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The missions were far harder on Suguru than they ever could be on Satoru. Satoru’s cockiness would be his downfall at this rate. Suguru’s exhaustion left him sickly. He was buff even as he shrank from the depression. He never felt clean. He never had an appetite, but he did have hunger.
Satoru cut his hand today with a weapon. Suguru felt the disgust that never left him no matter the difficulty. He was beyond caring about himself. Every day he thought about leaving, running away, or burning it all to the ground. He would’ve talked philosophy with Satoru but the bruises to their ego were spreading purple. They were third-years. There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t end in the room cursed apart.
Third-years had privilege. They were both special grades. They had a bathroom in their dorms; they were suites, really. They shared a bed when they could. Satoru curled up so small into Suguru’s arms. It was the only time Suguru felt real. The frequency was falling because Satoru was Gojo. Everyone else was useless.
Satoru always came to his room. He stood in the doorway, blood dripping from his hand.
Satoru’s voice strains, but it’s cheery, “My fault this time,” he says.
Suguru sits on the twin XL bed covered in its Navy blue comforter. The lights are off and even with six eyes the band and movie posters seem dulled in color. He isn’t worried about Satoru. He wants to scold him for his arrogance. He won’t. Satoru hasn’t been hurt on a mission since the plasma vessel. His stomach pits as he thinks about it.
He heads to the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet for a moment. It never works for him, but maybe it will work for Satoru. He closes the little silver drain and starts running the water as the wooden floors creak beneath his shoes.
“Come in here, Satoru,” he says softly.
The blood dripped onto Satoru’s white shirt. Suguru digs through the cabinet for hydrogen peroxide and a rag.
“Put your hand out,” Suguru says.
Satoru complies. He just couldn’t keep infinity on around Suguru. Suguru sprays the peroxide onto his hand, wipes it off. He sprays some onto the white shirt too as Satoru flinches from its cool temperature. The blood at least starts to come out.
“This one was expensive, thank you.” Satoru says smiling, using his other hand to adjust his round glasses.
“The cut doesn’t look too bad, just bled a lot because of where you cut it. How did you even do this?” Suguru asks, looking for bandages to wrap it with.
“I turned it off to grab the weapon from the user and hit the blade by a centimeter,” Satoru says, nonchalant as ever.
Suguru carefully wraps the bandage around the wound. It’s not deep. He knows Satoru could’ve used RCT. He will later. They’ve never talked about it. Satoru was considerate in his own way when he wanted to be. He could be a real princess at times.
The water rushes down behind them. Suguru stands up and unbuttons the stained, white short sleeve button down as Satoru moves his arms making it easy for him to remove it. Satoru is hunched forward. Despite the height he has on Suguru, he looks so small between only the nightlight being on and his feigned injury.
Suguru dreads removing his uniform. The slightest smell of tobacco calms him and reminds him he probably owes the doctor-in-training at least two packs by now. Satoru has seen him like this enough times. Shoko healed him well, but he always notices the faintest “X” in his chest. His ribs poke out on both sides, now. His hair, already in its bun, isn’t as thick as it once was.
He gets in first. The water is heavy. It scorns and relaxes at the same time. He’s perpetually sore. He knows why. He doesn’t care. The tenseness in his chest and delts slowly subside.
“Get in with me,” he says.
Satoru takes more time than necessary to unbutton his pants and crawl in. He practically straddles Suguru, chest to chest, as his eyes pierce Suguru’s soul. The water rises around them as Satoru’s own body tries to adjust to the heat.
“It’s too hot,” Satoru whines.
“You can turn it off,” Suguru says.
Satoru twists his body to do so and plants his face in Suguru’s neck. He just lays there as Suguru takes all his weight. Eventually Satoru feels a hand combing through his white hair, twirling the ends. He almost kisses Suguru’s neck. Instead, he lets himself memorize the smell of it and the texture of his skin. He wanted to lick the sweat as much as Suguru wanted to kiss his forehead above the fogging-up round glasses.
Satoru traces the lines of Suguru’s body under the water. He knows how lean he is. He wants to kiss the faint “X” on his chest. Suguru sinks his body deeper into the water on instinct. That day was the worst of his life. A silky black strand of his hair gets submerged. It forces Satoru to crawl up just enough to stop.
“Let me take care of you,” Suguru says.
The six-eyes looked puzzled.
“You’ve had a hard day. I’ve had a hard week,” Suguru says, stern.
Satoru nods. He doesn’t understand. He never will. He feels a warmth in his heart that the hunk under him wants to make him feel better. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t want to. He feels Suguru’s big hands scrub his back and arms. He massages into every muscle group on his back. He could swear he’d go limp if the tub was any larger.
He closes his eyes and lets the larger man rinse him off. He never breaches a boundary. Suguru is delicate around the curves of his ass. Satoru hides a rosy blush as he is.
“Sit up?” Suguru asks.
It’s awkward given their position, but Suguru eventually meets him. His violet eyes reflect in the de-fogging round lenses. The dark circles under them look worse in that mirror. Satoru was told how special his eyes were his whole life, yet he feels such a jealousy for Suguru’s. They’re pretty when they’re tired and more importantly they’re just tired, not strained.
Satoru’s mouth opens for a second, staring into the violet eyes. He wants to tell Suguru how much he loves them. He wants to tell Suguru he feels like they pierce his soul. He doesn’t want Suguru to ever leave his side, so he decides against it. Suguru’s hand is on his abs removing the day’s mission grime. He looks down to hide another rosy blush. The lights are out. Suguru is focused on Satoru’s healthy, lean physique.
“The water is getting cold,” Satoru says as Suguru is washing his chest.
“Drain a little bit of it and turn it on, back to hot,” Suguru says.
It sloshes as the cool water drains and faucet sends down scorching, fresh water. It clouds Satoru’s thoughts. Suguru wants to tell the man in front of him he wishes he could take care of him forever. He’s so perfectly clueless, it could kill the illusion. Satoru turns off the water again.
“Can I lay down again?” Satoru asks.
Suguru leans back against the tub again, chest up, neck above the end of the tub protecting his hair. This time Satoru leans his back straight into Suguru’s chest; muscle clashing with muscle. His head laid just under Suguru’s chin. Suguru wraps his arms around Satoru’s waist, the water engulfing them. It was warm, like the comforter they so often shared.
Time stops for that moment. They both crack the faintest smile. Despite the weight of Satoru, who weighs more than he looks, Suguru feels lighter. Satoru pokes the drain with his foot and the water washes their tenseness away, for now. Impermanence is a gift of its own.
Satoru gets up first and wraps the towel around his waist dangerously low. He was always like that, since the day they met. Suguru sits for a second in the empty tub. He inhales and exhales before standing up. He’s classier than his foil, wrapping himself in a black robe. He stopped scolding Satoru for indecency an eternity ago.
Suguru plops himself on the bed. Satoru stays in the bathroom. He undoes the bandage Suguru placed on his hand. The cut is small. RCT heals it quickly. He felt normal for a brief window. Suguru makes him feel normal. Suguru anchors him to his Earth. He can’t figure out the words to say. He doesn’t want to lose Suguru.
“Lay on your side.” Satoru whines to Suguru who is directly in the middle of the already-small bed.
Suguru obliges as Satoru discards his towel on the floor and curls up in a C-shape against Suguru’s robe. Suguru’s left arm slowly engulfs his waist. The six-eyes falls asleep quickly. His chest rises and falls with each breath and hits Suguru’s forearm.
He’s hopelessly in love. His fear consumes him as he becomes more curse than human with each passing summer day. He replays the scene in his head until his own eyes give out.