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Being a performer comes with its trials and tribulations, and being Satoru Gojo comes with a unique existence that no one else seems to comprehend. Satoru is on another level — figuratively and literally — when he’s on his handstand canes, no one can ever dare to reach him. When he dangles on the trapeze, swaying back and forth as he hovers at least twenty feet in the air, even an attempt to reach him would end in a fruitless dream. He hooks his legs around the wooden plank, arching his back in a semi-circle as he peers down at the crowd.
“This?” He yells, stretching his arms wide to embrace the rush of adrenaline that floods him as he starts to swing, one anchor point supporting his entire body weight as he cruises along the air, waving to his troupe members down below.
“Too fast, Satoru!” Yaga shouts at him. “Take it slow!”
“How about no?” Satoru grins, swinging himself up the trapeze until he’s sitting on the wood, crossing one leg over the other as one of his hands clings onto the rope near it. His hands barely shake as he slowly raises himself into a headstand, using a leg as an anchor point on the rope, dropping his leg down until his foot is dangling right in front of his face. In a mockery of a peekaboo game, Satoru sticks his tongue in Yaga’s direction.
“Little shit.” He can hear Yaga seethe, but he doesn’t give a fuck. Satoru has always found the most solace when he’s high above, his toes almost touching the raised ceiling of their circus tent. No one can keep up with him. No one needs to.
That is, until he meets Suguru Geto.
『••✎••』
Suguru Geto is a strange guy. He comes to Satoru’s troupe because he has nothing else to do. “I just want to try this out,” he shrugs, during his interview with Yaga. “I’m strong and I can lift things. Living in a small village for more than two decades can be boring, so I decided to leave my childhood home to pursue an interesting career.”
“You do know that there’s a huge risk of dying on the job.” Yaga narrows his gaze. “We’re not for you if you’re just out and about the big city to have fun. We take our performances seriously, and safety nets come off during our performances. By the way, that was not my call—I am unfortunately a paid man, and paid men follow orders beyond their control. Paid men also take the risk of death in this industry. So turn back when you still can, kiddo.”
“I’ll pass.” Suguru smiles, resting his head on his intertwined fingers, shooting Yaga this shitty grin that screams ‘I do whatever the fuck I want no matter what the fuck you say’. “I love the thrill. I can take whatever role you need me for. I’m a good learner.” He clasps his hands together as he gazes at Yaga with earnest eyes. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Aw, come on.” Satoru saunters out, having had enough of the musty velvet curtains he’s hiding behind to eavesdrop. He’s in his favourite blue leotard, adorned with sparkles that form a trimmed corset line down his slender body, accentuating his lean figure. He isn’t wearing anything else except his knee braces — these stay on during rehearsals to preserve his joints, but they come off during performances so he can better grip onto his equipment. “Let him have his fun,” he croons, draping an arm over Yaga. Yaga groans and swats Satoru away like he’s an annoying fly hovering near his face, and in a sense Satoru is one. It’s just rude to point that out.
“Satoru, take this seriously.” Yaga huffs, leaning back in his chair as he sighs, focusing on the way air floods his lungs and leaves him slowly. His hands itch for a cigarette, the familiar drag of smoke. He always feels more inclined to smoke whenever Satoru’s around.
“I am.” Satoru smiles, his tinkling laughter a lilting bell that Suguru’s already irrevocably drawn to despite meeting him…less than a minute ago. “He’s young, and he’s strong. He can do whatever he wants if he wants to.”
Yaga coughs, glaring pointedly in Satoru’s direction. “Yes, I haven’t forgotten about the fact that you need a partner for your act.”
“What?” Satoru looks genuinely startled. His gaze darts to Suguru, then to Yaga, then back again.
“Him?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure he can keep up with me?”
“You’re strong, but you think too highly of yourself. Two sides of the same coin.” Yaga pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “A trapeze act always looks best when there’s two in the air. Work with Suguru, Satoru. It’ll do you some good. And you can let him ‘have his fun’.”
“But Yaga.” Satoru whines, pouting petulantly. With a huff, he drags out the tucked chair next to Suguru and plops himself into the seat unceremoniously. “You know I don’t do partners.”
“There’s a saying about stepping out of your comfort zone.”
“There’s also a saying about not pushing boundaries.”
“Satoru.” Yaga sighs. “Give it a thought.”
“Fine.” Satoru crosses his legs, eyeing Suguru. He’s…surprisingly good looking for some random guy who just waltzed into the circus and asked if there were any job openings. He has foxy, sultry features that would go well in an entertainment setting. Satoru just knows the girls will go crazy for a face like that. And with his long dark hair and his darker eyes, Suguru is truly a sight to behold. He possesses a rare charisma that exudes from him with his every move, and even as Satoru scans him up and down he knows Suguru’s doing the same.
Satoru smirks, playing into the game. “Like what you see?” He grins, leaning in, the tips of their noses almost touching before he darts away with a giggle. “You won’t be able to keep up with me on the trapeze, though. Maybe you’d be reduced to cabin duty.”
“Play nice, Satoru.”
“No.” Satoru turns away, tilting his head back as he stares at the vast expanse of the circus tent in all its entirety. The red and white stripes stretch as far as the eye can see, and he notices his little trapeze high in the sky. What he’d give to just run away from this and take a swing right now — Satoru’s always been a little avoidant when it comes to the things that matter most, so now he doesn’t know if he wants to look at Suguru or Yaga, painfully aware that they’re both staring.
He gazes at the floor, noting every individual scuff mark on the wooden panels. No matter how hard the cleaners scrub the area, there are some stains that can never be cleaned.
Satoru’s parents are trapeze artists, and like every cheesy fairytale scenario that can unfold with two trapeze artists, they fall in love on the trapeze. Shin’Ya comes from the prestigious Gojo bloodline, trained for the performing arts before he could even walk. Enha comes from a less influential family, so her parents are relying on her to make a name for herself. Fate brings them together under the same red and white roof, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.
They share their first kiss on the trapeze. Their firsts are all on the trapeze — from the budding giddiness that comes with youthful love, a blue spring outside the circus tent on the day they first meet. Shin’Ya and Enha only know each other and the trapeze, and that’s all they need to know. Whenever they step onto the stage as a duo, the world fades away around them, all the colours blurring together until only they exist — just them against the tide.
Of course, they get married on the trapeze too. It’s a small, intimate affair, but one they cherish with secret smiles and stolen gazes. A few years later, Satoru Gojo is born, and while other kids watch cartoons and TV shows, Satoru is raised by the breathtaking awe of a trapeze act.
“Watch us,” they’d say to Satoru, hand in hand as they prepare to go onstage, rushing through their pre-performance routine in hushed whispers. “And one day,” Enha always adds, gazing at Satoru with this knowing look . “Maybe you’d find your special someone to take onstage too.”
“Enha.” Shin’Ya flushes.
“What? What’s stopping me from telling a story to my own son?”
“It’s sappy.” Shin’Ya protests. “Besides, what if Satoru doesn’t want to go on the trapeze in the future? Then none of this would be applicable to him—”
“I want to go on the trapeze.” Satoru says, bright blue eyes reflecting the brighter lights of the circus around him. “I want to be just like you.”
“You see?” Enha playfully digs an elbow into Shin’Ya’s ribs, causing him to wince and shoot a halfhearted glare at his wife. “Satoru wants to be just like us. As the story goes, Satoru—trapeze art is all about trust. It’s about the intimacy you share with your special someone when you’re both in the air. It’s about the closure; being in tune with someone else’s heartbeat.”
“If you ever join us on the trapeze, be sure to find someone you can trust with your soul.” Shin’Ya ruffles Satoru’s hair endearingly. “Don’t settle for anyone less than that.”
“Okay.” Satoru nods along. “Okay.”
On the very same night, Satoru sits in the front row as he always does. There’s a special seat reserved just for him, and the regulars always smile and wave at him and sometimes bring him snacks. He drums his fingers on his lap, waiting for his parents to appear on stage — the surprise descent they always do is no longer a surprise, since Satoru has watched their routine countless times — but he’s still excited to see his parents. It’s a euphoric feeling to be able to see his parents doing the coolest things ever and be able to chant and yell, “look! That’s my parents! Do you see them? They’re my parents!”
Satoru waits for the beat drop. The troupe loves to build up the suspense, and then when the atmosphere is at its peak — they lower the curtain and reveal Shin’Ya and Enha on their raised platform. They take the plunge in unison, but they always grab onto their trapeze at the same time. Shin’Ya launches Enha high into the sky as she does a few flips, the sparkles on her leotard catching the glare of the spotlights. She always looks most beautiful when she’s submerged in the adrenaline high, performing without a care in the world. After all, in this very moment, she only sees Shin’Ya, her most beloved — and she doesn’t need anyone else.
Maybe she needs a safety net, though.
Some say it’s a freak accident. Some speculate it’s foul play, sabotage at work. But on that night, Enha falls — twenty feet high in the air, plummeting to the floor in a twisted dance, her features permanently frozen in her last smile, because she’s been expecting for Shin’Ya to catch her before she falls. But he never does, because he’s also falling. He loses his grip on the trapeze, matching his life in a free-fall, unaware of anything else but their impending doom.
Satoru watches. He can’t even move. He can’t even dream. The trapeze has always been his parents’ third love — their first is Satoru, their second is each other — but now, the trapeze becomes nothing more than a noose. They both take lives. Others say Satoru’s fortunate to not suffer from the same fate as his parents, both dead on the floor with their broken limbs twisted in every direction, but Satoru would argue that watching his parents fall to their deaths right in front of him is worse than dying along with them. He’s left to scramble to the floor of the stage, where Enha’s blood is seeping through her leotard and through the cracks of the wood.
“Please,” he begs, shaking his mother’s very dislocated arm with all the gentleness in the world. “Wake up, please—”
Since that day, Satoru has also associated the trapeze with the concept of loss.
『••✎••』
Satoru’s a twisted individual. Despite the way his parents died, he still finds himself addicted to the rush of being on a trapeze, feeling the wind in his ears and messing up his hair. He loves being in the sky, high above everyone else — when he looks down, they’re all like tiny ants that roam back and forth with their eyes on him, all on him. He thrives on the attention, on the validation he hears every time someone says he’s doing good, and suddenly death doesn’t taste so bad in his mouth. If he has to go, he’d rather go doing something he loves. And he loves the trapeze like no other — it’s his precious childhood, his formative years flooded by memories he holds close to his chest, even when the seasons change and he realises that his parents will never be coming back for him, even if they wanted to.
He’s twisted for loving the trapeze, he knows, but he just can’t quite get enough of it. He needs more, more, more — until his skin is scraped raw, red and bleeding from the wounds on his hands and knees, his palms forever rough with callouses from gripping onto wood and rope for the better part of a day. Satoru’s no longer conventionally beautiful, because he knows that beauty standards call for unmarred skin that is paler than pale, soft delicate features framing a pretty face, Satoru’s got his face, but he doesn’t really have anything else to go with it. He has a shitty personality, a horribly inflated ego, and he radiates flaw with every step he takes. He knows he’s hard to love, so he doesn’t expect anyone to cherish him.
But Suguru — he looks at Satoru like he’s the entire world, even though he has nothing to deserve such love. He’s egotistical, painfully self-centred with a one-track mind. He needs to get what he wants, even if it costs him everything else but himself to get it. Satoru doesn’t have much time, money, or effort to invest into anyone but himself, and even if he ever finds a partner he knows he’ll never be able to settle down. He’ll always long for the thrill of the trapeze, and he’ll likely wish to die on it before he does anything else.
But Suguru doesn’t care. Despite Satoru’s misgivings, Suguru can keep up with Satoru as an equal. He’s so strong, and he’s so sweet. Suguru is so soft and gentle where Satoru doesn’t give. He holds Satoru with all the strength he can muster, and he whispers sweet nothings into Satoru’s ear, saying, “I’ll never let you fall, I promise. I’ll drop myself before I’ll ever drop you.”
That — that does something to Satoru. All he’s ever wanted is to be loved, regardless of his sins and transgressions, but Suguru looks at all of him and still calls him beautiful. When he traces his fingertips over Satoru’s broken hands, worn down with callouses all the years, healing gashes barely closing together on his bloodied palms, nails filed down for training’s sake, Suguru smiles and clasps them to his own chest, letting Satoru feel the pulse of his own heart. “So long as you have this, here,” he croons, “nothing else matters. Your hands are beautiful, Satoru.”
“But they look like this,” Satoru almost cries. No one — he means no one — has ever said that to him before. People would say nice things about his pretty face when it’s caked with performance makeup, when he looks like he’s glowing under the spotlights from a far distance — but no one has ever come up close and seen him in his entirety, while staying and holding him so softly and calling him beautiful. Satoru has never felt beautiful in so long, but Suguru helps him taste heaven. He is reborn anew every time Suguru kisses his hands and soothes his wounds, transcending beyond humanity when he feels whispers of devotion lingering on his skin.
“You’re the most beautiful in the world.” Suguru pulls him close, letting Satoru’s arms rest upon his broad shoulders. When he leans in, lips teasing Satoru’s ear to make him flush, Satoru can’t help but believe everything that Suguru says, even if something twists deep within him and screams that it’s a lie, it’s all a lie—
Satoru closes the distance between them, sealing their lips in a bruising kiss. When he pulls away gasping for air, the only thing he can think of saying is, “I did good, right?”
“Of course.” Suguru cards his fingers through Satoru’s hair, combing through the soft white strands. “Tonight’s performance was phenomenal, Satoru, and it’s all you.”
“No, it’s also you too— mmph,” Suguru shuts his lover up with another kiss, fingers tangling in Satoru’s hair until they’re inseparable. People can try and pry them apart, but Suguru will forever find light in Satoru’s smile. Wherever Satoru decides to go, Suguru will follow, even if it costs him his youth and beauty. They can walk to the ends of the earth together, and it’ll still never be enough. Suguru will follow Satoru in every life, chasing after his traces in every street, longing for someone he can only try to reach. Suguru tries to be the best for Satoru in every way, but Satoru also has to be the best for himself for him to see how much Suguru loves him.
“Come on,” Suguru smiles. “Don’t you want more?”
Right,
Satoru realises, he
does.
He wants Suguru — no, he
needs
Suguru. Satoru needs Suguru to stay by his forever, eternally as the trapeze duo that they are, and he won’t have it any other way. He wants, he wants, he
wants —
“it’s okay, Satoru,” Suguru snaps him out of his trance. “You can have whatever you want.”
“If you say so.” Satoru intertwines their hands, dragging Suguru towards the raised platform. The drop is high, but Satoru’s never been readier in his life. “On the count of three,” he says, as they reach the top steps, brought up by the intricate elevator system behind the velvet curtains.
“Do you want to count?”
“Three.” Satoru says in lieu of an answer. “Two.” He takes a deep breath, focusing on the plank of wood he’ll have to catch. “One,” he exhales, taking the plunge as air floods his lungs. Suguru is free-falling behind him, his hair wound back in a loose bun. The drop is terrifying, but they’re doing it together, so Satoru feels less scared when he reaches out and
grips
the wood for dear life. Beside him, Suguru grips onto his own trapeze, both of them dangling in midair as they burst into laughter, dissolving into hysterics as they gaze at each other under the lights.
Why was Satoru even scared?