Chapter Text
Getou Suguru is a good friend, a great one even, hence why he is now regretting his actions to tag along on a ‘quick’ shopping trip. He’s holding far too many things that don't belong to him and if one of his idiots hands him something else that won't clear the mugginess from his senses he might just punt them into the sun. The sun that is currently smothering the atmosphere with its hot rage, making everything around him feel far too tacky. The heat has always made Getou feel nauseous. So be it if he confides in the coolness of his friends all to blue eyes and refreshing antics.
The heat blaring around his mind is making his ears buzz unpleasantly and goddamn he cannot wait for his friends, nay, counterparts, associates, financial hindrances even, to pick a cafe so he can get what must be his seventh coffee this morning.
“Fucking hell Gojo, I might as well be asking this plastic bag for advice! Getou, help me out here.” Ieiri’s pleading brings the buzzing from a crackling boil to a simmer.
“If you like her so much why don’t you just ask her on a date?”
“I did! I have! We did that! How much more obvious can I be!? Why are women like this!” She throws her arms through the air.
Getou shouldn’t laugh at her not-so-internal panic spilling all over the shopping district's pavement, but it bubbles out of him anyway.
“What do you even like about Utahime, she's so small and annoying-“ Gojo’s quips being as unimaginative as ever. “Like seriously, even if I was on death's door I still wouldn’t be able to name a single redeeming quality.”
“Satoru,” a sigh, “shut up.” Getou considered handing off his accumulated luggage to Gojo, but the man had already been distracted by chasing a pidgin around, and if Getou found it more amusing than he should have, he didn’t dwell upon it. “So, how did you manage to take Utahime on a date without her realising it?”
Ieiri groaned, twisting her fingers against her temples. “What am I even supposed to say to that.” Much to Getou’s relief, she finally led them into a small cafe. “How can you tell if cuddling is platonic or not?”
“What?”
“Like y’know how it’s different when you’re the same gender? Like are you just really good mates or are you really good mates, like with an extra side of gay.” Clearly, Getou isn’t as good at hiding his expressions as he thought. He’s sure he has an amalgamation of confusion and amusement painting his features.
“Why do you look like that?”
“This is just my face Shoko.”
“What. Do you and Gojo not cuddle? Like ever?”
Getou shook his head slowly, shyly.
“Not even on movie nights? Or on the couch? What if he fell asleep on you, what would you do then?”
“Probably tip him onto the floor.” Amused by the idea, Getou turns to the barista as they reach the front of the line. “Two black coffees and an iced latte.”
The barista smiled warmly, “What syrup would you like in that.”
“All of it!” Their overly energetic friend beamed bouncing through the door, seemingly done with harassing the Shibuya ‘wildlife.’ Getou only sighed and paid, admittedly, with Gojo’s card.
Getou claimed a corner table, as far from the sweltering August sun as he possibly could. “I may be no expert in the enigma that is women Shoko, but if I had one constantly clinging to my side, or kissing my hands and face, I would not be calling her a good mate.”
Ieiri sighed letting herself flop onto the bench.
“Who knew Suguru would be decent at giving love advice? Oh, I always knew you were a hopeless romantic underneath your broody exterior!” Gojo slipped right back into the conversation as naturally as he always does, a skill Getou envies a little. However, to be so confident in your actions you hold absolutely no filter, He supposes you’d have to be just a bit insane. Gojo flung himself over both the bench and Getou, always seeming so determined to make his presence as known as possible, to whoever is most unfortunate to be within it.
“I'm not broody you moron.” Getou shoves him away by the face and continues to brood.
“Have you ever actually had a girlfriend Suguru?” Gojo refuses to completely detach himself from Getou’s side, staring above the rim of his glasses. As much as Getou is entrapped by the glow of his friend's eyes, he is not particularly keen on having them stare directly through his soul. Turning away, he gives in and leans back onto Gojo’s arm, letting him trace the ink that graces his forearms.
“That’s a stupid question.” He ignores Ieiri’s muffled snort, takes one to know one after all. He smiles a little.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend Gojo?” Ieiri’s tone implies there's a goal to this prodding, and Getou’s not so sure if he likes where it’s going.
“No, but-“
“Right, didn’t think so.”
“Excuse you! I'm a fucking delight!” Both Ieiri and Getou spared no time letting the laughter spill out of them, Gojo’s attempts at self-preservation fanning the preverbal flames to the fire. “Okay, no, look- That’s just different!”
“Uh huh, yeah sure.”
“I didn’t even go to school! Come on guys. Women love me!” Gojo slumps back in his seat pouting at the table. “Whatever.” The only consolation was the sarcastic pats on his shoulder.
They’ve just finished their mid-year exams, and Suguru has decided to host a proper dinner for the first and second years, Utahime being a special guest, of course. Getou assumes this is the reason for Gojo’s particularly snappy bickering and his fourth, artificially loud, sigh since he’s entered the kitchen. Though Getou supposes he hasn’t heard a tantrum from the overgrown child in at least a week so it was about time.
“What is it Satoru..” he drawls a bit, leaving his attention on the vegetables in front of him.
“I can’t believe Shoko -of all people, Shoko!- got a girlfriend before either of us!” Gojo shamelessly exclaims from his perch on the bench, as improper as ever.
“Come on Suguru! I'm sure there are plenty of girls from your village, introduce me will you?”
“Satoru, I don’t think there’s anyone in the sorcerer world who doesn’t know who you are.”
“You didn’t.”
Touché
“Besides, most of the people in my village are accustomed to the slow life. I don’t think any of them could keep up with your bullshit.”
“Ouch. Fine, if I don’t have a chance then you have to do the heavy lifting here. I'm sure there's someone you liked.” Getou cannot for the life of him understand what has Gojo so infatuated with the idea of romance as of late. He supposes it’s probably boredom that's causing him to entertain it. “Girls dig that emo bangs thing you’ve got going on, plus you're tall and kind and quite attractive, anyone can see it. ”
And there he is. Going on about girls again. There's a small nagging in Getou to just rip the bandaid off and just tell Gojo. He’s completely okay with Ieiri of course. For crying out loud his biggest issue with her having a girlfriend is that she beat him to it. Getou has always been aware of his own feelings towards men. It's always been boys. It has never been a secret from others, although being from a rather conservative village caused some people to avoid him like the plague. It doesn’t bother him anymore, he’s heard it all. Yet, even the idea of Gojo being one of them, the ones who look at him with a scowl, or make him feel he has to prove he has a right to the air he breathes. It's enough to make him light-headed, all too familiar nausea settling in its self-acclaimed home in his stomach.
“Satoru.”
He cuts him off. Breathes, and feigns indifference.
“I really don’t care ‘what girls dig,’ 'cause I do not dig girls.”
Not once did Getou look away from his cooking, he probably couldn’t if he wanted to. He could hear his heartbeat over everything else in his ears. Hammering anxiety against the front of his skull, but now is not the time for a panic attack. He turns as causally as he can muster with the tense unease that's in a deadlock with his muscles. Gojo has his glasses in his hands, his eyes on full display. Those piercing blue spectres cut right through any mental barrier Getou hoped to protect his heart with. He only could ever feel this raw and open in front of Gojo Satoru. He gives up on the indifference and lets his breath shake, cracking under that gaze.
“Please say something, you’re freaking me out.”
Gojo appears to realise he’s been far too silent for far too long. He blinks and sits up straight (ironic).
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Cool.”
Their staring contest continues. Getou is betting he’s running every interaction they’ve had past his Six Eyes technique, reconsidering every interaction, every glance, every conversation. Or maybe he’s distracted by something else entirely and Getou is freaking out for no good reason. The stove hisses as a pot boils over. Getou uses the opportunity to swing himself back around. They don’t talk for some time before Gojo starts rambling about some new sequel to the weird slasher film series he likes. Getou is grateful for the normalcy of it. Maybe they could pretend he kept his mouth shut.
Maybe they couldn’t. They continued their half-hearted bickering, even though they were both far too distracted by presumably the same thing. It's only when Getou finishes cleaning up enough to call acceptable, he tells Gojo to go and fetch the others from outside.
He thought he tripped over his own feet or simply lost his balance. It wasn’t until he heard the automatic sorry from Gojo’s mouth he realised he’d walked into him. Getou felt nothing, no contact at all. Just to double-check he reached for his friend's shoulder.
“You have Infinity activated.” A statement causing them both to freeze. The way Gojo’s shoulders twitch, a minuscule movement that most would have disregarded, was all Getou needed to know it was entirely intentional.
“Satoru.” No response. “Satoru, turn around.” He does. “Are you okay?” They both know it's not the full question.
Are you okay with me? Am I disgusting to you?
“Of course. Shit sorry. Suguru I- that was..” cutting himself off is doing nothing to relieve the anxiety in him, the lack of certainty in his actions. Getou can feel the itch in his chest trying to claw at his throat, he feels sick. He wants to run. He’s brought back into the present at an alarming pace. It’s disorienting, the hand on his shoulder sweeping across the nape of his neck.
He lets himself be pulled into the hug.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I got all weird and stuff. I don't care if you’re gay. I will never even have the right to hate you, even if you tore the world apart. You’re the one who showed me I'm allowed to live, not just exist for the sake of it all. How could I possibly deny you the right to live happily, as yourself? After everything you’ve done for me.” Gojo pulled away and placed his hand on Getou’s shoulders, making a point to squeeze them.
“You’re my best friend, and I fucking love you Suguru.” He says it with such sincerity like he holds no reservations to unsaid words. There he is, being so undeniably honest, of course, he had to crack the moment with that inevitable humour. “Besides, it leaves more for me.” He exclaims with a too-big smile and a wink. Getou lets out a noise only to be described as a messy knot of laughter and relief. He dropped his head momentarily un-shamefully wiping the stressed tear from his cheek.
“That implies you had a chance with your cut in the first place.” He bites back. They part at the door, Getou needing a well-deserved moment of air while Gojo meets with the others.
“Thank you, Satoru.”
They share a smile.
Gojo has been making rapid progress in his technique, both cursed and combative. Which leads to more nights like these. When Gojo gets called out for solo missions, Getou and Ieiri often find themselves on the student dorm roof, drinking and talking, but mostly drinking.
Ieiri is a drunk with no filter at all, painfully similar to a certain blue-eyed local menace. She’s been gushing about her dear Iori and her hair that's actually a little bit curly in the morning, and her eyes and how much she wants to kiss the little creases in the corners and how she left to some haunted house with Mei Mei and hasn’t heard from her since noon.
“What am I supposed to do now?” She whined, flopping onto her back. “How did I even spend all my time before I met her.”
“With your loving friends obviously.”
“Gross ~ as if I could put up with all your disgusting pinning for each other forever.”
“We are not pinning, Shoko.”
“Sure ~” she slurs.
The silence is quite comforting after being surrounded with chaos and curses day in, day out. Getou wonders how Gojo can even stay sane with all of the extra information his Six Eyes supplies him with. And now he’s back at the beginning, the reason he came up here to drink. It’s been about two months since the ‘kitchen incident’ and despite Gojo’s insurance that he thinks nothing differently of Getou, there have been subtle changes. He’s sure nobody other than himself has noticed, maybe Gojo himself hasn’t even noticed. They lean against each other less, Gojo isn’t often the one to reach out anymore and his eyes have a certain distance now.
“Do you think Satoru’s like.. I don’t know.. closeted homophobic.. or something.”
Ieiri has never been this silent on these nights for so long, so he spares her a glance. She looks like she’s about to crack. She does. Her hysterical laughter is carried out over Jujutsu High and the woods beyond it.
“Yeah sure, or something.” If Getou knows Ieiri at all he knows she won’t mess with other people's emotional lives. She thinks it's too much effort. She’s right. At least he knows that if Ieiri did think so of Gojo she probably would have said by now. This means, again, she’s implying that there's ‘a disgusting slow and frankly boring mating ritual’ going on between the two. Getou groans and lets himself fall flat on the roof as well, letting the sounds of her amusement fill the air around them. He asks her about that book Utahime gave to her, knowing it would move the conversation far away from Gojo.
They fall asleep on the roof awoken by the sun peaking over the horizon and a familiar tuff of white hair sauntering through the gate.