he packed most of his books, carefully picking out the ones that tugged at the nostalgic parts of him, frayed along the edges after many years of re-reading, as well the ones that still had vibrant covers and stiff spines he hoped to finish. you noticed the leather journal he kept tied together– the ink-blotted pages bursting at the seams –sitting on the shelf before he tucked it into his box of personal belongings. it was his third one since living with you, all filled to every last page and used beyond ruin. the rest were hidden between his headboard and the wall. you pretended not to know, after stumbling upon them while changing his sheets.

closing the door to your home felt eerily empty. it looked the same as every day. the couch was cleaned and the floors swept. dishes rinsed and promptly put away. but with your lingering gaze your mind fixated on the dining table set for four, two adult pairs of shoes at the door, one pink backpack slumped on the hook of the closet door with an empty space below. your chest twisted at the lack of clutter, though it’d been like that for some time, with tsumiki and megumi growing older and cleaning up after themselves properly like you taught them. like you wanted. the pride you initially felt with those memories of parenting were becoming eclipsed with resentment and despair.

the ride to school was quick and familiar, megumi knew well what he was getting into after visiting there to train. satoru liked to call them little getaways from megumi’s civilian life, claiming he wasted too much time around non-sorcerers when he could be on missions with his ever-loving benefactor instead.

satoru, who was whining while he laid himself across the three seats in the back of your car. you’d banished him there for such a special occasion, and he threatened to transport himself to the school alone. an empty threat, at best. he didn’t want to miss this. 

megumi had sparred with the older students and found himself thrown around the field many times already. he knew his way to the infirmary by heart, he knew where gojo tucked away his most powerful curse-imbued weapons (that were supposed to be under the surveillance of higher ups), and knew what letter-number combination granted him the ginger chips nobody else seemed to like. 

you were glad he was comfortable. you were glad he would fall into routine easily after the repeated trips to jujutsu high and developing a rapport with his upperclassmen. you’d waited for the day that he’d truly be part of the jujutsu world and welcomed into a better suited environment for people like him. and you knew he would be great, he already possessed an incredible technique and wielded it like he’d been fine-tuning it since birth. far ahead from most kids his age, you were proud.

still, your gut was sinking, sinking, sinking into the floor with each passing second.

megumi picked his room in one of the far-away corners of the boys dormitory, leaving inumaki and panda heartbroken (panda said he would find a way to organize sleepover. megumi said he would drop out before that happened. inumaki cried– no, wailed at the rejection). yuuta fell into step with you, slipping one of the boxes out of your hands and insisting on helping instead. it was sweet, if it didn’t feel like he was ripping precious time away from you.

but you smiled, and granted his wish. megumi wasn’t complaining, he liked yuuta more than the others. it was a good chance for them to talk more. all of this, a chance, a new chapter, the rest of his life. the thoughts weighed on your shoulders with a disgusting strain traveling to your fingertips.

you were painfully aware you were in your own head, doing this all to yourself. he wasn’t going away, you would still be seeing him, more than you used to when he went to his other schools. he would always be here.

satoru found you in your classroom, while you were organizing the stationary with an unnaturally stiff composure. your arms were tense, he could see the muscles constantly flexing with each of your movements.

your jaw was clenching and unclenching again. you made a point not to look outside, where the second-years were training brashly after successfully moving their things back into their dorms. you made a point not to meet satoru’s dangerous stare as he shut the door to your classroom, as if it granted any privacy with the seven large windows running along the wall that showcased the hallway. 

“what are you doing all by yourself, beautiful?” his tone was soft and inviting, begging you to open up and let yourself fall against the cushion of his words. 

“um,” you exhaled, voice shaky. you scrunched your face to break apart the tension that had hardened your expression. “i figured i would get a few things ready for tomorrow.”

it took satoru’s long legs two-and-a-half strides to meet you at your desk, where you gently shut the drawer. there were a handful of dated photographs in there, signed with his name and the chicken scratch of two children. 

“it’s all ready, baby. we did that last week.”

(correction: you did it. he tagged along for the shopping trip).

“there’s just… a few things...” you mumbled, not finding the strength to finish your own sentence. 

satoru gently placed his hand on your shoulder, emitting inhuman warmth that spread across your skin. you leaned into him as he dragged his hand down your arm and intertwined your fingers with the care of handling fine china. his presence brought you solace, effortlessly bringing the walls down that you desperately wanted to wait until you got home to break.

he kissed the back of your hand and rubbed the skin. “you know you’re going to see him every day, right?”

it was embarrassing how well satoru knew you, knew your thought process like it was an extension of his own. he knew your doubts and insecurities, your fears and desires. he could predict the words before they came from your mouth, more in tune with the way you spoke than his mother tongue.

“mhm.”

“you know we’re going to be the ones chaperoning his missions, right?”

you closed your eyes and looked away. “i know.”

“do you remember when he said he’d like to go home some weekends, and have dinner?”

“he said that to be nice.”

“when has he ever been nice?”

you opened your eyes to glare at him, though he was right. megumi was not nice. he was polite. he was too self-aware for his own good, too perceptive of others and their emotions. in all the time that you’d known him, raised him, he made himself smaller for the convenience of others. he walked on his tiptoes for a year and a half so no one else would wake up because of him. he made his own breakfast and bit back his tears when he burned himself. he didn’t ask for things or food and didn’t offer his input unless asked directly. for some time, he was a ghost in his own home. 

it seemed as soon as the bits of his shell started to break off, he was being swept away from you by the jujutsu world, leaving you with looming fears that consumed your mind and disrupted your sleep for weeks.

satoru smiled, though it was weighed down with your sadness. “hey, he’s not going anywhere, you know that. just because you’re not driving him home everyday doesn’t mean he’s gone.”

it’s funny, it’s nearly the same speech he gave you when tsumiki started middle school. and when megumi followed those same steps.

tsumiki didn’t make it this far, though.

the thought makes your lip wobble again, and you bite it back pathetically.

“i know. i know that. it’s just that…” your voice cracked, and you shoved your head in your hands. your palms squeezed your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the already-flowing tears. “he’s not my little boy anymore.”

satoru’s soothing hands pull you into a tight hug, and you don’t have it in you yet to move your hands from your face. his embrace makes you sob harder, louder as all your emotions from the last week begin to pour out at once. his chest rumbled with your cries, and he tucked you further under his arms as if to shield you from what was making you hurt so much. it was all you.

“baby…” he chuckled, without a hint mirth or mockery. he squeezed you with compassion and adoration. “you know that’s not true. he’s still pretty short, he’s got another growth spurt coming.”

a small laugh slipped through, but was quickly drowned out by your cries.

“he’ll be okay. he’s still here.”

he was so, so warm. he gently began to rock back and forth with you, the heels of your shoes gently clicking on the tile floor. a small hiccup erupted from you as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest. the familiar thrum of his heartbeat welcomed you.

“i know, i’m sorry. i know he’s not leaving, or anything… i just… i thought i was ready.” you blubbered into his button-up. surely, there’d be two wet spots where your eyes were when you pulled away.

he swayed side to side with you, staring at the blackboard ahead of him. he nestled his chin on the top of your head, wondering if you could hear the cracks tearing through his heart. “it’s okay if you’re not ready. but you’re treating this like it's goodbye.”

“but what if we don’t get a goodbye?”

“okay, you really are overthinking this,” he pulled away from your embrace, your fingers still digging into the material of his shirt. he brushed away the hair covering your eyes, stuck to your skin by the wetness of your cheeks. streaks ran through your foundation and the corners of your eyes were smudged. “there you are. so pretty.”

it was silly how he believed he could make things better like that. it was silly that he was a little bit right.

“don’t think for a second i’ll let megumi be sent on a mission he can’t handle. he’s going to be fine.”

satoru’s love ran deep. for you, for megumi, for all his students. he fought curses everyday for you, rotted himself with his technique and stitched himself back up in a moment’s notice to fight for you. to come home to you. all of humanity be damned, those closest to him were the ones he fought for, and he would do everything in his power to preserve their lives.

he already towed the line with the higher-ups and their conservative rules and regulations, but he would tear them down if you asked. for megumi, he’d fight tooth and nail to see that he wasn’t being sent off on a mission ill-prepared. under his watch, things would be different for his students. 

you nodded meekly, wiping away your tears with one hand. “i hate when you’re right, toru. it’s really annoying.”

he smoothed down your hair and grinned. “i know, just let me have this one, though.”

his sweet murmurs filled your ears, along with the gentle shuffling of your clothes as you made yourself presentable again. you balled up your sleeves and patted the corners of your eyes gently, and he straightened out the hem of your shirt. it was wrinkled, a reminder of how harshly you clung to him.

you smiled at the water stains on his shirt now, and he claimed it was in need of dry cleaning anyway.

neither of you noticed the eyes of megumi and yuuta, both stuck in place at the very corner of the windows leading to the hallway. they had training staffs with them, megumi’s grip becoming tighter as he watched you wipe your eyes and knock your head into satoru’s chest lazily. your shoulders low, clearly drained from the amount you cried. 

yuuta was frozen, eyes flickering from you to megumi repeatedly. he found his courage in placing a hand on his shoulder, a feather-light grip. “hey, let’s go through the east wing. i’m pretty sure it’s faster that way.”

it wasn’t. but megumi nodded anyway, begrudgingly tearing his gaze from you and turning around with yuuta. 

you stared down the red light of the intersection with a blank face, blank mind. letting it all out of your system had successfully flushed out your emotions, taking the rest of your energy along with it. the car was painfully quiet, but no part of you wanted to listen to anything.

satoru was whisked away by yaga, being delivered another mission he swore would take less than a day. ‘less than twelve hours’, he promised to be back for megumi’s first day. he would make it.

it was dark, and you milked all the time you could on school grounds. speaking with yaga and shoko, running through the still-developing information of missions to be sent on. cleaning the classrooms. the lockers. stocking the teachers lounge. dusting the armory. before you knew it the curfew ushered the students into their dorms.

a ringtone broke through your thoughts, making you jump. though the tune was soft, the sudden intrusion made it much more shrill. you fumbled with your phone in the passenger seat, seeing megumi’s contact on the screen.

“hello?”

“hey, mom?”

it took everything you had left not to gawk. he said it before, sparingly in desperation for comfort. his voice was quiet, a near-whisper despite the fact he was alone in his dorm. like he was nervous.

“yes, megumi?”

“um… are you home?”

you wondered if he forgot something. “no, i’m still driving. are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i just… can’t sleep, i guess…” he trailed off, hoping for you to fill in the gap.

“oh. okay. did you take–“

“do you think you could pick me up?” he interrupted. “and i just stay home tonight? you could drive me in the morning.”

you were quick to dissolve into a smile, pointed at the streetlamp on the sidewalk. sadness struck your eyes but you were too occupied by the warmth of his question to feel it.

“yeah. i can be back there in a few minutes, just let me turn around.”

“thanks.”

he didn’t hang up. neither did you. the silence lived on for a few seconds.

“mom?”

“yeah?”

“… gojo’s on a mission, right?”

you laughed, your hand sliding across the steering wheel as you reouted back to the school. “yeah, megs, he’ll be gone tonight.”

“he’s back tomorrow?”

“yeah, we can leave before he gets home.”

“thanks.”

bonus:

satoru tiptoed through the entrance of your home, brushing his blindfold over his hair and peeling it off his head. he hung it up with his keys, lax arms nearly missing the hook on the closet door meant for him. it was beyond late, and he was tired, but he was home like he said he would be.

he bent down to tie his shoes, buffering momentarily as he caught a glance of well-worn sneakers at the front door. they were as clean as they could be, though scuffed rubber turning gray and the laces becoming frayed where they were tightened most.

satoru made a grunt in acknowledgement to no one but himself, as he tossed his shoes down. he glanced around the living space, cautiously bringing himself to each room with a curious itch to scratch. a third pair of shoes. both backpacks on the door. dishes for two placed on the drying rack. 

he was expertly quiet by nature, but found himself avoiding the squeaky floorboards on the stairs and all the way to the hallway. he was greeted with a blue sign, corners covered with dog stickers. the frilly handwriting of tsumiki warding off unwanted visitors with the phrase: “megumi’s room. keep out!!”

the door opened quietly, satoru pushing it open to the limit and stopping before it would let out an ungodly squeak. he insisted on never getting it fixed, knowing it bothered megumi.

megumi had his face shoved in his pillow, a desperate attempt to block out any light creeping through the crack of his bedroom door or the streetlamp just outside the window. he was always a light sleeper, always on edge, sleeping with his back to the wall so if something barged in the night he was ready. it was horrible he thought that way, you always said. 

his duvet covers were black and white plaid, per his request three years ago when he begged to be free of the puppy sheets. still, he seemed small, curled up in a ball. his face was released of the usual tension and his light breathing filled the room. for a moment, he was little again.

megumi groans, tipping his head back in a silent prayer while you fail to fight the look of disgust curling at your lips and digging into the skin between your eyebrows. you whip your head and gave a warning glare to the driver through the tinted windows with experienced accuracy, the interaction so familiar you could almost see the way his eyes lit up and his lips tilted into a lopsided smirk behind the glass.

the sleek sports car comes to an abrupt stop, parking crookedly next to your car. it was a deep blue mclaren, he'd gotten it soon after the papers were finalized. a show of how he was still capable of maintaining his wealth after losing half. his elbow was out of the window first, followed by the tilt of his head, his bright white hair sticking out like a cotton ball that had been pulled apart by the wind.

"hey, baby!" he calls, sticking his head farther out. his smile takes up half his face, you could almost see the way his eyes were squinted with joy behind his lenses.

“satoru, turn the music down.”

“what?” he moves his sunglasses to the top of his head, pulling his hair back and letting you see the way his expression drops to one of confusion. his face scrunches with the lack of comprehension and harsh rays of the sun. he turns the volume down some to hear properly, the ghost of a smile lingering.

you roll your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line. "get out of the car."

“i think i see yuuji,” megumi says suddenly, his legs carrying him to the field in a speed walk. he was getting taller, his legs longer and faster.

don't leave me here with him, you silently plead as you watched him dart away. though, you knew he was better off far, far away from the storm that was brewing on the sidewalk. he met up with his friend by the brick pillar, yuuji waving enthusiastically. you watch as megumi snatches yuuji away sharply around the pillar just as his friend opened his mouth to say something.

the mclaren shuts off, the air quiet for a moment before satoru stumbles out of the door with an offended scoff. “what? megumi!” he tried to call out, but the little boy was already gone. 

he strolls to the sidewalk next to you, then stands with his hip popped out, one hand supporting himself. his hair is soft in the light of the sun, freshly washed with that fancy conditioner you got him one year that he couldn’t part with now. his white button up and dress pants are too fancy for a baseball game, under the constant threat of dirt and grime and sticky fingers.

he's dressed for a date, you realize. the idea of him taking megumi home and then running around with his newest interest makes your eyes twitch. rolling your lips into your mouth, you silently hope sitting in the relentless heat for the next two hours is enough to give him sweat stains.

satoru looks at you, his eyebrows raising accusingly over the sunglasses now tipped down the bridge of his nose. “did you send him away?”

you scoff, your lips curling into a delirious, bewildered smile that could only exist in the tortuous frustrations that the existence of satoru gojo brought upon you. something only he could accomplish in seconds of announcing his presence. “don't put that on me, you did that yourself. you scared him off.”

“me? scare him off?” satoru points to himself with an incredulous expression. “that kid’s not afraid of anything, he won’t even get a nightlight.”

“well, surviving his time at your house has proved he can live through anything.”

“he loves my house!”

“is that why he pretends to be sick every every other week?” you cross your arms, looking in the other direction.

“it’s very real and it’s because you have asbestos, honey.”

your nostrils flare, jaw ticking uncomfortably with a pressure you think might shatter it.

satoru waves a hand dismissively. “he always feels better when he gets to my house, gets outside on his bike and everything.”

the bass boosted speakers of his car must have damaged his ears.

for a moment you consider if it's worth it to argue visitation only. you turn your back to him and pace toward the bleachers, the heels of your shoes clicking against the concrete. you mutter to yourself, "uh huh. lets just go."

he's quick to follow, strolling up to your side with a saunter he only acted out when he knew he was on your nerves. he flares out his strides and stretches his spine taller. satoru’s eyes slowly rake over you, absorbing the way your clothes fit and the color of your skin in the warm sun. even if he wasn't painfully shameless, you could feel it, a now useless skill you had no choice but living with for the rest of your life.

you keep your head straight, a weak act of defiance when you were becoming stiff with fluster and your cheeks burn obviously.

“you look good.”

“you need a haircut," you snap.

satoru pouts, a hand instinctively coming up to fluff his hair. “i just got it cut.” 

you give him a questionable look, and triumph surges through him, bleeding through where his lips tilt upward in a smirk. looking in his direction was a dopamine hit for him, his limbs turning gooey and his chest becoming warm and spreading over his spine and the back of his neck.

“well, don’t go back. looks like you went to greatclips.”

“mei did it.”

laughter bubbles from your throat, uncontrollable and mocking. “oh, that explains it.”

"she said it's in style right now!"

your expression turns wry, looking in the opposite direction with raised eyebrows and a roguish smirk. "mei will say anything, if you pay her enough."

you wonder how much she charged for his haircut. your friendship with mei had been cordial at it's best over the years, but even as you observed her with her closer relationships, it was clear there wasn't much in this world she'd commit to without some sort of monetary incentive.

you were always convinced the tension she had with satoru at the tail end of your relationship was deliberate as he became more successful. as much as he wanted to believe he was a good judge of character, he wasn't immune to leeches, especially those who's evolution of friendship is clouded with nostalgia from their adolescence. your morbid curiosity mulled over the question of how much their entanglement had developed since things ended.

your face feels hot, between the beating sun and the indiscernible emotions brewing under your skin. you hadn't realized your lips dropped into a frown and your nose scrunched.

satoru's eyes squint for a moment, a glint of mischief sparkling, and his tongue runs over his teeth. the expression passes as quickly as it appeared, and he looks ahead to the baseball field again with a proud smirk.

"if you want me to call you, all you have to do is say so."

"oh, please," you scoffed. "you wish it were that easy."

your fingers twitch, muscles aching with atrophy at the long lost feeling of carding your fingers through satoru's hair. you remembered the purr he'd let out as you scratched along his scalp with shampoo, the way his whole body turned to putty in your hands.

satoru's feet tilt to the left and you find yourself following him to the brick walls. you cast a sideways glance to the field where parents gather, finding their places on the bleachers.

"satoru, where are you—"

he brings you to the concession stand. he slides in place before a family of five can take it first, resulting in their distant, insulting murmurs.

"you want a pretzel?" he looks at you, sliding down his sunglasses slightly. it's not a question.

"no."

"yeah, you do."

"no, satoru, i want to find a seat—"

he turns his back to you, and leans down to the concession stand window. he doesn't need to. he could just stand like a normal person. he ignores your protest behind him, turning into far-away whispers telling him there's snacks in the car.

"hi, there. could i get a pretzel, two cookies— do you guys have ginger chips? yeah, ginger chips, i know— and a lemonade? great, thanks!"

you close your eyes, taking a calming breath as he lays down far too much money for that little food. he collects the food in his arms, and takes a loud slurp of the lemonade through the swirly straw meant for children.

"okay, ready!"

another calm breath, as you lead him away from the concession.

you find your places on the short, metal bleachers that lined the baseball field. you make sure to place your purse in between the two of you with some considerable distance. satoru almost seemed impressed by the act of separation, a little bit of shock at the gall you had to do such a thing. regardless, it takes less than a second for him to casually snatch your purse and move it to the bleachers in front of you next to his food. he scoots closer, leaving barely a few inches on the bleachers and letting the spread of his legs knock into your knee.

irritation crawls over your skin leaving a violent urge in its wake, but all you do is huff and clasp your hands together on your thighs with faux amiableness. he huffs back, triumphant, and looks out to the field, before spotting megumi in the dugout and waving his hand wildly.

"megumi, hey!" satoru smiles brightly. "remember what we talked about, okay?"

the only evidence of megumi hearing satoru's voice is the roll of his eyes that follows, not bothering to look over.

your head whips in his direction. "what on earth would you have talked about?"

"he asked me for some baseball tips when he was at my house," he says as if it's obvious, shrugging.

"no, he didn't."

"he did!" satoru says defensively. "he knows i was a baseball coach."

"it was tee ball and it was two semesters of your senior year. you haven't even touched a baseball since."

"it's experience."

"you lied to him."

"i exaggerated the truth."

"you're unbelievable."

you cross your arms and squeeze the skin of your biceps as you look out to the field. your eyes meet megumi's, who stares back with the same contemplation he had before every game, his anxiety flaring due to the crowd and satoru's unashamed antics. if he faked sick, he wouldn't have to play. in fact, you would end up getting him whatever food he wanted and a movie of his choice before bed.

megumi sighs, looking away and bringing his knees to his chest on the bench. he unties and reties his cleats. you watch as yuuji throws himself down next to him, his arm instinctively wrapping around megumi's shoulder and shaking him wildly.

you rip off a chunk of the pretzel and take a bite. you know satoru is grinning next to you.

a couple walks by the front of the bleachers, interrupting your view. they have a child in between them, his a soccer uniform caked with dirt and sweat. the wife eyes the two of you with admiration and glances out to the field. "oh, which one is yours?"

satoru's eyes sparkle with the blessings of premonition. "number ten!"

she looks out to the field and places a hand on her heart, "oh, he's so cute!"

"yep! he gets it from his mom," satoru stretches, his hand clamping down on the metal bleacher on the other side of you, caging you in with shameless adoration. the side of his chest squishes against your shoulder as he pulls you close.

"uh-uh, get off." you try removing him from you, but he only leans in further, knowing there was no bite to your words.

satoru looks down at you, his nose just a few inches away from yours. you tilt your chin and hesitate, the sudden softness in his gaze short-circuiting your brain for a moment. he maintains eye contact, his lips curling into a gentle smile like he knows the effect he has. his hand snakes up and squeezes your waist.

she giggles at the show, placing a hand on her husband's arm. "how long have you been married?"

"four years."

"divorced."

you look to her with a tight smile, ignoring the dramatic sigh next to you.

her eyes widen, and her husband looks at her with discomfort. one hand raises to fiddle with the charm on her necklace. "oh, well that's…" she blushes, looking back at satoru. "still so sweet of you, to show up for… um…"

satoru chuckles. "for the kids, right?"

she laughs weakly, patting her son on the shoulder. "right, yes. well, we should get going."

quickly, they excused themselves, shuffling across the concrete until they disappear in the parking lot. once they were out of sight, you scoot away from satoru, picking up his arm and throwing it back in his lap.

"did you really have to do that?" you scoff, shaking your head.

he tilts his head back with a whine, "oh, come on. you couldn't just play along?"

"why would i do that?" you sigh, exasperated.

satoru tsked, leaning into you slightly. "for the kids, baby, come on."

"every decision i've made has been for the kids."

as the words fall from your mouth, a thick blanket of guilt lays over you. you look away quickly, staring down the field that the children found their positions on. you squeeze your hands into fists as you picture the way satoru's face drops next to you, the theatrics dropping for a moment as your words hit him like a gut punch that sucks the obnoxious air from his lungs.

the expression haunts you, forcing reminiscence on the decision that rocked both of your lives. when the demand had left you, and the blood drained from his face, his eyes becoming hollow and barren from anything at all while his mind drifted in confusion. your life together passed over his vision in glimpses, you knew that because you'd already gone through it when you made your decision weeks before.

satoru clears his throat, looking out to the field as well. megumi is in the outfield, where he was most comfortable, away from everyone else.

you eyes roam the rest of the park, where games had started. in the distance you spot a looming figure prowling the perimeter of the field, his eyes narrowed aggressively as he looks through the chain link fence, finding his way to the bleachers. the air warps around him. disgust is scrawled over his face, deep in his wrinkles that pull his eyebrows and the corners of his lips, like this was the last place on earth he wanted to be and everyone around him should be aware, for their own well being.

he carries a dark duffel, the weight of whatever inside drooping in the center. he holds it with one hand like it weighs nothing, and judging by the size of his arms, you could assume it really is nothing to him.

satoru follows your gaze, his mouth dropping open with a careless display of disgust. "oh, you've got to be—"

"sukuna!" you call, grinning like you hit the jackpot. in a way, you had. your cheeks hurt from the way they pinch with pure delight.

sukuna meets your eyes, recognition softening his gaze, before he glances at the person next to you and his face hardens again. his nostrils flare and he makes his way to your bleachers.

he approaches and drops his duffel next to your purse, the bleachers rattling loudly at the careless crash against metal. it all but silences the parents on the other side, who gasp and watch him cautiously as he climbs the bleachers to sit next to you. he doesn't pay them any mind, looking out to the field instead and stretching himself across the open space without regard.

"what the hell is in that thing?" satoru grumbles, glaring at the duffel that managed to catch everyone's attention.

sukuna ignores him. instead, his eyes rake over you. "you look good, you been at the gym?"

satoru bristles beside you, a scoff escaping him.

bingo.

you roll your eyes as you blush, "oh, no. not lately."

he smirks. "coulda fooled me."

you lean forward, carefully grabbing the stuffed animal on a carabiner attached to one of the handles. "oh, this is cute! is this yuuji's?"

sukuna grunts with disapproval. it's a piece of plastic covered in orange fur with a hard face, sharp pointy teeth that rivaled his own drawn in a wide, mischievous grin.

"yeah, some laboo thing that's popular. nobara convinced him he needed one so they could match." he shakes his head. "damn brat wasting my money."

you smile softly. "i should get megumi one so they can all match."

"it's a scam."

"a cute scam. look at him!"

sukuna looks at you with a frown, almost disappointed with your commitment to this item you learned of seconds ago. his eyes are gentle, the only indicator of any amity while the rest of his appearance was brooding and rough. he sits down next to you, bracing his forearms against his thick thighs as he leans forward.

next to you, satoru had distracted himself with his phone. uncharacteristic, but pleasant.

"how's work treatin' you?" sukuna asks, looking at you. "that kenny guy still giving you trouble?"

the bleachers grind as satoru stiffens, no doubt a look of betrayal and confusion etched into his face. he knew about your promotion out of your department, being surrounded by new faces and bosses you'd have to impress and prove yourself to all over again. but you hadn't told him about any trouble.

you wince. "well, he was on vacation this week. but it's, you know, rocky."

"someone's giving you trouble?" satoru pushes up his sunglasses.

"it's not like that, he's just—"

"a dick," sukuna finishes. "probably the reason the person in your position quit, anyway."

"we don't know that."

satoru pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "when did that start?"

"right after she moved offices," sukuna grumbles an answer fo you.

"and you didn't tell me?"

you roll your eyes. "every office has a resident asshole."

"mine doesn't."

you and sukuna look at him, mirrored expressions of raised eyebrows and a skeptical gaze as you wait for the moment that it clicks. it doesn't come.

a sharp slap echoes from the field, and the three of you look over to see number thirteen on the opposite team sprint from home base. the ball flies through the air, far into the field, landing softy into megumi's glove.

the opposite team groans as the player lazily jogs to the bench, his legs dragging with defeat.

you're quick to squeal, clapping excitedly while satoru stands on the bleachers and draws all attention to himself.

"good catch, megumi!"

you can see his frown from here, dragging down the corners of his face. he throws the ball to the pitcher with a heavy sigh, as if suddenly bored. absentmindedly, you eat another piece of the pretzel.

satoru sits again, grinning proudly with his sweaty palms bracing against his dress pants. "i showed him that."

"how to catch a ball?"

satoru offers you the lemonade, and you take a sip.

"how to look cool while doing it."

sukuna rolls his eyes next to you.

the game goes on. the teams switch positions and yuuji is one of the first up to bat. the bleachers groan under sukuna's tension. he leans forward with a hardened gaze of concentration, the kind of expression that would make anyone else think he was cursing this small child.

you watch as yuuji hits the cheap bat against the dirt twice, dust flying up and staining the white uniform pants. he crouches, positioning it over his shoulder with a determined glare, and you hear sukuna growl in approval.

the ball is thrown, and yuuji swings his bat. it echoes through the field with a resounding crack! and before anyone can land their eyes on the baseball, yuuji is already disappearing from home base. a swarm of red dust is left in his place, lingering in the air and trailing him as he digs each foot into the dirt to propel himself forward.

he's fast. it's nothing new, and not hard to forget with all the times you've seen him run around your backyard or bounce off the walls of your home when he's with megumi, but seeing him move with such drive still makes your eyes bug out of your head.

sukuna claps his hands once, rocking back on the bleachers with a silent fist pump. his tension is replaced with a smirk that blooms with pride.

the ball is out of the field, the opposite team had given up and resigned themselves to watching it fly into the distant woods. still, yuuji makes a show of hitting all three bases with a gleeful leap, and slides across the dirt back to home base.

his team is cheering, bouncing off each other— dragging each other by their clothes in excitement too big for their bodies. he makes his way to the dugout, immediately being shook by the other players in congratulations.

"that's what i'm talking about," sukuna grumbles to himself, dragging his hand over his mouth.

satoru cheers, wooing loudly. "yeeaaah! let's go yuuji! good job!"

yuuji turns, his eyes wide with adrenaline and excitement. he gives a proud thumbs up.

your claps wind down as the next player comes up to bat, and satoru settled back next to you. the side of his body presses against yours, and his elbow leans on the cool metal behind you.

"that kid's somethin' else, sweets," he hums, tilting his head. "it's good for megumi to have him around."

"yeah," you murmur. the side of your body is sticky with the sweat seeping through satoru's dress shirt. "they balance each other out."

your eyes drift to satoru as he takes a bite of one of his chocolate chip cookies that had quickly melted in the sun. he laps up the dripping chocolate with his tongue, and devours it in a second bite.

you just watch him. from this angle, you could see his eyes just past the thin frames of his sunglasses, no dark barrier keeping you from seeing his bright blues focused on the game, attentive and anticipating. you do think he wishes sometimes he went further with baseball, or any sport, unfortunately he was skilled in every single one he tried. his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks, every so often catching on his lenses— that's why he kept them so far down his nose most of the time, you knew.

the chocolate smeared over the corner of his mouth, which he doesn't notice as he wipes off his hands with a napkin.

"satoru."

his eyebrows shoot up as he looks at you, the gentleness of your tone catching him off guard.

you lick your thumb, and swipe it across the corner of his mouth with furrowed eyebrows. your thumb dips along the soft pink of his lower lip, slowly. to thoroughly catch all the chocolate, of course.

satoru is not a man easily fooled. as you pull your hand away, he tilts his head with a knowing smirk. "if you wanted to lick me, all you had to do—"

you roll your eyes, looking away as you lick the chocolate off your thumb. you swallow it down with satoru's lemonade. "don't start."

it's the final inning.

it's megumi's turn to bat, and you wrap your fingers over the edge of the bleachers and dig your skin into the cold metal as you brace yourself. the bat twists in his hands with the unease that had building in his gut, the dread pooling in anticipation for this moment— where he could feel your eyes on him, and hear the creak of the bleachers underneath satoru's excited rocking back and forth.

he pulls the bat up to his shoulder, and grinds his cleats into the dirt.

satoru pries your hand off the bleachers, squeezing it instead. you squeeze back.

the pitcher winds up, and throws the ball. your breath hitches.

smack!

the ball slaps against the bat and ricochets into the air with far more strength than anticipated from a brooding 11 year old. it soars above the heads of the opposite team, not as powerful as his friend's swing before, so they start to race it toward the outfield.

the bleachers rattle as you and satoru jump to your feet, your hand instinctively wrapping around his forearm as you watch megumi.

he drops the bat to the side and jogs to first base like he couldn't care less, digging his feet into the white plate.

the opposite team is scrambling to chase down the ball as it rolls through the grass.

"megumi! keep going!"

"megs, come on! second base!"

your heart is racing as your nails dig into satoru's arm with a rough shake, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. satoru doesn't notice, he's hunched next to you with a focused glare, like he's fighting every urge in his body to lunge over the seats and shake the chain link fence himself.

megumi looks back to meet your eyes, and you watch his shoulders drop with a dramatic sigh. he starts a reluctant jog to second base, casting a glance to the other players as they finally grasp the ball and toss it closer to the center field.

he passes over second base, and keeps running.

an excited scream escapes you, as you tug satoru closer to you like a rag doll. he shakes free of your iron grip and wraps his arm around your back instead, his eyes on the field. your hand bunches into his dress shirt. you're both shaking back and forth in anticipation, like megumi alone carries the family's honor on his little head.

"come on megumi! you got it!"

"home base! go to home base!"

he slows down as he approaches third base, cautiously looking behind him where the opposite team has their eyes on him and the ball flies through the air with impending doom. still, his feet slam against the plate harder and faster.

"bring it home, megumi!"

he stomps over home base, just before the baseball makes contact with the player guarding the plate. his team in the dugout erupts like they'd been holding back the entire game for this moment, megumi's moment. their screams of joy slice through the ear, triggering ringing ears across the bleachers.

satoru jumps once, rattling the metal seats for everyone else, who glare at him pointedly. a drink spills. a purse falls to the ground. he doesn't care, pumping one first in the air proudly as the air warps around him with his chanting.

"yeah, let's fucking go, megumi!"

(there's a hush from a nearby parent, only sukuna hears it, and snickers).

you're still tucked into satoru, clapping excitedly as you watch megumi get toppled by his team. they're loud, ignoring the whistling from the coach to separate them. it's fruitless, the boys are too far gone in their dogpile in the dirt while they cheer him on.

he's pulled out by yuuji, who tackles him off to the side himself, bouncing like his bones are made of springs. he's thrashing megumi back and forth like he has no say in this matter, which he really doesn't.

the game ends there, 13-8.

you descend the bleachers, slipping out of satoru's grasp. his eyebrows jump with surprise as he steadies his shoes on the concrete, and he nearly presses himself against your back as you walk closer to the fence. you don't acknowledge it, too preoccupied with the anticipation of megumi finally leaving the field. your chest was tight with pride, your heart swelling with excitement at the instance of megumi finally trying, inching towards his potential.

the players are released, a swarm of body odor, sweat, and dirt escaping the dugouts as they disperse across the sidewalk to find their families. it's easy to spot megumi, being dragged by the hand by a still-bouncing yuuji— the boy had inhuman levels of energy.

he's already rambling when he catches up to you, speaking too fast and too soon for you to catch on to what he's saying or who he was trying to speak to. his eyes are wide and sparkling when he tugs megumi to his side, then raises their hands together.

"did you see that? did you see fushiguro? he ran so fast! i thought he was going to stop, buthejustkeptgoing—"

megumi's face is red with embarrassment as he tugs his hand back to his body, and crosses his arms. "it's not like i won the game, we were already winning."

satoru is next to embarrass him, carelessly clamping his hand down on megumi's sweaty hair, and rocking his head back and forth. "you killed it out there, megumi! you learn something from your old man, huh?"

the boy sneers. "what would i learn from you?"

satoru frowns, and you step forward before he can keep talking.

"you did great, megs! your home run was incredible, i'm so proud of you!"

he keeps his arms crossed, looking away from you, but the absence of a snide comment told you enough.

yuuji waves goodbye with both hands as makes his way to sukuna still sitting in the empty stands. sukuna is quick to hoist him over his shoulder (just to hear his squeals of playful terror), and grab his mystery duffel with his other hand as he stands.

you smile. "bye, sukuna! it was nice seeing you!"

his grin is wicked, and the wink that follows is even more diabolical.

satoru scoffs under his breath. "what a tool."

megumi raises an eyebrow. "what does that mean?"

"i'll tell you later," satoru stage-whispers.

"no, you won't," you say sharpy, glaring at your ex husband.

your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, despite the adrenaline fizzling out of your body. you meet satoru's eyes, still standing with his body against yours, smirking at you like he's won at something. his arm snakes around your side with a possession that had been kept at a distance for years.

you don't fight it, not really, you only squint at him as he squeezes your skin.

he pats megumi's shoulder with the bag of ginger chips from the concession stand, before handing them to him normally. "bet you're starved, huh? she feed you this morning?"

you roll your eyes. "you say that like i'm the one who leaves him alone to make ramen himself."

megumi wipes his hands on the only clean part of his uniform before eating the chips.

satoru lifts a finger defensively, hovering it in front of your nose. "i did not leave him alone, and tsumiki said she wanted to make dinner!"

"you know she should not be operating a stove."

"she wants to learn! who am i to get in the way of a blossoming mind?"

you look down at megumi, tilting your head. "you hungry, megumi? for real food?"

he nods.

satoru crouches next to megumi with the grace of a car dealership floatie man. "what are you feeling? thai? chicken? burgers?"

you close your eyes to take a deep, calming breath. "i'm cooking dinner tonight, satoru."

"what? what kind of victory meal is that?"

"is there something wrong with my cooking?"

satoru pales like he didn't expect that, and for the first time in a long time his smile is more nervous than smug. "what? no, baby, i'm just saying he should be able to eat out! let's take him out after a good game! megumi?"

his look is pleading, for backup he usually doesn't get, only from tsumiki on occasion.

merciful, megumi shrugs. "burgers sound fine."

he might as well be jumping for joy.

satoru stretches his arms as he stands. "what about our spot by the park? yeah? great!"

you look at him skeptically, your eyes flickering down to the dress pants stained with dirt somehow, and the nice button-up that had become wrinkled with your sweaty palms balling it up earlier. maybe his date would think him a little pathetic.

"don't you have somewhere to be?"

your ex husband smirks, tilting his head. "i only dress like this for you, sweets."

you blink. you should have realized sooner.

this is his date.

the muscle under your eye twitches with irritation, at your lack of forethought or the audacity of him, you're not sure.

his elbow locks with yours, as he tugs you toward the parking lot, parading you like you're his prize.

"so, the usual? i don't want to hear you switched up your order once we sit down, that'll be embarrassing for me."

"are you serious?"

he brings you to the side of his car, opening the door for you. with a glance, you can see the stuffed, palm-sized sun he kept on his dashboard while you were dating. it was once a pure yellow with orange flame, but had been bleached after all the years beneath his windshield.

there was a matching moon back at home, sitting on your nightstand.

satoru's stomach grumbles, but he only brightens. as you pause, he gestures to his body as living proof. "this is life and death, baby. i'm starving."

megumi welcomes himself to the back seat, kicking his dirty cleats against the ground before settling in. satoru doesn't pay it or the dirt on his fancy leather seats any mind, too focused on you. (he will never mind, a cleaning bill costs nothing if it means megumi sticks around).

you looked at your ex-husband with caution. "no funny business."

"rude." he pulled himself through with that athletic grace that came so naturally to him—the same grace that made him captain of three sports teams and the golden boy of the neighborhood. your parents loved him. his parents loved you. everyone thought you two were just childhood friends who grew up in houses side by side.

nobody knew about the midnight visits.

"i have a perfectly good front door," you reminded him as he landed softly on your carpet, all six feet of him suddenly taking up so much space in your small room.

"where's the fun in that?" he was already close, too close, he backed you up until your legs hit your bed. you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. "besides, your dad would make me sit through another lecture about college applications."

"It's almost winter, satoru. that tree is going to be too icy to climb soon." you tilted your head back to look at him properly, noting the way his pupils dilated slightly in the darkness, how his breathing had picked up just from being close to you.

"guess I'll have to come more often before then." his voice dropped lower, softer, as his hand came up to cup your face. his thumb traced your cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "couldn't sleep without seeing you anyway."

your breath caught. It always did, no matter how many nights he showed up. "you saw me literally eight hours ago. at dinner. at your house."

"exactly. eight hours too long." his other hand found your hip, fingers slipping just under the hem of your sleep shirt to touch bare skin, and you felt goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.

and then he was kissing you, soft and sweet and entirely unfair. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer as you fisted your hands in his hoodie—the one you'd stolen last week and he'd stolen back yesterday. he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, even though you both knew he didn't.

when he pulled back, you were breathless, your lips tingling. his forehead rested against yours, and you could see the satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "you can't keep doing this."

"mm, you say that every time." he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, then your nose, making it scrunch up, then the corner of your mouth where you could feel his smile. "and yet, you always open the window."

"because I'm an idiot." your fingers were still twisted in his hoodie, holding him close even as you protested.

"because you like me." the smugness in his voice made you want to shove him, but he caught your hands before you could, lacing his fingers through yours. his hands were so much warmer, completely enveloping yours. "say it."

"you already know." you tried to look away, but he ducked his head to catch your gaze again.

"say it anyway." those blue eyes were unfairly soft now, vulnerable in a way he only ever was here, in the safety of your dark room where no one expected him to be perfect. his thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand, a nervous gesture that betrayed his confident tone.

"I like you, satoru. happy?"

"extremely." he kissed you again, deeper this time, walking you backward until you both tumbled onto your bed in a tangle of limbs. he propped himself up on his elbows, hovering over you, and just looked at you like you were something precious.

"what?" you whispered, your fingers trailing down to trace the line of his jaw.

"just thinking about how lucky I am." his voice was rough, honest in a way that made your chest tight. "the girl next door turned out to be the girl of my dreams. pretty good odds."

"weirdo." but you were smiling, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

"your weirdo." he nuzzled into your neck, and you ran your fingers through his soft hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way he loved. within minutes, you could feel him relaxing, his breathing evening out.

"you can't fall asleep here," you warned, but your voice was already fond, your fingers still carding through his hair in a steady rhythm.

"just five minutes," he mumbled against your skin, his lips barely moving, his body going heavy and pliant on top of you.

It was never just five minutes. but you always let him stay as long as possible, until the sky started turning gray and he had to slip back through your window before the world woke up.

eventually, reluctantly, you'd have to shake him awake, watch his eyes flutter open confused and sleepy before reality set in. he kissed you one more time before he left, slower, sweeter, his hand cupping your face like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

"text me when you get home safe," you said, like his house wasn't literally fifty feet away.

"always do." he was halfway out the window when he paused, looking back with that boyish grin that made your heart skip. "same time tomorrow?"

"you're impossible."

"Is that a yes?"

you tried to fight your smile and failed, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold air streaming through the open window. "It's always a yes."

his grin widened, bright enough to rival the sun that wasn't even up yet. "that's my girl."

he swung one leg over the windowsill with practiced ease, his hand gripping the frame as he prepared to make his usual graceful exit. but then—because satoru could never just leave like a normal person—he paused. looked back at you.

like you'd hung every star in the sky that stretched out behind him. that devastating softness in his eyes, the one that made your chest ache, the private smile playing at his lips that was so different from his usual cocky smirk.

"satoru, the tree—" you started, because you could see him getting distracted, see the way he was starting to lean back without watching where he was going.

"you're so beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself, still staring at you with those ridiculous blue eyes that seemed to glow in the pre-dawn darkness. his hand reached back for the branch without looking. "how did I get so—"

CRACK.

the sound was sickeningly loud in the quiet morning. you watched his eyes go wide, watched his hand grasp at empty air where the branch should have been, watched his whole body pitch backward in slow motion that was somehow still too fast.

his arms windmilled, trying to catch something, anything. for a split second he looked completely baffled—satoru gojo, who'd never been clumsy a day in his life, who could probably do a backflip off your roof if he wanted to. that surprised "oh" expression on his face would have been comical if you weren't absolutely terrified.

he went down hard, back first into the grass below with a thud that you felt in your bones. the impact seemed to echo in the stillness, way too loud, and your heart stopped completely. "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—"

you were already moving, climbing out your window in your pajama shorts and tank top, not even thinking about the cold or the fact that you were barefoot.

"satoru! satoru, please—" you dropped the last few feet, stumbling as you landed, and scrambled over to where he lay sprawled on his back. the grass was wet with dew, soaking into your knees as you dropped down beside him.

he was just... staring up at the sky. blinking slowly. his chest was moving—thank god, his chest was moving—but he looked completely dazed.

"are you okay?!" your hands were shaking as they hovered over him, afraid to touch him, afraid he'd broken something. "can you move? does anything hurt? oh my god, should I call an ambulance? should I get your parents? satoru, please say something—"

"I fell," he said, his voice distant and wondering, like he'd just discovered something profound about the universe.

"duhh, you fell, you idiot!" relief and anger crashed through you in equal measure. "I told you that branch was getting weak, I told you—"

"I was looking at you." he turned his head slowly to face you, and despite the fall, despite everything, that grin was starting to creep back onto his face. wonder and amusement mixing in his expression. "I was looking at you and I fell."

"this isn't funny! you could be seriously hurt!" your hands were still shaking as they moved over him, checking for obvious injuries, blood, broken bones. "what if you'd landed on your head? what if—"

"I think my pride is hurt," he interrupted, sitting up with a groan that made you flinch. he rolled his shoulders experimentally, wincing. "and maybe my ass. definitely my ass. that's gonna bruise."

"satoru—"

"no, seriously." he shifted, trying to look at his own backside like he could assess the damage. "I think I landed right on my tailbone. do you think it'll bruise in the shape of that rock? that would be sooo lame."

"you're actually insane." but you were still checking him over anyway, running your hands down his arms, feeling for breaks or swelling, checking his pupils to make sure they were the same size. "nothing's broken? you can move everything?"

"everything works." he caught your hands, stilling their frantic movement, and brought them to his lips, pressing kisses to your scraped palms. his eyes were sparkling with barely suppressed laughter. "you made me fall out of a tree."

"I didn't make you—"

"you did though." he said it like it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him, reaching up with one hand to cup your face while the other kept hold of your fingers. "I was so busy looking at you, being all gone for you, that I literally fell out of a tree. do you know how unusual this is? I have perfect coordination. I'm captain of three sports teams."

"you're an idiot is what you are." but your voice cracked slightly because you'd been so scared, and now he was sitting here making jokes and looking at you like falling fifteen feet was just another fun adventure.

"just my dignity that's broken then." his thumb traced your cheekbone, and his expression softened. "hey. I'm okay. look—" he moved his arms, rotated his shoulders, turned his head side to side. "all in working order. takes more than a little fall to damage this perfect specimen."

"a little fall? satoru, you fell out of a tree!"

"yeah, because of you." the grin was fully back now, smug and adoring and infuriating all at once. "you're so pretty you're literally dangerous. I'm a hazard around you. did you see how worried you looked just now? so cute. all panicked and sweet."

"I hate you," you say, but you were checking his head now, fingers carefully feeling through his soft hair for bumps or cuts. pieces of leaves and small twigs fell out as you went, and you picked them out gently.

"liar." he tried to stand and immediately winced, face scrunching up in actual pain. "okay, yeah. definitely bruised something. maybe several somethings."

"serves you right." you stood too, getting under his arm to help him up, letting him lean his weight on you. he was warm and solid and alive, and you were still shaking slightly from the adrenaline. "come on, romeo. let's get you home before someone sees and we have to explain why you're in my yard at four in the morning."

"will you kiss it better?" he was hobbling slightly, and you could tell he was trying not to show how much it actually hurt.

"absolutely not."

"not even a little—ow, ow, okay, okay!" he laughed even as he winced when you jabbed his ribs. "so mean to me. I risk my life climbing to your window every night, I fall out of a tree because you're too beautiful for my brain to function, and this is the thanks I get."

"that's the only thing you'll get from me," you muttered, but you were careful with him as you walked him across the yard, your arm tight around his waist, supporting his weight, making sure he didn't stumble.

his window was thankfully on the ground floor of his house—unlike yours, which made his nightly visits a bit more complicated. before he climbed in, he turned to pull you close one more time, both arms wrapping around your waist despite the obvious discomfort it caused him.

"hey." his voice was soft, his breath warm against your forehead.

"what?" you looked up at him, and in the growing pre-dawn light, you could see a smudge of dirt on his cheek, grass stains on his hoodie, the slightly dazed look still lingering in his eyes.

"I'd fall a hundred more times if it meant you'd look at me like that." his voice dropped, going sincere in that way that always caught you off guard. "all worried and panicked. like I matter. like you'd actually miss me if something happened."

your heart did something complicated in your chest. "of course you matter, you absolute idiot. why do you think I was freaking out?"

"yeah?" the vulnerability in his voice was subtle but there.

"yeah." you reached up to brush the dirt off his cheek, gentle. "just... use the front door from now on, please? my heart can't take watching you fall again."

"where's the fun in that?" he kisses you again, soft and lingering and gentle. his lips moved against yours slowly, like he was savoring it, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. like he hadn't just fallen out of a tree because he was too busy staring at you. like you had all the time in the world instead of mere minutes before the sun came up.

when you finally pulled apart, your lips tingling, you shook your head at him. "you're lucky you didn't break anything."

"I'm lucky I have you." he climbed through his window with a theatrical wince, moving gingerly, one hand pressed to his lower back. "same time tomorrow?"

"front door, satoru."

"window?"

"front door."

his grin was unrepentant even as he was clearly favoring one side, leaning against his window frame for support. "we'll see, pretty lady, we'll see."

you sigh, he's definitely going to use the window again.

If you walk through that big wooden door, it’s impossible. It’s just impossible. He can’t fathom it. He’s got to introduce himself to you in that we-accidentally-bumped-into-each-other kind of way, it mustn’t seem like it’s on purpose — god, no!!

“You and Shoko fucking suck; I’ll introduce myself to her!”

“Go-go loverboy! I’ll be watching from here and laughing at you when you mess up, baby boy.” Suguru leans on his palm, eyes lidding at the hopeless romantic physicist.

Like a shy ghost, Satoru cranes his neck to get a good view of you, inching closer to your aisle with caution.

His heart hammers in his chest. Heat starts rising up through his body. Breathing hitching, stomach twisting — what kind of high-schooler reaction is this? Hell, did he even ever feel this way as a teenager?

Now, it’s peculiar at best to find a science student in the poetry section, and offensive at worst, because who are they to trespass on such sacred artistry?

With the way Satoru clumsily enters the aisle, it’s the latter. Those imposing, polished Oxford shoes are not making a good name for him. Neither is his upturned nose.

Why can’t he act any other way? He frustrates himself. It’s like his true self is trapped under this character he’s been playing since childhood. Truthfully, if anyone bothered to dig as deep as Suguru, they would find that he’s not haughty at all; actually, he’s rather amiable, in his opinion. Yeah, he’s got a nice smile, too. Very charismatic, very charming, in his opinion. And prodigiously intelligent — oh.

Satoru’s observing you, the way your fingertips drift across the shelf like a sweet caress before you finger out a wedged-in book. If only it was like in the movies; he’d love to show off his height and make your heart tick a little faster by pulling down a book that’s too out of reach for you. But that looks like it’s not gonna happen.

Stiffening like a statue, Satoru becomes aware of how coldly mechanical he seems and slackens his shoulders a bit, adopting a slight hunch as he sinks his trembling hands into his pockets.

Nothing is more impossible than this, trying to approach you.

What’s he so scared of? Why can’t he still his hand, why can’t he cool his blush?

Satoru inspires one long, deep breath, and exhales it shakily through his flared nostrils.

Just do it.

He approaches.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” you return, as any ordinary friendly stranger would.

Fuck.

He didn’t really plan past that. Now it’s all improvisation. And Satoru is a by-the-book kind of boy, not one improv bone in his body.

He tilts his head, “Dos-to-yev-sky?” — he pronounces — “Who’s that?”

“My favorite Russian author. Do you read?”

He responds, insulted, “Of course I read! Have you ever seen a calculus textbook? Could double up as a weapon. That thing is thick.”

You let out a laugh.

You let out a laugh and it makes his whole chest swell in triumph. He made you laugh, albeit very softly and over a poorly executed heat-of-the-moment joke — but this is good. This is very good.

He made your face light up when it was hanging so low; marriage should come in a few months time (sorry, he’s insane).

ㅤ⋆

And that was it; that was all it took for the story to begin. From then on, flames burst in his soul, and he always thought of you, from the bleak morning to his insomniac night.

But it’s only like that from his perspective; you’re complaining every day about Snooty Satoru and, as reciprocation for him talking-down your fellow artists, cussing out the entirety of the science department.

You may not be enamored, but he is.

It just doesn’t make sense, how his affection comes out as insults — he pushes you further away when really he wants to loop his arms around you and reel you into his warm chest.

His soul paws at you like a cat paws desperately at a closed door to open and let it in to the warmest room – and yet he acts completely aloof when actually stood before you, when his aphrodite appears in the flesh.

The boy's insufferable, pompous. Stiff like palm tree, swaying as awkwardly as one, too, in the breeze of your attention that he honestly can’t handle.

With the way his heavenly blues gleam behind those horn-rimmed glasses like you’re the only girl in his world, it's hard not to feel something tremble under your chest for the boy even if he mocks you at any given opportunity.

His charming dimples, so sweet on his cheek. Hands dainty yet enormous. Tallness made awkward with his poor posture.

It’s easy to hate him, and he’ll claw at any bit of your attention that he can get – so he fuels the fire, metaphorically slathers himself in gasoline and lets a lighted match drop to his feet.

Yes, just like that; hate him more more more until you accidentally fall miserably and irredeemably in love just like he has. Burn like he does, like a star, quaking and quivering for just one touch, just the traipse of a hand across his cheek, the brush of thigh against thigh, the artistic kiss.

Oh, it goes south so quickly; in a few months of knowing each other, he hits you with the "You're not my type." – he blurts it out stupidly and clamps his mouth shut in regret immediately, but his pride won’t let him correct his own bullshit.

So you believe you’re not his type — that’s fine, I guess, even if it squeezes your heart a little — but then you catch those violent blues casually clipping frames of your silhouette every chance they can. Then you find him seeking you out after every lecture, hair tousled from fisting at it throughout his draining lectures.

“Lunch? On me?”

“Sure, why not.”

It always goes like that; he says something painful, then rectifies it through gestures. Quality time. Pokes at your cheek all through lunch, gains attention from green-painted girls and boys when he slithers closer to you and steals a kiss of your cheek as a joke.

Oh, yeah, sure; ‘a joke’. Like a kiss doesn’t mean a million things.

And he's painfully nonchalant about feelings.

Right, like he reiterates; “Relationships are honestly? — sooo beneath me. I'm career-focused, that's why I'm top of the class, that's why I'm going to get somewhere in life—”

—that’s why he’s going through a mid-youth crisis over you, that’s why he’s totally unable to rub the visions of you out of his tired eyes at 1 AM when he's slaving over a due-tomorrow assignment from hell.

He can’t get you off his mind, or your lips, or the daydream of pushing his on yours and eating you up like it’s all he was meant to do, like he’s just a pathetic little bug chasing your glorious, heavenly shadow.

Love is beneath him, poetry is a waste— but oh then why is he scribbling poetry in the margins of his physics textbook, in imitation of your prose?

Every line is for you.

In your eyes I find home.

It’s like spring every time we meet.

And winter when I’m alone.

He’s an insufferable know-it-all, to the point he’s been nicknamed Hellish Hermione – but beneath his those lenses you can almost see the very moment he slips from this curated persona into something more like himself, something endearingly nerdy, childishly enthusiastic.

That’s when he drops his guard and begins spouting quantum-babble.

And wow, for someone who ‘doesn’t need company to be happy’ he sure as hell smiles big when you sit there and listen to him talk mathematics to you.

It’s like his way of flirting, you know? When he tells you ‘every quark flavour there is its antiquark’ he’s hoping you interpret it as “everybody has somebody’ and when he says ‘I want to be the anti-strange to your strange quark’ by that he’s actually saying ‘I love you’ – doesn’t make sense, does it?

Well, when has a physicist ever made sense except to other physicists, anyways...

He lights up so much that he nearly begins to glow, nearly vibrates as he sits cross-legged in his seat while he yaps your ear off about quantum-blah-blah.

Who cares about the polymaths that changed the world? Does it really matter to learn about theories that haven’t even been proven? Why worry that the universe might not be locally real?

Dunno.

But it matters to him. It’s his whole world, and he’s sharing it with you; that’s why you listen intently and why he relishes in your attention.

The stars matter as much to him as your pretty face does.

It’s as important to see them in the sky at night in their respective positions as it is for him to see you every morning on the dewy-grass quad before class. Every. Morning. Without fail. It’s his thirty minutes of heaven before hell.

Yes, you only ‘happen’ to visit his dormitory because you’re on good terms with his best friend, but when Suguru leaves the room, for some reason you fall into harmony with Satoru. Effortlessly so.

He’ll kick two feet up on his faux-wood desk, curl a pencil on his upper lip, and try to not-so-subtly show off his V-line by shifting his short sweater just a little further up his abdomen.

He’s silly.

Worse.

He has no idea how to communicate his feelings.

It’s like they get tangled and knotted by the time he translates them into words.

You’re realizing that more and more as you get to know him.

Yes, he scoffs at you; he scoffs at you more than anyone has ever scoffed at you in your life, when you don’t understand Euler’s theorem, when you don’t know the names of any of the great science daddies.

In fact, he goes so far as to ridicule your degree choice and bashes the entirety of the arts department as ‘daydreaming losers with the audacity to squander their daddy’s money’.

But then he’ll pause in apologetic silence before drawing a curious gaze to your sketchbook, and – with audacity – plop down on the dewy grass, nearly on top of you with how close he keeps, practically poking his nose in your spread-open sketchbook.

“What’s new? Show me. Ooh, I liiike this one.” – against your wishes he’ll pluck it right out of your hands and skim the pages like he’s grading them – “Good, very good. You’re improving. Nice shading. Foreshortening needs a little work, though. Wait, is that supposed to be me? Why have you titled it ‘the campus anus?’...? Oh you think you’re funny, huh? — what are these annotations?! LANKY?! FLAT-ASSED?! — Oh, big chest? Handsome face? Hehe. You doll. C’mere and smooch me already— owowowow. Sorry. Okay. No kiss for Toru. I get it. You prefer Suguru’s fat ass, is that it? Well, for your information, I have a bigger c—OWWW, MY HANDSOME FACE!”

ㅤ⋆

This mad scientist so casually drops an invitation to his birthday party.

That “Come if you want to. Or don’t. ’S cool either way.” was said with a shrug, without eye contact, yet the stifled strain in his voice crisply underlined his feelings.

He really really really really really really wanted you to come to his birthday party.

Suguru’s palming at Satoru’s back, soothing the big crybaby who pouts – yes, pouts – that “She’s not coming. Why! I invited her... does she not like me? I give up on this game. I feel stupid. She must think I’m an asshole. Oh my god...”

He spirals further, another ten minutes passing by in which Shoko and Suguru and Nanami all band together to calm down the drama queen birthday boy.

Then the relief in the air is nearly palpable they hear a knock at the door.

Then Satoru is no longer curled up on the couch.

Then he’s springing to life like a flower freshly bloomed. “DON’T OPEN THE DOOR I’VE GOT IT I’VE GOT IT — how do I look, is my hair okay? Fuck. Okay.”

You’re greeted with a froggy smile. A pair of blue eyes blown so wide open that the whites show all around the irises. Pupils dilated, like he can’t get enough of you.

Just like that, it’s like his soul is desperately sucking on yours through a straw. You’re his object of sincerest, adoring obsession for the rest of the night. What are his friends snickering in the kitchen about? Who knows. Who cares. He’s got you all to himself. He’s gonna shamelessly hog all your attention.

You give him his gift; a tiny square piece of paper on which you’ve carefully drawn Satoru as a frog.

“N’aw you were thinkin’ of me, huh? Didn’t I tell you... gifts are against the rules. What is this? Oh. Real funny. I do not look like a fuckin’ frog.”

His heart throbs. It actually fucking throbs.

Why are you so soft, so sweet? He can hardly relish in it enough, how you spent time drawing him – fuck, that means he was on your mind the whole time the pencil pressed to that paper. He felt like some sort of triumphant parasite, worming into your mind despite being nothing but a brat for semester after semester.

The next time you visit Satoru and Suguru’s dorm to return a borrowed book, you see your drawing pegged on the physicist’s strangely artistic string, along with the accumulating photos of you and him.

Huh. Funny, isn’t it? The duo that’s made it in the books as ‘worst enemies’ has made all these memories together.

And they’re smiling in every photo...

ㅤ⋆

He's hot on bragging about being top of his class, claiming to be lightyears ahead of every one else.

Then the baby blue-eyed prodigy visibly deflates the moment you’ve got to leave for class.

“I’m coming, too. Yeah, I wanna see what you nerds get up to in art school – gonna get freaky about Monet. Relax, I won’t get kicked out. Why would I be embarrassing! Okay. I’ll hold my tongue. Just for you.”

He got kicked out.

Your professor nearly let it slide until she heard his trumpeting laugh from the back of the classroom, so painfully loud that she ordered him out instantly.

So much for incognito.

The whispers started from then.

Rumors that you and Satoru were a thing.

ㅤ⋆

You’re rounding the pound at the center of the quad, furiously arguing about the rumors and furiously blushing at one another and furiously trying to close to distance between each other to the point you’re rubbing shoulders.

“I say we give the people what they want. We should make out.” he suggests — is it really a joke this time when he looks so longingly at your lips?

“Satoru, you’re sooo cringe.”

“Only when I open my mouth! Promise ’m not a lousy kisser. Just gimmie a chance, please? I’ll only steal one — one kiss of those pretty lips and I’ll stop bugging you.”

“Fine then.”

Oh fuck.

He didn’t expect to get this far.

He thought his rejection was nigh.

What fluctuation in the universe could have caused this?

Golden hour spills over the green expanse of the campus quad, koi quivering in the pond at the center where you and Satoru idle.

He has to bend down. Not just lean over a little — no; he has to assume the most egregious, spine-torturing posture ever just to meet you at your level. His back already carries that dull ache from sitting shrimp-arched over in the computer room for most the day.

For him, it felt like it took 3-5 working days to reach you.

And when he connected his lips to yours? Magic happened.

Yes, he bumped noses awkwardly. Yes, he was close to clashing teeth with you, like this was his first kiss all over again except minus the braces.

But the way he stroked at your cheek and cupped it in the palm of his gentle hand and held you like you were made of porcelain, it sent goosebumps down your skin in a way you haven’t felt in years.

Soft and quivering, his lips melded to yours.

And so what if he whimpered a little?

It was sweet. It was innocent. This was Satoru at his most vulnerable; lips connected with the love he’s sought out like a lonely puppy.

His heart is leaping. Stomach twisting. Heat scalding his cheeks and pinching at the very tips of his ears, as he tilts into the kiss to deepen it.

And my god, when he does that — when he kisses you just so right like that — it feels like the whole world stills to a quiet halt at last.

The noise of the world isn’t rattling his brain anymore. His thoughts are not dispersing. He’s focused.

His hand trembles softly upon your cheek, like he’s scared if he presses into you too hard that you will recoil at his intensity. He’s been locking that part of himself away. But now? It’s much too close to bursting forth from him.

But he breaks when he feels you deepen the kiss, pressing up on him chest to chest to the point he swore he could feel how hard your heart was beating.

His arms engulf you so softly, so carefully. It’s just the soft smacking of lips, tiny breaths inspired in between, and his warm breath mingling with yours.

Perfect. Your lips feel perfect. A kiss has never felt this right before.

The sun’s watching, clouds too, maybe one or two students passing by spare a dull curious glance. But nothing else exists to him right then but you; you’re the only real thing in his mind.

The universe that he’s been wracking his brains trying to figure out, scratched his head over, theories he’s been chasing since he was a kid, they all melt away because finally the theory of finding a soulmate is proven when he kisses you.

And it’s funny to you. Just that morning you were hardcore debating if romance died with the last great poets.

But lo and behold; it was alive on a physicist’s lips.

He lets out a boyish chuckle when he releases you from his lock, eyes alive with affection as he stares down at you, penetrating right into your soul.

Something is shimmering in those blues.

“I think I just had a eureka moment.” he admits.

“What, a little kiss enlightened you?” you tease, palming at his chest. “I thought all this was ‘beneath’ you?”

His hands come to a rest at the rise of your hips.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice lowering, “soulmates are just one big, dumb theory,”

God knows what causes him to blurt out this cheesy line, and many poets shed a tear from the heavens out of sheer pain at it;

“but y’think I could steal a few more kisses off ya ’till I can prove true love exists?”

“Satoru, you’re so cringe.”

“But you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Wait, really?! You do?!”

You smack at his chest and break away, “Honestly!”

His grin is massive, spanning ear to ear. With his index finger, he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Theory: proven.”

You’re walking away, voice raising;

“You fuckin’ nerd!”

“But you’re into nerds!”

“UNFORTUNATELY.” you yell, now halfway across the quad. “Now stop following me, I’m going to class. See you later.”

“For a date?” he hopes, “I’ll spoil you!”

“No way!”

“Yes way! We’re soulmates! I’ve just proven it!”

“NERD. GOODBYE.”

ㅤan ──── A bit of an unexpected fic that I wrote overnight. I said this on my prof!Gojo fic (18+), but i have a deep fondness for physics students, or anyone who likes debating physics at 3 AM. I have a story based on a physics student and an artist that focuses on soulmate theory, so writing this made me feel a bit emotional and I realized that I have not written much of my own stories. Oh well!! I hope this was a fun read 💗

ㅤsexy people are on the permanent taglist!

@sweethearticism ㅤ@svgebaskets ㅤ@jiyuu-zou ㅤ@cupidstraceㅤ@hayzeywayzey ㅤ@criistaii ㅤ@its-darkoverhere ㅤ@afera22 ㅤ@paintedperidot ㅤ@marixxelj ㅤ@sumasweets ㅤ@kittygizmo ㅤ@aelaweala ㅤ@c1trusbubbless ㅤ@chiiv0 ㅤ@rawmantizenㅤ@st4rtrait ㅤ@man1cslut ㅤ@smokypanpan ㅤ@famousdestinyland ㅤ@justhereforficslmao ㅤ@mxtcha-lvr ㅤ@roserae527 ㅤ@satorus-slut ㅤ@magical-bunny-girl-exe ㅤ@angelgh0ulz ㅤ@all-with-angel ㅤ@saltycandysalad ㅤ@zyklion ㅤ@edgyficuselastica ㅤ@will-0-w ㅤ@edgyficuselastica ㅤ@saltycandysalad ㅤ@yukiii09 ㅤ@veilofsixeyes ㅤ@mikemsmm ㅤ@thirtykiwis ㅤ@wcke6 ㅤ@ororosdaughter ㅤ@winkii ㅤ@newlifenewfight ㅤ@yuppie2002 ㅤ@fsiaijz ㅤ@gale-ig ㅤ@iridescentshine ㅤ@azynex ㅤ@surethingmoto ㅤ@perfectly-m1saligned ㅤ@sunbumglow ㅤ@azynex ㅤ@megottheswaskikacooooke ㅤ@ripmornings ㅤ@uhnosav ㅤ@kirby-is-blackhole ㅤ@p0pcrocs ㅤ@rhenisafirefly

Dreadful, suffocating air, and the smell of the dead welcomes him with open arms before he steps into the place. White chrysanthemums and white lilies are neatly placed, and unable to mask the smell of burning incense. He discreetly examines the room beside his sunglasses; the room is full of people he doesn’t recognise, an old lady he thinks he might’ve met last summer, and you. Even by your back alone, Satoru knows it’s you. So small and curled up near the corner, your head is hung low, not looking at anyone or anything, eyes getting lost in the thin lines of the flooring — barely grounded as your eyes trace over the chaotic lines — like branches with the way each one breaks off on its own.

Satoru manoeuvres through the crowd easily, ignoring the stares and whispers as he kneels down beside you. He ignores the fraught silence, just as you don’t notice his presence until he wraps an arm around your stiff shoulders in an attempt of comfort. Startled by his actions, you jolt as you look up in surprise — eyes empty, brimmed-red, matching the tip of your nose.

You look terribly sick, he notices it this time, midsummer flashes beneath his eyes.

A masked smile graces his face as he says, “Hey, the train was a little delayed. At least I still made it on time, huh.” He cracks a laugh at the end, heads turning in his direction, uncomfortable by his attempt of finding humour in dreariness, but something as insignificant as their stares and whispers bears no meaning for his time nor attention. He focuses on you. Poor, helpless you.

“Satoru . . .” You breathe out, your voice comes out croaky, and barely above a whisper.

Satoru pitifully looks down at you, pulling you into his arms as he tells you it’s okay, that you are fine. You really aren’t fine, it’s evident in your tired expression, your broken heart you wear on your sleeve. But you are still alive. You, a non-sorcerer. That should count for something, and it does, it’s more than something — in a broken, bittersweet way. Whether it was hesitation or his last act of good faith — this, your breathing body, is a goodbye gift. The remaining piece of him begins to crack.

You are shaking in his arms and he holds you tighter. “How could this happen? They were saying that . . .” your words are lost within your mumbling and how you are pressed right against his chest. “And—and the police said they don’t know, but they said it’s him. I don’t understand—Satoru.” His name escapes your mouth, you say it so desperately, begging him for something he can’t give to you, something that he wants, too.

There are no reasonable answers for someone like you, he doesn’t know.

“I don’t know,” he chokes out an easy lie, thin, almost painful, none of his eyes are looking at you. His line of sight is only focused on the pairs of slanted eyes that replicate the deep, soul sucking ones he had first met when the cherry blossoms bloomed three years ago.

Fingernails digging into his palm, he reopens a fresh wound, incense smoke rising high in front of the still frames crystallised in his eyes.

A familiar void stares back at him.

—

If there’s one concept in the world that Satoru cannot comprehend for the life of him, it’s the simple concept of boundaries, yet somehow too complex for someone of Satoru’s calibre.

He spews about how boundaries are a social concept that cowards made up because they’re scared of being seen (which makes no sense to Suguru). Suguru states that even the closest of friends and families have boundaries — it’s how human relationships work. But in return, Satoru argues, “Do friends need boundaries to avoid the truth?”

And despite everything Suguru explains, no answer seems to satisfy the boy.

Thus, Satoru’s lack of boundaries sets him to force himself to tag along on Suguru’s summer vacation back home. Much like he always seems to do these days, Suguru can’t force his friend to stop hanging off of him, even when Satoru only follows him around to annoy him. He allows Satoru to come with him to visit his hometown because Suguru wouldn’t leave him in this shit-hole alone, right?

After hours riding the train, it comes to a slow stop. Cicadas greet them with a loud screech in the air once they hop off the train, the familiar scent of the ocean hits, and that’s how Suguru knows he returned back to his hometown.

It’s humid, too hot out here, his loose strand of hair begins to stick to his forehead and back of his neck, and Suguru wipes away the sweat every so often. He glances over to Satoru who looks absolutely fine in the heat, he doesn’t understand how Satoru rarely sweats, even during training. He supposes that even Buddha has his favourites.

“Oh, wow? This place is so . . .” Satoru trails off as he looks around at the scenery around them.

He asks, “So what?” Despite his monotonous tone, his gaze is sharp, and the corners of Satoru’s lips quiver — barely able to contain a smirk.

“Unique.” It clicks off of Satoru’s tongue like a sickening sweet insult, coated bright red in the cherry flavoured lollipop that he sucked on the ride here. He’s everything rude, snobby, and hypocritical — a typical sheltered rich boy. However, Satoru had been raised in the countryside, too. Suguru learned this months after being ridiculed by the said boy for being a ‘country boy’ [“You’re pretty good for a hick,” as Satoru used to laugh about]. They aren’t so different.

So, Kyōto isn’t considered the countryside at all, but Satoru was raised in a rural area; secluded from everything below him. Satoru is someone special, so special, that he was raised in a secluded place for a reason. A reason nobody, but the holder of six-eyes could understand, and a small fishing village like this is nothing compared to what Satoru is used to. In retrospect, Satoru was raised in a different universe from human-beings, which makes him vastly different from Suguru.

Suguru rolls his eyes at that, not replying, to which Satoru takes as a sign to continue running his mouth. “It’s very you, Sugu-chan. I mean it.” The way Satoru speaks is strange, because at this moment, Suguru can tell he is serious despite the airiness in his voice.

Suguru glances over at him, cocking an eyebrow. “What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” he unapologetically replies with a smirk, playfulness reflecting in his eyes, a grin that begins to grow deviously. “Guru-chan,” he corrects in a sing-song voice.

“You do know this is why everyone finds you annoying, right?” He doesn’t say this due to his annoyance or to annoy his friend in return. He only says this to let him know another reason to why people have his behaviour unsavoury at times.

Satoru leans closer, throwing his arm around his shoulder. “Aw, you should know by now that flattery will get you nowhere.”

Suguru runs a hand through Satoru’s hair before pushing his face away. “You’re too close, Satoru. I’ll turn your white hair red next time.”

“Hm, if you could ever reach me, I’d let you as a prize.”

Sweat builds behind his neck, and Satoru looks as unaffected by the sun as always.

—

His mother greets him with a hug the moment he enters through the door.

Wrinkled, cold hands wrapping around his bigger body as she pats his back. She says, “It feels as if I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Suguru steps back, as does she. The wrinkles around her eyes seem more prominent than before, she looks tired as she always does, this causes her to look older than she is (—much older, despite her having Suguru at a young age — much younger than she should’ve), her eyes immediately flicker from him to Satoru, whose eyes are darting around the hallway, catching a glimpse of anything he can with those judging eyes hidden behind his dark lens.

“Is this the special boy you’ve mentioned about before?”

Satoru immediately breaks out into a grin, teeth flashing as bright as his eyes. “Oh, you called me special, Suguru?” he teasingly asks, his words ending with laughter, clearly pleased about the news received.

Suguru rolls his eyes at the boy’s growing ego. “I didn’t say you were special. I had mentioned you and Shōko briefly before,” he explains, but Satoru doesn’t care as the smirk on his face fails to falter. “Satoru, this is my mom. Mom, this is my classmate, Gojō Satoru,” he draws out the word slowly as Satoru clicks his tongue, displeased much to Suguru’s satisfaction, before introducing himself (he has some manners, at the very least).

The greeting is short with forced kindness and smiles that neither of them share — awkwardness filling every gap in between the wooden linings, weights shifting from one leg to the other, along with the sounds of the creeks.

The walk to his room is short — the first room to the left. “Your mom seemed nice,” Satoru mentions as he walks behind him, up the short flight of stairs, lazily dragging his suitcase.

“Yeah, she is,” replies Suguru nonchalantly.

Satoru is quick to force his way inside to inspect the room he will be staying in for the next few weeks. He predicts Satoru’s next words correctly, like always, saying, "What a small room,” and then, “Oh, wow. Talk about vintage.”

Damn, prick.

What makes it annoying is how Satoru isn’t trying to be rude, this is just how he speaks, which is somehow more irritating.

Satoru is looking through his leftover collection of CDs he had forgotten to pack the last time he was here — he had already brought all of his favourite ones with him. Satoru picks out an album, one he is quick to recognise as the one his childhood got for him last christmas, “My Sweet Darlin’” by Hitomi Yaida plays on his old stereo [your favourite song of hers]. When Satoru mentions that this is his favourite single by her, Suguru blinks, he doesn’t mention you, nor the coincidence.

As if summoned: “Suguru!”

Ah, speaking of the devil, he thinks the moment he hears you before he sees you. The familiar sound of your footsteps tip-tapping down the hall, your voice, and the moment he turns around you wrap your arms around his waist.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t expect you to get here so quick,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer for a second, the scent of your shampoo and perfume hits him — sweet like coconuts, carrying the faint scent of the ocean.

“That’s what I should be saying—you know how those trains are always delayed,” you happily reply, adding how it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, and that you missed him. He hums as you continue to talk, attention constantly shifting from you to Satoru.

Satoru can’t keep his eyes off of you, his gaze locked on your figure, then he looks to Suguru, and smirks, mouthing words that widens Suguru’s eyes as he subtly shakes his head.

He notices you sneaking glances at the boy, too.

“I brought over some leftover onigiri I made earlier . . . Oh, wait, are you and your friend not done packing yet? I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” you say, turning over to Satoru who acknowledges your attention with a simple wave and his signature smile in which you return.

“Okay, we’ll be down in a minute,” Suguru says.

You nod, turning your head to introduce yourself to Satoru briefly before turning around and running down the steps.

“Hey, you’ve never mentioned a girlfriend before,” Satoru blurts out. “She is kinda attractive, like the Waka Inoue type—actually, no.” He lets out a laugh — one that barely disguises itself from a snort. “Maybe in a few years, but you’re seriously one lucky guy,” Satoru’s speech continues on, letting out a shameless whistle at the end, and Suguru looks at him in disbelief.

Heat runs to his cheeks in embarrassment from how shameless his friend can be. “She is my childhood friend,” Suguru hisses once he makes sure you are out of sight. “Don’t say things like that about her.”

“What? It was a compliment. I always say things like this to you and you never—” Satoru abruptly stops, and Suguru can tell his eyes are gleaming behind those stupid sunglasses of his, he teasingly grins, pearly white flashing at him. That smile of Satoru always has his stomach twisting in knots. “Oh. Ha, I get it. It’s ‘cause she is like your girl, but isn’t your girl, right?” His girl. Not his girl.

Suguru scoffs at the assumption, denying it. “No . . . “ he begins before pausing to pinch his eyebrows together in annoyance. “Satoru, sometimes normal people find talk like that gross, as in, it makes them uncomfortable.”

“Okay, sorry . . . Am I wrong then?” he slowly replies, voice void of understanding, obviously not knowing why people may be turned off hearing words like that. His words go in and out through the other ear, Satoru only likes to hear what he wants to hear. “But you think she’s hot, like, it’s not just me, right?”

“Satoru,” he warns.

“What? It’s only a simple question. I thought we tell each other everything. Don’t tell me, this is another boundary of yours?”

Suguru merely shrugs his shoulders with a sigh, dismissing Satoru. He eventually agrees, saying you are pretty, before changing the subject to something Satoru likes — to digimon and those pokémon cards he’s been collecting recently.

And it works, because Satoru can’t focus on one thing forever.

[You made tuna onigiri, his favourite, and karashi mentaiko onigiri, with a glass of iced genmaicha, exactly what is needed on a day like this.]

—

You are eighteen when you are whisked away from this little dull village to the lively city of Tokyo. To a bigger world where the lights never turn off. For a long time you’ve imagined this moment, and now that your wish has come true, you can’t find yourself smiling like you do in your fantasies. The midnight train ride is a long one, it’s silent and cold, too. The scenery passes you by, too fast and too dark to see.

Satoru is here with you. Sitting in the blue seat in front of you, his signature sunglasses rest low on the bridge of his nose. Eyes so void of emotion. Similar to when winter arrives and frosts over the ocean. A sheet of ice, you cannot see nothing, but your own reflection. Full of discomfort, chilling, you hate the way your lonesome reflection is hazed and muddled when he looks at you. You don’t want to see it, the emptiness of his see-through gaze, so you turn away.

“You good over there?” You jolt at the sudden sound of his voice breaking the cold silence.

“Yeah, I am just getting tired. It’s a little late,” you quietly reply, voice cracking which makes you scrunch up your nose. And before you get the chance to ask if he’s alright (which would be an understatement; his lifeless eyes and the dark circles that rest underneath are quite telling, almost as if he hasn’t slept in days), he quietly laughs, hollow and sharp, as he leans his head against the cold window, saying he’s a little tired, too.

This Satoru resembles nothing of the boy you met during summer back then. That boyish smile of his feels lacks warmth; those pretty blue eyes of his are fully crystallised, reminding you of when snow heavily begins to fall. A year ago, he was blinding. But summer is over, and your final summer of youth comes to an end; the last page scribbled of black swirls.

Satoru sends you a sleepy smile when he catches your eyes glancing at him from time to time, you force a thin smile back. “This is exciting, huh? It’s like you’re a dumb kid running away from home, following some random guy to Tokyo. Imagine if you were following a murderer home.”

Your laughter is sycophantic at Satoru’s joke — his sense of humour is sometimes different from what you are used to. Shivers run down your spine and leave you cold, but Suguru would say this is just how Satoru is, and not to take his words too seriously, so you don’t. You assume it’s a city people thing, or from the fact that Satoru was raised alone (according to Suguru).

“Wow, how romantic, or should I be concerned right now?” You attempt to play along with him, despite how stiff words come out, but Satoru doesn’t mind.

His smile doesn’t drop as he leans his head against the window. “Perhaps, it is a little bit of both. Scared of me yet?”

“Maybe a little bit now,” you jokingly reply.

Underneath his playful tone and airy laugh, bitterness lies beneath, and you can understand it all too well. When Satoru catches your lurking eyes, he pushes up his frames, shielding those eyes of his from you, black lens blocking you out. You are tired, so tired, yet sleep doesn’t consume you the entire ride there.

And Satoru pretends to be fast asleep.

—

The entire sky is painted bright blue, thin white clouds floating above, instantly reminding him of Satoru. The sky twinkles deeply in his eyes, the sun captured within, Suguru is almost envious at how Satoru easily consumes the world — at how the world fully kisses him.

You and Suguru drag Satoru out of the house to show him your secret spot in this little seaside town. You are carrying a homemade kite that you’ve been working on the past few days, made up of scrap fabric from your old bed sheet. Suguru and Satoru follow behind you, carrying a bag of snacks and cold drinks from the little shop on the main street.

Walking up north, the wind carries the sand across their exposed ankles, to an area seemingly of huge rocks and hidden behind is an area on the beach where people don’t come to (you and Suguru just haven’t seen anyone here throughout the years). You carefully lay your kite down on the sand, holding the handle tightly in your hands, your skirt flutters in the wind as you run.

The two of them sit on a long beach towel, picking at the carefully assorted fruits, Satoru only eats the strawberries before eating the other fruits. Satoru glances over his shoulder to you, nudging Suguru, as he tilts his head in your direction.

“Have you ever fucked her?” Satoru is blunt, he asks this with a knowing grin to his smug face. “Like, nobody could blame you if you dreamt about it before.”

“You’re an idiot, Satoru,” he scoffs, his words or actions aren’t harsh, he is almost smiling. How he thinks of you is no one’s business, but his own, what he does with you is only for you to know, and of course, Satoru will only think of it as sex, like all teenage boys do. Suguru can’t help, but roll his eyes. He realises that maybe Satoru has never liked someone before — like like.

“So you have . . . ?” he draws out melodically, something flashes in those bright eyes of his — something like mischief — there’s something unrecognisable there, too.

“I never said that.”

“Didn’t deny it either.”

Satoru is someone who is loved by others, thousands have waited for his birth for many years. Satoru has the world beneath his feet — the elders, and his clan worship the very ground he walks on. He has marriage candidates, girls younger and older than him selected to become his wife, which Satoru always complains about. It’s sad, very sad, and he can’t help but feel bad for his best friend.

Everyone loves Gojō Satoru, but nobody really likes him. Suguru wonders if he’s the only person that will ever know Satoru, who he is, and what lies in his heart.

Suguru sighs, “You never believe anything I say.”

Jumping up, Satoru dusts off sand into Suguru’s direction.

“Satoru—!”

“That’s because you’re full of shit, Suguru,” he spews before running off in your direction, ignoring his insults.

Your handmade kite drifts in the air, slowly coming down, until Satoru begins to chase you, you run and run, the kite flying high right behind you.

Summertime has never felt like summer until this moment — it’s almost too dazzling.

—

Satoru watches, watches, and watches — he has always been good at that. He sees everything, things nobody will ever see, light shimmering in the darkest cracks, specs of crushed stars scattering this world, six eyes allow him to — he is Gojō Satoru, afterall.

His focus is on Suguru and by extension, you. Your neighbours down the street, the Yamato’s, had given the three of you an extra watermelon they had grown. Suguru had chopped it open, cutting half of it into thick slices. It’s so sweet, refreshing on this hot day, the three of you are sitting in Suguru’s backyard, drinking in the summer heat and the cool breeze that drifts by every few minutes.

You offer Suguru a bite from the slice of watermelon you had already bitten. Suguru doesn’t like to share food – something about sharing germs and what-not – however, Suguru opens his mouth, taking a huge bite causing you to whine, yelling about how you hate it when he does that. You hit his shoulder and he playfully grins at you, your little star pendant swaying around your neck. He studies this side of Suguru he hasn’t seen before.

(The life at the bottom of the mountain, an ant before descendent.)

Watermelon juice runs down your hand, dripping onto your exposed thigh, you don’t wipe it away, not noticing it as you continue to talk and Satoru grabs another slice off of the plate to eat. He picks all of the black and white seeds out with his fingers before eating.

“—yup, but Tomoko-san absolutely loves pretty boys, so she will probably try to set you up for marriage with one of her daughters—they’re like eleven now,” you say with a scrunch of your nose at the fact. “I think that’s right . . . Right, Suguru? She is a sweet lady, but once she has a hold on you, she will talk for hours and hours.”

Tomoko-san. Off the main street. White roof. Free fruits and drinks. Satoru has no idea what you are talking about or referring to, but he hums every time you pause for a second in wonder if he is listening, and he lets you know he is (he isn’t).

Suguru chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry about him. Satoru doesn’t shut up.”

“Hey, don’t say that about him,” you scold him in a friendly manner, before turning your head to Satoru, flashing him a sweet smile, lips wet and glossy from the watermelon juice. Your tongue quickly swipes across your lips, and Satoru takes a bite of his watermelon. “If she bothers you, all you need to do is remind her that Suguru is at the age where he may need a suitor.”

“Ooh, throwing him under the bus, I like that.”

“I don’t.” Suguru grumbles before meeting his gaze. “And I’ll kill you if you do.” Obviously, Satoru immediately takes his words as a challenge, and Satoru has never once backed down from one.

Tilting his head, he peers at him through the top of his sunglasses. “How could you? You can’t even beat me during sparring, Suguru.”

Suguru’s demeanour shifts, voice dropping as he asks, “Should we find out then?” Suguru bites back like he always does, he’s never liked to be challenged.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Hey! It’s a nice day out, and I am trying to relax,” you speak up loudly between them, your hand gripping onto Suguru’s wrist, holding him from getting up. “No fighting.”

“It’s actually called sparring,” Satoru corrects, and you roll your eyes.

Of course, Suguru has to explain that this is just how they are — they spar together almost everyday during training, it’s something fun they like to do, especially when they are given permission to use their cursed techniques (which is rarely ever now after the damage they created during their first year).

You say, “I know that, but I don’t want to see two guys fight—oh, sorry, I mean spar.” You look at Satoru when you say this, and his grin widens, heart racing at your directed annoyance. “Nobody wants to see that.”

Suguru loosens his wrist from your grip, lightly holding onto your hand, stroking it with his thumb as he looks at you, telling you no spar would be taking place, they were only fooling around. Suguru looks a little different around you.

Something stirs in his stomach, and he feels as if he’s been out in the sun for too long.

He wonders if Suguru loves you. Like the way humans love one another. He can tell that his best friend feels something towards you — something that isn’t friendly in the way Suguru treats him. It is in a way that’s foreign to him, perhaps, it’s because you two are childhood friends. Satoru has never had a childhood friend, the only people who were allowed near him were the Gojō clan’s Elders or the servants, so he wouldn’t know what it feels like. This side of Suguru is unfamiliar, overly gentle, touches that linger and tighten before letting go, something deeply blurred and entangled between the two of you. You are dangerously blurred within those violet eyes.

Suguru has you, he probably has since so long ago, and you have him, and maybe that is a fact you don’t know.

Satoru sprinkles a bit of salt onto his watermelon slice, copying what he had seen you and Suguru do earlier. He immediately bites into it, the salty taste makes him grimace, spitting it out onto the freshly cut grass to which you both loudly laugh at. Suguru says he didn’t wait long enough, so he tries again, waiting a few minutes this time (you say he is waiting for too long, but Satoru is only making sure), the juice explodes into his mouth, overflowing with sweetness, and he becomes addicted.

—

During the summer of your third year, you almost take all of your belongings and run to Tokyo. Almost. Yet, you don’t. Body curled up on the bed in silence, swallowing your pain and hatred, your screams go unheard in the deep ocean. Forever muffled, bubbles floating the more you scream. The cicadas buzz loudly, too loudly, the town is always so hauntingly quiet during the night, even a drop of a pin echoes all the way to the sea.

Tonight, Suguru visits you alone, without a call or any heads up. It’s midnight, you heard his school has a curfew, you wonder if he’ll get in trouble once he returns (“—and did you know Suguru is a delinquent? He makes the elders' heads hurt all the time, it’s true, he is no better than me,” Satoru had whispered into your ear last summer, a little secret treat for you, he said. You guess Satoru was telling the truth about that), or perhaps, he has an assignment to do. Either way, you wonder why he visited so unexpectedly.

He invites himself in like this is his own bedroom, like he’s lived here for years, and technically he has. There’s something so different about him today, something sad in his slow movements, and shadow. There always has been. He’s always been wrapped in an air of melancholy, but his sadness tonight is different. Different in a way you think you’ll never know, in a way you could never understand, your heart burns, you swallow.

“Why are you here? You didn’t call,” you whisper in hopes your voice doesn’t slip through the cracks and awaken your parents. You walk over to your single size mattress, sitting down as Suguru joins you, sitting right next to you, legs touching within the small space.

He shrugs, saying, “I was nearby for a mission, thought I should come and see you.”

You’ve never once not believed in Suguru, he’s never given you a reason to doubt him, except for when he bottles things up and refuses to talk about it, always saying he is fine. You find it hard to believe his words tonight, you don’t think he was nearby, and guilt pricks your heart knowing you feel happy he came to see you. You’ve missed him dearly.

“How long will you be staying?”

“I have to go soon.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, disappointed. “You can stay the night, if you want.”

“Sure,” he agrees, a wistful smile as he looks at you. “Thanks.”

You lean forward, your hands rest on his shoulders, a bitter scent lingers on the collar of his white shirt, one that you have always hated since you were a child, you don’t know when it began to linger on Suguru, or when he began to start. His hair is let down, flowing down and framing his face beautifully, those eyes of his are too dark tonight; not a spec of purple can be seen, devoid of the deep violet you’ve fallen for all those years ago.

(Suguru has never let his hair down without reason before.)

Suguru doesn’t say or do anything, so you tilt your head up, an attempt to capture his lips, however your lips are met with his thumb, pushing lightly against you. Suguru smiles so softly, so sadly, he looks down at you in a way you don’t recognise. Your heart races, a sharp pain piercing through you, and you place a hand on his wrist, as he runs his thumb against your bottom lip one last time.

You force yourself to speak. “Oh. What’s wrong, Suguru? You don’t want to . . . ?” Your heart races faster and faster anticipating his reply.

He shakes his head, “No, it’s nothing like that. I think the summer heat is getting to me.”

“Is it those missions you do? Or perhaps, training. . . Has it been too hard for you?”

“No, it’s neither of those,” he heavily sighs, a frown breaking on his face. “. . . I feel like I need to rest, but I just can’t,” he eventually admits, quietly.

Suguru does seem more tired than usual tonight, the dark circles underneath them are prominent. He looks exhausted and you feel like an idiot for not doing anything before.

“Should we sleep then?” you offer, not wanting him to stay awake for any longer, especially when he seems to be on the verge of collapsing. “You need to rest up, Suguru.”

“Yeah, let's go to sleep. I just want to hold you tonight,” he says, you wrap your arm around him once you lay down, he feels a little smaller than usual. There is not enough space on your bed for the two of you, you lay slightly on top of him, legs entangled, and neither of you complain about the cramped space. It’s not the first time he’s slept with you. Suguru really only holds you tonight, calloused and strong hands don’t roam, his fingers don’t dip underneath your shirt or waistband. He holds you tightly, so tightly, it’s too hot and sweaty, and you find it hard to breathe, yet you don’t complain about it, pushing yourself closer into his embrace.

Suguru’s presence has always been so soothing, the way he holds you in his arms makes you feel okay once again, lulling you to sleep as your worries vanish back into the sea, the sharks can’t reach you from here.

You wake to an empty bed. Hand roaming around to find that his side has been cold for a long time. You don’t see or hear from Suguru for the rest of summer. You receive a postcard or souvenir in the mail like you usually do every few weeks. Mid-August, humidity at an all-time high, you can hardly breathe within the heat, slowly suffocating. Then, you hear about it — the murder of the Getō family.

The ground breaks beneath your feet.

Mr. and Mrs. Getō were murdered in their dining room during the silent night. Their son, Getō Suguru has gone missing. Whispers seep through the cracks of the concrete saying he is the main suspect — the parents were murdered by their own son. Getō Suguru, your precious childhood friend, killed his own parents. You choke on the summer air and throw up.

None of your messages or calls go through. You are met with the same automated reply.

Suguru is gone, and Satoru never replies to you; every call goes straight to voicemail.

You survive summer, and winter seems to come early this year.

—

A knock on your window wakes you up in the middle of the night, the sound of pebbles gently hitting against the screen, and you frown as you slowly force yourself up. You already know who the culprits are before you see them.

You open it as quietly as you can to not wake your parents, wincing at the screech. You glare at them, obviously not happy about being woken up in the middle of the night (or perhaps, early morning). Suguru smiles at you sheepishly, your teeth grazing your bottom lip, unable to stay upset when he looks at you like that. “Do you boys need something?”

“We can’t end the summer without fireworks,” he says, cocking his head towards Satoru, who stands behind him widely grinning, holding up his hands to reveal senko hanabi sparklers.

And really, you find it hard to stay mad, your annoyance is quick to vanish at their smiles. You break out into a smile, telling them to wait for you as you change out of your thin pajamas and into something more appropriate. Sneaking past your parents’ bedroom and out of the house is easy, you’ve done it many times in the past, tonight is no different (though, you almost tripped on the steps on your way out).

“Why did you wake me up to light fireworks? It’s not the end of summer yet,” you ask, while yawning into your hand. Satoru quietly laughs beside you, his hand reaches over to touch your hair.

“It is with you,” Satoru replies. “You know, you’ve got some serious bedhead going on.”

“Oh. You guys are going back soon, I forgot about that,” you say, beginning to nibble at the skin of your lower lip. You try not to sound disappointed while saying this, because saying goodbye to Suguru every time he visits always leaves you feeling blue. The flow of time is a terrifying thing, you never notice until it’s the end. Quickly regaining your composure, you glare at him, hissing, “This bedhead only exists because you two woke me up!”

Satoru laughs even harder, it echoes down the empty roads when you swat his hand away. “Need your beauty sleep, huh, princess?” he teases, lifting his sunglasses to sit on top of his head. You know Satoru has sensitive eyes, but you understand why he wears sunglasses during the night. The only source of light out here are the flickering street lamps and the moonlight.

“Maybe you should try it sometime, Satoru.”

“I don’t need something like that, don’t you agree?” His cocky, self-assured smile is so infuriating.

(Sometimes, you think he might be in love with himself, but it’s true — he really is a beautiful boy.)

Suguru tells you he will visit you again soon, that he will send you gifts, you always tell him you don’t need them, but he insists, and you always check the mailbox in anticipation. Every gift, postcard, and handwritten letter is kept safe in a box hidden beneath your bed.

Far past midnight and the village sleeps so silently, walking to your secret spot feels a little slower than usual, a way that feels serene. A blanket of stars keeping the dark sky company, black with hints of dark blue and purple, similar to Suguru’s eyes; when you look long enough, you will find yourself lost and comforted, a pretty shade of the darkest violet holding you [calling your name]. In the distance the moon is shining brightly, its reflection ripples within the crashing waves.

The sound of Satoru’s voice breaks you from your trance. You look over to him as he calls over to Suguru.

“Suguru, pass me your lighter,” Satoru says, reaching a hand out as his other hand opens the box of firework sticks. Suguru reaches into his loose pockets, taking out a silver lighter, passing it off into Satoru’s hand.

You grab an incense stick each as Satoru lights them, crouching down on the rock, waiting for the molten ball to form. Once it does, the fire flower begins to bloom underneath you, so brightly. The fireworks illuminate Satoru’s face, the orange sparks dance a heavy tune with the blue stars within his eyes, his eyes lift to meet yours, heart jolting at being caught staring, you smile as does he.

You remember Suguru had told you about a special boy in their world — someone so special that the world sits beneath his feet. Everything about Satoru is so ethereal in their world, and you, an outsider, can feel it. From the way his eyes shine and how he breathes, Satoru draws everything towards him like a black hole, if captured within his godly hands, you’ll never escape. Yet, there is something about him that seems so far out of reach, like nothing could ever touch him.

“I feel like these used to be a lot brighter—prettier, back when we were kids,” you say while watching the fireball slowly making its way to the tips of your fingers. The sparks of little shooting stars burning the image into your eyes.

Satoru replies, ”Well, I think lighting senko hanabi is the beauty of summer.”

“Not katamono fireworks?” Suguru teases, snickering when Satoru attempts to hit him with his sparkler — ashes falling onto Suguru, dissolving into thin air.

Suguru is someone special, too. You are sure of this, because that special boy [bright blue, like summer skies] is smiling and playing around with him so effortlessly. Suguru is reflected in those ocean eyes of his, shining ever so brightly — brighter than the fireworks and stars above, from his thin brows to his soft lips, everything lovely in between, he’s captured within, and like Suguru always does, he chases after the waves and drowns.

Sparklers burn and burn tonight. The sparks appear from nowhere, stars blooming so closely, and you make a wish that this moment would last a second longer — you wish for summer to never end.

However, like all things do, it ends once the sun peeks through the horizon, and they are on the train back to Tokyo.

—

Satoru stands up to spin the sparklers, running wild in the night as he spells out his name and vulgar shapes which makes the three of you burst out laughing. When his back is turned as he looks for the lighter to light some more, Suguru’s shadow engulfs your shadow whole. He presses a swift kiss to your lips, and Satoru catches it. He always does; everything and nothing always in his vision, where red and blue collide. Cicadas droning louder and louder as the tides pull in as does the fleeting kiss.

(Sparks fly, grazing his skin, burning the tips of his fingers.)

The incense in Suguru’s hands dimmed out without any of you noticing — quickly and quietly, the fire has long burnt out, and as the waves crash ashore, the remains of his incense stick breaks off first. A dire warning for the curse seeping into godly eyes, leaking into his soul, stitching itself into place — but Satoru had never noticed the remains of ashes piled up below.

Shooting stars blinding baby blue eyes.

—

You are eighteen left alone in Tokyo. Satoru barely calls you, his visits are even rarer, it’s been over two weeks since he had last shown up. He is busy, he always says this, and you believe him.

You are eighteen, trying your best to survive in the big city of Tokyo. The roads are busy, full, too wide, yet too narrow, and you find yourself getting lost in the crowd. Your hands are becoming colder, summer is not coming around, nerves bite away at the remains of your broken heart, unable to find the missing piece. You take a deep breath, telling yourself you are okay, that you’ve got this, you are used to surviving on your own.

Everything will be okay, you repeat again and again.

—

That day and the following ones were a blur. They still are and Satoru can barely recall it, memories play out hazy and tinted dark gray, almost the darkest shade of black. He feels as if he’s stuck between a state of living and a dream — his feet lead him, his body follows as his brain lags behind.

[Explain yourself . . . Suguru!]

Even with the words spilling from Suguru’s mouth, Satoru finds it hard to believe in them. To believe in Suguru’s cruelty. Suguru is warmer than everyone he has ever met; his soul shines brighter than everyone he has ever known. The other half of his soul.

[“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojō Satoru?”]

Satoru doesn’t understand how it started, when it all started, but he does know. It started in Okinawa, right when they flew back to Tokyo, once they entered past the bright red torii gates, a blade slashed through his chest.

It started there, but he doesn’t understand how the results came to be.

How could Suguru not spare his own parents? He spared you. His parents were sweet and polite, feigning the same courtesy and practiced gentle smiles that Suguru sports. Dull, small eyes, warm food, chatter, love—they were loving (weren’t they?). They treated them nicely when Satoru visited during the summer, they pretended not to hear jokes that he said that Suguru considers to be unpleasant and distasteful, and cooked warm meals to eat every night — everything was so unfamiliar and foreign, like the family films Satoru has seen on television.

So, what is the piece he is missing?

[“Or are you Gojō Satoru because you’re the strongest?”]

Above all, how could Suguru leave him behind like that? His Suguru. His mind is going in circles as stars crash into one another, missing an answer. A blade twisted through his heart, a deep scar remains on his chest, a reminder of the day and ones to follow (—they are two halves a whole).

And you. An existence that exists in the depths of his mind, roaming around in circles that leaves him feeling conflicted. (You, you, you and Suguru.) You’re someone so ordinary, beneath him and Suguru, but you’re dazzling, much like a shooting star. The smile of summer morphs into one belonging to a girl much younger than you, to Suguru, who smiles ever so tenderly under the shining sun, fading away. The stars are burning out, and Satoru has always wanted to capture one with his hands.

[“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”]

There is no meaning in any of that. Those words trapped within his throat, unable to spill to a boy who refuses to listen. Satoru has never cared for meanings — he doesn’t need meanings to do something. He believes in explanations to the unexplainable, answers to the unknown as his existence himself is a conundrum.

But Suguru has always been someone, a person who values meaning and virtue in everything he does. He needs a reason to do something, a reason to be needed, a reason for his existence that’s worth the suffering.

There was no meaning in any of it, Suguru, he wanted to say. But he could understand the answer Suguru came to, his reasoning, but not from someone like him — it makes no sense if it’s Suguru, his best friend. Each of his eyes fail to see what he sees, only believing in the faith Suguru bestowed to him all those years ago.

Summer’s sun is setting. Before it dips into the horizon, Satoru is running to see you.

—

“How is life in Tokyo?” Satoru asks you as he sits across from you at the table of a new café. The strawberry shortcake in front of him is already half-eaten, whipped cream smudged against his lips, and the waitress had stopped by to deliver another strawberry parfait he had ordered a few minutes ago.

He’s a sweet addict, you’ve never seen him without a mouth full of sugar.

“Tokyo . . .” You pause for a second, thinking back on your experiences so far. “It's really different and new here. You said to come with you to Tokyo and then you ditched me,” you jokingly replied, before taking a sip of your matcha latte. You can understand why it is so popular, everything is made up of the best quality here, and only the best.

He laughs off your comment like it was a joke, in which it was in a way, but Satoru really does see it as a joke, and only a joke. “Mhm, bet it’s better than that tiny village. Less boring here, huh?”

You nod in agreement, it is better, even though you can’t help but feel anxious, like a shark is creeping in on you. Moments before chasing after you and only you in the deepest pit of the ocean. “I decided to try and become a teacher . . .” you tell him.

Though, what you really wanted to do was become a counsellor or something similar for children, but you aren’t so sure if you would be good at it — if your fragile heart would be enough to withstand it.

(It wouldn’t, you know this.)

“We are so similar.” You peer up when he says this — he is smiling too lightly for it to be entirely genuine as he rests his chin on his palm. “I am gonna become a teacher, too—oh, for people like me, though.”

You don’t hide the look of surprise on your face. A teacher. Satoru wants to become a teacher — he will become one, a confirmed future. You never knew he was interested in something like that, rather, you know you don’t know Satoru well enough to judge. You lightly reply with, “We are. It must be the work of fate.”

“That’s right, call it the work of a young god.” He goes along with your little joke, tone light and at ease, yet a shiver runs down you.

Surprisingly, the two of you never run out of topics to speak about, your latte has become cool — you should’ve finished drinking it while it was still hot, and Satoru’s desserts have been long eaten.

Satoru promises he will see you again soon, you smile, holding onto his empty promise.

—

Empty promises always remain empty. You don’t hold it against Satoru, that is just how he is, and you’ve learned to live with it. He still calls you from time to time, with each empty promise comes a gift (each one more grand than the previous), and you find yourself becoming too busy, drowning into your studies and an uncertain future.

—

The next time you see Satoru is months later when he is sitting outside your doorstep despite knowing the passcode, he has the original copy of the key, too. He’s drenched from the rain, clothes sticking to his skin, hair has grown out a bit over the last few months, messy and unkempt, ivory strands fall flat over his face, eyes hidden.

“Satoru, you should’ve let yourself inside . . .” you quietly say as you unlock the door. Satoru stands up, towering over you, yet it’s so strange how he seems much smaller than usual today.

He only replies that he was waiting for you to come home, and you don’t have it in you to mention how that hasn’t stopped him from entering your apartment without consent before.

You ask him if he’s hungry, you have leftover miso soup from this morning, and some ingredients to make chicken katsu (—you don’t mention that you had eaten with a new co-worker earlier). Though, he declines your offer, saying he will eat later.

“Why don’t you go take a shower? You’ll get sick if you stay in those clothes.”

“How sweet your concern is, but I have never fallen sick before.”

You glare at him, sternly saying, “C’mon, Satoru. Don’t be like that.”

He laughs, waving you off as he makes his way into the bathroom.

You don’t mention anything when you find Satoru laying in your bed almost an hour later, hair still damp, water dripping from the ends. He lays there in his boxers, shirtless, and a towel that rests around his shoulders.

“You could at least dry your hair,” you gently say as you walk over, sitting down beside his body. You lift the towel from his shoulders and dry the wet ends of his hair.

He smiles at you in acknowledgment, eyes closed as he lets you take care of him. It’s very domestic, you think, hand twitching at the thought. Satoru lifts his hand to reach yours, halting your movements. “Can you close the curtains?”

His eyes must be hurting, so his request is easy for you to comply. “Oh, sure.” Satoru’s eyes have always been more sensitive than others (more beautiful, too), his usual blindfold is nowhere in sight. You walk over to your bedroom window, drawing the curtain, light dimming as darkness grows. “Is that okay?” He hums in response.

And as you take a step to turn on your night lamp, he says, “And keep the lights off, too.”

You say, “You’re very demanding today.” Though, you aren’t annoyed about it at all, and Satoru knows this.

Once you make your way to the bed, he pulls you down beside him, forcing you to lay down. He tosses the damp towel onto the floor which makes you press your lips together firmly. “I know, but thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all, but you owe me.” You turn away from him as you close your eyes as Satoru drapes an arm around you.

“Of course, I’ll repay you.” He will place another pretty little gift into the corner of your empty home.

Your mattress is much bigger than you are used to, a queen size bed, there’s so much space, yet Satoru is pressed up behind you, as if his body is attached to yours. His arm wrapped around your waist as he keeps you close.

You assume Satoru will be sleeping here tonight. It’s been a long time since you last slept beside someone, and you’re haunted by that night so distinctly, as if it was only yesterday.

And Satoru holds you so, so, so gently. It’s rather uncharacteristic of him, not like the Satoru you know. So tenderly in a way that if you closed your eyes an image of a face you haven’t forgotten would be there, and you quickly blink away the tears that want to form within your eyes. You think that his hands are too light, you can barely feel the callouses and constellations of little scars. His hand trails up your thin shirt, rubbing light circles against your skin, on your waist and beneath your breasts. Satoru holds you in a way that feels wrong, in a way you both know he shouldn’t — in a way he wouldn’t if he were here. However, he doesn’t stop, and you don’t stop him.

You turn over, meeting his eyes. The little stars in his eyes are crying to be seen. You lift a hand to his cheek, gently brushing the strand of hair that sits too close to his eyes, and Satoru only watches you silently. It remains like this for a moment, you carefully holding his face, warm and pink from the hot water that drenched his skin, his hand wrapped around you, travelling up and down your back, tracing little circles as he feels your soft skin against his hand.

“I used to wish to know his lips,” he whispers ever so quietly, those vacant eyes of his glimmering in the darkness of your bedroom as he flickers from your lips to your eyes. “The taste of them, the feeling . . . Sometimes, I still do,” he sounds a little sad as he says this, but he’s smiling, your eyes shake, and you can’t help, but smile sadly, too.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Satoru wants to kiss you, too. You can feel it in the way he looks at you, you can feel it in the prickling air. You expect Satoru to kiss you first, to close the distance between you, and he does, his hand cups the side of your face, the delicate skin barely brushes against your lips, caging you in.

“Do you think he would be mad if I kissed you?” he asks, eyes never leaving yours. Your stomach sinks, yet your heart races faster as you feel his long fingers running over your waist. You don’t get the chance to answer, or even think of him when Satoru’s lips are on yours, slowly moving as he’s about to devour you whole.

You were fifteen when Suguru had stolen a bottle of your mother’s favourite whiskey from the wine cabinet that she keeps locked — she’s only ever opened it for special occasions or when she thinks everyone is asleep. The two of you had spent the afternoon in his room, door locked, the liquid burning your mouth and throat, cheeks flushed red, Suguru’s intense gaze slowly consuming you. He asked you if you ever kissed someone before, a question you both know the answer to, and you get annoyed thinking he is teasing you, something he always does even when he insists otherwise. He was quick to reassure you that isn’t the case, not this time. Perhaps, it was the liquor running in your veins and the fuzziness in your brains that caused him to lean in to kiss you. Barely a kiss — a small peck before he pulls back, a moment of awkward silence lasting only a few seconds, before he kisses you again. One with less hesitation.

You remember the taste, acid and wood burning against your throat, something you don’t like, and to this day you still don’t (—always, always, always avoiding whiskey), but you loved the feeling of Suguru’s lips on yours. Shy and giggly, teeth grazing, nose bumping. Trying to search for a proper pace, clammy hands awkwardly trying to find a place to settle, as does your racing heart.

Kissing Satoru doesn’t feel like that. He kisses you so slowly, deeply, in ways that every movement sends tingles through your body and soul. Everything fades around you; all you can think and feel is his lips and heavy hands running over your body. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you softly gasp, pulling away for air, breathing heavily.

Kissing Satoru leaves you wanting more and more.

“Are you scared?” Satoru asks once you pull away from him. Out of breath, his breath fans your face, a sweet scent lingers in the air. Like strawberry candies, sugary sweet, artificially sweet, Satoru’s favourite.

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

He chuckles, teasing you as he says, “Is that so? Your heart is beating really fast, though.” He hand cups your breast, harshly squeezing as you yelp (—whether from the sudden gesture or pain, Satoru smiles in satisfaction), cheekily grinning at you, teeth so white, so perfect — almost uncanny, and icy eyes twinkling with mischief. Asshole.

“I-I know that. . .” you murmur, feeling shy and embarrassed, as if he doesn’t know you can feel how hard your heart is beating, how fast it races in this moment. It’s your heart, you know her better than anyone in the world.

“Mine is beating, too, princess,” he says, before flipping the two of you over, giving you no time to reply as you are caged beneath him. His pure white hair feathers against your face, breath fanning against the thin skin of your lips, lust fogging over his eyes as stares down at you; gray and blue, matching everything around the two of you. “Let’s take our time tonight, yeah?” You answer with your arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling his body down onto you, fully, linking your legs around his thin waist.

Lonely fingers woven together, he holds you so close with hearts intertwined. Each one of his kisses are felt so intimately and intensely that you feel wanted and loved by this boy who is known as a god in a world you do not know. A world you can never see. Kissing Satoru makes you feel like you’re not alone in the world. This is plenty, it is enough for you, you don’t want anything else, except for this. Only Satoru. You whisper this lie to your yearning heart.

—

“‘Toru? Wait, are you leaving?” you hastily ask while you watch him throw on his white dress shirt, the red lines on his back disappearing, your cheeks warm at the vivid memory, heart thumping, pressing your thighs together. You pull the covers higher as you sit up on the bed.

“Mhm, can’t stay tonight,” you pout at his words, feeling disappointed in him, Satoru knows your next question before you say it. “I’ve got kids at home to watch over,” he simply says, and you huff a small laugh at his joke.

“Oh? Did you take in some pets or something?” Satoru has always been fond of strays, surprisingly. You remember those times when he used to try to call over the wandering cats around your village and attempt to pet them, yet they only ran towards Suguru before disappearing into the bushes. Satoru would always get annoyed and pout about it, saying something about how his Pokémon on his gameboy would never do this to him.

Satoru lowly hums. “Yeah, somethin’ like that,” his reply is dismissive as he slides his belt through the belt loops. Then, he laughs, and you just watch. “Do you know how puny they are? I think they didn’t eat much until I took them in. Like, they lived in the dumps. I gave them some cash, so hopefully they ordered themselves something to eat. Is ten thousand yen enough for two kids?”

You listen carefully at his words, brows drawing together. “Wait, you are serious . . .” you mutter to yourself in disbelief. “Satoru, you are taking care of actual kids? What—no, why?” You haven’t seen Satoru in months and he drops by unannounced, sleeping with you, and immediately leaving while telling you he has to take care of some kids at his house. Actual kids, human beings under his care.

The information slowly processes through your brain, you have so many questions on the tip of your tongue that you know if they spill, Satoru would never answer them. You know this, so you decide to swallow them down.

He seems to know what you are thinking (as he always has), deciding to answer, “It was a request. A last one. I felt like I should grant it since nobody else can.” Nobody else but me, his unsaid thoughts are loud. So loud, your heart shakes.

Satoru turns around to look at you as he buttons the last button on his shirt and leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek which makes you scrunch up your face. “So, I was thinking that maybe you can meet ‘em one day. You said you’re good with kids, right?”

You hesitantly nod your head, not really sure what to say, even by your lack of response, Satoru smiles, seemingly satisfied. His hands clap together, “Great. They’re still so shy and new to everything, so one day,” he says before leaning down and more quietly adds, “soon.” Softly kissing your lips before he leaves, the feeling remains so faint as if a feather grazed your lips.

He pulls back, a smile too gentle to be sincere is placed on his face as he tells you he will visit you soon.

Even with you, his back still seems so lonely, as if the weight of the world sits on his shoulders. Your bedroom door clicks with a shut.

Down the hall, you can’t hear his footsteps, everything about Satoru acts light. His footsteps, his breathing, his voice. Everything, yet he’s unable to mask his heavy presence — that lets you know he is still there, until he isn’t, and you hear the loud echo of a faint click of your front door being shut. Silence consumes the empty home and you’re left to sleep alone once again.

[The tide is rising higher and higher; everything will get pulled in. Your feet stay trapped in the sand.]

—

Turning twenty didn’t change anything. Neither did turning twenty-four, nor twenty-five. If anything, sometimes you feel more lost now than you did at eighteen, you thought you knew the world at sixteen. You are grown, yet sometimes it feels as if your physical appearance is the only thing about you that has changed, it’s a strange thing — growing up.

It took a few years, but now you are used to the bright lights that never go out and the busy streets with crowds that never split. You love Tokyo, all of the things you have never experienced or seen before, you’ve grown used to living here — every little thing.

However, every blue moon, a memory of that village hits you so hard, the cracks in your heart begin to widen once again, just when you were able to put it back together again. There’s a type of sadness that always lingers within you, settling behind your ribs, deeply in a place you could ever reach, and all you can go is try to pretend it isn’t there. You don’t think anything could ever fix it. Even in the middle of this city, sometimes you swear the scent of the ocean passes you by — you remember Suguru in those moments and shed a few tears.

You feel Satoru’s presence before you hear or see him. You’ve always hated it when he randomly appears in your apartment like this — always having to bring to mind that he should use the front door like a normal person, but Satoru goes against everything normal.

He announces, “Well, don’t you look so pretty today.” You smile when you hear this as he pulls you into a hug and you feel his hand running through your hair. At first, you lean into the comforting feeling, until his hand doesn’t leave your hair — he’s digging through it, causing you to glance up in confusion.

Growing uncomfortable by his silence and seemingly dedication, you ask, “Um, what are you doing?”

“Why is your hair shining? Oh—hm, is this glitter?” he asks, his index finger in between both of you as a little sparkle shines against it, causing you to deeply inhale.

“One of the kids was playing around with glitter and got it in my hair. I spent the entire night washing it out,” you explain, feeling frustrated all over again. “Is there still a lot? I thought I got all of it out . . .”

He shakes his head, replying, “There’s still some left.” You groan, which comes out more like a childish whine, at his words.

“What, where?” you ask, hands automatically flying up to your hair, patting around for a feel for any tiny pieces of plastic. Of course, it’s nearly impossible to find. “Help me, Satoru,” you plead, seeing him just stand there watching you (he could be using all that height for something useful).

Satoru leans down, his face right in front of yours, nose brushing against yours as he grins, “They’re in your eyes, princess,” he whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your eyelid.

You huff at his words, biting down on your growing smile, unable to stop the blush rushing to your cheeks. ”Satoru, that is so corny.” You lightly shove him away from you in embarrassment. You ask, “Why are you here?”

“I can’t come and see you without a reason?” He lifts an eyebrow as if you had something unreasonable — which however would be true, if you didn’t know Satoru. He always has a reason when it comes to you.

“Really, tell me why.” You don’t back down, insisting on the reasoning for his sudden visit.

He places a hand over his heart, feigning a hurt expression. “You never believe me.” When you don’t budge, he finally admits, “I want to go on a little trip with you.”

You shake your head, stepping closer to him. “I have work on Monday,” you reply, jabbing your finger into his toned chest. “And you do, too. No more slacking off.”

“I know, I know, but that was only once—”

“—More than once,” you sternly correct.

He sheepishly grins. “Yes . . . More than once, you’re right, but it’ll only be for a day,” he says, taking your hand in his, fingers slipping in between the empty spaces. “Just for one night, so come with me?”

“I don’t know, Satoru. I have paperwork to go over—“

He squeezes your hand, pleading, “You need to take a breather. C’mon, just one day for you and me.”

With a sigh, you agree. The both of you already knew you would end up agreeing with him from the very beginning — an answer destined from the beginning.

He takes you to Yokohama, only an hour away. He rents out a room in the hotel with the best view of the city, one too grand and lavish, it feels performative. But the view up here really is beautiful. He treats you to your favourite foods and slips his credit card into your hand, “Buy anything you want,” he says.

By evening, he’s dragging you along, you try to keep up with his long strides, mentally cursing him and his long legs. Even now, you struggle to keep up with his fast pace and Satoru has always struggled to slow down, his body and soul always running ahead of everyone around him.

He takes you all the way to the pier with an overlook of the small beach — nothing compared to the one you grew up in. It smells of seaweed and fish, and you can see across the water here, the sun slowly sets in the distance, an orange and red sky reflected in the water, your eyes feel heavy the more you sink into the view. Satoru never lets go of your hand; his steady hand holds yours firmly.

The younger you could never imagine herself in your position. Into the deep city, much older with an ordinary job, watching a pretty sunset at an average beach. A younger you could never imagine herself living a life without Suguru in it, even when the thought had crossed your mind many times in the lonesome seasons as you watched him board the train to go. Many things have changed. Some things remain the same. Your feelings have never changed. The ocean always stays the same, it always will, and there’s comfort in knowing this.

You quietly sigh, fighting the itch for the need of a cigarette. His lucky cigarette. You long for the familiar bitter smell that you once used to hate.

Satoru only stares at the crashing waves. Unable to tear his eyes away from it; those eyes of his have always belonged to the sea. To blue skies, to fading youth, lonely blue eyes. There is no doubt in your soul that he’s thinking of Suguru right now. You know this because whenever you are by the sea, you can’t help, but to think of him, too.

—

From a young age, Suguru comes to realise he is a small fish in a big pond. The world around him is much bigger than the cage he swims in. He grows more insecure when he comes to realise his family is different from others; he is different from others.

He has always been sensitive to his surroundings. Sensitive to his mother’s silent presence and wishes, to every action and expression his father made, and everything around him. For a long time he believed this village was haunted, that one day ghosts emerged from the sea and haunted him and the townsfolk. After all, he swore he was always being watched, every one of his actions was being judged and digested — he could feel it itching at his bones. And when he told his father this, his father barked a laugh so loud, Suguru’s soul jumped, and said he didn’t think Suguru would believe his words for so long — he was only trying to scare him.

However, this feeling never went away. The black shadow beneath his bed greets him every night with a snicker, hiding beneath the blanket causes the laughter to become louder, louder, until it screeches, like the sound of a nail running across a chalkboard piercing his ears, refusing to become muffled as he covers his head with his old pillow. In the mornings, it runs freely in the winds.

Each movement of his is being watched and soon, very soon, he’ll be swallowed and devoured whole.

Once the arguing dies down and the creaking of the wooden floor to his parents’ bedroom falls silent, he sneaks out of his house at midnight, walking through the haunted hallways, desperate for fresh air and the ocean. The smell of oak and the summer heat suffocating him. Suguru meets you wandering along the empty dirt road. All alone during the dark night. He finds it so strange.

He knows of you — a girl from the class next door. He has seen you walking in the hallway a few times. Apparently, you don’t get along with your classmates, rumours travel fast in this village through hushed whispers and mocking snickers, the stars this time are about your mother and father, and caught up in between the clashing meteors is you. In a way, he feels as if you are similar to him, your eyes have a sadness to them that no child should have, however your smile is soft and warm, and whether it was awe or pity (—familiarity or something darker), Suguru felt drawn to you. Hook, line, and sinker, he followed after you.

You bring him to the sea; walking across the shoreline to a little corner behind an area hidden by a bunch of huge rocks that you call your secret spot. Suguru doesn’t mention that he had found this spot last year, nor does he mention that he’s seen a bunch of older guys walk out of here either.

You had declared, “This is your spot now, too.”

A secret corner in this little big world only for the two of you; only for you and him.

There’s a fin that shines white beneath the moonlit surface, he can see in the distance, though the shark doesn’t make its way closer to shore, swimming farther and farther where the moonlight doesn’t shine. The lull of the waves eases the ringing in his ears. He’s always wondered what really lies beneath the surface; the depths that no man could ever reach.

Suguru looks over to you, who is looking across the vast sea so yearnfully — the summer stars are twinkling in your eyes, stats that guide the sailors lost at sea back home.

[He’s never once had the courage to ask what you were looking at so beautifully.]

Suguru wishes he could go home, but he can’t, unable to run to his little comfort corner at the end of the world. Not now, probably not ever. Everything around him is burning blue, he’s drowning himself in the screams and curses of hundreds of strangers, his hands are dripping crimson red. Everything is blue. Bright blue like the summer sky and glistening sea. Blue eyes. Ivory hair. Carefree smiles. Little white sundress and your innocent laughter muffled between the haunting cries. Splattered blood. Drifting white headband and hydrangeas. A celebration for the dead. A cage for the living.

There’s something dark brewing inside him that has been eating away at him — tearing into his tender heart and clawing its fangs in (a familiar darkness that feels strangely like home).

The sound of clapping echoes within the crackling, screeching louder and louder. It snaps, then pops.

Suguru can’t go home. Nowhere is home. Everything around him is burning blue. So blue, and he’s being consumed by the fire. On pestiferous lands, a pin stained of his blood drops onto the ground as he accepts his new fate.

[An unpleasant, high-pitched laughter greets him, one that had always haunted him back then, dragging him down into the darkest pits of the sea. I’ve been waiting, it cackles and cackles and cackles. Into the void, he’s met by his own reflection.]

—

“Hm? You’re not in the water today?”

Sprawled out like a starfish, Satoru finds Suguru laying on the sand, where the water meets the sand, eyes closed and peaceful.

When there’s no reply, Satoru pouts, plopping down to lay beside him. He calls out his name, wanting attention, awaiting a response as he stares at him. Suguru doesn’t turn his head to meet his eyes, he just lays there, so listless, and Satoru softly sighs, a small smile gracing his face despite feeling a little annoyed. He closes his eyes, the sound of ocean waves crashing, cicadas calling out from the high branches in the distance and the seagulls' low mews create a summer melody.

“No, not today. I am listening to the waves,” he says, and Satoru smiles in amusement.

He asks, “From here?” Normally, one’s body should be emerged into the water for that, but Suguru hasn’t become one with the sea — his clothes and hair remain mostly dry.

Suguru hums in reply and Satoru parrots it. Listening to the waves. How stupidly poetic, he thinks to himself, chuckling at how cute and childish Suguru can be. A hidden side of Suguru that is so endearing as it is entertaining.

The way the waves crash onto the shore — rather gently, kissing his feet to the brim of his rolled up jeans, and Satoru hates it. He doesn’t understand how Suguru is fine with the water soaking his clothes and the sand that sticks onto his skin and hair. The water is strangely warm as well, adding to his annoyance.

“Do you have any dreams, Satoru?”

Without any thought, Satoru directs the question back to him. “What’s yours?”

“I asked first,” Suguru huffs, and he can feel Suguru rolling his eyes. However, Suguru is kind enough to not push, he says, “I think one of my dreams came true already. I wanted to get out of here for a long time.”

For a long time, escaping this place has been one of his dreams. He racks for reasons why — only one stands out and it’s how this village is too small for someone like Suguru, a cage holding back a beast, surrounded by everything ordinary. What are his other dreams? What does he dream of? Yet, instead of all the thoughts that shoot through his brain, Satoru finds himself asking about you. “What about her?”

Are you one of Suguru’s dreams? He needs to know. He opens an eye, peeking at the boy beside him, who lays there so peacefully as the sun kisses his skin.

After a minute, he answers, “I am waiting for her in Tokyo.” Suguru says this in a way that Satoru is familiar with. Too familiar. Suguru calls out his name like this, his stomach sinks. “Once we graduate and make money from these missions, I will take her out of this place and bring her home.”

Honestly, at first thought, Satoru assumed Suguru liked this place since he keeps coming back every little bit of freedom they’re given. Perhaps, it’s only to see you, and his parents. In this seaside village, far out from everything he has ever known, Suguru only likes it here — this little part of the beach where nobody goes. It’s not so bad here, just a little lame, and very boring, but Satoru wouldn’t mind staying here with Suguru. And you, much to his surprise.

He doesn’t understand why.

“I think she may wait for you for a long time. I took a peek at your bank account and trust me—”

“What the hell, Satoru?” Suguru’s voice comes out breathy in disbelief. “Did you actually look through my accounts? Has nobody taught you to not snoop through other peoples’ belongings?”

“Well, I didn’t really look. It was technically, if anything, what would be considered a peek—a little one.”

Suguru scoffs, clearly offended. “Liar, you’re jinxing it for me.”

Satoru repeats his words in a low mocking tone, earning a sharp elbow to his rib, a loud and painful groan escapes his throat.

“I was just joking. Really, I am!” he shouts in defence, and surprisingly (and thankfully), Suguru’s attacks don’t continue. He probably knew he would’ve activated his infinity.

After a moment, he mentions, “You never answered my question.”

“You know the answer.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I have everything, Suguru. I’ve never had to ask for anything in my entire life.”

“You do, but one day, there will be something that even someone like you won’t be able to hold onto.”

A noise like a ‘pssh’ falls from Satoru’s lips. “You’re always so melodramatic. Enlighten me, Suguru. What could I ever wish for?”

Suguru plops back down onto the sand, imitating a starfish once again. Arms and legs spread out, fingers brushing against Satoru’s hair. “Who knows,” he replies. “Maybe a break from missions? You always complain about receiving too many.”

“Yes, the Elders are testing me,” he dramatically sighs, face scrunching up in annoyance. “Everyone knows I am the strongest, so why bother with testing me?” His tongue clicks.

“You lack humbleness.”

Satoru laughs, a hint of bitterness. “I am literally a god. What do I gain by being nice?” Suguru opens his eyes, head turning to face him, shining jewels. “I don’t do this whole charade of politeness like you do, Suguru.”

“It doesn’t hurt to act humble.”

Humble. Satoru has never understood this. He and Suguru have proven to themselves and others that they’re much stronger than any sorcerer alive. They’re at the top of the mountain, watching everyone struggle below, two halves of a whole. (He wonders, do you know this side of Suguru? He can’t imagine Suguru showing this to someone as sweet and normal as you.)

Suguru is facing him, inspecting his expression, and Satoru doesn’t look away.

He stares directly at Suguru, saying, “I don’t need to play pretend, I don’t understand why you feel the need to. We’re not like normal people.”

“Just because we’re strong doesn’t mean we need to act like we’ve above the weak.”

Satoru sighs, it’s not an act when they really are above everyone. He thinks he’ll never understand why Suguru acts this way; pretending to be humble, playing along with the Elders, despite how they don’t care about anyone, but themselves. Suguru pretends to be normal in this village, hiding everything that makes him above others — a chosen one amongst a society of ants.

(His virtue is but a simple disguise, hidden behind a mask, a fading white veil.)

“You know, it’s because we’re the strongest that they make us take on more and more missions.” Those bastards are getting lazier.

“Ah, but someone like Gojō Satoru can handle it, can’t he?” Suguru lightly teases as the tips of his fingers fiddle with the strands of Satoru’s hair.

He huffs, throat tickling. “Obviously. We got this,” he says with a self-satisfied smile, victory assured in his mind.

(Satoru has never once lost a battle. He can’t imagine he ever will.)

In a few days, they will fly to Okinawa. A pretty island that Satoru hasn’t seen in person before and he doesn’t know the exact details yet as Yaga-sensei has only provided a brief explanation that totally flew over his head, but one thing Satoru knows for certain is that the mission will be one with Suguru. As expected, the two strongest sorcerers of this generation, it comes to no one’s surprise, and Satoru can hardly wait. It’s fun doing assignments with someone who can keep up with him — Suguru is always in tune with him, they’re the same, yet so different, they’re equals. There’s no doubt in his mind that this mission will be a breeze for them.

Okinawa is hours away from this place, hours away from Tokyo, yet the ocean is vast — reaching far out into the world, connecting right back to where you are. Right back to the place Suguru had once called home.

The boy and the girl, forever entwined by an endless blue, where soul meets body.

—

Satoru wonders if you would hate him, the sweet and ever-loving you; if you knew how he watched your precious Suguru drown — the call of the void lulling him in, sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss, Satoru did nothing, but watch (—he’s always been good at watching, watching, and watching).

He knows you wouldn’t, and for some reason, that leaves him feeling worse. Love is such a strong, yet weak thing.

A call from you and Satoru snaps out of his thoughts and turns his head to you. Mouth slightly drawn down, eyes darting across his face, looking for a sign of anything, you ask, “What are you thinking about?”

Time flew quickly without him noticing. Walking along the pier as the sun set and moon rose, all the way to the beach area, sand slips into his dress shoes, and the sensation leaves him uncomfortable. Saltwater grazes against his skin, dripping down the corner of his bottom lip, saltiness flowing against his tongue — disgustingly salty. He glances towards the ocean, barely seen in blanket of darkness.

Before him, the endless ebb and flow of waves, his unsaid thoughts carried with the tide, drowning them into the depths of the sea. “Fireworks,” he simply answers.

“You want to light fireworks right now?”

“No, not really. I was remembering how we lit them back then—” he looks over to you, already meeting his eyes, and says, “—that night on the beach.”

Confusion slowly falls from your face once you begin to grasp the meaning of his words. Your expression is one of pain before turning blank. You drop your gaze, taking a step closer to him, your soft hand slips into his, so casually, he never realised your hands stopped being connected before. His thumb creases over the delicate skin of your hand.

You don’t look at him again, turning to face the void. Nostalgia falling over your features; misty eyes wistful, Satoru doesn’t recognise it, but he assumes this is homesickness — you wish to fall into the comfort of the sea (somewhere far beyond the boundary, to Suguru).

After a long time, you begin to speak. “You were right, Satoru,” you say, tone low and gentle, almost drowned within the harsh waves. “They really were beautiful back then.”

His hand tightens around yours, squeezing thrice, heart slowing. “They were.”

[Summertime, burning incense, and only the remains of ashes spill from his hesitating hand. A prayer to the living, meant only for where blue remains.]

still, he keeps it on as he warps himself to the driveway. the ground is unsteady beneath his shoes, his limbs weak after bearing the weight of the world all day. it was a little over two days since he last slept, a little less than that the last time he rested his body. he stretched his legs, taking long strides along the pavement leading to the front door.

the neighborhood is quiet. the streetlamps buzz and the paws of stray cats lightly pad across the road as they look for something to prey on. the houses lining the street remain silent, surely tucked into bed and dreaming peacefully without the fears of curses or an extinction of all humanity tainting their lives.

all but one house, had their lights shut off.

satoru sees it from the porch. the curtains illuminating with a gentle orange, the light stretching on from inside. he knew exactly where it came from, across the open floorpad of the loft, next to the long, cream couch in the living room.

he doesn't bother pulling out his keys, as much as it troubles him. he hates the door being left unlocked while he's gone.

it clicks open with a gentle turn of the knob, and satoru lets himself inside. the smell of sweet vanilla welcomes him home, wafting through the air with the flicker of a candle thrashing against the walls. he slips his shoes off by the door next to a pair of pink slippers.

he locks the door behind him before rounding the corner, shuffling his socks against the hardwood floors. the distant chatter of the tv, used as background noise, grows clearer in his mind as he draws closer.

no matter how long his days are, or how much time he spends away, you always wait for him.

he was too tired for words, a sleepy grin tugging at his lips when his eyes land on your figure curled up in your spot in the corner of the couch. you lean against your hand, propped up on the arm rest, the lamp above you casting a halo over your head.

you close the cover of the book you were reading and set it on the coffee table, next to the flickering candle. you shut off the tv.

you look over your shoulder, brushing your hair out of your face. your smile was soft and inviting, luring him in closer and flipping the switch to his infinity off. "hi, honey."

he crawls over the couch like always, his limbs turning cat-like as he stretches over the cushions. the sudden weight of his body dips the cushions and jostles your position on the couch. his arms drape over the back of the couch as he drags himself closer to you.

his hands cradle the back of your head, the touch gentle, but firm as he urged you closer. of course, you let him pull you in, and press your lips against his. he's eager, he always is, like he's been stuck holding his breath and you're his only source for air.

"hey, sweets."

satoru's lips are soft, because even as he carries on his days in peril, and his brain fades in consciousness, he reminds himself to use lip balm. for moments like this, for you. he's devoted to you in every sense, counting down the minutes each day until he comes home to you, until he can have you in his arms again.

his fingers curl into your scalp, begging you to stay like this for a few seconds longer. he won't say it out loud, but you feel the relief drop his shoulders.

you're the first to pull away, you always are. if it were up to satoru, you'd stay like that for hours.

he whines, bumping his forehead into your shoulder pathetically. like he isn't the strongest sorcerer in the world, like you aren't his wife every day of the week.

your fingers card through his hair, catching on the thick band of his blindfold. "why do you still have this on?"

satoru's breath stutters as your nails scrape against his scalp, scratching the prickly hairs of his undercut and down to the back of his neck. he smirks in triumph, his eyes fluttering shut. he knows why. your fingers glide against his hair and drag along his hairline, twirling the short strands.

the pads of your fingers tug at his blindfold over the back of his head, slipping underneath the black band and teasingly inching it upward. you let go, and it clasps against his skin again. he grumbles, just to hear your giggle.

you peel it off, merciful as always.

he keeps it on all day just for this. this moment, that carries him through his days.

forehead resting against your shoulder, satoru blinks as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. he hears you reach over and flip the lamp off, leaving the candle thrashing on the coffee table. he lifts his head to meet your eyes, batting the sleep away from his white lashes.

your palm holds his cheek, your thumb catching on his lips curled into a smile. you brush against his skin, watching his eyes flutter in response. even in the darkness, you could see the purple circles digging underneath his eyes, the kind of depth that would have him begging for an eye mask in the morning.

he cocks his head, his hooded gaze boring into your eyes. the whites of his eyes are tinted with pink, forcing the blues to stand out more than usual. still, you find yourself drifting into the depth of his eyes, pretty blue stars twinkling in admiration as he looked at you like you held the world in your hands. in a way, you did.

the muscles under his eyes twitch with sleep deprivation.

"you've been awake for days," you murmur.

he hums, his eyes drifting shut.

your smile widens, and you feel the cute aggression prickle your fingertips. "lay down, baby."

satoru follows your command with another hum. you could say anything right now, and he'd listen. you could tell him the world was made of pudding, and he'd take it as gospel, buy out all the newspaper outlets the next morning and made it the covers of the morning paper.

the back of his head rests in your lap, his eyes still shut. he blindly follows the routine he'd been anticipating with bated breath.

you unbutton the clasp to his uniform collar, a soft scoff escaping you at the fact that he didn't bother taking off his uniform. if you point it out, he'll make a comment about stripping for you, so you don't bother. you peel the fabric away from his neck to give him room to feel the air on his skin, the soft puffs of your breath breezing over his skin as you angled your body over his.

you start by pressing into his temples, rubbing small circles into his hairline. satoru purrs at the feeling of your warm fingers against his cold skin, melting away the ice that nipped his face. you grin to yourself, watching his lips drift apart at the simple touch of your fingers.

the massage drifts to the tails of his eyebrows, circling the skin before lifting your thumbs and smoothing them over his eyebrows. you press firmly, he likes it when you do that. if he hadn't said it before, you could tell by the breathy moan that leaves him now. you realize soon you'll have to pluck his eyebrows, maybe tomorrow when you sit him down for the eye mask.

satoru's breathing slows as he relaxes against the cushions of your thighs, so content he might as well resign there for the rest of his life.

you trail the path his blindfold usually takes, digging into the skin above his ears where the fabric was it's tightest. you pull the cartilage of his ears into your palms, rubbing them gently. the feeling dissolves any opposition left clinging to his subconscious. even behind his eyelids, you could see the way his eyes roll back to his head.

the tension releases from his face, his jaw unclenching as his head drifts to the side, ready for sleep to take him fully.

you press on in the same routine. occasionally, your hands drifted over the untouched skin of his face, dragging your fingers under his jaw like giving a cat chin scratches. it pulled the same content purr from him.

he's drifting, you can feel it. the existence of the world around him dwindles to nothing, and he can't recall a time he's existed outside of being with you, like this. the soothing press of your fingers against his skin anchors him to what he spends his days fighting for— to purchase a home, raise two children, to be able to leave the front door unlocked, you. he will always fight to come back to you, and the life you built together.

you lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, effectively breaking down his last line of defense.

"you falling asleep on me?" you whisper.

satoru shakes his head softly, slowly blinking his eyes open. his gaze is gentle, the warm flame light flickering across his face. sleepiness weighs down his cheeks, begging him to turn over and give in to his dreams. he looks at you with that smugness that never seems to leave him, a wide smirk stretching across his face.

"no, i'm waiting for my happy ending."