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An indisputable fact of life was that Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru were best friends. They met by chance when they were children, when hope was not quiet and hidden under tongues, but bursting from the scrapes on their knees. That particular day, seven-year-old Satoru had evaded jail—slipped by his private tutors, his caretaker, and the housekeepers, through the garden and out the front gate. When he stopped, little fists on his hips, he realized there was nowhere he wanted to go.
He'd never gotten that far on his own before. The familiar road curved in the distance, leading towards the farmlands he’d never ventured to. He’d never walked the road beneath his house slippers, only ever hovered over it in his family’s car.
Face scrunched up childish determination, he considered his options. Go back inside after all his hard work to get to the road or wander down the road until his caretaker or the head housekeeper burst from the intricate front door, frantically searching for him.
The choice was easy.
He always liked causing them a bit of trouble.
Slipping his feet from the house slippers, he squared his shoulders and looked to the right where the trees leaned just slightly over the casting, casting a bit of shadow cut up by bright rays of sunlight. Being spring, the leaves grew anew above him, bright green fluttered beneath the wind. When he got older, Satoru would exaggerate and say the trees quite literally beckoned him forward, a siren’s voice laying on the wind that blew past his ears.
The old, broken pavement scratched the soles of his feet, the blunt pain foreign.
Growing up as a Gojo meant excellence was stitched into the very fabric of his being. It meant growing up different. Public and even private schools were frowned upon, instead his family elected to have Satoru learn academics through private tutors—ensuring that Satoru’s education was up to the Gojo standard. His life consisted of studying, playing various instruments, and sitting alone in his room.
When the hungry kind of childish curiosity won, he would sneak his academics tablet into his room and watch whatever he could. Funny videos from the mundane lives of the world around him, a confusing philosophy book that left his head aching, sometimes even the news—though that was as confusing as it was boring.
Then, his parents returned from work, and Satoru met them in the dining room where they sat on opposite sides of a long table where the kitchen staff had already set out the meal, kept warm by plain covers. The high ceilings made the empty room echoey—the sound of utensils scraping ceramic plates ricocheting around and irritating him, almost as much as the painfully boring beige of the walls, and the old paintings of long dead men that no one quite cared to remember the names of, their work so unremarkable that it became coveted, doused in the human want of finding meaning even in the most mundane of places.
The silence was broken up only by short and concise questions about his academics from his mother or the kitchen staff inquiring about drinks or the meal.
Even at age seven, Satoru knew.
His life was not normal.
But he also knew that he himself was not normal.
And so, as he walked down the road, each step felt like a triumph. Each scrape on his heel a balm to his curiosity, tangible proof that he could be normal despite his birthright. He could be like regular kids and be outside, play in the dirt, scrape up a knee or two.
After a few minutes, Satoru grew bored. Freedom felt good at first, as it always does, before the structureless and vastness of possibilities turned into something overarching, profound enough for Satoru to have realized freedom without dreams was useless.
He kicked a rock, and it flew through the air, ricocheting with a soft thud off a tree trunk and sailing into the tall grass and disappearing.
“Who are you?”
Satoru spun on his heel at the voice. Across the narrow road, there stood a boy. About his age and height, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders. His posture a bit hunched from the woven basket on his back, distorting his silhouette.
“Who are you?” Satoru asked, tilting his head.
“I asked you first,” the boy stood a little straighter, trying to be a little more intimidating. “I’ve never seen you here before. I would remember your weird eyes.”
“You have hair like a girl,” Satoru shot back.
“Okay. What’s your name?”
Satoru squared his shoulders, fixing his posture and raising his chin as he was always taught to do. “My name is Gojo Satoru.”
“Okay,” the boy said. His eyes never left Satoru, posture still a little defensive, as though Satoru was a threat he would need to protect himself from. Satoru frowned, did this kid not know who he was? Everyone knew who he was.
“Well, what’s your name?”
“I’m not supposed to tell my name to strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger. I just told you my name.”
“Oh, right.” The boy looked right, then left, and crossed the street to stand in front of Satoru. He held out his hand, which was covered in a slight layer of dirt. “I’m Geto Suguru.”
Satoru frowned at his hand, “Why is your hand dirty?”
“My mom says you’ve only accomplished something when you get your hands dirty.” Suguru said, preening.
“Well, I’ve accomplished lots without getting my hands dirty.” Satoru crossed his arms across his chest.
Suguru laughed at him, the sound leaving a strange sensation in his stomach. He knew he should be offended, but he just couldn’t bring himself to be, not when this boy had such a nice laugh. “I don’t believe you. My mom’s never wrong.”
“Well, she is this time.”
“What have you accomplished?” Suguru gave him a once-over, gripping the straps that held the basket to his back. “You look too clean.”
“I know three—” Satoru held up three fingers, wiggling them with a gleeful grin “—languages.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
This Geto Suguru was different than the children of his parents’ friends Satoru had met in the past. He didn’t treat Satoru like everyone else—didn’t treat him like he was something special because of his name. Suguru hadn’t even recognized his family name. To this kid, Satoru was another regular, run of the mill kid and not the prodigy of the Gojos. Satoru kind of liked it.
“I know!” Satoru bounce on his heels, then leaned into Suguru’s personal space. “I can teach you bad words and no one will know what you’re saying.”
That was the first time he saw Geto Suguru’s grin—lopsided and full of teeth.
In the end, they ended up sat a little ways off the road, everything else forgotten as Satoru went through every bad word he knew and rattled it off in Mandarin, French, and English, Suguru repeating every word and committing them to memory.
The aloof demeanor he started out with melted away in the rays of the morning sun, slipping off his shoulders and into the dew of the grass that had not yet evaporated. The long-haired boy lived a few miles down the road, with his mother and father on their small family farm. He liked to read books, learn bad words, and his mom.
Something about this boy satiated something in Satoru; an unnamed thing he hadn’t known he craved. He was too young to know the proper name for it, to be able to put his feelings into the correct bundle of words, so he put it on the back burner. He’d figure it out later.
He didn’t want to interrupt the experience, the way the words left their mouths and swirled in the air, creating a bubble that only Satoru was aware of, shielding them from the world—a space crafted just for the two of them, sparkling above them.
So, when his caretaker Fujiwara—a scrawny woman with long, bleached blonde hair—came crashing through the bushes, Satoru was sad to see her for the first time.
“Satoru!” She cried, rushing to where he sat across from Suguru and placing her hands on his cheeks, frantically searching his eyes then checking his arms and legs for injuries. “You’ve been gone for hours! Everyone’s been worried sick!”
“I made a friend,” Satoru pointed at Suguru, who in turn waved politely at Fujiwara.
“Is that your mom?” Suguru asked.
Satoru shook his head, “This is my caretaker. My mom would never come looking for me.”
Suguru and Fujiwara frowned at that, but that was just the way his mother had been since he could remember. His father, too. As long as Satoru was hydrated, fed, clothed, and had a roof over his head, they didn’t worry over his physical wellbeing. That’s what Fujiwara was for.
“I’m glad you made a friend, Satoru.” Fujiwara said, her tone light and a small, genuine smile on her face as she took his hand. “But everyone’s been looking for you for hours. You need to return home, especially before your parents get back.”
“But Fujiwara,” Satoru whined, dragging out the end of her name as she pulled him to his feet. “I want to stay with Suguru.” He pointed at his friend who still sat on the grass, woven basket siting behind him, the bottom slightly damp from the dew. He’d taken to plucking blades of grass, snapping them from the dirt with a soft sound that didn’t reach far enough to be properly heard. Suguru didn’t look up when Satoru said his name, pointedly looking at anything but Satoru and Fujiwara. Satoru wanted to know why; he’d looked at him for so long that he felt like he lost something when those brown eyes weren’t on him.
Fujiwara pursed her lips, brown eyes flicking between the two children. Satoru pouted—he just finally made a friend on his own and now he couldn’t stay with him. He wanted to go see the farm Suguru was talking about, to meet his mom, to see if her katsudon was as good as Suguru claimed.
She let out a terse breath, squatting down to look Satoru in the eye. She placed her hands on his shoulders, making him look at her instead of Suguru.
“How about this,” she began. “We go back to the house now, because everyone is worried sick. But, if you do that for me, I can help you see your new friend again.”
“Really?” Satoru’s eyes went wide. He glanced over at Suguru and found him looking at Fujiwara with a similar expression of childish amazement, the kind that sparkles in irises.
“Really.” Fujiwara nodded, then turned to Suguru. “Honey, do you live close by?”
Suguru nodded and pointed the direction he’d been walking earlier. “Down that way a few miles. On the farm.”
“Oh, are you the Getos’ son?” He nodded. “Okay, that makes it easier. Let’s go Satoru.”
“Wait! Friends hug each other goodbye right? Let me hug him goodbye!”
Fujiwara’s eyes softened, “Of course.”
He launched himself at Suguru, essentially tackling him, stopped from toppling over only by Suguru’s basket. He wound his arms around the other boy’s middle, squeezing tight. Suguru hugged him back, squeezing far more gently than Satoru, more practiced with the action.
When Satoru let go, they both stood.
“Bye, Satoru,” Suguru smiled, pulling the straps of the basket over his shoulders.
“Bye Suguru!” Satoru grinned before turning away and taking Fujiwara’s hand. As she led him back to the house, Satoru turned to look at Suguru’s retreating form, warmth spreading through his body when Suguru turned back to look at him as well, shyly waving before turning back around.
He liked Suguru. He really hoped they would stay friends for a long time.
“Suguru,” Satoru dragged out the last ‘u’ in his name. “How much farther? My feet hurt and it’s hot.”
“Not far,” Suguru said, stepping over a few overgrown roots, unaffected by everything making twelve-year-old Satoru positively miserable. Working on the farm with his parents made Suguru heat resistant it seemed.
Satoru, on the other hand, felt like his skin was going to melt off his body and leave a trail behind them. Out in the woods, the sun couldn’t permeate the canopy of leaves above them, but the stickiness from the previous day’s rain lingered. It clung to Satoru’s skin, made him uncomfortable and damp. He hated it. The sweat dripping down his back made him squirm and the knowledge that it would only get worse as the sun reached its highest point made him want to curl up in the dirt under a tree.
“We’ve been walking forever,” Satoru pouted but still let himself be pulled along by Suguru’s warm hand in his. He didn’t mind the warmth of Suguru, because Suguru’s warmth was kind—it glided along his arm with a soft caress, settling somewhere on the inside of his ribs. Even with the sweat that made their hands slip a little, Satoru didn’t want to let go.
“No, we haven’t,” Suguru said, turning to look at Satoru with that amused expression he got when Satoru complained about something that was normal to Suguru. He continued walking backwards through the woods. “You’re just being annoying.”
“I am not!” Satoru placed his free hand over his heart, clutching his shirt in dramatics. “We’ve been walking for like, ten minutes!”
Suguru’s lips trembled as he held back a smile and probably that ugly snort he made sometimes, too. He turned forward before he tripped over something he couldn’t see. “What, would you rather be carried?”
“Is that an option?”
Suguru suddenly stopped, Satoru running into his back by accident. Satoru stared with a furrowed brow at his back as the silence stretched, a cicada buzzing in the distance. The faded green shirt Suguru wore was starting to stick to his back with sweat, a line down the middle of his back.
Seemingly coming to a decision, Suguru blew air out of his closed lips, making a motorboat sound before squatting down.
“What are you doing?”
“You wanted to be carried. I can carry you on my back.” Suguru looked over his shoulder at Satoru. “Hurry up. I want to get there before we need to turn back. Mom’s making katsudon.”
Satoru did not have to be told twice—he would do anything for Suguru’s mom’s katsudon. It was different than the kind their private chef made. It wasn’t as perfect, but that’s what made it good. It wasn’t made just for nutrition—it was homemade, a tasty meal sprinkled with a mother’s love. He climbed on this back, wrapping his arms carefully around Suguru’s neck. Suguru gripped his thighs and stood, lifting Satoru like he was nothing. Maybe he did feel like nothing to his friend; he carried around heavy stuff all the time.
Without another word, Suguru began fast walking, maneuvering efficiently through the path and over the roots and rocks. Satoru lifted his head to rest his chin on the top of Suguru’s head, his small bun pressing a little uncomfortably into his neck.
Suguru stood two inches taller than Satoru, a fact he liked to tease him about, but right then—
“I’m taller than you,” Satoru’s grin curled his words.
“No, you’re not. You’re on my back.”
“I’m taller than you are right now. I can see so many things that you can’t see, because you’re short.”
“Yeah?” Suguru asked, and Satoru could practically see the look on his face. The disbelieving pinch of his brow, slightly pursed lips suppressing an amused grin. “Like what, ‘toru.”
Satoru’s eyes darted around. There had to be something to prove his bluff—he may be teetering on a sinking ship, but he would never go down with it. At the point, they were deep in the forest, far enough that the trail they had been following ended a bit ago, relying on Suguru to navigate where they were.
Along with the lone cicada, the forest sang a kind of melody. The soft whistle of the wind and the rustling leaves harmonized together, cocooning the trees and the two of them in the ancient song of nature—delicate and comforting. On the undercurrent of the song, he heard something that sounded like muted rushing water.
Sunlight pierced through the gaps between leaves, gentle sunbeams landing in speckled patches on the floor of the forest.
Suguru hadn’t taken him this far into the woods before. Normally, the woods were a ghost of an image amidst the mist of summer mornings, just south of the farm. Sometimes they would venture a little into the woods, where they could still see the outline of the farm in the distance, sitting on rocks and talking about everything and nothing, throwing sticks at each other or play wrestling in the dirt.
His mother was never pleased when he came home and sat at the dinner table covered in dirt, but he never regretted it. As long as he took the extra lessons that they agreed on and continued to excel in his lessons, he could still see Suguru.
“Short people can’t see it,” Satoru said. “It’s up in the trees.”
“If short people can’t see it, then how can you?”
“I’m temporarily tall. It cancels out.”
Satoru could hear the eye roll even if he couldn’t see Suguru’s exasperated expression.
Loosening his grip, he let his arms drape over his friend’s shoulders, lazily clasping his hands together. He kicked his feet in boredom, laying his cheek on top of Suguru’s head.
Before Suguru, physical touch wasn’t something Satoru really sought out. With the way he was raised, physical touch was a scarce commodity in his life that he learned to live without—to not need. Time killed all cravings—even ones stitched into the fabric of your humanity. Seams loosen with neglect until need and desire separate far enough to be the old thorn in the side, the kicked addiction of years past.
Suguru’s presence became the needle gently weaving new thread, stitching up the forgotten wants, tight enough that Satoru finally started recognizing the itch of his lacking.
Luckily, Suguru didn’t seem to mind Satoru hanging off him most of the time, in fact he seemed to enjoy it as much as Satoru, even if he wasn’t as forthcoming with the fact.
The world fell out from under Satoru when Suguru let go of his legs and Satoru—unprepared—flailed, falling onto the dirt straight on his tailbone.
“We’re here,” Suguru said. He turned his head a little to look at Satoru, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Satoru scowled—pouted, really—as he stood, rubbing his lower back. “That hurt. You hurt me, Suguru.” He poked an accusing finger into Suguru’s chest as he spoke, eyes narrowed.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you’d land on your feet. You were so much taller than me, surely you would’ve seen that we arrived.” Suguru deadpanned, gesturing with his arm at the sight in front of them that Satoru had ignored in favor of bantering with Suguru.
Somewhere, tucked away in the forest, was this. Crafted by a deity of some sort, Satoru was convinced as his blue eyes took in the sight.
It wasn’t big, or grand. Not quite something to worship but something that would surely receive a prayer or two. A small pouring of white water, nestled in uneven sediment. Curtaining the rock behind it, the water waltzed, the slow dance of molecules utterly enchanted with each other, too deep in the feeling to ever still. The water swirled as it fell, splitting off and rejoining in random places, like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to spin away or get closer.
Its indulgent dance ended as it crashed into the pool below, white air bubbles dispersing from the contact, floating across the top of the slightly murky water until they popped. A breeze gently shook the trees around, leaves rustling and the air carrying the scent of the water.
Algae covered rocks sat all around, water lapped at the ones along the edge. Beneath the surface they rippled like mirages, sun ripples decorating them.
“Do you—you don’t like it?” Suguru’s voice popped Satoru out of his trance, making him realize he’d been staring at the scene in front of him in silence for some time.
The unsure waver in his voice had Satoru quickly saying, “No!” They both cringed. “I mean—yes! Yes, I like it.”
Suguru’s expression melted from anxiety to relief, a small, pleased smile etching itself into his face. Familiar warmth built up in Satoru’s chest at the sight. He toed off his shoes and stepped into the shallow edge of the water. The heat hadn’t yet permeated the water’s surface, its coolness rushing up his body.
He leaned his head back and groaned loudly, raising his arms like he was praising a god, “Thank you, oh great waterfall, for being cold. Someone needs to worship this thing.”
“Technically, you are,” Suguru stepped into the water next to Satoru, sandals abandoned and placed neatly next to Satoru’s haphazardly kicked off ones.
Satoru hummed, folding his arm across his ribcage and holding a hooked finger on his chin, squinting his eyes at the sight. “Nah,” he ultimately decided, his lips stretching into a lopsided smile. “I don’t worship; I get worshipped.”
“And who would worship you?” Suguru snorted.
“You, of course,” Satoru kicked water at Suguru, just hard enough that it reached his mid-thigh. “My best devotee.”
“What do I get in return?” Suguru kicked water back at Satoru, goosebumps spreading on his shins.
Satoru leaned into Suguru’s personal space, grinning, “My amazing company, obviously.”
“Pass.” Suguru’s hand covered Satoru’s face as he pushed him out of his space.
“Hey!”
“Who would willing spend time with you?” The grin on Suguru’s face promised trouble. It was Satoru’s favorite.
A battle broke out between them, Suguru starting it by leaning down to splash water directly at Satoru’s face, who, obviously, retaliated. They splashed back and forth without a care in the world, and there it was again, that little bubble surrounding them. It sparkled bright in the sunlight, whorls of rainbow rivers delicately running through the transparent surface.
It didn’t pop even when Satoru lost his footing and fell into the water with a plop, or when Suguru decided to kick water directly into Satoru’s face, or when Satoru knocked Suguru off his feet, when he started drenching him in water. It stayed as they began rough housing there in the water, and it stayed when they tired themselves out.
Soaked, they laid on their backs in the water, catching their breath. Sunlight peeked through the canopy of leaves above, and when Satoru turned to Suguru to say something without thinking, he paused.
Little patches of golden sunlight covered Suguru’s face, a few pieces of long, inky hair slipped from his bun in the scuffle, some strands sticking to his face and some hanging loosely. Satoru couldn’t breathe. That warmth in his chest blossomed, infiltrating his veins and spreading to his fingertips, his toes. It was nothing like the heat outside that you had to fight to wade through, the sunlight that laid heavy on shoulders, weighing down just enough that the lungs struggle to inflate under the pressure.
It was the warmth that buzzed just beneath the skin, gentle in its caresses of muscle and bone marrow, whispering everything and nothing to him in a language he didn’t know but somehow understood. It blanketed him in a feeling he didn’t have a name for yet—that whole body feeling that bubbled words up into his throat, ticking the sides with soft edges and a promise.
Satoru felt it creep up to his cheeks and didn’t know what to do with it.
So, he pushed Suguru’s head away from him, making his friend sputter. “What the—what are you doing? What’s wrong with you? Stop it.”
“Your face is annoying,” Satoru held his face turning away even as he struggled, keeping him from seeing flushed cheeks.
Suguru reached blindly at Satoru’s face, smacking his shoulder and his ear and almost poking his eye before finding his face, shoving it the other way too. “At least I don’t have your weird eyes.”
“That’s so rude,” Satoru said, struggling against Suguru’s hand, pushing harder on his face.
Suguru retaliated by pushing Satoru’s face harder as well. “You started it.”
They quickly devolved back into rough housing, continuing until it was time to make the trek back. Suguru carried Satoru the entire way back, even though they were both soaked to the bone and Suguru kept almost losing his grip.
They made it in time for katsudon.
“This is stupid,” Satoru whined, abandoning the open textbook in his lap and laying down against the grass in the courtyard. The blades of grass tickled the back of his neck, cool to the touch from being in the shade. “I already know this. How does everyone not already know this?”
“Don’t say that where everyone can hear you, it’s rude.” Suguru said evenly from beside him, writing something in the novel he had open. He leaned back against the tree planted in the middle of the courtyard. “You’re the one who wanted to go to school with me.”
“Whatever,” Satoru pouted, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the patches of vivid blue sky he could see in the spaces between the thick leaves.
When he’d argued with his parents to be able to attend a real school instead of learning from private tutors, he hadn’t considered the fact that his education was more advanced than the rest of the teenagers his age. Now, at sixteen, he was stuck relearning subjects he’d passed at age twelve and had been for over a year at their high school. All because he’d wanted to be able to see Suguru more, and what easier way than to go to the same high school?
It wasn’t what he imagined. Most of his time in class spent scribbling in his textbooks and notebooks, notations and corrections between the lines, song lyrics, doodles of the teacher with devil horns—which got a snort of approval from Suguru when he sneakily slid it into his line of sight—or sneaking notes to Suguru (he had been caught multiple times doing so).
Satoru turned his head to look at his friend—his best friend. His bangs hung in his eye as he peered down at the words on the page, a few patches of sunlight that snuck through the leaves above hit his hair, highlighting the brown in the dark black. Suguru had let his hair grow longer over the years, it now hit the middle of his shoulder blades, but he kept it up in a tight bun most of the time—to Satoru’s internal dismay.
His once soft jawline had sharpened, the tendons in his neck bounced as he moved his jaw absentmindedly. Angular brown eyes remained unchanged, still carrying that kindness that was interlaced with Suguru’s soul. Satoru really liked when the sunlight hit them, and the color melted into a rich honey brown—the color of Suguru, the color of the warmth that spread in his chest.
Satoru threw himself into Suguru’s lap, squirming around until Suguru was forced to drop the book and look exasperated with him. “C’mon, I’m so bored. Let’s skip.”
“And go where?” Suguru leaned on his abandoned book, his unoccupied hand came to rest in Satoru’s white locks, gently scratching his scalp with blunt nails that were painted black. He would be purring if he could, Suguru would surely get a kick out of that.
Satoru hummed, squinting his eyes like he was thinking very hard. He wasn’t. He just wanted Suguru all to himself, it didn’t matter where they went or what they did, as long as they were together, that’s what mattered. He always wanted that, to have Suguru by his side and have his attention. It was a normal thing to want from a friend.
“Mochi?”
Before Suguru could open his mouth, someone in front of them drawled, “Is Gojo trying to get you to skip again? Bad, bad boy.”
Shoko leaned over them, an unlit cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
No matter what she claimed, she’d become a close friend of theirs during first year. The three of them bounced off each other so well that though she integrated into their friendship quickly, it felt natural. Like it had always been the three of them, in this life and in other lives, different realities.
“Shouldn’t you be bothering Utahime? She likes you better than we do.”
“You’re so sweet,” Shoko pulled out her lighter, flicking the striker until it lit and the end of the cigarette glowed as she inhaled. “She’s in class. And it’s almost like we’ve had this study period together the entire semester. I wouldn’t spend time with you two of my own volition.”
Satoru hmpfed. “You should be honored to be in our presence.”
Shoko eyed him, dark eyes taking in the entire scene. Satoru and Suguru’s abandoned books, the hand in Satoru’s hair, Satoru’s pout, and whatever else those observant eyes saw. She took a slow drag of her cigarette, smoke puffing out as she spoke before exhaling, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Suguru, back me up,” Satoru demanded, eyes flicking back to Suguru, who, seemingly, hadn’t taken his eyes off Satoru, irises warm and gooey.
“I am backing you up,” he said.
“Say it to Shoko.” Satoru crossed his arms.
The small smile on Suguru’s face never wavered even as he finally took his eyes off Satoru to look at Shoko. “I’m backing him up. Can I get a hit?”
“Totally,” Shoko hands the cigarette to Suguru. He took a long drag of it before handing it back to her.
“That thing’s going to kill you both,” Satoru huffed, watching as Suguru blew the transparent smoke up into the air, the smell still surrounding them. “And them I’m going to have to show up to your funerals and be the prettiest and funniest person there. Do you know how exhausting that will be?”
“Whoever thinks you’re funny needs their head checked,” Shoko remarked.
“So you think I’m pretty.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re so mean to me. Suguru thinks I’m pretty, don’t you, Suguru?” Satoru turned back to his best friend, to find those brown eyes already looking back at him.
He hummed absentmindedly and Satoru knew he hadn’t been listening to a thing either had said.
There was this… look Suguru got sometimes. A quiet, faraway look when he got lost in his thoughts. Satoru noticed it most when he worked on a particularly difficult assignment, or after finishing a book. He’d been noticing it a lot more lately, though,
He liked it. Especially when it was directed at him.
Satoru smiled a little and reaching up to move Suguru’s bangs out of his face with a knuckle to fully appreciate it. Suguru’s hand returned to his hair, petting over it gently, looking at him with the softest eyes.
The bubble forming around them went unnoticed, it shimmered in the air around them, gentle and unhurried in its presence.
“This is gross, I’m out.” Shoko squatted and snubbed out the half-finished cigarette on the concrete and flicked it into the nearby trashcan.
“You just got here!” Satoru protested.
“Don’t care, bye,” Shoko drew out the ‘e’ as she walked away, one hand in the air and the other in her pocket, the smell of smoke lingering.
Satoru hmpfed for the second time, dropping Suguru’s bang and crossing his arms again. “She hates us.”
“She hates you,” Suguru corrected, running his fingers through Satoru’s hair. “She tolerates me.”
“Well, she should love us. Me especially, because, duh. But you too. You’re like, the best person I’ve ever known.” Satoru didn’t know where the unfiltered honesty came from, but he liked the way Suguru’s eyes softened at his words.
Suguru didn’t directly respond, instead said, “Mochi?”
Satoru sat up so quickly he nearly headbutted Suguru. Propping himself up on either side of Suguru’s lap, he leaned in close enough that their noses brushed. He could feel his eyes sparkling at the prospect. “Kikusuian Mochi? The good place? With the strawberry ones?”
“Yeah, might as well,” Suguru’s breath smelled like cigarettes, that bitter, lingering smell that had a way of sticking to anything it touched. While Satoru didn’t particularly enjoy the smell of cigarettes, he always kind of liked it when it came to Suguru. “I heard Yaga went home early, anyway.”
“I could kiss you right now,” Satoru said and stood up, ignoring Suguru’s little shocked noise and held out a hand. “According to Tsukumo, he’s getting a divorce. You heard that from me.”
“Where else would I hear it from?” Suguru took Satoru’s hand and let himself be hauled up, hand smooth against Satoru’s. “Unlike you, I don’t seek out gossip.”
Satoru gave him a knowing look. From a stranger’s perspective, everything about Suguru screamed straight edge—from his neatly pulled back hair to the constant steadiness of his voice. But Satoru knew better. Suguru liked hearing gossip just as much as Satoru if not more.
People liked to tell Suguru more, because Suguru looked like a person that secrets were safe with. Which, was true. Suguru could keep a secret until the day he died. Just not from Satoru. People should have figured it out by then. But they hadn’t, which meant Satoru was able to continue getting all the information he wouldn’t be normally privy to.
“Mhm, sure,” Satoru plucked his sunglasses from where they hung on his pocket and put then on. He should have had them on already, his eyes being more sensitive to light, but he’d rather see Suguru’s unobscured face. He waited until Suguru grabbed their things and threw his arm around Suguru’s shoulders, a little smug at the fact that Suguru was finally a few inches shorter than Satoru. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. Onwards! My mochi awaits. There’s a new edamame and cream flavor I wanna try.”
“I don’t understand how your teeth haven’t rotted out of your head at this point.” Suguru let Satoru steer him as they began the track to Kikusuian Mochi, somehow managing to avoid all teachers and sneaking off campus.
“I’ll have you know I take brushing my teeth very seriously. I even floss.”
“You tried to use my toothbrush the last time you stayed over because you forgot your toothbrush and you’re a freak.”
Satoru shrugged. “I still don’t understand why I couldn’t just use yours. You’re my best friend. Mi casa es tu casa.”
“That is not what that means.”
An indiscriminate amount of time later, Satoru happily inhaled his strawberry mochi on a sticky table just outside Kikusuian, his ankles interlocked with Suguru’s under the table. They ordered the strawberry mochi Satoru originally wanted, and then the edamame and cream flavor he wanted to try, the red bean mochi Suguru liked, and chocolate mochi as, as Satoru had argued, a ‘palate cleanser.’
Satoru held up a bitten into piece of delicious strawberry mochi to Suguru’s lips, where he was still chewing the red bean mochi he had shoved whole into his mouth. “Taste the rainbow.”
“You could at least wait until I’m done chewing.” Suguru said around the mochi.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Satoru shoved it harder into his mouth just to be a pest. Suguru stared at him, unimpressed, taking his time chewing, chin in his hand. He took enough time that Satoru’s arm grew tired. “Now you’re just being rude.”
Suguru finally swallowed, arching a brow. “I was taking my time.” He then proceeded to take the bite of mochi squished between Satoru’s fingers, teeth bypassing the mochi and nipping Satoru’s fingers as he took the bite. It didn’t really hurt, but it was the principle.
Satoru gasped, then grabbed for Suguru’s hand resting on the book he’d brought but not opened. Suguru snatched his hand back out of Satoru’s reach and he lunged for the other hand, capturing his hand and biting down on Suguru’s pointer and middle finger as payback.
Suguru retaliated by pushing his hand past Satoru’s teeth, far enough that Satoru gagged, ripping his head away.
“I win,” Suguru said, in that smug, polite way only he could do, lips quirked on one side and voice a little muffled from the mochi in his mouth. The table rattled as Satoru accidentally kicked the base of the table rearranging himself before locking their ankles together again.
Satoru wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “Cheater.”
“You started it.”
Satoru hmpfed. Again. He was doing that a lot today.
He propped his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the table, mochi abandoned on the little platters. Glasses rested askew halfway down his nose from the minor tussle, and he couldn’t be bothered to fix them.
The blue and white striped umbrella that stood in the middle of the table shook a little with the wind, the soft metallic sound almost drowned out by the sounds of a busy street. The fall of footsteps on the cement sidewalks, the chatter of strangers that Satoru caught a few words of as they walked close by until they blended back into the hum of the masses. The bell on the door dinged as someone stepped inside, the brightness resounded in Satoru’s ear.
He pursed his lips, looking at Suguru, who looked right back, the smug, polite little quirk of his lips had softened into a gentle thing, eye relaxed and honest. If only the sun were a little lower in the sky, if it rested just on the edge of sunset so it would hit Suguru’s eyes just right to transform them into molten gold.
Suguru reached out and pushed Satoru’s sunglasses up to sit properly on his nose. Satoru’s nose crunched, the light brown of Suguru’s eyes turning dark in artificial shade.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” Satoru grabbed the previously abandoned mochi, popping a sun-warmed chocolate mochi into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue a few times before starting to chew.
“You are so strange,” Suguru said, but the words didn’t land how he probably wanted them to. His voice dripped with liquid cashmere, warm and soft and wrapping around Satoru.
“You love it,” he said around a mouthful of mochi.
Suguru hummed, not confirming or denying the statement. It still filled Satoru with warmth, spreading from the middle of his chest and creeping down to his fingertips—safe and comfortable as his heart beat a little faster, until he was nothing but the warmth of Suguru’s voice.
He swallowed the sweet mochi, some of it sticking to his teeth. “We’ll be friends for the rest of our lives, right?” His voice betrayed him in the quiet of the moment, coming out far smaller than he intended.
Suguru fell quiet for a moment. His temples clicked as he worried his jaw in thought. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, voice as small as Satoru’s. “But I hope so.”
“Good,” Satoru nodded once. “I can’t imagine life without you.”
Suguru stole the other chocolate mochi, popping it into his mouth.
Rain splattered onto the tall window, droplets fraying from the harsh wind and racing each other to the windowsill. Lightning zipped across the sky, bright enough that it lit up the clouds in the violently soft way only lightning could. The sound of thunder clapped and echoed in the distance, miles and miles away from Satoru’s bedroom.
He counted. It was about 6 miles away.
He laid on his stomach, pillow propped under his chin, arms stretched out to the end of the bed, the book in his hands held open wide enough that he was surely creasing the spine.
Suguru sat with his back against the side of Satoru’s bed, the silky duvet bunching up behind him. He had his hair down, a rare sight for anyone besides Satoru.
He liked to think it was a special privilege just for him. A private reminder of who Satoru was to Suguru, his closest person.
Satoru’s head fell to rest on his arm, book tilted in forgetfulness and his eyes locked onto Suguru, as they tended to do. Suguru was too busy typing on his laptop, finishing up some essay from one of their classes that was due the next day. Satoru hadn’t started—he planned to get up and speed write it before classes the next day, something Suguru always chided him about. The technique hadn’t failed him yet, he’d managed to never get below the highest grade despite it.
More importantly, Suguru’s hair fell into his face, bangs resting on his cheekbones as he looked down at the laptop. Suguru always had a soft look to him, despite the sharp lines of his features. A softness in the way he held himself, in the way he looked at the world. And when his hair was down, it amplified that until Suguru was all soft lines and gentle looking hands and Satoru never knew what to do with himself when he looked like that.
Suguru stopped typing, leaning forward and bringing his thumb to dig into his forehead. He did that sometimes, when he was trying to solve a tough math problem or understand a tricky concept, but he mostly did it in the moments when he didn’t think Satoru was looking at him. Like he didn’t want Satoru to see him worry something in his head and blow it up and up and up until the balloon burst.
Suguru sat in his head a lot, something Satoru noticed when they were young, too young to understand what it meant. Because Suguru was the type to hide his pain, shove it deep down his throat to hold it in his stomach, like an idiot.
While Satoru was never really taught how to socialize, how to comfort, he’d learned enough about Suguru. He knew how he drank his tea with one sugar cube, how he took his coffee black, the headaches he got from always keeping his hair up, the exact brand of black nail polish he painted his nails with once a month, how much he loved his parents, the quirk of his mouth when he was amused and trying to hide it, the little mole on his hipbone.
He knew that Suguru was fragile sometimes—how brittle his ribs were and how easily his heart could bleed. He knew how quickly his kind, sensitive nature could turn into self-inflicted poison.
And while Suguru couldn’t always put his thoughts into words, didn’t always let even Satoru in, Satoru stayed, always. Even when Suguru tried to push him away, he stayed. Because Satoru understood Suguru—he knew him inside and out.
There was never anyone who could come close to Suguru. Even if they were somehow separated—if the shape of Suguru’s soul changed and locked Satoru out, if his hand stopped fitting in Satoru’s, if the shut Satoru out for good—Satoru would miss him forever. There was no replacing Suguru. He would miss him until death took him to the next life, and if they couldn’t meet again there, Satoru would miss him beyond death. He would miss him in the cold depths of the universe and hope he’s happy.
Was this love? It didn’t feel like how the books described it. It didn’t leave Satoru feeling consumed in an obsessive way. It felt…quieter. His heart, encased in the gentle honey that dripped from Suguru’s lips every time he said Satoru’s name. A little shrine in his heart dedicated to the way Suguru’s hair fell just right on his shoulders when he laughed, to the faint dark circles under his eyes, to the way his fingers looked when he held a book with one hand.
Maybe it was love. Maybe it was something else entirely. Satoru didn’t care. It didn’t need a label. It was the same feeling he’d felt for Suguru since they first met, it had just grown as the years went by, the unnamed warmth.
The book in his hand dangled from his hand as he reached out his other hand to run it through Suguru’s hair, combing through it like water, soft and silky and letting it fall onto the bed. Suguru hummed when he scratched at his slightly greasy scalp.
His hand dropped from his face, leaning back into Satoru’s touch. Satoru watched as the tension leaked out of his body as his eyes closed.
They stayed like that until Suguru’s laptop went black, and Satoru sat up—fully abandoning his book on the edge of the bed, spine creased—situating himself so that Suguru sat in between his legs. Suguru held into Satoru’s socked foot, thumb rubbing over it in soft caresses.
Satoru grabbed the brush from where he kept it on the dresser, still littered with a bit of Suguru’s hair from past use, and began brushing his hair at one point.
Thunder clapped in the distance and the rain kept pelting the window, but it was muted in Satoru’s ears, because the sound of Suguru’s sparse, pleased hums were more important than anything else.
It could’ve been seconds or minutes or hours that they say there like that, just enjoying the silent company of each other.
Eventually, they both returned to their devices, with Satoru resting his book on Suguru’s head, fingers not quite wanting to part from him, snorting when Suguru pinched his foot for it.
When it got late enough, and Suguru finished his essay and shut his laptop, Satoru abandoned his book.
As much as Satoru liked talking with Suguru about anything and everything and nothing—there was something precious about these moments; when they could just be and not need words.
He liked brushing his teeth side by side with Suguru, where he could bump their hips together and get bumped harder back—going back and forth until their hips were certainly bruised and toothpaste bunched in from the corner of his mouth because he was smiling too hard and hadn’t spit yet. How Suguru’s toothbrush was a little squished at the bristles because he bit down on it so it didn’t fall out of his mouth during the scuffle.
Another precious thing, just for them.
And when they finally finished, teeth brushed and faces washed, they climbed into Satoru’s bed. There was always a cot laid out next to his bed for Suguru, but they hadn’t used it since the first time Suguru slept over when they were kids, and even then, Satoru had told Suguru to get in the bed with him. He’d hated how big the bed felt, and he trusted Suguru and wanted to keep close even back then.
The difference between then and now was the way Suguru held him—how they held each other. Suguru laid up against Satoru’s back, one arm draping around his stomach to thread their fingers together. Suguru’s leg rested between Satoru’s, slender nose pressed to the back of his neck, the gentle puffs of air comforting. His other arm fitted in the curve of Satoru’s neck, stretched out so Satoru could rest his cheek on Suguru’s bicep.
Satoru never felt safer than when he was wrapped up in Suguru. Never slept better, either.
In the mornings, Satoru always woke first. His body never let him sleep later than around 6 a.m. Suguru was certainly not a morning person, normally trudging out of bed when his alarm blared from his phone, but not without a few snoozes. He only communicated in grunts and hums until he had his first cup of coffee, something Satoru relentlessly teased him for.
They hadn’t closed the blinds before they went to sleep the night before, so the sun’s rays pierced through the glass, landing in separated patches on Satoru’s face as he roused from sleep.
The bright, inviting light of the morning sun made his eyes burn a little bit and he rolled himself in Suguru’s arms to face away from it. Suguru didn’t make more than a sleepy hum at the movement, clearly not awake, unconsciously tightening his grip on Satoru.
Suguru always looked so peaceful when he was asleep, face relaxed in a way Satoru rarely ever saw in an awake Suguru. He reached out to trace Suguru’s features. Gently grazed the hairs of his eyebrow, the slope of his nose, thumbing over his faint dark circles. He lightly cupped his face, and Suguru leaned into the touch, like he gravitated towards Satoru, even in the little space between wakefulness and death.
He wanted to stay there until they had to get up for classes, but he also had a paper that simply wasn’t going to write itself. Sometimes his procrastination bit him in the ass. Only sometimes. Most of the time it was fine.
So, he slowly untangled himself from Suguru—which, was hard. It was always hard, but that particular morning it seemed that Suguru just didn’t want to let Satoru go, pulling him back when he inched away.
“Man, come on,” he said under his breath, trying to lift Suguru’s arm from where it locked around his stomach in a vice grip. Damn him for working out. Damn Satoru for not going with him as often. He didn’t even think Suguru was awake. Which lessened his chances of escape by about all of it.
He managed to sit up at least, Suguru’s arm dropping from his stomach to his lap, hand gripping his hip. Satoru looked at his laptop, sitting on his desk just a few feet away from the bed. It might be possible if he just reached…
Successfully, he grabbed the corner of the laptop by the skin of his teeth, sitting back up against the headboard and placing the laptop in his lap. Suguru still asleep at his side, Satoru cracked his knuckles obnoxiously and began typing.
“Med school?” Satoru asked, eyebrow raising as he tilted his head to look over his sunglasses at Shoko. “You wanna cut people up for the rest of your life? Well, that tracks, what with how many times you’ve threatened me with unnecessary bodily harm.”
“And it’s always deserved,” Shoko said, tapping the end of her cigarette with her thumb, extra ashes falling to the ground. She leaned forward on the balcony railing that overlooked the school grounds. “Seems decent enough. Helping people’s always a plus, and nothing else sounds interesting. I mean, hasn’t everyone thought about reaching into someone’s abdomen?”
“Absolutely not,” Satoru said immediately, overlapped with Suguru’s “No,” from the other side of Shoko.
Shoko shrugged. “Well, I already got accepted into Jujutsu University. They’ve got one of the best pre-med programs in Japan.”
Satoru hummed, arms crossed on the balcony railing. They’d all taken their center tests at the same time, both Suguru and Shoko had already been accepted into Jujutsu University. Satoru hadn’t received an answer yet which, wasn’t exactly unusual for there to be delays, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
Even Utahime had gotten hers back already, he glanced at where she sat a little bit in front of Suguru, glued to her laptop and typing furiously.
He wasn’t sure what bothered him about it. Maybe it was the ending cold of winter. There was no doubt in his head that he would be accepted. He knew he was intelligent, and he knew he had aced that test. It was full of the same material he’d learnt two times over.
It still didn’t soothe the icy feeling he got in his stomach whenever he thought about it. The irrationality of it bothered him, so he chalked it up to the cold. It was messing with his head, making him worry about things he never worried about.
“I think I’ll study philosophy, or sociology. Haven’t decided yet.” Suguru said, his back against the balcony.
“Gonna try to change the world?” Satoru asked, resting his cheek on his arms. Suguru’s lip quirked to the side when he tilted his head to look at Satoru.
“Maybe not the world, just a few lives.”
Satoru held back the obvious, because he had to know. Suguru had to know that he had already came into Satoru’s life on a cracked road and changed the shape of Satoru’s soul, bit by bit, word by word, touch by touch.
But he didn’t say that, because it was obvious, instead he said, “Both my best friends are going to change the world. Leaving me behind for bigger and greater things.” He turned and clutched his chest in dramatics, sliding down the rails of the balcony.
“I don’t know about ‘best friend,’” Shoko said. The end of her cigarette was more ash than cigarette at that point, the embers dangerously close to her fingers. The breeze blew the smell into Satoru’s face.
“Yeah, I don’t know about that either,” Suguru teased. “I think Shoko may be my best friend.”
“Man, we’ve shared a toothbrush and this is how you treat me?” Satoru whined, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe Nanami is my best friend now.”
Suguru’s face fell, and Shoko nearly dropped her cigarette onto an innocent student below. “When the fuck did you use my toothbrush?”
Satoru shrugged, playing indifference. “Same thing as a kiss. Best friends kiss all the time.”
“It is not the same thing.” Suguru said, then looked a little closer at Satoru’s shit eating grin. “He’s also lying.”
“I would never life, I’ve never lied in my life.”
“Yeah, I’d rather eat my pack of cigarettes than kiss either of you. All offense intended,” Shoko chimed in.
“What about me?” Utahime piped up from the ground, where she had just tuned into the conversation. The laptop still sat on her lap, fingers poised to keep typing after hearing the answer.
“I’d kiss you,” Shoko said gently after a moment, a rare, faint flush coloring her cheeks.
“Shoko! I’d kiss you too!” Utahime said happily. “Neither of them though. No offense, Geto. All offense, Gojo.”
“Lying is a sin,” Satoru said, smirking. “You’re going to hell for that.”
Utahime clenched her fists, little patches of pink flooding her cheeks. “I am not going to hell! You’re going to hell!”
Hook, line, and sinker. It never gets old, “I’ve never sinned a day in my life,” Satoru leaned into her space, booping her nose. “But you’ll fit right in!”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” She smacked his hand away.
“Quit messing with her,” Suguru said despite there being a faint, amused grin on his face. “Let her finish that extra credit, she needs it.”
“But it’s so fun,” Satoru grinned wider than he already was. Suguru didn’t even pick up that he indirectly insulted Utahime.
“For you,” Utahime pointed at him. “I’m going to push you over that balcony.”
“Go for it,” Satoru said, standing straight and putting his arms out. Utahime stood up, rolling up her sleeves, she was going for it.
Shoko walked in between the two of them. “Okay, maybe let’s not commit first degree murder,” the cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth bobbed with the words.
“Just a little?” Utahime pouted. Shoko shook her head and Utahime visibly drooped. “Damn.”
“She’s got you on a tight leash, huh?” Satoru couldn’t help himself.
“Gojo—”
Shoko had already picked up Utahime’s things, then took her gently by the upper arm. “Let’s go, the library will be quiet.” She shot a look at Satoru, who put his hands up in defense.
Utahime hmpfed and let Shoko lead her away. Before the door closed, Utahime gave him a goodbye middle finger.
“Poor Utahime,” Suguru shook her head. “You should be nicer to her.”
“She makes it so easy,” Satoru said. “I just told her she was going to hell. You implied she was dumb.”
Suguru had the decency to look a little ashamed of that, scratching his cheek and chuckling a bit. Satoru waved him off, laughing. Suguru was too polite for his own good and quite good at insulting someone so indirectly that they don’t notice until later on. Satoru was sure they would receive a text in the group chat in the next hour from a still agitated Utahime. The thought made him snort, which made Suguru cackle, and it devolved from there.
“So,” Suguru said, after they finally calmed down and sat against the railing, warm thigh pressed to Satoru’s. “What are you going to study?”
Satoru hummed, taking his glasses off his face, pressing a skin warmed plastic arm to his lip. He hummed again, louder, just to get Suguru to do his litter half snort he did when he was amused by Satoru but didn’t want to completely laugh. The corners of Satoru’s lips quirked up.
He finally shrugged, “I dunno. I didn’t really think about it. Probably some science. Maybe physics, or chemistry, they seem a little challenging.”
“Only you would pick a major to be challenged by instead of what interests you.” Suguru shook his head, and the wind blew gently, rustling his bangs and chilling their cheeks.
“I don’t really have any big dreams like you or Shoko, or even Utahime,” Satoru said, staring up at the sky. The clouds hung thick and fluffy in the air, dark in a way they could only be during winter, refusing to make way for the sun—begging to keep the ground cold and hard, not ready to let go of the season. “I don’t need to change the world or anything. As long as I can stay by your side, I’ll be satisfied.”
Suguru stayed silent for long enough that Satoru looked away from the sky to find brown eyes already looking at him.
The one imperfect thing about Suguru: he could not control his face for shit. In a flash he could school it back, revert it into something more neutral, but he never quite did with Satoru, almost like he felt the same as Satoru—terribly interwoven with millions of threads of feelings for the boy next to him.
Trust slightly creases the edges of his eyes, the soft laying of his brow, the way his mouth quirked in that secret little crooked grin he did only for Satoru.
His, his, his.
His Suguru.
“You know,” Suguru started, face unchanged and open and full of— “I’m not the best at expressing myself, but.” He paused, worried his jaw a bit, glancing away as he compiled his thoughts. Satoru took his hand, threading their fingers together, that familiar warmth spreading up his arm, settling around his heart. Suguru smiled, glancing at their joined hands and giving a squeeze before meeting Satoru’s eyes. “You’re the most important person in my life.”
“Aww, really?” Satoru poked Suguru’s cheek with his free hand, really twisting it in there to see his full grin.
Suguru grinned wider than he’d probably meant to, all teeth and a little bit of his gums, laughing, cheeks flushed pink and round with his grin and everything Satoru wanted to see. He retaliated by poking Satoru’s cheek harder, “Yes, really.”
Maybe it was because of the chill in the air, chilling his thoughts slow and syrupy like, maybe it was the overcast sky telling him to make his own sun, maybe it was the pretty flush in Suguru’s cheeks, maybe it was the impending permanence of graduation—or maybe it was the little boy, freshly escaped from his family home and walking on cracked pavement, listening to the siren call leading him to Suguru. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Because every part of Satoru’s heart belonged to that little boy with the woven basket, to the man who sat with him now. It was about time Suguru knew for sure.
“That’s good,” Satoru said, because he was Gojo Satoru and couldn’t say anything normally. “Because I’m in love with you and this would be pretty awkward otherwise.”
“Yeah?” Suguru breathed, looking the same way Satoru felt. A little hopeful, a little scared, a little content, and a lotta bit in love.
“Yeah,” Satoru squeezed their joined hands. “You should feel honored. I don’t give this out for free, you know.”
“Mhm,” Suguru said, absolutely not listening, eyes flitting between Satoru’s eyes and lips like he couldn’t decide which he wanted to look at more. “So honored. Can I kiss you?” His hand had already come to cradle Satoru’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly over his cheek.
“Yeah,” Satoru said. Suguru’s breath smelt like wintergreen gum and cola and everything Satoru had ever wanted.
Satoru let him get in close, a breath away, before pulling back a little, just to mess with him. Just because he could. It made Suguru snort, “Ass.”
“Great one right here,” Satoru whispered.
Their lips were brushing when the bell chimed, normally a pleasant sound of a soft sharpness only the sound of a bell could have, but this time it grated in Satoru’s ear. He threw his head back and groaned.
“What the hell!”
Suguru pulled his face back down with the hand still on his jaw, “We can be late.”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Satoru pushed Suguru away with a hand on his face and stood up. “We can’t miss class!”
“Since when do you care about that?” Suguru deadpanned, reaching for Satoru’s hand. “We can just skip.”
“Mr. Prim and Proper wants to miss class to get scandalous?! I’m calling the paper,” Satoru said, putting his hand over his mouth in faux disbelief. “You’re going to jail, buddy.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Suguru stood up, grabbing both their bags and slinging them on his shoulder. He took Satoru’s hand, threading their fingers together. “The one time you don’t want to skip.”
Satoru threw his head back and laughed.
He couldn’t click the link.
It arrived in his email two hours prior, and he’d been staring at it ever since. The blue link seemed to slither across the screen, enticing him like a snake, wishing, waiting, wanting to be clicked on, to be able to wrap around his neck and squeeze.
He just stared at it until the screen went dark, then he’d tap a key, the screen would light back up, link bright and begging to be clicked on and he kept going in that circle until Suguru arrived.
“Hey,” he said, closing Satoru’s door behind him and stepping into the room, setting his book bag down near the door. “Why do you look like you’re about to puke?”
“‘Cause I am!” Satoru threw himself back onto his bed, laptop jostling on his lap.
Suguru snickered, muted footsteps getting closer to Satoru until he felt the laptop swivel, raising his head to see Suguru looking at the screen with a furrow in his brow.
There was still a crinkle in his hair from the elastic, but it still flowed onto his shoulders. He must have taken it down just before he got to Satoru’s. Satoru had told him over text that he liked it best down. The giddy feeling he always felt seeing Suguru just grew in his chest, his heart almost vibrating with it.
“You know you got in, right?”
“What?!” Satoru shot up, snatching the laptop back and seeing that Suguru hadn’t clicked on literally anything. He gives him a flat look.
Suguru raised his eyebrows. “You really think you didn’t get in?”
“Of course I got in!” Satoru defended himself, then deflated a little. “But, you know, hypothetically, what if I didn’t get in? And then like, we can’t go to university together.”
Suguru just smiled that sweet, soft smile, climbing into the bed next to him. “How long have you been sitting here looking at this?” He asked gently, placing a hand on Satoru’s thigh.
“Getting handsy already? Insatiable.” His voice lacked its usual conviction, so he scrapped the jokes. It never worked with Suguru anyway, he knew him far too well. “Like, two hours.”
“Do you want me to click on it?”
“No, just—” Satoru blew out a breath. He was being a baby. He knew it, Suguru knew it, but Suguru was just nicer about it. Damn him. “I feel better with you here.”
Suguru hummed, thumb moving on Satoru’s thigh. The touch gave him the courage he had but just hadn’t been able to reach. He looked at Suguru for a few moments, then turned to the laptop and clicked the link before he could think twice about it.
Congratulations, Gojo Satoru. You have been accepted…
“I told you,” Suguru said, trying to come off as smug but it just looked a lot like unadulterated love.
“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru waved him off, the strange and foreign anxiety slipping away. “Now, what do I get as a reward?”
Suguru knew exactly what he meant, but still said, “A college degree?”
“Man, come on,” Satoru pushed the laptop off his lap, cupping Suguru’s face with his hands. “I told you I love you yesterday and you still haven’t stuck your tongue down my throat. Chop chop.”
“You are the one who didn’t want to skip class,” Suguru shot back.
“Details, details. Hurry up.”
Suguru laughed, full and loud and then finally kissed him then. His lips soft with chapstick, gliding over Satoru’s in the most delicious way. It was everything he ever wanted.