Chapter Text
III.
When Suguru first met Satoru, he thought the other boy was the most annoying prick he’d ever seen. He and Shoko had been loitering on the school grounds for upwards of a week before classes started, but Satoru was different. He didn’t show up until the first day of class, strolling in ten minutes late with his hands in the pockets of his uniform pants and a lazy grin on his face, looking so sure of himself. Suguru had immediately clocked him as a pretentious narcissist and contemplated the possibility of returning home and quitting jujutsu altogether if he was going to have to put up with someone like Gojo Satoru.
But Satoru had sat down in the empty desk next to Suguru and peered over the rim of his dark glasses and that sure grin melted into something shyer, less secure, making Suguru’s breath catch in his throat and his face heat up.
“I like your bangs,” Satoru had said. Suguru unconsciously reached up to tug on the loose piece of hair that stubbornly refused to stay tied back. He wouldn’t call them bangs, but he also wouldn’t correct the small god that had sat down next to him.
That simmering annoyance had quickly faded away in the glow of Satoru’s soft halo and Suguru was caught.
A horrible silence echoes through the apartment in Satoru’s absence.
The walls are too white and cramped, the floors too slick under his socks, the pillows not arranged in the right way on the couch. All of it is horrible. Suguru wants to drive his fist into the drywall, followed by his head.
He stands there in the entryway, lost and totally unsure of the next step to take, because Satoru is gone. He’s gone and he left wearing Suguru’s favorite hoodie and no socks. Something dull and long dead thumps uselessly inside of Suguru’s ribcage, rattles around his chest cavity. It aches terribly.
The tea in the living room has gone cold.
The sun tracks along the floor through the windows. Suguru had left the patio door open when he chased after Satoru. The siren that whirls past their building is shrill and too loud. Past his building.
Suguru moves to close it.
He wishes he had a cigarette.
There’s a suitcase of Satoru’s things that’s tucked up in one corner of the living room. It’s the neatest Suguru has ever seen the other man act. Before, his dorm would be a flurry of clothes and wrappers and DVD cases. But here in the apartment with both their names on it, Satoru keeps all his things neatly zipped inside a suitcase.
Ready to leave at a moments notice.
It’s odd that he didn’t spare even a moment to grab it.
Like he couldn’t wait another second longer before leaving Suguru in the dust.
The day tracks on and Suguru gets angry.
Angry because Satoru was angry this morning about throwing off the kid’s routine. What the fuck is he supposed to tell the kids when he brings them home and Satoru isn’t there? He’ll become the liar he cursed his parents for being. Where does Satoru get off leaving him like that?
Suguru picks up the three cold mugs that no one thanked him for and scrubs them clean in the skin. He gets water everywhere, splashing up to his elbows and over the countertop. It doesn’t matter. The resounding emptiness in this apartment isn’t going to chastise him for soaking the floor.
And then there’s the confession.
Satoru said he loved him. Loves Suguru. Present tense. Suguru tells himself it was just a slip of the tongue. Satoru was never good at grammar, after all. Homeschool kid. He probably meant that he used to love Suguru in the way Suguru loves him. But it’s long gone now.
When the mugs are put away and the evidence of anyone else ever having been inside this apartment is gone, Suguru showers.
He’s not sure what else to do, so he stands under the hot spray and feels.
It’s been a long time since he let himself do that. The hot spray of water burns away a layer of skin and Suguru stares up at the showerhead. He’d hated Gojo Satoru until he saw him, long and lanky in their too empty classroom with his legs spread out across two desks. Odd, black glasses, tiny glass pinpricks perched on his nose and hiding the bluest eyes and snowy white lashes. The cockiest, widest, toothiest smile Suguru had ever seen. Suguru hated Gojo Satoru until he saw him. And then he wanted to eat him, to suck him up like one of his curses and swallow him whole. He always imagined that Satoru would taste sweet, like the candies he kept in his pockets. Nothing like a curse.
Swallowing down Satoru’s departure is the thickest curse Suguru had been handed yet.
The hot water doesn’t run cold because they live in a relatively fancy building, reminding Suguru that he’ll have to figure out a way to pay for the place on his own, now that Satoru won’t be emptying his clan’s bank account. He thinks of the Star Religious Group and their mass of cheery, deep pocketed followers. It’s only been a year since their higher ups all tucked tail and fled. Maybe they’re still looking for someone to take their place.
After the water scours Suguru’s skin raw, he cuts it and dries himself off in the muggy bathroom. He grabs Mimiko’s pink pig towel on accident and the collection of rubber ducks in the corner threaten to snitch. Let them. Who’s there left to tell anyway?
Suguru trudges back to the bedroom and blindly pulls on clothes. He tosses the pink pig towel on the floor to get later and crawls onto the bed. It smells like Satoru. Like fresh rainwater and strawberry and cream. A little bit like mint toothpaste. Suguru forgot Satoru slept here last night. He can’t remember the last time they slept in the same bed.
Okinawa maybe, in the hotel room they shared with Riko and Kuroi.
God.
A lifetime ago.
The sheets are cold and unforgiving as Suguru pulls them up over his head. Satoru thrashes in his sleep. Or used to. He used to nearly kick Suguru off the bed when they shared, his long limbs taking up too much space. It didn’t help that they usually shared one of the standard issue twin beds in their dorm rooms. He was also incredibly clingy. Suguru would wake up with a sticky Satoru clinging to his back, arms and legs cinched around him like a vice. Inescapable.
True to life.
At a quarter to three, Suguru gets up. He puts on shoes, with socks, and leaves the apartment. He locks the door behind him and makes the trek down the five flights of stairs. It’s overcast outside, grey pregnant clouds hanging in the sky and threatening to spill. Suguru shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. He stops at the corner store to buy a pack of cigarettes.
Parents wait on the sidewalk outside the school for their kids to get released. Most of them have umbrellas, chatting amongst themselves. Suguru has always supposed that most of the parents know each other from play dates and such. Tsumiki went on a play date once. Satoru took her over to her friend’s house. Suguru can’t remember what the friend’s name is, much less what her mother looked like. He and Satoru never talked to the other parents while they wait.
But Satoru is here, standing on the sidewalk, chatting with a couple other parents. He’s giving them that wide, toothy grin of his. Flirting. His glasses are perched on top of his head, pinning his bangs off his forehead and he’s holding one of those big, clear dome umbrellas. Suguru thinks he’s maybe still dreaming, back at home and wrapped up in the scent of Satoru. But Satoru catches sight of him across the throng of parents and he waves. He waves and smiles at Suguru like nothing happened. Suguru feels trapped in his gaze as he makes his way over.
“Ladies, this is Geto Suguru, my best friend,” Satoru says as Suguru approaches. The words coming out of his mouth aren’t making any sense.
They all coo and greet Suguru. He’s not sure if he says or does anything back. Satoru’s hand settles against the small of his back. The pressure burns against Suguru’s clothes, and he itches with the urge to both arch away and press into it.
“And you two are raising four kids all by yourselves?” one of the parents asks. “That’s so admirable. You’re both so young.”
“Their parents are family friends and weren’t able to provide the best home for them.” Satoru rattles off the explanation they came up with the night before the kids first day at school. It’s a half truth, in regard to Satoru’s relation to Megumi, but the rest is a stretch. “We just couldn’t bear to see them separated, so we decided to take them in.”
“How considerate,” another parent says, polite smile on their face. The others nod in agreement.
Behind them, the school doors open, and a flood of kids pour out. They hurry down the steps and flock to their parent’s sides. Suguru spots Mimiko and Nanako first. They hurry down the steps to where Satoru and Suguru are waiting. Satoru keeps his hand firmly planted on Suguru’s back until the girls approach, then he hands Satoru his umbrella and swoops down to snare them in a hug. They laugh into his arms, delighted to see that everything’s back to normal.
Megumi slinks forward next, creeping up to Suguru’s side like a shadow. Suguru feels Megumi’s small hand slipping into his own before he sees him. He glances down to find the boy looking up at him with his thousand-meter stare. Suguru closes his hand around Megumi’s and gives him a little smile.
“Megumi’s here.” Satoru crows when he notices. He’s still couched down with the twins but holds a free arm out to the boy. Megumi shrinks back behind Suguru’s leg.
He’s always been more partial to Suguru. Suguru thinks that Satoru has too much energy for the boy.
Tsumiki is last to join their little group, walking over with her two friends. They’re busy talking and it takes a minute before she can pull herself away from her friends. When she does, she skips over to Satoru and softly tells him that she’s glad he’s feeling better.
They take up almost the whole sidewalk as they make their way home. Mimiko and Nanako each claim one of Satoru’s hand, so Suguru lifts Megumi onto his shoulders and instructs him to hold the umbrella for him so he can free up his left hand for Tsumiki. Despite the normalcy, Suguru’s brain is still itching with the image of hurt written across Satoru’s face as he told Suguru he loved him. Paired with the fact that he had left, it feels almost hollow that they’re just going through all these motions.
However, the routine they’ve cultivated for the kids helps calm Suguru, too. All of the stress and the despair that Suguru had felt earlier slips away with the rain that starts to drizzle.
“What’s the surprise?” Nanako asks when they’re back home in their apartment and drying off in the entryway. “Suguru said you’d have a surprise since you were sick this morning.”
Satoru tsks as he scrubs a towel over Mimiko’s head. “Suguru spoils you.”
“What?” Mimiko pushes his hands off her head. Her dark hair is sticking up in every direction. “But Suguru promised.”
Suguru snorts but remains silent as he helps Megumi wrestle his damp uniform pants off.
Satoru continues to playfully argue back and forth with the girls until he finally acquiesces that, yes, he does have a surprise and the surprise is takeout for dinner. All of the kids cheer and the space in Suguru’s chest swells. He slides down the wall of the hallway and as the kids dance around Satoru. Watching them, he can forget about the fraught conversation this morning, the hurt, tired way Satoru had snapped at Shoko, had snapped at him. The panic that Suguru had wallowed with the whole day alone in an empty apartment with Satoru’s threat of leaving has ebbed away, leaving just a dull ache in the corner of his heart as a reminder. He doesn’t understand what made Satoru come back, but he’s grateful.
They eat greasy takeout in the living room instead of at the table, gathered around the television that’s playing some American cartoon that all of the kids enjoy. Suguru doesn’t eat much but gives his lap up for Nanako to curl up on when she’s done eating. He strokes a hand through her hair. She’s got a nasty habit of sucking her thumb when she’s tired, so Suguru eases the finger out of her mouth. The dentist said to work to break the habit sooner rather than later.
Everyone else seems sleepy and boneless, sprawled around the living room when Suguru looks up. Megumi, despite his reservations, is nestled in Satoru’s lap. Mimiko and Tsumiki have their heads knocked together, curled up on a few pillows. Satoru catches Suguru’s eyes when he glances up. Those heavy circles are still prominent beneath his starry eyes, and he gives Suguru a weary smile.
It hurts to look at.
Suguru breaks their gaze quickly.
The movie finishes and it’s bedtime for the kids. It’s a parade of teeth brushing and face washing and pajama wrangling followed by story time, with a book picked out by each kid that Satoru and Suguru take turns reading in the living room. They usher the kids into their rooms, Satoru taking Megumi and Tsumiki and Suguru taking Mimiko and Nanako.
Suguru tucks each girl in one by one, then plants a kiss on the tops of their heads before wishing them a good night and trading with Satoru. He does the same with Megumi, but Tsumiki stops him before he can do the same to her.
“Did you talk with Satoru?” she whispers.
Suguru frowns, frozen in a hunch over Tsumiki’s bed. “What do you mean?”
“He’s sadder than normal,” she says. “So are you. Did you talk to him when he wasn’t feeling well?”
“We talked earlier,” Suguru tells her. She frowns too, wrinkling her little kid nose.
“You said you weren’t fighting,” she says.
“I know,” Suguru says. “We’re not fighting. We’re not sad, either.”
Suguru realizes he’s digging a deeper hole for himself. There’s still the possibility that Satoru will leave at any second. Hell, he might already be gone when Suguru leaves this room, disappearing into the night and he’ll have to come up with another excuse, or worse the truth, in the morning.
Tsumiki gives Suguru a knowing look and he’s once again shocked at how wise she is. Suguru feels strangely comforted by the look. She reaches her arms up and Suguru leans down to meet her in a hug. Her small hands are warm as she hangs onto Suguru’s neck. It’s nice, Suguru thinks. It’s nice.
“Go to sleep,” Suguru says, shaking Tsumiki off gently and straightening up. “Don’t worry about Satoru and I. Everything with us is fine.”
Tsumiki nods and wiggles under her blankets. Suguru gives her one more reassuring smile before leaving the room shutting the door in his wake.
As he closes it, Suguru realizes that there’s a possibility of Satoru leaving and taking Megumi and Tsumiki with him when he goes. Earlier, at the school, he’d mentioned how they didn’t want to split the kids up. But that was part of their lie they told outsiders. Satoru’s only real obligation is to the Fushiguro kids thanks to his deal with the Zen’in clan and his warped sense of guilt after killing Toji.
Perhaps, Suguru would wake up with just the twins in the morning.
The thought makes the shred of comfort Tsumiki had given him shrivel up and wilt away.
Suguru finds Satoru curled up on the couch in the living room, legs pulled up to his chest and head bent down over his sketchbook. He’s so focused. It used to take a miracle to get Satoru to focus on anything in high school. Suguru would have to read assignments aloud to him for him to even absorb any information into that brain of his. Too full of stardust.
The apartment is still and silent, aside from the muffled noise of traffic coming from the street below. Suguru leans against the wall and watches Satoru for a while. It always aches looking at him, but in the best way. The tip of Satoru’s tongue is poke out of the corner of his mouth as he works. It’s cute. A year ago, Suguru would have teased him for something like that. He would have been sitting next to Satoru and elbowed him in the ribs and Satoru would have laughed and probably licked him.
Or maybe not.
A year ago, Satoru didn’t draw. Or hide. Or stare wistfully.
Suguru clears his throat lightly and Satoru’s head whips up. He pulls his knees in a little tighter to his chest, as though protecting his precious sketches from Suguru’s prying eyes even from this distance and gives Suguru a sheepish smile.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says and Suguru didn’t think his heart was capable of getting stomped on any more than they already have, but those two words certainly do the trick.
“Don’t be,” Suguru says. He pushes off the wall and takes two steps closer, watches as Satoru eases his book closed, then pauses. “It’s my fault.”
Satoru clicks his tongue. “Ah. I guess in a way, yeah.”
The sketchbook gets shoved between the pillows and Satoru pats the cushion next to him.
Resigned, Suguru obeys. He pretends not to notice the way Satoru shifts away from him when Suguru settles down. It doesn’t hurt him. Not at all.
“Sorry about running off earlier,” Satoru says. He winds his long arms around his legs and rests his chin on his knees. “I just… really couldn’t be here. With you.”
“I’m surprised you came back,” Suguru says. The words feel heavy on his tongue, spilling out with too much honesty. “I’m glad. Obviously. But surprised.”
Satoru tenses next to him. “Why? I said I would be back. I said I would go pick the kids up.”
Satoru had said that.
Suguru hadn’t believed him.
“Did you want me to come back?”
The question surprises Suguru since not only had he just told Satoru he was glad he had come back, but also because Suguru doesn’t think there’s ever been a time since knowing Satoru that he hasn’t wanted Satoru to be back by his side.
“Why would you ask that?” Suguru asks after a beat of silence passes over them.
Satoru pulls his shoulders in a little closer, as if he’s trying to curl up into a little ball. Suguru wants to unfold him. He just balls his hands into fists on his thighs instead.
“I—.” Satoru pauses, snapping his mouth shut as he thinks. He sighs, that deep, resounding sigh that Satoru had yelled at Suguru for. “Because of what I said. Earlier.” Satoru shrugs. “I would get it. It’s okay.”
Suguru is silent for a while, thinking.
Finally, reluctantly, slowly, Suguru says, “If you would be happier leaving, then I want you to go.”
Satoru flinches beside him. Suguru can feel it in his bones. Then, Satoru sighs, resigned.
“I used to think you would laugh at me, if I ever confessed to you,” Satoru says, and the words bounce right of Suguru’s skull. He blinks a few times, staring. Satoru isn’t looking at him. He just wraps his arms around his knees and continues. “I’d never had a friend before, so I figured you would laugh at me. Tell me I was being dumb or something and the way you looked at me was just how friends look.”
“I wouldn’t laugh at you.” Suguru bites his tongue, but it’s too late to stop the words from coming out. Internally, he curses himself. Satoru glances over at him, pale eyebrows pinched together. “I’ve never laughed at you.”
Satoru snorts, looking away again. Suguru wants to chase after his attention. “That’s a lie.”
“Well, not about anything that’s important,” Suguru says. He turns Satoru’s words over in his head, then slowly adds, “I wouldn’t have laughed at you at that.”
“I know that now.” Another sigh. Suguru tracks the way Satoru’s chest rises and falls. “So, thanks. For rejecting nicely. You’re a- you’re a nice person, Suguru.”
Now Suguru is confused. He shifts on the couch, pulling one leg up so he can turn and look at Satoru directly. Still, the other man won’t look at him.
“I’m not a nice person, Satoru. I’ve killed people.” Suguru has to remind him.
Satoru shrugged. “So have I. You know that’s not something that’s matters to me. I came all the way here for you.”
It occurs to Suguru that he’s going to have to ask. He’s going to have to be the one to get the clarification his frazzled mind so desperately needs.
“Earlier,” he starts, “you said you… loved me. Like romantically? Like still?”
Satoru laughs at this, which Suguru thinks is highly unfair. His stomach tightens uncomfortably in his gut, and he clenches his hands into fists where they rest on his thighs.
“Of course, romantically. How could I ever resist you, Suguru?”
Finally, finally, Satoru turns to look at Suguru. His eyes are sad, the corners turned down as they swim with tears. The sight shocks Suguru. He’s never seen Satoru cry before. For a time, he wasn’t sure it was even possible.
“Still?” Suguru has to ask again. Just to be sure.
Satoru’s laugh is broken. Cracking and brittle.
“Yes, Suguru.” Satoru says it a little manically. A tear slips past his lashes and tracks down his cheek. “Yes, of course. You’re my best friend. My only friend. I’ve loved you since I met you. Please stop making me say it.”
“But….” The wheels in Suguru’s head are struggling to turn. Something’s not adding up. He can’t quite wrap his head around what this could mean. That Satoru loves him. Still loves him. After all this time. After everything. Despite everything. “You’re always hiding. You won’t unpack, you won’t look at me, you don’t talk to me. You’re drawing all the time and quiet. It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Satoru coughs lightly. He scrubs at his cheek and focuses on Suguru’s leg pulled up on the cushion between them. “I-yeah. I’m sorry. It’s been… I don’t know. Hard, I guess. Like I said earlier, I thought coming here you’d be happy. But you weren’t. So.”
Satoru trails off and shrugs again. Suguru is stunned. He leans back, openly gaping at Satoru. The other man doesn’t seem to notice.
“I thought you resented me.” Suguru blurts the words out. “You’re out fighting curses still, without me.”
“Why would I tell you?” When Satoru asks, his voice is soft and his watery eyes clear. “That was what was making you unhappy there. I didn’t want to make you feel guilty.”
Suguru considers this. It’s been nice not having to swallow curses, but there has always been a twinge of guilt at leaving behind people who weren’t able to defend themselves against curses to their own devices. Whenever he thought about them too much, Suguru would remind himself that there were still plenty of sorcerers out there to save them. Just because he was strong, doesn’t mean his former peers weren’t capable of saving those that needed saving. The whole world wasn’t his to be responsible for.
But it still hurt.
It makes sense that Satoru would be feeling the same way, that would find that call even harder to resist than Suguru.
“It would be okay,” Suguru says to Satoru. “It would be okay to hunt curses, if it was with you.”
Satoru’s eyebrows raise, pushing up against his hairline. He shifts now too, knee bumping against Suguru’s as he brings it up onto the couch. His hands twitch in his lap as he folds them together.
“It was only good when it was with you,” Suguru continues, lowering his voice and trying to convey the own mix of tumultuous emotions swirling around inside his chest.
It's the truth, though. It was only good when it was the two of them, even when they lost, they lost together. The bitter tastes weren’t so hard to swallow when Satoru was by Suguru’s side.
“Satoru, I—”
The words get stuck. Satoru is looking at him with these wide, expectant eyes and Suguru can’t get the words out. How ridiculous. Satoru shuffles a little closer and Suguru’s throat closes up even farther. He swallows once, then again.
“Me too,” he says finally. “Me too. I love you too, Satoru. I have always. Since we were kids. It’s always been you, I just- I never thought. Ah. I thought you hated me, I thought you resented me for everything, for taking you away from your whole world, I thought—”
Suguru’s rambling and he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it doesn’t matter because Satoru is on top of him, throwing himself into Suguru’s arms and wrapping himself tightly around Suguru. He’s heavy and he’s warm and he smells like cream and strawberries and everything Suguru has loved for years. Suguru is stunned, falling back wards against the couch cushions, and doesn’t shake himself out of his stupor until after Satoru has pillowed the back of his head from hitting the back of the couch.
“Do you mean it?” Satoru presses the words into the skin of Suguru’s neck, warm and vibrating against his skin. They sink into Suguru’s bones, and he’s never meant anything more. Somehow, his brain kicks into gear and Suguru wraps his arms around Satoru’s back, recognizing that there’s no infinity separating them, and he can hold Satoru as closely as possible.
“Of course, I do,” Suguru says. He pushes his fingers through Satoru’s hair, cradling the back of his head and letting the snowy strands slip through the gaps between his fingers like silk. “I love you.”
The words seem to finally sink into Satoru, and he giggles. His laugh vibrates through Suguru’s whole body, setting him on fire. Satoru sits up first, helping Suguru right himself as well. He doesn’t move too far away, though, just spills himself over Suguru’s lap and tucks his head comfortably under Suguru’s chin. It’s a position they’ve found themselves in before, in a different lifetime. Suguru feels full, like a glass on the verge of spilling of its rim, and his throat is tight. He settles with his arms around Satoru’s waist. They sit like that for a moment, quietly breathing in tandem.
“Do you want to see what I’ve been drawing?” Satoru asks after a while.
The question surprises Suguru, but he says yes, anyway.
Satoru seems intent on reaching for the sketchbook without leaving Suguru’s lap and clumsily strains to grab it from where he’d stashed it earlier. He grabs it, but just barely.
Suguru’s heart thumps sluggishly in his chest with the nerves of what Satoru might show him. It feels important, for some reason. Satoru settles back on Suguru’s lap comfortably and holds the sketchbook out for Suguru to see. It’s just a plain, leatherbound book, the spine cracked a little from use.
“Okay.” Satoru drums his blunt nails over the cover. There’s an edge of nerves to his voice. “You can’t make fun of me. I’m still learning. I can’t be good at everything.”
“Of course,” Suguru says, although he’s sure that there’s nothing in this world he could make fun of Satoru for. Not anymore.
“Okay,” Satoru says again and this time he opens the book.
He flips through the pages relatively quickly, not letting Suguru really study the images, but lingering enough to let Suguru know what the books contain.
It’s filled with sketches of him.
There’s a few of Shoko and Nanami, one with Haibara. A few more have the kids, sitting at the breakfast table or on the couch watching television or playing at the park. But most of them have Suguru himself in them. Suguru in his school uniform, Suguru sitting on his dorm bed, Suguru making breakfast in their kitchen, Suguru swallowing curses.
“It’s embarrassing, I know.” Satoru laughs in that self-depreciating way that is normally a stranger to Satoru’s personality. “I just- I don’t know, I guess you’re my muse or something. You have all these lines in your face that are so pretty, I can’t help but draw them.”
Suguru doesn’t know what to say for a while. He lifts his hands from where they sit on Satoru’s waist to ease to book from his hands so he can flip through the pages on his own. There’s significant improvement the longer Suguru looks, getting better and better through the pages. The last page is Suguru’s profile, standing on their balcony and looking out at their street. Just like he had stood yesterday. The realization strikes Suguru hard in the chest.
“They’re good,” he says, even though the compliment feels like it falls flat. His glass is overflowing now, spilling out over him and he’s powerless to stop. “They’re really good.”
Satoru twists to look at Suguru and his face is twinged with pink. “You’re just saying that.”
Suguru shakes his head. He wants to say more, but he can’t. They’re close, so close. If Suguru leaned forward, even a fraction, they would—
“You should kiss me,” Satoru says, stopping the earth’s whole rotation and tipping it on its side. Suguru wants to be shocked that Satoru can just say things like that, but this is Satoru. He’s never been anything but shameless.
Without ever taking his eyes off Satoru, Suguru sets the sketchbook aside and once again wraps his arms around Satoru’s waist. Satoru flutters his dove lashes and tips closer still to Suguru. Suguru takes the opportunity to tip his chin up and bring their lips together.
Kissing Satoru is like breathing for the first time.
His lips are soft and glossy against Suguru’s own and he tastes just as sweet as he smells. Suguru wants to swallow him down and fill up his body with Satoru. Maybe then he’ll be warm.
Satoru winds his arms around Suguru’s neck and shifts so he’s straddling Suguru’s lap instead of sprawled up on it. Their chests are flush together as their mouths move in synch, slipping over spit-slicked skin and opening to let tongues press together. Suguru grips at Satoru’s hips, holding him close and swallowing down all of the small gasps that Satoru makes. It’s heady and intoxicating and Suguru has never actually ever made out with another person, and he doesn’t think that Satoru has either, so their teeth click together and scrape against their lips, but Suguru can’t bring himself to care.
“We should go to the bed,” Suguru says, gasping against Satoru’s mouth.
Satoru pulls back and licks away a string of spit connecting them. “You move fast.”
Suguru delivers a soft smack to Satoru’s ass. “It’s late. And more comfortable. How have you been sleeping out here for a year?”
“I haven’t been sleeping.” Satoru presses a kiss to the line of Suguru’s jaw.
“You could have taken the bed,” Suguru says, trying to push down the squirming in his gut. “I’ve offered.”
“I know.” Another kiss, then a third. “But you needed it.”
Suguru could argue otherwise, but it seems silly. Instead, he ignores the fourth kiss Satoru delivers, ignores how this one is planted on his neck, wetter and lingering, and scoops his hands under Satoru’s ass to lift up off the couch. Satoru’s hands scrabble against Suguru’s shoulders as he seeks purchase as Suguru carries him.
In the dark, Suguru can easily make his way to the bedroom. He kicks the door open and carefully lays Satoru down on the mattress. It’s nicer than when he had to do this the other night. This time, when Satoru’s spills out on the mattress, he grins up at Suguru and Suguru’s heart nearly stops. He hesitates for a moment, then lays down beside him, curling on his side and shuffling in close to Satoru. Satoru rolls to mirror Suguru’s pose, cold nose brushing against Suguru’s. He brings a hand up to cradle Suguru’s cheek, stroking his thumb over the curve of Suguru’s browbone. Suguru lets his eyes flutter closed and relishes in the feeling.
“Tell me again,” Satoru whispers.
Suguru flutters his eyes open and find Satoru’s gaze already on him.
“I love you,” he says and relishes in the way a pink blush stains Satoru’s skin. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Satoru says back. He slips a leg between Suguru’s, curling in even closer. Suguru wraps his arms around Satoru’s waist and holds him as close as he can. Now that he’s in his grip, Suguru doesn’t think he’ll be able to let him go again.
The kids don’t have school the next day, so Satoru and Suguru decide to let them sleep in.
Nothing more happened between the two of them, besides a few chaste kisses and soft murmurings of affection, and then fell asleep wrapped up in one another.
In the morning, they take their time getting out of bed, doing much of the same thing, then finally rouse and head to the kitchen to start making breakfast for the kids. It’s an easy thing to do, passing bowls and ingredients between each other and softy laughing when Satoru drops an egg on the floor after Suguru sneaks up on him to steal a kiss.
It’s the domestic feeling that Suguru has been craving for the past year of living here with Satoru.
“You didn’t pick up on anything when I told you your ass is nice the other day?” Satoru asks as he watches Suguru crouch and clean up the broken eggshells on the floor. Suguru tips his head up, shaking his hair out of his face to look at Satoru’s lopsided grip. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”
“You’ve been saying shit like that since we met. I’ve always thought it was a joke,” Suguru says.
“I’d never joke about your ass.”
Suguru stands and crowds Satoru up against. He drops the dirty towel in the sink behind Satoru and wraps his arms around his waist instead. Suguru leans in to kiss Satoru and Satoru immediately opens his mouth to let Suguru in. He tastes just as sweet as he did last night. The taste of him will probably never get old.
“Woah.” Tsumiki’s voice startles Suguru away from Satoru. He cringes at the loud pop of that comes from their mouths separating.
Suguru steps out from under Satoru’s arms and whirls around to see Tsumiki standing at the kitchen entrance, eyes wide as saucers.
“Morning Tsumiki,” Satoru says cheerfully, sounding much calmer than Suguru feels. Suguru’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. “How’d you sleep?”
“Are you two dating now?” Tsumiki asks instead of answering and Satoru turns an incredible shade of red and sputters over his words, making Suguru laugh.
Tsumiki is still looking back and forth between the two of them, waiting.
“Yeah,” Suguru decides to say, stepping back into Satoru’s side and curling an around the other man’s shoulders as he coughs. “We’re dating.”
A strange, sly look crosses over Tsumiki’s face for a moment, then she cups her hands around her mouth and steps into the hallway.
“Mimiko, Nanako,” she shouts down the hall. “Satoru and Suguru are dating.”
In the other rooms, there are twin screams then the scampering of feet as the other two girls run out of their room to join Tsumiki in the doorway. Mimiko and Nanako are ruffled and red faced as they appear.
“What? You told Tsumiki first?” Mimiko shrieks.
“Does this mean you’re going to get married now and we can be in your wedding?” Nanako asks at the same time.
Satoru groans and drops his head into Suguru’s shoulder while Suguru just laughs. He squeezes Satoru’s shoulders a little tighter. His glass is filled up and overflowing all over again.
“Sure,” he tells them. “We’ll get married, and you can be in the wedding.”
“Why is there so much yelling?” Megumi asks as he appears amongst the crowd. Mimiko and Nanako are quick to fill them in.
“Okay, okay, everyone sits and get your food.” Satoru gets over his embarrassment and begins herding the kids.
They all eat together around the table, and it feels like the first time they’re a real family. Satoru sits next to Suguru, his hand a welcome weight on Suguru’s thigh under the table. Later, when they’re cleaning up the kitchen together, Satoru checks Suguru’s shoulder as he washes dishes.
“Would you really marry me?” he asks in a low voice, a shy smile that’s so similar to the one he’d seen that first day of class at Jujutsu High.
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that,” Suguru says, deadly serious. It’s something he’s only dreamed about, but it feels in reach now. “If you’d have me.”
Satoru answers by leaning over and pressing soft kiss to Suguru’s cheek. It scrapes Suguru raw, tears him open and stitches him back together and he feels whole, full.