* THIS STAR-LIKE SOLITUDE,

A fact that will make the man beside him all the more obnoxious once he catches on, of course.

Holding out the papers for Hyperion to take, he uses his free hand to tuck black strands behind his ear whilst glaring pointedly at him. “Poison backfiring has never stopped you before. Case in point: Those Morbols.” Another contortion twists the beautiful face hidden behind the mask as lingering memories of the smell return again. If he could go back to a time before that happened, he would.

Pools of electric-blue stare at him, pleading, causing Hesperus to turn his head away with a faint huff, the last of his defences crumbling. “But yes, alright. I can't deny my soft spot for your creativity.” If the way he dresses is anything to go by, his black robes adorned with silver metal and ears stretched, then Hyperion likely realised it was a point he could use early on in their relationship. No other within the convocation, uptight as they are, would dare present themselves so bar Azem.

yet the great azem thought, perhaps, that fighting a losing battle might eventually get old. even when the brave soul was his husband.

“ hmmm. certainly. certainly ! my parents are both researchers, remember? all that’s gotta come from somewhere. ” a pair of dedicated wildlife explorers, exceptionally proficient in their field and twice as committed to seeing their son grow into a promising creator and seasoned traveler, his wishes granted one by one: elpis thrives and blooms under their vision. their golden architect wasn’t going to keep it as immaculate. they were few and far between, but whatever impractical beastkin his mind concocted was a direct result of unmerited jabs in relation to the convocation’s darling wanderer. hyperion’s expression brightens up when he registers that a flash of misery still works and is still enough to get the self-indulgence of his life.

The question catches him by surprise, breaking the spell and giving him pause. Are they close? Leaning back, he stares up at the stain-glass windows. “Not exactly. I'd consider him more of a mentor than friend. He took me in at the church's demand when I was… led astray.” It was a brief thing, really. An innocent thing. Under blossoming cherry trees, clouds parting to reveal brilliant skies, did Suguru lean in to kiss another young man. He can't recall what prompted it. Maybe it was the suffocating loneliness of the cold, towering walls of the monastery. A desire for comfort outside of prayer and devotion.

Either way, they were caught, and the priest punished by being sent to this deary land filled with tiresome, hollow individuals.

“ led astray? what’d you do? killed someone? ” far from it, most certainly, but who can really tell? suguru’s looking at him with the eyes of a trained prey animal that’s only waiting for the right call or a cue to maim that should come by now, damn it all, because then he would at least have a reason to claim the devil made him do it — whatever, whoever he believes in. nonetheless, a small part of him grows more curious and he’s already almost decided it must’ve had something to do with theft, unconvinced in his assumptions [ … ] creatures like him, unrestricted and unconcerned with creeds and righteousness, cannot watch a man die and expect divine punishment. no faith has ever condemned anyone for eating, has it?

old enough to have seen it all, the vampire doesn’t feel any particular need to understand or justify.

re: his birth. born to namie and hirohide gojō on an exceptionally cold december morning, satoru’s birth was reason for much celebration despite the unremarkable status his parents held within the gojō clan. both of them somewhat capable sorcerers, though their jujutsu prowess was nothing to really brag about, the sheer, striking difference between that and satoru’s potential was believed to be a hindrance in the latter’s development: the clan elders thought a “stagnant” environment would never bring out the best in the newborn heir and were unwilling to waste the chance presented to them. the last member of the gojō clan with both the six eyes and the limitless had lived approximately 400 years ago, after all, and making the most of it seemed only natural to an already morally grey force. satoru was thus taken from his parents in spite of his father’s protests, but he and his wife were granted an overwhelming number of privileges within the clan as if to make up for it. neither were exactly keen on such manners of promotion, as they thought a human life couldn’t be traded for higher status, much less when the life in question was that of their child.

re:  the clan’s attempts at producing a leader. shaping him to maintain their notorious reputation was something the clan had in store for satoru before he was even born: once there, they tried to influence him into choosing the path of an authoritative leader that could take over and rule with an iron fist, but he had other plans in mind. while the notion of power and becoming strong was more than appealing to him, the prospect of using said strength to help others was pretty much nonexistent. only after enrolling in jujutsu tech and realizing the whole point of power is using it for the good of others did his childlike convictions get shattered.

re: education and extracurricular activities. unsurprisingly, satoru was homeschooled. not only was he not in the presence of other children during the most crucial part of his life, but he also missed out on experiences such as field trips, lunch time with classmates, or skipping his first class. aside from the usual subjects you would find in a japanese elementary school, his schedule included jujutsu as the pinnacle of his education, followed by an assortment of shōgi, go and chess classes, calligraphy, kyūdō, and traditional etiquette. all his tutors were exceptional. to this day, he retains all that information and could probably shock someone if he actually demonstrated any of the above. at the end of the day, he comes from a family of aristocrats but the fact he despises their pretentious behavior doesn’t make him any less knowledgeable about it.

re: personality and the reason for being an unruly child. he was raised almost exclusively by the clan elders and distant relatives, with very limited access to his parents. and, though a course of action so drastic had been laid out in the classified clan archives i talked a little about here, all members involved in his upbringing were fully aware of the unethical nature of such an act and hoped to soften the blow some. how? raising him in such a way that he did not know the plight of poverty or the threat of even the most common cold. he was spoiled rotten and had his every material wish catered to, but the severe emotional neglect they’d put him through led to a very independent, irritable satoru (from a very early age) that would only bounce back on his own terms. he’d become disobedient and not at all fond of his caretakers save one or two at best, which in turn made disciplining him especially difficult for reasons wholly tied to who he was.

re: religion. he was raised in a buddhist household, even though religion was never the priority or the absolute condition to become a well-rounded individual within the clan. satoru was taught the five precepts, the noble truths, went to multiple temples, but very little did actually stick. he demonstrated incredible self-reliance very early on and his personal views were part of it — he found it hard to follow a set of rules and teachings he didn’t resonate entirely with. thus, spurred by his boundless curiosity, he chose a path where he could make sense of life and the world on his own. poses next to my sideblog url

re: his first missions. they started at around 7 years old, after rigorous training and theory crammed into a very unwilling, overactive satoru. the theoretical part quite obviously went in through one ear and out the other, as the boy’s innate talent for jujutsu was already formidable without all those wasted hours they insisted were necessary, but the six eyes were the main factor of his performance. by age 10 he’d become skilled enough to take down semi-grade 2 to grade 2 curses. fear was an uncommon trait even for a child that young, so even the ugliest curses didn’t faze him much — the urge to exorcise them kicked in faster than intimidation.

re: the bounty on his head. even when fairly young, he barely took that bounty seriously. the gojō clan members did do their best to keep it a secret from him or, at the very least keep it a secret until he actually grew up and understood the position he was in, but the bounty hunters were many and people inadvertently talk. seeing that no one managed to even locate, let alone land a hit on him, whatever worries he might’ve had dissipated quickly. satoru was unusually brave for someone his age and most of it was because of that blind confidence and conviction he was truly invincible.

re: his hobbies. he could’ve probably counted his hobbies on one hand; with schedules and other activities taking up most of his time, he had little freedom to find and stick to one interest the way he would’ve liked. video games were a big part of his childhood; he enjoyed the digimon games that had just come out, sightseeing spots he ran into during his supervised missions, even if the time he had for the latter was embarrassingly scarce. making up for it in his adulthood is the most reasonable way to catch up on that. he doesn’t have a favorite digimon game, but susanoomon has been his favorite digimon since its debut. he still has his first figurine of it.

re: running away from home. he did that a lot, at times on multiple occasions in a single week. not only did he need to escape the suffocating halls and overbearing family members, the more mischievous part of him took pleasure in the fact that losing him would send his caretakers spiraling, particularly if he’d been scolded beforehand. to ensure he would be left alone until he decided he was ready to come back, he discovered cemeteries were the best hiding place. he liked the silence, didn’t mind the occasional visitor, and he could focus on handheld console games with no outside interference. he was never found there.

re: connections with others and loneliness. too young to understand the concept of loneliness, he subconsciously suffered massively from it: it was less other kids his age being kept away from him and more satoru being told there was nothing for him worth pursuing in such interpersonal relationships. non-sorcerers weren’t frowned upon, but there was little in common he had with them as he had no lasting hobbies of his own. even with children from sorcerer families, the difference in power was so stark it didn’t spark much interest on his end — they were learning how to read and write, he was refining his barriers / curtains. friendships with him were virtually not possible despite his occasional desire to form one. it takes months, years at jujutsu tech for him to eventually realize what he’d missed out on.

re: his first and only best friend. this was undoubtedly @trelonkan’s suguru, who satoru met while getō was on a school trip in the area. they bonded immediately, as a mere introduction or two later, satoru realized just how easy approaching and talking to the other boy had been, and it wasn’t long before he found out he was speaking to a fellow sorcerer. poor, but kind and respectful, suguru had nothing to offer him except an ice cream bought with hard-earned money. it was the first time satoru ever accepted something from someone that wasn’t his family and to this day it remains one of his best childhood memories. the next time they meet is during their first year at jujutsu tech, but the trauma caused by family neglect, packed schedules and unprocessed grief from losing the person he pretty much thought was an equal caused him not to remember any of it nor the classmate that treated him a decade prior.

@nvictive

It's rare that Hesperus gets to show Hyperion something he's not discovered. Rarer still, that he can take him to his hometown, tucked away from their bustling capital.

They're in a dark forest, moving under swaying canopies, Hesperus holding Hyperion's hand tight. His sudden joke makes him laugh, airy and light — trust him to make such a comment when they couldn't be further away.

“Next week, yes. I want to show you something different tonight.” A location he'd escape to in his youth to study, books tucked against his chest as he wandered through overgrown thickets. It's a place of undeniable peace. One perfect for a home cooked dinner prepared by his own two hands. “It's just through here.” He pulls him through trees until a clearing opens, Hesperus halting to behold a tapestry of black woven with shimmering gold; the night sky greets them with a cool, unyielding calm, awaiting their gazes.

A clap of his hands and a picnic basket drops into an open palm. Moments later, he's set everything but the food up, summoned firefly familiars dancing around to create a gentle blue glow.

Perfect. Now for the final act.

Tugging his partner down onto the blanket, Hesperus wraps him in his arms until he's pressed against his chest.

“Look up, my dearest. The stars call your name.” Softly spoken, a twitch of a smile threatening to spread. Dinner can wait. In this land where celestial lights sway and crickets sing, there's no need to rush.

Hyperion's eyes are drawn to the heavens; Hesperus's are centred solely on the man in his arms. For all the beauty of the stars, none can defeat that which he calls his own.

A fine crease between knit eyebrows appears as he continues reading, mouth forming a firm line. “What possible use does this have?” Thoughts swarming, he mulls it over and draws zero — nothing comes to mind. Not a good sign for this particular creation, though given Hythlodaeus' proclivities, it's only a matter of time before it's accepted.

Hyperion's never low on enthusiasm and tall tales, a trait their friend finds himself far too willing to give into.

hardly possible in practice, with the current… arrangement of the convocation; his creativity would suffer a great deal if it weren’t for these unpredictable stunts. or so he’d claim.

“ not everything needs to have a use, you know. in order to better appreciate the useful, ” he continues, his tonality taking on a particular edge, like he’s intentionally trying to emulate the most uninteresting educator he’s ever met, “ one must first become acquainted with the useless. how else could you tell the difference between the two? ” with hesperus, azem’s tactic only works up to a clear, certain point: when violet eyes glimmer with interest flourishing against his will, half-swayed by big words and flowery reasoning, the traveler knows it’s smooth sailing from there. “ poison might backfire in the long run, so temporary paralysis feels more reasonable. ”

Suguru's made himself comfortable on Satoru's waist, lifting the other's arms above his head until he can hold both wrists with one hand. He waits, listening, disgruntled expression holding firm when his partner teases. Ridiculous. As if there's anyone else for him. As he could love another after being given the sun. The silence stretches out, dark eyes unmoving. Then Suguru grins. “You are. But you're my brat.” It's like a game. Teasing each other until fine cracks form in their little back and forth, leading to one's eventual undoing. “Still, if you'd rather find someone else, that can be arranged.”

He feels Satoru's leg nudging him forward. Allowing it for a moment, Suguru eventually leans down. Long, black hair curtains Satoru's face, fingers gently gripping his jaw; he's lost this round, but does so willingly. “I don't think you do, though, do you?” Purred, a brush of his lips against soft pink ones, “Or do you need me to remind you why you belong to me?”

part of him would like to challenge the unspoken ‘ or else ’ his partner all but spells out, but the sorcerer feels content with only a kiss returned from lips that eventually find better use. “ you say that like it’d be so easy to find someone who’d want to deal with me. who told you i want to make someone else’s life hell? ” who told you anyone else could? the thought offensive in its own right, satoru’s mirroring grin persists through mischievous threats and dangerous touches. blue eyes lose their sharpness as suguru deliberately continues to disarm him with predictable, playful condescension.

Placing the persimmon in Satoru's mouth once he's sat down, Suguru tenderly wipes away the juice from his bottom lip with his thumb. It's a quiet sort of affection he never thought he'd have. Not in this bustling land where no one pays attention to the other, too concerned about their day-to-day lives to care.

taking his time to savor the bites as they come, he emits a low noise of approval as he seeks the man’s body warmth. satoru knows he’s lucky. the bare skin he presses the side of his cheek against, the permeating taste of ripe persimmons steady on his tongue; mere days into the future, if even that, he will come to miss the transience of a morning’s respite. for once he finds contentment in simply listening, imagining a much younger suguru caught red-handed, persimmons stuffed into his tiny pockets. would he try to bargain his way out of it? would he share with his friends? an imperceptible sigh against the viera’s shoulder later and satoru mindlessly squeezes him into a brief embrace. he wouldn’t know what either felt like. bargain with who? what friends?