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Satoru’s shoes landed softly on the burgundy carpet. He pulled the heavy beige curtain aside, flooding Room 107 with morning light. He sniffed once, then again for good measure. A slight bitterness lingered, like the usual stock of Pu-er tea his best friends always kept on hand, but with an added medicinal undertone.
Satoru’s nose wrinkled.
Medicinal, why?
Metal springs squeaked slightly as Satoru sank slowly on the off-white mattress. His ears picked up at the sound of pipes groaning overhead, running water, and the constant chatter of the morning news reflected on the television before him.
He could be casual at 6:47 A.M. on a random Thursday morning.
Satoru waited seventy-six seconds before the noise from the shower ceased. Another ninety-three seconds until the bathroom door creaked open; fog billowed out at the top of the door and around the figure that stepped out.
“Morning!” Satoru hoped his voice sounded bright.
Which is enough reason for him to try and keep trying.
“Yo,” Suguru replied. His voice was even, low, and slow.
In translation: It lacked life.
All the books in the school's library and countless articles on search engines told Satoru the same thing—an answer that came to people like Haibara, Nanami, and Suguru as intuition. Not something that required reading, highlighting, jotting down notes, and cross-referencing between missions and train rides, and silent lunches of konbini-bought sandwiches.
How much more would Satoru have missed if Shoko hadn’t pestered him to pay attention to Suguru weeks ago?
“So,” Satoru began.
“So,” Suguru copied.
Satoru squirmed where he sat. Suguru shifted his weight to his other leg as he leaned against the door frame.
Yea—no—this won’t do.
His mind pulled up a definition, unbidden: Merriam-Webster Dictionary. 1997. Strong. Adjective—able to withstand great force or pressure.
“Well, now it’s awkward,” Satoru said.
Suguru stayed impassive. “How so? Seems to me we’re about to start a conversation—like normal people do.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“Jackass—”
“—Not right now,” Suguru said. “It’s not even seven yet.”
Satoru, for once, didn’t have anything to retort with.
“C’mon, I know you didn’t teleport three prefectures from Nagoya to Akita just to be a pain,” Suguru added in a whisper. Still flat, but the tone had significant speed and punch.
“Thought we could grab breakfast," Satoru said. Suguru’s shoulder tensed at the mention of breakfast, before relaxing into the usual relaxed slope. "There's this place down the street that Ijichi’s aunt mentioned. They do—”
“I’ve been here for five days,” Suguru interrupted softly. “I know the place.”
Satoru couldn’t stop himself from studying the worn-down carpet, mulling over Suguru’s words in his mind like a broken record. How can he forget that Suguru had been gone for five days?
As a matter of fact, where had he, Gojo Satoru, been these last five days?
“Cool, cool. So, got any recommendations then for us tourists?” Satoru asked with a teasing lilt.
“Satoru, look at me,” Suguru said. Satoru slowly raised his head to meet his best friend’s gaze. Morning light caused Suguru’s golden eyes to lighten even more, like flecks of gold at the bottom of a clear running stream. He looked elegant, except for the black circles that had permanently marred Suguru’s otherwise flawless complexion.
“What?” Satoru asked.
“Nothing.”
“Okay, not strange at all. You asked me to look at you—for what exactly? Unless…,” Satoru drummed his fingers against his chin. “Is this your secretive way of trying to flirt, Su-gu-ru? Because, my, my—how bold and presumptuous! I was expecting something oblique—”
“Oblique?”
“Yeah, to match whatever mysterious-brooding-personality you got going on.”
Suguru chuckled, breathy air escaping between his lips, before he held up a hand. “No offense, dude, but I doubt anyone would want to flirt with a walking disaster like you.”
“Then what’s little Suguru's type?”
“God, you’re gross. Please never, ever, say my name like that.”
“Stop changing the subject, are you being shy?” Satoru circled Suguru. He studied his friend’s face closely. “It’s not like you to be shy. What are you hiding? Tell me! Tell me!”
Darkness enveloped Satoru’s vision for a second as Suguru’s palm covered his face. His best friend pushed him aside.
“No thanks, this is a matter of delicacy and importance. Not appropriate for children’s ears.”
“You know, I’m older than you?”
“And you know I’m more mature than you?”
“You’re full of shit.” Satoru manipulated limitless just enough to tower over Suguru as he floated upward.
“Anyways, so breakfast?” Suguru interrupted. “If not, I’m going to get going.”
“No, no. I mean, yes, to breakfast. Let’s get rolling,” Satoru said.
Satoru watched him toss his duffel back on the bed and carefully put aside spare civilian clothes and uniforms. “Dress up warmly. It’s cold outside.”
“Thanks, Mr. Weatherman.”
* * *
The restaurant was the kind of place that catered to early-morning workers and travelers—fluorescent lights harsh against dark windows, the smell of rice and miso overwhelming in the small space. An older woman nodded them toward a corner table without speaking.
They sat in the back corner, knees bumping under the table.
"This place doesn’t even have waffles." Satoru pointed at the colorful plastic menu.
“Eat something that’s not a truckload of sugar for once.” Suguru didn’t even look up from the menu.
“Cheapskate.”
“You’re paying,” Suguru retorted. A small smile formed on his lips.
“Definitely a cheapskate and a crook!” Satoru threw his hands in the air. “Man, do I feel bad for whoever your future girlfriend is going to be.”
Suguru hummed in acquiescence and slid his menu across to Satoru. He pointed at an omelette dish. “I can say the same for you.”
Satoru straightened his back. “What? Are you trying to get rid of me already?” He looked over the omelette, reading the small, fine print that described its contents.
“Can’t wait, actually,” Suguru said. “Won’t mind trading you for someone less annoying.”
“Ouch.” Satoru’s heart sank. “Some best friend you are. Anyways, I’ll get that omelette.”
Satoru looked up to finalize his order with Suguru, but he wished he hadn’t. He caught Suguru studying him intently, a little too close, and invading his space.
“Dude, back up. What the hell.” Satoru’s voice sounded so small.
“Sorry,” Suguru started. “Why would you teleport all the way here just for breakfast?”
“Not breakfast, idiot. Wanted to hang out with my best friend. What’s the point of being awesome and cool if I can’t even do something that is actually awesome and cool?”
“Like, teleport?” Suguru asked. He stared directly into Satoru’s eyes.
The room suddenly felt stuffier and warmer.
“Yeah.” Satoru scooted back to put some distance between himself and Suguru.
Suguru’s eyes narrowed. “There’s more to that, isn’t there. Something’s also bothering you?”
Satoru remembered Shoko's words from a couple of weeks ago—how her few lines were enough to set doubt gnawing at him, a chittering monster that haunted his every waking moment with apprehension.
They’re supposed to be a team. Satoru and Suguru.
Satoru swallowed the words that he knew Shoko would have wanted him to say. Instead, he focused on a different pressing matter. “Yeah, Shoko.”
Satoru slid some bills towards Suguru, who went up to the ordering booth before returning to their seat.
“What about her?” Suguru asked, face solemn without any inflection of emotion.
“You don’t think there’s anything off about her to you?” Satoru pocketed the change Suguru gave him, wondering for a brief second if it was worth letting down infinity to feel the cool press of the coins.
But doing so invites weakness, and Satoru is anything but weak. Satoru made sure of that, starting with Toji’s guts plastered on some nondescript wall somewhere out there.
Suguru looked around the little shop. “She sounded a bit cross on the phone the other day. Then again, I haven’t really seen her either.”
“You could, you know. Starting with showing up more in the dorms. Maybe drop by lunch or dinner for a change?” Satoru wasn’t able to claw the words back into his mouth the moment he spoke each word out loud.
Great job, Satoru. Good going, Satoru. Way to fuck up, again—Satoru.
Suguru let out a very audible and drawn-out sigh. “Satoru, not now.”
Then when? Satoru wanted to ask.
He didn’t say that, of course.
Neither did he say “sorry,” like he should have. It would make sense, but somehow Satoru struggled to command his mind and body to sync up and tell those simple three words.
“Forget it,” Suguru dismissed the conversation.
“Right,” Satoru said. He bristled internally, hating how Suguru always shoved things aside as his way of ‘fixing’ things. “Anyways, you promised you won’t train your team until winter break. Not that you’ll need to, pretty sure my Prinlup can easily wipe the floor with your Monferno.”
“Sure,” Suguru’s voice returned to their usual calm. “Whatever you say, Sa-to-ru.”
The other thing Satoru hates about his best friend is the annoyingly deliberate way Suguru draws out his name. He can’t really pinpoint what bothers him, and why he feels bothered. Or was he ever bothered to begin with, seeing that Satoru never chided Suguru about it?
“Order three!” The cook called out from the counter.
Satoru stood up, relieved for the small break. “I’ll get it.”
* * *
They ate their breakfast in silence, or more like it was just Satoru that was doing the eating anyway, shoveling his omelet and the side dish of rice and fish into his mouth, talking between bites about nothing important. The curse in Nagoya. The assistant manager kept mispronouncing the names of techniques. The vending machine at the train station that ate his coins.
Suguru watched him intently as Satoru started rambling about space-time or whatever anime show caught his attention.
"You'll choke," Suguru said quietly.
"Nah. Limitless, remember?"
"That's not how that works."
"Could be."
"It's not."
Suguru's lips curved up at the corners—small and barely there—until he picked up his spoon. He ate three bites before setting the spoon back down.
Satoru waited for Suguru to take another bite. His eyes never left the spoon that was slowly sinking into the depths of the porridge.
"How's your mission going?" Suguru asked.
"Easy. Grade One, but it's just playing hide and seek. Should wrap up by afternoon."
"And then?"
"Back to campus, probably. Unless they send me somewhere else. You know how it is in December."
"Yeah." Suguru swirled the spoon around the porridge. "I know."
The silence stretched.
"Your mission?" Satoru asked.
"Three Grade Twos in an abandoned textile factory."
"Need backup?"
"No."
The word came fast and firm.
Suguru must have noticed something. "I mean," Suguru amended, softer, "it's not worth your time. You've got the Nagoya curse, and there's probably something else after that. Special grades don't do Grade Two cleanup."
"We're both special grades," Satoru said.
"Yeah, but you're—" Suguru stopped then started again. "It’s best for you to use your strength on enemies that are worth a fight."
‘Your strength.’
Satoru wanted to flip the table.
Instead, he reached across with his own spoon and straight into Suguru’s bland gruel.
Suguru's eyebrows rose. "Hey."
"You weren't eating it."
"I was getting to it."
"Snooze you lose." Satoru reached again. Suguru intercepted, the metal spoons clicking together.
"Hands off, Satoru."
"Make me."
For three seconds, they were carefree teenagers. Suguru's eyes sparked with something alive, a spark that Satoru noticed had fizzled out over the last few months. Suguru’s cursed energy curled out, lazy and teasing.
Satoru loosened control over his own cursed energy. Sorely missing their bickering, and anticipating what’s about to come.
Suddenly, Suguru’s cursed energy retreated within himself. "Have it," he said. "Had a late-night snack run earlier."
Satoru’s appetite disappeared. "Suguru."
"Hm?"
"You barely ate anything."
"I told you, I ate earlier."
"And I told you, that's bullshit."
Suguru fiddled with his loose hair bun. "Why does it matter?"
"Because—" Satoru stopped. Because why?
Because breakfast was Suguru's favorite meal.
Because watching Suguru not even finish half a bowl of rice when he used to demolish two to three bowls easily isn’t right.
And most importantly, because Satoru has no damn clue how to fix whatever the hell is going on with his best friend.
His chest felt unsettled, almost like he just ran a couple laps around the racetrack.
"Forget it," Satoru muttered.
They sat in silence. The restaurant filled around them—construction workers, early commuters, a family with a sleeping toddler. The world was moving forward while they sat suspended in amber.
"I should get going," Suguru said finally. "Prep for the mission."
"It's still early."
"Unlike you, I like to show up on missions on time."
Satoru’s hands clenched under the table. "Yeah. Okay."
The two of them stepped back into the cold. Suguru's breath formed clouds between them.
"Thanks for breakfast," Suguru said.
"We should do it again. Tomorrow, maybe? I might be free—"
"I'll be going to another mission tomorrow."
"Oh. Right." Satoru shoved his hands in his pockets. "We can grab dinner then. Or lunch. Whatever."
"Sure."
But Suguru didn’t ask Satoru when. He didn’t follow through with any plan.
Suguru started walking back toward the inn. Satoru fell into step beside him because he didn't know what else to do. The streets were waking up around them—shutters opening, lights turning on, the city remembering itself.
At the inn's entrance, Suguru paused before turning to face Satoru properly for the first time that morning.
"Be careful with that Grade One," Suguru said. "Don't get cocky."
"Please. Like anything could touch me."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." Satoru thumped his chest with a fist.
Suguru reached out.
Satoru flinched as Suguru’s fingers brushed against Satoru's neck—cold from the walk, warm where they touched skin. Where was his infinity?
"There," Suguru said. The touch lasted two seconds. "You looked a little more presentable now."
"Not that I need it."
"I know." Suguru's lips curved slightly, but it’s not a full-fledged smile. "Talk to you later, Satoru."
He turned and walked into the inn before Satoru could respond.
Satoru stood in the street for thirty-seven seconds, watching the door and willing it to open again so he could say what he should have said.
Everything okay, Suguru?
What’s going on that’s making it hard for you to eat?
Will you come back someday with light in your eyes?
Satoru wanted to ask that and so much more. All so that he could believe that they’re fine.
The door remained shut.
Satoru teleported back to Nagoya minutes later. The Grade One curse was eliminated in four minutes; carving out a chunk of the abandoned building in the process.
* * *
Shoko was the last person Satoru expected to get into a verbal fight with, but somehow, they did. Starting first with Suguru, like it's some topic she can't (or won't) let go.
‘He barely ate anything,’ Satoru would tell Shoko later. ‘We both know Suguru loves breakfast.’
He didn’t say anything about Suguru’s touch that seemed to burn. Didn’t mention the way Suguru gave up so easily against Satoru’s own goading. Not how they sat across from each other, and yet Satoru never felt farther apart.
Then there’s the inner fear that’s been building, and building within Satoru for weeks now. Shoko’s words only fanned the flames.
His fear that maybe he had already lost Suguru.