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The fluorescent lights of the grocery store buzzed overhead as Suguru watched Satoru load yet another package of premium wagyu into their cart.
"We don't need that much beef," Suguru said, moving to put one back.
Satoru's hand shot out, blocking him. "It's shabu shabu. The entire point is having options. I mean, Nanami is going to be there!"
"The entire point is having dinner, not bankrupting ourselves." Suguru gestured at the cart, which already contained three different types of mushrooms, two varieties of tofu, and enough vegetables to feed twice their number. "And why does it matter if Nanami will be there? Shoko said we're all just hanging out, it's meant to be a casual dinner. But, you seem to be planning for fifteen people."
"You never know who might show up." Satoru was already drifting toward the seafood section, sunglasses perched on his head despite the indoor lighting. "What if Yaga-sensei drops by, or Utahime? What if—"
"Utahime would not come if you're there. Yaga-sensei is in Kyoto until Thursday. I checked our office calendar." Suguru followed, already knowing he'd lose this battle but fighting it anyway. It's what they did. "The calendar you're supposed to update, by the way. You still haven't logged that grade one assignment from yesterday."
"I'll do it when we get back."
"You said that last week."
"And I'll say it next week too." Satoru grinned over his shoulder, that insufferable smile that meant he knew precisely how annoying he was being. "Besides, you check it compulsively enough for both of us. When have you ever not known where I am?"
Suguru's jaw tightened. Because Satoru was right—he did check it compulsively, multiple times a day, some paranoid part of him needing to know where Satoru was, that he was safe, even though Satoru was the strongest, even though nothing could hurt him.
"That's not the point," Suguru said. "The point is we agreed—"
"Oh, look—scallops!" Satoru was already flagging down an employee. "Excuse me, are these fresh? Like, caught-this-morning fresh?"
The employee probably never encountered someone like Satoru Gojo in a grocery store at 3 PM on a Tuesday, stammered through an explanation about delivery schedules. Satoru listened with genuine interest, nodding along, asking follow-up questions about sourcing and sustainability practices.
Suguru felt something warm and exasperated curl in his chest. This was Satoru—capable of lecturing him about calendar management one minute and earnestly discussing fish farming techniques with a grocery clerk the next.
"We'll take half a kilo," Satoru declared. "No, wait—one kilo! Suguru loves scallops."
"I never said that."
"You did in your head." Satoru's smile was smaller now, more private. "You always eat them first when they're in a hot pot. Every single time."
The employee bagged the scallops. Suguru didn't argue further.
They moved through the aisles with practiced ease—Satoru grabbing things on impulse, Suguru putting half of them back, both of them navigating the familiar dance of shopping together. Seven years of this. Seven years of Satoru's enthusiasm, meeting Suguru's practicality, of compromise and small battles, and the strange domestic harmony they'd built.
"Ponzu or sesame?" Satoru held up two bottles.
"Both."
"That's what I like to hear." Two bottles went in the cart. "Oh, and we need more of that chili oil you like. The one with the crunchy bits."
"We have three bottles at home."
"Yeah, and you go through it like water. I'm being proactive."
Suguru couldn't argue with that. The chili oil went in.
They turned down the rice aisle, and Satoru immediately started examining packages with intense focus. "Do we need more rice? I think we're running low."
"We have half a bag."
"That's basically empty."
"That's literally half—"
"What if I make onigiri for the students tomorrow? What if—"
"Then we'll buy more rice tomorrow," Suguru said, but he was already reaching for a bag. Ten pounds. Satoru's smile turned triumphant. "Don't look so smug. You're teaching Fushiguro's class tomorrow, by the way. I'm taking the second years. Don't be late."
Satoru just looked at him.
"Will you be on time?"
"I'm punctual when it matters," Satoru amended. "And teaching matters. I'll be there. Ten AM sharp." He paused. "Does that mean you're doing dinner prep when we get back?"
"I was planning on it. Unless you want to?"
"God, no. You've seen my knife skills. Unless you're into a challenge?" Satoru leaned against the cart, casual and loose-limbed in a way that still made Suguru's breath catch sometimes. "I'll do dishes after dinner then. And handle the post-mission reports you keep procrastinating on."
"I don't procrastinate—"
"You have seven unfinished reports from last month."
"They're not unfinished, they're in progress."
"Suguru. They're from last month."
Fair point. Suguru grabbed a package of glass noodles, more to have something to do with his hands than because they needed them. "Fine. I'll finish them this weekend."
"We're supposed to be on vacation this weekend."
Oh. Right.
They'd been talking about it for weeks—just a weekend away, somewhere quiet, somewhere they could actually relax instead of being on-call every minute. But between missions and teaching and the general chaos of their lives, they hadn't actually decided on where.
"Did we ever figure out where we're going?" Suguru asked.
Satoru was studying the cart now, mentally cataloging their haul. "I suggested Hakone. You said it was too touristy."
"Because it is."
"You suggested that mountain town. The one with nothing but hiking."
"What's wrong with hiking?"
"Nothing, if you hate your knees and love being cold." Satoru grabbed a package of udon noodles and tossed them in the cart. "What about somewhere with an onsen? We could both use the soak, and I've been dreaming of seeing Suguru—"
Suguru slapped a hand over his partner's mouth. "There's that place in Nagano. The one Shoko mentioned. Quiet, good food, private baths."
Satoru said something muffled.
"So, that's a yes?"
More muffled sounds. He let go.
"Just like that." Satoru was looking at him now, sunglasses sliding down enough that Suguru could see blue eyes, bright even under fluorescent lights. "I don't care where we go, as long as we actually go. Just us."
Something settled in Suguru's chest—warm and certain and frighteningly tender. "I'll book it tonight."
They made their way to checkout, cart overflowing despite Suguru's best efforts at restraint. The cashier—smiled knowingly at their bickering—rang up each item with patient efficiency. Satoru paid without looking at the total, which made Suguru's eye twitch, but it wasn't worth another argument.
Not when they had Shoko's hangout to attend, students to teach, and a weekend away to plan.
Not when this was their life now—mundane and domestic and filled with arguments over groceries and calendar updates and who was doing which chores. The normal they'd both fought for, the type of peace they'd earned through blood and barriers and refusing to let the world grind them down.
Suguru's phone buzzed as they loaded bags into the car. A text from Shoko: You better not forget beer. Nanami specifically requested Sapporo, and Ijichi will cry if we run out of Asahi.
He showed Satoru the message.
"Convenience store on the way?" Satoru suggested, already backing out of the parking spot with one hand, the other reaching to turn up the radio.
"There should be a Family Mart in ten minutes. The one where we bought all their stocks of Calbee potato chips in our third year." Suguru confirmed.
"Oh god, I can't stomach eating another potato chip for years after that. Years!"
They drove through late afternoon traffic, Tokyo's more rural edge spreading around them in familiar patterns. Somewhere in the back seat, premium wagyu and fresh scallops waited to become dinner. Somewhere in their apartment, a calendar needed updating, reports needed finishing, and lesson plans needed reviewing.
Somewhere this weekend, there'd be an onsen, quiet, and two days of nothing but each other.
But right now, there was just this—Satoru singing off-key to some pop song, Suguru watching the city blur past, both of them headed toward an evening with friends and good food and the kind of ordinary happiness that felt almost revolutionary in its simplicity.
"Beer run first," Satoru said, catching Suguru's eye at a red light. "Then Shoko's. Then tomorrow we inflict our teaching methods on unsuspecting students."
"And what about after Shoko's dinner?"
"I was going to organize some of the paperwork first that I need for that international mission, y'know the one—"
Suguru laughed, turning his head just enough to pay attention to the stoplight and to bask in Satoru's, well, everything. "Besides that. Anything else?"
"Go to sleep? Why?" Satoru's sudden mega-watt smile was almost blinding. "Did you finally give in and want to marathon all of Gurren Lagann with me as you promised?"
Yeah, Suguru thought, lips curving into a small smile. He promised that, and more. He will make a hundred—no, a thousand—promises to see Satoru smile.
He reached past the center console, picked up Satoru's left hand from his lap, and weaved their fingers with each other. The warmth between them was grounding. Satoru squeezed their hand.
Suguru brought the intertwined hands to his lips. "Maybe."
They laughed, sharing every moment spent in their modest Toyota hybrid sedan.
The light turned green, and they drove on.