Chapter Text
A Fata Morgana is not a lie, not exactly. It's a vision, an idea of something just beyond the reach of your hands. An image floating just above the horizon, clear to the eye for as long as you look. But once you blink, it vanishes, leaving you wondering whether it was even real in the first place.
Something too real to dismiss yet too distant to touch.
Like a friendship that was never meant to be love.
Something Satoru and Suguru knew all too well.
It always looked like love. Felt like it, too - just out of reach, shimmering on the horizon like a mirage they couldn’t quite get to in time.
It’s the kind of illusion that aches. Not because it deceives. Because it shows you something beautiful you almost believe is true.
Satoru has never been overly sentimental, not the kind of person who gets swept back to another time just by hearing an old song or seeing a familiar place, not even scents that are notorious for breaking nostalgic hearts tend to get to him that much. Instead, he’s grounded, steady in his life and personality that has been shaped by years and years of the life that he'd chosen to lead and learn from.
But even so, even to someone as grounded as him, there are moments that catch Satoru off guard. Moments that make him pause for a minute too long, moments that pull him out of the present, take him back to the times when he got everything so wrong.
Sometimes, he sits for hours just staring out the window, eyes used to the way the evening light turns gold behind the clouds. That orange haze seems to hold his thoughts still then, gather them in one place and allow him to revisit the things that he sometimes does. Until he catches himself, until he remembers that he’s not fifteen anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. Still, in those rare, quiet moments, it feels like he’s back in that old teenage skin, repeating the same mistakes he swore he'd never make again.
He tugs once at the small loom band bracelet around his wrist. It’s worn thin at the edges, the colors faded. Most days, it's hidden under the cuffs of the button-down shirts he never used to wear at fifteen, but now at twenty-five, it’s not really a choice when you go from student to teacher. He tugs on it again and glances at the setting sun, the light drawing soft lines on his face; lines that don’t speak of a long life, not yet, not when he’s only in his mid-twenties. But still, the memories he clings to feel like they happened lifetimes ago. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe they happened at all.
He was so young then, so young that it's hard to imagine now, and even harder to remember clearly. It’s strange, really, how the details of childhood slip away as you age. Satoru figures that’s just how memory works: it blurs, shifts, and scatters all over, especially when you feel things too deeply in the moment. And he did. That’s what he remembers most. Feeling everything all at once. Emotions too big to express, interests too fleeting to last. Things that meant everything at the time and mean almost nothing now.
But one thing stuck.
He remembers that summer in Okinawa.
The few months he spent with his grandparents seemed to carve out a permanent space in his memory, settling there and replaying like a film he had both directed and starred in.
That summer was a hot one. Satoru remembers it as calm, quiet - the way his life no longer is. It was a season when he didn’t think too much about anything, a time when he felt content with whatever was given to him.
It was also the summer he met Suguru.
They were about twelve then. Satoru often basked in the evening sun, which for some reason always felt more intense than at any other time of day. On evenings like that, when the heat lingered a little too long, he liked to lounge at the edge of the rocky cliffs; chest bare, skin too pale for the sun, head tilted, eyes fixed on the shimmering blues of the sea, his gaze merging with the same shades of the ocean that often reflected back from his own eyes.
In the evenings, when the air was heavy and the sea felt almost tea-warm from the day, the horizon would bend and twist, creating little images that Satoru was eager to catch. He’d seen them once or twice while walking with his grandparents along the shore: ships sailing in and out of vision, cliffs duplicating themselves in impossible reflections. It startled him every time, how something so real could seem to stretch and sway like that. And if you looked away for even a second, it vanished. Reduced to nothing but a shadow that might never have been there at all.
Turns out, it wasn’t.
His grandfather explained it to him then, briefly mentioning the concept of mirages and how they’re nothing but an optical illusion. When the conditions are right, sometimes, the sea mirrors the sky in a way that tricks your eyes, creating things that can be seen by the human eye for just a brief second before it disappears and goes back to being an illusion that exists nowhere apart from your own mind.
It’s a Fata Morgana, his grandfather told him. A mirage that tricks your brain into seeing things that aren’t really there.
Satoru had been fascinated ever since. Turns out, these mirages aren’t all that common at all, at least not where he lived. Everything has to be just right; the atmosphere, nature, and timing merging in a specific way for anyone to catch even a glimpse. And even then, it might not last more than a moment.
So, being as determined as he was, Satoru began spending his evenings on the cliffs, eyes fixed on the horizon, hoping to catch a flicker, a mere shadow of something that wasn’t even real.
And, in some ways, he thinks he might have succeeded.
That’s what he believed back then too, excited and a little flustered when a shadow appeared right in front of him. A shadow so light it was almost transparent, like a textbook Fata Morgana he was so desperately trying to chase.
But then it moved, came closer, and…didn’t disappear. Satoru turned his head to the side, mentally flipping through everything he’d learned about his new obsession, trying to recall if mirages were supposed to do that. He didn’t think they were.
And they sure weren’t supposed to talk.
“Hey.”
The voice was quiet, soft enough to make him pause and wonder if he’d really heard it, or if it was just the ocean playing tricks on him. But then he turned slightly, squinted through the shimmer of heat, and saw him.
The shadow had lost its transparent edge, reshaping into something real, something that looked like a boy with long, dark hair and bright brown eyes. He stood barefoot in the sand, looking down at Satoru with the kindest smile he’d ever seen.
Satoru stared. Wide-eyed. Speechless in a way that wasn’t typical for him.
He just stared and found himself hoping that this image wasn’t a Fata Morgana, after all.
Because seeing something so beautiful and serene for it to just vanish right before your eyes would be nothing short of cruel.
But the boy didn’t vanish.
He crouched down beside him, resting his arms casually on his knees.
“You live around here? I think I’ve seen you before,” he asked.
“No,” Satoru said, shaking his head. “Tokyo. My mom dumped me at my grandparents’ for the summer.”
The boy grinned, soft and boyish and just a tad bit excited. “Same.”
He leaned in and dropped down next to Satoru, mimicking his posture and turning to face the horizon just as Satoru had.
“I’m Suguru.”
“Satoru.”
The wind passed between them, carrying the scent of salt and sea. Satoru studied Suguru’s side profile; the way his tanned skin shimmered gold in the shadows of the setting sun. He looked like the ocean, somehow, reflecting light even in stillness. Like he belonged to it.
Maybe he was a mirage, after all.
Then Suguru glanced over at him, eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“You always this quiet, or just trying to look cool?”
Satoru snorted. “I am cool.”
“Oh, definitely,” Suguru teased, grinning the way boys his age do. “The sitting alone on the edge of the cliff vibe? Super cool.”
Satoru tried not to smile. Failed miserably.
“You wanna hang out tomorrow?” Suguru asked, casual, completely unaware that this simple question, tossed into the sea breeze by a twelve-year-old boy, would spark years of friendship.
Satoru just nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Cool,” Suguru said.
“Cool,” Satoru echoed, and they both smiled.
And just like that, Satoru knew that the boy sitting beside him wasn’t a mirage, after all. It was just Suguru.
Years later, Satoru remembers this moment; not as the start of something born from loneliness, but from choice.
They didn’t become best friends because they had no one else.
They became best friends because they wanted to.
Because it was always meant to be.
And it’s strange, really, how deeply Satoru still feels Suguru’s presence. Even now, it’s something he can’t shake. Their connection had been instant, and with Suguru around, everything felt just a little bit easier.
It’s funny, in a way, how it all changed once they grew up. A presence that had once felt so clear became the only thing in his life he no longer knew how to navigate. And in moments like this, when Suguru makes him feel too much and Satoru doesn’t know how to control it, he wishes he could go back to when they were twelve. Sun kissed cheeks and wind shaped hair, bright, unassuming eyes as they watched his best friend, when his bitten lips spoke whatever came to mind.
These days, their hair is a little longer, their skin no longer kissed by the open sun. These days, they sit in silence, exchanging smiles that are still comfortable but carefully measured, each one holding back all the things they both know but can’t say.
They know because they’re twenty-five now.
They can’t say it, because once they were twelve.
But back then it was easy. And Satoru’s thankful for that. Suguru never made him nervous or self-conscious, never made him second-guess his words or spiral into overthinking.
Their conversations didn’t require effort.
They just flowed.
In some ways, Suguru is like him.
But not the same at all.
As the summer heat dragged on, Satoru didn’t even notice the weeks slipping by so quickly, too wrapped up in Suguru’s presence to notice how days turned into nights. They did everything together. Swam in the ocean until their fingers pruned and their skin burned red, then mocked each other for peeling and looking nothing short of ridiculous. They ate ice cream that melted too fast in the sun and shared pieces of fruit packed by their grandmothers that always tasted a little too sweet in the summer. Collected rocks and empty shells along the beach, each one somehow cooler than the last.
They spent hours on the cliffs, legs dangling over the edge, watching the horizon blur into the sky and melt into the vast expanse of the sea. Chasing the faint shimmer of an image that never did appear even once. Satoru didn’t mind it all that much anymore. He was looking at Suguru most of the time, anyways.
And Suguru was funny, sharp, smart, and endlessly kind. He was kinder than most people Satoru’s met, his pure intentions carrying well into adulthood. Yet his approach was a little more refined now, character thickened by years of experience and people. He teased Satoru in ways no one else back home dared to, matched his energy no matter where it fell on the spectrum - whether they were laughing until they couldn’t breathe or lying side by side in silence, trading secrets they hadn’t even admitted to themselves before. With Suguru, Satoru felt settled and less lonely. He felt like he’d found something he didn’t even know he’d been missing.
They sat on the cliff again; a spot they frequented more than the others. Patches of ground covered in grass and little blue flowers Satoru liked to weave together and put in Suguru’s black locks. He did it to tease him, but really, Satoru just liked how the blue and white petals looked against Suguru’s black hair.
They were in their spot again, legs swinging over the edge, the wind tugging gently at their hair like it, too, wanted to be part of the moment. Satoru didn’t look at him when he spoke:
“Suguru,” he said, voice quieter and a little guarded, as if the ocean below might overhear.
“Yeah?”
Satoru bit his lip and felt his cheeks flush a little. This was serious business to him.
“Do you like…want to be best friends or whatever?” Satoru asked, daring a quick glance at the boy next to him.
Suguru took in a breath, remained silent for a second too long.
“Like… forever?”
“Duh,” Satoru said, trying to steady his voice and sound nonchalant. “Of course, I mean if you wan-”
“Yes,” Suguru cut him off, nodding enthusiastically, his own cheeks a little more pink now. “I want to.”
Satoru smiled, something settling in his little heart, but didn’t elaborate further, just held out his hand, palm open, two little loom band bracelets nestled inside.
“I made us these,” he mumbled.
“You made them?” Suguru blinked, as if that somehow made it more serious.
“Yeah. It’s kind of lame but-”
“It’s not lame,” Suguru cut in quickly, already reaching for his. “I think it’s cool.”
Suguru’s bracelet was white with little bands of baby blue woven through. Satoru’s was black with streaks of purple. They helped each other put them on; awkwardly, with clumsy fingers and silent grins.
Once they were on, they held out their arms, twirling their wrists, comparing the bracelets and tugging on the little bands that snapped right back into place.
“Cool,” Satoru said, after a little while once their emotions settled.
“Cool,” Suguru echoed.
And that was it. No more unnecessary words, no grand declarations of friendship that seemed to be eternal in the moment. Just two boys on a cliff, bracelets snug around their wrists, hearts full of something they didn’t quite have words for yet.
They were best friends, woven together like the bands on their wrists, in colors that would fade but remain the same.
And then, a little too soon, their summer had ended.
Satoru still remembers those sad brown eyes watching him from the driveway as he climbed into his grandfather’s car to take him to the airport. Their goodbye was quiet, uncertain in the way all goodbyes are, just a few words and a hug that lasted a little too long, neither one of them willing to step away first. Then they promised to keep in touch. After all, they both lived in Tokyo, and being apart was not something that the both of them were willing to accept for too long.
Turns out, they didn’t have to be apart for long.
It happened in the first week of school. Satoru was still getting used to early mornings again, juggling a stack of papers and a half-eaten melon bread as he made his way to his homeroom class. His mind was running in circles, trying to remember where the classroom was located. He was so preoccupied with trying to sort out his schedule and the stack of worksheets that he didn’t even notice the figure in front of him until he walked straight into it - hard.
The impact sent his papers flying.
“Shit, I’m so sorr—”
He stopped.
Because when he looked up, everything else stopped too.
There, crouched on the floor, calmly picking up his worksheet with a small smirk on his face, was Suguru.
“Suguru,” he breathed, stunned, eyes wide, scattered papers long forgotten.
“Long time no see, stranger,” Suguru said with a small, familiar smile.
“What the hell,” Satoru blinked, his gaze flicking over him again, trying to process how someone could look so different and still feel exactly the same. “What are you doing here?”
No way Suguru was standing right in front of him, in his homeroom class.
He looked different, though, with all the little things still staying the same. His long black hair, usually loose and wind-tangled from the Okinawa breeze, was tied back neatly in a low, tidy bun, a few strands escaping around his face. His skin was still sun-warmed and golden from the summer, but there was something sharper about him now. More refined. The Okinawan beach boy in rolled-up shorts and flip-flops had been replaced by a version of Suguru that stood straighter, looked cleaner, dressed in the same crisp school uniform that Satoru was wearing. The bracelet around his wrist was still there, and that made Satoru smile like an idiot, fingers running absentmindedly over his own wrist where a matching band had made its home.
Suguru looked… cool.
Cool in a way that made Satoru’s chest twist a little.
“I go here now,” Suguru said, casually handing him a paper that he’d dropped. “And guess whose class I’m in.”
“No way,” Satoru muttered, taking it without looking away, eyes still wide with surprise. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Suguru clicked his tongue, that same playful glint from summer peeking through. “I was supposed to be in a different homeroom, though. But then I saw your name on the class list and asked if they’d move me.”
Satoru gaped, still staring like he was afraid that if he blinked, Suguru might disappear again, fade back into the heatwaves, sandy wind, and salty waters of the summer that they had left behind.
“Surprised?” Suguru asked, raising a brow when Satoru failed to weave a single sentence together.
“Very,” Satoru eventually admitted, a little too honestly.
His heart was still racing. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing him again; it was the fact that Suguru was here, real and solid and unchanged in all the ways that mattered. He hadn’t vanished with the salt air and sunburns of summer. He was still Suguru, standing in front of him, as if the distance between August and now had only been a moment in time that didn’t really matter anymore.
They looked at each other and grinned, wide and dumb and a little too excited. Like old wartime comrades reunited after years apart, and not two kids who’d only been separated by a few weeks and a plane flight.
And for a second, all those unspoken things from the cliffside, from the quiet nights and the suffocating storms of summer, pressed in close.
But neither of them said anything about it.
Instead, they bumped shoulders, easy and familiar, and shared a quiet laugh, like it was the most natural thing in the world for them.
Because now, they had time.
Time to say all the things that didn’t matter.
And maybe, if they were lucky, even the ones that did.
Time, as it turns out, didn’t stand still for them. It moved on without warning, taking them with it. Years passed on through seasons and school terms, through friend groups and different faces that never even stuck out to them. And somehow, without even noticing it, Satoru and Suguru remained close.
They were older now - no longer boys, but not quite grown. Teenagers with fifteen-year-old bodies stretched awkwardly by time, all long limbs and restless energy that they had no idea how to contain. Their features had sharpened a little, faces leaner, expressions a little more guarded. But some things hadn’t changed at all. Satoru’s hair was still that impossible shade of white, always messy, always untamed, like it had a mind of its own. Suguru’s black hair had grown even longer, past his shoulders and down his back, now often tied back in a neat bun, though loose strands still framed his face in that effortless way. They changed the way all things do, yet things remained the same.
Satoru was sprawled across Suguru’s bed, legs hanging off the edge, eyes locked on the glowing phone screen in his hands. Bright, colorful blocks dropped fast, stacking into neat lines as his fingers moved without missing a beat. He took in a sharp breath and bit down on his lip, the pace intensified as he concentrated the entirety of his attention on clearing the level he’d been stuck on.
He was just about to do it, about to break his own personal record when—
“Rin asked me out.”
Satoru blinked. The blocks tumbled into a colorful mess as his thumbs froze mid-move. His phone slipped from his hands and landed softly on the blanket beneath him.
“…Huh?”
Suguru's voice was low, careful in a way that was unusual for him. He shrugged, as if whatever he just said wasn't a big deal. It was, in fact, a very big deal in Satoru’s eyes.
Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall, gaze fixed somewhere past the window.
“I said,” he repeated, still not looking at him, “Rin asked me out.”
Satoru’s heart stumbled in his chest. Leaped to his throat and expanded beyond his teenage body.
“Like…on a date or..?”
Suguru frowned like he was confused himself, shot Satoru a questioning look, yet his eyes remained patient as they always did.
“Of course, idiot. What else would it be?”
Satoru shrugged, didn’t comment on it. Neither one of them had ever been on a real date before, at least Satoru knew he hadn’t. And Suguru told him everything, so considering the fact that he was sharing this obviously sensitive information with him made it seem like it was a huge deal.
And to fifteen-year-old boys? It was, in fact, a very big deal.
Ah, but Rin. Of course.
Rin was a girl in their class; brave in the way she carried herself, effortlessly funny, easy to talk to. She was the type of person who always knew what she wanted and never hesitated to say it. She didn’t stumble over her feelings, instead, handed them out like gifts, without asking for permission or worrying about how others might perceive it.
She was pretty, too. With shiny black hair that reached just below her shoulders. Big brown eyes that resembled a deer when she looked up, a bright smile on her face as she laughed at everything. She was nice.
She was everything Satoru wasn’t.
So no, Satoru wasn’t surprised that she’d asked Suguru out. Who wouldn’t want Suguru? That was just a given, a normal chain of events that was bound to happen ever since they turned a little older.
It wasn’t surprising in the least.
What did surprise him was the ache crawling up his throat and threatening to spill out once he tried to speak.
“Okay,” Satoru said, finally managing to get his voice to work. He sat up a little, shifting closer, trying to sound neutral as he continued. “Did you say yes?”
Suguru gave a noncommittal shrug but still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I told her I’d think about it.”
Satoru laughed suddenly, too loud, too forced, too obnoxious even for him.
He shoved Suguru’s shoulder lightly, like they always did when things were easy. “What’s there to think about, dude? You don’t like her or something?”
This time, Suguru turned to him, something honest and a little open in his eyes. Something that Satoru wasn’t used to staring at for too long. Something, that even now, he pretends to not notice most times.
“Satoru,” he said softly, voice careful, “what do you think I should do?”
He said it like he was asking for something.
Like he was giving Satoru a chance to say something they both wanted to hear.
Like he was hoping that maybe Satoru would say it first.
Satoru’s mouth went dry.
Later, when he’s in his twenties, he'll replay this moment a thousand times.
He’ll realize what Suguru had been trying to say.
He’ll realize what he should’ve said in return.
But back then, he was fifteen.
Fifteen and terrified.
Terrified that if he named what he felt, it wouldn’t be real anymore. That if he reached out, he might lose something he hadn’t even let himself hold yet. That if he said it out loud, it would make everything fade away, forcing them to acknowledge the factors that inevitably made life harder than it was supposed to be.
So, he convinced himself he was just seeing things. Imagining them in places they were never meant to exist.
Back then, he swallowed it down.
All of it.
“I think you should go,” he said, trying to sound convincing, maybe even a little encouraging. He grabbed his phone again, eyes locked on the screen even though it was dark now. “She’s cool. You’d be kind of an idiot not to take the shot.”
Suguru didn’t respond right away. He just nodded slowly. Once, then again, and again. His face was scrunched up, expression a little hurt and disappointed, as if that was not what he wanted to hear.
But it was what Satoru knew how to say.
Suguru’s eyes lingered on the floor for a bit before he made himself snap out of it and forced a small smile on his usually bright and open face.
“…Yeah,” he said finally, like it hurt just a little too much. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
But his voice cracked a little at the end.
And neither of them looked at each other after that.
And later – when they’re older and a little more hollow, when they’re a little more experienced and a little less scared, when the silence between them grew too big to cross; they’d both remember this as the first time they chose not to say what they really meant.
In retrospect, Satoru doesn’t really know when the feelings of friendship turned into something else entirely.
He doesn’t know when he started looking at Suguru with something more than a boyish fondness in his eyes, doesn’t know when his touch became less comforting and more unnerving, doesn’t seem to remember when his thoughts and dreams lost their unique sense of self and started resembling the shape that looked oddly like Suguru.
In short, he doesn’t really know when he fell in love with his best friend.
All he knows is that it happened. Maybe it happened slowly, bit by bit, but also it could have happened all at once. And it made perfect sense to him then. It made perfect sense to want to be near Suguru all the time, to hold his hand while they were walking the school grounds together, to wear his clothes when he was sleeping over, to just be with him when they both just felt like being closer. He could talk about Suguru all the time and it wouldn’t feel like a waste, he could be with him all the time and each and every time it’d be the best day of his life.
But even though it made sense to him, Satoru knew that the rest of the world didn’t share his sentiment. There were just too many things to consider, too many things that made it harder than it was in Satoru’s head.
They were teenagers, burdened with life realities that they were still trying to go against, comforted by the ease of their friendship that he didn’t want to ruin.
And it makes sense to him now. It makes sense why they stayed silent even though every fiber in their bodies was screaming every time they were together. It makes sense. But it still doesn’t make it hurt any less.
And maybe, back then, when they were fifteen, Suguru had made the right choice. By accepting Rin’s proposal and allowing himself to experience one of the peculiarities of teenage romance, he opened up a world that they were bound to experience to a certain degree anyway.
Dating was hard for Satoru. At seventeen years old, he quickly realized that more often than not he felt like a fraud while trying to entertain the idea of a real relationship. Whether it’d be men or women, it never truly felt right for him to put any effort in it. He half-assed it, went along with the romance for a little bit and stepped away when he got bored. It felt good while it lasted, but he never had any desire to make it last for longer than that.
And it made him feel even worse once he realized what he was doing. Not because he thought that he had to date in his teens, but because he couldn’t really shake the insistent feelings of fakeness.
He never really knew what his problem was, either.
Sure, he was still a hormonal teenager; random makeouts and casual hangouts weren’t hard to maintain. He even enjoyed them, to a certain extent. But building something real, something that actually meant something, felt like being cast in a play without ever seeing the script.
Maybe that’s why he never knew his lines.
But he just couldn’t reason with himself. More often than not, it felt like he was trying to like someone just because they liked him. Satoru loved the attention, the affection, the way it made him feel; but he was never entirely sure he liked the person giving it.
And that made him feel bad. Like really, really bad.
Like he was difficult, or broken, or failing at something that was supposed to be easy at seventeen.
But he never felt that way with Suguru.
Maybe that’s why he was on the phone with his best friend on a Friday night instead of meeting up with his boyfriend-but-not-really.
“So, any plans tonight?” Suguru’s voice crackled softly through the speaker, low and a little lazy, like he was lying in bed too, half-asleep but still wanting to talk.
“Nope,” Satoru clicked his tongue, head hanging off the edge of his bed, hair brushing the floor as he stared up at the ceiling.
There was a brief pause on the other end. Then Suguru spoke, low and a little mocking, something that didn’t happen very often:
“You not going out with him tonight?”
There was something interesting in the way Suguru said it, tone a little flat, uninterested, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear Satoru say it anyway.
“Nah,” Satoru replied. “I don’t think so.”
“What?” A soft laugh followed. “Why not?”
Satoru smiled at the sound, a little breath catching in his throat before he could stop it.
“I dunno,” he replied, quieter this time. “Just not really feeling it.”
“Not feeling it, or not feeling him?”
Satoru's heart did a stupid thing in his chest at the way Suguru said it.
“Dunno, both I think.”
“Fair enough.”
There was a pause again, like they were both deciding on what should be said next. Maybe Satoru shouldn’t say anything anymore, maybe he should take this time and reflect on his emotions and why they drive him to do the things that he does.
Why was the only thing that he could feel so strongly, so intensely, has always been Suguru?
But he didn’t want to reflect; not when he was seventeen and bored out of his mind on a Friday night. Not when his best friend was on the other end of the line, offering him everything that he needed.
So, he said what he always did:
“You wanna come over, then?” he asked, bottom lip between his teeth in anticipation that made no sense after years of friendship.
“Yeah,” Suguru said a little too quickly and Satoru could hear the relief in his voice. “What’ve you got in mind?”
Satoru grinned, turning over on his bed and tucking the phone against his cheek. “We could watch that movie we talked about last week. I finally got it.”
“Oh, right,” Suguru exclaimed. “Yeah. I’m down.”
“Cool.” Satoru said with a smile.
“Cool,” Suguru replied, and Satoru knew he was smiling too.
They ended the call, and Satoru stayed where he was; stretched out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in silence. His thoughts were scattered, but familiar. He knew every single one of them by heart. That’s how it usually went. Their Friday nights spent together like it was the only time they had.
In reality, they were always together, so much so, it was getting harder to explain to other people.
But to them, it made sense.
It always had.
And even though it felt good, even though it felt right, Satoru hated feeling this way.
Because it didn’t feel fair. Not to either of them.
Suguru wasn’t like him. He didn’t freeze up or get stuck in his head. He had no problems dating, no hesitation about being wanted or wanting someone else. Sure, he got bored easily; Satoru had long stopped trying to remember the names of the people he dated, their faces blending into one another - but that was normal, right? That was what a regular, objectively hot seventeen-year-old was supposed to do.
And Suguru ticked every box.
And Satoru wasn’t jealous, so much he could understand. It was more like envy for Suguru’s self-assurance. For the way he moved through things so easily, never overthinking, never putting anyone too high up on a pedestal.
But it didn’t matter much later. Satoru knows that now. It didn’t matter when they were sprawled out on his bed that same night, the TV playing the movie they were so excited for, but now it just served as background noise. Snacks and drinks scattered across the coffee table, the wood already stained with permanent rings from their sodas. It didn’t matter because he felt good with Suguru. And sometimes, when they looked at each other a little too long, when Suguru forgot to let go of his hand after a particularly scary scene, when they fell asleep huddled together between pillows and blankets, Satoru let himself believe that maybe Suguru felt good, too.
“So,” Suguru said later that night, mouth stuffed full of sour gummy worms. The extra-large bag of sweets now almost empty in his lap. “Why exactly are you spending time with me on a Friday night instead of your boyfriend?”
“Are you complaining?” Satoru raised an eyebrow in question.
Suguru just shrugged, popped another gummy in his mouth.
“No,” he said easily, as if it were nothing but the honest truth. “Just curious 'is all.”
Satoru hummed, leaned a little closer to Suguru.
“Liar,” he eventually decided. “You just want me to tell you that I like you better.”
“Pshh,” Suguru made a face as he leaned back against Satoru’s headboard and looked up, a small smile curling along the line of his lips. And Satoru knew they were joking, like they always did. He knew that right before Suguru looked back at him, his eyes a little hooded and teasing. “Maybe I do.”
Satoru made a noise in the back of his throat, one that resembled an acknowledging huff. He then leaned forward, hands resting on the mattress as he pushed his body towards Suguru, back arched as their faces came closer.
“Okay,” Satoru said and tilted his head to the side, noting the slight blush that crept up from Suguru’s neck right to the apples of his cheeks. “I like you better, Suguru.”
Suguru stayed silent, frozen in place, maybe a little distracted by how close they were.
“Promise?”
Satoru smiled then, small and open and honest. He raised his hand, slow, saw how the motion made Suguru tense up. His gaze wavered a bit, still silent, still trying to follow Satoru as he moved the hand closer to him.
But before he could touch him, Satoru dug his hand into the gummy worm bag in Suguru’s lap, fingers grabbing the last sweet and pulling it out with a dramatic flare of his hand.
“Promise.” He said and pushed the gummy in his mouth.
He leaned back then, snickering at the way Suguru rolled his eyes, but the pink blush was still visible on his tan cheeks.
Satoru just brushed it off back then, he knew they were joking. Like they always were. Suguru knew that too, right?
He never asked, though. Just wondered about it, not willing to burst the bubble that he’d created around them both. Because they’re just friends, and friends don’t ask questions that could potentially ruin the dynamic that they had so carefully crafted. Even though sometimes, more often than not, Satoru wondered if they were maybe more than friends. But again, he never said anything, he never asked.
But even as he got older, let the years shape his mind and body, Satoru realized that he still doesn’t get it.
He doesn’t get why he wants Suguru to always be there, when he can’t even stomach the thought of anyone else.
He doesn’t get why he craves to touch him every single time he sees him.
He doesn’t get why he wants to risk disrupting the peace of their friendship.
But mostly, he doesn’t get how they love each other.
And he knows that they do; they love each other with everything they have to offer and sometimes even more.
Yet when he sits down to think about it, Satoru just doesn’t get it. It seems so simple, so obvious, and yet – there’s never an answer to any of his questions.
Just silence.
A phantom of the words that were meant to be spoken out loud, now years overdue.
If someone were to ask Satoru when he thought it would all come crumbling down between them, he could’ve given a whole list of options to choose from.
Maybe it could’ve happened when he turned eighteen and got really drunk for the first time.
Shoko, one of their best friends from school, had shown up with a plastic grocery store bag full of booze none of them could even identify by the labels. Looking back on that memory in your mid-twenties raises all kinds of questions and concerns, ones that probably should’ve come up before letting her play bartender for the night.
But when you’re freshly eighteen, with your best-friend-not-quite-lover hanging off your arm, and your cool leather jackets to keep you warm on a particularly biting December night, the world feels like a stage you can’t wait to perform on.
That night, Satoru felt like the whole world was bowing at his feet.
And it’s so funny now, how inexperienced and free they were back then, letting Shoko pour down overly sweet liquor down their throats and blasting the music so loud it blew out one of the speakers of Satoru’s parents’ stereo set up. The three of them didn’t have a care in the world, turning eighteen feeling like the zenith of your life.
And in a way, Satoru still thinks that it was. And maybe back then, it would have been better if it had happened. Maybe it would have been better if they’d allowed their cocky eighteen-year-old selves to forget their reservations and let loose, say all of their feelings out loud, because even now, alcohol-stained love confessions muffled by cheesy pop songs seem like a better memory than a bitter silence that follows you well into your adulthood.
But nothing happened when they were eighteen. They just got too drunk, sang at a few karaoke bars, watched Shoko get in a fight with the bouncer who tried to cut her off, ran away from the same bouncer after she called him a dickweed, stumbled over their shoes as they tried to drag each other home after making sure that Shoko was safe in her own bed, clung to each other like they were used to and finally, somewhere between 3 and 4 am, made it back to Satoru’s apartment. They shared barely coherent jokes, soft laughter, snacks scavenged from the back of the cupboard, but that was just how it always was. They didn’t say anything more.
Eventually, they passed out on the floor, their jackets still snug on sore bodies, hands and feet tangled.
But neither of them moved away.
They just basked in the silence.
And when the morning sun eventually illuminated their bad choices, they promised, like every teenager at least once does, to never drink again.
Maybe it could’ve happened when they graduated highschool, too.
The day was a little somber, quiet in its own way.
They were both happy; clinging to each other’s uniforms, going through the motions of a ceremony they’d practiced for, laughing at things that weren’t really funny.
The world seemed wider now, more open than it ever was before. Satoru could see the uncertainty in Suguru’s eyes, but there was hope and excitement and the urge to grow up in there too; the same things he knew he was feeling as well.
But back then, it still felt a little easier. Because they had each other.
Satoru was heading to university, not far from home, not entirely leaving behind the places or people he’d known for eighteen years.
Suguru had decided not to continue with school; he’d landed an apprenticeship at a tattoo studio downtown, one of those spots tucked away in a back alley that smelled like antiseptic and cigarette smoke. He’d been drawing constantly all through high school, and maybe even before that; always sketching on his arms, Satoru’s arms, napkins at cafés, the backs of notebooks and his assignments. The apprenticeship was hard to get, but he got it, and he’d lit up when he told Satoru the news. He was excited, really excited, and Satoru had never once doubted he’d be good at it. He never asked him to consider university. He never needed to.
And moments like that reminded Satoru how different they were.
But yet, they were all the same.
They held each other’s hands through the graduation ceremony, whispered dumb jokes under their breath, rolled their eyes at speeches, and mocked their teachers like they always did.
After it was over, they hung out like usual, avoiding talking about the future and what’s going to happen now that they’re not in school anymore.
But Satoru knew.
And he knew Suguru knew, too.
That they were scared.
Not of growing up, or moving on, or stepping into the unknown.
They were scared of something else entirely.
But neither of them said it.
Later that night, after it got dark, they decided to sneak onto the school rooftop one last time. One more rule to break before leaving it all behind. Suguru had a key, one he’d mysteriously acquired years ago. It wasn’t their first time up there; they’d skipped class there before, brought Shoko up when she needed a quiet smoke, watched the clouds roll by as they snacked on sweets during boring classes.
But that night felt different.
Maybe because it was the last time.
Maybe because Satoru knows now that he should’ve said it.
But they were barely eighteen, freshly graduated, and the world seemed terrifying for the first time in their lives.
“Are you excited?” Suguru asked, eyes scanning the distant city skyline. His voice was soft, like he wasn’t sure that they should talk about it. “To start your classes?”
“Yeah,” Satoru replied, drawing in a breath. “I mean, it’s scary. It’ll be different for sure. But yeah, I’m excited.”
He glanced over. “What about you, though? You must be nervous as fuck.”
Suguru shrugged, but his expression gave him away; tight around the mouth, eyes too still, fingers picking at the skin around his nails.
Satoru had always been one of the few people who told him he didn’t have to go to university. He’d been the first to encourage him to chase the art that he loved, to talk seriously about an apprenticeship when Suguru started obsessing over tattoo designs, sketching constellations and koi fish and random patterns on anything he could get his hands on.
“Yeah, I’m nervous,” Suguru said finally, voice low. “But it’ll be fine. Besides… I’ll have you, right?”
Satoru blinked, caught a little off guard.
“Of course. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Suguru.”
Suguru smiled, but didn’t look at him. “You promise?”
Satoru grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Awwh, Suguru, you getting sentimental on me?”
“Idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head. Then, quieter- “Just… promise me, okay?”
Satoru bit his lip in thought, but there really wasn’t anything else he could say.
“I promise.”
Suguru smiled, face a little more relaxed now.
“Me too.”
“Cool.”
Satoru leaned back until his shoulders touched the cold rooftop, the concrete steady beneath his buzzing head. It was rare to see stars in Tokyo, but tonight, maybe they were lucky; he caught a few, scattered faintly above them like pinpricks in the dark sky.
He just stayed there, white hair splayed around his head like a halo, a dopey grin tugging at his mouth as the world above spun just a little slower.
“Cool,” he murmured again, closing his eyes.
And then he felt Suguru lie down beside him. Felt their fingers find each other and stay there, tangled and warm in the quiet night air.
Maybe the silence wasn’t so bad.
After all, it felt like they had all the time in the world to catch up on words later.
And for a long time, nothing changed.
They stayed the same; learning the paths of their new lives, holding each other through it all.
Satoru went to university and started acing his classes, maybe because for the first time in his life, he was genuinely interested in doing well. Maybe it was because no one was forcing him. Maybe it was because he truly loved the discipline he’d chosen. Or maybe he was just growing up.
Suguru was doing amazing, too. His apprenticeship was tough, but exciting in all the ways it was supposed to be. It didn’t take long before he started designing actual sketches that were being used in the shop. And not long after that, he was taking on clients, slowly building his own projects from the ground up.
And even though their days looked different - Satoru in classrooms and libraries, Suguru in ink-stained studios and late-night design sessions - they always found their way back to each other.
After the day was over, they met up for cheap take-out at one of their places, no matter how exhausted or drained they were, at least a couple of times a week they meet up and filled each other in, shared the things that lit them up the most. Shoko was always there too, spiraling in and out with med school stress, complaining about everything and nothing all at once. They met new people, added new faces to their little circle.
Yet Satoru and Suguru always remained the same.
And it seemed like nothing had changed.
And then, all at once, everything did.
It happened on Suguru’s nineteenth birthday.
“I can’t believe he dumped you on your birthday, dude,” Shoko said, shaking her head in faux disbelief as she downed a shot of something neon blue and vaguely radioactive-looking. It reminded Satoru of antifreeze. Probably wasn’t far off too. “What a dick.”
“I know, right?” Suguru sighed into his empty glass. His brows furrowed, not out of heartbreak, not really, rather he figured it was the expected expression in moments like these. Moments when you were supposed to be mourning the end of a relationship. No matter how brief or insignificant it was.
“Damn, that’s rough,” Satoru called out from the couch where he was sprawled upside down with one leg thrown dramatically over the armrest, drink in hand. “Rest in peace to-" he paused, lips pursing as he dug around in his head. “What was his name again?”
“Who fucking cares,” Suguru supplied with a laugh that made all three of them burst into giggles.
“Right. Rest in peace to whatever his face,” Satoru said, raising his glass in mock solemnity. “Gone but not - well, actually, gone and barely remembered.”
And Suguru couldn’t help himself, he laughed again and smiled wide as he threw his shot back. Satoru felt warmth bloom in his chest at the sound of his giggles.
They were already tipsy, starting the unplanned celebration early once Suguru texted the group chat and informed them that his fling, well, technically boyfriend, had just broken things off and he could use a drink. Satoru skipped his classes, and Shoko, well, Satoru wasn’t sure she was even planning to go in the first place. Nonetheless, they picked up a couple of bottles on their way to Suguru’s place, ordered some pizza and were now planning to go to a house party that one of Shoko’s med school friends was organizing.
But despite the sad premise of the night, none of them seemed to show any particular signs of sadness. Truth be told, none of them had been particularly fond of Suguru’s boyfriend. And it’s not like they had to be, they’ve been dating for a few months at most, just a random face that Suguru came across in his studio. Apparently, they hit it off and went out for a few drinks, liked each other enough (allegedly) to maybe start seeing each other and see where things went. And truly, Satoru did not know enough about the guy to have a full-fledged summary about him with references, never even met the guy.
Satoru could never tell if Suguru even liked him all that much himself, and now that the guy had officially been written off as just another failed situation - with a birthday breakup, no less - he didn’t feel the need to pretend that he even gave a shit about him.
He wasn’t the only one thinking that way, either.
“At least we’ve got an excuse to drink tonight,” Shoko said, already refilling her glass with something else alarming.
“My birthday wasn’t excuse enough for you?” Suguru asked, frowning in confusion at the suddenly full shot glass now sitting in his hand.
“Not like this,” Shoko grinned, eyes half-lidded, glinting with something evil that always jumped out when they allowed her to be in charge of the booze.
She shoved the same glowing blue concoction into Satoru’s hand.
He sniffed it. “This shit smells like it could strip paint off a wall.”
“Exactly why it’s good,” Shoko said, enunciating the words with a clap of her hands. “Drink up. We’re mourning the end of a mediocre relationship.”
“Mediocre is generous,” Satoru added, swirling the electric blue liquid in his glass like it was wine instead of something that probably glowed in the dark. “That guy fucking sucked. No offense.”
Suguru burst into a laugh, not just a polite exhale that people usually force out when the wound of a breakup was still fresh. Yet he seemed unbothered, maybe even excited for the night and what it had in store for him.
Satoru watched him lean back against the kitchen counter, pressing his shot glass to his cheek like it might cool the slight flush rising there. “You guys are mean.”
“Not to you,” Satoru said with a grin and rolled his eyes.
Suguru snorted. “You’re always mean to me.”
“Yeah,” Satoru agreed, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “But not today. Today I’m nice. Because it’s your birthday. So, drink whatever the fuck this is-”
He clinked his glass against Suguru’s.
“-and get your pretty ass ready. We’re going out.”
Suguru smiled around the rim of his glass, warmth blooming in his chest that had nothing to do with alcohol. Maybe everything had changed. Or maybe, with them, it never really would.
The house where the party was hosted was jam-packed. Honestly, Satoru couldn’t even say he was surprised, despite it being a Thursday night, med students always seemed to operate on a different time schedule than the rest of the world.
And it felt like this party was exactly what Suguru needed to clear his head, or maybe the opposite of that. Satoru was starting to think it hadn’t been the best idea to bring his freshly single and more than a little tipsy best friend into the middle of the beehive.
It didn’t take long for people to swarm him, tugging him away to dance and drink; girls and guys equally charmed, practically fighting for Suguru’s attention. It was entertaining, to say the least, watching them scramble. But it quickly became less amusing once Satoru realized Suguru was more than willing to entertain anyone who came his way.
And well, usually Satoru wasn’t bothered. The feelings he’d been harboring for his best friend had long since become a familiar part of his daily life, something he’d learned to swallow down and ignore most of the time. Except tonight, it felt like Suguru was always right there. Always in the same space, a girl draped over his arm, a drink at his lips, eyes locked on Satoru as he smiled and winked at him. That part wasn’t very entertaining, to say the least. But then again, Satoru wasn’t in any position to say or do anything about it. They were just friends, after all.
Things did get a little better, though, at least when two people Suguru had foolishly entertained earlier decided that they wanted to take him home for a party of their own. Both were perched on either side of him on the armrests of the sofa, trying to draw his attention. It was a funny sight, albeit one that stung just a little.
Satoru and Shoko sat across the room on a couch, their heads tilted slightly to the side like puppets that were just left there. Both were a little drained too, it was well past midnight, after all. The taste of alcohol still clung to their mouths, but the world felt a bit clearer now. The same couldn’t be said for Suguru, though. It was like he’d forgotten what tolerance meant, throwing back every shot he could get his hands on. But he wasn’t completely wasted; not stumbling or slurring his words, yet Satoru could tell he was looser than usual.
Shoko flicked ash from her cigarette, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched the scene play out. One of the girls vying for Suguru’s attention was trying to climb into his lap, while the other looked seconds away from dragging her off. Honestly, it was quite the performance.
“This is painful to watch,” Shoko muttered. “It’s like actually making my stomach hurt.”
Satoru hummed, eyes still locked on the scene.
“Maybe it’s just the vodka making you sick.”
“Nah,” she replied, “Vodka makes me feel good. This shit, however, is fucking nauseating.”
Satoru snickered, shaking his head, hair fanning around him like a halo.
“It’s like a car wreck. You just can’t look away even if you want to. It’s so fucking bad, it’s good.”
Shoko laughed at that, taking a long drag of her cigarette. Finishing it, she shook her head and blew out the smoke, then stubbed the bud into the bottom of her plastic cup before setting it on the counter beside the sofa.
“Maybe we should help him out?”
“Maybe,” Satoru shrugged but made no point of getting up and actually doing anything about it.
Shoko raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not gonna do anything, are you?”
Satoru snickered at her tone and shrugged.
“I don’t see you doing anything either.”
“Fair.”
They both turned to look at Suguru again, now with one of the girls gone and the presumed winner perched firmly on his lap, whispering in his ear. It would’ve been fine, nothing worth thinking too much about, if it weren’t for the fact that Suguru was staring directly at Satoru. His eyes hooded, a teasing smile playing on his lips as his hand drifted lazily down the girl’s open back as she leaned in closer, but he didn’t look like he was listening to a word she was saying. He was too busy watching Satoru, like he was daring him to come up, do something about it.
Shoko noticed it too. She made a small noise in the back of her throat and fished out another cigarette. She hummed as she lit it.
“What if he wants to take her home?”
Satoru shrugged, still holding Suguru’s gaze.
“Then he can take her home. He’s single now, remember?”
Shoko snorted at his tone.
“What, and you’re gonna pretend like that wouldn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
Shoko sucked in her cheeks, then let out a sharp huff of mock surprise, like she was talking to a dumb child who was being obtuse on purpose.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, placing a hand over her chest as she leaned in. “Are we pretending like you don’t want him, or…?”
Satoru choked on his spit and shot her an exasperated look, his cheeks now slightly pink, and not from the alcohol.
“Besides, it doesn’t matter,” he muttered eventually, turning his eyes back to Suguru. “It’s not like he wants me back or anything.”
At that, Shoko burst into laughter; loud and sudden, like Satoru had just told her the funniest joke she’d heard in years. She didn’t stop, either, tears welling in her eyes from pure amusement. Satoru just stared at her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
It took her a second to clock his expression, her laughter dying down as realization set in.
“Oh wait,” she said, leaning forward with wide eyes. “You’re being serious.”
“Of course I’m serious,” Satoru huffed, puffing out his cheeks as he looked back at Suguru, scrunching up his face as he saw that the girl was now practically straddling him, her back turned to them.
He frowned and tilted his head slightly to the side, that sinking feeling in his stomach probably proving Shoko right. Not that he was about to tell her that.
Not that he needed to. Shoko knew him better than her syllabus at this point.
“Let’s face it, Gojo,” she said with a sigh, leaning back into the plush leather of the couch. “Not even you believe that bullshit.”
He just grumbled in response.
Because, once again, she was right.
He could believe a lot of things; truths he’d made up for himself to make life a little easier, a little more manageable, but the theory that Suguru had absolutely no feelings for him just didn’t align with the years they’d spent together. And on a night like this, when they were both a little too drunk to come up with justifications, everything felt just a little too real.
But still, even in his tipsy haze, Satoru knew they were just friends. No matter how much he was feeling, no matter how intensely Suguru was staring at him, none of it could change just because they were both feeling a little too selfish to keep it in.
So, he was going to let Suguru have his fun. He’ll sit back, swallow his words and feelings, chase them down with whatever drink he can find, and let Suguru get it all out of his system.
He wasn’t going to do anything about any of it. He was-
“Okay,” Satoru suddenly said, right as the girl in Suguru’s lap started mouthing at his neck and pushing her hips down. “Time to go.”
He stood up and brushed imaginary dust off his jeans, eyes locking directly with Suguru’s, who was still watching him with that same sly smile.
“Have fun, Gojo!” he heard Shoko call after him, but it all faded into white noise as he crossed the room toward Suguru.
When he finally reached him, Satoru planted a hand on his hip, tutting it out softly as he shot Suguru a disapproving look.
“Come on, birthday boy,” he said in a low, mildly bored tone, tugging on Suguru’s arm. “Time to go.”
Before Suguru could respond, the girl in his lap lifted her head and turned to glare at Satoru.
“We’re kind of in the middle of something here, so if you don’t mind…?”
Satoru raised an eyebrow, meeting her stare with an unbothered expression
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice dripping with sugary sarcasm that made Suguru shake his head in amusement. “Was I talking to you?”
That knocked the words right out of her mouth. She stared at him, stunned, lips parted in a small, indignant ‘O’ as she looked between the two of them; Suguru still silent, still smiling, his eyes never leaving Satoru.
“Excuse me?” she finally snapped, pushing herself off Suguru’s lap, clearly offended that he hadn’t even tried to defend her. And Satoru would feel bad.
He would.
But he didn’t.
“You’re excused,” Satoru said instead with a bright, smug smile, watching as she huffed and stormed off, heels clicking against the floor.
“That was rude, ‘Toru,” Suguru said, though the small smile on his lips made it clear he wasn’t nearly as disappointed as he pretended to be.
“Well, my bad,” Satoru shrugged, blowing his hair out of his face as his eyes returned to Suguru. “Come on, hotshot. Time to go before you break any more hearts.”
But Suguru didn’t move. Instead, he gave Satoru a lazy smile and suddenly wrapped his fingers around Satoru’s wrist, tugging him down into his lap with ease. Satoru let out a sharp breath of surprise, completely caught off guard by the motion. He didn’t even have a chance to complain before Suguru’s arms were around his waist, holding him flush against his chest, his lips brushing Satoru’s neck as he murmured:
“Awh, but I’m having fun, ‘Toru. How about we stay a little longer?”
Normally, Satoru wouldn’t argue. Normally, he’d stay and let Suguru burn through whatever he needed to burn through, get it all out of his system in ways that he saw fit. But for some reason, tonight didn’t feel normal. He didn’t feel normal. So instead of nodding and letting Suguru spiral, he stood his ground.
“Yeah, I’m sure everyone saw just how much fun you were having,” Satoru muttered, shaking his head. His voice was quieter now, a little unsteady from how close Suguru was. “But that funs about to end if you don’t move your ass, Suguru. How much did you even drink?”
That earned a low snicker from Suguru, his eyes darker now as they met Satoru’s again.
“Don’t worry about it, baby. I can handle more than you think.”
Who?!
And, oh.
Okay.
So, he’s definitely not feeling very normal after all. But Satoru didn’t have time to dwell on it, not when he got a handful of drunk Suguru. Well, more like Suguru had a handful of him, but, y’know, semantics.
“Okay, party’s over,” Satoru said with a nervous little laugh, trying to mask the slight waver in his voice that threatened to expose just how not normal he was feeling right now. “Let me take you home.”
He scrambled off Suguru’s lap, a bit more frantically than he would’ve liked. Something was off tonight, something sparking between them that had never felt quite this intense before. But maybe it did, maybe they just never really acknowledged it quite as directly before.
He didn’t let himself think too hard about it, though. Once he was back on his feet, he motioned with two fingers for Suguru to get up too.
“Come on. Up. Time to go.”
Suguru looked at him then, his gaze suddenly a little more focused as it slowly dragged down the length of Satoru’s body. He bit down on his lower lip and Satoru fought the urge to look away.
“Are you staying at my place tonight?”
“Of course,” Satoru replied without thinking, glancing around in search of Shoko. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t throw up all over the place.”
Suguru just smiled and stood, feet surprisingly steady, with no sign of a stumble or waver in his movement. Like he was perfectly sober, as if none of the shots Satoru had seen him down had touched his coordination.
Satoru took his hand and started pulling him through the crowd, eyes scanning for Shoko. He spotted her at the other end of the room, laughing and sharing a beer with her friend Utahime, a girl from one of her classes she’d introduced them to a few months back.
“We’ll be off,” Satoru said as they approached them. “I’ll take birthday boy home so he doesn’t cause anymore trouble.”
Shoko nodded, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she and Suguru locked eyes.
“You need help with that?”
Satoru shook his head, feeling Suguru squeeze his hand slightly.
Huh.
“Nah, we’re good. I can take him.”
Utahime glanced between them, brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of Satoru’s words.
“Like… home or...?”
Satoru frowned, momentarily confused. Suguru, however, burst into a small giggle, his amusement flying right over Satoru’s scrambled brain.
“What? Obviously home. What did you think I meant?”
“Uh...” Utahime blushed, shrugging awkwardly before turning to Shoko with a questioning gaze. “Never mind.”
“Okay…” Satoru said, then glanced back at Shoko, who was clearly holding back her own laugh. He ignored it, focusing on what needed to be done. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yep.” She smiled, waving them off. “Make sure to text me when you get back, kay?”
“Yeah.” Satoru tugged Suguru toward the door, the noise of the party fading into the background as they stepped into the chilly night air.
The walk to Suguru’s apartment wasn’t long, but when you’re both a little tipsy and clinging to each other for support, every step becomes a little more challenging than it needs to be. Satoru didn’t mind though, not when he had an excuse to hold Suguru’s hand. Suguru’s grip on him was maybe a little more firm than necessary, considering the fact that he seemed no have no trouble walking or holding himself up, as if he just wanted an excuse to hold Satoru's hand, but then again, maybe that was just wishful thinking.
“Thank you,” Suguru suddenly said, his voice devoid of the usual teasing tone. “For taking care of me.”
“Of course, idiot,” Satoru said with a light laugh. “You’re my best friend. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t help your drunk ass get home?”
“Right,” Suguru huffed, though his tone was quieter now. His eyes shifted to the wobbly path ahead of them. “Best friend.”
There was a pause. For a moment, Satoru wondered if he’d said something wrong or if Suguru was waiting for him to say something else.
He couldn’t force the words, though.
“But still,” Suguru said after a beat, his smile returning, soft and genuine as he tightened his grip on Satoru’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad too,” Satoru replied, his voice steady, though his heart began to thrum in a rhythm he knew all too well.
By the time they reached Suguru’s building, the laughter between them had returned, both stumbling and shoving at each other as they tried to unlock the entry door that had the stupidest sequence of numbers for a password that Satoru had ever known.
Once they were in, navigating the stairs up to Suguru’s apartment was an event all in itself. The automatic lights failed to turn on, so the journey to the fifth floor had to happen with barely any coordination. Tipsy feet stumbling, shoulders brushing against each other as they struggled to keep their balance, both of them hunching over as they tried to keep their giggles down.
“Shut up, you idiot,” Satoru hissed, pushing Suguru ahead of him. “Do you want that old grandma from the second floor to yell at us again?”
His own laughter was barely muffled.
When they were nearly halfway up, Satoru’s foot caught on a step and he stumbled—only to be caught before he could fall, strong hands gripping his hips and steadying them both.
“Ah, fuck-” Satoru began, half laughing, half panicking, but Suguru was already pressing him back against the stairwell wall, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
“Caught you,” he whispered.
Satoru’s breath hitched. Suguru’s hands were warm on his sides, holding him in place with a firm grasp. Suguru’s face was just inches from his; eyes sparkling with amusement, yet they were a little too dark to be just that.
“You good?” Suguru asked softly, the words not teasing, just genuine.
Satoru swallowed, his voice suddenly feeling thick in his throat. “I-yeah, just…” He shifted, heart pounding. “Don’t push me into the wall, idiot.”
Suguru chuckled, still not pulling away, his chest brushing Satoru’s as they stood there, pressed together in the dim stairwell.
“Sorry, ‘Toru,” Suguru whispered, his voice low and warm. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”
Satoru’s mind was racing, heart pounding so hard it was a wonder Suguru couldn’t hear it. He wasn’t sure if he was more scared or more relieved when they finally reached the apartment, skin flushed and body vibrating with everything all at once.
Once they finally managed to unlock the door and stumble into the apartment, Suguru didn’t waste any time before throwing himself onto the couch.
“You need to move to a building with an elevator,” Satoru huffed, kicking off his shoes and leaning against the wall to catch his breath. “Or at least move to a lower floor. I can’t do this shit every time.”
“Hmm,” Suguru hummed, head tipping back against the couch as his eyes tracked Satoru across the room. “well, im glad you did. Otherwise I would have had to crash somewhere else.”
Satoru snorted, the meaning behind Suguru’s words not lost on him, yet he pretended that it was.
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky to have me.”
Suguru chuckled, his voice low, teasing. “Yeah? So what do I owe you for the rescue this time?”
“Your undying gratitude,” Satoru said, leaning himself against the wall across from him, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt. “And maybe a bottle of water.”
Suguru’s eyes lingered on him, a little too long perhaps, it made Satoru’s skin heat up from the inside out.
“You know I can give you more than that, right?”
The room stilled for a second. Satoru met his gaze, pulse skipping. Now this was definitely not normal.
“Don’t say shit like that when you’re drunk.”
Suguru smiled, slow and warm and as menacing as ever.
“Then stay ‘til I’m sober.”
Satoru didn’t say anything back, just tilted his head and walked to Suguru’s bedroom. He needed to cool down, needed a cold shower to flush out the tension and the thoughts that were making a home in a place that was rented. He opened Suguru’s dresser and dug his fingers into the soft cotton, slightly squeezing the fabric like it were Suguru himself.
“I’m gonna borrow this, okay?” Satoru murmured as he pulled out one of Suguru’s old t-shirts from the drawer. “I need a shower and my clothes stink of booze.”
Suguru didn’t respond, just tilted his head to the side again and stared. Something was different about how he made his decisions tonight, Satoru could feel it settling on his skin and seeping under his bones.
The shower was quick. Less about scrubbing down his body, and more about rubbing at his face; trying to force the thoughts in his head to settle, to make sense for once in his goddamn life. But maybe they wouldn’t tonight. Maybe he was a little too drunk and a little too in love to think rationally.
Still, he tried. He had to try. Because that, after all, was what friends did for each other.
They didn’t let things like this get to them.
They swallowed down unwanted feelings and acted like nothing had changed.
But the thoughts that had settled in his mind refused to run down the drain. When he turned the water off, they were still there; swirling, lingering, making his body feel things that it definitely shouldn’t.
He tried to gather himself as he toweled off, tried to steady his heart as he pulled on Suguru’s shirt and a borrowed pair of boxers. For a brief moment, as he dragged a towel through his hair and stepped out of the bathroom, he thought that maybe he had it together.
Thought that maybe he finally knew what was best for the both of them.
Turned out - he really didn’t.
Not when Suguru was right there, leaning against the wall right in front of the bathroom door like he’d been waiting for him to step out.
He looked up at Satoru like he’d been waiting hours, and in some way, it felt even longer than that. Maybe it had been years, Satoru’s mind offered.
He didn’t move. Didn’t even try to walk past him. Just stood there and stared back at Suguru, and something in his eyes was different; too open, too honest. The kind of honesty Satoru wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
Suguru looked at him, arms folded over his chest. No smirk. No teasing. Not even words to help them navigate the situation better.
Satoru opened his mouth to say something, he didn’t even know what, but Suguru stepped forward before the words could even form in his head or even reach the tip of his tongue.
He leaned in.
One hand found Satoru’s waist, the other curled behind his neck, fingertips brushing damp strands of hair. And then-
Then Suguru kissed him.
Hard.
Like he’d been holding it in for years.
And Satoru let him.
Like he’d been wanting to do for years.
It knocked the breath out of Satoru for just a second. Suguru kissed him like he meant it, like all of this wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment, like he was trying to say something without using his words.
Satoru hummed into the kiss, as if this was his way of acknowledging the things that they failed to voice out loud, his hands, like muscle memory, moved to touch, immediately slipping under Suguru’s shirt, fingertips spreading across his bare waist and gripping his sides just to keep him there a little longer. His skin was hot beneath his touch and Satoru let himself believe, just for a second, that it’s because of him and not the alcohol that they had consumed earlier.
Suguru deepened the kiss, tilting his head to the side, tightening the hand in Satoru’s hair as if he was trying to bring him even closer. Their teeth clashed and it was messy, something you’d expect from a couple of tipsy, inexperienced 19-year-olds.
And Satoru felt drunk all over again, not from the alcohol this time, but from the taste of Suguru’s mouth on his. He tried to bottle up that taste, that feeling, tried to tuck it away in a dark corner of his heart and wrap it up in silk to not lose its memory.
Then, without warning, Suguru shifted, bending just enough to lift him, one arm slipping beneath Satoru’s thighs.
Satoru gasped into the kiss, legs instinctively hooking around Suguru’s waist, fingers curling into his shoulder blades as he held on. Suguru pushed him against the bathroom door and kissed him harder, tongue exploring the places that he’d only dreamt of every night.
Satoru wasn’t aware of much after that, he only registered movement; the hallway, the sound of a door being nudged open, the quiet thud of his back meeting soft sheets.
But the kiss didn’t break.
Only hands that slipped and trembled and held on too tight. Only mouths that tasted of cheap whiskey, secondhand smoke and words that they weren’t brave enough to say. Yet it was everything he could have asked for.
Suguru leaned down then, pressing his mouth to the side of Satoru’s throat; lightly at first, just the press of lips against trembling skin. But it deepened quickly, teeth dragging along the sensitive line of his neck, and Satoru arched up with a shiver and a moan that Suguru never forgot.
His fingers found the waistband of Suguru’s jeans, grip tightening, but he didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. He just held on, as if letting Suguru decide how far he’ll be willing to take this.
Satoru didn’t want to say anything, too afraid of breaking the moment between them. It felt like as soon as they acknowledged it, it’ll become real, become something they weren’t sure they could handle. So, instead of words, Suguru sat back on his hindlegs and tugged his shirt off. Satoru’s breath caught for a second, eyes blown wide and trying to commit every single inch of skin to memory. He thought that maybe he should do the same, but as soon as his finger tugged at his own shirt, Suguru stopped him with a firm grip.
“Keep this on,” he whispered, as if too afraid to voice anything out loud. “I like my clothes on you.”
Satoru didn’t answer, just swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, letting the fabric of Suguru’s shirt cling back to his skin.
He looked at Suguru then, eyes wide and sparkly, glazed over with feelings that he didn’t try to repress anymore. And Jesus, Suguru looked a mess, hair falling loose from the tie at the nape of his neck, eyes darker than Satoru’s ever seen them.
“Satoru,” he breathed out, quiet. It’s the way he said it, like a confession, that made Satoru’s heart catch on the beat.
He didn’t answer, not with words. Just slid one hand to the back of Suguru’s neck and pulled him back down, catching his lips in another kiss.
It was slower this time, more coordinated as they got to know each other’s bodies better.
But it was still greedy, clumsy, all teeth and tongue; like they were starving animals only just realizing that they’ve been hungry for years. Satoru opened under him, soft and eager, the kind of yielding that only came when you trusted someone enough to let them see every vulnerable inch of you.
Suguru leaned down, chest to chest, and Satoru could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt. The friction made him gasp, hips shifting instinctively, grinding up against the hard line of Suguru’s thigh in a way that felt nothing short of desperate.
And Suguru, fuck, he groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against the column of Satoru’s neck before he bit down on it.
His hands finally moved, one slid up beneath Satoru’s shirt, palm splaying against the curve of his waist, dragging over warm skin, nails digging in just slightly. The other cupped the back of his thigh and pulled it up, coaxing him to wrap both legs around his waist again. Satoru followed easily, eagerly, breath catching when Suguru rolled his hips down. And, oh.
Even he knew that friends didn’t act like that.
But even though the thought lingered in his head, Satoru arched again, chasing contact, his fingers fisting Suguru’s hair now, pulling the rest of it loose until dark strands fell like ink around his face. It made him look wild, unmade, like something raw and ruined and beautiful, and Satoru wanted to kiss him until his lungs gave out just to keep him like this for a little bit longer.
Suguru dipped his head to Satoru’s chest, mouthing at the fabric stretched over it, biting down lightly, just enough to make Satoru jolt and moan without thinking.
“Suguru,” his name came out mixed into a moan, the way it usually did when Satoru was alone.
But this time, he wasn’t. Suguru looked up, and the expression on his face was like he was seeing Satoru clearly for the first time since this started. Like he finally realized that none of this was casual, that it never could have been. Satoru felt his heart clawing at his ribs, terrified that maybe now the moment really will shatter.
But Suguru didn’t pull away. He leaned in instead, forehead pressed against Satoru’s as they shared the same air.
The silence stretched, thick with everything that hadn’t been said, thick with everything that they knew they needed to say. But Satoru couldn’t say it.
He couldn’t find the words.
Then, quietly, so quietly Satoru almost thought he imagined it, Suguru murmured against his lips,
“We were never just friends, right?”
Satoru’s breath hitched, the pressure almost bursting his lungs as he tried to gather it all in his head. His fingers curled tighter into Suguru’s hair. He didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t.
Instead, he whispered, “Don’t ask me that right now.”
A beat of silence.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll tell you the truth.”
Suguru’s lips barely moved against his, but Satoru felt the smile ghost against his own.
Soft. Sad. Something in between.
“Good,” he said.
And then he kissed him again; slow, like they had time. Like they hadn’t wasted any of it.
Like they could say all the things that needed to be said later.
But the things that they could say in the dark often get lost once the sun comes up.
And when they finally brought each other to completion, exhausted, lips kissed and bitten raw, skin painted in blooming bruises from affection, they didn’t think about any of the words that they needed to say.
Instead, they fell asleep, soft and pliant and tangled in each other; their silent confessions staying in the dark of the night and failing to reach the early hours of the morning.
In the morning, Satoru didn’t wait for Suguru to wake up before he was up and getting ready to bolt. He moved quietly through the room, gathering his clothes and belongings with the guilt of someone who shouldn’t have been there in the first place. A thought crossed his mind, one that said he probably looked pathetic right now - like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs - scrambling to collect the pieces of himself along with the fabric of clothing that he’d left behind.
He didn’t take Suguru’s shirt off, though. Just clutched the hem in his fist as he stood in the middle of his living room, warm rays of sun illuminating the contours of his body. He tried to ground himself in the moment, only for it to feel like it was slipping away.
Before he left, he granted himself permission to look at Suguru. His sleeping face was soft in the morning light, open in a way Satoru almost never got to see - unguarded, unbothered, peaceful. As he looked, Satoru couldn’t really find the words to describe the feeling in his chest. It twisted and turned in all possible directions, expanding the space in his chest and crushing his ribs. He didn’t know whether he should take that feeling as confirmation of his desire or a chance at denial.
Yet still, he let himself look just a little bit longer. His gaze trailed down the broad stretch of Suguru’s back, the curve of his spine, the way his hair cascaded down, soft and silky and tightly clutched between Satoru’s fingers. He shook his head as if to will the memories away and that made his stomach turn a little. They weren’t illusions anymore, these fere full-fledged memories.
The faint red crescents of Satoru’s own nails were still visible against golden skin. His cheeks flushed at the sight, and he looked away suddenly, jaw tight, stomach twisted in on itself.
He needed to get himself together.
But at that moment, Satoru was afraid.
Afraid that he won’t be able to see Suguru as he truly was anymore; afraid that he’ll only see him as he remembered. Tall and honest and with so much love in his eyes that it spilled out at the edges as he stared at Satoru.
But maybe that love was never there, maybe it was just the alcohol and his mood, maybe it was an image that Satoru so desperately wanted to see. So desperate for it he managed to create it out of thin air. He couldn’t do that to his best friend if it weren’t real, he couldn’t take these feelings and run with them before they had the chance to understand these things a little better.
Because what Suguru needed right now was a friend and not someone who couldn’t even be in the same room without fantasizing about the weight of him, the press of skin against skin, the way his body felt moving under Satoru’s hands. Not someone who ached just thinking about it. He felt a little upset with himself then, wondering whether Suguru will hate him when he wakes up, whether he’ll think that Satoru took advantage of his broken heart and vulnerable emotional state. He shook his head at the thought, making the words scatter around instead of settling on his conscious.
They’ll talk about it later, when they’re both collected and a little more sane.
When Satoru didn’t feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
Eventually he slipped out of the apartment quietly, letting the door click shut behind him. On his way out, he stuck a neon pink note to Suguru’s forehead, whispered a barely audible sorry and tiptoed away without looking back. The note read:
"Had an early class. Text me when you wake up. xoxo"
He didn’t let himself think about Suguru for the rest of the morning. Or the early afternoon. Not because he was over it, God, no, but because the alternative was spiraling, and he had already done that once today over a coffee he couldn’t taste.
So instead, he let the blur of lectures wash over him, took notes he’ll never read, doodled in the margins of his notebook, talked to people and tried to merge himself with everything and anything that seemed like a good enough distraction from his current predicament.
During lunch, Satoru couldn’t even look at food, let alone eat. His stomach had been in knots since that morning, and the only thing he managed to force down was a sickly-sweet iced coffee that Shoko would have called a monstrous concoction if she even dared to taste it. He was nursing it like a gem, legs stretched out on a bench tucked into a quiet corner of campus. He had an hour to kill until his next class. An hour of free time that felt more like a prison sentence than a break.
Because his head was the farthest thing imaginable from being calm. Instead, Satoru felt anxious, confused, all of the things that fell under the category of a mess of a person. He knew he fucked up; they fucked up. But really, he couldn’t even blame Suguru at this point. His best friend had been hammered, brokenhearted (even though Satoru needed convincing that Suguru even knew his ex-boyfriend’s last name), looking for something to dull the ache that he was probably feeling. He should have been the responsible one. Instead, he went and completely messed everything up.
It was no secret to him, or anyone at this point, that he had it bad for Suguru; he’d known that ever since he was old enough to figure these things out, but honestly, making out and doing the things that he let Suguru do to him could and should have only happened in his wildest dreams. He couldn't believe he was foolish enough to let his heart think over his brain; Satoru wanted to rip his hair out at the realization.
The kissing. The touching. The things Satoru still felt everywhere, like Suguru had carved his name into his ribs and stitched them back together.
He couldn’t push any of it down.
Because Satoru couldn’t do casual. Not when it was Suguru.
With Suguru he didn’t want casual.
He wanted soul-crushing devotion.
But then again, he had no idea what was going through his best friend’s mind. Maybe he wouldn’t remember anything, maybe he wasn’t going to want to remember anything. That’d hurt more than rejection. And just thinking about it, about the fact that it was a possibility that Suguru could reject him, had his stomach turning upside down, heart beating somewhere near his throat. That’d be the end of them, no doubt. And Suguru was so nice, so kind, Satoru could almost hear his low voice saying that they could still remain friends. He clutched his almost empty cup then, blood running cold and body feeling like it was made of cement. Satoru wouldn’t be able to handle it. He should just say nothing at all.
He should pretend like it never happened.
That’s what best friends do, right?
But maybe he was being selfish again. He knew he was spiraling, locked inside his own head and feeding on the doubts that made little sense when muttered out loud. And it just wasn’t fair; it wasn’t fair to put words in Suguru’s mouth when he wasn’t even given the chance to say them, it wasn’t fair to paint him as a villain when Satoru didn’t even stick around to hear his side of the story. Maybe it could be good for them, maybe Suguru knew exactly what he wanted, and Satoru was the only one messing everything up again. But he couldn’t stop it back then, not when he was nineteen, in love with his best friend, and scared shitless because they just crossed every known boundary between them.
It was almost time for his next class when he got the text.
Suguru – 11:18 AM:
hey
where are u
Satoru took in a deep breath, his eyes glued to the message blinking on his phone, yet he didn’t open it immediately. His thumb hovering over the pop up for a full ten seconds. Maybe more. Probably more. The little devil (maybe a guardian angel?) on his shoulder saying that he should just ignore it, swipe it away and pretend like last night didn’t happen and never speak of it again.
But he couldn’t ignore Suguru. Not when it was him.
Not when he had wrapped the memory of them around his ribs and made it a home beneath his bones.
Not when his hands had reshaped Satoru in a way that he fit in his arms only, made him into something that no longer could fit in anywhere else in the world.
He typed back fast, not thinking too hard in the hopes of tricking himself into believing that it’s cool. That he’s cool. That they’re cool.
Satoru – 11:23 AM:
at uni. about to head to class
Suguru – 11:24 AM:
nerd lol
Satoru – 11:24 AM:
??
how are you feeling?
Suguru – 11:25 AM:
not too bad
took a shower
thinking about grabbing coffee
wanna skip class and meet up
or are u gonna be a loser and flake on me
Satoru stared at the screen. His heart is pounding so loud he could hear it.
Satoru – 11:28 AM:
...
sure
meet u at the cafe by ur house
Suguru – 11:28 AM:
cool
Satoru reached the café in record time, classes forgotten and head buzzing with plans that all seemed to make little to no sense. He knew that they’ll have to talk about it, but Satoru couldn’t decide on his position in the matter. He wanted to confess, but he didn’t want to push Suguru into anything he wasn’t ready for.
He wanted it all, but didn’t want to lose anything in the process.
As he was walking, his phone vibrated in his pocket again. He fished it out and sighed.
He forgot to text Shoko last night.
Shoko – 11:37 AM:
hey u didn’t text me last night. everything good?
Satoru – 11:37 AM:
yeah
sorry, forgot
Shoko – 11:38 AM:
hmm
did u sleep over at suguru’s?
Satoru – 11:38 AM:
yeah
Shoko – 11:39 AM:
lol
was it big
Satoru – 11:39 AM:
...
i guess
Shoko – 11:40 AM:
??????????
WHAT
HUH???
📞 Missed Call – Shoko (3) – 11:43 AM
Shoko – 11:43 AM:
ANSWER RN
Satoru – 11:44 AM:
can’t
i’m meeting him rn
Shoko – 11:44 AM:
oh
ok
is that a good or bad thing?
Satoru – 11:45 AM:
we’ll see lol
idk yet
Shoko – 11:45 AM:
ok
well text me after, yeah?
Satoru – 11:46 AM:
yeah ofc
Shoko – 11:48 AM:
and satoru?
Satoru – 11:48 AM:
hm?
Shoko – 11:49 AM:
don’t be a fucking idiot
He ordered two coffees, a caramel macchiato with extra drizzle and enough whipped cream to qualify as a dessert for himself, and a plain americano for Suguru. He scanned the area and found a seat in the farthest corner of the café, settled by the window, and set the cups down. Then he just sat there. Thinking. Overthinking.
Trying to ease the anxieties that were making all of this way more difficult than it needed to be.
Maybe he could pretend like he didn’t remember anything, the alcohol erasing last night like it never even happened in the first place. But then his fingers drifted unconsciously to the cluster of bruises blooming beneath his collar - the ones he discovered this morning in the faculty bathroom mirror after catching a few too many wide-eyed stares.
Maybe he could confess his feelings instead? I mean, after last night, they were pretty clear anyways, right? But that made him spiral almost immediately, the image of Suguru giving him a pitiful smile while he let him down easy immediately making him panic. Satoru took in a deep breath to try and calm himself down. Suguru was his best friend, they loved each other, they were each other’s one and only.
So why was it so goddamn hard for him to let himself have it?
He was still trying to come up with a plan when he spotted Suguru in the distance, strolling toward the café with his hair half-tied in a loose bun, dark sunglasses masking half his face. Satoru watched him through the glass, felt his mouth twitch upward in spite of himself, and quickly drowned the smile in a sip of his scalding coffee.
Suguru entered, lowered his glasses and scanned the area. He spotted him right away, and walked over with a smile that Satoru didn’t think he deserved.
Suguru slid into the seat across from him without a word, and Satoru silently pushed the americano in his direction.
“Thanks,” Suguru said, pulling off his sunglasses completely. His eyes were brighter than Satoru expected. “You've been waiting long?”
Satoru licked a bit of cream off his bottom lip as he shook his head. Suguru watched the motion, didn’t hide it the way his eyes darted down. Satoru caught the glance even though he pretended not to.
“Just got here.”
“When did you leave this morning?” Suguru questioned in a small voice and gave him a look Satoru couldn’t place. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Satoru just shrugged, gaze flicking to the window as he felt embarrassed all over again. “Early. Had class. Wanted to let you sleep after last night so…”
They both knew that Satoru didn’t mean it like that, his words merely referencing the copious amounts of liquor consumed by the both of them, and not, in fact, the things that they did while under the influence of it.
Still, Suguru’s eyes sparkled at the mention, lips barely turning up into a slight smile.
“Right,” he nodded, eyes dropping to his cup. He swirled it once before setting it down, his expression softening even more as he spoke. “So, listen, about last night-”
“No need,” Satoru cut in before he could finish, a little too loud. Too insistent. “Really. It’s fine, Suguru.”
There was a pause then, just long enough to become a little uncomfortable. Suguru bit his lip and looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to understand what had changed between last night and this morning. Satoru didn’t look at him, choosing instead to tip the rest of his coffee back like it was water and not an excuse to avoid eye contact.
“Okay,” Suguru said eventually, his brow pinching. “No, yeah. You’re right. I just think we should - I don’t know. Talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Satoru replied with a shrug. “It’s fine. No big deal.”
“I didn’t say it was a big deal,” Suguru said suddenly, his tone a little defensive. “I just think it’d be good to talk. That’s all.”
Satoru clicked his tongue, turned and looked at Suguru with a questioning gaze. Apparently, that was the role he was choosing.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, voice not accusing but firm.
“I do.” He said and the look in his eyes hardened, like he was accepting something he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Why don’t you want to?”
Satoru leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely as he shrugged. “I mean… we were drunk, right? You just got dumped. Kinda a recipe for disaster.”
Suguru blinked at him, jaw tightening.
“Disaster? That’s how it felt to you?”
Satoru swallowed. Wrong dialogue option, apparently.
He opted for honesty next.
“No,” he said quickly, but it wasn’t an apology. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Satoru exhaled hard, like the words were catching on something sharp on the way out. “Jeez, Suguru - I don’t know. Let’s just forget it, okay?” he turned suddenly, eyes wide as he tried to blink away tears that were not supposed to be there in the first place.
It was quiet after that. Both of them sitting in their own silence, words on the tips of their tongues yet never sliding off, no matter how hard they tried to make it work. Satoru dared a look at Suguru then, a sudden panic enveloping him once he spotted the sadness in his eyes. And he knew he should say it. He should have told him the truth. He should have said how much he wanted him, how good he felt last night, how badly he wanted to do it over and over and over again.
He needed to say it. The words layed heavy in his head and thick on his tongue. He could almost whisper them, but the moment he tried to weave them together, it was like they evaporated, leaving nothing but dread and doubt in their wake.
Then, in a small voice, Suguru brought them back.
“Do you regret it?”
Satoru’s head snapped to him.
“What?”
Suguru clenched his jaw and looked him right in the eyes as he repeated it.
“Do you regret it, Satoru?” he tilted his head, eyes more sad than angry now. “Do you regret me?”
Suguru stared at him for longer than necessary it seemed. Eyes not entirely honest and a little dull, something completely different from who he was just a few minutes ago.
No. Satoru didn’t regret it. In fact, he was happy it happened, happy he got to experience how it felt to have Suguru in his arms like that, happy that he could have a real-life experience to fantasize about when it was late and he was feeling lonely. His only regret was that they didn’t take it all the way; that he wasn’t able to give Suguru everything he could offer, everything he was capable of giving.
But Satoru, even though sometimes a little too crude and self-absorbed, was never selfish. He wasn’t going to ruin the best thing in his life just because his dick had a mind of its own and decided to take control of his choices. But he wasn’t going to lie, either.
“No,” he said, firm and painfully honest. “I don’t. Not at all.”
That took Suguru by surprise, his brow furrowed, obviously not able understand Satoru’s feelings and the reasonings behind them.
“Then why-?”
“Okay, listen,” Satoru cut him off, eyes flicking to the table, to the window, anywhere but Suguru’s face. “I’m not saying I didn’t want it to happen, because I did. I just-” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want to screw anything up between us. We’re good, you know? We’ve always been good.”
He finally glanced at Suguru, just briefly, eyes hesitant to linger too long.
Suguru smiled at him, broad and a little fake, as if he was offering Satoru something he wasn't not sure he was willing to give. Suguru’s face looked different than it did five minutes ago, now a little gloomy and sunken in, like he was deflating right in front of him. But maybe he was just taking it in, maybe Satoru just wanted to see more emotion than he was actually offered.
But then it hit him, like it usually does when he looked at Suguru too long. He was about to go back on his words, spill out his guts all over the café table and confess how the last thing that he wanted in this life was to just forget it. And he was about to do it, get over his cowardice and tell Suguru exactly what was in his heart. But before he could weave the words together - quietly-
“Right. Okay. Yeah. You’re right.” Suguru muttered, his face resigned and locked back up.
Satoru nodded, they both sat in silence for a bit.
“Just-” Suguru said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Promise me that this won’t ruin anything?”
“You’re still my best friend, Suguru. That’s what matters. I don’t want one night to mess with everything we’ve built.”
Suguru nodded, not looking like he believed him.
“I don’t want to lose you over this.”
Satoru frowned, tilted his head to the side, as if Suguru just said something so stupid even he couldn’t believe it.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna lose me just because I had to experience your terrible kissing.”
“Excuse me?” Suguru said and put a hand on his chest in mock offence. “That’s not what you said last night.”
“Psh,” Satoru waved him off, smile bright and deflecting. “I was drunk, it doesn’t count.”
“Sure it doesn’t.” Suguru scoffed but smiled, nonetheless.
For a second, that smile told Satoru that they were going to be okay.
That maybe it wasn’t the end of them.
Yet he still wanted to tell Suguru that he was in love with him.
The words got lost somewhere under his ribs.
Satoru forced a grin then, clapped his hands together. “Okay. Now that that’s over with - food?”
Suguru huffed. “Nah, just coffee. I feel fine now, but who knows how my stomach might react after something solid.”
“Ew,” Satoru said with a frown. “Shouldn’t have drunk that much then, I guess.”
Suguru huffed at him, expression incredulous.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he laughed. “And whose fault is that?”
Satoru pulled his lips into a tight line, tilted his head and shrugged.
“Did I hold your hair back and hand-feed you whiskey?” he huffed. “Come on, Suguru. You’re a big boy. You make your own poor life choices now.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Satoru smiled, proud. “I always am.”
“Sure,” Suguru waved him off. “Incredibly annoying too.”
“Maybe, you still love me though.”
Suguru’s smile faltered as he nodded just slightly, lips pulled into a tight line, eyes looking somewhere past Satoru as he nodded once more.
“Yeah,” he said at last, so softly it almost didn’t reach Satoru’s ears. “I guess I do.”
They hung out for a little while after that, laughing about the night before; but only the things that they were allowed to talk about. The rest sat between them, untouched for now. After they finished their coffees and shared a dessert that Satoru insisted on, all Satoru’s classes were already over. Suguru had a brief consultation at the studio about a design he was working on, so they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways, promising to see each other on the weekend.
On the walk home, Satoru felt something inside him begin to give, like the edges of his heart were fraying, unable to hold everything he was forcing it to carry. He felt a lot of things in that moment: relief, sadness, longing.
But mostly, he felt regret.
Regret that he couldn’t say it.
Regret that they weren’t in a place to name what this was without watching it break under the weight of reality.
Regret that love alone wasn’t enough to make it simple.
Once tears started blurring his vision, he fished out his phone, clicking Shoko’s name to open a new conversation.
Satoru — 2:14 PM:
hey so
i think im a fucking idiot lol
Shoko — 2:15 PM:
are the two of you fine?
Satoru — 2:15 PM:
yeah, actually
we're good
Shoko — 2:15 PM:
are you fine?
Satoru — 2:16 PM:
no lol
Satoru — 2:16 PM:
figured
u home?
Satoru — 2:17 PM:
going rn
Shoko — 2:17 PM:
ok
im coming over
On his way home, Satoru allowed himself to daydream.
Daydream about the things that he will no longer allow himself to feel. Thought about every memory that he held so close to his breaking heart.
And, unsurprisingly, every single memory was tinged with the shade of Suguru.
The memory of them was going through his heart like a thread through a needle. Sharp and painful and stitching him back together all over again.
Before they knew it, almost an entire year passed them by. Time, apparently, doesn’t wait for them to figure things out, it moves quickly and without remorse. Satoru doesn’t remember many things from that year, months and days blurring together as he tried to ignore the things that mattered most. All he knows is that he cannot remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Suguru.
And before they slipped up; it never felt like a loss, really. Not when Suguru had always made sure to give him all the little pieces of himself that Satoru so desperately craved. He never asked for it, never demanded Suguru give him anything - he just did, and maybe, Satoru thinks, this is the reason why he fell in love in the first place.
But they came to an understanding. An understanding that insisted upon silence.
But maybe silence was good. Maybe Suguru could feel how much Satoru loved him in quiet?
So, they never talked about it.
And even though Satoru was the one to insist upon it, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, himself.
And, fuck, he’d never felt so ashamed in his life.
He felt absolutely ruined, like his insides had been scraped out with a dull knife. Like a thick layer of grime had settled on his skin and he was unable to wash it off, no matter how much he scrubbed. The image of Suguru was more than a stain or a tattoo; it was a vision that never really turned out to be real in the first place.
Like a dream so vivid you can’t really be convinced that it wasn’t a memory.
Satoru quickly found that he thought of him all the time. When he was alone or surrounded by people, when he was supposed to be focusing on anything, something else, all he could think about was Suguru. Suguru. Suguru.
How his lips felt on his, how he tugged on his bottom lip and then licked it as if to soothe the ache, how his fingers dug into his skin as if he was trying to leave a trail of himself all over his body. He thought of the little gasps he allowed himself to let out, thought of soft tan skin and silky black hair between his fingers, thought of how he tugged at the strands as Suguru sucked on his neck.
Satoru felt absolutely disgusted with himself.
It’s one thing to be in love with your best friend, it’s another to be absolutely obsessed with him to a point where you’re unable to function unless you’re thinking about him.
But the line between love and obsession is very thin, Satoru figured. So thin that one rarely notices when they cross it.
Maybe they’d crossed it a very long time ago.
Satoru wasn’t so sure of anything anymore.
They still couldn’t leave each other alone, though. Continued hanging out like normal, like they did ever since they were children. Pretended like they weren’t both constantly thinking about each other in ways you were definitely not supposed to think about your best friend. Sometimes Satoru thought that Suguru was doing a way better job than him. Nothing had changed between them, not at first, at least.
They still spent all their time together, hung out and watched movies while shoveling down snacks. Suguru asked Satoru about his classes, shared his newest sketches and the work he did on clients. In turn, Satoru gave him all the university drama and whined about his assignments. They gave each other what friendship required, ignoring the fact that they both wanted to ask for so much more.
Yet Satoru tried to convince himself that this was for the better; some friendships were just not meant to be ruined by something as trivial as feelings or desire. He tried to convince himself for almost a year, determined to step into his twenties with a fresh new mindset, cleansed of feelings that have been suffocating him ever since he was a teenager. Like a snake that had shed its skin, he wanted to shed loving Suguru.
He was leaving these things behind, at least that was what he’d told himself.
He tried looking for that feeling elsewhere, though. Gods know he tried. Satoru did everything in his power, tried to see other men and women alike, allowed himself to be handled in every way possible by anyone who piqued his interest. Almost no one did, and every once in a while, when someone like that appeared, Satoru ended the night disappointed and with a name he couldn’t even remember.
It never did anything for him, always ended in forgotten names and blurry faces, people he couldn't even pick out in a crowd if he wanted to. And nothing good came out of it either; just a concerned Shoko who shook her head at him in that slow, menacing way, as if she wasn’t going to stop him but was, in fact, very disappointed with the way that he was handling things.
Suguru never said anything about it. Not because he didn’t care. But because he did the same thing.
And it fucking sucked. It sucked because he did everything for an entire year, and nothing worked. He was still scattered, still lying to himself.
Still in love with his best friend.
And it’s always been him, Satoru had to learn this the hard way. No one but Suguru could put his body in such excess, no one could make him feel the way that the other did. Nothing could even come close to that one drunken night when he was barely nineteen.
So, as soon as he turned twenty and a new year was about to hit them, Satoru decided to take a chance.