Archive of Our Own

‘Bangs.’ Gojo thinks irritability as this kid stands at the front of the class, a polite smile and kind eyes that doesn’t match the ferocious lick of cursed energy thrashing around him.

He introduces himself, keigo rolling off his tongue that makes Gojo want to gag and makes the other girl beside him snicker. If the dark haired boy with a neat bun notices them jeering he doesn’t show it, his voice remains calm and neutral as he wraps up his words into a practised, pretty bow.

He gives a courteous bow to Yaga and then to the two of them and goes to sit down.

Gojo grits his teeth, standing up next and intending to wash whatever sickly sweet pretence this guy was trying to lay down.

“Well whatever that was…” he drawls out to the room as he stands in front of the blackboard.

“Satoru.” Yaga warns him, when he’s already having run-ins with his teacher before the term has even started.

Gojo waves his hand flippantly to say, yeah yeah got it, and rolls his eyes just because he can.

“Gojo Satoru here yadda yadda,” he drones before his eyes fall to his new classmate, Geto, “There’s one thing I hate more than false pleasantries and that’s weaklings, so try to keep up, got it?” his voice reverberates throughout the classroom.

Yaga lets out a frustrated sigh and Shoko rolls her eyes with a smile, checking her nails.

Geto sits perfectly still, hands in his lap, but Gojo sees something in his porcelain smile crack and grins maliciously.

‘Jackass,’ Geto thinks, trying his utmost to ignore the weird, white haired guy beside him, blatantly ignoring Yaga’s lecture and then whining when he starts getting bored.

He hadn’t met someone like him before, arrogant and loud, annoying to the brink of being a nuisance but still incredibly sharp and acing all of the tests they got with indifference.

It’s annoying when Geto has to return to his dorm at the end of every day and cram thousands of years worth of Jujutsu knowledge into the night just to stay ahead of this dumbass, loudmouth prodigy.

He still relishes in Gojo’s outrage on their last test when Geto got a neat 100% and Gojo only got 98%. He outwardly declared to the room that tests didn’t count anyway and that it was really technique and physical ability that mattered. But Geto still took glee in the scrunched pout he wore for most of the day after that.

Today, Gojo is really trying to elicit a reaction from him, flicking over tiny, triangle origami pieces while he’s writing or annoyingly spinning his pen in between his fingers in a bored fidget.

When Yaga turns, book in hand, to write notes on the blackboard, Gojo tips his chair back and haphazardly balances on the two back legs, his feet kicking off from the ground. Geto eventually looks over at him, hoping he’ll see him slip, not only to make a fool out of himself but hopefully to give Yaga a reason to throw him out of the classroom as well.

But Gojo just twirls a finger, giving him a lazy, confident grin as the edges of the chair legs glow blue and his technique keeps him comfortably in place.

Geto doesn’t give him the satisfaction of scowling at him, but drags and unimpressed look as if he couldn’t care less and focuses back on writing his notes.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Gojo scoff and pout from the lack of attention. Yaga turns back around and immediately barks at Satoru to Sit back down. The chair legs hit the floor with a thump and he slumps over his desk, frown deepening with an irritated exhale. Geto tampers down his grin but he feels a little victorious.

They do hand to hand and weapon drills a few times a week in the dojo at the school grounds. Today, Shoko is focusing on her form with Yaga while Gojo and Geto are instructed to practise the drills they had been learning against each other.

The brush of the tatami mat against his socked feet is familiar to Gojo, he trained for most of his childhood this way within the walls of his estate. Once he realised with his technique and infinity that he was practically untouchable, he focused more on honing that and left the melee training as an afterthought. Still, he slips easily into an offensive stance and raises his hands in a practised pose.

Geto mirrors him, his legs wide and firm against the mat underneath. He arches an eyebrow at him as if to say Well?

Gojo punches forward, aiming to catch him out through a quick imbalance and tumble him onto the ground. Except he doesn’t.

Geto is fast and quick thinking. He dodges each of Gojo’s punches and blocks one or two with the back of his hand. He turns them around like a dance, darts a jab into Gojo’s side and with the sudden jump in reaction, grabs the scruff of his shirt and flips them over, pinning him into the mat with a hard knee in his back.

Gojo blinks and in the back he can hear Shoko sputter out a guffaw.

“What the hell!! Cheater!” he yells, because it’s easier than admitting to whatever the hell Geto just threw at him.

”I didn’t cheat you’re just slow,” Geto teases, getting off his back when he starts to squirm.

The pressure lets up and he looks to see a hand outstretched for him to catch with a small twinkle in Geto’s eye. Gojo looks at his hand petulantly but clasps it, getting hauled up to his feet easily.

“Best 2 out of 3?” Geto grins at him, pulling back and settling into a stance.

Gojo stares back at the other and the feeling of loss dissipates from him. He doesn’t see a strict instructor or a helplessly weak opponent, he sees something akin to an equal. Someone who might actually be able to keep up with him. He mirrors Geto’s grin and settles into a practiced stance, eager for the challenge.

Alright maybe this uptight loser wasn’t so bad.

It’s their first mission together, down near an old abandoned hospital site at the edges of the city. A dark and crumpled place where anyone who walked through seemed to mysteriously go missing without a trace.

The stench of cursed energy permeates the air, hanging heavy like a fog through a crumbling cemetery of decaying buildings and rusty pipes.

The fear of death, the grief and hopelessness of the people left within the old hospital all culminated until it clung to the air as if wading through thick honey. It felt as stifling as a blazing sauna yet chilling enough to reach into their bones.

Geto’s nerves prickle on edge, it’s at least a grade 1 maybe even a special grade. Though they were both already ranked as special grades themselves, they were still inexperienced and had yet to face one in battle. Despite the worry, Geto’s interest piqued at the idea of having such a powerful curse in his arsenal.

Gojo seems to be unaffected, if anything the crushing pressure from the aura of this curse is making him giddier. He’s rolling an eaten lollipop stick between his fingers, hand in his pocket as he yaps a mile a minute.

“You wanna get crêpes after this? There’s this place in Harajuku—“

“Can we focus on this first?” Geto’s voice tightens as the energy around him begins to spike, ticking over his senses until he feels like the gauge might break.

“Wha you scared? Don’t cry then,” Gojo snickers when suddenly the floor paints to black beneath him.

He blinks, hovering almost immediately before it can suck him under into the foundations. Geto jumps quickly onto a higher ledge and they see a spiral of inky blues and blacks fan out across the space, swallowing scurrying rats and discarded trash.

Gojo whistles, grinning as Geto summons a litany of curses in reaction.

They lure it out, little by little, jumping higher and higher to each next ledge until they’re on top of the crumbling hospital itself. The curse stretches as far as it can go across the ground and begins to climb out of its void to reach them, tendrils licking up the edges of buildings and starting to swing at them.

Geto fires a thorned curse to cut through its shape, which catches something solid at the edge then gets inescapably swallowed up.

He curses, summoning another but watches as the inky, black carpet climbs higher up the hospital walls towards them, panicked.

Gojo huddles close to him, back turned to his as he murmurs, “I think I got it.”

He summons his technique, streaks of blue flying around them as he shoots at the outstretched neck of this black glob, pulling and twisting until it’s coming with him in a screech.

The black starts to unstick, pulling away like scotch tape before it’s flying in a circle around them, buildings and debris hurtling with it as Gojo’s ability mercilessly pulls anything into its orbit.

The curse lets out a gurgling cry before the crushing weight of Gojo’s blue flattens it and a sea of cursed, purple blood splats across the area.

Geto’s eyes are wide, his breathing heavy as he looks to Gojo who wipes something from his nose before he turns to look at him, grinning.

Geto just looks at him, at a loss for words after seeing what might be a fraction of the full power to his Limitless.

“I was going to eat that,” he manages and Gojo laughs, all bright, a genuine smile pressing dimples into his cheeks.

“Too bad, you can have crêpes with me instead!” he grins, slinging an arm over his shoulder and levitating them both back to the ground.

Geto huffs a laugh and pushes him off playfully once they settle back on the ground, “Alright let’s go.”

Gojo slumps back through the quiet campus, a long day of extra solo missions that Yaga had surprised him with and a gruelling audience with the higher ups of the Jujutsu council. He had to stand there and go over mission reports and talk about how his technique and education were going.

It annoys him that the old geezers want to keep tabs on every minuscule part of his life, though he had a sneaking suspicion it’s from the demands of his own clan. Since he hardly ever writes to them and ignores every one of their calls.

When he had arrived at Jujutsu Tech it felt like a rush of freedom had overtook him. He was finally outside, away from the high walls that had kept him fenced in. He remembers when he was younger and would run away just to roam the streets of Tokyo, just to feel a modicum of independence. It’s not like he was ever in any real danger, even with the bounty over his head, his Six Eyes could see the desperate old geezer’s staring daggers into him skyscrapers away. They couldn’t touch him. And still, as he would round a corner, a sleek, domineering car would meet him and a familiar chauffeur ushering him back inside to the tight, unimpressed faces of his elders.

It was suffocating, feeling like some prized gem to be greedily coveted away and lorded over the other clans. The very idea of them using him like another pawn in their staged chess board made his absolute skin crawl. He held no love for them ever. At all. When his youth wasn’t even an option for him.

For now he was complying with their basic demands of education and training, for this morsel of freedom, but from here on he decided, he was finished playing to their whims.

The exhaustion from the day was starting to catch up with him and his legs and arms had begun to ache. All he wanted now was to flop face first into his pillow and never get up.

A soft voice suddenly stops him, cutting through the tired static in his head.

“Yo, Satoru!”

Gojo stills, turning to look at a figure walking up the path too. Geto’s uniform looks a little scuffed, a few dirt marks and a nick across his tan cheek. He must have just arrived back from his own day's work, the tiredness showing faintly in his smooth features.

“Did you just get back too?” His amber eyes are glimmering with a playful wickedness, probably keen to hear how Gojo’s slew of missions went.

“Uhh, you okay?” Geto stops before him, when Gojo hasn’t said anything or reacted to him in any way for that matter.

Gojo just blinks dimly, taking in Geto across from him, his mind feeling more like a fuzzy TV screen.

“What did you say?”

Geto looks at him puzzled, hands pressing into his pockets uncomfortably, “uh, I asked if you just got back from your mission? You okay?”

“No, the other thing,” Gojo’s voice feels a bit small as it falls out of him.

Geto’s expression becomes more pinched with confusion until a small glint of understanding flickers across his features and his cheeks turn the tiniest shade of red in the evening light. Gojo, for some reason, marks down exactly what kind of colour it is and embeds it to memory.

“Ah.. you mean Satoru?” He asks sheepishly.

Gojo’s mouth opens to speak but he only nods.

“Well..” Geto pauses, his head inclines to the side as if he’s choosing his words carefully and looks back to Gojo with some soft, open expression, “it’s your name isn’t it? I know you a little better now. Plus we always use Shoko’s name so I just..” his words die away weakly, like he’s feeling it wasn’t that good of an excuse.

Gojo’s mind reels. After the day he’s had, after the stiff, strict meetings with the higher ups, after him brooding over the daunting pedestal he was being placed atop of, Geto didn’t really know any of it. He didn’t know him at all for that matter and yet here he was standing with him on the rough gravel beneath them.

“Nobody really calls me that,” Gojo’s voice manages, “except maybe my mom.”

Geto laughs at that, his bright cackle loosening each of Gojo’s frozen limbs, “I would hope your mom doesn’t call you Gojo, that'd be weird.”

Geto’s smile is easy, pleasant. He has no fathomable clue who his mom is, or the circumstances of how she met his father for Gojo Satoru to be planned and ultimately destined to stand here today. Geto isn’t intimidated by the word Gojo or the taboo of addressing Satoru directly so casually.

‘It’s nice,’ Gojo thinks.

“It’s nice,” Geto repeats his thoughts to him, liquid mirth dancing in pools of gold, “Like it’s sweet. Satoru. Sato~“ he chuckles.

Gojo feels suddenly hot, like his collar is getting weirdly tight and he can feel a burning on the tops of his cheeks. His hands fidget at his sides like it’s a weird tick when he gets uncomfortable. He hits back, because it’s easier, more familiar than standing there flustered to the spot.

“Then I get full access to yours then too, Suguru!”

Suguru’s brow arches and he’s still smiling, his teeth peeking out between an amused grin, “I mean you were allowed to anyway, but sure.”

Satoru bounces, slinging an arm around Suguru’s shoulders and resuming their walk back to the dorm building. The irritation and exhaustion he was feeling melting away.

“Suguru! Ssugu-! Like a snake!!” He cackles loud into the sky.

Suguru’s elbowing him in the chest but not exactly pulling away, “I’m regretting this now, aren’t I? Are you drunk with power?”

Satoru’s gleeful cackle turns to a genuine laugh, tickling his tummy and into his ribs. He looks at the still scuffed Suguru who’s grinning at him with a half amused, half defeated look.

“One step closer to world domination for sure.”

Suguru pads through the wooden corridors towards the shared lounge area, his comfortable sweater on and a mug of tea in hand.

He’s about to slide open the shoji doors when it’s ripped out from him, the wood rattling violently as it’s flung open to the side.

Utahime is red faced, the anger in her brow deep enough it might stay etched in there permanently. She’s seething, fists clenched and teeth bared as she barely registers Suguru standing surprised beside her.

“You are a LIAR and a CHEAT, Gojo Satoru! Never ask me here AGAIN.” and she stalks off, her velvet, black hair swishing behind her as she leaves.

Suguru blinks watching her leave, then surreptitiously, looks inside the lounge to see both Satoru and Shoko sitting around the low table, a board on top of it and game pieces scattered everywhere.

“You really did it now,” Shoko huffs.

“Haah? I did nothing!” Satoru bites back.

“What did you do?” Suguru smiles, stepping in and sitting down on the floor with them, hugging the warm mug to his chest.

“Nothing!!” Satoru throws his arms up exasperated, “she takes stuff way too seriously. It’s just a game.”

“I’m gonna go check on her,” Shoko gives Satoru a dull look but says nothing else, getting up off the floor and heading out of the room.

They sit in silence for a little bit, Utahime’s departure still ringing in the air. Satoru slumps forward onto the table, holding his head in his hand as he pokes the game pieces with a pout.

Suguru watches him, takes in the way his actions become tight and fidgety, the way his shoulders slump in and his lips thin. He’s picking at one of the cardboard pieces so much that it starts to fray.

Over the past few months Suguru had gotten to know Satoru, he realised he wasn’t as obnoxious and bratty as he thought he was. Yes he’s still a brat when he wants to be, but he’s also kind, gentle and compassionate in his own way. He’s thoughtful and honest, even when cheating on a child’s board game. He always has an infectious playfulness to him while the dichotomy of an immense power swims behind his crystal eyes.

Suguru saw past the thick barricades Satoru had built up pretty quickly. The joking guises and snippy words that were meant to rattle and provoke rather than entice earnest conversation. Suguru knew it well when he himself had built similar walls just to survive. To avoid the worried looks of his parents or the jeers from kids his age when he would ask about the scary monsters clinging in alleys. The two of them were vastly different but also the same. Sure he saw the spoiled heir, born on a pedestal with a silver spoon in his mouth but he also saw the kid sitting across from him who just wanted to play a board game when he never got to before.

Satoru’s frown shifts from moody into something downright sour, his brow furrowing and a faint wetness clumping in his light lashes.

Suguru decides he’ll have it there. He sets his cup on the table beside the opened game box and starts collecting the matching game pieces into groups. He moves around Satoru’s stubbornly placed arms and tidies up the fallen pieces on the floor.

“You know, if you’re going to cheat in a game there’s one rule,” Suguru says to him, taking the piece Satoru had been picking at last and meeting his subdued blue eyes.

Satoru looks at him, still sullen and pouty and frowns for an answer.

“Don’t get caught,” Suguru grins at him, smoothing down the board again and dealing out fresh new pieces.

“We need at least three players though,” Satoru mumbles, cold and icy.

“Who cares, we’ll work around it,” Suguru finishes setting up the game into its proper place and meets Satoru’s eyes, “I’ll warn you though, I’m not very fair at all.”

Satoru’s demeanour shifts. He sits up a little straighter, a pique of interest flashing across his eyes. He grins deviously, grabbing the dice first and giving them a rattle.

“Oh yeah? Can’t wait to see you lose so bad.”

Suguru snickers, giving him a consoling uh-huh.

He watches Satoru’s stoneyness fade, his energetic little movements returning and his infectious, wide smile beaming at him. Suguru’s heart lightens seeing Satoru come back into himself and thinks he prefers his loud brashness, the taunts and jeers included.

And a part of him starts to feel fiercely protective over it.

“My eyes fucking hurt,” Satoru complains, pressing an arm against his lids to block out the early summer sun.

“Does his majesty require the shade?” Suguru teases beside him as they lean against a metal rail, tired from a full day of missions and just about ready to head home.

“Shut up. It’s my technique, it makes them all dry and,” he makes a motion with his free hand that has his fingers wiggling in sharp shapes, “I dunno crackly. Fizzy? Something like that.”

Suguru pauses for a moment, probably thinking. Satoru is about to lift his arm to look at him before he says, “Have you ever tried sunglasses?”

Satoru squints into his sleeve, then lifts it enough to just catch Suguru’s eyes, “No. I usually had an umbrella at home, or I’d go back inside.”

“You’re really selling the Emperor image here, bet you had the fine silk kimono too, huh?”

Satoru pushes at him, mouth twisting into a pout.

Suguru laughs, soft and sweet like buttery caramel and gets off the railing. “C’mon then let’s find you some.”

Satoru eyes him, still under his sleeve then groans, getting up from his slouch and follows him.

Suguru walks him into the shade and they meander around the busy Shibuya streets. Even the bustle of people and the sounds of the city start to become white noise, a harsh buzzing in his ear and behind his eyes until it starts to get too much. He squints past the oncoming migraine before Suguru pulls him into a quiet shop, the door tinkling as it opens and closes behind them.

It’s quiet and cool inside, the onslaught of the outside shut behind dark, wooden doors. The store clerk bustles somewhere in another room behind the counter as he looks around the store. There are shelves upon shelves of clear glasses with different types of frames and shapes, large standing glass cabinets to the side that display elegant looking boxes and individual lenses. Suguru is flicking through a revolving stand of sunglasses, picking out a pair of dark, circular frames and stepping over to him.

“Try these.”

Suguru doesn’t hold them out, instead he stands between Satoru’s feet and slides them over his ears, fingers brushing over the shell of his ear and untucking stray strands of white that get caught in between. He pulls away lightly, slowly, examining his new appearance before he can see himself.

He stares at Suguru behind a dark veil, an instant balm blanketing over his eyes. He hadn’t realised the store lights were so harsh until they were blocked out by the dark lens. He can take in Suguru a bit more properly now too, his playful smile and almond eyes. The way he’s standing, a little pleased with himself. Even though he’d have to take them off, he kind of wants Suguru to repeat the action and try on every pair on the rack. Instead Suguru hums approvingly, stepping back and turning the rotating stand so the side mirrors face out to him.

“They suit you,” he smiles as Satoru drags his gaze away and looks back at his reflection.

It’s different. The round glass is interesting, he thinks, curving over the tops of his lashes and sitting snugly under his eyebrows. It’s not so much the appearance he’s worried about but the instant ease it brings from the harsh light, the dulling of too many colours until the stretch and over-bearing buzz of Six Eyes fades to a gentle thrum.

But Suguru did say they suited him and he’s not going to let him get away with that.

He looks back to the other, perching the sunglasses down his nose with his eyes twinkling, giving him a wink, “yeah you think so? Tell me more.”

Suguru rolls his eyes and twists the mirror away from him in mock irritation, “suddenly I’ve lost all opinion about it.”

Satoru snickers as Suguru fails to keep up his annoyed demeanour and cracks a smile at him anyway.

There’s movement near the counter as the store clerk steps out from the back room and sees the two of them. She settles over the shining glass cabinets, giving a polite but knowing smile, “How may I help you?”

“We’ll take this pair, please,” Suguru steps forward in front of Satoru, handing out his credit card for her to take.

Satoru blinks, putting his hand away when he goes to feel for his wallet. He’d have been able to pay for them, hell, he could have bought out the shop, but something about Suguru getting them for him makes him feel a rush of giddiness. They feel like a gift from Suguru now, something special. He takes off the glasses instead and hands them to the clerk for her to scan.

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly into the quiet shop, leaning into Suguru’s space without thinking.

“Take care of them, got it?,” Suguru smiles teasingly, leaning back into him too.

They’re standing around the vending machines, shaded from the baking summer sun as they sip and chew through their snacks. Haibara and Satoru squat as they chat, Nanami’s back is pressed to the neon glass of the machine and Shoko sits on the rail opposite, puffing through her third cigarette.

They hang out when there’s time, enjoying the brief moments with their underclassmen before being whisked away again to other duties.

Suguru scuffs his shoe on the dirt, kicking up a bit of dust as he listens to them all idly, adding in one or two words among the chatter as he holds his can of soda.

He can see Shoko’s eyes lift to him ever so often, quietly observing him when he’s been a bit more reserved lately. It’s just been the summer heat, and he’s tired. He’d rather sit back and listen now rather than expend more energy.

Haibara and Satoru are chatting loudly, grinning and cackling as they fill and brighten the space around them.

“— right, Suguru?”

Shit he hadn’t been listening. He looks over to the crouched Satoru, Haibara like a puppy beaming up at him.

“Hm? What?”

“You’re not even listening to my incredible story,” he pouts, his whole body physically deflating.

“No I am, keep going,” he teases, fighting back a laugh when Satoru’s cheeks puff out.

“Well it’s nunya.”

Suguru blinks confused, thinking he heard wrong, “what’s nunya?”

“Nunya business!” and Satoru sticks his tongue out childishly.

It’s not that funny. It really isn’t. It’s like maybe a 2 on the chuckle meter at best but when Suguru takes a sip from his can he wishes he hadn’t. The heave of a laugh jumps out of him until his cheeks puff out and he is very dangerously going to spray poor Haibara with lemon soda. He slaps a hand to his mouth, the fizz burning his nose as he swallows and coughs, fighting to not let his laughs choke him.

Satoru is grinning up at him, laughing because he’s laughing and looking triumphant that his joke had the effect he wanted.

Suguru’s stomach tickles, his breath heaving as he helplessly barks out a few more laughs, wiping his nose with the side of his sleeve.

“Asshole. Don’t say that when I’m taking a drink.”

Satoru cackles, all playfulness and mirth as he jokes back, Haibara snickering beside him.

He looks around to Nanami for support in this but the younger boy gives him a withering look and Shoko just sits there unhelpfully, smiling like she knows something. He hmphs and gives Satoru’s foot a small kick as punishment because he can, who meets him back with a retaliatory kick.

His stomach squirms a little but he brushes it off as inhaled soda.

Satoru kicks the door to Suguru’s room open unceremoniously, pyjamas still on, his DS in hand.

Suguru is already up, sitting on the floor doing his nails. His hair is still tousled with sleep and his baggy, white band shirt hanging over him comfortably.

“Morning,” Suguru welcomes him, his attention still on his hand balanced over his knee and carefully painting a dark stripe over one nail.

“We all got the same day off for once, isn’t that crazy? You think the old man is losing it?” Satoru grins at him, plopping down onto the old, wooden floor and settling in beside him.

“Probably,” Suguru snickers, his voice still thick and raspy in the early hours of the morning.

Satoru flips open his DS, starting up a tinny sounding game and bumps shoulders with him.

“What you wanna do today?

“Nothing. Literally nothing, I don’t even want to think,” Suguru sighs, finishing off a neat first coat of one hand and switching over to the other.

They’ve had back to back missions all week. If they weren’t in class they were out on the field and not arriving back to their beds until it was dark. They were both exhausted, patience and tolerance already wearing thin.

“Nothing sounds pretty good,” Satoru grins, leaning into him, careful not to disturb his steady hands.

He watches him for a bit, the music from the game playing softly between them,

Suguru, the goody-two-shoes, always waited until their days off to add the bits of himself he could express. Adding some nail polish or a small tick of eyeliner to the edges of his eyes that sharpened them even more. Satoru almost toppled over when he found out Suguru had an eyebrow piercing and two rings for his upper left ear. Suguru snickered at his reaction, fox eyes teasing that made Satoru’s mouth very dry. But once the next school day rolled around, everything was wiped clean and dutifully taken off, a picture of pristine condition again. Satoru mourned the loss sometimes.

Suguru screws the cap back on the nail polish bottle and gives his nails a delicate blow before resting his wrists over his knees to let them dry, unobstructed.

They huddle on the floor for a bit longer, Suguru’s attention now on Satoru playing his game, his head resting on his shoulder. Satoru taps the buttons intermittently, his head coming to rest over Suguru’s.

‘It’s nice,’ Satoru thinks, in the quiet stillness of the morning, when they don’t have anywhere to rush off to and Suguru is just a warm weight at his side.

It’s only when his stomach lets out a quiet growl and the uncomfortable press of the hardwood floor becomes too much that Suguru leans off him. He checks his nails to see if they’re dry and stands up, stretching out the ache near his tail bone.

“C’mon, breakfast,” he shuffles on his slippers somewhere over near the door and Satoru shivering, gets up and takes one of the oversized hoodies hanging out of the drawer, stuffing the DS into the large mid pocket.

“Pancakes?” Satoru calls after him, pulling the hood down over his head and fixing his glasses.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at him, the resigned look in his eye that his clothes were just free real estate now and huffs, “pancakes are the opposite of doing nothing.”

“Pweeeease?” Satoru whines, because Suguru’s banana pancakes are one of the most incredible things to happen in his life, “I’ll clean up.” He adds, in offering.

Suguru rolls his eyes and smiles, stepping out of the room, “Fine,” he agrees, and heads over to the shared kitchen, pulling out everything they’ll need.

They spend the lazy, early morning, swapping places around the kitchen. Suguru mixes ingredients and flips the pan occasionally while Satoru takes away bowls and utensils and scrubs them clean. The kitchen fills with the warm, sweet smell of cinnamon and honey, a tower of thick pancakes climbing on top of the serving plate. Suguru makes way more than they need, anticipating that Satoru would demolish at least half of it and leaves out extras for Shoko when she steps in a while later, bleary eyed and scratching her tummy.

They sit around the small dinner table, Satoru’s cheeks puffed out with pancakes and Suguru hugging his warm mug of tea, smiling at him. Shoko takes a particularly thick slice and smothers it in honey, grabbing some extra blueberries from the tray in the middle.

“So what are we constituting as nothing today?” She asks the table, having been told the agenda for the day and takes a bite out of an oozing piece of pancake.

“Movies?” Suguru offers, thinking of the least amount of effort involved.

“Halloween movies!” Satoru chirps, a glossy glint of honey stuck to his lips.

“It just turned September,” Suguru flat tones at him.

“It’s still kinda warm out,” Shoko offers, who revels in telling the most haunted stories in the dead of summer, “I could find a movie.”

“No,” Satoru points his fork at her, “No jump scares.”

“You’re such a wuss,” Shoko pokes her tongue out at him and he sticks his tongue back out in retaliation.

“Something in the middle then,” Suguru chuckles between them.

After they agree, Satoru dutifully cleans up the plates and cutlery as promised and they fall back to the couches, hauling over every blanket they can find. Suguru picks the longest film they have instead, so he doesn't have to get up sooner, slides the DVD into the player and settles down between them.

Shoko brings her knees up to her chest, fuzzy socks poking out of the blanket as she throws the rest over the two of them. Satoru settles in against Suguru’s side, full and content after the food and hikes a second blanket up over his shoulder.

They get about 10 minutes in before he notices Shoko’s head start to droop and she lazily fixes herself to lean on Suguru’s shoulder. Suguru looks to have nodded off too, his head resting on top of Shoko’s as his chest settles into an even rise and fall with his breaths.

Satoru stares, his chest suddenly full. He’s happy, he thinks, getting to have these quiet, lazy days with his two best friends, eating snacks and watching movies all day.

He looks at Suguru, who looks relaxed and peaceful, mouth slightly open as his breath comes out in soft puffs. Something warm flutters around him, like just being in Suguru’s orbit makes him feel calm and comfortable.

He huddles in closer, the hood of Suguru’s hoodie cushioning his head against his shoulder. He pulls out the DS to busy himself as they nap and if Suguru’s head moves and leans into his own, he says nothing, smiling into the cosy press of it.

For someone who has an in-built protective layer around them at all times, Suguru seems to be able to bypass Satoru’s infinity at almost any time.

It started with small things, a light punch to the shoulder or an annoying poke at his cheek. He’d get close enough to Satoru that he’d feel a small ripple in the air between them and then feel the warm press of skin or ruffle of clothes. Then he was grabbing wrists or pulling Satoru around by the waist. He found when they were near he could never really keep away, brushing their knees together when they’d sit down, or catch a fallen eyelash that got stuck to his cheek.

And Satoru was very much not helping, because he would lean into everything. Allow himself to be whisked away, or incessantly prodded. He’d be touchier than Suguru, wrapping an arm around his shoulder while they walked and butt their heads together. Or poking at Suguru annoyingly until Suguru met him back with force.

Suguru really didn’t think much of it until they’re sitting on the grass in the grounds, relaxing in the Autumn air as it shakes off the last of the summer heat.

Satoru is twirling a pencil between each of his fingers skillfully, a glowing blue shining at the edges around him.

“You ever think curses want to make out?”

Shoko makes a face and swats at him, her hand hitting a thin layer of air before it can hit his arm.

“Gross? Why are you thinking about curses making out, weirdo?”

“There’s gotta be people out there who are scared of kissing, I’m thinking of the creation of it is all.”

“Uh-huh sure thing, weirdo,” she looks at him unimpressed, sitting crisscrossed on the grass, her arms leaning back to support her.

“I actually got a kissing curse last week,” Suguru laughs, stretching his legs out on the grass.

“What, really?” Satoru turns to look at him, intrigued.

“Yeah, but it just kinda sucks the face off something.”

“Ah, kinda like how Shoko does it.”

This earns the air another slap, though closer to his head this time and Satoru cackles.

“Hey,” Suguru’s voice is soft and Satoru turns to look at him with a wicked smile.

Suguru fires a painful flick into the middle of his brow and Satoru recoils, his eyebrows ticking up and his eyes squeezing shut.

“Ow!!”

“Don’t be mean, Satoru,” he grins, covering his hand over his mouth but still speaking plainly, “Utahime might overhear.”

“You piece of shit!” Shoko kicks Suguru’s foot and both of them crumple with laughter, Satoru leaning into Suguru when Shoko starts going for him now.

Suguru uses Satoru as a shield, wrapping his arms around his waist and tugging him in front to the barrage of Shoko’s hits. Satoru’s laughing, his belly quivering under his hands as he leans back into him, edging away from Shoko like she might land a hit.

Suguru can’t help it, he feels a little victorious holding onto him while Shoko remains resolutely locked out.

“You know what? Screw you guys I’m getting a soda,” she gets up dusting the dry blades of grass stuck to her tights.

“Get me a cola!” Satoru calls after her retreating back and is met with a rude hand gesture in the air.

They break apart, Satoru getting up from Suguru and stretching as he sits back.

“Do you do that on purpose?” Suguru looks at him, sitting into a slouch.

“Do what?” Satoru’s large, bright eyes roll over to him.

Suguru pokes him in answer, his index pressing an indent into Satoru’s soft, squishy cheek.

Satoru blinks then grins, poking both of Suguru’s cheeks back. He recoils, pulling away and batting at Satoru’s prodding hands.

“Kinda,” Satoru answers, pulling back, “Not really. I dunno.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow at him but waits for him to continue.

“It’s weird, I used to have to think about it before but now it just happens automatically. It’s like infinity knows you or something,” Satoru smiles lopsided, scooting closer so Suguru can feel the faint ripple of energy around him.

He’s deliberately keeping it on now, Suguru can feel his arm slowly forced to stop like it’s trapped, wading through thick honey. They both look down to where their arms are almost touching.

“It’s weird,” Suguru confirms, ignoring the tickling behind his ribs.

“I don’t like it,” Satoru agrees and just as quickly as it went up, the barrier drops, their elbows knocking together like after a long sigh.

It had only been a few short minutes, but the lack of contact already had Suguru itching. His fingers twitching to pull Satoru closer, to feel soft skin up against his when he had almost been locked out.

Shoko returns holding three cool cans, beads of water trickling down the metal edges. She hands Suguru his lemonade first, then instead of handing Satoru his, she balances it on the top of his head.

The flatter surface of infinity keeps it held upright for a few moments longer until it begins to wobble and Satoru catches it before it hits the ground.

Suguru watches a little distantly as Satoru jokes back with Shoko’s barbs, as his finger and thumb catch the tag and crack the can open, the way it over bubbles a bit from the small tumble it had and the splashes of cola that just bounce off Satoru and spill into the ground instead. He watches the way Satoru leans closer to him now. How he can feel the heat radiating off him and the barest of thin hairs along his arm that tickle against his and cause a wave of goosebumps to flare up his skin. He presses in closer too, if only to rub the goosebumps away and because he can. Because suddenly the very act of touching Satoru has become something precious, something he maybe had taken for granted before.

It’s like infinity knows you.

He feels a rush of pride at that, like a secret he’s been let in on, something he and Satoru can hold onto together that no one else can. He knows he’s looking, knows he’s staring because he can feel Shoko’s eyes roll over to him and then Satoru follows her to match his gaze.

Satoru’s smiling, warm and glittery like lazy rock pools or like Komorebi, when the sun starts to dapple in through canopies of trees. It becomes something more like a grin when he leans in, their shoulders now pressed and his eyes half lidded.

“Right, Suguru?” His voice pitches low in a purr, rumbling and smooth like deep silk.

Suguru meets him back with an easy smile, pushing him away with his shoulder as Satoru snickers. He doesn’t know what they were talking about and doesn’t really care. Not when Satoru settles back beside him, leaning in that little bit closer, their crossed knees almost overlapping. They fall back into their comfortable rhythm and a warmth pools in the base of his stomach.

Nanami steps into the shared kitchenette for the dorm rooms. He’s usually up a little earlier than everyone else, able to make his coffee, spoon through his cereal and be out of the way before the hurricane that is Gojo gets up. Instead he’s a little later than he’d like, sleep tugging his lids down, a yawn catching on his breath. His morning training routine is out the window. On instinct he goes to the coffee machine and stops when he realises Geto is standing at the counter, a bowl of thick yogurt scooped out and chopping up some bananas and strawberries.

“O-oh Geto-san,” he rearranges himself, adjusting his sleepy disposition into something more formal, “good morning, I didn’t see you.”

Geto looks up at him, his warm eyes smiling in that comforting way, “Kento-kun, good morning.”

Nanami’s ears heat up the faintest bit. Geto then glances over his shoulder and realises, about to stop what he’s doing. “Am I in the way of the coffee? Sorry, I can move.”

“No no, it’s fine,” Nanami stops him, turning to the cupboard instead to get out the cereal box, “please continue Geto-san it’s fine.”

Geto smiles at him giving a small nod. His fingers are pink from the strawberries, the juice of them running off the board as he plops them into the bowl along with the bananas and a dollop of honey. Nanami eyes him, pouring the plain bran flakes into his own bowl.

“I didn’t think you liked sweet things in the morning, Geto-san,” he says without really thinking, then realising he might have over stepped, bites the inside of his cheek.

“Hm? Oh,” Geto looks at the bowl as he gives it a stir, mixing up the fruit and yogurt until it’s a pink looking cream, “this is for Satoru, actually. I’ve eaten already.”

“For—,” Nanami’s eyebrows scrunch in bemusement, “you’re making him breakfast?”

He already figured Gojo lived an almost royal life, coming from one of the three clans, a child set on a pedestal, he already acted like he was entitled to everything. And now watching Geto make him breakfast feels like his upperclassmen has already been roped into mandatory servitude.

“I have to,” Geto sighs, rinsing off the chopping board and his hands, drying them on the tea towel nearby.

Nanami is about to abandon his courtesy and interrupt him, the annoyance of this bubbling inside him.

‘You don’t have to. Gojo-san is perfectly capable—’

“If he doesn’t eat now, then he won’t eat until the 12pm break, at which point it’ll be a doughnut or a pack of gummy worms from the konbini. My wallet prefers it this way,” he smiles, picking up the bowl and turning to the sound of rushing footsteps over the wood floors.

“Suguru! Let’s go there’s a—”

“Breakfast,” Geto says sweetly, holding the bowl and spoon out for him.

Gojo groans, arms falling to his sides as he stretches his neck to the ceiling, “ugh really? I’m not hungry.”

“It has strawberries.”

There’s a pause.

“Did you add honey?”

Geto nods, shaking a full pink spoon of it.

Gojo huffs, not even acknowledging Nanami and takes a bite out from the spoon hovering in midair.

‘He’s not even going to feed himself?’ Nanami stands in the background with an incredulous face plastered over him.

Gojo scrunches his nose chewing through it, glaring at the next helping spooned out, “it’s sour.”

Geto’s eyebrows furrow looking at the yogurt and generous amount of honey he poured into it.

“It is not, there might be more honey than yogurt in there.”

“You left the white bits of the strawberries in,” he pouts at it.

Geto huffs, taking a bite out of the spoon he had hovering out, and glares back at Gojo.

“It’s fine, it’s plenty sweet you big baby. Take some of the banana.”

Gojo munches through the rest of it, while Geto talks about their day like it’s a distraction.

Nanami stands rooted to the spot, his plain bran poured out without the milk as he just stares at them dumbfounded, like he turned into a transparent ghost and neither of them had the slightest inkling he was there.

Geto laughs at something Gojo says as the other veers off into a tangent. The last scraping of the spoon from the bowl breaks the illusion and the world comes back to itself, Geto turning to rinse the bowl and spoon and chuck it into the dishwasher.

“Good?” He grins as Gojo pokes his nose around the counter for something else.

“S’fine,” he grins back, stretching his arms up to cup his head from the back, “use maple syrup next time.”

“You can buy the maple syrup then.”

“Aw c’mon that stuffs pricey.”

“Exactly.”

They push off the counter, Geto suddenly looking back and catching Nanami’s eye.

“Have a good day, Kento-kun.”

“Byyyyeeeee Nanamiiin!” Gojo gives him a peace sign with an outstretched arm before slinging it over Geto’s shoulders.

They both retreat away, down the wooden hall and out of sight.

Nanami is still stuck frozen, like he wasn’t sure what he just saw, or if either of them are really that blind.

Haibara prances in jolting Nanami from his trance, the other suddenly looking a little apologetic.

“Good morning Kento! Oh— ah, sorry.. was it too loud?”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose and very urgently needs to make himself a coffee.

“No… just a headache..”

Satoru pokes his head into Shoko’s office, glancing around every corner before looking at her, hunched over forgotten reports while she texts.

“You seen Suguru?”

“Oh yeah, he came back a while ago. Didn’t look great though.”

“What do you mean didn’t look great? Didn’t you do like,” he wags his finger, mock imitating her reversed cursed technique explanation, “your heal-y stuff.”

Shoko gives him a dead pan look, ignoring the jab and goes back to texting.

“He said he was fine, just looked peaky.”

“Peaky,” Satoru repeats, annoyed, “you know you’re supposed to ignore him and do it anyway.”

“If it’s cuts or broken bones I can fix it, but it’s his technique I can’t do much but give him nausea meds. He’ll be fine,” she waves him off, “probably back in the dorms somewhere.”

Satoru huffs, getting off the door frame and heading over to the dorms. He just got back from his own mission, thinking he’d find Suguru out by the sunny quad like they agreed so they could head into the city, but he was nowhere on the grounds.

Technically Satoru could scan for him but Suguru had talked to him about using Six Eyes for every minor thing before.

“It’s gonna fry your brain using it all the time,” Suguru said to him.

“Eh,” he waved it off uncaringly, when his brain feels just fine.

“And anyway what about my privacy?”

“Huh?” Satoru blinked at him.

“You can’t just use it to spy on me all the time,” Suguru grinned when Satoru’s face heated and he was about to bite back, “just… only use it on me in emergencies, okay?”

“Why, you hiding something?” He tried to annoy him.

“You curious?” Suguru teased back.

Satoru stammered out something unintelligible, Suguru laughed all smooth and silk but they agreed to only use it on him as a last resort.

So here he was, like an old school detective finding clues and traces to lead him to Suguru. He didn’t have far to go though, Suguru hadn’t even made it back to his room, just curled on one of the sofa’s facing in, back to Satoru.

Satoru toes his way over, bending down to give his shoulder a little shake, “Hey, you weren’t outside when I got back. Shoko said you were kinda bleh.”

Suguru hunches into himself more, arms wrapped around his mid rift, “S’hurts..”

It’s barely a whisper, a crack that fizzles out with his breath. Satoru stops, his hand pulling back as he watches Suguru’s frame curled in.

Suguru never let on how bad his post curse symptoms were. Sometimes he’d have a bit of indigestion, or end up going with plain foods for a bit to settle his stomach, but this was the first time Satoru saw him physically in pain.

“Oh shit,” he mumbles, thinking fast, “stay there. No obviously you will. Just— don’t pass out. I’ll be back.”

Satoru gets up running to the shared dorm kitchen. He pulls out cupboards, finds Suguru’s box of peppermint tea and the biggest mug he can find. He fills the kettle to the brim, flicking it on and hurries to his bedroom to grab some things.

When he gets back to the main living room, Suguru has turned so he’s lying on his back, expression pinched and his hands holding onto his sides.

Satoru eventually plops down on the floor beside him, bringing over a small low table and setting the steaming hot mug beside it. The fragrant peppermint wafts like healing steam around them. He puts a blanket over Suguru and pushes a hot water bottle under his hands so it rests over his abdomen.

Suguru jerks with the motion but holds onto it like a vice, letting out an exhale.

“Tea is still hot but you want some meds first?”

Suguru grimaces, like the act of moving is already overwhelming, “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Satoru already has a basin for him and he helps him up to half sitting, propping it under him and rubbing his back in between heaves.

When he thinks it’s the last of it for now, he takes it away and pushes a clean towel under him to wipe anything away, then hands a cold glass of water for him to sip. Suguru struggles, but he holds it down, giving Satoru back the almost full glass.

He lies back down slowly, clutching the hot water bottle like the heat could sear the pain away.

“M’sorry we were meant to—,” Suguru holds his breath for a second, waiting for another wave of nausea to pass, then lets it out shakily, “meant to go to the pop up café.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, waving his hand flippantly, “who cares? There will be other dates. You’ll just have to take me to Nagoya when it gets there.”

Suguru smiles, his eyes closing, “yeah, okay. Wherever you want.”

Satoru grins, turning to grab a cool cloth he had in a bowl, squeezing out the excess water and dabbing at Suguru’s sweaty brow.

Suguru hums at the coolness, his usual tan complexion pale and tacky.

Satoru had never seen him this bad before, the shock of it worrying him as he dabs away more sweat.

“It better be a strong one, whatever you took in,” Satoru tries to make light of it, so he doesn’t end up spiralling.

Suguru laughs weakly, “Not even. It’s just… not settling for some reason.”

Suguru winces, a new roll of pain and nausea sweeping over him. Satoru puts the cloth back, grabbing the medicine box and punching out a small tablet from the foil. He holds them up to Suguru’s line of sight.

“Take it,” he instructs.

Suguru looks into Satoru’s palm and obliges, sitting up a little taking the pill, shakily popping it into his mouth.

“Want some tea?”

“Sure,” Suguru takes the hot cup, Satoru still balancing it carefully, and washes the medicine down with a warm gulp of peppermint.

Satoru watches him unnervingly, the strong, immovable image he had of Suguru was now struggling and needing help. It was only dawning on him that they might have weaknesses, that something could come along and take them down. And if Suguru was down then he could… No. Satoru stops his thoughts from forming into something vicious. Instead he focuses on his fierce urge to fix it, to help him back to full strength.

Suguru’s smile shifts his focus and his gaze lifts to Suguru watching him, the warm mug cupped in his hands, elbow sinking into the couch cushion.

“You gonna take over from Shoko?”

“Huh? Wha? No!” He glares, “you’re dying! I can’t let you die. Who will I forcibly take to Digimon café’s?”

Suguru laughs, still weakly but he’s holding onto his cup with a bit more strength.

“I’m not dying. Though I’m sure you’d find someone,” he smiles with that teasing grin, the one that makes Satoru feel like his insides have gone to mush but enough to feel warm, like coming home. He wants Suguru to keep smiling like that, just for him.

“I don’t want to find anyone else,” Satoru pouts, irritated Suguru would even suggest bringing someone else. Who even? Shoko? She’d stub a cigarette out on one of the collectible coasters and wouldn’t even bother order a dessert so Satoru could try all the flavours, “I’m only taking you.”

Suguru pauses sipping his tea, watching Satoru with an unreadable expression. Satoru picks at the lint pilled couch near his arm. Suguru gently puts the cup back on the low table, shuffling back down into the couch, bringing their heads a bit closer.

“Alright, I won’t die. Just for the café,” he grins. It’s not his full one, full of his usual tease and mischief, but the colour already seems to be coming back to him and he’s not wincing as much.

“Good. You better,” Satoru glowers at him, cushioning his head into his folded arms over the couch seat.

Suguru, close enough, brushes a hair or two out of his eyes. It’s so gentle, so quiet, Satoru leans into it without thinking.

“Don’t fall asleep with your glasses on,” Suguru taps them lightly under his hair, “they’ll break.”

“I’m not going to sleep,” he bites back with no heat, “waiting for you to sleep. C’mon,” he pokes his arms repeatedly, “get betterrr.”

Suguru chuckles, hiking the blanket over his shoulder, and squeezing the warm bottle closer to his stomach.

“I’m trying” He bats his hand away playfully, but their fingers end up getting caught and Satoru doesn’t pull away from it, curling them around Suguru’s knuckle joints.

Suguru lazily brings their hands down, the fight gone out of him as he settles into a comfortable spot and rests their loosely locked fingers between each other.

Satoru feels warm and comfortable, his heart rate slowing to a mellow beat, the worry for Suguru slowly fizzling out. Suguru falls asleep first, soft breaths puffing near his hands and he slowly starts to feel himself drift away as well.

—

Shoko steps through into the dorm room, when she hadn’t heard anything back from him and figured she’d go see if Suguru really needed help. As soon as she reaches the couches she finds them both coiled around each other. Satoru is half draped on the floor, long legs tucked up and his head nestled in his arms over the couch seat. Suguru is curled into him, head bowed with a warm looking blanket pulled over him.

She stares at them for a minute, heads too close, fingers intertwined. Satoru’s glasses look like they’re digging into his cheek uncomfortably. She rolls her eyes at the two of them, unsurprised and unphased and glad she’s not needed, walks out the way she came.

It’s freezing.

Yaga was holding out until December before putting on the dorm room heating but this was ridiculous.

Satoru was tired and shivery and just a little bit cranky. So sue him for throwing off his stiff, cold sheets, grabbing his pillow and hauling himself into the corridor.

The light under Suguru’s door is already off but Satoru steps in anyway, when he’s used to coming in and out like it’s his second room.

He pads over to bed and paws around for an opening in the duvet that Suguru seems to have bundled under fully.

A wave of heat pours out and a groan.

“Wh- Satoru? It’s cold, what are you—”

“Just push over a little.”

Suguru pauses then sighs as he shimmies up nearer against the wall obligingly. Satoru slips under the heavy blankets, pressing his back up against Suguru’s in a tight squeeze in the narrow bed.

He sighs out relief, it’s so beautifully toasty compared to his own bed, even if a shiver still sits on his shoulders. He stretches out his limbs and tucks his nose under the thick comforter. Suguru yelps when his cold feet press up against his legs and kicks him.

“Go away, you're freezing!”

“Exactly stop hogging the warmth! Lemme just—” and Satoru tries to bury his toes in behind the warm crease of his knees and Suguru flails his legs in a spasm. He locks their ankles together and pins Satoru’s legs down with the weight of his calf.

“Go. To sleep. You monster,” Suguru breathes harshly.

Satoru cackles, shuffling into a more comfortable position and tugs the comforter over his head.

As the warmth seeps back into his muscles and with the steady, even breaths from Suguru behind him, he falls easily and drifts into a comfortable sleep.

—

When he wakes it’s slow and lazy. He’s so warm and comfortable, he doesn’t want to move an inch, just wanting to hang on the precipice between sleep and awake.

It’s only when he goes to rub the sleep from his eye does he notice.

There’s a weight resting on the top of his open palm, stopping him from moving it and a warmth radiating up against his back. He blinks his sticky eyes awake and sees Suguru’s hand half curled over his, fingers just barely brushing his own. They twitch the barest amount, wanting to lace between the webs of Suguru’s. But even the barest shift has Suguru shuffling behind him, his hand pulling away and draping over his waist instead. He mumbles something incoherent and nuzzles back into the pillow.

“You talk in your sleep?” Satoru huffs smiling, staring at his empty palm with something of a loss.

“Mm,” Suguru hums but maybe not consciously when he’s pulling Satoru a little closer by his hip, hauling in more heat as his breath evens out with sleep.

Satoru closes his eyes to it and accepts he’s stuck here for the foreseeable future. He finds that he doesn’t seem to mind too much though. At least he’s not cold.

Suguru wakes that morning, feeling dazed but well rested. He goes to move and check the time but a heavy press against his front stops him. His memory starts to trickle back to him and he blinks at his arm curved around a thin waist, his chest resting against a warm back. He’s suddenly hyper aware where his legs are tangled and the weight of Satoru pressed up against him.

Suguru moves to dislodge himself but then the soft sounds of Satoru breathing causes him to still. The taller of the two has all his gangly limbs curled up into him, his breath puffing out in a steady rhythm. It was rare to see Satoru so still and peaceful, rarer still to have him sleeping in longer than Suguru.

Suguru could so easily bury back down, sink back into the hugging warmth and not think about schedules or responsibilities. He regretfully peaks an eye over to the blinking, digital clock and startles.

He sits up almost immediately and he waits for the dizziness of blood rush to subside. The air is prickling and cold and trying with all its might to push him back to warm sheets and limbs.

Instead he rubs at his eyes and with a tremendous effort gets out from the foot of the bed and shuffles over to get his uniform on. He’s running fingers through parts in his hair, hair tie between his teeth as he’s about to rouse Satoru awake when he pauses.

Satoru, in the absence of Suguru’s weight, has pulled the covers up to his nose, curling into a warm ball of blankets. His feather light lashes dapple over his rosy cheeks and his bed of messy hair falls down perfectly over them, curling cutely at the ends.

Suguru’s insides melt. For all his loud, bratty-ness, Satoru can look like the picture of serenity when he’s asleep. He’s half tempted to leave him there resting peacefully but he’s reminded by the red glare of the digital clock that they have ten minutes to get to the other side of campus.

As ethereal as Satoru is right now and how gooey his insides feel, he’s not letting this brat destroy his perfect attendance record. He finishes tying up his hair and throws off the duvet covers, Satoru squawking when the cold air hits him awake.

“C’mon we have five minutes.”

“Can you manta ray us there?” Satoru moans, hugging a pillow and tucking his knees up into himself.

“You want me to trigger all the school alarms just so you can get a quick ride to class?”

“Yes please,” Satoru mumbles into the pillow.

Suguru rolls his eyes and steps over to him. He pushes the pillow up over this head and takes his wrists along with it, pinning them above his head as he leans down.

“Maybe. If you’re good,” he lowers his voice rough and rumbling against him.

He expects Satoru to shove him off, to groggily get up and push his teasing aside. To his surprise Satoru’s sleepy eyes suddenly jolt awake, his pale cheeks, even in the dark room, flaring. He sits up immediately, Suguru letting go of him as he springs forward and launches himself towards the door.

“Gimme 30 seconds!!” Satoru calls out as he hears his bedroom door be wrenched open and a scurry inside for his uniform.

Suguru snickers, not realising that would work and heads out to the end of the hall with Satoru stumbling out of his room, fishing his arms through his shirt and pinning the button at the chest.

He ends up soaring them across campus on the back of Manta Ray anyway and bows apologetically outside the classroom to a disgruntled Yaga.

Winter arrives in full force, harsh and biting, wringing snow out through cutting winds and clouding the sky a deep grey. The snow begins to pile up, sticking to the eaves in thick, even lines and coating pathways in an ankle deep layer that begins to slosh in the middle with all the footprints.

The three of them go out for a walk after class when Shoko persuades them some cool, fresh air will do them good after sitting in a stuffy room all day. Instead, it seems, she just wanted to run into her ‘no questions asked’ konbini and grab a box of smokes. So the two of them stand outside the small store, shivering as their breaths puff out in front of them. Satoru is trembling like a leaf, the yellow glow of the store bouncing off him and casting a blue shadow against the packed snow. He has a scarf tightly wrapped around his neck and cheeks with his bare hands wedged into his arm pits.

“Do you not have any gloves?” Suguru looks him over, a thick scarf wrapped around him and fleeced gloves stuffed into his pockets.

”I don’t like gloves,” Satoru mutters because he doesn’t like having a barrier in between his fingertips and touching things with them is just weird! So he just doesn’t.

Suguru huffs, pulling out his hands from his pockets, leaving the gloves behind and tugging at Satoru’s wrists, “C’mere then.”

Satoru doesn’t know what he’s doing until Suguru wraps his toasty, warm hands around his icicle fingers. It’s so warm it feels hot, the nerves in his fingers starting to wake up. Suguru cups them close, then makes a little opening and blows hot air in between their hands.

The heat runs right up through him, his numb fingers starting to defrost and the jitters running up along his arms starting to subside. Suguru puffs another few hot breaths into the little warm cave he made then rubs his hands against his bony, blue knuckles like he’s making a fire.

Satoru stares, the heat now running up to his ears as Suguru looks at him, smiling as he rubs out the last of the cold.

”Better?” he asks, and Satoru’s mouth is dry, whatever witty remark he was going to say dying in the fog between their breaths.

They stare at each other for a bit longer, Satoru suddenly not wanting his hands to leave this warm cocoon and be faced with the elements ever again.

Until the chime of the konbini jingles and Shoko steps out with a loud sigh.

”Seriously?” she says looking between them.

Satoru just looks at her as if to say what? but Suguru pulls his hands away and Satoru’s are left with a tingling heat as the cold starts to penetrate them again.

She snaps her lighter and singes her cigarette, starting to walk past them.

”Huh?! Where’s our treats after making us go all this way?” Satoru demands, catching up to her and sputtering when the smoke hits him in the face.

”Get your own snacks, freeloader,” she grins, puffing out another cloud just to annoy him.

Suguru snickers and falls in beside them, tossing Satoru a spare lollipop from his pocket and putting his hand out to Shoko for a compensatory cigarette.

Satoru takes the lollipop and glares at her, feeling scorned. He takes off the wrapper, clacks the lollipop against his teeth and buries his hands deep into his pockets. If his hands still tingle from Suguru’s warm breath, he doesn’t say anything.

Suguru slowly emerges out from a darkened alleyway, stumbling a little as he meets the light of the street, holding onto the corner of the building for support.

A few passers-by glance at him and hurriedly move along, probably thinking vagrant or homeless, the way his uniform is scuffed and visage is in disarray.

His throat feels sticky after consuming a particularly nasty curse. The tang of bile sits heavy on the back of his tongue, the taste of it wafting up through his nose and making his chest jerk with a heave.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he says to himself, pushing off the concrete wall and steadying himself, ‘let it settle and get home first.’

He sees the bright, fluorescent lights of a konbini across the way and heads over to get something for later.

The jingle sounds as he walks in and a faint, ‘welcome’ from the tired employee behind the counter. His eyes roam along the shelves, picking up a plain bowl of soba from the fridge and a sachet box of miso soup.

‘Plain as plain can be,’ he thinks dryly and skirts over to another aisle.

The next one is layered with confectionery. Cute bubbly advertising, and tacky plastic wrap. His eyes roam down looking for something in particular and finds the packet of strawberry filled cornets, taking 3 because two will be inhaled without thought.

He grabs a green tea and a bottle that looks like thick, peach syrup and dumps it all in front of the cashier.

She takes them without hesitation, then looks up at him warily, noticing his empty hands and scruffy demeanour, “do you need a bag?”

“Ah, yes please,” he smiles at her but his voice is hoarse and cracked that makes the cashier even more startled.

She packs away his things quickly and rustles the bag of items to him as he pays. He nods his head in thanks and takes the bag back out to the street, checking his phone for the time. It wasn’t too late, the sun still clinging above the horizon and the distance not too far from the school grounds.

He decides to walk back, the air feeling fresher in the cool night. The snaking, gurgling feeling in his stomach starts to dissipate and he even starts to feel a bit better as he gets to the dorms.

He steps into the shared kitchen first, sticking on the kettle for miso soup and grabbing some chopsticks for the soba. He hauls everything back to the rooms, careful of the hot liquid and heads to the first door inside with the light still on underneath. He gives the door a precautionary knock before he pushes the handle down with his elbow and steps in.

Satoru is lying back on his bed, a manga held up in the air as he looks over to him entering and grins. He gets up, helping Suguru with the shuffle of bags and hot food and peers into it with a gasp.

“They had the strawberry flavour ones?! Where?!”

“Somewhere in Minato,” he chuckles, sitting down on the floor and taking a sip of hot soup.

The warmth of it slides down his throat, washing down the heavy taste sticking to his tongue. He breathes out a puff of steam and takes the small, cardboard bowl of soba, gingerly taking two noodles as a test.

Satoru has already torn into the second cornet, taking a swig from a light pink bottle and peers at him curiously.

Suguru’s shoulders rise up a little in annoyance, he doesn’t really want to talk about it.

“Was it a grade 2 like they said?”

“1,” Suguru’s lips thin, dipping another small amount of noodles into the soup and letting it soak up whatever bitter hatred is sticking to him.

Satoru clicks his tongue before he takes a vicious bite into the buttery pastry.

“When we graduate we’ll make those old geezers chase after grade 1’s and special grades, cause fuck that.”

Suguru laughs hollowly, because while it’s fun thinking about forcing one of the elders to fight a special grade and get torn apart in the process, it’s also staggeringly upsetting that they’re thrown into this without preamble or support. It’s just blindly following orders and accepting the next task with open hands.

Over and over again.

An endless cycle of kill or be killed. The violent splat of purple doesn’t seem to bother him anymore, or the twisting horror of a curse being pulled into the vacuum of his hand.

He’s become so numb to it he even wonders if a human body would even affect him now. Would the thud of a corpse have the same effect as a dissipating curse? What if he even killed someone? Would he feel anything?

“Hey.”

A deep, airy voice cuts through his thoughts, making him look up from the noodles that have been hanging from his chopsticks for too long.

He looks up and sees Satoru. Satoru who is bright, like crystal, clear water lapping in the sunlight. He’s a stable weight at his side that pulls him back from the edge just before he’s about the topple over. Somewhere along the line Satoru became far more important than he realised. A reassurance, a talisman.

He’s staring into endless pools of blue, stretching farther than the sky and deeper than oceans. Something glimmers and sparkles at the edges that leave Suguru transfixed, forgetting to even acknowledge Satoru’s call.

Satoru smirks as if he’s very aware why Suguru is stuck staring at him, and bursts the reverie by poking his index finger between Suguru’s eyebrows, pushing them up so they look more confused than a frown.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep doing that,” he snickers.

Suguru blinks, then starts to feel his cheeks heat and pushes Satoru’s hand away with the edge of his wrist. He looks down at his barely eaten food and his stomach gives a lurch.

“I think I’ll head to bed,” he murmurs, putting the lid back on his cardboard bowl and grabbing his rubbish.

“You can stay here,” Satoru says quietly between them.

Talk to me, Suguru hears between the words, Don’t go.

But Suguru’s stomach is feeling more like a gurgling, thrashing thing, causing his muscles to tense painfully and a deep burn to settle behind his ribs.

“Thanks, Satoru,” his smile is thin as he gets up, taking his things and heading to the door.

Something pulls at his arm, not roughly but enough for him to stop and turn around. When he does, a thin arm comes around and hauls him into a hug.

He blinks, still holding a hot carton so he can’t fully hug back, but still runs his spare hand up through a tense back.

“You’ll be okay?” Something murmurs in his ear.

He smiles into the bent neck and gives Satoru a reassuring rub, mostly for himself than anything, “I’ll be fine, not gonna die yet.”

Satoru doesn’t let go straight away, still holding him like he might run.

“Thanks for the snacks.”

If Suguru was a little shaken from Satoru’s quiet gentleness now he’s just alarmed. He tries to pull back to look at him but Satoru keeps him in place.

“Are you okay?” He manages, a little flustered now.

Satoru stands back, looking at him, something soft but a steely discernment in his shining gaze. Suguru’s stomach does a sort of flip amidst the waves of nausea, his eyes darting between his own and then something suddenly drops.

The swooping sensation he was brushing off as a rogue curse isn’t rising bile into his throat, it’s making his heart stutter and his chest constrict. He’s staring into crystalline blue that’s holding onto him and staring back. His mouth goes arid dry.

‘I love him,’ he thinks.

His cheekiness. His humour. How he makes Suguru want to care for him and then be in utter awe the next. Because Satoru is incredible, phenomenal, bursting across space like a supernova. Blooming so bright and blinding Suguru when he stares too long. And then he’s soft. His bold grin and the mirth that melts in his eyes. His feathery lashes, his hair that shines bright and bounces into soft curls at the ends. His strong hands and arms, wrapped in baby soft skin. His pale cheeks that tint pink in the light.

And mostly the reassuring grasp he has on him. When Suguru returns from a hard mission and knows he can be met with warm smiles and easy chatter. When he knows he could fall off a 20 floor building and still be caught at once. Suguru really hadn’t thought about how important Satoru had started to become, the line blurred somewhere in the middle and now he couldn’t imagine a moment without him.

He stands staring, unable to move.

Satoru seems unphased by the current shock and silence emanating from Suguru while he battles his own predicament, because he’s grinning at him, eyes softening into a tease.

“Huhh? What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t I say thanks for sweets now?”

Suguru licks his lips, willing for his voice to sound, to do anything when it’s trapped, stuck sticking to the edges of his throat.

“Manners are weird on you is all.”

“Hey,” Satoru’s face scrunches into a pout and that has Suguru suddenly coughing, a genuine peal of laughter rolling off him.

His stomach hurts, his chest hurts and Satoru’s pretty, annoyed face is making it worse.

“I should..” he pauses, catching his breath and steadying the twitch in his lips that threatens another chuckle. He looks at Satoru with a yearning rising up within him, every fibre of his being screaming at him to sit back down and tell Satoru how he feels. To tell him everything he’s realised and more.

He imagines Satoru’s reaction, they’ve shared practically everything together, what could one confession do after that. But he knows Satoru, knows he could just laugh it off, give him a quick tease before they fall back into their old ways. And that almost feels worse, to have Satoru still around him and touching him without him feeling the same.

Instead he rearranges the things in his hands to sit more comfortably, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes and tucks away his tangle of emotions where he can.

“I’ll head back,” he turns to the door and Satoru just lets him this time. Watching him as he fumbles the door handle and slips out into the hall.

Suguru holds his breath until he gets back to his own room, quickly rotating around the door before he closes it with his back. His arms droop and he sighs, looking up at the darkening ceiling mournfully.

“Fuck.”

Satoru likes being touchy with Suguru. His body reacts to it, infinity parting automatically without him even thinking about it and now his fingers are starting to itch. He can’t really help it, it’s like his hand is magnetised, gravitating slowly towards Suguru until he wants them to snap together like magnets. He’s catching him in hallways, tugging them together as they walk alongside each other. He had spent most of winter in Geto’s room but that’s only because his window is definitely broken and letting in way more cold air than Suguru’s is. Suguru had protested after the second and third visit, but then eventually gave up after the dorms definitely weren’t getting any warmer. It was coming into spring now, the snow had already melted and some of the plum blossoms were poking out, Satoru didn’t have a reason but kept going anyway and Suguru didn’t really protest anymore.

It’s nice though, it feels comfortable like they’ve fallen into an easy rhythm, except when Satoru reaches for his hand. Some mornings he’d wake up and they’d be holding hands, the rough callouses on Suguru’s skin sitting comfortably in his. Satoru would wake first and not move, just watching the way fingers thicker than his coiled into his palm, caught curled around a finger or two. And then Suguru would wake and quickly pull his hand away, create a space between them and mumble something apologetic that they had to get up. Satoru didn’t get how this was any different to holding onto his shoulders or linking their arms together. They were half holding hands up until last week until Suguru had that bad mission. So what the hell was different? He’d try to catch him by the hand some days or link their fingers in class but Suguru would just pull away and give him a look to say Stop so he would but in a huff.

But now he’s being denied something with no good discernible reason and Suguru’s hands, or the lack thereof, are all he’s thinking about. How Suguru’s hands aren’t as long as his but they’re bigger. They’re rough at the edges when he trains with weapons and there’s a soft spot just inside the middle of his palm. His nails are always clipped short and neat and his knuckles protrude strongly under his tan skin. Winding snakes of veins faintly bulge out on the front of his hand and slither up his jacket where Satoru knows they’re wrapped up around strong, soft muscle.

And now Satoru’s just staring resolutely ahead as they walk back through the school grounds, because he’s not thinking about it and he’s not letting Suguru know that he’s not not thinking about it.

Suguru just falls into step beside him, close enough that their shoulders bump against each other at every other pace. They both arrived back from their respective missions earlier than scheduled, the afternoon spring air still cool and chilly but the sun shining out in the blue sky. It starts to dapple as they walk under the canopy of trees with the rows of temple statues that line their way to the large torii gate.

Satoru’s not sure what’s stopping him from just outright saying it to Suguru. He had always been of the mind to do exactly what he wanted, take when he needed but for some reason there’s a twinge in his chest that tugs harshly when he thinks of it. He thinks of Suguru pulling away from him, frowning at him and the idea of Suguru being even a bit mad at him was worse. Suguru had already been kind of off lately, he was looking more tired, paler. He’d go quiet some nights, not even look for him and he wasn’t as touchy as he used to be. Satoru really couldn’t be sure what way Suguru would react so he thinks to just leave it off and wait for Suguru to warm up again. His hand twitches again when their arms brush absently and he brings it up to scratch his head instead, if just to keep it busy.

“You wanna get a soda?”

His words sound more jumbled than his brain, coming out in a mumbled hurry rather than a simple request. If Suguru notices though, he doesn't react at all.

“Yeah, actually I might get a hot tea,” Suguru hums beside him.

They pass through Tengen’s barrier, through the red torii gate and beeline across the dewy, green grass towards the vending machines.

There’s a particular spot they like to go to, it sits nestled behind one of the old, wooden buildings, shrouded by evergreens. Days when Yaga would stomp around looking for them, or they wanted to get away without leaving the vicinity of the school, it turned into a little sanctuary, tucked away from the hurrying demands of jujutsu.

Suguru rattles in his pocket for a few spare coins as they reach the buzzing vending machines. Satoru’s eyes roam over the lacklustre stock. They never have the sweet, white peach drinks from Shinjuku, and the most heavily glucose thing there is probably a cola. The cola option sits about two rows higher than the tea but he’s determined to try to punch both buttons at the same time.

Suguru slots in the coins and laughs at him straining to reach both with pinky and thumb.

“Dumbass,” he chides, pressing Satoru’s thumb against the tea button and uses his second to press the cola one.

Suguru’s fingers last only a second over his, but they already feel like they’ve ignited into sparks, crackling as his fingers skim away.

Satoru remains still, Suguru bending to retrieve the drinks and holds the cold can out for him to take. When he doesn’t react immediately, Suguru rattles it a little, careful not to let the fizz build and looks at him.

“You alright?”

Satoru blinks, looks to the can hovering in front of him, to a large inviting hand, to Suguru’s confused but amused expression.

He takes the can, and suddenly regrets choosing cola when his fingers grip the cold metal. He should have gotten the warm milk tea, his head moans. After a beat of just staring and feeling betrayed by his drink of choice, he realises he hasn’t replied yet.

“Yep,” is all that comes out as he turns to go to their spot around the back.

It was very much the wrong thing to say, because now Suguru is more alert, catching up to him quickly, a frown creasing his brow.

“Did something happen today? Did you get hurt?”

Satoru winces, falling back onto the stone seat and cracking open his can, looking anywhere but at Suguru in case he is suddenly able to read minds when looking into his eyes.

“No, nothing happened, just tired? The day was, like, long.. or something.”

He can feel Suguru glare at him as he cracks the cap off his bottle and takes a glug of hot tea, breathing out the heat in a sigh of smoke.

They’re quiet for a moment, Satoru’s fingers becoming a little numb but holding onto the cold, metal can stubbornly. Suguru looks away, elbows resting on his knees and Satoru can see the stiff set of his shoulders, a tell that means he’s worrying about something.

“Did I… did I do something? Like.. make you uncomfortable?” Suguru’s face is turned away but he can see the tips of his ears start to redden, his fingers gripping into the warm plastic a bit more tightly.

Satoru’s eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open a little. Suguru could never make him feel like that. If anything he was starved for more of Suguru. Whatever about battling his own nervousness he wasn't going to let Suguru think there was something wrong, that the other had done anything wrong. He bites down on his lip and places his can in between them, his hand resting atop the stone bench.

Suguru turns his head to him, his eyebrows ticked down, his lips thinned in distress.

“Maybe you should stop coming to my room. It’s getting warmer now and—”

“I want to hold your hand,” Satoru interrupts him.

Because whatever meaningful speech Suguru was going to pull out he wasn’t going to let him worry about something stupid. When it was a very simple matter of just telling him what it is.

Suguru’s face runs through a series of expressions from shock, to embarrassment, before settling on bemused.

“I.. Satoru.. what?”

“Whenever I’d wake up you’d always be holding my hand,” Satoru blinks down at the space between them, trying to figure out if this worry in the middle of his chest is going to detonate and give him some sort of early onset heart attack.

“And then whenever you’d wake up you would pretend it didn’t happen? And I dunno,” Satoru thinks, trying to formulate what he needs to say, “I kinda wanna do it again but like outside sleeping. Like normal.”

He looks at Suguru now who’s just staring at him, the crease between his brows pulled up like he’s worried.

“And why is that?” Suguru’s voice comes out more like a croak in the chilly air.

Satoru blinks at him now, confused. Didn’t he just say why?

“Because I want to?” His head tilts, “or at least I want you to too. We do everything else together so why not that too?”

There’s a pause then Suguru is looking at him a bit more guarded now, sitting up a little straighter.

“And that’s all? Cause you just want to?”

“Yeah?” Satoru thinks this isn’t going the way he envisioned. He thought being honest, around Suguru of all people, he would get it. Suddenly it feels like Suguru is mad and the very thing he was asking for was slipping through his fingers like sand.

Suguru stands, twisting the cap back on his bottle and hanging it loosely at his side. Satoru feels his stomach drop.

“I have to write up my report. I’ll uh,” he pauses, staring off somewhere beyond the trees, “I’ll talk to you later.”

And then he walks off, rounding the corner past the wooden building and out of sight.

Satoru just stares at where he left, his mind racing over the last 5 minutes of conversation, to pinpoint exactly where it went wrong and instead he’s left completely lost.

—

It’s been at least a week. Satoru tries to play off the interaction as nothing but Suguru remains icy with him, snipping his words short or busying himself alone after class. They’re not even spending that much time together in the evenings, Suguru saying he’s not feeling well and shuffling off to his room, his door firmly closed as if it’s bolted with a heavy, iron lock.

“What the fuck did I do?” Satoru groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as stars burst behind them.

He’s sitting on one of the cold stretchers in Shoko’s self-branded office as she thumbs through reports and intermittently signing the ends as she goes.

“You don’t really have to do anything, you’re just a moron as is,” she flat tones, clacking a lollipop around her mouth to have something to bite on, when Yaga doesn’t know that she smokes like a trooper yet.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Satoru pouts at her, “I was honest wasn’t I? I think that’s the most straightforward I could have been.”

She turns her chair to look at him, weary eyed.

“That’s not the type of thing you just ask for, Gojo. At least not without reason.”

“I had a reason,” his pout screwed up.

“What, wanting to just cause?”

“I mean, yeah? What’s so difficult about that?”

“Gojo,” she sighs and she sounds exhausted, putting the stack of papers she had into an outgoing tray and taking the lollipop from her mouth, “maybe you need to be a bit more introspective here and figure out why that is.”

Satoru opens his mouth to retort but she cuts him off.

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

“Wh-,” Satoru blinks, “What? I mean.. sure I guess? If you want?”

Shoko is boring holes into his head, “do you want to hold my hand the way you want to hold Geto’s?”

Satoru thinks. He thinks about holding Shoko’s hand, maybe out of support or comfort, the odd time he’s pulled her up after falling down or clasping between knuckles when they’d get into a heated Thumb’O’War.

And then he thinks of holding Suguru’s hand and the twinge in his chest comes back. He thinks back to when it lay lazily over his own, or when he clasped them and breathed heat into them when they were cold. When they briefly touched pressing the same vending machine button. Every time was almost like a jolt, like a shock that he quickly wanted to snap towards. He looks at his palms thinking about magnets again.

“It’s different,” he decides, looking at her.

She raises her eyebrows, twirling the lollipop stick between her fingers, waiting.

And then a pin drops.

Satoru’s eyebrows jump, his pout morphing into a small ‘o’.

“I like him. Like… like him?” he stares into nothing behind Shoko’s head, both horrified and dumbfounded that this went over his head for so long.

Shoko clacks the lollipop back into her mouth and turns her chair with a squeak, starting on a new pile of papers, “congratulations, maybe you can both leave me alone now.”

Satoru’s attention goes back to her when she says ‘both’ because was Suguru in here too? Complaining about the same thing?

But it doesn’t matter. He’s envigored now. He has a pretty good reason to give to Suguru and end whatever awkwardness that had been bubbling between them this past week.

He gets up from the stretcher, ruffling the top of Shoko’s head in thanks as she bats her hand at him to go away and strides out into the hall towards the dorms.

—

He opens Suguru’s bedroom door without preamble, because he wasn’t in the dojo or the showers and they both have writing assignments today rather than missions so he wouldn’t be out.

Suguru looks up from his desk, not surprised to see it’s him when very few people enter without knocking. He raises a brow of acknowledgment and returns back to his writing, head resting on his palm.

Satoru drops an unopened bag of chips on his desk in offering and lays back on the bed, facing him, munching through his own bag.

Suguru’s eyes twitch to the crumbs spilling over his front and Satoru hastily pads them up with his finger and crunches the half eaten bag closed.

“So I was thinking,” he starts, tongue poking at the back of every tooth.

“That’s dangerous,” Suguru mumbles, crossing something out and writing over it, “don’t hurt yourself.”

Satoru ignores the barb because he’s used to Suguru being snooty with him sometimes and he could probably say a lot worse.

“About the other day.”

The words are too big and clunky, rattling around in his mouth before they’re forming neat trains of thought. He thinks if he just spills them all out onto the floor in a heap that at some point it’ll make sense.

“It’s like when you swallow soup too quickly and you can feel it’s too hot inside,” he pauses, “or when you’re playing a video game and you jump off somewhere too high and your stomach kind of flips before you crash land to a death screen.”

Suguru has stopped writing now, just staring at him with pinched eyebrows, “what are you talking about?”

“Like when we’d sneak out after class and take the subway into the city when we weren’t supposed to. Or when it was Sakura season and the flowers kept getting stuck in your hair. And movie night where Shoko would always pick the worst type of horror movie and you’d talk her down to a Sci-Fi one instead cause you knew I hated it.”

“You’re just saying things now, where is this going?”

“Because,” because Satoru’s half listening to him, trying to wring out words that are caught sticking to his throat, “all of those moments were pretty mundane at the time and feeling like it didn’t really matter. But now I’m realising they do. Every single bit mattered. Even the one where you sneezed when you didn’t have a tissue and a giant booger hung out.”

“Satoru—” he grimaces, clearly hating having to relive that memory.

“All of it mattered because it was with you. I liked having those moments with you, I want to keep having them.”

He’s looking at Suguru now, who was looking at him startled and unmoving, not even daring to breathe.

“And that’s why I want to hold your hand, I think. I can have moments with Shoko sure and still spend time with the Kouhai but.. I think I want to share everything with you instead. I don’t want to share it with anyone else.”

Suguru stares at him, at a loss for words with his cheeks turning faintly pink. His amber eyes dart between his own like he’s looking for something.

Satoru’s not sure if he’s made sense but he’s vomited up whatever coil of words that had been sticking to his insides. He presses, because maybe an offer would help.

“So.. Can I hold your hand?”

And Suguru turns beet red now, his hair twinging into stressed strands. He bites his lip, fingers twitching at the edges of his thighs as he wrestles on how to respond to him. His hands grip the cloth of his pants, and he looks away still red and frowning.

“No.”

Satoru blanches sitting up and staring at him, “What why?”

Didn’t he just say everything he needed to say? Didn’t Suguru think this way too?

“Because you have gross potato chip powder all over your hands,” he hmphs, “wash them and I’ll consider you, maybe.”

He’s being spiteful because he’s been an ass. Because it took him over a week or maybe even longer to make these realisations when maybe it should have been more obvious. But Satoru isn’t worrying about the details now, or what had happened before this. Suguru said maybe which is basically a yes.

He pops each one of his fingers into his mouth, taking the residual chip dust with it and holds it out to a revolted Suguru.

“Oh my god, Satoru, that's worse. You know that’s worse right?”

Satoru grins leaning over the edge of the bed as Suguru scoots away on his desk chair.

“What? The chip dust is gone now, they’re practically dry!”

“Dried with your gross spit, get away!” He gets up as Satoru follows, cornering him to the edge of the room.

He pushes the offending hand behind his back and reaches out, fingers skimming the hem of Suguru’s jacket and gives it a little tug.

Suguru turns, half glaring at him until he looks down and sees Satoru’s other outstretched hand, his left, clean and dry.

He considers him, still awkward and uncharacteristically flustered. He reaches, tentatively, his index catching the edge of Satoru’s.

Satoru’s stomach flips, looking down transfixed as a finger hooks around his, then a second until Suguru’s fingers are lacing in between his, loosely hanging between them.

‘It’s definitely different,’ Satoru thinks when he feels that twinge becomes a thrashing thing in his chest, enveloping him as his cheeks start to burn.

He looks to Suguru who’s looking at him, his cheeks still pink but the annoyed look is gone, replaced by something more open and searching.

Suguru’s fingers tighten then and he pulls him forward, a sudden stumble before he’s falling into his space and Suguru places the barest kiss on his cheek, pulling back stiffened and red.

Satoru’s cheeks are no longer burning but feel engulfed in flames.

“I like you too,” he utters between them, quiet and soft as his sharp, amber eyes peer into cyan, “unfortunately.” He adds just to dissuade some of the seriousness of the situation.

“Hey,” Satoru croaks after a beat but he’s mirroring his smile when Suguru cracks into a grin.

“Jerk,” he tugs at Suguru’s hand and fastens their fingers tightly together.

Shoko thought she would be free after Satoru had his little epiphany but it had just gotten worse. So much worse.

Suguru is now calling into her lab at the end of every run, pacing worriedly along the linoleum floor as he babbles out all the worries in his newfound relationship.

“How do I even bring this up, Sho? I don’t know if it’s because he’s clueless or that innocent.”

He pauses, holding his thumb to his chin, “maybe innocent isn’t the right word. Inexperienced? Blind?”

Her fingers dig into her roots, pouring over lab notes she wanted to finish up tonight, which isn’t happening now. She wants to tell him he’s also inexperienced and also very blind for the past three years.

“Maybe just give up on it. You can always live your life happily as is,” she gives him the worst possible option because she’s not even bothered to get involved between the two of them anymore.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Shoko. I can’t just not kiss him. Have you seen him?”

She rolls her eyes and Suguru flops back onto one of the empty stretchers, closing his eyes and heaving out a sigh.

“Getting eaten by a curse would be easier than this.”

“My brother in Christ, you’re so dramatic,” she rubs at her sore, tired eyes, straining after being under the fluorescent white lights all day.

“At least you know he wouldn’t hate it?” She offers.

“I don’t know that. Satoru doesn’t like being touched at the best of times. This is something else entirely.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a person more clingy around someone than he is with you. It’s kind of nauseating to be honest.”

“It’s different though, this isn’t just holding hands or giving a hug, this is kissing. What if he’s never kissed anyone before? What if he hates it?”

“Well there’s only one way to find out then, huh.”

“I know.”

“And you’re going to settle it now and let me have some peace?”

He stays lying on the stretcher, his eyes remaining closed and hands resting on his stomach. If it wasn’t for the warmth of his skin and heavy rise and fall of his chest, he’d already look like a corpse.

“No.”

Shoko lets out a defeated sigh and turns back around on her chair, deciding she was fed up and wouldn’t entertain this issue with them until it was sorted.

“Go mope somewhere else then, there’s two missions returning in a few minutes and I need that bed back.”

At that the door bursts open with a loud “YA-HO~,” as Satoru bounds in with his filled out report in hand and slaps it down onto Shoko’s desk.

“Wow this might be the first time you’ve submitted something on time,” she smiles at him, ticking the box that states he’s in perfect health (probably) and tucks it in with the rest of the outgoing sheets.

“Not working tonight, we’re watching a movie,” and Satoru glances up to the figure still lying flat on the rickety bed.

He steps over, moving to sit at the edge of the bed as his fingers trace over Suguru’s clasped hands, “but maybe he’s already kicked the bucket.”

As his hands slip in between his own he feels the cool slide of infinity parting and seeping in around him. It’s like a thin, rubbery bubble that won’t pop, it’s eerily comforting if a bit strange as a barrier forms between him and the thin mattress.

Suguru cracks an eye open, taking his tracing hands and slipping their fingers together, giving his knuckles a few pops, “you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“I really wouldn’t,” Satoru grins at him, pulling up one of their clasped hands and nuzzling it into his cheek, “wanna go? I’m staaarving.”

“Yeah okay,” and Suguru gets up, letting Satoru drag him out with one hand as he looks to Shoko on their way out, “cya later.”

“Yeah yeah, enjoy the flick,” and she waves them out.

They take about two steps outside the clinic before a jittery Ijichi runs into them, his glasses coming askew as he pulls back in alarm.

“Ah Gojo-sempai, Geto-sempai! I’m sorry for the intrusion, please excuse me,” and he fixes his glasses and bows, embarrassed.

“Hey wait-“ and Suguru turns both of them to look at him. They’re probably towering over this poor guy, who’s shivering down to his bones. But Suguru had seen the first years once or twice in the grounds and they weren’t half bad. “You’re the first year that can already produce a curtain, right?”

Ijichi’s pale complexion morphs into a shade of beet red with the sudden realisation of being seen, “Y-yes!”

Satoru scoffs a little, unphased when he had already been doing that in his first year. Badly, one might add, but Satoru was a different case entirely.

“It’s quite impressive,” Suguru hums, smiling at him.

“T-Thank you, Geto-sempai,” he bows a little too deeply that makes him fidget uncomfortably and the little flustered head pops back up. When he realises he doesn’t have much more to add, he inclines his head again and takes a step, “if you’ll excuse me.”

“Yeah cya around,” he smiles easily and Satoru just watches him hurriedly leave around the corner.

“The first years this year are lame,” Satoru sniffs unimpressed, turning them around and heading back to the dorms.

“I think they show a lot of promise, actually, considering the previous years,” Suguru smiles teasingly at him, conjuring images of first year Satoru all too brash and brazen. Over confident when he was just a Bambi on ice still figuring it out.

“Yeah? You gunna start mentoring them?” Satoru leers back at him.

“Stop,” Suguru laughs, bumping his shoulder away as they walk down the hall, “I actually think you’d be good at that.”

“No way,” Satoru sticks out his tongue, making a face like he tasted something bitter, “I don’t deal with brats.”

“Says the brat,” Suguru snickers, taking his anticipated shoulder bump back and all Satoru’s snarky jabs at him back to their dorm rooms.

—

They sit against the wall on the bed, propped up on pillows and precariously balancing Satoru’s heavy laptop and a pizza box in between them.

Suguru watches past the movie, not really looking at anything. A character screams somewhere and Satoru laughs, pulling at a bit of crust and biting it.

Suguru wonders how’d he even start. Perhaps it’s something Satoru never even considered, maybe he was just content as they were and didn’t want to change anything.

What if Suguru ended up ruining everything? What if he made all the weeks they had been building this newfound relationship crumble in a heap? What if Satoru got too weirded out and didn’t want to look at him again? Didn't want to even be around him? What if he—

He feels a small tap against his temple and his locked gaze turns to look at an oddly amused Satoru.

“I can practically hear whatever’s clunking around in there,” he grins at him, “what’s up?”

Suguru blinks at him, playing off dumb, “Nothing I’m just watching the movie.”

“You’re a shitty liar. Someone just got decapitated in the stupidest way and you didn’t even laugh. I’m worried,” but Satoru is just smiling at him, pulling his hand into his own and pressing their palms together.

Suguru stomach does a little swoop and he looks down to their connected hands, a thumb brushing over his knuckle.

“I..”

This was Satoru, his best friend. He wouldn’t berate him for anything, he knows.

“I want to ask you something.”

Satoru's eyes twinkle with curiosity, “Yeah?”

“You..” he thinks, “You like it when I hold your hand?” His fingers flex between their threaded hands.

“Yeah,” Satoru smiles at him.

Feeling a bit more courageous, Suguru looks up and stares into endless blue, as if the day sky and the stars had met, melding together like ink through water and glittering back out at him.

“And you like me?” His voice is low and uncertain, rumbling out of him like rattling rocks against his anxious chest.

Satoru has turned, watching him now with a curious expression, his thumb still tracing circles over a prominent knuckle.

“I do.”

Suguru’s gaze flicks down for a second and back up. He had been moving closer an infinitesimal amount until the press of their shoulders could go no further. He could feel Satoru’s warm, even breath and the faint scent of peppermint wheels he had from earlier that day.

“Can I,” his mouth feels dry with his trapped breath, making his words sound rough and raspy at the edges, “Can I show you how much I like you?”

Satoru has turned very still, watching Suguru’s every movement by a millimetre. But he’s not pulling away though and it eggs Suguru on.

“Yeah,” Satoru’s affirmation is quiet, an afterthought when he’s staring at Suguru transfixed, hyper curious eyes roaming all over him like he’s doing a thousand lightning calculations in his head.

Suguru squeezes his hand, pulling him closer a tiny bit until he’s inches from him. He stops just as they’re close enough, eyes flicking down to parted pink lips and back up to glittering cyan that look at him wide and curious.

He bites back the worry needling at him when Satoru is looking at him like the entire night sky. When he has his best friend holding onto him like a reassurance mooring him in place.

He leans up the few centimetres between them and presses a kiss to his soft lips.

His first feeling is an explosion. A firework that sizzles up high and cracks right into the center of his chest. His nerves ignite, his stomach bursts into a thousand butterflies that flit and dance with the fizzling sparks.

The second feeling is that Satoru’s lips are dry and stiff, a little rigid when Suguru presses forward, trying to replant kisses in between breaths. It feels a little one sided and after a moment Suguru pulls back, a hint of a worry etched over his features.

The third feeling is a trickling sense of dread that overtakes him quicker than the euphoria, because Satoru hasn’t moved much, staring at him with a slightly stunned expression behind his glasses that have become a little askew over his nose.

“Sorry, maybe that’s not..” Suguru fumbles with the words when fear and panic of how he might just have destroyed their friendship begin to bubble over him.

“Why d’you stop?” Satoru almost whispers that nearly gives Suguru whiplash by how quickly he looks back up.

“Didn’t you…” Suguru’s voice is lost, caught somewhere between hope and trepidation, “Did you not like it?”

The words fall to his lap, Satoru’s mouth parted slightly.

“No I did! Didn’t you like it?,” and now Satoru has a hint of worry that he’s playing off with a joking smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.

Suguru watches him and deflates, worry ebbing away when he sees it’s just nerves and the small fluttering behind his ribs starts up again.

“You’re just stiff, relax for me, okay?” And he lets Satoru’s fingers worry indents into his knuckles while he brings up his free hand and rubs at Satoru’s side reassuringly.

Satoru pushes the pizza box out of the way and closes the laptop with his socked foot on a comical murder scene. He adjusts himself so he’s facing Suguru more, his legs tucked to the side.

Suguru takes his openness with a bit more confidence, raising the hand at his side to his cheek and gently guiding him in closer.

He’s still stiff but not unmoving this time, trying to match the press of Suguru’s lips and missing it when he turns his head and their teeth clack.

Satoru recoils back, but Suguru guides him back, fingers brushing against the edge of his jaw, “Like this,” he says quietly and he’s not really sure what he’s doing himself but he wants to find a comfortable press somewhere.

He pecks his lips one at a time, soft and small, pulling away each time until Satoru’s following him, meeting back a small press until his lips feel like they’re loosening. Suguru presses in a little longer and smiles when he pulls back and Satoru immediately chases after him. Kitten kisses turn into longer pecks until Satoru’s lips have become something like jelly, pliant and eager, moving against him like tumbling waves.

Suguru’s breath is coming out a little heavy. When he thought he was leading, Satoru instead seems to have taken over greedily until he’s given little room to try and catch a breath. Satoru’s hand moves from his knuckles up to his arm, tracing the seam of his clothes as fingers curl in around his waist. He’s pulled in, pressed up to Satoru’s chest as Satoru envelopes him.

It’s so dizzying and soft and warm. Satoru moves now like he’s always known it, moulding and slipping their lips, sucking at the bottom part of Suguru’s until he’s diving back in for more. Suguru chances to lick against the soft seam and Satoru licks back, opening up to a warm, wet slide that makes something in Suguru’s mind pop and fizzle. Satoru is ravenous, swallowing down every twitch and gasp that erupts out of Suguru. His mind is buzzing, his skin flaring with a wave of prickling goosebumps. He could just fall here and sink endlessly, surrounded only by Satoru with his soft sounds and candy kisses. Satoru gives his tongue a particularly long suck and he’s melting, falling forward and mumbling sweet nothings to lips that pull back and press in softer, longer. Satoru slows down when Suguru’s barely kissing back, just savouring in the electrified tingle between them, feeling the ballooning sensation of all the love he has for him about to explode straight out of his ribs.

He can feel Satoru smile against him, leaving a soft kiss on top then to the side of his mouth until he nuzzles his nose into the softness of his cheek and kisses that too.

“What the hell,” Suguru’s voice is almost hoarse, dripping heavy like sweet honey when he looks at Satoru with a heavy gaze, “how are you so good at that.”

Satoru only snickers, pulling him a bit closer until they have to rearrange their seated legs and entangle together comfortably.

“I’m perfect at everything, didn’t you know?”

“I was so worried you’d hate it, you’d think I was weird for asking it.”

“I think I thought about it, but it was never a priority when I was around you. I just wanted to be with Suguru. Did you.. like it though?”

“Mm,” he feels heavy, cosy, “Did you?”

“Yeah,” and Satoru goes back to nuzzling him, “I want to enjoy everything with you.”

“Sap,” Suguru snickers and Satoru tries to bite his lip playfully.

They tussle, Satoru pinching at his sides to tickle him and Suguru just laughs, unaffected.

“You wanna do this? You know how tickly you are,” and Suguru pushes him back, fingers darting into his sides and Satoru shrieks, a scream and a laugh caught in his throat as he tries to wriggle out of Suguru’s death grip.

“Oh my god!” Satoru gasps, squirming and hiccuping, kicking his feet uselessly as Suguru pummels him with dancing fingers, “Suguru! I give, I give!”

Suguru laughs, sitting back on his haunches triumphantly as Satoru lays pink and fanned out below him, holding his sides betrayed.

“Evil. Monster.” Satoru pushes his foot into Suguru’s abdomen to keep him at length.

Suguru smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges as he leans down, bending Satoru’s leg with him and kisses his pout.

“Don’t start a war you can’t win, Satoru~” he purrs at the end and relishes when Satoru’s eyes go wide and his cheeks stain an even darker shade of red.

“Evil,” Satoru reiterates and Suguru just laughs, clear as a bell as the worry seeps from him, replaced by a warm buzz thrumming through his veins.

He looks down at Satoru again, his kitten pout turning into something more annoyed and bored. Suguru dutifully decides to rectify his misdeed leaning over him like a shadow, his half tied up hair now spilling over his shoulder.

“Wanna show me how perfect you are at everything again?” His voice low, bending to place small kisses at the edges of his lips because he can now.

Satoru shuffles to get comfortable immediately, his hands wrapping around the meat of his thighs, tilting his head up so his lips barely ghost over his.

“C’mere,” his voice rumbles low, pulling Suguru towards him, and melting into him with a slow hunger.

Suguru falls forward easily, the warmth and bloom of love melting from him like sweet honey.

Everything falls into place after that. Everything just happens so easily.

Suguru laughs, head turning when Satoru comes up from behind him in the kitchen, pressing his nose into the soft part of his cheek.

Suguru pulls back pretending to be annoyed before his gaze flickers down and Satoru is capturing him in a soft kiss. He turns in his hold, hands brushing up his neck to settle on the soft strands sitting at his nape.

“You need a haircut,” he murmurs, smiling as Satoru chases after another kiss when he pulls away.

“Says you. You growing yours out or something?”

Suguru’s hair falls past his shoulders now, the ends a little split from not much attention. He should at least get a trim, he thinks, but they haven’t had much time to even think lately. His hair and sleeping hours haven’t been taken into consideration in a while.

“Maybe,” he says around parted lips, “I like it long.”

“I like it long too,” and their hands switch, Satoru’s coming up to lace his fingers through black strands while Suguru settles at his hips.

Satoru presses his fingers into the base of his skull, massaging in small circles as he tilts Suguru’s head up and kisses him properly. His lips capture him in hungry waves, his tongue pressing against the seam of lips before Suguru’s meeting him, pulling his hips closer and sighing into it.

“Your lips are a bit dry, have you been biting them?” Suguru pulls back, eyes flicking down to lips slightly pink and cracked.

“No,” Satoru lies, because he definitely doesn’t just bite them now when Suguru isn’t around or chew down particularly harshly when they’re away for too long.

Suguru hums, not believing him for a second and places the smallest kiss against his lips, once, twice before eventually pulling away.

“I’ll get you some lip balm on my way back,” Suguru smiles, combing the tussle out of his hair.

“You’re going out?” Satoru visibly deflates, because he thought today was the day he’d be able to tell him. He had a whole monologue planned out.

“I just got a message from an area manager but it’s fine,” he reassures, unable to keep himself away as he kisses him again when Satoru starts pouting. “I’ll be back this evening, I promise.”

Satoru huffs, annoyed but resigned, “Fine. Get me a strawberry flavoured one then. And a treat for later.” Because he’s being so good right now.

Suguru just chuckles and gives his waist a small squeeze, “Yes, your Highness.”

Shoko and Satoru sit around the couches in the evening, she’s texting beside him, tucked into the corner of the cushions as he battles a game of Snake on his phone.

“I love him,” he says to the room, the feeling blooming out from the center of his chest.

Shoko lowers her phone a little to look at him.

“Have you told him that?”

“I’m going to,” Satoru worries his lip then stops when he remembers lip balm.

“I was going to,” he corrects, “but he left. So later.”

“Don’t put off today,” Shoko half finishes the proverb, sending another message and closing her phone shut.

‘Says you,’ Satoru thinks looking at her when she’s been half pining with Utahime since second year.

“You think he’ll be okay?” Satoru absently bites his lip again, the tiniest amount.

“You think the special grade will be okay hopping out to a small mission?” her eyebrows raise, amused.

“It’s not that,” Satoru frowns, “he looks pale and he’s losing weight. He’s not as energetic either.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that too. But maybe if there was something troubling him, he’d tell us?”

To stop from biting his lips Satoru has taken to pinching them instead, “I dunno, he does more talking in his head and doesn’t tell me things.”

Shoko sighs, leaning the side of her head into her palm. Their socked feet nudge each other on the cramped couch.

“Geto’s his own worst enemy for those kinds of things. Give him a call, he might be finishing up.”

“Yeah, maybe,” and Satoru opens their messages. He had sent about 15 at this stage, one almost every half hour and Suguru’s side for replies remaining blank.

‘He just hasn’t seen them yet,’ he thinks, ignoring the annoyance that Suguru preferred to turn his read receipts off. Because that was fine. It’s not like he needed a minute-by-minute update on Suguru’s exact location and well-being.

Satoru briefly thinks that wouldn’t be a bad idea, until he can hear Suguru admonishing him, telling him about privacy and personal autonomy.

He groans, letting the phone fall to his chest and rubs at his tired eyes.

“Stay with me? I might go insane if I keep checking.”

Shoko rolls her eyes and smiles at him, poking his fluffy socks with her own, “fine you big baby. Let me get some blankets.”

They huddle up on the couch, opened packets of sweets and a quiet movie playing in the back just to fill the space.

Shoko nods off after the first hour, leaning into Satoru’s shoulder. He checks their chat again, Suguru’s side still balefully blank. He pouts, thumb hovering over the keypad if just to start typing something.

He can’t shake this feeling of uneasiness, like a prickling feeling climbing up the side of his neck. The time reads 12AM now. It’s not unusual for them to be out late with missions, but Suguru would’ve at least given an update, he always does. Satoru closes the flip phone and stuffs it into his pocket, leaning in more to Shoko and pulling the blanket up around them.

When he closes his eyes, Six Eyes stretch out, scanning as far as they can for familiar flecks of cursed energy. Suguru told him not to, to only do it in case of emergencies, but wasn’t this an emergency? When he’s been unreachable for more than 12 hours. His technique burns the edges of his eyes, making them feel uncomfortably dry scanning behind his lids. Despite it, he senses nothing, knowing he would pick up Suguru’s energy from miles away if he did. He keeps it on for as long as he can, until sleep starts to creep in at the edges, pulling him down into a fitful rest.

Suguru comes back late, muscles aching, head splitting. His mission went on too long, too complicated, another report that was vague with details and deliberately under ranked. If it had been anyone other than him or Satoru he thinks they may not have gotten out.

It makes the blood pulse through his temple harder, his fist clenching the muscles wanting something to snap.

They were pawns stacking up against the firing line, indiscriminate of who was hit and who would fall. Another new sorcerer would have just taken their place and the cycle would continue anew.

He wants to fight against it, to sink his claws in and rip himself free. Something that would leave a scar on the Jujutsu system, something to make the ignorant eyes of the elders perk up instead of skimming the dozens of bodies that fall on the regular.

He’s mad. He’s so mad he can feel blood start to boil under his skin. His molars close to cracking from how hard he’s baring them.

He holds himself back from slamming the sliding doors open, just to hear the snap of wood, when it’s already bordering on 4AM. He grips the edge tightly letting the quiet sigh of it open him into the main room when he stops.

There in the main living area, two heads poke out behind the couch facing away from him. He steps in quietly, putting the door back a little more carefully and pads over to the open living room.

Satoru and Shoko are nestled into the cushions, Shoko on her side legs tucked up under a light blanket and Satoru leaning to the other side, legs splayed out and his phone still resting on his chest, his lax fingers still holding the edge of it.

Suguru huffs, leaning down and taking the forgotten glasses from him, placing it onto the small coffee table and returning to brush a few tickly strands of hair from his eyes.

Satoru’s nose scrunches at the movement, his head turning and Suguru curses himself for not leaving him to rest.

Sticky eyes try to open and then still when they land on him, his hand jerking to the phone sliding down his chest.

“Suguru—” he starts.

“Shhh,” Suguru hushes him, smoothing down his hair and cupping his cheek, letting his thumb brush on the peach fuzz of his cheek, “it’s alright, go back to sleep.”

He presses a kiss to his forehead but Satoru’s hand locks onto his arm.

“Don’t go..”

It’s just a whisper but there’s something pleading in there, something broken that makes Suguru’s heart catch. He looks over to Shoko who looks just as tired, curled in on herself in the corner of the couch. Did they stay up waiting for him? The place he had gone to had no signal and he barely wanted to look at his phone for fear of new mission assignments when he got back. Had he made them worry?

His hand finds Satoru’s, the one gripped tightly into the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’ll be back I promise. Give me five minutes,” he’s able to unlatch Satoru’s tired hand and presses it into the phone on his chest, “you can time me.” He tries to tease, but Satoru is looking sullen, like this was some vivid dream that he was moving on from.

Suguru gives him one last kiss to the top of his head, pressing in his reassurance and heads down the creaking halls. He peels off the grubby clothes, scuffed with blood and mud, and grabs a pair of pyjamas, shimmying over to the bathroom to wash the rest of the dirt and grime from him. He moves to the storage closet in the middle of the hall, packed with extra fittings for the ten other empty rooms in the corridor and pulls out a futon and an extra pillow.

Satoru’s head is still lulling to the side when Suguru makes his way back. He pushes the coffee table quietly to the side and lays the futon down, leaving the pillow close to where Shoko lays. Gently, he moves his hand behind Satoru’s back and the other jolts, eyes snapping to look at him in shock.

“Suguru?”

“Yeah yeah, c’mon you big baby.”

His hands guide him to stand but Satoru just slumps against him, the full weight and arms of him wrapping around his frame and clinging tightly.

“I thought…”

Satoru’s voice is quiet, meek, so unlike him as it falls into his ear. He hears the worry laced there, the soft plea of it.

Suguru shushes him, coaxing him down so they fall into the dusty futon. He takes the blanket from Satoru’s side and drapes it over the two of them, pulling Satoru to him with a sigh.

His earlier rage dissipates from him as he looks down to a tired, pouty mess of hair, hands coming up and holding his face, pressing their foreheads together.

“Asshole,” he mumbles through sleep.

“I know, I’m sorry,” his hand comes up to rest against his jaw and he tilts them both into a soft, chaste kiss, “kill me in the morning, okay? Get some sleep.”

And he drapes his arm over his shoulder, tugging him close so he fits under his chin and he can feel Satoru sigh and melt, hugging into him with an arm around his waist.

Suguru’s eyes close, limbs heavy that tug him down into sleep until he feels a brush along his fingers that hang over the edge of the couch. Shoko skims her hand over his, giving the tops of his fingers a small squeeze.

“Thanks for staying up,” his voice low in the dark room.

“Glad your home safe,” she yawns, fixing the pillow under her and drifts back to sleep.

Suguru holds Satoru closer, a warmth spreading through his chest as he lulls into a deep sleep, the darkening cloud of anger slowly sifting from him.

Satoru wakes with a jolt, his face coming away from the soft cotton and the rise and fall of Suguru’s chest. His heart rate is spiking, a wave of panic that slowly starts to dissipate when he takes in his surroundings. He feels the soft futon under his hand, focusing on the morning streams of light coming through the window, sinking into the deep ebony of Suguru’s hair. Shoko seems to have already left, the couch they had fallen asleep on patted down and the blanket folded up.

Satoru counts his breaths, rattling them slowly in through the nose and out through the mouth. His fingers come up to brush over Suguru’s chest, to feel the dull beat against them.

The intense memories of the dream already start to fade but he can see snap shots. A busy street, Suguru’s back and the feeling of his heart breaking in two. Photographs forgotten, monk’s robes and the smile he knows so well etched with pain, painted with red. Holding too much fabric and too much weight, Suguru’s body hanging from him limp.

A choke catches in his throat, hand pressing down more firmly into the very real, very solid Suguru underneath him. The movement rouses Suguru and one thin eye cracks open, frowning with sleep and slowly blinking himself awake.

“Satoru?”

Satoru just blinks, his voice still stuck somewhere in his throat and only then does he feel how wet his lashes are, how his nose feels blocked and stinging.

Suguru seems to notice immediately because he’s sitting up now, sleep still blinking at the corners as he holds onto Satoru’s wrist, brushing up to his elbow and wrapping another around his waist.

“Hey, Satoru hey — you okay? C’mon look at me.”

Satoru’s vision feels blurry, his chest still feels tight like his lungs can’t take in enough air. His hands find Suguru in between it all, solid and warm, a steadying presence as Satoru tries to pull himself from the clutches of the dream.

He looks up, finds honey amber eyes like Suguru said to and a choke leaves him, a hoarse crack as the edge of his eyes burn.

“Sugu—“

“Hey, I’m here..” and Suguru is there in an instant, arms pulling him in, one hand fitting snugly into the nape of his neck and rubbing circles into the short hair fraying out.

Satoru’s head is brought down, into the warm spot of Suguru’s neck and he’s held there, rocked from side to side until his breathing starts to come back to him. The dark edges of the nightmare leaving him until he’s burrowing back into sunlight and the smell of lavender and the soft silk of Suguru’s hair.

“What happened? Bad dream?”

“You… you left,” Satoru whispers it, like breathing the words out might make them come true, “something happened. I can’t remember but - it made you leave. You left and - you didn’t come back. You left me. I couldn’t…”

Satoru’s voice cracks again, the pain of it welling up in him. He holds himself close to Suguru’s skin, his arms wrapping around his torso and telling himself, He’s real, he’s here, he didn’t leave.

“I couldn’t stop you.. I lost you and you - you died, I think.”

There’s a silence between them, Suguru still rubbing circles into the back of his neck, the other stroking up and down along his spine. Satoru can feel the rhythmic thud of Suguru’s pulse against his cheek, the beat of it grounding him back to reality, to the warm body wrapped around him.

“I’m still here, I’m still with you.”

“Are you though?” Satoru’s eyes widen as the worry catches him.

Suguru stills and pulls back, looking at him with a worry in his brow, “Aren’t I?”

“I couldn’t reach you yesterday. I sent like a million messages and you never got back.”

“The town I went to had no reception and by the time I got back —”

“How would I know you’re safe? Or something didn’t happen?” Satoru interrupts him, hardly listening to the excuse.

“But nothing happened, Satoru. I’m fine.”

Satoru's worried features become stony.

“You say that but you’re not.”

Suguru frowns at him, hands coming down to rest on his open palms. Satoru stares back at him, eyes shining like hard steel.

“You’re not telling me things and you’re not eating. You only get back late and then skip out on me and Shoko.”

Suguru looks away at that, the frown digging tired lines in around his eyes, “it’s just the summer heat..”

“I don’t think that’s all it is,” Satoru pauses, looking at the side of Suguru’s face, the dark shadows under his eyes becoming more pronounced, the soft locks of hair dry and fraying at the ends.

“You can tell me.. I don’t want to lose you,” his words feel hard, an edge to them, the distant dream now fading into fuzzy images. But he can still feel it, the pain in his chest, the loss, the grief.

Suguru’s gaze eventually slides over to him, their hands still resting atop one another. He takes his time to find the words, like spinning the vowels and consonants together was harder than before. He bites his lip, eyes skimming down then sideways, avoiding Satoru’s own.

“..Even if I sound crazy?”

His voice is barely above a whisper, if not for how close they were Satoru might not have heard it. It’s worried and tight, like being held back, restrained into normalcy.

Satoru’s hands leave their warm nest and come up to frame either side of Suguru’s face holding him up so they look at one another, the morning light shining onto them like a warm, yellow bath.

“Anything,” his words are final, unmoving and unyielding. And it was true, he wouldn’t leave Suguru’s side for anything at all.

Suguru looks at him then, a pained expression creasing his brows, worry warbling in the depths of his honey eyes. Satoru lifts his hand and cups his cheek, stroking a reassuring thumb over his high cheekbone. Suguru doesn’t break their gaze, holding onto his raised wrist like an anchor, holding them both in place in sudden turbulent waters. He takes a deep, shaky breath and seems to exhale the anxiety out between them.

“Okay…” he says quietly, “okay.”

And then Suguru starts to talk.

The evening sun spills into the cedar lined hallway. Glowing panels of orange stretched across the old wood and painting the room around in warm hues and cool shadows.

Suguru is holding his hand as they walk down toward their shared room. They are nearing the end of their final year and suddenly, in a short amount of time, the dorms feel too small, the campus too enclosed. It’s like they have wings that are aching to burst and unfurl, to take off and spread out to far flung places.

They talked about travelling, about visiting places outside of Japan, to countries where cursed energy was rare and sorcerers were rarer still. Satoru liked the idea, seeing all these places, all these new things with Suguru beside him. Suguru grinning bright at him, like the deep yellows and oranges of the evening sun.

Satoru looks at him now and he seems peaceful, an easy smile, their fingers lazily entangled. His heart gives a lurch and he bites down the expanding swell starting in his chest.

There was never going to be a perfect moment, or a specifically right time. Satoru kept putting the feeling off, thinking they were happy with how they were, that there was a time and place for big revelations. They both had been so tired and busy lately it kept getting put on the back burner until the looming ceremony of graduation was approaching faster and faster. And even though Satoru knew that wouldn’t change anything, that they’ll probably both move into a one bed apartment together, pick out a few houseplants, go travelling and be as inseparable as they always have been. But there was something about starting that new chapter without the most important part included that didn’t sit well with Satoru.

He looks at Suguru, bathed in a deep glow expression tired but peaceful. He sees all the rivers and the earth, all the green trees and towering clouds, stars and planets and those crazy coloured dust clouds, rolled up into a mini universe. And it glints back at him with amber eyes and ebony hair, a kind smile and a sharp gaze.

Satoru pauses, causing Suguru to be pulled back from his languid walk. He turns, looking back at Satoru with a perplexed look but still smiling.

“You okay?”

Satoru just looks at him, cupping that mini universe tighter in his palms.

“I feel like I’m going to come in my chest.”

Suguru’s placid smile falters and he stares at Satoru, mouth slightly agape.

There’s a beat between them until Suguru bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Hey!” Satoru pulls at their hands but Suguru’s bending down, holding his side like there’s an ache.

“Satoru… what —” Suguru catches his breath, trying to calm himself.

“I’m trying to express myself, jerk,” he tugs at his hand again for good measure.

Suguru laughs trickle out helplessly and Satoru regrets telling him anything now. He looks away with an irritated pout, pushing Suguru away but not really trying.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru tampers down his snickers even though he’s clearly not sorry at all, and wipes at the corner of his eye. He straightens up, pulling Satoru toward him easily.

“If it helps,” Suguru’s low, soft voice envelopes him, “you make me feel that way too.”

Satoru stops and looks at him, surprised that this weird knot of emotions is reciprocated.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean some people will call it butterflies but we can go with your way too,” he smiles, reaching up and giving Satoru a small peck on the lips.

Satoru stares, his gaze flicking between honey irises, down to his dusty pink cheeks, to the curve of his lips that just retreated back. He focuses there because it feels less intense on his senses. Everything feels electrified and buzzing, his fingers feel like they’re vibrating over the fabric of Suguru’s baggy top.

“It’s a lot,” Satoru says, quiet between them. He hadn’t ever admitted defeat before, not that he felt this was, but the confession makes his ears burn.

Suguru is silent for a moment. His lips press together briefly as Satoru stares at them.

“Too much?” Suguru’s voice is quiet, concerned like the end got broken off.

“No—” Satoru holds onto ripples of cotton, the world tilting sideways in the thought Suguru could have him wrong, “not too much. Just… just a lot.”

His brain to mouth connection doesn’t seem to be working at all, words getting stuck in his throat like tacky toffee.

‘I miss you all the time. When we’re apart I’m only thinking of you. When we kiss I want to be consumed by it.’

‘You make everything less loud. I feel safe. I don’t get those bad headaches anymore.’

‘My chest hurts but I like it. I like how my stomach feels around you. You make me laugh more than anyone.’

‘I….’

Suguru can seem to tell what he’s thinking, Suguru could read him like an open book really. He gives Satoru a moment, and then, so very slowly, snakes a hand under the hem of his shirt, brushing his thumb over the jut of his hip bone. It elicits a wave of goosebumps along his skin and starts to boot Satoru’s brain back online.

“We can take it slow,” he murmurs, low and soft like he already knows when Satoru is taking in too much, “we can go whatever pace you need to. I’m still here.”

Satoru looks up blinking, the setting sun behind them a little too bright, the hiss in his ears a bit too loud. But they start to mellow out once he looks back at Suguru, a tussle of dark, loose hair falling around him and dark honey eyes that drip with endearment. He’s smiling at Satoru with that soft smile, the one that dents a dimple in his cheek and furrows his brow a bit. Suguru smiles with his whole face when he means it and Satoru adores every crease because it’s made just for him.

“I love you.”

Suguru’s eyes widen, his face changing into a new shape for the second time that evening.

“You.. what?”

Suguru doesn’t say anything, just stares at him for a few moments, caught off guard. Suddenly dread starts to trickle in through every nerve in Satoru’s body. Did he say it too soon? Were you not meant to say it yet? Maybe Suguru doesn’t feel that strongly yet. Shit — did he mess it all up? Maybe he can fix it, pretend it was a —

“I love you too,” Suguru’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

Satoru looks as shocked as he feels, like the words were foreign, some secret code he had unknowingly unlocked. Satoru stares back wide eyed and suddenly giddy.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Yes, you moron,” and Suguru closes the distance between them and kisses him, hand coming up to cup his cheek, guide his lips, pressing in so much he’s enveloping him whole.

Satoru’s arms come up and wrap around his broad shoulders, humming into the happy buzz of Suguru around him. He feels better, lighter, like he could float away with the clouds. His heart feels like pink puffs of cotton candy that melts warm and sweet into his chest.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds like syrup, heady and giddy when they break to take breaths “when did you know?”

Satoru’s grinning but Suguru doesn’t notice the fish for compliments, either that or he really doesn’t care right now. He presses back in a little more intensely, a little hungrier that has Satoru gasping.

“That time you stuffed your face with 3 pastries,” Suguru growls low, his fingers slipping to the back of his neck so he can lick into him all possessive and protective.

Satoru can’t help the jolt of excitement that runs up through him, giving into Suguru’s starved kisses for a minute before pulling back, disbelieving.

“Wha-? That? Not something a little cooler?” He huffs.

“Nah, it’s the little moments I got to see of you, the real Satoru,” Suguru smiles, pulling back, thumb running over his cheek, “I love you because of you, Satoru. Not because you’re the so-called strongest—”

“—Strongest together,” Satoru interrupts but Suguru smiles, continuing on.

“— or from some high ass clan. But because you’d eat your weight in sugar if you could. When you get really excited about digimon and yap for 15 minutes straight. When you look after our kouhai’s when you think no one notices,” his eyes crinkle, the sweet furrow jutting out from his brow, “ I love you, Satoru.”

Satoru stands there, staring at Suguru like he’s a clear night sky, dotted with millions of tiny galaxies, his dark hair fanning out against the evening sun like the velvet ink of space. He started this but somehow he’s the one that feels bare and naked under the weight of Suguru’s gaze and words. But he doesn’t seem to mind it though, he would give him anything. His hand reaches up and he tucks away some fallen locks behind his ear, thumb lingering over the shell of his ear, down to his gauge until his fingers are curling over his nape.

“I love you,” he whispers back and Suguru smiles, leaning up and kissing him with a promise laced between it.

“You okay?” Suguru hums, pulling back and checking again as he tucks his own lock of hair behind his ear if just to pet at him.

“Yeah,” Satoru smiles, feeling like melted marshmallows, “Promise me something?”

Suguru looks at him, knowingly cautious for whatever he was about to ask.

“Go on.”

“We won’t lose each other. Even when things get bad. You’ll lean on me. For anything.”

Suguru stays quiet for a moment, looking at him like he’s taking in every line of his features, every detail he hadn’t already marked and committing it to memory. He looks thoughtful, his eyes flicking to his own palm, the one that encapsulates his curses. His neck bobs, like the memory of the taste flashes over him.

“Even when it’s bad,” Suguru whispers, though it sounds more like a croak.

“Even at its worst,” Satoru states plainly and true, “I can be your compass as well.”

Suguru looks up, a little scared, a little uncertain.

Satoru holds his gaze now, unwavering.

“Okay,” Suguru’s voice comes out quiet but resolved.

“Promise?”

Then Suguru’s hand drops, finding one of Satoru’s hands that hug his waist and locks their pinkies together, holding it between them.

“I promise.”

Satoru smiles, wide and genuine and kisses him, feeling all his love and affection bloom out of him.

“I love you,” he whispers into warm streams of light.

Suguru smiles, lacing their hands together, “I love you too.”

Suguru smiles, standing back as Maki straightens, planting the wooden training spear into the ground.

“That was good,” he makes his way over to her, “make sure your stance is a little wider before pushing forward.”

He taps the edge of her shoe and pushes against the spear with his flank to show her the increased balance.

She tch’s, backing off and swirling the spear behind her but giving a minuscule nod to show she understood.

Suguru beams back at his class, Yuta and Inumaki sitting on the grass exhausted, Panda starting to joke with Maki as she turns back to him and getting a wooden spear dangerously swiped near his face in response.

“That was a great session everyone, you can—”

But he’s cut off by a voice piercing through the evening air, clear and sparkling and bright. It makes Suguru turn, to look up, heart light, chest full.

“Suguruuu!” Satoru’s voice carries as he crests the hill above, an arm shooting into the air as the first years trail after him like a pack of bumbling kittens.

Suguru smiles, meeting his wave as Satoru skips down invisible steps in the air, closing the distance between them quickly and leaving his class to sluggishly drag themselves down the steep hill toward the training ground.

Satoru practically prances over, wrapping his long arms around Suguru’s shoulders and hauling him in close.

Suguru chuckles, pressing a kiss to his cheek and draping an arm around his waist, “Hi, baby.”

Satoru preens, turning to get a proper kiss on the lips instead.

“Wanna get married?”

The second years turn away exhausted, Maki crunching her sports drink in annoyance and Yuta smiling between them weakly.

Suguru laughs, placing a peck on his lips and then another because he can’t help himself when Satoru is warm and bright like sunshine spilling into his arms, “we’re already married.”

“Renew our vows. Get double married,” Satoru nuzzles into him, voice low and silky.

“It’s been less than a year,” Megumi deadpans, as the first years finally make their way down towards the group. His dark sapphire eyes glaring daggers at the two of them for subjecting everyone to stand there and put up with them.

Suguru takes the hint, pulling their heads away but not detaching completely. It was his first time that day to see Satoru since this morning, he was allowed to be a little clingy for missing him.

Satoru grins at Megumi, unaffected by their sullen teen.

“Everyone did an incredible job today, let’s get crêpes! My treat!” Satoru beams but the students let out a collective groan.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but we were just in the city I’m not going back out,” Nobara moans, stretching out her back.

“Not a hope,” Maki snips, turning away from him.

“Tuna mayo…” Inumaki yawns into his hand.

“I’d get crêpes with you, sensei!” Yuuji smiles, raising his hand but Megumi smacks it back down and shushes him.

“You’re a real one, Yuuji,” Satoru points, giving him a solemn nod.

Yuuji grins and Megumi elbows him back again with a threatening glare.

When no one actually turns around and reconsiders Satoru’s incredible plan, he pouts disappointed, drooping against Suguru sullenly.

Suguru rubs a circle into his back, placing a small kiss to the corner of Satoru’s down turned lips.

“I’d love to get some crêpes,” he smiles, seeing Satoru instantly bloom, like a flower opening up to the sun.

“Suguru’s the best,” Satoru’s bright voice carries with the evening sun and Suguru is laughing, chest warm.

The students look at them exhausted and unamused, littered around the school field looking scuffed and grubby after the day.

Despite their appearance they are cared for, shielded from any serious threat that might come at them. Satoru and Suguru started a system that they both oversaw meticulously. No student went on a mission alone without a qualified grade 2 or higher. Windows had to be sent out with each mission and report back if things went sideways. Students started small and were capped at the amount of missions they could go on in a week.

Yaga was stony faced, when the two of them laid down their demands before taking up their teaching posts. It would mean the backlog would start growing, minor curses could grow into something more sinister.

Satoru joked it would just get them cooler curses for Suguru’s arsenal, but Yaga wasn’t impressed. He only started coming around when more mission reports started coming in successful, less fatal injuries were being sustained and the students seemed happier.

Suguru made sure the hardest thing they’d have to push through were his combat drills on a Friday afternoon.

Things were getting better, they were making them better.

Suguru hugs Satoru’s waist to him a little closer, the taller one’s arms draping over his shoulders lazily. He looks to Megumi who’s trying, nonchalantly, to watch Yuuji as he talks animatedly to Nobara, “Have a proper dinner later, okay?”

Megumi’s eyes turn to him and his face scrunches into a frown, “You’re literally about to go eat sweets.”

“We’re grown,” Satoru nods wisely, “you need to eat your greens.”

“You’ve never eaten anything green in your life,” Megumi glowers at him.

Suguru laughs and Satoru starts sputtering about being very good at eating spinach when Suguru chops it up small.

Yuuji and Nobara join in, laughing and poking fun at their teacher, when he’s making it easy for them.

“Alright, see you this evening?” Suguru smiles at their little, smitten teenager.

“..Whatever,” Megumi mumbles, turning to walk back with his hands in his pockets.

“Love you, Megs!” Satoru chirps.

Yuuji and Norbara laugh, chasing after him as Yuuji’s hand shoots into the air.

“Love you too sensei!”

Their laughs follow Megumi and fade away slowly in the evening air. The second years have already gotten up and left too, leaving the two of them to watch the backs of their retreating students heading toward the school building.

“I think we’re doing okay,” Suguru smiles at them, the soft wind catching at his bangs, making them flutter.

Satoru turns to him, a grin spreading across his glossy, pink lips, “yeah, I think we are.”

He leans over then and kisses him, soft and chaste, pressing gloss onto his lips. Suguru hugs him, tasting tacky strawberry and the feel of his smile against him. He feels his wedding ring, snug on his finger, and gives it a few turns with his thumb absently. He can feel the engraving on the inside rolling over skin as he does.

My one and only.

Satoru pulls back, still with a playful grin, cheeks rosy and bright.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

And with a small pop Satoru blinks them out of sight.