Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Satoru didn’t know what a crush was until he came to Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Granted, the environment in which he’d grown up made it pretty difficult to identify any kind of relationship that wasn’t the ones between him and those in the Gojo clan who had him training at all hours of the day. The elders declared the feelings involved in liking something, whether that be an object, person, or idea, irrelevant to Satoru’s life.

He was the Strongest, he was informed that since day one, and he did not need to have feelings that implied he was distracted or unfocused.

If he were to like something, it was removed from the situation within the next forty-eight hours. Even as a child, if he were to show interest in a certain servant, they were moved to another part of the premises and not allowed to interact with him. Any toys were forbidden; the Strongest, even as a baby, needed to be focused and begin his journey as a sorcerer immediately.

The sounds of wailing were only heard for the first few months of his life before the child became aware that no one would come for him. Reaching for people who wouldn’t come was fruitless when your powers determined that comfort is not something in your life.

Satoru learned very early, much too early, that crying only ever brought trouble. Once when he was a baby, his sobs drew in one of the younger girls who was stationed outside the baby room. Against her orders, she rushed to his side and taking in the poor baby’s swollen eyes from his continuous tears and the sharp, frightened cries that shook his entire little body, quickly scooped him up.

This was the one and only time he was given a chance at comfort. A tiny, chubby hand gripped her hair as she moved him to her lap and held him close, her hands rubbing circles on the baby’s back and caressing the soft, snowy hair on his head. Satoru could recall the softness of her robes and how the hiccuped wails died down almost instantly. Everything was warm and calm for about a minute.

He was then forcibly ripped away from it all and laid back down to watch the young girl being dragged off and punished for touching the Honored One.

The rest was a blur, a crack of someone’s hand against the young girl’s face, and the frightening pleading as she was removed. His crying harmonized with hers in the night’s stillness as the comfort once provided resulted in the disappearance of one of the Gojo clan's staff members.

Relationships, from the very beginning, were discouraged and prevented. The only true relations Satoru had were between him and his trainers. Intense and malicious tactics were in place constantly; the stench of cursed energy was an almost ensured smell in all rooms of the Gojo clan training estate, aside from the cherry blossoms and lotus in the garden outside. No media, no devices, no anything for Satoru except training, over and over.

If someone entered the room after hours, they’d find dried stains of crimson against the floorboards.

It didn’t matter that his body stung after, it didn’t matter that he needed a hug or some kind of physical touch after an intense round of activating the Six Eyes for more than a minute; none of it mattered. The Strongest didn’t need anyone.

It was difficult, but he was used to it. The rules were pretty simple: don’t cry in front of anyone, don’t show them you care about what they say, don’t let them down, don’t attach yourself to anything material.

So when they were all lying on their blankets in Satoru’s dorm and Shoko mentioned crushes, the mere thought of liking someone just because, was stupid to him. Why in the world would he like someone just because? Why would any person like anyone when they should just be strengthening themselves or bettering their abilities?

He didn’t get it.

But then again, that was before he was on the floor crying in front of the one person he’d sworn to never let see him so weak.

It started when Suguru found him crying in the bathroom after faltering badly during one of their training sessions with Yaga.

Yaga was a kind but brutal teacher, pushing Satoru past his limits over and over again until he was overthinking everything he’d been taught.

Satoru knew he was good, he was smart and skilled because of course he was, but when he was pitted against someone like Suguru? God, that boy was a menace, whipping curses at him like he was an enemy in battle, and Satoru was a target with a bloody X on his front.

Suguru was one of the most genuine people Satoru had ever met. Take away the snarky comments and passive-aggressive attitude, and he was the most caring being he’d had the chance of letting into his life. But when they were on either side of the training grounds in the back of the school, Suguru’s vision was constantly zeroed in on Satoru like he was out for blood. The curses that twisted and curled in some of the most unnerving ways known to man and shrieked at Satoru like he’d murdered their ancestors tore after him like blood-thirsting hunger was their oxygen and god-

If Satoru didn’t love it. The adrenaline, the competition, it fueled his system like heroin. It was just simple admiration for the boy, that’s what Satoru told himself. Because this was something he knew how to do, fight and win.

But it was also frustrating, adapting to the words coming out of both of their mouths when Satoru messed up. The kindness, a sugary sweetness dripping from their lips, pissed him off. Why weren’t they yelling at him like the elders were, like his trainers would? He couldn’t understand why Yaga would clap him on the back, and Suguru would smile at him confidently when he’d successfully counter his attacks.

After taking a rough blow to the stomach, the wind ripped itself from his lungs, and Satoru felt the gravel scrape at his knees as he faltered. As he failed.

Each breath was a knife thrusting itself into his diaphragm, hot tears pricking at his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. His lip wobbled as his nails dragged at the ground, but he begged his mind not to let him burst out crying right then, right in front of Suguru.

His Six Eyes shot electrical waves of pain through his skull, the onslaught of feeling causing another gasp through his body. Satoru was so used to the feeling of overstimulation, the intensity of his powers, and his body giving up, slowly yanking him in all directions all at once. The sound of crunching rocks against shoes came closer as he sucked in breath after breath.

“‘s fine-” Satoru gasped, clumsily waving a hand out to his approaching friend to reassure him that he was, in fact, fine and ready to go again. He was akin to a fish, gapping at the air like a dying koi for oxygen.

Suguru’s voice was nearby, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. It was too kind, too nice for his brain to comprehend. Tears were coming fast, and it was too overwhelming to stay on the ground in front of his first friend and his new teacher.

The need to leave the situation overrode his body, and that’s exactly what he did.

Satoru was pretty sure the ground was bloody when he got up; his hands, those of which harnessed such violent and unpredictable power, showered the gravel with maroon droplets. Sobs grabbed at his chest as he ran away, his feet carrying him to the bathroom just outside the training grounds and to the corner. His overstimulated eyes avoided the row of mirrors as he stumbled to the cool of the tiled wall, and he started crying.

What a lonely feeling it was to have the salt of his own eyes dripping down the already dirty face of his, caked with the dust of the arena and the sweat of his efforts. The repeating words of the elders, whispers of hissing discipline and disappointment, leaked into his brain, and he just cried harder. Of course, the stench of lemon cleaner and bleach from the sinks mixed with the metallic smell of the pipes wasn’t helping the overstimulation either.

Suguru would think he’s weak; Satoru just knows it. This amazing, talented boy, who Satoru didn’t even really know, would absolutely think he’s just doing this all for attention. He should’ve pulled himself together, gotten his mind right, and tried again. What was he doing? Why was he letting the act of getting the wind knocked out of him mess up his progress?

His eyes, the whole reason he was as valued as he was, burned his body again, and he hiccuped back a sob, bringing a hand to hit his eyelid, to try to fix them and make them stop. It felt like someone poured salt into his eyes and forced them shut, leaving him to weep until it all washed away. His head pulsed with headache after headache, throbbing in the back of his neck and tightening against his temples. It was continuous pain, and his breathing was beginning to falter enough to make his limbs go numb.

Fat tears dripped down his chin as he balled up and tried to calm himself down. The Six Eyes were taking in so many stimulations, and his brain couldn’t keep up. His hands curled in his hair, and the pain from his roots felt like someone was trying to yank the nerves from his scalp.

A hurt and pathetic whine echoed through the room as he whimpered in hurt, in pain. It hurt so bad, but again, no one else understood, no one else could help because they never had.

He cried weakly in the corner.

The bathroom door scraped against the floor, opening, and he whined in pain at the loud noise.

“Satoru?”

God, how humiliating. Suguru wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to see. He cleared his throat, sniffling.

“It’s okay, I’ll be back in a minute!” He tried to sound as clear as possible, trying not to choke out the words.

“Hey…”

His footsteps were like thunderous booms as he came over, and Satoru curled in on himself, trying to hide his face. Humiliation bled through his body, and he hiccuped as he heard the fabric of Suguru’s sweats fold as he knelt down in front of him. Don’t let him see, don’t let him know.

“I just need a second, I promise I’m fine.” Satoru choked out.

“Hey…” Suguru said again. His hands reached for Satoru, but he flinched away, so he paused. The softness in the violet irises took in this broken version of Satoru, trembling shoulders and pale hands grabbing his own hair in desperation.

They’d never been in a situation like this, where Satoru wasn’t laughing all cocky and self-assured. The fact that he was shelled away in on himself was beyond comprehension.

“What’s going on?” Suguru asked, his voice low. Satoru could hear the concern with every word, and he hated it; he hated the sickly sweetness of it and how much the stupid, little inner child of his buried deep, deep down cried out for it.

“Just being a bit dramatic, you know me." Satoru’s laugh was shaky, and he hid his face against his sleeves. Tears dripped down his chin, and he inhaled staccato again. Suguru breathed out once, determined, and gently extended a hand.

“Can I touch you?”

His voice is a low rumble, smooth and gentle. It was so unlike anything he’d ever heard before, upon someone discovering the mess that was him, not used to his technique.

And the question was foreign. All the swirling and pulsing thoughts confused Satoru as he tried to comprehend what Suguru had just asked him. No one had ever asked such a thing of him before, had genuinely considered how he felt. Why was Suguru asking when he could just grab Satoru by the collar and drag him out to the training ground?

A weak nod was the only answer he was able to produce. Satoru felt his head tilt up to look at him, breathing out sharply. Suguru was looking at him, with violet eyes a thin line as he gazed at him. There was a hesitancy to his movements, and Satoru was sure that the next one would be a quick and fast slap to his face, one to correct his emotions and drag him out of this moment of weakness.

Suguru’s hand was slow as he guided it to pull Satoru’s arms away from his knees. He gently guided his arms over his own strong shoulders and pulled Satoru into his lap. All Satoru could think of was What is happening right now? He wasn’t pulling him outside, why were they staying in the bathroom? Why was he staying with him while he cried?

His chest heaves in hyperventilation as Suguru moves his body, manipulating his limbs into a more comfortable position. Genuine and pure anxiety welled in the pit of his stomach as he tried to push away. Suguru was going to pin him down and beat him for being weak like everyone else; he was sure of it. His hand raises, and Satoru shoves back violently, his shoulder ramming against the wall painfully before Suguru successfully pulls him into his lap.

“Listen.” Suguru says firmly, using his hand to guide Satoru’s head to his chest, “Listen to my heart, focus.”

Satoru inhaled in shock, hiccupping. His hands curled in the midnight strands of hair, unconsciously even, but Suguru didn’t seem to mind. The dark hair had fallen from his bun, put up for training, but it had detangled. If it was from running after Satoru in a frenzy, he didn’t know, nor did he concern himself with that thought at the moment, with the gasping breaths from his chest.

He cried still, but relented and listened intently for Suguru’s heartbeat. A gentle hand came to rest on his back firmly, and at first, it was like fire. It burned, and Satoru cried sharply at the touch. The bruising slap of everyone else’s hand against his back, shoving him back into the flood of curses to fight again and again, stuck in his memory, and he jerked his head into his chest to hide from it all. It felt wrong.

But Suguru pulled him in, holding him steady to his chest.

“Listen,” he whispered, “Just listen.”

Satoru sucked in a breath and held it, clinging to Suguru desperately.

He hiccuped and pressed into him, crying. His cheeks laid against Suguru’s breast pocket, and he choked back a sob, his head turning to rest against his shoulder.

“-hurts.” Satoru choked out feebly, clinging to Suguru’s uniform. Suguru hummed, and it was a low vibration against his ear pressed against his chest. It sounded kind of like the air conditioner in their dorms at night.

“Just focus on me,” Suguru whispered, “Listen to my heart, I’m here.”

Satoru sucked in another breath and held it, gripping Suguru’s jacket. Suguru’s voice was gentle as he slowly rubbed Satoru’s back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the touch felt familiar, and Satoru’s brain resets as his eyes blink back the tears caught in snowy lashes.

“Shhh,” he breathed out, “You’re here with me, I’ve got you.”

No one had ever, ever said that to him before. That was foreign, that was new. Satoru hiccuped a gasp before relaxing into his chest, lessening his grasp. Suguru hummed gently and held him close.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, “Just us, just breathe.”

And they just sat like that, on the floor of the bathroom. Suguru continued to run those strong hands, those capable of welding curses and punishing Satoru for acting like this, against his back in a calming manner.

Satoru could see the edges of the bathroom stalls now, the warm lighting from above sending the shadows swaying against the turquoise tiles on the floor. His tears stopped rolling down his cheeks, and he could feel his breath start to return.

A warm and sleepy feeling settled in his chest as he just stayed in Suguru’s lap, content and calm. It felt like the time he’d eaten too much mochi at Suguru’s dorm and tried to fight his sugar crash to finish their movie while his eyelids wavered and finally closed.

It was a contrasting roughness from Suguru’s calloused palm as it smoothed softness into the tired muscles of his back. Satoru leaned against him, even if the touch felt wrong.

Suguru’s free hand came under his torso and snaked its way up to lay over Satoru’s eyes. The second it laid over his eyelids, everything went black, and suddenly, Satoru could breathe.

He couldn’t see anything in the bathroom that was visibly under Suguru’s hand. His Six Eyes quivered for a moment, throbbing once more before genuinely relaxing as Satoru slumped in his grasp. The weight of his palm over his eyes was like a soothing pad of warmth, welcome and soft.

“Breathe.”

Suguru’s voice, a baritone of guidance and gentleness, rang through his ears, and Satoru just laid against him, listening to the steady thumping of his heart and allowing his body to revel in this feeling. His sharp inhales softened into quiet sighs that echoed faintly in the tiled room.

Satoru did not remember a lot after that.

What he did remember and hold inside his head was the way Suguru stayed. The fact that this boy had come after him without hesitation, refusing to let Satoru run too deep into the depths of his own head and guide him back to reality, was beyond him.

It was the way Suguru’s own breathing had been uneven when he came into the bathroom, it was clear that he had not just run but sprinted after Satoru the second he left the training grounds. His hair was messy, his eyes wild with genuine and honest concern for not just Satoru himself, but his friend, his teammate, his partner.

And the way he held him steady, even when Satoru had pushed away violently. The original feeling of fear and anxiety as his hands had shoved Suguru's shoulders to provide distance, only to be captured in a secure embrace, had disappeared, and if he was being honest, Satoru didn’t mind. Not that he’d admit that.

Sure, it was blurry at the moment, Satoru’s eyes filled with tears as he’d sobbed in the bathroom alone, but looking back…

Looking back made his chest tighten with something he didn’t have a name for. It felt like eating hot ramen, the scalding broth traveling down to his stomach and sitting there. Only the broth was also spicy because Satoru’s throat also felt tight sometimes when he thought about Suguru. Which was clearly just how much Satoru respected him, obviously.

Suguru was a great friend.

Shoko was so stupid with her talk about crushes, how absurd.

But if Satoru had to pick someone to match what she was talking about with feeling safe and okay with another person, Satoru would pick Suguru. The first person to provide a safe space for his breakdown and the first one who stayed with him without judgment. It was an obvious choice, and Satoru would do it again in a heartbeat.

Because he’s his friend.

That’s all.

Chapter Text

The bathroom incident was gone and past as they moved along in their first year at Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Neither of the boys really mentioned it, despite the sideways glances that Satoru felt from Suguru when his eyes began to get overstimulated during their training or when Suguru’s hands drifted a little too close to his back during a movie in a borderline soothing way. It made Satoru’s insides curl in on themselves, but it was clearly just because he’d never had that before with anyone.

And no, it had nothing to do with Shoko’s whole spiel about crushes at all. Like Satoru would be able to fully understand what a crush even was; he’d grown up with authorities who monitored his every move, so the likelihood of him even getting to interact with another person was close to none.

And definitely not a girl, like Shoko said.

“I know we’re stuck in these classrooms all day, but I’m surprised you haven’t gotten at least someone’s number,” she teased one day after lessons, waving her cigarette at him. Satoru crinkled his nose at the burning orange butt of it as he glared at her. Why someone would even think about putting one of those death sticks in their system was beyond him.

That was something he was getting used to upon coming to Tokyo Jujitsu High. Girls. The Gojo Estate did have girls, women, servants, and authority figures, but none of which Satoru truly had a genuine connection with. His own mother was somewhere off in the opposite end of the property, and he wasn’t even aware of her existence until he’d heard the term being thrown around by the servants in the hallways.

It’s not like he’d ever gotten to see her when he was young, so why would he care now?

So liking people, more so liking girls, didn’t make much sense to him.

Did Satoru like the attention they brought him? Absolutely, he did. While it wasn’t the kind of support that Yaga and Suguru would give, Satoru gradually began to revel in the syrupy sweetness of it, his brain drank in the affirmations like a bear drunk off honey.

At first, it was really weird going from absolutely zero attention from the other gender to being giggled and whistled at. To be fair, there was a bit of familiarity in the things they’d say when he compared it to what his trainers would say during his former upbringing, when they weren’t berating him.

“You’re the Strongest,” they’d say, “You have powers like no one else, you’re the only one who can handle it all.”

Satoru was used to that, so hearing that around the campus, the grounds, and the town felt good. He felt giddy and cocky when a girl would approach and go to squeeze his arms, yapping about how strong he was.

“You’re such a looker, aren’t you, Gojo-kun?”

“You look like you could carry me!”

“Can you flex for me?”

“Gojo-kun, your biceps are so strong!”

Strong, strong, STRONG, STRONG.

It was always that word.

Satoru also found that if he reacted to them, their applause would get louder, bigger. The compliments would come faster and harder, showering him with praise, and he’d be lying if he didn’t get a big head about it at times. He'd never received such attention from anyone for simply existing ,and it honestly was a nice change of pace.

There were some things they’d say that were probably not appropriate for a teen to hear, but he didn’t really care because it was like a shot of espresso with every compliment. His lips always pulled into a cocky grin, and he’d snort in amusement, offering a flirtatious wink and a quick, assumingly seductive look to them as he, Shoko, and Suguru walked away from the sidewalk to the convenience store.

The second they’d turn the corner out of sight, Satoru rolled his eyes and smirked to himself haughtily, scoffing at the excessive swooning as Shoko and Suguru shot sardonic looks to his back.

Sure, he could acknowledge that girls were somewhat aesthetically beautiful with their fluffy hairstyles and shiny jewelry. They show off their nails to him like he cared for some idiotic reason and flutter their curled lashes at him like he’d fall for them. It was almost comical at the efforts that he did not understand, nor did he reciprocate.

No, girls who weren’t Shoko were weird; too loud, too close, too much. They were overall obnoxious, squealed a lot, and their laughter sounded a lot like shrieking alarms, instead of genuine sounds of joy.

Ugh.

Satoru wished they would laugh like Suguru, a soft and velvety sound that sounded like silvery bells. It always made his chest swell when he’d laugh like that at a stupid joke Satoru would come up with on the fly; he liked the sound.

If girls laughed like Suguru, maybe he’d actually care. But at the moment, they were a pointless thing in his life beyond just the addictive attention.

And not that Suguru had an attractive laugh, he just had an unirritable one that didn’t annoy him. Satoru just preferred it to the obnoxious honks of supposed laughter that those girls would let out, that was all.

But then again, Suguru had all the other things too.

He had a nice sense of nontraditional fashion with his patterned shirts and baggy pants, which Satoru made fun of him for, saying he was going to face-plant one of these days on the front lawn.

The gauges adorning his ears were much simpler than the girls’ excessive bling, switching between black plugs on days Suguru felt more modest and a curled spiral on the days when they weren’t training and he could be less cautious about his sleeve getting hooked on it.

Satoru sometimes joked that Suguru was born with gauges already in his ears based on how much he wore them, and that typically resulted in Suguru's foot in his face.

Suguru also had long hair like a lot of the girls, and Satoru didn’t see him flipping it back and forth to get his attention. If Satoru wanted to look at it, he would. It looked really soft most of the time, with the little curls at the ends when he’d put it in a bun for extensive periods during their classes.

That’s how you should wear your hair. Satoru thought to himself. Modest and nice, instead of whipping it back and forth to get Satoru’s attention.

The energy when he, Suguru, and Shoko were together felt much more natural and freeing than the onslaught of boisterous compliments and praise his so-called fangirls would throw at him.

But, there was the other issue that Satoru didn’t understand from what Shoko explained about crushes, and that he found incredibly stupid.

“Well, when you like someone, you enjoy the other person’s energy, their looks, and, most of all, their touch,” she said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Suguru smiled next to him and looked over while Satoru scrunched his face at that.

Infinity was already something that Satoru was aware of and accustomed to with Shoko and, most of all, Suguru. Before their first year, Satoru was reminded over and over that, despite having Infinity, any instructor or elder was allowed to touch him because it was to make him understand what failure felt like and what he needed to improve. Blunt smacks to the back of his head and the forcible push of a hand on his nape to shove him into a respectful bow were common.

Using Infinity to deflect any such actions was wrong; clearly, they knew better, and he was just being a baby if he felt he needed to defend himself with the invisible shield.

That unreal power of Infinity was to be used for battle and only that. Discipline was what he deserved when he failed.

So when Suguru reached out to poke at his forehead and mock his short, choppy bangs on their first day of classes, Satoru just stared at him for a minute in genuine shock.

Someone was touching him.

The pad of his finger poked Satoru right against his face for god’s sake, warm and teasing. When it lifted off, Satoru could feel a pulse where his finger had been. It wasn’t painful or fast or mean, and Satoru just stared at him breathlessly, before laughing snarkily in his face about Suguru’s own stringy bangs to push away the tangle of warmth collecting in his chest.

And it happened again with the bathroom incident with Suguru’s hand on his back and his own ear against his chest.

And it happened again when Suguru’s hand came to tangle in Satoru’s snowy tufts of hair, ruffling it while smiling gleefully after they’d successfully pranked Yaga by putting a cursed piece of gum on his chair and causing an outrage in class.

And when they fought against each other on the dorm floor with Satoru’s legs tangling with Suguru’s and the video game controllers from a game forgotten lying on the ground while they tussled over Satoru apparently cheating in Mario Kart (which he 100% did).

Satoru could recount all the times where his Infinity simply let Suguru in, and that’s why he thought Shoko’s point about being comfortable with someone’s touch was dumb.

Because the thought of one of those girls reaching forward to touch his arm made his stomach feel weird. Whenever he imagined it or one of them got too close while out on a mission or walk to town, his lip curled in distaste. The thought of those manicured fingers sliding down his arms and chest when he just wanted to go back to grappling with his friend on the training grounds was so prominent, he could almost taste it.

Again, why would he have a crush when he had Suguru?

Why would he let someone else touch him or be around him or come into his life if they were just going to distract and bother him? It didn’t make sense, and he snorted in defense at Shoko whenever she tried to reason with him.

She made it sound like having a crush was going to the grocery store and picking out a snack, whichever one looked the most appealing.

Maybe Satoru just wasn’t hungry, if that was the case.

While they waited for Suguru outside his dorm, Shok leaned over and nudged his elbow with hers.

“You don’t want to have someone to do all that movie stuff with?” Her voice dragged in a teasing manner at him, and Satoru looked at her in confusion.

Another thing about Satoru Gojo coming from the all esteemed Gojo clan was that he was so incredibly not media literate. As in, Satoru had not seen a single rom-com, action, or fantasy movie in his entire time of living. The closest thing to a movie or show was watching the birds outside fly around the garden, diving like bullets to the grass before swirling back up into the azure blue sky.

So no, he did not even remotely understand what Shoko was implying when she was referring to ‘movie stuff’.

But who would he ask about it?

Suguru, of course. His pal, his buddy, his friend who knew everything.

The second the door opened, Satoru blurted out his question about these supposed movie requirements for crushes. Someone should’ve had a video camera ready for Suguru’s choked laugh at his obliviousness, his hand coming to hide his wide grin.

There was that sound again that Satoru preferred to the girls; light, happy, and annoyingly nice. His face pinched with heat from some odd feeling he couldn’t name, and his arms folded in pouty defensiveness at his snickering.

“It’s not my fault, I don’t know,” Satoru retorted, almost whining, and Suguru snorted, bringing a hand to lightly clap his shoulder.

“Yeah, like you don’t get it from all the flirting you do with the ladies when we get ice cream,” he teased, and Shoko’s giggles thread into a burst of laughter at Satoru’s expense.

Satoru huffed and turned away, stomping off down the hall as the paleness of his cheeks flushed into a rosy pink. His collar suddenly felt tight around his neck, and the whole dorm felt like someone had cranked the thermostat up twenty degrees more.

The two ran after him, pinching his cheeks and choking out their breathless apologies as they headed down to town for the evening. Later on, Shoko set up one of the school TVs she’d smuggled into her room, and they introduced Satoru to these romance movies Shoko was talking about. From the Titanic to Princess Bride, Satoru sat and gazed at the screen as he watched this newness of what Shoko and Suguru called love. More specifically, drama, romance, and intimacy.

Satoru snorted, shaking his head as he called it ‘mushy garbage’ and proceeded to tackle Suguru to the floor after the other boy poked at him for enjoying the movies.

He did not search up Pride and Prejudice on the school computer the next day, and definitely did not watch the way Mr. Darcy’s hand flexed after holding Elizabeth’s to guide her into the carriage.

Watching a scene over fifty times wasn’t excessive, right? He’d never seen any movies before, so it was well within his rights to get well educated on acting techniques and camera shots.

Of hand holding…

God, what was wrong with him…?

Satoru worried his lip between his teeth as he brought his arm up to prop against the desk and rest his head in his hand. There was a certain tightness in his throat as he watched Elizabeth’s head turn back to look at Mr. Darcy one more time before he departed from her.

White lashes blinked slowly, methodically, as he watched her eyes softly lidded in something akin to wonder and Mr. Darcy’s outstretched fingers before he walked away.

Even if the movie was in English, he still could tell from their dialogue that they shared something beyond what he knew. It wasn’t just the touch of the hand that drew Satoru in; it was the way that Mr. Darcy was present, how he was there for Elizabeth, even if it was brief and a wordless encounter. His fingers trembled slightly as he hit the right click of the mouse to replay it again.

It felt weird, sitting there with the movie looping on the too-bright screen in front of him. The two characters were touching each other; it was sparse at times, but it came off so much differently than anything he’d been exposed to before. A knot of tangled warmth welled in his stomach, and Satoru’s lip curled as he squinted at the screen once before closing the browser.

Had Satoru been a little more experienced in the use of computers, he would’ve deleted his browser history, but that was something that wasn’t in his skill set. Heading back to his dorm, he holed himself away in his room for the rest of the day, thankful that Yaga didn’t have any missions for them.

Ultimately, Satoru decided, Shoko was wrong. Despite his little research exhibition, crushes and romance were stupid. Satoru couldn’t think of a single person he’d want to share all the actions the characters and actors on the screen shared, much less a girl that he already found insanely irritating.

If having a crush meant that he’d lose focus on his true goal, the goal of being the Strongest with Suguru, then he didn’t want it. Satoru was content with this new life at Jujustu High with his friends, and even if Shoko and Suguru teased him, it would stay that way. Screw the silly hand holding, screw the thing Shoko pointed out as kissing, screw the overly mushy feelings Suguru described.

Satoru already had things that kept him going, and he’d stick with that.

Plus, what would he even do if he did talk to one of those girls who constantly fangirled over him? Sure, he’d get that delicious attention, but after those interactions, Satoru was pretty sure that none of them could name his favorite color. None of them could recall his favorite food (which, to be fair, was just categorized as sweets). Not a single one of his fangirls that he’d interacted with could talk to him about anything genuinely interesting or give him a good battle on the training grounds.

The thing Satoru was most sure of was the fact that none of them could provide the feeling he got from Suguru’s friendship. The genuine and rare sincerity in their laughter, the lack of judgment in their deep talks during sleepovers, and that burning, hot ramen feeling in Satoru’s stomach when Suguru touched him.

Girls could not get him that.

Satoru laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and snorted as he relaxed against the sheets.

Yeah, Shoko was definitely wrong. Crushes were stupid.

Chapter Text

Suguru became Satoru’s best friend around November.

Coming from an environment where he had a total of, let’s see, zero friends, this new development of having someone who Satoru could go to and just go screw around for no academic or preliminary value was exhilarating.

He learned he could go to Suguru’s door and bang on it loudly because he knew it would take him approximately 10 seconds to get up and throw it open to chase Satoru down the hall, yelling and laughing.

He found he could tease Suguru, share with Suguru, laugh with Suguru, tons of things that were forbidden prior to Tokyo Jujutsu High.  And the fact that Suguru would never get truly angry with him.  The other boy would just screw his face up and press his finger past Infinity to poke Satoru in his stomach and make him snort with laughter.

The difference between being caged in one routine of constant training to the freedom of all these new feelings was the breaking out into a flowery field during a sunrise after being locked in the dark for so long.

The word ‘best’ felt right, not in terms of putting the other people in his life, like Shoko and even Yaga, down, but because Suguru was just that.  He was the best, he just got Satoru before Satoru needed to even say anything.  Suguru was just the best in Satoru’s mind, but not like a god or a deity.  Like someone who had climbed up to the horrid pedestal that Satoru had to stand on all day long, and offered a hand to a new adventure.  He was the best because of how he treated Satoru like a person.

How those sharp, violet eyes shifted over to him when he’d get frustrated during an exam or how his hand would come to squeeze Satoru’s before a mission as a reassurance.  It made his chest tighten in this bubbling, odd way that made Satoru feel slightly bizarre, but not exactly unwelcome.

Suguru just made Satoru feel like a person and not even that, just more than someone with powerful abilities and an insane mind and a genuine being who could go down to the arcade and beat him 20-0 in air hockey and talk to him about how ramen was better than zaru soba (though Satoru really only said that to rile up Suguru into an arguing match).

People also sometimes called Suguru a degenerate for his fashion sense, for his piercings, for his curse technique, for his hair, for honestly whatever they could.  These people tended to be the scum of the earth in Satoru’s opinion, because how could anyone say that?  Sure, he understood from what the elders had declared as unbecoming and inappropriate.

But how Suguru was was simply how he was; there was no problem.  His fashion, his look, his technique, everything; that was just how it was, and honestly, it was more admirable than deviant, in Satoru’s opinion.

So in that instance, Suguru was the best, if compared to those opinions of the low-life bastards who made ridiculous remarks about one of the most patient yet badass people in the world.

So, yes, Suguru definitely was considered his best friend.  Best in the way he was and best in the way he appeared in Satoru’s life.

There were so many things Satoru could just say about how he appreciates his presence, his energy, his everything.  He admired Suguru, of course.  That’s what he was obviously referring to.

Like how Satoru liked sleeping with Suguru.

At first glance, that sentence might seem very obscene and inappropriate for the teenage boys, even with all the raging hormones.  The assumption from the words ‘sleeping together’ implying those funny things that Shoko and Suguru continued to mention, of wandering hands and breathless pants against lips, where they might be rolling around the bed doing who knows what.

Satoru had gotten to see it firsthand in one of the shows their friend group watched, gagging as the woman climbed on top of her partner and making obnoxiously loud noises that made Satoru’s face flush with secondhand embarrassment.  The way Shoko and Suguru laughed as he hid his burning cheeks, throwing the blanket over his head to prevent the ridiculous noises from the computer from reaching his ears.

No, that’s not what Satoru meant.  That’s not how he felt around Suguru.

His heart always jumpstarted with excitement whenever Suguru invited him over for a sleepover because that meant it was going to be a night of competitive video games, talking long into the night about aimless topics, and being entertained by Suguru’s ten-step hair and skin care routine (the boy really did take care of himself).

And his absolute favorite part, sleeping in the same bed as his best friend.  The dip of the mattress when Suguru climbed in next to him and laid down, his tanned arms sprawled against Satoru’s own body.  Suguru’s room was so much warmer than his, and Satoru reveled in getting to curl up in his downy covers, smiling gleefully as Suguru would walk over and try to rip them off, leading to a feisty battle of blankets and an onslaught of squealing yells.

No, the comfortable silence of darkness at 2 am after they’d just finished another talk about why Digimon should be included in the school system was what made this whole situation all the more wanted in Satoru’s routine.  With his own head laid against his best friend’s chest, waving his hand to prove his point that Digimon was actually, in fact, a critical point in education, the quiet thud of Suguru’s heartbeat slowly lulled him to sleep.

The way that any sleepovers with Suguru made him all the more sleepy than he’d ever been in his entire life, draped over someone who he’d only known for maybe three months.  How touch had been so toxic and avoided in September, and now, Satoru was steadily crawling over the bed length to flop on Suguru’s broad chest.

And it wasn’t like Suguru wasn’t welcoming of it.  Of course, he’d tussle with Satoru and, because he was in fact generally better at hand-to-hand, would have him in a chokehold in seconds.  But he also would smile and offer hugs and be more than okay with being sprawled against each other on the couch after training.

Satoru adored being able to have the privilege of waking with Suguru after being held throughout the night loosely in strong arms.  His favorite moments were when Suguru’s fingertips traced his back to guide his mind back into a soft river of tranquility and whispered a soft joke under the quietness of the night to coax a quiet laugh from Satoru before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

“Satoru,” he’d murmured, his fingers curling against soft white locks.  The only response was a quiet hum, and Suguru would smile, “Did you hear about the fire at the circus?”

“Fire at the circus…?” Satoru’s confused voice would follow.  He’d never been to a circus; he’d heard of people who were lower than him called circus rats before by the Gojo clan members.  Tired, he’d press against Suguru’s shoulder and sigh in response.

“Mhm,” Suguru replied, rubbing his arm.  Satoru closed his eyes, and he could feel Suguru’s fingers slide up the bare skin of his arm, the hair prickling up as those rough fingertips traced against it, “The circus.”

Satoru’s head tipped back against his chest as Suguru’s hand traced his arm.  It’s warm and gentle, Satoru could taste the sweetness in his actions.

What a good feeling it was to have a best friend like Suguru.

Creases in the blanket doubled as Satoru turned his body more into the heat of Suguru’s body.  Suguru hummed again as he welcomed Satoru more fully into his arms, gathering him into his embrace.

“Well…” Suguru murmured, pushing Satoru’s hair from his face.  His palm was like a heating pad against his cheek, and Satoru pressed against his chest, exhausted from the day, “You could say it was in tents.”

He leaned in and laughed softly against Satoru’s forehead.  A lazy grin pulled at Satoru’s mouth and he snorted.

“That sucked, Suguru,” Satoru snickered, and Suguru tilted his head back, chest trembling in laughter.

And it was just that, Suguru’s laughter.  He loved that sound of pure joy and genuine amusement that tumbled from Suguru’s heart and filled the room with an energy such as the blazing orange of the sun in the morning.

His hand with nails painted with a midnight of the night sky, came to cover his mouth to hide his snickers and god…

Satoru wished he wouldn’t.  He wished he could bottle up Suguru’s laughter and hide it away with him forever, to fuel his soul with the delighted joy wrapped in the sound.

And yet he was too exhausted.

Silvery lashes fluttered shut as he laid against his best friend’s chest and smiled until the sound of Suguru’s amusement died out and dreams breathed into his mind.

And he didn’t get to see Suguru’s eyes gently graze his face.

Or how he looked down at his lips.

Or how his arms held him closer, cradling him to his shirt.

Or how Suguru pressed his forehead to his and breathed out slowly, as though his soul was trembling.

No, Satoru slept soundly in Suguru’s arms like a child, his mouth slightly agape and his arms loosened around his torso.  The caress of tough fingers, gentle against his scalp, lulled his being into a trance of calm.

And that was simply their routine, they’d have sleepovers and be together over and over, and sometimes, Shoko would comment on how many times she’d walk in to them sprawled over each other, but it didn’t really matter because at the end of the day, she did keep her mouth shut.

Sometimes, Shoko would sleep over too, and to a degree, Satoru didn’t mind her cuddling with them.  Considering she was also one of Satoru’s closest friends, he did enjoy her company (especially when she bribed him with some convenience store Pocky, which Satoru would never in his life admit was effective when it actually was).

Shoko and Suguru had both established a place in Satoru’s inner circle by December, but it was Suguru who held more of the physical touch privileges.

Like hugs.  Hugs were fine, he didn’t mind getting them from Shoko.  But when it went on for longer than 7 seconds, he started getting antsy.  It felt like his skin was crawling and he’d wiggle away or throw up Infinity.

Maybe it was because she’d squeeze him hard and threatened to break his ribs when she hugged him.  It wasn’t a common occurrence because Shoko wasn’t that huggy in the first place, but Satoru would grunt and shove her off.

Suguru, on the other hand, would hug him kindly.  Yes, there was the occasional wrestling match where he’d suddenly flip Satoru and slam him against the floor in a battle of grappling and sneering, but for the most part, Suguru was like a giant blanket of warmth.  He would hold him like he was precious and it was so, so easy for Satoru to lay his head on his shoulder and just breathe.

Perhaps it was the way he held him, too, with an arm around his back and the other over his shoulder to press against his head.  The press of his palm against Satoru’s nape had him quiet in 2 seconds flat.  Satoru could be yelling at him from halfway across the hall, but the second Suguru came over and hugged him, it was over from there.

No, sometimes when they wouldn’t have a sleepover, Satoru would wake up and turn unconsciously into his pillows, expecting Suguru to be there because of how often they shared a bed.  It was a bit jarring not to wake up next to the other, and he’d sit up.

Oddly enough, there’d be a quiet throbbing in his chest when his hands didn’t find Suguru’s in the earliest of hours, and a small voice that muttered unintelligible things when the first sight in the morning wasn’t deep violet.

Because obviously, he was just used to it.

No other reason.