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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

Chapter Text

Life in the Gojo clan would be suffocating for anyone else. But not for Satoru. He gets acclimated to it over the years. As a matter of fact, he supposes he’s always been complacent about things. Being born with both the Six Eyes and Limitless, he is revered like a god. Like a curse. It’s almost comical the way they place him on a pedestal, while simultaneously isolating him from everything else.

There are grade one sorcerers from all over the world waiting at his doorstep, unadulterated awe and envy written all over their faces when they meet him for the first time. To them, he is a peak that they will never achieve. He is also a monster in their eyes, someone who makes their skin crawl with resentment. 

But it’s okay. Satoru can live with all that. He’s only a kid but he gets to live like a king. He has a dozen ladies in waiting at his beck and call, a whole kitchen to make him his favourite meals and snacks, a chauffeur to take him whenever and wherever he wants to go. It’s a good life most of the time. 

What isn’t that great is the fact that he doesn’t have a normal relationship with his parents. All the other kids in school have normal families. They have vibrant and candid family photographs for show and tell. Their parents participate in the sports day. They have so many fun stories to tell about their family vacations and road trips.

Satoru doesn’t have any of that. He doesn’t have a functioning family. His father only ever speaks to him when it is to discuss jujutsu-related business. Theirs is an impersonal relationship, fuelled only by his father’s pride at having created such an exemplary heir. A soldier to fight a war that he could never win on his own. 

On the contrary, Satoru’s relationship with his mother is not as strained. She’s a timid woman, shoulders perpetually slumped, lashes lowered meekly. She never actively seeks out Satoru, not like his father does. He’s always the one to approach her, sometimes out of curiosity, most often out of loneliness. She accepts him with a gentle smile every time, arms warm as she holds him close. It’s the only time he ever lowers Infinity, the only time he allows himself to let his guard down and breathe. Satoru holds a fondness for his mother. Most often, this fondness is the only thing that makes him feel like he’s human. 

***

Most kids learn about soulmates from their parents. Satoru is a late bloomer in that aspect. He learns about it at school. The last module in biology tackles the technicalities of soulmates. About the bond and the physical manifestation and the drastic improvement in one’s well being after the big encounter. All the other kids are giggling and cooing about how their parents had met and discovered that they were soulmates. There are even a few kids who have already found their own soulmates, shit-eating grins plastered on their faces for the entire duration of the class. Satoru feels strange; he feels rather left out.

Given the awkward nature of their relationship, it’s unsurprising that his parents hadn’t discussed their love story with him. But that only makes his curiosity grow that much stronger. When he gets home, he instantly notices the tattoo along his father’s arm, ebony vines crawling up the expanse of his arm in an intricate pattern. That’s a soulmate mark, has to be. He must be staring because his father notices, frowning as he lowers his sleeve, covering most of his tattoo. He doesn’t acknowledge Satoru’s questioning gaze, instead turning on his heel and walking out quietly. 

Well, it’s not like he expected to have a one-to-one discussion with his father about it. With a heavy sigh, Satoru makes his way to his mother’s room, feeling a lot more relaxed when she welcomes him with a smile and a warm hug, tugging him down with her, legs pressed together under the kotatsu.

“What’s wrong, darling?” She tilts her head to the side, smile small and gentle. Satoru gulps, darting his eyes back and forth between his lap and her face.

“We learned about soulmates in school today,” he starts, clearing his throat when his voice cracks nervously. “Everyone was talking about how their parents met and what their soulmate marks looked like.” 

His mother freezes, exhaling audibly. She’s clearly taken aback but it’s too late now. “What’s your soulmate mark like, mom?” Satoru whispers, looking up at his mother, waiting with bated breath. “Can I see?”

She presses her lips together in a thin line, closing her eyes and taking a shaky inhale. When she opens her eyes and meets his gaze, there’s a melancholy smile on her face. “I don’t have a soulmate mark.” Her voice is steady, but Satoru is sitting close enough that he can hear the erratic thud of her heartbeat, a violent and melancholy sound.

“You don’t have a soulmate mark?” Satoru repeats, confused. “But dad has one, right? The one on his arm?”

“That’s right,” she answers with a resigned sigh. “Your father has a soulmate mark. But I don’t.”

For a minute that stretches far too long, Satoru goes through everything he’d learnt in class that day. Nothing he’d learnt can help him make sense of his mother’s words. “I don’t understand,” he says, clicking his tongue in frustration. “So only dad got the soulmate mark? You didn’t get yours? So both soulmates don’t get marked when they meet?”

“Oh, Satoru,” his mother says, her forced smile finally slipping and leaving her wounded expression bare. Satoru’s chest squeezes uncomfortably even as she intertwines her fingers with his own and presses, trying to comfort him. “Your father and I—” She sighs, shaking her head and sighing bitterly. “We’re not soulmates.”

The wind gets knocked out of Satoru’s lungs. He blinks, mind reeling. “You’re not soulmates?” He gulps the lump in his throat. “But dad has a soulmate mark—”

“He does,” Satoru’s mother confirms, tilting her to the side and giving him another smile, this one so bitter and dripping with regret that it makes Satoru want to scream. “I’m so sorry, Satoru,” she continues, breath hitching. “Your dad has a soulmate, but it’s not me.”

“What—?”

“People don’t always end up with their soulmates.” Her voice sounds far away, like she’s back in the past revisiting a painful memory, replaying a difficult choice. “Sometimes, people come together for a common goal, something far more important than a soulmate bond.”

Satoru doesn’t understand it then. Sitting next to his mother and listening to her speak about her union with his father without any emotion or feeling is jarring. Satoru is disappointed but he nods, allowing the conversation to get nipped at the bud and wrap up for the time being. 

He later learns that his father had rejected his soulmate in favour of finding the perfect vessel to bear his heir. His mother had been the unfortunate pawn, her fate sealed when she was chosen by the Gojo clan. Guilt coats Satoru’s tongue like bile. It’s his fault that she was pried away. It’s his fault that she never got to live a normal life and find her soulmate. It’s his fault that she’s miserable, trapped inside a prison disguised as a home.

It’s all his fault.

***

The morning after his mission, Satoru discovers that there’s a soulmate mark around his hips. 

Frowning, he does a little spin to see it in its entirety. He pulls his t-shirt up and tucks it under his armpits so he can get a better look at the mark. It’s pretty, he concludes, rubbing into the flowers in fascination, enjoying their slightly embossed texture. He hadn’t considered what kind of soulmate mark he would get before, but nothing could’ve prepared him for something quite so delicate and dainty. A garland of flowers around his hips. Rather romantic really. 

What isn’t romantic in the slightest is the fact that he has no idea who his soulmate is. There is a big possibility that he’s lost them with how many people he’d encountered during the mission the previous day. Too many people to count. It could be someone on the train, or someone who was in the conbini, or even someone who was just walking by on the street. It could be anyone.

For a brief moment, his mind flashes with the image of Suguru’s face. Given how they’d met only the day before, there is a possibility that Suguru could be Satoru’s soulmate too. But Suguru doesn’t have any soulmate mark— Satoru would’ve noticed it if it were to show up. Besides, if they were soulmates, Suguru would’ve brought it up by now. So that crosses him off the list.

With a heavy sigh, Satoru tugs his shirt back down, smoothening the front listlessly. A small voice in his head tells him it’s a good thing that he missed his soulmate. They’re better off without him— without all the baggage that comes with becoming the soulmate of Gojo Satoru. It’s a heavy task, something that would suck the soul out of an ordinary person and leave them bleeding. It would be too much for them. It would be too much for anyone who wasn’t at least close to being as strong as Satoru is. Which doesn’t leave much room for choice.

So yeah, it’s a good thing Satoru didn’t get to meet his soulmate. It’s the biggest gift he could inadvertently give to them. The blessing of ignorance. But for as much as he knows that things are for the best, he still wonders about them. What kind of person is his soulmate? If they had met, would Satoru have finally stopped feeling so lonely?

No, he’s straying into dangerous territory. He can’t think about ‘ maybe’ s and ‘ what if’ s and all that wishful bullshit. This is the best possible outcome, after all. For everyone.

Besides, it’s not like he’s ever cared about finding his soulmate in the first place. 

***

They’re going to Kabuki-chou again. This time to set up a seal to protect the area from cursed spirits. The bus is almost empty at this time of day. It’s just Satoru and Suguru sitting in the back, and a few old ladies in the front. 

Despite the countless empty seats, Satoru finds himself sitting down next to Suguru, crowding him in the small two-seater. Suguru gives him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow before shrugging and turning to stare out the window. Satoru joins him. Not that there’s much to look at, unless you count closely stacked concrete buildings as scenery. Satoru slowly shifts his gaze from the urbanscape and starts to focus on Suguru’s reflection in the tinted window. He nearly jumps in his seat when their eyes meet. Suguru is watching him. 

“What?” Satoru barks out, holding Suguru’s gaze with a frown. 

“Nothing,” Suguru mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes but not completely breaking eye contact.

“You’re watching me,” Satoru accuses, his indignance taking things a step further and nudging Suguru in the shoulder. “What’re you looking at?”

“Why do you think I’m looking at you?” Suguru asks. “I’m obviously looking outside the window. Just admiring the Tokyo streets.” He scoffs. “Pretty narcissistic of you to think that I’m watching you, Satoru.”

“No! What—?” Satoru sputters out, outraged by Suguru’s accusation. “Am not!”

A soft snorting sound catches Satoru off guard. Suguru’s lips curl up, revealing his perfectly pearly teeth. His eyes slant into crescents, the corners crinkling up prettily. He bursts into laughter. It’s a deep and rambunctious sound, reverberating through the air and causing tingles to trickle down Satoru’s spine. He just sits there, lips parted as he breathlessly stares at Suguru, time seemingly suspended, everything else around them dissolving away.

“Shhh!” A loud shushing sound breaks the spell. Suguru covers his mouth, eyes widening in surprise. The old ladies in the front have turned around, fixing the two of them with death glares. Suguru immediately claps his hands together and bows his head, mouthing an apology in their direction. 

“Ah shit,” he whispers under his breath after they turn around. “I can’t believe I got reprimanded for that.” He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with two fingers. 

All the while, Satoru just sits there gaping like a fish, until Suguru finally pays attention to him. “Look who’s staring now,” he says with a shit-eating grin. 

“Oh—” Satoru blinks, taken aback for a brief moment, before he mumbles under his breath and hurriedly turns away. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Suguru shrugging nonchalantly before going back to staring out the window. Once more, Satoru slowly turns to watch his reflection on the glass. Yet again, he catches Suguru looking right back at him. Only this time, Suguru’s grinning, something laid back, cheeks a little flushed. 

It suddenly dawns on Satoru that he’s never experienced something like this before. A light-hearted and playful moment with a classmate, someone who looks at him and sees Satoru and not Gojo. Someone who he wants to get to know better. 

Satoru whips his head back around, breaking eye contact, chewing into his lower lip so he doesn’t smile back. 

***

“That was your first time putting up a seal?” Satoru matches his pace so that the two of them are walking side by side. It’s dusk and the streets are painted a soft orange. They’re walking home, mission finally complete.

“Yup,” Suguru replies with a grin, flipping his bangs out of his face. “You impressed?”

“I am impressed. Wow!” Satoru whistles, impressed by Suguru’s skills. Putting up a seal by itself isn’t a difficult task, but the sheer accuracy and attention to detail that Suguru had practised is something to be admired. Satoru himself isn’t the most delicate when it comes to seals, preferring to finish the task as soon as possible by putting up the largest and broadest seal possible and thereby expending more energy than required. He could learn a thing or two from Suguru. 

That’s a sentiment Satoru never expected to feel in his life. Ever. He’s worked on many a case with many an experienced jujutsu sorcerer, even special grade sorcerers, middle-aged men with decades of experience under their belts. But he’s never felt impressed by their work; he’s definitely never felt inspired. He looks at Suguru, at the way he walks with his shoulders slouched, yawning from a hard day’s work. Suguru looks so relaxed and at ease at the moment. With Satoru. 

“Ah, I need to get this week’s Jump!” Suguru yelps when the conbini comes into view. He breaks into a sprint, looking back only when he reaches the entrance. He tilts his head in confusion. “What’re you standing there for? Not coming in?” 

With a startle, Satoru realises that he’s been standing frozen in place. Shaking his head, he shoves his hands into his pockets and follows Suguru to the magazine section in the conbini. Suguru gravitates towards the manga aisle, bending to get a better look. Satoru stands near the gravure section, spotting a Waka Inoue special edition. He picks it up, flipping through the page, whistling at the bikini spread in the middle.

“Didn’t strike you for a horndog,” Suguru calls out from behind him. He’s stopped sifting through the magazines in favour of smirking in Satoru’s direction.

“Shut up,” Satoru mutters, closing the magazine and walking towards him. 

“Not judging, man.” Suguru says with a wink. Satoru’s about to make a defensive comment but at that moment, Suguru finally finds what he’s been looking for. He yells incorrigibly and enthusiastically plucks out the week’s Jump issue. “Yes! Bleach is on the cover!” Suguru pumps his fist into the air. 

The cover features an energetic-looking boy with orange hair and a pretty girl with black bangs. It’s a fairly popular manga even though Satoru has yet to start it, but he’s digging how the girl has the same hairstyle as Suguru. Satoru can’t help but snort at the thought, trying to disguise his laughter as a cough when Suguru gives him a look.

“Alright, that’s all I wanted.” Suguru carries the manga towards the cashier, looking over his shoulder at Satoru. “Want anything, Satoru?”

“Ah, yeah.” Satoru makes a beeline for the candy in the front counter. He grabs a handful of lollipops and pop candies from the discount section. “I’ll get these,” he says, putting them on the counter and waiting for Suguru to finish billing his manga. Suguru plucks the candy from Satoru’s hands and pushes it towards the cashier who bills it without a second glance and stuffs everything into a plastic bag. Suguru finishes paying and pushes the bag into Satoru’s hands. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” Satoru replies, before shuffling in his pockets. “Wait, let me pay you—”

“Forget about it,” Suguru says with a wave of his hand. “Now, come on. Let’s get going. I can’t wait to read the new Bleach chapter!” 

So saying, Suguru walks out and Satoru hurries behind him. Suguru’s walking funny, slouching and humming a silly theme song under his breath. Satoru pulls out a lollipop and shoves it into his mouth, tongue laving across the sweet candy and lapping it up. He tries to concentrate on the candy, on the street, on the cicadas welcoming the night. But all his effort is in vain when his focus keeps swaying, pulled towards Suguru like a magnetic force field. 

It’s the first time anyone’s treated him to candy— it’s the first time anyone’s treated him to anything . Satoru frowns, licking at the lollipop with increased fervour. He wonders what song Suguru is humming under his breath. It sounds nice, he thinks; Suguru’s voice sounds nice. Satoru likes it.

Satoru likes Suguru. 

***

The meal spread out on the table is impressive. Miso soup with lots of konbu, hot steaming rice sprinkled with furikake, grilled mackerel, and a couple of condiments and pickled vegetables. A damned near feast. Suguru’s already picked up his bowl of rice, waving his chopsticks in the air and beckoning Satoru to take a seat. Which he does, awkwardly sitting opposite Suguru and shuffling so that his long legs don’t knock the table off balance.

“Did you cook all this?” Satoru asks, squinting at the pickled cucumber that’s been perfectly sliced like an accordion. 

“Uh huh.” Suguru nods with a curt smile before shoving a heaping of rice into his mouth. “I’ve been making meals for myself since junior high. Cooking is very relaxing for me.”

Since junior high, huh? It’s a bit odd that a kid would start cooking for himself at such an early age. Satoru doesn’t ask any questions though, despite silently wondering what Suguru’s childhood must've been like, what his relationship with his family must've been like. He’s curious, but not curious enough to press. Maybe someday, Suguru will tell him of his own accord. When he gets comfortable enough, maybe he'll open up to Satoru. 

The sound of buttons being pressed brings Satoru’s attention back to the moment. Suguru has his flip phone out, frowning at the screen in full concentration. He’s scooping up the rice with one hand and clicking away on his phone with the other. It goes on for a long while and Suguru gets so distracted that at one point, he’s shoving the rice into his nostrils, chopsticks nearly clattering to the ground when he starts to splutter. 

It’s hard to keep a straight face when Suguru looks as ridiculous as he does. Satoru chews on the konbu quietly, glancing over his chopsticks to keep track.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Suguru says, still clicking away. “It’s a really bad habit, you know?”

“What is?” Satoru hums in question, even though he already knows the answer. Darn it, he got caught staring. Again. “I’m not doing anything—”

‘You’re staring literal daggers into me.” Suguru raises his brow in annoyance. “Got something to say?”

For a brief moment, Satoru considers ignoring him. It’s not like he cares or anything. But he’s curious. He looks at his own phone that’s thrown haphazardly on the teapoy near the entrance. He only uses it to play Snake and download Waka Inoue photos and other silly stuff. Nothing else. Besides getting calls related to work now and then, nobody else keeps in touch with him. Not even his mom. Nobody. So yeah, he’s curious to know what Suguru’s doing. 

“Are you playing a game or something?” Satoru mumbles out, clearly his throat awkwardly. “You’ve been clicking for a while. It’s distracting.”

“Ah.” Suguru blinks, taken aback. “Sorry ‘bout that. I was just checking out the group chat from junior high. My friends from back home are planning to hang out together this weekend.” He goes back to staring at his phone. “It’s the first time I won’t be able to join them.”

“Oh,” Satoru says awkwardly. He fidgets in place, toes curling into the floor, grasping for purchase. “You have a lot of friends back home?”

“A couple,” Suguru replies with a hum. “I was on the basketball team.”

Wow. Satoru blinks, imagining Suguru on the court in a red jersey and shorts, the number 72 on his back— on second thought, he doubts whether basketball teams even go all the way up to 72. “You used to play basketball?” Satoru whistles. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Suguru replies, making a throwing motion with his hand and grinning playfully. “I was pretty good too.”

“Is that so?” Satoru hums, trying to play it cool. He doesn’t want Suguru to see how impressed he is. Definitely not. “There’s a basketball court here, by the way. You should show me your moves sometime.”

“I can do that,” Suguru replies with a nod of his head. “I can show you my moves whenever you're ready.” His eyes spark with something foreign, something that makes Satoru feel self-conscious. It’s almost like Suguru’s suddenly not talking about basketball anymore. It's like he’s talking about something else entirely and it’s throwing Satoru for a loop, as if he’s playing with fire and even infinity can’t protect him from getting burnt.

“So you hang out with your basketball friends even now?” Satoru attempts to steer the conversation away from wherever the hell it seems to be going at the moment. “That’s nice. I bet it’s a ton of fun.”

“You don’t hang out with your friends like that?” Suguru asks, voice laced with genuine curiosity. 

“I uh…” Suddenly, Satoru finds himself feeling incredibly small, shrinking to the size of an insect, looking pathetically up at Suguru who towers over him. “I don’t have any friends.” The words leave Satoru’s mouth in a whisper, making his chest twist into knots, a deep seated ache settling in his heart. It sucks, saying it out loud to Suguru, exposing himself to such an extent. Satoru hates it. 

“You don’t have any friends?” Suguru repeats slowly, confusion blooming on his face. He’s frowning like he can’t comprehend Satoru’s words. Like he can’t comprehend the idea that Satoru wouldn’t have any friends. “That doesn’t make any sense,” Suguru says with a scowl. “You’re so—” He waves his hands frantically in the air. “You're so strong.” 

The honest frustration in Suguru’s voice makes Satoru’s heart squeeze. “Sometimes, being strong can be too much,” Satoru says softly. “Especially when everyone else is weak.” He frowns, his mind providing flashbacks of his father who offered him up like a sheep to be slaughtered, his mother who watched helplessly from the sidelines, his clan who turned him into a weapon, his classmates who kept a careful distance. Every single one of them the same. 

“Well then,” Suguru says, his voice firm but careful. “It’s a good thing I’m not weak.”

There it is again. That knot in Satoru’s stomach that twists and twists, something warm pooling in his chest. He wonders if he’s falling sick. But he’s never sick so that’s not it. But when Suguru looks at him straight on, his eyes shining under the ceiling lights, clear and honest and strong— Satoru doesn’t feel alone anymore. Rather, it leaves him feeling warm and breathless. It’s equal parts frightening, because he’s never felt this way before. And also exhilarating, because he’s never felt this way before. 

“You’re not,” Satoru says, shaking his head to drive the point in. “You’re…” Suddenly, Satoru’s throat clogs up with emotion, taking him by surprise. “You’re strong,” he drawls out, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. When was the last time he could say that about someone? He can’t remember. Probably because he’s never done it before. “You’re strong,” Satoru repeats, softer, more poignant, every word hanging heavy in the air, reminding him that there’s someone who can match his stride now.

“Just strong?” Suguru asks with a smirk, wiggling his brows. “Gimme more than that, come on. I’m stronger than most people, you know? The strongest person I know.”

“Loving the humility,” Satoru huffs out. “You know I’m the strongest sorcerer in the jujutsu world, right?” Satoru cringes even as he says it. Why did he have to go and bring that up? What a mood killer.

“Yeah, I know that.” Suguru’s smile dies down until it’s just a faint curl of his lips. He’s looking at Satoru, studying him. “We can be the strongest together, right?”

Oh. Satoru blinks, taken aback yet again. How is Suguru able to say such things so easily? How is he able to move Satoru like this, make him feel things that are too difficult to understand but also so incredibly easy? What is it about Suguru that has him so unravelled? 

“Yeah,” Satoru replies in a whisper. He licks his parched lips and forces a laugh, wincing at how strained it sounds. “Yeah, we’re the strongest.” 

“The strongest duo.” Suguru chuckles, combing his bangs with his hand before tucking it behind his ear. He hums under his breath, something happy, looking up at Satoru from under his lashes. His gaze is warm and clear and for a minute, Satoru feels like he’s drowning in those eyes. Willingly. Satoru can’t look away; he doesn’t want to.

Suddenly, Suguru’s phone starts to ring, and he breaks eye contact. “Ah, it’s them,” he mumbles under his breath, clicking his tongue as he rises to his feet. “Hey man, sorry I won’t be able to make it this time…” Suguru’s voice gets softer and softer as he walks out and closes the door behind him, leaving Satoru alone with two bowls of unfinished miso soup and a head bursting with thoughts. 

“The strongest,” Satoru whispers under his breath, feeling the words roll off his tongue. For all his life, he alone has been the strongest. This is the first time he’s found someone he can look at as an equal, someone who is capable of shouldering the weight that he’s been carrying by himself for so long. Suguru is stronger than anyone else he knows. Strong in every sense of the word. 

Absently, he starts to wonder if his soulmate would be strong too. He scoffs at the thought. Given the way he’d discovered his soulmate mark, his fated person is probably a non-sorcerer. So… not strong at all. Not like Suguru. Satoru’s mind flashes with the image of Suguru ingesting the cursed spirits, the way his throat had bobbed as he swallowed it down, absorbing its energy, becoming even stronger. He wonders how many curses Suguru has in his arsenal. What a cool technique to have!

With Suguru by his side, Satoru doesn’t feel quite so… alone. He closes his eyes and inhales shakily, toes curling as his chest squeezes. If they’re the strongest, why is it that Satoru finds himself feeling so weak whenever his thoughts dwell on Suguru for too long. It’s pathetic; he needs to get a grip! Grunting under his breath, he curls his hand into a loose fist and starts to thump at his chest, wishing it would settle down.

It doesn’t.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

It takes a week before Yaga finally returns to campus and Suguru gets to meet him face-to-face for the first time. But Yaga isn’t alone when he comes back. He brings along a new student— a new classmate for Satoru and Suguru.

Shoko is cool. She’s got a perpetually nonchalant look on her face, but her eyes spark with something mischievous in their depth. She doesn’t accompany them on missions often, instead taking up the task of researching curses and cursed techniques. She’s also equipped with the incredibly rare reversed curse technique that gives the ability to heal people.

For Suguru, who unlike Satoru, doesn’t have Infinity to keep every hair on his body unharmed, Shoko is a blessing, a goddess. Although she snarks and teases him for always showing up with cuts and wounds, she’s gentle when she performs her healing on him. It’s warm when she closes his wounds up, soothing. 

Not that she’s always willing to help him out though. That’s hardly the case. Shoko can be a little shit sometimes. If it’s a small bruise with barely any bleeding, she just slaps a bandaid on it, chiding Suguru about how he shouldn’t rely on her healing technique for everything.

“If you get too dependent on my RCT, your body is going to forget how to heal itself. Now, you know we can’t have that, big guy.” She grins from ear to ear when she says it, her voice holding not an ounce of sympathy. It’s clear she’s just messing with him.

“Shoko-chan,” Suguru groans, clasping his hands together and wincing at the sting that shoots up his bandaged palm. He curls his lips down and gives her his best puppy dog impression. “It hurts.”

“It hurts?” Shoko coos, shaking her head in mock sympathy. She turns to the door of the infirmary and beckons for Satoru to come into the room. Suguru watches, confused and more than a little weary, as Satoru enters, blinking as Shoko gestures for him to go towards Suguru. “Satoru,” she says, dropping the honorifics without a blink. “Suguru here says his boo-boo hurts—”

“I did not call it a boo-boo!” Suguru splutters out, indignant by Shoko’s accusation. Satoru’s squinting at his bandaged hand and giving him a miffed look. Suguru wants to vapourise. He groans. “What the fuck, Shoko—”

“You just told me it hurts, right?” Shoko rolls her eyes. She looks at Satoru and tilts her head in Suguru’s direction. “Well? You know what to do to make his pain go away. What’re you waiting for?”

“Huh?” Satoru scratches his nape, looking exhausted. “What’re you talking about?”

“It’s such a simple remedy. Everybody knows what to do.” Shoko sighs, shaking her head in exhaustion. “Fine. I’ll spell it out for you.” She fixes Satoru with a grave expression, lips pressed tight, brows knitted together in an austere frown. “You need to kiss his boo-boo better, Satoru.”

“Shoko, I’ll fucking kill you—” Suguru jumps from his chair, heat rushing to his face. He doesn’t know whether he’s blushing from anger or embarrassment or something else all together. Shoko’s smirking at him, tongue peeking out from between her lips. Scratch his previous sentiments about likening her to a goddess; she’s a demon! Evil incarnate! Suguru balls his hands into fists and shakes it in her direction, hissing through his teeth. “I swear to god—”

Cool fingers wrap around Suguru’s hand, tugging it gently towards them. Suguru startles, eyes going wide as saucers as he takes in the way Satoru’s holding his hand delicately, like it’s something fragile— like he’s precious. Suguru’s breath catches as his eyes catch Satoru’s, drowning for a moment in their cerulean depths. He tries to breathe but it’s hard when his entire being is focussed on where Satoru’s touching him, on how soothing his skin is, cool and smooth and— 

Something soft presses against the back of Suguru’s hand. His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when Satoru presses a kiss against his knuckles, his eyes closed, silver lashes fluttering prettily against his cheek. His lips are warm, unlike his fingers, softer than a feather, simply grazing Suguru’s skin but still setting it ablaze. Quiet, like a fire under Suguru’s skin, spreading like a wildfire in his veins, but so, so quiet. 

“There!” Satoru whispers against Suguru’s hand, even as he ends the kiss and pulls back. He rolls his eyes and exhales an elaborate sigh. “Now that I’ve kissed it better, can we please get going? There’s a tengu loose in Roppongi. We’re gonna be late if we don’t hurry up!”

So saying, Satoru drops Suguru’s hand and starts walking towards the door. Suguru just stands there, mouth agape, hand still burning quietly. It’s only when Shoko bursts into laughter that he squeaks in mortification, scrambling after Satoru. His ears are still ringing even after they’ve made their way off of the school grounds, his face still hot, heart still thudding at the speed of a bullet train. 

His only solace is the picture of Satoru’s back as he walks ahead of him, spine straight, form tall and proud. Satoru’s neck and ears, however, are red as a tomato. 

And maybe, Suguru’s heart skips a beat. 

***

“This is insane!” Satoru squeals in glee, hands clutching tightly at the dragon’s whiskers. They’re riding Suguru’s dragon, chasing after the tengu spirit in Roppongi. It’s Satoru’s first time on one of Suguru’s little pets, and he seems to be having a blast if his enthusiasm is anything to go off. 

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever done,” Satoru whispers, awe dripping from every word. He turns towards Suguru and grins, flashing his teeth, eyes crinkling at the corners. His hair flies in the air like a halo behind him. It’s pretty, Suguru thinks casually. “For real!” Satoru presses. “I got to fight a special grade curse last year and even that wasn’t this cool. This is awesome, Suguru!”

There’s admiration in Satoru’s voice and happiness in his eyes. And it’s all directed at Suguru. Suguru smiles beside him, feeling like he’s won a contest and the prize is Satoru’s praise. It’s nice to be at the receiving end of Satoru’s admiration, real nice. 

“There it is!” Satoru screams, pointing excitedly as the tengu swerves across a skyscraper. “Let’s go!” Satoru shuffles a bit to the side, his thigh grazing Suguru’s, electricity bursting at the point of contact. It jolts through Suguru and he temporarily loses his focus, losing control of the dragon momentarily. 

With a high pitched yelp, Satoru loses balance and tumbles towards the side, crashing into Suguru and landing sprawled across his lap. Satoru’s hands automatically curl into Suguru’s shoulders as a means to anchor himself.

“Oooof,” Satoru grunts out, shifting in Suguru’s lap, his ass pressing against Suguru’s crotch and making him die a little inside. The dragon rumbles, swerving through the sky, clearly manifesting Suguru’s inner turmoil. It takes Satoru removing himself from Suguru’s lap and taking his original seat beside him for Suguru to get his act together and steer his dragon in the right path.

“Man, you need to work on your control a bit more,” Satoru chides, oblivious to the fact that he is the sole reason why Suguru’s perfect control slipped for the first time. Suguru nods, breathing through his mouth, scared to speak because he can feel his heart in his throat and he doesn’t trust himself. 

Pull yourself together, Suguru. You’re supposed to be strong!

Maybe it’s the little pep talk that brings him back on track. They manage to gain up on the tengu in a few moments. Satoru launches himself from the dragon, seemingly flying in the air as he rides the breeze— he’s a sight for sore eyes, something like an angel. Beautiful, Suguru thinks, lips parting in awe as he watches Satoru extend his arm, pointing his palm out. He’s perfectly poised and it feels like he’s frozen in time, floating mid-air.

“Red,” he whispers and an orb of blinding red light explodes from his finger. It zaps forward, blowing the tengu into smithereens, its flesh scattering away like pixels on a computer screen. Suguru can only watch, jaw hanging open as the scene unfolds. It’s red everywhere. Like a sunset, bleeding everything out, the plumes touching Suguru’s skin, making little goosebumps bloom on his flesh. And then, it’s over, just like that, in the blink of an eye.

The tengu is defeated and the sky is blue and Satoru is no longer flying like an angel— Wait, Satoru is no longer flying! He’s free falling, hands outstretched, eyes closed as if he’s given himself up to the wind. 

“Satoru!” Suguru grits his teeth, veering his dragon and diving down to chase Satoru and catch him before he falls. The wind lashes mercilessly against his face, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. All he can make out of Satoru’s falling body is a black blur with a silver quill on top. Beneath him, there is a bed of rubble, cold and hard and remorseless. Suguru screams, desperation dousing every inch of his being. 

The dragon bellows as it swoops down and barely manages to catch Satoru before he falls. Suguru manages to grab a hold of him and yanks him down so that he’s splayed out in front of him, back nestling into the dragon’s iridescent scales. Suguru’s heart continues to thud, his hands digging into Satoru’s hips hard enough to leave marks. He notices that Satoru’s jacket is askew and his undershirt is untucked, revealing his abdomen and the magenta flowers that paint it. Suguru’s fingers gravitate towards the mark like gravity, fingertips mapping along the border. He could get addicted to this, to Satoru. It’s frightening but Suguru can not bear to stop.

“Good catch,” Satoru says, breaking the spell and pulling Suguru out of his thoughts. He looks up at Satoru’s eyes. There’s mischief twinkling in their depths, something similar tugging his lips up into a cheeky grin. Meanwhile, Suguru is in pure anguish, body seesawing between his sudden adrenaline drop and the ache in his gut that consumes him every time he sees— and feels— Satoru’s soulmate mark and is reminded of the matching branding on his own skin, burning quietly on his chest. 

“Satoru—” Suguru manages to rasp out, his tongue lolling stupidly in his mouth, words breaking off when Satoru presses his hand against his chest and pushes to shift away. Suguru’s hands fall from Satoru’s hips and he feels a sudden overwhelming loss, a physical ache that he needs to bite down on. There’s something wrong with him, there has to be— he hates how desperate he feels. “You could’ve fallen,” Suguru continues, the words grating against his tongue. “You could’ve—”

“‘I could’ve’ nothing,” Satoru says, flicking his index finger against Suguru’s forehead and making him wince at the sharp pain. He’s a little grateful for the pain though; it’s a bit grounding. Satoru smiles, sitting back casually and smoothening his jacket so that he’s fully covered. Suguru feels a pang of loss in his chest, like he wishes Satoru would display his soulmate mark always, all the time. 

“I knew you’d catch me on time,” Satoru continues, still smiling. Only now, his smile is mellow, sweeter than it has any right to be. It hurts. 

“You’re too reckless,” Suguru rasps out, fingers curling into his pants, desperate to clutch onto something. “What if I was too late?”

“Nuh uh.” Satoru shakes his head. “I trust you,” he says, and it hurts Suguru, it hurts him so good, but it hurts him so much. 

“Why?” Suguru asks, already dreading the answer. Already knowing that whatever Satoru says will only knock him down harder. It’ll only make him fall harder for Satoru. And at some point, he’ll have fallen so far down, he wouldn’t be able to get up. Just like his mother. 

The very thought of her brings back an avalanche of memories, drowning Suguru where he sits, looking helplessly at a clueless Satoru. It’s a miracle the dragon is steering straight when Suguru’s mind is flooded with memories of her bleeding hands, her twisted smile, her broken dreams— her weak will. Suguru doesn’t want to end up weak like her— like the way she became. He couldn’t bear it.

“Because…” Satoru says, voice crystal clear through the roar of the siphoning wind and the screams of the ghosts of Suguru’s past. Satoru grins, cheeks flushed a soft pink— the sun is setting, dousing everything in a gentle shade of orange and it reminds Suguru of Satoru’s Red, makes Suguru think how good Satoru looks in red, in anything. 

“Because,” Satoru repeats, his voice a little too breathless, a little too sweet. His eyelids are lowered, eyes like little blue gems sparkling behind his sunglasses. “Because you’re strong, Suguru. We’re the strongest, remember?”

God, Suguru is so fucked. 

***

“Are you still mad?” Satoru pouts, bouncing on his feet and overtaking Suguru. He deftly turns around and walks backwards, bending down to try and make Suguru look at him. “Hey… come on! Quit being such a drama queen.”

Suguru rolls his eyes and continues to ignore Satoru. For the most part, he’s frustrated by his own reaction to Satoru and doesn’t know what to do about it. He wonders if it’s because they’re soulmates. Is it because of their bond that Suguru feels so attracted towards him? Would he feel this way towards anyone if they were his soulmate? Or is it only Satoru who tugs at his heartstrings this way? He doesn’t know which answer would be better, maybe they’re both equally as bad. Ah fuck, Suguru is so fucking tired of this. 

They’ve finally reached the school, walking past the gate and making their way down the hall. It’s empty, the entire campus shrouded in darkness— it’s already night, how time flies. Suguru looks at the sky and allows his mind to go blank for a moment, no noise, only the stars dotting the night. 

“I know!” Satoru claps his hands and does a little jump. It’s cute, but Suguru isn’t going to acknowledge it, nope. “I know how to put you in a better mood,” Satoru continues, grinning from ear to ear. He grabs Suguru’s hand, taking him by surprise. “Come on!”

“What—” Suguru’s protests die on his tongue as he is helpless to the sheer force of nature that is Satoru getting his way. He pulls Suguru down the corridor to the side of the main building, only stopping when they’ve reached the indoor gymnasium. Suguru blinks in confusion, shutting down the voice of disappointment that chirps up when Satoru lets go of his hand. Grinning triumphantly, Satoru throws the door open and shrugs his jacket off, flinging it in the air before running inside.

With a defeated sigh, Suguru follows, carefully removing his jacket before folding it and placing it near the entrance. He picks up Satoru’s jacket too, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he continues to fold it as well, trying not to notice how pleasantly warm it is. 

“What are you up to?” Suguru asks as he steps into the indoor basketball court, eyes widening when he sees Satoru holding a basketball and standing in the center of the court. “What—?”

“Let’s play!” Satoru outstretches his hand, pushing the basketball towards Suguru. “Come on!”

“Play?” Suguuru asks in confusion, despite plucking the ball from Satoru’s hands. He sighs tiredly. “We just got back from a mission. Why do you wanna play now?”

“Why not?” Satoru tilts his head and smirks. “What? Are you too tired? If that’s the case, we can go back to the dorm.”

Oh, that’s how he’s gonna play, is it? Suguru frowns, grip tightening on the ball. He shifts it in his hands, pressing it to gauge the weight. It’s been a while since he’s played, but these things are like muscle memory. He inhales, counts to three, and sprints across the court, dribbling past a stunned looking Satoru. In a matter of seconds, he’s under the hoop, bouncing up and doing a layup shot. The ball falls in like it always does. Suguru dusts his hands, pleased at how flabbergasted Satoru seems to look. He knew he could trust his muscle memory; thank god. 

“First one to ten points?” Suguru asks, bending over to grab the ball from the ground. He casually spins it on his index finger, trying not to smile too wide when Satoru’s sunglasses nearly topple from his face. Satoru gulps visibly before straightening up and nodding, albeit reluctantly. Suguru passes him the ball, laughing when Satoru misses the catch, fumbling but failing to grab a hold of it.

“To be fair, I’ve never played basketball before,” Satoru whines, sitting on the floor and picking the ball up. He places his chin on the ball and pouts— he’s so fucking adorable like this and it makes Suguru want to run 725 laps around the stadium to cool his head. “You’re at an advantage.”

“S’that so?” Suguru mumbles, clearing his throat, happy that Satoru’s finally risen to his feet and is attempting to dribble the ball and failing miserably. “How about this? If you manage to score a basket before I score ten points, then you win. And if I score ten points first, it’s my win.” Satoru nods in agreement, eyes sparkling with interest. Suguru continues, “And whoever loses has to do any one thing the winner requests. Sound good?”

“Deal,” Satoru says. He quickly takes his sunglasses off and places it outside the court, before coming back in. Suguru swallows, trying his best not to notice how blue Satoru’s eyes are. Blue and beautiful like the rest of him— Suguru, focus!

Attempting to dribble the ball, Satoru takes a few steps towards the hoop. Suguru is immediately on him, ready to block him and steal the ball the moment he can. But just at that moment, Satoru jumps, raising his hands in the air and launching the ball. Suguru panics, launching himself in the air and trying to reach as high as he can. His finger grazes the ball— the ball that’s already looking rather poorly aimed. But it continues on, hurling like a projectile through the air and landing perfectly into the hoop. 

With a yelp, Suguru realises that he’s jumped too close to Satoru, watching in horror as he crashes into him and crumples to the floor with a heavy thud. Suguru quickly braces one arm on the ground and slips the other behind Satoru’s head, wincing when they fall and his arm gets more or less crushed by Satoru’s weight. But at least, it cushions the fall and Satoru isn’t injured. Heck, Satoru’s grinning like a devil, cheeks flushed, sweat beading on his brows, blue eyes twinkling manically. 

“I win,” he says smugly. “Now, you gotta do whatever I tell you to.”

Suguru stares at him, perplexed. It doesn’t make sense that Satoru could land a shot like that, from all the way across the court, behind the three point line. Even professional basketball players wouldn’t be able to do that. Especially given the way Satoru’s aim had been so messy and Suguru’s finger had grazed the ball and clearly steered it even further off its trajectory. So how did it still manage to fall into the hoop?

Wait a second…. 

“Satoru, you little shit,” Suguru hisses through his teeth, punching the floor with his fist and gripping Satoru’s hair with the other, tugging his head up and making him whine in the process. “You cheated!” Suguru growls, indignant. “You fucking used your cursed technique, didn’t you? Little fucker!”

“So what?” Satoru has the audacity to shrug his shoulders. “You didn’t say we couldn’t use our powers.”

“You’re the worst!” Suguru growls, clenching his eyes shut and shaking his head. “I can’t believe you.”

“You’re just mad I beat your ass, Suguru-chan.” Satoru chuckles, reaching up and ruffling Suguru’s hair. Suguru yelps in surprise and his hand slips where it anchors him and he loses his grip, making him lose his balance and end up collapsing on top of Satoru. Satoru’s breath leaves him with a visible gasp. Suguru curses out loud, alarmed as he shuffles until he’s upright. His hands immediately go to Satoru’s face, cupping his cheeks and tapping them urgently. “Fuck, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Satoru groans out. “I’m lucky you didn’t crush me.” His hand comes up to press against Suguru’s chest, touch warm as it seeps through Suguru’s shirt, right against his soulmate mark. Suddenly, the air becomes opaque with tension. 

They’re so close that Suguru can feel Satoru’s breath on his lips and hear the steady beat of his heart and see the specks of gold in his blue irises. It’s all too much, a sensory overload in the most cruel way possible. But Suguru’s pain only aggravates when Satoru’s hand slowly slips up, fingertips mapping trails of fire in their wake, before curling behind Suguru’s nape. Satoru’s eyes are dilated, the blue dark like a stormy sea, turbulent and overwhelming. His hair is spread out beneath him like a silver beacon. His lips are parted, pink and glossy, and his tongue slips out to swipe across them, making heat pool in Suguru’s gut. 

It’s too much. Satoru is intoxicating his mind, making him want nothing more than to close the gap and get a taste of Satoru’s lips before he tastes the rest of him. The wave of want that hits him is brutal and desperate. He leans closer, hand slipping down until it rests against Satoru’s hips. It’s a reflex action at this point. Not for the first time, Suguru finds himself pulled towards Satoru’s soulmate mark against his will. His fingers search for the slightly protruding flesh, breath shuddering as he feels for it. 

A sudden buzz accompanied by the familiar message notification ring from Suguru’s phone breaks the spell. He blinks down at Satoru, at the way Satoru’s chest rises and falls unevenly, at the way his eyes are still glazed, lips still parted as if waiting for something— something from Suguru. And Suguru would’ve given it to him too. 

But he can’t.

“It’s Shoko,” Suguru says, fumbling as he rises to his feet. “She messaged saying she’ll be heading back home in an hour. I better go and get my arm fixed.” He raises his arm and yanks his sleeve down, alarmed at how swollen it looks, even more alarmed at how he doesn’t feel any pain, none at all. The only thing he feels at the moment is all his blood rushing south and the voice in his head telling him to kiss Satoru and screw everything else. Suguru doesn’t listen, he will not, he can not. 

“I’ll see you in the dorm tonight,” Suguru says, running towards the door and not even giving Satoru a second look. He’s too scared to see what expression Satoru must be wearing. He’s too scared because he knows that if he stays a moment longer, he might cross the line and do something he’ll regret.

Even though, deep down, he already regrets not crossing the line when he had the chance. 

***

The scent of tobacco wafts from the door of the infirmary. Suguru’s feet are heavy as lead as he drags himself in, his heart heavier. He sighs audibly as he takes a seat, clenching his eyes shut and forcing himself not to think about what happened just a while ago. 

“Wow, your arm’s all fucked up.” Shoko blows the smoke into his face and he coughs, scowling. “Good thing you managed to come see me before I left, huh?”

“Yeah,” Suguru mutters out, lifting his arm on autopilot and extending it towards her. She starts using her healing magic on him and the pain slowly subsides, until it feels just the tiniest bit tender, the swelling going down significantly. 

But it’s not his arm that’s bothering Suguru at the moment. There’s a fire in his chest, right where his cursed mark sits on his skin— that same damned fire that only came into existence after he met Satoru. And it’s burning in his chest, quietly but violently, ripping through him and breaking him down. It’s like he’s burning alive and there’s nothing he can do to quench the flames. 

“Can I have one?” Suguru asks Shoko, gesturing towards the pack of cigarettes on the table. She raises a brow but nods her head in affirmation. Suguru doesn’t waste a second, immediately grabbing a stick and pressing it between his lips. He leans forward, taking Shoko by surprise when he presses the filter of his cigarette stick against the burning tip of the one between her lips. He tilts his head so it gets enough friction to catch fire and then pulls back. Impressed, Shoko whistles in the background as he takes a deep huff, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and set them ablaze. A new fire to fight the existing fire that's currently plaguing him. The irony.

He holds his breath for a brief moment before exhaling on a violent shudder. The smoke spills from his mouth in tendrils, spreading out like plumes of ink in the air. Suguru stares blankly, allowing the nicotine to mellow him out. There is a sense of relief in knowing that he’d finally managed to douse the fire in his chest that longs for Satoru, completely putting it out. Albeit temporarily. 

But little does Suguru know that the fire continues to lie dormant inside him, creeping under his skin quietly.

TO BE CONTINUED