Chapter Text
Suguru is four years old when his mother teaches him about soulmates. Her smile is gentle, her touch gentler still, and gentlest of all is the sweet cadence of her voice as she carefully explains things to him.
“See this?” She tugs the loose sleeve of her shirt, folding the cotton in layers as she yanks it up and tucks it around her elbows. With a triumphant smile, she flexes her biceps and twists her arm around this way and that.
Circling the girth of her arm, only an inch or so down her wrist, is a black band with pink tulips growing along the circumference. It’s a stark contrast against her pale skin. Suguru subconsciously leans forward and cautiously reaches out to touch it, his fingertips tickling from its warm, velvety feel. He’s seen it so many times before, touched it so many times, casual brushes of his fingers. It’s never been like this; never been the topic of their conversation and he’s never looked at it quite like this before, with every ounce of his focus and undivided attention. He frowns when his index finger makes contact with the mark, rubbing the tips against the slightly raised patch of flesh, pressing down and trying to gauge something that he doesn’t even know yet.
“It’s mama’s soulmate mark,” his mother answers his unasked question, ruffling his hair with her free hand before carding her fingers through his locks, a gentle scratchy motion against his scalp that makes him lean into her touch. Throwing his head back, he looks up at her, continuing to play with her mark in fascination.
“Soulmate… mark?” The words roll off his tongue like something foreign. Because they are. “What’s a soulmate, mama?”
“The universe makes people in pairs, Sugu-kun.” His mother smiles, eyes tender. “A soulmate is one’s other half, their fated person. The person who will complete them.”
“Then where’s mine? Why don’t I have one?” Suguru frowns, lips curling down into a petulant pout. It suddenly strikes him that he doesn’t have his other half, that he’s incomplete. With a squeak, he grips his mother’s wrist, small fingers digging into the flowers against her skin. “What should I do, mama? There must be something wrong with me. I don’t have a soulmate!”
“Not yet, sweetheart. But you will soon.” She chuckles, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Be patient and they’ll find you. Like papa found mama.” She carefully takes his hands, wrapping her fingers around his wrists and tugging them to her lips, pressing butterfly kisses against his pulse. “You’ll get your mark the moment you meet them. The universe’s way of telling you they’re the one. And once that happens… your world will change forever.”
His world will change forever.
Suguru’s lips part in awe, chest squeezing as he grapples to imagine what it would be like to meet his soulmate. He’ll know when he’s older, he supposes. But it’s so hard to wait. He wants to find his soulmate now.
Will he have a similar mark to his parents? The same kind of flowers? Will his soulmate mark be as beautiful? Forget the mark… what about his soulmate? What are they going to be like? He’s going to be with them forever and ever, like mama and papa.
Suguru is four years old when he starts to dream about his soulmate.
***
Growing up means finding out that the concept of soulmates is not as much of a fairy tale as he thought it would be.
For starters, his parents, albeit soulmates, slowly start to wear each other down.
Suguru barely even remembers what it used to be like before, when he was younger and his mother’s smile was real when she painted the sky with all the beautiful possibilities that would come with finding his soulmate. Her eyes don’t sparkle like that anymore, with that pure, unadulterated kind of joy that had slowly seeped away from her through the years. She wears a thick leather band around her wrist. It’s tan and has dainty golden embellishments. It hides her mark and gives her a sense of comfort from not having to see the constant reminder of her cruel fate. She doesn’t talk about soulmates anymore— in fact, these days, she jolts where she sits, arms flying to hug herself as if the very word is out to get her.
It’s not like she’s a victim or anything. His father’s become just as detached, just as resentful, just as worn down. Suguru has never been close with his father, not like he used to be with his mother. But the wedge only grows wider as he grows up and sees less and less of him with each passing day. Until all he’s left with are the sounds his father makes when returning home late at night; the soft thud of the door behind him, the dull squeak of his shoes coming off, the thumping as he walks up the stairs to his own room and the slow prolonged creak as he shuts the door.
It’s when Suguru is still in middle school that he comes home to his mother in tears, scratching away at her wrists, nails incessant and merciless as they split skin and draw blood. He runs to her side, panic bubbling up his chest, grabbing for her gaunt shoulders, desperate to shake some sense into her. She doesn’t put up any fight even as he wrestles her hands away, holding her wrists up and looking into her eyes, beseeching, begging.
“Why—” His voice cracks and he swallows, head reeling, stomach falling. There’s blood dripping down her arm in tendrils, staining his hands in their motion. It’s hot and sticky and the nausea hits him like a truck. He looks down at her hands, eyes widening when he finally understands what she’s been doing. Her soulmate mark looks like it’s been hacked at, the pink tulips now crimson with her blood.
“I’ve had enough, Sugu-kun,” she whispers, voice soft but still managing to echo thunderously inside Suguru’s head. “It’s all because of this— If I can just take it off…”
Later, he takes his mother to the hospital to treat her wounds. He learns that she was suffering because of her soulmate mark, a constant reminder of how she was fated for a crumbling marriage. It ate away at her until she couldn’t take it anymore. Until it came to this. Her wrists are bandaged up but Suguru had seen while the doctors were dressing her wounds that the mark was still unaffected. Every patch of skin around it had been open and raw, but the mark itself, though stained red around the circumference, was every inch intact.
“You can’t erase a soulmate mark,” the doctor had said with a sigh. A garbled noise came from his mother, a sound so hollow and dejected. “I think it’s best if you stay in observation for a while, ma’am. You need some rest.”
His mom stays at the hospital that week. Suguru stays with her, sleeping on the couch, sitting by her side, watching for any signs of distress, any sudden changes in her behaviour. She’s peaceful for those few days away from home. Peaceful even knowing that his father hasn’t checked up on her or visited even once. All he’s done to acknowledge things is a quick message confirming that Suguru will be staying with her, and transferring enough money to pay the hospital bills. He’s distant, like a stranger, and Suguru can no longer conjure up the images from his childhood, back when the three of them used to be so happy together.
“Mama’s sorry, Sugu-kun,” she whispers, trembling fingers grasping his own. “I’m sorry you have to take care of me this way.”
“It’s okay,” he replies, shaking his head, placing his other hand over hers. “Just get better soon, yeah? And never do this again.” He swallows harshly. “You should—” He lowers his eyes, inhaling shakily. “You and dad should separate. You can’t go on like this, mom—”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. As if her apology will magically make everything better. “Papa and mama will talk it out and fix things. It’ll be alright; we’ll work through this. Sorry for making you worry, okay? Separating is…. It’s not so easy to separate from your soulmate but we’ll just have to work things out. Don’t worry, Sugu-kun.”
Nodding gravely, Suguru sits by his mother’s bed and holds her hand through the night. Her fingers are warm, her pulse steady. She sleeps with a smile on her face, rested, happy.
For the first time in his life, Suguru starts to wonder if he really wants a soulmate in the first place.
***
Suguru has his first kiss when he’s fourteen.
A chaste peck on the lips, soft and pleasant. But no fireworks, no earth-shattering revelation. That’s because the pretty manager senpai from the basketball club isn’t his soulmate. She’s safe— safe to flirt with, safe to take out on a date, safe to hold hands with, safe to kiss, safe to make out with.
She’s safe. She’s okay. She won’t hurt Suguru. And she doesn’t.
They break up amicably. Ironically enough when she meets her own soulmate the next year— a transfer student who decided to try out basketball for the first time. Like one of those cliche romances that Suguru scoffs at internally. He’s happy for her, he really is. It just irks him to see things unfold like it’s been predestined. If he were to take some time to really think about it, then he might even find it scary how much of a coincidence it is.
It frightens him because he knows that, try as he might, he is not immune to coincidence.
***
The overnight train ride to Tokyo is long and tiring. Suguru’s bones feel sore from sitting in the same position for hours on end. He stares listlessly at the window as the scenery whizzes by. Dusk turns to nightfall, and then to day. The grass and mountains from his village slowly dissolve and are replaced by grey concrete and neon lights that continue to shine bright even in the early hours of dawn.
Tokyo is fascinating. Nothing like his village, in all the right ways. For starters, there are people everywhere, even at such an early hour. A constant buzz that vibrates through him, pushing him through the crowd.
It’s not his first time in Tokyo. He vaguely remembers visiting with his parents many years ago. A happier time, when they were still a family. When things were still good. Shaking his head with a scoff, he clears his thoughts and continues ahead.
The roads are winding and the map he’d received along with his jujutsu high school invitation letter isn’t the easiest thing to read. For one, there are way too many buildings. Like concrete match boxes lined together, one after the other, compound walls nearly touching the buildings themselves. Then, there’s the fact that he’s been walking around in a residential neighbourhood for what feels like hours. It’s almost noon and he’s starting to think that this whole jujutsu business might be a hoax.
The thought barely even crosses his mind before he finds himself standing face to face with ‘Tokyo Jujutsu High School’. He stops, startled, and stares around. Suddenly, the maze of concrete dominoes that he’d been making his way through mere moments ago is nowhere to be seen. In its place is a vacant plot for sale and half a dozen buildings that look like they haven’t been occupied in ages. There’s a conbini three blocks down. But even that looks deserted.
Gulping nervously, Suguru turns back around and makes his way into Jujutsu High.
When he’d been scouted by Yaga Masamichi a couple of months ago, it had felt like he’d finally found a place to belong. He’d finally found others who could see and touch curses— that’s what those weird creatures that he keeps running into are called; not yokais, not fairies… curses! He’d been thrilled at the prospect of getting to know more about this gift of his that he’d carefully and cautiously kept from the rest of the world. He hadn’t told anyone about it. So the fact that Yaga had found him felt like a dream come true. He’d felt over the moon when he heard there were others like him, although few. But at least, he wasn’t alone.
It hadn’t been difficult to convince his mother to let him leave. She barely even spoke to him these days, just busying herself by sitting in her room and looking out the window. She’s suffering, he knows this. But he’s grown desensitised to it— to her. So really, he’s glad to have the opportunity to leave everything behind and start fresh.
With renewed enthusiasm, Suguru climbs the stairs, two at a time. He’s halfway up the first flight when his phone rings. He fishes it out of his pockets, chirping up when he sees that it’s Yaga.
“Hello—”
“Geto-kun, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you and welcome you to Jujutsu High.” Yaga’s voice sounds strained, tired. “I’m stuck in Kyoto for a last-minute meeting with some officials.”
“Ah, that’s fine.” Suguru is a little disappointed, truth be told, but he gets it. Besides, he’s grown used to adults disappointing him so this isn’t new. He’ll live. “I’m sure I can manage to find my way to the dorm without much trouble. I’ll get going then”
“Before you go,” Yaga says. “There’s one slight problem.”
“Oh?” Suguru frowns, pausing and leaning against the handrails. He’s on the third floor now. This is where the dorms are located. He can see them a little way ahead, the walls painted a pearly white, the corridors wider, floorboards polished freshly and giving off that brand new smell of varnish. “A problem?” Suguru repeats. “What is it?” He huffs, shifting his bags from one arm to the other and balancing his phone against his ear before walking towards the dorm.
“There’s been a report of a cursed spirit in Kabuki-chou,” Yaga says. “Most of the first and second-grade jujutsu sorcerers are over here in Kyoto. So…” There’s a pause before Yaga continues. “I’d like you to go check it out.”
“Are you sure ?” Suguru asks, surprised. Suguru is no stranger to his cursed spirit manipulation technique. He came to know of it the first time he consumed a rain spirit as a kid. The taste was bitter and revolting like a washcloth wet with vomit. But he’d been able to summon the spirit afterwards. The process itself was far from pleasant so he’d only done it twice or thrice since. But it’s not so difficult that he isn’t confident of being able to do it again. It’s just that it seems like a big deal of work when he hasn’t even enrolled yet. Not to mention he doesn’t have a clue about how Tokyo works.
“You won’t have to go alone, of course,” Yaga continues, as if sensing Suguru’s qualms and putting them to rest immediately. “You can take Satoru with you. Ah, he’s your new classmate. And dorm mate too— well, roommate , if we’re being precise since it’s only going to be the two of you in the dorm for a while. He’s pretty reliable when it comes to fighting curses like this, so you have nothing to worry about. You’ll be in good hands for your first mission.” A few voices interrupt in the background and Yaga murmurs something back. “I need to go now,” Yaga says with a groan. “I’ll give you a proper welcome when I come back. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the mission today. Bye now.” Without waiting for Suguru to respond, Yaga cuts the call.
Suguru removes the phone from his ear and stares down at it in disbelief. With a long sigh, he makes his way to the dorm room and presses the doorbell. A dozen thundering thuds echo behind the door, coming closer and closer every second. Suguru schools his expression into a smile, the corners of his lips twitching awkwardly as he waits in anticipation. The door is suddenly swung open with great force; it’s a miracle it doesn’t hit Suguru right in the face, missing him by a fraction of a millimetre.
A pair of stunningly blue eyes stare at him, icy and lucid and swirling ethereally in their depth. Suguru’s lips part in surprise, wholly consumed by how blue they are— blue and beautiful like nothing he’s ever seen before. It takes a solid minute for him to shake his head and come back to his senses. That’s when he notices the silver hair, soft and smooth and airy, falling over the boy’s forehead so prettily. Ah, Suguru slowly realises that before him is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen before, like those porcelain dolls he’s only ever been able to admire through the store window, but never allowed to touch.
The boy’s looking at him unamusedly, brow raised, pink lips curled downward in a disinterested frown. And Suguru suddenly realises that he’s blocking the doorway with his large frame and his multiple pieces of luggage. He quickly puts his things down and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. This must be the reliable Satoru that Yaga had told him about.
“H— hi, it’s nice to meet you,” he stutters out, wincing at how nervous he sounds. He extends his hand in greeting, doing a double take when he reconsiders if people in Tokyo shake hands; what if that’s considered a social faux pas? Whatever… It's too late now. “I’m Geto Suguru and it’s my first day here. Nice to meet you—”
Suguru’s outstretched hand floats in the air, level with Satoru’s torso. It is only then that Suguru notices that Satoru is half dressed. He’s still fumbling with the undone buttons of his shirt, gakuran jacket hanging full open, no belt in sight, pants hanging precariously on his hips. His shirt is untucked, revealing the milky, supple expanse of his tummy. The air is punched out of Suguru’s lungs, leaving him breathless, dizzy. It’s not that he’s reeling from a bit of exposed skin— although, the little silver happy trail is probably the sexiest thing ever— but no. That’s not it. That’s not why Suguru stands frozen, rooted to the spot, lips parted in shock and… fear.
A thin but dark line takes form on Satoru’s exposed waist. It coils and slithers, circling around his waist like a barbed wire. It reverberates in place like a live thing, glitching and cleaving its mark into the pale flesh. When it finally stops moving, there’s a ring around Satoru’s abdomen, almost perfectly circular. The colour diffuses until it’s black as soot, standing out prominently against Satoru’s fair skin. Suguru watches dumbstruck as tiny magenta flowers bloom along against its length, petals opening up and spreading outward into Satoru’s bare skin. The entire process is nothing short of magical. Now, Suguru is no stranger to the supernatural; this is hardly the biggest feat of jujutsu he’s ever faced head-on. But Suguru knows instantly that this isn’t just any old magic, any old jujutsu. This is something that once used to be Suguru’s biggest dream but later turned into his darkest nightmare.
It’s a soulmate mark.
Suguru has heard about the process so many times; even witnessed it unfolding for other people. But having it happen to himself is a whole other ball game. It’s like he’s having an out of body experience, seeing Satoru’s mark materialising over and over on a never-ending loop.
This is the moment he’s been dreading for so long. This is the soulmate mark he’d been so careful to avoid. This is Satoru— god, Suguru doesn’t even know his full name yet!
This is Satoru.
This is Suguru’s soulmate.
Suguru is still in shock, just standing at the doorway with his hand still outstretched, staring at Satoru’s soulmate mark and trying to process things. This is it. He’s finally lost the fight. He’s found his soulmate.
Before he can contemplate how best to react to something as gargantuan as this, Satoru slaps his hand away and brushes past him. “I’m heading to Kabuki-chou,” he mutters, voice barely audible as he struts away. He clearly doesn’t give a shit whether Suguru tags along or not. But that’s not all. Suguru frowns, slowly realising that he hasn’t completely lost as he’d first thought.
It appears that Satoru hasn’t realised it yet. Satoru hasn’t realised that they’re soulmates. Suguru looks down, patting his hands down his body and checking to see if there are any new marks. There’s nothing. Or rather, there’s nothing outwardly visible . The relief that washes over him nearly makes his knees buckle.
He’s on auto-pilot after that, throwing his luggage past the door, turning on his heels and running in the direction where Satoru had run off to. All the while, his head spins with a hundred different thoughts.
If Satoru hasn’t seen the soulmate mark yet, there’s still a chance for Suguru to escape this. They’re going to Kabuki-chou, after all. They’re going to cross paths with hundreds of people on the way. If Suguru plays his cards right, Satoru won’t even realise that they’re soulmates. He’ll just assume it was one of the people they met during the day. That sort of twist of fate is rather common, Suguru knows. So it’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.
With renewed resolve, Suguru breaks into a sprint, only stopping when he catches up to Satoru. Side by side like this, Satoru’s silhouette is nothing short of ethereal, and Suguru would keep looking at him for a long, long time. But he doesn’t. There are a lot of things he could do. Like telling Satoru the truth. But he doesn’t do that either.
A tiny voice in his head tells him he’s being cruel. Even if he’s scared of meeting the same fate as his parents, that still doesn’t excuse him from hiding something like this from Satoru. He deserves to know. It’s hard knowing that he’s doing the wrong thing. But every time he closes his eyes, he sees the marks around his mother’s wrists bleeding. And then, it doesn’t feel so wrong anymore.
***
When Yaga had told him Satoru was reliable, Suguru hadn’t expected him to be quite this reliable. Satoru is, in the simplest of words, strong. Well, that’s an understatement. Satoru’s strength is almost frightening. Almost, but not entirely. There’s something fascinating about watching him in action. Something so beautiful and breathtaking that all the fear gets shoved to the side, leaving behind something that’s a lot like awe.
The cursed spirit in Kabuki-chou is a large black bird— a tengu , wings darker than midnight, talons sharp enough to slice through steel. But nothing is as bad as its screech, like nails against glass, grating at Suguru’s eardrums and making him cower in discomfort. The bird flaps its wings, its wingspan massive, feathers flying astray dousing everything in miasma. Suguru watches helplessly as it dives towards him.
“Blue.”
It’s over in a fraction of a second. A blue orb pulses from Satoru’s fingers, ricocheting forward, splitting the tengu into two, a part of its body getting vacuumed into the orb. And then, it’s silent, eerily so. Not even the rustle of the wind is audible. Suguru looks at the aftermath. The orb had inhaled everything in its path like a black hole, leaving nothing in its wake. There is only barren ground along the line, everything else surrounding it still more or less intact. For a brief second, Suguru wonders if Satoru’s jujutsu technique had done more damage than the tengu itself.
“Alright, I’m leaving.” So saying, Satoru turns around and starts to walk away. Suguru gawks at his retreating back, comically alternating between looking at their site and then at Satoru and then back again.
“Hold on a second!” Suguru groans, jumping over loose planks and chunks of grass to get to the tengu— or what’s left of it, which is two chunks of its wings, its body a void. “I'll be done in a sec.” He huffs, sitting on his knees, yelping when the rubble underneath his feet shuffles. It’s a precarious balance but he manages to hover his hands over the tengu, closing his eyes and trying to visualise the cursed energy.
The miasma swirls, tendrils of dark smoke diffusing in the air until it forms a glowing sphere, black as obsidian, glowing in its depths. Suguru cups it in his hand and brings it to his lips, swallowing it with a wince. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to the taste of curses, each one the same. Bitter and revolting, leaving an aftertaste on his tongue that he knows will remain for a good while to come.
“That’s a cool trick you got there.” Satoru whistles behind him, bringing him out of his thoughts. He comes down from the rubble, walking towards Satoru with a sheepish smile. There’s an odd sort of satisfaction in knowing that Satoru is impressed with him. In knowing that someone so strong finds him cool. But there’s also something else here. A feeling that Suguru isn’t able to place. A small tingle runs down his spine when he sees the sparkling blue in Satoru’s eyes, a pooling of warmth in his gut when Satoru smiles at him in acknowledgement.
“Come on, Suguru, I’m going to leave you behind!” Once again, Satoru’s voice brings Suguru out of his thoughts. He gasps, breaking into a sprint so that he can catch up with Satoru.
“You’re so mean,” Suguru grunts out in frustration. “And wow. Suguru? You’re already on a first name basis, huh?”
“You’re the one who started it.” Satoru frowns. “It’s a two-way street.”
Oh, that’s right. Suguru’s shoulders slouch as a wave of embarrassment washes over him. He’s been calling Satoru by his first name the whole time. “That’s ‘cause…” Suguru clears his throat, wincing at how high-pitched his own voice sounds to himself. “That’s ‘cause you didn’t tell me your name. You brushed me off when I tried to introduce myself, remember?”
“Hmmm.” Satoru gazes at him from the corner of his eyes. It’s dusk now, the sky bleeding orange, painting the ridges of Satoru’s face the same— but his blue eyes are still vivid, glowing like a dream. “Gojo Satoru,” Satoru whispers, eyes flashing as he studies Suguru for a reaction. He blinks when he doesn’t get any, eyes widening in surprise when Suguru tilts his head to the side and gives him an awkward but confused smile.
“Well then, I guess it’s nice to meet you, Gojo-kun,” Suguru says, wiping his hands on his pants before extending it towards Satoru. He stops walking, inwardly smiling when Satoru does the same. “Let’s get along.”
For a full minute, Satoru stares at Suguru’s hand, frowning as if it’s somehow offensive. Then, he chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. He starts walking again, leaving behind an astounded Suguru in his wake, his handshake once again rejected cruelly.
“You know what? I’d rather you didn’t call me that,” Satoru mumbles and then yawns, crossing his hands behind his head and smacking his lips. “Let’s stop by the conbini and get some ice cream.” Satoru grins, turning back and winking at Suguru. “Okay, Suguru-chan?”
The cheekiness catches Suguru so off guard that he doesn’t even bring up how much of a bad idea it is to grab ice cream when they’re one foot into winter. His jaw drops and he just stares at Satoru, whining when Satoru breaks off into a peal of laughter.
They walk side by side, seemingly aimless. When they reach the nearest conbini, Satoru yelps enthusiastically and runs towards it, leaving Suguru walking slowly behind him, watching and wishing the butterflies in his stomach would please die down.
***
The dorm he has to share with Satoru is gigantic. Bigger than Suguru’s house in the village. An upgrade he definitely wasn’t expecting.
They have a bunk bed. Satoru is already settled in the bottom bunk, already adorning the mattress with satin Digimon themed bed sheets— it’s Greymon, if Suguru got the name right. There’s also an eye mask with blue twinkling manga eyes drawn on it. A dozen pillows border the bed like a fortress, all looking concerningly soft and squishy, like the kind Suguru has only ever seen in fancy hotels in movies. He’s more than a little taken aback when he realises that one of the longer pillows has a full sized print of the gravure model, Waka Inoue. All in all, everything is incredibly nerdy and Suguru can’t help but pop a smile at the contrast between Satoru’s interests and his personality, or at least, as much of his personality as Suguru has come to know so far.
At the moment, Satoru rests in the middle of his little pillow fort, squeezing the Waka Inoue body pillow to his chest, his Greymon bed sheet hanging off the corner of the bed for dear life. He’s got his eye mask on, and judging by his soft snores and the steady rise and fall of his chest, he’s sound asleep.
It’s the perfect opportunity for Suguru to finally address the elephant in the room. He gulps, slowly walking towards where Satoru sleeps. He reaches out with cautious fingers, eyes focused on the hem of Satoru’s pyjama shirt. He tries to touch it, eyes widening when he feels a barrier preventing him from crossing the distance. He’s about to try harder when he notices Satoru’s breath going off rhythm.
“What’re you tryna do?” Satoru slurs in his sleep, conscious enough to keep the barrier up, strong and impenetrable. He’s still got his eye mask on, the manga caricature making him look almost ridiculous. Almost, because Suguru is so freaked out that it feels as if his heart is going to jump out of his chest. “You some kinda perv?”
“What?!” Suguru sputters, trying to think of a valid excuse. Anything that would warrant him trying to touch Satoru. Anything that will make him sound like less of a creep— oh god, of course, Satoru thinks he’s some pervert. Why did he not think this through? “I was just—” he clears his throat and chuckles awkwardly, scratching at his nape. “I was just trying to put the bed sheet on you. It’s cold, after all—”
“I don’t get cold,” Satoru murmurs with a grunt. “My Infinity— that’s my cursed technique. Infinity keeps me warm.” Suddenly, he yawns, loud and rumbling, smacking his lips before thrashing in place. “You’re making too much noise. Now fuck off.”
Satoru rolls a bit to the side, his shirt lifting up and exposing the bare skin of his hips and the black band around it. The soulmate mark is still very much there, very much not a fragment of Suguru’s imagination. The flowers are sitting prettily, like a flower garland belt around his hips. They’re a vibrant shade of magenta, petals bundled together with yellow centres. Camellias. Suguru recalls an old memory from his childhood, back when he’d visited Sapporo during winter. That was the first time he’d seen camellias, their striking red blossoms a stark contrast to the pure white snow. A beautiful sight.
But the camellias somehow look even more beautiful etched into Satoru’s skin.
Oh.
“I—” Suguru licks his suddenly parched lips. “I’m gonna take a bath and then head to bed myself.”
“Whatever, man,” Satoru mumbles, half asleep. “But if you wake me up, I’ll fucking kill you.” With that threat, he turns back around again, shirt slipping up at the back and exposing the rest of his soulmate mark. Suguru’s heart flips at the sight and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat, rising to his feet and immediately turning away, overwhelmed. He nearly trips in his haste to get to the bathroom.
Every time he blinks, he sees Satoru’s soulmate mark. A million thoughts race in his head. Maybe, there’s a small possibility that he isn’t Satoru’s soulmate. Maybe, this is all just some big twisted coincidence. Maybe, he’d completely imagined the way the mark had materialised and all that shit. Maybe, Satoru already had a soulmate mark before they even met. It would explain why he had yet to acknowledge his soulmate mark thus far.
Because at the end of the day, any sane person would notice a brand new mark that big and obvious on their body. They’d instantly recognise it as a soulmate mark and ask questions, right? It doesn’t make sense how unaffected Satoru is by everything. Sure, Suguru has only just met Satoru. But even he can tell that Satoru’s demeanour hasn’t changed at all.
But then again, what if he’s still somehow unaware of it? The possibility is small, but it isn’t zero. If that’s the case, then it’s back to Suguru’s original plan. He’s going to have to try every trick in the book— adopt every method possible— so that Satoru doesn’t realise.
Mumbling a litany of prayers under his breath, Suguru walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. His feet are heavy as lead and it feels as though he’s crawling until he stands before the mirror. The reflection staring back at him feels like a stranger. Hair loose and cascading over his shoulders, eyes twisted together with worry, lips parted on a prayer. Suguru grabs the hem of his shirt and exhales on a shudder.
Please, please, please. Please.
Slowly, he lifts his shirt up and over his head, clenching his eyes shut with anxiety. He crumples the shirt and places it on the slab, gulping nervously. Heartbeat thudding erratically in his ears, he slowly lifts his head, braving a look at his arms, his hips, his waist—
The breath is knocked out of his lungs when he takes in the reflection of his chest. There’s a large cross-shaped mark spreading from the centre of his chest, outwards towards his pecs. It’s midnight black, the lines themselves rough and smudged like his skin has been hacked, sliced open and left to heal. With trembling fingers, he traces the mark, the skin slightly raised, like a poorly healed tattoo. At the centre of the cross is a flower. The same flower as the ones littered over Satoru’s skin.
Camellia.
Suguru’s mouth goes dry as his fingertips map the petals, his eyes fixated on vivid magenta that sits right in the middle of his chest like his heart has been pried open and laid out to bleed.
Two contradicting voices fight for dominance in Suguru’s head. The first one is loud and familiar and it screams in agony. It roars, heart broken. Although it was obvious that he was going to have a reciprocating soulmate mark on his body, there was still a small sliver of hope that it was all a misunderstanding. The sad truth is only now set in stone.
The second voice is a withdrawn, timid sound that Suguru is almost scared to acknowledge as his own. It sighs in relief, in delight . Suguru is quick to shake his head, smacking his hands on his cheeks and trying to dispel the treacherous thought. He immediately splashes cold water on his face, wincing at the sting and slamming his fist on the mirror.
Once again, he looks at the mark on his chest, studying every inch of detail. Subconsciously, he wonders whether Satoru's mark would feel the same Whether it would be as rough to the touch, like cauterised flesh. Or whether it would be soft and supple, begging for Suguru to touch, to kiss, to hold—
Suguru shakes his head, perplexed. His mind is treading into dangerous territory. He isn't allowed to think about such things, he isn't allowed to think about Satoru this way. He inhales shakily, eyeing the camellia in the mirror. It singes into his skin, quiet as a fire.
If he isn’t careful, he’ll get hurt. If he isn’t careful, he’ll end up with the same fate as his mother. A chill runs down his spine, nausea rising up his throat. Suguru grits his teeth, eyes finally looking away from the flower and trailing up to meet his gaze in the reflection, staring back at him with steely determination. The mirror fogs up and Suguru swipes his hand across it. He inhales shakily, building his resolve.
Suguru is fifteen years old when he finds his soulmate and decides he wants nothing to do with him.
TO BE CONTINUED