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Suguru thinks he hates the nights the most.
The daytime is intolerable in its own respect: the bustle of everyone around him, the constant nagging of his sensei, his peers, and the never-ending list of things he is given to do. Yet, the suffocating silence of the nights he spends in his dorm room is infinitely worse.
He is cruelly left to stay afloat in the restless sea that sits inside his head, never stopping its furious swirling, raging against him and his better judgment. It drags him from what he knows is real, and down to a depth that crushes any remaining will to resist the sheer force of his own mind. There, Suguru can only float lifelessly in the ever-present noise he has heard ever since Riko Amanai’s death, silently hoping that something will drag him out of this pit.
At least the buzz of the day forces him to appear to function normally. Even then, though, he feels the incessant tug of the downward current and the sickness that sits heavily in his chest, reminding him at once of his failure and his solitude.
It had likely been nearly a month since Suguru had last seen Gojo, and more than two months since he had last spoken to him for more than an hour. He isn’t quite sure of this fact--after the first month of barely talking to him, Suguru had given up any attempts to keep track. The swirling in his head and noisy pattering that had superimposed itself onto every second of every day made it very difficult to maintain a functional sense of time's escape from his grip.
Each day seemed to leak into the next, the ink of a sentence spilling into the next on a waterlogged page. To Suguru, they all started and ended the same: the sick feeling in his head and body, the exhaustion resulting from months without eight consecutive hours of sleep, and the too-familiar loneliness that had blanketed him in Satoru’s absence.
This wasn’t to say that he didn’t have other friends – no, Suguru appeared and acted as if he had plenty, but none like Satoru. With his other peers, he maintained a semblance of friendship, sitting with them while they ate lunch (Suguru found he was most often too full on his sick feeling), training with them, and even watching a movie with them here and there. Behind this outward appearance of normalcy, though, Suguru found himself completely isolated from those around him. No matter how much they could laugh, eat, and spar together, Suguru found himself floating mentally at a distance from his body, like it wasn’t really him there, but rather some scrap of himself acting on his behalf to keep the others’ worries at bay.
Suguru had suspicions that Shoko, at the very least, knew he wasn’t entirely himself. Still, her constantly filled schedule kept her from inquiring about him beyond an obligatory “Everything ok?” every once and a while. Despite her pretty consistent presence at Jujitsu High, she was a rare sight to see. It seemed that each of the other members of their former trio was drifting away, spiraling into greater things, while Suguru was stuck in the same monotonous motions. Fight, consume. Fight, consume. Fight, consume. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this.
As Suguru lay on his bed, the boiling in his head slowed to a simmer as the sharp silence of the night dulled, and the sounds of distant shuffling brought him back to reality. He forced his restless and exhausted eyes open, a feat harder than it should have been, given the fact that he hadn’t even been asleep.
For a moment, everything was truly silent and still, as the distant rustling stopped and Suguru stared out of the window next to his bed, taking in the empty campus before him.
Vaguely, he wondered who was in this dorm hall at this hour, as to the extent of his knowledge, everyone else who lived in the rooms around his was either out on a mission, or at the week-long special Kyoto campus training (Suguru wasn’t required to go, seeing as Yaga felt he was to only really benefit from more advanced training). While he was primarily grateful that he was one of the few students left on the campus, and had to expend less precious energy on handling those around him, the stagnating silence at night had slowly seeped into dangerously quiet days. The muted campus had, on multiple occasions, led Suguru to become unable to distinguish the noise in his head from that around him. It was very disorientating.
Suguru was again drawn out of his head by more shuffling sounds, this time closer than before. More conscious of the world around him, Suguru sat up and massaged his forehead. How much time had passed since he had last heard them? And again, who the hell was up and rustling around at this hour?
With all of the third and second years back, this wouldn’t have been an uncommon occurrence. But, with the few straggling first years that were on campus and in a separate building, Suguru couldn’t think why one would trek all the way over here just to shower or use the kitchen.
Sluggishly, Suguru slid out of his sheets and stood, deciding whoever it was was unlikely to be a threat he couldn’t handle. Besides, they definitely needed to be told to go back to whatever building they came from, or at least be quiet for God’s sake. Some sliver of Suguru was relieved to have been pulled out of the hellscape that made up his mind, but more of him was annoyed that he was going to have to deal with someone at this hour of the night.
He silently plodded over to the door, and upon grasping the handle, swung it open to see a face he had only been able to dream of for the past month (and any moment he had been asleep and not tortured by nightmares, he had).
Satoru’s hand was raised like he had been about to knock, his hair still sodden from the shower he had undoubtedly taken and woken him up with. Suguru, stunned, simply stood there, drinking in the sight of his best friend like Satoru was water, and he, a parched man.
Satoru stood before him in a baggy white t-shirt and boxers, exhaustion evident in his stance. His hair was illuminated by the piercing moonlight that had snuck in through the window at the end of the hall, giving the effect that the he was literally glowing. It was longer than Suguru remembered, shaggy, yet delicate as it rested across his forehead. Suguru resisted the urge to brush the strands out of his eyes. Speaking of which, rid of the round sunglasses that Satoru typically wore to fend off the obtrusive sunlight from his sensitive eyes, they glinted at him in a wonderful, perceptive glance.
Suguru had always been entranced by their pull, feeling known and seen in their warm gaze, a sense that contrasted their icy, luminous appearance. Seeing Satoru felt too good to be true. Was he just another trick of Suguru’s treacherous mind? Of the falsities his brain had pulled on himself over the months, this would be by far the cruelest.
“Are you going to say something, or just stare at me?” Satoru’s voice was joking, attempting the typical mannerisms that they had shared over the course of years, but Suguru could feel a weight behind it, a tiredness.
Even if he couldn’t know his own mind, Suguru would know Satoru.
Rather than returning a half-hearted insult about how tired he looked, or how he had woken Suguru up (any annoyance had evaporated the moment the door opened), he instead engulfed the man before him in a tight embrace, like if he didn’t squeeze Satoru tight enough, he might not be real.
At the contact between them, relief washed over Suguru; a part of him had been afraid things would have changed in the months they were apart, that he would be held at a distance from him. That something would have switched inside Satoru that had decided that Suguru couldn’t touch him anymore, and his arms would instead hover inches away from him.
While Suguru didn’t know the specifics of the mission(s?) that had kept his better half away from the school for at least a month, he knew it couldn’t have been any simple task or number of such. No—knowing the higher-ups tasked with assigning missions to students, they had likely given him a task only he could handle, meaning it was probably horrifying, exhausting, and nearly impossible for any grade one sorcerer. While the storm of his mind had been temporarily calmed, anger bubbled in his gut on Satoru's behalf. It was unfair that he had to endure such things simply because no one else could. It was unfair that such things existed in the first place.
Satoru folded into his embrace, temporarily letting himself sag into the feeling of being held and supported by another, abandoning his stance that typically yelled at everyone else, “Hey, look at me! Also, I’m better than you, in case you were wondering.”
Suguru had found this posture annoying at first, thinking Satoru full of himself–– which he definitely was, to some degree. But after being inevitably drawn into his orbit, like a comet around the sun, Suguru eventually saw past this facade, and instead saw someone who had always been forced to be the best, who feared his own failure to succeed and protect those he loved more than anything, who only saw himself valued by his power.
Suguru loved both Satorus, the god-like, powerful force that couldn’t be stopped by anything thrown in his way, and the smaller, more human Satoru, who sat and cried and did stupid things.
His Satoru.
Suguru, over the past 6 months, had come to the unfortunate conclusion that he was in love with Satoru.
Rather than voicing the repetitive truth that bounced around inside his head every time his eyes met those of Satoru, he instead whispered a muffled “I missed you” into his shoulder, squeezing him even tighter as he did so.
The feeling that saturated his insides was disgustingly sweet and something he had forgotten he knew how to feel. Satoru’s arms came up to wrap around him as he did so, not in as quite of a vice-like grip as Suguru held him in, but to still complete the embrace that they both so desperately clung to. “I missed you too.” Satoru whispered in reply, hair damp and cool against Suguru’s nearly feverish skin.
For Suguru, Satoru was the driftwood he clung to to stay above water, the rock he would flatten himself against to spite the wind trying to push him off balance. Seeing him again, despite the months they’d been apart, was like his first breath of fresh air after being trapped in a sealed room.
Suguru had decided long ago to spare Satoru from the dark depths of his mind, and despite the rage he sometimes felt towards the other sorcerers that allowed so many of his friends to die, and even towards Satoru for allowing himself to be used like a weapon by those above him, he would never show it. Just as he would refuse to show his tender, weakening, almost repulsive love for him.
Pulling back, Suguru once again took in the sight of the teen before him: the bags now visible under his eyes, which held a slight puffiness to them (Had he been crying?), and a number of nearly-healed gashes scattered across his face, undoubtedly from whatever mission he had just returned from.
Suguru felt Satoru’s gaze on him as he gently ran a thumb over the marks, careful not to push hard, even though they were almost sealed. “What happened while you were gone?” Suguru continued to whisper, despite the lack of others in the building. He was afraid that any loud sounds or sudden movements would cause Satoru to dissipate, a mirage on a heated road.
Satoru chuckled softly. “I could ask the same of yourself. You’re tired.” Suguru shifted under Satoru’s stare, unnerved by how easily he had read him. It seems he had also forgotten what it was like to be known.
Satoru slowly retreated, hands briefly running over Suguru’s back. Brow furrowed, Satoru continued his worried observations, taking in his rumpled appearance, his long, messy hair that even in sleep would normally have been tied back neatly. “You’ve lost weight too.” Satoru met Suguru’s stare again.
“Suguru… What happened while I was gone?”
“Nothing,” Suguru shrugged, trying to seem normal. Did he even still know what normal was with Satoru? It’s been so long.
“It’s just been the same old thing, fight curses, train, y’know.” He felt Satoru’s far-too perceptive eyes continue to wash over him. A part of him wanted to run and hide, afraid of whatever Satoru would see in his face (Love? Darkness? Why was he scared?), but he was frozen in place, still transfixed by the appearance of his best friend after months of barely catching a glimpse of him. He was suddenly aware of his heartbeat, strong and fast. Suguru couldn’t remember the last time he had felt it.
He shook his head, bringing him back to where he stood in the doorway to his room, arms still entangled with Satoru’s. Satoru sighed, seeing that whatever might have transpired in his absence wasn’t going to easily be pried from Suguru’s lips.
“If you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s alright. We’ll always have later.” Satoru said assuredly, squeezing through the doorframe beside him and leading Suguru into his own room. Satoru seemed so confident of this idea of later. Suguru couldn’t exactly place why he didn’t share the same sentiment, despite a desperation to. All logic pointed towards its existence, but some still-simmering part of his mind told him it wasn’t there. Suguru tried not to listen.
Attempting to act as he would have months ago, before he got lost in his churning mess of a conscience, Suguru weakly pestered the man dragging him towards his bed.
“So you can just appear out of nowhere, no explanation, and then expect to take over my bed?” He mustered a small laugh, genuine despite the aching tiredness and illness he felt to his core.
“Are you saying you would rather me sleep all alone, in the farthest room from you?” Satoru raised a pale eyebrow. “And here I was thinking you’d be happy to see me.” He pouted a bit, but he was too tired from whatever had kept him away for so long to put any real heart to it. Suguru knew he was bound to be at least a little weakened by his mission, but this lack of enthusiasm behind his banter showed exactly how much.
“Of course I’m happy to see you.” Horrifyingly soft, Suguru replied, abandoning his previous course of action.
Resolute not to show the petulant, sick, darkness that cascaded through his head so frequently, Suguru let some of his tiredness and loneliness settle into the words he directed towards Satoru.
“And from the sounds of it, you’ve been quite lonely without me.” More like his own loneliness had become almost insufferable.
Satoru sighed with a slight smile, backing into Suguru’s bed and sinking into the mattress. “If I say yes, you can’t let it boost your ego too much.” Suguru followed, tethered by his hand and his heart, both in the grasp of the white-haired teen before him.
The sight of Satoru Gojo on his bed was both alien and familiar, a reminder of a time when things had been simpler, happier. Suguru felt his heart beat again, a strong reminder of his humanity, of his love. A love which he had never voiced, had never acted on.
“Ego? Between the two of us, I think the only ego you should be worried about is your own.” Suguru chuckled gently again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. He hoped it didn’t show on his face.
Satoru flopped fully back onto Suguru’s bed, almost fully enveloped by the comforter kept on it, despite the summer months still lingering outside.
For some unknown reason, Suguru’s room had always been colder than the others, so he had invested in a comforter. He’d always been freezing when he tried to fall asleep, save for when Satoru demanded he stay over for one reason or another.
Suguru tried not to look into this fact too often.
Too far to continue to grasp Satoru’s hand as he lay back, Suguru let it slip from his fingers, his own arm coming back to settle at his side as he stood by the bed. Some apprehension restrained him from collapsing beside the newly returned sorcerer. Suguru himself wasn’t fully conscious of why.
Perhaps he was scared that it had been too long, that they wouldn’t slip into the easy habit they had built over the years they had spent together here, tangled gently in each other's limbs. Irrationally, some part of him was still afraid that Satoru was just some figment of his imagination, and when he went to lie next to him, he would find the space where Satoru lay empty and cold. Sensing his hesitation, Satoru sat up half-way, propped up on his elbow and gave Suguru a look.
“Do you think I came back all this way just to barely get any sleep, alone, one more night?” Satoru’s voice had lost its slight playfulness from earlier, replaced by an emotion that Suguru had trouble placing. His own emotions were so twisted inside of him, how in the world was he supposed to decipher what Satoru meant?
Part of him was childishly mad at Satoru for being gone so long, and wanted to demand explanations for everything. Most of him, however, was caught up in the fact that he could, once again, have Satoru in his arms for a night.
Even if they both knew there was too much to talk about to bother to do it right now.
Even if they both knew something had shifted in the other, something so tedious they were each unsure of what to do.
Even if he, Suguru Geto, knew that he loved Satoru Gojo, and knew that he would never ever tell him that for the sake of their friendship. Especially not now. Not when he was so scared to even look too hard at him, for fear of him disappearing.
But especially in this moment, Suguru felt human, weak.
Giving into the demands of his selfish desire, and to those of his oldest friend, Suguru broke from the imaginary ropes that had tied him from the bed and crawled underneath the blankets beside him. The bed shifted as Satoru, whose face was marked by a look of relief at Suguru’s decision, did the same and curled into Suguru, who draped an arm around him, pulling him closer.
“I would never dream of letting you.” Suguru whispered into Satoru’s hair.
Since he seemed to be on a roll of giving into his own temptations, Suguru let himself brush it out of Satoru’s face as he momentarily looked up at him, stormy blue eyes meeting his own. It had been so long since they had done this. Too long.
Suguru felt the tension he had held unawarely in his body dissipate, as Satoru similarly melted into him. They were a pair of water droplets pushed too close together, finally overcoming the space between them just to engulf and mix into each other. Suguru felt his heart beat strongly again, but this time it was not a jarring feeling as it had been before. He cupped Satoru close to him, like he was a liquid that would slip out of his grasp at any moment.
“I’ll tell you all about my mission tomorrow,” Satoru quietly promised, eyes already closed and breathing slowly. “It was terrible.” His face contorted slightly, no doubt remembering some horror he had unjustly been forced to face.
“I bet,” Suguru confirmed, running his hands again soothingly through Satoru’s hair. He was too caught up in everything to listen to the fearful voice in the back of his head screaming that Suguru should not be doing this. What was he thinking? Any person with more than two thoughts would be able to tell that he was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with his best friend.
But...would that be so bad, though? Slowly, Suguru began to fade from consciousness. Among his last thoughts was no, it would not be so bad if Satoru found out right now. Perhaps he should tell him later.
Yes, he thought. Later.
I love you, Satoru Gojo. He internalized, slipping into sleep. Part of him thought he might have even whispered it aloud.
If he had, though, Satoru didn’t hear.
And with that, united once more, Suguru and Satoru fell asleep, impossibly entangled in each other and with promises of a tomorrow, a later, that wouldn’t come.
But at this moment, neither knew this, ignoring the inklings that told them otherwise. A simple moment of solace, together as one, at last. Perhaps they would both look back on this night as their last before undoable damage was done, words that couldn’t be taken back said. Only the future would tell.