Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the lingering chill of late August, the city of New York hums with its usual energy. At the heart of it, NYU buzzes with students returning for another year, faces new and familiar, young and old. Among them are two twenty-year-old men whose paths are about to cross in ways neither of them could predict. Their names? Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto. These two don’t officially know each other yet, but it’s destined for them to meet. Specifically, they meet in their shared fraternity, Pi Delta Psi.

Pi Delta Psi isn’t anything grandeur, but it’s quite a large fraternity. It holds primarily Asian-American students, in which Satoru and Suguru check the box.

Zooming closer into the college, you’d find it’s the first week back. Satoru was well known in the school. He walks into his classes with a big cheesy grin at all times, his eyes blinding anyone who dares to look into them with unexplainable joy. Suguru’s deep purple eyes, on the other hand, would give you an immense wave of dejection and misery. Suguru isn’t as well known in the university as Satoru. It’s not that people don’t talk to Suguru, actually, people do quite often, but he refused to ever engage in a conversation that ran more than two sentences. That’s just how Suguru is wired.

Satoru is eager to become a CEO of some company doing who-knows-what, but Suguru isn’t cut out for the big, office lifestyle like that. While Satoru chose the business line head-first, Suguru cautiously went into the med-line. He ended up landing on psychiatry. Suguru just wants to find a job where he can get paid for helping people without risking their life. He was too scared of becoming something like a surgeon in the case of messing up big-time. 

Suguru was always the type to want to save a life. It primarily roots from when he was younger, maybe around 14 years old, when he grew up seeing dozens of innocent people die out each day, all for reasons that weren’t worth that life. Growing up just outside of NYC’s border, he heard many fatal cases. Ones of suicide, ones of discrimination, ones of violence. Seeing things like that since the ripe age of 4 has only further pushed him into an urge to save those lives.

✮✮✮

To give you a little more insight into the lives of these two, let’s start with Satoru. On paper, his family tree is short— just him and his mother. His father’s just a name without a face. Whether he’s dead or alive is something Satoru’s never really known, and truthfully, he stopped asking a long time ago. The rest of his family might as well exist in another universe. The only people his mother tolerates are the Zenins. The reason he doesn’t have any other family isn’t because of some dramatic falling out or tangled history of grudges and betrayal. It’s quieter than that, more intentional. His mother, who loves him fiercely and perhaps fearfully, made the decision early on to shut the door on the rest of their bloodline. She never gave him a clear reason, only vague mentions of protection, of keeping things simple, of doing what’s best.

But even as a kid, Satoru knew it wasn’t just about keeping him safe. His mom carries her own kind of fragility, one that doesn’t always show on the surface, but lingers in the way she locks the doors twice and has those little habits that always keep herself safe. So, Satoru stepped up. He cracked jokes, smiled a little louder, became someone bright enough to distract from the heavy stuff. In some ways, his mother raised him, but in just as many, Satoru’s been quietly raising her too. A protector, even if she’d never ask him to be one.

Suguru, on the other hand, comes from what most would consider a good family. Stable and whole. Still under the same roof, still showing up for holidays and birthdays. He’s got a dad, a mom, a sister, and, most importantly, a cat. The cat, a fluffy white thing with big bright yellow eyes, is named Dragon and mo one really knows why. He just looked like a Dragon the day Suguru picked him out, and that was that. Between his parents and his pet, it’s no competition who holds the top spot in Suguru’s heart. Dragon wins, without question.

Not because Suguru resents his parents, no he doesn’t completely hate them. He actually loves them, in that quiet, reluctant way some people do when affection feels easier left unspoken. It’s just that they argue. A lot. Not about serious things, necessarily, just about everything else. The way his dad leaves the porch light on. The fact that his mom texts him “wake up Sugu” even when he’s already wide awake. The way the volume in his dad’s voice raises when he’s tired. The annoyed expression that his sister always holds. The silence when he’s overwhelmed. Most of the time, Suguru doesn’t mean to start anything. But sometimes when the pressure of life bubbles over, whether it’s assignments, deadlines, or whatever internal storm is brewing, he ends up taking it out on the two people who are always standing closest.

His dad doesn’t make it easier. He’s not a bad father, but he isn’t the easiest man to be around either. He speaks more in judgments than conversations, and rarely with warmth. Most of their talks are brief. Averaging ten minutes, if that, and often laced with disappointment more than curiosity. It’s not cruelty, just distance. A loop of emotional echo that neither of them has ever really tried to break.

Though, his mom, she’s different. She’s the kind of person who’s always believed in Suguru, even when he’s made it hard to. She knows how to wait out the moods. Knows when to talk and when to just sit next to him, letting the silence fill whatever apology he doesn’t know how to say. He doesn’t fight with her often. Can’t. Not when she’s one of the few people who seems to love him not in spite of the hard parts, but because she’s accepted they’re a part of him. That matters. More than he ever says out loud.

✮✮✮

August 31st, Saturday: 10:00 P.M.

Right now, students of Pi Delta Psi are in their rooms, anxious to leave for their first frat of the year. Suguru didn’t really want to go, but a girl named Shoko Ieiri is pushing him to go out and have fun. She’s not part of Pi Delta Psi, she has her own sorority to attend, but she wanted Suguru to have a good night while she’s out. The only reason Suguru agreed is because Ieiri is ‘paying him’ $25, but honestly, Ieiri probably won’t pay more than $5.

Ieiri forced herself into Suguru’s life in the first year of college when she found him skipping their mutually taken medical class. Suguru was trying a cigarette for the first time and failed tremendously . Ieiri obviously found this hilarious, noting that she walks around with a breath of smoke at all times. In some way, Shoko was able to befriend the friendless boy. Suguru doesn’t really have actual friends beside Shoko. He has people he can bear through conversations with, but no one that he can really call his friend like he does Shoko. He knows she already has her own good friends though, so he never tries hard to become her ‘best friend’, as he’s fine without one.

Now, if you look at Satoru currently, he’s in his dorm with four friends, laughing loudly, his fluffy white hair moving away from his eyes as his head throws back with a grin. He’s wearing some big T-Shirt with ironic writing on it that he had found hilarious, dark baggy-ish jeans, and some Adidas Sambas to top it off. It’s what you’d see pretty much any frat boy wearing (besides the shirt, everyone except for Satoru finds it stupid). His hair is left messy, but in a way that still looks decent. He’s been anticipating this party for too long to feel anything less than his pure enthusiasm.

Conversely, Suguru is dreading the departure from his bed. He threw on whatever he could find, which was a dark purple NYU hoodie and some baggy jeans, sagging just a bit to reveal plaid boxers in purple around his waist, his belt just there for style. He has black and white Nike Dunks on with his long, dark hair left down.

✮✮✮

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon and bled into a bruised purple sky, a hush seemed to fall over the streets of campus, at least, everywhere except the edge of the fraternity row, where the Pi Delta Psi house sat like a pulsing, living thing. Lights flashed behind its windows, glowing gold, red and blue against the siding like a warning or a welcome depending on who you were. Music, thick with bass and bravado, vibrated the sidewalk, shaking through the soles of passing shoes and thudding against the ribs of anyone walking by.

They came in slow waves, as in members of the frat, friends of friends, stragglers in search of free drinks and familiar faces. Some walked with intention, cutting through the front yard like they belonged there. Others lingered on the sidewalk, hesitating just long enough to be noticed before slipping inside with a forced casualness. The colder edge of the evening wind nipped at exposed skin, tugged at jacket sleeves and hoodies, but the promise of heat, alcohol, and crowd-thick closeness was enough to draw people in.

Suguru Geto stood across the street for a full minute before stepping foot on the driveway. He hadn’t planned to come tonight. In fact, he’d been determined not to, until his old basketball teammates had sent him a text riddled with “come on bro”s and “don’t be lame”s and a final picture of a red solo cup held up triumphantly like some kind of threat, which made Suguru agree to both Ieiri and his former basketball friends. Suguru knew exactly what kind of party this was going to be. It’d be chaotic, shallow, and a waste of time. But he also knew that if he didn’t make at least a few appearances early in the semester, the social noise would only get louder around him— whispers, speculations, and a dumb reputation he didn’t even want. He adjusted his hoodie and stepped up onto the porch.

Inside, the frat house was already suffocating. Music blasted from portable speakers scattered across rooms, bass heavy and clunky like someone was trying too hard to curate a vibe. The air was thick with too many colognes, stale beer, and a faint burn of something smoked in the kitchen. Laughter burst out of nowhere, fast and too loud, while red cups knocked into each other like ritual offerings in strangers’ hands.

Suguru walked in with the kind of expression that shut people up before they even said hi. His lips were pressed together, his brows low and unreadable, and his shoulders were slouched tiredly beneath his hoodie. He looked like he was enduring a punishment rather than stepping into a party. And maybe, in a way, he was.

He made it a few feet inside before he saw him. Satoru Gojo. There was no mistaking him, even if Suguru had never seen him in the flesh before. The stories hadn’t done him justice, or maybe they had and Suguru just hadn’t been paying enough attention. Leaning against a counter in the kitchen like he’d lived there his whole life, Gojo looked like the eye of a storm. His white hair caught the shifting lights and glowed faintly, like it was absorbing the color. A can of beer, already tipped and leaking, sat beside his arm, ignored like a decoration. He was grinning at someone off to the side, animated and radiant in a way that felt almost fictional.

Suguru didn’t mean to stare. But he did. It’s a serious problem that Suguru has, actually. He does this all the time. It was only for a second, but when Gojo’s electric blue eyes glanced over and locked onto his purple ones, just a fleeting look, Suguru snapped his head away. He was already moving toward the side of the living room where a few familiar faces from high school were crowded around a couch. 

He didn’t know what he expected from Gojo, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the casual confidence, the bright openness, the sense that he belonged to every square inch of the room and knew it.

People already assumed things about Suguru. That he was quiet, cold, maybe pretentious. That he was gay (he’s not, of course he isn’t). Not that he cared all that much, but frat houses weren’t always kind to boys who looked at other boys too long. And Gojo was the kind of boy who made you want to look, regardless of sexuality.

Suguru busied himself with filling a couple cups of beer. One for himself and one for the basketball friend waiting for him in the other room who had invited him here. He kept his head down, focused on the foam rising in the cup. So, when another body moved beside him, he didn’t think much of it, until it didn’t move away.

“My bad, I’m almost done,” Suguru muttered, trying to pour faster.

“No rush, it’s fine. Those idiots have had enough beer already. I don’t think we’ve met.” Satoru grabs a few cups and shuffles them around in his hands as Suguru continues filling his.

“Uh,” Suguru shakes his head ‘no’, as in ‘no, we haven’t met’.

Blue eyes again, too close this time. Like staring into a camera flash. Gojo’s smile stretched wide, relaxed and self-assured, the kind of smile that probably made people fall in love too easily. His eyes were scary, honestly. A bit intimidating when you’re not one of the girls who fall head over heels when seeing him.

“I’m Gojo,” he said, like it was supposed to mean something. “Satoru, if you’re into intimacy and all that,” He laughs, finding himself to be the funniest man alive.

Suguru fumbled with the second cup, nearly tipping it over. His words rushed a bit, as he wanted to end the conversation. Talking to people who are so… ‘well-known’ isn’t his strongest skill. “Formally, I’m Geto. But, Suguru’s fine too.”

Gojo leaned in just a bit, studying his face with an exaggerated squint, leaning in just a bit too close for Suguru’s comfort. If you can’t tell yet, Satoru has no clue what ‘personal space’ is. “You’ve got some cool ass eyes. Seriously. I’ve never seen purple like that before.”

Suguru chuckled lowly, stepping back until his spine hit the counter. “What— mine? I think I actually got blinded looking into the fucking orbs in your eyes.”

Gojo perked up like he’d just won something. “Ohhh, in a good way though, right?” He tossed a wink like it was spare change.

“Yeah,” Suguru said, lips twitching into a dry smile, “I love retinal damage. Honestly, I collect it.” Suguru sets his two cups aside as he finishes filling them.

Gojo laughed, clearly delighted. “Perfect. I’d hate to think I was dazzling people against their will. That would crush me. Absolutely devastate my delicate ego.” He casually topped off the last three cups of his without missing a beat. “I’ll see you, maybe. Goodbye, Geto.” He grins.

Suguru watched him walk away, cups juggling in hands, light on his feet like gravity bent for him.

On one side of the conversation, Suguru believes Satoru is just… Well, Satoru. He’s charismatic, but Suguru also doesn’t know if he’d be able to push through another conversation; not because of Satoru’s personality, but his reputation. Honestly, he likes his personality, but Satoru is so popular and ‘out-there’, so just the thought of talking to him is enough to scare Suguru off. But, Suguru doesn’t think anything is necessarily bad about Satoru. It’s just his overwhelming vogue which makes it hard for Suguru to talk to him. 

The other side of the conversation is Satoru’s view on it. The thing about Satoru is he enjoys talking to anyone and everyone . He genuinely was entertained by that exchange of words, even if the exchange was short. But, pretty much the same thing applies for Satoru that applied for Suguru. There’s nothing bad or astonishingly amazing about Suguru. Satoru currently thinks a bit better of Suguru, but that’s mainly because of the fact that Satoru loves talking to people who aren’t a copy-and-paste of other people at this party. Other people at this party are rather ‘fake’ or ‘artificial’ in their conversations, but Suguru has his own personality and isn’t putting on any fake face to talk to Satoru, which is rare for Satoru to find.

✮✮✮

Suguru’s one basketball friend merged into a group and that group had merged with another’s, pulling Suguru along somehow. He really wanted to ditch the group and there was nothing actually stopping him from doing so. He slowly got further and further from the big group, taking subtle steps towards the bathroom. Finally, he went unnoticed and knocked on the door, making sure there was nobody in the bathroom hooking up or taking a shit before he went in. When no one responds, he cautiously pushes the door open, relieved to find nothing but a toilet and sink in there.

Shutting the door behind him, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a cigarette and a lighter. It’s not often that he’ll smoke. He’s very far from addiction, but occasionally, when he feels like there’s too much action around him, he’ll hit one and be done. It’s mainly due to Ieiri’s habits that had rubbed off on him. Just as he was letting the last puff out, there was a knock at the door, causing Geto to jump a bit, coughing on the smoke.

“Hold on, almost done,” He says between coughs as he throws the butt out. Opening the door, he’s once again, for the third time tonight, met with blue eyes.

Satoru takes a long sniff of the air like he’s testing a fine wine, then scrunches his nose. “Wow, it’s like cologne, cigarettes, and regret in here,” he says with a lazy grin, eyes flicking to Suguru like he’s caught him red-handed.

He steps further into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. “So? What’s the deal? Hiding out in here to smoke like some tragic loner?” His grin widens. “I promise you, people out there are doing way sketchier things. There’s a guy downstairs trying to do backflips off the kitchen counter and smoking a huff of weed for each one he lands,”

Suguru exhales a slow breath, eyes half-lidded as he leans against the wall. “Just felt like it,” he says. “Too many people out there.”

Gojo raises a brow, tilting his head like he’s thinking really? but nods along anyway. “Yeah… Too many sweaty bodies packed into one place with awful taste in music. I get it. It’s like a human soup out there.”

He jerks his chin toward the glass sliding door. “You know there’s a back porch, right? Way less chaotic. You could vibe out there like a mysterious loner instead of a tragic one.”

Suguru glances toward the door, and Gojo catches the look, already half-turning to give him space. “Just sayin’. You’ve got options.”

“I’ll go. Thanks,” Suguru replied, looking out to the door Satoru had gestured to before moving out of the way in order to let Satoru inside, keeping his words short and moving. He didn’t want someone to see him talking to a guy as popular as Satoru. It’s too easy to get roped into these big groups and become involved with people you don’t want to be involved with.

✮✮✮

Suguru heads out to where Satoru had directed him to, stepping into the clear-skied environment, where only a few people were. It was relatively empty. Just a few groups were sitting out on the grass, doing things that Geto couldn’t care less about.

He takes a deep breath of the clean air till his lungs are completely filled, exhaling with relief. For a moment, he just stands there to stare at the sky. Living in New York City means you’ll pretty much never see stars, but Suguru swore he could see one blue flicker up there. Well, right until he hears the familiar voice of Satoru coming outside, then the flicker disappears, coincidentally so.

“Heads up, Geto,” Gojo calls out, swiftly tossing a phone to him. “You forgot this in the bathroom.”

Looking over, he reflexively catches his phone, “Oh. Thanks.” It sounded dismissive when he said it, but you could tell by looking at Suguru’s body language that he was grateful for Satoru retrieving his phone.

Suguru shoves his phone into his pocket and takes another good, long breath of the air while Satoru plops down onto the grass, his arms behind him to support the rest of his lengthy body.

“So nice out here— I always forget about this place,” He pats a spot on the grass next to him, looking up at Suguru, “You wanna sit?”

Suguru was hesitant, but now that Gojo had mentioned it, yes, he did want to sit. He was just questioning if he should sit next to Satoru . Y’know, with all the allegations, along with the fact that Gojo is popular, all that.

“Ouch, am I that much of an oddball?” Satoru chuckles, snapping Suguru out of whatever spiral his brain was about to go into.

“No, sorry. I’ll sit,” He says, crossing his legs over into a ‘criss-cross-applesauce’. He may not want to be involved, but he also doesn’t want to be bitterly rude to Gojo, as Gojo has done nothing wrong to him.

A moment of silence is shared, the conversation unknowing of where to go, slightly awkward and slightly tense, but okay. Not completely unbearable. You could hear the sound of crickets chirping and cold hands rubbing together, the wind blowing with a quiet woosh.

“Your hair— it’s really nice. How the hell did you get it so healthy?” asks Gojo, gazing over the black lengths flowing from Suguru’s head as it follows the direction of the wind.

“I’m blanking on the brand, but my mom got me some shampoo and conditioner that’s been working really well. I used to oil my hair but I quickly found out these dorms’ drains are not cut out for hair-oiling.” Geto says with a little laugh, a rare sound for someone so newly met to hear.

“Do you still live on campus? I personally do, unfortunately.” He adds with a sigh, Satoru sitting up now and curling his legs to his chest, his arms resting on his knees.

Geto nods, “Yeah. Optimally, I want to move out by January, but I’ll probably only be leaving in the spring. The problem is a mix of the hunt for a roommate and the moving of belongings.”

Shoko already lives in her own apartment with a cousin, so she’s out of the question for roommates. Suguru also doesn’t enjoy living alone, he finds it almost dystopian in a sense. He’s a lonely person by choice, but also doesn’t like being alone 24/7. His whole personality is pretty contradictory, honestly. And his other problem of moving out would be a pain because he just owns too much stuff.

“Really? I would’ve thought you were living in some nice ass apartment already. Is your dorm good at least?” He laughs, his bright blue eyes turning up at the sky, looking as if they were emitting light.

“2-A106…Not the best room but—“

“You’re kidding. That’s literally so close to me— just a left turn away from my room,” Satoru says with intrigue. “How didn’t I know you before tonight?” That was more of something akin to a rhetorical question, as there’s no definite answer to it or needing for a response, but Suguru didn’t want to leave him hanging.

“I don’t know.. I just don’t get out of my dorm a lot. If I can be in my room I will be in my room.”  A second pause in their conversation occurs, feeling just as stiff as the last.

“Are you in the business line or…?” Satoru intentionally trails off.

“I take med. I wanna be a psychiatrist,” Geto adds swiftly. He loves mentioning his career path whenever possible, as it’s one of his few prides.

“Oh. Cooler than me— I just want to be some kind of big-guy being the best in an office. Be rich, retire early, die rich,” He laughs.

“Well—… a mindset like that could never fail.” Geto chuckles, “Regardless of my jokes, I don’t doubt you'll be some kinda billionaire in the future, people like you never fail,” Suguru was unsure of what he meant by ‘people like you’ but it meant no harm. He turns his head back up to the sky, gazing at the dark horizon.

Satoru was about to say something in response but one of his friends cut the conversation off, his mouth still slightly open as he looked over at his friend.

“Satoru— where the hell’ve you been? Idiot, we said we were doing beer pong at 1:00, it’s already 1:20. We’ve been looking for you for the past twenty minutes. Dumbass… get up,” The boy says, angling his head back as he takes a breath, most likely because he’s been running around to find Satoru.

Satoru groans, lazily getting up from the grass, “Pong isn’t even that fun anymore. It’s the same old thing with the same old people,”

Satoru looks down at Suguru, “You should join. It’s more fun when we have more people,”

Suguru dithered for a second, “Uh.. I’m not too sure about that. That isn’t really my kinda thing,”

See, this is exactly what Suguru feared. He did not want to get involved in this. Slowly, he’ll find himself in a group of 40 people, and it’s all because he decided to let himself hang around with Gojo. He’s just too popular for Suguru’s liking.

“You’ll be fine— fit in perfectly. Not to mention, there’s plenty of girls who’d kill for a dude like you,” Satoru grins, reaching his hand out towards Suguru to help him up.

Geto grumbles to himself before reluctantly giving into Satoru’s antics. How did I get roped into this? He’s honestly regretting leaving his basketball friends a bit now.

✮✮✮

Heading upstairs, Suguru finds himself chugging his third beer down. He probably shouldn’t, knowing that he’ll probably be drinking even more during the game, but it’s helping him calm the nerves. Once in the room with two big tables on each end, he follows Satoru to whatever table he chose.

A few rounds go by and Satoru is picked to play, dragging Suguru and the boy from earlier along with him. Satoru shoots the first ping-pong ball, the orange sphere dunking into one of the middle cups. The opponent gulps down the beer, cheers and giggles coming from Satoru’s side of the table.

“Geto! You should go, y’know… Flex those skills,” Gojo tosses the ball over to Suguru with a smile.

How amazing for Geto. He’s just so eager to play.

“You sure? I don’t know how ‘skillful’ I am to flex anything,” Suguru says, repeatedly bouncing the ball up and down off the floor.

“Just try. Worst thing that could happen is that you drink some beer…Wait, what if you knock over all the cups because you missed. Honestly, I’d find that to be ten times better than making the shot,” Satoru’s grin somehow grew wider, a full set of teeth on display as he steps behind Suguru to let him shoot. 

“Gee, thanks.”

Suguru aims for the cup in the front, but instead of sinking it, the ball bounces off the rims of two nearby cups before finally dropping into the one just behind his target. He didn’t get what he intended to get, but at least he got something.

The other team groans and takes their drink of beer, Suguru thankful that he did not make the entire array of cups fall over, a little wave of joy from the mini-crowd around them, the cheer quieter than what Gojo had received but still plenty of noise.

Nudging Suguru with his elbow, Satoru cheers, “I knew you’d be able to get it.” 

Suguru shrugs, “Guess I’m just that amazing,” he softly chuckles, tossing the ping-pong ball over to Gojo’s friend, as it was now his turn to go. 

Geto isn’t overjoyed to be here, but he’s glad this group isn’t a horrible group. Yes, there’s tons of people who are clearly fake, but his tiny bunch with Satoru isn’t awful. He’s definitely not fully hating it.

✮✮✮

Once the three of them had claimed their victory in that round of beer pong, they were able to be put aside and just watch everyone else play.

Satoru had to drink two beers in the durance of his games, which wasn’t a great thing on his part, due to his lack of ability to drink. He quickly gets red, sweaty, lightheaded, and even more idiotic at the moment he takes in a mere milliliter of alcohol. Most people don’t get drunk off of a quick two beers, but Satoru definitely does.

Suguru had roamed off to an empty corner, feeling more at peace there. Satoru was still at the table, watching the second game go on, but he made sure to ask Suguru if he wanted to stay with the group. But like always, Suguru insisted on being in his own area.

“Geto? That’s your name, right?” A girl says, approaching him with half-lidded eyes.

Suguru looks up from his phone, nodding, “Yeah. Do you need something?”

✮✮✮

I won’t get into specifics, but the girl said… things. Suguru, though, didn’t exactly know how to react. Of course not. So, he rejected her advances, making her angrily yell at Suguru (with a breath full of weed, may I add). A few slurs and curses were thrown until she tramped her way back down the stairs, Suguru just standing there with a mixing pot of emotion shown on his face.

The reason why Suguru had rejected her offer is because indulging in things like that scared him. He’s hooked up only twice in his entire life; both times being depressed and wasted out of his mind. Plus, he ended up regretting it quickly after. Not to mention, he’s never actually dated anyone before. He’s been asked out, of course, but due to his overly-analytical brain taking over, he has said no every single time. He feels bad about it, but he can’t bring himself to say he’s ready. Ever. More than anything, it’s the fear of messing up that eats him alive. It’s the fear of hurting the other person. Like in instances like these, when he’s asked to hook up, he’s already thinking about the future. What would happen if they became attached? Would he be forced into a relationship he doesn’t want, then end up breaking their heart? To him, it’s better to end things before they get serious.

On the other hand, Satoru has dated two girls in his life, both girls being the one who would break up with him . Satoru rarely messes around in bed, but when it happens, that decision is made logically. For him as well, it’s hard to think of a stable relationship. But, that’s due to a few different reasons, like his father or ex-relationships. The other relationships weren’t horrible, but to him, it hits hard when people leave. He feels that he’s seen too many people leave him already; makes him feel almost unlovable when it comes to something serious. Like everyone only wants him for status— a weapon in the chain of popularity.

Speaking of Satoru on a lighter note, he had found this whole situation with Geto hilarious, as all this had gone down right in the middle of the beer pong room.

 He made his way over to Suguru, laughing as the scene replays in his head, Suguru’s confused face stuck on repeat, “That might’ve just been the highlight of my night— wow,”

“Glad to see you find laughability in my inconveniences,”

On that note, two guys called it a wrap for the games and decided to go back outside to get drunk(er) and talk about absolutely nothing and everything all at once, the conversation varying from “why are worms high-key just snakes but stupider” and “what do you think is on the other side of the universe?”.

✮✮✮

September 1st, Sunday: 1:03 A.M.

“Geto, I want a fish.” 

“So do I, honestly.”

“I don’t know how to take care of them though.”

“I don’t either— that’s why I don’t have one… yet .”

“We’ll figure it out then, go to PetSmart or something.”

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

(foreword: i hate this chapter pls don’t hate me… just bear through the filler… it gets good soon… i think.)

September 2nd, Monday: 1:32 P.M.

It was two days after the party had been held and Satoru found himself groaning deafening complaints to Nanami Kento, a 19 year old taking the same class as Satoru. 

Satoru had known Kento for a year now, but this year, they’ve gotten a bit closer. Satoru likes to call Kento ‘the only friend he can talk to about serious things’, but Kento doesn’t necessarily ‘enjoy’ talking to Satoru. He just sits there and endures the conversation for as long as he can, occasionally opening his mouth to give the most valuable lessons Satoru’s had ever heard from anyone. That’s pretty much why Satoru enjoys conversations with Kento. Just because of the fact he’s able to give better advice than any other frat brother of his.

Currently, the two of them are sitting in the library to finish a paper in which Nanami was dragged along to do with Gojo.

“I know absolutely nothing about this guy besides his name— but I need to know more, Nanami. Help me find more about him. He’s the type of person I can talk about actual stuff with— not girls, beer sex, parties, and boobs. Actually, he’s a lot like you… a teensy bit dismissive but endures my conversation for reasons unknown. Sorry to say Nanami, but he's funnier than you, might overtake your spot as #1 friend if you don’t step up your giggle-game. Nanami, are we friends? You never actually told me if you think of me as a friend or annoyance, am I an annoya—” Satoru twines on until cut off by Kento. Satoru talks a lot when he isn’t forced to stop.

“ Giggle-game? Please refrain from ever speaking like that to me again,” Nanami murmurs, “How do you expect me to find anything about him if you haven’t told me his name? Plus, it’s not like I’m some superhero that can immediately gather every ounce of information on this guy just because we go to the same university,” He deadpans his gaze from his laptop up to Satoru’s face.

“Oh. His name’s Suguru Geto. The problem is that he doesn’t take any of the classes we do. He’s obviously set on studying med and med only , so there’s no chance we’d ever meet,” Satoru says, slumping back in his chair, pretty much forgetting that he was here for a paper in the first place.

“And what do you want me to do about that, exactly? Also— why are you so set on finding this guy? I don’t understand what’s so special,” Nanami adds, turning his gaze back down to his laptop while the quiet atmosphere at their table fills with the clicking of keys.

A grumble comes from Gojo’s mouth, “That’s the thing. I have no clue why. We met at the frat and talked for a few hours… His mysterious aura just intrigues me I think,” 

“Well, how about you solve your own problems… by yourself, that way, both of us can get good grades on this paper,” Nanami says, officially done with hearing Gojo drone on about Suguru.

✮✮✮

Quite the opposite was going on in Suguru’s dormitory. Ieiri was pleading for information of what happened during the frat but Suguru refused to say.

He rolls his eyes, looking down at Shoko from his bed as she sits on the floor, “Nothing interesting happened, dumbass. I didn’t meet anyone or ‘expand my friend circle’. You know, you sound an awful lot like my high school therapist. It’s pissing me off,”

Ieiri throws up a middle finger to Geto’s face before slumping her back against the wall. “I truly don’t believe that you were at a party for almost six hours and did absolutely nothing. You’re a horrible liar, Geto,” 

“What— do you want some kind of step-by-step walkthrough of every single thing I did?” He says, raising his eyebrow at her unimpressed expression.

“Yes, yes I would. That is literally what I’ve been dying for you to tell me for the past fifteen minutes,” She says flatly, narrowing her eyes at Geto.

He looks out the window, “I didn’t do much. I went in, I drank, I hung out with some basketball friends, yada-yada,”

“And… what else?”

“I talked to some guy. Can’t really remember his name…” He does in fact know Satoru Gojo’s name. So does everyone else in this entire university.

“Anyways, I hung with that guy for the rest of the night and he made me play some random party games. Not anything over the top for the comeback frat,” He adds, his words rushing as he tries bringing this whole topic to an end.

“You remember the name of every single person you’ve ever met. Should I make a list of the times you’ve been a horrible liar or something?” She lazily chuckles, “Just tell me, Geto. I probably don’t even know him. I know like.. two people at max. Everyone is too forgettable,” 

“You’d definitely know him,” 

“If it’s an ex, don’t even bother telling me,”

“What? No, I wouldn’t talk to your ex. Wait— you have an ex? Wait— multiple?”

“That’s besides the point. Suguru, who is it?”

“You’re the worst.”

“Answer the question. You just hung out with some random guy, why’s it so hard to say?”

“Because he isn’t a ‘random guy’. His name is Satoru Gojo. Quite literally one of the most popular people here,” Now that Suguru had finally said it, he realized he had no reason to keep that information away. 

Shoko’s tired eyes widened for a second before she burst out in laughter, “You get worked up over nothing, you actual idiot. No one cares if you hung out with ‘Satoru Gojo’ or Mark Zuckerberg,”

“Why Zuckerberg?” Suguru says with a shiver as the image of Mark pops into his head (he has an irrational fear of rich entrepreneurs).

“Because you’re scared of him,” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs before tossing him a textbook from their class. Almost forgot that they were together to study for forty-five minutes (now less than thirty minutes of that is used for studying, due to Ieiri’s interrogation). 

✮✮✮

September 4th, Wednesday: 1:20 P.M.

Suguru had taken his work to a small café located a few blocks away from NYU. This café is a regular spot for him to go to as not many students go there, so it leaves a quiet area for him to study and eat without worrying about seeing someone he knows.

So, you must get a general understanding of the way he felt seeing a familiar pair of bright blue eyes reading a dim laptop screen.

Of course, Suguru didn’t dare to greet him, and instead, sat on the complete opposite side of the café. He pushed his hair around his face in order to hide any recognizable details of his side profile, his head buried into his big psychiatry textbook.

“Suguru! I thought that was you,”

Gojo? Wait, no, that’s a waitress.

Suguru looked up at her, then around the corners of the café to find any sign of Satoru approaching before blinking slowly at the waitress.

“Ami… how nice to see you,” He says, his voice quieter than needed as a way of further concealing himself from being seen. “I hope you’ve been well.”

“Very. Anyways, would you like anything to eat today or are you just here to study?” She asks with a smile on her face, her blond hair seeming to glow rays in the sunlight pouring through the windows.

“Could I just get a smoothie? Passionfruit with extra whipped cream on the top,” He adds, a tiny, polite smile on his lips.

“Sounds good. It’ll be out soon,” Ami smiles back, her smile much, much, much wider than Suguru would ever attempt.

✮✮✮

Suguru’s smoothie came around quite quick and his taste buds were happy with the flavor. He continues his study session, getting so wrapped into his work that he almost didn’t notice the tall, white-haired boy plopping into the chair in front of him.

“Well, sir. I must say, you are quite popular with the ladies. Not only at the party, but here too,” Satoru chuckles, his voice teasing.

“Oh— Gojo, hey,” Suguru says, looking up at him, “Wait what? What do you mean?” He asks, thankful he can finally tuck his hair behind his ears after hiding his face in it for so long, revealing a few piercings on both sides.

“That waitress girl. She was pretty smiley with you, Geto. Also, she had that little twinkle in her eyes,” Satoru sounds childish but it all adds to his personality. 

“I beg to differ— Ami is just always like that,” Suguru says, shaking his head.

Satoru shrugs, “Always like that… with you .”

Suguru rolls his eyes, disregarding whatever he had to say about Ami.

“Yeah, no. I give up on this conversation, find a new topic,” Suguru says as his fingers flip through the pages of his textbook, his eyes flickering between his bright laptop screen and the pages.

“Bummer. How about that shampoo— you find the name of it?” Gojo grins as he changes conversation, his eyes following the short strands in front of Suguru’s face that flowed through the air in the direction of the ventilation.

“Oh, I did, actually,” Suguru nods, forgetting about how he immediately went to find his hair products when he came back from the frat. “I ordered some extra on Amazon, it’s like a small size so you can test it out. I’ll give it to you once it comes.”

“What? You didn’t have to do anything, I just needed the brand,”

Satoru was surprised that Suguru had even remembered, but even more at the fact that Suguru bought some for him.

“I figured it would be easier, as we don’t have classes together. Trying to tell you the brand would be like hell— I would keep forgetting if I didn’t do it right then and there. Forgetting it would’ve eaten me alive, so this is beneficial to the both of us,” Suguru says with complete honesty. Tiny things like these are the things that make him the most agitated, so he took care of it before the problem could even arise.

“Oh, well… Thank you for that. Can’t wait to have some long locks like yours,” Satoru titters, twirling his imaginary hair around his pointer finger. 

“I’d probably look like somebody’s crumbling grandpa if I had long hair— white hair is both a blessing and a curse. It’s attractive but also makes you look 60 years old if you decide to get any other haircut,” He fluffs his hair back up with a push of his hands and a shake of his head.

“Your hair is naturally white?” Suguru asks, tempted to hear more.

“Yeah, no clue how or why, but it is. Maybe it’s from my dad,” Satoru shrugs, his shoes tapping rhythmically on the floor.

“What makes your dad different?” Geto is now confused, but that confusion stirs him on to continue the conversation.

“I wish I could tell you. I have no clue. I’m almost a hundred percent sure he has black hair like my mom though,” Satoru says, leaning back in the chair so the sun hits his face, making his eyes pop into a different shade of blue and his hair radiate light.

Suguru interprets that as Satoru has an absence of a father in his life, so he shifts conversation topics again in order to leave things light and non-awkward. And his inference was correct.

Satoru didn’t necessarily care . Ever. Yes, of course, there were difficulties that made him upset when growing up without a father, but he taught himself to get over it. He doesn’t know whether his dad is dead or alive and he doesn’t bother in figuring out. He likes it that way. He only knows to eliminate a chance to fret over someone he knows he’ll never meet.

 After a moment of breath passes, Suguru starts a new conversation, calloused fingers twiddling with one another, “Do you plan on staying in New York or is there some kind of ‘dream place’ for you to live in? Personally, I’d want to stay in New York for as long as I could, then move back to Tokyo entirely with no regrets,”

Satoru thinks for a second, leaning back in his chair until it hits the wall behind him, one leg dangling up and the other completely grounded, “I guess I’d stay here— jump states for work if needed. Move countries, maybe once I retire I’d move back to Japan, make the ancestors proud, y’know?” He softly chuckles. “I think it depends though,” 

“On what, exactly?” Suguru asks, closing both his book and laptop, oddly interested in the conversation. 

Suguru is easily reeled into discussions once they become based on nothing. These types of ‘what if’ conversations have him listening for every word, regardless of the person he’s talking to.

“On how my life plays out. Regarding what my job ends up being, my partner’s preferences, the amount of money I make. Things like that,”

His chair falls back to its regular position, a bit loud for the atmosphere of the café but nothing too unusual. He pulls his chair closer to the table again.

“Well, that’s not what I asked— it’s no fun when you think of these things logistically. Everything is logistic and complicated enough in the real world. I asked about your dream place to live. Think of it as this: jobs, money, and preferences of other people all have no value in this world and you could choose wherever you wanted to live. Where would that place be?”

“Then, I guess I’d say…” Satoru pauses again, his eyebrows slightly furrowed and his eyes fixated onto a set of scratches on the wooden table as his thoughts dig into what Geto had just asked him, “Japan sounds good, but I also kinda like America. Take a little bit from both and that means I would stay in America for a while and spend the rest of my life somewhere in Japan. Or at least something like that. But, y’know, the Bahamas don’t seem half-bad either,” His eyes look back up to Geto’s, finding that Geto was already gazing at him with intrigue.

Suguru was finally content with Satoru’s answer, “That sounds like a good idea,” He says with a faint curve at the corner of his lip.

✮✮✮

September 4th, Wednesday: 2:19 P.M.

Gojo had an appointment with his academic advisor that afternoon, and now sat waiting in one of the department’s cushioned chairs, if you could call it that. The seat pitched slightly to one side every time he shifted his weight, wobbling just enough to keep him from relaxing completely. He shifted again, trying to balance himself somewhere between all four legs, one foot braced slightly forward just in case the chair gave out beneath him.

It had only been a few days since he first dropped by her office. He’d asked if she could keep him in touch in case an elective opened up. It’s nothing urgent, just curiosity. Something to maybe shake up his schedule. The kind of vague request he didn’t expect to hear back about so soon.

When the door finally creaked open, Satoru looked up to see Mrs. Alen step inside, a warm smile on her face. Her ID badge bounced lightly against her chest with each step, her name printed in bold. Mrs. Alen, Academic Affairs.

“Gojo— how nice to see you. I hope you’re doing well,” she said, cheerful as ever as she moved to sit across from him.

He returned the smile with a soft nod. “Nice to see you too. I’d say I’m in a good mood today,” he said, his voice carrying the trace of a laugh.

“That’s what I like to hear.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a few stapled printouts, smoothing the edges with her hands before sliding them across the desk. “I wanted to follow up on our last conversation. You’d mentioned interest in picking up an elective if one opened up—and, well, one did. I thought I’d give you a few options now, in case something catches your eye.”

She walked him through them, the Film Study, Creative Writing, and Human Behaviors in Organizations. That last one made Satoru tilt his head slightly.

“This one— Human Behaviors in Organizations,” he said, tapping his finger against the header, “it says here there’s a psych element to it. Does that mean psych majors usually take it too?”

Mrs. Alen nodded, adjusting her glasses. “Yes, actually. It’s a cross-interest elective that overlaps with both business and psychology tracks. A fair few psych majors take it every year— it covers group dynamics, decision-making, things like that.”

Satoru hummed, skimming the summary again. His interest wasn’t purely academic, he’d be the first to admit that. The psychology angle was genuinely intriguing, but what nudged it higher on the list was the off-chance someone else might be sitting in that classroom. Not a friend, not really. But someone interesting. Someone worth crossing paths with again. Suguru.

He wasn’t the type to spend hours analyzing people or mapping out social moves. That wasn’t how his brain worked. But he was the type to act on instinct, and right now, something about this elective sparked enough curiosity to move.

“I think I’d like to enroll,” he said, looking back up at her. “I mean, I’ll read through it more when I get back, but it seems like a solid option.”

Mrs. Alen smiled and nodded. “That sounds great. You’ll have until this weekend to confirm before we finalize enrollment. But if you do go through with it, your first session will be as soon as possible.”

Satoru nodded once more, his decision already halfway made. He didn’t know if Suguru would be in that class. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he’d find it fascinating regardless. But if there was even a chance of that familiar face showing up again, well, it didn’t seem like a bad way to spend part of the semester.

He stood, thanked her for her time, and walked out, not with certainty, but with that particular buzz of anticipation that only came from the unknown. And for now, that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

September 6th, Friday: 4:35 P.M.

Two days had gone by since Satoru had met with his advisor and his voice was currently sing-songing through the opening doors of the library, “Suguru Geto!”, quickly quieting down as the judging eyes of multiple students stare him down.

He knew Suguru would be in here, thinking back to when Geto had explained his routine trip to the library every Sunday for studying, as the café was closed.

Suguru’s purple eyes looked up in question as he processed the voice, resting once he found out it was just the big-smiled idiot named Gojo. Pausing his loud music, Suguru reaches to take his airpod out of his ears as Satoru walks up to him.

Satoru sauntered over to where Suguru was sitting, dragging a chair beside him and slouching into it.

“The library is not the place to bring your personality with you, Gojo. You might be forced to read a book of rules… scary, I know,” Suguru pokes fun at Satoru with an evident tone of sarcasm, as Satoru isn’t the type of person to read or learn rules.

Satoru gasps theatrically, “Geto, don’t scare me like that… the word ‘read’ truly sent a shiver down my spine,”

“You’re an idiot,”

Satoru grabs at the part of his hoodie that was over his heart dramatically, “How sad. That’s really hurtful of you to say,”

“Why are you here, Gojo?” Suguru asks, trying to get Gojo back on track, as he assumed Satoru had come here for something specific.

“What, a guy can’t come to the library in a leisurely pastime? Joking, of course. I’d never do that. I came to ask a question, and that is… Do you take Human Behaviors in Organizations?” Satoru asks, leaning his chair back to grab a book about monkeys, his immature-self grinning at the cover picture with a collage of the primates. 

“Are you stalking me or something? Yes, I do, but why is that important?” His black eyebrow raises, creating a subtle wrinkle on his forehead.

Satoru rolls his eyes, “It’s important because I was thinking of taking that elective,” He flips through the book of monkeys, “I was simply wondering if I’d have a chance to take the same class as you, and now my wonders have been answered. Now, do you take the Monday/Wednesday or the Tuesday/Thursday class— oh, and what times?” Satoru grins, pleased to find that Geto does in fact take HBO.

“You’re very eager to take this class with me, I’m honored, honestly. I do Tuesday/Thursdays, 11:00 till 12:15,” 

“In the morning?”

“No, I take HBO at eleven in the night and stay up until twelve because the university definitely offers a class at that time. Yes, Satoru, in the morning, of course it’s in the morning,” Suguru shakes his head in amazement of how someone could be as odd as Satoru.

Satoru gets up and pushes the chair back to where it was before, shoving the monkey book into whatever gap in the shelf he could find, as he forgot where he found it. “Well, expect to see me on Tuesday at 11 in the morning, ” 

Suguru nods as Satoru walks away, “I’ll see you.”

✮✮✮

September 10th, Tuesday: 11:00 A.M.

Tuesday morning, right at 11:00 A.M., Suguru is sitting at the back desk, the chair behind him empty. There was only one row behind his. Suguru figured that sitting in the back-most row would make him look like a complete loser, so he settled for the one in front of it. It’s the perfect spot (in his preference). There’s a spacious counter along the side to put his belongings on, it’s private enough compared to the front row seats, it’s not too bright, the general area is rather empty, and finally, he’s parted from the idiots who have no clue what they’re doing.

Suguru isn’t exceptionally smart, but also isn’t a complete idiot. He’s just smart enough to maintain generally good grades, nothing dazzling, but nothing worth worrying over either. He knows how to skim a textbook, how to make an essay sound more thoughtful than it really is, and how to show up to class just often enough to avoid suspicion. He’s the kind of student who doesn’t shine, but also doesn’t sink. Above average, but not overly above— just right.

Satoru is one of those people who you’d be able to call ‘exceptionally smart’. He was just born that way, no questions asked. The kind of person who never really had to try, but somehow still managed to ace everything. He doesn’t study so much as glance, doesn’t prepare so much as improvise, and yet always lands on his feet. It’s not arrogance, it’s just how his brain works. Annoyingly effortless. Brilliant in that casual, almost careless way that makes everyone else feel like they’re running uphill with bricks tied to their ankles.

Speaking of Satoru, here he comes, fashionably late, of course. Just over three minutes past 11:00, like he planned it that way. Not enough to piss anyone off, just enough to make an entrance.

He strolls into the class with all the casual confidence of someone who knows eyes will follow him whether he tries or not. The door doesn’t slam behind him, but it might as well have with the way heads subtly turn in his direction. His white hair stands out like a bright star in clear night skies of neutrals and hoodie hoods, and it doesn’t take long for people to start calling out to him.

“Satoru? I didn’t know you were taking this class,”

“Oh hey— come sit over here!”

“I got a spot for you next to me, dude,”

A few classmates, mostly girls and a couple of familiar faces from other business courses, offer their spots eagerly, sliding their bags off chairs and angling their bodies to invite him in. It’s a small ripple of attention.

Satoru flashes a few charming smiles, makes a joke or two, nothing too dismissive, just something to pull away from the crowd. His long strides carry him right past every offer, every outstretched hand or pushed out chair, until he reaches the back row, comfortably removed from the spotlight. And more importantly, right behind Suguru.

Without hesitating, he sinks into the empty chair like it had been waiting for him all along, stretching his legs out and setting his bag on the floor with a satisfied sigh.

The thing with all these other people, they’re all… well, fake. They might be close enough to call Gojo by his personal name, “Satoru”, but the name they address him with is insignificant if they only are friends with him to rise their ranks in the grand scale of popularity.

“Good morning, Geto. Are you surprised by my presence or did you remember our meaningful conversation in the library?” Satoru grins, his head resting on his hand as his eyes watch the flowing hair on the back of Suguru’s noggin.

“You don’t deserve an answer when your questions are stupid,” Suguru turns around to face Satoru, “I was half-expecting you to sit with the beggars over there,” the beggars are referring to the students by the window who were asking Satoru to sit with them, not actual beggars, of course. See, Suguru just calls people any names he can spew out, whether it be ‘beggars’, ‘herd of cows’, or even ‘the apes’ for his least favorite group of people.

“Sit with the group which has the most plastic smiles I’ve ever seen? No thanks…” Satoru’s lip curls in disgust as he looks at the artificial expressions across the room.

“Glad to hear you’re aware of that— I thought I was going insane after seeing how many people actually believe those smiles are genuine,” Geto adds, a shiver running down his spine as he looks at the group of uncanny grins.

Suguru turns back around to face the front of the room as the instructor clears her throat, says “quiet down” about three times, and begins the lesson, her short body reaching to grab the projector’s remote over the table, eventually getting a hold of it and turning the screen on.

✮✮✮

After 70 minutes of droning on, the lesson is dismissed, all the students scurrying to grab their bags and leave, looking like a passing army of ants as they walk out.

Satoru and Suguru were the last to leave the room, both unconsciously waiting for each other, Satoru slowing down the pace of how he would usually pack up and Suguru making his steps wider to match Satoru’s stride. Neither of them noticed what they were doing, even as they walked through the halls. A comfortable absence of conversation was shared between them.

Finally, once they reach the spot in the hallway where they usually split off, Suguru slows down, casting a glance toward Satoru like he’s about to say something? like maybe a quick “bye” or “see you later”, but nothing comes out. The moment lingers awkwardly for half a second before he gives up on the thought and continues down his own path, turning into the familiar stretch of white-tiled floors. He’s halfway down it when he hears Satoru’s voice. Loud, unmistakable, and entirely too enthusiastic.

“Geto— oh… Bye, Geto!” Satoru’s voice cuts through the hum of chatter in the crowded hallway like a siren. When Suguru looks back, Satoru is grinning wide, waving like they haven’t seen each other in weeks instead of seconds.

Suguru doesn’t bother yelling over the noise; he just stifles a laugh, fighting the amused smile threatening to tug at his lips. It’s so like Satoru to be that loud, that noticeable, even when doing something as simple as saying goodbye. Instead of responding vocally, Suguru just raises his hand in a casual wave, shaking his head a little as he turns back around, entertained by how unique of a personality Satoru has.

✮✮✮

September 10th, Tuesday: 4:03 P.M.

Both Suguru and Satoru’s classes have just finished up classes for the day, Suguru (of course) walking to the café, unaware that the loud footsteps behind him are Satoru’s. Or at least, until Satoru speaks. Loudly.

“Suguru Geto!” Satoru yells unnecessarily, as he was only a few steps away from Suguru.

Suguru turns around slowly, his eyes narrowed, knowing only one person who would call him like that, “Are you forever going to call me by my full government name everytime you greet me?” 

Satoru nods, “It goes with the flow,” his arms come up to wiggle like an octopus’s tentacles. “I was following you for about two minutes and you didn’t even know. What if I was here to kidnap you? You wouldn’t even know it was coming…” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue three times like a disappointed mother.

“I’m surprised you could keep your mouth closed for an entire two minutes— is that a new record for you?” Suguru says, slowing down for a moment so Satoru could walk beside him, walking normally once he caught up.

“Wrong— once, I hadn’t spoken for a whole three hours because I sat next to a very tired old man on a flight. When I would open my mouth to say something to him, his eyes would just droop back to sleep. It was a very sad three hours,” Satoru wipes a non-existent tear from his eye, sniffling nothing but air.

Suguru suppresses his laugh to his best ability before putting on a sarcastically sad voice, “ Three full hours? Heartbreaking…Do you ever think that the old man was pretending to sleep because he didn’t want to converse with you?” 

“What? No way— people love talking to me. Old guys just get tired quickly,” 

“Yes, of course. Now, I would love to ask you how ‘old’ this man was, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Geto puts his hands up in mock surrender.

Suguru wasn’t completely sure if Satoru had understood his tease. The whole thing was that the man was probably in his 30s, meaning he probably wouldn’t take long naps like that, thus meaning Satoru was being ignored. But, Satoru can be a few seconds (days) slow when it comes to understanding jokes with an above average complexity.

✮✮✮

They made their way to the crosswalk, standing beside each other as they waited for the sign to flash for pedestrians, engulfed by a crowd of people.

A gust of wind blew through the crowd, sending chills through everyone’s bodies. Suguru’s hair flew right up to Satoru’s face.

Suguru inelegantly tried to stuff his hair around the hood of his sweatshirt, probably causing a knot or two somewhere by his ends.

“Wow Geto, your hair smells very nice. Is it the shampoo?” Satoru grins, shooing away the last few strands, “I think your hair wanted a kiss— it practically drew to me,”

“Sorry but, I doubt that. My hair has both dignity and standards. And yes, it most likely is the shampoo,” Suguru says as the light turned gestured for the pedestrians to walk, illuminating in yellow.

They walked amongst the crowd, Satoru getting hit by some little kid with a balloon sword once getting to the other side.

“Geto, I’m under attack. Help,” Satoru held in his laughter to sound afraid of the kid.

“Help yourself,” Suguru walks to the end of the street, waiting and watching Satoru as he goes up against a small boy.

“He’s evil, Geto! Evil! I need backup,”

Suguru lingers by the end of the street, arms loosely crossed, the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He watches as Satoru, crouched to meet the small child at eye level, takes hit after dramatic hit from an inflated balloon sword. Every swing from the kid is wild and uncoordinated, but full of joy, tiny fists gripping the plastic handle with determination. The reason for the strong determination is left unknown by the child. Maybe he’s psychotic and has urges to kill, who knows? Satoru naturally leans into it with all the theatrics he can muster, letting himself fall backward in slow motion, groaning like he’s been mortally wounded, only to spring back up with exaggerated flair for the next “attack.”

Eventually, Suguru exhales a quiet breath, shoulders loosening as he steps forward and meanders his way toward them. The dry leaves covering the concrete crunch lightly under his shoes. As he approaches, Satoru catches his eye with a mock-pleading look, like he’s calling for backup, just before taking another balloon hit straight to the chest.

Suguru lets out a low chuckle, shakes his head in false-disapproval, and finally joins the two of them in the makeshift battlefield of a random street in New York City.

As he approaches, the kid pauses their attack, looking up with bright eyes, as if evaluating whether Suguru is friend or foe. Satoru, now sprawled dramatically on the ground, lifts his head slightly to call out, “Reinforcements, good— I was about to meet my doom,”

“Yeah? Looks like you’re holding up just fine,” Suguru says, his voice light as he stops beside them. He crouches, resting his forearms casually on his knees, making eye contact with the little warrior. “Mind if I join the battle?”

The child has almost a ferocious look in his eyes as he nods, moving over a bit to get in position to fight both of them. Suguru accepts it with mock gravity, lifting an eyebrow toward Satoru. “Alright, what’s the mission?”

Satoru shields his eyes with his forearm, still lying on the concrete like a fallen soldier. “Destroy the tyrant! But, uh—gently. That tyrant’s like, four.”

After a few more minutes of playing around, the kid gets tired and the parent silently thanks the two of them for whiling away some time with the kid. The parent slings the boy over their back and scurries off to wherever it was that they needed to be.

It’s enjoyable for everyone, the kid was obviously thrilled to beat two people up, the parent was relieved to have a chance to breathe, and both Suguru and Satoru were stifling their laughs in between pleas of mercy from the child, which must mean those two were finding delight in this small boy’s antics.

Suguru and Satoru make it to the café around 4:17, taking double the amount of time it would usually take for Suguru to walk down there by himself, due to a child who decided to pull a balloon sword out on Satoru. What an eventful afternoon.

Chapter Text

September 11th, Thursday: 5:28 P.M.

Suguru had been taking a “quick power nap” for the last hour , his loose T-shirt wrinkled and lifted just above his belly button as he tossed around in his bed, more and more hair falling out of his messy bun with each tumble.

He had two minutes to continue sleeping until his alarm would wake him up and make him go study, but he lost those two minutes when his phone (which was resting right under his ear) chimed with an email, startling Suguru awake.

He grumbled and threw his phone to the table beside his bed, laying there for a minute to see if going back to sleep for those two minutes was possible. It was not. He tried convincing himself he could sleep, but he was too awake at this point to even stay still long enough to drift back to slumber-land.

After lying there for a little longer than a minute, he reaches over to grab his phone, lazy eyes reading the notification. It was just an email from the university telling him he had a package to pick up from the resource center. He stares off at his ceiling for a moment before remembering what he had ordered. It’s the hair-care package for Satoru.

Rolling off the bed, he drags his feet toward his mirror, grabbing a brush to tug at any knots in his hair. He was too lazy to change out of his cat shirt so he left it on, grabbed a pair of sweatpants to slide over his boxers, slapped his face to look more awake, and headed out. He didn’t mind the way he looked right now, as most people look the same right now.

✮✮✮

With a small box in hand, Suguru makes it back to his dorm, trying to remember where Satoru said he lived. It was either one room to the right or one to the left. He was unwilling to choose incorrectly and deal with the nuisance of talking to someone he doesn’t want to talk to, so he resorted to Ieiri. Somehow, someway, she has connections to everyone. She’ll figure it out.

Suguru: “qeutstiom, where’s gojo’s dorm”

Ieiri: “why. u weirdo”

Suguru: “hair soap”

Ieiri: “am i supposed to understand what that means”

Suguru: “wgat room is it.”

Ieiri: “wait”

About 3 minutes passed. In that passage of time, Ieiri was able to find a friend who had been friends with Gojo, and they knew where his dorm was.

Ieiri: “to ur left. pick up beer when u done”

Suguru “ok alcoholic”

✮✮✮

He turned his phone off with a sigh, screen going dark in his palm as he made his way down the hall. Turning left, Suguru headed toward Satoru’s room, his dry fingers idly rubbing against each other as he mentally prepared himself to interact. Not that it was particularly hard, Gojo wasn’t exactly an intimidating person to talk to. But he was loud. And unpredictable.

He stopped at the familiar door, pausing for just a second before raising his fist and knocking. Not too hard, just enough for the sound to carry through.

It took longer than expected, nearly a full minute, for the door to creak open.

Satoru appeared in the doorway, clearly mid-laze. His hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in random directions with the kind of volume only natural chaos could produce. A black athletic headband was shoved on haphazardly, pushing some of it out of his face but failing to tame the rest. He blinked at Suguru like he hadn’t expected him to actually exist outside of class.

“Geto?” Satoru’s voice was half-surprised, half-amused. He grinned down at him, wide as ever. “What’re you doing here? Miss me already?”

Suguru rolled his eyes lightly and held out a small box, the bottles inside rattling faintly as he shifted it in his grip. “I’m procrastinating studying by giving you shampoo and conditioner,” he said flatly, handing the box over.

Satoru wasted no time grabbing it, already peeling back the cardboard with the eagerness of a kid unwrapping a gift. “Ooh, how exciting— this the stuff you use?”

“You asked,” Suguru replied, crossing his arms loosely. “Figured you’d rather try it than continue with that 3-in-1 disaster,”

“Oh, wow. You’re evil. Well, that ‘disaster’ smells like minty greatness,”

“Smells like mouthwash,” Suguru corrected with a smirk. “Do us all a favor and stop putting it on your head.”

Satoru let out an exaggerated gasp. “Rude. Is this how you say thank you when people open their doors to you?”

“I brought you expensive shampoo,” Suguru said, amused. “That’s my thank you,”

Satoru squinted at him suspiciously but couldn’t hide his growing smile. “This feels like a backhanded gift,”

“Dumbass— don’t use it right now,” Suguru added as Satoru tried to pry open the bottles. “You should probably wait until you actually shower… you know, if you take those.”

Satoru narrowed his eyes playfully, clutching the box like it needed protection. “Are you mean to everyone, or is this a special service?”

Suguru shrugged with feigned innocence. “I wasn’t being mean. I was just wondering if you’d even know how to use shampoo properly. Like, does it work on you? Or is your smell resistant through a rinse?”

Satoru’s mouth fell open in mock offense. He tried, really tried, not to laugh, holding back with a tight-lipped expression. But it cracked, and the laugh slipped out anyway, quick and sharp. “You suck— get outta here,”

“Gladly,” Suguru said, already turning back toward the hallway. “I’ll see you in HBO, Gojo.”

“Yes, you will,” Satoru called after him, still grinning as he stood in the doorway.

Suguru didn’t look back, just lifted a lazy hand in a wave as he made his way down the hall, this time finally ready to study. Meanwhile, behind him, Satoru gently shut his door and padded toward his bathroom, setting the new bottles on the counter like they were something precious.

✮✮✮

Though it was still only about 6:00 P.M., the sun sets quickly when you combine autumn and New York. Though they sat in separate dorms, both Satoru and Suguru were staring at the exact same sunset.

(Suguru’s POV:)

As someone who has grown up on the east coast for the majority of their life, the sunset is one thing I will never skip. Living on this side of the country grants some of the most beautiful, colorful, and unique sunsets. It’s even more beautiful during the fall, as not only the sky is amazing, but so is the scenery. The brownish/reddish leaves flowing down in addition to the pinks, blues, and oranges in the sky is honestly breathtaking. 

Slowly, you can see it fade off to a purple, then finally, a clear black. Stars aren’t visible in the city, but that’s okay. It’s easy to imagine them there. Play-pretend like a child. That way, you can create your own stars, make them any color and any size you like— like a tiny blue sparkle or something fun like that.

Recently, I feel like my mind has been elsewhere and I haven’t been able to completely sulk into the setting sun. I’m unsure of what is going on in my head, but it washes over when I see that light blue flowing in between the warm colors. It’s comforting to see the way that the blue sky stays all day, even during the sunset, only washing away once forced to.

(Satoru’s POV:)

I haven’t lived in America for my entire life, I actually lived in Japan for about seven years until my mom decided to come here. A lot has changed since I was 7 years old, but one thing that hasn’t is the sun and moon. Yeah, the sunset changes every night here in New York— like, tonight it’s blurple (mainly blue, the clouds look purple though) with orange and pink, yesterday it was just pink and yellow— but the sun and moon don’t change like that. Down goes the sun, up goes the moon.

I like the way they have a set routine, the way they have to be partnered together and are unable to leave one another. Without the sun, the day will never be shown, but without the moon, neither will the night. The moon actually can’t even survive without the sun if you think about it.

The moon is pulled to the earth with the forces of gravity, and the gravity is only there because of the sun. They literally coexist in order to uphold the condition of earth. One of them can’t just leave out of nowhere. They work together.

I like that.

✮✮✮

September 11th, Thursday: 6:31 P.M.

Suguru was on his way back from Shoko’s tiny and top secret beer cooler, as her alcoholic-self would probably throw hands if Suguru had forgotten to bring her beer. 

With a small can in hand, he drove a quick seven minutes to Shoko’s apartment, knocking on the door and waiting for her to come and take her beer. See, Shoko could leave her beer inside her own apartment, but since she lives with her cousin, she knows she would get ratted out to her parents if she did . That’s why she leaves it to Suguru to handle.

He could hear Shoko yell from inside her room that her door was unlocked, so he twisted the knob and headed inside, tossing the can at her head once spotting her on the couch. She moved out of the way before it could land on her, throwing a pillow at Suguru.

He stumbled back a bit before grabbing the pillow and putting it back onto the couch, alarmed at how much force she decided to put into the throw, it felt as if she had murderous intentions with it.

“Sometimes I genuinely think you’re going insane. Like— you just tried to kill me. All because you haven’t had alcohol in your system for two seconds…” He shakes his head in disapproval, standing by the couch as he leans his arms on the cushiony top of it.

“Well. What took you so long anyway? Because, what is ‘hair soap’ supposed to mean?”

“I was dropping off hair stuff for Gojo. He asked what brand I use, so I ordered him some. Also,” Suguru rubbed at his jaw with a sigh, eyes falling to his scuffed sneakers, “I forgot you asked me to bring beer. That’s why I took longer than I said,” I really need some new Dunks, he thinks, staring down at his shoes.

Shoko narrowed her eyes. “Did you forget, or were you just hanging around with blue-eyes? Or— you hate me. You hate me, don’t you?”

“I do hate you,” he said dryly, posture straightening a little as one arm dropped to his side. “But also, I literally  forgot. And I wasn’t hanging around. I dropped it off, like I said.”

“That sounds exactly like something someone who was hanging around and hating on true friendship would say,”

Suguru let out a sound somewhere between a breath and a chuckle, glancing to the side for a moment. “He hasn't even used it yet. Just tore the box open like a kid on Christmas.”

Shoko smirked behind her can as she cracked it open and took a sip. “Yeah, that tracks. I met him like twice and he was an absolute idiot both times— pretty funny,”

“You met him? Why do you never tell me about the people you meet? Why did I never know this?”

“You can stay for dinner, by the way,” she said, paying no attention to what Suguru had asked. “Aeko’s door-dashing from that Japanese place down the street once she gets back. The one with the zaru soba you like.”

“That sounds like a perfect dinner,” Suguru said, stepping forward to drop himself onto the floor. Shoko tossed him the remote, and he caught it without looking, already flipping through options.

✮✮✮

Satoru was wandering the streets, taking the path down to the café Suguru likes so much. He didn’t go inside, he just wanted to take a familiar path. Not in a sad or depressing way, walks are just entertaining to him when he’s bored of everything else.

On his walk, Satoru’s eyes drifted over the sidewalk, half-focused, his thoughts pausing for a moment. The usual shuffle of passerbyers went in blurs, hoodies up, headphones in, and postures slung low. Nothing really stood out until a small square of grass caught his eye. Just a patch of green like any other, but his steps slowed anyway. Took him a second, but then it clicked.

That was the spot. The very same one where a pint-sized whirlwind with a balloon had gone absolutely feral on him, landing hit after hit with the wild determination of someone avenging a fallen comrade. The memory hit fast. The balloon swings, over-the-top flinching, dramatic collapses, and Satoru couldn’t help but let out a quiet huff of laughter.

The kid had been relentless. But what made the whole scene actually stick in his mind wasn’t just the balloon beatdown, it was what happened off to the side. It was also Suguru .

Arms crossed, weight leaned against a bench like he wasn’t sure if this spectacle deserved his attention. He’d worn that unreadable half-smile, the one that could either mean “this is mildly amusing” or “you’re making a fool of yourself and I’m watching purely for data collection.” At the time, Satoru had tossed out a few jokes, exaggerated his agony a little more than usual, hoping to coax a reaction.

And to his surprise, Suguru had actually walked over. Not just to watch from a closer distance, but to join in. One minute he was observing like some stoic third-party, the next he was crouching beside the kid, nodding along to strategies like they were planning a balloon takedown. Satoru remembered watching that shift happen, how easily Suguru slid into it, like it was no big deal.

It wasn’t some major moment. Just a funny scene with a chaotic kid and a guy who usually seemed more like a calm observer than a participant. Still, it had stuck with him, not in any heavy, dramatic way, but like a detail you randomly remember and smirk about days later.

Satoru’s smile tugged a little wider as he kept moving, that brief memory brushing the edge of his thoughts and fading behind him with the wind.

Walking a little farther down, he sees a park holding kids who were mindlessly running around and coupled parents sitting together so picture-perfectly as they watch their children. Pausing there for just a moment, Satoru grins to himself before turning the corner to head back to campus.

To him, it’s refreshing to see a kid who has bright eyes— regardless of color. To see old couples together who enjoy time together as if the world was pink and full of roses. A refreshment he can’t compare to anything he’s ever experienced firsthand. Something he only has detected when crossing paths with lives like the ones in the park.

Back in his dorm, Satoru plopped down onto the floor, legs crisscrossed in front of the small coffee table they’d unofficially designated as their study zone. Nanami was already there, flipping through his notes with that signature air of focus like he was preparing for a courtroom trial instead of a gen-ed assignment. A plastic bag rustled as Satoru dug out their dinner. Just takeout from a nearby Italian spot that Nanami always claimed was “overpriced, but efficient.”

“You’re welcome,” Satoru said, dramatically placing the container in front of him and sliding Nanami’s over like a waiter in a cheesy rom-com. “I got you the pesto one. You’re a pesto guy, right? You’ve got that vibe,”

“I didn’t ask for pesto,” Nanami replied flatly, but he took the container anyway, opening it with the resigned air of someone who knew better than to argue with Satoru about food. “But it’s fine. Thanks,”

They ate mostly in silence for a few minutes, the soft scrape of forks against plastic and the occasional rustle of notebook paper filling the room. Satoru managed to get sauce on the corner of his mouth, wiped it away with the back of his hand, then leaned back on one palm, chewing slowly like the thought building in his head needed space to bloom.

“Kento,” he said with a full mouth, “have you ever seen those old married couples sitting on a bench in some random park and just… stood there thinking, ‘when will I experience that?’”

Nanami didn’t even look up. “Please,” he muttered, scribbling down something with a heavy hand, “we were so close to having a full twenty minutes of uninterrupted studying. Don’t throw this train off its tracks,”

“But seriously,” Satoru continued, undeterred, waving a fork as if it would help his point land better. “Like the ones who’ve been together for decades. They don’t even have to do anything, just sit there with held hands and… be there. That kind of love— it’s got, like, history in it.”

Nanami let out a long sigh, putting his pen down with a soft but deliberate click. “To answer your question— kind of. Old love is… nice to see. But I don’t really stand around staring at strangers and projecting onto them,”

“That’s such a Nanami answer,” Satoru said, leaning closer, mock offense written all over his face. “Like, clinically logical. Emotionally barren.”

Nanami leveled a blank stare at him. “I just don’t think about my future through other people. If I’m going to consider something like that, I’d rather do it when it’s quiet— on my own time,”

“Cold-hearted bastard,” Gojo said, biting into another forkful of pasta with a hammy shake of his head.

“You’re just annoying,” Nanami said with a deadpan voice, not even bothering to hide it.

Satoru shrugged, mouth full. “So some may say,”

There was a brief beat of silence before Nanami picked up his pen again. “You’re doing this to avoid your portion of the assignment, aren’t you?”

“I would never!” Gojo gasped, already sliding his untouched notebook farther away.

“Start writing, or I’m taking the garlic knots,”

“You monster.”

Chapter Text

(foreword: possibly a cliché beginning to this, but we love overused tropes… i think)

September 16th, Tuesday: 11:13 A.M.

Sitting in the seats they sat in classes prior, Satoru and Suguru were both chatting about how many times they’ve almost been run over in the streets of New York, until their professor cuts all conversation off.

The professor explains that a new research project was coming up, focusing on the brains of the youth. His shiny, (almost) bald, round head glistened with every move he made under the lights as he talked.

“I recommend working in partners for this— up to groups of four. It’ll be easier on you this way, but of course, the option of working alone is always available.” Wow, how thoughtful of her… “Find a topic regarding young people’s minds. I understand there are many business students in this class and if you are one, you may struggle trying to land on a topic since this focuses more on psychology, but there’ll be more projects later on for you to shine. Go start your grouping and researching now, any questions may be asked to me,” Her nasal voice comes to an end and she walks back to his desk.

Satoru repeatedly pokes Suguru’s back, in a way that would probably piss him off, “Geto— O’ Geto, will you please give me the honor to work with you on this project? It would be my absolute pleasure ,” He grins.

Suguru turns around with narrowed eyes, taking Satoru’s hand and setting it on the table; away from his back, “Yeah, but you poke me like that again and I’m never speaking to you again,”

“Understood. Completely understood,” He pokes him one last time just for shits-and-giggles before pulling his bag out from under his feet and taking his laptop out.

“You’re pushing it,”

“Am I?” Satoru asks with a cheeky smile, wiggling his finger tauntingly.

Suguru puts no extra effort into answering that, instead, he grabs his own laptop and starts typing his password in.

Satoru watches as Suguru’s bag drops from the chair next to him. He takes that as an invitation to sit there, so his long legs stretch out to move to that chair— sitting next to Suguru would be easier for them to work anyways.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Suguru says with evident sarcasm in his words.

Unfortunately, Satoru was just a bit behind on that one, “Thanks, I will,” he says with a grin. 

✮✮✮

After browsing through a handful of psychology articles and jotting down scattered notes, the two eventually paused to look at the half-formed bullet list they’d made on their shared document. The brainstorming phase had officially begun.

“I kinda like this one,” Satoru said, shifting in his seat as he pointed at the third bullet on the screen. “The one about how kids shape their personalities based on what they go through. Like— how their experiences wire them a certain way.”

He scrolled down a bit more, blue eyes flicking between tabs. “Oh, and this one too. Number five. Coping mechanisms. That one’s solid.”

Suguru leaned in slightly, rereading both points before nodding. “I like both,” he said, highlighting the fifth option in a pale blue. “But I’m leaning more toward the coping one. I feel like there’s more material out there on that— plus it’s a little more open-ended. We could approach it from different angles.”

Satoru leaned back in his chair with a satisfied little hum, fingers laced behind his head. “Alright then. Coping it is. We’ll dive into research today and tomorrow, and then throw together a thesis once we have a better sense of what direction we’re taking.” He frowned slightly, eyes narrowing at their assignment notes. “Wait, what were the actual requirements again?”

“Uh—” Suguru clicked to another tab. “Let’s see. We need two essays: one explaining the topic and the other talking about its broader relevance. Then there’s the research portion, obviously. And something... physical, I think? Some kind of visual representation of the data.”

“Right, that weird ‘make-it-interesting’ part,” Satoru said, squinting at the memory. “Like a science fair exhibit but make it psychology.”

“Basically,” Suguru replied with a shrug, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “He said it just needs to be visually engaging and show we understand the subject. Probably something like a model or poster board, maybe even an interactive thing if we want to try harder than everyone else.”

Satoru smirked. “I vote we don’t try too hard. Just hard enough to look cool.”

“He’ll most likely upload a rubric soon,” Suguru added, eyes scanning the school portal just in case. “We’ll go off that once it’s up.”

“Fair enough. So…” Satoru leaned forward again, cracking his knuckles. “We’re looking at how kids cope with challenges and how those strategies carry into adulthood— like how early habits shape the way people deal with stuff later in life?”

“Something along those lines, yeah. We can probably narrow it down more once we dig into the research.”

Satoru nodded, then opened a new tab and started typing a few broad keywords into the search bar like "childhood coping development," "long-term emotional habits," and other things similar. On the other side of the table, Suguru did the same, his fingers moving steadily over the keys as the soft clicking of their laptops filled the quiet between them.

✮✮✮

September 16th Tuesday: 12:15 P.M.

Most of the class had already filtered out, their chatter fading into the hallway like white noise. Chairs scraped against the floor and the door clicked shut behind the last person, leaving only Satoru and Suguru in the room, the final holdouts. It was quiet now, the kind of silence that settled only after a crowd had dispersed, leaving behind faint echoes of presence and motion.

Satoru stretched lazily, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a single, fluid motion, the strap catching on the collar of his hoodie before sliding into place. He looked toward Suguru, who was still hunched over the desk, tugging at the long strands of hair caught awkwardly beneath the strap of his own bag.

“You think we should do more work on it today?” Satoru asked, voice casual, watching with a flicker of amusement as Suguru tried to gently free his hair without yanking out half of it. “Or does it seem fine?”

“Uh,” Suguru winced slightly, fingers working through the tangle. “We only got one website… combined .” He freed the last strand and stood up straighter, brushing a hand over the back of his neck. “According to our unofficial schedule, we should’ve had three each by now. Six total.”

He paused, raising a brow as if waiting for Satoru to argue.

“And tomorrow,” he added, “we’re supposed to have twelve. That’s not happening if we don’t at least do a little more today.”

Satoru let out a soft puff of air that could’ve been a laugh, or just a breath laced with defiance. “Ehh… it could be possible,” he said, tone breezy, like deadlines didn’t apply to him.

Suguru gave him a flat look, the kind that said he’d heard this exact sentence before and wasn’t particularly inspired by it. “Maybe if you’re superhuman. Otherwise, no. Not for me, at least.” There was no bite in his voice, just realism, weary and measured.

He shifted his weight slightly, the worn strap of his bag digging into his shoulder as he finally started walking toward the door. Satoru was only a few steps behind, falling into pace beside him as naturally as if the hallway had been designed for two.

Their footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty corridor, the fluorescent lights above humming softly. They didn’t speak for a moment, and it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just them, again, like afternoons before.

“Hallways feel weird after class empties out,” Satoru remarked absently, breaking the silence. “Like we’re ghosts or something.”

Suguru glanced at him sideways. “That’s dramatic.”

“You’re dramatic for calling me dramatic,’” Satoru said with a grin, bumping Suguru’s shoulder gently with his own.

The contact was light and familiar. Not deliberate enough to be a statement, but not quite accidental, either.

Suguru didn’t return the gesture, but he didn’t move away either. His shoulder simply settled back into stride, brushing against Satoru’s again a few steps later. There was a rhythm to it now— bump, space, bump— a quiet syncopation in the middle of an otherwise ordinary walk.

“I’ll do a few in my free time,” Satoru offered eventually, voice softer now, less performative. His way of saying I’ll try.

Suguru nodded once, eyes fixed ahead. “Alright. I’ll do some too.”

They reached the familiar fork in the hallway, the one where they always went separate ways. Suguru to the library wing, Satoru toward the subway or maybe just somewhere else entirely, depending on his mood. The space where their paths split had started to feel like a punctuation mark, quiet and inevitable.

Satoru slowed his pace first. “Later,” he said, drawing out the word just a little, like he wasn’t in a hurry to end things.

“See you,” Suguru replied, and for a second, it looked like he might say something else, some afterthought caught in his throat, but he didn’t.

And then they turned, drifting apart down opposite hallways, footsteps growing fainter behind each other, until the moment passed like so many before it.

✮✮✮

September 16, Tuesday: 4:21 P.M.

Suguru sat tucked away in the back corner of the café, exactly where he always did, at the small round table by the wall, just underneath the framed print of a blurry Brooklyn street scene. It was late afternoon, and the amber sunlight slanted through the windows at a lazy angle, casting long golden lines across the hardwood floor. The scent of espresso hung heavy in the air, layered with hints of cinnamon, vanilla syrup, and roasted beans. The hum of conversation buzzed quietly in the background, barely audible under the mellow indie playlist piped through the café’s speakers.

His laptop was open in front of him, a neatly color-coded document on the screen, though the brightness had dimmed slightly. He always kept it lower than most, a habit born from too many nights writing papers until his eyes ached. His passionfruit smoothie, vibrant and mostly untouched, rested beside his elbow, condensation dripping slowly down the side of the glass cup.

He wore a soft gray hoodie, clearly a well-loved one, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. AirPods nestled in his ears, Suguru bobbed his foot rhythmically beneath the table, the motion unconscious as he scrolled through the last summary he'd written. A few strands of hair had slipped out of his low messy bun, catching the light like dark silk.

He had told Satoru he'd finish this section by today. He hadn’t expected Satoru to take that as an invitation. The bell above the door chimed.

It was subtle, barely noticeable over the ambient noise, but Suguru felt it anyway. A shift. The quiet tremor of presence, disruptive and familiar.

Satoru Gojo entered with all the effortlessness of someone who knew exactly what kind of entrance he was making. Dressed in a loose T-Shirt and baggy jeans with an unnecessary addition of sunglasses placed on his head like a crown, he looked every bit the chaos Suguru had resigned himself to dealing with. Satoru was smiling, not that he ever isn’t (at least to the public). That slow, deliberate curve of his mouth that meant nothing and everything all at once. Satoru spotted Suguru instantly, of course. He always did.

He made no immediate move to announce himself. Instead, he meandered toward the counter, ordered something sugary and iced, and took his time. Suguru didn’t look up from his screen, but he could feel it, the eyes on him. Watching and waiting. Then, without warning, a tall shadow fell across the table. Before Suguru could react, Satoru leaned down, long fingers sliding across the trackpad, and dragged the brightness on Suguru’s screen all the way down to black.

Suguru blinked. The music in his ears kept playing but he paused it with a tap, the AirPod’s click quiet and final. His foot stopped tapping.

“Mm,” he said, lifting his eyes slowly, unimpressed. “You’re just… hilarious.”

Satoru’s grin widened. “I know, right?” He pulled out the chair across from Suguru and dropped into it with zero grace, knees splayed. “You looked lonely. I thought I’d bring some sparkle into your life,”

“You thought wrong,”

Satoru propped his chin on his hand, elbow planted on the table like this was a date and not a project meeting. “Is that any way to talk to your project partner and emotional support system?”

“You’re only one of those things,” Suguru muttered, turning his screen back up.

“Ouch.” Satoru sipped his drink loudly (pretty much just to piss Suguru off) through the straw, eyes scanning the open doc on Suguru’s screen. “You actually did work.”

“Yes,” Suguru said. “Because that’s what this is. A project. You know, work.”

Satoru hummed thoughtfully, reaching into his bag and pulling out a beaten-up notebook, a pen, and what looked like a half-eaten croissant in a napkin. “I had a mid-class daydream that we won a Nobel Prize for this.”

“That’s great. Maybe in your dream you also wrote your section?”

“Now why would I do that when I know you’ll do it better?”

Suguru gave him a flat look. “Manipulation doesn’t suit you.”

“Mm,” Satoru said again, mimicking Suguru’s earlier tone. “You’re just… hilarious.”

Suguru allowed himself the faintest twitch of a smile before refocusing on the screen. The words on the page didn’t seem quite as important now, not with the air charged the way it always does when Satoru is near, like a low current, invisible but insistent, threading its way under Suguru’s skin.

✮✮✮

Yet another comfortable silence settled over the two of them, one of those unspoken, easy pauses that always seemed to find them when they were together. Not awkward, not strained; just a quiet sound that neither felt pressured to fill. Suguru appreciated it. Maybe more than he let on. It wasn’t that he disliked the way Satoru talked. His voice, if anything, was oddly expressive, occasionally insightful, and always charged with an energy that made Suguru feel like something interesting might tumble out at any moment. But there was something about the hush that followed their conversations that grounded him. Like coming up for air.

His fingers moved slowly, methodically across his notes, and his eyes followed along, skimming what he’d just written, allowing his shoulders to drop a little more than usual, his jaw to unclench, and his eyebrows to relax. He didn’t have to say a word, silence was doing enough.

Satoru, on the other hand, was fidgeting with his pen. The quiet wasn’t his natural habitat, but it wasn’t suffocating either, not when it was with Suguru. He could tell how much Suguru liked it. There was something reassuring about the way his friend seemed to settle into the silence, like it gave him space to exist without performance. And even though it wasn’t second nature to Satoru, he held back for as long as he could manage. But eventually, inevitably, his threshold ran out.

“I’m almost done, what about you, Sugu-boo?” Satoru finally blurted, his grin stretching wide before he even finished the sentence. A laugh snuck out of him the second the nickname left his mouth, and he slapped a hand over his face in half-mock embarrassment at his own joke. “Oh my god, that was awful. I’m keeping it.”

Suguru’s eyes lifted with a look that could only be described as pure disappointment. “Do not call me that. You’re so stupid.” Still, his voice lacked real bite. The insult was well-worn between them by now, practically affectionate.

“Also,” Suguru added, brushing off the last line of his notes with the edge of his hand, “I just finished. So, congrats on being slow.”

Satoru gasped with exaggerated offense, “You're just mad because Sugu-boo is catchy. I think it suits you. Soft. Elegant. A little sparkly.”

“You need to be stopped.”

“I can’t be contained.”

Suguru gave him a long, unimpressed stare before letting a tiny, reluctant smile curl the edge of his mouth. “Fine. If I have to live with Sugu-boo , then you get a nickname too.”

Satoru perked up immediately, leaning in with a mixture of excitement and suspicion. “Ooh, really? Lay it on me. Make it good.”

“Let’s see, how about…gorilla-brained idiot.” Suguru said without blinking, expression flat and eyes glued onto Satoru’s.

Satoru blinked, snorted, and laughed just a little too loud, too delighted for someone who was just insulted. “Wow. And here I was thinking we were friends.”

“You’re lucky,” Suguru said dryly, returning to his notes. “I was gonna go with ‘fossilized monkey shit’. You’re welcome.”

Satoru grins, “So technically… Your mercy on my chosen nickname means that you do think we’re friends, right? I’m right.”

Suguru didn’t answer, simply just taking a sip of his smoothie and staring at Satoru blankly.

“That means yes.”

“Does it though?”

✮✮✮

Though they had finished their work around 4:50, neither of them moved to pack up. The minutes passed slowly without tension, the kind of time that didn’t demand anything from them. By the time Suguru finally glanced at the clock again, it was already 5:45. That kind of lingering— unprompted, unforced— wasn’t something Suguru usually allowed himself. He wasn’t the type to hang around just for the sake of company. In fact, he often found the idea exhausting. Most people drained him after a while, even the ones he liked. But today, he hadn’t noticed the weight of time. He hadn’t felt that usual itch to excuse himself or the quiet mental calculation of when to leave without seeming rude. It was strange; unnatural. But not in a way that made him uncomfortable.

If Suguru was being completely honest with himself, the lack of exhaustion and the gain of comfort was because he was with Satoru. Since meeting Satoru, things had been shifting, subtly, but undeniably. Suguru didn’t quite know what to make of it yet. But for once, he didn’t feel the need to pick it apart. Not yet.

Chapter Text

September 18th, Thursday: 4:15 P.M.

(Satoru’s POV:)

Geto wasn’t in HBO today— not even the café. Actually, I don’t think I’ve  seen him all of today for that matter. Usually I’d pass him in a hallway or while washing hands in the bathroom, but I haven’t seen him at all. Maybe he’s sick or something, fall-weather passes the cold around quickly here. But I don’t know. He seemed fine on Tuesday.

I checked our shared document for the project and he got a little work done— like two words. 

Yeah, I’m narrowing this down to either he’s sick and weak or he got a major injury and is on the brink of death. 

Might as well check.

✮✮✮

Satoru made his way down the hallway to Suguru’s dorm, the dim lights casting a warm, sleepy glow across the carpeted floor. When he reached the familiar door, he lifted a fist and knocked in a lazy, uneven rhythm that could almost pass for music.
“Geto?” he called lightly, his voice muffled by the door. “It’s Gojo.”

There was a beat of silence. Then came a groggy, unintelligible grumble. A dull thud followed. Then the sluggish click of the lock turning. When the door cracked open, Suguru stood there looking, well, rough.

Now, Satoru wouldn’t exactly say that out loud, at least not in those words, but for your sake, here’s the visual. His long hair was tangled and matted on one side like he’d been fighting it in his sleep; his shirt clung to one shoulder awkwardly and looked like it hadn’t seen a hanger in three days; and his face was slack with exhaustion, eyes barely open, skin a few shades paler than usual.

“Jeez, Geto,” Satoru blinked, lips tugging into a wince. “You good?” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his white hair shifting slightly with the movement. There was a part of him that wanted to say more, but the look on Suguru’s face, being  part annoyance, part fever daze, told him to keep it short.

“Thanks. I’m great,” Suguru deadpanned, voice hoarse and dry. “Just a cold. My immune system decided to betray me this week.”

He stepped back into the dorm with sluggish effort, making a show of widening the space so Satoru wouldn’t get contaminated. But before he could say anything else, he snatched a tissue and let out a loud, congested sneeze that echoed off the walls.

Satoru raised both brows. “Bless you. Holy shit.”

Suguru groaned and waved a dismissive hand, already halfway toward collapsing onto the couch.

Satoru wanted to help, he really did. But his inner menace couldn’t resist a tease, just one. “You uh— look… incredible,” he said, his tone exaggerated with faux admiration. “Like something Picasso would’ve sketched in a fever dream. Just beautiful.”

Suguru, now face-down on the couch, gave a limp thumbs-up. “I’m touched.”

Satoru smirked and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “My mom makes this homemade thing that always helps when I’m sick. It’s kind of a weird honey concoction thing, but it works. I have the recipe on my phone if you wanna try making it.”

Suguru groaned again and waved his hand a little more desperately this time. “I, unfortunately, do not have the strength to stand up and boil water, let alone make an experimental remedy. So I’ll have to pass. Maybe later.” With that, he collapsed fully onto the couch, letting his weight sink into the cushions like he’d just crossed a desert to get there. Satoru watched him with a half-smile and shook his head.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, stepping fully into the dorm and closing the door behind him, “I fear you may die soon without it, so I think I’ll just make it for you.” Suguru didn’t protest…yet.

“I doubt you have daikon,” Satoru continued, walking toward the cozy kitchen, “so I’ll pick that up later. But hopefully you’ve got an onion. Onions are miracle workers. They clear your nose right up if you sniff them. It’s basically science.”

“I’m not smelling an onion,” Suguru mumbled from the couch, barely lifting his head. His voice was muffled by a pillow.

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Bet.”

Satoru crouched down and started rummaging through Suguru’s pantry like he lived there, humming under his breath. After a minute or two, he emerged victorious, holding up a large onion like it was a diamond.

“I don’t want to smell that shit. Gojo— do not make me smell that,” Suguru groaned, sitting up just enough to swat lazily in the air.

Satoru’s grin widened. “I swear, just a little whiff and your sinuses will thank me.”

“Gojo—”

“Just one sniff. Just a single inhale.”

“I’m going to throw you out the window.”

“That’s fair,” Satoru said, unfazed, as he began making his way toward the couch like a cartoon villain, onion in hand. “But one— I don’t think you have enough strength for that right now, and two— even if you could, I’m okay with dying a hero for your nostrils.”

“Stay back. I’m armed with germs.”

“I’ll be okay, hand sanitizer exists.”

Suguru groaned again, dramatically this time, and pulled the pillow over his face as Satoru loomed over the couch, the onion held gently like it was some kind of offering to the gods.

“If you sniff it, I’ll leave you alone,” Satoru offered.

“You’ll leave anyway.”

“That’s what you think. I could sit here with this onion all day.”

Eventually, after some reluctant grumbling and half-hearted swats, Suguru gave in just long enough for Satoru to lower the onion within range.

“One whiff. That’s it. I’m not talking about a deep soul-cleansing breath,” Satoru promised, voice full of unearned sincerity. “Just a little sniff.”

Suguru turned his head slightly. “Fine. One whiff. And if it doesn’t work, I’m rubbing it on your eyes.”

“Deal,” Satoru beamed. “I think…” he says, now second-guessing his answer. But, too late now. And so began the strange ritual of one sick college student sniffing an onion while the other tried to act like it was a valid form of medicine. 

✮✮✮

Now, with his eyes watering like a faucet and his brows expressed utter betrayal, Suguru began throwing wild, sluggish punches in every direction. They didn’t land anywhere near Satoru, but the intent was there, enough to make him duck and laugh as he dodged the slow-motion chaos.

“Fuck you, Gojo,” Suguru whined through the congested blur of his voice, swiping blindly at his face with the back of his sleeve.

“Might as well,” Satoru said mischievously, plopping on the edge of the couch with both hands raised in surrender. “But… it’s helping, isn’t it?” His grin was downright villainous now.

Suguru froze mid-sniffle, his expression slowly shifting from offended to surprised. He blinked a few times, sniffed cautiously again, no onion this time, then took a deeper inhale.

“…Finally,” he sighed, voice dripping with relief. “Air. Through my nose.”

Satoru threw his arm up like he’d just won a championship. “Oh, hell yeah. See? I told you. Guess who won’t be getting onion in their eyes?” He pointed two thumbs toward himself, practically glowing. “ Me! ”

Suguru, defeated in the best way possible, let his body collapse backward into the cushions. His messy black hair fanned out against the pillow, strands falling over his eyes. He waved a lazy hand toward Satoru in a gesture that could’ve meant “go away” or “shut up” or “I’ll allow this,” depending on the angle.

Satoru ignored the vague dismissal, settling into a comfortable criss-cross-applesauce position by Suguru’s folded legs. He rested his elbows on his knees and tilted his head up at Suguru, who was now half-asleep and only barely listening.

“I’m not putting effort in to respond to you,” Suguru mumbled, his voice muffled against the armrest.

“No need,” Satoru replied easily, stretching his arms up overhead. “I gotta go get your daikon anyway. For the miracle recipe.” He gave Suguru a teasing wink before rolling off the floor and onto his feet with surprising grace.

“You sound like my mom,” Suguru muttered as his eyelids started to droop.

“Your mom sounds great,” Satoru shot back, already halfway to the door, grabbing his coat off the nearby hook.

Suguru chuckled faintly, just one breath of a laugh, but it was there. His hand curled loosely around the edge of the couch blanket as he shifted slightly to get more comfortable.

“Tell me if you die,” Satoru called as he slipped out into the hall.

“Only if I come back to haunt you.”

“I look forward to it.”

The door shut softly behind him, and for a few moments, the room was quiet again, just the sound of wind slipping between the windows and Suguru’s finally-clear breathing. And while his head still throbbed and his body ached, it felt a little easier now. Like the worst of it might pass, if only because someone had walked into his sick day and made it stupidly, absurdly better.

Even if it involved an onion. Especially because it involved Gojo.

✮✮✮

September 18th, Thursday: 4:45 P.M.

At this time, Satoru was stepping back into the dorm building, the crisp scent of radish lingering on his hands from the short trip to the local Asian market. Nestled in the small plastic bag swinging at his side was a freshly picked daikon, firm, long, still faintly damp from the misty produce section. He’d grown up on daikon honey syrup every time he so much as sniffled, and although he hadn’t needed it himself in years, he still remembered the burn of the radish and the warm comfort that followed. He figured if he was going to be annoying while Suguru was sick, he might as well also be helpful.

Luckily, Suguru had left his door unlocked after Satoru’s last visit. He’d probably forgotten to lock it again, or maybe it was intentional. Either way, Satoru took it as a small, unspoken invitation. He nudged the door open with a quiet creak and stepped inside, calling casually into the warm stillness of the dorm.

“You dead yet?”

“Unfortunately not,” came Suguru’s hoarse reply from the couch. He was now completely sprawled across the cushions in a way that was almost artistic, one leg dangling limply off the edge, the rest of his body messily cocooned in a blanket that Suguru clearly had mixed feelings about in this moment. It was now barely covering half his torso and one leg, like it had given up trying.

Satoru smiled at the sight, closing the door with the back of his foot. “I hope you have honey; that’s the only other ingredient in this.”

“Uh, it should be somewhere. Check the back of the fridge or something,” Suguru muttered without even lifting his head.

Satoru hummed in acknowledgment and made his way to the tiny kitchenette. He opened the fridge and stuck his entire head in to find the honey (for absolutely no reason at all).

It was mostly leftovers and bottled drinks, but eventually, he spotted the nearly empty honey bottle wedged behind an old takeout container. He grabbed it triumphantly and set it beside the daikon bag with a satisfying thunk.

“So,” he said over his shoulder as he rummaged through Suguru’s cabinets, “this recipe needs to sit for at least forty minutes to an hour before you eat it. That’s how the magic happens. Don’t kill me, please.”

Suguru groaned, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Whatever. I’ll just nap through the betrayal.”

Satoru chuckled, “Good choice. Dream of my face.”

He grabbed a container, washed and peeled the daikon, then sliced it into neat, even cubes with practiced ease. The soft thud of the knife on the cutting board was the only sound in the room besides Suguru’s uneven breathing and the occasional shift of the couch springs. Once the container was full of radish, he squeezed out what little honey remained, letting it drizzle between the cubes like amber syrup. Then he sealed the lid and gave it a light shake before leaving it on the counter.

With the prep done, Satoru wandered toward the front door where his bag had been abandoned earlier. He picked it up and carried it back to the living area, placing it quietly beside the couch. Then, without asking, he dropped to the floor and let his back settle against the bottom of the couch.

There was a pause. Then, from under the blanket, a voice asks slowly, “What are you still doing here?”

Satoru glanced up, his arm resting on one raised knee. “Didn’t wanna leave a dying person alone. Feels rude.”

For a moment, there was silence again. Then a soft exhale. Suguru peeked out with one eye, sleepy and unfocused, then retreated back into the safety of the blanket cave.

“Mph,” was all he offered, but the sound wasn’t quite a complaint.

Satoru took that as permission and pulled his laptop from his bag, the screen lighting up his face in the dim, golden late-afternoon light that had begun pouring through the window. Outside, students passed by in pairs, their chatter muffled by the thick glass. Inside, the dorm was warm and still.

Opening up their shared document for HBO, he scrolled through what they’d started together earlier that week. Suguru had typed some notes already, but Satoru figured he could fill in the rest; cover for Suguru. Just enough to keep them on track. It wouldn’t take long, maybe twenty minutes, if he stayed focused.

Suguru didn’t speak again for a while. His breathing evened out, slow and steady, and at some point his foot shifted slightly beneath the blanket, lightly bumping Satoru’s side. He didn’t move away. It was clear Suguru was asleep now. Satoru stayed like that, quiet, typing, grounded— thinking to himself that this was... nice. Not exciting, not life-changing, not dramatic. Just quiet. Just simple. Just Suguru on a couch and him on the floor and the soft hum of something solid beginning. And really, he didn’t mind the wait. He could take his time.

✮✮✮

After about 15 minutes, Satoru had finished his work and found his own eyes starting to droop. Closing his laptop and letting a soft yawn out, he stares out the window for a moment, thinking he wouldn’t fall asleep if he just…

Oh. Well, that didn’t work. Knocked out in record time, actually.

He curls up and turns his head more comfortably against the couch, the two of them now in dreamland— separately.

(Suguru’s POV:) 

There’s a lake. It’s too cold out to go inside though. I don’t really wanna go in either. I’ll just sit here on the soft grass. It’s nice and plush.

Y’know, I’m looking up at this sky again and I’m seeing a lot of stars. Lots of blue stars. I actually didn’t like the color blue until recently. 

Crack.  A twig broke?

“What’s that? Is there someone there?”

No answer, unfortunately.

Now that I’m turned back toward the lake I—.. oh. There’s snow now. It’s even colder.

Getting up, I brush my knees from a few fallen snowflakes. That’s when I see something— uh, someone? I’m honestly unsure. They’re in the lake, effortless in their strides, knee-deep in the waters. 

“Hey, it’s cold in there. You should probably get out,” I called out, feeling a shiver run through my spine as the wind blew the hair from my face.

The person turns around. They’re completely blue— not pale blue like skin color— blue, like literally blue. A natural blue. Their skin is a dark blue; their eyes match the stars— bright and blue.

Now I’m debating myself again. Maybe not human, but a person. They have a soul. I can tell. Anyone can tell by looking at those eyes. No mouth on their face— or nose for that matter. But I don’t need to see those to say they’re sentient. 

I suddenly feel like it’s become warmer. No longer painfully cold, no more snow. All melted as quickly as it fell.

The body in the lake didn’t move. Just still and staring. Well, until their hand raised, gesturing me to come in the lake.

“I don’t— uh, I don’t think I’d like to come in there.”

The blue… thing… raises an eyebrow before continuing to gesture at me to the lake.

“Okay, I’ll come in,” I responded, a bit unwilling but also a bit curious.

(Satoru’s POV:)

Oh cool— it’s an arcade. I like arcades. Actually, I haven’t been in one in a while. 

Where’s that whack-a-mole game? I like that one; it’s based purely off of reflexes, which I have sharpened to the peak. Ah, well. Found it. It was right behind me.

“You stupid little shit… I’ll beat your head, tiny mole.” 

I grab the… whacky thing. The hammer— whatever it is.

Turning on the game, a jammy little tune plays. Suddenly, my eyes caught a mole’s head popping out, but I didn’t exactly catch it physically. My hand swung for it but I didn’t quite get there. I couldn’t get a really good look at it but it was fuzzy and black with sly eyes from what I saw.

“I’ll find you…” I say under my breath, now more focused on the game.

Two seconds pass as I stand on guard but it feels like two-thousand.  There— it’s back.

“Gojo,” It taunts.

I attempt to hit it with the hammer but I miss it again.

What’s going on? Usually I’m great at these things— I never miss. But this rodent here keeps escaping me.

3 seconds now. It’s keeping me on edge.

“Idiot,” It calls out at me.

I swing the hammer harder than before, eager to get it. 

Yet another miss. 

I’m done. My reflexes are usually on point, but something about this mole is messing it all up.

Just as I walk away, the hammer dropping from the machine, I hear that mole again.

Softer now, it calls, “Satoru, come back.”

I only glance back for a second before waking up.

✮✮✮

September 18th, Thursday: 5:50 P.M.

Satoru’s eyes flutter open, his lashes heavy with the haze of a mid-afternoon nap. His neck aches from sleeping upright, and when he glances down, he realizes his laptop has launched itself nearly four feet away from where it had originally been resting. With a groggy groan, he pushes himself upright, blinking until his vision comes into focus. Across the room, Suguru is still completely knocked out.

He sleeps like a log, Satoru thinks to himself, amused. Not even a flicker of movement. The blanket is bunched awkwardly over his torso, one leg still dangling off the couch like it gave up halfway through trying to stay comfortable. His arm is draped dramatically over his face, the picture of melodramatic exhaustion. Satoru chuckles softly.

He lingers on the floor for a moment, enjoying the quiet. Then, brushing off his knees, he rises to his feet and walks over to the counter where the daikon-honey concoction has been sitting. The container is warm to the touch. When he cracks open the lid, the sharp, earthy sweetness hits his nose instantly, nostalgic and weirdly grounding. It smells exactly like his mom used to make when he was a kid. Comforting, in a quiet way he hadn’t expected.

Scooping up a fork, Satoru pads back over to Suguru, still clutching the container in one hand. He crouches beside the couch and hovers his index finger dangerously close to Suguru’s cheek, grinning to himself. Without hesitation, he pokes.

Suguru stirs with a groan, his face scrunching in mild irritation as he sluggishly blinks one eye open. “What?” he rasps, voice thick and scratchy from sleep.

“Eat up. Your remedy is ready—” Satoru pauses, then smirks. “Oh, I like that. It rhymes.”

Suguru slowly pushes himself upright, one hand dragging down his face as he accepts the container and fork with a heavy sigh. “That doesn’t rhyme.”

“Reme-dee, reh-dee. C’mon, it kinda does.”

Suguru doesn’t argue further. He stabs a cube of daikon and lifts it to his mouth, chewing slowly, as if trying to decipher the flavor like it’s some strange potion. His brows pull together slightly, not in disgust, but in thoughtful hesitation.

“Make sure you drink some of that juicy stuff at the bottom too,” Satoru instructs, leaning forward eagerly. “That’s what really makes you feel better. The good stuff. Anyways— how’s it taste?”

“Will do,” Suguru mumbles between bites, his tone neutral but not unfriendly. He pauses again. “It’s… manageable. Just got a… an aftertaste of some sort.”

“Good. Now finish that, and you’ll be feeling amazing in like, twenty minutes. Science,” Satoru says with faux authority, folding his arms across his chest, looking proudly down at him before heading back to the kitchen to wipe up any remnants of his concoction off the table.

Suguru doesn’t respond right away. He keeps eating, small bites at a time, slower now. It’s not bad, actually. He’d expected something awful, some off-the-wall Gojo family secret that tasted like actual garbage. But this… it’s strangely comforting. Still, what lingers more than the taste is the thought circling in his head.

Why is he still here? Suguru doesn’t ask it out loud, but the question sticks. Satoru had come all the way here, twice, just to drop off some weird radish-tea-thing, waited around while he slept, made sure he ate it, even cleaned up the kitchen. It wasn’t as if they were close. They weren’t. Not really. Just some weird almost-friends with good banter and a class together.

And yet, Satoru stayed.

Suguru’s not used to that. Most people flake out when things get too quiet or too heavy. He isn’t even sure how to react to someone going through all that effort without asking for anything in return, not praise, not recognition, not even a conversation. Just… help, because he wanted to. It just feels like something Suguru hasn’t had much of lately, someone showing up without being asked.

So, instead of questioning it, or trying to untangle what it might mean, he just eats in silence. One bite after another. No words, no thanks, no explanation. Just the quiet, steady presence of a new friend sitting nearby, no rush to leave, no expectations in the air.

Chapter Text

September 23rd, Tuesday: 11:02 A.M.

Suguru looks up from his laptop, eyes lifting just in time to see Satoru waltzing into the classroom like he owns the place. That usual easy swagger is in full effect, but the second his eyes land on Suguru, his whole face lights up like it’s instinctual. A grin spreads across Satoru’s lips without hesitation.

He heads for his usual seat, naturally drifting behind Suguru and jabbing a couple of playful pokes into his back. The last one earns him a sigh and a half-turn from Suguru, who raises a brow at the interruption.

“I see that you’re back,” Satoru says cheerily, barely hiding the pride in his voice. “How well did the daikon work? Good, right? You look about 4% more alive.”

Suguru huffs a small breath of amusement, not quite a laugh. “I won’t lie— it did help,” he admits, closing his laptop halfway as he speaks.

Satoru’s smile somehow widens. “You can’t live without me,” he declares, gesturing to himself dramatically. “I saved your immune system. A full-scale rescue operation. You were going down.”

Suguru tilts his head, unimpressed but faintly entertained. “It could’ve saved itself. You just… assisted in its recovery,” he replies, measured and dry.

“Just admit that I’m great.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

Suguru lets out a long sigh and spins back around in his seat. “Shut up, we have work to finish.” As he speaks, he slides his bag off the chair next to him with one foot, clearing the spot without making a big deal out of it.

Satoru wastes no time. He drops into the seat beside him like it’s second nature, setting his laptop down with a gentle thud and stretching his legs out until his feet nudge the underside of the table. He settles in, casual and comfortable, acting like he belongs there, because maybe, he kind of does now.

“Someone’s bossy today,” he mumbles with a smirk as he opens his screen.

Suguru doesn’t reply, already clicking into their shared assignment. But the corner of his mouth twitches upward for a second—just barely—and Satoru catches it.

✮✮✮

“Geto, I finished my part of the summary, aren’t you proud of me?” Satoru beams, spinning his laptop around to show the screen to Suguru like he’s just handed in a thesis.

Suguru leans slightly to glance at the document. “Great,” he says dryly. “You want a cookie?”

“Yes,” Satoru replies instantly, eyes wide.

“Too bad.”

Satoru slumps back in his chair with exaggerated defeat, locking his hands behind his head and tipping it back as he stares at Suguru. He doesn’t blink, just stares.

A few seconds pass before Suguru notices. He glances up from his keyboard, skeptical. “What do you want?”

“A cookie.”

“Go find one yourself— it was a joke,” Suguru says, chuckling quietly at Satoru’s dedication to the bit as he returns to typing.

“Well,” Satoru mutters, sitting up straighter, “it’s not my fault your jokes activated my hunger.”

“Oh no,” Suguru deadpans. “Am I supposed to apologize for your hunger now?”

“Yep,” Satoru says as he stands, already pushing his chair back. “But since you won’t, I’ll be on my merry little way to find my own cookie. And just so you know, I was going to bring you one too, but now? Nothing. Because you suck.”

He starts heading toward the front of the class with no hesitation.

Suguru rolls his eyes, half-laughing under his breath. “Yeah, as if Dr. Parroe’s actually gonna let you leav—”

“Go ahead, but be back quick,” Dr. Parroe says without even looking up from her papers.

Suguru blinks. His fingers freeze over his keyboard as he watches Satoru shoot him a smug grin on his way out the door.

“…That had to’ve been pretty people privilege,” Suguru mutters to himself.

✮✮✮

Eventually, Satoru returns with thirty minutes of class to spare, a paper bag crinkling in his hands. It’s not just one cookie he’s brought back, but two.

He drops into the chair beside Suguru like nothing happened, setting the bag between them with a dramatic flair. “I felt bad when I imagined you sitting here, watching me eat a delicious cookie while you sat there, cookie-less. A tragic image.”

“I didn’t need a cookie,” Suguru says with a quiet chuckle at Satoru’s brain and the way it thinks.

“You say that now, but wait till you smell this. It’s heaven in scent form.” Satoru opens the bag like it’s a treasure chest and plucks out one cookie, offering the other to Suguru with a tilt of his head.

Suguru hesitates a beat before taking it, curiosity getting the better of him. The moment the scent hits him, it’s warm and sugary and slightly crisp at the edges. he nods. “That does smell pretty good.”

“Told you,” Satoru says proudly, already halfway into his own cookie. “Now imagine having to watch me eat this without one of your own. Depressing, right? I’m sparing you from emotional devastation.”

Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle, still typing one-handed into their shared document as he finally takes a bite. His brows lift in faint surprise. “Okay… that actually exceeded my expectations.”

“I know, right? Campus food? Who would’ve thought?”

“I’ve avoided it since middle school. I think I’m still scarred from whatever they tried to pass off as pizza back then.”

Satoru laughs through a mouthful. “Yeah, mystery-meat Mondays ruined my life,” (he still ate whatever was given out. every. single. day.), “but this? This is redemption.”

They eat in relative peace for a few moments, the sound of keys clicking and classroom discussion filling the background. Satoru stretches his legs out under the table, bumping into Suguru’s shin, but makes no move to adjust. Neither does Suguru.

“Glad to be the one who put you on,” Satoru says, brushing crumbs from his lap.

“Do you have to take credit for everything I experience?” Suguru replies, not looking up from the screen but the exasperation in his voice is softened by the slightest hint of a smile.

“Yeah?” Satoru says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Suguru sighs. “Okay, Gojo. Okay.” He takes another bite of the cookie anyway.

✮✮✮

The clock ticks toward the end of class, a low buzz of shuffling papers and closing laptops filling the room as students start to pack up. Suguru finishes typing a sentence, re-reads it, then clicks his laptop shut with a soft thunk . He sits still for a second, glancing sideways at Satoru, who is currently trying to balance a pen on his upper lip for whatever reason he thinks necessary.

Suguru had been thinking about how much easier it would be if the two of them had each other’s numbers. They would be able to sort out work much easier that way. He just didn’t know how to bring it up. But, he finally decided to come over his irrational fears of failing in conversation and asked Gojo.

“Hey,” Suguru says, his voice casual, “we should probably exchange numbers. Like, for the project.”

Satoru lets the pen drop. “Oh my god ,” he says, eyes going wide like he just witnessed a proposal. “Suguru Geto, are you asking for my number? I didn’t think we were there yet.”

Suguru doesn’t even blink. “I promise we are not ‘there’ or anywhere near it. This is strictly professional.”

“Sure, sure,” Satoru says, grinning as he digs into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Strictly business. No feelings. Zero emotional attachment. My number means nothing .”

“Please stop talking.”

But Suguru’s already pulling out his phone with a sigh, unlocking it and holding it out like he’s handing over something radioactive. “Just put your number in.”

“Say please.”

“I’ll literally leave right now.”

Satoru laughs, tapping quickly on the screen. “There. You are now officially in possession of the great Gojo Satoru’s number. Cherish it wisely.”

“The only thing I’m ‘cherishing’ is the way we can finally communicate like normal people instead of cavemen.” Suguru slides his phone into his pocket and stands, brushing some lint off his sleeve before grabbing his bag.

Satoru leans back in his seat, arms stretched over his head. “I hope you’re ready for unsolicited memes and amazing selfies of my beautiful face.”

Suguru slings the bag strap over his shoulder and walks toward the door. “You’re painfully unfunny.”

“Ouch?”

“Ouch,” Suguru confirms, without looking back.

Satoru takes his time packing up, tossing his notebook in without closing it, half-zipping his bag, and eventually getting to his feet. As he walks up the aisle, he spots Suguru still lingering by the door, leaning casually against the frame like he’s been waiting.

No words are exchanged as they fall into step beside each other, leaving the classroom like they have every other time, shoulders just shy of brushing, their conversation already shifting toward what to write next for their project.

✮✮✮

September 23rd, Tuesday: 4:52 P.M.

(Over text:)

Satoru: “😱”

Suguru: “why is this the first thing you text me with. i’m confused”

Satoru: “I just saw.”

Suguru: “saw what”

Satoru: “A black haired man. He has piercings and he’s scaring me. I just passed him in the hallway. I think his eyes were… purrpe. 😳”

Suguru: “purrpe”

Satoru: “Sorry. Meant ‘pjrple’.”

Suguru: “pjrple”

Satoru: “Hey, now the joke is gone. :(“

Suguru: “there was a joke?”

Satoru: “Yes I saw you outside your dorm… I was trying to joke and say that I saw you but I mssssd it up.”

Suguru: “the joke was ‘mssssd’ up from the beginning.”

Satoru: “Very mean. Can I come to yoru dorm I need to finish the second summary and it is too quiet in mine.”

Suguru: “yeah”

✮✮✮

It only took two minutes for Suguru to hear a knock at his door after that. He gets up from his bed with a sigh and opens the door to see Satoru, laptop in hand.

Satoru simply walks into Geto’s dorm like he owned the place.

“No greeting? Okay. You’re just gonna… walk into my dorm I guess.” Suguru closes the door and follows Satoru, who eventually stops midway once processing (kinda) what Suguru had said.

“Yes, I will walk into your dorm. Unpermissed. This place has been mine since the day I cared for your sickly-butt.”

With a subtle roll of the eyes, Suguru responds, “Do you have to keep bringing that day up? I promise, your acts of service can be noticed and appreciated without you mentioning it every time we meet.”

“Oh, really? I’m appreciated by you? How sweet,” Satoru hums, walking toward the couch and plopping down upon his arrival.

Instead of responding, Suguru just follows behind until they get to their undeclared spots on the couch. Suguru sits criss-crossed, his bag’s contents already thrown all across the area, and Satoru pulls the ottoman toward him to stretch out his legs, his bag plopping beside him.

Only a minute or so later, Suguru pops his head up after opening his laptop. “Oh, uh. I forgot to ask— you want like.. water? Or juice. Wait, I have soda too. Maybe coffee? Beer…?”

“Wow, I’m overwhelmed with choices. What did you say again?” Satoru asks, hiding his grin.

“Water, juice, sod—“

A small chuckle escapes Satoru.

“What? Is your popular-frat-dude personality coming out to make fun of me?” Suguru asks, eyes narrowing.

“Nothin’… just… you sound funny. The way you’re saying it is like a waiter or something.”

“Yeah, that was scary. Brought me back to my server days in highschool…yikes.” Suguru shivers at the memories, the feeling of having to memorize and spew out a long list of menu items.

“No way, you were a server? That’s— wow, I need to see you in your old uniform. Was it fancy? Oh also, could I have juice? Whatever you have.”

Geto rolls off the couch and walks to the small kitchen. “I’ll describe it to you ‘cause you’re definitely not seeing me in it,” he says while opening the fridge’s door, “uh, maroonish shirt— or I guess just dark red. Button-up, flared collar… everything.” With a sigh, he rummages in the back of the cooler, “Then the pants were just black and straight.” Finding his little apple juice boxes, he grabs one and makes his way back to the couch. “My shoes— oh, the shoes… eugh. They were long fuckers. Dark brown and pointy as hell. I looked like I was about to jester for someone with those on my feet,” He says with a short laugh, shaking his head. “My hair was about three or five inches shorter back then so I just wore regular messy buns, like, without all this hair flowing down.” He gestures to his black lengths.

Satoru laughs at the vivid description, “This is gold. Once we finish our work, you’re rewarding me with a picture of this era.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Yes you are,” Satoru grins, leaning back to grab his juice from Suguru.

“We’ll see about that.”

With that, they both poke their straws into their juice boxes and open their laptops, taking long sips as their screens load.

✮✮✮

September 23rd, Tuesday: 7:21 P.M.

Yet again, their “quick” hangout had extended far beyond what either of them intended. What was supposed to be a one-hour ‘work’ session had stretched into nearly two and a half without either of them really noticing.

It’s Suguru who finally glances down at his phone, squinting at the time.
“Wait. Seven already? Didn’t you get here at like…five?”

Satoru looks up from his screen, eyes flicking around the room like he’s searching for a clock. “Huh? Oh— yeah, more like 4:50 actually. Why? Are you kicking me out?” His voice is teasing, but he stretches a little like he's just now realizing how long they’ve been sitting.

“No. Just surprised,” Suguru says, locking his phone. “Didn’t feel like it’d been that long.”

“Same,” Satoru says, then rubs his stomach absentmindedly. “Actually... now that you mention it— I’m kinda starving. You hungry too?”

Suguru shrugs casually. “Could eat.”

“Takeout?” Satoru perks up. “Specifically Chinese. There’s this place called New Moon a couple blocks from here. It’s actually crazy good. We could call now and grab it in like, 20 minutes. I’ll drive. You in?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. “We’re both going to pick it up?”

Satoru’s already pulling up the place on his phone. “Well, yeah. Sitting alone in my car is tragic and sad. Besides, you’re great company. Even if you complain the whole time.”

Suguru leans back on the couch. “I haven’t even complained yet.”

“Yet,” Satoru repeats, scrolling through the online menu. “Also— don’t worry about picking. I already know what I’m getting you.”

“Do you?”

“Mmhm. Broccoli with garlic sauce lo mein. It literally just says ‘hot and spicy’ in the description. Sounds dangerous. You’re welcome.”

Suguru snorts. “You know, I’m starting to see why you prefer people not choosing their own meals. You like the control and the power to torture innocent tastebuds.”

“I like efficiency,” Satoru corrects, smug. “And curation. I have taste. You’ll see.”

“Fine,” Suguru says, standing up and stretching a little. “If it’s terrible, I’m blaming you for everything— including the heartburn.”

“Blame away,” Satoru grins, tapping in the restaurant’s number. “Now go find your shoes, passenger princess. We’ve got lo mein, fried rice, and crab rangoons to rescue. I can almost hear them calling my name… ‘ Satoru come eat me! Come to New Moon! Oh Satoru!’ ” He says with a higher-pitched voice.

Suguru shakes his head, biting back a smile. “You’re actually unbearable.”

“Yet here you are,” Satoru says brightly, phone pressed to his ear.

✮✮✮

After waiting for about 5 to 10 minutes, they decide to leave and get their food. 

Satoru stands up and grabs his keys from his pocket, the jingling sound indicating Suguru to open the dorm’s front door.

“Lucky you— car on campus. I live on Uber, unfortunately. Guessing you don’t stay too far, right?” Suguru gently swings the door open, the empty hallway quiet outside his dorm.

“Yeah, not really. My mom’s house is only like 40 minutes from here. It takes about an hour, more or less, to get here with traffic. Really not that bad at all since I usually only travel weekends,” Gojo adds, following behind Geto into the halls.

“That’s nice. My parents live just a little up north of the city so it takes a bit longer.”

Satoru just gives a quiet nod to show he heard.Eventually, Satoru takes the lead so he can guide Suguru out to his car. With a short bit of walking outside, a light blue Honda Civic is seen.

“That’s my sweet ol’ Honda over there,” Satoru grins, pointing over to the car. 

Suguru heads over to the Civic, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Everything about you is just… blue ,” he adds as opening the passenger door.

“It’s a great color,” Satoru grins while stepping into the driver’s seat. “Wanna take aux?” he asks, handing him the wire.

“That’s exciting. What stuff do you listen to? That way I can pick songs that won’t scare you away.” 

“Genuinely everything. I promise, whatever you have to offer I will listen to.” And Satoru meant that. As long as something is playing, he’s happy.

“I’m trusting you— I better not see a single curl of the lip once the music starts,” Suguru says, plugging in his phone and searching through his songs.

A few drops of rain tapped against the car roof. Gradually, the drizzle thickened into heavier drops, thudding steadily against the windows. The shift in atmosphere seemed to cue a mood— music that curled into Geto’s chest, made his heart clench and his stomach twist. Rainy nights in a car practically demanded this kind of music. It was only right.

The beat of a snare drum fills the car, and Radiohead’s Creep lit up on the screen.

Satoru starts the car, driving away from the lot as the chorus starts. “This sounds familiar. I’ve definitely heard it.” Satoru’s eyebrows furrow as he tries thinking of where he’s heard the song.

“Of course you have. Everyone knows Creep. Anyone who hasn’t is deaf,” Suguru chuckles softly, gazing out the window.

Satoru quietly tries humming along to the song to his best ability based off of what he knew prior to tonight.

Suguru glances at Satoru for a moment as light passes on his face, the words ‘I wish I was special’ being sung.

I wish I was special.

Suguru decides that’s time to stop himself, looking at the dripping rain outside the car instead.

“I like this song. It’s a little depressing but it’s really good. ‘ Ooh, cause I’m a creeeep’, ” Satoru sings, his voice comparative to one of a dying donkey.

“I’ll actually pay you 10 bucks to shut up.”

“I don’t need your money, I’ll sing as much as I want… ‘ what the hell am I doin’ heeeree?’” Satoru continues, paying no care to how he sounds.

“This is harsh on the ears. I might lose my hearing.”

“If you sing along with me, you won’t hear me anymore. Sing, Geto, sing! I know a beautiful, Ariana-Grande-like voice lays somewhere in your vocal cords,” Satoru laughs, putting the volume up a bit, now driving one-handed. “Go on, sing.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Suguru mumbles, “How do we always end up in these back-n’-forths…?” He shakes his head, “No.”

“Uh… yes.”

“I’m not singing.”

“Yeah you are,” Satoru grins mischievously, bringing his hand up to Geto’s jaw and moving it up and down, squeezing his cheeks like a grandmother in order to make Suguru… ‘sing’.

Suguru blabbers out incoherent words, throwing his hands up to claw Satoru’s hand off. 

“Aw Geto, you’re so good at singing.”

“Suh ub, idiot,” Suguru says, intending to say ‘shut up’, but it’s a little hard for him to do so when his mouth is being moved for him.

✮✮✮

September 23rd, Tuesday: 7:42 P.M.

Eventually, after a car-ride of horrible singing and reluctant laughing, they get their food and bring it back to Suguru’s dorm. The two enjoy their Chinese food together on the living room’s floor, a random episode of Spongebob running in the background upon Satoru’s choice.

“I love Spongebob. He’s literally me,” Gojo says with a smile, leaning his back on the ottoman after taking a bite of his fried rice.

“You’re like a mix of Patrick and Spongebob. As in, you’re incredibly stupid and achingly jolly all the time.” Suguru crunches on a crab rangoon, leaning on the ottoman as well.

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Okay Squidward, that actually doesn’t hurt me because I believe they’re the best characters in the whole show.”

“True, but it doesn’t matter if they’re the best when you’re an idiot.”

“Thanks, Geto, I really appreciate that.”

“My pleasure.”

A beat of silence passes in their conversation so they can watch the TV, the sound of silverware scraping on plastic containers shared between them.

“Is the lo mein good?” Satoru asks, looking over at Suguru.

A noodle is slurped up quickly by Geto, who then wipes his mouth with his sleeve and nods. “Yeah, it’s a good amount of spicy.”

Simply sitting there for a moment, Satoru stares at the container of lo mein like a starving dog.

“…What? You wanna try it?” Suguru asks slowly with a small chuckle.

“Uh, yeah.” Satoru laughs.

“Go get another fork, I don’t want you to infect mine.” Suguru shoos him away to the kitchen, his eyes heading back up to the screen as Satoru walks off.

After a short few seconds, Satoru comes back with a fork in hand, plopping on the floor and leaning over Suguru’s food to grab a bite.

As he twirls the fork and takes a bite, Suguru watches and waits for a reaction. “Good?”

“Oh yeah, that’s really good,” Satoru mumbles while he eats, eyes closed as if it helped to savor the taste. “You wanna bite of my rice? The chicken’s good too.”

Suguru shrugs, “Sure. Could I get some of the chicken?”

Satoru hands him a piece of chicken and Suguru eats it, analyzing the taste for a second before nodding. “This place has really good food.”

“Sure does.”

✮✮✮

After they both finish their dinner, Satoru leaves Suguru’s dorm, waving from the hallway with a big smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I hope you don’t. Bye, Gojo.” Suguru leans on his doorframe with a much smaller, subtler wave.

Satoru throws a quick air-kiss and wink as he walks off just to make Suguru mad.

Geto rolls his eyes and heads back into his dorm, shutting the door once Gojo was no longer visible.

Chapter Text

trigger warning: vomiting/bulimia. please read with caution if this triggers you.

September 23rd, Tuesday: 8:10 P.M.

It had been about thirty minutes since Satoru left Suguru’s apartment after dinner. The warmth of their earlier conversation had long since cooled, replaced now by silence thick enough to press against the walls.

Suguru was on the kitchen floor, hunched over a trash bag, the dim yellow light above casting a pale glow on his skin. His hair, hastily tied up, sagged loose from the bun, strands clinging to the damp edges of his face. His eyes were glassy, ringed with a tired sort of hollowness that no amount of sleep seemed to help. One hand braced the floor, the other hovered near his mouth, fingers trembling slightly.

He didn’t know why he did this to himself. Why he returned to this ritual, night after night, especially after moments that should’ve felt good. It was like something inside him couldn’t stand the feeling of being full— full of food, full of conversation, full of warmth. The smallest sliver of comfort seemed to crumble under the weight of his own thoughts. As if some invisible thread always tugged him back toward punishment. One moment he’s laughing with Satoru over lo mein, and the next, he’s on the floor, trying to disappear into the hollow space of a trash bag.

Maybe it’s just the stress , he tries to tell himself. School already feels suffocating, and it's only the beginning of the year. The pressure hums in his ears constantly— assignments, expectations, keeping up a version of himself that looks just functional enough from the outside. But it’s not just the work. It’s the way people look at him when Satoru walks into the room. The way their eyes flicker, curious, skeptical, surprised that he of all people is sitting beside someone like Gojo Satoru. It makes him feel smaller than he already does. Like he’s being measured against something invisible and always found lacking.

Satoru walks into a random room and gravity changes. People orbit him. Suguru just slips between the cracks.

Still seated on the floor, Suguru closes the trash bag and ties it off, hands shaking slightly. He leans his head back against the wall with a quiet thud, the cold surface doing little to ground him. A few stray tears slide down his cheeks before he can stop them.

Crying? At your big age? What even are you, some little baby? His father's voice cuts through the silence, sharp and familiar, highly unwanted. Just another bitter fragment of memory that’s lingered since he was sixteen, clinging to the corners of his mind like mold.

Suguru wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and stares at the ceiling, willing the tears to stop. He breathes in slow, shaky intervals, trying to swallow the heaviness. When he finally turns his head, he sees the empty living room just beyond the kitchen, quiet and undisturbed. The same room where, not even an hour ago, he’d been fine. Happy, even. Or, at least, something close enough to it that it felt real.

Now, it all feels like a glitch in the system. A momentary lapse in the sadness he thought he’d grown used to.

He wonders, sometimes, if he’s being too sensitive. If he’s dramatizing his own spiral, making himself out to be the victim when maybe he just needs to get over it . He knows in the back of his mind that’s not fair, not true… but it’s how he feels , and feelings don’t often wait for logic to catch up. He keeps everything bottled for that exact reason, because voicing any of it feels like putting someone else in the uncomfortable position of managing him .

Take Shoko, for example. She knows more than a lot when it comes to Geto. She’s even seen him completely fall apart before, well once. Still, he only gave her the barest outline of what he was actually going through, and even that took pleading on her part. What she knows barely scratches the surface.

That’s because Suguru’s mind is a complicated place. A shifting, locked room filled with quiet griefs and unspoken fears. And no matter how close someone gets, it always feels like no one truly understands what it’s like to live inside it.

✮✮✮

September 23rd, Tuesday: 8:33 P.M.

Letting out a long, deep sigh, he closes his eyes and stays slumped against the wall, not yet ready to move. Not a single muscle twitches, just the slow rhythm of his lungs, filling and releasing over and over.

Eventually, he opens his eyes, blinking into the light. Without thinking, he grips the trash bag again and walks to throw it out. His mind is blank, holding no energy left to spiral or reflect. He’s not thinking. Just existing .

His footsteps carry him to the bathroom. He grabs a small glass, fills it with water, rinses his mouth, spits, and repeats. Again. And again. He keeps going until he feels the staleness has left him.

He avoids the mirror. He already knows what he looks like, and tonight he doesn’t want to see it confirmed.

Setting the cup aside, he splashes cold water on his face, then rubs at his eyes, trying to reduce the puffiness. He pats himself dry with a small towel and only then catches a glimpse of his reflection. His throat tightens as he stares. He swallows roughly. There’s nothing left to feel.

He turns away, grabbing a brush from the counter. He slips out the hair tie and begins tugging through the tangles. His scalp stings with each knot tugged. Eventually, his fingers glide through more easily, and he ties it into a low ponytail. He switches off the bathroom light and walks straight to his bedroom, deliberately avoiding the living room and kitchen.

He pulls his hoodie off and lets it drop to the floor. His phone hits the mattress with a soft thud. Inhaling deeply, he closes his door, draws the shades, and slides under the blanket, pulling it up to his collarbone. The warmth is almost shocking in contrast to the cold inside him.

He doesn’t check his phone. Instead, he turns his head to the window, eyes unfocused. He wonders when the night started to unravel. What moment tipped things over. But no answer comes. With a quiet shake of his head, he gives up on the thought. Music will do.

It’s only 9:00. It’s too early for sleep, too late for motivation. With a small groan, he rolls to his side and gropes for his laptop, finally dragging it onto his lap. He sits upright, pillow behind him, headphones on. His music begins to play. His cursor blinks in the project document.

He types ideas: and stares at it. Nothing comes. After a while, he deletes it. The music stays on. He lies back, laptop still open beside him. Eyes closed, but not sleeping. Maybe twenty minutes pass before his phone buzzes. He checks it: an email from a professor. Missing work. He tosses the phone across the bed and turns over, pressing his face into the pillow. He should care. He should finish something. But tonight isn’t the night. He drifts, not fully asleep, but no longer awake.

✮✮✮

September 23rd, Tuesday: 11:04 P.M.

Suguru stirs, shifting beneath the covers with a groggy exhale. His body feels heavy, like he’s still halfway underwater. Eyes still crusted with sleep, he rubs at them tiredly, squinting at the dark room around him. There's a familiar dull ache in his stomach, a reminder that he needs to get up.

After a moment of stillness, he finally swings his legs over the side of the bed. Cold air greets him like a slap, and when his bare feet meet the floor, a shiver trails up his spine, goosebumps pricking along his arms and legs. He stretches his limbs slowly, joints popping, muscles tight and stiff from falling asleep in such a tense state.

The bathroom’s dim light feels too bright as he pads across the floor. He relieves himself quietly, barely glancing at the mirror, then washes his hands with cool water, letting the silence around him sit heavy.

Back in his room, he drops back onto the bed with a dull thud, pulling the blanket around him like armor. All he wants is sleep, just a few more hours of nothing before his mind can drag him back into everything. He closes his eyes, determined to sink back down, but the soft glow of his phone screen pulses against the darkness, catching his attention.

His brow furrows. This late?

Rolling onto his side with a low groan, he reaches for his phone. The screen lights up fully now, revealing a stream of messages, one after another. The contact name makes him blink.

Satoru Gojo.

Suguru stares for a moment, confused. What could he possibly want right now? 

Curiosity outweighs his exhaustion. He unlocks his phone and opens the app, the familiar tone of Satoru’s texts already forming in his mind as he begins to scroll through the thread.

Satoru: I found something really funny 😄 

Satoru: It’s on that path we took to the café

Satoru: Look [image of squirrel hugging an old (probably lost) broken phone on the street].

Satoru: I bet that’s what you look like right now

After a moment, Geto replies.

Suguru: lol. that’s so funny

Suguru: wait why are u outside rn

Satoru responds quickly.

Satoru: I enjoy my walks. Very peaceful 

Satoru: You should come sometime. I just loop around the café/park a few times

Suguru: no, too late for me

Satoru: Well I don’t always go at this time. I just couldn’t sleep.  We can go at any time.

Suguru: idk

Satoru: Ok think about it

Geto reacted “👍” to this message

Satoru: Retreating to my dorm… good night geto😴😴

Read at 11:08 P.M.

Suguru sets his phone aside, exchanging it for a long book he’s been meaning to read, as his longing for sleep has been temporarily lost.

He doesn’t read super often or is a reading enthusiast, but it’s a simple hobby he picked up somewhere when he was younger that never left, just a way to focus on something different.

✮✮✮

September 24th, Wednesday: 10:48 A.M.

Suguru walks into Statistics for Behavioral Sciences more than fifteen minutes late, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft but conspicuous sound. It’s rare for him to be late, especially to this class, but today, he can’t pretend like he’s moving at his usual pace. His steps feel heavier than normal, even as he tries to act like nothing’s wrong.

Professor Nguyen glances up from her laptop at the front of the room, eyebrows lifting slightly. Her voice cuts through the low rustle of notebook pages.

“Geto? Have a reason to be late?”

Suguru freezes for a half-second before continuing toward his seat, keeping his expression neutral. He can feel eyes drifting toward him. Not accusatory exactly, just curious, impersonal. The way students always look when someone breaks routine.

With a clearing of his throat, glancing at the eyes for a second, he replies. “No, sorry,” he says softly, almost mechanically, keeping his head down.

Nguyen hums a sound that could pass for understanding but lands more like quiet disapproval. “I trust this won’t become a habit?”

He opens his mouth to say “Yeah,” but doesn’t get the chance.

“Actually, Suguru— could you come here for a moment?”

Internally, he sighs. He doesn’t let it show on his face, keeping his features passive as he shifts course and walks up the aisle toward her desk.

Nguyen leans back slightly in her chair, folding her hands. Her voice lowers, not enough to make it private, but enough to signal that it’s meant for him alone. “I’m not sure what’s going on outside of this classroom, but I need you to get your work in. I sent an email— missing assignment’s still missing.”

Suguru nods once, his hands folding behind his back out of instinct, the way he used to when getting called out at home. She continues.

“I know it’s early in the semester, and trust me, I get that this course doesn’t start light— but don’t assume things will let up later. You can talk to me at any time, but you need to stay on top of the workload.”

“Understood,” he says quietly.

“Good. You can catch up on notes later. For now, go sit and use this time to finish what’s missing.”

He nods again, sharper this time, though his throat feels tight. Not from embarrassment (at least, not entirely). Just something else. The dull echo of a long night, of his own weight sitting too heavily on his back.

As he turns and walks back toward his desk, his eyes skim the room once more, just enough to register a few lingering glances before they return to their textbooks. When he slides into the empty seat next to Shoko, she doesn’t say anything. Just shifts slightly in his direction, her pen paused mid-sentence, like she’s waiting to see if he’ll offer anything. He doesn’t. Not yet.

Just opens his laptop with a quiet click, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly in his tired eyes.

Ieiri breaks the quiet first, glancing at him as he sets his bag down. “You look like shit. What’s up?”

Suguru exhales through his nose, lifting an eyebrow without real humor. “Really? I look like shit? Wow, thanks, Ieiri. So generous of you.”

She shrugs, unimpressed by the deflection. “Just calling it like I see it.”

“Nothing’s up,” he adds after a beat. “Just had a long night.”

Shoko doesn’t press, not yet, at least. She watches him as the glow from the screen washes over his face, making the dark circles under his eyes more noticeable.

“Alright,” she says after a second, voice softer. “You need help with that assignment? I finished my notes yesterday, so I could probably—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Suguru cuts in quickly, sharper than he means to. “I have to get stuff done by myself. You keep doing… I don’t know, whatever you’re doing.”

She lifts a brow but lets it slide. The defensiveness in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

He’s already teetering close to a C in this class. He can’t afford to slip further, not with this professor. If he leans too much on someone else, he knows he won’t actually learn it. And that’s what scares him more than the grade: falling behind and not being able to catch up.

“Suit yourself,” she says casually, tapping away at her keyboard again. “So? What’d you do last night? Anything fun?”

It’s not really a casual question. It’s Shoko’s way of inching toward whatever’s bothering him without making it obvious. Suguru’s always cagey, but she’s good at reading between his silences.

He hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess. Nothing wild. Gojo and I worked on our project for HBO for a bit… then got takeout and watched Spongebob. That’s it.”

He opens his laptop and starts typing like that’s the end of it.

Shoko hums, side-eyeing him. “So what made it a long night? Wait— actually… do I even wanna know?” Her tone dips with mock suspicion, a grin tugging at her lips.

He doesn’t look at her, but he can feel her grin.

“You’re disgusting,” he mutters. “It’s nothing weird. I just couldn’t sleep properly— that’s all.” A shiver runs down his spine at the thought of whatever she’s thinking of, “God, you’re actually so fucking odd.” 

“That rhymed, be proud of yourself,” she laughs, leaning back slightly in her seat. “How late’d you end up sleeping?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shoulders sinking slightly as his fingers hover over the keys. “Got in bed around nine. Slept for, like, two hours. Woke up. Couldn’t fall back asleep ‘til… maybe two.”

Shoko doesn’t say anything right away. She just nods, the mood slipping into something quieter again. She doesn't push further yet, but she makes a mental note of the timing. He looks tired in a way that’s more than just physical.

✮✮✮

September 24th, 11:10 A.M.

Satoru’s alarm blares, sharp and obnoxious against the stillness of his room. He groans, blindly reaching for his phone to shut it off. His first class starts in twenty minutes. That means he has maybe five more minutes to lay there and pretend the day doesn’t exist.

He rolls onto his stomach, cheek smushed against his pillow, eyes half-lidded as he blearily taps his phone open again. It unlocks straight to his messages from the night before, his last conversation with Suguru still open. He skims over them quickly. Not really reading. Just looking. There’s a small pull in his chest, something faint and shapeless, like the trace of a dream he’s already forgotten.

He exhales through his nose, thumb brushing the screen once before he sets the phone back down on his nightstand with a soft clack. The silence in the room swells around him, so dense it almost presses into his ears. Satoru cringes at the quiet. Gross, it's so quiet. Wish I was schizophrenic. At least then I’d hear something.

He rubs his eyes with both hands, palms dragging slowly over his face, before finally kicking off the blankets and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Sunlight slices through the window blinds and stabs directly into his vision.

He squints, groaning under his breath. Thought I’d be used to that by now.

Dragging himself into the bathroom, he rinses his face with cold water, pats it dry, and quickly runs a comb through his hair, not that it makes a huge difference. He throws on a clean white hoodie and a pair of black sweats, nothing flashy. No need to impress anyone today.

Though, for some reason, a flicker of Suguru passes through his mind again. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the hoodie, it reminds him of the one Suguru wore the last time they saw each other in person. Just for a second, the thought lingers.

And then it’s gone.

He glances at the time. 11:21. Right. Food.

In the kitchen, he grabs a bagel and tosses it in the toaster, the whirr and pop breaking the quiet a little. The scrape of the knife against the crusted surface is sharp and oddly satisfying as he spreads on a generous layer of cream cheese.

He eats in a few quick bites, chasing it with a glass of cold water, then slings his backpack over his shoulder and heads for the door. His pace is unhurried as he walks into the hallway, still waking up. Still somewhere between the silence of his room and the world outside.

✮✮✮

September 24th, Wednesday: 4:03 P.M.

(Over text:)

Satoru: Are you at the café? I’m coming there

Satoru: If not, can you come? I do not want to be alone today. Was very quiet in all my classes

Suguru: i doubt that. but yeah i’m there. well, walking there now.

Suguru: i have stuff from other classes to work on though so i can’t do our project

Satoru: That is ok. I just want to eat something. And talk

Suguru: don’t talk to me too much or i’ll leave

Satoru: No you won’t

Suguru lets out a slow breath as he slips his phone into his pocket, his hand lingering there for a moment before reaching for the café door. The familiar jingle of the bells overhead rings out softly as he enters, the gentle chime brushing against the haze still weighing on his shoulders. 

The space smells the same as it always does, filled with fresh coffee, warm pastries, and faint citrus cleaner, but something about it feels heavier today. Still, the familiarity helps, a small thread of comfort winding around his chest. He spots the table they used last time, the one in the corner with just enough privacy to feel removed from the world—and walks toward it, his steps slower than usual.

Setting his bag down with a dull thud, he pulls out his laptop and opens it, the screen’s glow reflecting faintly in his tired eyes. His fingers hover over the keyboard, but he doesn’t start typing right away. His body feels tight, like it’s been wound too tightly for too long and is only now realizing it.

Just a few minutes pass before the door jingles again.

“Ohhh, Suguru Geto—” comes the familiar voice. “I’m here. You miss me?”

Suguru doesn’t even look up. “No.”

“Yeah you did,” Satoru says with a grin, sliding into the seat across from him like he’s been doing it his whole life.

Suguru exhales quietly, jaw tight. “I didn’t. Now go do something important. You said you wanted food or something.”

“Talking is important,” Satoru counters easily.

“Then go talk to the waitress,” Suguru mutters, fingers beginning to tap at the keys as he tries to zone in on his work. The words on the screen blur slightly— his focus won’t settle.

Satoru leans back, watching him. “Fine, I guess,” he says, pushing up from his seat with exaggerated offense. “Would you like anything for yourself, sir? Don’t fear— it’s free of cost. The amazing Satoru Gojo is here to pay.”

“No.”

“I’m getting you something.”

“Gojo, no,” Suguru snaps, sharper than he means to be. “I had a good lunch already.” He felt a bit bad after saying it, but there’s no use in rebuking it. Plus, it’s not like he said anything horrible.

“Irrelevant,” Satoru shrugs. “I’m at least gonna buy you that smoothie thing— what was it? Strawberry banana? Passionfruit? Oh, was it blueberry? No… you’re not the blueberry type…”

Suguru’s fingers freeze mid-keystroke.

He lifts his eyes, dark, exhausted, a little glassy, and stares at Satoru with something just shy of anger. “I said I don’t want it.”

The tension in his voice cuts through the air like a thread pulled too tight, vibrating with something unspoken. Satoru blinks, his smile faltering just a little. It’s just a smoothie, Satoru thinks. But something in Suguru’s voice makes it feel like more than that.

He studies him for a beat, then decides not to push. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll happily eat my food while you be… without a smoothie.”

“Gladly,” Suguru echoes flatly, eyes dropping back to his screen. His shoulders hunch slightly, fingers moving again, though slower. More uncertain.

Satoru heads to the counter, but his mind lingers on Suguru’s tone.

Forget it. Probably is cranky from classes or something— we all have our days. Satoru thinks in an attempt to brush it off, but something somewhere tells him it’s not just classes. 

Chapter Text

September 25th, Thursday: 11:07 P.M.

For once, Satoru had beaten Suguru to class. A rare, shining achievement.

He was already leaning back in his chair, legs sprawled a little too wide and his laptop untouched, clearly gearing up to make a moment out of it. As if on cue, the door creaked open and Suguru walked in, his hair a little unkempt, eyes half-lidded, a quiet yawn slipping past his lips. He didn’t look surprised to find Satoru there already, just vaguely tired. Instead of heading to his usual spot, he dropped into the seat beside him without a word.

Satoru blinked. “Oh? No protest today?”

“You would’ve moved next to me anyway,” Suguru mumbled, setting his bag down with a dull thud. “Figured I’d save you the effort.”

Satoru grinned, his whole body turning toward him like he hadn’t seen him in weeks. “Geto— I made it here before you. Aren’t you just so proud of me? Or maybe… you’re defeated and wildly jealous of my efficiency?”

Suguru gave nothing more than a straight face. “So proud…” he deadpanned. “Overflowing, really.”

The corners of Satoru’s smile twitched wider.

Suguru rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, then squinted at the screen like he couldn’t remember why they were here. “Um… what do we have to get done again? I keep forgetting what we had planned, sorry.”

There was a slight hesitance in his voice, not embarrassed, but distant, like the memory was stuck behind fog.

Satoru tilted his head. “… Honestly, no clue. I think we just have to plan the physical part now. Like the artifact or whatever. You’re usually in charge of that, so I figured you’d know. Whoops. I should probably get on track as well.”

Suguru paused, blinking slower this time. “Right… yeah, that sounds right. I think we finished most of the writing. No more research or summaries, thank god.”

Satoru hummed softly, studying him. “You tired or something? Didn’t sleep well?”

Suguru glanced up, and for a second, his expression almost sharpened, like he was assessing whether it was worth lying. But instead, he just shrugged, his voice quiet. “What? Yeah, I guess. A little tired. Is it that obvious?”

His eyes lingered on Satoru’s for just a second too long. They looked darker than usual, less sharp and more worn at the edges.

Satoru leaned forward on one elbow, his usual grin present but gentler. “I don’t know… something about you. Like, a vibe. Also, sleep deprivation can apparently give you heart disease and diabetes, so unless you’re fighting crime at night, you should probably knock it off.”

“I’m not Batman,” Suguru muttered, narrowing his eyes.

“That’s exactly what Batman says,” Satoru replied easily. “You’re Batman until proven otherwise.”

“Whatever.” Suguru waved him off, turning back to his laptop and opening it with a smooth click. “Don’t worry about my sleep schedule, Gojo. It’s a tiny thing that people other than myself shouldn't even think about. It’ll fix itself eventually.”

Satoru didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered for a moment, quiet in a way he didn’t often let himself be. Then he spoke, voice still light but tinged with something more grounded.

“Can’t help it.”

“Worrying about other people too much isn’t a good trait,” Suguru said without looking at him.

“I guess I’ll just live with that,” Satoru answered softly.

There was a pause, short, but not empty.

Suguru sighed, deciding not to push further. The last thing he wanted was for this relative calm between them to shift again. So instead, he leaned into the screen, eyes scanning slowly. “Alright. Let’s just start looking at artifact ideas.”

And just like that, the rhythm settled. The leftover sharpness from yesterday faded into the buzz of fluorescent lights and idle typing. Whatever had been sitting between them, tight and unseen, began to dissolve. For now.

✮✮✮

September 25th, Thursday: 12:09 P.M.

Class had wrapped up a few minutes ago, students beginning to shuffle out with the usual low chatter and scraping chairs. The room was thinning fast, but Satoru stayed put, leaning back like the day had nowhere else to be.

“So, Geto,” he said, voice light, arms crossed behind like he has not a worry in the world, “would it be a crime if I came over to your dorm again? Or the café, maybe? Dealer’s choice.”

Suguru glanced at him from the corner of his eye, already closing his laptop and slipping it back into his bag with practiced efficiency. “Am I allowed to pass? Sorry— just kind of busy today.”

He didn’t look up as he said it, and his voice was even, polite. Distant in that way he sometimes got.

“Besides,” he added, zipping his bag, “we’ve already finished finding the artifact. The rest will be quick to wrap up. No real reason to meet today.”

Satoru frowned. “What? Come on. Geto, it’s tragically lonely in my dorm. Like, quiet to the point of madness. I’m actually worried I might start talking to the walls.”

Suguru shouldered his bag, expression unreadable. “I feel like you have, statistically, more options than the average person. Like, every time we walk down a hallway, it’s a stampede. People swarming just to talk to you. Don’t you have a million people you could hang out with instead?”

Satoru snorted. “Okay, first of all: you’re giving those hallway people too much credit. Those aren’t friends— they’re parasites. Clingy, talkative parasites. Leeches, basically. They’re only there because of my outer layer.”

He sat forward now, elbows on the desk as his voice lost its teasing edge. “Apart from you, there’s only one other guy I actually hang out with. And that’s only sometimes. He’s a year younger, so our schedules barely line up. Half the time I don’t even know where the hell he is. Also, he doesn’t stray off from work— like ever. Even though he hates it.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow in the way it wouldn’t fully change his expression, mildly surprised by this new information. He hadn’t thought Satoru had only one other person in his life he considered a real friend. Just as quickly as his face changed, it smoothened again.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “but what about music? That was your other problem, right? Silence?”

Satoru gave a slow, exaggerated sigh. “Music’s great— until you realize it can’t talk back. I can’t make fun of music. I can’t argue with it or say something dumb and hear it laugh.” He glanced toward Suguru, his tone a little softer now. “I don’t want noise. I want company.”

Suguru didn’t answer right away, instead adjusting the strap on his shoulder, fingers brushing over the canvas of his bag like it gave him something to do.

“Well,” he said eventually, voice thin, “you might have to settle for music today. Or see if that one friend’s free. I’m sure he’ll make time. I just… I have stuff to take care of.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re annoying,” Satoru muttered, but there wasn’t heat behind it. He stood up, finally starting to pack away his own things, though noticeably slower than usual.

“Maybe this is good, actually,” he added after a beat. “Haven’t seen Kento in forever. Maybe he’ll grace me with an hour of his time. Thanks, Geto. Guess I needed the push. But, still know that I would’ve preferred being in your dorm.”

Suguru looked at him with subtle confusion. “Uh. You’re welcome? Or… thanks for preferring my dorm, I guess? I don’t know. I give up.”

Satoru grinned, slinging his bag over one shoulder with dramatic flair. “Of course. Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

They left together, the space between them light, but not entirely weightless.

✮✮✮

September 25th, Thursday: 4:00 P.M.

Satoru had spent his lunch break with Kento— just an hour lasting from 1:45 to 2:45. Nanami was polite and well-spoken, as always, but never quite knew what to do with Satoru’s spirals of energy. He’s great at short conversations or ones with structure, but when Satoru goes on and on about random things, it’s hard for him to respond properly.

Now, it was just after four. He sat curled up in his desk chair, legs pulled to his chest, headphones blaring, phone in hand, doing absolutely nothing productive. It wasn’t helping. Not the noise, not the distraction, not the simulation of company.

The silence under the music felt louder than the songs.

After fifteen long, frustrating minutes, he gave up. He yanked the headphones off his head, letting them wobble on the desk, and stood up with a stretch. The air in the dorm felt stale. Claustrophobic.

A walk. Around the building, maybe. It was too cold outside for a real one, but being in motion was better than staying still.

Satoru threw on a hoodie and stepped out into the hallway, letting the door fall shut behind him. He didn’t have a plan. Just movement. Just noise. Just something.

As he rounded the corner toward the common hallway near Suguru’s dorm, he caught a flash of someone familiar, short, dark brown hair, cigarette-laced presence, and a stride that suggested she didn’t care who was watching. It’s Shoko.

She slowed when she noticed him, blinking once like she was confirming something in her head, then walked over with that casual, no-frills gait of hers.

“Hey,” she said, stopping a few feet away. “You’re Gojo, right?”

He blinked. “Uh— yeah. That’s me. Wait… have we met?”

“You saw me chain-smoking at that party. Five cigarettes at once. Ring a bell?”

Satoru’s eyes widened with recognition. “Oh right. Yeah, that was kinda impressive, not gonna lie.”

She shrugged. “Lungs are still intact. Somehow.”

He gave a light laugh. “So… what’s up?”

Shoko stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. “You’re close with Suguru, yeah?”

Satoru’s posture straightened a little, mood shifting like a reflex. “Yeah. Why?”

Shoko studied him for a second, then looked down the hallway in the direction of Suguru’s door.

“I’m just— look. I’m a friend of his too. But lately, I don’t know. Something feels off. Have you noticed anything?”

Satoru scratched the back of his head. “Uh, yeah. Kinda. He’s been…different I guess. Definitely tired. Moodier than usual. A little distant.”

Shoko nodded slowly, like she’d already suspected as much. “Yeah. Same read. I barely see him anymore— don’t live on campus, so it’s hard to keep track. But even when we do talk, something’s not right. Like he’s halfway out the door.”

Satoru didn’t say anything.

Shoko sighed, shifting her weight. “Anyway. I’m not trying to start some big thing. Just saying— keep an eye on him. You’re around him more than I am these days. I figure he listens to you a bit.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the implication. “Wait, really?”

She shrugged. “You’re loud. He’s quiet…er, most times. It balances out or whatever.”

Satoru couldn’t tell if that was a compliment, but it felt weirdly significant.

“Just make sure he doesn’t spiral into becoming a soggy little tragic figure,” she added, dryly. “Wouldn’t suit him.”

Satoru snorted. “Soggy tragic figure?”

“Yeah. All shitty and sad-looking. You’ve seen the type.”

He let out a small huff of laughter, but it faded fast. He glanced toward Suguru’s door— closed, quiet, still.

“Wait, sorry, are you going to see him now?” he asked. “I think he’s busy.” 

Shoko nodded. “Yeah. I texted just a bit ago. He said it was cool to stop by.”

Satoru paused.

That… doesn’t make sense. He told me— what, twice?— that he was busy. That he couldn’t hang out. He had ‘stuff to take care of’. That we didn’t need to.

“Oh,” he said after a beat, masking the slight sting. “Cool. My bad. I must’ve been thinking of someone else.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Right. Well. I’ll see you around, Gojo.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He watched her walk to Suguru’s door and knock. Satoru didn’t stick around to see if it opened. He already knew it would.

✮✮✮

September 26th, Friday: 6:28 P.M.

Suguru was at the local supermarket just off-campus— the one with the harsh overhead lights and the half-broken air vent that always made aisle seven colder than it should be. It was where most NYU students ended up, some wandering in still in their pajamas, others half-drunk off late-night Red Bull and academic despair. The chances of running into someone familiar weren’t low. But Suguru didn’t really care.

He had shoved himself into a large navy hoodie, one that swallowed the shape of his shoulders and arms. The thick fabric and oversized sleeves hid the glint of any jewelry he usually wore, rings stashed underneath, necklaces tucked away, concealed on accident. Even his hair, which is normally pulled back neatly, hung a little messier today, left loose, falling into his eyes even more than usual.

He didn’t feel like himself, and in some strange way, that helped. If he didn’t look like Suguru Geto, maybe he wouldn’t have to perform him.

The store was quiet for once— no screaming freshmen, no frantic group projects arguing about dinner ingredients. Just the hum of the coolers and the occasional squeak of a shopping cart with a bad wheel. He moved without much thought, letting his steps take him to the frozen aisle, hoping the act of choosing ice cream might fill enough mental space to quiet the rest.

His hand was halfway to a tub of chocolate gelato when he caught a flash of white hair out of the corner of his eye.

Shit, Satoru.

Of course he’d be here.

He didn’t know what Satoru was doing in the soda section, probably trying to decide between three nearly identical brands of sparkling water, but Suguru’s body reacted before his brain could.

He turned his face away, tugged his hood up higher, pulled some hair further across his face, and pretended to study the back of the ice cream container like it held the secret to surviving the semester. It wasn’t like he was angry at Satoru, or trying to be cold. He just… didn’t feel like being witnessed. Not when he looked like this. Not when everything about him felt heavy and dull.

It would be awkward. Satoru would say hi. He’d flash one of those blinding smiles and maybe say something dumb that made Suguru laugh, and Suguru didn’t have the energy to laugh right now. Worse, what if he couldn’t? What if it came out hollow and Satoru noticed?

He clutched the gelato and ducked out of the aisle, weaving his way toward produce like a fugitive in plain clothes. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floors as he passed.

Just make it to the fruit. Then the checkout. Then you’re gone.

He was halfway past the apples when he heard it.

“Geto—?” A pause. “No, that’s not him,” Satoru muttered to himself. The voice was closer than Suguru would’ve liked. He could picture it. Satoru squinting, tilting his head a little like he was solving a puzzle, then rubbing his hands down his face in defeat.

Suguru kept his head low, pace steady but brisk. No need to run. Just blend.

Once he made it to the other end of the store, he let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His fingers gripped the handle of his basket a little too tight. His palms were sweating.

Get a grip. It’s just a fucking grocery store.

He grabbed the last of his items. Just some bananas, a bag of rice, a box of green tea and made his way to the checkout, choosing the self-serve kiosk farthest from the soda aisle. His motions were automatic. Scan, bag, pay, leave.Outside, the air hit him hard and cold, but at least it was quiet. At least it was his again.

✮✮✮

September 26th, Friday: 11:38 P.M.

Satoru sits on his bed, back pressed against a plush pillow as he stares down at his phone, head hung low enough that chunks of his white hair conceal his bright blue eyes.

He was tired, yes, but his mind stayed restless.Not for any crazy, strange reason. He’s simply worried about a friend. Suguru, of course. Who else?

The silence of his dorm room only made the thoughts louder (as it always does), like the quiet pulled all the tension in his chest to the surface. The kind of quiet where even the occasional sound from the heater kicking on felt like a jump scare.

He dragged his thumb across the screen, scrolling through an endless supply of TikToks. Some funny, some weird, some he barely registered before flicking them away. None of them helped. His brain stayed unsettled, hovering somewhere between concern and helplessness.

Every time Suguru’s name came to mind, which, lately, was more often than he’d admit, Satoru found himself stuck in the same loop: Should I text? Would that make things worse? Am I imagining it?

He looked at the messages already sent, the last few bubbles of conversation still sitting there unanswered, or dry. Not cold, exactly. Just... distant. And Suguru wasn’t usually distant.

Still, despite the gnawing worry that he might come off annoying or overbearing, Satoru opened the chat again. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds, unsure what to say that wouldn’t sound too much or too little.

But he’d rather try to say something even if it felt small, than say nothing at all. So, he started typing.

Satoru: Are you awake?

No, that’s too basic. Too vague. If Suguru is awake, it’s not like that’s the question that matters.

Satoru: Are you

He pauses, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. The screen casts a dull glow on his face in the dim light of his room.

Satoru: Are you okay?

He backspaces before he could press send. 

Nope. Too direct. Too invasive. What if Suguru really is just exhausted and this makes it worse? What if he’s not okay and doesn’t want to talk about it? 

The last thing Satoru wants is to corner him.

Blank screen. Blinking cursor. Silence.

Satoru:
Satoru: Geto

He sighs and hits send, letting the single word sit there, abandoned from the opportunity to add more. It’s polite, uncertain, maybe even a little cowardly. But it’s better than nothing, right? 

He stares at the screen, his knee bouncing, waiting for something— anything.

A buzz.

Suguru: what

Satoru blinks at the screen, the word as flat as it is predictable. No warmth, no punctuation, just a wall. Still, it’s something. A response is better than silence. His thumbs hover again.

Satoru: I don’t know.

There. Honest, if a little pathetic. But it’s the truth. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, what would help, or what Suguru needs right now. Just being in contact feels better than staying quiet.

Another buzz.

Suguru: okay
Suguru: go to sleep

It’s dismissive, but not harsh. Not angry. And for now, Satoru will take it.

Satoru: You as well

A moment later, he sees it: Geto reacted “👍” to this message.

Satoru lets the phone drop to his chest as he stares up at the ceiling, the silence of his room folding back in around him. He doubts Suguru will actually sleep, he knows that kind of restlessness too well. But he doesn’t text again.

Not tonight.

Instead, he closes his eyes and lets the familiar ache of worry settle in beside him like a second pillow. Maybe it’ll still be there in the morning. Maybe it’ll be easier to carry in the daylight.

Chapter Text

October 2nd, Thursday: 11:17 A.M.

Like any other Thursday morning, Gojo and Geto were tucked into their usual rhythm—working side-by-side on their partner project, half-focused and half-drifting. The low hum of their classmates’ conversations and keyboard clicks filled the classroom, but their table felt like its own quiet little world.

They were currently planning out which materials they needed, what timeline they were aiming for, and how to split up the final hands-on components. Nothing complicated, just the familiar structure of collaboration—loose but reliable. Satoru tapped lightly at his laptop, while Suguru leaned back in his seat, eyes trained on the ceiling as he spoke.

“Mmhm. I mean, it doesn’t have to be like, gigantic or anything, we ju—…”

Suguru’s voice trailed off mid-thought as a sharp, high voice cut through the air, slicing into his concentration like a dropped plate.

“Satoru! I was just thinking…”

They both turned, now facing a figure who stood a short distance away from them. A girl—short, brunette, eyes wide like she was constantly surprised by her own thoughts—was staring at Satoru with a kind of over-performed shyness. She giggled and turned toward her friend, who gave her an encouraging elbow to the ribs.

“Um. Thinking what?” Satoru asked, eyebrows lifting as he tilted his head slightly. His tone was cool—borderline flat—but not overtly rude. Just generally uninterested in the conversation.

He recognized her, vaguely. A girl from their class. Aki… Akira, or something like that. They’d exchanged maybe five words over the last month—he’d given her a high-five once when she’d finally understood a tricky article in class. He’d cheered her on the way he did with anyone who needed it, because Satoru was like that: overly generous with praise, regardless of whether or not he meant it. But now, under the weight of her attention, it was different.

From what he’d gathered, she wasn’t all that unique. Just another familiar type—loud, unoriginal, magnetic in a way that felt practiced. He could already see the punchline of whatever she was about to say.

He stole a glance at Suguru, whose eyes were already on his screen again, body angled slightly away like he’d been here before and already knew the script. No reaction. No interruption. Just distant.

The girl twirled the end of her sleeve. “So, like… End of this month? That Halloween party—y’know, the one in Pi Delta Psi. I was just kinda wondering if you’d maybe wanna take me. Like… as a date.”

There it is. Called it .

A silence dropped like a weighted blanket. Satoru blinked, caught off guard even though he shouldn’t have been, since he knew what was coming. He cleared his throat and turned instinctively—almost helplessly —to Suguru.

His eyes landed on the back of Geto’s head, blue gaze burning as if willing him to help, to cut in, to offer some kind of distraction. But Suguru didn’t move. Not that he was ignoring him, he was simply unaware of Satoru’s silent pleas.

After an excruciating pause, Suguru finally glanced over his shoulder, met Satoru’s pleading gaze for half a second, then flicked his eyes toward the girl, examining the scene with a curious look. He then shrugged (barely) and turned back to his laptop, like someone changing the channel.

Useless.

Satoru exhaled through his nose, plastered on a polite, unreadable smile, and forced out, “Well. Uh, yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”

Why did I just agree to that?

The girl’s delighted “yay!” and the way she bounced on her heels grated at his ears, but he nodded absently through it. He was already checked out, already somewhere else in his mind. His lips pressed into a line as he chewed lightly on the inside of his cheek.

Beside him, Suguru lifted one hand to his face, thumb pressed to his lips to stifle something between a snort and a laugh. His eyes were closed, a slow exhale puffing out through his nose like he was trying very hard not to seem entertained. His head then laid on the desk, covered by his arms, his back shaking with quiet laughter.

And despite how incredibly awkward and incredibly annoying this entire interaction was for Satoru, he glanced sideways and caught that flicker of humor dancing on Suguru’s features. Not a full smile. But close.

And that strangely made it all worth it. He hadn’t seen that expression in days. Maybe even longer. So if agreeing to a date he didn’t want was the price to pay for even a sliver of that reaction… well.
He could deal with it.

✮✮✮

By the time the professor actually dismissed them, half the class had already made a break for the door—including that one girl, the bold brunette, who’d asked Satoru out in front of everyone. Her giggles still echoed faintly in the hallway.

Suguru swung his bag over one shoulder and let out a dry, amused sigh. “Interesting class. Very interesting.”

Satoru groaned like he’d been physically wounded, slumping forward as he collected his things. “Dude, you should’ve helped me. I don’t even—like, I barely know her. That was a drive-by ambush. You should’ve stepped in. Been my hero or something. Superman to this meteor of a date.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, pausing beside the desk. “And what exactly was I supposed to do? Block her with my body? Shield you with my laptop? That was a full-on humiliation ritual. If I got involved, I’d be collateral damage.”

Satoru threw his head back dramatically and trudged toward the door. “I don’t know, lie or something. Say we’re already dating. Tell her you’re deeply in love with me and you’d never let me stoop so low.”

Suguru stopped walking and turned, curling his lip in theatrical disgust. “You’re deranged. Keep your twisted little fanfics to yourself.”

“Oh, Sugu-boo,” Satoru cooed, stopping mid-step and dramatically fluttering his eyelashes. “I fantasize about you all the time. Mwah, mwah, mwah.” He puckered his lips with an obnoxious smooching sound and leaned slightly toward him.

Suguru didn’t even flinch. He just deadpanned and shoved Satoru’s face away with one hand, fingers splayed against his cheek. “I hate you.”

“Love you too!” Satoru chirped, grinning wide as he bounced back, completely unbothered. His footsteps echoed alongside Suguru’s as they finally made their way out of the classroom.

✮✮✮

October 3rd, Friday: 4:09 P.M.

“Geto!”

The sharp call cut through the buzz of students on the quad, and Suguru turned instinctively, already exhaling like it took effort. He didn’t stop walking—at least not until he heard the familiar sound of sneakers scuffing pavement at a light jog. He fought the urge to ignore him and keep walking. Satoru caught up with him half a second later, his bag slung messily over one shoulder, white hair pushed back by the wind.

Suguru paused reluctantly and turned around fully, raising one dark eyebrow. “What?”

“I just meant to ask earlier, but I forgot,” Satoru said, a little out of breath, waving vaguely behind them. He begins rambling on, “I was gonna ask in HBO, but it kinda slipped my mind, and by the time I remembered, we already—"

“Gojo,” Suguru cut in flatly, tilting his head, “What?”

Satoru blinked, then smiled a little sheepishly. “Sorry. Are you gonna be at the party at the end of the month? Like—the Halloween one?”

Suguru didn’t answer immediately. He looked past Satoru, briefly watching a guy in a Mickey Mouse costume run past them, then shrugged. “No.” After a second of silence passes, Geto speaks again. “And why couldn’t you just text me this?”

“It’s more fun to talk face-to-face,” Satoru said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. Then his voice pitched up dramatically. “And what ? Geto, why not? I— nooo-uhhh ! How do you expect me to handle such a sad, plain, basic date by myself?”

Suguru huffed a laugh through his nose, already turning to start walking again. “You’ll survive.”

Satoru was right behind him. “You’re supposed to be my wingman.”

“You’re supposed to be smarter than this,” Suguru replied without looking over. “You agreed to go. That’s on you.”

“Only because you laughed!”

What’s that supposed to mean? Suguru glanced sideways, a questioning expression on his face. “Didn’t realize I held that much power over your decision-making.”

“You do,” Satoru said quickly. “So now it’s your responsibility. You laughed, and I got stuck with a date that I don’t want to go on. Cause and effect. That’s science.”

Suguru stared at Satoru like he was crazy. “It’s not science. It’s stupidity.”

“I prefer to think of it as emotionally-driven logic,” Satoru said, then added in a more exaggerated tone, “C’mon, you really don’t wanna go? Not even to keep me safe? To keep an eye on this girl who might kidnap me?” Satoru gasps. “Geto— what if this is her plan? She just kidnaps me mid-date!”

Suguru shrugged again, both hands deep in the pockets of his jacket now. “It’s a huge party. She’ll probably be drunk within the first hour and forget about you entirely.”

“That’s— okay whatever. Thanks, I think…?”

“You’re welcome.”

Satoru sighed loudly. “I couldn’t have just said no, though. That would’ve been rude.”

“You definitely could’ve,” Suguru said, kicking a stray leaf off the path. “My method is to shut that stuff down before it gets complicated. And you—this? This is complication in real time.”

“But that’s like—” Satoru struggled for a second. “That’s too cold.”

“It’s practical.” Suguru said, raising his eyebrows.

“Well then, that’s a you thing. I’ll just keep riding the current until I land in something real. No hurt feelings that way.”

Suguru hummed, quiet for a few steps. “You really think feelings work like that?”

“Absolutely not,” Satoru said. “But I’m counting on the universe not calling my bluff.”

Suguru cracked a smile he didn’t try to hide this time. “Whatever.”

✮✮✮

October 4th, Saturday: 11:18 P.M.

Gojo was laying in bed, one leg propped up awkwardly on the headboard, the other dangling off the side. The only light in the room came from his phone screen, casting a faint bluish glow on his cheekbones. He was aimlessly scrolling through Instagram reels— weird, poorly made edits with captions that made no sense, cooking videos he’d never try, and a few basketball highlights from the Nets’ last season that he’d already seen twice.

He swiped back to his homepage and checked his notifications. A few new followers, some random likes on a photo from spring break, and a long, scrolling list of suggested profiles to follow. Most of them were people he’d probably seen once at a party or passed in the dining hall. But one name stood out.

@sugurugeto

Huh.

Gojo clicked on the name, thumb pausing above the screen. Suguru’s profile picture was simple: him by a lake, hand raised in a peace sign, the camera’s flash catching his eyes just right— too right. They looked unnaturally violet in the light, like something artificial. But Gojo knew better. They really were that color.

He snorted a little. The bio read:
NYU || professional monkey wrangler

That got a grin out of him. Dry, deadpan, and dumb.
Suguru has Insta? Might as well just add him— send a message to piss him off or something.

He had a few different highlights, all of which Satoru didn’t care enough to open at that moment.

He hovered on the profile picture for a second longer than he meant to, taking in the way Suguru looked in that flash— dark hair damp at the ends, skin paler than it actually is because of the light, mouth caught mid-laugh or smirk, something like that.

Then he backed out, hit the purple follow button, and immediately opened their DMs.

@imthetuffestgojo: I found you 🙊

To top it off, he sent a reel of some guy getting chased down the street by a furious little monkey. The sound was just absolute torture to the ears.

He set the phone on his chest, smirking.
I’m so funny.

A moment passed. Then, Suguru’s profile switched to Active, and the typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.

@sugurugeto: yeah you’re the monkey chasing me
@imthetuffestgojo: Hell yeah.
@sugurugeto: shut up or i’m unadding you
@imthetuffestgojo: WHAT DID I DO
@sugurugeto: annoy me
@sugurugeto: bye i’m tired don’t talk to me
@imthetuffestgojo: You suck

A second later, @sugurugeto reacted with a “❤️” to that message.

Gojo stared at the little heart for a moment longer than necessary. Something about it made his chest feel… different, to say the least. But, nothing too crazy— it’s just a reaction to a message which every single person uses. It’s practically the same thing as Suguru sarcastically saying ‘Thanks’. 

Ah.

✮✮✮

October 4th, Saturday: 11:22 P.M.

Suguru was half-asleep when the Instagram notification buzzed in. His phone lit up on the nightstand with a quiet vibration, just enough to pull him out of the haze.

He groaned a little, flipping over to check it.
An Insta notification? Wow, that’s different.

The alert was from Satoru. Of course.
He tapped the profile, the username @imthetuffestgojo popping up in big letters.

Suguru blinked at the username and chuckled under his breath.
I’m the ‘tuffest’ Gojo? He’s so stupid.

Still, he clicked into the profile. Gojo’s most recent post was from July— a photo of him sprawled out on a beach towel, clearly asleep, mouth open, limbs stretched out like a starfish. His hair was all over the place, white and sand-speckled, flattened awkwardly on one side. His skin, already pale, looked golden under the sun, like it had soaked in every last drop of light that day. And he was shirtless. Naturally, of course. He’s at a beach.

Suguru stared at the photo a second too long. There was nothing new about the sight— Gojo had a way of living with zero shame— but there was something about the stillness of the image, the way the sun lit up the top of his cheekbone and the line of his collarbone, that made Suguru’s throat go a little dry.

He clicked out of the picture and shook his head.

No, gross.

Instead, he opened their messages and got to typing.

✮✮✮

Once Suguru finished his conversation with Satoru, he dropped his phone face-down on the mattress and sank back into the pillow, shifting side to side in search of comfort that refused to exist.

Everything felt wrong. The blanket was too heavy, suffocating in a way it hadn’t been this morning. The ceiling fan whirred too loud, catching strands of his hair in a draft that tickled his neck and irritated his skin. His hair itself felt off — too oily near the roots, too dry at the ends. His shirt clung awkwardly to his back like it didn’t fit anymore. Like he didn’t fit anymore.

He turned over onto his side, pulling the blanket halfway down. The cold air from the fan made him shiver, but the heat from the sheets was worse— sticky, gross, heavy like guilt.

Every time he glanced at his phone, the warm flicker he’d felt while texting with Gojo seemed to curdle a little more. Like it had expired.
He hated how fast the joy faded. How fake it could feel, in hindsight. Like borrowing someone else's mood for a few minutes, only to have it vanish the moment he was alone again.

With a long, steadying breath, Suguru pushed himself upright. Not fully— just enough to sit at the edge of the bed, his legs dangling limp over the side, heels eventually coming to rest on the cold floor.

His eyes found the wall opposite him. It was covered in posters— old rock bands, concert flyers, a Polaroid picture of his cat that had curled at the edges. They stared back at him blankly, offering no comfort, no familiarity. Beneath them sat his desk, cluttered with a half-eaten plate of rice and tofu, a crumpled napkin shoved beside it. His psych books were sprawled across the corner, some open, some bent backwards, others hanging off the edge like they’d given up too.

The mess made his skin crawl. It was unlike him, painfully unlike him, to let things go this far; this cluttered. Clothes were piled on his chair, shoes misaligned beneath the desk. Two empty water bottles had rolled under his bed. He hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had, and just hadn’t cared.

His gaze drifted toward the window beside the bed. He shifted, crawling over to it slowly. The bedsheet caught around his ankle as he moved, yanking him back for a second, irritating him enough to curse under his breath. He pushed it off with one hand, the motion sharper than it needed to be.

He stuck his fingers between the blinds and pulled them apart just enough to peer out. The view wasn’t special. It never was. Just the wide stretch of street below, filled with tired cars dragging themselves through traffic, stoplights blinking against puddles of streetlight. A pair of people crossed the road together, laughing— someone lit a cigarette, someone else yelled from an apartment window. Life kept moving. Fast, chaotic, disconnected.

Suguru stayed still, his arms tucking beneath his chin as he rested them on his knees. His forehead pressed against the cool glass, grounding him for a moment. He sat like that for a while. Long enough for his legs to start tingling.
But the ache had already started. That hollow, sharp pull in his stomach. Not quite pain, but a warning. He swallowed hard. His jaw clenched.
The food hadn’t been that much. He hadn’t even finished it. But it felt like too much. Felt like it stayed , like it lingered in him when nothing else could.

He closed his eyes.
“Not tonight.” The words came out silent, formed only in his mind— fragile, like wet paper. A plea without confidence.

He slid back down onto the bed slowly, like moving too fast might crack him open. One hand covered his eyes, the other lay limp on his chest. He squeezed his eyelids shut until stars danced behind them.

Not tonight. Not tonight. Not tonight.

But willpower is not a muscle you can build overnight. And Suguru, tonight, just didn’t have enough of it in him.

He broke the promise to himself less than an hour later. He didn’t cry about it. Didn’t scream or crumble or shake. He just sat on the cold tile of the bathroom floor afterward, curled slightly inward like he was trying to vanish into his own ribs, the sour taste of regret burning at the back of his throat. No strength for shame. No energy for anger. Just a quiet kind of grief.

He wasn’t strong enough yet. And maybe, tonight, that had to be okay.

Chapter Text

October 6th, Monday: 5:07 P.M.

Buzz buzz.

The vibration echoed against the marble counter of the small kitchen, where Satoru had left his phone face-down next to an open granola bar and a half-empty bottle of vitamin water. He reached for it lazily, stretching one arm over the counter without getting up from his stool.

“There she is, knew she’d be calling soon,” he murmured under his breath, recognizing the contact photo— his mom smiling in a blurry selfie they’d taken last summer outside a temple in Kyoto. He clicked the button to accept and the screen lit up with her face.

“Satoru! Ah, good— you’ve picked up!” she said cheerfully, her familiar voice crackling slightly through the speaker.

The sight of her made him smile, genuinely. Her dark hair— long, slightly curled at the ends— was pulled back into a loose clip, a few silver strands catching in the light. Her smile was bright and wide, nearly identical to his own.

“When have I ever not picked up, Kaa-chan?” he replied, voice lighter than he felt. His laughter came easy, even if there was a dull twist in his stomach that hadn’t quite gone away all week.

Her face softened even more. “Never, never. That’s true. My sweet boy.” She beamed. “I’m just calling to check up. Last week you didn’t come by, and I’ve simply missed you. So— tell me everything. Is school easy? Good grades? Making new friends? You find any girl yet?”

Satoru let out a quiet groan, slouching in his chair until his head tipped back and he was staring at the ceiling. “Ay, stop with that.” He chuckled, but it didn’t come out quite right— a little too thin at the edges. 

Girlfriend? Now? Yeah right, Ma.

“I’m young and free, remember? No need for a girlfriend just yet. I’ve got too much to do. But yeah— grades are solid. Professors love me, obviously. And I did make a new friend. He’s Japanese too, actually.”

Her eyes lit up, interest piqued instantly. “Oh? Nihonjin? That’s nice to hear. Is he in business, too?”

Satoru shook his head, running a hand through his hair before responding. “Nah, he’s in the med track. Psychiatry. Wants to help people. He’s kinda… I don’t know. Smart. Polite. Respectful. Checks off all your boxes, yeah?”

“Very good. Very, very good.” She nodded, satisfied. “What’s his name? Maybe you can invite him over sometime— a good dinner, ne? Maybe even this weekend. I’ll make miso and karaage.” Her voice grew lighter as she started mentally planning a menu.

Satoru hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. His fingers scratched absently at the skin there. Does he even want to hang out 1-on-1 anymore?  What are the chances of him agreeing to come to my mom’s house?

“Ah, sure. His name’s Suguru Geto. I’m sure he’d love to come over.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Suguru...” she repeated under her breath. “It means ‘excellent,’ right? Outstanding too.” Her voice warmed as she said it. “A good sign, ne? Well— you ask him, as soon as possible! I want to meet him. You say he’s respectful— are you two close? How long have you known him?” She was setting the phone down now, propping it up against something on the counter. He caught a fuller view of her— her long black hair catching more of that telltale gray near the temples. He watched her move with ease, graceful even in her little apartment kitchen, familiar and far away.

She’s getting older, isn’t she? he thought, blinking. He hadn’t noticed how much until just now.

He exhaled, leaning back on his heels and thinking for a second. “Pretty much this whole semester. We met the first week of class. I’d say... yeah, we’re close. I mean, he was kind of quiet at first , but it’s easy to talk to him now. He’s cool.”

A slow nod from her. “So good. I’m glad. You know all your other Japanese friends here were letdowns. I won’t name names, but...” she waved her hand dismissively. “I hope this one’s different. Maybe you finally have someone of your own, hm? I’ll judge his character for myself— make sure he’s not a bad kid.” She grinned, playful but serious underneath it all.

Satoru rolled his eyes, but the grin tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway. “Yeah, yeah. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised this time. He’s not like the others.” He paused, then added, “I’ll ask him in class tomorrow.”

“Good. Thank you. That’s all for now. I’ll call again later, ne? Don’t forget to eat. Take your vitamins. Stay warm— it’s getting colder now.” She blew a few kisses toward the camera, laughing as she did.

Satoru laughed, louder this time. “Bye, Kaa-chan.”

He waved, his smile sticking for a second longer. The screen dimmed as the call ended, and he set the phone down gently, staring at the blank counter for a moment. His weight shifted forward again. For once, the dorm didn’t feel as quiet after the call ended.

✮✮✮

October 7th, Tuesday: 11:07 A.M.

“Geto. I have a question. Turn around.”

The voice came with a sudden jab to his side— precise, almost practiced— followed by the sensation of fingers brushing through the edge of his long hair to get there. Suguru blinked slowly, spine tensing. He was hunched slightly over his notebook, doodling idle swirls in the margin instead of paying attention to whatever boring campus announcement was being read aloud at the front of the room.

“What?” he muttered, dragging his eyes toward Satoru with the weariness of someone who’s learned not to expect anything normal when addressed by him.

Satoru leaned in, his elbows resting on the back of Suguru’s chair as if he were trying to make himself as inconvenient as possible. His eyes were bright— maybe too bright for a Tuesday morning— and his mouth was already tugging at the edge of a smirk.

“My mom— she, uh… okay, so, this is gonna sound weird. Not weird, but like. You get it.”

Suguru gave a long, knowing sigh, slowly turning the rest of the way in his seat so he could face him head-on. “Mmhm… go for it. I’m used to it at this point… I think.”

Satoru grinned, a little sheepish now. “My mom really likes meeting everyone I talk to— like, everyone. So yesterday, when I brought you up in our conversation, she, y’know… asked if you wanted to come over. For dinner. At her—our—my house. Her house.” His words tripped over themselves toward the end, and he waved his hand as if that might untangle them.

Suguru blinked once. Brought up in conversation? When I’m not there? That’s… different— new.

“Oh. I see.” He paused. “Wait— when exactly? Like next week?”

“This weekend.” Please say yes, Satoru thought. Please be free.

Suguru stared past him for a second, like he was calculating something more complicated than just a schedule. The truth was, he could’ve said no. He had said no to a lot of things lately. “Busy” was easy to say; easy to fake. A shield he’d grown too used to holding up. But Satoru’s face was open and earnest. And somewhere beneath the teasing energy, there was a strange sort of nervous hope tugging at his smile.

Suguru shifted in his seat, pulling his hair behind one ear as he spoke. “Um. Yeah, I’m free. Just dinner, right? I’ll be there.”

Satoru’s grin widened immediately. “Good. I mean— I could always drop you off, if you want. It’d be easier, right?”

Suguru blinked. “Oh, really? I mean, wouldn’t you want to like… I don’t know—”

“Nah.” Satoru shook his head before Suguru could finish, already waving the idea off. “It’s fine, really. You’ll get to spend an extra... 90 minutes in the car with me— maybe longer, depending on traffic,” He said with a playful wink.

Suguru rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any bite to it. “How exciting.”
He shifted again, his legs stretching out beneath the desk as he leaned back, letting his spine curve against the uncomfortable plastic chair. His hair fell behind him in a loose curtain.

“Alright, yeah. I’ll tag along with you. I don’t wanna spend too much money on travel, so. Sure.” He said it with a shrug, but something about the small choice— saying yes, not making an excuse— felt heavier than it should’ve.

Satoru’s face practically lit up. “Good— I’ll text you the details and whatever. I’m sure my mom’ll be thrilled. She’s already talking about making a ridiculous amount of food.”

“Delicious.” Suguru gave him a lazy thumbs-up and reached for his water bottle, unscrewing the cap slowly before taking a long sip.

The classroom buzzed faintly around them— shuffling papers, the low hum of chatter, someone coughing near the front. But for a moment, Suguru just focused on the cold water sliding down his throat, and the strange quiet that came with being invited somewhere that wasn't school.

Satoru was still watching him. Not intensely, just... noticing.

And Suguru (suprisingly) didn’t look away.

✮✮✮

October 9th, Thursday: 4:53 P.M.

Suguru was knee-deep in a rare moment of productivity— or, at least, a frustrated attempt at it. His dorm room looked like it had swallowed a semester’s worth of stress and spit it back out. Boxes of uneaten takeout lined the windowsill, some still half-closed with wilted noodles and old, thickened sauces. There were socks on the back of his desk chair. A hoodie slung over a lamp (how? don’t ask me). Textbooks stacked on top of an unopened cereal box. He had one pile of laundry folded and another in chaos, which he kept shoving further away with his foot as if that would make it disappear.

He was mid-crunch into a trash bag, pushing down an avalanche of stale fries and crumpled-up lecture notes, when he heard it.

Knock knock knock. Knock knock. Knock Knock. A rhythmic set of knocks. A poor, off-time imitation of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”

Suguru froze, hand halfway into the trash bag. Only one person would be that annoying on purpose .

Satoru, of course. Who else?

He dusted his hands through the air and stumbled toward the door, rolling his eyes before he even opened it. Sure enough, there he was— all bright eyes and messily styled hair, wearing a jacket that didn’t match his pants and holding absolutely nothing, not even an excuse.

“Gojo,” Suguru said flatly, already resigned.

“Geto!” Satoru beamed. “So. Whatcha doing? Anything fun?”

He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe like he lived there, like he hadn’t just let himself in through sound effects.

Suguru ignored his question. “Are you bored?” He asked, not moving.

“A bit, yeah.” Satoru rocked on his heels. “But I just wanted to talk to someone and you’re the first person who came to mind.”

Suguru blinked, slow and suspicious. An oddly nice answer. That’s— whatever.

“Glad to hear,” he said, though his tone was anything but enthusiastic. “But I, so very unfortunately, am cleaning up.”

Before Suguru could protest, Satoru slipped past him like wind through a cracked door. 

“No problemo,” Satoru said, clapping his hands once. “I’m great at cleaning, y’know. I could help.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “Seeing how messy the inside of your backpack is, I doubt that.”

“A backpack is much different than a room, Geto. Come on, you’ve got to trust my process.”

Satoru had already wandered to the edge of the hallway leading into the room and paused near a small open trash can by the door. He peered inside, bending at the waist with one hand on his hip like he was examining a crime scene. “Ah, what’s this?”

“I don’t know, dumbass.” Suguru’s voice sharpened. “Maybe trash ?”

Satoru didn’t move. His eyes scanned the inside: practically fully loaded takeout containers, unopened energy drinks, a banana with two bites taken out of it, plastic wrap, tissues, stray pieces of rice stuck to cardboard lids. A strange smell was wafting up, vaguely sweet and sour. (ew.)

“Seems like an awful lot of food’s in here,” Satoru muttered, not quite joking anymore. “You been eating? A proper meal is key for a growing boy—see, like this banana—" he picked it up between two fingers, “—is it that hard to finish a single banana?” He chuckled lightly, trying to keep it playful.

Suguru’s breath caught for half a second. He stepped forward abruptly, plucking the banana peel from Satoru’s fingers and chucking it back into the trash.

“No, it’s not ‘difficult to finish a banana.’” His voice was tight. “And yes, I’ve been eating. Gojo—get away from the bag. It’s old food. Like—” he hesitated for a fraction of a beat, “stuff. It’s gross. Don’t be gross.”

With a stiff shove, he nudged Satoru away from the trash. Not hard, but not soft either.

“Okay, okay,” Satoru relented, raising both hands. “I won’t look at your trash. Jeez.” He laughed again, but softer now, a little strained. Still, his eyes lingered over the trash for a moment too long. He wasn’t dumb. Well, not completely.

“Just—go sit on the couch or something. Or, like...” Suguru sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Sit on my bed. Just don’t be annoying. Or weird. Or—shit, I don’t know. Just don’t touch stuff.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to judge a messy room,” Satoru said, wandering inside anyway with a confident swagger.

“I thought you said you were clean.”

“I said I’m good at cleaning. Never said I was clean.”

Suguru groaned, dropping onto the floor near his laundry pile. “Whatever.”

He picked up a shirt, folded it sloppily, then re-folded it again the right way when Satoru wasn’t looking. His back was to the bed now, and the tension in his shoulders eased (just a little) with the sound of Satoru flopping down onto the mattress behind him.

It creaked loudly. “Your bed sucks,” Satoru said immediately.

“ You suck,” Suguru muttered, but a faint smile ghosted at the edge of his lips.

✮✮✮

So, this is Geto’s room, huh? Cool.

Satoru let the thought drift lazily through his mind as he slowly turned in place, taking in the space with easy curiosity. It was different from what he expected— not messy exactly, but lived-in in a way that felt deeply personal.

The walls were peppered with posters— some with minimalist Japanese art prints, others with bands Satoru vaguely recognized but couldn’t name. There was a corkboard half-covered in pinned-up flyers, and a small string of lights along the corner near the bed that had a few burnt-out bulbs. On the desk, a mix of open textbooks and empty mugs cluttered the surface. And then… pictures .

Satoru blinked, drawn toward a set of small Polaroid photos strung neatly on a shelf above the desk. They weren’t big or flashy, just square little memories, probably ones Suguru had taken out on a whim. One showed a city skyline at night. Another looked like it had been taken in a garden. But it was the one in the middle that caught Satoru’s eye.

A smaller version of Suguru— maybe in his early teen years— was crouched on the ground, smiling stiffly at the camera. He held a fluffy white cat against his chest like it had just tried to squirm away. The younger Suguru looked soft-faced and slightly unsure of himself, with his long hair tied in a low, crooked ponytail. Satoru grinned, leaning closer.

“Aw, is this infant Geto?” he said, delighted. “Who’s the cat? How old were you here?”

Behind him, Suguru froze in the middle of folding a shirt. His head snapped back like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “Why are you looking at my stuff, creep.” He relaxes back into his rhythm of folding before he answers. “I think I was in ninth grade, so… fourteen or fifteen-ish?” Suguru squinted, eyes flicking upward as he ran the mental math. “That’s… wait. That’s ninth, right?”

“Yep. Ninth. Freshman.”

“Right. Then yeah, around that age. The cat’s name is Dragon. He’s great. Kinda a fatass, but it’s alright.” He gave a casual shrug, like he hadn’t just shared one of the more sentimental parts of his past.

“Who names a cat Dragon?” Satoru said with a grin, already reaching toward the photo like he wanted a closer look.

Before his fingers could touch the frame, Suguru swatted at his hand, not hard, but fast.

“Me. I do— did. I think it’s a great name, actually.”

Satoru held up both hands in mock surrender. “Ouch. Hit a sensitive topic there, didn’t I? I won’t make fun of your cat with a dumb name anymore. Promise.”

Suguru rolled his eyes so hard it might’ve counted as exercise, then turned back to his pile of laundry with a frustrated exhale.

Satoru wandered a few steps from the bed, still scanning the room. A faint scent lingered— a mix of laundry detergent and the citrus spray Suguru must’ve used to cover the remnants of whatever had been rotting in the trash earlier.

Behind him, Suguru tossed a balled-up pair of socks into the laundry basket. The fabric sailed in a perfect arc and landed with a soft thud.

“Scoreee!” Satoru cried, flailing around with exaggerated excitement. “Wow, what a shot. Suguru Geto, on the floor, a few feet away from the basket, tosses three shots in a row and makes them all! What a legend, am I right?”

“Gross.” Suguru wrinkled his nose. “You remind me of my coach who thought he was hilarious for commentating all our moves. Completely just not funny.”

Satoru let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “Dearest Suguru Geto, you play basketball?”

“Correction— played.” Suguru grabbed another shirt and flapped it once before folding. “That’s a hobby that ended at eighteen.”

“That’s sad. I play basketball too. Well… kinda. Not as much as I used to.”

“I could’ve guessed that.”

Satoru’s brow arched. “Oh? Do I just… emit LeBron energy or something?”

Suguru gave him a side glance. “Not quite. More like... there’s no way someone with your height and delusional confidence didn’t get begged to join at least one high school team.”

“We’re like the same height, though.”

“Eh. You’re like half an inch taller.”

Satoru leaned forward, squinting. “What a quick answer. Looks like you’ve thought about this. Does it bug you to know you’re only half an inch from greatness?”

Suguru shook his head, turning away again. “No. You just suck.”

“You say that a lot.” Satoru flopped back onto Suguru’s bed with a loud whumph , arms stretched above his head. His back hit the wall, and he shifted until he could sit comfortably against it, ankles crossed.

“Maybe for a reason.”

Satoru tilted his head. “Is it just what you say when you don’t have an answer?”

Suguru didn’t respond right away. He narrowed his eyes at Satoru for a long second, something unreadable flickering across his expression— not irritation, exactly. Not teasing either. Just something... softer. Thoughtful.

Then he turned away with a quiet scoff. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Shucks.” Satoru slapped a hand over his heart like he’d been mortally wounded. “Guess I’ll have to live knowing you’re immune to my irresistible charm.”

“You’ll survive.” Suguru muttered— but behind the dry tone, he fought a laugh which threatened to come out.

Chapter Text

October 11th, Saturday: 3:03 P.M.

(Over text:)

Satoru: “Could I come and get ready in your dorm pretty pretty please”

Suguru: “why do you do this to me. i’m stuck with you for the rest of the day anyway, do you HAVE to get ready in my dorm?”

Satoru: “Yes”

Suguru: “omg fine 💔 don’t pull anything dumb. come whenever” 

Satoru: “I’ll be there in 2 hours sugur-plum”

Satoru: “Do you like my joke”

Suguru: “no”

Satoru: “Ok bye 🖕”

Suguru: “I’ll leave my door unlocked around 4:30”

Satoru: “All righty Spidey”

Suguru: “i’m not liking these nicknames”

Satoru: “Too bad so sad, you pad”

Suguru: “like what does this even mean.”

Satoru: “One day…”

Suguru: “bye”

✮✮✮

October 11th, Saturday: 5:03 P.M.

Knock knock knock knock knock. Satoru’s knuckles tapped a rapid rhythm against Suguru’s door— impatient and a little dramatic, as always. But after a beat, he remembered Geto’s message.

Oh. Right. It’s unlocked. Whoops.

Without much ceremony, he twisted the knob and stepped inside, pushing the door open with his shoulder. The dorm was quiet…Unusually quiet. The lights were dimmed, a faint golden beam leaking through the closed blinds and casting long shadows against the desk and unmade bed. It didn’t look like Suguru was out— his keys were on the counter, and a half-empty water bottle sat by the couch.

“Geto?” Satoru called, craning his head toward the bedroom. No answer. A twinge of goosebumps pricked along his arms as the silence settled too thickly.

“You in here?… You dead?” he asked louder, his voice breaking into a nervous half-laugh. He hesitated just long enough to consider not opening the bedroom door. Then, being himself, he did it anyway.

Click. Creeeaak. The door cracked open. What followed could only be described as the most horrifyingly comedic half-second of Satoru’s life.

“GET OUT! GET OUT!” Suguru screamed like a banshee, his arms flying up to cover his bare chest in a cross between a Greek statue and a flailing octopus. His long black hair, normally neatly tied, was halfway undone, and his expression was sheer panic, as if Satoru had walked in on him doing something criminal.

“AAAHH!” Satoru screamed in return, high-pitched and completely unfiltered, stumbling backwards like he’d been flashbanged. He slammed the door shut without looking again and immediately staggered into the hallway wall, gasping and wheezing through a laugh that came from somewhere deep in his soul.

And then he lost it. Like, completely lost it.

His legs gave out and he slid down the wall like someone in a melodramatic breakup scene, wheezing with laughter, his head tilted back, face already turning pink from the force of it. He clutched his stomach and let out sharp, breathless bursts of sound. Actual cackles that filled the dorm like a haunted hyena had moved in.

“Oh my god, OH my GOD—” he kept trying to speak, but (unfortunately?) couldn’t. He kicked the floor a little, like his body needed some kind of outlet for the level of absurdity that just happened.

A full minute passed before the door creaked open again. Suguru stepped out, now wearing a loose gray hoodie that clung slightly to his still-warm skin, his hair messily pulled back into a ponytail that had clearly been tied in a rush. His face was unreadable, expression neutral, eyes faintly irritated, but it cracked the moment he saw Satoru still on the floor, half-curled into himself in laughter.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked dryly, his voice low and gravelly from the shouting.

Satoru tried to speak again but could only raise a single finger in Suguru’s direction. “You— I— we… Why’d— I can’t, I can’t— holy fuck . Help me, oh fuck… I can’t breathe right now.” He thumped his head softly against the wall, tears starting to well in the corners of his eyes.

Suguru stared for a second longer, then his own composure began to waver. The corners of his mouth twitched up until finally, finally, a snort escaped. “You literally screamed like someone getting shot.”

That only made Satoru laugh harder again, a hiccuping mess of sounds tumbling out of his chest. Eventually, he exhaled long and slow like he’d just run a marathon, one arm flung out dramatically beside him. “Sorry, it was just so fucking funny to see the look on your face, covering your nips and shit. Also, why did we both scream? Holy shit, that may have been the hardest I’ve ever laughed. I think I saw heaven. I saw my ancestors.”

Suguru offered a hand, shaking his head in disbelief.

Satoru grabbed it and let himself be pulled up, still catching his breath. “You’ve got a strong grip, Nipple-Guard.”

“Don’t call me that.” Suguru didn’t even try to hide the grimace. “And honestly, I don’t even know why I screamed. Or covered my nips. I think I was scared you’d see my ass even though I had jeans on, but my brain just panicked and picked the closest body part to guard.”

He paused. “So the nips won.” Satoru nodded sagely, as if the logic truly tracked. He  stared at him for a beat, then burst into another smaller round of giggles. “I think you being butt-naked would’ve actually put me in a coma. Like from laughing too much. Not in a weird way. I’m not weird.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “That’s debatable. You’re pretty weird.”

“Yeah, okay. Nipple-covering-man.” Satoru grinned.

“You suck at names.”

“Fine then, I’ll go back to calling you ‘Pad’. Is that better?”

“No. No, not really.” Suguru said flatly, already walking back toward his room. “I think ‘Geto’ is just fine.”

Satoru followed right behind, still grinning. “Party pooper.”

“Yeah, alright Locker-walker.”

“‘Kay Door-slammer.”

“Mouth-runner.”

They were just saying things now— nonsense titles with no meaning, tossed back and forth like tennis balls, the lingering high of shared laughter making even dumb insults feel like a game only they understood.

✮✮✮

“I have one question,” Suguru said, his voice even and slightly muffled as he brushed through his long black hair in front of the mirror.

The dorm’s yellow light reflected off his strands like silk, catching on the movement as the brush glided through with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up, wrist flexing as he tugged the brush from root to tip. It was almost hypnotic.

Satoru, sprawled comfortably on Suguru’s bed, sat criss-crossed and leaned forward slightly, chin resting on his palm. “And what’s that?” he asked, eyes trained on the steady sweep of Suguru’s hand— admiring not just the shine of his hair, but the care he took in grooming it.

“Why exactly are you here,” Suguru continued, holding his gaze in the mirror, “if you’re already… ready?”

Satoru blinked. “What?”

“You’re dressed,” Suguru clarified, giving him a pointed glance via their mirrored reflection. “Your hair looks fine. I assume you showered, or at least sprayed something that smells expensive. You said you were coming here to get ready, but I don’t really see that happening.”

A lopsided grin bloomed across Satoru’s face. He chuckled and sat up straighter. “What? A guy can’t tell a little white lie to hang out with his friend?”

Their eyes locked in the mirror— Suguru’s raised brow, Satoru’s guiltless smile.

“Yeah, no,” Satoru admitted, waving his hand lazily. “I’m already finished getting ready. I just— I don’t like being alone.”

Suguru, mid-parting his hair with a comb, paused. His expression didn’t shift much, but the silence around the pause said more than any reaction might’ve. “That’s a common theme with you,” he said eventually, his tone a little quieter. He popped a hair tie to bite in between his teeth, both hands lifting to gather his hair. “What’s with that?”

Satoru tilted his head, mouth twisting slightly as he leaned back on his hands, the mattress dipping beneath him. For a few seconds, he didn’t answer— not to be dramatic, but because the answer didn’t come as easily as usual.

“Really?” he said at last, eyes drifting to the corner of the room like the truth might be hiding there. “I don’t know. Being alone’s just… ew. Like, icky.” He made a little noise of disgust. “Who’d wanna be alone? But also… it’s not just that. Being alone can mean different stuff. Like—” He gestured vaguely in the air. “Like being around people and still feeling alone. Y’know? Like when the company— usually frat bros— isn’t good company. You’re surrounded, but your brain’s still quiet in the worst way. Whatever that even means.”

Suguru nodded slowly, his hair now half-up in his usual style— neat and secure, with a few strands left out deliberately to fall against the right side of his head. He was thoughtful for a moment, head tilted to one side. “Kinda like… when you’re in a big crowd, and somehow you’re the only one who feels out of place,” he said. “Even though you technically could talk to people, you’re still tucked away in your own corner. No one notices.”

Satoru pointed at him. “Yeah. Exactly that. Ah, see? You just get me.”

“ I try to, ” Suguru murmured, lips quirking up. He angled his head down a little, as if suddenly very interested in the floor— but the smile tugging at his mouth was undeniable.

Satoru caught it. “I saw that,” he said with a smirk, clicking his tongue. “You’re not slick, Geto.”

Suguru waved him off wordlessly, the motion smooth and unconcerned as he crossed the room to grab a white button-up from his desk chair. He held it up once, checked for wrinkles, then slipped his arms into the sleeves with mechanical ease.

Satoru, left to his own devices, picked up his phone and started scrolling— or pretending to, at least. His eyes flicked upward for the briefest second as Suguru slid off his current top and let it fall from his shoulders, revealing smooth, pale skin and a toned frame he had to have worked out for, at one point or another. Satoru cleared his throat a little too obviously and redirected his gaze back to his phone. Totally unrelated. Of course, why wouldn’t it be?
Suguru didn’t notice, or if he did, he was kind enough not to mention it. He moved slowly, methodically buttoning up the white shirt, his fingers working from the center out as he tucked the bottom into the waistband of his jeans.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward— it was lived-in; comfortable. But with them, it’s almost always felt that way.

After what felt like both five seconds and five minutes, Suguru bent to tie his shoes, brushing his dark jeans up past his ankles to keep them from getting in the way.

“Finally ready?” Satoru asked, hopping off the bed with a bounce. “Jeez, I didn’t know it could take that long for someone to look half-decent.”

Suguru shot him a dry glance from where he knelt beside his bed, tying a  knot with unnecessary force. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know. ” Satoru winked.

Suguru stood and gave a subtle tug to his shirt cuffs, smoothing them out with a final pass of his hand. “Let’s go,” he muttered, brushing past Satoru toward the door, but Satoru caught the faintest upward curve at the corner of his mouth.

He followed, that easy grin never quite leaving his face.

✮✮✮

October 11th, Saturday: 5:50 P.M.

By now, the two of them had already made their way out of the building and across the parking lot, their footsteps echoing lightly in the early evening hush. A low sun had begun to cast golden slants through the trees, turning the tops of the cars amber and long-shadowed.

They split off automatically— Satoru veering left toward the driver’s side of his car, and Suguru circling around to the passenger side with a small exhale. Neither of them said anything as they got in, the only sounds being the soft thud of car doors shutting and the click of their seatbelts being pulled into place.

Satoru's fingers danced across the dash, igniting the car to life with a low hum. The vents burst to life with a gust of cool air, sending his white hair whipping into his eyes. He huffed and shook his head like a dog shaking off water.

“Damn fan’s out to kill me,” he muttered, lowering it a few notches.

Beside him, Suguru had gone quiet again— head leaning back lazily against the seat, half-lidded eyes gazing out the window as the evening light passed in fleeting bursts over his face. There was a visible ease in his posture. Relaxed in the shoulders, phone in hand, one leg loosely crossed over the other at the ankle.

“You want to take aux again?” Satoru asked, tilting his head and peering sideways at him as he backed slowly out of the parking spot.

Suguru didn’t move at first, then turned to glance at him, brows slightly raised. “Uh. Sure, yeah. Any preference?”

“Nope. Whatever you’d like.” Satoru grinned as they pulled out onto the road.

Suguru tapped around on his phone, his thumb flicking through his playlists. A moment later, a mix of gritty guitar riffs and mellow vocals filled the car—some old-school rock mixed with softer alternative tracks.

Satoru leaned back into the seat, his posture loose now that the initial driving tension had passed. He rested one arm casually on the wheel, letting the other hang out the window as they merged into traffic.

The world outside was slipping into that calm before dusk— low blue light creeping in, people starting to settle for the evening. The streets were busy but manageable, and the occasional red and yellow leaf skittered across the windshield, stuck for a moment before being flung off again.

That’s when Satoru noticed it. A single black bird flapped clumsily across their windshield view. Its wings were slow, like it was working harder than it should have to keep up. The rest of its flock had already passed overhead, a clean V disappearing up into the blue-tinted clouds.

“Look at that,” Satoru said, nodding toward the windshield. “He’s behind all his bird-family. Doesn’t know where he’s going.”

Suguru looked up, watching the lone bird struggle across the sky with something between sympathy and amusement. “Oh, yeah. He’s way behind. Maybe he’s just lazy.” He snorted. “Or maybe he had a long night.”

“Go on, boy,” Satoru encouraged gently, “you’re gonna—”

Splot.

A giant, wet splatter hit the top of the car with uncanny timing, the sound loud and almost offensive. Satoru froze, mouth hanging open, eyebrows slowly drawing together. The car kept moving only because his hand kept unconsciously turning the wheel.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Okay. I’m never speaking to the birds again.”

Suguru choked, then actually let out a laugh. A short, sharp, and real one. “That’s just evil. Was it the same bird?”

“No clue.” Satoru leaned forward slightly to peer through the windshield with narrowed eyes. “If it was, I’m hunting that bird down. I try to be nice for once, and this is what I get? You asshole.”

Suguru huffed out another laugh and rubbed the corner of his eye. “Honestly, I would’ve done the same thing. Your voice is just annoying.”

Satoru whipped his head toward him, mock betrayal all over his face. “…So you’d shit on my car? Like, in what form? Bird?”

“What the hell— You think I’d drop a human shit on your car?” Suguru looked at him like he was deranged. “What kind of image do you have of me, exactly?”

“I don’t know, Geto,” Satoru said solemnly, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “I do not know.”

The car slowed as they approached a red light. Satoru’s grin came creeping back as he looked over again, still riding the wave of their shared laughter. Suguru just shook his head, eyes flicking out the window as if this entire exchange didn’t just happen. But the tiny, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“Tragic,” Satoru said softly, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “Even the birds are out for me.”

“You bring it on yourself,” Suguru replied, voice calm as ever.

And when the light turned green, Satoru stepped on the gas, the music swelling again— just loud enough to fill the space between them, but not loud enough to drown out the quiet ease that lingered in the car.

✮✮✮

October 11th, Saturday: 6:40 P.M.

Eventually, after nearly an hour of navigating the sprawling, crowded New York roads— lit up with flickering signs and brake lights that stretched for blocks— they pulled into a quieter neighborhood tucked away behind a row of tall oaks. It was the kind of suburb that felt like a half-step removed from the chaos of the city: still busy, still lit, but softened by trimmed lawns and calm sidewalks.

Satoru slowed to a stop in front of a large house that sat on the corner. It was clearly upper-middle class— spacious, but not overbearing. Clean white walls, slate-gray stone trimming, and long rectangular windows glowed softly behind sheer curtains. The porch light cast a warm yellow hue across the walkway, giving the whole house a honey-toned, homey glow against the early evening dark.

Suguru stepped out of the car, quietly smoothing down the front of his shirt, while Satoru jogged up to the door ahead of him and knocked.

Knock, knock. Just a polite tap with his knuckles, no dramatics or goofy rhythm.

Suguru raised an eyebrow, catching up to stand just behind him. “Oh? So you can knock like a normal person?”

Satoru grinned without looking back. “Yeah, I like annoying you , not my mom.” The words were playful, but there was a slight tightness to the laugh that followed— like it had to pass through a filter before it reached his mouth. Suguru noticed, even if he didn’t say anything.

“Oh,” Satoru added after a beat, shifting his weight on his heels. “And just call her Gojo-san. Or even Gojo-sama if she’s being over-the-top. I know my family's... complicated.”

Suguru nodded once. “Gojo-san. Got it.”

From behind the door came the muffled sound of approaching footsteps— soft, deliberate— and the metallic click of the lock unlatching. The door opened to reveal a woman several inches shorter than either of them, but unmistakably Satoru’s mother. She had long, silky black hair with hints of silver at the temples, and a warm, brilliant smile that bloomed the moment she laid eyes on them. Her eyes sparkled with a familiar light, the same mischievous twinkle Satoru often wore when he teased.

“Hello, hello! You’re here! ” she beamed, opening the door wider. “Welcome, welcome! Please, come in!”

She turned her smile directly to Suguru now, her hands folding in front of her with polite excitement. “It’s so good to finally meet you!”

Suguru stepped in and bowed slightly at the waist, just enough to be respectful but not awkwardly formal. As he straightened, he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Gojo-san. Thank you for having me.”

Satoru stepped in behind him and gestured with a casual tilt of his head. “So yeah, Mom— this is Geto, or, Suguru Geto.”

She nodded brightly. “Suguru-san, of course. I’ve heard such nice things. You’re very polite— and good-looking. No wonder Satoru talks about you.”

Suguru blinked, a little thrown by how forward she was, but he managed a small, sheepish smile.

“Would you like some tea while we wait? Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes— I hope you came hungry,” she added, already half-turned toward the kitchen.

“Oh, no no, it’s okay,” Suguru replied quickly, hands raised slightly. “I heard you prepared a lot of food— I’d rather save my appetite for that. I’m sure it’ll be more than enough.” His voice was soft, polite, and he smiled in that practiced way— something between genuine and careful. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was warm enough to pass.

Satoru, standing beside him, glanced over at the smile. He exhaled softly through his nose, a sound close to a laugh but quieter. Like he’d seen that smile before, or enough times to recognize when it was worn like armor.

“You’re sure?” his mom asked, already reaching for a kettle on instinct.

Suguru opened his mouth to reply again, but Satoru beat him to it, nudging him gently with an elbow. “Don’t worry about him,” he said with a crooked grin. “He’s got a small appetite.”

Suguru looked over at him, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. But he nodded, following Satoru’s lead. “Yes, truly. I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

“Well then!” she said, clapping her hands together lightly. “You two can sit on the couch— relax. I’ll get us all some water.”

She turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a faint scent of miso and grilled vegetables trailing behind her.

Satoru made his way into the living room without hesitation, flopping onto the couch like it was his second bed. Suguru followed, slower, glancing around the space: polished floors, old photos hung with pride, and a faintly flickering candle that smelled like honey and pine.

He noticed there weren’t any photos of Satoru’s father. So, I was right about that— he doesn’t have a dad. Suguru figured he must’ve left, since it’s customary to hang at least one photo of a deceased family member, often with flowers or incense. But there was nothing. No sign of remembrance, no framed tribute. Just absence. So Suguru assumed the man simply wasn’t part of Satoru’s life.

✮✮✮

It was around 7:00 when the three of them decided it’s a good time for dinner.

“So, I’ve made err… “ Satoru’s mom quietly counts to herself for a moment as she brings the two of them to the dining room. “Five dishes! I have some nikujaga here, three tamagoyakis, some miso soup, chicken karaage, and finally some plain gohan. Sorry, I know I went a little overboard.” She laughs softly, opening some of the containers and serving some of the food around the table.

“It’s no issue at all— thank you for all the effort you’ve put in. Everything looks really good,” Suguru says with a soft smile, looking at his plate of food and bowls of soup.

The two boys sat together on one side of the table while Satoru’s mother sat across from them. Clearing her throat, she starts up a conversation. “So, you mentioned you were studying to be a psychiatrist, right? How long were you settled on that career? See, Satoru here jumped around with his plans many, many times. Sometimes, he tells me that he should’ve stuck with his original idea of becoming a professor or mentor of some sort.” She grins, taking a spoonful of her miso.

“Ah, really?” Suguru chuckles. “I think I’ve wanted to be a psychiatrist since… maybe sophomore year of high school. It’s just stuck with me. How long was Satoru settled on his business plans?”

Gojo blinks. Satoru? He called me Satoru? That’s new.

She thinks for a moment, looking over to Satoru. “Junior year, maybe? Right?” 

“Um. What?” He asks with a dry laugh.

“When did you decide on business?” Suguru asks, turning his head to Gojo before taking a bite of chicken.

“Oh! Junior year, yeah. That’s right.” 

Geto shrugs. “That’s better than deciding at the last minute. I had a friend back in high school who had no clue what he was doing until senior year. I can only imagine how college apps would’ve gone.” 

“Ah, yes. Satoru, you remember Naoya Zenin?” his mother said, the name slipping off her tongue with a sense of assumed fondness. “He was the same. Left it all till the last minute—but he still ended up choosing business. He’s at a very prestigious university now.” She turned back to Suguru. “They went to the same high school. Very good friends, right?”

Satoru’s grasp on his soup spoon tightened. “Oh. Naoya? I don’t— um. Yeah. We were close.” 

The lie tasted bitter.

The truth was, Satoru and Naoya had grown to loathe each other by junior year. What had started as an uneasy rivalry dissolved into cold disgust. But his mother didn’t know that. She only saw the version of Naoya that showed up at New Year’s dinners and smiled with his mouth closed. To her, he was one of the few “family friends” they had left. And Satoru— who knew how rare those ties were for her— just didn’t have the heart to tell her he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Suguru, perceptive as ever, briefly glanced at Satoru’s tightened grip. His brow twitched faintly with curiosity, but he said nothing.

“The Zenins and Fushiguros are back in town. Remember Megumi— that deadbeat’s son? I hear he’s turning eight. Time flies, right?” She smiles. “Suguru-san, do you have any local relatives?”

Geto glances up as he swallows a bite of rice. “Oh, no, not really. I think most are scattered in Japan, some across the country. None in New York though.”

She nods. “Mm, that’s how most are, I believe. Us and the Zenins we mentioned aren’t the closest, but we’ve tried becoming at least tolerable when finding out Satoru and one of their kids would be growing up together.”

“Well, it’s nice that you came to resolve things because of Satoru.” He laughs.

Satoru joins in, “Ah, I’m just great, aren’t I?” 

“Very,” Suguru replies sarcastically, but in a subtler way than normal so he doesn’t leave a bad impression.

Wiping his mouth, Suguru looks down at his almost-empty plate before looking back up. Satoru had already finished, but he’s incomparable since he eats at freakish speeds.

Just a few more bites, Suguru tells himself, stuffing a piece of chicken and some rice in his mouth.

“Satoru, would you like seconds?” Satoru’s mom asks, already pushing the rice container closer to him.

“Ehh… okay. Just a bit more though— food was pretty filling today, Kaa-chan.” Satoru grabs the rice from his mom and starts serving himself.

“What about you, Suguru-san?”

“I’m— no, I’m okay,” Suguru says with a smile. “I’m still working on my first. It was very filling, I agree. Extremely good food, though. No doubt.”

“Thank you! Just take more if you change your mind. I don't want anyone leaving on an empty stomach,” She says with a soft giggle.

Suguru nods with a polite smile. The room went quiet, but not uncomfortably. Only for a moment, though. Luckily, Satoru’s mom is just as talkative as her son. 

“Suguru-san, I just have one question— I’m trying to see if Satoru is still in a safe-spot right now.”

Oh no. ‘Ma, please. Such an innocent soul, she has no clue how awkward this question is gonna be. Satoru squirms, already stuffing his mouth with a bunch of chicken.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you have a girlfriend or anything right now? See, Satoru doesn’t, but he keeps telling me he doesn’t need one. Is that normal? I’m just a little unsure what age you guys start thinking about final call relationships in this country…” She frowns.

“Oh.” The tips of Suguru’s ears went slightly red. “No, I’m not in a relationship right now. I think it’s normal… I mean, I’d say you shouldn’t worry until he hits thirty, but I’m sure he’ll be settled by then.”

What’s that supposed to mean, Geto? Satoru thinks, continuing to munch on his chicken.

“Ah, okay. Good.” She sighs in relief. “It’s such a surprise to me that boys like you— and Satoru— aren’t in relationships yet. That Naoya boy, it’s like he’s always a step ahead, even in areas you really think he wouldn’t be. I don’t know. But, I’m glad to hear it’s normal.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Suguru takes his last bite of tamagoyaki before resting back in his chair. 

A quiet lull settled over the table as everyone finished the last of their meals, the clinking of chopsticks now replaced by a gentle stillness. Then, with a content sigh, Satoru’s mom began to stack her bowls neatly on her plate.

“Everyone’s finished eating, right? I’ll go put the dishes in the sink,” she said, already rising from her seat with a light step.

“I’ll help with that,” Suguru offered, standing as well. He reached for his dishes without hesitation, carefully gathering his bowl and plate with both hands.

Satoru followed suit—though with slightly more flair, trying to balance two small bowls and a plate like it was some sort of challenge.

“You good?” Suguru asked, glancing over his shoulder as he placed his dishes gently in the sink.

“What? Yeah. Maybe,” Satoru muttered, caught mid-wobble as one of the bowls slid slightly to the side.

Suguru chuckled under his breath, wiping his hands quickly on a nearby towel before stepping back to relieve Satoru of the teetering pile. He placed the last of the dishes into the sink with ease.

Satoru’s mom turned toward them with a bright, pleased grin. “Thanks for all your help, Suguru-san. Satoru wasn’t exaggerating when he said you were respectful and polite. It was really lovely having you over.” Her voice was warm, her smile fond as she gave him a light, approving pat on the back. “I hope he brings you around again.”

Suguru straightened slightly, clearly a little surprised by the gesture, but not uncomfortable. “It’d be great to come back,” he said sincerely. “Thank you again for the meal. I really appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“Bye, Satoru,” she said, turning to her son with that familiar, radiant smile. “And next time, you better bring him home without making me ask twice. I’ll be waiting.”

Satoru laughed under his breath, bending slightly as she reached up to ruffle his messy white hair, her fingers combing through with practiced affection.

“I’ll see you, Kaa-chan,” he said softly, pulling her into a quick but genuine side-hug.

As he and Suguru made their way to the front door, she followed them halfway, pausing at the threshold.

“Drive safe! Bye!” she called out, waving with both hands.

“Bye!” The boys echoed in sync, glancing back with casual smiles before slipping into the car. A moment later, the headlights blinked on, casting two faint beams down the quiet road. The car hummed to life, rolling gently away from the curb.

And just like that, the house behind them grew smaller in the rearview mirror— its soft yellow lights flickering like little stars against the early night.

✮✮✮

October 11th, Saturday: 8:07 P.M.

“You actually ate well tonight. Proud of you, by the way.” Satoru grins softer than usual, turning his head to look at Suguru for a second before focusing back on the road.

Suguru pauses. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I don’t know. Just know that you’re not slick. Can’t hide a thing from me. I got eyes everywhere. ”

With a sigh and a raised brow, Suguru turns his face to look back out the window. “Okay, freakazoid. Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

Suguru wasn’t sure how to feel exactly, but for once, he felt seen. Even if he wasn’t necessarily ready to be seen, he knew it’s already happened. All thanks to Satoru.

Chapter Text

October 15th, Wednesday: 10:52 P.M.

Suguru was in the bathroom again, his knees aching against the cold tile, his throat raw, his stomach hollow. He hadn’t kept much down all day, but the compulsion came anyway, sharp and unrelenting as it always was. Recently, it has been getting worse. Not the worst it's ever been, but close. As in, close enough that he was beginning to recognize the slope, the familiar weightless drop into something he thought he had under control.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the faucet, splashing water on his face. The reflection in the mirror looked waxy, too pale beneath the harsh bathroom light. His eyes were red, his jaw tight. It was a reflection he didn’t even want to call his own. After a long moment of silence, buzz buzz.

He flinched at the vibration echoing from his desk in the other room, a groan escaping him before he’d even checked it. With a dragging step, he leaned over and grabbed his phone.

Of course. Satoru. The only idiot who knows exactly how to pick the worst possible moment to call… and still gets away with it, somehow.

Suguru let out a quiet exhale, cleared his throat once, then again— until the raspiness sounded less like what it was actually from, and more like fatigue. He forced his shoulders to relax before picking up the call.

Satoru was standing beside his bed, tossing clothes onto a growing pile. When the line actually connected, his head perked up.

“What do you want, Gojo?” Suguru muttered. His voice was scratchy, like something frayed at the edges. He sounded worn and tired. Not just end-of-the-day tired, it was the kind of tired that settled behind your eyes and stayed.

Satoru’s brows furrowed briefly at the quick analysis he made.

“So we’re back to Gojo again? No more Satoru ? Cold. Anyway, I need help. Halloween party crisis. My date just texted asking what I’m wearing, and I realized I don’t even know. So. Thoughts?”

Suguru leaned against his desk, one hand rubbing at his eyes. “I only called you Satoru for formalities. What’re your options? Please tell me they’re not terrible.”

There was a pause. Satoru stared at the screen a moment longer than he should’ve, his blue eyes scanning the image of Suguru’s face on the call. His hair was unbrushed, his skin dull. There was something off, like something heavy in his posture. And his eyes were glassy. Dimmer than usual.

“…Yeah, I mean, they kinda suck,” Satoru finally replied, his tone lighter, feigning ease. “I have cowboy—”

“No.”

“Okay, okay, jeez. No cowboy. How about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?”

“That’s a group costume. For four people. You’d look pathetic alone. Are you dumb?”

“Debatably. Alright— classics then. Ghostface? Or I could paint my face like a skeleton.” He held up a crusty, half-used face paint palette like it was a holy artifact. “Look! I came prepared.”

Suguru managed the faintest curve of a smile, the dim image of Satoru in costume blinking his thoughts for a mere second. “Go for the skeleton. It’s low-effort but cool. You can wear normal clothes and still look like you put in effort. And with your hair, it’d actually look kinda good. White-on-black contrast and all.”

“Awww, look at you, giving me compliments.” Satoru grinned.

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do. But hey— are you really not coming to the party?”

Suguru nodded slowly, the moment of levity fading from his face. “Yeah. I’ll be bored. You’ll be with your date, and I’m not really close with the other option— like, my old basketball friend. It’d just be me standing around.”

Satoru tilted his head. “So? Just ’cause I’m on a date doesn’t mean I can’t hang out with you too. You underestimate me. Come on—please? You can bring Shoko if you want. I know you two are close, right?”

Suguru blinked. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“I just know things,” Satoru said with a cheeky grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

There was a brief silence. Suguru looked at him through the screen, expression unreadable. And Satoru watched back, trying not to stare too hard at the redness in his eyes, at the way his knuckles looked a little too thin, a little too tight around the edges of his desk.

“…I’ll think about it,” Suguru said at last, voice quieter than before. “No promises. I probably won’t go.”

Satoru nodded, but his smile was slower, softer. “That’s better than a no. I’ll take it.”

Suguru nodded. Something in his chest tugged a little, uncomfortably. And he wished, really really wished it wasn’t there— wasn’t what he thinks it could be.

“I’ll see you in HBO tomorrow,” Satoru added, voice more casual now. “Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Bye,” Suguru said. And just like that, the screen went dark.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, setting his phone down with a soft clunk on the desk. The quiet was heavier than before. It always was after talking to him.

The thing is, Suguru wasn’t even sure if he’d have the energy to show up to classes tomorrow. But for some reason, some dumb, irrelevant reason, he felt like skipping HBO would feel worse than going. Unrelated, of course. Of course.

✮✮✮

October 17th, Friday: 8:08 P.M.

The two of them were in Suguru’s dorm, the low hum of the TV filling the space. Dinner had been an afterthought— Satoru had asked to come over, and since it was around dinnertime, they’d figured they might as well eat together.

“Dude, this is so good,” Satoru said through a mouthful of burger, his voice muffled but enthusiastic.

Suguru didn’t respond. He was half-watching whatever was on TV, the glow reflecting faintly in his eyes, but it was clear he wasn’t really processing it. His fingers kept turning one of the silver rings he always wore, slipping it from knuckle to knuckle like it was a nervous habit he hadn’t quite noticed himself. He hadn’t touched his food since he’d taken the wrapper off.

Satoru leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of Suguru’s face. “Earth to Geto?”

Suguru flinched slightly, blinking back into the room. “Huh?”

“I said the burger’s amazing. Have you even taken a bite of yours?”

Suguru glanced down at the plate in front of him like he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. No, hah. Whoops.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and lifted the burger, biting in slowly. After a long chew, he gave a small nod. “Yeah. That’s… yeah. It’s good.”

Satoru narrowed his eyes a little but kept his tone light. “Yeah, you should finish it then. I’ll look like a monster if I eat both of mine and you just take a nibble of yours.”

“I think it was already pretty crazy of you to get two burgers. I’ve actually never seen anyone do that,” Suguru said, trying to redirect with dry humor.

Satoru shrugged, grinning. “I’m just a hungry guy. Unlike you, who I really believe needs to eat.”

Suguru’s eyes flicked between the half-eaten burger in his hands and Satoru’s face. There was something flickering in his expression— annoyance, or maybe hesitation.

“I will,” he muttered. “It’s not that I don’t— I… whatever. I’m not going into this right now.”

Satoru’s blue eyes looked as if they’d just zapped electricity. “Into what?”

“I literally just said I’m not going into it.” Suguru let out a breath that sounded more like a scoff than a sigh, followed by a short, humorless laugh. “You’d probably fall asleep anyway.”

“I wouldn’t though.”

The silence that followed wasn’t their usual brand— the easy, comfortable kind that filled space between conversations like water smoothing stones. This was weighted and tight in the chest. The kind of silence that made you hyper-aware of your own breathing.

Suguru took another slow bite of his burger, his posture now visibly stiffer. From the corner of his eye, he could feel Satoru watching him. Not glancing, but watching. The kind of gaze that pressed down, insistent, patient, waiting for something to crack open.

By the time Suguru reached his fourth bite, the burger halfway gone, Satoru finally turned his attention back to the TV and let out a quiet breath.

“I wasn’t joking, by the way,” Satoru added.

“I never said you were.” Suguru’s voice was low but pointed, his brows drawing together. “I just said I wasn’t going into it. You don’t have to blow it up into something gigantic. It’s not— like, it’s not something crazy and—”

“Whatever it is,” Satoru cut in gently, “crazy or not, I’d like to hear it. And I’m not saying that has to be now, but…” He trailed off, leaving the door open, his voice careful, softer than before.

Suguru’s jaw tensed and his stomach twisted. He shook his head once, slow, like trying to shake something off that had been clinging to him all day. “You don’t have to worry about it,” he said, sharper now. “It’s not your job to ‘fix me’ or whatever. You can focus on your own burger. I’ll be fine. Just… don’t.”

There was something brittle under those words. Like it wasn’t really anger, but exhaustion trying to keep itself together with dry sentences mixed with sarcasm.

“…Okay,” Satoru said after a pause, his voice just a decibel quieter, his expression unreadable in the glow of the TV.

The sound from the television kept playing— some canned laughter, maybe a music cue— but it did nothing to fill the quiet that had sunk in like heavy fog. They both kept looking forward, saying nothing. One trying not to crumble, the other trying not to reach.

✮✮✮

October 21st, Tuesday: 4:08 P.M.

The days after their dinner had felt… long. Too long, somehow, in ways that had nothing to do with time.

It wasn’t like they’d fought. Not really. But something had hung in the air between them that night— something heavy and strange and unspoken. And in the aftermath, neither of them had tried very hard to clear it.

They didn’t hang out Friday night after dinner. Saturday came and went. They passed each other in the hallway, Satoru smiled big and instinctively, the way he always did. Suguru lifted a hand in a brief wave, his expression unreadable, and didn’t slow his steps. That had been it.

Sunday was a dead zone. No texts. No calls. No nothing.

By Monday, they spoke briefly on the way back to the dorms. Idle chatter about a class or something else inconsequential, but the second they were behind their own doors, the silence returned like a tide. Nothing after. No messages. No spontaneous phone calls. Just space and too much of it.

And now it was Tuesday. That was the day Satoru really started to feel it sink in— like a cold hand tightening in his chest.

Suguru wasn’t in class. And it wasn’t like the time he was sick, where Satoru could walk over with a smile, serving Suguru some homemade remedies and call it a day. This felt different; off. Suguru hadn’t mentioned skipping, hadn’t texted about it, hadn’t even been seen . And maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just one of those off-days.

But the silence of the last few weeks had Satoru’s brain spinning out of control.

He stared at the empty desk next to his own, his leg bouncing under the table, his eyes barely registering the words written on his laptop. A thousand explanations flickered through his head like a broken reel. He’s just tired. He overslept. He skipped. He’s sick. He forgot.

He’s ignoring me. He doesn’t want to talk to me. He’s upset. He’s hurting. He’s gone. By the end of his classes, he felt like he was made of static— mind foggy and heart pounding with no clear direction. He knew he wanted to check on Suguru. That much was obvious. But what the hell would he even say?

Hey, you’ve been weird lately and I’m worried about you? Are we okay? Are you okay? Please just tell me what’s wrong.

Every possible version sounded either too accusatory or too desperate or too much of a push. The last thing he wanted was to turn this into a fight. But the thought of Suguru going through whatever he was going through— alone— made something twist deep in his stomach. Satoru couldn’t just let this keep going. Not like this. Not when things felt like they were slipping through his fingers and he didn’t even know why.

He headed toward his dorm after class, eyes fixed ahead, not bothering to wave to people passing by. His feet slowed as he reached his hallway. His gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, to the door just a turn down from his own, at Suguru’s.

Closed. Of course it was.

A beat passed. Then two.

His fingers twitched at his side.

Fuck.

Clearing his throat, he shook off whatever was pushing him back and made his way to his own door, dropping himself onto his couch and rubbing his hands down his face.

I’ll just text him— maybe call him tonight. It’s easier. Is it a cowardly move on my end? I don’t know. I just want to do something.

✮✮✮

October 21st, Wednesday: 12:01 A.M.

After almost an hour of overthinking, half-baked starts, pacing back and forth, and staring at Suguru’s contact name like it was some kind of cursed portal, Satoru finally gives in. His thumb hovers for half a second longer before he taps the bright call button. I waited too long… he’s probably already asleep.

The dial tone buzzes in his ear, and he finds himself watching his own reflection in the dark screen— just barely visible against the glow of his room light. His own face stares back at him, tired in a way that’s different than usual. Not just sleepy-tired, but slightly worn-down-tired.

But then, finally, another face appears on the screen— tired, yes, and bleary-eyed, but awake. Just barely.

“Geto?” Satoru says quietly. “Did I wake you?”

Suguru shifts his camera upward to a more flattering angle, brushing some hair behind his ear. His face is shadowed, faintly irritated, but mostly just dulled. “No. I’m up. Why’re you calling so late?”

“I don’t know.” Satoru hesitates, then tries to smile, but it barely lands. “I mean— I do. A few reasons, actually. But mainly… am I allowed to ask why you weren’t in HBO today?”

Suguru sighs, slow and tight, like just breathing out costs him something. “You’re allowed to ask. I just… I don’t really have an answer. I was tired. That’s all.”

Satoru raises a brow, his voice flattening just slightly. “Tired? That’s it? You’re just tired?”

“I said I don’t know, Satoru.” Satoru?  

“No, but you do know.” Satoru leans back a little, dragging a hand down his face. His voice is still soft, but the tension is starting to crack at the edges. “You know. You just don’t want to say it. You don’t want me to know.”

There’s a pause, a real one. That kind of pause that creeps in when two people are holding their breath for different reasons that are somehow so very alike.

Suguru glances off to the side. His voice is quieter now. “Sometimes it’s better that way, though.”

Satoru looks up at the ceiling like he’s searching for a script to follow, something that would make this less confusing. “But why? Seriously, why is pretending you’re fine better than being honest? What’s the win here, exactly? What are you protecting— me? Yourself?”

Suguru exhales slowly, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “It’s not about pretending. It’s just… if I start talking about it, there’s no end. It’s not like it’s just one thing I can name and move on from. You’d ask a million questions and I wouldn’t know how to answer any of them. You’d be constantly worried, constantly thinking— asking.”

Satoru sits up straighter, arms crossed now, expression frustrated but still careful. “So? Let me ask. I’ll listen to whatever answers you give me— dry or not. I have been listening. I’ve been watching you act like this for weeks and every time I offer to just… be here, you dodge it. What do you think I’m going to do? Disappear? ‘Cause I’m the last fucking person on this earth to ghost someone like that.”

“I can’t do this right now,” Suguru says suddenly, voice fraying at the edges. “Not tonight. Not over a phone screen. Not when I already feel like—” He stops himself, jaw tightening.

“Suguru,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue. “ Please. ”

There’s a long pause. On Suguru’s side of the screen, the lighting flickers as he shifts, and something in his face tightens, unreadable. He swallows quietly, but noticeable enough to Satoru.

Suguru shakes his head. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he says finally, voice dulled. “At the café or something. I don’t… I don’t know. Goodnight.”

“No, fuck— Suguru, wait—” Satoru’s hand jerks toward the screen, but it’s too late. The call ends, the screen goes dark, and the silence that follows is too loud.

Satoru tosses the phone onto his mattress, hard enough that it bounces once before settling beside him. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, dragging both hands through his hair, muttering under his breath.

“What the hell are you doing, Suguru?” He’s not sure if he’s asking Suguru… or himself.

✮✮✮

October 21st, Wednesday: 4:23 P.M.

As Satoru made his way to the café, his thumb scrolled idly through the earlier texts. He reread them more times than necessary, eyes flicking over the same short words like they’d somehow change in tone or meaning.

(Over text):

Satoru: “What time can you come to the café?”

Suguru: “is 4:30 fine?”

Satoru: “Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

Suguru: “see you”

It was now a little past 4:25 when the soft chime of the café door rang overhead and Satoru stepped inside. Warm air and the scent of dark roast and cinnamon wrapped around him, but it didn’t bring the comfort it usually did. His eyes scanned the space quickly, sweeping the front seating, the side booths, and finally settling on the quiet corner near the back.

No Suguru, not yet.

He chose a small two-seater table by the window, the late-afternoon light smudging pale gold against the glass. He sat down slowly, hands wrapped around a lukewarm coffee cup he’d bought on the way here. His foot bounced under the table. His other hand tapped against the cup without rhythm.

Three minutes passed. Three long minutes of leg-bouncing, throat-clearing, and imagining Suguru walking in a hundred different ways. Then, the door opened again with another soft chime, and there he was.

Satoru sat up straighter as Suguru entered, dressed in overly baggy clothes that only made his frame look smaller. The hoodie hung too loose around his shoulders, sleeves swallowing half his hands. His face looked even paler than usual and he’d clearly lost a little more weight.

Satoru raised a hand in a small wave, expression softening just slightly. “Suguru.”

Suguru nodded back, his gaze flickering upward for only a moment before he sat down with a quiet creak of the chair. “Satoru.” 

There was a pause just a breath too long before Satoru leaned in slightly. His voice was quiet, cautious. “I… um. Look, I just want to understand. I don’t know what’s up with you, but… I wanna help. In any way I can.”

Suguru leaned back in his seat, arms folding over his chest like a shield. His exhale was slow. “I just… I don’t know what to say. This whole thing feels unnecessary. You don’t have to spend your day giving me some kind of therapy session.” He looked past Satoru’s shoulder, his voice flattening. “The last thing I want is to turn into someone else’s burden.”

Satoru’s grip tightened around his coffee mug, thumb going white at the joint. “But you’re not a burden. I don’t understand why you can’t just— just tell someone what’s going on.”

Suguru’s gaze dropped to the mug in Satoru’s hands, noting how tightly he was holding it, the way his knuckles whitened. His mouth opened a little, but he didn’t speak. The words were stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat.

The silence between them wasn’t the easy, companionable kind they used to fall into. This one buzzed, stiff and awkward, full of things unsaid.

Satoru finally broke it. “Suguru—”

“Stop.” Suguru’s voice cut the air, sharp and solid.

Satoru froze. A quiet beat passed before he spoke again, this time lower. “I can’t stop. It’s hard to stop when I know you’re tearing yourself apart in ways I can’t even see. When I’m sitting up at night thinking of every possibility— of what you’re doing, what you’re thinking, what you’re not telling me. I can’t just shut that off .”

Suguru’s voice didn’t raise, but the edge was unmistakable. “Exactly. And me telling you would only make those thoughts worse. That’s the whole problem. You’re so caught up in whatever you think is wrong with me that you don’t realize how much of yourself you’re wearing down.” He looked at Satoru now, really looked— eyes narrowing slightly. “You look more and more tired each time we have one of these conversations. And for what? So you can be the hero who saves the sad friend?” Suguru shook his head, jaw clenching. “Maybe you should fix that before trying to fix me.”

Satoru’s hands fell away from his mug. In one swift motion, he pushed himself up from the chair. The legs scraped against the floor louder than either of them expected.

“You’re— no. I’m not done with this,” he said, voice shaking slightly. “You don’t want to talk? You want space? Then, I’ll give you that. That’s what this is, right? You’ve been pushing for that. So I’ll give it to you.”

He shoved the chair back in with more force than necessary, the sharp clack making Suguru flinch.

“But don’t think that means this is over.” Satoru’s voice had lowered again, dangerously calm. “This conversation’s not finished.”

Suguru blinked, stunned by the heat in his tone. “Satoru, that’s not what I— I didn’t mean—”

“I’ll see you around.” The words dropped like stone. And just like that, Satoru turned. The door chimed again as he left, a cold wind pushing at Suguru’s feet.

Suguru sat frozen, his jaw clenched, his chest rising a little faster than normal. The feeling settled like concrete in his ribs, heavy and unmoving. He stared down at the table. Every option still felt like the wrong one.

Running after him would feel stupid. It’s not like they’re living in some crappy K-drama in which everything fixes perfectly. Saying something now would sound hollow and pathetic. Letting time pass might be the safest thing, but Suguru already knew, some things can’t be patched with silence. Not this time, at least.

Eventually, after several minutes of sitting alone, eyes fixed on the table but seeing nothing, Suguru slowly rose to his feet. His movements were hesitant, almost rehearsed, like he was trying to do everything as quietly and carefully as possible, as if noise might make the moment collapse entirely. He reached for the back of his chair, then paused, his fingers curling around the top of it for a breath before gently pushing it back into place. It slid in with barely a sound— unlike the harsh scrape Satoru had left behind.

He lingered there for a second longer than he needed to. His eyes drifted to the empty seat across from him— Satoru’s chair— still slightly askew, coffee cup half-full and forgotten, untouched since the start of their argument.

And for a moment, Suguru just stared. Like if he focused hard enough, like if he just wanted it hard enough, Satoru might walk back in and sit down, laugh at the whole thing, say they were both being dramatic and maybe suggest getting something sweet to make up for the bitterness. But, unfortunately, no amount of staring could change the truth. The chair stayed empty, the door stayed shut, the air stayed heavy.

He blinked slowly, jaw tightening as he turned his gaze back to the table, then to the door. And with the smallest breath, like he was bracing himself, Suguru finally walked away.

He knew what came next wasn’t going to be easy. There would be no sudden fix, no easy words, no shortcuts through the weight of it.

Because unlike the quiet hope he clung to in that café seat, Satoru wasn’t going to just reappear. And that meant, for now, Suguru would have to carry this silence the same way everyone else does, like a human.

Chapter Text

October 23rd, Friday: 5:19 P.M.

Satoru’s… which way again? Suguru pauses at the split in the hallway, unsure for a second before turning left and making his way down. His hands are shoved into the sleeves of his hoodie, one foot dragging just slightly with each step, like his body is trying to stall what his mind already committed to.

Rounding the corner, he finds himself standing in front of Satoru’s door. He exhales slowly, eyes flickering to the brass numbers on the door, almost pretending he might have gotten the room wrong because it’d be easier, somehow, if he had. But no. This is it.

Satoru hadn’t shown up to class yesterday, no text, no explanation. Just… absence. Like in the way Suguru was absent the last time. And now Suguru was here, standing outside his door like a kid who doesn’t know if he’s about to get scolded or sent away entirely.

He hadn’t prepared what he was going to say. He didn’t rehearse a single word. He thought maybe if he just showed up , something would click into place. That his presence would say the things he couldn’t form sentences for.

With a breath he hopes doesn’t shake, he lifts a hand and knocks. Three quick, hesitant taps. Then silence.

He steps back a bit, staring at the base of the door. Nothing. Then, the muffled sound of footsteps. They pause right on the other side.

✮✮✮

Inside, Satoru stands still, hand hovering near the doorknob. He already looked through the peephole. He already saw Suguru. Of course it’s him.

His fingers curl slightly. There’s a sharpness under his skin, restless and unsure. His brain spins in circles, still irritated by their last conversation, still aching from the fallout. But the sight of Suguru just standing there, twitchy and quiet… it softens something. Not much, but enough.

With a sigh, he undoes the lock and slowly opens the door.

“…Good to see you,” he says, but the words fall flat. No grin or teasing lilt. Just a neutral line of a voice.

Suguru’s gaze lifts for only a second. “Hey. I’m just… I don’t really know.”

Satoru leans against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his chest. His white hair’s slightly unkempt like he didn’t care enough to fix it today. There are shadows under his eyes. “You didn’t rehearse anything?” he asks, eyebrows raised, half-joking, half-not.

Suguru exhales a humorless laugh, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “No, I… thought I’d just wing it. You weren’t in class yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says simply. “I wasn’t.” The dryness in his tone felt so unnatural— so dry that Suguru almost couldn’t believe it was him.

The space between them thickens. Heavy with unspoken things. The way Satoru doesn’t elaborate, the way Suguru doesn’t ask further, the way they both seem to know exactly why the other is there, and still can’t find the right angle to face it.

Suguru looks down at his shoes. There’s a piece of gum stuck near the bottom of it— he hadn’t noticed before. “Yeah,” he says again, and it feels like the only word he has left.

The silence stretches like a wire between them. 

“Well, um… I was just— yeah.” Suguru takes a half-step back, then another. “I’ll… see you.”

“See you, Suguru.”

The name sends a slight shiver up Geto’s spine. It’s his name, yes, but it’s so different hearing it out of Satoru’s mouth. “Bye,” he quietly says once more before walking off to his dorm with enough speed so Satoru wouldn’t see the look on his face. 

That didn’t go very smoothly, did it?

✮✮✮

October 25th, Sunday: 11:03 P.M.

Suguru was stretched out on his bed, the glow of his phone lighting up the ceiling as he absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram. He wasn’t really looking at anything. It was just background noise— something to keep his hands busy and his mind only half-awake. He swiped past a few posts of other students' photo dumps, some gym selfies, a soft-looking golden retriever… and then, one from a guy in his fraternity who posted a picture of his outfit laid out on his bed. 

"Halloween party @ PDP. 6 days. Wear your costume or be lame. 8PM."

Suguru paused, thumb hovering mid-scroll. He stared at the reminder longer than he needed to. Six more days until the party. A hollow feeling opened in his chest, spreading like cold water through warm limbs. Should I even go? he wondered, dragging a knuckle slowly across his temple. Satoru and I aren’t really on the best terms right now… His thoughts slowed down there. Not on the best terms felt like an understatement, but admitting it hurt just a bit too much. And on top of that, he didn’t even have a costume. Didn’t know if he had the energy to pretend everything was fine around people who didn’t know the first thing about him. Didn’t know if it’d make things worse to show up and see Satoru across the room in a skull-painted grin, laughing at something someone else said.

His phone chimed suddenly, cutting into the spiral.

(Over text:)

Shoko: “dude can i come with u to that one halloween party in pdp. my sorority’s sucks ASS and everyone’s going to urs”

Suguru blinked at her message, eyes narrowing slightly.

Suguru: “um”

Shoko: “oh so u hate me”

Suguru: “yeah but i also don’t know if i’m going”

There was a beat of hesitation. 

Suguru: “i don’t have an outfit or anything. plus i kinda made satoru mad at me”

He paused after sending that one. Stared at it and even debated deleting it. The admission felt a little too plain on the screen, a little too real. The reply came fast, snapping him out of his thoughts once more.

Shoko: “ofc u did. too bad, we’re still going. maybe you nd ur boyfriend can patch things mid-party”

Suguru squinted at his screen, dragging a hand down his face. Boyfriend? She’s the worst.

Suguru: “ihy i’m not gay”

Shoko: “yeah whtv”

Shoko: “we can figure out fits later. i have a few ideas”

Suguru: “👍”

He tossed the phone gently to the side, letting it land on the pillow next to him. He stared at the ceiling again, more tired than before.

The thing is, he didn’t even know what he’d say to Satoru if they saw each other at that party. He’d imagined it, sure. He imagined catching Satoru’s eye across the room, offering a quiet apology or pulling him aside to talk. But in every version of that fantasy, Satoru either walked away or smiled like nothing had happened, and both were somehow unbearable in their own ways.

Suguru rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow. The party wasn’t even for another week, but still, it felt like a deadline. Like time was already running out.

✮✮✮

October 26th, Monday: 6:20 P.M.

“Okay. Hear me out. Go as Nightwing,” Shoko grinned, spinning her phone around and flashing a Pinterest board directly in Suguru’s face.

They were sitting on the living room floor of Ieiri’s small apartment, surrounded by tangled cords from old Halloween lights and scraps of fabric from abandoned costume attempts. Shoko’s younger cousin lounged on the couch behind them, half-watching The Office and half-scrolling through her phone. The sound of the TV hummed low in the background, making just enough noise to make the room feel full.

Suguru squinted at the phone, took one slow glance at the sleek, armor-style Nightwing suit, and shook his head. “Yeah, no. It’s cool and all, but it’s too much effort. I’m not about to start sewing for one night. I can’t even sew.”

“You don’t have to sew it, you can buy it,” Shoko said, scrolling faster now. “Look, here’s one for like fifty bucks.”

“Still too much effort.”

She groaned, throwing herself backward dramatically. “You’re impossible. Okay, okay. Joker. All you have to do is mess your face up with makeup and maybe do, like, two green streaks in your hair.”

Suguru exhaled softly through his nose, amused despite himself. “I’ll keep it in mind. I don’t know, though. Feels like everyone’s gonna show up as Joker.”

“You’re too picky ,” she whined, flopping sideways and letting her arm drape over his knee. “You’re gonna end up going as nothing.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said with a half-smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes.

A beat passed. Shoko suddenly sat up like she’d been hit with divine inspiration. “Slutty policeman.”

“No,” Suguru said flatly, without even looking at her. “I’m not wearing anything with the word ‘slutty’ attached to it.”

“But what’s the fun of going as just a normal policeman?”

“I’m not going as a policeman either way.”

Shoko wiggled her brows, fully entertained. “Oh my god. I think my frontal lobe just developed.”

“Definitely not,” he muttered, rubbing one tired eye.

“Shut up. Okay— new idea. You have to go as a vampire. Like, please. Your long hair would be perfect for it. We can do like… an off brand emo look. I’ll help with the makeup and everything.”

“Vampire?” Suguru squinted up at the ceiling for a moment, imagining it. “I guess… if I wear that dark red button-up and maybe the old black jacket I still have somewhere, then finish it off with some random jeans.”

“Yes!” Shoko sat up straight, eyes gleaming. “Just buy some fangs and you’re golden.”

From the couch, her cousin chimed in without looking away from her phone. “Rim your eyes in black eyeshadow. Like, hardcore. It’ll look sick.”

Suguru sighed, dragging a hand through his bangs. “You guys are unbearable.”

“But you need us.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt. “Whatever. I’ll do it. It’s not like I have any better options anyway.”

Shoko grinned like she’d just won a prize. “Hell yeah. I’m gonna rock my fairy outfit while you go be a depressed vampire.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Suguru said dryly, brushing himself off and standing up. His tone was casual, even joking, but underneath it, something heavy still lingered. That same dull fog he’d been carrying around for weeks, pressed into his chest like a bruise. Being with Shoko helped distract him, helped keep his hands and mind busy, but it didn’t fully lift the weight. Nothing had, really. He was getting better at hiding it, though. That’s what mattered, right?

He bent to grab his phone and wallet, voice low. “Anyways. I’m heading out. I’ll see you guys later.” He waved quickly, twisting the doorknob without waiting for a response, and slipped out so quietly that it was hard to tell he’d been there at all.

Behind him, Shoko watched the door close. “He’s… getting better. I think.”

Her cousin shrugged. “Maybe. He’s still got vampire energy though.”

Unfortunately, Suguru isn’t exactly getting better, and deep down, he knows it. The only people who seem to notice are himself and, somehow, Satoru. It’s always been Satoru, hasn’t it? The only person who managed to slip past all the quiet deflections and casual shrugs. The only one who stuck around long enough to notice the difference between “tired” and drained , between “I’m fine” and I’m falling apart .

And despite every effort to shut him out, to keep things surface-level, to push him away with silence or sharp-edged words, Satoru hasn’t budged. He’s still there— stubbornly, stupidly there. It’s not that Suguru wants him gone. If anything, the thought of Satoru giving up is what scares him most. But it’s also what makes it harder to look him in the eye. Because Suguru’s not getting better. Not yet. And the last thing he wants is to bring someone else down with him. Especially not him .

✮✮✮

October 29th, Thursday: 11:13 A.M.

Last week’s HBO class hadn’t gone terribly, but it hadn’t been great either. Both Suguru and Satoru had shown up, sitting in their usual spots— Suguru toward the front, and Satoru, as always, just one seat behind. They didn’t exchange a single word, but since the mentor had lectured for the full duration, neither of them was forced to.

Today, though, was different. The mentor had given them individual worksheets to complete on their laptops, guided by a self-paced slideshow. The room buzzed with casual side conversations and chair-scraping movement, many students taking this looser format as an opportunity to talk while they worked. That, unfortunately, complicated things for Gojo and Geto.

Suguru could already feel it. The awkwardness. If neither of them said anything for the entire class, it would be obvious.

About ten minutes of quiet passed between them. Suguru focused on his screen, typing in short, minimal responses to the worksheet questions. Every few seconds, he could sense Satoru shifting behind him— clicking his pen, tapping his foot, exhaling just a little louder than necessary. Eventually, Satoru gave in.

“So… how far have you gotten?” His voice was light, but edged with nerves, like he was trying not to sound like he’d been thinking of something better to say for ten minutes.

Suguru glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Not that far. I’m only on question three.”

“Cool,” Satoru replied. He tapped his pencil against his desk a few times. “That’s not bad.”

And then… silence again. Familiar, but not in a good way. A minute passed, or maybe two.

“…Did you do something different with your hair?” Satoru asked suddenly, his voice softer this time. He twirled his pencil between his fingers, feigning nonchalance.

Suguru blinked. His lips curled into a faint, small, polite smile but not entirely fake. “I guess. I combed it through neater this morning.”

Satoru nodded, though Suguru couldn’t see it. “Got it.” He tried to focus on the screen again, but the words on the slide were swimming. He tapped the arrow key, then stopped. Then sighed, hand running back through his hair. “I gotta just— Suguru, you’re not fooling me,” Satoru said suddenly, just low enough to not catch their neighbor’s attention. “Like, I know you’re smiling, you’re showing up, combing your hair like usual, but…” His voice trailed, frustration tightening his throat. “You just— you’re not…”

Suguru turned sharply, just enough to meet his eyes. “Satoru. Don’t,” he warned. His voice was steady, but the way his jaw clenched said otherwise. “Not here. It’s not— we’re in class. You can’t… just, don’t.” There was a flicker of  something in his eyes, an emotion he was trying to bury, fast and deep.

Satoru blinked and leaned back slightly, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze dropped to the edge of Suguru’s chair, then to the way his dark hair fell just over the back of it.

“Yeah, fine. Sorry.” His voice dropped to a quieter state, more to himself than to Suguru. “It just slipped.” With that, he turned back toward his laptop screen again, eyes dimmer than before.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 8:10 P.M.

Shoko was already decked out in her glittery wings and shimmery dress, a silver tiara nestled in her dark brown hair, when she knocked on Suguru’s dorm door with two things in hand, one being a crusty old eyeshadow palette and the other a small tube of fake blood.

“Okay,” she announced the second he opened the door, brushing past him without waiting, “I brought an eyeshadow palette and some fake blood, but I don’t know if we need the blood. Unless you wanna look like you just ate someone.”

She plopped the items onto his desk once she got into his bedroom, kicking whatever wrappers laid on the floor behind her with the heel of her shoe. “Now show me the outfit. I need to make sure you didn’t choose something hideous and embarrassing.”

Suguru let out a long, suffering sigh and led her toward his room, grabbing the clothes from where he’d laid them out. “So… this is the dark red button-up,” he said, holding it up by the shoulders before tossing it on the bed. “These are the jeans, and this is the jacket. It’s just black and basic. Also I ironed the shirt, so, you’re welcome.”

Shoko picked up the jacket, examining it like it had wronged her. She squinted at it, then at the shirt, then at him. Back and forth in repetition.

“Hm. Okay,” she decided at last, holding the jacket out to him. “Ditch this. It’s doing too much. Go with the sleeves rolled up. Trust me.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “No jacket? You do know it’s October in New York, right? Cold?”

She ignored him. “Also— do you have a necklace? Like a simple one. Something you’d see on a male-manipulator.”

“Great,” Suguru muttered, but opened his desk drawer anyway. He pulled out a plain silver chain, holding it up for inspection. “This manipulative enough for you?”

“Perfect. Put it on. Also don’t take your rings off.” She gathered the clothes and set them neatly on his bed beside the necklace and her makeup. “You’re gonna be a bomb-ass vampire. Like, lowkey you’re gonna outdo Dracula himself.”

Suguru rubbed at his brow with a tired look. “Well, I hope I outdo Dracula. He’s ugly as hell.”

“Dude,” she said, cracking a grin, “that’s literally your uncle. Don’t be mean.”

He let out a small, brief laugh as he sat down at his desk. Shoko opened the eyeshadow palette and leaned in close, brushing powdery pigment around his eyes.

The room fell into a companionable silence, save for the occasional “close your eyes” and “tilt your head.” Still, even as her fingers worked carefully across his eyelids, he could feel the unease curling in his chest. He looked fine, he might even look good . But, the thought of stepping into a room where Satoru would be— it made him feel like he was wearing his ribs on the outside.

✮✮✮

“I’m gonna freeball this,” Satoru declared proudly, holding up a ragged face paint palette like it was a trophy.

Nanami glanced up from his phone, unbothered and unimpressed, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Satoru’s dorm room. “You’re going to look terrifying. Don’t you have an expert you can ask?”

“I could,” Satoru admitted, already swiping black paint onto his cheekbone with a small brush, “but I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.”

Nanami gave him a flat look. “You’re literally going to the party with her. I think the idea has already been given.”

Satoru groaned, resting his elbows on the counter. “God, you’re making me sound like a jerk.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “Are you not?”

“No—” Satoru stopped himself, lips forming a half-smile, half-wince. “Maybe. I mean, I thought saying no would be worse, y’know? Suguru said something similar once. About how sometimes saying no just makes everything worse.”

The moment his name slipped out, something in the room dipped. Satoru blinked at his reflection in the mirror, the dark paint giving his face a sharp, unfamiliar edge. His eyes looked… tired.

“I think both are fine,” Nanami replied after a moment, shrugging. “As long as you explain yourself. Don’t say yes and vanish halfway through the night. Be honest.”

“Wow. You’re really good at this whole… guidance counselor thing. For someone I’ve never seen in a relationship.”

“That’s because I’m not a complete idiot,” Nanami deadpanned.

“Thanks,” Satoru muttered, fanning his face with both hands before reaching for a paper towel to clean up a smudge near his eyebrow.

As he swirled the brush around in the palette, his eyes flickered toward his phone sitting facedown on the bathroom counter. No new notifications. No texts from Suguru.

He tried not to let that mean too much.

But it was Halloween. And Suguru had said he might go. That had to mean something, right?

Satoru leaned in again, dragging the brush across his jawline. His fingers shook a little more than he wanted them to.

Don’t get your hopes up. He’s probably not coming. He thinks to himself, sighing quietly.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 9:12 P.M.

“Nanami, be honest with me. Does it look bad?” Satoru asked, stepping out of the bathroom with a slightly self-conscious sigh. His face was painted in a carefully constructed skull, black shadows hollowing out his eyes, dark streaks across his cheekbones, and a jagged smile drawn from the corners of his lips.

His outfit was simple but intentional. A fitted black long-sleeve shirt that clung to the shape of his torso before loosening just past his ribs, giving it that offhanded coolness he always managed to carry. His jeans were the same dark denim he wore a little too often, loose around his legs and cinched slightly at the waist. Nothing about it screamed “costume,” but somehow, it worked— especially with the messy white hair and face paint.

Nanami stood up from the floor, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants and pausing in front of the mirror to adjust the collar of his beige overshirt which covered his Superman tee underneath. “It looks like a skeleton,” he replied dryly, eyeing Satoru’s face for a moment longer. “So, no. It’s not horrible. I was expecting black smears and some last-minute disaster.”

Satoru tilted his head, grinning in satisfaction. “Good.” He slid his phone into his back pocket, grabbed his keys from the counter, and headed toward the front door with a little bounce in his step. “I gotta pick up Akira. Do you wanna carpool with us to the party, or…?”

Nanami shook his head firmly, rolling up his sleeves as he checked the time on his watch. “No, of course not. I’ll probably leave around 9:30. I need to bring Haibara, remember?”

“Oh right— that little brunette friend of yours. Yu, right?” Satoru smirked. “Yeah, cool. Sounds good. See you two there.”

He held the door open as Nanami stepped out, then locked it behind him with a short metallic click. His sneakers padded quietly down the hallway as he made his way across the dorm floor, turning a corner toward the other wing where Akira’s room was. He twirled his keys in one hand, the ring clinking rhythmically against his knuckles. Everything felt fine. Mostly. But there was still a tension deep in his chest— the kind that wasn’t about Akira or even the party, really.

It was about someone else entirely (and we all know exactly who that is).

✮✮✮

On the opposite side of campus, Suguru raked through his hair with a long exhale. Shoko was sitting on the edge of his desk, fussing with a loose gem on her winged fairy costume.

“Are you sure I don’t look like an idiot?” Suguru muttered, smoothing a hand down the front of his red button-up shirt, now tucked slightly into his black jeans. His silver chain glinted against his collarbone, his hair loosely tied back in a way that made his features look even sharper under the dim dorm lighting. The rings on his fingers were subtle but added the kind of detail Shoko had insisted on. The final touch, a bit of black eyeshadow smudged lightly around his eyes— just enough to hint at something dark and otherworldly in a hot vampire-type of way.

“Well,” Shoko said, hopping off the desk and grabbing her phone, “you always look like an idiot. But yeah. You’re gonna get Gojo to forget he was ever mad at you.”

“That’s not the goal here,” Suguru replied, almost too quickly.

“Sure it’s not,” she teased. Then quieter, she sighed.  “You look nice, Geto. Just stop acting like someone’s about to jump out of the bushes and judge you for being a vampire on Halloween.”

He huffed through his nose and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The screen flashed briefly— no notifications.

Shoko eyed her heels and frowned. “How long’s the walk again? I swear if I get shin splints before I even get there…”

“Like, seven or eight minutes, depending on how fast you move.”

“That’s long enough for me to regret all of my life choices,” she muttered, slipping her phone into her tiny rhinestoned bag and adjusting her wings.

Suguru glanced back at his reflection before they left, and for a moment, he didn't recognize himself. The fangs glued onto his teeth, the makeup, the effort— it all felt like a mask layered over something he wasn’t quite ready to confront.

Still, he stepped into it. The party was waiting. So was Satoru.

And whether or not they talked, whether they looked at each other or pretended not to, Suguru knew this night wasn’t going to be as simple as showing up in costume.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, pushing the door open as Shoko followed behind. They walked side by side into the cool October night, their shadows stretching long and thin behind them as they headed toward the house on East 12th. Toward music, noise, the chaos of it all. In simpler words, toward whatever came next.

Chapter Text

October 31st, Saturday: 9:20 P.M.

Satoru’s gonna be here.

Satoru’s gonna be here.

Satoru’s gonna—

“Suguru!”

The name being called out jolted him like a splash of cold water. He blinked, instinctively flicking his gaze up to see who it was, only to realize his heart had jumped for no reason. The voice wasn’t Satoru’s.

It was Ryu’s, his old basketball teammate from highschool. The guy stood confidently in the crowd, decked out in a flashy 70s disco outfit, platform shoes and all. A sight to see, that’s for sure.

Before Suguru could even respond, Shoko gave him a not-so-subtle shove forward, flashing him a thumbs-up over Ryu’s shoulder like a proud mom Suguru sighed under his breath and straightened out his shirt. No use running now.

“Hey…” Suguru greeted, his voice smoother than he felt. What’s his name again? Ryu? Ryan? Something with an R… Probably better not to risk it. “How are you?” He returned the fist bump with a light smile, his other hand resting in the pocket of his jeans.

Ryu’s grin was wide, easygoing. “I’m good, man. Dude, I don’t know where the hell you’ve been, but holy shit. You shouldn’t have quit basketball. Some of these guys out here remind me of the way you played. I think you would’ve fit in with this crew, for real.”

Suguru chuckled politely, brushing his hand through his hair. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know, I just think it wasn’t for me anymore.” That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.

“Still,” Ryu said with a shrug. “I didn’t expect you to show tonight, but glad you did. Want something to drink? There’s uh… punch, beer, whatever you want.”

Suguru glanced toward the kitchen where a chaotic crowd was already forming near the counters. He could hear music vibrating beneath the floorboards and the shriek of someone laughing too hard. “Not yet,” he said, eyes already drifting elsewhere. “I’ll save it for later.”

Ryu nodded, giving a small wave toward his group. “Alright, cool. Catch you around.”

“Yeah,” Suguru nodded. “You too.” He offered another polite smile before turning and weaving back through the crowd. As soon as he was far enough away, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. His heart was still beating a little faster than usual. God, why am I so tense?

He already knew why.

Satoru’s gonna be here.

The thought kept resurfacing like something snagging at the back of his throat. No matter how many people Suguru talked to, no matter how good the music was or how much he focused on the clinking of drinks and the warmth of bodies around him, that was what he was really bracing for.

He found Shoko again by the living room couches, where she was throwing her head back in laughter while taking a swig straight from a beer bottle. The way her glittery fairy wings shimmered under the party lights made her easy to spot. Beside her stood a girl with purple hair and a big grin, leaning her side onto Shoko, laughing something into her ear.

“Shoko—” Suguru called out as he approached, eyeing the bottle she was halfway through. “You’re an addict,” he sighed, smirking slightly. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry for wanting to have some fun,” she said with a dramatic eye roll, setting the bottle down. “Hey, while you’re here— let me introduce you. This is Utahime. She didn’t want to come, but I dragged her ass anyway. She was two seconds away from pulling my hair out.”

“Sounds like you,” Suguru said, then turned to Utahime. “I’m Geto. Nice to meet you.”

She gave a small nod and lowered her cup. “Nice to meet you too.”

Shoko nudged Suguru with an elbow, grinning. “Look at you, you social butterfly. Talked to two people in ten minutes. That’s gotta be some kind of world record. Now where’s that Gojo guy? I’m sure he’s been dying to talk to you.”

Suguru’s smile faded slightly, replaced with a stiff, reluctant sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to say hi.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Every time we’ve tried talking lately, it ends… poorly.”

“Gojo?” Utahime perked up at the name, only to immediately scowl. “Like the blue-eyed freak? Yeah, I’d avoid him. He’s an annoying shit.”

Suguru blinked, caught off-guard. “Oh, wow. Can I ask the reason for such a strong opinion?”

“There isn’t one,” Shoko said, clearly amused. “She just hates him. No logic or history to it. Just raw, visceral dislike.”

“He’s loud. And irritating,” Utahime deadpanned, taking a sip from her cup like it was self-explanatory.

A dry laugh slipped from Suguru’s throat. “I get that.” But his voice warmed ever so slightly. “I think he’s… not that bad. Once you get to know him,” he says, a few memories of Satoru brushing Suguru’s thoughts.

Utahime wrinkled her nose. “Too bad I’ll never get to know him. Don’t want to, don’t have to. I’ll live.”

Suguru didn’t say anything to that, just nodded, but the look in his eyes darkened subtly. He looked off, scanning the crowd. Still no sign of Satoru.

Maybe he’s already here. 

Maybe he’s standing in the kitchen, scoping me out like I’m doing right now. 

Maybe he decided not to come at all.

But no, Satoru wouldn’t skip. He wasn’t the type to back out of a party, even if things were messy. Especially if things were messy.

Suguru shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly too aware of the fangs tucked behind his lips, of the way the collar of his shirt clung a little too tightly to his skin, of the fact that all his thoughts— every last one— kept tracing their way back to one person. And he hadn’t even seen him yet.

✮✮✮

Walking in with his usual timing was none other than Satoru Gojo, arm-in-arm with Akira, the girl who had asked him out earlier that week. She wore a bright red devil costume, the same tight, latex-looking thing half the party had probably bought from Spirit Halloween. Her brown hair was curled neatly and tucked behind her ears, a headband of glittery red horns wobbling slightly every time she turned her head to laugh at something he didn’t say.

“ Satoru , we should get some drinks!” Akira giggled, tugging at his arm the second they stepped into the house. The music was already thumping through the floorboards, bass heavy and way too loud for any genuine conversation, but Satoru heard her just fine.

He winced slightly, adjusting the collar of his black long-sleeve shirt. “I’m okay,” he said quickly, brushing her hand off with casual grace. “I don’t really do so well with alcohol. I’ll take some later. But please— help yourself. I don’t wanna hold you back.”

She blinked, surprised but undeterred. “Oh! I didn’t know you couldn’t handle alcohol… do you like, get super drunk or something?”

Satoru scratched the back of his head, glancing around the room in pretend disinterest. “Kinda. I just get super stupid and then I feel like I’m gonna puke and regret everything I said for the next twelve hours.”

Akira laughed like he’d said something funny, which he hadn’t. “That’s too bad,” she purred. “I was kinda hoping that maybe we’d—”

The moment Satoru caught the look in her eyes— half-lidded, expectant, leaning in too close— he shut it down. “Right! Well. I’m sure we can do many smart, safe things tonight without being influenced by alcohol.” His voice was chipper, almost too much so. “How about we find a nice little group to hang with, yeah?”

She smiled again, not picking up on the shift. “Sure! My friends were just saying how crazy it was that we’re here together. Like, we’re such opposites.” She grabbed a red solo cup from a crate and started leading the way. “Maybe we could find them!”

Satoru followed, hands shoved into his pockets as he trailed behind her through the crowd. He nodded and smiled at every person who recognized him. Yeah, there were a lot, but it all felt like autopilot. The frat house was buzzing with music and lights and the tang of spiked punch and cologne. People were pressed together, laughing, swaying, some already too drunk to stand straight. It was a typical college Halloween party. He should’ve felt in his element. But his mind was elsewhere.

This is gonna be a long night.

He knew exactly why Akira had asked him to come with her. She didn’t even try to hide it— Satoru Gojo was a name that turned heads. An image. A weapon for popularity. He was her social currency tonight. Walking into this party with him was as good as shouting I matter to every other girl in the room. He wasn’t even mad about it, really. It was just... exhausting. It always was.

All he wanted was to disappear for a second and be normal, less visible. Less Gojo.

His eyes skimmed across the room before he even realized what he was looking for.

Black hair. Silver rings. Tall frame. Piercings. Sharp profile. Is he here?

Satoru didn’t know. He hadn’t seen Suguru since their last awkward conversation in class. And even if he was here, would they even talk? Would it just be another moment of Suguru ducking out early with some excuse, leaving Satoru standing there with something half-said stuck in his throat?

“Hey— look, it’s Akira!” one of the girls squealed as they reached a group clustered around the punch table. “And Gojo , oh my god. You actually got him to come with you?”

Satoru already was half-tuned out of the conversation, his eyes looking down at the bright punch. Hopefully the punch isn’t alcoholic. I really don’t wanna get drunk . He grabbed a cup and took a good gulp of the red drink. The taste hit his tongue and his expression immediately soured, putting the cup down. Unfortunately, he can’t spit it out now. He swallowed slowly, making a strange face. Yeah no, that’s not— that’s alcohol with a side of fruit punch.

Akira preened at the attention, nudging her shoulder into Satoru’s arm like she was claiming a prize. “Yup! We’re on a date , technically.” Her voice sang above the music like a declaration.

Satoru forced a laugh. It was tight and short. He gave a small wave to the girls who all looked at him like he was a rare item at auction. His smile held, but his eyes were somewhere else entirely.

Maybe he’s not here yet. 

Maybe he changed his mind. 

Or maybe he’s already here, watching me like I’m watching for him.

The thought made his chest feel too tight for a second. He exhaled slowly, trying not to let it show.

Just focus on the girl, Satoru. That’s what he kept telling himself. She’s here. She wants your attention. Just give it to her. It’s not that hard. You do this all the time.

But his thoughts didn’t fall in line. His hands twitched like they were waiting for something. His gaze kept dragging toward the door, the stairs, the hallway— anywhere else. Anywhere he might catch sight of him .

And for the first time that night, Satoru realized he hadn’t actually shown up to this party for Akira. Not really.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 10:03 P.M.

Suguru had been talking with Shoko and Utahime for the past twenty minutes, but at a certain point, he realized he needed a break. Not because the company was bad— they were far from it. He just needed to breathe. Clear his thoughts. Thoughts of one specific, white-haired man.

He was halfway to the backyard when he heard a familiar voice (but not familiar enough) call him.

“Suguru!” He looked up to see Ryu waving him over. Clearly a little drunk, but not enough to be gone.

Suguru paused in his step, then slowly, almost reluctantly, made his way over.

“Hey again,” he said quietly. “Did you need something?”

“Nah, dude, just saw you and figured I should introduce you to some of the new basketball guys.” Ryu grinned, sloshing his beer a little as he patted the couch beside him. “Come sit.”

Suguru nodded, settling into the seat with his legs spread slightly, casual but guarded. “Right.” His eyes scanned the faces greeting him before he gave a polite nod. “I’m Geto. You guys play for the Violets this year?” He added the question mostly to fill the air, not really expecting much.

As the others nodded and offered brief introductions, Suguru’s gaze drifted. He scanned the room automatically, eyes catching on every flash of white hair, but none of them his.

“Yeah, did you used to play with Ryu?” one of the guys asked.

“Yeah, back in high school.” He offered a small, practiced smile. Why am I even sitting here right now? “I hear the team’s doing great this year,” he added, trying to sound interested.

“Hell yeah, dude,” another said with a grin.

“Nice,” Suguru murmured. His voice barely carried over the bassy music thrumming in the room. Again, his eyes searched the party crowd.

“You looking for someone?” Malik asked, picking up on the pattern. “I could help.”

Suguru shook his head quickly, already rising to his feet. “No— no, it’s not like that. I just— yeah. I’ll see you guys around.” He turned and left before anyone else could say more, feet carrying him toward the door without a second thought. Once outside, he let out a long, pent-up breath.

Fuck.

He dug a cigarette from his jacket pocket and leaned toward the still-burning bonfire that some group had abandoned, using it to light the tip. The smoke curled around his face as he took a deep drag, exhaling slowly with his eyes closed.

When he opened them, he saw people all around the yard— couples, friends, strangers— clustered in pairs and trios. Hugging, laughing, leaning on one another. A few were crying drunkenly into someone’s arms. But whatever they were doing, they were doing it together . And that’s what stung the most.

How can I feel so present, yet so detached at the same time? he wondered. The cool night air numbed his skin, but not enough to quiet his mind.

Looking back through the glass into the colorfully lit house, he already knew his eyes were searching. Subconsciously or not, they were always looking for the same person. He leaned back against the wall, fingers cold, smoke still trailing from his lips.

He shouldn’t be your focus tonight. You don’t have to talk to him, he told himself. But the lie didn’t settle well.

Finishing the last drag of his cigarette, he flicked it into the grass and shoved his hands into his pockets, dragging himself back inside.

I can’t do this.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 10:03 P.M.

“Hey, Satoru,” someone says with a smile that feels too manufactured, too sugary.

Satoru turns his head slightly, already sensing the false friendliness before he even sees who it is. And then— ah. Jonah. That was his name. A guy from one of his business classes last year. Familiar face, unfamiliar presence.

“Hey… guy,” Satoru replies, voice tight with effort. “How’ve you been?”

Before Jonah can answer, Akira tugs away from Satoru’s arm, tilting her head up to Jonah with a practiced giggle. “Aw, Jo ! What’re you doing here?” She delivers a playful tap to his bicep as if to make her presence more obvious, more claimed.

That dolphin-pitched laugh. God, it makes his brain feel like it’s short-circuiting.

Jonah leans a little too far into Akira’s space, his voice lowered but not enough to be subtle. “I’m good. You good, Ki?” he asks, slightly seductive. Satoru resists the urge to wince. There was absolutely no reason for that tone, ‘Jo’. Gross.

He watches the two of them, sees the unmistakable tension— smoky, shallow, and way too performative. It’s all so loud, so staged. Are they into each other? Is this a thing? He isn’t jealous, not in the way that people think, but rather disgusted. Not because they’re flirting. Because none of it means anything.

Why am I even here?

He barely gets a second to exhale before one of Akira’s friends steps in front of him. Blonde, eyeliner smudged, drink in hand. “Gojo, where’re you going?” she grins, curling her fingers around his arm. “I just wanted to say your costume is like really…” She blinks, eyes flicking over his face. “… cute. ” That tone. Again.

Satoru offers a small breath of a laugh. “Ah. Um. Thanks.” He darts his gaze around the room. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” he adds, already edging away.

“Oh! Wait, could I—”

“No thanks,” he cuts in, too fast, too polished to sound mean. He gently peels her fingers off his sleeve, gives a little smile, and slips through the crowd before she can react.

Once he finds an unoccupied bathroom, he locks the door behind him and exhales— long, slow, and quiet.

The silence feels like a gift.

He turns toward the mirror, eyes meeting his reflection under dim, yellow-tinted lights. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and runs a hand back through his hair. His painted face is still mostly intact, the skeleton lines sharp around his jaw. He looks good. Technically.

But he doesn’t feel good.

“Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head at himself. “What am I even doing here?”

His hands rest on either side of the sink as he leans in, letting the bass of the party pulse faintly through the walls like an echo from someone else’s life.

I should’ve said no. I should’ve never agreed to come with her. Or at least come alone. This whole night’s fake. Everyone’s fake. I'm fake.

He swallows hard.

And then, quietly, almost afraid of what it might mean, his mind drifts to him .

Suguru. Is he even here? He probably is. Shoko wouldn’t let him skip something like this, and the guy did say he’d go. He probably looks incredible. Probably pulling off a random costume way too well.
Satoru huffs a breath, barely smiling. Probably pretending to be something darker than he is.  

He doesn’t know what he’d even say if he saw him tonight. Their last conversation was clipped and cold, Suguru saying “see you” like he didn’t mean it, like it was safer that way.

And yet, Satoru knows, deep in his chest, the moment he sees him, if he sees him, everything he’s been trying to suppress is going to crash right back over him.

His phone buzzes once— Akira. Probably asking where he went. He shuts his eyes.

Just a few more minutes. Then he’ll step back out. Smile and play along. Pretend he isn’t aching to just find Suguru in this crowded house, and maybe, maybe get a second where things feel like they used to.

Or at least feel real.

He sighs, flicks the sink on to cool his hands, then grips the doorknob. Back to the party.

I can’t do this.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 10:28 P.M.

As the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, Satoru kept his head down and moved through the crowd. A few people called his name— some loud, some laughing— but he pretended not to hear them, weaving past with practiced ease. He wasn’t in the mood for banter or being everyone’s favorite person tonight. He just needed something cold in his hand. Something to ground him.

The kitchen opened directly into the living room, with nothing separating the two spaces except a wide island counter. From where he stood, Satoru had a full view of the chaos. There was a crowd pressed around the speakers, people swaying to the beat, some collapsed across couches mid-conversation or mid-makeout, someone was shouting over the music. He grabbed a can of beer, cracking it open with a swift motion. He took a long swig before something caught his attention a distance away.

What caught his attention was the glint of a glass door at the far end of the room, leading out into the backyard— the same door he’d once opened for someone else at the very first party of the year. The same one where a certain someone had stood, wide-eyed and unsure, in a too-big hoodie and hair tied half back.

Now, that same person stood there again. Suguru.

The realization didn’t come all at once. It built slowly— first the silhouette, then the curve of his jaw in the firelight, and finally, the eyes. They were familiarly purple and focused as always. Suguru was closing the door behind him when his gaze lifted, maybe unintentionally, maybe searching. But whatever it was, it landed directly on Satoru.

And for a breathless second, the world dropped out.

The noise didn’t stop, but it became one with the background. The beat thudded against Satoru’s chest like a distant heartbeat. The voices became foggy. The only clear thing in the entire room was the tether between his eyes and Suguru’s, strung tight and electric. Satoru swallowed hard.

He’s here. He actually came. And he— god, he looks— Satoru didn’t even finish the thought, too caught up in how sharp the lines of Suguru’s face looked in the glow of the lights, how his dark red shirt hugged his frame, how the color complemented his complexion perfectly, how the silver glint of a necklace nestled just above the collarbone. He looked like a vampire, yeah. One that’s just a little too attractive. Am I allowed to think that? I don’t care, actually.

Suguru gave him a tiny wave, barely a twitch of the fingers. His smile was anxious and hopeful. Like he didn’t know what he was allowed to feel.

Satoru’s legs wanted to move forward— he didn’t even care what he’d say— but that chance was ripped away when Akira reappeared beside him, sliding an arm around him again. The grasp on his beer can tightened.

“There you are,” she beamed, either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the change in Satoru’s expression. “We need to play Seven Minutes in Heaven!”

Her hand tugged at him, but his feet stayed locked in place. Across the room, Satoru watched Suguru’s shoulders lower, his wave retract like it was a mistake. His whole expression changed, all closed off again. Just like that.

“Wait,” Satoru muttered under his breath, barely processing what she’d said. “Wait what?”

“Seven Minutes,” she repeated, more firmly this time, trying to pull again. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

But the tug at his arm felt all wrong. Satoru gently pulled his arm free. “Akira… wait. I— I don’t want to play that. I don’t really… do that kind of thing. I’m sorry.”

Her face changed instantly, from cheer to confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I know we came here together,” he said carefully, not wanting to humiliate her. “And I’m really sorry if I gave the wrong impression, but this wasn’t meant to be like… that . I thought it’d just be light, not... whatever. But I can’t pretend I’m into something I’m not.”

Akira’s expression hardened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Satoru shook his head, his voice gentler now. “I’m not. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Akira. I just… there’s someone else I need to talk to. Someone I’ve been trying to figure things out with for a while.”

That was probably too much to admit, but it slipped out before he could stop it.

Her brows knit. “Someone else? Oh my god— don’t tell me it’s him. ” Her voice sharpened, and her eyes flicked toward the part of the room where Suguru had walked off into. Satoru froze. Akira let out a bitter scoff, her lips curling. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Go get your boyfriend, then. You gay little piece of shit. ”

Satoru’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He didn’t want to fight or say anything cruel. So instead, he just murmured, “Sorry,” and turned away.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” she called after him. “Should’ve known you were a fa—.“ The last word fell silent in Satoru’s ears.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have it in him. Satoru’s jaw tensed as he made his way across the kitchen and back toward the crowd. The sting of her words clung to him, but he shook them off as best he could. He hadn’t handled it perfectly, but he also hadn’t lied. And he wasn’t going to lie anymore.

Not to her, not to Suguru. Now all he had to do was find him again.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 10:51 P.M.

Where the hell did he go? Satoru had been searching for nearly twenty minutes now. He’d checked the kitchen, circled through the living room twice, looked near the backyard door just in case, and even lingered by the speakers long enough to be deafened by someone’s playlist made in the depths of hell. Still, no sign of Suguru.

He made his way to the front lawn again, weaving through small clumps of people talking on the sidewalk and the steps, some mid-smoke break, some taking drunken pictures. His phone buzzed once in his pocket but he ignored it.

“Hey, Nanami,” he called out to the blond in a Superman t-shirt standing near the bushes, relieved to find someone who might actually help. “Have you seen Suguru? Do you remember the picture I showed you? Like, long black hair, kind of around my height, purple eyes— earrings maybe?”

Nanami turns around, mouth still slightly parted after pausing his conversation with Haibara— who’s wearing a Batman outfit. “No, sorry.” He pauses for a second, studying Satoru’s unhappy expression. “I see your actual date’s gone. You’re making yourself very obvious, Gojo.”

Satoru sighed, dragging his hand down his face. “Making what obvious? Whatever, thanks for your help I guess. Bye guys, I’ll see you later,” he says, flicking his gaze between Nanami and Haibara.

He turned back toward the house, frustration bubbling in his chest. It’s been twenty minutes. Where the hell could he have gone? The thought repeated with every step he took, bouncing around louder than the music now. Did he leave? Did I miss him? Did he see me and just… walk away?

Inside, the lighting was dimmer than before, shadows stretching long in the hallway. The party had moved inward, growing louder and rowdier, but Satoru didn’t care anymore. He just needed a moment. Somewhere quieter.

He found a tucked-away corner by the staircase, where the crowd thinned and only a pair of heels had been kicked off nearby. He sat heavily, resting his back against the railing and dropping his head back for a second. Everything felt warm and stifling, and the black paint along his cheekbones itched under the heat. He wiped at one side with the back of his hand, smearing some of it faintly. I’m an idiot— just sitting in this corner taking up space with this stupid paint on my face. He shook his head to himself and stared out at the wall across from him, the blinking colored lights painting it in flickering blue and red.

Only a few feet down the hall, behind a closed door, Suguru leaned over the sink in the bathroom. He hadn’t meant to stay in there that long. Ten minutes had passed like nothing, but every one of them had been thick with a thudding heart and a twisting stomach.

You’re fine, he told himself. You’re just overwhelmed. That’s normal. That happens. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. He'd felt it rising earlier at the kitchen door, when Satoru looked right at him like he still mattered. And then again, worse, when Akira pulled him away.

Now here he was, going back to old patterns. Nothing had happened, not really. No words, just a look. And yet it was enough to shove him back into himself.

He rinsed his mouth again, the taste of water replacing the bitterness. His eyes met his own reflection— eyeshadow still intact somehow, even after everything— and he forced himself to breathe slower.

I can’t just hide in here forever. I have to find Satoru— even if we can’t say anything. He wiped his face gently with a piece of toilet paper, fixed the collar of his shirt, and took one last glance at his reflection before stepping out.

The hallway was quieter than expected, save for the muffled pulse of bass coming from deeper inside. Suguru was about to head upstairs for some air when something at the corner of his vision stopped him.

White hair, slumped posture, familiar hands fidgeting slightly near their lap. No way.

His feet paused instinctively, gaze locking on the figure seated near the base of the stairs. Satoru looked… tired. Not physically, necessarily, but the kind of tiredness that came from too much thinking. His posture was hunched, like he’d given up on trying to stand tall. 

“…Satoru?” Suguru said, his voice quieter than usual— soft, but audible.

Satoru’s head snapped up. His blue eyes widened slightly. “Suguru,” he breathed out, like the name had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for a while. “Hey. I was looking for you.”

Suguru’s steps were slow as he approached, almost uncertain, but not unwilling. The sounds of the party dulled behind him with every pace. When he finally reached Satoru, he exhaled and lowered himself to the floor beside him, posture relaxing just enough to sit against the railing too.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I—… nevermind. Doesn’t matter.”

Satoru glanced over at him, curious, but said nothing. Suguru gave a faint smile instead, nodding toward the dark streaks of paint across Satoru’s face. “I see you went with the skeleton idea. It looks…” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he searched for the right word. “…it looks nice— good.”

A breathy laugh came out of Satoru, short but real. “Thanks. I wasn’t expecting the vampire thing for you, but I don’t know—” his gaze flickered over Suguru’s red button-up and sleek hair, “—it suits you. Really well, actually. You look… cool. It’s really good.”

Suguru tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning Satoru’s face for a beat too long before looking back down at the hardwood floor between them. “Thanks.”

There was a lull, comfortable only in sound, but not in tension. Not like how it’s been recently. 

“Where’s your date?” Suguru asked finally, his voice low.

Satoru shrugged. “I don’t know. Or care, for that matter.” He rested his head back against the railing. “She’s evil. And so is everyone else at this party.”

Suguru let out a soft laugh, one that curled up around his words. “I get that. Everyone’s just… gross. Fake. Like if you look around for a second, you’ll realize it’s just a room full of Barbies. And Kens. The Kens are worse.”

“Exactly,” Satoru said. “Everyone’s trying too hard to pretend they aren’t alone. But they are.”

The words sat heavier than expected between them. Suguru glanced over again, watching the way the black paint cracked faintly along the line of Satoru’s jaw. “Are you… like, okay?” he asked, quietly. “You don’t look so great.”

Satoru blinked, then offered a soft scoff. “Me? What? Yeah, I’m fine. I think the atmosphere just isn’t great. But hey,” he glanced back at Suguru with something lighter in his voice, “it’s better now that you’re here.”

That earned a slower smile from Suguru, one he didn’t try to hide. “Good to hear.”

His gaze lingered again on Satoru’s face. “You’ve got a little smudge,” he added after a second, pointing lightly toward his own cheek in demonstration. “Just… right there.”

“Huh? Oh—” Satoru glanced at his hand, the streak of black paint still smudged along the back. He raised his fingers to his face. “Here?”

“No, no. Go a little down.”

Satoru squinted and moved his hand slightly. “Here?”

“No… a little up.”

“What about now?”

Suguru huffed out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head. “You’re helpless.” And before he could think twice, his fingers were already reaching out.

His hand was careful, brushing Satoru’s cheek with the pads of his fingers, thumb catching the edge of the smudge to clean it away, his other fingers hooking around his jaw. The contact was feather-light, but it was enough to make both of them completely still.

Satoru’s breath caught for a second. He didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on Suguru’s face— on the way his brows drew slightly together, focused. It wasn’t just the gesture itself, it was the tenderness of it. The silence it carved out around them. The familiarity that felt a little too fragile to touch.

Suguru pulled his hand back slowly, realizing only after the fact how close he’d been. “There,” he murmured quietly, almost embarrassed. His fingertips felt as if they had sparks in them now.

“Thanks,” Satoru said, voice quieter now. His eyes lingered on Suguru’s for a moment longer, searching into the deep purple depths. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Help me when I’m too dumb to fix it myself.”

Suguru looked down again, a small smile creeping onto his lips despite his attempt to hide it. “Do I? Well, someone’s gotta take care of you.”

That silence came again, but now it pulsed warmer, charged, the air between them stretched thin with things unsaid.

And yet, neither moved. Neither looked away. Not yet.

There was a long minute of quiet staring, the kind that pressed up against the edges of vulnerability. Satoru’s eyes were fixed on Suguru’s face, brain blank of things to say, but Suguru spoke first, clearing his throat and looking down briefly to cut the eye contact.

“If you don’t wanna be here anymore,” he said, voice careful, “we could always just… leave. I mean, it’s not like the stay inside here is very great, so. Like, I don’t know. We could— there’s that ice cream place a few blocks down, right? It wouldn’t be closed yet, I think. It’s only eleven.”

Satoru blinked, taken slightly off guard by the softness of the offer. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I’d rather be anywhere else than here. I can’t stand the crowd.”

Suguru let out a light chuckle, the sound easing some of the stiffness in his shoulders. “I agree.”

He stood and dusted off his pants, then extended a hand toward Satoru. There was no hesitation this time when Satoru reached for it.

As Satoru rose, he stumbled slightly— just enough to shift his weight forward. Suguru’s free hand instinctively came around his back, steadying him with a firm palm pressed on the middle of his back.

“Careful,” Suguru murmured, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. “Did you drink too much?”

Satoru caught his balance and straightened up, ignoring the sharp jolt that ran down his spine and the turn in his stomach at Suguru’s touch. “No, not really,” he said, brushing it off. “I just can’t handle alcohol too well. One beer and my coordination’s out the window.”

“Well, try not to die,” Suguru said dryly, a smirk forming. “Next time that happens, I’m letting you fall.”

Satoru huffed a laugh and shook his head as he followed behind. “Eh, you wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

“Would not.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, too amused to argue properly. The conversation faded into their footsteps as they weaved through the crowd, the hum of music and low voices still thick around them.

They were nearly to the front door when someone reached out and tugged on the back of Satoru’s shirt.

“Uh—” Satoru looked over, surprised. One of the guys he’d chatted with earlier grinned up at him, clearly drunk and flushed.

“Where you goin’, Gojo? It’s only eleven. You're wimping already?” The guy’s voice was loud and slurred, his grip just a bit too tight.

Suguru turned around, instantly irritated by the notorious ‘frat-boy-accent’. His own voice was sharp and flat in response. “You smell like shit. Go check your tight, twisted undies before you worry about where someone’s going.”

There was a slight beat of silence. Satoru blinked. The guy frowned, confused, and his grip slackened just enough. Suguru took that moment to reach forward, grab Satoru by the wrist, and pull him through the door before anything else could escalate.

Outside, the cool night air met them in a rush. The door shut behind them with a soft thud.

Satoru burst into laughter almost immediately, breath catching on the end of it as he was practically dragged down the front steps. “Suguru— Jesus Christ— what the hell was that? I think I’m seeing stars.”

Suguru glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smile, laughing a little himself. “Stop laughing like that, you sound like a hyena.”

“You’re one to talk.” Satoru was still trying to get his breath back, wiping his eyes. “Jeez. You’re a funny guy. But really— thanks. I mean it.”

Suguru’s expression softened. “Yeah, whatever.” He tugged at his sleeves, pulling them up to give himself some air. “We gotta run to the ice cream place before I get my ass beat now.”

Satoru shook his head and shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. You’ve got ten times more muscle than he has. Honestly, if you’d swung at him I think I would’ve collapsed laughing.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment, but okay,” Suguru muttered with a faint snort.

“Oh well.” Satoru jogged a couple steps ahead, then slowed again to fall into step beside him. Their arms brushed just slightly. “Now, about this ice cream place. Is it, like… good-good or just a sad backup plan because you’re trying to save me from my disastrous date?”

Suguru scoffed, but the smile on his face was undeniable. “It’s good-good. But also yes. You’re tragic.”

Satoru laughed again, and this time, it wasn’t quite so sharp.

At last, after too many days too long, they’d finally slipped back into something easy. The distance between them hadn’t disappeared but it felt— at least for tonight— manageable. Like maybe they could reach across it again.

One scoop at a time.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 11:27 P.M.

The walk to the ice cream shop wasn’t long— maybe ten, fifteen minutes at most— but it gave them just enough time to fall into another rhythm. Their steps aligned, their conversation light and casual, and even when there were lulls, the silences between them felt gentle, not strained. 

The shop they found was modest, tucked into a lit-up corner between a bookstore and a laundromat, buzzing with a surprising number of late-night visitors. Families were still sitting at tables, kids giggling over sprinkle-covered cones and sticky fingers. The fluorescent lighting inside made everything look a little too sharp, but no one minded much. It was a strangely comforting atmosphere— warm, grounded, and real.

The line moved quickly. About ten minutes passed, three of which were spent with Suguru refusing to let Satoru pull out his wallet.

“Just let me—” Satoru tried again, already digging for his card.

“Nope,” Suguru said simply, flashing a rare smirk as he handed his own over to the cashier. “It’s on me.”

“You’re not slick,” Satoru muttered. “You did this out of guilt, didn’t you?”

Suguru didn’t answer and just handed Satoru the receipt along with a smug little smile. The truth was, yes. After seeing him earlier, alone by the stairs, black paint smudged and eyes downcast— Suguru had felt something sink in his chest. Something heavy, something like responsibility. And no, it wasn’t entirely his fault that things had gone sour, but still. If there was any way he could quietly give something back to Satoru, he’d take it.

They sat on the curb outside to eat, talking here and there, but mostly letting the comfort of the cool air and the hum of the city carry them. Suguru picked mango. It’s safe, bright, and hard to go wrong with. Satoru went for Cookie Monster, because he always gravitated toward the weirdest, most aggressively colorful things on the menu.

By the time they’d left the shop and were heading back toward the frat house to get to Satoru’s car, Suguru was speed-eating the last third of his cone, now dripping steadily down the sides.

“Go Suguru, go!” Satoru cheered dramatically, holding his own ice cream cone in one hand and clapping with the other. “This is history in the making!”

With a comically exaggerated swallow, Suguru shoved the last bit of ice cream into his mouth and crumpled the paper cone. “Yeah—” he exhaled, giving a laugh and holding up his palm. “Wow, I think that’s the quickest I’ve ever eaten ice cream. Hell yeah.”

Satoru slapped his hand with a loud smack , laughing back. “Every day’s a new achievement. That should go in the Guinness World Records. Like, ‘Fastest Ice Cream Eaten by a Vampire’ or something.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“Wait— hold up.” Satoru suddenly stuck his tongue out. “Is it blue? Tell me it’s blue.”

Suguru’s eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he laughed, pointing. “It’s, like, electric. Actually borderline concerning. What the hell is in that ice cream?”

Satoru shrugged, grinning. “Heaven. It’s pure heaven. And possibly uranium. Not sure yet.”

As they turned the corner, Satoru spotted his car down the block and gently reached out, his fingers brushing Suguru’s arm. “Here, this way.”

Suguru glanced down at the touch before looking up at him. “Oh— okay.” The contact was brief, light, but it left something humming in his chest. He shook it off, telling himself not to read into it.

They reached the car, their steps slower now, softer. The party behind them felt like a past life. Here, under the faint buzz of streetlamps, it was just the two of them again— quiet, familiar, and unspoken.

They each got into the car with practiced ease, neither needing to ask which side to take. The engine started with a low rumble, headlights washing over the curb.

“My dorm or yours?” Satoru asked casually, turning to look at him.

Suguru blinked, surprised. “What? Oh. Uh… let’s do yours. I don’t think I’ve ever been in there.”

Satoru curled an eyebrow. “That’s exciting. I’ll give you the full tour— my desk, the two socks I never wash, the pile of things I’ll pretend I don’t see until finals.”

Suguru huffed a laugh. “Sounds luxurious. Do you want me to hold your ice cream while you drive?”

Satoru looked down at his hand, then at Suguru’s already extended one. “Oh, yeah— good idea. Thanks.”

Their fingers brushed again as the cold cone changed hands. It was nothing. Barely even a second. But somehow, Suguru held it like it meant a little more than dessert.

As Satoru pulled into the road and they started heading back to campus, neither of them spoke right away. The music from earlier still echoed faintly in their ears, but out here it was replaced by the hum of tires and the occasional passing car.

It was strange how something as simple as ice cream and laughter could make the night feel a little less heavy. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

✮✮✮

October 31st, Saturday: 11:41 P.M.

They arrived at Satoru’s dorm without much conversation, letting the hum of the walk fill the silence between them. When they stepped inside, Satoru made sure to quietly ease the door shut behind them, not wanting to disturb anyone else in the building. The hallway lights buzzed softly, casting dull amber shadows across the walls.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Satoru announced with mock grandeur, brushing past Suguru to twist the lock on the door behind them.

Suguru glanced around the dorm’s common space- - cluttered in the way you’d expect a student’s place to be, with a few takeout containers stacked near the trash and a hoodie slung over a chair.

He gave a small, amused nod. “The mess is not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

Satoru laughed under his breath. “Thanks. I try to keep it at a tolerable level of disaster.” He pushed open the door to his bedroom with the back of his hand, the soft creak of hinges giving way to a room filled with warm lamplight and chaotic comfort.

Suguru stepped into the doorway, surveying the scene. It was lived-in in a way that made sense for Satoru. There are a few records stacked near the window, a laundry basket overflowing in the corner, and sneakers tucked beside a bookshelf holding more manga than textbooks. It wasn’t neat, but it was honest. It looked like someone with a real, beating life stayed here.

Satoru flipped the light switch. The sudden brightness made Suguru squint. “Here’s the big reveal. Does your statement still stand?”

He blinked a few times before nodding. “Honestly, yeah. It could be a lot worse.”

His gaze caught on a mountain of clothes, books, and various snack wrappers piled up at the foot of the bed. “I’m guessing this is the pile you were talking about.”

“Correct— how’d you know?” Satoru plopped onto the bed with a soft bounce, a chuckle coming out.

“Just a good guess,” Suguru replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “It definitely wasn’t obvious.”

“Definitely,” Satoru echoed, clearly amused.

Suguru hovered awkwardly near the edge of the room for a second, unsure of whether to sit or stand. His instinct was to lower himself to the floor, out of habit or caution (maybe both), but Satoru caught him before he could fully commit.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice casual but laced with something fond. “You can sit on the bed, y’know. The floor’s probably super dirty.”

“Oh.” Suguru straightened back up, brushing his palms on his jeans. “Yeah. Right.”

He sat beside Satoru, not too close, but close enough for the mattress to shift beneath both of their weights. His foot tapped against the hardwood floor once, then twice, something subconscious trying to burn off the nervous energy humming in his limbs.

Satoru pulled out his phone, the clear case decorated with old stickers. One’s from a show Suguru vaguely recognized, another one being a Digimon character with its face slightly wearing away. “I bet if I go on Insta right now, at least five people have already posted something absolutely stupid from that party.”

Suguru gave a soft, tired chuckle. “Oh yeah, no doubt. They’re relentless when it comes to those blurry beer-pouring pictures. I don’t know who keeps encouraging them.”

“It’s always the same three people, too,” Satoru muttered, thumb flicking upward as he scrolled through his feed. “Like, congrats, you did a keg stand and spilled tequila on yourself. Again. Inspiring.”

He paused, the screen glowing against his face. “We should post a story together. It’ll be ten times better than theirs.” His eyes flicked over to Suguru, playful but not pushy. “C’mon. Humor me.”

Suguru hesitated for a second. His hand instinctively went to his hair, brushing through a few strands as he cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Satoru turned the camera around and scooted a little closer to Suguru to frame them both in the shot. He flashed his signature grin and held up a peace sign, leaning in just enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, Satoru’s head leaning toward Suguru’s in the slightest. The closeness made Suguru’s throat tighten unexpectedly.

Suguru gave a lazy peace sign of his own, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. It was the kind of half-opened smile that’s seen right before a laugh.

Satoru snapped the photo and looked at it for a second before turning the screen toward Suguru. “Good?”

Suguru glanced at the image. The light wasn’t perfect, and neither of them were exactly centered, but there was something about it that looked natural and familiar in a way. Like they were right where they were supposed to be. “Uh, yeah.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Looks fine.”

Satoru posted it anyway, tagging Suguru and sliding it straight to his highlights with zero hesitation.

Suguru scoffed softly under his breath, watching the picture float away. “We’re gonna get called gay or something.”

Satoru looked over, lips curving upward. “What’s so bad about that? I’d rather be called gay than called a player or a jerk or something like that.” He leaned back on his hands, gaze lifting to the ceiling as he spoke.

Suguru didn’t respond right away. His thoughts ran a little slower than usual, the words catching somewhere between defensiveness and something he didn’t quite want to name. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, the word quiet. “I guess.” And he meant it, mostly. Or at least part of him did. But there was still something raw under the surface. It wasn’t about Satoru, exactly. If anything, it was the opposite. That was what scared him.

He reached over for the remote on Satoru’s nightstand, needing to do something with his hands. “Do you have any movies to watch or something? I feel like we should at least pretend we’re being productive while we’re sitting here avoiding a party.”

Satoru grinned. “Productivity is an illusion, but yeah. I’ve got a whole folder of bad horror movies we can laugh at.”

Suguru leaned back against the wall, finally letting himself breathe. “Sounds good.”

And just like that, the room softened again— two boys, half untangling what they felt, half pretending not to, letting the space between them close inch by inch.

✮✮✮

November 1st, Sunday: 1:08 A.M.

They’d just finished the movie, but neither of them was paying attention to the credits rolling across the screen. At some point during the runtime, Satoru had suggested playing one of his cheap, janky computer games— the kind with glitchy mechanics, bizarre characters, and absolutely no logical objective. Suguru, half out of curiosity and half out of boredom, had agreed.

Now, he was perched in Satoru’s desk chair, fingers clicking over the keyboard, shoulders slightly hunched in concentration. The blue and yellow glow of the monitor cast long shadows across his face, making the sharp angles of his jaw look even more defined. Behind him, Satoru was draped lazily over the bed, his legs hanging off the edge, cheek resting against his arm as he watched.

The game’s chaotic background music looped on repeat, but Satoru wasn’t really listening. He was too focused on Suguru— the way his brows came together with the smallest frown, how his eyes flicked quickly between enemies on the screen. There was something unusually soft about his focus, something quiet and real. Satoru’s gaze wandered further, trailing the way Suguru’s fingers tapped with practiced rhythm, the way he pulled his lower lip between his teeth when a particularly frustrating part of the level hit.

He looked so effortlessly alive, and for a moment, Satoru forgot to pretend he was watching the game at all.

The credits ended and kicked back to the home screen, prompting a low groan from the television. Satoru sat up, stretching his arms behind him before grabbing the remote. “Uhh… I don’t know what to watch. Should I just put Spongebob on again?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s like tradition for us at this point,” Suguru answered without looking away from the game. His voice was relaxed, easy, like muscle memory.

Satoru smirked to himself and pulled the blanket back over his legs. He clicked to the familiar show and settled into a different position this time, slightly more upright. For a stretch of minutes, he didn’t say anything. No jokes. No teasing commentary. Just the low murmur of the cartoon and the occasional click from Suguru’s game.

But Satoru’s eyes never left Suguru.

He found himself tracking the smallest things again— how Suguru’s breathing fell into rhythm with the game’s pace, how his throat moved with each casual swallow, how his expression would shift, just subtly, depending on what was happening on screen. His focus wasn’t dramatic or exaggerated. It was quiet and gentle. And something about that made Satoru feel like the air had gotten thinner.

He cleared his throat, suddenly needing to do something with his voice, with his hands. “You’re, uh, pretty good at the game.”

Suguru leaned back in the chair with a quiet, skeptical sigh. “I can’t tell if that was a joke or not. Your tone sounded genuine, but you also said that right after I died.”

Satoru snorted softly. “I meant it. Mostly.”

Suguru pushed up from the chair, stretching a little before turning toward the bed. “You wanna play?”

Satoru shook his head quickly. “Oh— no, I’m good.”

“Oh well.” With a soft shrug, Suguru padded over and climbed back onto the bed. He tucked his legs up to his chest, arms resting loosely over his knees. His body tilted slightly toward Satoru out of habit, but there was still space between them. It was just enough to feel, just enough to notice.

“Spongebob it is,” he said under his breath.

Satoru glanced over again, this time slower. His gaze rested on Suguru’s profile, on the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the dip of his collarbone just visible through the dark neckline of his shirt. He held the look for a little too long, long enough that Suguru turned and met his gaze with a raised brow.

Their eyes locked for a beat longer than either of them was ready for. Something unsaid flickered between them, hesitation maybe. Or curiosity. Or something else entirely.

Satoru looked away first, eyes snapping back to the bright, exaggerated colors of the show. Suguru followed a moment later, his expression unreadable.

The rest of the night unfolded in quiet layers. They didn’t speak much, but that’s because they didn’t need to. There were occasional bursts of laughter at the ridiculous things happening on the screen— Satoru’s laughter, bright and unfiltered; Suguru’s lower, more controlled, but still real. There were the inevitable moments where their hands brushed when reaching for the same corner of the blanket, or when Suguru shifted just a little closer without realizing. A shoulder touch that lingered or a knee against a knee. It wasn’t dramatic, but there were looks that lasted too long. There were half-smiles and half-meant words, and moments where neither of them said anything at all, just sat in the closeness that came from months of knowing someone and maybe, finally, beginning to know them differently.

And maybe that was what made it so special. Not what was said, but what was slowly, steadily starting to be felt.

Chapter Text

November 1st, Sunday: 5:23 P.M.

(Over text:)
Satoru: “Hey I offered to help clean up the frat house a bit. Do you wanna come with me?”
Suguru: “oh sure. are u leaving right now?”
Satoru: “I guess. We can walk together if you want”
Suguru: “ok i’ll meet u outside by the lot. just give me two minutes to get ready nd whtv. see u”
Satoru: “Sounds good !”
Suguru reacted “👍” to this message

Suguru threw his phone on his bed with a soft thud, the edges of a small, inexplicable smile tugging at his lips. He dragged a hoodie over his head, ran a brush through his dark hair just once, then caught his own eyes in the mirror. A quiet moment. No real reason to be nervous, and yet...

It took him five minutes to get out the door.

The sun was already dipping past the skyline, casting the lot outside in a soft, gray-blue haze. Wind curled in the corners of buildings and scattered leaves across the pavement. With a quick scan, Suguru spotted him— tall, unmistakable, standing near the edge of the lot, head ducked slightly as he nudged the crumbled remains of a leaf with the toe of his shoe. A few black trash bags were held in his hands.

“Satoru,” Suguru called, raising a hand halfway in a small wave. His voice came out more natural than expected. “Ready to go?”

Satoru turned quickly, a flicker of something like relief passing through his expression. “Yeah,” he said, lips curling up. “Let’s go.”

Suguru jogged the last few steps to catch up. They fell into pace side by side, their shadows stretching out long behind them as they made their way toward the frat house.

“Is anyone else coming to clean up, or…?” Suguru asked after a few seconds, stealing a glance up at Satoru’s profile—how his jaw tightened slightly when he walked, how the wind brushed strands of hair over his eyes.

“Uh…” Satoru tilted his head like he had to dig around his memory. “Not that I know of. There’ll probably be a few people lingering around. Nanami might come. He usually does, but I didn’t text him this time.” He paused. “Felt like it’d be nicer if it was just us.”

Suguru gave a small nod, a noncommittal hum in the back of his throat. He kicked a pebble by his foot, watching it skitter off the path. “Makes sense.”

They walked quietly for a beat before Satoru broke the silence.

“It’s getting colder now, isn’t it?” Satoru said, his voice lifting slightly. He looked up at the dusky sky, where clouds were smearing across the last traces of gold.

“Yeah,” Suguru murmured. “Finally getting some of that fall weather.”

The breeze picked up, brushing through their clothes, and Suguru caught a quick glimpse of Satoru’s cheeks— flushed pink, raw from the bite of the wind. His eyelashes, white and soft, flicked down with each blink, brushing against the warmth in his cheeks.

Suguru’s gaze lingered a moment too long.

“You’re like…” he started, then faltered. “You’re kind of the embodiment of December in my head, y’know? You just… remind me of winter. I don’t know. It’s kinda dumb ‘n hard to explain.”

Satoru looked at him with a little spark of surprise, his grin blooming almost immediately. “Okay, I have two things to say to that,” he said. “One— I’m very flattered. December is my birthday month, so thank you for that. And two— December’s barely even winter. Technically, it starts like, December 21st, so that’s only the tail end.”

Suguru huffed a laugh. “Good to know. Won’t mix it up again.”

Satoru gave a shrug, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “I don’t even know how December got to be the face of winter. It’s not even the coldest month. January deserves more credit.”

“You’re very serious about this, aren’t you?” Suguru asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’s kind of fun when you nerd-out like this.”

“I’m not a nerd,” Satoru said with mock offense, shaking his head.

“Really? Okay, Straight-A’s.” Suguru bumped his shoulder lightly. “Still, I’d rather you be a nerd than a dipshit like you usually are.”

“Oh yeah?” Satoru shot back with a grin. “Well, did you know…” he leaned in a little like he was about to tell a secret, “that there’s a type of flea— like a jumping flea or something— that can accelerate faster than a space shuttle? Like, the flea hits 100g, while a shuttle’s more like… 5g. Something like that.”

Suguru blinked as he processed the new information. “That’s… horrifying. I already hated bugs, but thanks for giving me a new reason.”

“Same. I used to love them as a kid, but now they freak me out. Germs, weird little limbs. Just… scary.”

Suguru laughed, then paused. “How’d you get so smart?” he asked, softer now. “It’s cool, actually.” The gentle praise made something flutter in Satoru’s stomach but he shrugged it off. Suguru hesitated to continue, but he did anyway. “I think the last time someone called me smart was like… junior year of high school. Around then.”

Satoru gave him a look, sincere and surprisingly quiet. “What? You are smart. Like, you’re barely off from straight-A’s. And even if your grades were worse, I don’t think that’d mean anything. You’ve got the kind of brain that just... gets things.”

Suguru looked down, letting that sink in. He swallowed, a knot catching in his throat before he could speak again. “If that’s what you think, then… sure.”

Satoru echoed his tone, nodding as they walked. “Then sure.”

And for a few more minutes, they just walked like that— two boys, bruised around the edges from things they couldn’t name yet, warmed by wind and words and the space that lived between them. Not close enough to say everything they meant, but closer than before.

✮✮✮

November 1st, Sunday: 5:30 P.M.

The sky had dulled into a thick stretch of cloudy gray by the time they reached the frat house. The door was a crack open and the low sounds of conversation were being drifted out, along with the occasional shuffling of feet, a laugh, and the scrape of chairs being moved across floors. It wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t crowded either. Most people were off in their own little corners, too busy wiping floors or nursing headaches to pay attention to anyone else. That was fine. Suguru preferred it that way.

Satoru stepped in first, immediately crouching to pick up a crushed red Solo cup off the ground and tossing it into a half-filled garbage bag. He handed a couple extra bags to Suguru without looking up.

“It’s kinda good there’s a few other people here,” he said, brushing his knuckles against his jeans. “The cleaning’ll probably go by fast.”

Suguru caught the edge of a broken beer bottle with the toe of his shoe and nudged it toward the wall before crouching to gather a few empty cans. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll actually get my night back to myself instead of spending it up to my elbows in stale beer.”

Satoru snorted. A sharp crack rang out as he accidentally stepped on another cup. “So— is that your way of telling me we’re not hanging out after this?”

“What? No—” Suguru’s voice pitched up slightly, almost defensive. “I just… didn’t know it was an option.”

“It’s always an option, Suguru,” Satoru said, looking over his shoulder with a grin that softened every edge on his face.

The clarification meant a little more than it should’ve to Suguru. A little more than he wanted it to mean to himself. Suguru shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he turned to toss a few crushed cans into his bag. “Okay,” he said under his breath, voice lower now, almost to himself. 

He hesitated, his body paused mid-motion with hands loose at his sides. There was something crawling up the back of his throat, a twitching thought that wanted out. Before he could talk himself out of it, he spoke again, eyes still down.

“It’s kind of funny,” he said. “How… comfortable you are with me. Even now. I mean, we’ve only known each other for what— three, four months? But you act like I’ve been around forever.” He rubbed his palm down the side of his hoodie. “And I guess I’m the complete opposite. With everyone else, I mean. I keep my distance, and always have. But you...” His voice trailed off. He sucked in a breath and shrugged, trying to mask how hard that little piece of truth had landed in his chest. “You scared me, at first. Not you , exactly. Just… your whole personality. You’re so— loud, and open, and you don’t seem to care what people think. It’s overwhelming.” He looked away. “But that part of you, the part I didn’t get… I think it was the first thing that made me stop pulling away from people. Even just a little.”

Satoru stood quietly across from him, one hand holding a dented soda can. He gave a small laugh, light and unsure. “You were afraid of me?”

“More like intimidated,” Suguru clarified, voice rough with something unspoken. “But yeah. Yet, you’re also the first person who’s ever made me feel like... it was okay to talk.”

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He shifted his weight, walked toward the kitchen island, and dropped the can into the growing trash pile. Then, after a beat, his voice came quieter, lower.

“Well… I’m glad,” he said. “Glad I could help, even if it wasn’t intentional. But if I’m being honest—” He paused. “Lately, I just feel like I haven’t really helped much at all.”

Suguru tilted his head slightly, confusion etched across his face.

Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers snagging on a few strands of hair. “I mean, I’ve been trying to ignore it. But I still get this feeling, sometimes, that you’re not okay. That you’re just acting like you are.” He exhaled, hard. “Like yesterday. At the party. You came out of the bathroom looking like you’d seen a ghost.”

Suguru froze as he remembered his experience in the house’s bathroom. The silence between them stretched long enough to pull taut and his eyes fell to the floor.

“…Yeah,” Suguru said eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t doing great.”

Satoru didn’t move, he just waited and let him come to it. No words, just his presence. And honestly, that’s all Suguru needed. He just needed someone there, and he has him right there.

Do I really want to say this? Suguru thinks. He leaned back against the counter, arms folding over his chest like he was shielding something. “This is… hard to say,” he admitted, brows furrowing. “You remember that project we did together? For HBO? The one about emotional processing and… coping?”

Satoru squints at Suguru like he’s trying to decode something. He gave a small nod. “Of course. That project got us so close.”

Suguru’s fingers curled into his sleeves. He spoke slowly, deliberately. “Well, the thing is… I’m not so great at coping. Not in any of the ways we talked about in class. It’s like— I don’t know how to process… feelings properly. So I’ve picked up, like— habits. Like, to help process the things my brain isn’t doing great at.” Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, why am I saying this? What am I doing? What the fuck? How do I always let him know things I never thought people would know about me? How is it always him? He busied his hands with a nearby disinfectant wipe, sliding it across the counter with unnecessary precision. The movement kept him from looking directly at Satoru.

“Habits like what?” Satoru asked gently, though there was an edge of unease in his voice. His throat worked around the words like they were too dry. 

Suguru faltered and his hands stilled. His heart was thudding hard enough to echo in his ears. “That’s… the part I didn’t really wanna explain,” he muttered, wiping a spot that didn’t need it anymore. “It’s called—” He paused. “It’s called purging,” he finally let out, the confession feeling too big for someone like himself.

He risked a glance up. Satoru was watching him with a look that was unreadable, his blue orbs sharp and quiet, not full of pity but something else entirely. Something Suguru couldn’t name.

“It’s not as dramatic as it sounds,” Suguru rushed out. “It’s just— well, it’s a way of forcing myself to… throw up. And I don’t know why I do it. Not exactly. But I’ve been doing it for a while, and I guess it just stuck.” His mouth tasted dry. He looked away again, voice cracking around the edges. “I’m not trying to worry you. It’s not like I want attention or anything. I’ve just… I’ve never really told anyone before. And now that I’ve said it, I kinda want to rewind and never have said anything at all.” He let out a bitter breath of laughter. “So. Yeah.”

The words had just dropped out with no drama or big breakdown, just a quiet confession that felt heavier than either of them knew how to carry just yet. Suguru didn’t look up to see Satoru’s reaction. He didn’t know if he could.

Satoru glanced around first, his eyes shifting toward the hallway, toward the doorway to make sure it was still only them in the kitchen. The house had grown quieter in the past few minutes, the earlier shuffle of footsteps and crinkling of plastic bags fading into the distance.

And then he stepped closer, just a little. Close enough that Suguru could probably feel the warmth radiating off him.

Satoru hesitated for a beat, his hand half-lifted like it was still deciding what it was meant to do— hovering between Suguru’s shoulder and his arm before finally settling on instinct. “I’m really, really proud of you for saying that, Suguru,” he said, softly. “Thank you.”

And then he moved in for a tight hug before he could think twice.

It wasn’t careful nor was it calculated. His arms wrapped around Suguru like muscle memory, like something he'd wanted to do for longer than he’d admitted to himself. He didn’t fully register what he was doing until they were pressed together, chest to chest, heart to heart.

Suguru froze. Entirely. For a second, it felt like even his blood stopped moving. Even his heart that seemed to be pounding so hard just a few moments ago has completely stilled. He didn’t return the hug right away, too stunned by the heat of Satoru’s body against his own, by how completely, terrifyingly real it felt. But then, in the smallest of exhales, he let his forehead rest gently on Satoru’s shoulder, wrapping a single arm around him. Not tightly or with much force, but with something that still managed to say ‘I need this too’ without words. His body shook— not from cold, but from everything else. The fear. The vulnerability. The damn aching relief of being held.

And Satoru held him like he meant it. Like nothing about this scared him. Like there was nothing weird or shameful about it. His hand rubbed slow circles into Suguru’s back, quiet and grounding.

Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to.

There’s something oddly sacred about a hug, something beyond logic or words. And this one held weight. Weight like wet clothes, like breath caught in the chest, like secrets finally shared. It wasn’t romantic, or at least not outrightly romantic. But it was personal. So deeply, undeniably personal in a way neither of them had prepared for. Their hearts pressed close enough to feel each other’s rhythm. Like some slow, quiet song shared between two bodies that were never quite meant to touch but did anyway.

Satoru’s face was warm. His skin buzzed. He wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or adrenaline, but he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Suguru’s breath ghosted raggedly against his collarbone. His breaths were hot, shaky, and real; it made a strange chill skate up Satoru’s spine. Not bad, but intense. Too real, too much, too good. At the same time, Suguru couldn’t stop his heart from beating louder; faster. He could feel Satoru’s pulse against his own, as if their bodies were syncing in real time. A phantom beat shared across two skins. His eyes stung, and not with grief or pain. But with something else. He didn’t even know how to name it. He was hugging Satoru.

I’m hugging Satoru.

The thought repeated like a quiet alarm in his mind, echoing through every corner of him. His fingers tightened slightly in the back of Satoru’s shirt. Something deep and heavy lodged in his throat.

He cleared it gently and gave one small, final pat on Satoru’s back as a signal for release. Satoru understood and his arms loosened, the space between them growing again. But the space didn’t feel cold. Not really, no. It was just quieter.

They both looked at each other— too long, too intently.

Suguru blinked once and looked away, dragging a sleeve over his eyes. “Thanks,” he whispered. “For… listening. And caring. And not freaking out.” He swallowed, trying to push the lump in his throat down. “I’m really sorry I left you alone all those days. I wasn’t avoiding you— well, maybe I was. But not because I didn’t care. I just… didn’t know how to accept help, I guess.”

Satoru didn’t answer, not right away. Suguru stepped forward by just a hair, some part of his body still instinctively wanting the warmth Satoru had given. Not body heat, exactly. It’s different from that . That kind of warmth that leaks out when someone holds you like you matter. He caught himself before getting too close again, and shifted his weight back instead.

“Yeah, I—” Satoru let out a small breath of a laugh, scratching behind his neck. “I was hoping for that outcome. Y’know. You talking n’ opening up to me. Not the hug. But… I guess I kinda did that part on my own.”

“Yeah,” Suguru breathed, his voice hoarse from emotion he hadn’t let out yet. “It’s okay. I… think I needed it.”

He finally lifted his head to meet Satoru’s gaze again. For once, he didn’t look away. And Satoru’s eyes were so blue. Too blue. Lit up under the sterile bulbs like cut glass or stained water or something you only see when you’re standing too close. Suguru had never looked at them this long, as he never let himself.

He didn’t realize he was staring until the moment broke— when someone else stepped into the kitchen with a shuffle of sneakers and the click of a light switch.

“Hey, guys— this actually looks really clean. Thanks for the help!” a girl with jet-black hair said as she passed through. Her hand was laced with someone else’s, a blonde girl trailing close behind. “I think everyone’s heading out now, so… if you guys wanna leave too.”

She gave a cheerful nod, then pulled the front door open. The soft chime echoed behind her as she left. Other footsteps followed, in trickles and waves until the house gradually emptied.

Still, Suguru and Satoru stood there glued to the spot. Like their bodies hadn’t quite registered the shift around them. Like the conversation, the hug, the way Suguru’s voice had cracked— none of it had really faded yet.

Eventually, Satoru cleared his throat, eyes flicking toward the door. “You wanna walk around in the park for a bit?” he asked, voice careful now. Gentle.

Suguru looked at him, just looked. And then he finally nodded.

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, quieter this time. “Why not.”

He stepped out first, and Satoru followed, pulling the door shut behind them.

The air outside was cooler than before.

But not as cold as it had been.

✮✮✮

November 1st, Sunday: 6:08 P.M.

The walk to the park didn’t take long, but it stretched just enough for their silence to feel comfortable. Side by side, they passed the familiar streets that led them away from campus and into something quieter, gentler. The moment their shoes met the curved edge of the sidewalk that split into the park’s gravel path, something about the air changed. The sun was beginning to dip now, casting a soft gold over everything. Kids squealed on swing sets, their laughter ringing like chimes through the crisp autumn air. The gravel crunched under passing joggers. Somewhere nearby, a couple’s conversation floated into the wind, their words too low to catch but soft enough to feel like background music. It all blended into something that felt calm. The kind of calm that settles not just in your body, but deep in your head, too.

“I actually come around here like… all the time,” Satoru said, his voice low as if raised voices might disrupt the stillness around them. He glanced sideways at Suguru. “You remember that time you asked why I was out so late? It was ‘cause I was here. Walking.”

Suguru gave a small, curious hum.

“The park’s just… a good place to clear your head,” Satoru continued, his sigh a little heavier now, though still soft. “I thought talking out here would be better than being cooped up in one of our dorms. This way, we can just breathe for a while. It’s easier out here.”

He smiled down at Suguru— not the usual teasing one, but something quieter. Something real.

Suguru nodded slowly. “Yeah. Good idea.”

Their steps matched without thought, their shoulders brushing just slightly now and then. They walked in silence for another few feet until Suguru suddenly paused, his arm instinctively shooting out in front of Satoru.

“Wait— watch your step,” he murmured, gently pressing a hand against Satoru’s stomach to halt him.

Satoru blinked, looking down— and there it was. A small, shiny, black beetle crawling across the path, right in the line of Satoru’s next step.

“Oh.” He glanced down at the beetle, then back up at Suguru’s hand which was still lightly resting on him. “Thought you didn’t like bugs.”

“I don’t,” Suguru replied, removing his hand with a short breath of a laugh. “But… I don’t know. It didn’t deserve to die just because we weren’t looking. We’re the ones stomping around here like ogres. That thing’s just trying to get where it’s going.”

Satoru crouched down with a grin, gently herding the beetle toward the grass with the edge of his shoe. “Go on, dude. That way. The grass is literally right there.”

Suguru shook his head, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “I could never get that close to a bug, no matter how much I respect its place in the world.”

Satoru stood back up, brushing his hands on his pants. “I think I’m fine with four legs. Anything more and I’m done for.”

“I think that’s fair.”

They kept walking. For a little while, all they said was nothing at all, just the rhythm of their feet on the path, the distant murmur of life around them, and the unspoken pulse of everything still lingering in the space between them. Then Satoru spoke again.

“So… back to what we’re here for.” His voice was quieter now, more careful. “I know you said you don’t really know why you purge, but… are there, like… I don’t know. Patterns? Stuff that usually happens before?”

Suguru took a long breath, exhaling slowly as if trying to filter through too many thoughts all at once. “I… yeah. I think so.” He kept his gaze ahead. “It usually starts when I’ve been alone too long. Thinking too hard, letting stuff settle in my chest and stay there. Then the urge hits. It’s like this pressure— throat, chest, everything. I don’t even really know how to explain it. It’s not logical.” He paused, kicking at a leaf near his shoe.

“I mean, I should get it, right? I’m studying this stuff every day. I take psych classes, I take med classes, I’m always being told how the mind works. But it’s so much easier to understand other people than it is to figure yourself out.”

He shrugged. “Saying it out loud is… new. Kinda hard and weird.”

Satoru nodded, absorbing every word with the kind of listening that feels rare. “That’s okay. It doesn’t have to come out clean, or fully formed. I just… I’m really grateful you’re saying anything. A couple weeks ago, I didn’t even know if I’d hear your voice again, not really.” He looked over, his smile faint but steady. “I’d rather take an unpolished truth than some rehearsed thing meant to keep me away. Even if you don’t have the whole answer yet… I’m still here. I want to understand you. I care.”

Suguru’s stomach fluttered, warmth crawling up his neck. He turned his face toward the trees, pretending to watch the branches sway, hiding the heat he knew was rising in his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “That means a lot, Satoru.”

Satoru chuckled under his breath. “You know, it’s really nice hearing you say my first name like that. Like, calm and quiet. It’s different from when you first said it. This feels… better.”

Suguru glanced at him, a small smile returning to his lips. “That’s comforting to hear,” he murmured, glancing over to a small squirrel gathering acorns. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you for sticking around like that.”

“You don’t have to,” Satoru replied. “Really. If you want to ‘repay’ me, just stay. Let me keep knowing you. That’s enough.”

Suguru looked down at his hands, then at the leaves blowing in soft circles around their feet.

“I won’t leave again,” he said. His voice was steadier now, fuller. “I promise.”

Satoru turned toward him with a grin, sticking out his pinky. “Pinky promise?”

Suguru snorted softly, linking his pinky around Satoru’s. “Yeah. I pinky-promise.”

The sun dipped lower as they kept walking. They made slow laps around the park— talking sometimes, falling quiet other times. Their conversation moved from serious things to nonsense and back again, like it always did. At some point, it stopped being about what they were saying and more about the fact that they were still saying things at all.

When the sky turned the soft orange of an early autumn sunset, they started walking back to campus. By seven, the park had quieted, and the cool air chased them into their dorms.

Satoru hung around in Suguru’s room for a little while, just long enough to stretch out the night. They didn’t talk about anything new. They didn’t need to. Presence was enough.

Eventually, Satoru stood up, tugging his hoodie over his head with a quiet groan. Suguru walked him to the door.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” he whispered, leaning against the doorframe as the white-haired boy padded down the hallway.

Satoru paused with his hand on his doorknob, glancing back over his shoulder— almost like he expected Suguru to still be there. And when he wasn’t, he smiled to himself. “Goodnight, Suguru,” he said quietly to no one, stepping inside.

And then the hallway fell quiet again.

Chapter Text

November 3rd, Wednesday: 4:07 P.M.

Suguru and Satoru had decided to go to the café together, as Satoru needed to study for an upcoming quiz, and Suguru had a few lingering assignments to finish from another class. Nothing intense, but just enough to warrant a setting that both of them were familiar and comfortable with. It was the kind of lazy academic weight that sat better with the quiet hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs on saucers. And really, everything felt a little more manageable with someone sitting across from you.

Suguru got there first, the doorbell chime sounding soft as he entered. He set his things down at a small table near the back by the window, where the sunlight was starting to mellow into that bright afternoon glow. Without thinking too much, he ordered a black coffee with three pumps of sugar, which was just enough to keep himself awake, but not too sweet. His body was already begging for a nap, but he needed to stay awake and alert, and coffee was the only way through. It was a surprising decision for himself to make, as he hasn’t had coffee in ages. He was genuinely addicted to a point that he needed to stop drinking caffeine altogether, but he thought it'd been long enough of a break that he’d be fine.

The ceramic mug arrived moments later, steam curling in gentle wisps from the surface, filling the space with that rich, slightly bitter aroma. Suguru inhaled the ambrosial scent absently as he opened his laptop, the faint glow lighting up the more angular parts of his face. He rubbed one eye and began to type, the clicking of keys blending into the background noise of the café.

Then came the familiar jingle of the café door. Suguru looked up just in time to see Satoru blow in with all his usual fanfare, his white hair windblown, his grin dramatic, his wave to Suguru so big it made a few people turn and glance. Suguru exhaled a tiny, fond laugh, lowering his gaze back to his screen as Satoru jogged over and dropped into the chair across from him like he owned the place.

"Quite the sweet tooth, I see," Suguru said after watching Satoru excitedly ordered a mocha drink piled high with marshmallow cold foam and chocolate drizzle, and a plate of brookies— some half-melted hybrid between a brownie and a cookie. Suguru raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused.

Satoru only grinned wider, pulling his laptop from his bag and flopping open a textbook beside it. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Brownie plus cookie combined into one pastry. It’s genuinely perfect, I swear.” He nudged the plate toward Suguru. “You should try it. Expand your dessert horizons.”

Suguru shook his head lightly. “I don’t trust anything with a name that sounds like a cartoon dog. And anyway, who even orders that much sugar willingly ? My coffee already feels excessive with just three sugars in it. You’re probably gonna crash after like… two hours max.”

“Three sugars in a black coffee is still edging toward self-loathing,” Satoru countered, slurping loudly at his mocha. “Like, do you want flavor or not?”

“It’s called subtlety. You should try it sometime.” Suguru’s voice was dry, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he typed another few words.

Satoru rolled his eyes at Suguru before groaning as he flipped to the next page in his textbook. “Ugh, this professor is the absolute definition of an asshole. I swear he gave us this quiz out of spite. Like, I’ve never studied for anything in my life and I was doing just fine. Why ruin the streak now?”

“Oh no, you have to study?” Suguru mocked softly, peering over his screen. “How unnatural. How cruel. My condolences to you and your noble streak of coasting through academia.”

“I don’t coast,” Satoru muttered, sulking into his textbook like a petulant child. “I glide.”

Suguru chuckled under his breath, brushing his thumb along the rim of his coffee cup. “You’ll be fine, Satoru. Seriously. You’re smart— scarily so, actually. You just like pretending you’re not because it’s easier than trying.” His voice softened toward the end, almost fond. “You’ll pass. Like always.”

That earned a rare, slightly flustered pause from Satoru. He blinked down at the page in front of him, willing his face not to warm. “Yeah. I— yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks.”

“Mmhm.” Suguru took a sip of his coffee, the steam painting a soft fog against his face for a moment. His fingers returned to the keyboard with a bit more energy, maybe from the caffeine, maybe from Satoru’s presence, he wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t really care all that much.

Meanwhile, Satoru found himself rereading the same sentence three times. He’d caught himself watching the curve of Suguru’s soft lips press against the coffee rim, the slow blink of his lashes as he read something closely, the way the café light made the bright violet specks in his eyes look deeper, quieter. He tore his gaze away, eyes snapping back to the textbook. Words , he told himself. Just read the words .

But it was no use. The air between them felt thick in the best way, like how warmth pools between two hearts that thump against one another in a tight embrace.

And maybe that was the part they didn’t talk about, how much the silence between them had started to say.

✮✮✮

After a few laughs and teases, Suguru began to notice the subtle ways Satoru was slipping— not a lot, but just enough for concern to begin blooming quietly in his chest. The way his eyebrows furrowed at the screen, the anxious tapping of his foot against the hardwood floor, the impatient drumming of his fingers against the table. None of it was loud, but all of it was loud to Suguru. The easy grin Satoru had worn only moments earlier had started to fade, replaced by something tighter around the eyes, more forced at the corners of his mouth.

“How’s the material coming along?” Suguru asked, his voice softer now, gentle and unobtrusive as it blended into the café’s low hum.

Gojo glanced up briefly. “Oh, it’s okay. Some of this stuff is just so dumb. Kinda tricky.”

Suguru nodded, not pushing. “It’s alright. It’ll click soon. If you need help, I’m right here.” He turned his eyes back to his screen, trying to ease off, though something about Gojo’s tone still clung to him.

That’s probably just his “studying face,” he reasoned. Or maybe he’s just tired. But the longer Suguru sat, the more restless Satoru seemed. His fingers moved faster. His shoulders stayed tense. The edges of his textbook were starting to wrinkle under his grip. Suguru watched it all in his periphery, then exhaled slowly through his nose, tapping his fingers against his mug. Do I ask again? Is that too much? He glanced over again, noting the untouched plate of brookies and the beads of condensation trailing down the sides of Satoru’s mocha.

“Hey, Satoru,” he said gently, nudging the plate slightly toward him. “Your brookies are gonna get cold. You should take a quick break to eat some. And your mocha’s halfway to becoming chocolate soup. I know you hate when it gets watered down.”

Suguru offered a soft smile, one of those rare, low-effort ones that didn’t quite reach full expression but still felt warm in a quiet, private, way.

Satoru blinked, the smallest flicker of hesitation behind his eyes before he smiled back— too fast, too polished. It wasn’t a real one, not the ones Suguru was used to seeing. It was a smile you put on for other people, not for yourself.

“Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me.” He grabbed a brookie with one hand and his mocha with the other, settling back into his chair as he took a sip.

“You’re always like this,” Suguru murmured with a slight shake of his head and a half-laugh.

“Like what?” Satoru said, grinning.

Suguru shrugged, eyes tracing the condensation still on Satoru’s cup. “You’re just always… smiling, all confident and big energy. I’ve never really seen you outside of that. Sometimes I wonder if you ever take a break from it.”

Satoru’s grin faltered for the briefest moment, just a flash, and then returned, a little smaller. “Really? I mean… yeah. I guess that’s just kinda how I am.”

Suguru studied him for a second. There was something more, obviously. It was something left unsaid hovering just under the surface. It made Suguru tilt his laptop screen down a bit, his expression shifting into something quieter, more intentional.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready for,” he said carefully, “but I’ve been around enough to know when someone’s pushing something down. I’m not trying to dig. I just want you to know I’m here if you need someone to listen. I hope you know that.”

There was a long pause. Satoru didn’t look up right away; his eyes stayed fixed on the uneven grain of the wood table, lips slightly parted like he was working through the right words.

“…You know,” he said after a beat, voice softer, “I think the first time I smiled on purpose was when I was, like… five.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, surprised at the shift. “What do you mean, ‘on purpose’?”

A more natural, quieter smile shaped Satoru’s lips as he sat back in his chair, thumb brushing lightly against the side of his cup.

“I remember looking at my mom one night, and she just looked so tired. Not just physically, but like… in her eyes. I didn’t know what to do about it, but I figured… if I smiled, maybe she’d feel better. So I did, big and awkward and goofy. And she smiled back. Like… really smiled. And something about that stuck.”

That made Suguru pause, the shift from casual teasing to quiet honesty catching him off guard in the best way. He closed his laptop fully now and rested his arms on the table.

“So you just… kept doing it?”

“Yeah. I think it became my thing,” Satoru admitted. “Smiling, being loud, looking like everything’s always fine. Especially after I realized she didn’t really have anyone else. My dad left before I was even born, so it’s always been just the two of us. I figured… if I could keep things light, make her laugh, distract her— then maybe I could give something back. Something that didn’t cost her anything.”

Suguru’s expression softened. “That’s… kind of sweet, actually. It’s like you turned yourself into her safe place.”

Satoru laughed, but it wasn’t teasing. It was self-conscious, tired. “Or her jester.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Suguru said quietly. “But I do think… that kind of giving can become second nature before you even realize you’ve stopped receiving anything back.”

Satoru looked over at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “So what, you think I’ve been pretending all this time? ‘Cause that’s not true. Maybe with other people, sure. But, at least when I’m with you, it's like I don’t have to force a smile or pretend I’m someone else. You… you let me be my real self.”

“No,” Suguru said immediately, voice steady. “Not pretending. I just think… sometimes we start out doing something for someone else and don’t realize how much it’s shaped who we are. But what you said about being around me lets you be your real self? That means a lot to me.”

Satoru looked down again, but this time it was with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth— real, subtle, and heavy with something unspoken.

“Thanks,” he said. “Really.”

Suguru nodded, then glanced at the textbook in front of Satoru. “So, was that frown just study stress, or something else?”

Satoru rolled his eyes with a groan, leaning back. “A bit of both. I hate when I don’t understand stuff as quickly as I could. Makes me feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Suguru replied, almost instinctively. “Just human. And if it helps, you’re only an idiot outside of class.”

That pulled a laugh out of Satoru— a real one this time— and Suguru smiled, satisfied.

“Seriously, though,” Suguru added, “you’re allowed to have those moments where you’re… you don’t always have to be the best in the room. It’s normal to feel a little behind, there’s bound to be bumps— all you have to do is get over them. Don’t focus on it too hard and don’t put all your energy into it. Just— can’t believe I’m telling you this, but— take it easy. You don’t need to be perfect all the time.”

Satoru looked at him, blue eyes warmer than the coffee between them. “Yeah,” he said, “I will. Man, I don’t know how you’re so— you always know what to say. Thanks for all the help.”

“Well, don’t undermine yourself. You help me just as much. Probably more.” Suguru said with a sigh, gathering his things with a half-smile, “even if you’re a dumbass half of the time.”

“It’s the sacrifices you make for a guy like me.” Satoru grinned. “Wanna head back to your dorm? Maybe you can help me pretend to study.”

Suguru stood up, tucking a strand of midnight behind his ear. “Only if we stop and grab to-go lids. I’m not letting your mocha melt on my desk.”

Satoru was already packing. “Deal.”

And just like that, they were off, back into the late afternoon, warmth still lingering between them like the last sips of coffee in their cups.

✮✮✮

November 12th, Friday: 1:59 P.M.

Grades are coming out at 2:00. I don’t know if I did too good on that quiz…

Satoru stepped away from the half-eaten meal cooling on the kitchen counter, the edge of his fork still resting against a wilted piece of spinach. He rubbed the back of his neck as he headed toward his bedroom, heart rate picking up in that quiet, anticipatory way that doesn’t quite qualify as panic, but isn’t peace either.

I couldn’t have done that bad, he told himself again, shaking his head like the motion alone might knock the nerves out. I studied. I actually studied for this one. The quiz didn’t feel great, but I wasn’t totally lost. Right?

Laptop tucked under his arm, he padded back into the kitchen and slid onto the barstool, setting it down beside his plate, a soft clack of metal on granite following. He scooped another bite of white rice into his mouth, chewing absently, spoon still hanging between his lips as he lifted the screen. The familiar glow blinked to life, and he typed in his password with fingers that were just slightly too stiff.

One hand hovered over the trackpad. His gaze lingered on the homepage. Just check it. Rip the band-aid. It can’t be that bad. He clicked open the gradebook, then refreshed. Once, then twice, and ending at three times. Finally, the number appeared.

73.5%.

His breath stalled. The spoon slipped slightly from his mouth. He reached up to pull it out with slow fingers, hand still frozen in place after the motion. His eyes didn’t leave the screen.

A C-minus? He stared like the number might flicker, might shift into something that made sense. A typo, maybe. A system error? He refreshed again.

73.5%. His chest felt hollow and tight at once, something sinking in the middle of him like a swallowed stone. Not even a B? I didn’t even pass? His thoughts didn’t tumble, rather, they dropped, blunt and gracelessly. I don’t fail. That’s not me.

He shut the laptop hard— too hard, maybe— and the sound cracked across the kitchen. Still, it wasn’t loud enough to shake off the pressure blooming just beneath his ribs. His body moved on autopilot, pushing back from the counter as he paced toward the wall, then back again, then toward the small hallway between his kitchen and the bathroom. He didn’t go into either room. He just walked, turned, and walked again.

His pulse thudded in his ears, too hot behind his face. His jaw clenched as a hand dragged through his hair and stayed there, gripping the back of his head like it might hold the thoughts in.

What did I miss? Where did I go wrong? I read everything. I did the review sheet twice. I actually asked questions this time. That should’ve meant something. That should’ve worked.

He pressed the heel of his palm against his eye socket, like maybe he could physically smudge the disappointment out of himself. I can’t—
His throat caught.

I can’t be someone who fails.

Satoru Gojo didn’t fail. That had been his unspoken rule since he was ten years old, when he started realizing what “perfect” looked like and decided it would be easier to embody it than risk disappointing anyone. His mom, his teachers, himself.

I don’t fail. I keep things together. I make people laugh. I’m the one who doesn’t break.

His pacing slowed. He found himself standing by the window, one arm wrapped across his chest, hand gripping the edge of his bicep like he needed to hold something, or anything, together.

Outside, the wind stirred a few brittle leaves across the pavement. The sky was cloudy, full of a sallow light that made everything look a little dimmer than it actually was.

He watched a bird land on a telephone wire. It tilted its head, feathers fluffing up against the wind. It didn’t seem to care about grades or expectations or living up to an image of invincibility.

Satoru exhaled, shaky and uneven, his breath fogging the glass, then vanishing.

Suguru’s words came back— not in any grand, echoing revelation, but in a quiet, persistent whisper. 

“It’s normal to feel a little behind. There’s bound to be bumps.”

“…take it easy.”

“You don’t need to be perfect all the time.”

Satoru shut his eyes and pressed his forehead lightly against the cool windowpane. His heart was still loud and his mind was still tangled. But something in Suguru’s voice, something gentle , replayed in the space between all the noise.

“You help me just as much. Probably more.” His shoulders finally dropped, just an inch. But it was something.

The laptop stayed closed on the counter behind him and the rice had gone cold. But he wasn’t pacing anymore. He just stood there, quiet, breathing unevenly through the aftermath of something small but heavy.

And in his chest, that familiar, whispering ache lingered. The one he didn’t always have words for. The one that said, Don’t mess up. Don’t let anyone see it. But maybe… just maybe, it was okay that someone already had.

✮✮✮

November 12th, Friday: 9:30 P.M.

Suguru: hey did u get ur results back yet?
Suguru: how’d it go?

Satoru sat slouched against the headboard of his bed, thumb half-scrolling through a muted meme page on his phone, attention not really landing anywhere. The buzz of Suguru’s name across the top of his screen drew his focus like a magnet, and the tiniest grin crept up— reflexive and automatic, like it always was when it was Suguru.

He tapped open the message thread. For a second, he debated lying, or brushing it off with a joke, or even just saying something vague like “eh, it was fine.” But what would be the point? Suguru always saw through that kind of thing anyway.

He sighed and typed, his fingers slower than usual, like the words were heavier now.

Satoru: Not great. Actually, bad.
Satoru: I’m actually a bit ashamed to even say it, but I got a 73.5%
Satoru: .5 my ass, as if that little decimal does anything. I officially have a least favorite professor.

He stared at the screen for a second after sending it, thumb hovering above the keyboard even though he had nothing else to add. That number still sat at the back of his head like a rock in his shoe— small, but obnoxiously present. He hated how it made him feel like something cracked inside the image he tried so hard to keep polished. 

The response came faster than he expected.

Suguru: ah that’s alright , it’s one tiny grade. ur overall won’t be that bad. even if it is, you still have a few weeks till the end of the term to raise it up.
Suguru: u can come over if you want. i’m bored and i’d rather talk in person since my phoe about to die.
Suguru: *pjone
Suguru: *phone
Suguru: hurry up

Satoru laughed under his breath. Suguru’s typing had clearly devolved into fatigue—or apathy toward autocorrect. Either way, it was endearing. The kind of thing that made Satoru feel like he was being pulled somewhere soft, somewhere safe.

He could picture Suguru now, curled up under that ridiculously large blanket with his laptop balanced on his legs and one of his stupid psychology PDFs open, the text unreadable but the thought comforting. Suguru didn’t offer his space to just anyone, so, that meant something.

Satoru’s grin returned, quieter this time, lopsided and genuine.

Satoru: I’ll be there
Satoru: 2 seconds!!

He tossed his phone onto the bed and stood up, the weight in his chest loosening just enough for him to breathe more easily.

Meanwhile, in his dorm just a turn away, Suguru leaned his head against the window frame, watching the wind shake the last stubborn leaves from the tree outside. His phone sat facedown beside him now, but he could still feel the echo of Satoru’s grade in his chest.

A 73.5%. Not even close to the Satoru he knew— the Satoru who seemed to effortlessly ace things without even looking at the page twice. But the thing was, it made Satoru more real, more reachable , more like someone who could lean on someone else for once.

Suguru wasn’t glad that Satoru was upset. But he was glad that Satoru trusted him enough to say it; to show it. That was rare. People didn’t see Gojo Satoru when he was unsure of himself. They saw the glow, the shine, the laugh, the cocky grin. But Suguru got to see underneath that and that meant something too.

He flipped his phone over again, rereading the last message. 2 seconds!! Suguru smiled softly and reached for the blanket already falling off the side of his bed. Guess I should light that candle you like. The brown sugar vanilla one. He didn’t text it, but he was already up and digging through his drawer.

✮✮✮

With a quick glance in the mirror, just to make sure his hair wasn’t doing anything too weird, Satoru grabbed his phone and headed out of his dorm. His feet moved on muscle memory, barely making any sound against the floors as he took the familiar route toward Suguru’s room. 

Within what felt like a blink, he was already outside Suguru’s door, hand raised and rapping his knuckles against the wood, fast, loud, and barely rhythmic.

Knockknockknockknockknock.

Suguru opened the door with impeccable timing, cutting the noise off with a single twist of the handle and a flat look. “You’re literally the only person who knocks at my door like that.” His voice was dry, but his lips betrayed him— curving up into a subtle smirk.

Satoru waltzed inside without missing a beat. “Exactly. It’s my signature move. So, if an evil clone of me ever shows up and knocks normally , you’ll know it’s not me. You’re welcome for the security system.”

Suguru huffed a laugh under his breath, already retreating into his room. “God forbid the evil normal knocker shows up.”

Satoru followed him in, the low glow of the room already calming him more than he expected. Something about this space always did that. It was quiet without being silent. Personal without feeling suffocating. Warm without a heater on.

He took one deep inhale and blinked. “Wait. Did you light the one I like? The candle that made me almost eat the wax last time?”

“Possibly.” Suguru didn’t look back, just shrugged casually as he sank into the middle of his bed, criss-crossing his legs. The soft flicker of the brown sugar vanilla candle danced faintly against the walls. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have it going. You seemed like you needed it.”

Satoru dropped onto the bed beside him with far less grace, landing in a heap of limbs and sighs, his snowy hair flopping messily over his forehead. “Thanks. You always know what I need before I even say anything.”

A beat passed before Suguru spoke again, this time a bit more gently. “So… how’d you feel about the quiz result? You didn’t freak out, right? Remember what I said last week?” He turned to look at Satoru more directly now, earnest. “But, if you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine too. Whatever pace you want.”

Satoru stared at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a small, sheepish laugh. “Nah, I’d rather talk about it. I think if I don’t, I’ll just keep obsessing over it. Acceptance is key, right?” He scratched his temple with one hand. “I mean, I did kinda freak out… just a little. But your words actually helped. That’s the only reason I didn’t start spiraling about it for hours. So, thanks for that. Really.”

Suguru gave a small nod, the smile on his lips soft and knowing. “That’s good. I mean it when I say I think it’s dumb that you even have to stress about this stuff. You did fine . It’s not like you flunked out of the program. One bad grade doesn’t erase the hundred good ones.”

He found himself staring again, at the way Satoru’s hair looked even messier up close, at the way the oversized shirt hung loose around his shoulders, at the tiny pilled spot on his pajama pants. His usual aura— bright, untouchable, larger-than-life— was gone. What was left was just a boy. His friend. A very real boy who looked tired and vulnerable and softer than Suguru was used to. The vulnerability in his expression lit a small spark in Suguru’s chest. It struck him in a strange way. So much so that he had to tear his gaze away before he thought too hard about it.

“Yeah. I guess,” Satoru murmured, pulling one leg up to his chest. His fuzzy Zelda socks left tiny tufts of lint behind on the blanket, but neither of them seemed to care. “I think it’s just… I hate the idea of failure. Like, not even failing outright, but just falling short . It makes me feel like I’m not living up to this idea I’ve had in my head forever— that I’m supposed to be good at everything. Like, that’s just the default . Perfection’s always been the goal. Changing that mindset’s like trying to tear down a wall with a spoon.”

“Of course it feels like that.” Suguru leaned back, folding his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. “Those beliefs run deep. They're not just thoughts, they’re— they’re kinda like armor. And it takes time to wear all that stuff down. My mom used to tell me something dumb when I was little— ‘Worrying about dumb things is a dumb thing to do.’ I used to laugh at how basic it sounded, but like, looking now, she was right. If it’s not life-or-death, it probably doesn’t need to consume your brain like it is.”

Satoru glanced sideways, watching the soft flicker of candlelight play across Suguru’s face. “Well, lucky for me, I’ve got you to remind me not to be dumb.”

Suguru turned toward him with a quiet smile. “Exactly. And since you hate being called dumb so much, you should probably stop worrying about a decimal point.”

Satoru chuckled, the laugh breathy and real. “You’re dangerous with how right you always are. I like that little saying though. It sticks.”

“And look,” Suguru added, shifting a little on the mattress, “I’m not saying you’re gonna get over this overnight. These habits— you’ve built them over years. But every time you talk about it? That’s another brick down. You’re making progress even when you don’t realize it.”

“Yeah…” Satoru’s voice was lower now. “You always manage to calm me down. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Like this ?” Suguru said with a deep, overly suave voice, puffing out his chest slightly with mock pride.

Satoru snorted, shoulders shaking. “Yeah— just like that. You should go into motivational speaking with that tone.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’d charm the crowd into oblivion.” Suguru smirked, his face finally relaxing into something entirely warm.

The room settled into a stillness then, soft and lived-in, with the kind of silence that didn’t beg to be filled. Just two boys, a half-finished candle, and the comfort of knowing that, for once, neither of them had to pretend.

✮✮✮

November 12th, Friday: 11:39 P.M.

The two of them had now migrated from the bedroom to the couch, a large white blanket printed with tiny gray cats stretched lazily over their legs and torsos. The living room was cast in a hush of shadow, the only lights still on being the gentle flicker of the candle on the coffee table and the bright, saturated wash of the TV screen, which lit their faces in passing hues— pale blues and reds, soft pinks fading into white.

Some cliché K-Drama played across the screen (Satoru’s pick, obviously) and somehow, despite himself, Suguru had gotten fully roped in. One minute he was teasing Satoru about watching “overly dramatic TV soap operas,” and the next he was leaning forward with wide eyes, genuinely invested in whether the second-lead love interest was going to get his chance.

“No, literally— like… why did the guy go with that other girl and pretend he was in the right? That’s crazy. They’re not gonna end up together, right?” Suguru asked, his head halfway turned to Satoru, but his eyes refusing to leave the screen.

Satoru chuckled at Suguru’s transformation. “Dude, I don’t know. She better not even think about going back to him. He’s evil.”

“Evil. Pure, pure evil.” Suguru shook his head, mouth slightly open like he still couldn’t believe it. Then, glancing toward the digital clock on the cable box, he added, “Oh— hold on. I need to brush my hair. It gets incredibly knotted in the night for some reason. Pause the show real quick, I’ll go get my brush and come back.”

Satoru leaned forward to grab the remote, the blanket shifting with him, and hit pause as the screen froze on a dramatic, slow-motion teardrop. As Suguru rolled off the couch and padded toward his room, the sudden quiet settled in comfortably. It wasn’t awkward, wasn’t stiff. Rather, it was peaceful.

Satoru sank a little deeper into the couch cushions, the soft weight of the blanket grounding him. His eyes drifted to the flickering candle. That same scent again, the one purely sweet and emitting enough fragrance to smell like a freshly baked good. It was quickly becoming associated with these nights, these quiet pockets of time with Suguru. His eyes half-closed for a moment as he let his thoughts drift.

It’s kinda homey at this time with him. His night routine, his shoulders relaxed, his hair kinda messy. Everything about him just feels… safe. Like, familiar. He’s not trying too hard to be anything. He just is. I don’t know, it’s—

“Satoru! Give me two more seconds, I’m gonna change into something comfier,” Suguru called from the bedroom, interrupting Satoru’s internal ramble.

“Okay, that’s cool,” Satoru called back, stretching his arms up until his spine gave a satisfying little crack. He let out a content sigh and stretched his legs onto the ottoman, the blanket slipping slightly off his shin.

Back in the bedroom, Suguru was standing by his dresser, tugging open a drawer with a small huff. He stared into it for a beat too long, debating. Did he really want to change into his usual sleep attire— just boxers and no shirt— with Satoru still over?

Absolutely not , his brain answered instantly.

T-shirt, obviously. Wear a T-shirt, dumbass. He shook his head at the very thought of walking out shirtless. That’s weird. You weirdo . He grabbed a navy shirt from the drawer, one of his older ones. It clung slightly around the arms and chest now, but it was still comfy and reliable. Good enough. He yanked it over his head, fingers running through the hem before he grabbed his brush and opened the bedroom door again.

The soft glow of the candle caught on the curves of his arms as he returned, his frame lit by the television light like something right out of a movie. Satoru, already sitting up straighter, quickly reached for the remote and hit play, trying his best not to notice how tight the shirt was over Suguru’s shoulder blades, or how easy it was to notice. God, why do I have to notice that now? Why am I looking? He’s just brushing his hair. Just brushing his hair, Satoru. Get a grip.

Suguru plopped back onto the couch, landing an inch closer than where he’d been sitting before. Close enough for Satoru to feel the faint warmth of his leg under the blanket. He didn’t dare move.

Sweeping his hair over one shoulder, Suguru started running the brush through the long strands, his brows furrowing every time he hit a snag. He didn’t complain, but Satoru noticed the little twitches of discomfort, a wince here and there, his fingers pausing mid-brush.

Satoru glanced again, his voice speaking without permission from his brain. “Do you… want some help?”

“Huh?” Suguru turned his head briefly, then caught on. “Oh— my hair? Uh, yeah. Sure, why not.” He passed the comb into Satoru’s hand and turned more fully to the side, gathering his hair behind him. “Try not to kill me.”

Satoru chuckled softly as he took the brush with one hand, his fingers just barely grazing Suguru’s as he did. His breath hitched, just barely .

He looked down at the thick, glossy black strands now lying across Suguru’s back like silk curtains, catching faint glints from the screen. How does it always look like this? Carefully, he brought the brush through the ends— slow, deliberate, gentle. Trying not to tug, trying not to be obvious about how tender he was being.

The silence around them shifted, more weighted now. He could feel Suguru’s breath slowing, feel the slight lean of his shoulders relaxing. With every brush stroke, Satoru could feel something in his own chest unwinding; quiet, unspoken tension loosening bit by bit.

The candle flickered, the K-Drama continued in the background, and neither of them said anything for a moment. It felt… right, almost intimate, without being declared. Like something they weren’t ready to name just yet.

Once Satoru had gotten all the tangles out, Suguru tied his hair in a low, loose bun, a small clip pinning back his bangs. He looked completely different but exactly the same in some comforting way like this, something that Satoru liked more than he felt he should.

✮✮✮

November 13th, Saturday: 2:03 A.M.

By now, both of their eyes were half-lidded, heavy with the weight of the hour. The dim blue light of the TV flickered across their faces, casting soft shadows and subtle highlights, the final scenes of the penultimate episode drifting by in a blur of slow-motion stares and tearful confessions. Outside, the wind rustled faintly against the windowpane, but inside, it was all quiet warmth.

As the outro music faded in, too cheerful and too awake for the moment, Suguru turned his head slowly toward Satoru. His movements were languid, dreamlike, like even that small motion took effort now.

“Finish the last episode?” he mumbled, voice low and worn with fatigue, a hint rougher than usual. It came out somewhere between a whisper and a sigh. “It’ll be like… 2:30 when we finish.”

Satoru let out a groggy half-laugh, his lips curling into the laziest version of his usual grin. “Ha. Your voice sounds dumb,” he teased, though it was entirely devoid of bite. Actually, his own voice was worse. Raspy, dry, as if every word had to push through the sleep fog clouding his chest. “But yeah. One last episode, then… finally— we’re done. Just have to see her final decision before I go to sleep or I’ll actually go insane.”

Suguru reached for the remote, clicking the ‘Next’ button with a sluggish flick of his thumb. The intro sequence flared up again— bright, colorful, loud. The chipper tune blared against the sleepy calm they’d sunk into, but neither of them even flinched. It was too familiar now, like background noise in a dream. They’d grown strangely fond of it, this predictable routine of lighthearted music before inevitable heartbreak.

The heroine on screen wavered between dumb-love-interest-#1 and obviously-better-love-interest-#2, caught in a storm of melodrama that felt lightyears away from the slow, quiet rhythm of their own world right now.

As the show played on, their heads tilted farther back into the couch cushions, their bodies shifting under the blanket as exhaustion crept further in. The rise and fall of their breathing began to sync, each exhale soft and even. Their limbs were still, but not tense. In fact, they were completely relaxed, wrapped in the shared warmth of the blanket, in the dim flicker of the screen, in each other’s nearness.

Suguru’s eyes fluttered closed first, just for a second , he thought. But the second turned into a minute. He let out a long, quiet breath, chest rising gently, lips slightly parted. 

Satoru was barely a step behind. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, he just blinked a little too long. The drama continued to unfold on the screen, but he no longer registered any of it. His hand rested on the blanket, his other arm tucked lazily beneath a throw pillow. His body leaned a little to the right, then a little more, going until his head gently slipped down, landing with the faintest sound on Suguru’s shoulder.

The weight was featherlight, almost imperceptible. But it was there. His breath warmed Suguru’s collarbone, and the soft strands of white hair spread over Suguru’s shoulder like snow on slate. He looked impossibly at peace, the tense set of his jaw finally slackened, his expression open and unguarded in a way that Suguru had rarely seen; especially when Satoru was awake. Unfortunately, Suguru didn’t stir awake to see it.

He’d already fallen under, just moments before he could even notice Satoru’s head dropping. His own head tilted slightly toward Satoru’s, the weight of the day finally surrendering to sleep, his breath slowing. The flicker of the candle played gently across both of their faces, casting long, soft shadows across the curves of their cheeks and the slope of their closed eyelids.

They didn’t notice the moment they drifted off— not really. And they didn’t register the fact that they’d done so like this, tangled together by accident or by instinct.

But later, if either of them thought back hard enough, they might remember the comfort and closeness of it. The steady warmth of another person breathing beside them, shoulder to shoulder, without the need for words.

The TV played on quietly in the background and the drama reached its final crescendo, but neither of them saw how it ended. But at the same time, neither of them really needed to see the ending. 

Chapter Text

November 15th, Monday: 1:45 P.M.

Satoru’s business ethics class had just ended, and he was already halfway to the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder and zoning out to the sound of chairs scraping the floor when he heard his professor call him over.

“Mr. Gojo? Could I speak with you for a moment?”

His steps stuttered midstride. Without much extravagance, he turned on his heel, his practiced grin twitching into place as he headed back toward the desk.

“Yes?” he asked, voice light as air. He looked down at his professor like a tall child, hands stiff at his sides, fingers twitching against his thighs like they didn’t know what to do without a distraction.

Please don’t say something bad. Please don’t say something bad. Please don’t—

“So,” his professor said, lacing his fingers together with a mild smile, “you probably noticed already, but you received a grade lower than anything I’d ever expect from you. I was simply wondering what went wrong. You’re one of my best students, after all. It was just interesting to find such a low grade from you.” There it is.

Satoru’s smile faltered just enough to be noticeable. His eyes dropped to the floor tiles, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck like maybe he could hide behind the motion. “Oh. Right,” he muttered. “Well, in all honesty… I don’t really know either. I mean, I studied, did the work, tried to clear my head before testing. I… I really thought I did everything right.” His voice thinned at the edges as he trailed off. “I guess I just messed up. No reason for it.”

No excuse for it. No permission for it. No room for it.

Aren’t I allowed to fail? Just once? Why does it feel like a crime? Why am I the only one being called in? Like it’s a… deviation from my brand or something. Still, deep down, the truth stabbed sharper.

Why did I fail?

You’re not supposed to fail. That’s not who you are. You’ve been good at this since day one. Everyone’s always said so. I’m smart, reliable, sharp. Always ahead and always prepared.

So what does it mean when you’re not? Should I be angry at him for pointing it out— or angry at myself for making the mistake in the first place?

“Well, I see,” the professor said after a short silence. “It’s alright. I just expect nothing but the best from you, because you’ve always done well— but it’s okay. Of course, it’s nothing to get hung up on. Just make sure you stay doing well. Don’t let yourself slip.”

There it was again. Don’t let yourself slip.

The words didn’t sound harsh, as they weren’t meant to be. They were actually light, even kind in a way. But they hit harder than anything else Satoru had heard all week.

His throat tightened around something dry and sore. “Yes, of course,” he said quickly, forcing a nod. “I won’t. Don’t worry— I’ll try harder next time.” I have to.

He glanced up for a brief second, made fleeting eye contact, then diverted his gaze to the empty whiteboard like it held something worth focusing on. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon. Have a good day.”

“You too. See you next time.” Satoru didn’t wait to hear the rest. He was out the door in seconds, the pace of his steps noticeably quicker than when he’d first left.

The hallway stretched long and gray ahead of him, the murmur of other classes, the buzz of fluorescents overhead creating a familiar atmosphere around him, but he barely registered any of it.

Don’t let yourself slip. He repeated the phrase once, then again, then once more, like some kind of private incantation meant to anchor him. But it didn’t help. It felt like it was pulling at something inside him instead, some wire wound too tight around his chest.

The stupidest part of it all was that the failure wasn’t even catastrophic. It was a single grade, just one quiz. Something no one would remember in two weeks.

But to him? It felt like a crack in a foundation he’d spent his entire life pretending didn’t need reinforcement. One crack, and he didn’t know how far it went.

He tugged his jacket tighter around him as he stepped outside, but it didn’t stop the chill from sinking in.

✮✮✮

November 15th, Monday: 4:49 P.M.

Satoru was lounging across Suguru’s couch like he belonged there, legs half-draped over the armrest, a half-empty Coca-Cola can lazily pressed against his lips. His other hand was occupied scrolling through something on his phone too fast to be reading and too aimless to be engaged.

In the kitchen, Suguru rifled through his cabinets, pushing aside mismatched tupperware and half-stacked mugs in search of a bowl— any bowl, really. After some clattering, he emerged victorious, pulling out something big enough for chips. 

He wasn’t really hungry himself and honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he was putting in this much effort. But when Satoru had looked at him earlier and said, “I just kinda want snacks,” there’d been something in his tone that Suguru couldn’t shrug off. Not quite sadness, but also not quite normal, either. There was a flatness in his voice that didn’t suit him. A faint dullness behind the eyes. Suguru had noticed it right away— the way he didn't grin quite as wide, how his shoulders seemed slightly more slouched, like gravity had more of a say today than usual.

He tore open a few small snack bags, varying from chips, pretzels, and whatever else was on-hand, dumping them unceremoniously into the bowl. Then he padded back to the couch and placed it on the cushion between them.

“Your snacks are here,” he said mildly, walking around the other end and plopping down, his socked feet thudding up onto the ottoman with a soft bounce.

“Thanks, Suguru.” Satoru’s voice was light, but muted in a way. He leaned forward just enough to place his soda can on the floor, then sank back and grabbed a small handful of chips. He didn’t say anything else.

Suguru blinked once, then again, eyes flicking sideways. No commentary? No tangent about how pretzels are a scam or some weird fact about corn syrup? He even gave Satoru a few extra seconds, waiting for the inevitable rant, but nothing came. Satoru just kept scrolling, mind somewhere else entirely, fingers twitching against the screen like he was trying to distract himself more than anything else.

Suguru leaned back a bit more, one arm braced along the cushion as he turned just enough to study him. Satoru looked relaxed at a glance— his posture loose, his expression mostly blank— but there was something quietly settled underneath it all. Like the whole performance had been turned down a few decibels.

“So…” Suguru started gently, nudging a toe against the ottoman. “Why’d you ask for snacks? Didn’t eat well or something?” He reached into the bowl for a few chips and crunched one between his teeth, pretending to be casual about it. It’s just another afternoon.

“Uh, no. I ate fine,” Satoru replied, not looking up. “Just kinda hungry. Had a brain-fart today, and y’know, thinking burns calories, right? I don’t know.” He shrugged, finally setting his phone face-down beside him and stuffing a chip into his mouth. “Just in the mood to snack.”

Suguru smiled a little. “Really? What happened? I’m surprised you had a ‘brain-fart.’ You’re always so quick to think in class.”

Satoru’s eyes squinted toward the window reflexively, though the view outside was just the usual mid-November gray. His jaw tightened, not dramatically, but enough to notice if you were looking for it.

“Yeah, well. Already said, I don’t really know,” he said, more curtly this time. “It’s not like I’m banned from having a brain-fart. I’m allowed to have my moments.”

The sharpness in his tone cut through the air like a needle, and Suguru stiffened slightly at the edge. “Obviously, you’re allowed to,” he said, brows pinching. “I was just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Why do you have to be surprised, though?” Satoru asked, his voice a notch too high-pitched to be offhand. He picked his Coke back up, tipping his head back to drink longer than necessary. “It’s not like it’s something crazy.”

Suguru hesitated, watching him closely now. The Coke can came down to the floor with a quiet clink against the hardwood. “Yeah, it’s not. My bad,” he murmured, sensing the slope they were starting to slip down. “Whatever it was, I’m sure you’ll bounce back just fine. People like you always do.”

There was a pause, a strange pause. Satoru didn’t laugh, didn’t scoff, didn’t say anything sarcastic like he usually might. Instead, his eyes flicked across the room— everywhere but Suguru’s face. The TV, the corner of the ceiling, his own fingernails.

People like me.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do I have to bounce back? Even when I don’t know what I’m bouncing from? Can’t I just feel off for a second without needing a redemption arc?

Suguru could see how the words landed wrong. Not in a huge, dramatic way, but just enough to bend something beneath the surface.

Satoru smiled, finally. But it was tight and stretched. Like something being pulled into shape just to avoid further conversation. “Thanks. I… yeah. I will.” His legs shifted, one crossing over the other, and he let out a quiet, humorless sigh. The kind of exhale that didn’t empty the lungs all the way.

“…Yeah,” Suguru echoed softly. His hand hovered over the bowl again, but he didn’t reach for anything.

He didn’t know what line he’d crossed. He didn’t even know if there was a line— just that Satoru had looked a little smaller when he said it. Like he was collapsing inward, but slowly and quietly. Only if you looked close.

And right now, Suguru was looking very, very close.

✮✮✮

November 19th, Friday: 4:19 P.M.

A, B, A, A, A, B.

Satoru blinked at the screen, refreshing the page like the second B would somehow vanish if he clicked fast enough.

A, B, A, A, A, B.

I have two B’s now? Where’d the second one come from?

His chest tensed as he clicked into the tab for his Public Speaking course, watching the numbers calculate into a lowered average right before his eyes. He scrolled down, eyes scanning the participation column.

Lost points. Multiple classes in a row. Barely any engagement. Right, that tracks I guess. But still— two B’s. Two. I haven’t gotten more than one in a semester since— God, middle school? What the hell is going on?

His eyes glazed over the screen, but nothing stuck anymore. He shut the laptop with a too-loud snap, the metal clapping closed like a judgment. Leaning back on the couch, he flung an arm over his face, trying to block out the pale winter light slicing through the blinds. It felt too bright and too aware, like the day itself was watching him slip. His heart was beating too fast for how still he was.

It’s just a B. It’s just two B’s. It’s not like you’re failing out of school. But still, the panic curled anyway, slow and sticky, behind his ribs.

Buzz buzz.

His phone vibrated somewhere beside him. He let it buzz a second time before reaching over with one hand to flip it toward him.

Satoru’s mom: “Hi bibi! Haven’t heard from you in a while, you are doing OK? Semester’s ending soon… keep doing great! Love you! ❤️”

Satoru stared at the message. Something about it made his throat close.

Keep doing great.

Did she even know how much he was slipping? How the days had started bleeding together, how he was barely registering the flow of his own classes, how he couldn’t even bring himself to speak in a public speaking course?

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. He could tell her the truth, yeah. He could say he was tired, say he was off lately, say that things weren’t working right and he didn’t know why. But the thought of her worrying— of her calling, her voice gently pressing with concern, her kindness turning into concern turning into weight—

Just keep her happy. Don’t let her worry about you. You’re the one who’s supposed to make things easier.

Satoru: “Doing fine, yeah! Love you too. Can’t visit for a little while, but I’ll visit for Thanksgiving, okay? See you soon :)”

He hit send before he could overthink it, just a polished version of the truth. Pretty and normal; palatable.

Buzz.

Satoru’s mom: “Sounds good! See you then! Maybe you should bring that Suguru back over. We’ll invite Naoya over too? Let everyone meet?”

He stared at the message, a hollow pit forming under his sternum.

Naoya. Of course she’d bring up Naoya. His stomach twisted instinctively. Even just thinking about sitting in the same room as Naoya made his shoulders tense. There was always something jagged about him, something loud in all the wrong ways. Naoya had a knack for talking like people were jokes, like he was always half-laughing at someone even when he was being "nice." Suguru would last five minutes in a room with him, tops. And that was being generous.

He could already imagine the dynamic. Suguru, stiff with quiet disgust and Naoya, smirking and goading without knowing what he was poking at while his mom is cheerfully trying to bridge them with warm conversation, not seeing the current running underneath.

No way. There’s no way that ends well. But still… he couldn’t tell her no outright. Not yet at least.

Satoru: “Maybe, we’ll see! We can talk about the plans sometime later. I have to study, but I’ll talk to you soon. Bye!”

Buzz.

Satoru’s mom: “Bye bye. Stay warm 🥶 soooo chilly!!”

A soft, reluctant chuckle escaped him at that. The little emoji she used looked so silly, bundled up and wide-eyed. For half a second, something light flickered in him. He could hear her voice in the message, still trying to make him smile like she did when he was five. But then it passed. The guilt settled back in just as quickly, heavier this time. Like the laugh had cost him something, like he’d lied to her by enjoying it. 

He placed the phone face-down beside him and sank deeper into the couch, head tipping backward until it hit the cushion. His eyes fell closed and he didn’t feel like opening them again for a while. The room was quiet, too quiet like it always was, but it felt crushing today.

He felt like he was always one step behind lately, like everyone expected something he didn’t know how to give anymore. A few late assignments, a couple silences in class, and already it felt like the whole system around him had started to buzz, alert and confused, as if to say “What’s wrong with you?” He didn’t have the answer, or not really. It’s just that everything was loud, and everything was dim, and nothing was exactly wrong but everything felt just a little bit off.

And he was tired. So, so tired.

✮✮✮

November 19th, Friday: 5:04 P.M.

Knock knock.

Satoru barely turns his head at first. The sound feels distant, almost like it doesn’t belong in the same quiet, gray-tinted room he’s been sitting in for hours. His body is heavy, limbs slouched deep into the couch cushions like the furniture itself had swallowed him. It takes a second knock for him to register it’s real.

With a soft groan, he forces himself upright, bones creaking more than they should for a twenty-year-old. His knees pop as he stands, blinking through the dim lighting of his dorm room as if emerging from underwater. The air smells faintly stale, like leftover food and too much stillness.

He opens the door and is greeted by a familiar figure. Slightly shorter with long black hair and eyes like watercolors. Suguru stands there in his usual, composed way, but something about the way his eyebrows pull just slightly in the middle gives him away.

“Hey, Satoru. Haven’t seen you in a while— you doing alright? You haven’t come over in days now.” His voice is calm, but there's an edge of softness tucked inside it, like he’s deliberately trying not to press too hard. Satoru blinks at him, then shifts his weight to the side, trying not to wince at the sunlight slicing through the hallway behind him. He steps back wordlessly, letting Suguru in.

Do I tell him? Satoru hesitates for a beat.

Suguru brushes past him as he enters, and Satoru catches the now-familiar scent of jasmine and vanilla trailing behind him. It hits harder than it should. He didn’t realize how badly he needed something— someone— that smelled like comfort.

But even with Suguru standing here, looking at him with those patient, too-seeing eyes, the words don’t come.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Satoru says quickly, too quickly. “I guess classes were just a bit tiring today. Been doing a bunch of studying for these other tests n’ stuff. Lots of work to do.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, like his chest hasn’t been tight for a whole week straight.

I can’t tell him. No, not yet. He has so much of his own stuff to worry about. My problems are like barely a quarter of what he goes through. It'd sound stupid and just be more of a pain for him.

Suguru watches him for a moment, unreadable. Then slowly, he nods, but not like he believes him. More like he’s deciding not to challenge it. 

“I see. Well, don’t overwork yourself. That’s never a good thing.” His voice is low, like the quietest kind of concern, and the scent of him drifts a little closer as he steps further into the room. It’s so familiar now, like something Satoru could rest inside. Just a little.

“I know,” Satoru mutters, barely above a whisper. “I won’t overdo anything.”

Suguru glances back, catching a better look at him in the soft light filtering through the window. He’s still for just a beat too long. His eyes flicker over Satoru’s face, noticing the way his hair is unstyled, how the blue under his eyes has gotten darker, how his lips press together. “…You look tired,” he says finally, tone flat but quiet. “Getting enough sleep?”

Satoru doesn’t answer right away. He looks down instead, at his socks. They’re the dumb pizza ones— cheesy yellow and cartoon-red pepperoni, a gift from Haibara last year. He focuses on them like they matter. Like they might say something smarter than he could right now. He finally gets himself to reply. “Of course I am. I mean, I’m up a little later to finish up some work, but I’m still getting a regular amount of sleep.”

It’s not even a lie, really. Just not the truth that counts.

“Right,” Suguru replies, though it’s not exactly an agreement. His gaze drifts over the room. There’s blankets crumpled in the corner, pillows left on the floor, wrappers and bags half-tucked under the coffee table, and a water bottle tipped on its side and never picked back up. A certain stillness clings to the air. Not laziness and not chaos, just the kind of heaviness that means someone stopped caring where things landed.

“You shouldn’t have to force yourself to stay up late for this stuff,” Suguru says, quieter now. “There’s always time at a healthier hour. Don’t push yourself.” He wants to say more. Satoru can feel it. He can see it, too, in the way Suguru’s eyes don’t quite leave him, in the pause between one breath and the next, but nothing else comes. Suguru holds it down.

“You wanna get out of your dorm and go do something?” Suguru asks after a moment, casual but clearly trying. “You’ve probably been cooped up in here for a while. We should go down to the lake or something. I hear there’s a few new swans swimming around. People keep visiting. We should go down there too, right? Get some fresh air?”

Satoru swallows. The offer is simple, gentle, and holds no pressure. But it lands like a hand stretched across a cliff’s edge. He feels his heart thump a little too loud, too sudden in his chest.

“…Yeah,” he says after a second. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”

He turns to the counter, rifling through the tossed jackets. Everything is a mess. He grabs a plain dark brown one and shrugs it on. His sneakers squeak lightly as he steps into them, the soles scraping against the tile.

Suguru watches every movement quietly, not like he’s judging, but like he’s reading. Like he knows how to see things without making someone flinch under it.

When the door opens again, it’s Satoru who leads them out, but he keeps his head low, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulder brushing Suguru’s just slightly in the doorway. Just enough to ground himself, even if he won’t admit he needs to.

Outside, the air is cold and brisk, but it stings in a good way. And for the first time in days, Satoru breathes a little deeper.

Chapter Text

November 19th, Friday: 5:33 P.M.

Satoru’s car was now rolling into Central Park, the lake only a few steps away. The ride had been unusually quiet, holding no steady rhythm of chatter or banter to fill the space between them. Just the low hum of the engine and one of Satoru’s favorite Japanese songs playing through the speakers, upbeat but curiously hollow in contrast to the silence inside the car.

Suguru didn’t know what to say, really. He’d glanced over a few times during the drive, catching Satoru’s profile out of the corner of his eye, seeing the tight line of his mouth, the way his fingers tapped a little too rigidly against the wheel, like they were trying to work something out of him. It wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t their usual ease, either.

Once they parked, the car doors clicked open in near unison, both stepping out and meeting the crisp autumn air. Their shoes crunched softly against the gravel of the path and the chill was sharp enough to be refreshing, like it cut through something.

“We should walk a little further down,” Suguru murmured, tilting his head toward the trees where the crowd thinned. “It’ll be a bit quieter— away from everyone else.”

Golden light poured from the setting sun, pooling in Suguru’s eyes like liquid warmth. Satoru blinked once, watching him for a beat too long before nodding. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

Their footsteps moved in sync, weaving past scattered tourists and bundled-up couples until the murmurs of the crowd faded. A short walk led them to a more secluded patch by the lake which was tucked beneath a sprawling oak with a crown of burnt-orange leaves. The grass was plush and damp beneath them as they settled down, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

Suguru leaned back on one arm, the other resting on his knee as his gaze stretched across the water. A light breeze rippled the lake’s surface, warping the mirror image of the bridge in the distance. Children squealed and laughed somewhere farther off.

“Pretty good spot we got, right?” Suguru said, a rare softness in his tone. “I wonder if the swans’ll come near. I’m guessing they’re all hanging out by the bridge; everyone’s over there taking pictures.”

Satoru sat cross-legged, eyes on the water but stealing glances at Suguru’s profile. The set of his jaw, the calm in his voice. It was grounding. “Yeah,” Satoru finally said. “Do you know how many new ones there are?”

“Uh, like six? I heard they’re all in pairs, so… an even number, I guess.” Suguru shrugged a little, letting his hair fall slightly over his eyes.

“That’s kinda cute,” Satoru muttered. “I always thought swans were admirable in that way. They choose one partner and stick with them for their entire lives— literally. They die of grief if their partner dies.” He let out a dry little laugh. “That’s sad, but, I don’t know. Romantic too.”

Suguru tilted his head slightly, squinting at the glint of sunlight on the lake. “Mm. They’re just bound, you know? Their love is like a contract, that too an unbreakable one. It’s a curse and a blessing all at once.”

Satoru exhaled through his nose, gaze drifting down to the grass where he absently tugged a blade between his fingers. “Love’s always a curse,” he said, quieter now. “No matter how much you think you love someone, it never really stays. Like my mom and my dad… She used to say they were soulmates. True love, all that crap. But if it was really love, why didn’t he stay for her? Why didn’t he stay for me?” His voice barely made it past the wind, brittle at the edges.

Suguru stayed quiet for a moment, letting the breeze pass over them like a pause in conversation. Then, he said, “I get it. Love is dumb. Really dumb. I gave up on finding someone a while ago. What’s the point? You fall for someone, maybe start a family if you’re lucky, tie your life to theirs. And then… what? You resent them. Or you lose them. Or you sit in grief like a swan, unable to breathe without them.”

He glanced over then, watching the way Satoru’s expression tightened, how he shifted slightly like the words landed too close. “It’s just a gamble,” Suguru added. “You never really know what you’re walking into.”

Satoru blinked, eyes flicking from the grass to Suguru’s face. Something unreadable passed through his features, like surprise, maybe. Or something murkier.

“…Yeah,” he said after a second. “I know, right?”

He cleared his throat and looked away again, feeling something he couldn’t quite name knot up in his chest. Suguru’s words hit somewhere deeper than he expected. They echoed like they were speaking from the same wound, the same root of quiet disappointment that neither of them had the nerve to name. For a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat together, watching the wind gently scatter leaves across the surface of the lake.

✮✮✮

November 19th, Friday: 6:02 P.M.

About thirty minutes had passed, time slipping by without much notice. The conversation between them meandered aimlessly, like the drifting leaves across the surface of the lake. Suguru kept tossing in gentle, joking remarks, subtle attempts to coax Satoru back into lighter spirits. In return, Satoru filled the space with whatever fleeting thought came to mind, like comments about oddly shaped clouds, squirrel politics, or even the weird walk cycles of ducks. Neither of them said anything particularly important, and yet their voices— rising and falling in a rhythm only they seemed to understand— carried a kind of comfort that couldn’t quite be replicated anywhere else. Their laughter, loud and unrestrained, echoed into the still air, startling a pigeon or two nearby. It wasn’t constant, but it was real. Each time it returned, it felt like a brief flash of something untouched by everything else.

Then Satoru paused mid-sentence, his eyes catching on something just beyond the water’s edge. “Ah, Suguru— look,” he said suddenly, nudging him with an elbow. “They’re here. Be careful, swans are angry creatures.” His grin widened as he gestured to the pair of swans gliding effortlessly across the lake. Their movements were quiet, deliberate, and graceful in that unbothered way swans always seem to be. The slick curve of their necks bent softly toward one another, their feathers brushing like they were stitched together by instinct alone.

“Oh yeah, I know that very well,” Suguru said dryly, eyes following their path. “I’ve had my fair share of bad experiences with swans. Stuck my finger between the bars at the zoo’s swan exhibit once, then got bit. Just a little. I still remember that day... Yeah no, I’m never going back to the Philadelphia Zoo. So many evil creatures in that place.”

Satoru laughed, a real laugh, the kind that curled from his chest before it hit his throat. “Seriously? I actually made a friend at the Philly Zoo. An old-ass tortoise. Haven’t seen her in—” He paused, counting on his fingers, eyes narrowed in faux concentration. “In thirteen years! You think she’s still alive? Think she’d remember me?”

Suguru snorted, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Probably. No one could forget your face.” There was a small pause before he added, eyeing the swans again, “Also, I think they heard us calling them evil and angry. They’re definitely getting closer. Help.”

Satoru laughed again, this time more quietly, more to himself. “Eh, I think lover-boy over there’s too focused on his girl to care about us. Look at him. All touchy and stuff. Gross. Look at his neck— he’s literally doing that clingy lean. Like, he’s into it. ”

“You cannot be calling that swan gross for being touchy when you’re the exact same,” Suguru shot back, glancing at him knowingly. “Just… annoying-er. Has anyone ever told you that you poke a lot? Your fingers are constantly plotting against me.”

Satoru tilted his head, mock-offended. “No, but I know I poke. It’s a hobby. An art, even. Actually, a form of expression.” He grinned, gaze teasing. “Mainly with you, though. Your reactions are so funny. Like, you flinch like I’m a ghost and scream like you’re in a horror movie.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. “Wow. Thanks. I feel so special.”

“You should.” Satoru leaned slightly closer, proud of himself.

Suguru huffed, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face as the wind stirred them loose. “I swear, I’m going to shave all my hair off. This wind is dumb.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, hand flying to his heart like he’d been shot. “Don’t even joke about that. I will cry. I’ll literally cry if you shave your head.” He reached over and gave Suguru a soft shove, his fingers lingering for a moment in his hair, almost absentmindedly. It was soft, just like he expected, maybe softer.

“There you go again,” Suguru said, half-laughing, half-genuinely amused. “That wasn’t even a poke. That was just… violence.”

“You’ll live.” Satoru didn’t pull his hand away right away. When he did, it was slow.

Suguru narrowed his eyes, smirking. “Wow. Was Satoru Gojo just completely unapologetic toward me?”

“What? You say it to me all the time.”

“So now I’m a bad influence, is that what you’re saying?” Suguru raised a brow, voice dipping into playful accusation.

Satoru laughed, his grin still in place, soft around the edges. “Whatever. I’m tired of you.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m tired of you too.” Suguru shot back, lips tugging into a grin of his own.

And yet… neither of them moved away. Neither of them looked ready to leave the moment.

The swans drifted a little closer, silent witnesses to the kind of peace that only ever arrives when you forget to guard yourself. The air around them smelled faintly of fallen leaves and lake water, the kind of smell you remember without knowing why. It felt like something suspended, fragile and fleeting, but safe. For now.

✮✮✮

November 19th, Friday: 7:21 P.M.

They had left the park about fifteen minutes earlier, still full of the kind of laughter that lingered even after the jokes had faded. The sky had already turned the deep blue of early evening, and the city around them was flickering to life with storefronts and taxi headlights. Neither of them said it aloud, but they didn’t feel like heading straight back to campus. There was something about the night that made them want to stretch it out a little longer.

A quick search led them to a pizza place tucked just a few blocks off campus. It was nothing fancy, just a narrow space with wooden booths, a squeaky ceiling fan, and chalk specials scrawled on a board behind the counter, but it was warm inside, and smelled like garlic, basil, and melted cheese. The kind of place that looked like it hadn’t changed in twenty years, which somehow made it perfect.

Satoru ordered for them without thinking too hard, one large pizza, half veggie, half bacon— and now the two of them sat across from each other in a quiet corner booth, the late November chill still clinging faintly to their coats draped on the bench beside them.

“I still can’t believe you like Hawaiian pizza,” Suguru muttered to Satoru as the waitress placed the steaming plate between them. He leaned back slightly, arms folding across his chest, eyes squinting in exaggerated judgment.

Satoru shrugged, reaching for a slice with practiced ease. “I think the pineapple adds a fun little twist. Sweet, tangy— it’s like… I don’t know. An adventure.” He grinned, the grease on his fingers catching the overhead light as he pulled the slice free. “You’ve just gotta broaden your palate, my guy.”

Suguru shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Yeah, well. That’s one thing I’ll never understand about you.” He slid a slice of veggie pizza onto his plate with careful precision, tapping the crust against the edge like he was inspecting it for toxins.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Around them, the clink of silverware and hum of conversation filled the space in an easy, unintrusive way. Satoru made a comment about how the cheese-to-sauce ratio was decent, and Suguru nodded in solemn agreement, like this was the kind of thing philosophers debated in their downtime.

But eventually, Suguru’s eyes lifted. His gaze rested on Satoru a second too long, longer than the shape of their usual banter allowed. Because even now, even with a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth and his posture loose, Satoru looked tired in a way Suguru couldn’t quite ignore. That tiredness had been there for weeks now, quiet while it hid in the corners of his smiles, tucked behind the jokes, and always brushed off with a laugh or a shoulder shrug.

So he asked. “…Hey,” Suguru began gently, his voice lower now, softer. “Did you wanna talk about… I don’t know. Stuff?” He picked at the crust of his slice absentmindedly. “You’ve seemed kind of down lately. And I get not wanting to get into it, but. I don’t know. I figured I’d ask.”

Satoru’s hand froze mid-reach for another slice. He blinked slowly, then set the slice down again on his plate. His brow furrowed, just slightly enough to make a faint crease appear between his eyes.

“No,” he said after a second. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just fine.” He gave a little smile, too quick, too polished. It barely lasted a breath before fading. “Truly. I’m not down at all.”

Suguru didn’t believe that for a second. That smile was more instinct than sincerity, more deflection than anything else. 

He leaned in a little, eyes narrowing as he studied Satoru’s face. “You sure?” His voice was careful, steady. “You realize when we promised to stick around for each other, that meant both ways, right? I’m not just here to laugh at your bad jokes and let you steal all the bacon slices. I’m here to help. If you’ll let me.”

Satoru held his gaze for a moment, then looked down at his plate. His fingers tapped quietly against the edge of the crust. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “But I don’t need help. I’m fine, Suguru. Like I said.”

Suguru shook his head slightly, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s not that I don’t want to respect that,” he said. “I do. It’s just… I don’t believe you.”

Satoru let out a breath through his nose. He didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked exhausted, like someone who had been holding a full cup for too long, trying not to spill it.

“It’s nothing big,” he said finally. “Nothing worth dragging out. Just… stuff. You know? The kind of stuff that feels stupid as soon as you say it out loud.” He paused. “It’ll fix itself. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Suguru didn’t reply right away. He just picked up his slice again, chewing slowly as he watched Satoru’s face, waiting for something else to surface, but nothing came.

And even though every part of him wanted to push just a little harder, just enough to maybe help, but he didn’t. He respected the wall, even if he hated the way it looked between them. “Okay,” he said after a long beat, voice quiet. “I hear you.”

He looked down at the pizza in his hands, the melted cheese catching the light in a greasy sheen. He took a bite, chewing slowly, letting the silence settle between them like dust in an attic, thick and quiet, but not entirely cold.

It wasn’t the conversation he’d hoped for. But at least it was something, and maybe, for now, that was enough.

✮✮✮

November 22nd, Monday: 5:08 P.M.

It had been three full days since Suguru and Satoru had last hung out. Not that they hadn’t spoken at all, as there were a few lazy Instagram reels shared between them and one or two light texts tossed back and forth about Thanksgiving plans, but nothing substantial. Nothing meaningful. The kind of interactions you send when you’re not sure how to break silence without acknowledging it.

Suguru had considered stopping by Satoru’s dorm, maybe just to knock on the door and pretend he had something casual to say. But each time the thought arose, it fizzled before he could act on it. What if it made things worse? What if Satoru took it as a push he didn’t want? Suguru didn’t want to be another weight on his back.

He sat alone in the library now, tucked into a far corner table between two tall shelves, far from the quiet bustle of students gathering in the main study sections. His head rested against one palm, elbow anchored to the table as the other hand absentmindedly pushed a plastic fork through a few oily noodles in the black takeout container he’d picked up from the dining hall. The scent of butter and herbs clung to the air, though the flavor had gone cold and bland by now. His textbook lay open in front of him, but he hadn’t read a single line in the last twenty minutes.

His mind replayed their dinner over and over, those quiet glances, the shift in Satoru’s expression when Suguru asked if he was okay, the shortness in his tone, the way he kept deflecting.

Did I say something I shouldn’t have? He poked the corner of a prong into the noodles. I knew I shouldn’t have pushed him. I should’ve just let it go. Played along. Let him keep laughing like nothing was wrong. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?

He leaned back slightly in his chair and rubbed his temple with two fingers, staring at the soft sheen of fluorescent light reflecting off his untouched textbook. The world around him felt muted, like someone had turned the saturation down on everything.

I don’t even know what he’s dealing with. I don’t even know where to start.

His eyes wandered for a moment, landing on a closed paperback left behind on the next table, probably forgotten or maybe saved by someone who hadn’t returned. He let his gaze drift over the cover without reading the title, the edges of the book blurring as his thoughts pulled him elsewhere.

Satoru didn’t owe him an explanation, Suguru knew that. But not knowing, not being able to do anything , was twisting something anxious and sharp in his chest.

He sighed and blinked hard, bringing himself back to the dim, gray light of the library. With a soft exhale, he sat up, gathering the container, the uneaten pasta inside shifting wetly as he clicked the lid shut. He closed the textbook with a dull thud, the sound muffled by the layers of paper and quiet all around him, and slid everything into his backpack.

He didn’t know what step to take next. He didn’t know when, or how, or if Satoru would open up. But he knew he couldn’t let this quiet eat away at everything they’d built. He wouldn’t push again but he also wouldn’t stay still. He had to find a place to start, even if it was slow. Even if it meant doing nothing but thinking for a while. He couldn’t fix what he didn’t understand, but he could stay present.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out of the library, the late autumn air outside already graying with evening. Somewhere in his chest, the worry still sat heavy, but beneath it, something else began to stir. Resolve; it was quiet, but steady.

✮✮✮

November 23rd, Tuesday: 12:48 A.M.

Flat on his back, sprawled out across the mattress like something left behind, Satoru stared up at the ceiling above him, unblinking. The dorm was quiet, the kind of quiet that made everything louder, like the dull whir of the mini-fridge, the gentle buzz of streetlights filtering through the window blinds, even the occasional creak of pipes in the wall. He should’ve been asleep by now.

He’d put his phone down nearly twenty minutes ago with no unread messages and nothing else to scroll through. But the silence that followed wasn’t restful. His brain stayed on, the same way a screen glows long after you hit the lock button.

His breaths came slowly, as if pacing themselves. Not from calm, just exhaustion. His mind flicked through everything it had been holding for the past two weeks like a slideshow he didn’t want to see but couldn’t look away from. He kept telling himself it wasn’t anything huge, not really. He wasn’t in danger. He wasn’t falling apart. He was just… tired , and overwhelmed, and confused. Then, there was Suguru .

Do I tell him? The question had been repeating like a background track.

I probably should, right? It’ll help. And he’s never made me feel weird about opening up. He even tries to make it easier. But… I don’t know. It’s just so unnatural. He turned his head on the pillow, eyes still open, brows faintly pinched. The dark image of the ceiling blurred slightly from how long he’d been staring at it.

It’s not necessary, either. I’m not dying. I’m not going insane. I’m just… tired. His lips parted, then closed again, as if he were about to say something out loud, maybe just to hear it. But no sound came.

Hard, he thought. It’s just hard. Hard to balance everything. My classes, my grades, my mom’s expectations. Keeping her happy, keeping Suguru happy, keeping myself from slipping. And looking like I’m okay. Like I’ve got it handled. Like I’m still fun. Still upbeat. Still “Satoru Gojo.” His thoughts began to loop. Each one heavier than the last, like they were gaining mass as they rotated.

It’s like everything’s been dialed up a notch and I can’t lower the volume. Every part of me is stretched thin. Everything matters too much, all at once. He clenched his jaw.

And I feel stupid for letting it affect me this badly. I’ve been through worse, right? Back when it was just me and Mom and no Dad, I handled that. I figured it out. But now that I actually have someone I could talk to, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to do it. Or I keep convincing myself that I don’t need to. But I don’t know what I’m doing. Not anymore. And I don’t know how to fix it. Or even where to start.

The thought sat like stone in his chest. The weight of it, of all of it , sank heavy into his ribs, pressing deep. It wrapped tight around his lungs, made each inhale stretch longer than it should, like he had to work just to breathe. And when he thought about Suguru again and his face at the pizza shop, his voice, his gentle insistence, it all got worse. The way Suguru looked at him every time he brushed a question aside. That tiny flicker of concern. The way he always backed off, even when Satoru could feel he didn’t want to.

It sucks. It really, really sucks.

He felt the pressure shift, curling from his chest to his throat, his airway shrinking. He tried to swallow, but his muscles felt locked, like something invisible had cinched a rope around his neck and pulled. His fingers twitched, restless against the sheets. His whole body was tense, like a spring stretched too far.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, not hard, but enough to make the darkness behind them bloom. The heat of his hands was grounding, but it didn’t soothe.

People like me don’t cry, he told himself. I don’t cry. I never cry.

But his breath betrayed him, hiccuping through his nose and catching on something that wasn’t fully formed yet. The air came out ragged, softer than a sob but shaped like one. He held his breath like it might stop the next one from coming, though it didn’t.

Dragging his hands away, he turned onto his side, curling just slightly in on himself. His arm wrapped around the pillow next to him, pulling it close like a lifeline. His eyes shut tight, as if squeezing hard enough might turn his thoughts off. But they didn’t.

I just want to sleep, he thought. And for a moment, it almost felt like pleading.

Chapter Text

November 24th, Wednesday: 5:09

The bathroom was dim. The only light came from the narrow bulb over the mirror, casting pale shadows along the porcelain and chrome. The sink beneath Suguru’s hands felt cold against his skin, grounding him even as his mind spun with quiet panic. His phone rested near the faucet, screen black until he tapped it awake, and there it was again. Satoru’s contact.

The name stared back at him, like it had been watching this whole time, patient and motionless. He hadn’t talked to him face-to-face in four days. Four. That was long enough for his chest to ache in quiet bursts, too long for someone who had gotten used to hearing Satoru’s voice nearly every day.

He picked up the phone, holding it loosely, thumb hovering over the message thread. “Just text,” he muttered. “It’s simple.”

He clicked into their chat. It was filled with stale fragments from earlier that week. Jokes, Thanksgiving talk, a stupid meme Satoru had sent with seven unnecessary laughing emojis. That had been Monday night, and now, nothing. He stared at the blinking cursor.

Suguru: “hey!”

He frowned. No. Too casual. Too flimsy. He deleted it then stared at the empty box again. He tried to type something longer. Then deleted that too.

A sigh slipped from his lips, and he gripped the phone tighter, as if it might give him the answer. “I’m being ridiculous.” He said it out loud, hoping that saying it would make him believe it. But it didn’t.

With a flick, he opened the voice message option instead, his thumb hovering for a beat too long over the red record button. Just say it. Whatever it is. Just say it.

He tapped record.

“Uh…Hey.” The word came out softer than he expected. Like it didn’t want to disturb the quiet hum of the bathroom fan. He swallowed.

“This is kinda stupid but, I just wanted to say something. Uh. You weren’t in class yesterday. Haven’t seen you in a bit, I guess… uh, fuck. Sorry. I came unprepared for this.” He let out a nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck as he leaned against the doorframe.

“I guess it’s just been a while since I’ve actually seen or heard you. Call it crazy, uh, but. Y’know, god forbid a guy misses his friend.” Suguru paused, chewing on his bottom lip as the silence stretched out. His throat felt tight, but he forced himself to keep going.

“I miss you, Satoru. And I’m worried. Like, super worried. Of course I am. I haven’t seen you in like… four days. Yeah, I’ve been counting.” Another pause. He crossed the room again and sat on the edge of the tub, hand rubbing over his jaw.

“Um. Y’know, you said something about Thanksgiving, right? If you still want me to come over, I will. I’ll come in an instant. Like, that’s… I really just want to make sure you’re fine and I’d do anything and go anywhere to confirm that you are.” Suguru’s voice softened, cracked around the edges.

“I hope you know you’re not a burden. At all. You kinda gave me the idea that you felt that way and I really hope you don’t actually think that. ‘Cause you’re not. Please don’t distance yourself from me.” He stood up again, pacing slowly, feet tapping softly against the tile.

“And I know, this whole voice message thing is bullshit and is a pathetic attempt on my end, but I didn’t know what else to do. So I’m doing this crap.” His laugh this time was resigned.

“All in all, I miss you and I’m worried. Just… whenever you want, come to me ‘nd say something. I just want you to open up. I don’t care if you think it’s dumb.”

He stared at his reflection in the mirror now, seeing the worry written all over his face. It wasn’t just concern. It was something heavier, a helplessness he hated.

“Anyways, um… yeah. That’s my— that’s my little loser attempt at getting you to speak.” A sheepish smile crept in. “Uh, basically yeah. Um. I hope I can see you soon. Bye, Satoru.”

He hit the red button and immediately regretted every second of it. The weight of vulnerability hit all at once. He almost didn’t send it. Almost. But he did. He tapped send before he could think twice. Before the guilt, or shame, or embarrassment could catch up.

He sat on the floor now, back against the tub, legs bent, arms draped loosely over his knees. A second passed, then two. He stared at the tiny “Sent” indicator.

He pressed play, just to hear it. Just to make sure he hadn’t said something awful. After five seconds, he stopped it with a groan and tossed his phone onto the bath mat.

“God. I’m such an idiot.” Still, his chest felt just a little lighter now. Just a little.

He got up, exited the bathroom, and collapsed onto the couch without turning on any lights. The ceiling above him looked gray, even in the darkness, like it was waiting. He clasped his hands on his stomach and let his eyes fall closed.

Please work. Please answer. He didn’t know what he’d do if Satoru didn’t.

✮✮✮

November 24th, Wednesday: 5:20 P.M.

Satoru had just come back from a walk. His hoodie still held the cold in its fibers, and the air outside had left a faint pink flush on his cheeks and nose. The campus had been quiet with just a few bundled-up students passing by, the low sound of leaves scraping the sidewalk. He didn’t even know why he went, he’d just needed to move; to do something.

He sank onto his dorm couch with a small grunt, rubbing his eyes. The tension in his body had grown familiar now, like a second skin. It wrapped tight around his shoulders and pressed into his ribs. He leaned back and let his head rest against the top cushion, only then noticing the soft glow from his phone screen. It was a message from Suguru, sent a couple minutes ago.

His thumb hovered over it, just for a second. Just long enough to collect himself. The twist in his chest, the doubt, the want, the yearn . And then he tapped it. What opened wasn’t a text. It was a voice message.

He froze, staring at the triangle icon that was currently taunting him. His finger clicked on it, Suguru’s voice filling the air. Satoru immediately felt his breath catch in his throat. It had only been four days. Four days, and he hadn’t realized how badly he missed that voice until he heard it again.

It wasn’t loud or energetic, unlike the voice Suguru used when teasing him or winning an argument. It was soft, almost hesitant, and somehow, that made it worse.

Satoru stayed perfectly still, his phone held up like it weighed a thousand pounds, his eyes on the floor. He didn’t realize how tight his body had been until it all started to loosen without permission. Like Suguru’s voice had reached into him and unlocked something.

“I miss you, Satoru.” He paused the message there, the words now hanging in the air. Satoru just sat there, staring at the frozen timestamp. Something pulled hard in his chest, too fast and too much.

“I miss you, Satoru.”

The phrase looped in his head, Suguru’s voice softer than it had ever been. He blinked, swallowed, and took in a breath that didn’t help at all.

Then, without thinking, he resumed the message. The rest poured in, Suguru stumbling a little over his words, cracking a laugh here and there, but every syllable landed like a blow.

He misses me. He’s worried. Satoru’s jaw clenched. I’m making him worry. His chest felt tight again, but not in the same way as before. This time, it felt personal, even intimate in a way. Like the hurt was finally finding a voice, and that voice wasn’t even his.

"I really just want to make sure you're fine and I’d do anything and go anywhere to confirm that you are."

His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white. He noticed. Despite all of Satoru’s rehearsed smiles, all the shoulder shrugs and I’m-fines and “just tired” excuses, burying everything behind noise and brightness. Suguru noticed. 

Satoru raked his fingers through his messy hair, a hand sliding down his head and resting on his eyes to stop the sting. He breathed in deep through his nose and let it out in a shaky rush.

The message ended, but Suguru’s voice didn’t leave. It was still there, echoing in the corners of his brain. “You're not a burden.” “Please come to me.” “I just want you to open up.” “I miss you.”

The phone slid from his hand onto the couch beside him. His gaze went distant, unfocused, stuck on the far wall like something might peel away from it and tell him what to do, but there was nothing there. Just that silence again, that same pressing silence that had filled his dorm for four days straight.

I should go to him. Shouldn’t I? The thought came fast, like instinct, but it didn’t settle easily. It felt like a pull and a weight all at once, like something in him was trying to move forward while the rest of him stood frozen in place.

But what if I mess it up? What if I show up and fall apart? What if I say everything wrong and ruin whatever’s left of this? What if I just become another thing Suguru has to carry? He leaned forward, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands. His breath stuttered once, almost hitching, but he caught it and forced it down, swallowing the sound in his throat.

He wants me to talk. He wants me to come to him. And I want to. I really, really want to. But wanting and doing felt like two different mountains.

Still, the words had already been planted; settled into the cracks in his defenses, and they wouldn’t leave him alone. He looked at his phone again. He didn’t press play, he didn’t move, he didn’t do anything, but his fingers itched to type something back.

Just something small. Anything. So that Suguru would know he’d heard him.

I should go. I should say something. I should…

But all he could do was sit there, trying to gather himself. Trying not to cry, trying not to break. Even though, maybe, he already had.

(Over text:)
Satoru: “Are you free?”

Satoru: “Sorry”

Satoru: “Can I come over?”

There was barely a pause before a response came. 

Suguru: “of course. i’ll leave the door unlocked :)”

Satoru stared at the response longer than he needed to, like his eyes were waiting to find something else in the words, like some hidden inflection, a softness he could hold onto. But even without hearing it, he could feel Suguru’s voice. It was gentle and patient, forgiving in a way that made something in his chest pull tight again.

He didn’t move at first. His fingers hovered over the screen, debating another apology. Something like never mind or forget it . But he didn’t send anything, instead he just sat there for a moment, unmoving, his legs folded beneath him on the couch.

Then, slowly, he stood. His knees felt stiff, and he rubbed at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie before heading to the mirror by the door. The hallway light caught the rims of his eyes. Maybe a little red and a little puffy. Nothing terrible.

Still, he dabbed his fingers and patted under his eyes, rubbed at the edges, practiced a small smile that looked more like a grimace, then gave up trying altogether. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. It’s Suguru. He already knows.

His steps were slow and quiet as he left the room. The dorm hallway felt colder than it had earlier, like the silence had deepened while he was gone. He walked barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled down past his wrists, hands curled in at the ends.

When he got to Suguru’s door, he stopped. Just stood there for a few seconds, unmoving. His fingers hovered near the knob, then pulled back slightly. It felt stupid, hesitating like this when he was invited . But his body didn’t seem to understand that part. His hand twitched once, then a second time, like it wasn’t sure if it would be welcomed after all.

He sucked in a quiet breath, held it, then finally, he twisted the knob and stepped in.

The room was warm, dim, and cozy. The smell of Suguru’s fragrances clung to the air, faintly vanilla and akin to chocolate. It was something familiar; something grounding.

Suguru was at the small kitchenette, back turned toward the door, but he moved instantly at the sound of it opening. His head turned first, and then he moved, slowly, carefully, almost cautiously. Like he didn’t want to startle Satoru, like he wasn’t sure if this version of him might bolt.

Their eyes met, and for a second, neither of them said anything. Satoru just stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched, something unreadable crossing his face. And Suguru just looked at him, steady and gentle, and with something so deeply open in his expression that it almost hurt to look at.

✮✮✮

“So, how’s it going? You don’t look great, so, don’t tell me you’re doing fine again.”
A soft smile came upon Suguru’s lips as he tried easing the conversation with humor, his voice low and even, carefully gentle. It wasn’t mocking or distant. It was close—closer than Satoru had felt to anyone in days.

Satoru gave a short, dry chuckle and glanced down at his lap. “Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s not been great, so.” He shrugged one shoulder, jaw tightening for a moment. His foot tapped lightly against the floor, unevenly. “Didn’t feel like lying today.”

“That’s alright.” Suguru nodded like he expected the answer, like he was already braced for it. “I made hot chocolate for the occasion in hopes that it might make this easier.” He turned to the counter behind him, retrieving two large mugs. Steam curled above the surface, faintly carrying the scent of cinnamon and sugar. “I know it’s kinda hard talking about this stuff for the first time.”

He handed one mug to Satoru, eyes flickering to his fingers to make sure he didn’t burn himself. “I know it’s still November and probably isn’t acceptable to have hot chocolate yet, but it’s something I knew you’d like.” His voice was lighter then, warm at the edges. His smile softened, cheek dimpling slightly, eyes crinkling as he added, “Be careful, it’s still pretty hot.”

Satoru accepted the mug, cupping it in both hands, letting the warmth seep into his knuckles. He nodded, a quiet thanks beneath the surface.

Suguru tilted his head toward the hallway. “You wanna go sit in my room?”

“Yeah,” Satoru said, quieter than he intended. It came out like a breath he’d been holding in for too long. He followed Suguru’s soft footsteps into the bedroom. The light in there was dimmer, amber-toned, casting everything in a muted gold. The bed creaked as Suguru sat, and Satoru settled a couple inches beside him, legs brushing briefly before shifting away.

He held the mug steady between his palms, like it was anchoring him.

“So,” Suguru began, voice easy and open, “where to start? What’s going on?”

Satoru stared ahead, his fingers tapping quietly against the ceramic. “Honestly, I don’t know where to start either.” His shoulders tensed slightly. “It probably came from that one bad grade I got.”

Suguru didn’t interrupt. Just listened and waited.

“Then everything kinda piled up over that too quickly.” Satoru’s voice picked up pace, like he was following the memory back. “It was my professor’s expectations, my mom’s expectations, everyone else’s expectations. Then there was the whole thing of not upsetting my mom— like, keeping her happy and what not. That was… uh, I don’t know. It was weird. I was so used to just… smiling for her. For everyone, kinda.”

His eyes flicked to the tan skin on Suguru’s thigh, then up just for a second. “Then, when I suddenly like, couldn’t even smile properly anymore, it just…” His words trailed. He swallowed hard. “It just fell over me. Like, my one job is to keep people happy, so when I can’t… It sucks. I just felt stupid. And telling anyone felt like the worst thing ever.”

Suguru nodded slowly. His gaze was steady and clear, nothing sharp in it. Just presence, just patience.

“…Well.” He leaned back slightly, like he wanted to give Satoru room but still be there. “You realize it isn’t your job to keep everyone happy, right? And look, I’m not saying to absolutely crush your mom. I’m just saying that… it’s fine if you let people not be your job. Especially when you can’t handle it.”

Satoru’s head tilted down, chin almost tucked to his chest. His lips were parted slightly, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“You come way, way, way before everyone else— regardless of who they are,” Suguru continued softly. “You’re the priority, okay? Not your grades, not your professor, not your mom, and not me. It’s you. Your being. Your state of mind. You get that?”

Satoru blinked hard and nodded, barely. He tucked one leg up to his chest and curled his arm around it, mug still in hand. His voice was small as he replied. “Yeah. I do. Sometimes it’s just hard to see it that way.”

Suguru’s lips pulled into a frown. He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. His gaze softened further as it landed on the white tufts of Satoru’s hair, the way the light hit it like snow under a lamp. “I can’t say I fully understand,” he said at last, “because I don’t. And I don’t want to lie to you. But I can say, I’ll be here to make you see it in the way you can’t. I’ll grow you six eyes if that’s what it takes.”

That got the tiniest lift of a brow from Satoru, the ghost of a smile twitching at the edge of his mouth.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes sometimes,” Suguru added, his voice dipping a little lower, more earnest than before. “The way I see you— it’s… it’s more than just a big dumb smile. And more than a big dumb cocky attitude. It’s really just a guy. A guy who can’t see the worth in himself. Who can’t see how much he means. Who can’t understand that he’s so much more than the people he cares for.”

Silence stretched between them. Not tense, but full. Satoru blinked down at the hot chocolate in his hands and let out a shaky exhale. For the first time in days, it felt like something in his chest loosened. Not completely, not even halfway, but enough. Enough to make space for something else.

 Something clicked in Satoru’s brain at that very moment. Quiet, almost imperceptible, like the turn of a key in an old lock. The weight in his chest didn’t vanish, but it shifted, softened. His entire body began to relax in the hush of Suguru’s room, the air tinged with chocolate and warmth. The way the lamplight glowed gold across Suguru’s face made everything feel still, like a snow globe just before it’s shaken.

His eyes softened as he looked at Suguru, like really looked at him. Their eyes felt like a wordless understanding, blue and violet reflecting into one another, shimmering like heat against ice. They gleamed in their own ways, distinct but unmistakably drawn to each other.

“Suguru…” he breathed, voice a hushed tremor. The name left his lips like it had always belonged there. It was deliberate, reverent, and steady.

The way it sounded too tender and too exposed made something stir in Suguru’s chest, low and unwelcome and dangerous. It was a feeling he shouldn't be feeling. Not now. Not when Satoru was this vulnerable, looking like a desperate blue-eyed fool. But God, it hit him all the same. His throat tightened slightly, but he tilted his head, swallowing it down.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru licked his lips, eyes still locked with Suguru’s. “Thanks. You… You’ve done a lot for me. More than you could imagine. I mean, you’ve cared for me more than a friend ever has. So. Thank you. So, so, so much.”

Suguru blinked slowly, absorbing every word. He didn’t rush to reply. He didn’t smile too quickly. He just let it settle between them, feeling it press into his ribs and thrum in his fingers.

“You’re welcome,” he said eventually, his voice quiet but steady. “You know, you’ve done the same for me. Thought I’d repay the favor, right?” His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I wanna keep caring for you. So don’t hide yourself again just ‘cause you’re too scared to tell me. You should never be scared to tell me anything. I just want to be here for you. In every way I can.”

There was something in the way he said it— like he meant it with every inch of him with no caveats and no hesitations. A string in Satoru’s chest just thrummed, sharp and sudden, beating his heart faster now. The feeling rushed up before he could tame it, flooding him with a strange sense of rightness and dread all at once. His pupils dilated, not enough to be noticeable to anyone else, but he felt it, the shift, the pull. And still, he didn’t look away.

“I won’t,” he said, voice husky. “I promise I won’t. I don’t wanna hide from you ever again.” He swallowed down the lump in his throat and smiled, small and sincere. “Those last four days were hell.” His laugh followed, soft and breathy, like the first exhale after holding too much in. It wasn’t bright or cocky. It was just… grateful.

Suguru’s smile returned, gentler now, just a stretch of lips that felt more like a vow than a reaction. “Good. I don't want you to.” He reached over and set his mug on the bedside table, steam still curling from the top.

As he turned back, the brief loss of eye contact hit Satoru all at once. It made him realize how long they’d been looking at each other, how still the world had been. A chill rippled down his spine, not unpleasant, just sharp enough to make him aware of everything again. The heat in the room, the quiet, the ungenerous space between their knees, the way Suguru’s voice lingered in his ears. Everything.

He untucked his leg, stretching it out and leaning back onto his arms after setting his own mug on the floor, fingers splayed across the comforter. His posture relaxed, but the edge of something charged still buzzed at the tips of his nerves.

“I’m staying here for the night, by the way,” he said, trying for casual as he tilted his head toward Suguru, their faces only a couple inches apart once Suguru turned his head. A grin spread across Satoru’s face, wide and familiar, but softer than usual. It was less a mask and more a reach. “I have to make up for lost time.”

Suguru chuckled, and it was such a warm sound that Satoru could feel it spread through him. “Alright, Satoru,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You can stay.” And he meant it.

Chapter Text

November 24th, Wednesday: 7:28 P.M.

The two of them were tucked into Suguru’s tiny kitchen, all faint hums and low yellow light, the room warmer than it had any right to be thanks to the radiator groaning quietly in the corner. Satoru sat perched on the edge of the counter like he belonged there, legs swinging lazily, mismatched socks peeking out beneath the cuffs of his sweatpants. His chin tilted down as he watched Suguru shuffle around below him, laying out ingredients like he was assembling parts to a small, edible disaster.

A bowl sat at the center of the counter like a shrine to impending chaos, ingredients stacked on either side of it, such as Oreos, rainbow gummies, strawberries, chocolate, and a near-frozen tub of vanilla ice cream that already had condensation dripping down the side.

“This was your idea,” Suguru said, glancing up at him with narrowed eyes and a look of half-hearted judgment. “I want that on the record.”

“I’m just saying, I’m a culinary genius.” Satoru swung his legs with exaggerated nonchalance. “This is the kind of dish that would put Gordon Ramsay to shame. You’re welcome for the cultural experience.”

Suguru snorted, shaking his head as he plucked the ice cream from the counter. “So, wait— what was it again? Ice cream, gummies, Oreos, melted chocolate… Was there anything else I’m missing, Your Highness?”

“Uh…” Satoru furrowed his brow with theatrical intensity, tapping a finger against his temple. “The strawberries. How could you forget them? That’s like forgetting the Mona Lisa’s smile.”

“Right. My bad, Leonardo.” Suguru opened the fridge, pulling out a box of strawberries and setting them down with a resigned shake of his head. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

“Exactly,” Satoru said with a grin, “but a fun disaster.”

As Suguru turned back to organize the ingredients, he paused and looked up again. “Also, why are you on my counter? You’re already tall. Now I have to completely turn my head back just to look at you.”

“I like it,” Satoru replied smugly, hopping down and brushing his hands on his hoodie. “Anyway. You got an ice cream scooper?”

“Nope. But I have a giant wooden spoon. Same difference.”

Suguru rummaged around a drawer and pulled out a large, battered spoon that looked like it had survived several lifetimes. He handed it over with a deadpan expression.

Satoru received it like it was a sword. “Perfect.”

He dug into the ice cream with the vigor of a man on a mission, shoveling out scoop after scoop until the bowl looked like a miniature glacier. A chunk of it splattered onto his cheek, and he barely noticed.

“You’ve got something on your face. Again,” Suguru said, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tried not to smile.

“Oops.” Satoru turned toward him with the most obvious smirk in the world. “You should wipe it off for me again.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, barely hiding the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll survive on your own.”

He opened the Oreos, crushing a few into the bowl with deliberate, even movements. It was almost impressive how focused he could be when he was pretending not to be amused.

“You suck,” Satoru muttered as he wiped the ice cream off himself, more dramatic than necessary.

“Says the guy making me commit crimes to the culinary world.”

“Hey, you fully agreed to this. With enthusiasm, might I add. Don’t gaslight me into thinking I dragged you into it.”

“Mmhm.” Suguru hummed in faux agreement, brushing Oreo crumbs off his hands. “Put the gummies in.”

Satoru obliged, sprinkling gummy bears into the bowl like he was blessing it. “Chef Satoru? Hell yeah.”

“I would not eat anything that came out of a kitchen run by Chef Satoru.”

“You say that, but you’ll be feasting in five minutes.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“Unbearable, but you’re still here for it.” He flashed a grin, bright and unbothered.

Suguru froze for a split second, just a beat too long, before grumbling under his breath and turning away toward the microwave. He grabbed the small bowl of chocolate pieces and popped it in, then leaned on the counter with one hand as he waited. His eyes flicked back to Satoru, who was now poking absentmindedly at the ice cream mound like it was a puzzle.

The sleeves of his hoodie had bunched up at his elbows, revealing his forearms, pale and lightly freckled. His fingers moved with casual precision, and Suguru found himself staring at them too long, tracing the way they flexed around the spoon, the quiet grace of Satoru in stillness.

His gaze drifted up to the nape of his neck, where white hair curled and messily framed the base of his skull. It ended in a mess on top of his head, but a comforting mess that Suguru could look at for hours if he let himself. The tension in Suguru’s shoulders returned, slow and low, like a pressure that had been there the whole time but was only now making itself known.

The microwave beeped, loud and sharp, jerking him back to attention. He turned quickly, almost too quickly, and pulled out the bowl of melted chocolate, setting it beside the dessert with a slight clatter.

“Here. You can pour that over top,” he said, clearing his throat.

Satoru leaned in eagerly, nostrils flaring. “Dude, this smells so good.”

He picked up the bowl and tilted it carefully, pouring molten chocolate over the mountain of sugar like he was an artist glazing a canvas. The chocolate flowed in slow, lazy ribbons, catching the light.

Suguru watched him for a moment too long again. Then smiled, a little helplessly. “It looks really good.”

He grabbed two spoons (metal ones this time) and stabbed them into opposite sides of the bowl like they were arming themselves for battle. The two of them just stood there for a second, side by side in the stillness, staring down at the chaos they’d created together.

“Can’t wait to eat this,” Satoru murmured.

“Me too,” Suguru said quietly.

✮✮✮

November 24th, Wednesday: 10:38 P.M.

“Suguru, I have a question,” Satoru said suddenly, breaking the quiet with his voice pitched just above the low murmur of the TV.

Suguru turned his head from the screen, blinking slowly. He was sprawled across the couch, half-slumped, half-curled beneath the throw blanket he’d pulled greedily over himself earlier. His cheek was pressed into the cushion, hair slightly mussed from lying still so long. His eyes flicked toward Satoru, only halfway alert.

“Yeah? What is it?”

Satoru shifted a little where he sat, propped up at the other end of the couch with a pillow behind his head. He picked at the hem of the blanket draped over Suguru’s legs, then let it go. His gaze stayed somewhere near the ceiling, deliberately avoiding Suguru’s.

“You ever been in love before?”

Suguru paused. A quiet beat passed before he raised a brow, not in surprise, but in the slow, cautious way someone might when trying to gauge the weight behind a question.

“Um,” he said, slowly. “I don’t really know. I guess so, but— that was all in high school.”

He shifted a bit beneath the blanket, pulling his arm out to grab the remote and thumb the volume lower. The screen dimmed a little as the voices faded, replaced by the hush of Suguru’s voice in the softened dark.

“I wouldn’t call it love,” he continued, more thoughtful now. “More of a like. Because back then… it felt like I was just developing feelings because everyone else already had someone. Everyone was pairing off. It was like musical chairs and I didn’t want to be the one left standing.”

He let out a short breath, like he was amused with his younger self. “So I ended up liking someone just because it made me feel like I wasn’t behind. Like I was included.” Satoru nodded a little, eyes still angled toward the ceiling, but his expression was unreadable.

“Why?” Suguru asked after a pause.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, slow and steady. He rubbed at the fabric behind his head before answering, voice quiet now. “I don’t know. Y’know that thing you said the other day— about love, and how dumb it is? That kinda stuck with me.” Suguru blinked, but didn’t say anything. He just watched him, waited.

“It made me wonder where it even comes from,” Satoru went on. “How people get so… wrapped up in someone else. So sure they’ve found the one person they want to spend forever with. Like it’s some fact they just know.” His voice trailed off a little. When he spoke again, it was softer. “Especially after seeing someone like my mom. Like. I don’t know.”

He finally looked over at Suguru then, his face unreadable, eyes just slightly tired. “She gave everything to my dad. Loved him. Wanted to build a life with him. And he… just didn’t.”

Satoru sat forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he spoke. “How could she have made that decision— to have a kid with him, tie her life to his— if she wasn’t sure he’d stay? Like, really sure. Why would she risk that?”

Suguru’s eyes softened, and slowly, he peeled himself out of the blanket a little, sitting up with a quiet rustle so they were facing more directly. His arms rested loosely over his knees. “I don’t know either,” he admitted, voice low. “Maybe it was just a decision made too fast. Sometimes people want something so badly they don't stop to check if the other person wants it too.”

His gaze dropped to his hands for a second, then lifted back to Satoru. “Your dad might’ve seen how eager your mom was. Didn’t think it through. Just let it happen because it was easier than doing anything else. Like when I was in high school. I thought I wanted to be with someone— because everyone else did. Because it felt like the thing I should want.” He paused, his voice growing more distant.

“But when the girl I liked actually asked me out, I froze. I realized... maybe I didn’t want any of it. Not a relationship. Not the idea of one. I just wanted someone to look at me differently for a while. Wanted to look at someone like that too. Nothing more.”

Satoru’s head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing as if he was trying to decode something hidden in Suguru’s tone. “So why didn’t you go through with it?” he asked. “Why pull away if you had feelings? Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

Suguru exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping just a little. “I guess I never really wanted that relationship in the first place,” he said. “I just didn’t want to be alone. Or invisible. And when it came time to turn that feeling into something real, I got scared. Like… if I followed through, I’d lose whatever vague thing I thought I was holding onto. I didn’t want to find out it wasn’t what I imagined.” He gave a small shrug, as if to soften the weight of the words.

Satoru went quiet. He leaned back again, his head tipping against the pillow once more. The flicker from the TV danced faintly over his face, casting it in soft, fractured light. His eyes were distant, somewhere else.

“I see,” he murmured.

The room was still for a moment, filled only by the quiet voices from the muted screen. Suguru didn’t speak. He just watched him.

“I always thought the worst of my dad,” Satoru said after a while. “Like, no hesitation. Just figured he was selfish. Cowardly. And I mean, he was . He left my mom to raise a kid by herself. I hated him for that. Still do, mostly.” He paused, brows pulling together faintly.

“But hearing you talk about it that way… about how maybe it wasn’t so simple—” he hesitated. “I guess it made me think. Maybe he was scared. Or maybe he was just never really sure, and he didn’t know how to say that. Maybe he let it go on longer than he should’ve, until leaving was the only thing left.”

Suguru watched him in silence. There was something different in Satoru’s voice, something softer and more exposed.

“He’s still a bad person for that,” Satoru added. “But I guess… I can see now how it might’ve happened. And that’s weird to admit.”

Suguru nodded, his voice quiet. “Yeah. He is a bad person for that. And I was too, in my own way.” He rubbed his palms together slowly, grounding himself. “But there’s always another side to the story, whether that side is bad or good. Up to you.”

Satoru inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose. “Yeah,” he echoed.

The silence stretched comfortably this time. Not heavy nor awkward. Just quiet.

Suguru tilted his head a bit, studying him gently. “You alright?”

Satoru nodded. His face was tired, but calm. “I’m more than alright,” he said. “Just… processing everything. It’s all just so weird.”

Suguru gave a soft hum in acknowledgment, pulling the blanket back around himself, but slower this time. Less cocoon, more shared warmth. He laughs softly, his voice low and warm in the dim light of the room. “It is. For sure it is.”

His eyes flick back toward the TV screen, but they don’t stay there long. After barely a beat, he turns his head again, gaze sliding over to Satoru with something quieter behind it now. His voice is easy, almost teasing, but there’s a thread of curiosity stitched through it.

“What about you?” he asks. “Were you ever in love? Are you… currently in love with anyone?”

Satoru turns to meet his gaze. His eyes catch the light from the television, soft and glassy, holding Suguru’s for a breath longer than expected. It’s not a dramatic pause, just a heartbeat long, but it lands heavy in the space between them.

Then Satoru smiles faintly, almost sheepishly, and breaks eye contact with a slight shake of his head. His voice is casual, even, but the delay lingers in the air like static.

“No,” he says. “I’m not in love with anyone right now.” His hand drags lightly across the blanket, fingers curling near the seam. “Uh— I had two girlfriends back in high school, though. One during junior year, one during senior. Neither were fully serious. I mean, it felt serious at the time, but… they both ended up leaving me.”

He shrugs, eyes shifting up toward the ceiling again. “I think I was too young to really get it. I didn’t understand what I did wrong. Just assumed they got bored of me or something. Or maybe I wasn’t enough.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice, just the kind of quiet ache that comes from revisiting something old and mostly dulled, but not entirely forgotten. Suguru listens carefully, his expression softening with every word.

He nods. “That’s alright. Most high school relationships fall apart, anyway. Too much pressure, not enough… I don’t know. Perspective.” He hesitates, then adds, a little more firmly, “I don’t think it was anything about you. I doubt that. I wouldn’t leave someone like you.” The words leave his mouth before he fully thinks them through, and the second they land, something in his chest tugs. I shouldn’t have said that. Why did I say that? What did I even mean by that? Was that weird?

He clears his throat softly, but Satoru doesn’t seem fazed. His gaze drops from the ceiling to somewhere in the middle distance, and then, slowly, he smiles, quiet and close-lipped. There’s something almost shy about it.

“Oh.” Satoru’s voice is low. “Thanks.”

Suguru feels the back of his neck warm. He nods quickly, eyes darting toward the TV, though the screen is just a blur.

“Yeah. You’re… welcome.” He picks up the remote again, thumbing the volume back up with a click that feels too loud for the moment.

The sounds of the movie wash over them once more, but the space between them doesn’t quite settle. Something still buzzes there, soft and uncertain, like the edge of a thought neither of them has fully dared to name. Their attention shifts back toward the screen, at least outwardly, but neither of them is really watching. Their minds drift elsewhere, not far, only a few inches apart, and still quietly orbiting each other.

✮✮✮

November 25th, Thursday: 12:03 A.M.

“You gettin’ tired, Snorlax?” Satoru grinned, stretching his legs out across the couch and nudging Suguru’s knee lightly with his own.

Suguru turned his head lazily toward him, lids heavy, a few loose strands slipping from his pineapple bun and falling into his eyes. “Well, sorry . I didn’t get my nap today,” he mumbled, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand.

Satoru watched him for a second too long. His grin softened at the edges, turning fond.

“Dude, that’s actually really sad. I love my naps,” he said, voice airy. “One time I accidentally napped for like five hours. I was so confused when I woke up, thought I’d slept into the next day.”

Suguru chuckled under his breath, a sleepy sound. “That’s like… my dream. My one true aspiration now is to nap for five uninterrupted hours. Maybe six. I’d wake up a whole new man.”

“It’s a transcendent experience,” Satoru nodded seriously, scooting a little lower on the couch. His foot brushed Suguru’s ankle by accident, but he didn't bother to move it. Instead, he just smiled, pretending like it never happened.

Suguru smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Y’know, one of the first things I noticed about you was your smile. After your eyes, obviously. You just… you’ve got this really big grin. It kinda just takes over your whole face.”

But it’s not just that. It’s the way his teeth clench tight together and cause wrinkles around his eyes. The way it makes his cheeks into small apples. The way his nose scrunches at the bridge. But I can’t say all that, can I? Of course not.

Satoru blinked. That one caught him off guard. There was something in Suguru’s voice— not teasing, not joking, just… sincere. His stomach did a slow flip, butterflies brushing at the walls of his ribs.

“Really?” Satoru asked, trying to play it cool, though the heat was already rising to his cheeks. He scratched lightly at the back of his neck. “I think the first thing I noticed about you were your eyes too. But then it was your hair. Obviously. It’s like… impossibly perfect. Flowy, shiny, black, long. Couldn’t not notice it.”

Suguru let out a small laugh, brushing some of those fallen strands behind his ear. “That’s good to know,” he said, voice a little quieter than before. “Your hair’s cool too, by the way. You know that, right? It’s like— so completely different from everyone else’s. But that’s the thing with you, isn’t it?” He paused, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should go on. But he did. “Everything about you is just… different. Not in a bad way. Just— you. And it all suits you so well.”

There was a moment of silence after that. Not awkward, just heavy and gentle.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Suguru shifted, pulling part of the blanket off his lap and tossing it over Satoru’s legs. His fingers brushed Satoru’s shin in the process.

“Whoops,” he said, laughing softly. “Didn’t realize I’d been hogging the whole blanket.”

The sound of his laughter, soft and unguarded, curled around Satoru’s chest like a ribbon. He stared for a moment, not at the TV and not at the ceiling, but at Suguru. At the way his shoulders moved when he laughed. The way his cheeks lifted. The way his eyes curved when he was warm and tired like this. It was stupid, but something about the whole scene made Satoru feel like he was watching a dream from the outside.

He shook himself back to attention, tugging the blanket up over his feet. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice softer than before. “Thanks, by the way.”

Suguru glanced over. “Huh?”

Satoru shrugged one shoulder, still half under the blanket, still watching Suguru. “Just— what you said. About me being different. That’s… nice. You’re different too. Like, really different from anyone I’ve ever met.” His lips tugged up into a crooked smile. “Everyone else kinda sucks. But you don’t.”

Suguru snorted. “Thanks, Satoru. I’m glad I don’t suck. That’s real high praise.”

“You’re very welcome, Suguru.” Satoru’s smile dimmed just a little, but stayed on his face. Smaller, more thoughtful now.

Suguru’s eyes found his again. Something in his chest fluttered, then stilled. He focused on Satoru’s mouth for a moment longer than necessary, watching how that small smile sat there, easy and unguarded. A quiet one of his own formed in response, softer and subtler.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. He turned back toward the TV, but his gaze was unfocused, unmoving.

Whatever was on the screen faded into a blur of color and sound. Neither of them were really watching anymore. Not truly. The sound played on as the night stretched forward around them, warm and close. Neither said another word for a while. They didn’t need to.

✮✮✮

November 25th, Thursday: 12:49 A.M.

The low hum of the TV flickered in the background, casting dim light over the room in uneven pulses. The movie was long forgotten, becoming movement and sound to fill the silence. Neither of them had spoken in a while. The quiet had stretched between them gently, unbothered, until Suguru’s head gave a subtle dip, catching Satoru’s attention.

It was a slow, sleepy fall forward, the kind that came when you’d fought off tiredness for too long. Suguru blinked blearily, trying to pull himself upright. He adjusted with a small twist of his torso, one arm tucking closer to his chest as the other curled up to drag the blanket to his chin. A quiet stretch followed, his limbs moving lazily, like he could barely be bothered.

His body leaned just slightly toward Satoru. It wasn’t much, barely an inch actually. But Satoru felt it like a weight in his chest. He stayed still, watching.

Suguru’s breathing had slowed to something soft and steady, almost audible in the hush of the room. His eyes drooped shut for a few seconds before fluttering open again, the kind of slow blinking that meant sleep wasn’t far off. Satoru could tell his mind was drifting, wandering somewhere between here and unconsciousness. His face, lit gently by the low light of the TV, looked even softer like this; less guarded. The tiniest crease between his brows smoothed out completely. 

Satoru let out a quiet breath of a laugh, barely more than a puff of air through his nose. There was something so human and beautiful about it, watching someone you cared for when they didn’t know you were watching. When they didn’t have to perform anything. When they were just themselves .

Slowly, carefully, Satoru leaned forward, reaching over Suguru’s lap with practiced caution. He plucked the remote from where it had slid down the cushion and pointed it at the TV. The screen flicked to black with a soft click, leaving the room dim and hushed. Suguru didn’t stir.

Satoru lingered there for a moment, halfway leaned in, gaze drifting back to Suguru’s face. The glow from the nearby window highlighted the curve of his cheek, the gentle dip of his collarbone under the blanket, the loose strands of hair that had fallen from his bun and now framed his temple.

He didn’t mean to smile, but it came anyway. Small and genuine, curling at the corner of his mouth. His chest felt tight and light at the same time. His heart was doing something strange in his ribcage, like shifting under the weight of something it had known for a while but hadn’t wanted to admit, not fully.

There had been so many moments, too many, maybe. The quiet walks, the dumb jokes, the comforting moments where both of them could just talk about themselves like the outside world didn’t exist. The bliss of just sitting next to Suguru and knowing that here, in this space, he didn’t have to try so hard to be okay. And now, this with Suguru curled up beside him, blanket pulled to his chin, barely awake, body instinctively leaning his way. Satoru stared for a second longer, his smile fading into something quieter, something tender even.

I think I now know who I’m currently in love with, Suguru. Just maybe. Maybe, it’s you.

Chapter Text

Being in love with Suguru is… different. Unexpected and a little surreal. Maybe even a little reckless, if he’s honest. They’re just friends, after all. Good friends. Close friends. So why does it feel like more?

Satoru can’t make it make sense, not in the neat or logical way he’s used to handling things. But his heart doesn’t care about neatness. It doesn’t care about labels or rules or the line he’s been so careful not to cross. Because when he looks at Suguru, he doesn’t just see a friend, he sees the one person who makes him feel real. It’s that simple. 

Suguru doesn’t look at him the way everyone else does. He doesn’t just see the loud, bright version of Satoru, the one that’s easy to love from a distance. He sees the silences between the jokes and listens when Satoru isn’t even sure he’s speaking clearly. He makes Satoru feel known , and not in an uncomfortable, exposed way. Instead, he makes him feel known, and still accepted . Satoru can’t remember the last time someone made him feel that way. Maybe no one ever has.

So yeah, it’s strange, complicated, and probably dangerous. But he wants it anyway. Because how could something so warm and so steady be wrong? Why shouldn’t he want the one person who makes him feel human, like himself , and not a version of someone else’s idea?

Suguru has cared for him in ways no one else ever has. He’s been gentle with Satoru’s sharp edges and patient with his silences, unafraid of the mess within. And that’s exactly what makes Satoru want him more.

He wants to chase that feeling he had the moment he hugged Suguru when cleaning the frat house— the rush in his blood, the quiet in his mind, the grounding in his chest. He wants that warmth again, that feeling of being held and not just physically, but emotionally as well. A kind of safety that’s rare and hard-earned.

He wants Suguru. God, he wants him so badly it almost aches . And maybe he shouldn’t, maybe it’s a terrible idea and he’s risking everything. But right now, in the stillness of this quiet hour, Satoru doesn’t care. Because for once, wanting something feels right.

✮✮✮

November 26th, Thursday: 9:47 A.M.

Blinking slowly, Suguru opened his eyes to a harsh beam of sunlight filtering in through the uncovered window, landing directly on his face like a spotlight. He winced, squinting against the light before instinctively turning his head the other way in search of relief.

And there he was, Satoru, still fast asleep, his long white lashes resting gently on his cheeks, his mouth parted just slightly, exhaling a slow and even breath. His hair was a wild, fluffy mess, sticking out in every direction like he’d been caught in a wind tunnel. And somehow, somehow , he had ended up impossibly close to Suguru. Their heads were inches apart, breaths shared in the same invisible space.

Suguru froze. For a few seconds, he simply stared, his brain waking up faster than the rest of him as it processed the intimacy of the position. His eyes widened, heart skipping once in his chest. Should he move? Should he roll away? It felt too close. Too much. Too easy to read into.

But then again… it wasn’t bad . It wasn’t uncomfortable, not really. In fact, there was something oddly calming about it in the way Satoru’s breathing came slow and steady, as if unconsciously inviting Suguru to do the same. And it felt wrong, somehow, to disturb that kind of peace. He settled back down and stayed put.

Carefully, Suguru rustled under the shared blanket to retrieve his phone, tucked just behind his hip. As he shifted, the back of his hand brushed softly against the lower part of Satoru’s chest. It was warm, rising and falling, and he immediately froze again, this time in embarrassment. He snagged his phone quickly, withdrawing his hand as if it had been burned.

Trying to shake off the residual flutter in his chest, he unlocked his phone and scrolled through his notifications. A photo from his sister popped up first. Dragon, wearing a ridiculous sweater that clashed horribly with his white fur. Suguru huffed a small laugh through his nose, replying with a “he looks miserable” and a broken heart emoji.

Then a sticker from his mom, some“ Happy Thanksgiving!! 🧡🍂” type of thing. He smiled faintly.

And then… nothing from his dad. Just the same blue message he’d sent three weeks ago, still left on read. Still no response, still sitting there like a ghost.

Suguru exhaled slowly through his nose and locked his phone. He didn’t want to dwell on that now. Not this morning. Not while the sunlight was warm and Satoru was still breathing softly beside him.

He looked back toward the other end of the couch. Satoru hadn’t moved, but somehow, he was even closer than before, or maybe it just felt that way now. His lips twitched upward, just slightly, at the absurdity of it all. What had he been so worried about? The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was actually kind of nice. Then a soft lock of Satoru’s white hair slipped over his face, drifting down to cover one of his closed eyes.

Suguru blinked with hesitation. His fingers twitched at his side, resisting the impulse. But the moment felt suspended in warmth, so still and harmless that he gave in to it. Slowly, gently, he reached forward and brushed the strand away, letting his fingers skim lightly across Satoru’s forehead. His hair was absurdly soft, like the down of a bird, impossibly light between his fingers. His hand hovered for a second too long, fingertips resting at Satoru’s temple.

And then Satoru stirred (amazing timing, right?). His brow creased ever so slightly beneath the touch, his eyelashes fluttering like something out of a dream, and Suguru’s breath caught in his throat.

Oh. Fuck. He jerked his hand back as if he’d touched fire, locking his eyes on Satoru’s face to see if he’d noticed. His pulse was racing now, thumping erratically in his ears.

Blue eyes cracked open, drowsy and shining against the morning light; far too bright for someone who’d just woken up.

“Suguru,” Satoru murmured, voice thick and groggy, “thanks.” His lips curled into a lazy, lopsided smirk, soft around the edges. That smile that always looked a little mischievous, a little too pleased with itself.

Suguru blinked. “Huh?” he replied quickly, clearing his throat, trying not to sound caught off guard.

Satoru gave a long, slow stretch, his arms extending above his head before flopping wide to either side of the couch with legs sprawled out like he owned the entire space.

“You fixed my hair,” he said simply.

Suguru snorted, shaking his head as heat crept up the back of his neck. “Yeah, alright. Keep dreaming.”

“I would, but you woke me up when you touched me,” Satoru said with a grin. “Not that my dreams were much different from that.”

Suguru’s eyes widened for a brief second before he quickly looked down at his phone again, trying not to let the words settle too deep. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Satoru hummed, leaning his head back against the couch cushion. “Anyway—” he cleared his throat again, voice still thick with sleep, “good morning.”

Suguru chuckled softly, shaking his head again, but smiling this time. “Morning, Satoru.”

And for a few long seconds, neither of them said anything. The morning sun stretched farther into the room, the quiet buzzing of city life starting to filter in through the windows. But on the couch, in the gentle tangle of warmth and shared breath, it still felt like the world was holding still.

✮✮✮

November 26th, Thursday: 10:21 A.M.

“So,” Satoru says while filling a cup with water, the stream running noisily into the glass, “turns out my mom won’t be able to do dinner tonight. She got pulled in for work last minute. She’s a doctor, so, y’know. She gets pulled out all the time. Kinda a bummer— she already prepped the turkey.” He huffs a soft laugh, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyways, since we can’t do Thanksgiving with her, maybe we could do something fun together. Maybe even invite a few other friends you want.”

Suguru shrugs, slipping two slices of bread into his toaster. “I’m fine with that. Maybe me, you, a couple other people— we could go out for dinner somewhere. I’m sure there’s some decent restaurants doing Thanksgiving menus.”

“Sounds good,” Satoru says with a smile. “So, who to invite? I’m thinking maybe Nanami— the blond sophomore dude. He’ll probably bring his friend Haibara with him. We just have to see if they’re free. Usually are, so,” he adds, shrugging.

“Cool. I’m sure Shoko would be down to come as well. She always makes time. I could probably have her bring Utahime— I know they’re good friends.”

Satoru tilts his head. “Utahime? Purple hair?”

“Oh, right. She hates you, doesn’t she?” Suguru snorts, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, but who cares. That crybaby hates me because I exist,” Satoru rolls his eyes. “We went to high school together. She absolutely hated my guts. For no reason, might I add.”

“You want me to tell Shoko to not ask Utahime? Or…? I just don’t wanna force you to be around someone you don’t like.”

“Eh.” Satoru waves him off lazily. “Don’t worry about it. I think she’s just teasing me. Plus, who cares? As long as I get pie at the end of it, I can tolerate her.”

“Teasing you since high school? Yeah, I’m sure that’s the case…” Suguru laughs under his breath, his toast popping up golden and perfectly crisp. “You want toast too?”

“If you have jelly, I’m set.”

“Uh, I have Nutella— is that fine?”

Satoru grins. “Even better.”

Suguru slides in two more slices for him, turning around just in time for the fabric of his T-shirt to sway slightly with the motion. His hair’s still a little rumpled from sleep, and there’s a softness around his face that makes him look younger, more relaxed. Satoru watches without meaning to, his gaze catching on the outline of Suguru’s profile, watching how the sunlight pours in through the window and coats his skin in a muted gold and how his lashes cast gentle shadows on his cheekbones. His throat goes a little dry.

There’s a rhythm to these quieter moments with Suguru, like a kind of ease that Satoru never really got used to, even though he’s grown to expect it. It’s the quiet warmth of toast popping, mugs clinking, Suguru’s voice low and steady in the background. He thinks (maybe not for the first time) how much he wants more mornings like this. He doesn’t just mean friendly ones. Maybe he means something closer, something more.

Suguru turns around and leans back against the counter, and Satoru quickly blinks out of his daze.

“So,” Suguru starts, “we’ve got two other people who are pretty likely to come, and four if Nanami brings Haibara and Shoko brings Utahime. That’s pretty good, right?”

Satoru nods. “Yeah. I hope Nanami brings Haibara— he’s fun. Plus, Nanami’s always a little less of a hardass when he’s around.”

Suguru gives a faint smile, the toaster behind him clicking as it finishes. He plates the fresh toast and hands it to Satoru. “Nutella’s in the drawer next to you, I think.”

“Alright.” Satoru crouches slightly and pulls the drawer open, grabbing the jar of partially eaten Nutella with an exaggerated grin like it’s treasure. He sets it down and twists off the lid, the familiar scent already drifting into the space between them.

For a second, neither of them speaks. The clink of the butter knife scraping against the jar is the only sound. Suguru watches Satoru spread the chocolate with a little too much focus, and Satoru can feel his eyes even before he looks up. There’s something in the air, something just on the edge of being named, but neither of them pushes it.

Instead, Satoru clears his throat and murmurs, “This’ll be good. Tonight, I mean.”

Suguru gives a small nod, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. It will.”

✮✮✮

November 26th, Thursday: 6:48 P.M.

A couple of hours later, after everyone confirmed for tonight’s dinner, Satoru found himself back in Suguru’s dorm. Technically, they were “getting ready,” though in reality Satoru had been ready for the last hour. He’d thrown on his plain black sweatshirt, light jeans, and sneakers. Just something simple and comfortable, nothing to fuss over. Meanwhile, Suguru was still adjusting his sweater in front of the mirror like his hands would magically make it look different with a hundredth pat down.

Satoru sat cross-legged on Suguru’s bed, leaning back on his palms as his long legs bounced restlessly. His eyes drifted to the dark-haired boy standing across the room, framed by the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Suguru tugged at the hem of his navy sweater, flattening out the fabric over his torso, a thin edge of his white T-shirt peeking out from underneath.

“The navy makes your skin pop,” Satoru said suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His lips curved into an easy grin to mask how much he meant it. “Oh, and so does dark red. Hundred percent.”

Suguru met his eyes through the reflection in the mirror, fingers combing through strands of onyx hair as he studied his own appearance. A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Really? I always think dark red is a bit intimidating, no?”

“Maybe,” Satoru replied, shrugging casually like his pulse wasn’t picking up speed, “but not in a bad way. I think it’s cool.”

Cool. That’s the best you’ve got? Cool? He sounded like one of those desperate people who tried sugaring him up before asking him out. Except now he’s the one sugaring Suguru up— and for what? For nothing. For everything.

God, at this rate, my stupid secret “feely-weelies” for Suguru are gonna be obvious to anyone who even looks at us. I really wish I didn’t have that little epiphany last night. I really wish I just saw him as a regular friend. But I don’t, and at this point, I can’t.

“Oh, cool. I think black looks good on you,” Suguru said after a beat, his voice calm, his eyes flicking down to Satoru’s plain black sweatshirt before meeting his gaze again in the mirror.

For a split second, Satoru forgot how to breathe. Compliments from Suguru weren’t unusual, as they’d exchanged plenty before, but this one felt… different. Softer in a way. Like it wasn’t just filler words in the air.

Something turned low in his stomach, winding tight like a spring. He shifted on the bed, the frame creaking softly under his weight as if to fill the silence. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice quieter than intended.

Suguru’s lips curled the faintest bit higher, as though satisfied with the exchange, before he turned slightly to check his sweater one last time. Satoru let his eyes linger, just for a moment longer than necessary, watching how the navy blue contrasted against Suguru’s tan skin, how the strands of black hair brushed delicately against his jawline. He imagined what it would feel like to reach out, to tuck one of those strands behind his ear, to say something that would make Suguru look at him like that again.

Instead, he tore his gaze away and looked down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on his jeans as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Ready to go?” Suguru’s voice cut through his thoughts, warm and steady.

Satoru looked up, forcing a grin that almost covered the knot in his chest. “Yeah. Let’s go eat some turkey.”

✮✮✮

November 26th, Thursday: 7:13 P.M.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the warm glow of pendant lights casting a soft amber hue over polished wooden tables. There was the faint sound of clinking glasses and mellow jazz weaving through the air, paired with the cozy chatter of diners enjoying their holiday evening. Satoru walked in alongside Suguru, his hands shoved lazily into the pockets of his jeans, his grin stretching wide the moment he spotted their table.

“Hey!” Satoru called out, striding forward with an energy that turned a few heads from nearby tables. His bright voice cut through the hum of conversation, and sure enough, the group turned, some laughing, some already halfway through a drink.

Shoko, leaning back in her chair like she owned the place, snorted loudly at the sight of them. “Hime, look— don’t they look like a married couple?”

Utahime gave a sly smile into her glass, and Satoru immediately felt his ears burn despite the mask of a smirk he wore. He bit back the spiral before it showed on his face, plastering on his usual cocky grin.

On the plus side, the table was round, which meant he didn’t have to be stuck on the opposite side of Suguru all night. Small victories.

Suguru pulled a chair out with the ease of someone pretending that joke didn’t phase him in the slightest. He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he sat down. “How is she drunk? She doesn’t even have access to the alcohol here.”

Satoru snorted and slid into the chair right beside him, settling in between Suguru and Haibara. “She’s resourceful. Like a raccoon with a med degree.”

“I heard that, Gojo,” Shoko shot back lazily, but her grin gave her away.

Suguru chuckled, shaking his head before turning his attention away from the banter and toward the two new faces across the table. “Hey, sorry. I’m Geto. I think you’re Nanami, and you’re Haibara— based off of Sator— Gojo’s descriptions, right?”

Nanami gave a small nod, his calm expression offset by the faintest twitch of amusement tugging at his lips. “You’re right. Should I be scared to ask what those descriptions were?”

“Wow, Nanami.” Satoru leaned back in his chair dramatically, hand pressed over his chest. “You think I’m evil, don’t you? For your information, I didn’t say anything except how much of an absolute angel you are.”

“Really?” Suguru arched an eyebrow, his voice a mix of mockery and laughter. “I don’t recall that part…”

“You weren’t listening!” Satoru shot back, grinning.

Utahime snorted into her drink. “You are evil. And you’d never call someone an angel. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Believe it, dude,” Satoru said with a lazy wave of his hand, his grin only widening when Utahime rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t sprain something. “Yeah, yeah. Put some horns on your head, will you?”

“Gladly, if it means stabbing you with them,” Utahime muttered, her tone so dry it could have sparked a wildfire.

Suguru hid his laugh behind the rim of his water glass, shoulders shaking slightly. And maybe it was the warm lighting or the clamor of voices around them, but for a moment, it almost felt like the entire evening was set to a rhythm, a comfortable beat of laughter, playful bickering, and fleeting glances that neither Satoru nor Suguru were brave enough to hold for too long.

Chapter Text

November 26th, Thursday: 7:42 P.M.

Satoru’s face had picked up a definite red tint now, not from embarrassment, but from the two beers Shoko had slid his way earlier in the evening with a devilish grin. Everyone else at the table (besides Suguru) had about the same amount of alcohol, but no one wore it quite like he did.

Satoru Gojo, for all his swagger and mouth, couldn’t hold his liquor. Two beers in and he looked sun-kissed and floaty, grinning at nothing, and holding onto the edge of the table like it might float away without him. The only one matching his flushed cheeks was Shoko, and she was at least three drinks ahead, her eyes half-lidded and amused.

Suguru hadn’t touched his drink beyond one polite sip. He already knew how this would play out, he always did. Satoru would end up drunk and that means Suguru would end up being the driver back to campus. And maybe a small part of him liked being the one who stayed just clear-headed enough to handle it all.

“Wait, so— you’re telling me this guy’s a big drinker? Really?” Shoko burst out laughing, mid-conversation with Haibara, who’d apparently just shared that Nanami was surprisingly fond of alcohol.

“Mmhm,” Haibara said with a confident nod, “He’s low-key a fan. Controlled chaos, though. Very responsible.”

“What’s so hard to believe about that?” Nanami said, raising a brow, calmly cutting his turkey. “Do I not come off that way?”

Satoru pointed at him with his fork, then promptly stabbed a piece of mac n’ cheese with it. “No, dude. You’re the epitome of a good kid. Like an honors-student-with-perfect-attendance kinda guy. Like… you’d never drink because it’s too dangerous or something.”

Nanami squinted. “Don’t call me a kid. You’re literally six months older than me.”

Satoru just chuckled, mouth full, and turned away from the rising heat of that exchange like it was nothing. His gaze shifted to the plate beside his own. “Can I try some of your corn, Suguru?” he asked, lips curling into a lazy smile, eyes big and pleading like a starving puppy.

Suguru sighed, but there was no real annoyance in it. Just the usual resigned softness. “Yeah, here.” He scooped a spoonful of the creamy, seasoned corn, not thinking much of it, until Satoru leaned forward.

Satoru’s lips parted slowly, too slowly, and wrapped around the spoon Suguru held with an ease that was almost criminal. He slid the corn off in one smooth motion, eyelids raising just slightly to meet Suguru’s eyes as the flavor hit his tongue.

The metal pulled back with a quiet clink against his teeth. Suguru’s hand froze in midair, eyes locked on Satoru’s mouth like it had turned magnetic. Blue sparked behind Satoru’s lashes. That slow, lazy blink. That grin. The glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Suguru set the spoon down a second too late, blinking himself back to the table, but his stomach didn’t follow. It was fluttering with tightness and warmth, a sensation he hadn’t felt in ages. Or maybe ever.

What the hell was that?

He cleared his throat too hard and reached for his fork, stabbing a piece of turkey with more force than necessary. He drowned it in gravy, eyes glued to the meat like it was the most important thing he’d ever seen.

From the corner of his vision, he noticed it, how the entire table had gone eerily quiet. Utahime was staring, lips pursed in a smile she was clearly trying to suppress. Shoko raised one brow in a manner far too smug. Haibara was barely holding in a laugh, and even Nanami had paused mid-chew, silently thinking something he wasn’t going to speak on.

Satoru, somehow, remained entirely focused on his food, like nothing weird had just happened. Like he didn’t just slow-motion eat off of Suguru’s spoon in front of everyone like they were on some date in a coming-of-age film.

“Is that like… normal for you guys?” Utahime finally asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was casual, teasing, but there was something curious behind it too. “Casual?”

Suguru blinked. “What?” He shook his head a little too fast. “It’s not— he wanted corn.”

She shrugged. “Right. Sorry, just asking.”

But her hand slid over Shoko’s on the table, fingers curling softly around hers in a motion Suguru might not have caught if he weren’t already watching for it.

He let out a quiet breath. Okay. Maybe no one here was about to throw a chair or whisper behind his back. Maybe… he wasn’t being looked at like a freak.

Nanami returned to his food without a word. Haibara just kept grinning, eyes bouncing between the two of them like he was watching a sitcom.

At least I’m with a good group of people, Suguru thought. That wouldn’t have slid with like… anyone else. Would’ve probably been thrown a slur or something. His gaze flicked upward.

Satoru was reaching for his drink, smile still lazy, eyes slightly unfocused, but underneath all that, there was a softness Suguru couldn’t quite place. Like he’d known exactly what he was doing. Suguru’s chest ached for a second with something he didn’t have the words for yet.

I don’t know why that did something to me. But it did, whether or not he wanted to admit it.

✮✮✮

The server approached just as the laughter at the table died down into warm, drunken hums. She had short, choppy blue hair, two glinting green eyes, and stood beside Suguru’s chair like she belonged there.

“Hey! Could I get you guys anything else?” she asked, voice light and bright, eyes trained on Suguru. Her hand rested casually on the back of his chair, barely touching, but unmistakably there.

Suguru turned to glance at Satoru, as if deferring to him automatically. “I think he wanted a pie or something— what flavors do you have?”

“If you have pumpkin pie I’m set,” Satoru said quickly, his usual grin in place, though his tone was a little too pointed to be purely cheerful. His eyes flicked down, once sharp to the hand resting against Suguru’s chair, then slowly up to the server’s face.

“Pumpkin pie it is.” She smiled sweetly and unaware, or pretending not to be, and looked around the table. “Is that it?”

The group nodded in agreement, voices low and loose, and she left with a casual wave. But even after she was gone, something about the space she’d occupied lingered.

“She was holding your seat, d’you know that?” Satoru said after a beat, his voice light but dipped in something just a little acidic. He rested his head in his hand and turned toward Suguru, eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sneer.

Suguru blinked, caught off guard by the comment. “...Really?” he asked, glancing toward the server’s retreating back like he might find something different about her if he looked again. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Satoru said simply. He leaned back in his chair with exaggerated ease, tilting his head up toward the ceiling. The stretch of his neck caught the warm amber light, casting a soft sheen along his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and Suguru saw it and even felt it somehow, before he even realized he was staring.

Suguru cleared his throat and looked away fast, trying to shake off the sudden heat crawling up his collar. He didn’t know what the hell that moment was supposed to be. Why it felt loaded and why Satoru had sounded so different.

He glanced around the table, searching for an exit in the form of conversation. His eyes landed gratefully on Haibara, bright-eyed and already halfway through his second Sprite, beaming like he lived on joy alone.

“So, Haibara,” Suguru started, voice a little rushed, “did you say you grew up in Kyoto?”

Haibara nodded enthusiastically, launching into a story about his high school kendo team. Suguru leaned in slightly, feigning interest for the sake of distraction, but part of him couldn’t stop hearing Satoru’s voice from a moment ago.

“She was holding your seat.” It wasn’t just an observation, it felt like a claim.

I’m probably just being delusional. He’s drunk anyways, so he’s just a little odd. Whatever, I’m not gonna think about it.

✮✮✮

November 26th, Thursday: 8:21 P.M.

The group had begun to scatter, their voices growing softer with distance as they disappeared into the night. Footsteps faded into parking lot gravel and the faint hum of a city winding down.

Suguru remained just outside the restaurant, the sharp scent of an American Thanksgiving clinging to his hoodie, his hands wrapped firmly around Satoru’s shoulders as they made their slow, uneven way toward the car.

“Dude,” Suguru sighed, gripping Satoru a little tighter as he stumbled again. “You should not be drinking if it gets you this messed up in, like… four beers.”

Satoru chuckled loosely, the sound warm and messy, like it hadn’t quite figured out what direction it was going. “Yeah, I don’t usually. Just thought I’d have some fun— Thanksgiving ‘n all, right? I can drink here and there.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but his hand never left Satoru’s jacket sleeve. “Whatever.”

Satoru stopped for half a second and turned halfway to face him, walking slightly backward with a cocky smirk, his cheeks tinged a dusty pink that didn’t seem entirely from the cold. “Suguru,” he said, dragging out the name like it tasted good in his mouth, “y’know something about you?”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, wary. “What?”

“You care about me,” Satoru said with a sloppy kind of certainty, like he wasn’t even trying to convince him— it was just the truth, plain and easy. “Even when you pretend you don’t. You always help me. Like— always . So… thanks.”

Suguru blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity, the softness beneath the grin.

He nodded slowly, eyes briefly searching Satoru’s. “Yeah. I do care,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “Of course I do. And I try to help. I want to.”

Satoru hummed in agreement, almost to himself, as if he was filing that away somewhere secret. Suguru stepped ahead and opened the passenger-side door, slipping the keys from Satoru’s dangling fingers without needing to ask.

The night was chilled now, their breath faintly visible in the air. Suguru was just turning to head toward the driver’s side when he heard a sudden scuffle of feet behind him—

Thunk.

Satoru’s shoe had caught on a broken crack in the concrete, jagged and raised like the earth had stubbed its own toe. He pitched forward with a surprised yelp, arms flailing a little, but before he could fall, Suguru turned and caught him.

His hands landed right against Satoru’s sides, instinctively steadying him. Through the soft fabric of the sweatshirt, he could feel the give of muscle and the faint press of Satoru’s ribs beneath. Their bodies were close, too close. Satoru’s head was tilted down, just a breath away from Suguru’s chest, and Suguru didn’t move.

There was something in that moment, something that swam beneath the surface of his skin, that pressed into his throat from the inside and refused to let go. He could hear Satoru breathing, could feel it in the narrow space between them, and for the first time, he didn’t have to look up to meet his eyes. He liked that. He hated that he liked that.

Satoru stood back upright with a soft laugh, grinning as he shook the hair out of his eyes. “See— thanks . That’s what I mean. I don’t know anyone else who’d do that for me.”

His voice was softer now, gentler, like the alcohol had melted something in him open. “I mean it, Suguru. You’re just… different. So different. ”

Suguru swallowed, unsure how to respond. His hands had fallen away from Satoru’s sides, but they still felt the shape of him.

Then Satoru stepped in, just a little. Just enough. He brought a hand up slowly, like he was checking Suguru’s reaction with each inch of movement, before letting his fingers rest lightly on the curve of Suguru’s neck. His thumb brushed along the edge of his collarbone, tender and absentminded, like it belonged there. Suguru froze. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him like that.

“Suguru…” Satoru’s voice was quiet now, unfamiliar in its vulnerability. “I—” He exhaled gently, gaze flickering between Suguru’s eyes and mouth.

“Satoru?” Suguru’s voice came out smaller than he expected. The air felt heavier now, or maybe he was just too aware of how close they were, of the fact that he didn’t want to move away.

Satoru leaned in. It wasn’t rushed. His head tilted slightly, the way he always did when he was curious about something. His lips found Suguru’s with a softness that didn’t match anything about him, gentle and barely there at first, just enough to ask a question without words. Their noses brushed cold against each other’s cheeks. Suguru’s eyes fluttered shut for half a second, overwhelmed by the warmth of the kiss and the quietness of it.

And for a moment, just a moment, he let himself stay. The pressure of Satoru’s mouth, the hand still resting against his neck, the muted sounds of distant cars in the background, it all wrapped around him like something whole. Something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

But then the moment shattered. His eyes opened, making the warmth turn to static. His mind caught up. He’s kissing Satoru. And that— that can’t happen. Not now. Not like this.

Suguru shook his head quickly and pulled away, his body reacting before he could find the right words. A hole cracked open in his chest as he stepped back.

The look on Satoru’s face collapsed, replacing itself with confusion, hurt, and something like disbelief knitting between his brows. The smile that had been there seconds ago vanished, leaving behind only silence. Suguru couldn’t breathe; couldn’t speak. And Satoru just stood there, still reaching for something that Suguru had already stepped away from.

“Satoru— no. No, no, no—” Suguru stammered, shaking his head as if that alone could rewind time, undo what just happened. His voice dropped, barely more than a breath. “I’m sorry, but we— no. You’re drunk, Satoru.”

His hands were already moving, restless and shaky like his body was trying to find a way to contain the panic crawling up his throat. “I don’t think we should… do that,” he murmured, eyes darting anywhere but at Satoru’s face. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

Satoru stepped back as if struck, blinking slow and confused, his breath visible in the chilled night air. “Wait— Suguru, I just—”

But Suguru was already turning, moving fast like the action alone could make the moment disappear. He rounded the front of the car without another word.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

The air outside suddenly felt cruel. Satoru’s hands hung limp at his sides before he clenched them into fists and followed. He climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door with more force than he meant to. The noise cut through the cold silence like a slap. His heart was still pounding, uneven and loud in his chest. “I’m sorry, I… I thought that we—” He rubbed the side of his face, voice trembling in the slightest. “I thought you… you felt something too.”

Suguru didn’t respond. He just started the car, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the empty lot as he slowly reversed out.

“No— just… we’ll forget about it, okay?” Suguru said eventually, the words quiet but sharp. His tone was meant to be gentle, but all Satoru heard was distance.

Satoru turned in his seat to face him. “Forget about it?” His brows pulled together. “What? Is that your method?” He laughed once, bitter. “Yeah, okay, it was kind of an accident, sure. But I still meant it. I felt it. And you—….didn’t you?”

Suguru’s hands froze on the wheel. His eyes flinched shut for half a second before reopening. “No,” he whispered. “And neither did you. Satoru, you’re drunk. It was an accident. Like you said. Just… a mistake. All of it.”

Satoru blinked at him like he didn’t understand the language anymore. “A mistake?” His voice cracked on the word. “Suguru, don’t— don’t say that. It wasn’t a mistake.” His tone frayed at the edges, desperate. “You— God, you stood there like you wanted it. You didn’t push me away, not at first. You even— you closed your eyes. I saw you.”

“I panicked,” Suguru snapped. “Okay? I was caught off guard. I didn’t know what to do, and I froze. That doesn’t mean I wanted it.”

“That’s not fair,” Satoru whispered, voice suddenly quiet. “That’s not fair, Suguru. You let me kiss you… You let me. You didn’t want to pull away. You—you held onto it. Like it meant something. Kissed me like it was sweet but— but you spat me out like it was disgusting.”

Suguru’s grip on the wheel tightened as it turned, knuckles pale. “I never said you were disgusting,” he muttered. “Don’t twist my words. I just— I don’t think you’re in the right state to talk about this right now.”

Satoru shook his head, pushing forward. “If not now, then when? When we’re both pretending it didn’t happen? When I’m chasing after you again just to be met with silence?” His voice cracked again, harsher now, like it physically hurt to speak. “You’re going to run away again, aren’t you? You’re going to shut me out, make me invisible like I was never even part of your life. You think I haven’t seen this pattern before? I felt something, Suguru. I meant what I did.”

Suguru’s foot hovered on the gas before he pressed down slowly, merging into the quiet road, the glow of passing streetlamps cutting across his expression in shadows.

“I’m in love with you,” Satoru blurted, almost involuntarily, almost like it hurt worse to keep it in. “Genuinely. I—”

“Please don’t say that,” Suguru said quickly, his voice low and raw, as if the words physically wounded him. “Please. Don’t say you love me.”

“I do, though. I do—”

“You don’t , Satoru.” His voice rose now, a little louder, trembling with weight. “You think you do. You’re drunk and confused and needy, and I get it, I do. But love isn’t what this is. It’s not.” He exhaled, deep and long, like he was trying not to cry. “Please, just… stop.”

There was a pause.

“But Suguru, I—”

“Satoru, I said stop .”

He said it so sharply that it rang in Satoru’s ears like a shot fired in the middle of a funeral. Satoru went still. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His heart thumped unevenly. He swallowed hard, feeling something sharp wedge itself between his ribs. He blinked fast, willing the blur behind his eyes to go away, but it didn’t.

He bit down on his bottom lip hard, hard enough to leave a mark, and turned his head toward the window. Outside, the city was quiet, cold, and distant. It matched how he felt exactly.

Suguru didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. His fingers were twitching on the steering wheel again, like he was trying to ground himself, trying not to pull over and scream. Every breath he took felt shallow and insufficient.

He felt awful, beyond awful even. It was a familiar kind of guilt, but sharper now, tied to something fragile he didn’t want to name.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This wasn’t how you protect someone. This wasn’t how you treat the person you love. But what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t kiss his drunk best friend just because it felt good in the moment. That wasn’t real, that wasn’t safe, and that wasn’t right . Still, he couldn’t shake the way Satoru had looked at him before pulling away, like he was made of glass and Suguru had shattered him. 

Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the drive, but the silence said everything.

✮✮✮

November 26th, Thursday: 8:39 P.M.

Suguru parks the car in the familiar lot, engine humming to a stop like the dying breath of something exhausted. A pair of seatbelts unclip in near unison, bringing two soft clicks that feel louder than they should in the thick silence.

He opens his door and steps out, the cold night air biting immediately at his skin. It fills his lungs in a sharp inhale that stings on the way down. 

Circling the car, Suguru checks the passenger side, half-expecting to find Satoru slumped against the door or still struggling to get out. But Satoru’s already upright, legs swung out, feet planted on the pavement. He looks steady, on the outside at least.

Suguru exhales through his nose. Quiet relief. “Here’s your keys,” he says, holding them out with a careful distance.

Satoru doesn’t even glance at him. Just plucks the keys from his palm and starts walking. No eye contact, no nod, nothing. The silence lands like a slap.

Suguru stays where he is for a beat too long, watching the way Satoru’s back looks hunched under the weight of something neither of them can name, then he falls into step behind him.

Inside, the two ascend the main staircase, Satoru being a few steps ahead with his stride clipped and mechanical, faster than usual.

“Satoru, slow down. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Suguru says, voice low but firm, like he’s still holding onto some role of responsibility.

“I’m fine, Suguru. I can walk. I’m not a child.”

The sharpness in his voice slices through Suguru more than he expects. He flinches, even though he doesn’t let it show. His feet drag a little heavier against the stairs now. He doesn’t bother catching up. What would be the point?

He watches Satoru from behind, noticing the slight stutter in his step when his foot catches on the edge of a stair. He doesn’t fall, but it’s close enough to make Suguru’s breath catch.

“Satoru—”

But Satoru spins on his heel, jaw clenched, eyes lit with something raw. “Why do you care, Suguru?”

Suguru freezes mid-step. “Am I not allowed to care about you?”

“If you can’t care for all of me, don’t care at all.”

The words slam into him.

“You care about me getting hurt when it’s not you. When it’s someone else, when I trip, or bleed, or cry over something else, you care so, so much.” Satoru’s voice cracks, but he doesn’t stop. “But when you’re the one who hurts me, it suddenly becomes my fault. Suddenly, I’m dramatic. I’m drunk. I’m not thinking straight.” He laughs bitterly, almost breathlessly. “I’m tired of that. Twice, Suguru. This is the second time you’ve made me feel like I’m nothing.”

Suguru’s mouth opens slightly, something like a protest already forming. “I was struggling the first time, Satoru,” he says, his voice quieter, his expression almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to. I just— I wasn’t okay then.”

Satoru’s fists curl so tightly at his sides that his nails dig red crescents into his palms. “But why make me feel like shit just because you’re fucked up and can’t handle it?” His voice breaks. “And why are you bringing that up now? You’re not spiraling tonight, are you? You’re fine. But you still hurt me.” He doesn’t mean it, or maybe he does. He can’t even tell anymore. All he knows is that it hurts.

Suguru’s head lifts slowly, eyes narrowing like he’s just been slapped. “Did you just call me fucked up ?”

Satoru falters. “No, I— That’s not what I—”

“You think I’m broken now? Because I’ve got problems? That’s what I am to you?”

“I didn’t say that, Suguru,” Satoru growls, the pain in his voice no longer subtle. “You’re focusing on the wrong goddamn part. Just— just listen to me for once .”

“I don’t want to listen to a drunk guy claiming he loves me,” Suguru snaps. “You can’t just say shit like that and expect it to be real. You’re— this isn’t the time.”

“It is real,” Satoru says, stepping closer like he can convince Suguru with the proximity. “I do love you. Why is that such a fucking problem?”

“ Stop saying that! ” Suguru’s voice rises. His chest heaves once. “Stop. Just— please don’t say it again.”

“Yeah, I won’t,” Satoru says, his voice suddenly flat. “Doesn’t apply anymore.”

He turns without waiting for a reaction and takes the hallway left, disappearing toward his room. His back looks too straight, too practiced. Like he’s holding himself together just enough to make it behind the door.

Suguru doesn’t move for a moment. His legs feel like stone and his hands are shaking.

He bites the inside of his cheek hard, and walks numbly toward his own door. He opens it, closes it behind him, and stands in the silence, swallowing the sound of his own regret.

Chapter Text

Satoru’s footsteps drag a lazy, uneven rhythm straight to his bedroom. He shoves the door closed behind him with the heel of his foot and kicks his shoes into some abyss of junk in the corner without even glancing where they land. The room feels colder than it should, or maybe he’s just too aware of the empty space around him.

The sleeves of his sweatshirt press hard against his eyes as he drops onto the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. His breathing comes in sharp inhales and slower, trembling exhales, the kind you take when you’re trying to hold yourself together and not completely unravel.

I’m not in love. The thought tries to come out clean and decisive, but it just tastes bitter, hollow, and wrong.

He tips his head back, resting one arm behind him for balance while the other covers his eyes. Behind his lids, the room spins in slow circles, but all he sees is Suguru’s face, his tight jaw, guarded stare, and that slight flinch when Satoru’s words had hit.

After a long pause, he forces himself upright. If he can just get changed, maybe the motion will trick him into feeling normal. All he wants is to be comfortable, to disappear under a blanket and not think, but his brain insists on replaying every word.

The black sweatshirt comes off in one rough pull, the fabric twisting against his neck before he tosses it toward the laundry pile. His jeans follow, crumpling somewhere in the mess. The chill of the room prickles over his bare skin, and he shivers, not from cold, but from something bone-deep.

Suguru hates you. What were you thinking? The thought lodges in his throat. He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the weight, but it only grows.

“You can’t just say shit like that and expect it to be real.” Suguru’s voice cuts through him, and the memory of that hurt, raw and unguarded. It makes Satoru’s stomach tighten. The image of him standing there, shoulders squared but eyes full of something breaking, refuses to leave.

He rakes through a few hoodies, his fingers clumsy and slow, as if even choosing clothes is too much effort. When he tugs a gray one free, half the stack spills onto the floor. He stares at the heap for a long second, not moving to fix it, before slipping the hoodie over his head. It smells faintly of detergent and autumn air.

The shaking in his hands creeps back, spreading through his arms and legs until he has to sit again. His bed sinks under his weight, and for a second, it feels like it might swallow him whole.

This is why I don’t love. The thought twists in his chest, jagged and cold. This is why I keep it light, keep it stupid, keep it safe. Loving and caring and having feelings is the most twisted curse someone one could ever have.

His throat aches. He presses the heel of his hand to his mouth like he can physically stop the ache from spilling out, but it doesn’t work. He pulls the blanket over himself anyway, cocooning until the edges press in and there’s nothing but fabric and his own breath.

The pillow is cool against his cheek at first, then warm as his skin heats it, as if it’s trying to soak up all the relentless thoughts crowding in. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. Not because it will fix anything, but because it’s the only thing that might quiet him. Just for tonight.

✮✮✮

Sit back— just sit back and relax. Don’t think about it.

Suguru eases himself into the dent in his pillow, the cotton of his oversized T-shirt twisting under his shoulder blades. His hair slips forward over his face, and he absently combs his fingers through the strands, trying to untangle more than just knots. The wall in front of him stares back blankly.

A breath trembles out of him. He ties his hair into a low ponytail just to have something to do with his hands. “Relax, relax, relax,” he murmurs under his breath, but the syllables warp in his mind until they start to sound like, relapse, relapse, relapse.

His gaze drifts toward the bathroom door, the sharp white edge of it standing out in the dim light. He knows what’s in there. Knows he shouldn’t step inside. It’s been weeks, weeks , since he’s slipped, and he can’t ruin it now. Not over a fight, not over a kiss, not over Satoru. 

This is the test, isn’t it? he thinks bitterly. This is where I’m supposed to be strong. This is where I prove I’m not who I was before.

And then, cutting through his thoughts, comes Satoru’s voice, lodged deep like a splinter. “ because you’re fucked up and can’t handle it.”

The words settle heavy in his chest. Fucked up. Even Satoru thinks it. And if someone like him, someone who’s seen every version of me believes that… then what does everyone else see?

Suguru tips his head back until it rests against the wall, blinking at the ceiling as his vision swims. His fingers twist together in his lap until the knuckles ache. The air feels too thick, like he’s breathing in gloppy syrup.

Don’t go in there, he tells himself. But then another thought slinks in. Why not? Would it matter? Would it change anything? Would Satoru’s voice stop echoing just because Suguru held himself back? Or would he still be “mental” in his eyes, whether he relapsed or not? He drags his gaze from the bathroom door to his knees, curling forward slightly.

He doesn’t think that. Not really, right? He didn’t mean it. He says things when he’s angry— God, I’ve done the same. Worse, too.

But the memory of tonight’s kiss comes rushing back uninvited, the feel of Satoru’s mouth on his, the way his hands lingered, the way neither of them moved to pull away right away. Suguru swallows hard.

Why did I kiss back? Why did I stay there, holding onto him, pretending for a second that it was okay? That it was allowed? Why had it felt like… like everything? And worst of all, I couldn’t bring myself to admit it— admit that it was okay and allowed and nice. I’d just stood there, letting Satoru look at me with those tired, blue eyes, waiting for some comfort I couldn’t bring myself to give.

He squeezes his eyes shut, sliding down the mattress until the blanket swallows him whole, only a few loose strands of hair escaping the cocoon.

His voice, muffled against the pillow, is barely a whisper, saying, “Why did tonight happen?” The question burns in his chest, heavy and unanswered.

✮✮✮

November 30th, Monday: 11:07 A.M.

Seven minutes into class, and Suguru’s still not here. At this point, I doubt he’s even coming. He’s probably avoiding me again. He lets a slow breath leak out through his nose, nails tracing the carved initials and fading doodles on the desk’s surface. The question quietly gnaws at him. Do I want Suguru to show up or not? Would it hurt more if he didn’t?

The door clicks open. A flat, clipped “late” from the professor is followed by a familiar sigh and the soft scuff of sneakers dragging across the floor. Black hair, a little messier than usual, swings low as Suguru slumps into the seat directly ahead. His oversized hoodie swallows his frame, the sleeves nearly covering his hands, and the faint scent of jasmine and vanilla drifts back toward Satoru, curling in his chest like smoke he doesn’t want to inhale.

Guess I was wrong. He came.

The lecture drifts forward, voices blending into background noise until Dr. Parroe drops the worst possible sentence. “Find a partner and finish the rest of the work for today.”

Suguru’s throat clears, soft and tentative. He shifts in his seat, twisting just enough to cast a discreet glance over his shoulder, as if testing the water.

Satoru doesn’t meet his eyes. Not yet, and not like this. He pushes back his chair and swings himself toward one of the many voices calling his name.

Suguru freezes for a beat, his head pounding faintly at the flat rejection, a heavy, sinking knot forming in his chest. His leg begins to bounce, jittery against the floor, while his fingers twist at the silver rings digging faint grooves into his skin. The noise of the classroom swells, but it feels far away, like he’s underwater.

He scans the room, desperate for somewhere else to look, someone else to latch onto. His gaze snags on a vaguely familiar face. With a shallow inhale, he peels himself out of his chair and forces his steps toward the stranger.

“Hey—” he starts, voice low, almost unsure. “Could I work with you, maybe? Sorry, could I get your name, too? I’m Geto.” He steadies his breath so it won’t betray the tremor clawing its way up his throat.

The shorter boy blinks at him, as if weighing whether Suguru is about to mock him. “Uh… yeah, sure. I’m Bryson.” He gestures to the chair beside him, shifting his notebook to make room.

Suguru sits, adjusting his hoodie as though it could shield him from the conversation he knows is coming.

“Don’t you usually hang around with Gojo?” Bryson asks. “’Sup with him?”

Suguru’s gaze flicks sideways before he can stop himself. Satoru’s across the room, leaning back against the windowsill, long legs sprawled over an empty chair, surrounded by easy laughter. 

“Nothing,” Suguru says, a little too quickly. “He just… decided to work with someone else today. It’s fine.”

Bryson shrugs. “That’s how those kinds of guys are. No matter how nice you think a popular guy like that’s gonna be to you, they always end up ditching you for the loud crowd.”

Suguru’s eyes drop to the floor, heartbeat in his ears. “You think? Like— you think he’d leave me for those guys?”

“I dunno.” Bryson flips open his textbook. “Wouldn’t be surprised. People like that usually pretend to be your friend for a bit, then bounce.”

Suguru’s brow tightens, a faint scowl hidden by the way he leans over his laptop. “No, I don’t think Satoru’s like that.” His voice is softer this time, almost to himself. “He’s not like those guys.”

Bryson glances at him, skeptical. “…You good, dude?”

“All good,” Suguru murmurs, forcing his attention to the lesson on the screen. His fingers keep worrying at his rings, twisting them round and round until the metal feels too hot. “Yeah. I’m all good. Don’t worry about it.”

Only a couple feet away, Satoru sat stiffly, his foot tapping on the chair as he stared holes into Suguru’s back. The buzz of chatter around him blurred into meaningless noise, the shouts and laughter of the guys nearby turning into muffled static. His focus tunneled, past the open laptops and flickering fluorescent light above, over to Suguru and that brunette guy. Bryson, Brayden, Brandon. Whatever, it didn't matter.

He could see the way the guy leaned slightly toward Suguru, like they were sharing some sort of private little bubble. Suguru didn’t seem to mind, didn’t even look over his shoulder once.

A sharp nudge to his arm jolted him. “Yeah?” Satoru blinked, lifting his head with an arched brow.

“Dude, what are you even looking at? You hear my joke? You’d love this one—” the guy next to him launched into some overexcited spiel, “—so Adison, she was like—”

The voice dissolved into meaningless syllables. Satoru nodded once or twice, tossed out a couple of fake laughs that didn’t even sound real to his own ears, then dropped his gaze to the laptop in his lap. The blinking cursor on his empty screen almost looked smug, like it knew exactly how pathetic he was being.

I shouldn’t have walked over here. Why did I even do this to myself? I could’ve just… sat there. Could’ve figured something out. Anything would’ve been better than this.

His shoulders tightened, the corners of his mouth twitching in frustration. The whole reason he came over was so he wouldn’t have to sit there pretending everything was fine with Suguru, but now it felt worse. At least over there, he wouldn’t have to watch from a distance.

Fuck. Too late now. I probably made it a million times worse.

The guy next to him was still talking, his laugh booming in Satoru’s ear. Satoru forced another half-smile and looked away again, but his gaze inevitably slid back to Suguru.

Suguru was leaning in slightly now, looking down at Bryson’s screen with that patient little half-smile Satoru had seen a hundred times before. Bryson said something, then tipped his head back and laughed big, loud enough to reach Satoru even through the haze of background noise. Suguru’s smile grew just a little, a small twitch at the corner of his lips.

Satoru’s stomach twisted. He hated that he noticed the difference in that smile. He hated that he knew it wasn’t for him.

Why am I over here?

✮✮✮

December 1st, Tuesday: 5:57 P.M.

“Shoko, I think I messed up again. With Satoru.” Suguru’s voice came out low, heavy with that mix of frustration and fatigue that had been trailing him all week.

 His feet dragged against the cold pavement, the December air biting at his cheeks as they weaved through the evening rush. Streetlamps had just flickered on, casting faint yellow pools of light along the sidewalk, and the smell of roasted chestnuts from a vendor cart drifted past them.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, hands buried in the pockets of her coat. “Really? Things looked great to me just a couple days ago. It’s been, what, five days? What happened?”

Suguru huffed out a humorless laugh. “Um, a lot. Too much, actually. Prepare yourself.”

“I’m prepared. I think.” She smirked faintly. “Tell me.”

Suguru folded his arms over his chest, tucking his chin down against the wind. “So, right after you guys left, Satoru… he, well— okay. So, he kissed me.”

Shoko stopped mid-step for half a beat before falling back into pace with him, lips parting. “Dude. I literally knew it. I knew this would happen. Okay, sorry— continue.”

Suguru rolled his eyes at her tone. “Yeah, whatever. Basically, I leaned into it for a few seconds, then… I got angry at him. He told me he ‘loves me,’ so I kinda—may’ve—yelled at him a bit.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t—” Suguru shook his head quickly. “I’m not evil, I just— he was drunk, Shoko. Barely able to stand. I didn’t want to… do anything while he could barely move his own feet.”

“Geto, oh Geto.” She gave a slow shake of her head, a faint laugh escaping though it was obvious she was trying to keep the air light for his sake. “Whatever. Was that it?”

“No…” His tone shifted, the weight in it making her glance over at him.

Shoko sighed, pulling a cigarette and lighter from her coat pocket. She cupped her hand around the flame against the breeze, lighting the end before inhaling deeply. “Okay. So, what happened?”

“When we got back to campus…” Suguru glanced briefly at the passing traffic before continuing. “We got up to the dorms, and he just— spilled it all out again. Like, in the hallway. He said—” Suguru’s voice faltered. “—he said things. Some mean. Some… sad. And it kinda sucked.”

The words hung there for a beat, drowned out by the honk of a taxi down the block.

“I think he was on the verge of tears,” Suguru went on quietly. “And then he just… turned the other way and walked to his dorm without looking back. It was… yeah. A lot to feel in one night. Oh, and not to mention— he completely avoided me in class yesterday. Ran off with a different partner and everything.” His arms tightened across his chest, his shoulders rounding in slightly. “Anyways, um… What do you think? Are we completely done for?”

Shoko took another long inhale, filling her lungs before exhaling a slow trail of smoke that drifted above them and disappeared into the city night. “When you were ‘yelling at him,’ what did you actually say? If you told him you didn’t feel the same, Geto, I swear to God. You both look at each other like— like you need each other. I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that. Ever.”

Suguru hesitated, his mouth opening and closing once before he admitted, “I… Okay. So, I said I didn’t feel the same.”

Shoko groaned under her breath, tilting her head back to look at the sky.

“But— wait. Let me explain,” he rushed out. “He was drunk. How can I be sure that what he’s feeling is… real? How do I know my own feelings are real and not just— just there because I’m deprived of it?” His steps slowed slightly, his gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead. “Why would I mess up our perfect relationship just to… attempt something more? Something we don’t absolutely need?”

They passed a street musician huddled under a heat lamp, playing something slow and bittersweet on an old guitar. A couple stood nearby, hands linked, their heads leaning toward each other to share the same breath in the cold. Suguru’s eyes flicked toward them before he quickly looked away.

Shoko caught it. “You’re an idiot.”

He frowned. “Thanks.”

“No, seriously. You think perfect friendships exist? They don’t. You’re just scared. And you’re convincing yourself you’re being noble about it, when really… you’re just being a coward.”

Suguru’s jaw tensed. “That’s— harsh.”

“Harsh is watching you both orbit each other like you’ve been doing for months and pretending you’re happy at the distance you’ve kept,” she shot back, flicking ash from her cigarette. “You two are already halfway to something more. You think staying in this weird limbo is safer, but it’s not— it’s slow-motion heartbreak.”

Her words lodged somewhere under his ribs, but Suguru kept walking, hands buried deep in his pockets. The guitar faded behind them, replaced by the sound of their shoes scuffing the sidewalk.

“…Right,” he says quietly, nodding just a bit.

“Oh, and Geto? You better fix something before the 7th. It’s his birthday, y’know?”

✮✮✮

December 1st, Tuesday: 7:02 P.M.

The chatter of loud voices scatters through the air as Satoru steps into San Marzano, the warmth and scent of baked bread hitting him immediately. The place is crowded, every table packed with NYU students nursing plates of pasta and tall glasses of Coke.

He’s not here for the atmosphere. Just to grab his food and get out.

“The name should be Gojo, yeah,” he says, giving the cashier a quick nod before stepping back toward the shelves where completed orders wait.

He hooks one foot forward, drawing circles on the floor with the edge of his shoe while the din of the restaurant blends into one low, constant hum. He focuses on that hum, lets it blur out the rest of the world for a few seconds. It’s easier to sit in that blank space than to think about anything else. Then—

“Geto! God, you’re dumb sometimes.”

The cheerful voice punches through the noise like a stone through glass. Satoru’s head lifts before he even registers why, eyes scanning instinctively toward the source. Shoko. Of course it’s Shoko. And she’s laughing.

He hears another laugh, lower and warmer, a laugh he knows better than his own heartbeat. It’s Suguru.

Satoru’s shoulders tighten. His brows pinch together, the edge of his fist curling at his side. He hadn’t seen Suguru’s face in a bit, and now here he is, leaning forward slightly across a table for two, fork tapping against a half-empty plate of pasta like he doesn’t have a single thing weighing on him. Like Satoru never happened. 

The thought burns its way in before Satoru can stop it. Did I really not matter at all to him? Was it that easy to just… laugh with someone else? The restaurant feels warmer suddenly, heat rising up the back of his neck. He forces a slow inhale, holds it, and lets it out through his nose.

The cashier calls his name. He tears his gaze away, crossing the few steps to the counter. “Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing the brown paper bag. He reaches for the napkin dispenser, shoving a messy handful into the bag, but his hand pauses mid-movement.

Because his eyes are already dragging back to that table, back to him. Suguru’s leaning back now, a faint smile still on his face as Shoko speaks. But then, almost like he can feel it, his head turns. And there they are.

Suguru’s eyes meet his, sharp and unmissable even across the restaurant. For a fraction of a second, neither of them moves. It’s not long enough for anything to be said, but long enough for too much to be felt. Accusation, hurt, confusion, maybe even longing in a way.

Satoru is the one who breaks it. He shakes his head, a short motion like he’s trying to fling something off. He pulls in a sharp breath and turns for the door, the paper bag swinging at his side. With every step toward the cold outside, he feels heavier, as if the air in the restaurant clung to him, weighted him down, and is now making sure he carries it all out into the night.

Chapter Text

“Was that—…” Shoko says cautiously, slowly turning her head to glance at the still-swinging glass door. The little brass bell above it is still rattling faintly from the force it had been pushed open.

“Fuck.” Suguru stabs his fork into his pasta a touch too aggressively, sauce flecking the rim of the plate. His voice is low, but tight. “Yeah, that was Satoru. Shoko, what do I do?”

“Go! You have to go— like now. I don’t care what happens. Just— just get up.” She flaps her hand at him in urgency, as if physically shooing him toward the door.

Suguru freezes for half a beat, jaw working as though weighing his odds, then scrapes back his chair. “Yeah, yeah— I’m going.”

He pushes himself up and moves quickly, weaving through the narrow gaps between crowded tables, ignoring the smells of garlic and wine that cling to the air. His heart hammers against his ribs, not from the rush, but from what waits outside.

The door swings open, letting in a gust of winter air sharp enough to sting his cheeks. And there, just a few steps down the sidewalk, is the bright, unmistakable head of white hair. Satoru’s posture is slouched, shoulders curled in, head tipped toward the pavement like he’s trying to fold in on himself.

Suguru winces before he even thinks about it, quickening his pace into a light jog. “Satoru?”

The other boy’s feet stop mid-step, heels pivoting slowly. When he turns, his eyes catch the faint glow of the streetlamps. They’re still blue, still bright, but duller than Suguru’s ever seen them, big and wary. Like he’s waiting for something to hurt.

“What, Suguru?” The words are short, clipped, and yet there’s a tremor under them.

Suguru falters. “I— well, I thought I should say something.”

Satoru’s mouth pulls into a tight, humorless smile. “Why, though? You were having fun with Shoko, weren’t you? Go have fun with your best friend.”

“She’s not—” Suguru’s brows knit, his voice rising half a note. He takes a step closer. “Don’t pull that card on me.”

Satoru blinks at him, unreadable.

“You were clearly happy with your little group of Barbies and Kens surrounding you yesterday,” Suguru presses, his tone sharper now, frustration bleeding through. “What— so you can ditch me to go have a great time with some fake freaks, but I can’t go talk to someone I actually know?”

His words hang between them, cold in the winter air, the space too tight for either of them to pretend it doesn’t sting.

Satoru’s jaw tightens, the muscles working under his skin. His voice comes out low at first, then splinters upward. “Who said I had a ‘great time’ ? You think it’s been fun? It’s—” he cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale, running a hand through his hair like he can dig the right words out of his scalp. “It’s impossible to have a good time without you right now, Suguru. You just—” his hand drops, curling into a fist at his side, “you just think I’m so strong, like I can handle everything without another thought. That’s just… that’s not true. And I’m even weaker when you’re not there to help.”

Suguru’s head shakes, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on Satoru’s like he’s trying to read the truth between his words. “I could’ve been there. I could’ve helped. But you keep avoiding me.”

Satoru lets out a humorless laugh that dies too quickly. “Is it so bad,” he says, his voice sharp, “that I want to avoid the guy who rejected me— knowing damn well he’s the only one I’ve ever loved like that? Is it? How am I supposed to get help when you’re the problem?” The words slice through the space between them, the air suddenly heavy.

Suguru swallows, jaw tightening in return. “You wanna know what the actual problem is, Satoru?” His voice is quieter than before, but it cuts deeper for it. “You think you’re some kind of savior for everyone— like the world’s gonna collapse if you’re not there to hold it up. You act like everyone needs you in their life to be okay, so when you can’t fit people like me in, you make up this bullshit that you’re ‘in love with me’.”

Satoru’s eyes flash, but Suguru barrels on before he can speak. “Don’t— don’t lie to my face,” he says, his own voice cracking faintly on the last word. “God you’re so arrogant— you don’t love me. You just think you do because I’m the only person who’s tried taking care of you the way you try taking care of everyone else. You’re not in love, Satoru— you’re just confused.” He steps in closer to Satoru, enough that the air between them feels like it could catch fire, but still leaving a couple feet of dangerous space.

White hair flops forward as Satoru tilts his head, meeting Suguru’s eyes head-on. His voice is tight, almost pleading. “You don’t know that, Suguru. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t you— don’t you feel that shit between us? Every time we talk, sit next to each other… even when we just look at each other?” His breath catches for a second, his gaze darting down for the briefest flicker, like he’s checking where Suguru’s mouth is before snapping back up. “Don’t you feel anything?”

Suguru’s jaw works before he answers, his voice sharper now. “For fuck’s sake— of course there’s something. There’s always been something with us.” His hands lift halfway, hovering in the air as if they might land on Satoru’s shoulders, but he lets them drop again with restless frustration. 

He shifts his weight forward, his knuckles brushing his thigh as though holding himself back from touching. “But—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head with a short, bitter laugh. “But how do I know this isn’t fake? That I’m not just using you to fill the lack of love in my life? How do I know I’m not gonna fuck something up? How do I know you’re thinking straight— that you’re actually feeling what you’re telling me? How am I supposed to know for sure that we can take a risk without blowing everything to hell?”

“Suguru, please just— just listen!” Satoru’s voice cracks, frustration threading through every syllable. “How can the way you look at me be fake? How can the way I always want to—” he stops himself, his throat tightening—“to be with you, be fake?” His hands flex open, then curl into fists, then open again, restless with the need to close the gap. He shifts a half-step forward before catching himself, but his breath is already tangling with Suguru’s in the cold night air. “Don’t—” He groans, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s on the edge of tearing it out. “Don’t avoid something you know is true.”

The words come out raw, gravel scraping against his throat as the volume pushes higher. He’s looking at Suguru like the answer is life or death, like he’s begging him to see it, to feel it, to admit it out loud. 

Suguru’s own gaze dips, almost imperceptibly, to Satoru’s mouth before flicking away, jaw tense. The space between them feels like it’s shrinking on its own, their shoulders angled in, every inhale pulling in more of the other’s air. Neither moves back, as neither wants to.

“Fuck, Satoru— I swear to God—” Suguru’s voice cracks low in his throat, half-threat, half-confession, before his hand finds the back of Satoru’s neck. His palm is hot and firm there, fingers digging in just enough to ground him, or maybe to hold Satoru still. He yanks him closer, their chests almost colliding from the force, until he can tilt his chin up and finally crash his mouth onto Satoru’s.

The kiss isn’t careful, in fact it's messy and unrestrained, all the pent-up words and restless energy bleeding through. Suguru’s brow knots tight, his other hand clamping down on Satoru’s shoulder with a grip meant to anchor, but it borders on possessive. Satoru exhales sharply into it, the sound catching in both their mouths.

When Satoru breaks away for half a second, it’s only because the need for air catches him off guard. A quiet, unguarded whimper slips past his lips before he can bite it back. Suguru’s eyes flicker dark at the sound, and Satoru’s hand finds two hips to hold onto in the same breath, sliding over them with enough pressure to pull him closer, as though he can’t stand the space between them.

Suguru dives back in, more deliberate this time, his teeth grazing over Satoru’s bottom lip and catching it lightly at first, then harder, testing the line between pain and pleasure. It drags another sound from Satoru, rougher now, his brows knitting together as his breaths grow fast and heavy, fanning against Suguru’s cheek.

The kiss deepens, teetering on the edge of something neither of them fully wants to admit to, until Satoru lets out a small wince when Suguru’s teeth press just a fraction too hard. That’s what finally makes Suguru pull back.

His lips are faintly swollen, his breathing uneven. He drags a hand down his face, stepping back at a single reluctant pace like he’s forcing himself to. “Shit—” he breathes out, voice low and unsteady. “I— I don’t know what I was thinking. That… that might’ve been a mistake.”

The words hit Satoru harder than he expects. His hands drop from Suguru’s coat, the cold air rushing into the space between them like it’s been waiting to wedge them apart. His chest tightens, his expression falling into something flat but brittle. “A mistake,” he repeats, and there’s no masking the crack in his voice.

Suguru swallows, his own face twitching like he regrets the phrasing, but he doesn’t take it back— too scared of what it would mean if he did. “I just—” He exhales sharply. “I don’t want to ruin this— this… Whatever this is.”

Satoru forces a small, humorless laugh, but his eyes don’t match it. “Right. Wouldn’t want to ruin this.” He takes a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets like he’s afraid to let them hang in the air. “Don’t worry about it, Suguru. You don’t have to explain.”

The hurt is still there, heavy and obvious, but he turns toward the street before it can spill out any further.

“Satoru— fuck, that’s not what I meant—“ He scans the shifting crowd, but Satoru was already gone.

Suguru stands idle for a moment, figuring out what the hell just happened.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters to himself, eyebrow furrowed. 

He shoots a small “i’m leaving” text to Shoko and heads back down those now winding streets till he reaches the dorms.

✮✮✮

Satoru is slumped over the edge of his bed, his head dangling off the side, white hair brushing against the floor. His legs are propped up against the wall in a crooked angle that would look lazy if it weren’t for the hollow heaviness weighing down every inch of him.

“If it’s all just a mistake,” he says to no one but himself, voice fraying at the edges, “then why does he keep doing it?” His throat tightens as he exhales, a shaky sound barely passing for a sigh. “I know why. It’s ‘cause he’s lying. But who cares if he’s in denial and lying? It still—” His voice cuts off, strangled by the lump forming there. He swallows hard, forcing the words out quieter, as if keeping them low could stop the burn from turning into tears. “It still really hurts.”

His fingers curl into the blanket beneath him, twisting the fabric until his knuckles ache. “This is pathetic. It’s pathetic that I have to— have to talk to myself. Pathetic that Suguru can’t just— just fucking open his eyes,” he whispers, voice cracked and trembling. “That he can’t see how much I like him.” His jaw locks. 

The admission breaks out like an accident, and his breath hitches. His bottom lip wobbles, bitten raw as his teeth clamp down on it. He blinks rapidly, desperate to force the wetness back. “Why did I let myself like him?” he mutters, almost choking on the words. “Why did I let it get this far? …Is he right? Do I not even like him? Am I just clinging to the first person who ever gave a damn about me?”

The thought sticks like a shard of glass, sharp and impossible to ignore. His chest pulls tight, wringing the air out of him. “Is this all fake?” he whispers into the stillness, letting the words sit heavy in the air, poisonous enough to infect the silence around him.

He drags himself upright, bones sluggish like they’ve been filled with cement. His tired eyes find the window, watching rain cascade in relentless sheets down the glass. The city beyond is blurred into gray smudges of light, as if the storm outside has chosen to cry for him. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to hold himself together, but all he tastes is the lingering sweetness from Suguru’s mouth.

“What the fuck am I— are we— doing?” His voice fractures into a rasp as he leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, harder and harder until stars bloom against the black, until the pressure swallows thought itself. He holds it, desperate for the silence that comes with crushing the world out.

Buzz. Buzz.

The phone rattles against the nightstand, slicing through the fragile quiet. His hands fall slowly away from his face, breath catching when he sees the screen glow. He doesn’t need to check the name, he already knows who it is. Suguru, of course.

His jaw tenses as he turns the phone over, face-down against the wood. He’s already decided, he won’t be opening that message.

✮✮✮

(Over text:)

Suguru: “i’m coming over”

Suguru: “please answer, satoru. i didn’t mean it the way you think”

Suguru: “satoru”

Suguru: “you don’t get it”

Suguru: “please”

Suguru’s thumb hovers over the screen for a long time before he finally lets it drop back to his side, the phone heavy in his grip like it’s made of lead. His chest heaves unevenly as he makes it down the hall, each step slower than the last. When he finally stops in front of Satoru’s door, his hand trembles so badly that he has to clench it into a fist just to steady himself.

The three firm taps that follow are louder than they should be in the quiet corridor. It echoes. His knuckles sting with the impact, but the silence that follows stings worse.

A muffled voice finally seeps out from behind the door, quiet, guarded. “Who is it?”

Suguru swallows. His throat is dry. “Um— it’s Suguru. Can you just— I have to explain.”

Silence again. The kind of silence that feels heavier than any words. Suguru holds his breath, listening hard for movement inside, but there’s nothing. Nothing except the pounding of his own pulse.

A whole minute passes before he tries again, his voice breaking against the wood. “I’m not gonna yell at you. I’m sorry I’ve— I’m sorry for ever yelling at you in the first place. It won’t happen again. I promise. Just… can you open the door? Please. Let me explain.” His voice wavers, thinner than he wants it to be.

Still no answer. Suguru lowers his head, his fist pressing flat to the door as if pressure alone could collapse the space between them. “Satoru, please,” he whispers, the words raw, the syllables dragging out of him like they’ve been scraped clean. “I’m sorry. I just need to— I want to explain. I want to make this— us— right.”

From the other side, the voice comes again, sharper, frayed. “Suguru, go away. I’m not in the mood to be rejected for the millionth time.”

The words punch the air from Suguru’s lungs. His mouth opens but nothing comes out for a second. “That’s not what I— I’m not here to do shit like that. Satoru, please. I need to see your face. I just want to talk to you. Please.”

Faint footsteps creak closer on the other side, pausing right in front of the door. Suguru feels it in his chest, the nearness of him, close yet still so far.

“Really?” Satoru says, voice heavy with bitterness, but shaking underneath. “’Cause for some reason, I have a feeling you’re gonna make me feel like shit again.”

On instinct, Suguru leans forward, forehead almost against the wood. He shuts his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t— that’s not what I want. That’s never what I wanted. I just… I need you to understand me.”

Satoru’s voice fires back, breaking mid-word. “Can’t you listen to me first? Understand me? Understand that I really do like you— that this isn’t some stupid fucking joke?” His hand rattles against the doorknob, twitching between restraint and surrender, as if he’s both desperate to let Suguru in and terrified of what letting him in will mean.

Suguru’s throat tightens until his next words barely crawl out. “Satoru, please. Please just open the door.”

The knob twists. Slowly at first, then all at once. The door opens with a reluctant creak, revealing Satoru in the frame, his eyes rimmed red and exhaustion painted across his face, his jaw set tight. He stares down at Suguru, voice flat but frayed. “What now? I opened the door. What could you possibly—”

Suguru doesn’t let him finish. He pushes forward, arms locking tight around him like the hug has been building for a time too long. His forehead presses to Satoru’s shoulder, and he breathes in like he might drown without it. 

His voice is muffled, choked, desperate. “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, Satoru. This wasn’t a mistake— none of it was. What I meant was…” His voice cracks. “…I’m afraid. Scared as shit. Scared of everything. But I’m even more scared of losing you. So scared.” His grip tightens, as if letting go would mean the end of them.

Satoru relaxes, but only for a single second, like his body forgets itself before his mind catches up. Then he stiffens. His voice shakes when it breaks the fragile quiet between them.

“I— Suguru, stop.” The tremor in his voice is enough to split Suguru open. His chest caves with it.

Satoru’s hand rises, fingers curling around Suguru’s wrist, tugging his hold away from him. The motion is reluctant, almost unwilling, like he doesn’t want to let go but feels he has to.

“What? Satoru— Satoru, no, I—” Suguru’s panic is already bubbling to the surface, bleeding out with every inch of space forced between them.

Satoru’s voice cracks, spilling over with a sharpness that isn’t anger so much as grief. “Don’t you understand, Suguru? You can be scared— you can be terrified, sad, happy, regretful, angry— you can be all of that. But why hurt me in the process?” His chest heaves as he says it, ragged. “I want you— I want you so bad it hurts. But it hurts so much more when you push me away— when you call my feelings a mistake.”

Suguru’s breath stutters, shaking hard enough to burn his throat. He doesn’t say anything, because the words clog, stick, and collapse before they can even reach his tongue.

Satoru presses on anyway, his words raw, desperate. “Suguru, I’ve only ever seen bad experiences with love my whole life. All I’ve seen is people leaving. That’s all it’s ever been. So when someone like you stumbles in— someone who makes me believe it could be different— fuck, I don’t even know what to do with that.” His voice wavers, drops to a whisper. “But when I try to share that hope with you, you just— you crumble it right in front of me.”

“No,” Suguru whispers hoarsely, voice cracking, barely a sound. “No, no, Satoru— that’s not what I wanted to do.”

“I like you. A lot. Of course I do.” Satoru drags in a ragged breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. His voice falters, and for a moment it’s almost like he can’t say the next words. When he finally does, his eyes shine, tears pooling, finally spilling over. “But I—… I don’t want to be left alone again. I can’t do that. I can’t.”

It feels like barbed wire cinches around Suguru’s throat, pulling tighter with every second. His chest aches with it. “I won’t leave you alone, Satoru. I promise. Please, I really— I do.” His eyes sting, red and heavy, his voice cracking so badly it hardly sounds like his own.

Satoru takes a long moment before lifting his gaze, meeting Suguru’s face. And when he does, his resolve crumbles. The tears finally tip over, rivers carving down his cheeks in fragile silence. His lips part like he might try to stop them, but he only shakes his head instead.

“I promise we’ll figure this out,” he whispers, his voice shredded. “Just not…— not now. I don’t think I could bear that. Not yet.”

“No— no, no, no.” Suguru bites down hard on his lip, tasting metal, his chest shaking. “Satoru, I’m— I really need you. I couldn’t even get through a day without you. How am I supposed to wait— wait any longer?”

It hurts to swallow, but Satoru does it anyway. He speaks softly, like the words weigh too much. “I’ll be right here. Always. I just… I just can’t pursue the thing we want right now. I can’t. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Suguru’s hand lifts, tentative at first, then steady, cupping Satoru’s cheek, tilting it gently so he can look into those big blue tear-filled eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you either,” he chokes out. His voice is cracked glass, breaking with each word. “I’ll give you time, Satoru. Of course I will. You gave me time, so… so it’s only right. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

His thumb brushes against Satoru’s wet cheek, catching the tears as they spill over. The touch is so soft it feels like nothing, like air, but it steadies Satoru anyway.

And then, slowly and haltingly, Satoru’s arms lift. He pulls Suguru against him, burying his face in the crook of his neck as though he can’t hold himself up anymore. The dam finally gives out. His tears rip free, heavy and unrestrained, spilling hot against Suguru’s skin, muffled into the hoodie.

Suguru’s arms tighten around him in return, like he’s afraid if he loosens them even slightly, Satoru will disappear. His own tears spill over, soaking into the cotton at Satoru’s shoulder, leaving a spreading damp patch. He bites them back, but it’s no use. They fall too easily.

Their bodies tremble against each other, sobs rattling through the fragile space they share. Pain seeps out of them like it has nowhere else to go, finally given permission. There are no more words, just the sound of their ragged breaths, their broken cries, the desperate clutch of hands in fabric. The hallway outside the door is silent, the rest of the world quiet, forgotten.

It’s just them. Just them, breaking apart and holding on at the same time.

Chapter Text

December 2nd, Wednesday: 10:25 A.M.

(Over text:)
Suguru: “good morning satoru”
Suguru: “you’re probably not up yet, but that’s ok”
Suguru: “just checking in :)”

He stares at the screen for a moment too long, thumb hovering like he might type another line, something realer, heavier. Something like I miss you. Or please don’t hate me, but the words don’t come. His chest aches with the absence of a reply he knows isn’t going to appear yet.

With a quiet exhale, Suguru locks his phone and stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans. The metal edge presses uncomfortably against his hip as he walks across campus, but he doesn’t bother to fix it. 

Satoru needs time. Of course he does. If the roles were reversed, Suguru isn’t sure he’d even want to answer him. I messed up, the thought loops on repeat, sharp and insistent. Too many times. I pushed him when I should’ve listened, made him doubt himself when I should’ve just stayed. If I were him, I wouldn’t talk to me either.

The pit in his stomach only deepens as he reaches his first class of the day, its high ceilings and rows of tiered desks swallowing him whole. It always smells faintly like chalk dust and burnt coffee in here, a stale sort of familiarity. The class itself drags most days, never enough to be unbearable, but never something he looks forward to either.

Still, he slips into his usual seat near the middle row, the one directly in front of Yuki’s. He’d known her in high school in the loosest sense, Yuki was the loud girl with a sharp laugh, the one who always seemed like she knew everyone. Intimidating at first, yeah, but easy enough to get used to. Now, when she waves or throws a quick comment his way, he finds he doesn’t mind.

Today, though, he’s restless. His mind refuses to stay tethered to the room. Even with the professor already scrawling diagrams across the whiteboard, even with the faint scrape of pens all around him, his thoughts drift stubbornly back to Satoru, always Satoru. The tilt of his smile, the rawness of last night’s tears, the ache of hearing him say I can’t do this.

Suguru cracks his knuckles under the desk, the sound sharp in his own ears, then slumps back in his chair. His gaze blurs against the whiteboard, words and arrows blending together into a meaningless haze. He should be writing them down, should be at least pretending to follow along, but all he can do is sit there with Satoru’s voice replaying like a broken record in his head.

A tap on his shoulder jolts him out of his haze. His whole body tenses for a second, stomach dropping like he’s been caught out. For a half-second he’s convinced it’s the professor looming over him, ready to bark, but when he twists in his seat, it’s just Yuki leaning forward with an amused grin.

“Hey, sorry,” she whispers, keeping her voice low enough to avoid notice. “Your hair’s all over my desk, dude.”

Suguru blinks, startled, before realizing the strands that slipped back when he slouched. He straightens quickly, brushing them over his own shoulders. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“You’re good,” she says with a shrug, then tilts her head. “Wait— since you’re actually talking to me, I’ve got a question.”

Suguru glances toward the front, where the professor’s bald head gleams harshly under the fluorescent lights. “Can it wait? Baldie’s just waiting for an excuse to yell at me.”

Yuki snorts, covering it with a hand. “Fair. But it’s about Gojo.”

That name, his name, snaps through Suguru like a live wire. His pencil, still resting in his hand, presses harder into the paper, sketching restless, overlapping circles in the margin of his empty notebook. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the trashcan across the room, like staring at something neutral might keep the wave from breaking across his face.

“What about him?” he says, too carefully.

“He seems off lately, doesn’t he?” Yuki asks, her tone light but edged with genuine curiosity. “I don’t know him all that well, but— mutual friends 'nd whatnot. Plus, I know that you’d know something, since you two are always together.”

Suguru’s throat tightens. His circles bleed darker into the page, graphite smudging against his palm. “Um. Probably my fault,” he mutters. 

Yuki doesn’t flinch, doesn’t tease. She leans back slightly, still watching him. “Oh. Mind me asking what happened?”

Suguru exhales through his nose, jaw tightening. “A lot. Too much to start right now,” he admits, voice low enough it almost gets swallowed by the shuffle of papers and the professor’s droning.

Her nod is slow, thoughtful. “Oh, I get it. It's alright. You can tell me about it after class, if you want.”

He doesn’t promise anything, just gives her the faintest nod before leaning forward again, eyes pretending to find interest in the whiteboard. His notes remain untouched, pencil still tracing faint, restless marks along the margin. No matter how hard he tries to refocus, his mind drags him back— back to Satoru and his silence, to the fragile thread between them that Suguru can only pray won’t snap completely.

✮✮✮

December 2nd, Wednesday: 11:46 P.M.

“Hey, Geto! Wait!”

Suguru halts mid-step, his sneakers squeaking softly against the polished floor. He inhales once to steady himself before turning. Yuki is weaving through the thin crowd, her bangs bouncing as she jogs to catch up.

“What’s up?” he asks, shoulders angled slightly like he’s already half-prepared to keep moving.

Yuki slows to a stop in front of him, breath quick but smile easy. “Uh, y’know. Just wanted to see if you were up to talk about Gojo. If not, that’s totally fine.”

The name drops between them like a coin clinking against tile. Suguru’s jaw tightens, and for a moment he says nothing. His phone buzzes faintly in his hand, a reminder of the text notifications still unopened. When he flicks his eyes down, he catches the time, just past 11:45, and notices Satoru’s name stamped across his screen, twisting his stomach. The messages had come in nearly half an hour ago. He doesn’t even let himself read them, not now.

He slips the phone into his pocket before the temptation becomes unbearable and clears his throat. “Yeah, um… I don’t know if I should. It’s probably better to keep everything between me and him. Since it’s him we’re talking about. I should probably make sure he’s okay with it.” His hand drifts awkwardly to scratch at the back of his neck. “Plus, I don’t even know if I’d wanna share this stuff. Y’know?”

Yuki tilts her head, studying him for a moment. She doesn’t push, just nods once. “Right, that’s fine. Just—” she flashes a grin, bright in the dim fluorescent light, “you can always let me know if you do wanna talk. I’m a very available girl.”

Suguru huffs out a quiet chuckle, though it sounds thinner than usual. “Yeah. I’ll let you know. Thanks, Yuki. See you.”

She gives him a quick wave before slipping past, her figure quickly swallowed into the stream of students down the hall.

Suguru shifts his weight, ready to move too, until he notices it. A presence at the far end of the corridor. They’re tall, still, and unmistakable. His chest gives a muted jolt when his eyes land on the familiar figure. It’s Satoru. Even from a distance, Suguru knows him instantly. That impossible height, the mess of pale hair catching under the hallway lights. And then those eyes, sharp and startling blue, fixed not on him, but following the blonde who just disappeared around the corner. Only after a long, heavy pause do they flick back to Suguru.

Something about him looks… dulled. Not the usual glint, not the untouchable brightness that Suguru had grown so used to orbiting around. Like a lamp dimmed under too many layers of dust.

Suguru forces his feet forward, step by step, smoothing a soft smile onto his face as he closes the distance. Each pace feels careful, as if one wrong move could send Satoru scattering.

“Hey, Satoru,” he says gently. Relief sparks low in his chest when Satoru doesn’t turn and walk away, when he stays planted instead of bolting. Still, the memory of last night presses hard against Suguru’s ribs, the red eyes, raw tears, and words that cracked like glass. It aches just to remember it. “How are you? Where’re you headed? I could walk with you, maybe.”

Satoru clears his throat, gaze darting away before slipping back. The grin he gives is practiced, stretched wide but hollow. “Uh, bathroom break. I’m in English Comp right now. Who was the, uh— blondie? She was… cute. Think I know her.”

Suguru doesn’t need x-ray vision to see through it. The grin, the deflection. His smile falters for a beat before he recovers, gesturing toward the end of the hallway. “Ah, no one. Just a girl from class. She was asking about— um. Something stupid.”

“Cool.” Satoru’s nod is slow, stiff. His hands fidget in the pocket of his hoodie, thumb dragging across the zipper seam. “Well, um. I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru cuts in quickly, shoving his own hands into his jeans pockets like anchors. “You can— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

Satoru hesitates for only a second before lifting his hand in a thumbs-up, a crooked, sheepish gesture that doesn’t come close to touching his eyes. Then his feet carry him past, each step quickening until he turns sharply into the bathroom corridor, like he’s ducking into cover.

Suguru watches until the door swings shut behind him, the echo loud in the near-empty hall. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at the space Satoru left behind. Then, finally, he exhales long and heavy with his shoulders sagging. The crowd swallows him as he keeps moving, his own footsteps muted against the polished floor.

✮✮✮

December 2nd, Wednesday: 11:50 A.M.

As Suguru slumps into his seat, his bag slides carelessly to the floor. He drags a hand through his hair before pulling out his phone, the glow of the screen harsh in the dim lecture hall. His thumb flicks across the notifications until he finds Satoru’s name.

(Over text):
Satoru: “Good morning”
Satoru: “Eating bagel”
[1 Image Attached]

Suguru taps the photo open. It’s a quick selfie, Satoru mid-bite, teeth sinking into a bagel overloaded with strawberry cream cheese. A streak of pink clings to the corner of his lip. His free hand is awkwardly half-raised, fingers bent in a lazy peace sign.

Suguru’s lips twitch despite himself, a ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. Only Satoru could look so absurd and somehow make other people want to laugh with him. But Suguru’s eyes stick on what sits beneath the act, the exhaustion hidden in the corners of his face, the heavy weight that never quite leaves his eyes. He looks terrible, really. Just dull, tired, and worn thin, but somehow he’s still pushing a joke through, still trying to make someone else smile.

That’s not what Suguru wants anymore. He doesn’t want the version of Satoru that burns himself out keeping everyone else’s spirits up. He wants the one who smiles because he can’t help it. Because he feels it. And, God, it makes his chest tighten to realize how much he wants to be the reason for that.

Suguru presses down on the photo, thumb hovering before finally reacting with a “❤️.” The picture ripples, shifting briefly into the live image.

For a split second, Satoru looks utterly blank, barely awake, his gaze unfocused. Then the bagel lifts, his mouth quirks in a half-smile, and he throws up the peace sign. It’s just a switch, a performance. The ease of it slices deeper than any insult or fight ever could. Suguru’s breath lodges in his throat.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s staring until a firm poke at his shoulder makes him blink.

“Staring at your boyfriend?” Shoko drops into the chair beside him with the kind of casual heaviness that only she can pull off. A soft smirk tugs at her lips as she cranes her neck to peek at his phone. “Jeez, it’s that bad?”

Suguru clicks the phone dark, shoving it halfway under his notebook. “No. Don’t start.”

Shoko raises a brow. “Don’t start what? You’re the one sitting here looking like you just read a tragic love letter.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “If we’d ended with a fight like usual, maybe it wouldn’t suck as much. But he—” His voice stumbles, and he runs a hand over his mouth. “He hugged me, Shoko. Hugged me. While we both sob like idiots. Is that not the most gut-wrenching thing you’ve ever heard?”

Her smirk falters, replaced with something quieter, more thoughtful. “Wow. Yeah, that’s kinda bad, dude.” She leans back in her chair, folding her arms. “Did you talk to him at all today?”

Suguru nods, thumb tapping against his thigh. “Yeah. Just now, in the hallway. And we texted earlier. He sent this picture—” he gestures vaguely at the darkened screen, “acting all goofy and whatever. But he’s so clearly not happy. I just… I just want him to be happy.” The words trail off into a sigh. He yanks his hood over his head, tugging it low like maybe the fabric can swallow him whole.

Shoko studies him for a long beat, lips pursed. Then she winces. “I’ve never seen you so… gross.”

He drags the hood lower. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” she says, tone still edged with dry humor but not unkind. “You’re sitting here sulking like you’re in a bad romance novel. It’s weird.”

Suguru side-eyes her from under the hood, waiting for her to keep going. She does.

“Listen,” she says, softer now, “he’s not made of glass. And you don’t have to fix his entire life in one week. You’re not supposed to. You just… show up. That’s all you can really do. It’s more than most people would, and honestly, I think it’s more than he’s used to.”

Suguru chews on the inside of his cheek, silent.

She leans over, giving his hood a small flick. “So stop treating this like a test you’re about to fail. Just stick around. Be patient. He’ll come around. I don’t doubt that at all.”

Suguru stares down at his phone again, thumb brushing over Satoru’s name. Shoko’s words echo, settling somewhere in the knot of worry tangled inside him.

Suguru nods slowly, pulling his phone back out and clicking it on. “Um. Yeah. Guess so.”

His fingers slide open their messages again, awkwardly hovering over the keyboard for a moment.

(Over text:)

Suguru: “looks good :)”

Suguru: “makes me hungry, we should go the café today”

Suguru: “we can walk down together if you’re up for it”

He lets out a long breath, staring at the messages for a second before tucking his phone back into his pants.

✮✮✮

Satoru is staring aimlessly at his laptop screen while his professor drones on about something he doesn’t care to listen in on. The words roll past him like static, background noise to the fog that’s been sitting heavy in his head all morning. His chin rests in one hand, long fingers pressed against his cheek as his eyes glaze over the slideshow.

His phone buzzes quietly against the desk. The sound breaks through, sharper than the professor’s voice, tugging his attention downward. He doesn’t even have to look before the corner of his chest tightens, knowing who it is. Suguru’s name lights the screen.

Satoru swallows before sliding his phone into his palm under the desk. He opens the notification.

“we should go to the café today”

“we can walk together”

The tiniest twitch pulls at the corner of his lips, a flicker of something almost warm. His thumbs hover over the keyboard automatically, the familiar urge to reply bubbling up quick, yes, of course, always yes. But the feeling falters.

Because what happens when he shows up and it’s not the same? When Suguru looks at him differently now? Like he’s fragile, or broken, or worse, a stranger ?

Usually, awkwardness bounces right off him, never touching. He’s the one who fills silences, who forces them into shape with jokes and noise until nobody remembers it was quiet in the first place. But now, for the first time, awkwardness feels like it could pin him down. It presses against his chest before he’s even typed a word.

Satoru’s fingers start typing, then stop. Delete. Type again, stop again. The screen glares up at him, impatient. His thumb hovers over send , then retreats.

He exhales a small, controlled breath through his nose. Even if it’s awkward… It's still Suguru. He wants that to be enough. He decides it has to be. Finally, he presses his knuckles against his temple, typing out the simplest thing he can.

(Over text):

Satoru: “Sure”

Satoru: “Meet me at Washington Square, we’ll walk from there”

He locks the phone immediately, sliding it face-down onto the desk as if looking at it again might make him regret pressing send. Still, the faint trace of a smile lingers at the corner of his mouth, betraying the nerves winding through him.

✮✮✮

December 2nd, Wednesday: 4:06 P.M.

Suguru is standing awkwardly under a large tree in front of Washington Square Park, the last of the afternoon light spilling over the arch in the distance. His shoes scuff against the pavement, dragging little circles into the dirt at the tree’s base. Every few seconds he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, then pulls out his phone again, pretending to scroll through something so he doesn’t look like a complete loner waiting to be stood up.

He’s coming, right?  It’s been six minutes.  Hope he hasn’t ditched me. He wouldn’t do that, right? Nah, he’s not like that.

Suguru clears his throat, forcing down the pinch of anxiety crawling up the back of his neck. He tips his head back and takes in his surroundings, like the students milling through the park, street musicians tuning guitars, and the faint smell of roasted nuts from a vendor cart. His gaze sweeps forward and lands on a familiar tall figure moving through the crowd.  Relief loosens something in Suguru’s chest. His lips curve into a small, tentative smile, the self-doubt fading just enough to let him breathe.

“Hey, Satoru,” he calls, lifting a hand in a gentle wave.

Satoru waves back, just as small, his other hand stuffed deep into his hoodie pocket. “Hey, Suguru. Sorry if I held you up. Had to talk to one of my professors real quick.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Suguru gestures toward the street. “Um, ready to go?”

“Mmhm.” Satoru hums, nodding. His free hand toys idly with a loose string dangling from the hem of his hoodie, twisting it around his fingers until it frays a little more. His posture looks relaxed, but his eyes keep flicking away, like he doesn’t know where to rest them.

“Cool.”

Suguru sets off down the wide pathway, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. He glances back once just to be sure, and there’s Satoru, keeping pace, his strides long but unhurried. For the first time in minutes, Suguru lets himself inhale the crisp December air, letting it sweep through his lungs and settle him.

“You have anything to work on while we’re there, or…?” he asks, his voice kept light.

Satoru shakes his head. “No. You?”

“Nope. Got everything finished in my study block.”

“That’s good.”

Their words fall short after that, swallowed by the din of the city and the chatter of pedestrians, a busker’s saxophone, and a distant siren winding down the street. Each silence feels a little heavier than the last, pressing down on Suguru’s chest. He hates how painfully slow and dry their conversation is, but he can’t bring himself to resent it.  If anything, he should be grateful. And he is. He’s grateful that Satoru hasn’t completely ghosted him. Grateful he’s still here, walking at his side, even if it feels like they’re balancing on a thread that might snap with one wrong word.

Suguru sneaks a glance at him, grazing the curve of his shoulders, the way his head tips slightly down as if watching his own feet. He doesn’t look like the Satoru who used to fill every second with chatter and jokes. He looks… quiet. Guarded.

Things could be a lot worse, Suguru tells himself.  He draws in another breath, letting the air sharpen his lungs, and finally speaks up. Anything to keep the silence from swallowing them whole.

“Uh,” Suguru starts, his eyes darting up to catch the pale outline of Satoru’s profile against the gray sky, “so your birthday’s coming up, right? Big twenty-one, hm? S’pretty cool. Any plans?”

Satoru keeps his gaze forward, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. “Um, I had a couple, yeah. Just don’t know what to really do. Everything just feels so basic for such a not-basic age.”

Suguru tilts his head, studying him for a second. “Hm. Well, it doesn’t have to be something gigantic. Just something to make you happy. Your birthday’s about you, after all. Just… find something that would really make you smile. Like, genuinely smile.”

At that, Satoru’s lips twitch, like he’s caught off guard. He lets out a short, uneven laugh. “Guess so. I know what’d make me smile— just not sure if it’s a good idea.”

Suguru arches a brow, curious despite himself. “What’s the idea?”

Satoru only shakes his head, his hair catching the winter light as he looks away. “Nothin’. Just stupid and dumb.”

The deflection stings in a way Suguru doesn’t want to name. He wants to press, to ask why Satoru’s eyes had flickered with something, like longing, almost, before shuttering again. Instead, he takes the easy way out and lets the silence fill in, only breaking it with a quiet, “Well, whatever it is, I hope you find a way to make it happen. If that’s what you really want.”

Satoru hums, low in his throat. “Nah. Not right now.”

There’s weight in the words that Suguru doesn’t fully understand, but he lets them stand, nodding once. “Alright. Christmas, maybe. Y’know, I think it’s lucky that you’re a December-kid. I’m sure you had a blast with double presents when you were younger.”

That gets a chuckle out of him, an actual chuckle. “I sure did. Totally dragged it.”

Suguru savors the sound, letting it roll through him like a little jolt of warmth. His eyes flick toward Satoru as they step into the crosswalk, the buzz of car horns and voices washing around them. The laugh dies off quickly, but Suguru clings to it anyway.  Because it’s rare for how things are right now, and because it’s real. Because, if he’s honest with himself, it feels like he’s the one who pulled it out of him.  He doesn’t say it, though. Just shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and keeps walking, the echo of Satoru’s laughter still buzzing in his ears like a secret he isn’t ready to share.

Chapter Text

One of Suguru’s elbows is propped up on the table, his cheek resting lightly in his palm as he watches Satoru scan the menu. The yellow pendant light above their table spills over him in uneven patches, catching on the messy tufts of white hair until they glow faintly gold, as if trying to bleach out the exhaustion clinging to him. When Satoru finally looks away from the waitress and down at Suguru, strands of hair fall into his face, and his electric blue eyes peek through, dimmed but still piercing.

“Um, Suguru— you want anything?” he asks, his voice cutting softly through Suguru’s quiet observation.

“Uh, yeah.” Suguru straightens, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning back again. “Could I get a latte? Grande should be fine,” he says, fingers drumming absently against his knee as the words leave his mouth. It feels strangely casual, like trying on a new jacket he isn’t sure fits yet.

The waitress nods and disappears, leaving the two of them in the low hum of café chatter.

Satoru lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You got an actually drinkable coffee for once. None of that black coffee b-s.”

Suguru’s lips twitch into something like a grin, though he masks it with a shrug. “I was in the mood for it,” he replies lightly. The truth is he isn’t sure why he ordered it. It might be because bitter doesn’t sit the same way it used to. Maybe because today, something warmer, something with a little softness mixed in, didn’t sound so bad.

“Your ‘extra-sweet hot chocolate with extra marshmallows’ is still out of the question for me, though,” he adds, giving Satoru a pointed look.

“Don’t hate it ‘till you try it.” Satoru leans back, his gaze flicking up from the scratched wooden table to meet Suguru’s with a flash of mock offense.

“I’m never trying that. It’s probably a bio-hazard.”

“Boring,” Satoru mutters, rolling his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward with a spark of something Suguru hasn’t seen in days.

“Hey, at least I changed it up a little— the jump from black coffees to lattes is big.” Suguru chuckles, lifting his cup slightly as if to prove the point.

“Yeah. D’you know that your tastebuds change every two weeks or so? Like, your old ones go away and get replaced with new ones. Maybe your buds changed.”

Suguru tilts his head, raising a brow. “That so? I thought it was like… seven years or something.”

“Nope, that’s a myth. I don’t even know where it came from. But yeah, two weeks,” Satoru says, shrugging, his spoon clicking idly against the ceramic edge of his mug.

“Cool.” Suguru’s eyes graze over the wooden patterns on the table, following the natural grain as though it might lead him somewhere.

“It’d be cool if people changed every two weeks as well,” Satoru adds with a quiet chuckle, almost as if he’s tossing the thought into the air rather than saying it to Suguru directly.

“That’s kinda weird.” Suguru leans back, lips quirking faintly. “I think someone’s change should happen when it needs to— not at a set time. Like imagine having a friend who changes personalities every two weeks, that’d probably suck.”

Satoru looks at the raven-black bangs grazing Suguru’s cheek before responding with a shrug. “I dunno. I don’t really think people change. They pretty much just… cover up old habits with new ones.”

Suguru hums, letting his fingers curl around the warmth of his cup. “Yeah, maybe. But, it could also be finding something new that feels better. Better for themselves— not for anyone else. If someone doesn’t like that change or it upsets them, who cares? It doesn’t matter. Change is something for yourself.”

The words hang for a moment between them, catching faintly on the hiss of the café’s steamer.

Satoru takes a soft breath in, lingering on Suguru’s input, nodding faintly. “But— if the change you made in yourself makes other people upset, is it really a good change?” His voice dips lower, uncertain.

“I’d say ninety-nine percent of the time— yes.” Suguru’s hands leave his cup, gesturing loosely in the space between them as though he could sketch the thought out. “Sure, there’re some people who change for the worse, but what I’m talking about is like…” He pauses, then steadies his words. “Like someone who smiles all the time for other people. If that person stops smiling for a change to become real with themselves, that’s good— that’s for themselves. And if someone’s upset with the fact that they aren’t being smiled at by this person, too bad. The change isn’t for them.”

Too direct? Suguru thinks to himself, the question flashing through his head like static. But then he brushes it off. No, he needs to know it’s okay.

“Right. Um, yeah.” Satoru’s fingers trace aimless circles on the table’s surface, his breath rising slowly before exhaling all at once. His lips twitch, almost an echo of a smile that never quite arrives. “Thanks, Suguru. Uh— for explaining, y’know.”

Suguru nods. “Sure, yeah,” he says with a small smile, his eyes lifting to find Satoru’s. This time, he doesn’t look away. And for a second, neither does Satoru.

✮✮✮

December 2nd, Wednesday: 5:17 P.M.

“So,” Suguru says while the two of them walk out of the café together, the door swinging shut behind them with a dull thud. The late-afternoon breeze rushes past, sharp and crisp, blowing his bangs away from his face for a moment before they fall back into place. He tugs his jacket collar higher against the chill. “You free tomorrow? Like around this time? We can hang at the café again, maybe. Up to you.”

Satoru shifts his hands deeper into his coat pockets, the steam of his breath curling faintly in the air. “Uh, I don’t know if this time will work for tomorrow. I was planning to go to the gym tomorrow.” He glances sideways at Suguru, gauging his reaction. “What about like… 6:00 or 6:30?”

“Nah, sorry.” Suguru shakes his head lightly, his lips curving into a small grin that’s half-apology, half-teasing. “I’ve got a birthday party to hit. My cousins, actually— they’re turning sixteen. Can’t miss it.” He shrugs as if the obligation is obvious. “They’re twins. Would probably hunt me down if I missed their sixteenth.” He laughs quietly, the sound slipping out warm despite the cold air.

“Oh. That’s alright.” Satoru tips his head down, kicking at a small rock that skitters across the pavement as they pass the road by the park. The pebble bounces once, then rolls to a stop near the gutter, like it had run out of places to go.

“I mean, you could come to the party if you wanna. I’m allowed a plus one, so, maybe? Up to you.” Suguru shrugs, but the offer feels heavier than he makes it sound. He doesn’t usually invite people into family things, as it’s always been a sort of boundary line, one that separates the world of late-night cafés and campus chatter from the quieter, softer world that actually raised him. “It’s pretty much just gonna be my family and a couple of the girls’ friends.”

Satoru perks up at the suggestion, lifting his chin so his bangs catch the faint glow of the streetlights flickering on one by one. “Oh, really? How far’s the drive?”

“I think it’s a venue somewhere near here. Probably like thirty-ish minutes from campus.”

Nodding, Satoru replies, “Yeah, that sounds good. You can always just carpool with me instead of going on a train or whatever.” He draws in a lungful of the sharp, wintry air and exhales slowly, the warmth of his breath vanishing as soon as it leaves him. It feels like the season is swallowing their words whole, yet somehow leaving the space between them warmer than it should be.

“I might just do that. Man, yesterday I was on the subway and this dude’s asscheeks were wrapping around the pole.” Suguru grimaces. “That was my sign to never hold the poles again.”

Satoru lets out a short, startled laugh that breaks into something more genuine as it lingers. “Gross. Yeah, you should just come with me. New York subways are not to be trusted.”

“Mmhm. I’ll send you the info ‘nd stuff. Cool?”

“Yeah.”

Suguru’s gaze slides over to him, the streetlights casting soft amber across Satoru’s pale hair. He smiles gently, and for once, it doesn’t feel like an accident. That expression pulls something smaller, quieter out of Satoru, an unguarded curve at the corner of his mouth.

“Cool,” Suguru says softly. The word hangs in the cold air, visible in the mist of his breath before disappearing, but it lingers all the same.

The park beside them is nearly empty, the benches deserted and the trees stripped bare, branches stretched upward like ribs against the darkening sky. Still, the silence doesn’t press on them the way it should. Instead, it feels like a space being cleared, like something waiting to take root.

And though Suguru doesn’t say it, the thought stirs somewhere in the back of his mind. If Satoru comes with him tomorrow, it’ll be the first time in a long while that someone outside of blood is allowed to step inside that circle of family. It’s like a quiet opening.

✮✮✮

December 2nd, Wednesday: 8:26 P.M.

Suguru is sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the couch, shoulders curved forward like he’s trying to fold into himself. His pen spins slowly between his fingers, tapping every so often against the spiral edge of the notebook perched on his lap. The pen’s tip has already left a dark blot of ink, bleeding into the paper like a wound that can’t close.

He isn’t a journaler, nor has he ever been. Writing his feelings down has always felt unnecessary, maybe even indulgent. But sometimes, when his mind won’t quiet, when there’s too much of something pressing against his ribs, he’ll scribble single words, just fragments. Thoughts stripped down to their skeletons. Doodles, but made of language instead of shapes.

Tonight, the page is scattered with them. S tudy. Tired. Hungry.
And, three times already, one word that feels less like a word and more like a pulse. Satoru.

The letters overlap each other, one darker than the last, as though repeating it will either bring Satoru closer or wring him out of Suguru’s chest. It does neither.

Suguru sighs and flicks the pen across the room. It clatters against the floorboards, the sound too loud for how small the motion was. The notebook slides off his lap onto the rug. He tips his head back against the couch cushion, staring blankly up at the ceiling until the whiteness of it blurs.

His eyelids fall shut, but it doesn’t block anything out. The words crawl up the back of his throat anyway.

Satoru, I wish you were ready. The thought alone feels like betrayal, heavy with its own hypocrisy. Because he wasn’t ready when Satoru had wanted him to be, when all that brightness had been offered like an open hand. Suguru couldn’t take the golden opportunity he had. He’d been the one to pull away. Now the roles are reversed, and it’s unbearable.

Is this how it felt for you? he wonders. To want and not be met? To press up against a wall where there should have been a door? His chest tightens.

And what if you never decide to be ready? What if you’re always content with this— forever without us? What if I’ve ruined it so completely that you won’t ever even consider it again?

He drags a hand down his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye socket until stars bloom against the darkness, but it doesn’t help. The ache only sharpens.

I really need you, Satoru. The words form so clearly in his head it almost startles him. More than just talking and laughing. More than killing time in a café, pretending our words are enough. I want what we could’ve had. What we would’ve had if I hadn’t been such a coward the first time.

The thought cracks something in him, because it isn’t bitterness he feels. It’s pure loss.

It’s worse because Satoru is still here. Still answering his texts, still walking with him after class. Still sitting with him, blue eyes fixed on his coffee, making offhand jokes that land just close enough to the past to sting. Their lives still weave together every day, but it doesn’t feel like it used to. The normality of it only highlights how different things are.

Suguru opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling as though it might hold an answer. All it gives him back is silence.

He swallows hard. The words are still stuck inside him, burning to get out, but useless, too, because if he can’t say them to Satoru, what good are they?

I just want you. The admission hovers in the room, raw and unspoken.

And he hates that he never managed to say it when it might have mattered.

Chapter Text

December 3rd, Thursday: 6:17 P.M.

Suguru walks out to the parking lot, a bulky bag of gifts swinging by his side, the handles digging faintly into his palm. His white dress shirt clings to the sharp angles over his torso, a simple black tie hanging down beneath his navel, brushing his dark brown belt. The black pants over his legs flow with each step he takes.

His eyes sweep the rows of cars until they land on a familiar blue shape. Satoru’s half-buried in the passenger side, one leg still sticking out as he digs around for something.

Suguru slows as he approaches, lips tugging upward almost in spite of himself. He raises his hand and knocks lightly on the window, enough to make Satoru flick his gaze up. Papers are clutched in his hands, half-creased, half-forgotten.

“Oh, hey.” Satoru chuckles, sliding out of the car with a lazy kind of stretch, one palm flattening against the roof as he leans just slightly, head tilted to catch Suguru’s face. “Ready to go?”

There’s a small, polite smile on his lips. Not forced, exactly, but held there carefully. 

Suguru scans over Satoru’s outfit briefly, taking in the way his powder blue dress shirt compliments everything about him.

“Mmhm,” Suguru hums, adjusting the bag in his grip. “If you need to finish up whatever you’re doing first, though, you can. No rush.”

Satoru shakes his head, ruffling the papers against his thigh before crumpling them in one hand. “Nah, it’s fine. Just clearing out some old crap. I’ll toss this and we can head out.”

“Alright.” Suguru nods once and slides into the passenger seat. The car smells faintly like Satoru’s cologne, or maybe just the detergent he uses. He stretches his legs against the floor mat and, for lack of anything else to do, watches out the windshield as Satoru strolls off toward the nearest trash bin.

The silence in the car feels strange and emptier without Satoru in it. Suguru drums his fingers once against his knee before forcing them still.

Within a few moments, the driver’s side door opens, the gust of cold air tugging at Suguru’s bangs. He glances sideways as Satoru drops in beside him, the seat creaking softly under his weight.

“I sent you the address, right?” Suguru asks. His voice comes out just a shade too careful.

“Mmhm,” Satoru replies easily, turning the key but not starting the car yet. “Not too far. Should be like… thirty, maybe thirty-five minutes.” He hesitates, then grins suddenly, leaning down to rustle through a bag near his feet. “Oh, hey— did I ever show you?”

Suguru tilts his head, eyes narrowing with cautious amusement. “No…? Should I be concerned?”

Satoru looks up at him with a wide grin, teeth flashing. “Nope. Look.”

He pulls out two small gift bags with a bit of a flourish. “Didn’t wanna show up at a birthday party empty-handed. You said they’re twin girls, right? So…” He digs through the bags, pulling out two soft, caramel-colored teddy bears. “Teddies and candy. Didn’t know what to get a pair of sixteen year olds, so I just went with a classic combo.” He holds them up like he’s presenting rare treasures, then bends to rummage again. “I even got accessories for them— little sunglasses, a bow… somewhere in here…”

Suguru lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The sound feels good, but there’s a nervous edge beneath it. “Dude, you didn’t need to do all that. They don’t even know you.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird to go to someone’s birthday with no gift.”

Suguru huffs, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “You’re too nice, Satoru.”

Satoru shrugs, half-deflecting, half-accepting the compliment. “That’s a good thing.”

“I guess so,” Suguru admits, and his eyes linger just a moment too long on Satoru’s profile. Bright eyes, faint grin, a loose kind of warmth. He looks away quickly, out the window, the reflection of the parking lot lights swimming in the glass.

The silence stretches for a few seconds. Not as heavy as it once would’ve been, but still noticeable enough for both of them to shift a little in their seats.

Satoru exhales softly, nodding once as though sealing an invisible agreement. “Yep.”

The word hangs there for a second. It’s ordinary, maybe even unnecessary, but Suguru finds himself echoing it anyway under his breath, a faint smile twitching at his lips.

✮✮✮

December 3rd, Thursday: 6:52 P.M.

The outside of the venue glowed with strings of hanging lights, warm against the early winter darkness. Big poster boards leaned against the entrance, painted with bubble letters and glitter, the names “Nanako” and “Mimiko” shining bold.

“Nanako and Mimiko,” Satoru read aloud with a grin, slowing near one of the signs. “These your cousins?”

“Mmhm. That’s them.” Suguru shifted the weight of the gift bag in his hand. “Now, don’t be alarmed, but they’re like the epitome of teenagers. If they say something mean, don’t take it personally.” He gave a quiet chuckle, half fond, half resigned. “It’s all love. Usually.”

“That’s a little scary,” Satoru teased, letting a breath of laughter slip out. “But thanks for the warning, I guess.”

The glass doors parted with a tug, and they were met by a wall of pulsing bass and chatter. Pop music spilled into the air, paired with the sugary scent of cake drifting from somewhere near the back. Just inside, a cluster of girls huddled around a table, shrieking with laughter at something on a phone screen. To the left, near the edge of the room, stood an older couple whose faces drew Satoru’s eye immediately.

“Suguru, let me take a wild guess,” Satoru murmured, tilting his chin in their direction. “Those your parents?” he asked, setting his bag down on the table by the door.

Suguru followed his gaze and huffed out a small laugh, dropping his bag beside Satoru’s. “Yeah.” He hesitated only a fraction of a second before tugging on Satoru’s wrist. “C’mon.”

Satoru looked down at the touch, at the fingers curled loosely around his wrist, before following in step, clearing his throat softly as if to steady himself.

When they reached the couple, Suguru leaned in to embrace his mother, who folded him into a hug with a warmth that softened her whole face. His father stood a half-step back, posture straight, hands buried in his coat pockets.

Satoru lingered a pace behind, watching Suguru with a faint smile. His eyes flickered to Suguru’s dad, catching on the man’s rigid shoulders, and an odd heaviness pressed briefly at his chest.

Suguru turned, gesturing lightly. “Oh— Okaasan, this is Satoru. He’s my friend from school. Sachi already knows all about him.” He laughed under his breath, quick and dismissive, before giving Satoru the signal to step forward.

With a small shuffle, Satoru obliged, coming to stand just beside Suguru. “Hello,” he said, polite and careful, offering a small wave. “Nice to meet you. I’m Satoru Gojo. Suguru’s a good friend of mine.”

Suguru’s mother smiled, lines softening around her eyes. “Really? I’m glad Sugu’s found some nice friends.”

His father nodded, lips pulling into something between approval and amusement. “This kid’s forced himself to be a loner his entire life,” he said with a short laugh. “Hates everyone. He needs more people like you in his life.”

The words hung in the air. Suguru’s chuckle faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor as if pulled there by weight. His shoulders rounded the slightest bit inward, a motion so small most wouldn’t notice. Satoru noticed.

“Eh, he’s fine.” Satoru’s voice cut in casually, light but firm. He nudged Suguru gently with his elbow, the contact grounding. “Sometimes the less people you have, the better.”

Suguru gave a soft chuckle at that, flicking his eyes toward Satoru with a fleeting, grateful look before returning them to his parents.

His father’s expression didn’t shift much, but his nod came slow and deliberate. “Right,” he said, the word low and weighted, a thin line of judgment woven through. “If that’s what you think.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened briefly, the faintest clench, but he kept his tone even.

His mother broke the pause with a brighter voice. “Suguru, your sister was looking for you earlier. You should go find her— she’s probably still with the twins.”

“Yeah,” Suguru said quickly, seizing the exit. “She texted me earlier.” He offered a short wave, his eyes flicking to his dad for only the barest second before sliding away. “See you later.”

Turning on his heel, he pulled at Satoru’s sleeve this time, steering him back into the crowd. As soon as they were clear of earshot, Suguru let out a long, contained breath, shoulders sagging like he’d been holding them taut.

“Sorry. My dad’s scary,” Suguru says with a sheepish laugh. “Um, don’t mind him. I’m sure he likes you. Uh, let’s go find my sister. She’s been wanting to meet you, believe it or not.”

“Really? I’m just that cool,” Satoru chuckles.

Suguru rolled his eyes, already angling his feet toward the room where the bass was thudding so hard it made the floorboards hum. “Uh… think I see my sister,” he muttered, eyebrows knitting together as he scanned the huddle of girls bouncing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Wait— don’t tell me.” Satoru narrowed his eyes, squinting into the crowd like he was trying to solve a crime. “I wanna guess who your sister is.”

Suguru gave him a sidelong look, a little grin tugging at his lips. “You realize how creepy that sounds, right?”

“Shh,” Satoru waved him off without breaking his squint. “Don’t ruin my concentration.”

“Right— my bad,” Suguru chuckled, crossing his arms loosely as he let Satoru “study” the crowd.

After a long beat, Satoru pointed. “Okay, got it. Blue dress, short hair. The one spinning like she’s on a sugar high.”

Suguru’s brows ticked up, impressed despite himself. “Wow. Nailed it first try. Honestly, kinda scary you’re that good at spotting my family.”

“Ah, what can I say?” Satoru leaned back on his heels, smug grin spreading across his face. “I’m just the best.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Suguru shook his head, amusement pulling at his mouth. “We know.”

They wove through the crowd, Suguru leading the way until he was close enough to elbow his sister gently. Sachi turned mid-laugh, her face bright with recognition.

“Hey,” Suguru said, tilting his head toward Satoru with a half-smile. “Look who I brought.”

Her eyes widened. “No way.” She gasped like she’d just been handed front-row tickets to her favorite band. “The only man I’ve heard about every single day since school started. It’s an honor, honestly.” She stuck out her hand with dramatic flair.

Satoru laughed quieter than usual and a little awkward, but still warm. He shook her hand, taken aback by how firm her grip was. “Wow. I like this one,” he said, tilting his chin toward Suguru. “She’s like your opposite.”

“That’s what most people say,” Suguru admitted, shrugging with mock defeat. “She’s eighteen. Pretty sure she stole all the bold genes before she could even think.”

“Correction,” Sachi said quickly, flicking her hair back with a grin. “You’re just not fun.” She rested one hand on her hip, her grin sharpening when an idea lit her eyes. “Wait. So… are you guys, like— finally together, or…?”

Suguru froze for half a second, breath catching in his chest. His gaze darted to Satoru, then away just as fast. “Alright. Nope. We’re leaving. You and your giant mouth can fend for yourself. And don’t say that stuff when dad’s literally a couple feet away. He’d kill me.” His voice was firm, but his ears were tinted pink as he took a pointed step back. “Bye, Sachi.”

“Whoops,” she said with an exaggerated wince, scratching the back of her neck. “My bad. Whatever. Text me later!” she called as Suguru turned, practically towing Satoru away by the wrist.

Satoru’s chuckle followed him out of the crowd, a little lighter this time, though it trailed off quickly. “You’ve got an interesting family,” he said once they were in the hall again. “Funny sister.”

Suguru sighed, running a hand down his face. “Ignore her. She’s the biggest big-mouth I know. No filter, no sense of timing. I don’t think she’s ever learned when not to ask a question.” He gave a tired laugh. There was no real anger in his tone, just the resigned affection of someone who’s lived with it all his life.

“It’s fine,” Satoru said softly, though his laugh sounded faintly strained at the edges. “I didn’t mind. She’s just curious.”

“Curious and loud,” Suguru muttered, then glanced sideways at Satoru with a crooked smile. “Honestly, I’m impressed she waited a whole three minutes before embarrassing me. That’s like… a personal record for her.”

The comment landed lightly, but the humor carried a thin edge of deflection, the kind of joke meant to patch over the lingering awkwardness.

✮✮✮

December 3rd, Thursday: 7:29 P.M.

Suguru stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken on his plate, jaw tightening a fraction as he stared at Satoru’s delicate face across the table. There was something maddening about the way the light caught him, even in a room buzzing with chatter and clinking glasses, it was like Satoru didn’t belong to the background. He stood out, effortlessly, like he always did.

Suguru cleared his throat and dropped his gaze, staring down at the dull food in front of him as though the pale chicken breast might offer him answers he didn’t know how to ask for. His foot tapped beneath the table, restless, like it could shake the thoughts loose.

What if this was fragile? What if the thin thread pulling them back together snapped again? He’d gotten used to building walls when things went quiet, so used to assuming silence meant distance. Now, with Satoru sitting not three feet away, alive in front of him, the fear was still there, coiled in the back of his throat.

He took a slow bite, letting the flavor of the meat sit in his mouth before swallowing, grounding himself in something real.

“...You good?” Satoru’s voice broke through, casual, but not careless. He glanced up from his own plate, spoon twirling between those long fingers like he had all the time in the world to wait for an answer.

Suguru’s throat tightened again, but this time for an entirely different reason. He nodded, steadying his voice before it could give him away. “Yeah.” A beat passed, and when his eyes drifted back to Satoru’s face, the corners of his mouth lifted almost on their own. “Definitely.”

The tension unraveled with startling ease, dissolving like sugar into tea. Just that simple exchange, Satoru noticing and asking, had been enough to pull him out of the spiral. He didn’t need to explain the ache in his chest or the fear in his stomach. For now, Satoru was here, and that was enough.

Satoru snorted softly, rolling his eyes like it was second nature. “You’re so weird, but okay.” His tone carried the warmth of something familiar, something easy.

Suguru shrugged, a quiet breath slipping out of him as he lifted another piece of chicken to his mouth. The motion felt lighter this time, less weighted by what-if’s. His gaze, though, refused to leave Satoru, circling over his features. Trading the sharp line of his jaw, the faint smile tugging at his lips. Glued, as though looking away might undo the fragile spell of the moment.

Noticing, Satoru’s lips curved into a grin, small but genuine, before he let out a quiet chuckle and broke the contact first, lifting his water glass. He sipped, his eyes dancing with that same unspoken ease that had always made Suguru feel like home wasn’t so far away.

And just like that, the worry receded, carried off on the sound of Satoru’s laugh.

✮✮✮

December 3rd, Thursday: 8:18 P.M.

The party was still bright and lively behind them, music pulsing faintly through the walls of the venue, bursts of laughter trailing out the doors, but Suguru knew he and Satoru should probably head back to campus before it got too late. The air outside was crisp, sharper than when they’d first arrived, little clouds forming each time they breathed out. They walked across the lot side by side, their footsteps falling almost in rhythm until they split at the car, each sliding toward their own door.

Satoru leaned against the side for a second before ducking in, his chest rising with a deep inhale of the cold night air. Suguru mirrored him, catching the way their exhales seemed to hang together in the quiet space between them, lingering in a cloud before dissolving.

“That was fun,” Satoru said once he settled into his seat, head tipping back lazily against the rest, his hands relaxed on the wheel. “I finally got to meet the Getos. I will say, I’m not sure if they’re what I expected.” A tiny grin tugged at his lips. “You’ve got a nice little family, though.”

Suguru gave a half-shrug, the seatbelt tugging against his chest. “Guess so. They’re pretty weird, but they’re okay.” His laugh was small, faintly tired.

Satoru’s fingers tapped absently along the smooth leather of the wheel, his gaze drifting. “I dunno if your dad liked me all that much.”

The corner of Suguru’s mouth dropped. He tilted his head, eyes flicking to Satoru’s side profile. “He doesn’t like anyone. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Satoru murmured, running a hand through his messy hair, strands catching on his fingers. “Um, kinda late to ask this, but, what did you mean earlier?”

Suguru blinked, brows knitting. “Earlier?”

“When you told your sister your dad would ‘kill you’ if he found out we ever… like, got together.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Suguru’s hand tightened around a loose thread hanging from the waistband of his jeans, twisting it until it nearly snapped. His eyes dropped forward, tracing the faint glow of streetlamps spilling across the windshield.

“Uh.” He swallowed, throat dry. “He’s not the most accepting guy. Especially when it comes to me and anything that goes against his… standards.” His mouth twisted around the word. “I just think— like, I don’t know. He might not really like it if we ever did get together.” He hesitated, fingers fumbling, breath hitching. “But, of course, like— he doesn’t matter. Also, we’re not together yet. I mean, we’re not together, so.” The words tumbled over themselves, clumsy, fragile, the way they always did when he tried to touch the truth too closely.

Satoru looked at him, something gentler softening his sharp blue gaze. A small, patient smile curved his lips. “Alright. I get it. ’Sfine.”

Suguru forced himself to look back, and the second his eyes met Satoru’s, he felt himself slip, pulled into the depth of that calm blue, steady and unwavering. The tension pressing against his ribs loosened, just slightly. His throat cleared with a soft scrape. “Yeah.” His voice steadied. “But my dad’s dumb ideas and ‘rules’ shouldn’t affect any of your decisions about me. He doesn’t have any power over that.”

Satoru nodded slowly, the smallest crease of thought in his brow. His breath lifted, then fell again, smooth. “Don’t worry.” The words sank deeper than Suguru expected, quiet and unshakable.

Suguru’s fingers let go of the frayed string. He nodded too, almost reflexive. “‘Kay. Okay. I won’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Suguru repeated, the faintest flicker of a grin tugging at his mouth, though his chest still felt heavy.

The sound of the engine cut through the silence, rumbling to life, filling the space between them. Satoru shifted into gear, hands steady on the wheel, and the car rolled forward. Outside, the road stretched ahead in long, dark bands, the streetlamps spaced out like beacons, flicking on one by one as they drove beneath them. Each glow was brief but constant, lighting their way, marking a path through the shadows.

Suguru let his head tip against the window, the blur of light and dark sliding past. For a moment, he thought of how change could feel like that too, how even in stretches of dark, Satoru’s presence fell on him the way the lamps did, steady, inevitable, pulling him through.

He sat with his heart quieter than before, the weight of his father’s shadow still there but softened by the fact that Satoru was still here. Still driving them home.

Chapter Text

December 4th, Friday: 10:21 P.M.

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru, Suguru. The name loops, coils, presses itself into every corner of Satoru’s mind until it’s the only thing echoing in the dark. He shifts on his back, fingers drumming a soft, uneven beat against his chest like he’s trying to pound the thoughts out of himself. His eyes are wide open, unblinking, fixed on the ceiling that stretches above him in endless shadow.

He takes a deep breath in, the inhale riddled with a kind of frustrated energy, then lets it go slowly, watching it flutter up and vanish in the quiet of his room.

I know I need time. I know I’m supposed to be giving myself enough space. I know I’m supposed to let myself fully recover before I rush back into things.

His jaw tightens.

But fuck… how was I supposed to know keeping my heart away from Suguru was gonna feel like this?

The sheets around his legs twist tighter the more he kicks at them, searching for a comfortable position that doesn’t exist. The heaviness on his chest feels less like sleep pressing down and more like a weight that wants to stay there. He drags one hand over his eyes, sighing.

We’re not ready. We’re clearly not ready for a relationship yet, his head says the words like a fact he’s memorized for safety. But my heart doesn’t care. My heart just says to stop thinking so damn much, to let myself fall into Suguru’s arms and never leave.

The thought makes his throat tighten. He swallows hard, pulling at the neckline of his T-shirt like that’ll help him breathe easier.

His foot taps an anxious rhythm against the mattress, the sound loud in the silence. He flips onto his side, then onto his back again, trying to outrun the restlessness.

I should text him, shouldn’t I?

His hand slides across his stomach, pinching and rolling the fabric of his shirt between his fingers, the familiar nervous tic grounding him just enough. His breaths come out heavier now, weighted like he’s carrying something that refuses to be put down.

Even though I probably shouldn’t. Not when I’m thinking like this. Not when every little thing he says might make me want to close the distance we swore wasn’t there yet. But—

He sighs again, softer this time, like admitting defeat.

He’s the only one who makes it better. Suguru’s the only one who can quiet it down, all the bad stuff that comes after me. Like magic. Like he doesn’t even try, and it just… he fixes everything.

Satoru turns his head to the nightstand, to the black rectangle resting there like a dare. His phone sits in the dark, screen blank, tempting him with silence.

He stares at it for too long, eyes unfocused, his pulse pressing hard against his throat. His hand twitches, fingers slowly curling until his knuckles brush the phone’s edge.

And then, finally, he moves. His fingertips ghost over the glass, hesitating and hovering before pressing down to wake it. The sudden light floods his tired eyes, sharp and unforgiving, but it doesn’t matter, as he’s already caught.

✮✮✮

(Over text:)

Satoru: “Suguru”

Suguru: “whags up”

Satoru: “Could I come over?”

Satoru: “Like are you free?”

Suguru: “duh”

Suguru: “come over”

Satoru stares at the last message until the glow of the screen starts to blur. He presses his lips together, phone lowering to his chest as if he can absorb the reassurance through skin alone. With a long breath that catches halfway in his throat, he swings his legs off the bed, sitting on the edge for a few seconds that feel much longer.

He drags a hand through his hair, messing it up, then smooths it down again in the mirror like the appearance of control might translate to the real thing. In an unfamiliar way, his body feels heavier than before, as though every step toward Suguru’s room might drag another truth out of him that he isn’t ready to name.

The walk down the hall is short, but it feels like the quietest, longest tunnel. By the time he’s in front of Suguru’s door, his knuckles hover uncertainly. He knocks once, waits, then knocks twice. And when he’s bracing himself for the third, the door swings open.

Suguru stands there, framed by the muted lamplight inside, his expression soft in a way that makes something sharp twist behind Satoru’s ribs. His eyes meet Satoru’s, noticing how his are sunk a little deeper, dulled by something restless. 

“Hey. Everything good?” Suguru’s voice is careful, warm but edged with a concern that doesn’t hide. He steps back automatically, wordlessly inviting Satoru in. 

Satoru lingers for a second, staring at the floor like he’s trying to find the right words written in the carpet fibers, before stepping over the threshold. He slowly drifts his eyes up to meet Suguru’s again, his heart pulling at the sight. Suguru’s hair is slightly messy, held up in a big bun atop his head, his eyes twinkling yellow stars with the reflection of the lights in the hallway.

His inhale is slow, heavier than usual. “Um, I think. Honestly, I don’t really know.”

Suguru watches his face like it might spell the answer better than his words. After a beat, he turns, his hair brushing his cheek as he gestures with a tilt of his head. “Well, that’s fine. We can figure it out together.”

The words strike Satoru deeper than he expects. His throat works around a response. “…Yeah, I— well. Yeah.” He follows Suguru into the bedroom, socked feet quietly padding across the floor.

The bed dips under their combined weight as Satoru sits down, their knees brushing just enough to notice, but not enough to pull away. He stares at the comforter, at Suguru’s hand resting close but not quite touching. Suguru’s shiny metal rings gleam in the dim lights, the crevices in the intricate details causing a contrast of shadowed black and bright metal.

Suguru leans back slightly, his gaze unflinching this time, drinking in the unguarded lines of Satoru’s face. He doesn’t let him squirm away from it. “I think something’s bugging you. I’m not gonna force anything, of course, but,” his voice softens, but steadies with intent, “I feel like you should talk about it before it gets worse.”

Satoru lets out a low breath, almost a laugh but without the humor. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” He rubs his palms over his knees, restless. “I just… the whole thing that’s ‘bugging me’ is, kinda— us. Like, I just don’t know anymore.”

His words stumble out faster, rawer now. “I need more time, but I just— every time we talk, every time we’re like this, I feel like I should just give in. Just… let us be what we wanna be so badly.”

Suguru’s breath falters for a heartbeat, the confession hitting him in a place he doesn’t show often. His eyes lock on Satoru’s, voice catching before he steadies it again. “Well, I don’t think that would be good for us. And I can’t say I don’t feel the exact same, but rushing into it wouldn’t work.” His throat closes up slightly, each word carrying more weight than he means to let on. 

“You really need to think about what you need, not just what you want.” His fingers twist in the blanket between them, knuckles pale. “I really like you, Satoru. ‘Course I do. And I’m pretty sure you like me too.” He swallows. 

His tone drops lower. “But if we get into a relationship when you’re not— not a hundred percent, it’s not gonna end well. And the thing about that is, I don’t even want it to end at all.”

The words hang between them, thick and fragile. Satoru’s eyes drop, his vision unfocusing on the floor, the blur of shadows and fabric easier to face than Suguru’s earnestness.

“Yeah.” His voice is quieter now, almost boyish. “Me neither. But I don’t know— my biggest thing was that I don’t want you to leave again.” His hand clenches over his thigh. “And I’m not super sure, but I’m pretty sure you won’t leave.”

Suguru’s breath hitches. He leans just slightly closer, enough that Satoru can feel the warmth of him but not enough to blur the boundary. His words are steady, deliberate.

“Exactly, ’Toru. You’re not super sure yet.” His eyes soften, though they don’t let him look away. “And I’m not gonna leave you. But you have to fully believe that too, not just say it, before we start anything.”

The sound of the blanket rustling is the only noise in the room as Satoru shifts, dragging himself upright so his back presses against the wall. He lets his head fall back for a second, staring upward, watching the way the shadows of the posters ripple faintly with the low light. His legs bounce restlessly where they hang over the edge of the bed, the motion betraying the storm under his still expression.

His throat works around the words before he finally forces them out. “I’m really just… I’m so tired of waiting, Sugu.” His voice cracks, not sharp, but weary. He swallows again, like it’ll steady him. “I’ve wanted you for— hell, I don’t even know. It just feels like forever.”

The words sit between them like smoke, impossible to grab but impossible to ignore. Suguru lets out a shaky breath, the weight of it heavy in his chest. He turns to look at him, lips curving into something that’s almost a smile, though it’s pulled taut with ache. “True love waits,” he murmurs, soft enough that only Satoru could ever hear it.

Satoru’s blue eyes catch Suguru’s purple ones, and something electric threads between them, that strange warm shiver coursing through his body like an unwelcome truth he secretly craves. He breathes out, slow, resigned. “Guess so.”

Suguru lifts a hand, hesitant at first, but then steady as his fingers rake gently through the feathery strands of Satoru’s white hair. The touch lingers, featherlight but grounding, until his hand finally slips back down, brushing against the blanket. His head tilts as he studies Satoru’s face, offering him a smile so soft it borders on a promise.

“I’ll still be here when you’re ready, Satoru. Don’t worry.” His words hold more weight than their quiet delivery suggests, like each one is carved into the air itself. “You don’t have to rush things. I’m not leaving.”

The silence afterward is thick but no longer suffocating. It carries a strange calm, like the steady hum of something sacred.

Satoru’s throat tightens again, though this time it isn’t from uncertainty. His eyes drop for a second, lashes trembling against his cheeks, before he finally lets the truth slip out in a whisper. “Yeah.” His voice is barely audible, but the honesty behind it makes the air heavier. “That’s all I need to know.”

For the first time that night, his shoulders ease, some of that restless energy melting away. He doesn’t lean into Suguru, not yet, but his body angles closer, unconsciously drawn into orbit.

Suguru notices but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. 

✮✮✮

December 4th, Friday: 11:03 P.M.

Satoru is lying on his back, pillow cushioned beneath his head, with Suguru sitting cross-legged at his side. The soft hum of the heater fills the pauses, warm air cycling faintly through the room. Satoru’s hands hover above his chest, idly fiddling with a loose piece of string he’d ripped from his shirt earlier, twisting it around his long fingers like he’s trying to weave it into something.

“Suguru, you smell good,” he says suddenly, half-smile tugging his lips. His chuckle slips out soft and boyish, like he almost didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Suguru blinks down at him, caught between amusement and surprise. “Really? Thanks. Unfortunately, I have no clue what my cologne is. It’s something cheap from one of those tourist shops. Probably supposed to smell like pine or ocean breeze or something.”

“Pine,” Satoru repeats, squinting up at the ceiling as if testing the word. “Yeah, I can see that. Not that I’m sniffing you like a weirdo or anything.” He grins sideways.

Suguru rolls his eyes, but there’s warmth behind it.

Satoru’s grin fades into something softer as he flips the thread around one more time. “I remember when I was like… seven years old, my mom and I were in Times Square. It was Christmas Eve, lights everywhere, music playing, and I,” his laugh bursts out, sharp and almost embarrassed, “fell right into a big fountain. Clothes soaked, whole crowd staring. My mom had to drag me out. It’s funny now, but dude, I wanted to crawl into the pavement and disappear.”

Suguru lets out a laugh that escapes before he can hold it back, the kind that shakes his shoulders. “That’s totally you. I feel like you would still do something like that at this age.”

Satoru turns his head to look at him, laughter lingering in his eyes. “Probably. Honestly? I think I am the way I am because of things like that. Like… when something humiliating happens, you either die of shame or you learn to laugh at yourself. Guess I chose laughing.”

There’s a pause, the kind where Suguru knows the words mean more than they say. He doesn’t push, but his gaze lingers.

“I think my personality-shaping moment,” Suguru offers after a beat, “was when I slipped on my butt and fell into a pool at my friend’s birthday party. I was ten. Pretty much our entire class was there. I swear I could still hear the laughter echoing when I went to bed that night.” He huffs, but he’s smiling.

Satoru snickers, eyes crinkling. “I can imagine that happening so well. Did you, like, try to style it out after? Pretend it was on purpose or somethin’?”

“Not a chance. I was too busy choking on pool water and wanting to evaporate.” Suguru shakes his head with mock solemnity. “And before you ask, no, it wasn’t even a pool party.” He sighs. “We just happened to be standing around my friend’s pool, and—” his hand flutters in the air, “—splash. Trauma.”

Satoru laughs, tilting his head back against the pillow so hard it almost knocks his glasses askew. “Oh my god. That’s even worse.”

“Exactly,” Suguru says, a grin stretching across his face. “I blame the wind.”

“Yeah, sure. Wind conspiracy.” Satoru lets his eyes fall closed for a second, smiling faintly. “See, this is why we’re perfect for each other. We’re both disasters in public.”

Suguru shakes his head, still laughing quietly. “Disasters, maybe. But survivors too.”

That draws Satoru’s eyes open again. “Survivors? Explain.”

“Alright. Think about it,” Suguru says, resting his chin in his hand now, thoughtful. “We both had our little mortifying-core moments early. Instead of letting it haunt us, we learned how to live with being seen. Laughed it off n’ moved forward.” His eyes drift over Satoru’s face, softer now. “You leaned into it. You made it part of your whole charm.”

Satoru’s smile weakens into something more self-conscious. His voice lowers. “And you? What about you?”

“Well, I think I did the opposite,” Suguru admits. “Like, instead of leaning in, I learned to hide better. But that’s still surviving, kinda.” For a second, the heater hum feels too loud.

Satoru shifts against the pillow, tilting his head toward him. “Guess that means we balance each other out, huh? We compliment each other, Suguru.”

Suguru chuckles under his breath. “I think you just teach me to stop hiding so much, and I remind you it’s okay to slow down sometimes.”

Satoru stares at him a little longer than necessary, the string forgotten in his hands. There’s something unspoken, floating heavy between them, wrapped in the faint scent of pine and the echo of old humiliations.

“Survivors,” Satoru repeats, quieter this time, almost like he’s tasting the word. “Yeah. I like that.”

✮✮✮

December 5th, Saturday: 12:05 P.M.

At this point in the night, Suguru is sprawled out and settled into his bed, one leg tucked under the blanket, the other dangling just off the edge as he scrolls aimlessly through his phone. The glow of the screen lights his face in soft intervals, his expression shifting between neutral and faintly amused. Beside him, Satoru mirrors the posture, long body stretched out comfortably, phone held loosely above his head.

A loud yawn breaks the silence, Satoru’s joints cracking dramatically as he stretches his arms high over his head before letting them collapse onto his chest. “You’re like a vampire,” he complains, voice thick with sleep. “I don’t know how you sleep with how cold you keep your room.”

Suguru glances over, one brow lifting. “Is it really that cold?” He sits up a little straighter, tucking his phone aside. “Do you want me to give you a hoodie or something?”

“Uh, no, it’s fine,” Satoru says too quickly, rubbing one hand over his eyes like he’s shielding himself from the offer.

Suguru’s lips twitch. “You sure? I have a bunch. I don’t mind it.”

A beat of silence, and then Satoru clears his throat. “Oh. Okay. Cool. Yeah, I think I want one.”

The honesty makes Suguru chuckle under his breath, the sound light and warm. “Thought so.” Sliding out of bed, he crosses the small room, socked feet padding softly against the floor. He digs through the line of hoodies hanging in his closet, fingers brushing over old band logos, plain colors, ones that smell faintly of detergent and others worn-in by years. Finally, he plucks out a thick red one, yanking it free of its hanger.

Turning back, he bunches it into a loose ball and tosses it toward Satoru. The hoodie arcs clumsily through the air before landing right in Satoru’s lap.

“Nice aim,” Satoru mutters, untangling it with lazy hands. He holds it up for a moment, fingers curling into the fabric, before pulling it over his head in one slow motion. The hem catches on his hair, static clinging for a second before he shakes it down. The oversized sleeves swallow his wrists, the neck loose around his collarbone.

Satoru inhales without thinking, the faint trace of Suguru’s detergent and shampoo mixing together. The scent sinks deep, achingly familiar, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. “Smells like you,” he says, voice almost hidden by the fabric as he tugs the hoodie into place.

Suguru, already climbing back onto the bed, grinning. “Weirdo.”

“Not weird. Just accurate.” Satoru tilts his head smugly, tugging at one sleeve like he’s showing it off. “Fits nice, too. You should give me your hoodies more often.”

“Right,” Suguru says dryly, though his smile gives him away as he settles back into his spot.

Satoru shrugs, grin widening as he nestles deeper into the hoodie, arms folding behind his head. “Just sayin’, it’s preeetty comfy.”

Suguru shakes his head, but there’s no hiding the warmth in his chest at the sight. Satoru stretched across his bed, drowning in red fabric that used to be his. He could get used to this, easily.

Chapter Text

December 5th, Saturday: 9:49 A.M.

The low and guttural sound of Suguru snoring made Satoru slowly blink his eyes open, the booming snores practically rattling into his ear. His lips parted in a dry, soundless laugh, a grin tugging at his mouth as he shifted his head back a couple inches, putting some space between their faces. He studied the black-haired beauty still lost in sleep, Suguru’s features softened in a way they never were when he was awake. His mouth parted, strands of hair slipping across his cheek, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

For a moment, Satoru just lay there, letting himself soak in the sight. He hated to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind, but this was the kind of image he wished he could keep forever.

Careful not to stir him, Satoru reached an arm over Suguru’s head toward the nightstand. His fingers grazed the cool surface until they closed around his phone, only then realizing the tangle of their bodies. One of his legs was wrapped lazily over Suguru’s own, their knees touching. His grin faltered into a wince at the thought of being caught like that, heat rising faintly in his chest.

He grabbed his phone with a little more urgency now, holding his breath as he tried to peel his leg away. The bed creaked at the shift, the springs betraying his effort to stay silent. Satoru froze, eyes flicking to Suguru’s face, but Suguru didn’t stir. With a slow exhale, he finally managed to pull his leg back into a less dangerous position.

He let out a long, quiet breath of relief and glanced back toward Suguru just in time to catch the faint flicker of tan eyelids, lashes twitching before opening into those familiar, half-lidded purple eyes.

“Mornin’, Suguru,” Satoru murmured, thumb unlocking his phone with casual ease, as if he hadn’t just been wrestling with his own panic a moment earlier.

“Good morning,” Suguru replied groggily, voice low and scratchy from sleep. His gaze wandered lazily around the room for a moment, adjusting to the light, before landing back on Satoru. “I didn’t even realize we fell asleep here.”

Satoru nodded, eyes still on his screen. “Yeah, me neither.” Liar.

Suguru hummed softly, sitting up with a slow push until his back rested against the wall. He dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his eyes before slipping down to his chin. “You want anything for breakfast? I dunno if I have much, but I can figure something out.”

Satoru shrugged, shifting onto his back. “Eh, I don’t mind. If you don’t have anything, it’s fine.”

“Uh,” Suguru rubbed at his temple with his knuckles. “You wanna go out to, like… Dunkin’? We could eat at the park, too.”

Satoru’s lips curled into a grin. “Really? Am I getting princess treatment?”

Suguru slowly turned his head to give him a flat stare, squinting like he was trying to burn a hole through Satoru’s smug expression.

“‘Kay, jeez.” Satoru raised both hands in mock surrender, his grin not budging. “Won’t call myself a princess again, I guess.”

“Get up,” Suguru muttered, pulling the blanket down from his lap. “We’ll leave in a little. I gotta brush my face n’ whatnot.”

“Brush your face?” Satoru snorted, twisting onto his side to watch him.

“You know what I meant.”

“Right, right.” His chuckle was quiet but unshakably amused.

Suguru groaned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, every movement slow like gravity had doubled on him overnight. The blanket slid down his shoulders, pooling at his waist before spilling onto the floor. He rolled himself off the mattress until his feet hit the cold wood, toes curling instinctively.

Satoru followed after him, unfolding his long frame from the bed with less grace and more noise, yawning as he stretched. He ruffled his own messy hair with one hand, his hoodie— Suguru’s hoodie— hanging loose around him. For a moment, Suguru’s eyes lingered on it, on how natural it looked draped over Satoru’s shoulders. He shook his head quickly, padding toward the bathroom, but Satoru caught the look.

“Don’t worry,” Satoru teased, voice still thick with sleep. “I’ll give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, but his lips curved upward as he disappeared into the bathroom, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, weirdo.

✮✮✮

December 5th, Saturday: 10:13 A.M.

The crinkle of their bagged breakfast filled the space between them as they sat down on the park bench together, the view of happy people of all ages sitting around underneath trees and by tables being the only sight to see. The morning air was crisp, cool enough that each of their breaths came out faintly visible in the light, but not so cold it chased them from sitting still.

“Sandwich me,” Satoru says, reaching his hand out as Suguru rustles through the bag.

After a moment, Suguru pulls out the wrapped up breakfast sandwich, placing it firmly into Satoru’s open hand with a mock seriousness, like a waiter handing over a delicate dish. Shortly after, Suguru gets out his bagel, tearing off the paper wrapping slowly, his fingers brushing off the crumbs that cling to his skin.

“I’ve seen old couples sitting down and doing the same thing we are,” Satoru points out with a grin, already unwrapping his sandwich. “Y’know, I’ve always dreamed of doing this with someone.”

Suguru tilts his head in confusion, raising an eyebrow. “What? Eating breakfast in the park?”

“Something like that, yeah. Always thought it’d be nice to just sit down with someone and chow on some food in the park. Like, the park is full of— I dunno, pure happiness? It’s nice to be one of the people in the park instead of being the person walking past.”

Satoru waves his hand vaguely toward the world around them, the world being a little girl tugging her father toward the park, two joggers laughing with earbuds dangling from their necks, a pair of dogs tied up to a bench with tails wagging furiously; things of that sort.

Nodding his head, Suguru hums. “Huh. I don’t really pay attention to the park all that much— I guess you’re right. I’ve never seen someone be depressed at the park.” He takes a bite of his bagel, cream cheese threatening to spill out at the side.

“Call me a genius, ‘cause I am one.” Satoru chuckles, smirking between chews.

“‘Kay, genius,” Suguru teases, lips quirking faintly as he balances the bagel in one hand and wipes at his mouth with the back of the other.

Satoru leans back on one arm, biting into his sandwich. They fall into quiet eating after that, the gentle chirps of birds coming out of the trees, the occasional breeze trying to blow their bag away. A few teens laugh in the nearby distance, following the crunch of autumn leaves. The smoky scent of grilled meat drifts from a food truck starting up just a couple feet away, mixing with the faint sweetness of roasted nuts from a vendor cart on the other side of the path.

The kind of quiet that settles isn’t awkward, it’s the sort that makes Satoru glance sideways and find himself strangely grateful, chest easing in a way he doesn’t often let himself feel.

Suguru turns his head to Satoru after a moment, resting his back on the metal bench, stretching his legs out with a long exhale. “So, did you ever figure out what you were gonna do for your birthday?”

Satoru shrugs, lips full of sandwich. He swallows before answering. “Eh, haven’t given it much thought. I think I just wanna do something small.”

“Really? You sure? That doesn’t sound like you.” Suguru narrows his eyes, skeptical.

“Well, it’d be like… I dunno. It’d be annoying to plan something right now, then ask people to come to a birthday party on such short notice.”

“Oh.” Suguru looks down at the cement, watching two ants walk across the pavement, their tiny bodies cutting a jagged line between crumbs. “But, if you could, you’d have a bigger party?”

“Maybe. I don’t think it’d be very possible though.” Satoru’s eyes follow Suguru’s, landing on the pair of ants. His mouth twitches like he’s holding back a grin. “Besides, I don’t really need a bunch of people. I’d rather just do something that actually feels fun.”

Suguru hums, leaning his head back so the sunlight filters across his face. “Hm.” He sighs, thoughtful. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Yep,” Satoru says, smiling softly, eyes flicking over him briefly before looking away. “Usually do.”

Suguru huffs a quiet laugh, not saying more. The sound of the park swells in the pause that follows, kids shrieking with delight, the faint strum of a busker’s guitar nearby. For once, the world feels slowed down, like it’s giving them space to just sit still together.

✮✮✮

December 5th, Saturday: 12:09 P.M.

The two of them parted ways not too long ago. Suguru is now sitting in his room, typing out some ideas for Satoru’s birthday. He decided on a small surprise party with himself, Shoko, Utahime, Nanami, and Haibara. All he had to do was figure out if everyone was available. 

(Over text:)

Suguru: “guys i have an idea”

Shoko: “what is this”

Utahime: “hi what’s going on”

Suguru: “the thanksgiving group chat gojo made but now without gojo”

Shoko: “oh”

Utahime: “yhank goodness”

Nanami: “what’s happening i’m confused”

Haibara: “Oh wow this is old”

Suguru: “okay so are you guys free monday night”

Nanami: “why”

Shoko: “yeah why”

Suguru: “i wanna throw gojo a surprise birthday party”

Haibara: “FUN. I’m a professional surprise birthday party thrower. And yes, I’m free”

Nanami: “me 2”

Shoko: “ayy me 3”

Utahime: “gross but me 4”

Suguru: “oh thank goodness. okay just meet up at this little café with balloons and gifts. i’ll bring him there after we finish class. does that work?”

Suguru: “[café address]”

Suguru: “gojo and i finish class at 4:00, be at the café by 4:05 max cuz it only takes me and gojo like 7 minutes to get there”

Haibara: “Works for me!”

Nanami: “i’ll be there”

Shoko: “yeh that works”

Utahime: “fine”

Suguru: “okay good”

Suguru: “okay bye”

Suguru: “i’ll text again later if anything changes”

Suguru: “oh and i’m gonna constantly remind you guys so yeah”

Shoko: “buhbai”

Haibara: “Okdok bye”

Utahime: “cant believe i’m doing this for gojo of ALL people💔”

Shoko: “you’ll live uta”

✮✮✮

December 5th, Saturday: 2:16 P.M.

The jingle of the bells hovering over the glass door was faintly heard over the Christmas music humming through the store’s speakers. Suguru takes in the sight of red-and-green displays and half-empty shelves, the faint scent of cinnamon pinecones trailing through the air. His fingers hook around the handle of a shopping cart, wheels squeaking faintly as he rolls it forward.

He pauses in the aisle lined with baskets, his brow knitting. A gift wasn’t just a gift when it came to Satoru. It needed to feel right, like something that showed he’d been paying attention all this time. His eyes trail over wicker, fabric, and wire options until they land on a dark brown woven one. Sturdy, neat, understated. He turns it over in his hands, checking the weave, before setting it carefully in the cart. Not flashy, but practical and something he can fill with meaning.

For a while, he just walks. Past shelves of knickknacks, kitchenware, novelty toys. Nothing quite fits. It isn’t until he drifts by the clothing section that an idea strikes: a hoodie. It’s almost laughably simple, but it feels right. He can picture Satoru pulling it on half-asleep, or complaining about the cold while secretly refusing to take it off. Suguru steers the cart sharply, weaving through hangers until he finds a row of hoodies. His fingers slide over thick cotton, pausing on different textures and patterns. Too loud, too thin, too tacky.

Then there it is. A black hoodie with a clean cut, subtle stitching, and a simple design across the back. Something practical, but still with just enough personality to suit him. Plus, Satoru looks good in black. Suguru lifts it off the rack, weighing it in his hands for a moment before laying it gently into the basket. 

He moves on, but the pull of fragrance stops him short. The candle display blooms in color and scent, glass jars stacked neatly in rows. Suguru hesitates, then lets himself linger. He twists open lids one by one, breathing in the sweetness of vanilla, the sharpness of pine, the warmth of cinnamon spice. None of them feel quite right, or until he finds one tucked near the middle, its wax marbled in swirls of blue and white.

The scent hits him immediately. It's a bright fruit, a little sweet, with an edge of something sharper underneath. Suguru closes his eyes, imagining Satoru’s careless grin, the way he fills a room with noise and light and still manages to carry something quieter beneath it all. This one. There’s no question. He places it into the cart with a small nod to himself, like he’s solved part of a puzzle.

He does a little more walking around before finding the candy shelves, picking out a few bags of things sweet and sour to toss into the cart. With that, he pulls himself to check out all the gifts.

✮✮✮

December 5th, Saturday: 7:23 P.M.

Ring ring.

Suguru turns at the sound, his eyes landing on the buzzing phone sitting on his kitchen counter, the screen glowing with a familiar name. He sets the dish towel in his hands aside, wiping his palms once on his sweatpants before sliding the phone toward himself. A small smile tugs at his lips as he presses the bright green button.

“Suguru,” comes the airy greeting through the speaker, almost like Satoru’s voice has been waiting for him all along.

“Hi, Satoru. You need something?” Suguru asks, propping the phone against a small empty bowl so he doesn’t have to hold it. He leans one elbow onto the counter, resting his chin in his palm as the screen shifts to reveal Satoru’s face.

Satoru slumps back in his chair, the familiar red hoodie, Suguru’s hoodie, draped casually over the back like it belongs there. His white hair is sticking up in a dozen different directions, catching the light in messy tufts. “Uh. I dunno. I wanna do something. Let’s go do something,” he says, raising one hand to ruffle through the chaos like it’ll somehow tame it. His eyes are clearly glued to his own face.

Suguru snorts under his breath, tilting his head. “Are you checking yourself out in the camera right now?”

“Maybe. Is that such a crime?” Satoru grins, leaning closer to his screen as though the dramatic angle will make him look better. His smile is so boyish Suguru feels an involuntary warmth press into his chest.

“Depends on the jury,” Suguru murmurs, shaking his head in amusement.

“Anyways,” Satoru continues, waving a hand as if to brush it off, “do you have anything in mind? Like, where to go?”

Suguru hums, fingers drumming lightly against the counter as he thinks. It’s not like they need anything extravagant; being together has always been the real draw. “Uh. We can go get ice cream or something. Or just walk around.”

The way Satoru’s expression lights up at the suggestion almost makes Suguru laugh. “Ice cream sounds a lot better. I’ll be at your dorm in…” He squints his eyes like he’s doing complicated math, lips pursed in mock seriousness. “…Gimme five minutes.”

Suguru lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Okay, cool. See you.” He lifts his hand lazily, forming a peace sign toward the camera.

Satoru mirrors him immediately, his grin wide and reckless, almost childlike. Then, just before the screen goes black, he winks.

Suguru exhales through his nose, leaning back from the counter with a faint smile still pulling at his lips. For some reason, the quiet kitchen feels less empty now.

✮✮✮

December 5th, Saturday: 7:29 P.M.

Not too long after, Suguru hears the steady knock against his door. He pushes himself up from the couch, brushing his palms against his sweatpants before turning the knob. The hinges creak softly as the door swings open, and there he is. Satoru, standing in the faint glow of the hallway light, his hair looking even more unruly than usual.

“You look awfully cozy,” Suguru says with a small smile, his eyes immediately sliding down to take in the outfit. A big hoodie hangs loosely off Satoru’s frame, sleeves nearly swallowing his hands, and below that, there’re cheap pajama pants covered in tiny Spongebob characters. Suguru can’t help but let out a low chuckle. “Are those… Spongebob pants?”

“Duh,” Satoru replies without missing a beat, grinning as if he’s been waiting for the comment. “I bought them thinking of our countless Spongebob binge sessions. You should be honored that I dressed with us in mind.”

Suguru huffs in amusement, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.” But he doesn’t deny the warmth that creeps into his chest at the thought that Satoru chose his clothes with him in mind.

He steps outside, pulling the door shut behind him with a muted click. The faint draft of the dorm hallway nips at his arms, but he ignores it. “I think there’s still an ice cream cart set up by the park. We’ll walk down there, grab something, and come back here. Or your place, doesn’t matter.”

Satoru tilts his head, leaning lazily against the doorframe for a moment as though he’s considering it with the weight of a life decision. “Your place— ‘sway better.”

Suguru raises a skeptical brow. “We literally have the same layout.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, falling into step as they start down the hall, “but yours is cozier. Mine feels like a storage unit with a bed inside it.” He gestures dramatically, as if painting a tragic picture of his own dorm.

Suguru rolls his eyes, though a small smile tugs at his mouth. “That’s just ‘cause you never clean.”

“Or,” Satoru says, taking the stairs right behind him, “maybe it’s ‘cause you make your space feel like a home. And I don’t.” His tone is lighter than his words, but there’s an honesty beneath it that makes Suguru glance back briefly.

For a moment, their steps echo in tandem down the stairwell, the silence between them surprisingly comfortable. Suguru doesn’t comment, though. He just keeps walking, Satoru’s presence a steady warmth just a step behind.

✮✮✮

The flashing rainbow lights strung over the ice cream cart flicker like stars fallen to earth, catching Satoru’s eye instantly. His grin spreads wide. “Ice cream, here I come,” he declares with the kind of theatrical enthusiasm that earns him a few glances from strangers in line.

Before Suguru can say anything, Satoru’s hand slips around his wrist. The grip is firm but easy, tugging him closer until they’re standing behind a group of bundled-up college students waiting their turn. Suguru blinks down at the pale fingers curled around him, but he doesn’t say a word, letting himself be pulled.

He shifts his weight, rocking on his heels as his gaze moves over the heads in front of him to the laminated menu taped inside the little window. Bright lettering promises flavors and toppings, half of them scribbled over with marker where they’d sold out for the night.

“What’cha gonna get?” Satoru asks, his voice lilting with curiosity.

“I dunno yet. What’re you gonna get?” Suguru keeps his tone casual, though his eyes don’t leave the menu.

“Chocolate hot fudge,” Satoru answers immediately, as though he’s been thinking about it all day. “It sounds so good…” He even adds a little whine to emphasize just how much he needs it, his grin widening when Suguru finally looks at him.

Suguru hums, nodding. “‘Kay. I think I’m probably gonna do the coffee one.”

Satoru makes a face, scrunching up his nose. “Weirdo.”

“You’re weirder.”

For a beat, they keep straight faces, pretending like the insult exchange is deadly serious. Then, as if choreographed, their eyes meet and both break into quiet laughter, shoulders bumping together in the crowded line. The sound is soft, but in the chill of the night air, it feels warmer than any scarf or hoodie could manage.

The white puffs of their breath drift upward like little ghosts, dissolving into the string lights overhead. Satoru leans lightly against Suguru, his body angled close enough that their sleeves brush every time someone ahead of them shuffles forward.

When the laughter dies down, Satoru doesn’t look away right away. His grin lingers, but his gaze shifts with more intent. He watches the rainbow lights refract off the sleek black of Suguru’s hair, the way the glow catches on strands like dew on raven feathers. The soft colors paint across Suguru’s sharp angles, outlining the gentle slope of his cheek, the bow of his mouth.

Something in Satoru’s smile falters, softens, like the air just punched out of him in the most delicate way. For one long moment, he just stares, a warm shiver skimming down his spine despite the cold night pressing against his skin.

He exhales a shaky little laugh, almost under his breath, before turning his attention back to the cart, pretending the menu is suddenly fascinating. But the image of Suguru under those lights lingers in his head, like something he’s not sure he’s allowed to keep but can’t possibly let go of either.

✮✮✮

With chocolate syrup dripping over two of his fingers, Satoru holds his cone up like a work of art. His grin is all teeth. “Doesn’t this look genuinely beautiful?”

Suguru huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Looks great.” He reaches for a small stack of napkins from the shiny metal counter, flashing a polite smile to the worker before turning back around. The napkins crinkle softly in his hand as he presses one against Satoru’s chocolate-stained fingers.

“Thanks, Mom,” Satoru teases, but he doesn’t pull away. His fingers brush Suguru’s for a second longer than necessary before he finally takes the napkin himself.

Their steps fall in sync as they drift back onto the concrete path, cones in hand. The cold air nips at their cheeks, but the sugary warmth between them makes the night feel softer somehow.

“Oh, I forgot to ask—” Suguru breaks the silence, glancing up at him. “You free after classes on Monday? I wanna go to the café with you. Birthday stuff. Just wanted to do something with you before we decide on anything bigger.”

Satoru licks a smudge of chocolate from his thumb before answering, his grin immediate. “Yeah, I’m free. You better come with gifts, though.” His voice is light, but there’s a real glow in his eyes, like the idea of Suguru planning anything for him is already the best present.

Suguru waves him off with a small smile. “Don’t worry. How ‘bout we forget we had this conversation for now. We’ll come back to it later.”

Satoru narrows his eyes in mock suspicion, his grin turning sly. “Suguru. You plan something for me?”

“I dunno.” Suguru shrugs, feigning indifference even though his lips twitch with the effort not to smile.

The grin breaks across Satoru’s face like sunlight anyway. He nudges a loose rock on the sidewalk with his sneaker, sending it skipping ahead. “‘Kay. I’ll stop asking now. I don’t wanna spoil it for myself.”

“Good,” Suguru says quietly, looking over at him.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them. Just Satoru, with sticky fingers and the biggest smile in the world, and Suguru, with something warm sparking in his chest at the sight. 

How can Satoru be so excited for something he doesn’t even know the outcome of? How can he carry that kind of joy so easily, like it weighs nothing at all? The thought makes Suguru’s lips curve almost without him realizing. The sight of Satoru’s happiness, simple and unguarded, settles into him like heat spreading through cold hands.

They don’t say much else as they head back toward the dorms, cones melting slowly, shoulders brushing every now and then.

Chapter Text

December 7th, Monday: 3:35 P.M.

Suguru was in his room, making sure every last detail was right. The afternoon light filtered weakly through the blinds, casting thin lines across his desk, his bed, the floor; everything’s too still compared to the restless energy running through him.

He had decided earlier to skip his last class, the first time in a while he’d done that, but there was no regret. If there was ever a day to prioritize something outside of lectures, it was today. This had to feel perfect, or at least close enough to it.

The gifts were already safe with Shoko. She’d agreed to hold onto them since sneaking a whole basket past Satoru would’ve been a disaster waiting to happen. Just the thought of Satoru wandering into his dorm and spotting the wrapped hoodie or the candle made him shake his head. He wanted to see that first look of surprise, not give Satoru the chance to ruin it early.

On his desk, his scrawled little card sat waiting. The words weren’t anything extravagant. They’re just simple and honest with a doodle in the middle that looked like something a bored kid might’ve drawn during class. He’d hesitated at first, but in the end, he liked it that way. Satoru would laugh at it, sure, but it would be the kind of laugh that stuck, that warm laugh that left his eyes crinkled at the corners. Suguru tucked the card carefully into the pocket of his hoodie, pressing it there like it needed to stay close until the right moment.

He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering before typing into the group chat.

(Over text):

Suguru: “you guys are ready right?”