and wanted to be part of it but found it painfully difficult. Could I exist in your world?"

Suguru lifted the bouquet in his hands and, even without a signature, understood immediately:
this was the gift Gojo had promised.

An uneasy feeling took root in his chest, as if something about it tugged at a memory he couldn’t quite reach, like the echo of a recurring dream.
In that dream, he wasn’t himself anymore; he was a criminal, a ruined fragment of a man, watching as a figure disappeared into the distant horizon along with others.

There had been a sense of relief in death, but also a painful longing for a life that had never turned out the way he wished.

That night, with the bouquet resting atop his kotatsu table, Suguru fell into that dream once again.
But this time, there was another:

He was younger, swallowed by a sadness that went far deeper than any simple existential crisis.

He didn’t know why his dream-self suffered so much, or why after swallowing a black orb, he ended up vomiting into a bathroom sink.

Suguru woke up in the early hours of the morning, sweating and dizzy, with the vivid image of a blue eye—an eye that seemed to hold an entire universe within it—etched into his mind.

He needed to capture it somehow.

Dragging himself to his worn-out stool at his work desk, he began sketching in his notebook. His strokes were erratic, restless.
As he added color, he realized something curious—the eye he was drawing bore an undeniable resemblance to his neighbor's.
Perhaps, without even noticing, he had used Satoru as a reference?
Maybe, someday soon, he would ask Gojo to model for him again.

But for now, life continued to move forward.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Satoru and Suguru soon became inseparable—so much so that even Haibara couldn't help but comment on it, half-curious and half-suspicious, pointing out that it was almost impossible to find them apart.

"Is there something you two want to confess?"

He teased while texting Shoko, who, although absent, was kept well-informed of Haibara’s growing suspicions. She was there in spirit, at least.

"Didn’t you say you had work to do?" Geto sighed, taking a sip from his soda.
Leaning comfortably behind him was Satoru’s chest, acting as his makeshift backrest.

Lately, Suguru had been clinging to any available comfort, thanks to the nightmares that refused to leave him alone, and Satoru, being the charitable genius he sometimes could be, often volunteered himself as a human pillow while casually gaming away on his console.

Suguru sometimes wondered how Satoru managed to keep such stellar grades, but the answer was always the same: he studied at night, and somehow, it just worked for him. Weirdo.

"I don't want to open a book right now!" Haibara whined.

"Then fail." Satoru shot back in that infuriating, smug tone he had perfected.

Haibara could see it clearly as day—even if Satoru was a great friend in general, even if he didn’t openly complain about how Satoru had practically stolen Suguru away—
He knew Satoru didn’t like him.
Not one bit.

And honestly? Haibara understood. He wasn’t an idiot, alright?
He knew what it felt like to be the one chosen by Suguru Geto: intoxicating.
But he had never seen anyone as effortlessly close to Suguru as Gojo was.
The way they gravitated toward each other… yeah, it was suspicious.

Haibara could smell something big brewing.
And while it didn’t exactly bother him to see Suguru so at ease,
he couldn’t deny he missed him.
A lot, actually.

A few hours later, Haibara invited Suguru to hang out, just the two of them, and Suguru agreed.
It had been a while since he spent quality time with his best friend from high school, after all.

"This afternoon I won’t be able to draw you, Satoru. I’ll be busy" Suguru said.

"Oh?"

Satoru was currently half-buried inside the kotatsu, as usual. It was his "payment" for modeling so often lately, and so far, he hadn't complained too much.

"Hai-chan misses me. Isn’t that adorable?" Suguru added, teasingly.

He only got a low, rumbling grunt in response. Satoru adjusted his glasses without even looking at him.

It was one of Suguru’s guilty little pleasures, to be honest: Seeing Satoru this tame most of the time… but knowing he could still stir up something much more visceral underneath.

Suguru decided he wanted to poke at that a little. He wasn’t going to lie.

"You know," he said casually, "I’ve been thinking about asking Haibara out."

He fully expected some kind of reaction—a scoff, a laugh, even a snarky comeback.

But Satoru gave no direct reply.

Instead, he reached up slowly, removed his glasses, and placed them carefully on the table.

His blue eyes darkened, Suguru could swear it.
The air grew heavy, a sharp discomfort filling the room as if Suguru had just insulted Satoru’s mother or something.

"Satoru?" Suguru tried, his voice a little unsure now. "It was a joke. Come on. Laugh a little."

He sighed when no reply came.

Instead, Satoru picked up his glasses and left the room.

Of course, it affected his mood—and of course, what should have been a simple, innocent outing turned into something much messier.
Haibara had originally planned to take his friend to a quiet café, but somehow they ended up at one of the underground joints where Suguru sometimes played guitar.

The drinks kept coming, fast and easy into Suguru’s hands, and the conversation remained dull and distant.
Suguru didn't want to show just how upset he was.

Haibara eventually gave up when he realized Suguru could barely stand without stumbling, his face serious and oddly melancholic.

Why now, of all times?
What the hell happened?
Haibara racked his brain, trying to think of anything that could have triggered this behavior.
As far as he knew, there wasn’t a single topic or situation that could shake Geto this badly—
Or rather, there was only one thing he never talked about with him.

Only one.

"Ah," Haibara muttered, a sad, dry laugh escaping as he slung Suguru’s arm over his shoulder, supporting his weight.

Suguru was sticky with sweat and tearful, and although that would have been cute once—he used to love seeing those rare vulnerable moments—
Haibara couldn’t enjoy it this time.

He thought he understood why.

"What’s so funny, huh? Don't act smart with me." Suguru slurred.

"You fought with Gojo before coming here, didn’t you?"

Silence.

Suguru knew he was a terrible friend for keeping Haibara out of anything related to Gojo.
Maybe that was true.
His drunken mind didn’t want to open up, but his heart betrayed him anyway.

"There wasn’t a fight... because he didn’t even speak to me." Suguru whispered.

"Is it because we’re hanging out together?" Haibara asked.

They were getting close to the residential area now, step by slow, dragging step.

"No, it’s not that," Suguru mumbled. "I made a stupid joke... I guess."

"I see..." Haibara said, his voice softening.
"Even now, Gojo manages to steal you away from me. How frustrating."

Haibara wasn’t a bad guy.

His crush on Geto was innocent enough, born more from admiration and the kindness Suguru always showed those closest to him.

He knew it was something that would never be returned; Suguru had always been playful, teasing at best, but he had never crossed any lines—even when Haibara had left the door wide open for him to do so.

Maybe, before all of this, if Geto had used him, he wouldn’t have cared much about the consequences afterward.

But now...
It wasn’t something healthy.
Not for him, and not for Haibara either.

Still, none of that erased the heavy frustration that silence brings, or the quiet guilt both of them carried tonight.
One for wanting someone who had never been his, and the other for being unable to return the love of someone who had been there for him since day one.

When they finally reached Suguru’s room, it was obvious he didn’t want to be left alone.
But it was what he needed.

He became stubborn and fussy, refusing to let Haibara take off his boots or hang up his jacket.
The commotion was loud enough to echo in the otherwise quiet dorm.

"Come on, lie down," Haibara coaxed.

"I don’t want to."

"If you don’t, I’ll call Gojo to come handle you," Haibara threatened lightly.

Suguru froze where he sat on the edge of his bed, his expression slightly unsteady.
A flash of embarrassment, a flicker of defiance.
As if daring Haibara to actually bring the source of his inner turmoil into the room.

Haibara sighed heavily.

"I guess I'll never really understand what’s going on between you two." he muttered.

Suguru turned his head away stubbornly, refusing to meet his eyes.
Haibara adjusted his pillow and gently helped him lie down, tucking the blanket around him afterward.

"Don’t go." Suguru mumbled, clinging to his waist like a lost child.

"I love you, Sugs, but I’m not staying," Haibara said softly. "Not when I know it's not really me you're asking for."

He ruffled Suguru’s hair gently.

A faint noise caught his attention— It came from the direction of the door.
It was slightly ajar, but he didn’t see anyone outside.

Haibara stayed a little longer, comforting Geto until his breathing evened out and he stopped fidgeting.
Then he finally pulled away and headed for the door.

As he closed it behind him, he lingered, staring quietly at the door to Satoru Gojo’s room across the hall.

He stood there for a long moment, hands buried deep in his pockets, before walking away into the night.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next day, Suguru’s hangover was bad enough that he skipped classes.
He barely remembered much from the night before, except for the fact that Satoru had gotten mad at him over something.
Suguru chose not to dwell on it—Once he recovered, he spent the afternoon catching up on missed work and painting a landscape.

Days blurred together, and eventually, the silence of a whole week settled in.

Satoru was actively avoiding him.

Of course, if Suguru were a little more direct, he would’ve confronted Satoru about the distance between them.
But since he could only really express himself through art...
Well, it made things complicated.

He started sketching Satoru from a distance, slowly studying his features while his mind spun in endless circles.

It wasn’t that serious, was it?
They were just friends.
He had only made a stupid joke—testing the waters, trying to see if the thought of Suguru dating someone else would provoke some kind of reaction from Satoru.
Something that might hint that he felt something too.

But of course, if neither of them spoke first, this rift between them would only stretch further.
And there was no sign of it getting better anytime soon.

Today was particularly dull, and maybe it was because Satoru wasn’t around—Not that Suguru would ever admit that out loud.

He decided it was finally time to call Shoko.
He hadn’t seen her since the semester started.

"You need to make up with your boyfriend,"

was the first thing Shoko said when she answered the call.

"Already been talking to Haibara about me, huh?"
Suguru replied, inspecting his freshly painted nails with feigned disinterest.

"Haibara’s worried," she said. "Says you’re not eating properly and that the dark circles under your eyes are starting to make you look like a zombie."

"And that’s your business... why exactly?"

Suguru’s tone was calm, but Shoko knew him well enough to hear the sharp edge beneath it.

"My business is smacking some sense into you," she replied dryly. "Unfortunately, I’m trapped studying at a tiny desk buried under more books than you’ve ever seen in your life."

"Well, for the record, Gojo’s not my boyfriend.
He’s an idiot. And a terrible friend."

"You don’t usually waste your time on terrible friends.
What makes him different?"

"Everything," Suguru said quietly, almost more to himself than to her. "He's... really my muse."

"Oh."

"So yeah... it gets to me. But I guess it inspires me too."

"And the fight… how did that go?"

Suguru laughed—and of course, said absolutely nothing about it.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Satoru was certain of one thing:
If he ever let his real temperament show, Suguru would slip out of his reach forever.

That’s why he decided to keep his distance—at least until the storm inside him calmed down, until he could tame the jealousy, the possessiveness, the ache.
He saw it, of course. The look in Suguru’s eyes.
That quiet pain of not understanding.
But also the pride. The resentment.

Gojo wanted to talk to him, especially at the beginning.
But what would come of it, other than another clash?

Sasaki and Takeo would laugh if they saw him this torn up over something so small.
But they didn’t know.
They didn’t know Suguru was the invisible protagonist of every dream Satoru had had for years.
And honestly?
He often wondered—if it weren’t for that past, would Suguru still live in his head like this?

As he drew a new chibi version of Suguru and himself in the corner of a study page, he sighed.
Yeah. Probably.
That was just how much power Suguru had over him.

This quiet agony had dragged on for too long.
And maybe it was those dark, heavy thoughts that brought on what came next—a storm unlike any other.

Satoru had just finished stocking up on snacks and instant ramen to lock himself in his room when it hit.
Rain came crashing down as he ran for the student dorms, arms full of plastic bags.

When he arrived, the power was out.
Not even the hallway lights were on.

"Not even if I planned it could it go this badly."

Satoru muttered as he finally reached his floor. He pulled out his phone to use the flashlight and lit his way through the dark corridor.

As he walked, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—Suguru would secretly brighten his night by playing his guitar again…
And just like summoning the devil with a thought, there he was.
Standing in the hallway, right in front of Satoru’s door.

Suguru looked genuinely surprised to see him outside.

"You weren’t inside?"

"As you can see, no."

"Then… all the things I just said… no one heard them?"

Satoru could feel the sadness and frustration radiating off him like heat.

"I’m afraid not."

"...Then I’ll go."

Satoru dropped his bag of snacks and grabbed Suguru’s wrist, his fingers closing around soft, familiar skin.

They both froze at the contact, a shiver running through them, but neither said a word about it.

Instead— "Have dinner with me. There’s no power and it’s cold."

Satoru was terrible at apologizing, but he was utterly helpless against a sad Suguru.

Even his own ego took a backseat.

He saw it. The way Suguru’s emotional walls started to crumble, piece by piece, like he was weighing whether this would hurt more in the long run…
Then he stepped forward and fell into Satoru’s arms.

Without hesitation, Satoru wrapped him up in a firm embrace.
They stood like that, in total silence, holding each other in the dark hallway for long minutes.
Eventually, Satoru opened the door to his room, bringing them both—and the bag of groceries—inside.

With the cold still hanging in the air, Suguru refused to let go of him.
And Satoru didn’t try to pull away either.
He knew there was no point. Not now. Not after finding each other again.

Satoru pulled out a blanket and lit a candle, placing it on his nightstand. He wrapped it around both of them as they sank back into each other’s arms. The storm hummed softly outside the window, a quiet backdrop to the moment. Satoru rested his cheek against Suguru’s hair.

They should talk—really talk—but now didn’t feel like the right time.

“Are we okay, then?”
he asked gently, running a soothing hand over Suguru’s shoulder. Suguru seemed to consider the question, then leaned in a little closer and gave a small nod.

“Alright. Now eat something sweet while we wait for the power to come back and heat dinner with the electric stove.”

“We should get a gas one. Like those little camping burners, in case this happens again.”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

The silence returned, but it was no longer heavy. Suguru eventually started nodding off against Satoru’s shoulder, so Satoru carefully tucked him into bed. Wanting to respect his space, he lay down close to the wall, trying not to take up too much room.

But he’d soon learn that was a mistake when it came to Suguru.

After blowing out the candle, the only light came from the faint glow of the storm-lit window. He couldn’t make out Suguru’s form clearly, but he could feel him shifting closer, pressing his back against Satoru’s to steal some warmth.

If this kept up... No.
Satoru wouldn’t let it go any further. Not like this.

He struggled to fall asleep. And when he finally did, all he saw was one thing:
A narrow alley, a slumped body seated with a peaceful smile still on its lips.
It looked like he was only sleeping…
But there was no pulse.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next day, they slipped back into their usual routine, but Suguru hadn’t anticipated Satoru gifting him a new bouquet—left in the exact same spot as the last one.

Larkspur, lavender, and a single sprig of bog rosemary. Another oddly specific combination. He examined the note attached, his heart skipping a beat as he read the delicate script:

"You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out."

Satoru was such an idiot.

Why did it sound like a marriage proposal? They hadn’t even been reconciled for twenty-four hours. It was exhausting trying to keep up with Satoru’s shifting moods. One day he acted like Suguru didn’t exist, the next he made him feel like the only person in the world.

Still, their reconciliation brought everything back to the way it used to be—and maybe even better. Over the next few weeks, things went surprisingly well. Satoru eventually introduced Suguru to his two old high school friends.

Sure, they had technically met before—on the day they helped Satoru move in—but they hadn’t actually talked.

“So, are you a musician and an artist? Or were you just aiming to master every form of self-expression?”
Sasaki asked, as they sat together in the campus garden snacking and sipping drinks. Haibara was there too, smiling brightly as always, quietly watching everything unfold.

“The guitar was something I picked up back in high school,” Suguru said. “I was trying to impress an older guy—pretty attractive, into J-Rock. Obviously, it didn’t work. He was straight. But I kept the habit.”

Takeo let out a low whistle, while Haibara raised his brows teasingly. It was almost comical how blatantly obvious it was that the only one remotely jealous over an old teenage crush was Satoru—who wrinkled his nose and took a long sip of his drink.

“He was probably a loser anyway.”

Suguru looked amused by Satoru’s reaction, while the rest exchanged glances, one eyebrow raised.

“He got good grades.”

“Not better than mine.”

Suguru let out a sigh.

“Come on, Mr. Nerd. It’s literally impossible to get better grades than you.”

Satoru pushed his glasses up using his middle finger, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“I’m the best of both worlds, let’s be real. I don’t even fit the nerd stereotype!”

Takeo squinted.

“Dude, when you were fifteen you were skinnier than a doorframe and carried around five books on occultism and quantum physics. That’s textbook nerd. The only difference is, if someone dared to make fun of you, you would drag them off school grounds and beat them up. Honestly, you weren’t just a nerd—you were a delinquent nerd!”

Satoru let out a dramatically offended gasp.

“That was defensive intervention with a hint of juvenile re-education! Those bullies had it coming. I did what had to be done. Even the teachers thanked me afterward, while I was stuck doing extra assignments in their offices. Bullying rates plummeted after that, thank you very much!”

Now it was Suguru’s turn to raise an eyebrow in judgment.

“Honestly? It checks out,” Haibara chimed in, surprising everyone with a rare serious tone—though his trademark sunny smile never left his face.

“Explain,” Sasaki and Takeo said in unison, the two gossip-hounds practically leaning forward in sync.

“Simple,” Haibara began, gesturing animatedly with his hands as if unveiling a commercial product. “Gojo’s always been distant but blunt. I’ve never seen him back down from anyone. I’ve even heard he corrects his professors’ math mid-lecture. A delinquent nerd is the guy hits you with the correct data!”

Suguru, cheeks puffed full of food, was visibly struggling not to burst into laughter.

"You really do have an overactive imagination," Satoru said, deciding to drop the banter and bite into another piece of mochi.

Suguru leaned in, gently wiping a bit of food from Satoru’s cheek with a feline smile.

"Well, delinquents aren’t so bad either. Especially the smart ones."

Gojo’s stunned expression was all the victory Suguru needed, watching as the albino fumbled with a napkin and dropped the snack bag in the process.
The rest of the group, of course, silently wondered how much longer it would take before those two finally started dating.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Summer break arrived soon after, without any new misunderstandings or drama. Suguru had already decided this was the perfect time to start painting beach landscapes—one of the last subjects missing from his portfolio. He hated working from digital references; he needed to be there, to feel the energy of the place, to observe the perfect interplay of color and light across natural forms.

That’s when Satoru, in a rare display of generosity, decided to invite both Suguru and Haibara to spend a couple of weeks in Okinawa. It wasn’t just about getting away—he wanted Suguru in a setting outside the university, somewhere softer, freer. Was it a crime to be devoted to your soulmate across two lifetimes? Absolutely not. He even invited Suguru’s new best friend, Haibara—who didn’t entirely annoy him.

Not that he actually disliked Haibara. Not really. It was probably just his own immaturity, that childish aversion to sharing Suguru with anyone, ever. He needed to grow up. He knew that.

While Suguru was packing and tidying his room, he called Satoru.

“Hey, Satoru. I was wondering if I could invite a friend?”

“Shoko?” Gojo replied instantly, without missing a beat.

“Whoa, yeah. How’d you know?”

“Just figured you'd want to see her again during the break.” he said casually, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear while packing his books.

Sometimes, Gojo could be disturbingly perceptive. Suguru didn’t like how that made him feel—like Satoru understood him better than he understood Satoru.

“Should I add her to the reservation?” Satoru asked.

“She’ll pay her share. She just wants the hotel info and the dates.”

“You know I don’t mind. Money’s not a problem.”

He heard Suguru’s signature disapproving sigh—the one that always made his stance clear. Satoru knew it by heart.

“That’s not the point. It’s not about whether you can afford it. It’s that you don’t even know her personally. It’s not right, and besides… she’s got her own money. Don’t worry about it.”

Ah, right. Technically, he didn’t know her.

It was getting harder and harder to separate the memories of his past life from this one—especially when no one else showed the slightest sign of remembering anything.

Surrounded by people yet somehow still alone, Satoru often felt disconnected.

Even when he was with Suguru, there was a strange lack of true resonance, as if the barrier that had once separated him from the world in that other life had quietly followed him into this one.

This time, of course, it wasn’t due to cursed powers or supernatural walls…
But still.
It was complicated.

Maybe it was just the weight of having nearly thirty extra years of experience packed into his mind.
His dreams had morphed into memories.
His nightmares, into things he desperately wished he could forget.

He snapped back to the present when he heard Suguru calling out, asking if he was still on the line.

“Don’t tell me you fell asleep in the middle of our conversation.”

“Sorry. I just got lost in thought.” he murmured.

Suguru chuckled softly.

“Alright, big guy. I’ll send her the address and the dates, then.”

“Yeah, of course. See you in a few days.”

“You say that like you’re not about to send me fifty images of things you want to buy or memes you found hilarious.”

“Hey! It’s important to keep you updated on the Gojoverse!”

Suguru ended the call with laughter, sending him a sticker of a flirty little fox.

Tsk. He’d get him back for that.
Sooner rather than later, he hoped.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Okinawa was hot and sticky, but beautiful.

Satoru was hauling his luggage through the hotel while Suguru followed, carrying his own excessively bulky bags. Was he moving his entire workshop? And the guitar too? Satoru sighed.

Haibara helped Suguru with his things, casually toting a small suitcase that held just the essentials.

“Shoko said she’ll arrive later in the afternoon. She couldn’t catch an earlier flight. We could spend the day at the beach and head back once she gets in—how does that sound?”

Haibara shouted a gleeful “Yesss!” while pumping a fist into the air.

They reached their rooms and unpacked. The morning flew by with Satoru playing around in the waves and Haibara swimming like a fish.

Meanwhile, Suguru took the opportunity to test his new paints, starting a small light study in his sketchbook—experimenting with different blues to match the clear sky above. At some point, completely absorbed in mixing hues, he didn’t notice Satoru appear behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you coming to have fun?”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t jump a little, but he quickly relaxed, letting out a soft laugh.

“This is fun for me.”

“Hmmm, and where do Haibara and I fit into that?”

Suguru carefully cleaned his brush using water in a bottle cap—his usual trick when painting away from the studio.

“I haven’t had time to paint you two yet.”

“So we’re just little blotches in the background?”

Satoru’s closeness was impossible to ignore.
It didn’t help that the damn nerd had the body of the delinquent they joked about weeks ago. His soft voice, the way his gaze lingered with quiet intensity…
Suguru felt a strange, ticklish pressure in his stomach that seemed to squeeze his heart.

“You’ll be the cutest little blotches,” he teased, making air quotes with his fingers.

For a moment—because of how closely they were looking at each other—Suguru thought Satoru might actually kiss him.
And judging by how those icy blue eyes dropped to his mouth… maybe he had thought about it too.

This was going to be difficult.

Thankfully, Haibara came to the rescue, bringing cold drinks for everyone and effortlessly breaking the tension between them.
The rest of the morning went by smoothly: they ate together, relaxed, and later returned to their rooms after showering.

Around 6 pm, Shoko texted to say she’d be at the hotel in about thirty minutes, suggesting they all go out for dinner to celebrate the reunion.

Satoru actually got dressed up—for the first time in... centuries, maybe.
He put on a black shirt, sleek grey pants, and a matching jacket. On his wrist, he wore a watch more expensive than the trip itself.
He even brought out his special rectangular glasses with a retro 2000s vibe: glasses he only wore when partying. Or, ideally, on a date. Maybe with Suguru.

He slicked his hair back and slipped into shoes that completed the outfit.

Honestly, he knew he was overdoing it. But he wanted to stand out.
He wanted Suguru to look at only him.
Even if it was selfish—especially since Suguru would probably be busy catching up with Shoko.

The final touch: his favorite cologne.

Once ready, he stepped out of his room and headed to the hotel lobby to wait.

As expected, Haibara, Geto, and Shoko arrived together, chatting animatedly about something.
Satoru tried to appear calm, but the nerves were real. These were his old friends. From that life.

They were dressed casually but appropriately for dinner.
Suguru, in particular, wore a loose black shirt that slipped off his shoulder, tight pants, and a riot of accessories: bracelets, rings, necklaces, piercings. His makeup made him look like he’d just stepped offstage at a rock concert.

They were opposites in every way.

And Satoru absolutely loved it.

Suguru didn’t get the chance to introduce Shoko and Satoru properly—because the moment Shoko laid eyes on him, she let out a long whistle, scanning him from head to toe.

"Ah. Now a lot of things make sense."

“Really?” Suguru muttered under his breath. Of course Shoko would press the issue.

Though, to be fair, he himself was struggling to take his eyes off the very attractive, very polished Satoru—who, for the first time since they met, actually looked like someone with money.
The Satoru he knew always dressed for comfort, not for show. At most, he’d wear slacks and a button-down for presentation days, but never anything this… ostentatious.

“Satoru Gojo. Pleasure to meet you,” Satoru said smoothly.

It was strange—to introduce himself to someone he vividly remembered knowing since he was seven. It felt unnatural not to offer his arm like he used to, not to fall into talk about jujutsu missions or her misadventures near the morgue.
Because even if Shoko wasn’t the strongest fighter, she had always been the reliable one, ready to patch up her teammates after battle.

Shoko shook his hand delicately, her gaze sharp and unreadable, as if calculating something.

“Shall we head to the restaurant? It’s getting late,” Haibara suggested. “We should try not to miss the reservation.”

The walk there wasn’t dull—Shoko talked about her studies and her past. Apparently, she’d gone to high school with Haibara and Suguru, and they’d been close back then. She spoke warmly about her medical career.

“Actually… I didn’t mention this earlier, since I didn’t want to add pressure by bringing in someone new, but a friend from med school is vacationing in Okinawa too. If you’re interested, I could invite him out.”

Everyone perked up with interest, Suguru finally joining the conversation now that he felt freed from Shoko’s silent judgment.

“Sure! The more, the merrier. Maybe after dinner we can all grab drinks.” he offered.

“Alright, I’ll run the idea by him. Let’s see what he says.”

Shoko typed out a quick message, then casually lit a cigarette.

Satoru immediately frowned—and without missing a beat, plucked the cigarette from her lips before she could take a single drag.

“What have I told you about smoking?”

The tone was... too familiar for someone supposedly just met. And frankly, it made no sense.

“I mean,” he backtracked quickly, “you can’t smoke here. It’s not a designated area.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, but instead of looking at Satoru, she turned to Suguru.

“Does he do that with your cigarettes too?”

Suguru froze in place.

“Shoko...” His warning tone didn’t help his case.

“I didn’t know Suguru smoked,” Satoru said—far too pointedly.

“Only when he’s really stressed!” Haibara tried to smooth things over, but everyone could tell an awkward conversation was coming later.

“You never asked.” Suguru said, this time not bothering to soften his words.

Still, even as tension lingered in the air, his gaze kept drifting back to Satoru’s look.

Good.

That’s how it should be.

Satoru nearly forgot his annoyance, if only because Suguru had been eyeing his outfit all evening—and that, of course, was fuel for the ego of a man hopelessly desperate for his crush’s attention.

Dinner had turned much more relaxed after the cigarette incident. They joked, laughed, and enjoyed the ocean view under the soft night sky.

Suguru seemed present, but Satoru knew him too well. Taking advantage of their shared seating, he leaned in and murmured into his ear:

“I’ll bet anything you’re thinking what a waste it is not to have your paints with you right now.”

Suguru nearly spit out his drink in surprise.

That familiar look of annoyance at being so well understood flickered in his eyes.

“And what if I am?” he muttered. “It’s not exactly the time for painting.”

“I guess I’ve gotten used to having you painting beside me. I think you rubbed off on me, with that whole thing about not wasting the natural tones and values of the landscape.”

It was interesting—watching Suguru shift from uneasy to moved, and then to shy.

“I wish I could say the same about you,” he replied quietly. “But I’m afraid I haven’t retained a single thing from all those theories you’ve tried to explain to me. Though… the multiverse idea doesn’t sound all that crazy anymore.”

“I know, right? Just imagine... in another life, you and I were best friends.”

Satoru’s hand slid beneath the table, gently clasping Suguru’s—adorned with rings, nails painted black. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Inseparable since high school, the strongest duo out there. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

The way Satoru looked at him—so earnest, so full of quiet intimacy—left Suguru unsure how to respond. Something about the moment tightened in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Longing.

Longing for something that didn’t exist. But… why?

He was just about to say something when Shoko interrupted the moment.

“Nanami will be at the bar by 10:30. He says to meet him there.”

Nanami?!

Okay. Now this was getting a little too funny.

Shoko had the address on her phone, and once Satoru (insisting, of course) paid for dinner, they all grabbed a cab to head to the next spot.

When they arrived at the venue, the atmosphere was fairly laid-back. It wasn’t a dance club by any means. People were seated at low tables, speaking quietly while chill-out jazz played in the background under soft lighting. Satoru wasn’t surprised. Knowing Nanami, this kind of calm, refined environment was exactly the sort of place he’d choose for a vacation—somewhere that offered comfort, not chaos.

If there was one thing Satoru had realized in this timeline, it was that the people he cared about hadn’t changed all that much. So when Nanami appeared in an impeccable suit with his classic business-style haircut, Satoru couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it would be just as easy to irritate him as before?

Shoko raised a hand, pointing toward him.
“This is Nanami Kento. He’s specializing in pediatrics. Looks like a badass but is honestly a total sweetheart.”

That was new—but made sense. Nanami had always been good with kids, even back then.

“Hi! I’m Haibara Yu, studying sociology.”

“Suguru Geto. I study fine arts,” they introduced themselves.

Nanami looked at them both with polite interest—but then his eyes lingered a little too long on Suguru. His gaze wasn’t inappropriate, but Satoru caught the faintest blush dusting Nanami’s cheeks. It was almost imperceptible, but Satoru saw it. And just like that, his mood plummeted.

There was a certain nostalgia in the sting of jealousy. In their previous life, Nanami and Haibara had practically battled for Suguru’s attention—until they eventually figured out they were meant for each other. But still, they had been a little too obsessed with Geto-senpai. And here Satoru was again, jealous as ever, rolling his eyes.

Was he really going to have to relive those two hovering around Suguru all over again? That was his Suguru. His, entirely! Damn idiots!

A sharp silence snapped him back to the present. Everyone was looking at him, waiting. Nanami didn’t look all that impressed by his delay.

“Satoru Gojo. I study quantum physics at university.”

“You wouldn’t guess it. You look like a spoiled rich heir. Entitled and boring.”

Ah. So even in this life, Nanami didn’t like him much. Some things never changed.

Haibara quickly jumped in.

“Well, our Satoru is special! Total nerd-delinquent type. Don’t let the cover fool you!”

“Stop saying that—I could get in trouble.” Satoru groaned.

But Nanami adjusted his glasses and nodded.

“Makes sense. You also look like you stepped out of a mafia novel.”

Shoko chuckled.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you crack a joke. Is the world ending?”

Nanami didn’t reply, just took a seat at the table he’d occupied before they arrived.

Soon the group was immersed in conversation, and Satoru kept mostly quiet, watching the scene unfold. It was painfully obvious that Nanami was paying very close attention to everything Suguru said—and even dared to take his hand to examine his rings.

The way Nanami listened to him, how he asked questions, how he nodded... it all felt too polished. Too rehearsed. Like he was soaking in all of that information.

Of course, Haibara noticed too. His posture was a little too stiff, his gaze lingering too long on Suguru. He was clearly unsettled by what could be brewing here. Shoko, like Satoru, stayed quiet for a while, but her gaze often flicked to Satoru’s face—like she was studying his reactions, trying to determine if she’d need to step in as well.

Satoru was fairly certain Haibara told Shoko everything, which meant she might be operating on a version of him that wasn’t fully accurate. Great.

Nanami didn’t ignore Satoru all night, as he had initially feared. Quite the opposite. He got a full-on interrogation that came in two parts.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Nanami said, standing up. Haibara immediately followed.
“I’ll go grab more drinks. What do you guys want?”

Satoru asked for another juice, while the others went for beer.

Once those two left, Suguru excused himself as well, saying he'd be back soon. He wanted to step out for a cigarette, and although Satoru gave him a disapproving look, he walked off with the pack in hand anyway. Satoru let out a frustrated groan.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Looks like Nanami is deciding whether to steal Suguru from you.” Shoko said bluntly, straight to the point.

“What are you even talking about?”

“He’s incredibly perceptive. I get the feeling he’s genuinely interested in Suguru. Apparently, Nanami had a rebellious phase in high school and clearly liked Suguru's vibe. Not just of that, but also of how Suguru talks about you. The questions started pouring in after Suguru said you were the most interesting person he knows. Then he gave that cute fox look—the one that drives men insane. That alone was enough to trigger an interrogation.”

Shoko’s nearly scientific breakdown didn’t calm Satoru in the slightest. If anything, he looked one step away from storming out of the place.

“He built an entire narrative about me in five seconds and then grilled me for twenty minutes. I swear he was a breath away from asking for my bank account.”

“Like I said. Nanami is emotional, but logical. He’ll weigh the pros and cons before emotionally committing to anyone or anything.”

“Ugh.”

“This wouldn’t be happening if you just asked Suguru out. Everyone knows there’s something between the two of you, and from everything I’ve observed, I can promise you—it’s mutual. So what exactly are you waiting for?”

Satoru didn’t have a clear answer. He hesitated.

“I don’t want to… mess it up.”

Shoko stayed quiet.

“He’s my person. I know it. But I have a complicated personality, and so does he, in his own way. I guess part of me—maybe the cowardly part—is hoping he’ll make the first move. Because if he rejects me… I honestly don’t know how I’d handle that. It’s just—complicated.”

Shoko shrugged then, adding with a soft smile.

“Then hurry up. As you can see, he’s not short on admirers.”

While that conversation unfolded, Haibara and Nanami found themselves side by side at the bar. Without missing a beat, Haibara jumped straight into the conversation.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he? Suguru has this magnetic pull.”

Nanami didn’t respond at first.

“But I’m not sure you stand much of a chance. Gojo stole his heart a while ago.”

That got Nanami to turn his head, adjusting his glasses in a clinical, measured way.

“You don’t need to try and scare me off. Warm, expressive men like Suguru often gravitate toward someone like Gojo. I’ll admit—I misjudged him at first.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong about the rich part.”

“He’s annoying, sure. But he’s also genuine. Solid. He’s not pretending to be someone else to win people over. And while I personally find his personality grating… I can see how others would appreciate those traits. Geto clearly does.”

Haibara leaned in slightly, his smile softening into something more sincere.

“And what about you, Nanami? What kind of qualities do you look for in a man?”

Nanami looked like he was about to answer—until he caught on.

That was flirting.

One might assume Nanami would be bolder, considering how he'd hovered around Geto earlier, but his cheeks flushed a subtle pink when he realized he was the target of Haibara’s gentle, yet unmistakable charm.

“I like honest, uncomplicated people. Looks aren’t important to me. But I do have a soft spot for lost causes.”

“Mmh, perfect. Hope I’m not being too forward, but I think I might fit that profile! Give me your number and we can keep this conversation going—over a date~”

Haibara flashed a double thumbs-up with a radiant, mischievous grin, clearly trying to win Nanami over with sheer enthusiasm. The burst of energy earned a rare laugh from the blond, which only motivated Haibara to push harder, ready to give 200% just to keep those smiles coming.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After saying goodbye to Nanami and once the group had agreed to return to the hotel, Suguru sent Satoru a rather cryptic message:

“6:00 AM. The beach right in front of the hotel.”

Of course, Satoru showed up without questioning it too much, dressed in a much more casual, beach-appropriate look: flip-flops, a hoodie, and swim trunks. Thankfully, years of barely sleeping at night had made it easy for him to feel alert even at that ungodly hour.

“Satoru! Over here.”

Suguru called out when he saw him. The madman had set up a miniature painting studio right on the sand, using his sketchbook as a canvas mounted on a small easel. Honestly, Satoru was impressed Suguru had even managed to pack one. It wasn’t big, true—but still, it was impressive.

He was already mixing colors on his usual battered palette, adding swift strokes to a sky slowly shifting from night to dawn.

“Looks like you're doing just fine without me.”

Suguru chuckled softly.

“I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head. Painting the night melting into sunrise by the ocean.”

Satoru walked closer, hands in his pockets.

“So, do you need me as a model or moral support?”

Suguru paused to think.

“Honestly… I could use a backrest.”

He liked how blunt Suguru could be sometimes—something he reserved only for moments like this, when they were alone.

Satoru moved behind him, settling in so Suguru could lean against him comfortably. The scent of his shampoo mixed with the salty humidity of the sea filled his senses, and he gently rested his chin on Suguru’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist. If Suguru minded, he didn’t show it.

On the contrary—when he let out a soft, relaxed sigh, Satoru took it as silent approval.

A long, quiet moment settled between them. Despite the calm scene, both their hearts were racing.

Trying to break the silence, Satoru asked about the work Suguru was doing on his sketchpad.

“So, what’s the plan for this one?”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. I’m using gouache to give the color composition more fluid movement.”

“Uh, no offense… but it kinda looks like watercolor. You know, like what you use when you get bored in the room.”

Suguru laughed without judgment. He felt the same way when Satoru talked about complex equations or obscure physics formulas—some things were just meant to go over your head.

“I could explain it to you, but I’d bet anything you’ll forget it in an hour.”

“Mmh…”

Shoko’s words from the night before echoed in Satoru’s mind. He was here, holding his soulmate in his arms, watching him paint at dawn, lucky enough to witness his talent up close. And yet—he wasn’t his.

He had to take the risk. Living off scraps of affection would eventually drive him insane.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

"Suguru… Can I take you to the movies?"

There was a pause.

"Just the two of us?"

Satoru scratched the back of his neck, avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah. It’s a date."

Suguru wanted to feel excited, truly—but something inside him had been off for days now. Ever since their trip to the Okinawa aquarium, to be exact. The nightmares had been relentless. Almost every night, he woke up nauseous, sometimes running to the bathroom to vomit. The bitter taste of "curses," the phantom sound of clapping echoing when no one else was around...

"Alright," Suguru replied, though deep down he couldn’t ignore the overwhelming resistance inside him—resistance to moving forward with Satoru.

As if he didn’t deserve it.

After letting Shoko and Haibara know about their plans, they both got ready.

Suguru felt that now-familiar wave of nausea, the ever-present unease, the sleepless nights. And even now, not a flicker of real happiness.

What a miserable feeling.

The date started off with something unexpected. Satoru showed up holding a bouquet—amaranthus and orchids.

His expression was completely sincere.

Should Suguru be honest about the strange, sudden darkness pressing in on him? Tell Satoru the truth, even if it meant sounding completely unhinged?

He didn’t want to ruin it. Satoru looked just as stunning as he had the night of their group dinner. His smile carved deep dimples into his cheeks. Suguru didn’t have the heart to dump his mess on him.

So instead, he offered a soft smile and took the bouquet, admiring it closely.

“They’re beautiful.”

“I know. They’re for you.”

The bouquet looked suspiciously like a bridal arrangement. He stifled a laugh at the resemblance. Tucked within the blooms was a small card, just like in the previous bouquets.

“I really hope this isn’t a dream.”

He read it aloud. When he looked up, Satoru quickly averted his gaze, unusually shy. Suguru reached out and gently ran his fingers through his hair, earning a small tilt of the head from Satoru to better receive the affection.

Absolutely incorrigible.

“So, what are we watching?”

“I know I should’ve picked something romantic… but I got curious about the Minecraft movie—”

“Satoru.”

“What?!”

And honestly, that was exactly what Suguru loved about him. Beneath the cocky, handsome exterior was a forever-child, passionate about the nerdiest things. And behind that? An undeniable genius.

He never lied when he said Satoru was the most special person he’d ever met.

The movie ended up being little more than background noise—for both of them. Suguru had settled against Satoru’s shoulder, and Satoru’s hand had come to rest gently on Suguru’s thigh.

Suguru briefly considered teasing him, pushing things a little further. But with how sincere Satoru was, it was hard to treat the night as something purely physical.

Suguru knew.
He knew Satoru was in love with him.

And that knowledge weighed heavily on his shoulders, because he also knew that Satoru was holding out his heart—pure and golden—without reservation.

Thoughts twisted around inside him like snakes, slowly seeking out every fragment of hope and threatening to consume what was left of his sanity.

They left the theater hand in hand, the bouquet of flowers still in Suguru’s grasp.

Suguru’s edgier, alternative style contrasted starkly with Satoru’s polished look: dark sunglasses, hair slicked back, striking in a way that made him look like he’d stepped out of a romantic drama.

Suguru couldn’t help but wonder if Satoru felt the same, if what he felt was the same kind of love that was quietly consuming him.

When Satoru wasn’t being a loud, egotistical brat with sharp words and an oversized personality, he seemed like an entirely different man—someone older, someone who’d lived a hundred lives.

Suguru often wondered what kind of pain Satoru carried in that heart of his, to make him look so melancholic when he drifted off in thought.

He stopped walking and gave Satoru’s hand a soft tug, drawing his attention back.

"Thank you for taking me out today."

"Why are you saying it with that face? You know I’d go anywhere with you."

Suguru smiled, something thoughtful flickering behind his eyes—an expression a little wearier, a little more vulnerable than he meant to show.

"I know. So... this really was a date, wasn’t it?"

He was the one to close the distance this time, lifting a hand to cup Satoru’s cheek and placing a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips.

Satoru nearly lost it. But somehow, he held himself together.

His eyes sparkled like a lake made of glass—overflowing with feelings, and so many unspoken truths.

For Suguru, Satoru’s eyes shone...

As brightly as the first time he used his powers in front of Suguru, proud of his own strength.

As brightly as when Suguru admitted that Satoru was his best friend.

As brightly as the day his heart was numb while holding the lifeless body of a girl, asking if he should kill everyone.

As brightly as when Suguru left, and Satoru had screamed after him in the middle of the street—completely unhinged, unable to carry out the sentence placed upon his shoulders.

As brightly as the day Satoru took his life in that alleyway, ten years after their final goodbye.

All his memories, his regrets and biases, his grief, his guilt, his buried resentment… All his lost love, thrown into the void in pursuit of an impossible dream.

From the moment he lost Satoru, he’d never truly known happiness again.

There was no happy ending waiting for him.

Satoru looked at him now, and in his eyes, the two versions of him overlapped: the Satoru Gojo from his original timeline, and the Strongest Sorcerer.

Suguru’s legs began to tremble, his gaze unfocused, too much flooding his mind at once.

Satoru immediately noticed the shift in energy and stepped closer, worried.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I really am… I-I'm sorry…"

He mumbled the words over and over, barely pausing to breathe, until he collapsed.

Satoru rushed him to the hospital.

The doctors told him that Suguru’s health was already in a fragile state, and that what he experienced was likely a severe panic attack or a deep emotional shock.

The fact that he remained unconscious for so long was concerning, so they decided to keep him under observation and admitted him for monitoring.

Shoko and Haibara arrived, both a bit confused about the situation. A nurse quickly brought them up to speed, and by the next day, Suguru was finally discharged and taken back to the hotel.

No one was really in the mood to do more sightseeing, even if they still had a couple of days left. Still, they decided to at least enjoy the beach while they could and make the most of the surroundings.

“If you need anything at all, just say the word,” said Shoko, giving Suguru a light pat on the forehead.

“Behave yourselves! No funny business~” Haibara added with a mischievous grin.

Naturally, the only one who wasn’t heading out was Satoru—he looked more than ready to stay behind and take care of him.

Suguru felt like he didn’t deserve any of it. Not when...

He closed his eyes, trying to shut down that spiral of thoughts.

Eventually, they were left alone, and he was thankful for it, he didn’t know how else he could bring this up without falling apart.

He couldn’t stay with Satoru. Not without doing more harm.

Not without breaking his heart when the day came that he remembered everything Suguru had done.

Even if, in the end, Satoru still saw him as a friend, what right did he have to expect someone like him? Someone so devoted?

It didn’t feel fair.

“Satoru, we need to talk for a moment.”

The white-haired boy looked up from the book he was holding.

“Of course. What is it?”

It felt like the world dimmed around him as he spoke the next words.

“I don’t think this is going to work. When we get back, let’s forget about the date. You deserve better. Someone better. I… I’m just not that person for you.”

He hated how his voice trembled at the end—but more than that, he hated the way Satoru’s expression shattered piece by piece.
The trembling lip, the uneven mouth, the way his gaze fell—
a heartbreak unfolding in slow motion.

“We haven’t even tried,” Satoru said quietly.

That voice—Suguru knew he’d never forget it for the rest of his life.

“This is what’s best for you.”

“And how are you so sure? How can you just decide that on your own?”

He stood up, letting his book fall to the floor.
Satoru never drops things—he’s always careful.
But he was so shaken, so disoriented, he didn’t even realize.

“Have I treated you badly? Have I been a bad friend? Is it because I stopped talking to you at that time? I was jealous, okay? I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. You don’t get it, do you?”

Suguru stayed silent.
Satoru’s anger and sorrow began to fill the room, so dense and overwhelming it felt like there was no air left to breathe.

“No, you don’t get it. And you’re right—I haven’t shown you the way I should. But let me try. Let’s start over, okay? I’ll go slower. We can do this.”

“Satoru…”

His eyes were still as beautiful as ever—just like when he was the strongest.
So bright they reflected entire galaxies.
And all that light was being shattered by Suguru’s attempt to "protect" him—
to keep him from being with someone broken, someone who didn’t deserve him.

“You’re not the problem. You’re perfect. So perfect you deserve so much more.”

“And what if what I want is you?”

“Then it still can’t be. Please… just go with Shoko and Haibara. Try to enjoy the rest of the day.”

Satoru composed himself quickly after being dismissed.
He grabbed his jacket.

“Why is it that I can never have the one thing I want the most?”

He asked the question to no one.
He didn’t look back at Suguru.
Didn’t say goodbye to anyone.
He just packed his bags and left Okinawa.

He needed space.
He needed time to rebuild his world—a world that had always revolved around one goal:
To live beside Suguru.

The one thing that had been denied to him in his past life.

His career, his ambitions… none of them mattered.
Not to him.

Because he had never felt true happiness after losing Suguru.
Not even as the strongest sorcerer.
Not even as a teacher, even if he enjoyed it so much.
Not during his final battle against the greatest enemy he had ever faced—
the one that cost him his life.

He had always known that the only thing that would ever satisfy him was Suguru by his side.

And not even in this lifetime was he allowed that.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

During the last few days in Okinawa, Suguru regretted his decision, but he refused to look back.
Not even Shoko or Haibara could get through to him once they found out why Satoru had left so suddenly.

In this life, Suguru wanted to do better.
Especially with Haibara, the boy he never got to see grow up.
His last memory of Haibara, in that other life, was of a teenager...
But the version standing before him now was strong, healthy, and full of life.

Being a sorcerer had stolen so much from all of them…
Maybe that’s why Suguru felt like he owed something—not just to Satoru, but to all of them.

When they returned to the school, Satoru was nowhere to be found.

On the flight back, Suguru had mentally rehearsed a dozen ways to be civil, to try and soften the blow, to convince Satoru that he wasn’t a good match for him.
But a cold, sinking feeling settled in his gut the moment they arrived.

Satoru’s room was empty.
Like no student had ever lived there.

The following week was hard to endure.
It felt as if Satoru had been a fragment of his imagination, someone he had dreamed up and never had the chance to properly say goodbye to.

“He’ll come back when he’s ready. I’m sure he just took a break for a while. I’d be depressed too if you dumped me after a date, Suguru!”

Haibara tried to reason with him, while Suguru tuned his guitar quietly in the corner of the room.

This new reality had clearly taken a toll on him, he looked worn down, and the dark circles under his eyes had become permanent.

Each morning, he woke up to the absence of Satoru—
a void that felt far too real and far too deep to ignore.
One that no one else could ever fill.

Maybe it was karma, in the end.

He had abandoned Satoru in his past life.
Wasn’t it only fair that, this time, his own actions led to him being the one left behind?

By the end of the month, Suguru had accepted that Satoru probably wasn’t coming back to college.

And that was fine, he supposed.

With the kind of money Satoru had, disappearing would be the easiest thing in the world.

Still, it felt miserable. None of it felt real.

Every night, he stared at his phone for far too long, trying to summon the courage to message him—to ask if he was okay.

But he knew better.

If Satoru hadn’t reached out, maybe it was best to leave things as they were.

So he waited.

In the meantime, Suguru poured himself into his art.
He painted grotesque visions of curses, of memories from his other life— vivid scenes that haunted him.
He spilled his emotional pain onto every canvas until, eventually, it brought him a fragile kind of stability.

It wasn’t that he had learned to live without Satoru.
But he had learned to respect the decision he’d made.

He had to, didn’t he?

Until one morning—everything changed.

A final bouquet of flowers sat waiting at his door.
Alongside it: a letter and a small card.

Suguru’s heart skipped a beat.

Camellias. Forget-me-nots. Black roses.

"In a world of Vincent van Gogh and Claude Monet, you were my Caravaggio."

The words burned into his memory.

He sank to his knees, slowly opening the envelope, trying to steady his breathing as he read:

“To my One and Only:

I'm not good with words…
Not when it comes to this.
Maybe it’s the way my heart behaves when it’s near you.
My mind can’t string thoughts together,
and my lips can’t form the words I’ve always needed to say.

I love you.

I’ve loved you from the very first day.
I loved you before I even met you.
And I’ll still love you the day I die.

It’s as clear as daylight,
as sudden as lightning,
as simple as a smile.

There are things that can’t be said aloud.
not without time, not without too many failed letters before this one.

I’ve lost count of how many times I tried to say goodbye.
Because I know it’s what’s best for you.
Because if you don’t want to be with me,
I don’t know how to stop loving you.

I can’t live close to you knowing you’ll never be mine.
It’s inhuman to ask me to be your friend when the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to be your man.

I’m leaving Japan today.
By the time you read this, I’ll probably already be on my way to the airport.
If you want to say goodbye, maybe you still have time.
But if your choice is to leave me behind,
I hope you don’t come.

I will respect your decision the only way I know how.

Forever yours,
Satoru Gojo.

At the bottom corner of the letter, barely visible, was the name of the airport—written in small, shaky handwriting, like he had hesitated to include it. A last attempt to connect.

Suguru didn’t hesitate.
He stepped back into his room, set the flowers gently inside, grabbed his wallet, and bolted.
Phone in hand, he dialed for a taxi.

His bank account would probably scream about this later, but right now, urgency left no room for reason.

As traffic slowly drove him insane, he kept trying to call Satoru—no answer.
Again and again, it went to voicemail.

The words on the card echoed in his mind.
“In a world of Vincent van Gogh and Claude Monet, you were my Caravaggio.”

Suguru, as an artist, knew the weight of that comparison.
He knew how Caravaggio burned brightly, chaotically—how his brilliance came with pain, with darkness.

And he knew, without a doubt now:
Satoru remembered.
The letter wasn’t the naive confession of young love.
It was something deeper—something that had lived inside him for far too long.
And Suguru had almost destroyed it with fear.

Fear of not being enough.
Fear that Satoru, once he remembered everything, wouldn’t want him.
Fear that he was too broken, too tainted.

But none of that mattered now.

He just needed to find him.

He arrived at the airport thirty minutes later than he’d hoped, heart pounding, still calling his number as he rushed through crowds of people.
No answer.

He scanned every departure line, every boarding queue.
He asked strangers if they’d seen a tall man with white hair.

The panic was unbearable.

What if he was too late?

The last time they stood in an airport together…
they were both already dead.

He couldn’t let that scene repeat itself. If it did, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.
He was such a damn idiot.
He needed to see him.

Suguru didn’t even realize he was crying until a little girl offered him a tissue.
He took it, gently patting her head.

“Thank you.”

“Why are you crying?”

“I can’t find my best friend. He should be here, but no one’s seen him. I’m scared I got here too late.”

“Good luck, then! Don’t let him leave without saying goodbye!”

Suguru gave a small nod.

He kept calling, searching every corner, scanning the seated passengers.
When his legs gave out, he collapsed onto a bench.

“Stupid Satoru… Why give me an address if you won’t let yourself be found?”
He murmured into his hands, so exhausted and overwhelmed he felt like he might pass out.

Then, the head of the person sitting next to him slowly turned.

He wore sunglasses and a cap, a mask, and baggy clothes.

“…Suguru?”

Satoru.

Satoru.

He was here.

“You idiot! Why would you send me flowers and a farewell letter and then vanish like that? What if I hadn’t found you? What if that was the last time I ever saw you?!”

Suguru didn’t hold back—he grabbed Satoru by the collar of his hoodie, breath trembling.

“I don’t even know where I left my phone… It’s probably in my backpack on silent. Who knows.”
Satoru’s voice was calm, but his eyes stayed guarded.

He was expecting the worst. Suguru could feel it.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Why? You just made a choice.”

Suguru knew there was only one way to make things clear—
to finally be honest.
This was going to be hard.

“I didn’t push you away because I don’t love you,” he began. “I pushed you away because I didn’t think I deserved you. Ever since we met, I started having… these little dreams. But after the vacation, after our date…”

Satoru listened in dead silence.

“I… remembered. That we lived another life together.”

He looked directly into Satoru’s eyes.

“And I thought it was unfair that I got to have you—because I hurt you so much in that other life. I was broken… and I think I still am. Back then, I did terrible things. And I was terrified that if you ever remembered what I saw… you’d hate me.”

That made Satoru laugh, gently cupping Suguru’s face in one hand.

“If you really remember everything, then you should know the best moments of my life were always with you. Didn’t I make that obvious?”

Suguru smiled, just a little, leaning into the hand that held him.

“Maybe not enough. Or maybe… I just didn’t know how to see what was right in front of me until it was almost too late.”

“Guess that makes two of us.”

Their small shared laugh faded into silence again. Their eyes said what their mouths still hadn’t.

But it needed to be confirmed.

Suguru, once more, stepped forward to mend the damage.

“Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?”

Satoru tilted his head, pressing their foreheads together.

“There’s only one thing I want in this world, Suguru.”

“To live this life together.”

Satoru nodded at his words. Suguru continued.

“If that’s truly what you want… then it’s all I’ve dreamed of too. I tried not to be selfish, I tried to think about what would be best for you. But I can’t forget you. You live inside me—in my heart, in my every thought. Even playing the guitar alone makes me cry, because I remember how much you love listening.”

“I adore it.”

They were wrapped in each other’s arms now, while the people in the airport politely tried to ignore them. Satoru kissed every part of his face, including his tears, before finally brushing a soft kiss to his lips.

If Suguru had held onto any shred of restraint, it melted in that moment. He climbed into Satoru’s arms like a koala, demanding—without words—that he be carried.

“Hey! I wanted to do that first,” Satoru grumbled, forced to sit down again under Suguru’s full weight. Even thinner, he was still heavy.

“If you stay, you can do it as often as you like.”

Satoru laughed at Suguru’s sudden negotiating tactic.

“Love, I’m not leaving. You don’t have to convince me with anything else. If I can be with you, I won’t force myself to walk away.”

“Mmh. And here I was ready to use some persuasive tactics…”

For the first time in weeks—maybe months—his playful tone returned. Satoru’s eyes widened at the whispered suggestions.

“I may not be leaving the country anymore, but you and I are going to a hotel. I’m canceling this damn flight and you’re going to find out exactly what that means.”

He gave him a firm smack and kissed him again, savoring his lips, already imagining what he’d do to make Suguru pay for making him suffer so much.

“I’ll be waiting,” Suguru murmured, finally calm.

He let Satoru handle the necessary arrangements and closed his eyes.
He exhaled slowly, then breathed in the scent of Satoru’s clothes.

That scent was home.
He was the only place Suguru ever wanted to return to.

And when Satoru buried his nose in Suguru’s hair and kissed his forehead,
he thought the exact same thing.

~ The End ~