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It's one of those days.
Yaga cancels classes half-way through the day; the simultaneous beep of their phones was loud in the communal kitchen during lunch, a blunt, ‘Classes dismissed due to H-Up emergency meeting. Do not loiter outside and stay within school grounds.’ text — which Satoru had relayed like a decree, the fucking dork — had said.
Which is good, really. They're only in the first semester of their second year, and for some reason, having a day off is a blue moon compared to a fourth grade curse. Add the gloomy weather and the ancient heaters doing their best to keep the dorm warm and toasty, then you've got an easy, instant recipe for a lazy day. Level of cozy? Fucking phenomenal. Suguru can attest to that. The now pouring rain outside is loud, an unrelenting beat that cozies up the ambiance of their – otherwise drab – dorm rooms, and oh, it's heaven. Suguru fantasized about the possibility of laying down in bed till morning and shutting out the world with the best 18-hour sleep of his life.
The fantasy lasts about ten minutes because Satoru seems to have taken that as permission to hole up in Suguru's room, claiming all rights to his bed and blankets.
Suguru’s not complaining. Really. He's not.
He's got one Gojo Satoru, all 190 centimetres and snow-white hair, wrapped around him under the covers. It would have been nice, nay, relaxing even, to have a cuddle buddy with the sleepy weather except —
“Stop,” Suguru hisses, trying to wrestle Satoru’s feet into the blankets, “— wrapping your feet around my ankles. They're cold. Wear some fucking socks, you heathen.”
Satoru whines, doing the exact opposite of what Suguru had just asked. “But your drawer's on the other side of the room and it's coooozyyy~ Don't make me get up, Suguru.”
Suguru can only roll his eyes, knowing all too well of Satoru’s defiance when it came to having his way. Satoru's icy, unsocked feet keep grabbing at his ankles, their legs intertwined under the covers and for a moment, Suguru struggles to find which limb belongs to whom. Satoru's hands are tucked under Suguru’s shirt, palms pressed to the soft ridges of his stomach and Satoru's nose, pink from the cold, is safely nestled in the thick of his sweatshirt, effectively stealing all of Suguru's body heat.
“Just live under my skin at this point, why don't you?” Suguru grumbles, a hand cupping the underside of Satoru's head to lift the covers over his ears. For all of his complaints though (and okay, he's been complaining… a little), every atom that makes up Suguru still insists on indulging each one of Satoru's whims.
There's a soft sound below him, Satoru purring as he wiggles further into Suguru, as if there’s even an inch of space between them, when the only thing that separates them are the thick materials of their clothes.
“I would if I could, trust me. You always smell so… clean.”
Suguru chuckles. “That a nice way of saying I don't stink?”
Another grumble in response but no other words come after.
For a while, they stay like that. Suguru’s hands just cradling his best friend, and Satoru, who finally settles into the covers and wraps both arms around Suguru's waist. The dim light outside seeps through the curtains, but the darkness of the room remains. Outside, the trees are worried by the strong gusts of wind. Inside, there's only warmth and stillness, the kind of quiet that only ever existed when the world was kind enough to leave you alone for a few hours.
It’s enough to lull Suguru, half-asleep as his hand sluggishly runs through the silky strands of Satoru's hair. Their breathing turns soft, evening out with each inhale and something inevitable being lost in the drowsy haze of sleep.
Suguru's just about to drift off when Satoru breaks the silence.
“I wanna ask something.”
Suguru huffs. “If it's something stupid, can it wait till morning?”
“Rude,” Satoru says. He can feel Satoru pull back, just an inch. Can feel Satoru’s nose no longer pressing into the dip of his neck, and Satoru's hands sneaking back under his hoodie to settle on his bare waist. Suguru shivers at the touch; Satoru's fingertips are cold but his palms are warmed from the heat he's absorbed from Suguru.
“C’mon, I swear it's not stupid.” Satoru's hand presses against his waist, a weight gentle enough for the dredges of sleep to creep back into Suguru.
“Fine. Ask, so we can sleep.” Suguru grumbles. “Perfectly good weather to slee—”
“Did you ever date anyone?”
“—eep in, too,” Suguru trails off.
And.
Oh.
That's.
Unexpected.
“Huh?” Suguru cracks an eye open.
“Date,” Satoru says, like it explains everything. “Anyone. Did you?”
“Is there any reason you're asking?” Suguru asks in return.
“Last week.”
“What about it?”
Last week? What even happened last week?
Suguru opens both his eyes now, roaming the planes of Satoru’s face, from the baby hairs sprouting on his hairline to the barely-there freckles that only ever pop up when Satoru tries to tan (if you can even call it that) in the summer, slowly fading away as winter approaches. His cheeks are flushed, blue unblinking eyes locked on to Suguru's, the damn freak. No sense of decorum or manners or sense of social etiquette.
There's a smile on Suguru's face anyway, soft and undeniably fond because denying Satoru, for him, feels like defying god.
“C’mon,” Suguru urges. “Tell me. You woke me and everything — don't leave me hanging now.”
He squeezes Satoru's nape, his hand easily spanning the delicate skin; his thumb and middle finger press at the knotted muscles at the base where Satoru's stress usually accumulates.
Suguru watches the pucker of Satoru's lips, twisting into a grimace before curling into a pout. It takes a few minutes more of Suguru's prodding hands before Satoru melts into him again — his cold nose pressing to Suguru's neck, the scent of his mint and citrus shampoo invading Suguru's nose. He closes his eyes, relishing in the familiar comfort of knowing Satoru is safe from the world and its expectations, something heavy that shouldn't be handled by one set of shoulders alone.
“Remember Shoko and like, the girl that approached us?” Satoru asks, his voice muffled in Suguru's shirt.
“Oh.” He remembers now.
They'd been shopping around the city and there was a girl: blonde, a little tan, and taller than Shoko with cute braids.
“Yachi,” Suguru recalls. “That's her name, wasn't it? Shoko's ex.”
“Yeah, her ex,” Satoru says, like it's a foreign thing on his tongue.
“What about it?” Suguru asks, pulling back a little to peek at Satoru. “Don't tell me you're homophobic —”
“I'm not homophobic,” Satoru hisses, kicking his shin. Suguru laughs, pulling him back in. “Asshole. What I was gonna ask was– if you– y’know– like —”
“Dated?”
“— had an ex?”
There's a beat of silence, their voices clashing before Suguru finally pulls back. He untangles their arms, his hands settling instead on Satoru's waist.
“Well,” Suguru starts. Or tries to, anyway. He lets another beat of silence pass, tries to gather his thoughts into something coherent and recalls the faces of people he had the pleasure of knowing. Of befriending. Of saying goodbye to when he was scouted into being a jujutsu sorcerer.
“Well?”
“I mean, I dated people.” Suguru presses a thumb to his eyebrow, trying to dispel the pressure slowly building at overthinking something so menial and human like dating.
“Never had an ex though,” Suguru adds.
“Eh?” Satoru's eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, now fully laying on his stomach, his arms clutching one of Suguru's pillows under his head. Satoru turns to the curve of his body, lets his legs be weighed down by Suguru's and it's a perfect fit, really. Suguru's hips are snug, anchored on the back of Satoru's thighs and it's a nice change of position.
“How can you date and not have an ex?”
“You can date people and not become their ex.” Suguru shrugs.
“How is that even possible? It's like saying you can eat shrimp but not lobster.”
“Weird comparison and definitely not the same.” Suguru laughs, something light and ticklish that escapes from a warm place in his chest. “But what I mean is, I took the time to get to know the people I got set up with, but I never really clicked with them, so we never became official. Ergo, no exes.”
“Doesn't dating constitute the same as being in a relationship? You can't really date multiple people at the same time.” Satoru huffs, rolling his eyes like he's such an expert.
“It's different for everyone, I guess? I think of dating as a way of getting to know someone and, Mr-I’m-So-Experienced, I didn't date multiple people at the same time. It's just… you know when you meet someone, and you just can't see yourself starting a relationship with them.”
“Yeah?” Satoru says, more of a question than a statement.
Suguru chuckles, flicking his nose.
“You’ve never dated anyone, have you?”
The flush on Satoru's nose deepens, from a soft pink to crimson slowly creeping to the tips of his ears. He huffs again, that same routine of a grimace, to a pout, and melting in Suguru's arms.
Suguru embraces him, so, so endeared.
Satoru whines, the big baby. “It’s not my fault I'm a sheltered clan kid who had to sneak out just to have fast food.”
“Poor baby,” Suguru sympathizes, patting his head. “But seriously, when you start dating people, you'll know what I'm talking about.”
A harrumph is thoroughly expressed, but Satoru doesn't say anything for a while. Suguru keeps petting his hair, delighting in such a simple act that can convey so, so much. He tries not to drift off, knowing all too well that the conversation hasn't really ended yet.
And true enough, three minutes pass; Satoru's pulling back again to look up at Suguru, his chin settled on Suguru's sternum.
They're like a parentheses on the bed, curved away and into each other whenever they readjust, but never straying far. Something unspeakable is writhing like a conscious worm between the parentheses of their bodies.
Something that speaks like ‘everything blue reminds me of you’.
Or, ‘closer, closer, closer, come closer I want to feel you close and hear the simple, lovely sound of your careless breath’.
And, ‘every day should be like this; you should be vulnerable and soft in every aspect and you can rest, I can take it from here’.
But again, they're the unspeakable, so Suguru shuts his goddamn mouth and swears to bite the insides of his cheeks till they bleed.
“I have another question.”
“Okay.” Suguru blinks down at him, slow and syrupy. The rain is still thundering outside – as loud as the unspeakable turmoil of Suguru's thoughts – but the cocoon of warmth in his bedroom is enough to muffle the harshness of its sound.
Satoru blinks back, squinting a little like he's suspicious on why Suguru's indulging him.
Idiot.
“You say people,” Satoru starts. “But you never say girls.”
Huh?
“Huh?” Suguru echoes. His brain, occupied with a cacophony of warmcozysatorusatorusatorusleepsleepnono, halts. He looks at Satoru, unsure of the question.
“You say you date people but you never really specify that it's a girl,” Satoru explains, surprisingly not sarcastic.
“Girls are people, you know.” He raises an eyebrow.
“I know,” Satoru grouses, unimpressed. His lips are pressed to a thin line, eyebrows still scrunched and conveying something Suguru can't quite translate yet. “But you never just say girls.”
“Are you asking if I dated guys, too?” Suguru asks, because it's the only thing that’s clicked so far with how vague Satoru phrases his questions.
He could read Satoru and his all-seeing eyes any day of the week, but in the sleep-addled cradle of his brain and the comfort of their bodies intertwined, Suguru's a little slow in the uptake.
His hand flattens on Satoru's nape before sliding down, down, down. To the dip of his back, and back up to the curve of his spine, only to tangle itself back in Satoru's hair, blunt nails scraping at his scalp. He watches Satoru's eyes flutter shut, satisfied at the loss of frustration on his face.
“I mean,” Suguru says. He wonders if he should be vague and settle for half-truths. To prod at the more honest parts of his heart and ask if it's ready to be exposed like real-life open-heart surgery. “I've dated guys too. It was mostly girls, yeah. But I…”
Satoru stays quiet, eyes half-lidded, feeling those blue eyes of his stare into the depths of Suguru's curse-infested soul.
“But I dated guys too. Yeah.”
“And you've never… been in a relationship with any of them?”
“No.” Suguru shakes his head. “It's like– it was great to know them. I felt like with girls, I was just… not attracted to them, I think.”
Satoru's squinting now, a little too judgemental for Suguru's taste like he's saying, ‘you think?’
“I'm not saying they looked bad.” Suguru says. “What I mean is, I wasn't really one to be picky about appearances. It was the dynamic that mattered to me, y’know? Like, I can see myself being friends with them, getting to know them more. But past that? A relationship? The sacrifices that came with it? Could never see myself doing it for any of them. So I thought, if not girls, then maybe… guys?”
“And?”
Suguru shrugs. “It was the same, really. They were all nice people but in the end, it just… didn't click. Some of my acquaintances at home said I was being stupid, that I was being picky or had my standards way up, but I dunno. It was just a gut feeling.”
“A gut feeling.” Satoru echoes back at him, his cheeks smooshed into the pillows and his eyes somewhat droopy.
“A gut feeling. I looked at all of them and offered some of myself for their own scrutiny. But even if they liked me, or asked me out for the 10th, 11th, 20th date, I just… I couldn't feel that it was a sure thing. That they were someone I'd spend every part of my day with, no matter how good or how shitty. It was no use trying to get into a relationship I knew would end, eventually. Saved us time and effort.”
“I see,” Satoru says, like he really does.
“Do you?” Suguru asks, just to humor him. Wonders what's running through his thick-headed skull; why this is suddenly a topic of interest for him. “Besides, I didn't really stay long enough to care about making it work. Being a sorcerer then mattered to me more than a relationship that could have been doomed from the start.”
“I get it.” He hears Satoru hum, eyes finally dropping closed as he tucks his forehead on Suguru's chest.
He's familiar with this — the casual way Satoru hides and shrinks when he's being honest enough.
But only ever in Suguru's vicinity.
“I grew up different, y'know?” Satoru starts with a shaky breath. “Sure, every kid who grew up in a clan or had sorcerers for parents grew up different. But my life was – is – dedicated to being the strongest, making sure I’m always the first to the top. I grew up with maids and elders in my clan, never even got to know any cousins. Nephews and nieces I probably have. But all I had till I got here was myself, Limitless, and Six-Eyes.”
Suguru's hand flutters, sliding across Satoru's forehead.
‘All I had before I got here was myself, Limitless, and Six-Eyes.’
“The Strongest,” Suguru muses.
“I am.” A fact. “It's a race to the top and everyone will always be miles behind. At some point, I stopped looking back,” Satoru says, his voice turning to a whisper.
It makes sense, is the thing. When you grow up alone in everything, you get used to your individuality — the certainty of yourself. For a person like Satoru, all-powerful and all-seeing, who tipped the balance of power in the world by just being born, it must have been a lonely, uphill climb.
He certainly didn't have time for dating.
Suguru, in some way, sympathizes.
He started seeing curses at the young age of four. Suguru didn't understand what the weight in his stomach was, a pit of darkness that never went away despite the slew of therapists and medication he took. An open maw that rendered him bedridden when the season gets hotter and curses pile up, when the ache of empty inside can – sometimes – only be quelled by swallowing curses; how lonely it was to have to hide this truth in his youth, unable to tell his mother and father. Afraid of being cast out — that they would look at him the same way the people in their tiny, conservative village looked at him with reproach.
In the same branch as Satoru's words, despite village acquaintances and the number of people he dated in hopes of connecting, all he had then was his curse and himself.
Satoru hasn't looked up in a while. The silence had stretched too long, unknowingly for Suguru who was lost in his thoughts. He runs his hand through Satoru's hair again, grabbing gently by the nape and pulls back just so. From this angle, where Satoru is hunched and tucked away in the broad of Suguru's body, he watches baby blues slowly flick up. Their eyes meet; it's a hesitant moment. But Suguru just smiles, eyes a little droopy to ward off the wariness lining Satoru's pretty face.
“You’re right though,” Suguru mumbles. “You don't have to look back anymore. We're the strongest, you said so yourself. And I'm more than happy to walk beside you.”
To work hard and be your equal.
To climb as high as I can manage and surpass even heaven itself, if it means I can stand by you and have your back.
Suguru watches – a dazed, tender moment – the way all the doubts and confliction dissolves from Satoru's face. His smile is bright, toothy and crooked and blazingly pleased. Satoru's body curls into Suguru until they're chest to chest, hip to hip, and bare, chilled feet clinging to Suguru's freezing ankles.
He can feel the soft tufts of white hair tickling his neck and Suguru laughs. A tiny speck of a sound compared to the lovely weight of warmth that swallows him whole, all brought by the quiet buzz of Satoru's cursed energy. Something that announces itself before Satoru enters a room and it feels mellow like a gentle sunlight greeting the afternoon breeze. Alive like leaves dancing with the pellets of rain.
Suguru's arms open easily. Welcomingly. The everyday act of embracing all of Satoru's idiosyncrasies becoming pavlovian, triggered just by the prospect of Satoru's happiness and satisfaction.
Satoru wriggles in his arms, a choked laugh muffled in between their bodies. “You're such a fucking sap, Suguru.”
“Whatever.” Suguru snorts. “What about you? Thoughts on girls? …Guys?”
Satoru shrugs, his sigh all too dramatic. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I mean sure, girls are hot, but that ‘sure thing’ moment you’re talking about is lost on me. Same thing for guys, I guess. Guys are hot. Or can be, when they're not being… guys.”
“So you really haven't dated anyone, huh.” Suguru deadpans.
The answer comes with the same enthusiasm. “Nah.”
Satoru shuffles in his arms, like staying still was an alien, impossible concept. “I mean, there were the occasional admirers in the clan and fuck, I even got set up every now and then. But it’s pretty obvious it’s all for power and jujutsu politics.” Satoru says, like it’s old news. Which, it probably is considering his upbringing, but damn? Someone as gorgeous as Satoru and these people aren’t grovelling enough to at least earn his attention? Of course Satoru isn’t interested. (And Suguru really shouldn't feed more into his ego but…)
“Right, power and jujutsu politics,” Suguru murmurs. “Which you hate.”
“With a burning passion, my guy.”
Suguru sighs, like he doesn't really know what direction he wants this conversation to go into. All he knows is there's a part of him partly pleased. Satoru knows himself well enough to not get involved in shitty power plays, especially one done by old people who have way too much time and a skewed perspective on entitlement.
“So we're both lacking in the relationship department,” Suguru settles on instead.
“One department where Shoko definitely has us beat, I'd say.” Satoru laughs. “But dude, seriously.”
“What now?” Suguru rolls his eyes, all too fond.
“You've never had a girlfriend? Even a boyfriend? No ‘it’s-complicated’ type of relationship, even?” Satoru prods, poking his side.
“I told you, I just… never had a compulsion for it.”
Suguru swats at him, a hand clasping around Satoru's wrists and he pulls it back in. Lays it flat on Suguru's chest where his heart should be and wonders why it's beating way too fast for something so familiar. For an act of affection he and Satoru have done a hundred times.
Could Satoru feel it under his palm?
Could Satoru sense it with Six-Eyes?
Compulsion. That's the word he'd used. A state of being forced to or an irresistible urge against a conscious decision.
Suguru thinks about all the guys and girls he's dated, the money he spent to go out in restaurants, how the girls all dolled up to look pretty and the guys who weren't out would ask to spend an afternoon past the forest clearing and just watch the sunset. He looks back on having to go home with a new friend made instead of a relationship waiting to blossom, how knowing them all felt surface level, like they were puddles and he was a whole ocean waiting to devour and they'd drown in him. How he had to withdraw because they couldn't see the curses, and he couldn't fathom a relationship where he would have to hold on to an ugly, piece of him all on his own.
Suguru likens meeting them like inviting them to his living room, where everything was, as he said, surface level. Digestible. The good parts laid out for the eyes to see.
They never got past the kitchen, where Suguru chops down his insecurities and misery, where he tries to swallow it down and pretend his life isn't shrouded over by a dark cloud of doubts.
They've never entered his bedroom in this metaphor, where Suguru lays down in comfort and shuts the world away.
Just people with names and faceless in his memory, with the door to Suguru's life always open so they can leave just as quick.
He thinks of Shoko – knows it's all platonic – a true connection. A genuine friendship that's rooted in certainty and blossomed by shared experiences of growing up with some sense of normalcy. And even if she wasn't a lesbian, Suguru thinks that he would have offered the same sentiment of friendship to her. Nothing more.
Suguru, in all the years he's dated, has always felt compelled – a state of being forced – to keep them at arm's reach. Tolerable enough to welcome and easy enough to push away if need be.
It's what makes Satoru different.
Suguru wonders, lies there with tangled limbs and tangled thoughts, almost like a revelation, that Satoru is the contrast of every date he's been on.
All of them have never been Satoru. They have never been welcomed as easily as Satoru, have never been asked to stay as much as Satoru, have never even come close to peer through the windows or hidden crevices of Suguru's life or personality.
They got the Suguru who was compelled to, in many ways, conform to the norm of society.
Satoru had, Suguru hopes, the pleasure of Suguru's compulsion to open the door and windows and let the light in — all for Satoru. Because for all of Satoru's loud arrogance, he was the one person who understood him. The only one Suguru feels compelled – an irresistible urge against a conscious decision – to lower down his walls even when he knows Satoru could just scale it and come stumbling down with his rash, unthought-of words.
The only person who would happily swim the depths of Suguru, the only one happy enough to invade his space and know he will always be welcomed, and the only person Suguru would let do so.
It feels like an epiphany.
It is an epiphany.
A grand fucking revelation at, what, seven in the evening (?) on an empty stomach, vaguely wishing he could nibble on something while he works his… feelings out.
Because.
Because.
It's a gut feeling, right? That's what Suguru said.
When you know, you know.
Suguru spent his life seeking out connection and staying guarded in his pursuit for it.
But here he is right now, in bed, vulnerable and exposed to the strongest sorcerer of their era who could strike him down if he so wished.
In every truth laid out about themselves – their loneliness and afflictions when it comes to family and friends, the burden of being strong and having to be – Suguru contemplates if the last year and a half that he's stood by Satoru, slowly yearned to know all of him, ached when Satoru was hurt, and bared a heartfelt smile in a world just by being by his side, is just something that good friends do.
On days like this, where space is nonexistent and there’s only SuguruAndSatoru, Suguru wonders if this is it.
His sure thing.
Satoru, who might just be the most nagging person he's ever met. Who has insane demands like chocolate parfait at six in the morning or wanting to be carried princess style from their dorm to the classroom.
Suguru sees snow-white hair and icy blue eyes even when he closes his eyes, when he looks down at Satoru who's humming soundly waiting for an answer, uncharacteristically patient in times where patience, originally, would not be his strong suit. He looks back on moments where Satoru would try to antagonise him just because he wanted to start a fight and let loose.
He recalls a year and a half worth of memories, the in-betweens of gruel training and sick-inducing missions. The boring days of sleeping in classes and trying to pry Shoko out of the morgue. Moments when Satoru's too pushy and wanting, and there's Suguru, all too happy to give him what he wants.
Satoru, who takes him out to ramen shops and orders him soba because he knows it's Suguru's favourite. Satoru, who's patient enough when he's hurling his fucking guts out in a shitty, restaurant and hotel bathrooms after consuming curses left and right. Satoru, who pulls his hair back and glides his hands down Suguru's spine, and buys him overly sweet matcha to wash out the taste. He thinks about the times when Satoru complains about his eyes getting dry, when he nearly claws his and Shoko's skin red, and they literally have to tie him down to get some eye drops on him, when they have to bribe him with a shit load of sweets after to stop him from moping.
Satoru, who sits with Suguru when he calls his parents, chiming in now and then to tell stories about Suguru himself, and preens when he's invited to visit with Suguru for winter break. He thinks about the kindness that's inside Satoru, something Satoru himself doesn't believe in, borne out of complexes that brand him as self-centered and the power-hungry sorcerer some know him to be.
Suguru thinks and thinks and thinks.
Satoru Gojo.
Satoru.
His greatest confidante.
His best friend.
“Never?” Satoru repeats, like the answer is hard to believe.
Suguru can see it: an awaited future, side by side with Satoru, just as what they have now, in whatever shape it may take.
“Never had one, nope.” Suguru answers finally, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath though, stares straight at his poster-laden wall and grips Satoru flush to himself to hide the fact that he's doing this. Confessing. Or trying to, at least. Staking their friendship on something uncertain. Taking a leap.
A compulsion to know that he isn't the only one feeling this depth, this chasm of love Suguru does not know when or how it started, just that it’s there now, an unidentifiable entanglement of his soul with Satoru’s, taking root in an ugly world they continue to choose to protect.
“I kind of want to, though,” Suguru adds.
“Hmm, what, have an ex?”
“A relationship.”
“How are you gonna have one if you don’t date?” Suguru can feel the scoff more than hear it, a hot imprint on his clavicle.
“Can I ask you a question this time?” Suguru asks back at Satoru, a quiet whisper in Satoru's ear.
Satoru shivers, pulling his head back a little to peer up at him, a questioning look.
“Would it be crazy to ask you out on a date?”
The question vanishes from Satoru's face, replaced instead with something bewildered. His cheeks flush, eyes popping wide like he can't quite believe it and okay, maybe Suguru could've asked it in a more roundabout way, but beating around the bush wasn't exactly their style.
Suguru scoffs, flicking Satoru's forehead. “Okay, you're looking at me like I'm crazy and I kind of feel offended right now.”
“No! I mean—” Satoru exclaims, looking a little panicked as he shifts, again, from their entangled position and ugh. Suguru's back is starting to hurt.
“Can you— Satoru—” Suguru sits up, throws the blanket off them and hauls Satoru with him. He sits cross legged and grabs both of Satoru's wrist to stop him from flopping back down on the bed like a deflated balloon. “No, sit up. Let's talk about it. C’mon.”
“I just mean, like,” Satoru starts, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, using it to pull back his growing baby hair away from his face, “—like, how did you end up with that outcome? Us. Dating.”
“It's like, the most obvious outcome.” Suguru snorts, sighing as his back finally creaks with a satisfying pop. “Tell me you haven't at least thought about it?”
“You think about us dating?”
“I'm thinking about it now, since you brought it up. Dumbass.” Suguru jeers, but something more out of light-hearted frustration than sincere annoyance.
“I don't think about dating at all,” Satoru exclaims, his hands sort of waving around in front of him. An uncertain action. “I just thought about it ‘cause of Shoko and… I dunno. I wondered if you did all that stuff.”
“I did,” Suguru says, another sigh escaping him, but his lips linger into a fond smile. “And you got me thinking about it and how everyone I’ve ever met has been incomparable to you, Satoru.”
Suguru’s still holding Satoru by the wrist, his hands encased in a gentle hold and he turns them until Satoru’s palm side down and Suguru’s palm side up. His skin is warm, soft and barely calloused, and Suguru laces their fingers together. “I’ve been mulling it over, every date and every person I’ve opened myself up to, every inch of myself I’ve given and taken back because I knew they couldn’t possibly be the person I would willingly devote my time and attention to. That they couldn’t possibly be the one I could love with all of me. And it’s like you said, I came here with only myself and my curse and I was, in some ways, freed. ”
Satoru’s breath is shaky; gaze fixed on their intertwined hands and Suguru sweeps his thumb over the bump of Satoru’s knuckles. “I was free to talk about this curse inside me, free to use it for good and to protect people, finally free to accept the fact that I’m not alone anymore. Suddenly you’re there and I just… I know you’re it.”
“Me?” Satoru exhales.
“You.” Suguru cradles his cheek. “Say something?”
“I’d wanna date me too.”
Suguru gives his cheek a light tap. “Anything other than that.”
It’s a surprise for Suguru when Satoru does talk through his choked up laugh, his tone breathy and almost exhilarated. “I keep thinking about you.”
“Youre thinking? What a—” before Suguru could finish his joke, Satoru grips his hand tight, takes it with both hands and holds it up close to his lips like he’s in prayer.
“I keep thinking about why I just want to keep you close and live under your skin if I could. Like if I could, I would wrap you up in Infinity and swallow down the curses for you, just so I don’t have to hear you gag in dirty bathrooms anymore. I keep thinking of you, when it’s just us, and you’d smell like Shoko’s cigarettes from hanging around her too much. We’d share the same hamper, the same detergent and fabric conditioner. We’d share this same bed and these pillows, these blankets and bed covers. I would smell like you, even when I’m back in my own room and I would be the only one to know because my Six-Eyes tell me that it’s your scent I’m wearing.”
Every word out of Satoru’s mouth is quick. Unrelenting but certain. A truth. A confession, even. If Suguru’s delusional enough to think of it as that.
Satoru continues. “I kept thinking of you after last week, wondering if anyone has had the pleasure of knowing you the way I do, Suguru. If they know that you'd only eat something sweet if I would give you something bitter or sour to balance it out. If they know that you have a pretty dark humor for someone who spouts motivational bullshit to Haibara and Nanami. Do they know you buy the lavender shampoo because it's cheap, even though your favourite is the one that smells like jasmine and roses and it's pretty expensive? Or the fact that your scalp is pretty sensitive and it's why you only let me and Shoko do your hair. Do they know all that, Suguru?”
The words uttered leave a warm imprint on Suguru's knuckle, so close to Satoru's lips as he utters every word with something akin to reverence. His eyes are closed, his eyelashes kissing the high points of his cheeks. Suguru's drowning in it, his attention zeroed in on the timbre of Satoru's voice, and he can feel heat rise from his neck up to his cheeks, spreading to his ears and even down to his chest, for Christ's sake.
“I think about you, how close I'm allowed and how Infinity breaks apart to let you in without me having a say in it. I think about —” Satoru chokes, even though he’s articulating each word in a paced manner, his grip on Suguru’s hand tightening. “How happy I was to be free, too. How light it feels to wake up in a bed a few inches too short. How I can decorate my room and put up posters, to steal your food in the fridge, to know that Shoko will always be awake late enough so I don’t have to go down to the vending machines alone.”
Another shaky breath escapes Satoru, breathing through everything, and Suguru keeps on watching. He holds his hand and cradles the sharp slope of his jaw, and Suguru listens because he knows there’s more of what Satoru wants to say. He lets the ever-present drumming of rain shield them from the world and its horrors, safe at last in the length of this evening.
“I think about you, Suguru. And I’m lying. Because maybe I don’t think about dating people, but I think about wanting to hold your hands, wondering what it would be like to kiss you in the morning with your morning breath. I saw Shoko and her ex, the polite hello and awkward goodbyes, and I thought about how we’d never have to endure that because we’re friends – best friends – but I was also aching to know, you know? The past week, I was just – going over everything, of why I knew I was close but not close enough. I wanted to know if there was more beyond friendship and whatever platonic impasse we’re on. I want—”
Satoru stops, baby blues finally revealing itself. They glow bright in the dim space of Suguru’s room, like a lighthouse beckoning those who are lost to come and be guided home. Suguru smiles, a slow and saccharine curl of his lips, and slides his hand from Satoru’s jaw to tuck a stray hair behind his ears.
God. Suguru is so.
Speechless.
Dumbfounded.
Flattered.
In love, even.
“I never thought you’d be one to wax poetics, Satoru.”
Suguru watches his cheeks flush to a beautiful shade of pink, revels in the way he can feel the heat on his palms and the quick thud-thud-thud of Satoru’s jugular under his skin.
Satoru tries to break free, hands swatting at Suguru with his lips jutted into a pout. “You completely ruined the moment, you ass—”
“I love you, Satoru,” Suguru says. “I love you for yourself, as you are now, what you could be, and who you choose to become. I am in love with you. I’m not asking you for anything, not your love or reciprocation, not your strength or power. Just that you let me love you, to let me always stand by your side and have your back. That’s enough.”
He lets Satoru go. His arms rest on his knees, back hunched and deliberately at ease now that everything was laid bare for each of their own inspection. It feels like a weight’s lifted, in all honesty. His chest is light, cradled by the assurance of Satoru’s words and knows that even a rejection wouldn’t be enough to tamp down his feelings and fondness for Satoru.
Whatever form of love it may take, Suguru is content with the knowledge that Satoru knows there will always be love for him that exists, whether they are in between their petty arguments or halfway across the country.
He’s about to say something more, something about maybe grabbing dinner and checking on Shoko just to ease the silence in the room, but then Suguru’s back is reacquainted with the mattress. Satoru’s body blankets his own, their feet dangling off the edge as wiry, muscled arms wrap around his torso.
“Do you think I can still say yes to that date, Suguru?”
Suguru – compelled by love and its complexities – embraces Satoru with nothing more but a pleased laugh.
“Yes, Satoru. I would very much love to take you out on a date.”